Possessions lay littered across the cobbles where they had been abandoned or forgotten in the headlong rush of a populace eager to escape further horrors. Clothes, shoes and bags lay everywhere. Dolls and other toys, scorched and filthy, along with larger items. Chairs, wooden boxes, musical instruments. Naturally, anything of particular value left behind by the townspeople had been taken by the Dutch. There were a few exceptions. A gilt-framed painting of Christ in Majesty lay in a gutter and a grandfather clock stood incongruously in the centre of the road junction, where its owners, having tried desperately to save their most precious possession, had been forced to leave it. Books lay strewn around and everywhere sheaves of paper blew through the deserted streets.
At length they came in view of the church. As the first building that they had seen in the place that had not been reduced to cinders, it stunned them with its simple majesty. Rounding the corner and entering the square, where the church façade rose high against the brilliant blue of the sky, Steel saw that close to the basilica stood another building. The inn was indeed still there, just as the Dutch Captain had told him. With its gaily painted timberwork and bright blue gilly flowers growing in pots, it made a grotesque contrast with the devastation that lay all around it.
‘Sarn’t, I think we’ll stop here.’
Slaughter turned his head to the right:
‘Column, halt.’
‘Stand the men easy, Sarn’t Slaughter. Allow them fifteen minutes rest.’
Williams rode up, and with him Jennings. The Major seemed indignant:
‘Mister Steel. We have stopped. Tell me why?’
‘Why, Sir. Because this is our bivouac for the night.’
‘The night, Steel? But it is barely three o’clock of the afternoon. We surely have two more hours to march?’
‘The men, Major, need to stop. And this is as good a place as any. Indeed it is better, on many counts. And it has an inn.’
Jennings looked across the street where a painted sign with a running grey horse hung above the inn door.
‘Well, Steel. If you are convinced. Although I don’t suppose for a moment that they’ll have anything half decent.’
He turned to face the column.
‘Sarn’t Stringer. Where the devil is the oaf? Stringer. My bag.’
Jennings dismounted and strode across the square, followed by the ever-attendant Stringer, who had retrieved Jennings’ bag from the coach.
Steel called after him:
‘Oh, Major. There’s a landlord who’s old and sick and his daughter. Look out for them.’
He glanced at Slaughter.
‘I do hope that the Major finds the accommodation to his liking. Come on, Sarn’t, we’d best get this lot sorted for the night. We’ll leave the wagons here on the street. There’ll be no traffic through here in the next few hours. Oh, and Jacob.’
‘Sir.’
‘Find the men somewhere to sleep. There’s what looks a likely field over there, behind the church. Tell the Grenadiers they might have two flagons of ale apiece in the inn – if it’s to be had at all. Tell them I … tell them Lord Marlborough will stand the cost.’
‘Very good, Sir.’
‘Oh, and Jacob. Just so that you know, I shall be joining you out in the field. Jennings is in the inn – with his monkey – and nothing on earth could possibly persuade me to sleep under the same roof.’
Across the town square, Jennings pushed open the door of the inn and stepped inside, closely followed by his Sergeant. Rather than the dirty wine glasses and half-empty tankards of ale that he had expected to find still on the tables where the last customers might have left them, he was surprised to find the interior neat and tidy. The parlour was deserted, although a fire had been laid in the grate and a pile of plates stood on a dresser, ready to be set.
‘Hallo. Anyone? Hallo.’
A door opened at the back of the room and a girl walked in. Jennings knew real beauty when he saw it and it took only a moment for him to decide that by whatever means, before they left this place, he was going to seduce her.
She addressed him in the local dialect.
‘Good day. Oh. You are a soldier?’
‘Yes, English, Miss. Major Aubrey Jennings, Farquharson’s Regiment, at your service.’
He gave a low bow and removed his hat.
‘You are English? Then I speak to you in English.’
Her voice was wonderfully gentle. A sweet contrast to the harsh, masculine world he had just left outside. Her words though were bitter.
‘Tell me, Sir. Why should I trust the English? Your men come here and burn our town. Why? What have we done? We do not make war on you. Why? Why?’
Jennings, taken aback, said nothing. Then a thought entered his mind. Quite brilliant. ‘Dear Miss, excuse me, you have me at a disadvantage. I do not have your name, Miss …’
‘Weber. My name is Louisa Weber and this is my father’s inn.’
‘Dear Miss Weber. I have come to apologize. On behalf of his Grace the Duke of Marlborough, I offer you and your fellow townspeople his Grace’s most sincere apologies. We encountered some of your friends on our way here and have attempted to recompense them for any damage that has been done. Obviously the village is beyond redemption, but we must do what we can. I beseech you to believe me, on my honour as a soldier and a gentleman that this was no doing of the English. It was the action of our Dutch allies and will be punished with the death of those responsible.’
For a moment the girl stared at him. Then she took his meaning.
‘Oh. No, I. I did not want that. No killing. But the Dutch Captain explained to me. He said that they did this under orders from your Duke. That this was done to injure the Elector Max Emmanuel. To make him leave the French. That it is the English who ordered our town to be burnt.’
‘I assure you, Miss Weber. It was not. We have caught the men who did this, the Dutchmen, and they are even now travelling under armed escort on their way to Donauwörth to be tried under court martial. Be certain, they will be hanged.’
The girl looked at the floor.
‘I am sorry. I did not want them to die. The Captain seemed such a nice man. A real gentleman.’
‘My poor dear. How much you have to learn, particularly about soldiers. I shall teach you. We may some of us be officers but not all officers can be said to be gentlemen. You must understand that some men are not to be trusted. That man was no gentleman.’
He moved towards her, placing a hand upon her shoulder at the point where the cotton of her blouse met the tempting, downy softness of her pale skin. She flinched and then relaxed under the warmth of his touch. It had been so long since anyone had done that.
‘Dear Miss Weber. Louisa, if I may. You may trust an Englishman. You most certainly may trust me. Now come. Show me where I might rest tonight. I will pay of course and also for any food and wine you might be able to offer my men. We have had a long and arduous march in pursuit of your oppressors.’
Steel had inspected the Grenadiers’ bivouac for the