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Deadly Shores (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 11)

Page 13

by Andrew Wareham


  Frederick sat back hopefully.

  “Three liners, two heavy frigates and a convoy. On their own, I believe this squadron may assail them with every prospect of success. I smell a rat, Mr Otis. The Frogs must know the strength of my squadron by now, and they will know as well that I could not possibly resist such a temptation as this. There must be more, sir. They must have some evil in mind, a trap into which I am to fall. What fun!”

  Mr Otis was a devotee of less hazardous forms of entertainment; he could find very little that was amusing in meeting with French devilment at sea.

  “I must go ashore, Sir Frederick. There is no alternative, but it smacks of entrapment to me. I wonder whether the French are under the impression that Lord Turner is still in your company. If they believed so, then it might make sense to them to give a sufficiency of accurate information that he must come ashore to discover the rest. Let me see now… Lord Turner was ennobled at least nine weeks ago. The news will have reached Paris inside two days – possibly quicker if they had pigeons to hand on the Kent coast. They will have put it on their telegraph and it will have been in the hands of their people in Toulon that same day. That allows some eight weeks for them to run the news to Barcelona. Easily possible. They really must be aware that Lord Turner is settled in London, where he may not be touched.”

  Frederick failed to understand that last comment.

  “I might have thought, Mr Otis, that Lord Turner was visible and easily killed in London, if they wished.”

  “No, unthinkable, Sir Frederick. If the French assassinated Lord Turner in London, then our people would kill in retaliation, and probably an official or politician of a higher level. Not a senior man in Paris would sleep comfortable in his bed ever again! They do not play that game, sir, because the tit-for-tat killings would never end. Think, sir, just how easy it would be to place a barrel of gunpowder where Bonaparte must be found on a particular day. He is alive solely because it would be equally possible for the French to kill the King, simpler still to butcher the Prince Regent or one of his brothers. That sort of killing would never end, Sir Frederick, and is not to be indulged in!”

  What a nasty trade it was, Frederick reflected.

  “How do you propose to go ashore, Mr Otis?”

  “By boat, Sir Frederick, and with neither escort nor pre-arrangement. I shall wander through the Saturday evening streets and knock upon the right door. If it is still right, then I shall return on Sunday morning if your boat will pick me up.”

  “Is that not to take a great risk, sir?”

  Mr Otis, shrugged, his bulk of flesh rippling unattractively.

  “Just occasionally, Sir Frederick, risk is part of the game.”

  “The decision must be yours, sir. I cannot countermand you.”

  Frederick leant back from his dining table, a glass to hand and his belly comfortably full. Fresh fish was all very well, but he was glad to have eaten of one of the last of the hams brought out from home.

  Sir Iain, equally replete, refilled his glass.

  “You know, Sir Iain, I have no great liking for Mr Otis, and I had wondered if he might not be a coward from some of the things he has said, but he is proposing a very brave act in going ashore.”

  Sir Iain listened to Frederick’s retelling of their conversation.

  “I had not thought him so bold, Sir Frederick. I am not necessarily the world’s best judge of my fellow man, but I did not put him down as a swaggering hero… I cannot, as well, see him slipping unnoticed through the streets of a great city… Might we speak to Manuel, perhaps?”

  “The interpreter, why?”

  “He has fought as an irregular and him I trust quite wholly as a brave man. Mr Otis must inform our boat where he is to be put down, and Manuel might well be sat in the shadows nearby, put there an hour before…”

  “A gunboat hovering offshore and Manuel to appoint a place to be picked up. It can be done, and if unnecessary, need never be mentioned.”

  “And, if necessary, Sir Frederick, may serve to unmask a particularly successful traitor, and save our necks from whatever plan he has in his nasty mind.”

  Book Eleven: The Duty

  and Destiny Series

  Chapter Five

  Manuel requested permission to visit with his younger brother, who was serving as interpreter on Perlen, a boon willingly granted by Frederick, who happened to be conferring with Mr Otis at the time. The pair saw him rowed off to Perlen in mid-afternoon, the launch dropping him there and then returning to Waldeman. Neither spotted him in the boat that cast off from the far side of Perlen half an hour after sunset.

  The interpreter had said that he had been a student for three years in Barcelona and knew his way about the backstreets of the city, having visited, he thought, every low dive, brothel and bar in the whole metropolis, loyal to the traditions of students everywhere. He would have no difficulty in picking up Mr Otis and following him unseen, that he was certain of.

  Manuel did not mention his intention to make contact with close friends in the Catalan movement and beg their assistance in identifying and assessing the bona fides of Mr Otis’ correspondents. The false names they had used in their letters must be known to other conspirators if they were legitimate. He reached shore in the middle of the last of the daylight inshore fishing boats, observed as an outsider by them all but confident they would say nothing; fishermen did not talk to the authorities, whoever they might be.

  The first bar he went into had French soldiers inside, not welcome, but paying; he left unseen. The second had changed in its nature, was too quiet, felt wrong; back-street bars were never silent, orderly places, unless there was a reason. The third was as it always had been, the same owner and barman, the old whiff of hashish coming from the back; he edged towards the rear, sat at the table the students had always used, took a glass of coarse red. He looked about him, trying to identify the few early drinkers. He picked out another odour – someone was taking a pipe in the back, downstairs room; the smell of opium was unmistakable and frowned upon by the authorities, who ignored hashish but thought the poppy to be dangerous – there were no policemen present. He emptied his glass, raised an eyebrow to the bartender who came across with the bottle.

  “Is the heir to the Marquis of Medina-Sidonia present, Jose?”

  He used the old identification, knowing that it would have changed in the year of his absence but would be adequate, provided there was someone to remember his face.

  “I thought it was you, Manuel. You are skinnier – but so are we all. Go through.”

  Manuel was greeted in the back of the house, explained quickly what he was doing, where he had been for the previous year and what he wanted now.

  “The wine-merchant was taken up last month; the Levanter threw his lot in with Joseph half a year ago. Neither is in the way of sending letters to English ships. Your fat man is French.”

  “An English traitor, more like. He will be dropped at the sea gate by the north fort for ten o’clock. I wish to be there to watch him, if possible to see who he meets.”

  “Too risky, Manuel. You will stand out there, almost as much as he will. I will send two of the street boys instead. There are waifs everywhere, these days.”

  Manuel would have preferred to do the job himself, but he was not to argue with a leader of the movement in Barcelona.

  “Yours is the decision, señor. He should not be touched, unless it becomes necessary. Best he should go back to the ships and tell his lies – they will at least know what is unsafe then and can arrest him when he has revealed his plot.”

  “The English will not press him to speak, will they, Manuel?”

  Manuel shook his head disgustedly – they would not deal properly with treacherous rats, he said.

  “Then we shall have him watched. If he behaves with honesty, then back he goes to his ships; if he does not know that the wine-merchant has been taken and he believes the Levanter to be honest, then well and good. Nothing has been lost. If h
e goes to the French, then we shall intercept him on his return. If he does not come back to you, then we shall send a message to the ships with all that he knows.”

  Manuel was much in favour; he did not know that he could face sailing with a traitor.

  “Very good! That is how it should be! Do you know anything of ships of the line being readied to sail?”

  “Three of one hundred guns and two frigates of forty-four to escort a convoy of merchant ships. They are to be met by another pair of ships of the line, French seventy-fours, less than a day down the coast. A battalion of soldiers is to sail in them as well, with their muskets in case of boarding.”

  “That news must be taken to the English ships. I should go immediately, whatever happens with the fat man.”

  “Go. The boy will take you to one of our boats. Late out on the fishing – it is not uncommon. Tell the English that we will support them, but that the French are strong here and we can do little yet. We heard of the castle, and of the brigade on the coast road – all are very pleased!”

  An hour took Manuel out of the harbour; three saw his boat at Perlen’s side.

  “It is most important, Captain Vereker, that my news should reach Sir Frederick at the earliest.”

  “I must not leave my station in the night hours, sir. I do not like sending out boats at night – but needs must, they say. Mr Thorpe – my barge and coxswain, immediately.”

  The lieutenant of the watch sent a midshipman scurrying and gave the sequence of orders that resulted in the barge being put into the water, unpopular with the watch, who had no love for shifting heavy weights in pitch darkness.

  “All speed, Haynes. The gentleman to be aboard Waldeman within the hour, if the wind serves.”

  “Forty minutes, sir.”

  The coxswain said no more, ushered Manuel before him into the boat.

  Frederick was woken and put into uniform, Bosomtwi offensively awake and alert for three in the morning. He listened to Manuel’s tale and thanked him.

  “Wake Sir Iain, Bosomtwi, then coffee.”

  Sir Iain joined them and smiled grimly.

  “If he returns at all, it will be because your people are satisfied with him, you say, Manuel?”

  “Yes, sir. If he is honest, then he will discover that the Levanter is not and will either make his escape or be caught. If he is taken, then the Catalan movement will release him immediately by killing the patrol that comes for him. If he is welcomed, then he will be picked up as he goes to wait for his boat. He will then be questioned. When he has told his all, he will be killed, the body not to be found.”

  “It is not easy to hide a body, Manuel.”

  “There are pigsties just outside the city, sir. Pigs will eat anything. They like the taste of traitors.”

  The Englishmen turned green.

  “Bacon for breakfast, Sir Frederick?”

  “English bacon, Sir Iain. I doubt that I shall be eating the Spanish variety for the while.”

  The boat sent for Mr Otis returned to Waldeman in the dawn, as ordered. It was empty.

  Frederick began to dictate his report to Lieutenant Aggers, regretting to inform Lord Turner and the Admiralty that Mr Otis had been uncovered in the act of treason.

  They hovered offshore all day and were rewarded at night when a fisherman came alongside Perlen, nearest to the shore. A man came aboard and silently handed over a canvas wrapped bundle; he bowed and made to leave. The interpreter called to him, addressed him quickly, received a smile and a headshake and a few words as he skipped quickly over the side.

  “He would not stay to eat, sir. He would not take money – he does this for the cause.”

  “A good man indeed. What is in the bundle?”

  There was a long letter, wrapped dry in oilcloth; a wallet ripped open at its seams and disclosing onion-skin papers inside; a vial of some sort of liquid which they treated with extreme care for fear of poison; finally, another piece of oilskin which unwrapped to disclose a lump of flesh. They cast the light of a lantern full upon the object, discovered it to be a human penis.

  “Get that bloody thing over the side!”

  Captain Vereker fought down the bile – the captain should not be seen to spew in horror.

  “Jesus! What sort of men are they?”

  The interpreter, utterly unmoved, answered.

  “Angry men, who hate the French greatly, and a traitor even more, sir.”

  “God! I hope he was dead before… No, he would not have been, would he?”

  “No, sir. Why do that to a dead man?”

  “Haynes! To Waldeman. Wait for my boat cloak.”

  The captain’s barge was towing, in expectation of this journey.

  Frederick and Sir Iain listened, swearing in disgust.

  “We heard what happened to the prisoners at the castle, Mr Vereker. I cannot be surprised. Let us take these papers to the cabin. Stay for the while, Mr Vereker – you should hear this. Sir Iain, can we close Norge and Iris and call their captains aboard?”

  It took an hour, which gave Bosomtwi time to prepare proper refreshments for five senior officers; he broke out four of the best bottles and fried up a pan of little sardines rolled in biscuit crumbs – not the greatest of delicacies ashore, but a welcome snack at sea.

  Sir Frederick took charge of the meeting - formalities over, fingers wiped and second glass to hand.

  “A long letter in Spanish which my interpreter has read and will translate to us. Also, the documents hidden in the wallet, written on the thinnest paper I have ever seen.”

  “Perhaps it is to be swallowed at need, sir. I have heard spies to do such.”

  “Thank’ee, Mr Dench. I had not thought of that. However, the papers are small and the words few, but under a glass, clearly to be read. Unfortunately, they are in French.”

  None of the captains could venture upon a translation, but they were of the opinion that no honest man carried French documents hidden on his person.

  “We shall send them to Gibraltar, gentlemen. Now, Manuel will read to us.”

  The interpreter drank from his glass of much poorer wine - Bosomtwi was not about to give the best to any Spaniard - and stepped forward to speak.

  “This letter is addressed to Sir Frederick and comes from the hand of the leader of the movement in Barcelona. He is the keeper of an inn and long known to me and I will vouch for him, sir.”

  Frederick had no qualms in accepting Manuel’s word; he liked the interpreter and had found Mr Otis an unpleasant person, which was sufficient to establish, or disprove, their bona fides in his mind.

  “I shall not name the leader, sir, at his request. He says that the man Otis stepped ashore, walked in the shadows some few yards until he was out of sight of the boat and then made his way directly to the nearest sentry-post. He was watched and was seen to wait while a carriage was fetched; he was taken directly to the private house of the senior French officer, not to the offices. He remained there for two hours and was then escorted out of the house, by the general himself, his hand shaken and put back into the carriage, which returned him to the shore and left him a few yards from the place where the boat was to meet him.”

  Manuel paused for breath and Frederick expressed his disgust at such clear treachery. Lieutenant Aggers looked up from his desk, where he was transcribing Manuel’s words, begged to check two points of the timing.

  A slight delay and Manuel resumed.

  “The fat man was taken silently and placed into a mule-cart and was transported to the deep cellar of the salting house where the stockfish are kept for winter. It smells and is avoided by those who can. There he was questioned with increasing degrees of rigour. Eventually he stated himself to be in French employ, for belief in the Republic, he said, not for money. He said that he had thought himself to be in some peril in London – there was an investigation into various matters that might well bring him into doubt – and so he had begged the post with the squadron, replacing one Turner, or Murray – he sa
id both names. He said as well, that there is a plan to entrap the squadron along the coast to the north. A flotilla of ships of war to sail that will have many soldiers hidden aboard and which is to be met by more ships coming from France. He also said that he was to be called ashore again – a fishing boat to bring news of a meeting – so that he would not be aboard at the time of the battle.”

  “Thank you, Manuel. What of the little bottle?”

  “It was in a pocket, the letter says, and he tried to grab at it when he was taken. They think it to be poison.”

  “We shall send it back to London as well, with a warning. They may recognise it. Is there more in the letter?”

  “They say that the Count of Banyuls will sail for France on the convoy when it leaves. The soldiers will be from his army, as a proof of his loyalty to France.”

  Frederick was rather pleased at that news.

  “We very much need to take that convoy, gentlemen. It seems to me, as a first thought, that we might be well-advised to meet the vessels as close to Barcelona as might be feasible. Taking them first, we will then press up coast to meet the two French liners that are due to join at about a day north of Barcelona. They obviously are making that delay so that we will be tempted to make our attack well out of sight and hearing of the city, so that the gunboats will not attempt to interrupt us, and we might be taken by surprise. We know when the convoy will sail, because the message will come for Mr Otis to go ashore. Best then that we should hover just over the horizon and attack just as soon as the convoy has cleared the harbour and has set its course. Frigates will take the two Frog Fifth Rates; sloops to seem to commit themselves to the convoy, but assisting the frigates if needed; brigs to watch in the distance for the two French coming from the north, and for Spanish reinforcements out of Barcelona itself; gunboats to work inshore and hammer the merchantmen carrying the soldiers – assuming they are not upon the liners, that is… The letter does imply that the soldiers are to be on the escort.”

 

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