"Because we have discovered that she is a French spy, sir."
"What?" he reiterated, beyond shocked. "Beg pardon, you…"
"Why else do you think she'd ever be interested in you, sir?" The old schemer hooted with joy of his revelation.
CHAPTER
2
"Tell him, Peel," Twigg instructed, once Lewrie had calmed.
"You recall the ledger book, sir," Peel began, getting to his feet to make free with a fresh bottle of a much better wine from Alan's cabinet.
"The enigmatic heading, 'U-R'? Not the initials of a single person… rather a corporate entity, Captain Lewrie," Peel said, with a military man's proper deference to a naval officer's title. "As you commented to my employer, he told me… a group of three, twenty, even sixty?
Quite right, sir."
Peel at least was crisp in his delivery, the perfect soldier, reeling off a situation briefing, compared to Twigg's infernally circuitous maunderings.
"It has two meanings, one for the inner circle, one for the outer." Peel smiled. "It stands for 'Ultimi Romani,' that is to say… 'The Last Romans.' It spans Italy, every kingdom or republic, made of substantial men with what they deem progressive, idealistic Republican and patriotic sentiments. A cabal of romantics quite infatuated with the unification of Italy, first and foremost, like the early Republican era of ancient Rome. Secondly, for the expansion of a unified Italy on the world stage, which will come to resemble somewhat the scope of the Roman Empire. All Italy, of course, all Mediterranean islands, all of North Africa, Egypt, the Levant, Turkey, and the Ottoman possessions in their grasp again, as well as the Holy Land and eastern Adriatic coast. With the Austrians removed as occupiers."
"To achieve this," Twigg interjected, "they've entered into a Devil's bargain with France, to drive the Austrians out, overrun the peninsula and topple every sovereign state, using French occupation as the catalyst for revolution. Become a unified French possession. For a time, only. Until they may negotiate, or take by force, their later autonomy."
"Counting on the Coalition, sir," Peel went on, once Twigg had his nose back in his brandy, "to so weaken France, they can play silly buggers in the Mediterranean. See France so weaken England, Prussia, or Austria that once they have autonomy, by hook or by crook, we'd welcome them as allies at the proper moment, and acquiesce to their greater ambitions, which involve Savoia, the French Riviera, and Provence, maybe even a portion of Spain. They hold that eventually the entire Mediterranean must be Christian, but most importantly, Roman. And that the rest of the great powers wouldn't mind seeing Moslem power kicked back across the Bosporus and the Red Sea. Catholic Christian, o' course." Peel chuckled, with a raised brow.
"So they'd get in bed, so to speak, with revolutionary atheists to gain it?" Lewrie pondered.
"Indeed, sir. Anything to further the cause." Mister Peel smiled. ' 'U-R' has an inner meaning, much like Masonry. We're fairly sure that it refers to a particular set of collaborators. They're quite cleverly com-partmented, so the exposure of one minor, regional group would never expose the whole. 'U-R' also stands for one man, 'Ultimo Romano,' who may be in charge throughout Italy, or merely the pocket in this region. The Greatest Roman of Them All, sir? The Last Roman? From this man's correspondence, we've discovered a tantalizing clue to a larger cabal, to which he seems to be answerable, which goes by the enigmatic notation of 'Pee-Numeral One.' Either a higher council that pulls all the strings, of which he's a member, or a single person. P as in Pope or P as in Papa? Pee-Primo, or the First One? God only knows, Captain Lewrie." Peel shrugged, giving him the honorific title of his post. "By tracing correspondence from Gallado and Randazzo, we have found the regional leader's identity. Signore Marcello di Silvano."
"Why that two-faced, canting… hound!" Lewrie fumed. "He's written me, so humble, so supportive…!"
"So politically astute?" Twigg laughed. "Who'd be suspected of treason the least, than the patriot who brays the loudest? Signore di Silvano wears a half-dozen faces, depending upon whom he's dealing with. I expect he found gulling you with sympathy and friendship to be an amusing exercise, no more. Just keeping his hand in, practicing his pose of hand-wringin', puppy-eyed insincere mendacity."
"So, you want me to bed his mistress, and somehow winkle information from her 'bout his plans?" Lewrie frowned.
"God no, Lewrie!" Twigg boomed, almost wheezing with amusement. "Bless me, but you're far too thick for that! No, sir. You are the one to be winkled. Signorina Mastandrea knows what she's about, you let the professional do her work."
"You're certain she's a French spy, then?" Lewrie had to ask.
"No doubt about it, sir," Twigg informed him. "A gift to the senator, 'bout the time Savoia was overrun. Like your Corsican doxy, she's of mixed parentage, French and Italian. Not from Bergamo, as she tells people, but Breil, near the old French border. Got her marching orders from my opposite number, to go to Genoa and cozy up to Silvano, who had the means to pass messages, and was already in contact with the French. Huge landowner, do you recall, estates all up and down the Riviera? Estate managers and overseers, goods-carts to and from those farms pass all the time, even through Austrian-held lands. That's how she contacts her employers, and how di Silvano services his local Roman patriots, by land and sea. Intercepted a few of his, found one from her and read it. Rather laughable encryption, actually… wouldn't think a woman was capable of mastering such, but she did. Were she a man, I'd have found a tougher code to crack, I expect."
"She doesn't work for Choundas, then?" Lewrie inquired, rather earnestly. Though he couldn't feature a woman so beautiful even being in the same province as Choundas, much less agreeing to do his dirty work. Even in his younger days, scrubbed up and looking human!
"Her superiors have sometimes given her tasks that might serve his interests, and his squadron's," Twigg allowed with a breezy wave of one hand. "But she is not in his direct employ. And what is this concern, sir? Sweet on her, are you? I forgot, you've already contemplated topping her. A most fetchin' morsel, ain't she. Sorry that I interrupted your courtship in Genoa, might have been advantageous for you two to have an existing relationship. But back then, she had me fooled. I took her as nothing more than a silly, round-heeled slut, too stupid to stay faithful to a rich and vengeful master. All sheep-eyed over the pretty young sailor. There is a risk the senator might not enjoy her chore with you. Taken a fancy to her, no matter they've a working relationship. She and the senator are on intimate terms, I know for a fact. So intimate, and exclusive, since he ditched t'other mistress he had, at Paris's bidding, that he dares to sport with her bareback… do you get my meaning? You might not even need cundums. No, Lewrie. Your job will be to play her fool, then let slip to her what we wish you to let slip, once she's got you in the proper frame of mind."
"And that is…?" Lewrie snorted, still dubious and edgy, no matter how pleasurable his duty might be, how he'd fantasized about Claudia Mastandrea. Twigg had dreamt it up, after all, so…!
"Choundas, of course," Twigg sniffed. "Him and the Austrians."
"The Austrians…" Lewrie drawled, now totally confused.
"Finest army in Europe, sir," Peel stated, most drolly. "And, the slowest."
"We pay them a hideous sum of money to stay in the Coalition," Twigg sighed wearily, "I do not know whether their emperor has ordered de Vins to delay his campaign another season, so they may touch another four million pounds sterling of ours… or whether General de Vins is a raging fool. All their damned generals! War is a German's trade, sir. That's when they earn their highest pay, and get the most adulation, so why wrap things up too early, then go back to barracks and be bored to death? Or perhaps General de Vins is much like our poor Hotham, too timorous and dithering to risk failure. Either way, the nub is that we owe the Austrians another installment in gold. No way to ship it downriver along the Rhine, with the Frogs at its mouth, nor through Hamburg overland. It has to come by sea, to Vado Bay, which is de Vins's only link to the sea. A substantial sum of money, Lewrie."