Free Fire and Sword by Edward Marston

stole the uniform of a French officer. I want to know who he is.’ He put a hand on Valeran’s shoulder then lifted it to brush back a wisp of the lieutenant’s hair. ‘I need a name, Raoul,’ he said, eyes glinting, ‘then the hunt can begin.’

C HAPTER S IX
    Lieutenant Jonathan Ainley was a tall, thin, pale-faced man with a long, beaky nose competing for facial dominance against an unusually large and dimpled chin that curved upwards. An efficient officer, he’d settled well into army life and learnt to accept its many shortcomings without complaint. Set against its defects, however, there were definite advantages. One of these was the warm camaraderie that existed and Ainley relished this aspect of his chosen lot. Drawing on their support, he was excessively friendly and obliging to all his fellow officers. In the case of Daniel Rawson, he hovered close to hero worship.
    ‘Tell me the story in your own words,’ he urged.
    Daniel shook his head. ‘There’s nothing to tell, Jonathan.’
    ‘Nothing to tell?’ echoed Ainley. ‘If I’d abducted a French officer then used his uniform as a disguise, I’d be crowing about it from the rooftops.’
    ‘That’s perhaps why you’re not involved in espionage,’ said Daniel. ‘When you gather intelligence, discretion is everything. How did you come to hear about it?’
    ‘A little bird told me, Daniel.’
    ‘Then he’s been singing too loud. You might warn him that if I find out who he is, I’ll tie his beak shut.’
    ‘You’re among friends. Why not share your adventures?’
    ‘Loose tongues can cause trouble,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m sure that the major who loaned me his uniform has found that out by now. My guess is that he’s been severely punished.’
    ‘Whereas you should be feted for what you achieved.’
    ‘I did what I was told to do, Jonathan – no more, no less.’
    ‘You ought to take some pride in your exploits.’
    ‘Oh, I do,’ admitted Daniel, ‘but only in private.’
    They were standing outside Ainley’s tent in the British camp, surrounded by activity and forced to raise their voices above the routine clamour. Drums were beating nearby as soldiers were being drilled. Supply wagons were rolling noisily past. Distant orders were being barked out. Artillery was arriving. Nobody took any notice of the light drizzle that started to fall. After the heavy rain that greeted the arrival of spring, it was a relief.
    ‘I’m surprised that His Grace could spare you,’ said Ainley. ‘You’re such an important member of his personalstaff that he must want you constantly by his side.’
    ‘You overrate my importance, Jonathan,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m a very junior member of the staff. I’m far more useful if I gather intelligence than I would be if I sat in endless meetings with His Grace.’
    ‘I thought you acted as his interpreter.’
    ‘I do on occasion. My command of Dutch, French and German has been put to good use. But I’m not needed when Major General Cadogan is there, because he speaks all three languages.’
    ‘Heaven knows how he mastered Dutch. It’s so complicated.’
    Daniel smiled. ‘That’s exactly what the Dutch say about English because they find it so fiendishly difficult to learn.’
    ‘All I’ve ever managed are a few phrases in French,’ said Ainley, scratching his chin. ‘Not that it matters, I suppose. On the battlefield, we speak the universal language of brute force.’
    ‘It is tempered with some subtler tones,’ replied Daniel.
    He was about to explain what he meant when he spotted the unmistakable frame of Henry Welbeck coming towards him and hailed his friend with a wave. Since Daniel was in the company of another officer, the sergeant spoke with more formality.
    ‘Good morning, Captain,’ he said. ‘Good morning, Lieutenant.’ The two men exchanged greetings with him. ‘I was wondering if there was any news about those men whoraided two farms then burnt them to the ground?’
    ‘I’ve