Betrayal

‘I’ve had Serrano concealed nearby and he swears he’s an Englishman.’

The man was under guard in the gunroom, a large, somewhat florid individual in the plain dress of a warrant officer of sorts.

‘This is Crujido, sir.’

‘And what is his rank?’

‘?Cual es su rango, senor?’ There was a flow of mumbled Spanish in reply.

‘He’s being evasive about it, sir.’

‘Tell him that unless he’s more truthful, he’ll be sent back to Cape Town in irons as a suspected deserter.’

The nervous start he gave before it was translated was all the evidence Kydd needed. ‘So we understand each other?’

‘Aye, Captain. Jed Russell it is, an’ I been here since before the Frenchies started. Emigrated, a new life I has now.’

‘Then you’ve sworn allegiance to the Spanish Crown?’

‘Had to, o’ course.’

‘And now we’re at war with the Spanish – with you,’ Kydd said mildly. ‘What do you say to that?’

There was a reluctant silence. Then, ‘What do ye here, if I c’n ask it?’

Kydd gave the man a shrewd look.

‘I’m thinking ye’re here to do a mischief agin the Spaniards in Montevideo. Are ye a fleet?’

Kydd said nothing, letting Russell make the running.

‘Aye, well, if ye are, then there’s many o’ these here who’ll relish ’em being humbled. What say I give help? What’ll ye do for me?’

‘Give help? What’s your situation, sir?’

A satisfied smile emerged. ‘Why, an’ I’m a senior pilot for the Rio de la Plata under the viceroyalty, is all.’

Kydd couldn’t suppress an answering grin. ‘Then, Mr Russell, you shall be satisfied in all particulars should you choose service with us. Is there anything else you’d be wanting?’

‘There is.’

‘And what is that, pray?’

‘It’s been all o’ these fifteen years an’ I’ve never tasted a right true drop. If ye can see y’r way clear . . .’

‘What do you mean, the man’s indisposed?’ Popham snapped. ‘I want him here. It’s imperative I get answers, and this instant!’

Kydd sighed. ‘That is to say, he’s been taken with barrel fever, it being the first grog he’s faced this age. I thought it necessary if we have to use him.’

‘For God’s sake, are the Spanish going to-’

‘Dasher, the substance of what he told me is this, and it’s the first direct intelligence we’ve had, damn it. He says the people would look kindly on being made free, as we know, and as of this moment it’s a prime time to attack. They’ve no idea we’re here or why. There are no Spanish men-o’-war as they’re all in the north still, engaged with Miranda. In Montevideo the fortress is manned but by a smallish number of regulars and a sad parcel o’ militia who won’t stand against real troops such as ours. In particular, in a few days it’ll be the feast of Corpus Christi in which all will join in drunken riot for a week, a fine time to move against ’em.’

‘That’s more like it,’ Popham grunted, in much satisfaction.

‘Oh, and he says there’s a considerable treasure in Buenos Aires waiting for want of escort to Spain.’

‘Is there, by heaven?’ Popham said slowly, his eyes widening.

‘There’s more – I have a man aboard, a native of these parts with strong sympathy towards a rebellion. He stowed away to be in at the kill so I signed him on as translator. If he can make his number with the rebels ashore . . . ?’

‘Yes, yes – see what you can do,’ Popham said, distracted. ‘I need to think.’

Kydd took his leave and returned to L’Aurore in high spirits: when he had emerged from the fog to rendezvous with the fleet off Maldonado, he’d seen the unmistakable outlines of Justina primly at anchor in the middle of the little group, her voyage and contract now fulfilled, and beyond her, the welcome sight of Ocean, at last come to join.

Renzi stood forward, in conversation with Serrano, who was looking fixedly at the Maldonado shore.

‘So – this is your South America, Vicente,’ Renzi murmured, seeing the rapt expression on his Spanish friend’s face.

‘Si! Is very beautiful, no?’

The distant shoreline, dry, flat and a study in ochrous brown, looked anything but inviting.

‘Most attractive,’ Renzi agreed hastily. ‘Are you looking forward to setting foot on shore?’

‘When the Spanish have left, not ever before.’

‘And then?’

‘Ah. The first – it to be mi carino, the girl who wait. I finish my study, we are married. Maybe business. The silver, it will finish, the Pampas our true riches, I think. The – how you say? – skin of cow, these the whole world always want. Our meats, grain – with libre comercio we sell, all profit will stay wi’ us, we be rich.’

‘Just so, m’ friend. As soon as you’re independent.’

Serrano looked pensive then asked abruptly, ‘You English – why you’re helping wi’ us?’

‘It’s to our advantage should the Spanish lose their colonies.’

He looked sideways at Renzi’s set face with a slight smile. ‘Why quiet? You’re not agreeable wi’ this?’

Renzi hesitated, then admitted, ‘The governance of a country is its own business. Even in war I cannot see we have any right to interfere in its sovereign affairs. If the people rise against their rulers, then that is for them and only them to resolve.’

‘Your chief not think like that – he will attack, soon.’

‘As I understand it.’

‘Good. I will paint a grand battle, your soldiers with ours fighting to beat the Spanish. A magnifico drama like as Senor Shakespeare write!’

‘Er, possibly. Do enjoy this prospect, my friend. I must return to my writing, I find.’

‘Ah, Mr Serrano,’ Kydd said, rising in welcome as the artist was escorted into his day cabin. ‘There is a matter I wish to discuss.’

‘At your service, Captain.’

‘I will not hide it from you – an assault on Montevideo will begin shortly. Our commodore is desirous that all who wish to throw off the Spanish yoke may join with us to share in the glory of this occasion.’

‘Of history!’ Serrano breathed, his face glowing.

‘Er, yes. To enable this to happen, it will be necessary to join forces, to talk together of where we shall strike first, where supplies are to be found.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So we must speak with the leaders of the, um, movement for freedom.’

‘Los patriotas! The patriots, Captain.’

‘Do you know them?’

‘These I know an’ hold close to my heart, sir.’

‘Very well. We would be much obliged should you go and inform them that the British leader desires a parley.’

Serrano’s eyes shone. ‘Is dangerous, but for freedom I do it.’

Kydd remembered that the man was wanted by the authorities and hesitated. ‘Not if it places you in hazard at all.’

‘I want to landing at Puerto del Ingles, Captain. At darkness.’

It seemed only fair to send for Renzi at this point. ‘Nicholas, your friend is assisting us by contacting the rebel band. Shall you want to supervise his arrangements at all?’

‘Vicente,’ Renzi said, with concern, ‘mi amigo, you are only to find the leader of the band and bring him to us. There’s no need to play the temerario in this.’ The young painter was so intense, so bound up with his place in the destiny of his country. Would he, like Wordsworth, be caught up in the roaring chaos of a nation in revolt and then be disillusioned with its price in blood and terror?