‘Ignore them,’ advised Vendome. ‘They’re bound to be lies.’
‘They concern the business with Major Crevel. It’s come to my attention that you won’t consign the matter to the past and have taken steps to identify the man who actually humiliated Crevel.’
‘His name is Captain Rawson of the 24^th Foot.’
‘So?’
‘He must be punished for what he did.’
‘Our aim is to punish the armies of the Grand Alliance not to single out an individual member of them. This fellow can surely not deserve the time and attention lavished upon him.’
‘Your grandfather might think otherwise, my lord.’
‘Why ever should he do that?’ asked Burgundy.
‘Because this same Captain Rawson was the instrument of great annoyance to His Majesty,’ said Vendome. ‘Emanuel Janssen, a tapestry maker of renown, was commissioned to work at Versailles. Instead of devoting himself to the weaving of the tapestry, he acted as a spy and sent intelligence to the enemy. Janssen was imprisoned in the Bastille for his crime. Captain Rawson rescued him.’
‘Nobody ever escapes from the Bastille.’
‘Janssen is living proof to the contrary. I fancy that His Majesty would be extremely interested to meet the man who achieved that astonishing feat.’
‘I do believe he would,’ conceded Burgundy. ‘I’d be curious to see the fellow myself but he’s hardly likely to oblige us by coming here of his own volition.’
‘That’s where you’re quite mistaken.’
‘Oh?’
‘A stratagem has been set in motion,’ said Vendome with a self-important smirk. ‘My guess is that Captain Rawson is on his way here at this very moment.’
Travelling as part of the cavalcade gave Daniel the safety of numbers. The other wagons were taking supplies and munitions to the camp at Braine l’Alleud and were protected by a detachment of soldiers in the blue uniforms of the French army. Daniel hadn’t been accepted without close questioning. He’d had to show his forged papers and explain why he was on his own. Only after he’d given satisfactory answers was he told to fall in at the rear of the column. While progress was slow, he at least had the reassurance that he’d be admitted to the camp without undue interrogation. Certain that Amalia Janssen was there, he prayed that she was unharmed.
After a long journey, he finally saw the canvas tents spreading endlessly across the fields and got ocular proof of the sheer size of the enemy army. What particularly interested him were the positions of the picquets and the proximity of trees. Leaving the camp with Amalia, he knew, would be far more difficult than entering it in his wagon. His hopes of success rested on careful preparation. The telescope enabled him to inspect all of the outposts on the western approach and he resolved to study the map he’d inherited from the highwaymen in order to have a clearer sense of the local geography.
When he got to the area where the other camp followers were drawn up, he made sure that his wagon stayed on the outer edge so that it could slip away easily in the night. He then fed and watered the three horses. His arrival had been noted by some of the other sutlers and they were not pleased to have competition. Daniel was confronted by three of them. Their spokesman was a wizened old man with a goatee beard and a single, inflamed eye.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, pointing a skeletal finger.
‘My wagon should tell you that,’ replied Daniel.
‘We don’t need another sutler.’
‘Why do you say that? In an army this size, there’s surely enough trade for us all.’
‘We were here first.’
‘Then you’ll already have regular customers who rely on you. I’m not here to take them away.’
‘We don’t want you here at all,’ said a short, wiry individual who, from his close resemblance to the old man, was obviously his son. ‘We think you should leave camp.’
Daniel smiled defiantly. ‘Thank you for your advice,’ he said, ‘but that’s a decision I’d like to make for myself.’
‘We’re making it for you.’
‘Leave now,’ ordered the old man, folding his arms, ‘or we’ll have to persuade you.’
Daniel looked at each of them in turn. The old man posed no problem in a fight but his son was a very different matter. The real challenge, however, would come from their companion, a big, broad-shouldered man in his thirties with a drooping black moustache. If he was to survive a brawl, Daniel would have to tackle the bigger man first. Pretending to accept their warning, he offered his hand.
‘I bid you farewell, gentlemen,’ he said, meekly.
The big man reached out to shake the hand and found himself yanked forward, tripped up by Daniel and kicked so hard in the groin that he lay writhing in agony on the ground. Shocked by what he’d seen, the young man came at Daniel with both fists swinging but none of the punches landed where they were intended. Daniel dodged or parried them with his arms, using clever footwork to put his attacker off balance. At one point, when his back was to the old man, Daniel felt a blow to the nape of his neck. He responded by digging a sharp elbow into the old man’s stomach, taking all the wind out of him and making him stagger back.
The son was already puffing and panting, his energy depleted and his confidence waning when he realised that he was now fighting alone. As a last resort, he aimed a violent kick at his opponent’s groin, only to be upended as Daniel grabbed the foot and pulled hard. A relay of punches to the son’s head quickly subdued him. But the brawl was not over. The big man was sufficiently recovered to be able to get to his feet. One hand on his tender genitals, he circled Daniel and threatened to tear him apart. When he finally launched himself, however, he was far too slow and ponderous. Daniel ducked and dodged every wild punch. Growling with rage, the big man flailed away with his massive fists and had to take a number of well-directed counter punches to the face and stomach. Fatigue eventually got the better of him and Daniel was able to jump in and fell him with an uppercut to the chin.
Seeing his other attacker rise to his feet, Daniel seized him by his collar and was about to dash him against the side of the wagon when the old man cried out.
‘That’s enough!’ he said. ‘Don’t touch Alphonse. The fight is over. You can stay.’
Daniel released the son then turned to his other adversary. Dazed and sobered, the man held up a hand to indicate that he’d had enough. Daniel helped him to his feet and apologised for hitting him so hard. The three men laughed ruefully. Having come to evict him, they now gave him a warm welcome. Daniel was one of them. After introducing himself as Gustave Carraud, he brought out a flagon of wine and they were soon chatting together as friends.
‘I haven’t come to take away your business,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact, I’ve got provisions that I can sell to you at very low prices.’
‘I like the sound of that,’ said Alphonse.
‘Do you have any ointment for sore balls?’ asked the big man, still rubbing his testicles.
‘Find a pretty woman to kiss them better, Victor.’
Victor guffawed. ‘She can do more than that while she’s down there, Alphonse.’
The wine flowed, the laughter increased and the friendship slowly deepened. Daniel was quick to enlist them as allies. They told him how the camp was laid out and where best to sell his goods.
‘You obviously know your way around,’ he said.
‘It’s part of our job,’ Alphonse told him. ‘We stay close to regiments who’ve bought from us in the past. We have a reputation.’
‘A good reputation,’ added the old man. ‘If you want to take a look at the camp for yourself, Alphonse will show you the way.’
‘I’d appreciate that,’ said Daniel.
‘Wait till this evening,’ advised Alphonse, ‘when the light fades. There won’t be so many soldiers about then so we’re less likely to be stopped.’
‘That suits me.’
‘Watch him, Alphonse,’ warned Victor, chuckling. ‘If he offers to shake you by the hand, refuse or you’ll have a boot in your bollocks.’