Fire and Sword by Edward Marston Read Free Book Online Page A

injecting a faint note of deference into his voice. ‘On reflection, you may well come to see that the siege of Huy is the better option.’
    Burgundy was peremptory. ‘It’s out of the question.’
    ‘Will you spurn my advice in such a cavalier fashion?’
    ‘We’ll move towards Brussels.’
    ‘May I remind you that I was in charge of operations in Flanders last year?’ said Vendôme, cheeks reddening. ‘I know the terrain well. I know how best to make use of its natural advantages. More to the point,’ he went on as if playing a trump card, ‘I understand the way that Marlborough thinks and acts. I can anticipate him.’
    ‘Then it’s a pity your anticipation wasn’t more fruitful lastyear,’ said Burgundy with a touch of condescension, ‘or the campaign would not have ended in an impasse. That will not happen under my command, I assure you. I’m working to achieve a decisive result.’
    Vendôme scowled. ‘All that you’re doing is to squander an opportunity to strike a telling blow.’
    ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, my lord Duke.’
    ‘It’s the advice of a veteran soldier.’
    ‘Nobody questions your long record.’
    ‘But that, by implication, is what you’re doing,’ said Vendôme with a hostile stare. ‘In rejecting my plan, you’re suggesting that it’s worthless.’ He pulled himself to his full height. ‘I’ve fought and won battles. I think you should remember who I am.’
    ‘It’s rather difficult to forget,’ said Burgundy, wearily. ‘Perhaps it’s you who should remember that I’m in command here. You are in the presence of a prince of the blood.’
    Biting back a reply, Vendôme stood there fuming and looked as if he was about to explode. Burgundy remained composed and that drove his visitor to an even greater pitch of fury. Unable to put his feelings into polite words, Vendôme simply spun round and stormed out. As he strode through the camp with his eyes blazing, nobody dared to approach him. Instead, they stepped quickly out of his way. When he reached his own tent, Vendôme thrust the flap aside and burst in, reaching for a flagon of wine and pouring a full glass. He flopped down ontohis chair and took a long sip of wine. Brooding on the way he’d been rebuffed, he was oblivious to everything else. He didn’t even hear the tent flap open or see the head that popped tentatively in. Nor did he hear the deliberate cough made by the newcomer. It was only when the man stepped into the tent that Vendôme at last became aware of his presence.
    ‘What do you want?’ he growled, looking up.
    ‘You sent for me, Your Grace.’
    ‘The devil I did! Who, in God’s name, are you?’
    ‘Lieutenant Valeran.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Raoul Valeran.’ With a slight bow, he moved backwards. ‘I can see that I’m intruding. Pray, excuse me.’
    ‘No, no,’ said Vendôme, looking at him properly for the first time. ‘Stay here. I do believe that I may have sent for you.’
    ‘If this is an inconvenient moment…’
    ‘Say no more, Lieutenant.’
    Vendôme put a finger to his lips to reinforce the order then he gave a lazy smile. He studied Valeran from head to toe and was delighted with what he saw. The lieutenant was a tall, slender, handsome young man with an air of boyish innocence about him. He had a natural elegance that had caught Vendôme’s attention and prompted him to find out the officer’s name. Anger slowly gave way to desire. Vendôme needed something that would help him forget theway his advice had been rejected by Burgundy. Here was the perfect distraction. Eyes never leaving his guest, he had a much longer drink then he reached for the flagon.
    ‘Come on in, Raoul,’ he invited, running a tongue over his lips. ‘I’d like you to join me in a glass of wine.’
     
    The last time that Daniel had disguised himself as Marcel Daron, he’d been hounded by a French patrol. He was more circumspect on this occasion, joining a group of other travellers who’d be