"They have had the Mediterranean as their private sea for too long—it has made them ambitious, and the danger this poses to our country is incalculable. Therefore I have to tell you that Sir John has determined that at last we shall re-enter the Mediterranean. There shall be an immediate reconnaissance in force towards Toulon to discover the French intentions. It will be led by Rear Admiral Nelson—and we shall be a part!"
In this major fleet off Cadiz, in addition to a full admiral as commander-in-chief, there was a vice admiral for the van of the line-of-battle and a rear admiral for the rear. Exceptionally, there was also a separate squadron whose task was to rove close inshore, harrying the enemy at every opportunity and this was the particular command of Rear Admiral Nelson.
There was a stunned silence, then excited babble broke out. Houghton grinned and straightened. "If you please, gentlemen, Sir Horatio will brook no delay. He intends to sail for Gibraltar in two days. I will not have Tenacious disappoint so you will bend every effort to ready her for sea. Carry on!"
The Rock of Gibraltar resolved from the haze like a crouching lion, dominating the vessels that drew up to its flanks to join the ships-of-the-line and frigates already there. As anchors plunged into a gunmetal blue sea, the thunder of salutes acknowledged the visiting Princess Royal as the flag of a senior admiral.
The ships came to rest and the slight breeze brought a smell compounded of sun-baked rock, goats, donkey droppings and Moorish cooking, which irresistibly took Kydd back to his service there in Achilles—and the adventures that had followed.
"I do believe it will now be granted to us to glimpse the grand panjandrum himself," Renzi said, looking at Vanguard, anchored a few hundred yards away. Kydd held back a reproof: his friend had been at the great battle of St Vincent and witnessed Nelson's achievements at first hand.
"Oh?" said Bampton. "Is he so much the swell he must parade before us?"
Kydd's colour rose at Bampton's tone.
"Not as I would say," Renzi replied. "Rather, I have heard he keeps a splendid table and is the most affable of hosts."
"Should you have seen him here a year or so ago in Minerve frigate you'd clap a stopper on y'r opinions," Kydd added, and recounted the daring escape of Nelson's ship from two Spanish ships-of-the-line. From the top of the Rock, Kydd had watched the whole incident. Nelson had bluffed the enemy by heaving to and, suspecting he was leading them into a trap, the Spaniards had sheered off. But the real reason for his action was that he had lowered a boat to rescue a man overboard.
The talking died as Vanguard's boat was hoisted out and several figures boarded. It stroked strongly for the shore, and was met at Ragged Staff by a file of redcoats, a military band and a reception committee.
"Making his number with the governor," murmured Adams.
"O'Hara," said Kydd, with a grin. "They call him 'Cock o' the Rock' on account of him being so ... amiable t' the ladies."
After a short interval there was a pealing of boatswain's calls and the captain of Tenacious departed.
"God knows, Our Nel isn't one to waste his time lingering in port," the first lieutenant said. He turned to the boatswain. "No liberty, all hands to store ship. Turn to, part-o'-ship." The boatswain called his mates and stalked forward, the piercing blast of their pipes echoing up from the hatchways. "All the water an' provisions we can take aboard—our ships are on their own once we sail," Bryant growled.
But this was work for the warrant officers, petty officers and ship's company. Kydd seized his opportunity. "Nicholas, should you step off with me, y' could be of some service, m' friend ..."
Renzi raised one eyebrow. "Er, regarding Town Major Mulvany and his wife, do you not think it a trifle rash to venture abroad in Gibraltar? That you may meet them?"
Kydd's infatuation with Emily Mulvany was nearly a year previously but Renzi's gibe was enough to bring a flush. "I've heard there's a new man in post now," he said defensively.
Bryant saw no reason to deny them both a few hours ashore, and within a short time they were speaking to the chief valuer for Moses Levy, the biggest jeweller in Gibraltar. "Your opinion on this, if y' please," Kydd said, passing him his hoarded treasure.
The man took the object, scratched the surface with a hook-shaped pick and closely inspected the result. Then he took down a dusty vial with a glass dropper and deposited several drops of fluid on the tiny specks.
"A remarkable piece," he said grudgingly, hefting the hunk of raw gold. "May I know where this was found?" he said, as he set it on one pan of his scales.
"No, sir, you may not." Kydd's uncle would find his haven destroyed by prospectors if ever Kydd let it be known. It had been his uncle's gift to probably the last family member he would see, and Kydd was going to see it well used.
The valuer carefully added weights to the other pan. Kydd glanced at Renzi, who seemed unaffected by the excitement. The man peered at the weights, then said, "This is what I can offer. Four hundred silver pesos on account now and an adjustment later after it has been assayed."
"That would seem equitable," Renzi said. Outside he added, "At six pesos to the guinea, an excellent trade—more than enough to ... ?"
They knew where they had to go: a bare twenty minutes along the familiar bustle of Main Street was Town Range, the residential quarter for army officers, and in a side-street they found the garrison sword-cutler. Kydd turned to Renzi. "Now, Nicholas, understand that it's a fightin' sword I'm getting, none o' your macaroni pig-stickers."
"As you've mentioned before, dear chap."
The steel-glittered interior was hung with every conceivable hand weapon, ceremonial armour, regimental gorgets and armorial heraldry. Kydd wandered along the racks of edged weapons: this was no quartermaster's armoury, with stout grey-steel blades and wooden hilts. Here was damascened elegance in blue, gold and ivory.
"See this," Kydd said, selecting one. He flourished it—the military style seemed heavier, the slightly curved blade urging more of a slashing stroke than a direct thrust. It did, however, have a splendid appearance, the blade blued along its length with silver chasing down from the hilt, the half-basket guard ornate and fire-gilded.
"A fighting sword?" Renzi drawled.
"Aye, well, a fine piece," Kydd said, replacing it as a man stepped out from the workshop at the rear.
"Gentlemen, an honour." He spoke softly, but his eyes took measure of Kydd's strong build and upright bearing. "Balthasar Owen. It's not so often we are visited by the navy. Not a small sword is my guess," he added, with a smile, glancing at a discreet light-bladed hanger usually worn by gentlemen in the street.
"A fightin' sword for a naval gentleman, if y' please," Kydd replied.
Owen hesitated.
"The expense is not t' be considered. Let th' blade be the best y' have."
"Should you have any fine Toledo steel blades, it would answer," Renzi added.
"A Toledo blade! This will be difficult. Since the late war began you will understand ..."
"The best steel in the world, we agree," Renzi pressed. "And in the matter of your price ..."
Owen closed the front door. "Toledo steel is the hardest there is because it is forged from an iron heart and the finest steel lapped and folded on itself more than three hundred times. This gives it flexibility but great hardness. It can take a razor's edge that has been known to last centuries. You see, at the forge, the swordsmith works only by night. Such is their care that when the blade is plunged into the oil the heat's colour is exactly known. The result, an impeccable temper."