St. John leaned his elbows on the table and looked intently into his friend’s face.
“Develop the powers of observation, Henry, my boy. Have you ever considered the power of words? Ah, I see you have. A man of your er … intelligence … I almost said genius, Harry; but perhaps that is a word which should not be rashly employed. No word should be rashly employed perhaps. Remember, my dear boy, that this is a discussion on the importance of words. Words! Words! They are more powerful than cannon. Have you ever heard it said that Lillibullero won the victory for Dutch William more certainly than his army? In the last few years words have formed a part of our lives. Lampoons … sly verses … street songs … These Harry are the weapons which have made thrones tremble. Just think if Catholic James could have found a scribbler to give the right words to him the Queen might not be on the throne today. Ah, Harry, you smile. I see you think this is one of my discourses. I talk as so many do, for the sake of talking. I am not sure whether I do or not. But tonight when I am in my cups … I shall be sure, for drinking—in my case—clears the head, Harry. You see I am not as other men for which I might say Thank God had not the Pharisee said it before me and been held up as an example of hypocrisy. I am a hypocrite perhaps. Who shall say? And who is wise to say anything of a man until his time has run out. You only judge a man’s life at his death, Harry. Now look at that fellow over there. I am going to invite him to our table.”
St. John was alert. He knew that it was for the purpose of inviting this fellow to the table that Harley had come to the coffee house.
A man of medium height with a sallow complexion and dark hair—he wore no wig—came over to the table.
“Sir,” he said with a bow, “your servant.”
“Be seated,” said Harley. “But first meet a friend, Henry St. John, who is eager to make your acquaintance.”
St. John looked startled, but Harley smiled.
“Harry, this is Daniel Defoe—a literary man. I hope you are acquainted with his work?”
The man turned his eager eyes on St. John who, taking his cue from Harley, said modestly: “It is an omission which I intend to rectify without delay.”
The grey eyes were idealist, the hooked nose and sharp chin betrayed a strength.
What is Harley up to? wondered St. John. But he began to guess.
He was going to use Defoe as he used everyone. Harley was a brilliant schemer; he was not called Robin the Trickster for nothing.
He was going to stand with Marlborough and Godolphin as one of the almighty three, but Harley was not the man to be one of three. He would want to stand alone, supreme.
This band of men, of whom Defoe was one, would be the secret army. They held a more deadly weapon than the generals, but the generals were too foolish to realize this. It was men such as Mr. Harley who were a step ahead of their contemporaries who became the leaders.
Harley had decided to use the hidden weapon against his foes. The Marlboroughs thought they were going to rule the country because of Sarah’s ascendancy over the Queen, but Harley had decided otherwise: he was going to stand supreme. And the fact that he had allowed Henry St. John to share this little confidence showed clearly that if St. John cared to attach himself to Harley he could go along with him; St. John cared. He cared very deeply.
So he was excited as he sat in the coffee house listening to talk between one of the country’s leading statesmen and the poor scribbler.
Parting was almost unendurable for John and Sarah. It was at such times that briefly they forgot ambition. Sarah was unable to control her tears—tears of sorrow were unusual with her, though she occasionally shed tears of rage. To let him go, her beloved John, into danger! So many hazards he would face; and he had so many enemies! What if she were never to see him again? Nothing then would be worthwhile. As for John, he had wanted to go to war for only at war could he prove his genius. He was a soldier first and foremost; he believed that this war was necessary to England. And yet what would he not have given at that moment of parting to leave everything and go back with Sarah to St. Albans.
He was worried about young John who was at cross purposes with his mother. Henrietta, now that she had escaped from the family circle by marriage, was as her mother said “saucy.” The only member of the family with whom Sarah really lived on amicable terms was Anne—and this was solely because Anne had a sweet disposition and it was impossible to quarrel with her.
He wanted to be in the circle of his family; he wished momentarily that he and Sarah could have abandoned ambition, the quest for wealth and fame … everything … to go and spend their days quietly at St. Albans … together … all through the days and nights.
Oddly enough he knew as they faced each other that Sarah felt the same—his wild tempestuous Sarah who could be tender only to him, and then rarely so. Yet, he told himself, for him her frequent anger made her occasional sweetness all the more precious.
She clung to him now. “Oh, John,” she whispered, “there’ll be dangers over there.”
“And here there’ll be dangers too. You will have to be careful of your behaviour, my love, for although I go to war with a ruthless enemy you stay behind in a country of tigers and wolves.”
Sarah’s eyes glinted momentarily. “I’d like to see them attack me. Just let them try.”
“They’ll try, Sarah. They’ll never cease to try.”
“I shall be ready for them. Now that I have got young Abigail Hill to take over some of the more unpleasant duties I have more time for important affairs. I’m thankful for that girl, John. She does her task well. And she is respectful and grateful.”
“As she should be.”
“As she should be. She dare not be otherwise. But it is rarely that I have to remind her what I have done for her. She should serve me well. But I’ll reward her.”
He touched her cheek lightly with his finger. “It is always well to reward a good servant.”
She took his hand and kissed it. “You will think of me when you are away?”
“Constantly.”
“Let not thoughts of me turn you from those of war. I want this finished quickly. I want you back in England.”
“You can be sure that I shall lose no time in hurrying to you.”
“Oh, my love, these are great days.”
“Yes,” he replied, “this will be warfare with a difference. I want to beat the French in the field and then march on to Paris to take their capital. That is the only way to beat the French.”
“And you’ll have opposition to those plans, I’ll warrant.”
“There is always opposition. To turn to Spain would be suicidal … and if we succeeded there no decision would have been reached.”
“Well, John Churchill, I do not think you are the man to let others fight your wars for you.”
“As usual my love is right.”
When the hour for parting had come and he must set sail, leaving her behind, Sarah declared her intention of seeing him go aboard, for she was determined to be with him until the very last moment.
“How I wish that I were coming with you!” she cried vehemently.
“Ah, my love, then I should indeed be happy. But there are affairs at home which need your attention.”
She nodded. “Have no fear. Sidney Godolphin will do as I wish and Harley seems amenable. I believe he is delighted that you selected him to join you. He as much as told me so.”
“He’s a clever fellow whom we can’t afford to have as an enemy.”
“I shall be watching them. I wish I didn’t have to listen to Morley’s gossip. Sometimes I could scream at the old fool to be silent.”
“You must never do that, Sarah.”
“I believe that woman would take anything … just anything from me.”
“I beg you do not put it to the test.”