‘Sir?’ It could mean anything from abject surrender to an ultimatum – or a Spanish trick, Kydd told himself, to control his sudden rush of excitement.
‘I’m inclined to take it at face value. I shall go forward under flag o’ truce and see what they want. I should be obliged if you would accompany me in case they try any knavish tricks concerning sea matters.’ He glanced at Kydd. ‘Kindly remain silent during the proceedings unless you perceive anything untoward at which you will inform me, never addressing the enemy. Do you understand?’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
Paget heaved himself up on his horse, which was patiently held by a soldier. ‘And get this man a horse, for God’s sake,’ he threw at an officer, as he looked down on Kydd’s rumpled, dusty appearance.
The little group of officers walked their horses down the road, preceded by a mounted trooper holding a pennon with a vast white flag attached. Ahead, in the distance, a blob of white appeared, resolving by degrees into a group, which to Kydd looked distinctly non-military.
‘Halt!’ A trumpeter dismounted and marched smartly to the exact point of equidistance and sounded off an elaborate call. There was movement among the figures opposite but no inclination to treat that Kydd could discern.
They waited in the sun: Kydd could hear Paget swearing under his breath, his horse impatiently picking at the ground with his hoof. At length there was a general advance of the whole mass towards them.
‘What the devil!’ Paget exploded. ‘Stand your ground!’ he roared back over his shoulder to his officers.
It was apparent that any military component of the Spanish group was conspicuous only by its absence. The florid garments and general demeanour of the leading members seemed more municipal than statesmanlike as they nervously approached. ‘Tell ’em that’s far enough,’ Paget told an aide.
‘Ni un paso más!’ The group stopped, but a man stepped forward uneasily with an old-fashioned frilly tricorne in his hands. Words were spoken and the man regarded Paget with a look that was half truculent, half pleading.
‘Sir, this is Antonio Andreu, alcalde of the councillors of Mahon. He wishes you a good day.’
‘Dammit! Tell him who I am, and say I’m expecting three more battalions to arrive by the other road presently.’
‘He desires to know if there is produce of the land that perhaps he can offer, that you have come such a long way – red wine, olives, some oranges.’
‘Also tell him that our siege train arrives by sea tonight, and before dawn Mahon will be held within a ring of iron standing ready to pound his town to dust and rubble.’
‘Mr Andreu mentions that Minorca is famed for its shoes and leather harnesses, which we English will have remembered from the past – I believe he is talking about our last occupation, sir.’
‘What does the man want, for God’s sake? Ask him!’
‘Sir,’ said the lieutenant, very carefully, ‘on behalf of the citizens of Port Mahon he wishes to surrender.’
‘He what?’ Paget choked.
Andreu’s face was pale. He spoke briefly, then handed up a polished box. ‘He offers up the keys to Mahon, sir, but deeply regrets that he is not certain of the ceremonial form of a capitulation and apologises profoundly for any unintended slight.’
Taking a deep breath, Paget turned to his adjutant. ‘I can’t take a surrender from a parcel o’ tradesmen.’
‘Sir, it might be considered churlish to refuse.’
‘They haven’t even got a flag we can haul down. There are forms an’ conventions, dammit.’
‘An expression of submission on their part, sir? Purely for form’s sake…’
‘Tell ’em – tell ’em this minute they’re to give three hearty hurrahs for King George.’
‘They say, sir – er, they say…’
‘And what do they say, sir?’
‘And then may they go home?’
At the head of his seamen Kydd moved through the town. They padded down to the waterfront, past gaping women leaning from windows and curious knots of townsfolk at street corners. Most were silent but some dared cheers at the sight of the English sailors.
The dockyard was deserted: there was a brig under construction but little other shipping. That left only the boom, set across the harbour further along. Helpful townsfolk pointed it out, then found them the capstans to operate it.
There was little else that Kydd could think to do. It was a magnificent harbour with its unusual deep cleft of water between the heights where the main town appeared to be. It was long and spacious, its entrance flanked by forts. Out to sea were the men-o’-war of the Royal Navy.