‘Are you sure?’
‘The only person to go past all day was a carter.’
‘Be warned,’ said the sergeant, pointing a finger. ‘If we discover that you’re hiding the villain, you’ll die alongside him. He killed one of my men and wounded another. We want him.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. He’s not here.’
‘He must be. He abandoned a horse a mile or so away, hoping that we’d keep chasing it all evening but we soon caught up with it. He couldn’t have got far. I think he came this way.’
‘You’re welcome to search.’
‘We don’t need your permission to do that,’ snarled the sergeant. ‘Right,’ he went on, nodding to some of the men, ‘look everywhere. Turn the place upside down.’
‘Do as you wish,’ said the farmer, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. ‘We’ve nothing to hide.’ As the men dismounted, he walked over to the sergeant. ‘Is there anything I can get you while you wait, sir — a cup of wine, perhaps?’
‘I don’t drink that Flemish piss.’
‘We have beer.’
The sergeant spat contemptuously. ‘That’s even worse.’
The farm was small so the search was short-lived. The soldiers didn’t stand on ceremony. Barging into the house, they began to look in every room. Outraged at the sudden invasion, the farmer’s wife and son came hurrying out to protest. He waved them into silence. While their home was being subjected to a rigorous search, the barn was also inspected along with the outbuildings. The hens were disturbed in their coop and the cows complained bitterly when soldiers burst into their byre. The old horse, munching hay in the stable, was offended when two men poked into every corner of its domain. Only the pig remained unruffled, head still deep in its trough.
‘Don’t you ever clean that sty out?’ asked the sergeant, wrinkling his nose. ‘It stinks to high heaven.’
‘You get used to it,’ said the farmer.
‘How can anyone get used to that stench?’
The question hung unanswered in the air because soldiers came out of the house and shook their heads. Those who’d searched the barn and the outbuildings had also done so in vain. Remounting their horses, they waited for orders. The sergeant was angry and frustrated.
‘He must have come this way,’ he insisted. ‘Spread out and make for the river. He might have made it that far. And whoever catches him,’ he added, curling a lip, ‘keep him alive until I get my hands on him. I want to make him suffer.’
The patrol galloped off and the farmer’s wife was able to give vent to her fury. She swore at the departing horsemen then told her husband what they’d done. Her husband went into the house and saw the mess. Chairs had been overturned, cupboard doors wrenched open and cooking pots swept aside so that someone could peer up the chimney. It was the same story upstairs. In all three of the tiny rooms, beds had been propped against the wall, chest lids had been lifted and their contents had been scattered everywhere. The trapdoor to the attic had been left dangling. Everything stored up there had been ruthlessly trampled on.
When her rage was exhausted, the farmer’s wife gave way to tears. It took him minutes to console her. Their son, meanwhile, was trying to tidy the place up. He noticed that some apples had been stolen from the table. Leaving the two of them in the house, the farmer ambled across to the sty. The pig had just finished the meal.
‘You can come out now,’ he said. ‘They’ve gone.’
Covered in muck and reeking of excrement, Daniel emerged warily from his hiding place. Nobody would take him for a wine merchant now. His clothes were soiled and his face filthy.
‘How did you know I was in there?’ he asked.
‘It was the way the pig behaved. You’re a brave man. He has a vile temper. If he’d been upset, he could’ve bitten clean through your leg.’
‘I was born and brought up on a farm,’ said Daniel, giving the pig a friendly pat. ‘I know how to handle animals.’ He grinned. ‘And that was the one place where they wouldn’t have searched. I’m indebted to you, my friend. You could easily have given me away.’
‘We hate the French.’
‘What if they’d found me?’
The farmer chuckled. ‘Then they’d have smelt almost as bad as you,’ he said. ‘Let’s find some water to clean you up. My wife won’t let you into her kitchen like that.’
It was two days before Daniel was able to return to the farm and he took the precaution of riding with a detachment of cavalry at his back. He was in full uniform now. Seated astride a black stallion, he used a lead rein to tow along the old horse he’d borrowed from the farmer. It had done good service and been well fed in camp. Daniel enjoyed the ride but his companion was a reluctant horseman.
‘I joined the infantry,’ argued Welbeck, ‘not the cavalry.’
‘Even you wouldn’t have wanted to walk all the way, Henry,’ said Daniel. ‘Apart from anything else, we’re on French territory.’
‘I’d sooner have my feet on the ground, Dan. All that horses ever do is to upset my stomach and give me a sore arse.’
‘I thought you’d like a chance to escape from the camp.’
‘Nobody told me we’d have so far to ride. Why bother to take that old nag back? You could have sent someone else.’
‘The farmer saved my life. The least he deserves is to see how grateful I am. I’m deeply obliged to him.’
Welbeck snorted. ‘I don’t know why,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t be grateful to anyone who sent me back to my regiment, riding a flea-bitten old jade and stinking like a latrine during a hot summer. Do you realise what you looked like, Dan?’
‘You should have seen me when I got out of the pigsty.’
‘I could smell you from twenty yards away.’
Sergeant Henry Welbeck of the 24^th Foot was Daniel’s best friend in the regiment, and rank disappeared when they were alone together. The sergeant was a solid man of medium height with an ugly face decorated with a long battle scar. He had the greatest respect for his friend but even he had joined in the laughter when Daniel came back to camp in such an appalling state. Welbeck had continued to poke fun at him until Captain Rawson had bathed naked in the river, put on his scarlet uniform and at last looked like someone who deserved to be a member of the British army. In spite of his dislike of horses, the sergeant had agreed to accompany Daniel to the farm.
‘How much farther is it, Dan?’ he asked.
‘We’ll be there soon — it’s on the other side of that hill.’
‘At least we’ll get a warm welcome.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Use your eyes, man. Can’t you see that smoke up ahead of us? My guess is that they’re roasting that pig for you.’
Daniel made no reply. He’d only glanced at the hilltop before. Now that he looked properly, he could see dark smoke curling up into the air. No chimney would produce such billows. Handing the rein of the farmer’s horse to Welbeck, he kicked his own mount into action and galloped up the hill. As he neared the top, he could hear the distant crackle of flames and the sound filled him with alarm. Cresting the hill, he saw that his fears were justified. Down below him, blazing merrily in the sunshine, was the little farmhouse, the barn and the various outbuildings. It was a calamity. Everything that the farmer had stored against the winter had been destroyed.
When the others joined him, Daniel barked an order.
‘Come on!’ he yelled. ‘We may still be able to save someone.’
But he could see that it was a futile hope. As he led the charge down the hill, he watched the barn collapse and send up an enormous shower of sparks into the air. The roof of the house had already gone and the stable was a mass of charred timbers. There was no sign of the animals. Somewhere in the middle of the grotesque firework display was a family who’d come to Daniel’s aid in a crisis. He prayed that they were still alive. As the riders got closer, however, they were confronted by a hideous sight. Staggering out of the house was the farmer, a human inferno, engulfed in flames, his clothes, his boots and even his hair and beard alight. Yelling in agony, he still had the strength to raise a defiant fist at the approaching redcoats.
