Daniel grinned. 'The chance to meet me, of course.'

'I'd rather forego that pleasure and stay out of uniform.'

'What about the other delights of army life?'

'I didn't know there were any, Dan.'

'There's the satisfaction of serving your country.'

'Where's the satisfaction in being shot at, stabbed at, kicked at, sworn at and spat at by a load of greasy Frenchies and their allies? All I do is to give the enemy target practice.' He pointed to the scar on his cheek. 'How satisfied do you think I felt when I got this?'

'Very satisfied,' said Daniel. 'You killed your attacker.'

'He haunts me every time I look in a mirror to shave.'

May had brought warm sunshine and the army had assembled as regiments left their winter quarters to join the column of march. By the middle of the month, they had crossed the River Meuse near Ruremond on pontoon bridges. It was at this point that Marlborough joined up with his men. It was also an occasion for Daniel Rawson to meet his discontented friend again. As evening shadows dappled the field, they were standing outside a tent in the encampment. Their regiment was part of a formidable army, comprising 14 battalions of infantry and 39 squadrons of cavalry, supported by 1700 supply wagons pulled by 5000 draught horses.

'We'll give the French a drubbing this year,' Daniel prophesied.

Welbeck grimaced. 'It will be another wild goose chase.'

'I've caught a lot of wild geese in my time, Henry.'

'Well, they didn't speak French, I know that. We can never get these bastards to stand still and fight. And what the hell are we doing here, anyway?' he complained. 'Why did we get dragged into a war of the Spanish Succession in the first place? I don't give a damn who puts his arse on the Spanish throne.'