The unspoken conclusion could only be that indecision, doing nothing, was the same as denying reform. It was an impossible quandary and he felt for the man.
“Seigneur, why do you tell me this?” he said carefully.
“Why? You cannot guess? Let us then move to the largest stage of all-a world that is locked in war while Turkey sleeps, dreaming of the centuries. This war is like no other for it is one of world empires pitted one against another, and every part of the civilised globe is drawn into their struggle whether they wish it or no. The same dilemma arises: when nations demand it, which is the right side to take for my country?”
Renzi fought down excitement. It was everything he could have prayed for: the ear of the sultan alone and the very subject raised that he wanted. But he clamped an icy control on himself: any rash or unguarded comment could destroy his position.
“There are no English left in Constantinople,” Selim continued quietly. “All I have are the French, who tell me what they will. What of the other side?”
“Sir, I am but a subject of the Crown of England, not a diplomat, still less an accredited envoy. This is beyond my powers to tell.”
“That is well said, but you have confessed to the heart of the matter-you are English and may be relied on to offer to me an English view of how any matter might be perceived by your countrymen. And at your eminence I dare to say by your king and fellow nobles.”
“If I can be of service in this way to you, Seigneur, it would be my honour to provide it. Is there any question at hand that presses?”
“Since you ask it, Fahn’ton Pasha, my people are at this time in fear and trembling that the English are offended and that the great fleet of Nelson Bey will be sent against us to destroy Constantinople. Is it in your conceiving that the affront is of such a gravity that this will happen?”
Renzi inwardly exulted. It was almost too easy-but he steadied himself, slowing in his walk as if giving it grave thought.
It was ludicrous, of course, to think that the Admiralty would lift the blockade of Cadiz simply to send the warships to Constantinople to teach it a lesson for some trivial slight. But an Oriental people would not see things in the same way, their conception of honour and insult being at quite another remove.
How to put this across without offending Selim?
“Seigneur, while I am not privy to the affairs of state at a high level, as you’ll understand, it would seem to me that in Parliament it would be thought that the present troubles with France would make it inadvisable to send the fleet away. It is probable that they would frown on any slight but would let it pass and be forgotten in the press of concerns nearer home.”
“You would advise then, that this will not happen.”
“Sir, tell your people to sleep easier in their beds. Nelson’s fleet will not trouble them.”
CHAPTER 8
HMS L’A URORE LAY AT ANCHOR in the fleet rendezvous at Tenedos. The burden of fleeing people had made working the ship through the narrows of the Dardanelles the stuff of nightmares but eventually they had all been safely landed ashore. Except the English ambassador, who still lay ailing in Kydd’s cabin.
On arrival Kydd had been quick to advise Admiral Louis of events. He had orders for the Aegean and eastern Mediterranean in general, but no instructions touching on the situation they found themselves in-that the British had been summarily excluded from Constantinople and its strategic vicinity.
“I’ll send dispatches, of course, but all we can do is resume our cruise north,” Louis decided. “You’ve two days to get your vessel in shape before we sail.”
But then the situation changed completely.
Coming into view around the headland a crowd of sail quickly resolved into a full-scale battle fleet led by a massive three-decker flying the pennant of a senior admiral. As it came to for mooring, sharp eyes noted that the flagship was Royal George, a 100-gun first rate in the same class as Victory. She was followed in line by another three-decker and a host of other battleships.
At the sound of the gun salutes, men tumbled up from below and stared at the apparition. Their lordships at the Admiralty did not send massive assets such as these on jaunts-it must be to some purpose. Officers and men speculated: an invasion of Naples to forestall a French move against Sicily was the favourite, followed by the dark suspicion that the Tsar of Russia had turned again and was now allied with Bonaparte, who had offered Malta to seal the compact.
Rear Admiral Louis was on his way to the great flagship without delay, and while everyone waited for what would come of the visit, there were even wilder conjectures: the Toulon blockade had been broken and a frantic search for the French fleet was under way, or conceivably the Greeks had risen in rebellion and this fleet was sent in support or to suppress it.
When the signal was hung out on Royal George-“All captains”-Kydd wasted no time in making his way there.
He was met at the entry-port and taken down to the great cabin where, along with the other captains, he was introduced to the fleet commander, Vice Admiral of the White Sir John Duckworth, victor of San Domingo and second in command under Collingwood of the Mediterranean fleet. With him was Rear Admiral Sir Sidney Smith.
Kydd knew both men: Duckworth had been a commodore in the taking of Menorca when he had been a junior lieutenant on a signalling mission ashore and he knew him to be bluff, ambitious but cautious. He had missed Trafalgar but gone on to personal glory in the fleet action at San Domingo against the French that had led to their withdrawal from the Caribbean, and was known now to covet Collingwood’s own command.
The other could not have been more different. Kydd had first met Smith in the dramatic defence of Acre, when he had been with a motley band of British seamen and Arab irregulars under Smith’s command that had stood against a siege by Napoleon Bonaparte face to face, to send him back to France in complete defeat, even to the extent of abandoning his army.
Smith was clever, ingenious and restless, but had a knack for irritating his superiors. Yet his courage was undoubted-the Swedish king had knighted him for his role in a titanic battle against the Russians that had cost them sixty-four ships and many thousands of lives. Once he had even been captured as a spy and taken to a Paris fortress but had then escaped in dramatic circumstances.
Kydd had been in his first command, the brig-sloop Teazer, when he had last seen Smith in Alexandria and where he had experienced his jealousy and glory-seeking at first-hand. He wondered what the man was doing in Duckworth’s command, then recalled the rumour that he had been the lover of Princess Caroline of Brunswick, the consort of the Prince of Wales; there had been talk of a child. It was more than likely he had been packed off out of the country.
He knew one other of the dozen commanders seated around the vast polished table-the captain of Ajax, a legendary 74-gun ship-of-the-line. This was Nelson’s Blackwood, the dour frigate captain whom Kydd had served under at Trafalgar and who had first brought the news of the French at Cadiz to Merton. He ventured a smile across the cabin and was rewarded with a slight easing of a frown-but that was Blackwood’s way, and Kydd determined to make a visit when he could, to talk over times still fresh for them both.
“Shall we come to order, gentlemen?” Duckworth’s booming voice cut across the conversations. “There’s much to do, and time presses.”
He was more portly than Kydd remembered, a heavy face and a ready scowl. He wore his full-dress admiral’s uniform, a mass of gold lace, stars and ribbons.
“As of this date, the detached squadron of Rear Admiral Louis is dissolved, its ships to come under my direct command. This is for a particular service for which I have my orders.”