“This cannot be done. The general must stand trial.”
“Then, unhappily, it seems I must decline to leave.” He went over to his bed and elaborately lay down.
Zorlu gave him a worried glance but Renzi knew he was reading the situation for what it was, that whatever pressure was being applied it was overwhelming and irresistible.
Musa flashed him a murderous look, then quickly collected himself. “Then it is granted on the understanding that, in addition, all the foreign unbelievers of the general’s household are taken off our hands.”
Renzi acknowledged this with a gracious bow and got to his feet. “Shall we go, mon general?”
The carriage stopped at the waterfront and Renzi was handed down by an imperturbable Jago. He raised his eyes and there before him was a vision beautiful beyond compare and which took away his breath in a shuddering realisation of who his saviour was.
HMS L’Aurore: trim, warlike and every bit as lovely as he remembered.
Come to take him home.
Her captain’s barge had put off and there, in the sternsheets, was a figure. One he would always count as his closest friend.
The boat glided in, her crew slapping the loom of their oars to bring them smartly vertical.
With tears pricking, Renzi watched Kydd step ashore and advance towards him, that same masculine stride, those direct brown eyes now so creased with pleasure.
“Why, Nicholas, m’ friend. Am I seeing you well?”
He stretched out his hand-but Renzi felt a tide of overwhelming feeling take him and he fell on Kydd’s neck, hugging him. The two clung to each other for a long moment, then drew away, embarrassed.
“We have to sail while the wind’s fair, Nicholas,” Kydd managed.
“Of course. Might I present General Horace Sebastiani de la Porta? He’s to take passage with us.”
The Frenchman’s eyes glittered and he bowed stiffly.
“Your household is not here to include with us, General?”
“They fled early,” Sebastiani bit off.
“Then it is only our own that comes. Mr Jago, are all present and correct?”
“They’re all here, m’ lord.”
Kydd intervened: “Have you seen two midshipmen and a boat’s crew b’ chance?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I’ve heard some English were taken but I’ve not seen any sign of them.”
“That’s a great pity but we must be away before things turn bad.”
The launch and cutter arrived ready to take Renzi’s retinue.
“Mr Zorlu? You will come with us, of course.”
“Fahn’ton Pasha, I fancy there will be need for a British embassy before very long. I have therefore a duty to remain, my lord.”
“Then do so, and please believe that your services will be recognised in due course by the Crown, sir.”
Zorlu bowed wordlessly.
The two friends sat side by side in the sternsheets of the barge.
“Give way, you lubbers!” Kydd ordered happily.
L’Aurore hove to off Cape Janissary at the seaward entrance to the Dardanelles after an uneventful passage, secured for them by the large pennant they were instructed by Kaptan Pasha to fly prominently from the fore-masthead. This had now to be surrendered to the fort commander.
Kydd paced his quarterdeck slowly in satisfaction, relishing their achievement and his doughty crew, who had made it possible.
Renzi came on deck slowly, blinking in the sunshine.
“Nicholas!” he said, with pleasure. “You’re awake! You’ve slept more than a day, do you know that?”
“I needed it, brother. Where are we?”
“You’ll see the wide Mediterranean ahead, and those two points the entry to the Dardanelles.”
“So …”
“Yes, m’ friend, we’re free at last. I’m to make my number with Admiral Senyavin at Tenedos now, and when I get back we must see about what to do with you.”
“Please, dear fellow, don’t feel that-”
“Nonsense. We have to think about getting you back by some means. I’m detained here, so heartily regret I cannot take you.”
Curzon came up. “Boat ready, Sir Thomas.” It was amazing how formal L’Aurore had become simply by being the temporary bearer of a peer of the realm.
“We’ll talk when I get back, Nicholas.”
As Kydd left, Renzi drew a deep, shuddering sigh. The sights, sounds and comfortable smells of the frigate he had spent so much of his life in were working their balm on his soul.
Life had been so simple then, bounded by straightforward rules of conduct, of direct pleasures and the ever-changing purity of a seascape. Compared to the moral complexities and crushing responsibilities of his new calling, it had been such a very different existence. And here he was, if only for a short time, back in that world.
He strolled forward, past the main-mast and along the gangway over the guns to the foredeck. Grinning seamen touched their forelocks in exaggerated respect, and well-known faces stammered awkward words to their old shipmate as he passed them by.
Dillon came to offer congratulations on his escape and a marked curiosity about how he had come to be in Constantinople. He answered with the Gordion mission, which seemed to satisfy.
The young man had changed: no longer the pale-faced, studious youth he had last seen on the estate, he was now tanned, fit, and passed down the deck like a seasoned mariner.
Even as he asked, he knew the answer to his question: was Dillon desirous of returning to Eskdale Hall with him?
His charmingly evasive reply was to the effect that perhaps he would persevere for a little longer-if Captain Kydd was agreeable.
The sails slapped fretfully aback as they continued their heaving to and the bell was given two double-strikes. As if in a dream he swung up to the fore-shrouds and climbed up into the fore-top where he sat, as he had so often in the past, with his back to the mast, and closed his eyes in contentment.
All was well with the world.
A sudden raising of voices, then astonished cheering roused him and he looked over the edge of the fighting top-Kydd was returning in the boat.
Puzzled, he descended to the deck. He was just in time to see him coming over the side and a small crowd gathering.
“A glorious day!” Kydd grinned. “But first see who we’ve here!”
A gaunt Poulden shepherded two wide-eyed young midshipmen over the side, the rest of L’Aurore’s missing boat’s crew following. They arrived on deck to slaps on the back, shouts of joy and a rising babble of incredulous talk.
“They were found in irons in the Turk flagship. This was after a famous battle when Senyavin caught up and did for ’em in splendid fashion.”
Almost stumbling in a dream-walk, the lads were led below by kindly sailors.
Kydd chuckled. “They’ll not know it now, but in years to come, wardrooms around the fleet will be hearing of the time they were held captive by Turkish fiends.”
“You said a famous battle?”
“As would stand with any since Trafalgar, I’m persuaded. But don’t you see, Nicholas? It’s done, over. The Turks will now be seeking peace and I’ve no more reason to stay here in this benighted land.
“We sail for Cadiz this hour. And tonight we’ll dine together-for the first time since, let me see … a very long time.”
That evening, as L’Aurore put out over the Mediterranean into a setting sun that blazed with a splendour that touched the heart, the two friends supped together.
“I haven’t seen M’sieur Sebastiani,” Renzi said, reaching for yet more gilt-head bream.
“Ah. The devil was too quick for us. Just as we were passing the Gallipoli forts, rejoicing in our flag of protection, he leaped over the side and stroked out like a good ’un for the shore. Knew, o’ course, he was safe-that we couldn’t turn in the narrows or sail back against the blow.”
He held his Moschofilero up to the light. “Splendid drop this, don’t you think?”
There was a pause of some significance. Then Kydd put down his wine. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you’re in these waters, Nicholas?”