‘Damn it, Harry,’ cried Hood, eyebrows raised. ‘What’s usual these days?’
‘Surely that proves their neutrality now?’ asked James, thoroughly bored by the lengthy discussions of naval tactics and the politics of the region. He was about to steer the conversation back towards a discussion of various Genoese painters, but the old man snorted derisively, and cut right across him.
‘Genoese neutrality is governed by money, not morality. Mind I dare say that the locals don’t relish the prospect of the kind of France that we’re dealing with now.’
‘I’ll wager they still do business with them if they can. A Genoese would trade with the devil for profit. I imagine their sole objection to revolutionary France is that they might not pay their debts.’
Hood let out a great laugh, slapping his thigh, his face flushing with pleasure at the sally.
‘Damn me, Harry, you’ve hit the nail right on the head, and no mistake. The whole damned place is one counting house. And as for reliability, Hannibal’s captain tells me that Tilly, the French chargé d’affaires, is walking about the place bold as brass with an armed escort. And damn me if there isn’t a French warship, with a full crew and a detachment of marines, sitting in the middle of the harbour, flying their new-fangled flag.’
James, still smarting from being interrupted, showed a rare degree of interest, not to mention a dash of mischief, at the mention of the French ship.
‘They are, I’m given to understand, being credited with the murder of Captain Howlett.’
The laugh died in the admiral’s throat. Hood treated him to an icy stare. ‘How do you know about that?’
James held his ground as best he could. ‘It’s common gossip.’
‘It’s not even common gossip that Captain Howlett was murdered, James,’ said the admiral coldly. ‘Neither the circumstances or the suspicions are in the public domain.’
‘Circumstances?’ asked Harry.
Hood looked at both brothers in turn, before answering Harry. ‘You might as well have it from me, since James here has, no doubt, had it from my far too loquacious clerk.’
James blushed slightly, but made no reply, as Hood continued, giving a brief description of the victim and the few facts he had concerning his death.
‘The story put about was that Captain Howlett was murdered for gain.’
‘But that is not the case?’ asked Harry, with a quick glance at his brother, who’d not bothered to tell him about this.
‘No. He had his watch and chain still in his waistcoat, and a purse full of gold in his breeches when he was cut down.’
‘Cut down?’
‘From a makeshift gibbet. They used a warehouse hoist to hang him. He was neither robbed, nor, it seems, harmed in any other way. The only thing missing was his hat.’
Harry sat forward eagerly. ‘Who are they?’
‘According to the locals, they were cut-throats and robbers. When Howlett’s premier, having identified the body, pointed out that his captain still had his valuables, they changed their tune.’
‘To the French?’
Hood shook his head. ‘No. They came up with some cock-and-bull tale of deserters from Howlett’s ship taking revenge, which is damned nonsense since he was no flogger. Truth is, they’re not too interested, and with no ambassador it’s near impossible to change their minds.’
Harry had that look of naked curiosity in his eye that James recognised. ‘This chargé d’affaires is one thing. But a French ship …’
‘Suspect, don’t you think, Harry. I’ve written to the Council of State, demanding a more thorough enquiry, but I don’t hold out much hope.’
‘Have you had a letter from the Genoese privateers too?’ asked James, deliberately changing the subject to try and deflect his brother’s obvious interest. Hood looked blank, for the conversation had moved on. James had to repeat himself to remind the older man. ‘The Genoese privateers, complaining about the lack of opportunity for profit.’
Hood was almost dismissive, betraying a seeming lack of interest. ‘I have not. They’re doing well by all accounts. Perhaps they’re a more enterprising bunch. They’re inclined to longer voyages than the captains in Leghorn, I’m told.’
‘Perhaps I should sail from there myself,’ said Harry.
That concentrated the older man’s mind, for his response to Harry’s observation was much sharper. ‘Then have a care if you do, Harry. The French are busy trying to smoke what we’re about. I never thought that would extend to cold-blooded murder.’
A silence followed this, as though the admiral was going over the murder in his mind’s eye. Harry waited several seconds before breaking it.
‘Are you so sure they’re to blame?’
‘Not positive,’ replied Hood. ‘But sure in my own mind. It was meant as a warning to the rest of the fleet. Who else but the French would want to warn us? And then there’s the small matter of impressin’ the locals. They’re a dubious crew, I can tell you. The balance could tip from backing us to backing the French in the space of an hour. The neutral Republic of Genoa is neither truly neutral nor truly a republic. It’s run as a business venture by the leading families and they are always at each other’s throats. Anything to make more money. As you said, Harry, some of them are bound to be in league with the French, Revolution or no. That French ship wouldn’t be sitting in the harbour otherwise, with a glass trained on whichever ship we next send in.’
Hood raised his eyebrows, as though what he was about to say had just occurred to him. But James had the distinct impression that the admiral had formed this particular idea somewhat earlier. ‘If you do decide to tie up there, perhaps you could keep your eyes open on behalf of the Fleet, for it would be good to know what they are about.’
‘Are you asking us to spy on them?’ James could not disguise the distaste in his voice.
Hood frowned, fixing James with a stare that had made captains tremble. ‘Offends you, does it, James Ludlow? Well, let me tell you that we are as blind men without that someone does it.’
‘It is the navy’s business …’
‘I’ll speak plain to both of you,’ said Hood, with a slightly foxy air that belied his words. ‘I need to know what’s goin’ on ashore, not only in Toulon, but in Genoa as well. I don’t intend to sit here, off the coast, and just parade up and down. I tell you no secret when I say that I intend to bring the French to an action. That means I’ve either got to lure them out, or go in after them. Which is it to be?’
He spread his arms and shrugged his shoulders, leaving his own question unanswered. ‘But I do know this. I can’t do a damn thing if my back is not secure. Even if I do find another anchorage, it will be an age before it’s ready. Imagine if I commit myself to attacking the enemy, only to find that Genoa is no longer secure, and has even changed sides. I’d have to fall back on Gibraltar and leave the Mediterranean to the French. It might not mean much to you, but Tilly marchin’ about as if he owns the place and that French ship sitting in the harbour, able to murder our officers without redress, worries me.’
‘Couldn’t you take matters into your own hands?’ asked James.
‘Don’t tempt me. Nothing would give me more joy than to send a frigate into the harbour at Genoa with orders to blow it out of the water.’
‘What is it?’ asked Harry, betraying a trace of eagerness which pleased the admiral.
‘Ship-rigged sloop,’ said Hood, smiling. ‘Never do. Play right into the hands of those who are against us.’
‘Naturally. Though it galls me as much as you, to think of it sitting there unmolested,’ said Harry.
A slight smile flicked across the edges of Hood’s mouth but he suppressed it, fixing Harry with an enquiring look. Harry opened his mouth to respond but his brother cut across him, uncowed by the admiral’s look of impatience.
‘I did not allude to any act of violence. I merely suggested that you should go to Genoa yourself. You certainly have the prestige to demand a proper expla
nation.’
Hood’s voice was flat, emotionless, as he replied. And he addressed his words to Harry, not James. ‘I doubt I could spare the time.’
‘Of course,’ Harry replied, before lapsing into silence.
‘Have you forgotten what happened the last time you sought to do the navy’s work for them, Harry?’
Harry bristled slightly, not relishing being checked before Admiral Hood. But he’d picked up the prevailing train of the older man’s thoughts. He knew as well as James that the old fox had partly engineered this bit of the conversation, just as he knew what was being proposed.
‘Your remark begs the question, brother. Would I do the same again?’
‘Well?’ asked James.
Harry tried to make light of the situation. ‘I cannot say for certain.’
‘I can.’ James Ludlow’s voice held no trace of banter. ‘You would not be able to resist it.’
Hood cut in. ‘You showed a sharp mind saving your brother, Harry. If I could prove that the French were responsible, perhaps that would shift them and force the Genoese to make up their minds, once and for all.’
‘He may have saved me, Admiral, but it was nip and tuck. We were both within a hair’s breadth of the gallows.’
Hood was unimpressed. ‘All I can say in response is that if you aid me then I’ll feel obliged to do everything in my power to help you.’
Harry leant forward eagerly. ‘Meaning that I’d get my exemptions?’
Hood nodded as James spoke again, sharply this time. ‘Harry!’
Harry chose to laugh, taking the sting of implied criticism out of his brother’s tone.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE VOYAGE, given a fair wind, would have been accomplished in a day. With the breeze dead foul it had taken three. Hood’s orders suspending independent cruising had angered the officers aboard the Swiftsure. Most of the other ships in the fleet had been given their chance before Hotham was superseded, had taken a prize or two and made some money. Not Swiftsure. Having to transport, at the express wish of the admiral, two privateers who would later hunt at will added insult to injury.
It was therefore with some gratitude that they first saw the great sweep of the mountains behind the city. James sniffed the breeze which blew steadily off the land, seeking the odours of Liguria so eloquently described by Evelyn.
‘“The particular joys of Italy in the natural perfumes of orange, citrone, and jasmine flowers,”’ he intoned.
‘How very poetic, brother,’ said Harry, a telescope to his eye.
‘Alas, not my words.’ He reached into his pocket for his book, flicked it open, and read from it. ‘Evelyn was quite lyrical about the whole place, Harry. There’s much here about fragrant orchards and sumptuous villas. Indeed he names it a coast full of princely refinements.’
‘Then he must have come upon the place by land.’
‘No,’ said James, flicking to another page, with some difficulty, for the wind was strong. ‘He’s quite clear about arriving by sea.’
Harry dropped his telescope, turned to James, and smiled broadly. ‘Then I think he’s allowed himself an unusual degree of licence. I’ve never been in a harbour that smells like that in my life.’
James sighed, closing his book. ‘It would be fair to observe that you lack a poetic soul, Harry, though I own you know more about seaports than me.’
Harry put the telescope back to his eye, ranging round the coastline from Mount Fasce, which towered over the southern side of the city, right round to Cape Mele, now well behind them on the port side. He was still smiling, though his voice had a less humorous tone.
‘Just because I’ve yet to meet the flower that can overpower the odour of drying fish. And let me observe that if you approach this landfall after a heavy fall of rain, it has a quite singular smell which bears no relation to jasmine.’
The shout of ‘all hands about ship’ rang out yet again, for they were still beating up into a stiff breeze, and the men of the Swiftsure rushed to their allotted tasks that would bring the frigate round onto the opposite tack. They let fly the sheets, releasing the great yards, and hauled them round as the quartermaster put down the helm. The ship came round, ropes were hauled taut and made fast. The shouting died away as the sails fully took the wind and the Ludlow brothers crossed the foredeck, once it was clear of sailors, to resume their close observation of the approaching shore.
Both the city and the harbour were soon visible to the naked eye, with the Lanterna lighthouse jutting some three hundred feet into the air above the Capo di Faro. This mole pushed out from the shore forming the western tip of the harbour. To the southeast another, newer mole, shaped like a bent elbow, stretched out from the rocky landscape. Ever since they’d made the decision to take this route Harry had spent time studying the maps and charts of the region. He now occupied a fair amount of time pointing out the fortifications that surrounded the town, especially the forts on the surrounding hills. James, with a less martial turn of mind, used Harry’s glass to search for the many palaces, gardens, and villas mentioned by Evelyn.
Inside those stout city walls stood a jumble of houses pierced by numerous church spires, plus the odd square tower. The mass of shipping in the outer roadstead, and the harbour, testified to the wealth of the Genoese Republic. Genoa stood to profit greatly from the war. Once a rival to Venice, this great Mediterranean entrepôt had lost most of its former glory and all of its island possessions in the Levant, suffering, like the rest of the Italian peninsula, from the rise of the Ottoman Empire, and the rivalry between Habsburg Austria and Bourbon France.
Harry was alone by the weather shrouds as the frigate tacked for the last time, setting her bowsprit straight towards the harbour, heading for her anchorage. He craned his neck to look up at the great Lanterna lighthouse, which would have been blessed by many a sailor seeking a landfall on a foul night. Then he turned to look at the port. His eyes automatically took in the ships anchored at their buoys. Fat merchantmen in the main, with the odd warship, of an old and obsolete style.
Close in to the northern area of the port lay the sleek schooners, barques, and small xebecs of the men who roamed the inland sea for profit. Some of the ships could be the property of local captains. The Sardinians also used Genoa as a base. But English privateers sailing from here was an entirely new departure, and it revealed the fading importance of their usual haunt, Leghorn. Money would be the motive. It stood to reason that if you took a prize you must land it, and its cargo, somewhere. But Genoa had the highest tariffs of any port in the Mediterranean, which was normally a good reason for foreign privateers to give the place a wide berth.
Leghorn had always favoured the English in that respect, granting special privileges so as to concentrate the trade there, plus a flag to sail under, if required. Perhaps Genoa, seeing money going elsewhere, had decided to follow suit. For privateers spent well, masters and crews alike, and given normal luck they had the money to do so. The Mediterranean was a busy sea, and the French depended on a great deal of trade with North Africa and the Levant to sustain themselves. The pickings could be rich.
James came up the companionway onto the quarterdeck. Unsmiling, the officer of the watch raised his hat. The officers aboard the Swiftsure showed even greater reserve than those aboard the Victory. Yet you did not lightly condescend to a man who held two parliamentary seats in his control, even if he was a damned privateer. Besides that, word would have come across with the admiral’s barge that these two ‘passengers’ were much cosseted by Lord Hood. It would be a foolish man who sought to casually insult someone with such connections.
But while they were polite, they could not mask their innate dislike of the breed, nor the circumstances of their presence. The admiral’s clerk had not been discreet, and, apart from all that had gone before, it had soon become common knowledge on the flagship that Harry was intent on acquiring another ship to continue privateering. With the trip taking three days instead of one they were, of course, i
nvited to dine in the wardroom. But it was a sad affair with little conversation, plus the very minimum of hospitality in terms of food and wine.
Harry had sold his stores in Gibraltar, so he was in no position to lighten the atmosphere with a generous contribution. James was of the opinion that such a state of affairs was fortuitous, since he could see no point in expending anything on this set of officers, since they clearly resented their presence. Dinner with the commander, Captain Barnes, again forced on all concerned by the uncommon length of time it took to make their landfall, had been even less of a pleasure, since he only held the command of the Swiftsure on a temporary basis, standing in for the regular captain who, as a Member of Parliament, had decided to stay in London to see the session out. Barnes had no money to spare for personal stores, and he entertained rarely. But good manners dictated that he expend some of the little he owned on these two. And it was plain that he also, perhaps more than his subordinates, had little regard for them.
James, hating hypocrisy, had, on both occasions, taken some advantage of this confusion, effusively praising the ship, its crew, and the abundant hospitality in such fulsome terms that those with any wit knew he was baiting them. He did so now, hailing the officer of the watch and engaging him in a genial conversation that was patently one-sided. Harry, more conscious of the sensibilities of naval officers, of the lack of funds which prompted their dislike of privateers, felt the need to intervene, and request that he desist.
‘If you cannot think of another reason, James, cast your mind back to the way the last naval officer we encountered at sea blew us out of the water. If you continue in your present vein, then any one of these officers, meeting us at sea, will be tempted to emulate him.’
‘I would be so pleased if one of them checked me. It is plain we are not loved, and I, for one, could not care less. Why can they not speak their minds? Faces like masks, and fixed smiles. This rigid politeness grates upon my nerves.’
Dying Trade Page 4
