Using the small, sharp knife that he kept for just such a purpose, Marlborough sliced through the soft flesh of a ripe pomegranate and popped a sliver into his mouth before wiping his lips upon a white napkin. He ate thoughtfully, then spoke as he cut again into the fruit: ‘You say that you have discovered a way into the town, Captain Steel? You’re certain it is viable?’
‘Quite certain, Your Grace. It is a small sally-port on the northwestern side of the defences, so small as to be hardly detectable. It was by way of that gate that we effected our escape.’
Marlborough, swallowing another piece of fruit, smiled at him: ‘Yes. That was well done, your rescue of Lady Henrietta. Her Majesty will be most grateful for that. Very good, Steel. So, to the sally-port. You’re sure it is disused?’
‘Quite so, My Lord. We had to cut our way out. But it is quite as serviceable as when first built by Vauban.’
The duke laughed. ‘I do declare, you are a constant joy to me, Captain Steel. Not only do you find us a secret means by which to enter the citadel, but you do so by way of employing one of Marshal Vauban’s own defensive stratagems, just the sort of feature which so often frustrates our conduct of a siege.’ He chuckled and turned to Hawkins, who was standing close by in the commanding officer’s ornate campaign tent, eating a peach. ‘Don’t you love the irony, Hawkins? The great master’s genius is going to prove his countrymen’s own undoing.’
The colonel, with juice dripping down his chin and his mouth full of fruit, was unable to answer and merely nodded his head and narrowed his eyes in approval.
Marlborough became abruptly serious and looked hard at Steel: ‘In earnest though, you have done well, Captain. I gather from Colonel Hawkins that Lady Henrietta is safe and no worse for her dreadful experiences.’
‘Yes, sir. She is quite safe now. I have undertaken to safeguard her personally.’
Marlborough raised an eyebrow and wiped his sticky hands on the napkin. ‘Oh have you, Steel? How very noble of you.’ His tone and the pause that followed unnerved Steel a little. Marlborough’s laugh broke the tension. ‘No matter. I trust that you know what you are about, Captain Steel. But you might take a care to remember who it was that recommended you at court for this duty. Eh, Hawkins? D’you hear that? Captain Steel is taking personal care of Lady Henrietta. He might have a care, d’you not think?’
Hawkins, who, after finishing the peach had just helped himself to a little more of the excellent ham on which he had breakfasted, grinned. ‘Oh, he might have a care, Your Grace. Indeed. But then I am sure that Captain Steel is always careful in such matters. Are you not, Jack?’
Steel shook his head: ‘I mean, sir, merely that I intend no harm to come to her.’
‘Very good, Steel. As you will. But be careful whom you make your enemies. In particular at court. Our gracious sovereign is a woman – remember that. For women have more influence in the conduct of this war than you may know, Steel.’ He paused: ‘There was some talk of torture, was there not? Her Ladyship was not at all harmed? You are sure of that?’
‘Not at all, Your Grace. Merely gravely insulted.’
‘I guessed as much. And yourself? We were quite beside ourselves with worry. Poor Colonel Hawkins was most distressed.’
‘I suffered a little, sir.’
‘But you are quite fit now, I trust. Fit enough to lead the assault?’
‘As fit as I’ll ever be, Your Grace. Am I to take it then that I shall have the honour of leading the initial party, sir? To open the way? I have a personal score to settle, and a debt to repay.’
Marlborough looked at him: ‘You really are a most extraordinary man, Steel. Most of my officers, as brave as ever they might be, would be thankful to have escaped with their lives from such a place as you have lately quit. Yet you insist on returning. More than that, on leading the attack. You say you have a score to settle. May I enquire as to what, exactly?’
‘Your Grace, I intend to deal personally with the pirate, Trouin. He murdered a friend of mine and insulted another.’
‘You know, Steel, you must never allow vengeance to rob you of your senses. It is an intoxicating demon. Are you certain that you wish to do this?’
‘I have never been more resolved on any matter, Your Grace.’
‘Nevertheless, be careful not to place yourself in any unnecessary danger, Steel. I should not like to lose you. Least of all to an act of revenge. It would however, be most propitious should you find yourself in such a position to dispose of Mister Trouin. From what Colonel Hawkins tells me, we cannot allow him to escape.’
He looked down at the map spread before him on the table and traced with his finger a route along the sand north of the dunes which then cut across and entered the town at the place Steel had told him they would find the sally-port. Then he pointed in turn to the small oblong blocks, each of them signifying the position of a battalion that had been drawn up in line to the west of the marshes and muttered each of their names silently as if to remind himself just how strong his army was. The army that would follow Steel into the town.
He looked up at Steel: ‘Very well, Captain. You shall lead the assault. Take fifty men – no more. Grenadiers, your own fellows. Choose them well. Take them along the beach and across the dunes and into the town by way of your secret gate. Once inside, you must find a means of opening one of the main gates. After that whatever you do is your decision. You may have a battalion of Dutch to your rear as support should anything go amiss. Aside from that you are on your own. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Quite clear, Your Grace. And thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me, Steel. I’m sending you back into hell.’
Major Claude Malbec stood in the private office of Ostend’s troubled governor and looked down through the iron crossbars of the window on to the morning bustle. In the square of the Grote Markt, beneath the bomb-damaged bulk of the town hall, the traders had set up their stalls, despite the events of the previous few days and people had come to buy as they always did. But there was something not right about the scene, he thought. The townsfolk seemed to have an air of apprehension. They walked not with their usual confidence but with their shoulders hunched and their heads downcast. And from time to time through their midst a cart would pass, its covered contents denoting that another body had been found in the rubble.
For the last fifteen minutes Governor de la Motte had endured Malbec’s bitter tirade against him, his administration and the man’s own junior officer, who, it appeared, had helped some precious prisoners to escape. He wondered when the major would finish and allow him to get on with his breakfast of the precious salted ham and black bread which lay untouched on his sideboard. But as Malbec turned from the window his expression told de la Motte that his stomach would have to wait a while longer.
‘What was the boy thinking? Damn him for an insubordinate pup. I’ll have him hanged for treachery.’
‘Isn’t that a little excessive, Major? After all, he is an officer. And in any case, his mother is a favourite of the king. We can only guess at who his father might be. I hardly think you’d get away with it. Look on the bright side, Major. As I understand it, the lieutenant prevented further acts of atrocity by Captain Trouin.’
‘That’s all very well, Governor, but the man is merely a junior officer. He had no right to take such a decision, nor to make such an attack. He might as you say have prevented Trouin from further acts of apparent indecency. But what’s that compared to letting British spies escape and handing over our hostage? It’s madness. Worse than that, it goes against all the principles of war.’
‘It does?’
‘Governor, I am a soldier. I have always been a soldier. I am not a diplomat, I am not a politician. I am a simple soldier. Allow me my modicum of expertise in that domain. It is unmilitary. It goes against all the rules. Whatever Trouin was up to there is simply no excuse for delivering spies back to the enemy. They should have been shot. And now that honour devolves upon Lieutenant Lejeune.’
‘Major, take care. You cannot have him executed. It would benefit no one. Haven’t we got enough to worry about?’ He paused and eyed the ham. ‘Have you had breakfast?’
Malbec did not hear him: ‘When I find him I’ve a good mind to string him up myself, by God. No court-martial – just give me the rope.’
De la Motte sighed: ‘Major, please. I am sure that Lieutenant Lejeune had his reasons. It was surely a courageous thing that he did, you must agree with that. You and I are well aware that for some weeks now Captain Trouin has been abusing his position of power. He may be the king’s own appointee, but this time surely he has overstepped the mark once too often.’
Malbec threw up his hands in despair. ‘And so now he is held here in the king’s prison. And what will you do now, Governor? Keep him there until Paris sends a wagon for him and he is taken back to be tried for his crimes by the king himself? But … Oh, no. Wait a minute, I quite forgot. Trouin is the king’s man, his favourite. D’you suppose that Louis will take your word for it? You may be destined for the block over this matter, but personally I intend to disentangle myself from this mess. I grant you that to kill Lejeune would be foolish. He has too many friends at court. But have you thought of us? How does it look for me? For you? I am Lejeune’s superior and you command the entire town. The responsibility for the Englishmen’s escape is ours. What will our fate be now? If we survive this siege, once Trouin reports to the king, what is our destiny? And who’s to say in any case that we will survive the fight? With the girl gone, there’s nothing to stop their precious Marlbrook from telling his men to open fire again – nothing whatsoever. These English have no scruples, I tell you, and I should know. They don’t care about women and children, about how many of them will die as long as they get their precious town. I tell you, we’ll all be blown to atoms. And all because of Lejeune.’
Suddenly the governor found that he had lost his appetite. He frowned: ‘The girl may still be in the town for all we know.’
‘Don’t delude yourself, de la Motte. She’s back in their lines all right. Our one precious lifeline, gone. I hope the lieutenant’s satisfied. In fact, de la Motte, I’m glad that I can’t hang him. He’ll be able now to hear the screams of the women and children when the English open fire again. And he’ll know that he caused that suffering.’
De la Motte had turned pale. ‘Do you really think the English will bombard us again?’
‘It’s beyond a doubt. Why shouldn’t they? They’ve nothing to lose. And they’ve no conscience. As a people, you know, they’re morally bankrupt.’
‘Then surely we must surrender, declare the town an open city. Trouin can’t stop us doing that.’
Malbec stared at him, wide-eyed: ‘Surrender to the English? Are you mad? I have never surrendered a command and I do not intend to start now on the provocation of a junior officer. No, Governor. We will not surrender. We shall sit this one out. We’ll watch the people die. And when the English come, as they are sure to come at some point, after their guns have run out of ammunition, then what’s left of us will be ready for them behind our own cannon. They’ll still have to storm the defences. And then we’ll have them. We’ll take more than a few to hell with us, de la Motte. I assure you of that.’ He crossed to the window and looked out beyond the square, over the defences. ‘Marshal Vauban knew exactly what he was doing here. Every one of those bastions gives covering fire to another. There’s no single place in the ramparts that doesn’t have at least four cannon raking it. We’ve more than enough food, you know that well enough, and fresh water. Sooner or later they’re bound to run out of bombs. Perhaps we should send Trouin out to frighten off their fleet. Yes, that might really be a plan.’
Malbec’s talk of ‘taking a few to hell’ had made de la Motte feel decidedly queasy. Breakfast was now a forgotten thought. He pushed his waiting plate to one side.
‘You really want me to release him? Captain Trouin? You know that he’s bound to go after Lejeune?’
‘Well, that would be an end to one problem. One king’s man ridding us of another. What a nice touch! Though I would be sorry for the lieutenant to miss the women’s screams. Still, it would be justice. Yes, we must release Trouin. Can there be any question about it? Besides, we need his band of cut-throats. You know, de la Motte, we’re going to need every man we can get. There’s a whole army out there, sixty thousand men, and the only way we’re going to stop them taking this place is to blast them off the face of the earth.’ He smiled: ‘And that, with Captain Trouin’s help, is exactly what I intend to do.’
Steel watched with amusement as Henry Hansam stood with one stockinged foot on a patch of grass and emptied out his right boot, cursing as he did so.
‘Damned sand, gets in everywhere. I’ll be pleased when we take our leave of this place, Jack, sea breeze or no blessed sea breeze.’
Steel finished adjusting his sword belt and slung his fusil across his shoulder, having ensured that it was loaded.
‘You’ll get your wish soon enough, Henry. What time d’you have?’
Hansam finished pulling on his boot and delved into his waistcoat pocket for his watch. ‘Eight minutes before two o’clock, Jack. Not long to go now.’
‘Just long enough for a few words, perhaps. D’you think?’
Hansam nodded. Steel turned to Slaughter: ‘Sarn’t, have the men gather round me. And have them stand easy.’
The company was positioned at its jumping-off point, in a low clump of sand dunes some half a mile from the town’s ramparts, out of view of the sentries and sheltered from the wind. Steel stepped up on to a large stone from one of a trio of long-ruined houses and looked down at the assembled company. Fifty men, Marlborough had told him and that was precisely the number he would take. He had ordered Slaughter to ensure that all the veterans were with his party. Men like Dan Cussiter, a corporal now, and Matt Taylor, the self-appointed company apothecary. Dependable fighters like Mackay, Tarling and Milligan. Henderson, the Borders lad, Jock Miller from Dumfries and the lanky athlete Jeremiah Thorogood, the best cricketer the regiment could field. And the rest of them. Against his better judgement too, Steel had agreed at their insistence to take both Hansam and Williams. The remaining few men he had left in the care of number four company’s commanding officer, Robert Melville, with the instruction that should the company return in insufficient numbers to form, they were to be taken into his command. For this was as dangerous a task as Steel and his men had ever been charged to perform and he knew that their chances of coming through must be less than fifty per cent. He knew too though that of all the men in Marlborough’s army there were none better suited to the challenge. He took off his tricorne hat and placed it under his arm and began: ‘Men. Today, we have been given the great honour of leading the assault and ending this siege.’ A quiet hurrah came from the left. Steel smiled and nodded his head towards it. ‘Thank you, McLaurence. You all know as well as I do what that means. Some of you fought with me at the Schellenberg and at Blenheim. Others went into the attack with us at Ramillies. You all of you know what it is to assault a fortified position. What it means to be the “forlorn hope”. But this is an assault unlike any you will have attempted before. We must be secret, we must be silent and we must be swift. Every man must look out for himself, and for his comrades too. I’ve been in this town and I’ve met this enemy, and I can tell you now from that acquaintance, this day will not be easy. But we have been chosen by the duke himself and we must honour that choice. The fate of the war rests now in our hands, lads. Remember that and go to it with a will. And remember above all else, you are Grenadiers.’
Despite the fact that Slaughter had ordered the men to be silent, a muted cheer went up. Steel smiled at them and replaced his hat.
‘Officers, take posts. Sarn’t, with me.’
With whispered words of command, they assembled into the unaccustomed formation of a double file and moved left, through a gap in the dunes.
To avoid being seen by the sentries on the forward walls, the only way that they were going to be able to reach the foot of the ramparts and the open gate was on the outside of the dunes, close to the sea. Happily the tide was out; nevertheless the sand was still soft and liquid in parts. Fine-grained, as Hansam had said. So the strand was soft and the Grenadiers sank easily into the sand to just above their ankles. Soon their white stockings were wringing wet. Two of the men cursed. Slaughter whispered harshly into the darkness: ‘Quiet there.’ Steel looked round at the noise, and wondered whether the guards had heard it as clearly as he had. There was not a breath of wind now and it seemed that every sound carried over the flat sands with deafening clarity. It was an approach march like no other he had ever known and he wished to God it were over. The town remained some five hundred yards ahead of them. They were strung out in their files, hugging the dunes as closely as they could, making use, as he had taught them to, with all the guile learnt as a boy from a poacher’s son, of every hillock and each tuft of the coarse, tall grass. Unusually, they had also removed their tall mitre caps and tucked them into their waistcoats. Their fusils were ready loaded and primed, Steel’s own gun included, even though it was slung across his shoulder. His sword he held in his hand, anxious that it should not clank inside the metal scabbard and he had instructed Williams to do the same. The young ensign was walking close behind him, like Steel doubled up, so as to present the smallest possible profile to any inquisitive enemy eyes.
They were immediately under the walls now. Steel looked up at the endless, towering expanse of smooth stone, and tried to remember exactly where the narrow tunnel was that led to the gate – the gate which he hoped, prayed, would still be open. He looked along the length of the wall to the right. To where, according to his memory, it ought to have been. Christ almighty! There was no opening.
Williams, close behind him, spoke in a whisper: ‘Can you not recall where the gate was, sir?’
‘If I knew that, Tom would we still be here?’
He looked to his left and again saw nothing that even looked vaguely like the entrance to a tunnel. For one awful moment Steel wondered whether he had not arrived at the wrong section of wall entirely, whether the area he wanted was not round the next jutting bastion of the walls. He hoped that it was not the case, for the sentries patrolled just inside the ravelin on a covered way and if the Grenadiers were forced to detour along the wall then they would surely be heard. He looked right again. He had been so sure it was here. The men would be getting restless now, wondering why they had stalled. Soon they would start to be afraid.
He smelt Slaughter’s breath close behind him. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I don’t suppose you’re lost, are you?’ Steel turned and stared at him, unamused and said nothing. ‘Only, sir, I was wondering as to why you hadn’t taken us down to that hole over there.’
He stretched out his arm and pointed to the left, to where, in a section of the wall more mottled and moss-covered than the rest, Steel was now able to make out the merest hint of an indentation.
‘Jacob. You’re a bloody marvel.’
Slaughter shrugged: ‘Dunno why I did actually show you where it was, sir. Last thing I want to do now is get back into that filthy hole. Worse than any bloody battlefield it was. All that blackness.’
‘Don’t worry Jacob. Safety in numbers, eh?’
The sergeant shook his head and, turning away from his officer, cursed softly. Turning left, Steel indicated with his hand for the leading men to follow him and the company fell in. Sixty men in single file now, with Hansam bringing up the rear. After fifty yards he stopped. Slaughter was right. Barely noticeable from the side, the wall dipped inwards and there in the centre lay a black hole, barely wide enough for a single man to pass through it at a time.
He turned to Williams: ‘In here.’
Pushing into the blackness, Steel was surprised to find this time, coming from the beach, how quickly his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light. Still, as they pushed on, the darkness grew more intense. After perhaps three hundred yards in the pitch-black and stifling, airless heat, the Grenadiers began to see chinks of light up ahead. No one spoke. What air there was tasted rank, tainted by the stench from the leaking sewer and men and officers alike had tied their cotton stocks around their faces. In the thin glimmer before them, Steel saw a door. It appeared to be shut, although there was light clear to see around its edges. He prayed that it would be open. And then he was against it. The column came to a clanking, shuddering halt. Men swore and sweated and prayed.
Steel leant against the wooden frame and pushed. Nothing happened. He pushed again. It was solid. Christ, he thought, the French had found it and blocked it up and he and his men were trapped. A terrible possibility occurred to him. It must now be close on three o’clock in the afternoon – there would be no time to get out of the tunnel before the tide began to come in. He wondered how high it rose in the tunnel. Certainly the ground had seemed dry enough. But how long would they be baulked like this? And if the French decided to open the door of their stinking prison, they would be shot like rats in a barrel. There was always the probability too that if they stayed where they were they would gradually die of asphyxiation or, when the allied cannon on the shore above the trenches began the bombardment which would precede the main attack they would be trapped by explosions within the town, or blown to pieces as their own guns raked the walls with fire. He wondered how long they had until any or all of that happened. He pushed and pushed again at the door. They had lost valuable time already; he tried to imagine how much. Ten minutes? The sweat was pouring off him now. He turned back into the darkness.
Squeezing themselves into a space that had only ever been designed to take one small man, Steel and the two Grenadiers put all their weight against the wood and shoved. Slowly, to Steel’s intense relief, the door at last began to move. Within seconds it was fully open. Light poured into the entrance. They were standing in the outer tunnel now and the light cascaded down upon them from the slits in the rock. Steel saw the reason for their difficulties. Someone, presumably Fabritius and his friends, had placed three stout wooden barrels filled to capacity against the door to disguise it from anyone who happened to poke their nose down the main tunnel. The deception had worked, but Steel wondered whether the Belgian would have realized how heavy the weight of those barrels would have seemed to those opening the door and what terror his ruse had caused in their ranks. No matter, they were in.
Steel waved Slaughter on ahead and turned to Williams: ‘Tom, follow me.’
His plan when they emerged into the town was to leave Hansam in command of the leading platoon and take Williams, Slaughter and a handful of men in search of Trouin and Lieutenant Lejeune. Two by two now, the Grenadiers filed through the narrow doorway and into the wider passageway, which led directly into the base of the citadel. Now, thought Steel, the fun will begin. They might be inside, but how did you hide a company of redcoats in a fortified town teeming with the enemy? As if in answer from twenty yards ahead of him, on top of the inner rampart, there came a terrific explosion and he watched as the packed earth erupted and bricks, shards of stone and clods of clay were flung ten, twenty feet into the air.
He turned to Slaughter: ‘Bugger me, Jacob. Those are our guns firing. They’ve begun the bombardment early. Now we’re for it.’
The sergeant, relieved to be free of the tunnel and keen to be at the French, grinned at him. ‘Well at least we don’t need to hide any more, sir.’
Up above they could hear the sound of men scurrying to man the embrasures, officers shouting shrill commands in French. Steel snapped back to his senses and turned to Slaughter.
‘Sarn’t, I think that we might dispense with any pretence of secrecy now, don’t you? Have the men make ready their grenades. And have them replace their headgear. If we’re going to die, we’re damn well going to do so with dignity.’
Slaughter smiled again and barked the order: ‘Replace caps.’
Above their heads a French captain heard the words and instantly grasped the situation – redcoats in mitre caps – the English were within the walls. Steel heard the order.
‘Tirez!’
No sooner had he heard it than a half-dozen musketballs were whistling past his face. A man went down, hit in the arm and groaning.
Steel moved fast: ‘Take cover. Tom, Sarn’t Slaughter, with me. You men there, to me, now!’
There was a flight of stone steps a short distance away and Steel knew that if they were not to be pinned down here by French musketry, they had to get up on to the counterscarp, and those steps. They were their only hope. Without waiting for support he sprinted across the ditch towards the steps and realized to his relief that the others were right behind him. Another French shot struck home, puncturing the throat of one of the Grenadiers. He could not tell who. But Steel had made it to the steps and began to climb.
He called back to Hansam: ‘Henry. You have the company.’
Hansam nodded in acknowledgement and began to give commands. Steel glanced back down to the wider tunnel up which they had come. He had accomplished the first part of his task. The gate lay open now and he knew that soon the men of the Dutch battalion in support would be pouring up the tunnel in their wake. Now, he thought, to find Trouin. And his mission was no longer for Marlborough and Hawkins alone. For only in taking revenge, Steel realized, would he ease his conscience and assuage the growing guilt at Brouwer’s death.
A noise made him look up as he climbed and he saw before him an officer of French infantry with his sword outstretched. Behind him, rattling down the steps, came four of his men. Steel knew the only way to meet him was to attempt the unexpected. Rather than stand and wait for the officer’s attack, he lunged forward himself so that the Frenchman’s own impetus carried his body hard on to the point of Steel’s blade. The officer’s eyes spread wide with terror as he felt the weapon penetrate his torso. He looked down, tried to clutch at it and then Steel withdrew the weapon and still advancing, pushed the dying man off the steps. The men behind were thrown into confusion. Steel could see that these were not the French infantry he was accustomed to meeting on the battlefield, but Walloon troops, French-speaking Belgians. For an instant they stood and faced him. Then one of the Grenadiers, Cussiter, he thought, discharged his fusil at one of the Frenchmen and the ball caught him on the cheek, spinning him round. That was enough. The other three, one of them dragging their wounded comrade, turned and fled back up the steps.
Steel raised his sword in the air: ‘Grenadiers, with me!’
With a great shout the redcoats came rushing up the steps behind him and as he reached the top of the flight he saw that the remainder of the section of Walloons had taken flight along the ramparts. He caught his breath and, standing on the parapet for a moment, glanced towards the allied lines and saw laid out before him the bulk of the force that had been selected to consolidate the attack. And seeing it he knew that, whatever might befall him now, surely the French must surrender the town. There were ten battalions in all, advancing steadily along the dunes towards the western gate. He knew that the balance of his own regiment, twelve companies of musketeers, were among them, with Colonel Farquharson at their head. And with them came their old friends from Ramillies: Meredith’s, Temple’s, Macartney’s, Farington’s and the Guards. He knew too that Argyll’s men were down there and wondered what sport the duke would enjoy today, how many Papists he might butcher in the name of humanity.
All that Hansam had to do now was hold the breach for the Dutch and then together the combined force would open the West Gate. If the resistance they met was as slight as that which Steel had just sent into a rout then the assault would be swift.
For his own part however, Steel knew that the day’s events had only just begun. Now, as he heard the firefight intensify at the mouth of the tunnel, he led his party away from Hansam and the core of the company and along the course of the wall, trying to remember the route Fabritius had taken and transpose it into reverse order. At length, to the left he saw an opening and motioning to the others to follow him, ducked into it. To his intense relief there was not a single Frenchman in sight. The end of the short tunnel through the second wall gave out on to a familiar street. Above his head the sound of running feet told him that, as planned, Hansam was drawing the garrison towards the gate.
He looked round to check his men. There were ten of them all told, including Williams. He had a feeling that Trouin would not be in his headquarters. That was too obvious and also too vulnerable a place. No, Steel knew that a man like Trouin needed to be at the hub of things. To exercise control he must be seen to be in the cockpit of command. His men might be fighting in the streets, but Trouin would be in the governor’s office. That was where they would take him.
Operating on instinct, Steel headed southeast and soon found the straight thoroughfare of St Sebastian Straat. He turned to Williams: ‘Tom, this street leads directly to the town hall. That’s where we’ll find Trouin. It’s too dangerous to march straight down it, we’d better use the sidestreets. But if we get separated try to keep on this course. Understood?’
‘Sir.’
Still in single file, Steel led the party right and left down a series of narrow streets. They saw no one and even amid the intermittent cannon fire as Marlborough’s shore batteries sent the cannonballs against the ramparts, their steps rang out on the cobbles with alarming clarity. There was noise, certainly, but it was the familiar clamour of men going into battle, commands being given to lay cannon and for companies to stand-to. Of the townspeople though, there was no sign, not just in the backstreets but along the wider avenues. The inhabitants, Steel guessed, must have gathered in the shelters, desperate to avoid the bloody fray that they knew must soon envelop their homes. They turned to the right and the area seemed strangely familiar. Steel realized that he had been here before. Although part of Christian Straat had been disfigured by the allied bombardment and several houses lay in ruins, this was clearly the street to which poor Marius Brouwer had brought them on his first visit. In fact his house was only a few doors away from where they now stood.
Suddenly, Slaughter caught Steel’s arm and whispered softly, ‘D’you see, sir? By the door over there.’
Steel had seen it. There, in the doorway of Marius Brouwer’s little house, was a shadowy form. It stood, motionless and barely visible in the deserted town under the dim light from the horned moon. From its stature and the silhouette though Steel could tell that it was a man, and that he was armed with a sword. He was about to approach when there was a sudden commotion ahead of them. Steel pressed himself flat against the wall and the others followed. Looking down the street they saw a party of men, perhaps twenty or thirty of them, fully armed with muskets and an assortment of blades. They were running fast and the two in the lead and another pair to the rear each carried a flaming pitch-covered wooden torch. While several wore the white coats of regular French infantry, others were in civilian dress or the faded coats of other armies. And in the torchlight, even at a distance, Steel recognized several of them as Trouin’s men. They were coming hard down the street now, straight towards the Grenadiers it seemed. Surely now, he thought, they must be seen. He prepared to fight, looked at Slaughter and nodded. And then, without letting up in their pace, the men turned sharply to the right down a smaller alleyway, in what Steel reckoned to be the direction of the West Gate. And as they did so the orange light from the torches carried by the last two in the group momentarily illuminated the figure in Brouwer’s doorway. Then the street was returned to shadow and silence. But it had been enough and Steel was in no doubt. He would have known that profile anywhere.