Invasion

Teazer altered more to the northward until she was just abreast a large lake, at which point the helm went over again and they found themselves heading between a sullen clutch of offshore rocks and a flat headland sprawling out to sea with a lighthouse that was a good seventy feet high.

'Pointe de Barfleur?' Kydd asked doubtfully. Surely they had not reached the end of their patrol area so quickly.

'Aye, sir,' Queripel said, with satisfaction. They emerged suddenly into the open sea. It was masterly piloting, Kydd conceded, grateful for the Channel Islander's years of merchant-service experience on this coast in the peace.

He took in the calm glitter of an unbroken horizon. This was now the Baie de Seine, and at its opposite shore was Le Havre and with it the Seine River down from Paris. It was an utterly different land, and the start of the line of ports stretching away that Bonaparte was using to assemble his invasion fleets. Those would be the desperate business of the legendary Downs squadron under Admiral Keith, daily hand-to-hand struggles as small ships like Teazer were thrown at the enemy flotillas in epic engagements before Napoleon's very eyes.

They themselves had seen nothing—one or two fishing luggers, lobstermen and tiny craft; no sign of the armada that was threatening England. But they had reached the limit of their cruise: it was time to return.

Renzi came on deck, blinking in the sunlight. He glanced in puzzlement at the open sea with the coast at their backs, then at the sun. 'Either the land has shifted in its axis or the celestial orb has taken leave of its senses,' he mused.

'Neither.' Kydd chuckled. 'This is the termination of our patrol line. Y' see the Baie de Seine ahead but, when wind an' tide permit, we wear about and return.'

Renzi gazed intently at the French coast.

Concerned that his friend was still fatigued from his labours in Jersey, Kydd said softly, 'Not as if you're to miss a fine sight, Nicholas. The coast here is dull enough country, you'll believe.'

Renzi turned to face him. 'Ah. Then this is . . . ?' 'Pointe de Barfleur.'

'Barfleur?'

'The town is a league down the coast.'

'Quite.' Renzi brightened. 'Then . . . would it be at all convenient should we sight the same?'

Kydd responded to the sudden animation in his tone. 'Why, yes, m' friend. The breeze backing more southerly by the hour, a little diversion will find us with a fair wind for our return. An' t' tell it true, I'd be happier then with th' tide on the make.'

Hauling their wind, Teazer made sail southwards and Barfleur was sighted, a small but prosperous-looking village with a squat church in a tight little harbour, but otherwise undistinguished. The quarterdeck officers were respectfully standing to leeward, allowing the friends their privacy.

'The Edward III of Capell's Shakespeare mentions this place warmly, I believe.' Renzi looked about. 'Then there must be under our keel at this very moment the last sad relics of the Blanche Nef.'

'Erm, which is?'

'I will tell you, dear fellow. On a dark night in the year 1120, the White Ship sailed from Barfleur for England, with the only son of the most puissant Henry the first aboard. The mariners, in a merry state, neglected to consult the state of the tide, with the dolorous consequence that the ship ran fast upon a rock and was lost. Only one was saved—and that was not the King's son.'

'A cruel tragedy.'

'It was—but worse for England. At Henry's soon passing in grief, his daughter Matilda's crowning as Queen of England was disputed by his nephew, Stephen. The realm was plunged into years of an anarchy that only a medieval world can produce.'

Kydd nodded. 'Aye, but this is y'r centuries past. We're now to consider the invading of England herself, no less!'

'Then what more apposite place than this little town I cannot conceive of, brother,' Renzi said drily. 'It was from Barfleur, of course, that in 1066 William the Conqueror did sail to seize England, the last successful invasion of our islands, I believe.'

Further historical musings were cut short, for Kydd had found it necessary to give the orders that saw Teazer go to exercise of her foretopmen while they stretched further down the coast. As anticipated, the wind's backing produced a useful southerly, and by the time the ship reached Pointe de Barfleur again it was fair for the return, a near perfectly executed cruise, were it not for the complete lack of action.

They rounded the point and took up by the wind on the larboard tack for the inshore passage, handing in the sheets in a smart and seamanlike manner that brought a grunt of satisfaction from Teazer 's commander as he considered whether to anchor in the lee of Cap Levi for the night—

A disbelieving cry of 'Saaail!' came from the maintop lookout. 'Two points on the bow, a—a brig wi' some . . .' He tailed off in perplexity but threw out an arm to starboard.

Kydd leaped for the main-shrouds and shaded his eyes as he peered out at a confusing scene—numbers of vessels of different sizes crowding together, about four or five miles off. The largest was a brig-o'-war with distinctive red ochre sails and quite as large as Teazer. It was being circled by a smaller vessel, a topsail cutter, and had three open craft of puzzling form close astern. Kydd fumbled for his pocket telescope. It soon became clear that they had come upon a drama which could have only one meaning. 'Colours, Mr. Hallum!' he roared.

Their white ensign flew aloft as he jumped to the deck to meet the expectant faces of the quarterdeck. 'Frenchy invasion barges! Three of 'em being towed by a brig-o'-war as is fighting off a cutter!'

After a short delay the cutter responded with the correct private signal to Teazer's challenge. She would be one of a number of game little ships that were making life uncomfortable for the gathering invasion fleet and had come upon these three barges probably being towed to the next port. No doubt they had been new-built at Barfleur and, thinking that Teazer was continuing south, had been