Nearer still the city took shape: sea-walls miles long were surmounted by hills thronged with white buildings, domes and lofty minarets, then the unmistakable form of the beautiful Hagia Sophia at the end of a peninsula to the left.
A mile-wide channel, the famed Bosporus leading to Russia, separated the coast of Asia to the right from Europe to the left.
Palaces and stately buildings amid parks and groves occupied most of the end of the peninsula and, with another noble grouping further along, made for one of the most dramatic and magnificent sights Kydd had ever seen.
“Sir, where … ?” The master seemed subdued by the spectacular panorama.
“We heave to for now, Mr Kendall. Two cables off should do it.”
“A boat, sir?” Curzon asked.
Kydd eyed the shoreline where excited activity was building at their arrival, whether in fear or outrage it was not possible to tell.
“No, I’m sending nobody ashore in this.”
“Then?”
“We wait. I’ve yet to come across a port without it has its swarm of meddlesome officials. We’ll find out from them how the land lies.”
Bowden had his glass up. “My, but they’re in a taking over something, and I rather think it’s us, sir.”
Kydd borrowed it. Along the seafront he saw waving fists, odd triangular flags and crowds coming together.
They were safe for now and, without an anchor cast, if any hostile sail appeared it was the work of minutes to loose canvas and be under way again.
“Boat, sir,” Calloway called, pointing.
An odd-looking craft was heading their way. A wide-gutted galley of at least fifteen oars a side, it flew an enormous two-tailed crimson and gold pennant and proceeded to the beat of a heavy drum.
“Man the side,” Kydd ordered.
They welcomed a visitor in embroidered robe and magnificent turban.
“His Excellency Kaptan Pasha,” an interpreter announced, his hands respectfully prayerful, his accent colourful. “He in charge the harbour and ship of Constantinople.”
The pasha gave a sketchy Oriental bow, hand on heart, which Kydd tried to return, then without change of expression gave out with a barrage of Turkish.
“He say, what are your business in the port, sirs?”
“Tell him we come to attend on our ambassador.”
It was relayed but produced only a contemptuous snort and another declamation.
“Kaptan Pasha is not please, you at imperial anchorage. You move to Seraglio Point, is better. There you wait your ambassador bey.”
“Ask him … ask him if there is trouble on the land, the people stirred up against us.”
This evoked a sharp look and a snapped retort.
“He say, why you ask? English are ally with Turkey, nothing to worry.”
“We are seeing the people on the shore. They’re disturbed, shouting.”
“Their business, nothing you worry. He say I will take you to Seraglio Point, you go now.”
Despite his anxieties Kydd was enchanted by the prospect as they slowly sailed the mile or so to the point, past the white beauty of Hagia Sophia and the splendour of the Topkapi Palace. The anchorage was just around the promontory, well situated at the entrance to the fabulous Golden Horn, the trading and shipping heart of an empire.
And, sharing their holding ground, were three Turkish ships-of-the-line.
“Anchor, Cap’ten, they leave you alone.”
Kydd soon saw they were going to be no threat: their topmasts were struck and, with no flags flying, they were in no fit condition for sea.
“Can you inform our ambassador we’re here?” he asked, as the man lowered himself into a boat.
“He see,” he answered, and pointed up to where L’Aurore’s ensign floated free.
In a short time a crowded boat put out from the opposite shore, a large Union flag in its bows.
Kydd went forward to greet the man who stepped aboard.
Spare, thin-faced and with a haughty air, he ignored Kydd’s outstretched hand and gave a short bow. “Charles Arbuthnot, His Britannic Majesty’s ambassador and plenipotentiary to the Ottoman Empire.”
“Sir Thomas Kydd, captain of His Majesty’s Frigate L’Aurore.”
“You took your time, Captain,” the man said acidly. “Is not your commander aware of the grave developments that have taken place here?”
His eyes strayed seaward. “And where are the others? I was particularly firm in my communications that a force of size be dispatched. Pray where is this fleet, sir?”
“I am in advance of it, sir,” Kydd said flatly. He sincerely hoped this would be the case but as its instructions from Collingwood were still in his cabin this might be problematical.
Arbuthnot gave him a withering look. “You’re not to know of it but His Majesty’s interests in the Sublime Porte have been greatly injured. Only a gesture of undoubted martial strength will go towards restoring our position there.”
“Sir, this is not a matter within my ability to command. You may, however, suggest any course that you desire, and if it is in my power to effect it, I will do so.”
There was a pause. The ambassador seemed to make up his mind. “Captain, my position in Constantinople is now untenable and, further, I go daily under fear of my life. My decision therefore is that I seek refuge in your ship. That will be possible, I trust?”
“Certainly, sir.” It would mean yielding up his own bed-place and cabin but a diplomat had every right to demand this of a king’s ship.
“Together with my immediate staff, if you please, twelve in all.”
This was stretching things but he was not going to abandon fellow countrymen to be condemned ashore to some appalling eastern fate.
Fortunately the same northwesterly that had brought them would be fair for a rapid departure.
“Very well, Your Excellency. I should like to point out that the winds are not always favourable in these parts and-”
“What is that to me, sir?”
“If the evacuation is to get away safely, then-”
“What? You have a wrong impression, sir. I am not evacuating, Captain, I am merely taking a prudent sanctuary in your vessel. Now, if you would be so good as to provide a species of cabin with a modicum of space I shall set up my office.”
It soon became clear to Kydd what Arbuthnot was doing. From his assumed safety afloat he was going to bombard the sultan and his government with strong-worded notes, carrying on his diplomatic war with the French from Kydd’s own cabin. Whatever the tumult and confusion in the city and from whatever cause, the man was taking L’Aurore as a little piece of England from which he could shake his fist at his enemies.
His was not to complain, but didn’t the ambassador realise how illusory was his refuge?
They were anchored within a stone’s throw of three 74s, which, however stood down, could still be manned and their guns turned on L’Aurore to reduce her to splintered wreckage in minutes. And, with the waters here restricted to a bare mile wide, their escape route to the open sea could be sealed off by just a few elements of the Turkish Navy.
And what if his angry words inflamed the population? So close to the shore, they would be overwhelmed by scores of boats well before they could weigh and set sail.
“I beg you to reconsider, sir,” Kydd tried. “We are at hazard here. If the Turks wish to offer us violence, there’s little we can do. And I’m persuaded that even if we sail now, if they are minded to, there are forts in the Dardanelles that could sink us within a very short time. It would be best should we leave while we can, reach safety and then-”
“No. Kindly do as I desire, sir, and remain here.”
In the evening, dining alone with Arbuthnot, Kydd pressed for details of what was going on in the city.
“That is not your concern as a frigate captain, sir. Yet I’ll tell you that I’m deeply angry and mortified that the rascally Sultan Selim sees fit to continue to entertain the scheming French, who have intrigued to reach positions of power and influence with him. It is nothing less than scandalous. They have perjured themselves to spread vile rumours about our intentions and to denigrate our military effectiveness and I’m grieved to note they have been all too successful.”