Depressed, Kydd left the deck for the solitude of his cabin. Dillon was still working there but gathered his papers and rose respectfully. If this had been Renzi there would most certainly have been a lively discussion in promise.
Impulsively Kydd asked, “Tomorrow we destroy Constantinople. Does it not trouble you, Dillon?”
“We all have our duty, Sir Thomas,” he replied neutrally.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Sir, it’s not my place to have views on the operations of this ship, whatever the outcome.”
“Not even when it involves the destruction of a great and noble city?”
“Sir.”
“And if I give you leave to say your mind?”
It was unfair to press the issue but Kydd felt a stubborn need to.
“Sir?”
“Say away, Mr Dillon.”
“Then, sir, I’d be obliged to reflect that it will stand on its own as a peerless act of barbarity, and under the flag of England. Will that be all, Sir Thomas?”
Kydd nodded sadly.
In the last of the light Royal George hung out the signal for all captains. Kydd’s barge quickly pushed off to join the others that converged on the flagship.
Admiral Duckworth was at the entry-port in welcome and took them to his day cabin. It was of prodigious size compared to L’Aurore’s modest appointments and easily accommodated the dozen or so captains, seated around the broad table in strict order of seniority.
The admiral assumed his seat at one end, Arbuthnot at the other, looking peevish and ill-at-ease. Kydd sat next to Moubray of Active, another frigate, and opposite Blackwood, now a supernumerary in the flagship.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Duckworth said genially, looking about. “It’s my pleasant duty to congratulate us on our success in penetrating the Dardanelles under arms, as we have, with virtually no loss. This stands as an achievement without parallel in history. Well done, all of you.”
There was a polite murmuring but every face was guarded.
“So, Mr Arbuthnot, what do you say to that, sir? We have fulfilled our mission and lie at the gates of Constantinople, as you have desired us. And tomorrow we are ready for the final sanction.”
He frowned at the ambassador’s sour expression. “Are you not content, sir? So ardent in your martial encouragements, I would have thought-”
“Spare me your comradely cheer, Admiral, if you would,” came the acid reply. “And let us hear your plans for the morrow. I fancy it will be a long day.”
“Which we will endeavour to bear,” Duckworth said, with a sarcasm that appeared lost on him. “So now I address myself to my captains.”
He picked up a paper. “It will be a straightforward enough procedure, I’m persuaded, gentlemen. I have in my hand a note for the Sublime Porte, which will be delivered at first light. It contains a demand laid out in the strongest terms that the French will be ejected forthwith or they shall suffer the consequences.”
“Are these spelled out?”
“They are indeed,” Duckworth grunted. “Failing they hand over Sebastiani and his scurvy crew, they then have the choice of surrendering their entire navy to me-or suffer a bombardment of half a thousand great guns that will leave their precious capital in ruin.”
“A hard chastising for a small enough thing,” Moubray murmured.
“Captain,” Duckworth said, in a tone that suggested a heavy irony, “if you knew what Bonaparte plans in these parts you would be far warmer in your support. As it is, pray leave it that your superiors believe it to be the most devilish plot this age. Do you not agree, Ambassador?”
“I suppose so,” muttered Arbuthnot.
Swallowing his annoyance, Duckworth added huffily, “And I’ve given them one half an hour to reply, after which we sail against them.”
A brooding silence was broken by Smith. “As it doesn’t have to be this way,” he said to no one in particular.
“What is it, Sir Sidney?” Duckworth said irritably. “We’re limited in our manoeuvring by our instructions from Whitehall, I’ll remind you.”
“Which state objectives to be attained, the chief of which is the banishment of the French. Is not this the case?”
“Certainly. And I’d be exercised how else it shall be done, sir!”
“One quick way. I know Selim, he knows me, the wily coot. I whisper sweet reason to him and, with a battle fleet at my back, he cannot fail but to see the error in his ways. Let me go ashore and-”
“Damn it! Who’s in command here? If anyone is to go it will be me, and I’ve no intention whatsoever of putting myself in the power of that Oriental despot. Let him hear the music of our guns and he’ll come around, depend upon it.”
There was no more opposition: the fate of Constantinople was sealed.
“Very well. We being all of the same mind, let us get down to detail.
“L’Aurore frigate will close with Constantinople at dawn and deliver the note. She will wait for the stipulated half an hour and if no reply, or an unsatisfactory response, is received will report the fact to me immediately.
“The fleet will then weigh and proceed to Seraglio Point, wearing in succession to assume line-of-battle southward. Canopus will be in the van and will refrain from opening fire until all vessels are in position opposite the Topkapi Palace and other such. Targeting will be easy enough. The Turk is obliging to have all his major edifices within close gunshot of inshore waters.
“Bombardment will be continuous until all the grander buildings are brought down. No sense in leaving any standing-the beggars will believe it’s because we’re not capable enough, and in any event firing will carry on until a cease-fire is signalled by me. The fleet will then return to this anchorage to await terms.
“Any questions? No? Then my order pack with signals and so on will be waiting for you after we have taken dinner together.”
In the early morning L’Aurore prepared for her duty. As if picking up on Kydd’s mood her seamen moved sombrely as her anchor was brought to her bows and sail was spread abroad.
“I mislike this breeze, sir,” Kendall said, pursing his lips as he looked aloft. The upper sails were catching the slight wind steadily enough but the courses on all three masts were fitfully bellying and collapsing. “Unless it picks up we’ll be hard put t’ cross the strait.”
The northeaster was fair for Constantinople but looking too scant to think to challenge the strong Black Sea current that surged through the narrow strait of the Bosporus.
“Keep us with it,” Kydd told the sailing master. “There’s much depends on L’Aurore.”
The anchorage was on the Asian side among offshore islands; once they rounded the point ahead they would be in the main stream and not two miles from the city across the other side.
But as they reached it Kydd felt the tug of the current across their bows, the give-away sagging off course to leeward.
“We’ll not make it, sir,” Kendall muttered. “It’ll be a sad spectacle afore long.”
It was imperative that the note be delivered: the whole operation was now under way and the first act was Kydd’s to perform. It couldn’t be allowed to fail before it started, in a defeat by the winds and current.
To larboard was the open expanse of the Sea of Marmora, to starboard the continuous low coast of Anatolia a bare mile or so distant.
“I’ll put into the bay beyond the point and anchor, send a boat.” It would be less impressive but better than seeing the frigate carried off helpless in the grip of the current.
It took an exaggerated tacking of nearly an hour to make the bay but they found good holding there and ignored the little fort, which in turn decided to take no heed of them.
“Mr Curzon. Away my barge under the largest flag of truce you can find to the steps of the palace and hand over the note, ensuring you have a signature and recording the time it was done.” The first lieutenant took the sealed packet, so innocent-looking, so deadly.
Kydd watched the boat make off under sail. Its fore and aft rig allowed it to point higher and he saw it reach the far shore. When sail was lowered it could no longer be seen but Kydd remained on deck anxious for its return.