Conquest

‘Sir, I don’t—’

‘Are you in doubt of empire, Mr Kydd? The world is populated by quantities of benighted heathens who, in the nature of things, will be ruled by one or other of the Great Powers until they be of stature to stand alone. It were better for them that it be us, with our enlightened ways, than the selfish and rapacious Mr Bonaparte, do you not think, sir?’

There could be little arguing at that level, or with the notion that this war of Napoleon would not continue indefinitely. Whoever had the greatest empire at its end would dominate the world and its trade. Kydd finished his sherry. ‘Sir, may I know where we shall, er, strike?’

Popham frowned. ‘You haven’t been informed?’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Then tonight will be a capital occasion for you to learn at first hand. We sail in thirty-six hours and this evening will be the last chance for some time for the principals of the campaign to dine together in anything approaching civilised comfort. I hope I may see you there.’

At Kydd’s look, he added, ‘And never fear, sir, tomorrow you’ll have the requisite orders and details that shall see you satisfied in the particulars.’

Funchal, the capital of Madeira, was set in a natural amphitheatre among stern mountains, its neat white houses nestling in ascending rows. Surrounded by vineyards and plantations and well supplied by streams from the craggy uplands, it had an unusually attractive scenting from the many groves of figs, mangoes and red-fleshed oranges.

Admiring the pleasant vista from the quarterdeck, Kydd said, to his friend and confidential secretary Nicholas Renzi, ‘I suspect this dinner will be long. If you—’

‘Do not concern yourself on my account, dear chap,’ Renzi murmured. ‘I believe we shall have a tolerable enough time of it ashore.’ The port was well regarded by a number of the ship’s officers, who’d confided they were familiar with where the most agreeable entertainments could be found.

After Trafalgar, Kydd knew L’Aurore’s ship’s company was hard, experienced and reliable – men like Poulden, his coxswain, in the past a stout-hearted seaman who had stood by him when he was a newly promoted lieutenant in those days of endurance in the old Tenacious. Stirk, at a forward six-pounder, hard as nails and from whom, as a raw landman, Kydd had learned lessons of fearlessness and the rough moral code of the lower deck; and Doud, spinning a yarn with the boatswain’s mate, another long-ago messmate who had come to join others from his past, wanting to share fortune with Tom Kydd, their old shipmate.

L’Aurore’s officers had seen three changes. Kydd’s former first lieutenant, Howlett, had been promoted out of the ship, and his second, the tarpaulin Gilbey, had taken his place, with the well-born Curzon moved up to second lieutenant.

The last-minute replacement for third now stood stoically on the quarterdeck, as most junior, to remain on watch aboard while his seniors disported ashore. Before Kydd went below to change, he crossed to the young man. ‘So, do I see you contented with your lot, Mr Bowden?’

He beamed. ‘That I am, Mr Kydd,’ he said proudly. ‘You may depend upon it.’

Hiding a smile, Kydd tested the tautness of a line from aloft. ‘Do you take care of my ship while I’m away, sir. I’ll not have it all ahoo when I return.’

‘I will, sir,’ Bowden replied, and turned to glare at the inoffensive mate-of-the-watch.

The young man had started his naval career as a midshipman under Kydd in the Mediterranean some years before, and then had gone on to be signal midshipman in Victory. In the wave of promotions following the famous battle, he had achieved his lieutenancy – able to claim a reduction in the strict requirement for six years at sea before his lieutenant’s exam – as a passed student of the Naval Academy.

Kydd had initially been puzzled as to how Bowden had managed appointment into a prime 32-gun frigate. Then he’d remembered that, in the young man’s ancient naval family, his uncle was a very senior captain at the Admiralty. It was, however, a most sincere compliment.

At four precisely Kydd stepped out of his carriage into the dignified but antiquated St Jolin’s Castle, nobly perched above the town. An army subaltern in kilt and full Highland regalia came forward to receive him. ‘Captain Kydd? We are expecting you, sir. Come this way, if you will.’

The castle had been borrowed for the occasion and Portuguese soldiery in colourful finery faced stolidly outward from the wall, their eyes ceremoniously following the visitors’ movements in the Continental style.

Met by a rising hubbub of noise, Kydd emerged into a medieval banqueting hall filled with army officers in scarlet and gold, and here and there the dark blue of a naval officer. With the barbaric splendour of massed candles and the glitter of ancient armour and hangings on the lofty walls, it seemed to him a fitting place for the meeting of lords of war on the eve of battle.

He paid careful respect to the aged and pompous castellan wearing dress of another age, and then Popham found him. ‘Kydd, old chap, do come and meet the others.’

There were fellow naval captains: Downman of Diadem, Byng of Belliqueux, Honyman of Leda. And then the army: brigadier generals and colonels, fierce-gazed and each in the warlike colour of Highland regiments.

Finally it was a formal introduction to the principal himself. ‘Sir, may I present Captain Thomas Kydd of L’Aurore frigate of thirty-two guns, new joined. Mr Kydd, Major General Sir David Baird, commander of this expedition.’

Kydd bowed politely, frustrated that he still knew so little of what was afoot.

‘Well, now, sir, and it’s been a long time!’

Taken aback, Kydd noted calculating eyes and a tall, handsome frame. ‘Er, you have the advantage of me, Sir David,’ he said carefully.

Baird’s eyebrows drew together. ‘Come, come, sir! You’ll be telling me next you’ve altogether forgotten our little contretemps in the sands o’ the Nile.’ He threw a look of mock exasperation at Popham. ‘The plicatile boats, was it not? Quite took Kleber’s veterans in the rear – heh, heh! Why, sir, do you think I’ve asked for you specifically in an expedition of a sea-borne nature?’