His gig put off for the flagship. Kydd had laid out his own money to revarnish the boat and then embellish it with Lincoln green inside, scarlet fittings and a peep of gold-leaf about the carvings of the stern-sheets. If L’Aurore was going to be a long-term feature of the Caribbean scene he wanted her to look the part. He mused idly that he should probably give thought to a residence ashore, a place to spend time out of the ship, acquire curios, perhaps, and to throw open for occasions of a social nature.
The boat had nearly reached the flagship and, as he looked about the familiar harbour, he wondered why there seemed to be so many ships. The small naval squadron was the same. It was the merchant shipping that was more numerous, some rafted together at anchor. Were they reluctant to put to sea for some reason? That didn’t make sense, for if that was the case the naval ships would be out dealing with whatever the threat was.
He shrugged, and they hooked on at the main-chains. His action had resulted in prizes and he passed over the bulwarks to the keening of the boatswain’s call with a light heart.
‘Captain.’ The first lieutenant greeted him, but his features were tense and lined. ‘I’ll see if the admiral is able to see you, sir.’ He hurried off, leaving Kydd on the quarterdeck.
Something was wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
A couple of lieutenants stood together to one side, talking in low tones.
‘Boney’s master-stroke, I believe,’ said one, his face grave. ‘As not to say, a war-winner.’
‘It’s got Dacres in a whirl, right enough,’ the other agreed. ‘Helpless, can’t do a thing to stop it.’
Kydd went over to them. ‘I’ve been at sea – what’s this about Bonaparte striking back?’ he demanded. He couldn’t help recalling Renzi’s foreboding that there would be some form of malevolent avenging of Trafalgar – was it now to be revealed?
‘Ah, I do think the admiral should give you the news himself, sir.’
Before Kydd could press the matter, the first lieutenant returned. ‘He’ll see you now, Captain – if you’ll be quick,’ he added, with embarrassment.
Dacres was at his desk, his flag-lieutenant by his side and two clerks at work nearby. He looked up, distracted. ‘Kydd. Um, a fine sight, your prizes. Well done. Anything to report?’
‘Sir,’ Kydd began guardedly, ‘I saw fit to employ my first prize as a tender in the getting of more and—’
‘Yes, quite, but we have more pressing concerns at the present time. You’ve been at sea and won’t have heard. Napoleon Bonaparte has made his move, and I cannot deny that it’s a great blow to this nation. The man’s a devil and a genius.’
‘But, sir, what is it that—’
‘You wouldn’t credit it! Conceives of a way to reach out and destroy us here in the Caribbean where all the time we’ve been living in a fool’s paradise thinking he could not.’
‘Sir, if you’d—’
‘No time to explain it now. Here – take this. It’ll tell you everything. We’ll be having a council-of-war shortly to see if we can do anything at all to head off the worst, and until then I’ll bid you good-day, sir.’
Kydd tucked the single sheet he’d been passed into his waistcoat and left. Outside, the first lieutenant was apologetic. ‘It’s not a good time for him right at present. There is a meeting tonight at Spanish Town. Every planter and bigwig in these islands will be there baying for blood – anyone’s!’
Consumed by curiosity, it was all Kydd could do to wait until he was seated in his gig on the way back before he drew out the paper.
It was ill-printed on cheap stock and in French, manifestly produced in mass for wide circulation. ‘From the Imperial Camp at Berlin. Napoleon, Emperor of the French and King of Italy …’
It was a decree. He scanned it quickly. To begin with there were nine clauses: aggrieved reasons why his enemy was in breach of international law and usage:
‘… that England does not admit to the right of nations as universally acknowledged by all civilised people …’ Kydd snorted. The hypocrisy of Bonaparte, whose armies on the march routinely robbed and plundered rather than trouble with a supply train.
And ‘… this conduct in England is worthy of the first ages of barbarism, to benefit her to the detriment of other nations …’ This was only the usual diatribe fawningly reported by the Moniteur – or was it?
The second part was a series of eleven articles to constitute henceforth ‘the law of empire’ for France and her dominions in retaliation.