A Jester’s Fortune

'Wouldn't mind a bit of that, myself, sir,' Alan allowed. 'Serving King and Country unrecognised for their valour, their unstinting devotion to hard Duty, yes,' Sir Malcolm sighed. 'Nearly three years you've been in this ship, now, Commander? Away from home and family, with Duty done and foes confounded your only satisfaction?' Well, I wouldn't say quite that. Lewrie tried not to smirk. 'About three years, sir… next spring.' He nodded gravely. 'Once home, I mean to speak on the Fleet in Commons,' Shockley pondered aloud. 'This squadron, and all the gallant men who went into peril… and tedium, I'd imagine.' He chuckled. 'Gain for the officers and men some poor bit of acknowledgment for their efforts.'

Lewrie smiled. 'That'd be most welcome, Sir Malcolm, thankee.' 'Your gallantry, foremost, sir. Your courage and sense of honour. Your quick thinking,' Sir Malcolm prosed on, looking noble.

'I… I did what needed doing, only, Sir Malcolm.' Lewrie all but coughed in honest modesty. And chagrin. 'Don't quite know what t say, sir… t'be so honoured. Though it's hardly deserved, really…?'

'Oh, tosh!' Sir Malcolm grinned. 'Though your modesty becomes you, in addition to your other qualities. Know little of the sea, myself, can't begin to fathom the intricacies of a Sea Officers elaborate lore, but I must say I'm intrigued to learn more of it. Speak to Admiral Jervis, discover his appreciation of our situation, now Spain has come in and the French fleet rules the Mediterranean… why, my colleagues may find my information useful, once home, in expanding the Navy.' 'That'd be right-fine, Sir Malcolm.' Shockley lifted his telescope once more and peered at the shore.

'Rather a lot of birds about, Commander Lewrie. Thousands. I'd think they'd shun such a… dare I say a ghastly, haunted place.'

'They're uhmm… feeding, Sir Malcolm,' Lewrie told him bluntly. 'What sea-birds do, when they're lucky.'

'Thought you buried…?'

'The victims, Sir Malcolm,' Lewrie stated. 'Not the pirates. We didn't think they deserved burying, so we let 'em lie.'

'Ah!' Sir Malcolm gulped, looking queasy. 'Well, quite right, too. Murdering bastards. Might put them off this place for good?'

'I doubt it, sir,' Lewrie countered. 'A year or two, someone will put in for wood and water. Knock the placard down, 'cause they hate what country, religion or people the dead were. Scavenge rusted weapons we missed and didn't toss in the sea. Pick round the bones…'

'Scare them off, by way of example, ah. Quite right.'

Lewrie rather doubted that. Some might even find it majestic!

'Hard to say, Sir Malcolm, hard to say,' Lewrie allowed. 'Now we've created a Field of Sea-birds… a Kossovo.. . however it's said in Serbian. They'd understand this, d'ye see…'

He turned outboard to look at his field of slaughter.

' 'Now all is holy,' ' he chanted softly. ' 'Now all is honourable… and the goodness of God is'-again-'fulfilled.' '

'What's that, Commander Lewrie?' Sir Malcolm asked, giving him an odd look.

'Old Balkan… 'love-poem,' sir,' Lewrie replied with a quirky grin.

'Just an old local poem.'

AFTERWORD

It's doubtful if Napoleon ever exhorted his troops from the crag as I described. And that speech about leading the Army of Italy into a fertile plain of rich cities for honour, glory-and loot-was actually dictated by Bonaparte during his exile on St. Helena and inserted into his memoirs. The splendid three-part silent black-and-white film about Napoleon, though, shows it… the young boy-general, the hungry, ragged troops below, the mountains, and the sea. Napoleon would have approved, I think, since he'd aspired to be a dramatist or novelist in his school days. He knew what made a better tale; mean t'say, he was French, after all, knew how to spell the word panache, and proved time and again that he knew how to make an entrance! In light of that, how could anyone resist depicting it his way? Hey, not moil

Admiral Sir John Jervis did send a squadron of six frigates into the Adriatic in early 1796, under a Captain Taylor. And yes, the authorities at Trieste supplied a major portion of the Imperial Austrian Navy its seagoing budget. They did reduce it, 'round the time I cited, and Captain Tay-lors squadron was there, probably doing their work for them. After all, why buy the cow when you can get the milk free? That Major Simpson, by the way, was a real person, with a thankless chore, and abysmal career prospects. I reduced the number to four, to make the task assigned even harder to accomplish; and it's easier to deal with three other captain characters than five, especially characters who have been saddled with Commander Alan Lewrie s antics for more than a Dog-Watch.

* * *

Venice and the Serene Republic went under soon after this novel ends. The Silver Age of Venice by Maurice Rowdon depicts a state gone numb, feeble, toothless, and self-absorbedly sybaritic, depending on its past glories, the hollow shells of naval supremacy and their thoroughly professional army. In later years, Venice hired its armies from the Dutch, at exorbitant costs, which had already bankrupted the Republic. It was as if everyone in Venice was stumbling round on Prozac or Ecstasy.

The garrison at Corfu with its two officers, their servants and a sergeant or two was fact; as was the shoddy state of the islands' governor when Lewrie was dined in. Those anecdotes were in Martin Young's The Traveller's Guide to Corfu. The useless state of the once powerful Venetian Navy, the conditions at the Arsenal, the laid-up ships on foreign stations, were also true.

Through late 1796 and early 1797, Napoleon had defeated Wurmser a third and last time, conquering all of Austrian Italy. He then beat the stuffing out of another 'brilliant' Austrian General, Alvinscy, got through the Alpine passes in December, marched through Leoben and got to Semmering, right on the outskirts of Vienna, which was helpless with her main armies still on the Rhine. His back was covered, just as he'd covered his rear before this offensive, by reducing the Papal States one more time, and destroying the only army left below the Adige River.

Napoleon marched into mainland Venetian territories. Citizens in Verona rose up and rioted, killing French troops. Napoleon sent ships to the port of Quieto, to attack a few timidly sheltering Austrian vessels, violating Venetian neutrality. The Venetians were still comatose, and didn't even make a peep of complaint. Mainland citizens, and nobles who hated the French, offered to raise thousands of eager volunteers if given arms. The Senate, the Council of Three, and the poor last Doge refused them. Finally, Napoleon sent a frigate into the Lagoon itself, behind the Lido where foreign warships were banned. The Venetians, at last, opened fire on her and took her, killing her captain among others. And Napoleon had his 'legitimate' casus belli to march in and take over.

The Doge's ornate gilded barge, Bucintoro, from which he married the city to the sea each year, was hauled into St. Mark's and torched, along with that ancient roll of aristocratic lineages, the Golden Book. The nobles complained but were helpless. For a city-state that declared itself a republic, it wasn't very republican. Rich men made the rules, nobles held all offices, and the common folk had sunk into non-voting, 'bread-and-circuses' sloth long before. Within days of the French takeover, and the later cession of Venice to Austria in the Treaty of Campo Formio, the rtdottos were just as gay, the musicians just as dulcet, the gondoliers just as busy serenading lovers, and the love affairs just as tedious. Ruled by their own nobility, or by foreign overlords, most Venetians probably didn't even take notice of a change. They still had their operas, comedies, balls, festas, their carnivals; still had their mythic history of greatness for consolation. There were left their musicians, poets, painters, sculptors, singers or actors, their masks and wine. And, of course, they were already used to hordes of foreign tourists!