‘I thought you were helping me.’
‘Get down or I’ll shoot you where you are.’
‘There’s no need to kill me,’ said Daniel, hand tightening on the blade of the dagger. ‘If you want the wagon, take it.’
‘We can’t leave you alive to tell your tale.’ He levelled the gun. ‘I won’t tell you again — get down now.’
Daniel pretended to obey and the man lowered his weapon. He never lived to regret his mistake. In a move he’d practised many times, Daniel hurled the dagger with speed and accuracy. It buried itself deep in the man’s chest, knocking him from the saddle and making him drop the pistol. With a yell of rage, the other man dismounted at once and clambered on the back of the wagon to take revenge. Daniel was ready for him, whisking his sword out from its hiding place under the seat. Armed only with a dagger, the man was at a disadvantage but he was resourceful. Grabbing a wooden bucket from among the provisions, he used it to flail away at Daniel, dislodging some of the hoops over which the sheet of canvas was spread to protect the wagon from bad weather.
The confined space made it difficult for Daniel to evade him and the sword was no match for a bucket being wielded frantically by a wild young man. When he tried a thrust at him, the weapon was buffeted out of Daniel’s hand and landed on the ground. He jumped down to retrieve it but his adversary was too quick for him, throwing the bucket at him and dazing him slightly with a glancing blow to the head. In the seconds it took for Daniel to recover, the other man had leapt to the ground and seized the weapon for himself. Dagger in one hand and sword in the other, he let out a roar of anger.
‘You killed my brother!’ he shouted.
‘He deserved to be killed,’ replied Daniel, edging his way towards the dead body. ‘Both of you are thieves and murderers.’
‘I’ll cut you to threads!’
‘Stay back,’ said Daniel, stooping down swiftly to pick up the discarded gun and aiming it at him. The man laughed derisively. ‘What’s so amusing?’
‘It’s not loaded. We have no ammunition.’
‘Then you’d better have it back,’ said Daniel, throwing it at him and hitting him full in the face.
Nose streaming with blood, the man staggered back a few paces. In the brief time he was given, Daniel pulled his dagger from the chest of the corpse and picked up the bucket as well. He was now able to defend himself and circled his attacker warily. The bucket was a crude but effective weapon. Every time his adversary tried to thrust or hack at him, Daniel used the bucket to ward him off. Time and again it was a life-saving shield even though splinters were hacked off it by the sharp blade. The longer the fight went on, the more frustrated the man became and the less careful. Hoping to overpower Daniel by the sheer force of his attack, he suddenly lunged at him with the sword flashing through the air.
Daniel was far too agile for him. Leaping nimbly sideways, he swung the bucket hard against the side of the man’s head, knocking him to the ground. Howling in pain, the highwayman sat up and flung his dagger with murderous force, only to see it embedded in the bottom of the bucket that Daniel held up in front of him. Daniel tossed away his improvised shield and dived on top of him. At close quarters, the sword was useless. It was the blood-stained dagger that made the difference. Though the man grabbed Daniel’s wrist and tried to twist the weapon from his grasp, he lacked the strength to hold out for long. His breathing was heavy, his grip weakening. The stink of his breath was foul. After punching him repeatedly with his free hand, Daniel pulled his other wrist free and stabbed the man through the heart, holding the dagger up to the hilt inside the body as the life drained slowly out of him and the frenzied resistance finally stopped.
‘How long have you known Captain Rawson?’ asked Sophie.
‘It must be well over two years now,’ said Amalia, fondly.
‘Do you see much of him?’
‘Not as much as I’d like, Sophie.’
‘My sister married a soldier. He’s away for months on end. She’s worried to death in case he’s injured or even killed in battle. The danger is always there. I suppose,’ Sophie went on, ‘you must have the same fears.’
‘I try not to think about such things.’
‘That’s very sensible.’
‘Daniel — Captain Rawson, that is — always claims that he has the luck of the devil. But there’s more to it than that. I think he’s just a very fine soldier.’
‘I thought that of Lieutenant Bouteron. He looked so wonderful in his uniform — so wonderful and so trustworthy.’ Sophie’s head sagged. ‘I didn’t realise that he was misleading me. When he handed me over to the duc de Vendome, I was shocked. I’ve never been looked at like that before. It was horrible.’
‘He looked that way at me as well.’
‘The man is so revolting.’
Since they supported opposing sides in the war, they were unlikely friends but adversity made light of their differences. They were both victims and their fate would be determined by a man they’d both detested on sight. Amalia was glad to have company. In talking about her situation, she’d gained a small measure of relief. Listening to Sophie, she realised that they lived in very different worlds. The other woman seemed so much more sophisticated and her beautiful dress made Amalia feel dowdy. Sophie’s father was a wealthy merchant who was away from home a great deal. His daughter was bored and restless. When invited to dine at her uncle’s house in Mons, she’d accepted with alacrity and revelled in the company of soldiers. It was there that she met the man who’d brought her to the camp under false pretences.
‘Isn’t it strange?’ said Sophie, musing.
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Well, by rights, we ought to be trying to tear each other’s hair out. You support one army and I’m loyal to another. In my heart, I want the whole British and Dutch armies to be defeated.’
‘I want the French to be beaten,’ confessed Amalia.
‘Yet none of it matters now, does it?’
‘No, it would be silly for us to argue. In some ways, we’re on the same side now. We’re both at the mercy of that dreadful man.’
‘Mercy?’ echoed Sophie, resignedly. ‘I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word.’ She wrung her hands. ‘I should have stayed at home where I belong.’
‘Does anyone else know that you’re here?’
‘No, that’s the trouble. Nobody can come to my aid.’
Amalia felt another upsurge of sympathy. Before she could put a consoling arm around her, however, the tent flap opened and two guards stepped in. One of them pointed at Sophie.
‘You’re wanted — now.’
‘Where are you taking me?’ asked Sophie, tremulously.
‘You’ll soon find out.’
He grabbed her by the arm and took her out of the tent. When Amalia tried to follow, the other guard raised his musket at her and she drew back instantly. He, too, then went out of the tent, leaving her to worry about what might happen to her new friend and whether or not she herself might also be the victim of the commander’s lust.
Though they’d tried to kill him, Daniel nevertheless believed that the two men were entitled to a decent burial. After digging two shallow graves, therefore, he lowered each of them into the ground and covered them with earth. He mouthed a silent prayer then turned to see what they’d bequeathed him. The two horses were a valuable acquisition and might come in useful if he was unable to sneak Amalia out of the French camp in his wagon. The saddlebags yielded up some welcome surprises. Apart from food and wine, they contained a telescope, a tattered map of Flanders and lots of stolen money. Evidently, other travellers had not been as cautious as Daniel. After pocketing the money, he kept the telescope and the map. He also put his sword back in the wagon and, after wiping it clean in the grass, he slipped his dagger into its sheath. The weapons belonging to the two men were concealed beneath the upturned bucket. Daniel repaired the wooden hoops then pulled the canvas back over them so that the contents of the wagon were hidden from view.
With the horses tied to the vehicle, he climbed up to the seat again and set off, driving back along the track
