Podric Moon and the Corsican Tyrant

by Barney Broom

“We’re already stretched in the Mediterranean, Billy.”

  “Hmm. We can divert a couple of frigates assigned to Jervis’s West Indian squadron. Probably a waste of time but… Ha! What an evening. I must get back to work.”

  “Do you want me to do anything with him?”

  “You have a suggestion? Ha! No, let him sleep it off. If nothing else, he provided some diversionary entertainment.”

  “And several bottles of excellent port.”

  “Bonaparte. Napoleon Bonaparte. I wonder if we’ll ever hear of the fellow.”

  ***

  As with all levees, there was a hierarchy waiting to be presented to the evening’s guest of honour – that night, His Grace, the Duke of Clarence. What was surprising was that as a midshipman, Podric Moon was placed so near the front of the gathering. This was due to the Duke’s mistress, Mrs. Jordan, being pre-eminent. As a protégé of hers, Catherine was also at the fore. The young actress whispered in Podric’s ear.

  “Remember to make your leg.”

  “My what?”

  “Your leg. Watch the other men.”

  Podric saw a man nearby put one leg in front of the other as he bowed to the Duke.

  “Miss Catherine Halliday and Mister Midshipman Moon.”

  The sonorous voice of the Master of Ceremonies echoed across the ballroom as Catherine and Podric were announced.

  Later, Podric couldn’t quite remember how he managed his social performance, but whatever he did seemed to pass muster. The Duke of Clarence nodded to Catherine but turned to Podric.

  “Ah… a young midder. How do you find the service, my boy?”

  “Very good. Thank you, sir.”

  “Excellent. Good. Where have you been serving?”

  “Toulon. Zealous, sir. Captain Foley…”

  “Ha! Foley. Didn’t meet Captain Nelson, I suppose?”

  “Er, yes, as a matter of fact, I did, sir. Indeed, it was Captain Nelson who took me from Gibraltar to join my ship in Agamemnon.”

  The Duke of Clarence looked delighted.

  “Agamemnon. Agamemnon and dear Nelson has her. Come, come and sit with me. I wish to know all about your adventures. You may know the service is very dear to my heart, very dear to me indeed.”

  Disregarding the several hundred other guests, the Duke put his arm round Podric and guided him across the floor to a throne chair situated on a dais. Seeing the Duke’s approach, a flunky rapidly placed another smaller seat alongside it. The Duke sat down and indicated to Podric he do the same. Brinsley Sheridan sidled over to Dora Jordan.

  “Your young protégé’s naval buck’s made quite an impression. Not entirely to her liking, methinks.”

  They looked across at Catherine who was clearly put out.

  “Don’t you think I’m not aware that where the sea is concerned, I’m His Grace’s second mistress?”

  Dora smiled at Sheridan before strolling away towards Catherine. The actor/manager watched her cross the room.

  “And men think they rule… Ha!”

  ***

  If Lord Sydney or Pitt had been outside White’s Club half an hour later, they would have seen a surprisingly sober Lieutenant Light emerge from its doorway.

  Standing by a railing, Archie took a surreptitious look up and down the still busy street. What was he to make of the evening? It didn’t really amount to much: Pitt dispatching two additional frigates to Hood, it was unlikely that the small reinforcements would affect the outcome of Napoleon entering his place in history. That meant returning to Toulon which meant finding Podric. Fast.

  Having suggested he meet his young friend at the Rose Tavern in Drury Lane, Archie set off towards Covent Garden. Emerging on to Pall Mall, he approached the Carlton Club. The building’s interior lights were brilliant, attracting the gaze of passers-by as carriages waited on the good and great. Archie stopped at the entrance where two impassive doormen stood sentry.

  “Quite a party.”

  Neither man acknowledged the naval lieutenant’s existence. Archie peered into the lobby as two fops were leaving.

  “Frightful evening. Sailor Billy’s preoccupation with our illustrious matelots – quite the end. Fawning all over that young midshipman – makes you deride the seas. I shall most definitely remain terra firma.”

  “Do I hear the senior service’s name being taken in vain, sir, that you’re critical of his majesty’s nautical servants?”

  “Oh, George – send me to the deep!”

  Archie’s fist hit the effete dandy squarely on the nose. Blood immediately poured from the man’s face. Light didn’t wait for any reaction but turned to one of the doormen.

  “Can’t tolerate offence to the service; unacceptable.”

  Amidst cries of ‘Do something! Arrest him!’ Archie suddenly saw Podric standing beside an overweight man, the sash and Garter star emblazoned across the man’s chest.

  “Podric! Podric!!”

  For a second his young friend didn’t respond and it was as hands descended upon him that Archie yelled “P O D R I C !” at the top of his voice. Both Podric and the Duke of Clarence turned to see Lieutenant Light being forcibly restrained by the now active doormen.

  “Oh sir, your grace – the lieutenant is the friend I came to England with. I believe he’s had an important meeting with the Prime Minister.”

  “Not necessarily the greatest of entrées, Podric, but perhaps I shouldn’t hold that against him?”

  Clarence waved a hand at the doormen.

  “Release him there. I say release him!”

  With some reluctance, the two men dropped their hold on Archie. Looking dishevelled, he straightened up and adjusting his uniform, entered the building.

  “Archie, er… Lieutenant Light, sir, lately HM ship Zealous.”

  Archie made his bow with an elegance that surprised Podric.

  “Lieutenant Light, welcome. Mister Moon has been telling me something of your exploits. I gather you’ve recently come from a meeting with Billy Pitt.”

  “Indeed I have, Your Grace.”

  “And how did you find our Prime Minister?”

  “Well enough sir. I tried to suggest the inshore squadron off Toulon be reinforced, it being vital if we are to be victorious.”

  “Did you, by Jove? And what was his reaction?”

  “He volunteered extra frigates, sir, but I fear they won’t be enough.”

  “Hmm. You think not?”

  “No, your grace. Defeat at Toulon will shift the balance in France’s favour and put the whole Mediterranean at risk.”

  “My own feelings, Light, my own feelings entirely. Reinforce the Mediterranean squadron. I’m always telling their Lordships at the Admiralty the very same. Before we know it, these Frenchies will take over the Eastern Mediterranean and it’ll be the devil’s own job to drive them out if they do.”

  “That’s very prescient, your grace. Would you excuse me if I had word with my young colleague?”

  “Yes, yes – certainly. Dora, where’s Dora?”

  The Duke of Clarence turned away and was instantly surrounded by the levee’s throng.

  “Dora… that’s right, Clarence… Clarence becomes William IV and his mistress who he has umpteen kids with is the actress Dora Jordan. Ha-ha… Strange looking at everything like this.”

  Archie noticed that Podric was staring at someone across the ballroom.

  “You alright?”

  “Mrs. Jordan is beautiful but not as beautiful as my Catherine.”

  “Wha…?”

  Following Podric’s gaze, Archie realised who he was looking at. Recognising her as Podric’s twenty-first-century girlfriend, it wasn’t apparent from Catherine’s attitude that she was reciprocating Podric’s adoration.

  “Which of your friends haven’t you profiled?”


  Podric didn’t respond.

  “We’ve got to go back.”

  Podric still gazed at Catherine.

  “Do you hear me? Toulon. We’ve got to go back to Toulon.”

  Podric still didn’t react. Archie shook him.

  “Podric – stop being so childish and pay attention!”

  His partner’s attitude remaining indifferent, Archie abruptly walked away. Crossing the room, he approached Catherine, surrounded as she was by a group of admirers. Podric watched as Archie introduced himself and saw Catherine’s initial disinterest gradually give way to merriment and laughter. Several times they turned to look at him; it slowly dawned on the games champion that he was the butt of their amusement. Colouring up, Podric dived into a group of guests, disappearing amongst the glitterati.

  An hour later with just the last few revellers remaining, a butler, directed by Archie, found Podric sitting disconsolately under a tree in the gardens of Carlton House.

  “Mister Moon?”

  Podric looked up but said nothing.

  “For you, sir.”

  The butler presented a note that he proffered on a silver salver. Taking the sealed envelope, Podric ripped it open and read. ‘She awaits you, Drury Lane. Meet at The Rose tomorrow breakfast: LLNL’. The last letters meant nothing to him, but Podric recognised Archie’s handwriting.

  ***

  The first glimmer of dawn was breaking as Midshipman Moon stood outside the deserted theatre. A cat fight started; its screeching row caused the night watchman to stir from his slumber. Somewhere deep inside the theatre, Dog howled. The watchman looked at Podric.

  “Can’t get in there young sir.”

  “I’ve got to! I’m… I’m meeting someone.”

  “I’m sure you are but you ain’t getting in – not unless you give the password.”

  Disconsolately, Podric took out the crumpled note from his pocket. LLNL – what was that?

  “Wos ’at?”

  The watchman’s pukesome breath made Podric wince.

  “LLN…L…”

  With surprising alacrity, the itinerant turned away, threw back several bolts and swung open a side door.

  “You think someone like me has no intelligence.

  ‘Tis a consummation

  Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep–

  To sleep – perchance to dream.’”

  Podric stared at the man open-mouthed as he recited Hamlet.

  “Go on, go on – or dreamin’ is all she will be doin’.”

  Podric entered. The watchman locked the door behind him. It was pitch black inside and letting his eyes adjust, UAR’s creator slowly picked his way forward towards the backstage area. After several wrong turns and a fall, he found the stairs. With his heart beating excitedly, Podric began to climb. At the top, he tapped on the door and was surprised when Catherine’s voice immediately responded.

  “Say the code.”

  “Er, LLNL?”

  The lock clicked. Dog began to bark but quietened by Catherine, only wagged his tail and licked his young friend. Catherine was still in her ball gown and turning to her dressing table, picked up two glasses of wine. Handing one to Podric, she crossed the room.

  “Come with me.”

  On the far side of the attic apartment, Catherine opened another door. Stairs led to the roof and soon the two stood outside leaning on a balustrade. The slumbering city of London lay beneath them. Catherine sipped her wine.

  “I must have sat up here a week of my life.”

  Silent, Podric looked at the city.

  “You can talk now.”

  “I can’t.”

  Putting down her glass, Catherine laughed and placed an arm around Podric.

  “You’re going to tell me that I’ve to go back to Toulon.”

  “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

  “Did my partner – colleague, flatter you?”

  “Of course.”

  Catherine smiled more intimately.

  “Podric. Such a funny name… I know lots of Lieutenant Lights. I meet them all the time. This city is full of them. You must go back because you must go back.”

  “But I…”

  Catherine put a finger to his lips.

  “Come to me when you know you can – when you can stay.”

  “Forever?”

  She smiled slightly and removing a pin from her hair, pressed the ornamental clip into Podric’s hand. Podric ripped a nickel button from his tunic and gave it to Catherine, who kissed it.

  “Now we shall sleep – just for a little. Go along. This is my special place; I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Podric walked slowly towards the rooftop door.

  “LLNL…?”

  “Shakespeare of course. Love’s Labour’s Not Lost! Your friend thought it up.”

  “He would.”

  “He cares about you, Podric.”

  Podric went down the stairs.

  “So do I.”

  A tear trickled down Catherine’s cheek. Perhaps in the 18th century people grew up even faster than they do in the 21st?

  ***

  The twenty-first-century Podric never went to pubs much but when he walked into the Rose Tavern, Dog panting by his side at ten thirty the following morning, he was amazed at the level of drinking being conducted. The place was raucous with people already drunk!

  Moving through the crowded bar, Podric found his friend cavorting with one of the numerous barmaids.

  “Your boyfriend dearie? Didn’t know you were like that, Lieutenant? And what a big dog the boy’s got.”

  The woman’s mountainous breasts shook with laughter at her lewd wit. Archie didn’t seem to mind and only smiled.

  “Another for me and wine for my friend.”

  The barmaid climbed off his lap.

  “Yes m’lord, no m’lord. What about me?”

  “Of course. And porter for you, Bess of Bermondsey.”

  The woman turned into the crowd surrounding the bar.

  “Move!”

  Archie’s hissed whisper seared into Podric’s ear.

  “Wha…?”

  Archie was already manoeuvring through the throng and Podric tentatively followed. Slipping into the street, cries of annoyance were heard from within.

  “They’ll get beadles. Run!”

  The two naval figures sprinted away from Drury Lane towards the river; law officer’s whistles were shrill behind them.

  Standing under a wooden bridge on a Thames mud bank, Archie looked at the river. How busy it was. The place was alive with life – boatmen ferrying people, lighters carrying loads of anything and everything that was needed by a voracious city; cattle carcasses, timber, wine and clothing – all were transported along London’s aquatic artery. In spite of the stench and filth, it was wonderful – far more exciting than the modern-day sanitised waterway he was used to. Archie felt invigorated and energised – his attitude very different to his partner’s, who now appeared resigned.

  “It’s okay. She told me I’ve to go back – but what are we going to achieve?”

  Archie took out a small earthenware flask, uncorked it and had a swig. He turned to Podric, who was pulling up his cuff.

  “Want some?”

  Podric shook his head.

  “Wrist.”

  Archie proffered it.

  “It’s my fault. I thought I could persuade Billy Pitt to do something that would prevent Napoleon from succeeding – that what will happen, never would. So… the only way now to stop him is being there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The battle. There’s a point when the French got their artillery to the heights overlooking Toulon. It was the moment things turned in the siege campaign.”

  “
But I keep telling you, Archie, this is only a game. We can enter UAR and play it – not go back there.”

  “Fair enough, but I’m going anyway.”

  “You mean you want to?”

  Archie kicked a large stone into the river.

  “Yeah. I admit it, Podric. Making a lash of reality, its ultimate alternative is becoming life for me. I prefer it.”

  Looking around the corner of the timber arch, the games creator became aware of the need for urgent action. Led by Dog, a gang of men and women, including several beadles and the large, threatening figure of Bermondsey Bess, bore down on them. The gargantuan woman was wielding an enormous spiked club.

  “Podric. I’ve got to go!”

  Podric sighed.

  “Press your right finger over the chip in your left wrist.”

  Seconds later UAR’s interface appeared across Archie’s upper optic vision.

  “Is that it?”

  His eyes were looking at the top of his field of sight.

  “It is… you’ve got games options and all that.”

  “Incredible. You’ll have to tell me sometime how you did this.”

  “I did tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “You were drunk.”

  “Well then, another time.”

  “Move your finger.”

  Archie did, but he was slow. Realising his friend wouldn’t make it, Podric quickly took control and reverted to previous settings. Dog leaped at them.

  “You handling this, Podric? We need to activate ‘Play’ quite soon. I mean very soon! I really don’t fancy being on the receiving end of that woman’s club.”

  Whether or not Archie and Podric were real, Bess’s massive cudgel only struck thin air. The ferocity of her action caused her to topple into the mud. Those accompanying her found this highly amusing. That is until, extricating herself, she struck one of them, a cockler named Hugh Nosey. Something of a gargoyle himself, what teeth Nosey had possessed disintegrated after Bess’s blow, he being rendered unconscious for the rest of the day.

  6

  The Siege of Toulon

  “The French seem to be bringing up more artillery, sir.”

  Straining in his saddle, the aide-de-camp snapped his telescope shut. Turning to his commanding officer, General Charles O’Hara, these were the last words he ever spoke. A cannonball decapitated him and the young ensign beside him. The general’s horse rearing, much of his aide’s blood spattered across O’Hara’s chest.