Command

Kydd stumbled through the rest, and the impossible became real. Apparently for more than a week it had been known that negotiations for peace from the English government had been accepted and an armistice declared, pending full ratification.

Peace? It was not possible! Had not the French been thrown so recently out of their Oriental empire at great cost? And with brilliant victories this was not a time to be treating for peace! He held up the newspaper. It seemed ordinary enough, a little grubby, with a pencilled column of trading figures. There was nothing to suggest it was a forgery.

Now he understood the reason for the con?dence, the steady course probably to a port on the other side of the Adriatic. Peace! The implications were endless—the treaty that must follow had to decide the fate of empires, colonies, whole peoples. Peace! In a world at war for nearly ten years it was hard to think in any other terms.

'Er, sir?' Dacres looked anxiously at his captain. 'The people—when shall I . . .'

The men: how would they take the news? Kydd's mind spun. He knew he could not keep it from them long. 'Get back to th' ship with our apologies an' let 'em go. We return t' Malta.'

The news had arrived in Malta the day after Teazer had sailed. Addington's government had seen fit to accept humbling terms to secure any kind of peace in a war that was reaching titanic proportions, spreading over the globe and waged now by Britain on her own at an appalling cost.

It seemed that, for Downing Street, the limits had been reached, the price finally too great. From now on England would have to learn to live side by side in a world dominated by the colossus of France and First Consul Bonaparte.

Kydd landed in Malta amid a ferment of rumour and anxiety; there was widespread fear on the small island, which had done well under the umbrella of British protection. The population now faced a return to the rule of the ancient knights who had allowed in the French.

Cameron had no information and Pigot was less than helpful. Kydd's only option was to report himself and his ship to the Commander-in-Chief, Keith, in person. Kydd realized the admiral would no longer be on blockade off Toulon: he would be falling back on Minorca and its capacious fleet anchorage.

The three-day voyage passed in a haze of unreality; the sea seemed full of ships going about their lawful occasions. Neither friend nor foe, all were now simply fellow seafarers. Dawn was not met at quarters, the guns' charges were drawn and Teazer proceeded with only a signal swivel gun loaded. It was unnatural.

What did the future hold? Increased trade in the Mediterranean would require the guarantee of a naval presence but what would peacetime life be like? With a wry smile Kydd acknowledged that he had no idea: his entire time at sea, from pressed man to commander, had been spent at war.

There was one bright prospect, however: with all the fleet in harbour he would at last see his great friend Renzi, first lieutenant of Tenacious. There would be so much to tell and, for the first time since he had assumed the mantle of command, Kydd would know the company of one to whom he could at last unburden his soul.

Teazer raised the distant blue of the conical peak of Mount Dacres climbed over the bulwarks with an acutely worried expression. 'Sir, may I see you privately?' he said urgently.

In Kydd's cabin he looked about carefully, then closed the door firmly. 'Sir, I have to inform you . . . If you'd please to read this.' It was a French commercial newspaper, not the government Le Moniteur, notorious for its lies and sweeping claims, but a sober publication from Marseille, intended for merchants and others in trade. A phrase blazed out in the headlines: 'La Paix'— peace!

Kydd stumbled through the rest, and the impossible became real. Apparently for more than a week it had been known that negotiations for peace from the English government had been accepted and an armistice declared, pending full ratification.

Peace? It was not possible! Had not the French been thrown so recently out of their Oriental empire at great cost? And with brilliant victories this was not a time to be treating for peace! He held up the newspaper. It seemed ordinary enough, a little grubby, with a pencilled column of trading figures. There was nothing to suggest it was a forgery.

Now he understood the reason for the confidence, the steady course probably to a port on the other side of the Adriatic. Peace! The implications were endless—the treaty that must follow had to decide the fate of empires, colonies, whole peoples. Peace! In a world at war for nearly ten years it was hard to think in any other terms.

'Er, sir?' Dacres looked anxiously at his captain. 'The people—when shall I . . .'

The men: how would they take the news? Kydd's mind spun. He knew he could not keep it from them long. 'Get back to th' ship with our apologies an' let 'em go. We return t' Malta.'

The news had arrived in Malta the day after Teazer had sailed. Addington's government had seen fit to accept humbling terms to secure any kind of peace in a war that was reaching titanic Toro, then shaped course for the south-east of the island and the grand cliff-sided harbour of Port Mahon. Passing the ruined fortress of San Felipe at the entrance to larboard, they entered the port.

The entire Mediterranean fleet was at anchor in the three-mile-long stretch of water. These ships, their sombre lines marked by ceaseless sea-keeping, the gloss and varnish long since gone from their sturdy sides but their appearance still neat and Spartan, had kept faithful watch on Toulon over the long months to make it impossible for Bonaparte to impose his will on the world. And now they were withdrawn, idle and without purpose. It was as if the world had gone mad.

As they passed by the massive ships-of-the-line, Kydd tried to make out Tenacious but could not find her: there were just too many vessels. Teazer's anchor fell from her bows and Kydd reappeared on deck in full-dress uniform with white gloves and sword to call on the Commander- in-Chief.

He mounted the side steps of Foudroyant with mixed feelings: as a victorious captain he could be certain of a warm welcome, but in these circumstances who knew what lay ahead? After he was piped aboard he was ushered respectfully into the admiral's presence. In the vast great cabin there were three other officers who, to Kydd's surprise, did not make their excuses.