Mahon could be seen ahead, past a racket court in use by two rowdy midshipmen, the houses by degrees turning urban and sophisticated. The two nodded pleasantly to local people in their pretty gardens; Kydd wondered how he would feel if conquering officers passed his front door. Nevertheless there was more than one friendly wave.
Several paths and avenues led from the one they were on and it became clear that they needed directions. ‘Knock on th’ door?’ Kydd suggested.
After some minutes they heard, ‘¿Que quiere?’ A short man wearing round spectacles emerged suspiciously.
‘Ah, we are English officers, er, inglese,’ Kydd tried.
Renzi smiled. ‘Your Italian does you credit, my friend, but what is more needed now—’
‘Goodness gracious me!’ Both turned in astonishment at the perfect English. ‘So soon! But – dare I be as bold – your honourable presence is made more welcome by your absence, these sixteen year.’
Kydd blinked. ‘Er, may we ask if this is th’ right road f’r Mahon?’
‘Ah! So many years have I not heard this word! Only the English call it Marn – the Spanish is Ma-hon, but we Minorquin call it Ma-ó, you see.’
‘Then—’
‘You are certainly on the highway to ciudad Maó – forgive me, it has been many years… Sadly, though, you will now find Maó in the comfortable state we call siesta.’
He drew himself up. ‘But, gentlemen, it would be my particular honour to offer you the refreshments of the road.’
‘You are too kind, sir,’ Renzi said elegantly, with a bow.
They were soon seated in an enchanting arbour in a small garden at the front of a Mediterranean white house, all set about with myrtle, jasmine and vines and with a splendid view down into the harbour. The man withdrew and they heard shrill female protests overborne with stern male tones before he reappeared.
‘My apologies. I am Don Carlos Piña, a merchant of oil of olive.’
The officers bowed and introduced themselves. A lady wreathed in smiles appeared with a tray, murmuring a politeness in what Kydd assumed was Mahon-ese. On the tray he recognised Xoriguer and there were sweetmeats that had him reaching out.
‘Ah! Those are the amargos. If they are too bitter, please to try the coquinyales here.’ Piña spoke to the woman, who coloured with pleasure. ‘My wife remember what you English like.’
The crunchy anisette indeed complemented the gin and lemon cordial but Kydd had to say what was on his mind: ‘D’ ye please tell me, sir, why you are not offended at our bein’ here?’
Piña smiled broadly. ‘Our prosperity is tied to the English – when you left in ’eighty-two our trade suffer so cruel where before we trade with the whole world. Now by chance it will return.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ Renzi contributed.
Piña flourished the Xoriguer. ‘I toast His Majesty King George – King George th’ Three! I hope he enjoy good health?’ he added anxiously.
‘He is still our gracious sovereign,’ Renzi replied.
‘Please! Gentlemen, you may toast to the return of Lady Fortune to Minorca!’
Renzi asked earnestly, ‘Sir, this is such an ancient island. The Moors, Romans, Phoenicians – surely they have left their mark on the land, perhaps curious structures, singular artefacts?’
‘There is no end of them,’ Piña said brightly, ‘but there are also the navete of the Talaiot – before even the Roman, they build boats of stone! No man know what they are. We never go near.’ He crossed himself fervently, bobbing his head.
‘Excellent!’ said Renzi.
‘And if you are interested in Minorca, good sir, I recommend to your attention the town of Migjorn Gran, in which you will find many learned in the ancient ways of our island.’
Kydd put down his glass. ‘And Maó is not far ahead?’
‘I’m delaying you!’ Piña said, in consternation. ‘Before you leave, the abrazo!’ To Kydd’s embarrassment he was seized in an embrace. ‘So! Now you are for us the hermanito, our ver’ good friend!’
Mahon bustled with excitement. It seemed a declaration of open trade was to be gazetted immediately by the English, and merchants scurried to prepare for prosperous times. The dignified but sleepy town was waking up and the purposeful hurry of the population was in marked contrast to Kydd and Renzi’s leisured pace.
Noble churches stood among a maze of busy streets; an ancient archway glowered at the top of one, and there were shops of every sort between lofty residence with balconies. Kydd was charmed by the little town, which had in parts an almost English reserve. On impulse, he stopped as they were passing a handicrafts shop. ‘Nicholas, I’d like t’ take something o’ Minorca back to m’ mother as a remembrance. A piece o’ lace?’
They entered the quiet interior of the shop. It took a few seconds for Kydd’s eyes to adjust to the gloom after the glare of the sun but then he saw the girl behind the counter. ‘Er, can I see y’ lace – for m’ mother…’ He tailed off, seeing her grave attention.
But she gave a delighted squeal. ‘You are Engliss? Que suerte haberte conocido! I always want to meet an Engliss gentleman, my mother she say—’
‘If we are to make the cloisters by angelus we must step out,’ said Renzi, sharply.
‘Cloisters?’ said Kydd, distracted.
‘We have much yet to admire, brother.’
Tenacious was first to be warped across the harbour to the dockyard for survey: she had suffered at the Nile with her lighter framing, and a worrying increase in bilge pumping was possibly the result of a shot taken between wind and water.
It did not take long to find the cause: two balls landing not far apart below the waterline had damaged a run of several strakes. They would have to be replaced. With the ship canted to one side by capstans to expose her lower hull she was barely inhabitable and, with the prospect of possibly months at the dockyard, her officers quickly realised that lodgings ashore would be much more agreeable. The best location was evident: Carrer San Roc in the centre of Mahon, where fine town-houses in the English style were to be readily engaged.
A small but comfortable establishment with quaint furniture from the reign of one of the previous Georges met the bill, and Kydd and Renzi moved in without delay. It was a capital headquarters for further exploration of the island.
Renzi laid down his Reflections on the Culture and Antiquity of Iberia. ‘It is said that the western Ciudadela is of quite another character,’ he mused, nursing his brandy. ‘Suffered cruelly from the Turks but still retains splendid edifices – but the people are of the Castilian Spanish and have no love for an Englishman.’
Kydd picked up a dog-eared newspaper and settled into his high-backed chair. ‘An’ I heard fr’m one o’ the midshipmen that t’ take away a boat and sail around the island would be prime – there’s snug coves an’ beaches all up the coast.’
‘Where, then, is your warlike ardour, your lofty aspirations to laurels?’
‘With our ship in dock? Little chance t’ find such… but there are compensations,’ Kydd said, with a private smile and raised his paper again.
‘Oh?’ Renzi said.
‘Nicholas, I saw Love’s Labour’s Lost is t’ be staged tonight. Do ye fancy t’ attend at all?’
‘Well, if we—’
‘Unfortunately the captain wants t’ sight m’ journals, I must complete ’em. But do go y’self, I beg!’
‘Actually, this volume is an engrossing account of your Hispanic in all his glory. I rather fancy I shall spend a quiet evening here.’
‘Nicholas, m’ friend, you will do y’r eyes a grievous injury with all this readin’. In th’ big church they’re presentin’ a concert o’ music especially t’ welcome the English. Why not go an’ enjoy this? There’s all y’r favourite composers, er, Pergylasy and—’
‘I see I must,’ Renzi said flatly, and Kydd coloured. Later, leaving for the concert, he nearly collided with someone walking in haste. He had last seen her at the lace counter.
Kydd
had to admit the forced idleness was not altogether an imposition. He was seated at a table in a small taberna with Renzi, enjoying a good bottle of red wine and the fine view from their position at the top of the cliff-like edge of the town into the glittering emerald length of the harbour. ‘Y’r good health, Nicholas,’ he said complacently, raising his glass.
‘A most underrated and priceless gift,’ Renzi murmured, lifting his glass and staring into it.
‘Er, wha—?’
‘Robust health, in course, brother. Worth more than diamonds and rubies, this can never be bought with coin – it is always a gift from nature to man, which never asks aught in return.’
‘Just so, Nicholas. But do you mark that barque comin’ around th’ point? She’s English.’ This was a welcome sight in the Mediterranean that, before Nelson’s victory, had been cleared of English flagged vessels. ‘A merchantman,’ Kydd said lazily, and pulled out his little spyglass. ‘Cautious master, fat ’n’ comfortable – wonder what she’s carryin’.’
The vessel went into the wind, brailing up and coming to a standstill. Lines were carried ashore by boat and in one movement the ship was rotated seaward again and brought alongside the landing-place near the customs house, just below where they sat.
Curious, Kydd focused on a colourful group on her afterdeck. From attentions given they must be passengers, and important ones at that: the brow was quickly in place for their disembarkation before the sailors had even begun snugging down to a good harbour furl.
Something about one of them, however, caught his attention: unconscious cues in the way she walked, the movement of her hands, which he knew so well…
‘Nicholas – I’d swear… It must be!’ He jumped to his feet. ‘I’m goin’ down. It’s Cecilia!’
A narrow inclined pathway zigzagged to the water and Kydd hurtled down it, then finally emerged on to the busy wharf.
‘Cecilia, ahoy!’ he shouted, waving furiously, but an open-topped carriage drove away just as he came close.
He stared after it foolishly but a woman’s voice behind him squealed, ‘Thomas! Is that you?’ He turned to see his sister flying towards him. ‘My darling brother!’ she said happily, embracing him. When she released him, her eyes were glistening.
‘Cec – what are y’ doing here?’
‘We’re to establish in Minorca, Thomas. Lord Stanhope is to treat with the Austrians to—But why are you here?’
Kydd pointed across the harbour to where the ugly bulk of Tenacious’s hull lay on its side. ‘This is now th’ home of the Royal Navy in the Mediterranean, Cec, and Tenacious is bein’ repaired.’
A disgruntled wharfinger touched his hat with one finger. ‘Where’m they ter take yer baggage, then, miss?’
‘Thomas – I have to go. Where can I see you again?’
‘An’ it’s a shillun an hour ter wait for yez.’ The arms were folded truculently.
‘Here, sis.’ Kydd pulled out one of his new-printed calling cards. ‘Tonight it’s t’ be a rout f’r all hands – an’ you’re invited.’
The evening promised to be a roaring success – other than Renzi, no officer had met Kydd’s sister and all were bowled over. He had to admit it, Cecilia was flowering into a real beauty, her strong character now veiled beneath a sophistication learned from attending many social events in her position as companion to Lady Stanhope. But what really got the occasion off to a splendid start was the discovery that Cecilia had been in London when the news of the great battle of the Nile had broken. ‘Oh, you cannot possibly conceive the noise, the joy! All of London in the streets, dancing, shouting, fireworks – you couldn’t think with all the din!
‘There were rumours for weeks before, it’s true, but you must know we were all in a horrid funk about the French! All we heard was that Admiral Nelson had missed the French fleet and it was taking that dreadful General Buonaparte to land an army on us somewhere – you cannot imagine what a panic!
‘Then Captain Capel arrived at the Admiralty with dispatches and the town went mad. Every house in masses of illuminations, bells ringing, cannon going off, Lady Spencer capering in Admiralty House, the volunteers drilling in Horseguards firing off their muskets – I can’t tell you how exciting it was.’
Under the soft touch of the candlelight her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes hushed the room and had many an officer looking thoughtful.
‘Lord Stanhope would not be denied and we left England immediately for Gibraltar, for he had instructions to establish in the Mediterranean as soon as it was practical. It wasn’t long before we heard that Minorca was taken – and so here we are!’
‘And right welcome y’ are, Cec – ain’t that so, Nicholas?’
His friend sat back, but his eyes were fixed on Cecilia’s as he murmured an elegant politeness. She smiled sweetly and continued gaily, ‘Thomas, really, it was quite incredible – in every village we passed they had an ox roast and such quantities of people supping ale and dancing on the green. In the towns they had special illuminations like a big “HN” or an anchor in lights and several times we were stopped until we’d sung “Rule Britannia” twice!’
It was strangely moving to hear of the effect of their victory in his far-distant home country. ‘So, Jack Tar is well esteemed now, sis,’ Kydd said lightly.
Cecilia looked at him proudly. ‘You’re our heroes now,’ she said. ‘Our heroes of the Nile! You’re famous – all of you! They’re rising and singing in your honour in all the theatres. There’s poetry, ballads, broadsheets, prints – there’s talk that Admiral Nelson will be made a duke and that every man will get a medal. There’s been nothing like it this age, I swear.’
Kydd hurried into their drawing room. ‘Nicholas! We’ve been noticed, m’ friend. This card is fr’m the Lord Stanhope, expressin’ his earnest desire t’ hear of the famous victory at th’ first hand – that’s us, I believe – at afternoon tea at the Residency on Friday.’
‘So, if this is a species of invitation, dear chap, then it follows that it should contain details of our expected attire, the—’
‘An’ here’s a note from Cecilia. She says Lady Stanhope will be much gratified should we attend in full dress uniform…’
It was odd, on the appointed day, to leave their front door and simply by crossing the road and walking to the end of the street to be able to present themselves at the door of Lord Stanhope’s discreet mansion, such was the consequence of the English propensity to stay together.
‘Lieutenants Kydd and Renzi,’ Kydd told the footman. It seemed that the noble lord could afford English domestic staff – but then he remembered that Stanhope was in the diplomatic line and probably needed to ensure discretion in his affairs.
They entered a wide hallway where another servant took their cocked hats. Kydd was awed by the gold filigree on the furniture, the huge vases, the rich hangings – all spoke of an ease with wealth that seemed so natural to the high-born. He glanced at Renzi, who came of these orders, but saw that his friend had a withdrawn, preoccupied look.
They moved on down the passage. ‘My dear sea-heroes both!’ Cecilia was in an ivory dress, in the new high-waisted fashion – which gave startling prominence to her bosom, Kydd saw with alarm.
They entered a drawing room and Kydd met, for the first time since very different circumstances in the Caribbean, the Lord Stanhope and his wife. He made a leg as elegantly as he could, aware of Renzi beside him.
‘Dear Mr Kydd, how enchanting to meet you again.’ The last time Lady Stanhope had seen him was in the Caribbean – as a young seaman in charge of a ship’s boat in a desperate bid to get vital intelligence to the British government. Seaflower cutter, in which the Stanhopes had been travelling, was beached ashore after a storm. Lord Stanhope, although injured, could not wait for rescue and Kydd had volunteered to take to sea in the tiny vessel.
‘Your servant,’ Kydd said, with growing confidence, matching his bow to the occasion.
‘And Mr Renzi. Pray do take some tea. Cec
ilia?’
The formalities complete, they sat down. Kydd manoeuvred his delicate porcelain cup manfully, privately reflecting on the tyranny of politeness that was obliging him to drink from a receptacle of such ridiculous size.
‘Now, you must know we are beside ourselves with anticipation to hear of Nelson and his glorious triumph. Do please tell us – did you meet Sir Horatio himself?’
Suddenly shy, Kydd looked to Renzi, but his friend gave no sign of wishing to lead the conversation. He remained reserved and watchful.
‘Aye, I did – twice! He spoke t’ us of our duty and…’ It was easy to go from there to the storm, the long-drawn-out chase, the final sighting and the great battle itself. At that point he saw Cecilia’s intense interest and felt awkward, but again Renzi seemed oddly introspective and offered no help. He therefore sketched the main events of the contest and concluded his account with the awesome sight that had met their eyes on the dawn, and their rapturous welcome at Naples.
‘Well, I do declare! This will all be talked about for ages to come, there can be no doubt about it. Pray, where is Sir Horatio at the moment? Is he not with the fleet here?’
‘No, y’r ladyship. He’s still in Naples – y’ understand, the King o’ Naples has been uncommon kind t’ us in the matter of fettlin’ the ships an’ entertaining us after our battle, and…’ he tailed off as he noticed Stanhope’s eyes narrowing suspiciously ‘. . . he’ll probably be with us directly.’
He sipped his tea although it was now tepid. His admiral’s disposition was no business of his and he could not understand Stanhope’s disquiet. Now would be a good time for Renzi to contribute a sage comment on the strategic implications of their victory but, annoyingly, he sat still as a statue, staring into space with unfocused eyes.
‘Er, I think it has somethin’ to do with the admiral wanting t’ rouse ’em up to face the French. An’ with the Austrians our, er, friends t’ help – not forgettin’ that the Queen o’ Naples is sister t’ the emperor,’ he added weakly.
‘The late emperor,’ Stanhope corrected automatically, but his frown had deepened and Kydd felt out of his depth.
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