Adam Cardonnel was extremely able and intensely loyal. He was the son of Huguenot refugees who had fled from the atrocities in France that followed the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes twenty years earlier. Sickened by the persecution, he had vowed to fight against the all-conquering army of Louis XIV; and Cardonnel's mastery of French was a potent weapon. Marlborough relied heavily on him and his secretary was never found wanting. The captain-general of the British forces was a striking figure even though he was now in his fifties. He was known for his grace, natural authority and infinite charm. Only close friends like Cardonnel were allowed to see him in blacker moods and to know his innermost feelings.

'We must be satisfied with more modest gains this year,' said Cardonnel. 'It's foolish to hope for another Blenheim every time we take up arms.'

'I know, I know,' said Marlborough, shaking his head. 'We must be patient. The trouble is that patience requires time and I'm fast running out of it. Most commanders have retired before they reach my venerable age.'

Cardonnel was about to point out that Marlborough looked far younger than he really was when he was interrupted by a noise outside the tent. A guard entered.

'There's a French prisoner who insists on seeing you in person, Your Grace. He says that he has something of great value.'

'Has he been relieved of his weapons?'

'He handed them over when he arrived in camp.'

'Then let's see the fellow.'

The guard withdrew for a few moments then entered again with a blue-coated trooper who wore a neat moustache and pointed beard. The prisoner bowed and released a stream of French, gesticulating with both hands as he did so. Marlborough was mystified but Cardonnel burst out laughing.

'I hope that you understand the rogue, Adam,' said Marlborough, 'because I could only translate one word in ten.'