Betrayal

In open astonishment Kydd looked first to Renzi and then to Serrano. His face darkened. ‘This treacherous dog – what’s he doing here?’

Serrano replied, in a quaver, ‘Captain Keed, sir! Hear me. He tell it right. They are sending the British soldiers off. I here because I, too, am betrayed.’

Seeing Kydd swell with growing anger, he quickly went on, ‘Why am I here? Is easy for me not to come, but I come. To tell you – is the truth! The terms are broken by General Liniers. Your soldiers are taken away. Soon you!’

Kydd hesitated. ‘To break parole is a hard thing,’ he muttered. ‘Nicholas, what do you-’

‘The abrogation of a treaty by one sovereign nation renders it a nullity for both,’ Renzi said firmly. ‘I cannot see how an agreement of parole is in any wise different.’

‘Then . . .’

‘Then perhaps we should exercise a modicum of celerity in our departure?’

Kydd straightened. ‘My word of parole is withdrawn. As of this moment.’

‘Quite so,’ Renzi said, with relief. ‘Shall we now-’

‘Not yet. Understand I’m not abandoning the others.’

He paused, then ordered crisply, ‘This room is now our centre of operations. All British officers are to be assembled here for escape, which will be done by twos.’

‘There’s only the gig – it can only take, say, five at a time and-’

‘I’m not leaving ’em, Nicholas. Now, we have to pass the word to muster here. Um, Mr Serrano, how’s this to be done, do you think?’

Clinton, billeted nearby, was the first to arrive, blinking at the sudden turn of events.

They waited in rising tension for the others, but then Serrano burst in, panting. ‘Not good! The officers, they being taken – Gen’ral Beresford argue wi’ Liniers. Now they come looking for you, Captain.’

They had to get away instantly but it was madness to think that two English officers in uniform could get through. Kydd had a plan.

‘Nicholas – you’re taking us somewhere, Stirk follows as servant.’ This would give them a chance on the main streets, where parole would allow them, a not uncommon sight, but closer to the fort and the foreshore it would be a different matter.

‘Ready?’ Kydd then turned to Serrano. ‘I thank ’ee for what you’ve done tonight – but if ever you run athwart my hawse again, I’ll screw your neck, so help me God.’

The streets of Buenos Aires were still in festive array when they moved out, Renzi affecting to ignore the taunts and jibes and taking refuge in a dignified silence. It seemed to work and they made good progress but he feared it couldn’t last, not if they were out looking for Kydd. They were four; such a number was too many to overlook. It was time to make for the back-streets and the waterfront. Their little boat – so near yet so far.

As they came closer to the water the danger multiplied for they had no excuse to be there. The fort loomed; the sentries limned in the diffuse moonlight.

Renzi came to a sudden stop. ‘We’ve a problem,’ he whispered, and pointed ahead to the mole. It was guarded. ‘The boat is beyond, just around the point, but how the devil do we get past?’ There was no slipping underneath the massive compacted stone structure.

Then Clinton had an idea, a long shot, but there was no going back. ‘I’ll trouble you for your coat, Mr Kydd.’ He removed his own and explained, ‘It’s fever – smallpox. You and Stirk are carrying me, a dead body, and Mr Renzi will chant the offices!’

The coats were turned inside out and arranged over ‘the body’ and they set off in the dim light.

With Renzi in the lead making the sign of the cross and mumbling away they approached the sentries who lapsed into a suspicious silence, unslinging their muskets.

‘?Paso, paso – la viruela!’ Renzi wailed mournfully, and resumed his reciting.

There were exclamations of alarm and the soldiers drew back, watching fearfully as they passed. It wasn’t until they had gone around the point that the spell was broken. One of the sentries woke up to the fact that the burial ground was in another direction and urgent shouts broke the night stillness.

‘Quickly – we need to get the boat in the water!’ Renzi urged, looking about with Stirk in the dimness.

Clinton threw off the coats and got to his feet, waiting tensely with Kydd.

‘Can’t find the damned thing!’ Renzi blurted, breathless and angry.

‘It ain’t here – ’cos the owner’s taken ’un back!’ Stirk spat.

More shouts came and figures started to run towards them.

‘Find another bloody boat!’ Kydd demanded – but there was none.

There was only one thing they could do. ‘Into the water!’ Renzi urged and hurled himself in, splashing noisily out as fast as he could. The others followed, stumbling in the mud, the cold of the sea shocking as they sloshed their way further out.

A musket shot came, then another, but the wild firing into the darkness was no real danger.

The little group moved out deeper and deeper. The line of freezing cold rose remorselessly up their bodies, bringing uncontrollable shuddering and a draining of life-warmth until their minds could hold only the desperate need to press on and on – and then, with water up to their necks, out in the night there was an anxious low call.

‘Toby? Mr Renzi?’

Chapter 16

The outlines of a boat emerged from the early morning pearly mist. Two challenges rang out simultaneously from the lookouts in L’Aurore.

The triumphant reply roared back, ‘L’Aurore!’ indicating that this was no less than the anointed captain of their ship.

It brought every man and boy of the ship’s company on deck in a gleeful rush, with a disbelieving Gilbey. Then the boatswain importantly took position at the ship’s side with his silver call.

The gig hooked on and Kydd mounted the steps gravely, his dignity respected even when coming aboard in a filthy uniform without cocked hat or shoes. The side-party, however, was all grins: order had returned to their universe.

‘Pleased to be back, Mr Gilbey,’ Kydd replied, to the mumbled welcome. ‘Hands to unmoor ship, if you please.’

He acknowledged warm greetings from Curzon and Bowden and quickly left the deck for that unimaginably desirable heaven: his quarters. He opened the door to see Tysoe advancing with soap and towels, a fresh uniform on the side dresser.

Kydd stood for a moment with misted eyes, then croaked, ‘Not now, Tysoe – there’s something I have t’ do first.’ And in front of his appalled valet he reverently knelt down and kissed the deck.

Later, after they had got under way, there was time for breakfast with his officers in the gunroom. It was stout but meagre ship’s fare and he recalled, as if in a bad dream, that his last meal had been rancid blood sausage.

He heard of their interminable idleness at anchor, provisions and stores ransacked to be sent ashore, leaving them on woefully short rations and above all, as matters worsened, the complete absence of news.

He heard, too, how Clinton had sent Dodd away with false dispatches and was touched to find that the sergeant had loyally carried back his precious sword as well.

But there were so many faces missing from L’Aurore, good men who had volunteered for the Royal Blues and were now somewhere out in the bleak country ranges of South America. But what could he do for them?

Maldonado was raised a day later, the fleet left at just two sixty-fours and some transports in a loose moor. With the frigate Leda away, and the small brig-sloop Encounter a distant sail, it was no real deterrent if the Spanish Navy ever returned from the north.

Kydd forced the thought away – it was hardly Popham’s fault that the reinforcements had not arrived to swell the numbers, but after his treatment the last time they had spoken he found it difficult to summon a warm