Command

Renzi held still.

'I put it t' ye, if you set to it heart and hand, you'd make a better fist of explaining this ragabash existence than all th' philosophic gentlemen who've never passed beyond their own front door. Nicholas, this is y'r future. You shall write a book o' sorts that settles it f'r good an' all. This, dear chap,' Kydd brought out all the feeling he could muster, 'is an achievement as no one of the ordinary sort can lay claim to, and therefore must be worthy o' Cecilia's notice.'

As with any brother, it was hard to conceive that his sister might be the one to evoke passion and turmoil in an otherwise admirable character but it had to be accepted. He waited apprehensively for a response.

Renzi drew himself up with a long, shuddering sigh. 'Just so.' He pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and trumpeted into it. 'But it would be more apposite—in view of my fortune in the matter of travel—to consider, perhaps, a more ethnical approach. Possibly a study of sorts, a comparing of the human experience— of a response if you will, of the multitude of the tribes of man to the onrush of civilisation, a Rousseau of our time if I were to be so bold. It would have to be in volumes and—'

'As I thought as well,' Kydd said, in huge relief. 'A great work. Worthy of a great mind.' Then, as furtive as a thief in the night, an idea sprang into being, a wonderful, incredible idea. 'Nicholas,' he began innocently, 'o' course you shall have passage back t' England in the Castle but what happens then? Shall ye not have y'r voyages an' adventures that will give you grist for y'r mill? It does cross m' mind—that is, if'n you're right about Gen'ral Buonaparte—that I'll get m' ship.' He paused significantly. 'Now, if that happens as ye say, then there'll be a need f'r the captain t' have one by him whom he might confide in, one as knows how th' world turns, c'n tell me why things are—an' can be a true friend.'

Kydd hesitated, then went on, 'So I'm offering—that whatever ship I'm in the post of captain's secretary will always be there for y'r convenience, y'r guarantee that you'll be able t' hoist in y'r ethnical experiences wherever we might cast anchor th' world over. Just a convenience, o' course, y'r right t' be aboard, we say.'

The words tailed off. Renzi looked seaward, then slowly turned to Kydd with a half-smile. 'It does seem that the conceit has some degree of merit. I'll think on it.'

AUTHOR'S NOTE

In many ways Command is a watershed book in the Thomas Kydd series. My hero has actually achieved the majesty of his own quarterdeck, and his life will never be the same again. It may seem an improbable transformation of a young perruquier of Guildford, press-ganged into His Majesty's Navy less than ten years before, but the historical record tells us that there were Thomas Kydds, not many admittedly, but enough to be tantalising to a writer's imagination. Yet we have so few records of their odysseys—how they must have felt, what impelled them to the top.

What actually triggered this series were some statistics that I came across. It seems that in the bitter French wars at the end of the eighteenth century, there were, out of the hundreds of thousands of seamen in the Navy over that time, 120, who by their own courage, resolution and brute tenacity made the awe-inspiring journey from common seaman at the fo'c'sle to King's officer on the quarterdeck. And of those 120, a total of 22 became captains of their own ship—and a miraculous 3, possibly 5, became admirals!

Some readers have asked if there was one of these men on whom I modelled Tom Kydd. The short answer is no, he is a composite of them all and a result of my author's imagination. But in him there are certainly elements of those like William Mitchell, a seaman who survived being flogged around the fleet for deserting his ship over a woman—500 lashes—and later became an admiral; Bowen of the Glorious First of June, and still others—in Victory at Trafalgar her famous signal lieutenant, Pascoe, hailed from before the mast and the first lieutenant, Quilliam, was a pressed man, who like Kydd was promoted from the lower deck at the Battle of Camperdown.

The great age of fighting sail was a time of huge contrasts and often very hard conditions, admittedly, but at least in the Royal Navy then it was conceivable for a young man of talent and ambition to rise far above his station. I do remember my feelings when I became an officer, having begun my sea career on the lower deck. And sometimes I idly wonder, had I lived back then, could I have been a Tom Kydd?

I owe a debt of gratitude to the many people I consulted in the process of writing this book. Space precludes mentioning them all but I would like to convey special thanks to Joseph Muscat of Malta, whose encyclopaedic knowledge of Mediterranean craft was invaluable when I was doing location research, and Captain Reuben Lanfranco, director of the Maritime Institute of Malta for his insights into his nation's sea heritage; also to my Australian researcher Josef Hextall, half-way across the planet, who provided me with engrossing and detailed material on the early days of Australia. As always, my appreciation of their efforts must go to literary agent Carole Blake, marine artist Geoff Hunt RSMA, editorial director Carolyn Mays and assistant editor Alex Bonham. Carolyn heads up a superb literary and creative team at Hodder Stoughton; my thanks to them all.

Last, I salute the contribution of my wife and literary partner, Kathy. Kydd and Renzi now seem so real to us both, and we look forward to bringing their adventures to you for many more books to come.

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