Betrayal

day – and the next night. Then, as a cold morning broke, came the grand spectacle of half a thousand gaucho warriors on the move, riding to the sea.

For the fiftieth time, Serrano felt for his red flag. Pray God that the boat was quick.

Then it was the last rise before Puerto del Ingles and the sea.

At the summit he looked out over the glittering sea but with something approaching terror he saw that it was quite empty: there was not a ship to be seen.

Chapter 8

General Beresford raised his glass. ‘Gentlemen, do join me if you will. To audacity and its just rewards!’

The toast was noisily acclaimed and bibulous shouts rose above the hubbub from the assembled officers. ‘Stand up! A speech!’

At the other end of the hastily improvised table, Popham took his cue and rose to a storm of applause. ‘Gentlemen – my fellow warriors! I can confidently say that in the long history of our nation there are few deeds of military daring that can stand with what we have accomplished so rapidly and so efficiently.’

He paused to let the exuberant shouts of agreement subside. ‘We have achieved nothing less than the taking of Buenos Aires in a lightning thrust that has sent the Spanish viceroy fleeing and which has turned over this great city to His Majesty’s protection. A city, which I may remind you, of some forty thousand – and if you count the province of which it is the capital as a whole, then some six million, more than the entire people of England!

‘It is at the end of the silver trail from the Potosi mines, and has a prodigious population hungering for the products of English mills, ready to pay for them with the bounty of this immense region.’

A hush descended as the enormity of the achievement sank in. Kydd, flushed with wine, could only shake his head in wonder at the whole thing. Where was history leading now? What lay in their future?

Popham continued, in full flow, ‘And let me speak plain – this is our doing, and ours alone. Sixteen hundred to achieve what takes Napoleon two hundred thousand! And with Britain an impossible seven and a half thousand nautical miles distant, there’s been none to help in the planning, the support, the execution. We’ve seized the moment and been proved right. All we have to do now is stay where we are, keeping our position secure for another few weeks while we await the reinforcements, and then return to our loved ones, victorious and feted by a grateful nation.’

There was an ovation, but now strangely restrained, as if each man was struck in awe of the occasion – or troubled by their sudden elevation from puny expedition to masters of the land.

Beresford’s face had turned sober and grave and Kydd felt for him, the lieutenant governor of a piece of empire that no one knew existed and without a single order or authority to stand behind any of his decrees.

In the morning the wonder of their achievement was still with Kydd, but there was work to do. He was found an office on the upper floor of the fort, small but well situated near the steps that led down to the main floor and, importantly, up to the roof, for he had plans to erect a small signal mast there.

Outside at ten there was much saluting and crashing of arms as a deputation arrived. Kydd peered down from his window and saw a religious procession wending its way towards the high-arched entrance below. He was able to keep to his office while Beresford dealt with them but later there was no escaping the cabildo, the governing council of the city. These were dignified Spaniards of another age, richly dressed in ruffled shirts and elaborately groomed, rigid with formality and barely concealed hostility.

They filed into the biggest room Beresford could find, one that his new interpreter revealed was the real audiencia where the viceroy would receive his petitioners.

The harassed general listened courteously to their long-winded address, and when it became clear they wanted assurances on the future, he patiently outlined a programme of peace, the upholding of local authority and, above all, a new era of libre comercio – the blessings of free trade. This caused the first stirring among them, and Beresford went on to affirm the undoubted advantages and profit to be gained from their city being flung open to commerce with the rest of the world.

For some reason it caused mutters and frowns. A little baffled, Beresford asked the port captain to set out some of the working details for them.

Kydd picked up on his request: these men wanted to know how the system was to be run, whether it would be truly open or an elaborate front behind which arrangements were to be made.

It was not so difficult to explain for he had seen that the methods that had proved so successful in Cape Town could be applied here: the waterfront, with its freely accessible warehousing inward and outward – this, of course, with the necessary side advantage that all was visible to his officials, no enemy contraband possible – and duties a mere pittance, but at the same time rigidly enforced to cover harbour maintenance, with no other charges incurred in order to be cleared for the open sea. A recipe for commercial success if ever there was one.

There was grudging acknowledgement and they left among a flurry of stiff bowing.

‘A sour lot,’ Beresford ruminated, ‘but they’ll get over it in time.’

Towards evening there was a much more agreeable prospect. Instead of army campaign beds in the fort, the officers were to be billeted close by. ‘You’re with a Senor Rodriguez,’ Kydd was informed by the adjutant, ‘a merchant of means, who speaks English.’

The man was waiting for him on the steps of a very fine stone house in the grand San Benito Street. ‘Ah, Capitan Keed. You are expected, sir. Do enter – your baggage, it follows?’

The house had a balcony with ornate lattice-work; inside, Kydd noted the heavy, dark furniture and curious rugs of some kind of animal skin. ‘This is my wife, Dona Corazon.’ A petite, dark-eyed woman in silk with a profusion of lace and long black hair curtsied shyly to Kydd. Accompanied by an Indian maid in formal attire, she showed him to his room and then led him back to the sitting room.

‘Jerez?’ enquired his host.

‘Er, yes, thank you, sir.’ Kydd guessed that he had been offered sherry.

‘We favour manzanillas from around the port of Sanlucar de Barrameda. Would you . . . ?’

Kydd picked up on the casual name-dropping, realised that any wine from far-off Spain would cost a great deal and therefore allowed himself well impressed. When it arrived he was surprised to discover it had a light and fresh yet almost saline quality. He would surprise Renzi with it one day.

‘Most acceptable, Mr Rodriguez,’ he said warmly.

After a short interval, dinner was declared, Rodriguez apologetic that evening meals were much lighter than at midday; tonight it would be cabrito.

As the roast kid was expertly carved by his host and a platter of papas al horno, golden potatoes, arrived, Kydd felt at a loss: how could he make conversation with a man whose country his own had so recently conquered? But on the other hand, he realised, he would not have been taken in to lodge unless there were certain sympathies.

‘How goes your business, sir?’ he asked mildly.

‘As you would expect in the circumstances.’

‘We do intend to make Buenos Aires a free port.’

‘Thees we hear.’ Oddly there was no gushing enthusiasm.

‘And you will take advantage of it?’ Kydd encouraged.

‘Possibly.’

Baffled, Kydd decided to leave it for the moment.

‘Do you find Buenos Aires very different from Spain?’ he ventured shortly, tucking into the delicious dessert, dulce de leche, that Rodriguez had described as ‘milk jam’.

‘I was born here, as my father and his father before. A criollo, I am he.’ He added, ‘My advice, Capitan, the people here are not as in England, one race, one speaking. There are so many . . .’

By the end of the evening Kydd had the picture.

The local born criollos were despised by the Spanish-born peninsulares, who dominated the upper reaches of society and government, and in return