"That is most kind in you, Sir William," Renzi said, with a bow.
Kydd sighed with exasperation, but as he had seen in the South Seas, Renzi was always most at peace in the midst of one of nature's displays and it would not be a kindness to fret about moving on. They settled on the cinders and watched the unfolding beauty. "And afterwards, dear friend, we shall sample the entertainments of the night at the first hand," Renzi said softly.
There was peace of a kind here, on the flanks of a volcano that had devoured all of two ancient towns, but to Kydd it was the peace of the dead. What he could not get out of his mind was the magnitude of their recent success—and all the consequence of a single mind's contriving and command.
" 'Like madness is the glory of this life,'" Renzi murmured, his eyes fixed on the gathering rose and gold display.
"What was that you said, Nicholas?" Kydd asked politely.
His eyes still on the gathering sunset, Renzi declaimed, "'Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall. Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay.'"
Kydd frowned. "That's as may be, Nicholas, but you'll agree, we've a famous victory t' be proud of."
Renzi, rapt with the heavenly closing ceremony of the day, said nothing.
"I've been thinking about things," Kydd said seriously.
"Working through m' life, y' understand."
"Oh? What did you conclude, brother?" Renzi answered distantly.
Kydd held on to his temper. "I was considering m' position in the light o' recent events," he said.
"Ah, yes."
"Do ye want t' hear, or no?"
Renzi turned to Kydd. "Of course, dear fellow—do fill and stand on, as it were."
Kydd caught his breath. It was difficult enough to put into words the powerful feelings he had found within him, the insight into himself that he sensed was there for the perceiving. "It's—it's that steppin' ashore a hero, I—I find it agreeable, is all."
"Some would find it diverting," Renzi murmured, his attention clearly elsewhere.
"What I mean is—if y' take my meaning—I'd rather it were me, my doing, my victory." His eyes burned. "Is it so necessary to crave pardon f'r the sin of ambition? Why should it not be me?"
"Indeed, why not?" Renzi said drily, then noticing Kydd's anger he sat up. "That is to say, it would be well to reflect that to be in the character of a hero necessarily involves elements of chance as well as merit."
Kydd glowered at him. "Chance? O' course there's chance. Was it mischance or luck that had me in the Horse 'n' Groom sinking an ale just when th' press-gang went in? Or when Seaflower went ashore over the reef in that hurricanoe?
"I don't deal in logic overmuch—I've seen too much o' how quick the world c'n go all ahoo to worry about plotting m' course too far ahead. But what I've learned—an' it's a lesson well taken—is that when things are on the flood f'r you, take it in both hands an' clap on all sail. If it's going a-foul then snug down an' ride it out without whining."
"This is an observation I cannot disallow."
"I've been fortunate, this I'll be th' first t' admit to—a foremast hand crossed t' the quarterdeck. But who's t' say that this is an end to my portion o' luck? Where will I go to next?"
"Quite so. Be you always ready for anything that chances by."
"No!" Kydd snapped. "That is not what I'm going t' do."
"Er—"
"I've seen how a reg'lar-built hero goes about it. Nelson—is he one t' wait for what comes his way? Heaves to 'n' waits f'r the enemy to sail over to him? No! He makes his chances by rising up an' seizing 'em."
Renzi watched him but made no comment.
Kydd folded his arms. "You see, Nicholas, from this day forward, I'm t' make my own luck. Like Adm'ral Nelson I'm looking for my chances an' taking 'em the very instant I see them. An' if that means perils an' hazard t' me, then this is what I must do, an' I hope I won't prove shy in that hour."
As the heat of his words cooled he gave an awkward smile. "So y' see—I mean t' make something of m'self, is all."
Looking at him seriously, Renzi said quietly, "This I can see, brother. Let us pray it leads you not into tempestuous waters some day."
"Nicholas, be sure an' this is what I mean—"
" 'Finish, good sir; the bright day is done, and we are for the dark ...'"
Heat built quickly in the morning calm. The ships lay listlessly at anchor in the bay and Kydd and Renzi walked languidly about the decks of Tenacious. The gunports were triced open to allow the small zephyrs to bring some measure of relief to the humid conditions in the 'tween decks.
Boarding nettings were not rigged below them, less in respect of the unlikelihood of unfriendly visitors than in recognition of the disinclination of seamen to desert in such an unfamiliar port.
Bumboats, however, were always to be seen alongside, hoping to entice sailors through the open gunports with gew-gaws.
Wiping his forehead, Kydd tried to ignore his dull nausea and uncertain footing, and asked Renzi, "Tell me true, did you mark what th' dwarf was doing with the blackamoor and the straps?"
Renzi avoided his eye. "I rather feel that on this occasion we were unfairly gulled into a lower class of entertainment owing to our—our agreeable acquaintance with the famed Lachryma Christi wine."
Kydd peered over the side at the bumboats, but he was not an officer-of-the-watch in harbour: this was a job for a master's mate who would turn sullen if advised of his duties by an idle officer. Signals were now in abeyance: in port the admiral would distribute his orders and dispatches by midshipman and boat, and in any case it was rumoured that Nelson had accepted an offer of hospitality from Sir William Hamilton and was staying ashore in their house, resting.
Treading carefully around three seamen who were eyeing him warily, he noted that their splicing and bolt-rope sewing had not progressed far since his and Renzi's last turn round the deck, for this was the second occasion that the boatswain had been too "ill" to take charge of his men.
It was inevitable, the toll on discipline and spirit in a harbour of such allure. Rawson and Bowden had sampled the delights together, overstayed their leave and were now confined to the ship, while Adams was refusing morosely to show his face ashore after a mysterious encounter involving a lady.
Other incidents were more serious: one seaman had been brought back by his messmates stabbed in the neck, and over fifty were unfit for work. It was proving difficult to overcome the lassitude that seemed to pervade the air after their recent extremity of effort.
With Houghton and Bryant away up country inspecting fortifications, Bampton had been left acting captain and at seven bells there was the depressingly more frequent "clear lower deck— hands to witness punishment."
"Sir, Henry Soulter has been a top-rate petty officer an' fo'c'sle hand, always ready t' step forward when there's perilous duty to be done—"
"It's not his character that's at question now, Mr Kydd," Bampton said acidly, "it's his actions. Did he or did he not make threatening gestures and thereafter strike Laffin, boatswain's mate?"
Kydd stifled a weary sigh. He had the essence of the matter from Soulter's friends. Inflamed by unaccustomed grappa, Soulter, a gifted seaman and steady hand, had responded too readily to taunting of a personal nature from Laffin and had laid into him. Unfortunately this had been witnessed by Pringle, the captain of marines, who had thought it his business to take the matter further.
It was splitting hairs as to whether Laffin was in fact Soulter's superior, but if it were so adjudged then it was a very serious matter indeed, requiring a court-martial and the death penalty not discounted.
"Aye, sir. Soulter admits th' charge, but states that it was under much provocation that—"
"There can be no extenuating circumstances in a crime of this nature, Mr Kydd," said Bampton, importantly. "If he admits the charge ..."
Kydd's temper rose. Soulter was in his division and he knew his value, but now Bampton was playing God with them
both. "He does," Kydd snapped.
"So, striking a superior. This is a grave charge, Soulter."
"Sir," Soulter said woodenly.
Bampton let it hang, then said, "This should result in your court-martial, you villain. How do you feel about that?"
"Sir."
"However, in this instance I am prepared to be lenient. Mr Kydd?"
"Sir, I'm certain Soulter did not intend a disrespect t' his superior and now regrets his acts," he said stolidly. Kydd knew that Bampton would never hand a court-martial to Houghton on his return and felt nothing but contempt for the show he was making.
"Very well. Soulter, you are to be disrated as of this hour and shall shift your hammock forward immediately."
Soulter's eyes glowed, then went opaque.
"And you shall be entered in the master-at-arms' black book for one month."
This was shabby treatment indeed: the man would revert to common seaman and Laffin would therefore have free rein to indulge his revenge. Not only that: for a month Soulter would be cleaning heads and mess-decks before all the seamen of whom he had been in charge before.
The men were dismissed and went below for the noon meal. Kydd sat at the wardroom table without appetite. It could have been worse—at least there were no lashes awarded for an act that was so predictable for top fighting seamen kept in idleness in a port of this nature. He would see to it that Soulter was reinstated at the first opportunity. Kydd brightened: he knew Soulter was a popular petty officer, fair and hard-working. By the unwritten rules of the lower deck he would have been seen to be unjustly treated and therefore would not be demeaned before the others by his impositions.
"I'm getting t' be a mort weary of Naples, m' friend," Kydd said reluctantly. "It's not a place f'r your right true shellback."
Renzi did not hasten to offer a further run ashore. Kydd had noticed his distaste for the squalor of some streets. Renzi was no prude but Kydd had a feeling that it sat uneasily with the classical splendours that filled his head.
After a space Renzi said smoothly, "You wish to depart these shores? Before you have been introduced to culture of altogether a different sort, an evening of entertainment of a far more ... decorous nature?"
"Oh?" said Kydd, without enthusiasm.
"An invitation from Sir William that even the admiral feels it an honour to accept ..."
"Nelson!"
"A select few will be there, you may be sure. The ambassador honours us greatly for our interest in antiquity, and should you be absent, it will be noticed, I fear."
"But Nelson—an' probably some of his captains?"
"Almost certainly."
In the warm dusk Kydd ran his finger about the constricting circle of the stock round his neck, irritated as well by the tickling of the frilly starched jabot under his chin. He consoled himself that a naval officer's full-dress uniform was a trial at times but was far easier than the elaborate frogging and tight pantaloons of the army.
The Palazzo Sessa was ablaze with lights and rich banners flew from each corner of the building, crowds massed outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the hero of the hour. The two officers passed through the doorway to cheers from the excited people. After the dimness of a violet dusk the light of massed chandeliers was overpowering, highlighting rose-bloomed faces and sparkling jewellery over ample bosoms.
"I say, you're Kydd of Tenacious, are you not?" The left epaulette and single ring at the cuff proclaimed him a commander, a captain in the quaint naval way of an unrated ship, even if he was younger than Kydd.
"Aye, sir," said Kydd.
"My father has mentioned you," he said, with just a hint of the supercilious. "But I see these knaves are neglecting you. Here," he neatly abstracted a champagne flute from a passing tray, "should we not be well primed to salute the honour of the all-conquering Nelson?"
He took a long pull at his glass before Kydd could recollect himself enough to utter an unconvincing "Sir Horatio—victor o' the seas!"
"Yes, well. Must make my number with Carraciolo, the bumbling fool." He thrust through the assembly and was lost.
Kydd looked round for Renzi and found him talking with a thick-set post-captain who stood bolt upright, the champagne flute in his fist looking diminutive. "Ah, Kydd, please make the acquaintance of Captain Troubridge."
"Sir, a pleasure t' see you again. An' dare I offer m' consolation on Culloden takin' the ground as she did and missing the sport?"
"Damn charts—but a glorious occasion, hey?"
Kydd caught a sight of the commander he had spoken to before. On impulse he asked, "Sir, are you acquainted with th' officer over there speakin' to the lady in blue?"
"I am," Troubridge answered, looking at Kydd oddly. "That's the captain of Bonne Citoyenne and, as you should know, he is also Nelson's son."
"I—I—"
"Step-son, that is to say. Josiah Nisbet."
"I see. Thank ye, sir."
The buzz of conversation increased, then fell away quickly as a hush spread over the room. A trio was coming down a staircase that led from the apartments above: the ambassador with Nelson and between them, an arm on each, a cherubic but striking lady whom Kydd had not seen before but who must be Emma, Lady Hamilton.
The hush was broken by a single cry of "Viva il conquistatore!" It was taken up all over the room in a bedlam of joyous shouts. Nelson, in his splendid decorations, responded by beaming and bowing to left and right.
Lady Hamilton struck an imperious pose and cried, "Avast, all ye! I present Duke Nelson, Marquis Nile, Baron Alexandria, Viscount Pyramid, Baron Crocodile and the Prince of Victory!"
Laughter and patriotic cries burst out and the three descended into the gathering. Presently the ambassador held up his hands for silence. "For those who love Naples, an evening of civilisation. Pray come with me, let the entertainments begin!"
In the drawing room a semicircle of elegant chairs in two rows faced a small ensemble of harpsichord to one side, two violins to the other. The musicians remained in a bowed position while the guests settled.
Kydd found a chair in the second row from which he could see Nelson and the Hamiltons. They were in fine form, Sir William animated and relaxed while his lady seemed to be in full flood of sociability towards her distinguished guest. Nelson appeared equally engaged, his responses to Lady Hamilton's sallies almost boyish in their artlessness.
Hamilton rose and faced his guests. "I know you will be amazed and delighted when I tell you that I have persuaded the famed tenor Romualdo Farrugia to perform for us tonight. He will begin with Pergolesi's 'Lo frate 'nnamorato,' of course in the original Neapolitan dialect ..."
Next to Kydd Renzi stirred with interest. "Farrugia! What a coup! In opera buffo the finest in all Naples—which is to say the world."
A short, dark man in an extravagantly rich costume strode out and bowed low, then fixed his audience with a fierce gaze. A cascade of notes on the harpsichord concluded with entry of the violin continuo and the piece began. It was magnificent: the effortless power of his voice infused every note with its full charge of emotion and significance. Kydd had never heard anything like it.
The singer retired to a storm of applause. Hamilton rose and turned to the guests. "Equally fortunate is it that the noted soprano Bellina Cossi is delaying her return to Vienna to perform for us tonight. She sings about a shepherdess at the banks of a river who does not feel inclined to waste herself on a lukewarm lover ... Of course this is the Scarlatti cantata 'Su'l margine d'un rio.'"
The beauty of the crystal clear notes, their passion and tenderness moved Kydd and he felt detached from his hardy sea life. The music, just as it had in Venice, lifted him into an untouchable realm of the spirit. In a warm haze he heard Hamilton announce a duet—a scene from a recent Cimarosa opera, Le Astutzie Femminili. He let the music wash deliciously over him, and was sincerely sorry when it was over.
"An intermission," Hamilton announced, "but do not despair. We shall shortly have our own particula
r entertainment for you ..."
The scraping of chairs and murmured conversations were muted under the lingering spell of the music, but livened as the guests partook of sweetmeats and Lachryma Christi. They returned to stand informally about the front of the room.
"Are you prepared?" called Hamilton. "Then—Act the first!"
First one, then another black man in turban and baggy trousers came through the door. Naked from the waist up they carried between them a long scarlet curtain on brass rods. Intrigued, the guests watched as the men took position; they bowed and when they rose, so did the rods, suspending the curtain in a creditable imitation of a miniature stage.
"Ah! I believe I know what is to come," said Renzi. Mysterious bumps and scrapes sounded from behind the curtain. Urgent whispers could be heard, and then Hamilton emerged. "Ecce!" he called—and swept aside the curtain.
At first Kydd could not make out what was happening, but then he saw that it was Lady Hamilton in a theatrical pose, standing motionless before a large upright seashell in a flowing classical Greek robe, all composed within an empty picture frame. Candles were held artfully by the ambassador to throw a dramatic light upon her. Kydd was astonished at the diaphanous material of her gown, which left little to the imagination, and a decollete that would be thought risque even at the theatre. At the same time he saw that the chubbiness had not extinguished a very real beauty—an expressive and angelic face raised to heaven that was the quintessence of innocence.
"Aphrodite rises fr'm the waves!" Several shouts vied with each other. They were rewarded with a smile from the enchantress and then the curtain closed. It opened again to a different pose: an ardent, lovelorn entwining around the branch of a tree, beseeching an unseen figure, and still in the filmy gown.
"Glycera frolicking with Alcibiades!" A slight frown appeared while protracted but jovial disputation took place.
"Cleopatra and Antony receive the news!" called Renzi at length, to be thrown a dazzling smile. Kydd looked to see how Nelson was receiving the entertainment and was startled to see the gallant admiral wildly applauding each manifestation, always gracefully acknowledged by Lady Hamilton.
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