CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Reeling from the shock of the French victories, the Allied armies took time to recover. Their morale was visibly lowered. They’d been led for so many years by the outstanding military mind of his day and, as a consequence, enjoyed a magnificent record of success. The sudden reversal of fortunes called that success into question. Marlborough had failed them. There could be no equivocation about that. His prestige — so vital a factor in controlling an army of British, Dutch, Austrian, Hanoverian, Prussian and Danish soldiers — had been severely weakened.
Henry Welbeck was never a man to mince his words.
‘What’s got into the bloody man?’ he demanded. ‘We work our balls off to hold onto Bruges and Ghent then he hands them over to the French on a silver plate.’
‘That’s not what happened,’ said Daniel.
‘Well, that’s what it looks like to me, Dan. While we’re stuck here, waiting for signs of life from the enemy, they race off and capture two major towns. Why didn’t His Grace see it coming? Is he blind as well as fucking stupid?’
‘Moderate your language, Henry.’
‘I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking.’
‘Nobody can accuse His Grace of stupidity,’ said Daniel, roused to defend Marlborough. ‘He’s a man of exceptional gifts who’s waged this war with exemplary skill.’
‘Until now, that is.’
‘Even the best horse stumbles. I concede that mistakes were made but let me say this in extenuation. His Grace has been ill since the start of this campaign. I’ve never seen him in such poor health. To his credit,’ Daniel went on, ‘he’s never simply taken to his bed and abandoned his responsibilities. He’s forced himself to press on and give us the leadership that we need.’
‘We don’t need a leader who gives territory away.’
‘You’re being far too harsh.’
‘I’m being honest, Dan,’ said Welbeck, fiercely. ‘Our captain general has lost his way and I’ve lost my faith in him.’
Daniel was upset to hear such biting criticism of Marlborough from someone as experienced as the sergeant. It was symptomatic of a deep malaise that had spread throughout the ranks. The Allied armies had met with setbacks before but they’d never been blamed on its commander-in-chief. This was different. Such was the scale of their loss that Marlborough was being singled out as the scapegoat. Daniel felt that it was unjust.
They were trying to hold their conversation above the turmoil all round them. The army was striking camp. Along with all the other regiments, the 24^th Foot would soon be on the march but they’d do so with a diminished confidence in their leader.
‘What are we going to give to the French next?’ asked Welbeck, cynically. ‘Are we going to sacrifice Brussels to them as well?’
‘We’re going to do what we always do — fight back hard.’
‘We have to find the enemy first.’
‘Our scouts are already at work, Henry.’
‘Where were they when the Frenchies made their dash for Bruges and Ghent? Why didn’t they raise the alarm?’
‘There’s no point in dwelling on the mistakes of the past.’
‘There’s every point, Dan. It’s the only way to stop the mistakes being repeated. Everyone in this army knows that forewarned is forearmed. Yet we had no bloody warning at all.’
‘The French deceived us,’ conceded Daniel. ‘They disguised their initial movements as large-scale foraging and we were thrown off the scent. They achieved a remarkable coup.’
‘In other words, they have better generals than we do.’
‘No, Henry, it simply means that they caught us napping this time. It won’t happen again.’
Welbeck was unconvinced. ‘I wish I could believe that.’
‘There’s something you’re forgetting,’ said Daniel. ‘I was inside the French camp only days ago. I know when an army is about to go on the march and I saw no sign of that whatsoever.’
‘That’s easy to explain,’ said Welbeck, bluntly. ‘You were too busy looking for your damn sword to notice anything else.’
The sergeant went off to yell at some soldiers who were too slow in taking down their tent. Wounded by the tart comment, Daniel had to admit that there was some truth in it. His single-minded pursuit of the sword had blinkered him. On his second visit to the camp, he should have taken more notice of what was going on there. He was still reflecting on his failure when Jonathan Ainley came up to him.
‘We’re on the move at long last,’ said the lieutenant.
‘It’s going to be a forced march. We can’t let the French outmanoeuvre us again. I hear that their main army has already crossed the River Dender and their pioneers will no doubt be breaking down the bridges at places like Alost and Ninove.’
‘What sort of a mood is His Grace in?’
‘I’m more concerned about his health,’ said Daniel. ‘His mood is as defiant as ever but he’s suffering from a fever as well as a migraine. His Grace is hardly in the best condition to wage a war.’
Marlborough put on his hat, straightened his back and adjusted his coat. He looked pale, drawn and in obvious pain. Alone with him in the tent, Cardonnel was anxious.
‘You shouldn’t push yourself like this, Your Grace,’ he said.
‘An army needs its captain general.’
‘Not if he’s indisposed. Your doctor advised complete rest.’
‘At a time like this,’ said Marlborough, ‘I can’t afford to rest.’
‘Your migraine has been worse than ever today.’
‘That’s why I’m so determined to strike back at those who gave it to me. Burgundy and Vendome are the authors of my headache.’
‘Too much activity will only make it worse, Your Grace.’
‘Then I’ll have to endure it.’
‘I think it’s time that you put your health first for once.’
‘Stop fussing over me,’ said Marlborough, good-humouredly. ‘You’re sounding like my dear wife. If I so much as cough, she thinks that I’m about to expire. Take heart, Adam,’ he went on, ‘I’m not nearly as bad as I must look.’
Though he recognised it as a patent lie, Cardonnel said nothing. Nobody had been in such constant contact with Marlborough as his secretary and he’d been able to gauge the steady deterioration of the other’s health. More worryingly, he’d also seen him sink lower and lower into melancholy. Physical exhaustion was matched by a mental fatigue that had taken its toll on Marlborough’s brimming confidence. There’d been moments when he’d lapsed into unqualified despair.
For his part, Marlborough steeled himself to withstand the drumming inside his head and the creeping heat that turned his body into a furnace. In the face of a daring French strategy, he’d been found wanting and that had inflicted a deep wound on his pride. Accustomed to receiving unstinting praise, he was now being roundly condemned in some quarters. Ordinarily, when he walked around his camp, he floated on a wave of respect and affection. Both, he feared, had been forfeited. Silent reproach from his officers could be borne far more easily than his loss of esteem among the common soldiers. Corporal John had to earn back their regard immediately.
As Marlborough was about to leave, Cardonnel had a request.
‘At the very least, travel in your coach,’ he said.
‘No, Adam,’ replied Marlborough, stoically. ‘I need to ride at the head of the army. I have to be seen.’
