Man of Honour by Iain Gale Page A

this Colonel Hawkins and knew his reputation both in the field and out. It was said that as a younger man, during the wars of the Grand Alliance, Hawkins had taken the fort of Dixmude all but singlehanded. His capacity for drink was also well known and Steel could see from his now somewhat corpulent build and ruddy complexion that the latter at least was certainly justified. But whatever his predilections, there was precious little that James Hawkins did not know about soldiering. For all his stoutness, he still cut a dashing figure and his round face seemed to wear a fixed smile, helped by the subtle line of an old scar which ran up the side of his left cheek and which at the same time concealed behind it any inkling of what his true thoughts might have been.
    He looked at Steel and the crease of a smile changed to another grin.
    Steel looked puzzled.
    ‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant. You are not on a charge. Though I can’t say that I’m not tempted. You’ve led me a dance almost as merry as that you were leading our Major Jennings. No, I have sought you out not for punishment but for a quite different reason. Come. We’ll go to my quarters.’
    He turned to Hansam.
    ‘Oh, Lieutenant Hansam. You may accompany us, if you wish. Come along. We do not mind. Do we Steel?’
    With Steel and Hawkins walking at the front, the three officers walked together through the cobbled streets, mostly in silence although from time to time Hawkins made a comment about the inordinate amount of filth in the gutters, the changeable weather and variable quality of the local wine. They took first a left and then a right turn, ducking beneath the open galleries of the half-timbered shops and houses, until at length they arrived at a modest house whose merchant owner, wherever he might now be, had evidently spent some effort and no little money in embellishing its façade with neo-classical motifs in the latest style.
    ‘My servant found it. It is a little de trop , don’t you think. But still it’s comfortable enough.’
    Hawkins showed the two men into the hall and through to the parlour which showed similar signs of ‘improving’ design. He motioned for them to sit before the fire and poured three large glasses of wine.
    ‘Now gentlemen. Or more specifically, Lieutenant Steel, to our purpose. The battle is won and you gentlemen, whatever Major Jennings might say, played a great part in its winning. It was a glorious victory, but mark you, at a price. In Vienna the Emperor talks already of making Marlborough a Prince.The Queen herself, I dare say, has written to him. We may have won a battle and strategically are in a good position. But gentlemen, in London we are undone. Fifteen hundred dead Britons does not make pretty reading. The Tories will say that Marlborough is finished. They will ask why so many men should have fallen to take one hill. And soon they will start to to call for his dismissal. We need to move fast before any such harm can be done. We must persuade the Elector, by military might, to come over to us and abandon his French allies or we must frighten him into submission. For both we need an army that is fit to fight.
    ‘But there is another problem. To advance we must be supplied. This town with its alehouses and courtesans may seem like the Elysian Fields to you gentlemen. But the troops are wanting. There is no bread. Flour cannot be got. Do you know how many hundredweight of bread a day this army requires merely to march, let alone fight? I will tell you. Sixty thousand men need 900 hunderweight of flour. Of course, we have our field commissary from the agency of commissioners of supply and transport. We have our agents also. And they’re all admirable men in their field: Solomon and Moses Medina. And His Grace the Duke of Würtemberg has sent to his country for 200 wagons to help bring on the stores. But first gentlemen, we must have the stores themselves. It appears that flour cannot be got from the usual channels