Conquest

would diverge into two very different life courses. At this very moment where was he? What new adventure was L’Aurore’s captain sailing into without him?

From where he lay, Kydd could make out the vast black bulk of Table Mountain blotting out the stars – the Southern Cross constellation was just about to be swallowed up in its turn. The house seemed to be in a charged silence, broken only by the mournful baa of a distant goat and the muffled sound of revelry down by the water’s edge.

He smothered a sigh. There was sleepy movement next to him and a pair of legs slowly entwined in his as a female voice demanded huskily, ‘Kiss me again.’ Her resulting passion released his own in an erotic flood, and then they lay together in a long, silent embrace.

With a final caress she rolled over, but for some reason sleep eluded Kydd. Was it the strong Dutch coffee they had shared on arriving here – or the heady shock of the evening when the distant and haughty Therese had melted into the passionate and imperious woman who now shared her bed with him?

It had happened so quickly: he had paid his call at her town address, a large and well-appointed house where she was apparently the only lodger, and been received graciously. He had stayed to take tea and was able to tell her something of his recent ordeal. She had listened politely but when he had asked about her own tribulations as a French royalist noble she had declined to talk about them, saying they were too painful to her.

Instead she had asked about his naval career, anxious to be reassured that everything was being done to prevent a French onslaught. He had answered soothingly but she had pressed the issue, asking if he was privy to the highest levels, that they might be concealing the truth from the people. Only when he told her that he regularly spoke with both the governor and the colonial secretary personally were her fears allayed and the first real warmth entered her smile.

She talked a little of the wine estate her father cultivated up-country, as close to the climate of their ancestral estate in France as it was possible to achieve and ended with a vague suggestion that he might visit her there some day.

Before leaving he had found himself inviting her to the theatre the following day, being surprised and pleased when she had accepted. Accompanied for the sake of propriety by the unsmiling Widow Coetzee, the keeper of the lodging house, they had attended the fine theatre in Riebeeck Square.

Kydd had been gratified at the astonishment and envy he saw on all sides, for he was aware that this daughter of a baron was not known for appearances in public, let alone accompanied by a friend of the opposite sex.

Afterwards he had returned her to the residence and accepted the offer of refreshment. When Vrouw Coetzee retired, they were left alone. He had been taken aback by her ardour – but had responded in like kind, hers a possessive, hungry need, his a startled but willing response.

With a glance at the now sleeping Therese, he could only wonder where it would all lead.

Kydd waited impatiently at the old jetty for the dawn when he would be seen from L’Aurore and a boat sent. He watched as the light spread, taken with the delicate tints falling on the seascape. It would be hours before the sun appeared over Table Mountain, and until then the entire town and anchorage would be spared its heat.

The boat came; he acknowledged Calloway’s greeting genially and took the opportunity of viewing his ship from the outside. With no dockyard worth the name, they were on their own resources and were thus spending their time at anchor performing all the tasks of fitting and fettling that were so necessary in keeping a ship seaworthy.

Topmasts had been sent down for inspection after their encounter with the Ox-eye, giving a stumpy look to the vessel; the larboard shrouds were in the process of being rattled down – the retying of each of the ratlines to parallel the waterline – and the old sailmaker Greer would have much of the upper deck spread with sails a- mending.

A dull thud ashore told him that the castle had deemed that day had broken; it was answered by the flagship Diadem and aboard L’Aurore on the quarterdeck the Royal Marines were performing the solemn ceremonies attendant on a new day. He ordered the boat to lay off until these were completed, then came aboard.

As his breakfast was prepared, he asked Tysoe to shave him while Gilbey recited events since he had gone ashore and clumsily asked when Kydd might be returning there. It was of some interest to him, it seemed, as there was to be racing at the Turf Club at Green Point and, of course, the captain and first lieutenant could not be ashore at the same.

Kydd waved Gilbey away while Tysoe finished his ministrations. The man had a moral right to the liberty but he was eager to see Therese again.

The deeper crump of another gun sounded distinctly. Guns were not fired in a naval anchorage without good cause and he snapped to full alert. There was a sudden clatter and the sound of running feet. A breathless messenger burst in. ‘Mr Curzon’s compliments, an’ a gun from Signal Hill wi’ the hoist “enemy in sight”, sir!’

Kydd pushed him aside and made for the upper deck, heart pounding. He snatched Curzon’s glass. Three red flags vertically. As he took it in, there was a silent puff of smoke as the flags were snatched down to be replaced with another, the numeral one, followed by the thud of the discharge arriving seconds later.

This was not making sense: a single ship could conceivably be sighted ahead of the main body but this would be at a distance that made firm identification as an enemy very unlikely.

There was no time for puzzles. Kydd roared the order for quarters, the marine drum in a frantic volleying at the hatchway, and men scrambled to obey in what might be a fight for their lives.

It had come at the worst possible time. Leda and Encounter gun-brig were still returning after a false alarm to their usual scouting station and the only other, L’Espoir brig-sloop, was under repair and therefore there had been no warning.

Caught at anchor: no worse fate could have befallen them. In a reverse of Nelson’s famous battle of the Nile, was it now the French who would sweep in and, one by one, destroy their unmoving victims?

‘Flagship, Blue Peter, sir!’

Kydd nodded. Popham was ordering them to get under way to meet the enemy on the open sea and fight whatever the odds. It would take some time to weigh anchor and get sail on, but with the advantage of height the signal station would have sighted it at a far distance – they probably had time.