‘Aggrieved?’
‘Why, yes – I’m amazed you’ve not heard the tale! He was at Toulon with Hood in ’ninety-three, personally setting the torch to near a dozen French sail-o’-the-line. Next he gets himself captured in a river action and is taken to Paris. There he’s accused by our fine friend Buonaparte of being an incendiary and is thrown into a condemned cell while they prepare a public trial. But he made a daring escape before they could do the deed and now he’s facing this same Buonaparte again and vows he will make him smart for it.’
‘He’s really going t’ see out a siege against the whole French army?’ said Kydd. It was bold and courageous, but was Smith imagining he could stand against an army of conquest with siege guns?
Hewitt went on drily, ‘Do not judge Sir Sidney by standards you’d use on others. He’s unique, completely fearless and most inventive in the arts of war. You’ll find him… different. Many dislike him for his ways. As my captain, I’ve found him amiable enough. And he’s devilishly well connected – his brother’s our top diplomat in Constantinople, and he takes his orders direct from the Foreign Office as plenipotentiary, which has probably put Our Nel’s nose somewhat out of joint.’
‘What are our orders, then?’ Kydd said.
‘We’ll both discover shortly – he’s coming ashore to plan his defences.’ Hewitt looked at Kydd shrewdly. ‘As I said, make no hasty judgements. He’s damned clever and brave to a fault.’
Smith arrived promptly at noon. Fastidiously dressed, he had made no concessions to their surroundings. His uniform coat even bore the bejewelled star of some order. Kydd noted the delicacy of his grip as he shook his hand, the sensitivity of his face.
‘Conference now, if you please, gentlemen.’ He led the way to an upper room with plain furniture scattered about and pulled a table to the centre. There he spread out a large hand-drawn map, showing the land features that were necessarily missing from the familiar sea chart. ‘This, gentlemen, is the town of St John d’Acre. As you can see, walled around, open ground without. Two sides to the sea, two facing inland – here at their corner is a large square tower. It has good observation possibilities. The locals call it the “Cursed Tower”.’ He added lightly, ‘It seems it was paid for with Judas Iscariot’s thirty pieces of silver.’
Kydd was not interested in a Biblical allusion. ‘Sir, ye’re thinking on making a stand against Gen’ral Buonaparte here?’
Smith’s smile vanished. ‘I most certainly am, Mr Kydd. Can you be one of those wretched crew who cringe at the sound of his name? I mean to show the world that he can be bested – and, remember, we have the sea at our backs.’
Kydd felt Hewitt’s eyes on him. ‘Sir, with no soldiers it’ll be a hard job.’
‘You’re forgetting Djezzar, the ruler of this region. He is providing three thousand of the best troops – Anatolian, Albanian, Kurds, Africans – and will reside within these walls while the French do their worst, trusting us to effect its defence.’
Something of Kydd’s scepticism must have shown, for Smith went on, ‘Our object is simply to hold the town until relieved. And I can tell you now that at this very moment a Turkish army eight times the size of Buonaparte’s is preparing to advance towards us. Not even the victor of Italy may prevail over that.’
There was the sound of movement and voices below. ‘Ah, he has arrived.’ Smith went to the window and stared out until an older officer, with a deeply lined face, wearing a uniform that Kydd did not recognise, entered. Smith turned and, with a warm smile, greeted him in a stream of mellifluous French, gesturing first to Hewitt, who responded with a bow and murmured French, and then to Kydd, who could only bow and mutter in English.
‘For those without the necessary accomplishment I will translate,’ Smith said. ‘This gentleman is Lieutenant General the Count Phélippeaux, an honourable Frenchman of the ancien régime. He is in the first rank of those learned in the arts of fortification and will tell us how best we may prepare for our siege.’
Kydd’s expression altered, but Smith, mistaking the change, went on, ‘Set aside your concerns. This was the officer who, in the most handsome manner, assisted in my escape from the prison cell in Paris. He has every reason to detest the revolutionaries, you may believe, Mr Kydd.’
The conference moved forward quickly. Whatever else, Smith was clear-headed and energetic. Within the hour they had settled on immediate priorities: with an unknown time before Buonaparte appeared, their defences had to be completed as soon as possible.