Prudently, Serrano disappeared, and twenty minutes later Kydd walked suspiciously into the room.
‘Hail, fellow – and well met!’ Renzi cried, moved beyond words to see his friend once more.
But instead of an effusive greeting Kydd said abruptly, ‘You, too, are taken, Nicholas – how’s this?’
‘Not at all, dear chap. We’re here to take you back.’
Kydd held his breath, then let it out slowly. ‘You’re on the loose in a captured city – I won’t ask how, but it won’t answer.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I can’t go back, and you know why. You and Stirk have risked it for nothing.’
‘You mean you’ve given parole.’
‘Indeed, as has General Beresford and we all. I would have thought it reasonable, given we’re to be shortly exchanged, according to the terms o’ capitulation.’
‘There’s a boat from L’Aurore lying off, waiting for us. We must move fast.’
‘You didn’t hear me. My parole is my word given, which on my honour will never be broken. Can you not see this? And how damn cruel it is, you tempting me like this.’
Renzi swallowed his irritation. ‘Dear fellow, I have to tell you the Spanish have broken the surrender terms and are marching all British away up-country as prisoners. Parole is meaningless in the face of such treachery.’
‘Where did you hear that? I can’t believe General Liniers to be so lost to honour he’d risk the world’s condemning. It’s nonsense . . . or is it that you’re spinning me a stretcher as will make me break my parole?’ he demanded, incredulous.
‘Not at all, dear friend. I hesitate to hurry you, but urgency dictates-’
‘No! They’ll only be moving the men to better quarters, I’d think. No, Nicholas, I don’t believe a word of what you’re saying. I’m duty-bound to stay, and that’s an end to it.’
The stalemate was suddenly broken when the bedroom door opened and Serrano came in, pale-faced but resolute.
In open astonishment Kydd looked first to Renzi and then to Serrano. His face darkened. ‘This treacherous dog – what’s he doing here?’
Serrano replied, in a quaver, ‘Captain Keed, sir! Hear me. He tell it right. They are sending the British soldiers off. I here because I, too, am betrayed.’
Seeing Kydd swell with growing anger, he quickly went on, ‘Why am I here? Is easy for me not to come, but I come. To tell you – is the truth! The terms are broken by General Liniers. Your soldiers are taken away. Soon you!’
Kydd hesitated. ‘To break parole is a hard thing,’ he muttered. ‘Nicholas, what do you-’
‘The abrogation of a treaty by one sovereign nation renders it a nullity for both,’ Renzi said firmly. ‘I cannot see how an agreement of parole is in any wise different.’
‘Then . . .’
‘Then perhaps we should exercise a modicum of celerity in our departure?’
Kydd straightened. ‘My word of parole is withdrawn. As of this moment.’
‘Quite so,’ Renzi said, with relief. ‘Shall we now-’
‘Not yet. Understand I’m not abandoning the others.’
He paused, then ordered crisply, ‘This room is now our centre of operations. All British officers are to be assembled here for escape, which will be done by twos.’
‘There’s only the gig – it can only take, say, five at a time and-’
‘I’m not leaving ’em, Nicholas. Now, we have to pass the word to muster here. Um, Mr Serrano, how’s this to be done, do you think?’
Clinton, billeted nearby, was the first to arrive, blinking at the sudden turn of events.
They waited in rising tension for the others, but then Serrano burst in, panting. ‘Not good! The officers, they being taken – Gen’ral Beresford argue wi’ Liniers. Now they come looking for you, Captain.’
They had to get away instantly but it was madness to think that two English officers in uniform could get through. Kydd had a plan.
‘Nicholas – you’re taking us somewhere, Stirk follows as servant.’ This would give them a chance on the main streets, where parole would allow them, a not uncommon sight, but closer to the fort and the foreshore it would be a different matter.
‘Ready?’ Kydd then turned to Serrano. ‘I thank ’ee for what you’ve done tonight – but if ever you run athwart my hawse again, I’ll screw your neck, so help me God.’
The streets of Buenos Aires were still in festive array when they moved out, Renzi affecting to ignore the taunts and jibes and taking refuge in a dignified silence. It seemed to work and they made good progress but he feared it couldn’t last, not if they were out looking for Kydd. They were four; such a number was too many to overlook. It was time to make for the back-streets and the waterfront. Their little boat – so near yet so far.
As they came closer to the water the danger multiplied for they had no excuse to be there. The fort loomed; the sentries limned in the diffuse moonlight.
Renzi came to a sudden stop. ‘We’ve a problem,’ he whispered, and pointed ahead to the mole. It was guarded. ‘The boat is beyond, just around the point, but how the devil do we get past?’ There was no slipping underneath the massive compacted stone structure.
Then Clinton had an idea, a long shot, but there was no going back. ‘I’ll trouble you for your coat, Mr Kydd.’ He removed his own and explained, ‘It’s fever – smallpox. You and Stirk are carrying me, a dead body, and Mr Renzi will chant the offices!’
The coats were turned inside out and arranged over ‘the body’ and they set off in the dim light.
With Renzi in the lead making the sign of the cross and mumbling away they approached the sentries who lapsed into a suspicious silence, unslinging their muskets.
‘?Paso, paso – la viruela!’ Renzi wailed mournfully, and resumed his reciting.
There were exclamations of alarm and the soldiers drew back, watching fearfully as they passed. It wasn’t until they had gone around the point that the spell was broken. One of the sentries woke up to the fact that the burial ground was in another direction and urgent shouts broke the night stillness.
‘Quickly – we need to get the boat in the water!’ Renzi urged, looking about with Stirk in the dimness.
Clinton threw off the coats and got to his feet, waiting tensely with Kydd.
‘Can’t find the damned thing!’ Renzi blurted, breathless and angry.
‘It ain’t here – ’cos the owner’s taken ’un back!’ Stirk spat.
More shouts came and figures started to run towards them.
‘Find another bloody boat!’ Kydd demanded – but there was none.
There was only one thing they could do. ‘Into the water!’ Renzi urged and hurled himself in, splashing noisily out as fast as he could. The others followed, stumbling in the mud, the cold of the sea shocking as they sloshed their way further out.
A musket shot came, then another, but the wild firing into the darkness was no real danger.
The little group moved out deeper and deeper. The line of freezing cold rose remorselessly up their bodies, bringing uncontrollable shuddering and a draining of life-warmth until their minds could hold only the desperate need to press on and on – and then, with water up to their necks, out in the night there was an anxious low call.
‘Toby? Mr Renzi?’
Chapter 16
The outlines of a boat emerged from the early morning pearly mist. Two challenges rang out simultaneously from the lookouts in L’Aurore.
The triumphant reply roared back, ‘L’Aurore!’ indicating that this was no less than the anointed captain of their ship.
It brought every man and boy of the ship’s company on deck in a gleeful rush, with a disbelieving Gilbey. Then the boatswain importantly took position at the ship’s side with his silver call.
The gig hooked on and Kydd mounted the steps gravely, his dignity respected even when coming aboard in a filthy uniform without cocked hat or shoes. The side-party, however, was all grins: order had returned to their universe.
‘Pleased to be back, Mr Gilbey,’ Kydd replied, to the mumbled welcome. ‘Hands to unmoor ship, if you please.’