Tenacious(93)

The sun beamed and the plash of the waves was soothing. ‘Do you not feel a pity f’r Gen’ral Buonaparte, sis,’ Kydd teased, ‘that he’s cast away in Egypt with no hope o’ rescue, him ’n’ his great army all alone in the desert?’

‘I do not! Such a wicked man! I hope the sun quite dries him up like a wizened prune.’

Kydd’s grin at his sister’s pout broadened as he considered how things had changed for the better. ‘Ye’ve heard we’re in Leghorn now, Cec – that’s in the north of Italy—’

‘Thomas, I’m not ignorant.’

‘An’, best of all, Our Nel has stirred up Naples enough that they’ve marched north an’ taken Rome.’

‘“Our Nel”?’

‘What we call Admiral Nelson.’

‘The common sailors, Thomas, not the officers!’

‘They love him, Cec. When we were chasin’ the French and everything looked so bad, he called across his captains then started asking ’em if they were feeding the men enough onions! And makes sure they get full measure o’ grog with wine he buys himself. They’d sail through hell for him – truly.’

‘And you?’ Cecilia pouted. ‘Will I see you run after a man with one eye, one arm, the most junior admiral in the list?’

‘You will, Cec,’ Kydd said. ‘Nelson is th’ greatest leader I know, and if he says that this is the way t’ do it, why, that’s the way t’ do it.’

‘There are some who are not so easily persuaded…’ Cecilia said archly.

‘Who? They’re jealous, is all!’

‘Lord Stanhope, for one.’

Kydd paused. Stanhope’s discreet position as a diplomat was mysterious, and involved much travel, but it was known his allegiance was to London alone. His presence in Minorca would not be coincidental. ‘What is he saying, then?’

‘Well, he doesn’t even tell things to Lady Stanhope,’ Cecilia said, ‘but when he heard that Sir Horatio had caused King Ferdinand to move on the French he was very uneasy – and even the news that Rome was restored didn’t bring him to humour.’

‘Is that all? Well, now Nelson is a peer o’ the realm – Baron Nelson o’ the Nile! An’ there’s talk that the King o’ Naples is going to make him a duke. Doesn’t that tell you what the world thinks of him?’ He sat up and tested the holding of the little kedge anchor. ‘Cec, we’ve got the mongseers on the run. Everywhere they’re losin’ battles – and it could be,’ he said, with a sudden wrinkling of his brow, ‘that this war is going t’ be over soon.’

Sir William Hamilton entered the room quietly. Nelson, scrawling at a great rate in his peculiar crabwise fashion, was at his desk by the window with its magnificent view of the Bay of Naples. He was grey with exhaustion and his slight body seemed shrivelled, but his expression nevertheless retained a fierce vitality. ‘Is it true?’

‘I fear so. I have a letter from General Mack. In essence he cannot be sure of holding them, even at Capua. It’s the very worst news – I’m sorry.’ It had been so extraordinarily swift: Rome had been taken but the regrouping French had rapidly struck back, vengefully striking south into the heart of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. And now it seemed that the Austrian commander of King Ferdinand’s forces, Mack, with an army far larger than that of the French, had contrived to lose every encounter with them so far.

Nelson stared out of the window, then said heavily, ‘Our situation in Leghorn becomes insupportable. The grand duke must shift for himself.’

‘Our reputation would be irretrievably ruined, should—’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Nelson said testily. ‘I shall send a frigate, should his household be put to hazard.’

‘As it appears it will…’

Nelson threw down his quill, got to his feet, and paced the floor as if it were a quarterdeck. ‘Charles Emmanuel of Sardinia escapes to Cagliari, now the Grand Duke of Tuscany flees before his own people – what kind of rulers are they? And from London I’ve received only reproaches – never any soldiers. How can I steady these cowardly wretches without English soldiers?’ He stopped pacing. ‘I will leave Malta to Ball. That is all I can retain of this shambles.’

Hamilton murmured sympathy but Nelson interrupted, ‘General Buonaparte! To give the devil his due, he’s now crossed an impassable desert and kept his army together, which is more than any man would credit. Now he’s marching north into the Holy Land and could be anywhere. God damn his French soul!’