‘No,’ Nelson said crisply. ‘There will be another way to get them out – at night perhaps. We prepare for evacuation now. Troubridge will arrive soon and we shall conceive a plan together.’
‘Then might I recommend that the treasury be not left to the French? It is reputed to be of several millions in specie alone.’ There were also rich paintings, hangings, gilded carvings beyond counting – but these would have to remain. Only the state reserves could be taken.
Darkness fell. More crowds gathered below, chanting and restless. There would be no flight from the palace even at night. Troubridge arrived at last: grave and polite, he listened while Nelson gave his orders, then slipped away to prepare communications with the ships.
The chanting grew in volume and Hamilton peeped out. ‘Dare I ask that Their Majesties show themselves to the crowd?’
The King and Queen of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies appeared on the balcony of the palace to tumultuous applause, bowing and waving, held for an hour by the baying crowds before they could move inside, pale and shaking.
‘We move the treasury to the embassy,’ Nelson snapped. ‘I want every cask and barrel that the kitchens can find, and we’ll stow it all in those.’ The embassy in the Palazzo Sessa was conveniently on high ground at the back of the palace, and before long, gold ducats, silver from a dozen countries and even gold sovereigns were being nailed into hogsheads and ankers, Emma loyally scrawling in chalk on each one ‘Stores for Nelson’.
The howls of the mob grew louder. Hamilton eased back the curtain again. The streets were alive with packs of men, some carrying torches, others weapons. ‘They’re staying around the palace,’ he murmured. ‘We dare not leave.
‘There goes Ferreri,’ he said, and stiffened. A figure in a dark cloak thrust across the waterfront road and began to board a boat not a hundred yards away. The boatman gestured angrily, shouting at the crowd. Ferreri was a valuable man to Hamilton, a royalist Frenchman with a line to secrets within the Jacobin underworld.
With horrifying swiftness the mob closed round him. His French accent had triggered suspicions and he was dragged from the boat on to the quayside where he disappeared under a flailing pack. They punched, kicked and tore at the black figure until it moved no more, then a rope was tied round one leg and the corpse was dragged over the cobblestones towards the palace, leaving a slime of blood to glitter in the torchlight. A maniac chanting started from the upturned faces below the balcony. ‘My God,’ said Hamilton. ‘They want to show the King what they’ve done for him!’
Queen Maria Carolina dropped into a swoon; the King made odd gobbling noises. Nelson turned to Hamilton. ‘We have to leave now, sir. Do you know—’
The Queen came to herself, muttering strangely.
‘Be quiet! Everyone!’ Emma listened intently, then threw a triumphant look at Nelson. ‘She says there’s some kind o’ door – a gate. It connects her rooms to th’ old caves an’ passages under Naples.’
‘That could well be so,’ said Hamilton. ‘We know of the sottosuolo, where the Romans left underground catacombs and tunnels after excavating for tufo building stone. Huge voids, some, and artefacts have been found that date—’
Emma gave a twisted smile. ‘She says she hasn’t told us before as she’s always worried a thief might get to know of it an’ rob her in her sleep.’
‘Do any of these connect with the sea?’ Nelson demanded.
‘Apparently most of them do, yes,’ Hamilton said.
‘The sea!’ Nelson’s cry was heartfelt: to an Englishman the sea was a friend, a highway to freedom. ‘At which point?’ he added hastily.
‘The Molosiglio.’
‘That’s all I need. I’ll get word to Troubridge directly. Please to inform Their Majesties to prepare for their departure.’
Soon after midnight Nelson stood grimly at the top of a dark stairway, listening to the hollow sound of approaching footsteps. A naval officer came into view, blinking uncertainly in the bright light. ‘Cap’n Hope, Alcmene frigate, sir, with a party of men,’ he said, touching his hat.
‘Well met, sir! Shall we proceed?’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
‘Light the torches – I shall go first.’ Nelson descended the dank stairs and paused at the bottom to inspect the seamen. They were in their familiar sea rig and all had drawn cutlasses, which gleamed in the flickering torchlight.
‘Keep station on me,’ he snapped, drew his sword and plunged forward. It was ghostly quiet in the ancient tunnels and stank of damp antiquity. The flickering light fell on rough-hewn tunnel walls and the black of anonymous voids.