Rules of War by Iain Gale Page B

bring us freedom. We thank you for that, sir.’
    As the man spoke, another villager had been translating and Steel saw that the entire group of men was smiling now.
    â€˜Sarn’t. Have the company stand down. I don’t think we need worry.’
    â€˜You are welcome, Captain. Please excuse us. We are peasants and to us many soldiers look the same. We have to be careful. But look, we have armed ourselves. And,’ he added proudly, ‘Iamanofficer. Like you.’
    He smiled, his face full of hope, and Steel, humouring him, responded with a respectful nod. ‘Well your men have no need to worry about the French any more. They are beaten. They won’t be back quickly. Where are we exactly?’
    â€˜You are in Wippendries. We are only a small village, but you are welcome to share what we have.’
    Steel surveyed the militia, took in their assortment of weapons and their ages. A single platoon of French regulars would have accounted for the lot of them in five minutes. But clearly, they had spirit and Steel knew that sometimes, on the battlefield, that could mean the difference between life and death for any troops – farmhands and guardsmen included.
    The man spoke again: ‘You are welcome to stay in our village, Captain. We would be honoured. Perhaps we can make up for shooting at you.’
    Steel laughed. ‘Perhaps. Don’t give it another thought.’
    You silly bugger, he thought. You don’t know how close you and your bunch of brave, stupid yokels came to death. If that shot had hit Tarling instead of his cap, we’d have had you quicker than any French bastards.
    â€˜We’ll stay the night if we may. It will be a good chancefor a rest. We’ve been forcing the march to catch the French.’
    â€˜That is good to hear, Captain. We hate the French. For too long they have been our masters here. Like you, if we see any French, we kill them.’
    While ordinarily Steel would have agreed, he found himself thinking again of Argyll’s outburst in Ramillies and couldn’t help but wonder that there was so much hatred in this campaign, of a sort he had not seen these past seven years. Not since the bloody carnage in the north when he had watched with horribly detached interest as the Swedes and Russians had bled each other dry. This was a new and unexpected twist to the war. He knew that the French had been an occupying power here in the Netherlands, but till now he had not been aware of just how much they had been resented. He should have been cheered, he knew, by the news that the Belgians were his allies, but instinctively, something told him that this was going to complicate the conduct of the campaign. And Steel did not like complications – especially when they involved civilians.
    Some six miles to the southwest, similar local hospitality was being extended to another allied soldier, albeit on a grander scale. The Duke of Marlborough stood, surrounded by his immediate military family and a small bodyguard of dragoons in the great hall of the ancient Château de Beaulieu, five miles north of Brussels. Despite the lavish reception which had been laid on in his honour, the commander-in-chief was not happy.
    â€˜I should not be here, William. This is not a general’s work and I am no politician. My place is out in the field, chasing the French, following up our victory. We cannot be complacent.’
    William Cadogan, quartermaster-general, laid a friendly hand upon the duke’s shoulder. ‘Your Grace, you must bepatient. The French this day have quit the capital. We shall enter Brussels tomorrow. We should rejoice. But before we can possess the city we have pressing business here. It is an affair of state and you are the de facto representative of Her Majesty. It is your duty.’
    Marlborough sighed and rubbed at his temples. ‘Yes, yes. I know. How my head does ache so. I have written to the duchess about it. I hope for a cure