Free Fire and Sword by Edward Marston Page B

marauding band on the rampage again.’
     
    The boy was ten, old enough to do his fair share of the chores on the little farm yet young enough to yearn for childish pleasures. When he’d finished work that afternoon, therefore, he ran off to the stream nearby to dangle his bare feet in the water while he carved a boat out of a piece of wood. Happilyengaged with his knife, he didn’t even look up when he heard the clatter of hooves on the road behind him. After shaving the prow of his vessel, he held it up to examine it from every angle. Deciding that it was still not ready, he carved the stern into a more rounded shape then ran a finger over it. Primitive as it was, the boat felt smooth and capable of staying afloat. At the exact moment when he launched it on the water, however, shots rang out from the farm and he jumped to his feet in alarm.
    He was less than forty yards away but shielded by the bushes growing along the bank of the stream. As he peered around them, he saw the most horrific sight. Three bodies lay on the ground. They belonged to his father and two elder brothers. Blood-curdling screams from the house were recognisably those of his mother and sister. His first instinct was to run to their defence, but what could he do against armed soldiers in red uniforms? There was an additional shock for the boy. He heard the crackle of fire and saw smoke rising from the barn. The next moment, he was forced to watch the livestock being driven off by some of the men. When the horses had been taken, the stables were set alight. His whole world was suddenly aflame.
    If he couldn’t stop them, he thought, he could at least get close enough to see who they were. Keeping low, he crept furtively towards the farm. The raiders didn’t even look in his direction. They were too busy seizing what they wanted. The fire had taken a firm hold now and the crackle had turnedinto a deafening roar. The boy moved steadily forward until he hit a wall of blistering heat that stopped him dead. When he glanced at the farmhouse, telltale wisps of smoke were now coming through the windows. His mother and his sister had stopped screaming but they were still inside. Desperate to help them, he was held back by the billowing flames.
    The attackers were pleased with their work and started to mount their horses. The last man to join them seemed to be their leader because he bellowed orders as he emerged from the farmhouse, doing up his belt. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he cackled happily before putting his foot in the stirrup and heaving himself up into the saddle. A sudden gust of wind then blew the flames away from the boy for a second. It was as if a curtain had been drawn back. What he saw, and what he would always remember, was the red beard and mad eyes of their leader, a big man with an evil laugh, who took one last look at the bonfire before giving the command to ride off with the day’s spoils. The wall of flame returned to block his vision and the boy could see no more.
    Somewhere downstream, his boat sailed bravely on.
     
    The Duke of Marlborough sat tight-lipped in consternation as Daniel delivered the report. Adam Cardonnel was the only other person in the tent and he was equally appalled at what he’d heard. Daniel tried to translate a garbled version of events into something more articulate. When the recitation was over, Marlborough wanted answers.
    ‘This happened this very afternoon, you say?’
    ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ replied Daniel.
    ‘And where exactly was the farm?’
    ‘It’s about ten miles west of here. If I may look over your shoulder for a moment,’ he said, standing behind Marlborough then pointing with his index finger at the map on the table, ‘it would be close to here.’
    ‘Then it’s on territory held by us,’ said Marlborough, worriedly. ‘Every farm on it has a right to our protection. The last thing we need to do is to turn the civilian population against us.’
    ‘Where did this information