Tenacious(25)

They entered a fine inlet between San Pietro island and another; the enfolding bay was sheltered from everything but a southerly. They could anchor there in perfect peace with space enough for twenty ships – and it was good holding ground: shells and soft shale came up with the lead.

The bare, scrubby land shimmered in the glare of the morning sun and Kydd scanned it cautiously for any activity. There were some vestiges of cultivation on the steep slopes and the occasional red-tiled farm dwelling but no fortifications that he could detect.

He completed his sweep of the little bay and told Bowden to indicate with his white flag over red that he considered it worth bringing in Tenacious. Then he prepared to carry out the second part of his orders.

As he pulled deeper into the bay he looked for any signs that the local inhabitants might be hostile. Already dots were appearing on the sandy beach and dunes. ‘Stretch out, if y’ please,’ Kydd urged the rowers. If he was to represent the Royal Navy to a foreign power, he would make sure his men did not let him down. He turned the boat towards a knot of people, and when it beached, allowed himself to be chaired ashore by two seamen.

‘L’tenant Kydd, His Majesty’s Ship Tenacious,’ he announced loudly, bowing in a general way to the people and bringing an immediate hush to the crowd. ‘Er, anyone speaks English?’

Dressed in the exotics of the inner Mediterranean they looked at Kydd with curiosity. He picked out the most dignified of the men, and repeated the question. The man started in consternation, threw out his hands and jabbered fearfully. ‘We come t’ repair – in peace, that is,’ Kydd tried again, but could feel a rising tide of unease. More people arrived and he saw the curiosity replaced by scowls. He glanced back at his boat; he had deliberately not armed the seamen with him and had not worn his own sword.

A swirl of movement at the back of the crowd caught his eye: a donkey was coming down a track to the beach, ridden by an officer of some kind. Laughter broke out from the boat’s crew at the comical sight of the man’s legs flapping out to the sides of the diminutive beast.

‘Silence!’ roared Kydd, aghast. The officer came to a stop and slid to the ground, his face dark with anger. He wore an odd folded hat with a scarlet tassel and a faded but flamboyant uniform that ill fitted his corpulent figure. The seamen could not stifle their mirth and Kydd ground out, ‘I’ll take the cat t’ the next man who so much as grins, s’ help me.’ He bowed as low as he could to the officer, who stiffly returned the gesture, after he had snarled something to the crowd, which subsided obediently. ‘L’tenant Kydd,’ he began again, but the officer broke into impassioned speech, gesturing at Tenacious.

‘Sir, I can’t understand…’ Frustrated, they glared at each other, speechless.

‘Pardonnez-moi, mon commandant,’ Bowden came in awkwardly, ‘mais si vous avez le français…’

The officer’s expression changed fractionally and he answered in gruff, choppy French. They exchanged sentences and Bowden turned to Kydd. ‘Sir, this officer comes from Fort Charles on the island. He’s a captain of militia and therefore an officer of His Sardinian Majesty. He demands to know by what right we are coming ashore.’

All Kydd knew was that Sardinia was a neutral country. ‘Thank ye, Bowden. Do you tell him we’re only here a short time to repair storm damage an’ mean no act o’ hostility.’ Bowden relayed his words – some of the crowd understood what he said and passed it on to the others. The officer stiffened. Kydd looked at Bowden impatiently.

‘Sir, he says that under the terms of their treaty with France, Sardinia may not allow an English vessel to enter any port in the kingdom, and that is his final word.’

Kydd saw there was no moving him – no argument or show of force was appropriate. On the other hand no repairs could be contemplated if the ships would be at the mercy of unfriendly local forces. ‘Bowden, listen carefully. I want you t’ say this so the others can hear, you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Tell him that we agree not to enter his port, just anchor offshore.’ That was no concession – the little cluster of buildings and small wharf he could see at the inner coast of the island could not possibly take four ships-of-the-line. Bowden did as he was told. ‘Now mark this,’ Kydd went on. ‘Tell him that a big ship has many sailors – they must be fed. If any has livestock or vegetables, they can turn them into English silver this very day, should they bring them here to this beach.’

Excitement grew as the word spread. The man Kydd had addressed earlier now pushed across, wanting to know if the English sailors preferred beef or mutton, and small boys raced off with the news. The officer barked at them, but the mood had changed: here was instant prosperity for this tiny settlement and it would go ill with him if he stood in its way.