Innes turned to Hayward and asked, ‘Has he married?’
‘Yes, but I’ve never met the lady. I’ve heard he took her as a widow in the Caribbean. No children.’
Laughter gusted and swelled around them and the mood changed. ‘Renzi, if you’ve been here before, pray tell us the essence of the place,’ Innes said, abstracting the largest piece of roast hare.
‘Ah – Naples. The seat of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, ruled by Ferdinand the Fourth, lately in treaty of amity with the French. The Queen is sister to Marie Antoinette, and has her views on the character of the French nation. The court has been termed grotesque and cruel, although the people adore their king—’
‘Belay all that, if y’ please,’ Kydd interrupted pleasantly. ‘Should we want t’ step ashore, what diversions c’n we expect?’
‘Naples? That Goethe considers the third city of the world? A tolerable number of diverting entertainments – we have Vesuvius, which swallowed the Roman Pompeii, an inordinate number of churches, arts and cultures –’
Kydd smiled ruefully at the others.
‘– but in all this we have to remember that there are Jacobin spies on every corner, those who would slit a throat for two piastres and ladies who must be accounted the most rapacious of their species. And shameless…’ Renzi finished.
A sudden roar of acclamation went up from the table next to them as the officers lurched to their feet to raise their glasses to Nelson, who moved on and stood quite near Kydd. ‘Wine with you, gentlemen!’ he said, handing over his glass for refreshing. ‘Our late victory owes all to my gallant band of officers, whose conduct was in the highest traditions of our Service. To the health of His Majesty!’
‘Damnation to th’ French, sir!’ Warm with wine Kydd’s elation was rising. ‘Success attend ye always – an’ in a bumper!’ Nelson gave a short bow and looked at him quizzically. Kydd had an impression of a deeply incised face haggard with fatigue, a slight, almost delicate body, flint-like gaze and febrile energy.
‘Kydd, is it not? Aft through the hawse, and now an ornament to his profession.’
Speechless with pleasure, Kydd bowed awkwardly. ‘Th-thank you, sir,’ he stammered.
Officers scrambled to set their glasses a-brim. ‘To you, Sir Horatio! And Old England’s glory!’
Tenacious would have to wait her turn for repair at the Castellammare dockyard, a dozen miles across the wide bay. In the meantime there seemed no reason why the delights of the city should not be sampled.
‘See Naples and die!’ Renzi murmured, as the two friends stepped ashore. From the time of their adventures in Venice, Kydd had known that Renzi had been on the Grand Tour expected of the gentility and had visited many cities in Europe. He knew little more other than that he had been accompanied by a dissolute companion who had extended his education into areas Renzi refused to speak of, yet at the same time had also kindled in him a deep love of learning.
‘How fine t’ play the hero,’ Kydd said, as they strode together down the broad seafront road. On every side passers-by waved and cheered, while women threw flowers over them. A Neapolitan officer stopped before them and bowed elegantly, rising with an elaborate gesture of welcome.
‘Why, thank ye, sir,’ Kydd said happily, seeing the pleased surprise on the officer’s face at Renzi’s gracious reply.
Beggars hobbled towards them and small boys ran up chanting. Kydd made to find a coin but Renzi pulled him on. ‘These are the lazzaroni – if you give to one you’ll have the whole city round your ears.’ Leaving the seafront they went up into narrow streets past meat stalls, joiners working in the street, hucksters, pedlars, performers. After the purity of the sea every port had a characteristic smell for all sailors – that in Naples was compounded from the garlic-laden pasta cooking on every street corner, a universal underlying odour of fish and the ordure of horses.
‘Where are we bound, Nicholas?’ Kydd asked.
‘You wished to see the sights of Naples. If we are fortunate we will soon have the opportunity to take our fill of the most diverting curiosities…’
Not far from the royal palace Renzi pointed out, a little further up the hilly streets, a relatively modest building. Kydd saw it bore the arms of Great Britain. ‘The embassy?’
‘Of course. I am to renew acquaintance with Sir William Hamilton and his amusing wife, I believe.’
The doorman accepted Renzi’s card and ushered them both into a drawing room. Presently a tall, aristocratic gentleman with striking eyes and a hooked nose entered, holding Renzi’s card and looking puzzled. ‘Lieutenant Renzi?’ He looked at them keenly, then suddenly exclaimed, ‘Mr Laughton! You have the advantage of me, sir, I had no knowledge of your arrival, and—’