Betrayal tk-13

by Julian Stockwin

  Almost as soon as he had spoken, Kydd found an answer to his own question. ‘Then again, I’d have to confess before you that I followed Nelson when he left his Mediterranean station to chase Villeneuve across the Atlantic, and where would we all be if his courage to leave had failed him then?’

  ‘Just so,’ said Popham, imperceptibly relaxing. ‘Would that all my captains were of such stout heart.’

  Kydd made play of fixing on the light of the fire through his brandy. ‘But then all this is idle talk. The Navy might desire it but the Army must achieve it. How would they be persuaded?’

  ‘This is true enough, but if you’d heard the talk after mess dinner in the castle enough times, as I have, you’d not be in doubt. They, poor wights, are in far worse case than we. At least we’ve the passing prospect of a privateer or cruiser to look forward to. They’ve nothing but idleness each and every day and pray for any kind of alarum that might test their mettle. To dangle a chance before them to share in such an adventure, why, we’d be trampled underfoot by eager military not desiring to be overlooked.’

  Kydd joined in the comradely chuckle but knew the discussion was becoming pointed. ‘Um, yes. But at the same time if ever we’d think to make a descent it must take an expedition of size … of cost. Where would-’

  ‘I should think that question easily answered. If our doughty governor, himself of some record as a military strategist, should be taken by the idea, then he has the power and resources to mount such a one. As to equipment, surely that which served in an opposed landing in Blaauwberg would serve us in an identical campaign elsewhere.’

  There was no question but that Popham was seriously considering a full-scale move against Spanish South America and all that that implied. The only question now was where Kydd himself stood. With him … or against him?

  Chapter 3

  ‘He what?’ gasped Renzi, choking on his breakfast. ‘You seriously mean to tell me-’

  Kydd nodded.

  ‘This cannot be! He’s implying that there’s going to be an assault on Spanish America with – if he strips Cape Colony of its entire sea defences – a pair of old sixty-fours, two or three frigates and a brig-sloop? Ha! Either you misheard our noble commander or I’m compelled to believe this southern moon must have powers to induce lunacy beyond the ordinary.’

  Kydd paused. In the cold light of day it did seem more of a dream than a possibility, but then he returned strongly: ‘Think of it, Nicholas! Not only will it tear away their main source of income from the Spanish but we deny Bonaparte his tribute and means to wage war. And with such a market opened up to us, our factories and merchants’ll swell in riches past all counting. It’s … it’s a chance that, for the sake of England, can’t be missed.’

  Recovering, Renzi said, with an irritating air, ‘Tom, have you any conception how vast is the continent of South America? How many leagues of mountains and deserts, hills of silver, towns and cities? I’ll grant it’s a worthy aspiration – but conquest?’ He broke off in snorts of laughter.

  Nettled, Kydd waited for him to subside. ‘You don’t know the whole of it, Nicholas. He’s in confidential communication with a cove called Miranda, who’s said South America is ripe and ready for rebellion. And he does know about things – Billy Pitt himself asked him personally to write a secret memorandum on the subject.’

  ‘That’s as may be. It doesn’t take anything away from the utter hare-brained idiocy of it all. Even supposing he gets an expedition from England prodigious enough in size to land an army, what then? He wins a first battle – and where will he go next? When it takes a year to march to the other side, how does he prevail upon the Spanish to wait for him there?’

  Kydd reddened. ‘So this is how you treat commanders of spirit and enterprise? At least Popham’s not falling asleep on a quiet station – he’s looking to find ways to annoy the enemy in the best way he can, and if he’s considering ways for an assault, I, for one, honour him for it,’ he snapped, then helped himself to the last of the precious English marmalade in silence.

  ‘Humph. Leave us trust he’ll come to his senses. Now, I’ve had some thoughts about Portrait. If you’d be so kind as to hear these out … ?’

  ‘Well, if you think they’re important. I’ve a busy day, Nicholas.’

  Renzi pushed his plate to one side. ‘Then this. What do you think is the best measure of the scale of the task that awaits?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘The simple exercise of multiplying the words on a page, by the number of pages in a book, gives the result of no less than one hundred thousand words!’

  He went on in awe, ‘Scratching away at, say, a brisk two or three words a second – why, it’ll be months continuous for me just to cast it in words.’

  ‘Very well. To first things first, Nicholas. What shall be the meat of your piece? That is to say, you’ve shown me two books which are novels and each is different from the other. Yours will be like … ?’

  ‘Mr John Murray, a most estimable publisher whom I consulted before, I seem to remember did mention that the female fancy is not to be neglected and that a travel work would answer. Should I combine the two it may well prove fruitful.’

  ‘And shall it be a biography?’

  ‘It will be built upon the events of my life to be sure but, good heavens, none must suspect it.’

  ‘Nicholas, you’re aware a novel is a work of fiction? You may write what you will, providing it satisfies.’

  ‘Ah – there you have it! What will please a reader? An extensive treatment of the customs and economy of the local polity, as observed on my travels? Or is it to be a detailed account of events, whether uplifting or tragic?’

  Kydd sighed. ‘I’d be happy with a rousing good tale of your wenching in Venice with your poetic friend on that Grand Tour you never want to talk about.’

  Renzi coloured. ‘That is never a subject worthy of literary endeavour, as well you know. Recollect, brother, this has to be fit for a gentlewoman’s eyes.’

  ‘Then I’d say that you’re at a stand, old chap. Until you know what your readers desire, your words are all puff and vapour.’

  ‘I’ll think on it,’ Renzi muttered, with a hurt expression.

  An apologetic knock on the door announced the mate-of-the-watch with a note. ‘Sent from the commodore, sir. His boat’s still alongside,’ he added.

  Brief and polite, the message had obviously been written in haste: ‘If you can spare the time, there’s someone I’d wish you to meet.’

  Kydd folded the note and put it into his waistcoat. ‘We’ll talk novels again later, Nicholas.’

  There was no indication of the rank of the person, and Kydd compromised by omitting his sword. This was not like Popham: he was generally considerate to his subordinates in the matter of timing. It must be a matter of importance.

  The commodore was waiting for him at the rail of Diadem beside a chubby figure with a florid face, dressed in comfortable merchant seaman’s rig. ‘This is Captain Waine, Kydd. He’s master of the trader Elizabeth, yonder.’ Popham indicated a plain-featured brig at the edge of the anchorage.

  The man touched his old-fashioned tricorne respectfully. ‘Cap’n,’ he said carefully, with a slight American accent.

  ‘Captain Waine has some interesting things to tell us, Kydd. Shall we go to my cabin?’

  Dismissing the sentry, Popham offered wine, then turned to Kydd. ‘This gentleman has been talking to me about his recent experiences in the viceroyalty of the River Plate, which I thought you’d wish to hear.’

  ‘My pleasure, Admiral,’ Waine responded.

  ‘Among the things he’s imparted is that at the moment there are no Spanish ships of war in the whole River Plate – none. They’ve left to sail north to contest a rumoured landing at Caracas.’ He winked at Kydd, and went on smoothly, ‘And it seems the inhabitants are restless and bitter, concerning the state of trade obtaining there. The Spanish, being at war with England, have been sorely affe
cted, their relations with their colonies all but severed by our blockade.’

  ‘Ain’t none been seen this two-month!’

  ‘And what is worse to the situation is that commerce with any other nation is forbidden under the direst penalties. It’s true there’s a species of smuggling of contraband into the main metropolitan centres, but none may legally trade without leave from the viceroy.’

  ‘From Viceroy Sobremonte hisself!’ Waine picked up a newspaper, which he identified as the Telegrafo Mercantil of Buenos Aires and waved it at Kydd. ‘There it’s at, less’n a couple o’ months old.’

  He spread it out, a blunt forefinger running down the columns of type to find a passage. ‘There!’

  In Spanish, it meant nothing to Kydd, but Waine translated. ‘A porteno, man o’ property an’ standing in the city,’ Kydd remembered this was how the painter on Table Mountain had described himself, ‘gets mad at the viceroy, sayin’ the city’s going t’ ruin over trade being cut off and demands he goes over t’ free trade.’ He jabbed at the text in several spots where the words ‘libre comercio’ were prominent. ‘Didn’t do him no good, though. He’s slammed in chokey f’r his cheek.’

  ‘And you say there’s unrest against Spanish rule?’ Popham asked innocently.

  ‘Unrest? Why, I’d say a stronger word’n that. Them as is born there, they’s called criollos and, no matter how high ’n’ mighty, they has to bow down to any as comes from Spain an’ takes all the top positions in trade an’ gover’ment, no mind how low they’s been born in the home country. No, sir, unrest is too kind a word.’

  ‘Can you tell us anything of the military? What forces do the Spanish have?’

  Waine winked slyly, tapping his nose. ‘Why, you’re not thinkin’ to do mischief there while there’s no men-o’-war doing the guardin’, b’ any chance?’

  Popham assumed an appalled look, leaving Kydd to ask awkwardly, ‘I was more concerned with how the Spanish might put down any pother at all …’

  ‘Well, reg’lars at Montevideo an’ a whole lot o’ militia in Buenos Aires. A sorry bunch an’ nothin’ to worry on.’

  ‘Er, I’ll not detain you further, Captain,’ Popham said, taking his empty glass. ‘I know you’ve cargo to clear. My thanks for your information and we may well talk again.’

  After Waine had left, Popham sat down, his brow furrowing. ‘You heard that. From one who has nothing to gain by concealing the truth. This sharpens the urgency considerably.’

  With Renzi’s words and sarcasm still ringing in his ears, Kydd asked, ‘Dasher, you can’t really be thinking to invade South America?’

  Popham looked up with a lopsided smile. ‘Invade? Of course not. But here’s a thought: the Dons have left an open door to seaward while they deal with Miranda in the north, and the population is simmering with revolt. Should a British squadron appear, offering liberation from the oppressors and at the same time throwing open the entire port at last to free trade – which is precisely what we did with such success here in Cape Town – then wouldn’t you, as a South American, feel just a little bit inclined to side with us?’

  ‘I’d think so, but the size o’ the continent! How can we-’

  ‘No, no, not an invasion. We haven’t the resources and that was never in my thinking. While we can, we seize Montevideo and neutralise the Spanish military. The people rise up and we ride in triumph into the capital. By the time Spain hears of it, for them it’s too late. They’ve lost their seat of power in the south and Miranda is raising the standard of revolt in the north. A mighty empire of three centuries standing – brought down by us!’

  It was nothing short of mind-shattering. To go from humble overlooked naval squadron to empire toppling? There had to be a reason why not.

  ‘Er, we’ll need an army of quite some size, I’d warrant,’ Kydd said, trying to keep his voice steady, ‘as can be transported in what vessels we have to command. The guns? And horses, o’ course.’ He was flailing about now, trying to find solid ground under his feet.

  ‘Leave that to me,’ Popham said, with a seraphic smile. ‘As soon as our Mr Waine can give me details on their barracks and forces, we’ll know how to proceed. I’m sanguine a regiment of Highlanders is worth three of the Spanish. And guns – do remember that there’s been no threat to South America since the days of Francis Drake, and never to the River Plate. Even a brace of our paltry field guns will send ’em packing the first time they smell powder.’

  ‘You really are going after the Spanish!’ Kydd said in awe. This was a breathtaking display of moral courage, not only in the conceiving but the firm self-reliance in initiating and planning the entire matter.

  ‘I am! Should I be satisfied in the odds and what we have to face them, that is.’

  Kydd looked at him for a long moment. ‘Then, Dasher, you have m’ full support. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Why, thank you. I suppose there is, old fellow. This is no small matter. I’d be obliged to you if we could get our heads together in the planning. With so many strands coinciding in our favour at this time, there’s not a moment to lose. Say, at four?’

  Renzi arrived late for breakfast, tousled and bleary-eyed.

  ‘Why, you wicked dog! You’ve been up carousing half the night!’

  ‘Your jest is ill-timed, brother. In truth I’ve been wrestling with chapters and endings and … things, and nothing will answer that would satisfy. How can a character be a feckless rake, yet take our sympathy at one and the same time? It’s just not logically possible,’ he said bitterly.

  He flopped into a chair, picked up a new local newspaper, the Cape Town Gazette, and distractedly leafed through it.

  ‘Himself in a taking over L’Aurore? I shouldn’t have thought it,’ he murmured, when Kydd said he was going to the flagship shortly.

  ‘Oh, just an enquiry,’ Kydd said casually. With Renzi’s attitude to Popham, he could see no reason that his friend should know of what was afoot until it was at a more mature stage of planning.

  ‘Then you’ll have time for a small discussion of Portrait, brother?’ Renzi said hopefully, closing the newspaper.

  ‘Not now, Nicholas,’ Kydd said absently, looking for his leather dispatch case. He found it and tested its lock with his fob key. ‘I have to, er, keep Mr Popham abreast o’ things, I find.’

  Renzi’s eyebrows lifted at the sight of the dispatch case, normally used for the transfer of confidential materials, but he refrained from comment.

  ‘Right. To the first. How do we proceed from here?’ Popham said briskly, pulling out papers and looking encouragingly at Kydd. ‘I’ve questioned our American friend at some length and have discovered that for us things are looking better and better. It seems that not only are there few and poor military but their equipment and fortifications are in dolorous order. I’m content that what we are possessed of here will be sufficient to achieve the goal.’

  He passed across some lists. ‘I don’t have to remind you, I consider this discussion and materials in perfect confidence between us. Surprise is everything.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No one shall know until we have our full dispositions in the matter.’

  ‘You have my word.’

  ‘Not even that secretary chap of yours – what’s his name again?’

  Kydd paused. ‘It’s Renzi. You’ve never really taken to him, have you, Dasher?’

  ‘Well, no,’ Popham said, straightening his cuff. ‘A little too much of the dark side about him. As one might say, he’s the air of a fox, too cunning by half. I’m actually intrigued as to why you have the fellow about you all the time.’

  ‘We’ve known each other for years. I’d trust him with my life,’ Kydd said steadily.

  ‘Quite. But not with planning confidences.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Kydd said, ‘but if I might make just one observation, Dasher?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Shall it be you who commands the expedition? Your experience in t
he military line is …’

  ‘It will be in the character of a joint venture, naval and military, as was the case with Cape Town.’

  ‘You’re not expecting General Baird to leave his governorship here to take command of a South American army?’

  ‘Sir David? No, not at all. But I have a special mission for you, my friend, the honour of co-opting our future general-in-command.’

  ‘I – I don’t understand you.’

  ‘You’re in the right of it. I’m a military tyro, no acquaintance to speak of in the planning of an army action. We’ve need of a field officer to advise, to render assistance in the promoting of the operation and so forth. It would appear … self-aggrandising if it were I who approached the man. It were better that you broach the possibilities, don’t you think?’

  ‘Very well. Whom do you have in mind?’

  ‘There’s only one I’d feel has both reason and desire for the position.’

  ‘Beresford?’

  ‘Just so. An ambitious brigadier general, twice thwarted of glory in Cape Town – at Saldanha and with Janssens’s hasty surrender – and destined to rot unless he can find himself some other adventure.’

  Tall and commanding, Beresford’s figure was always prominent in social events at the castle. He still basked in the reputation he had won in a forced march across the desert with Baird from the Red Sea to the Nile, which had resulted in the defeat of the French Army abandoned by Napoleon. And in which the unknown sloop commander, Kydd, had played his small part.

  Was this sufficient grounds to strike up an acquaintance with the general, become comradely enough to impart confidences of such giddy import? He felt a jet of nervousness at the thought, for social manoeuvring did not come easily to him. ‘I’ll, um, see what I can do,’ he said cautiously.