moment the first general of France, Napoleon Buonaparte, is stranded helplessly in the deserts of Egypt with above thirty thousand of his best troops—and no hope of rescue.'
Kydd swelled with pride. Their hard chase and heroic battle had brought about an abrupt change in the balance of power of far more significance than any of the endless land battles he had heard about. And all this could rightly be ascribed to the achievement of one man: Horatio Nelson.
'We're masters of the Mediterranean for now, sir,' Renzi said respectfully. 'What do you see as our probable future course?'
Hamilton's low chuckle was almost inaudible. 'We have won a great victory, Mr Renzi, but we have by no means won a war. We are sadly beset on all sides, with precious few friends and no recognisable strategy for turning defence to aggression.'
A fragment of low cloud enveloped them in a cool embrace, its sombre light depressing. Then it dissipated and the warm sun returned. Stopping suddenly, Hamilton turned and pointed to the Bay of Naples below, a breathtaking sweep of scores of miles. 'There, sir, beyond the point of Posillipo, it is there you should ask your question.'
'Bacoli?' said Renzi, puzzled.
'No. I speak of the cave of the Cumaean sybil, which still exists. Perhaps you should seek your future at the feet of the prophetess, receive your oracle as did so many from distant lands in the time of the ancients.'
The three stood on the flank of the volcano, held by the vast panorama with all its beauty and antiquity. 'I believe we must press on—it's another hour yet,' Hamilton said, glancing down the track to where a laden mule and servants followed behind them.
Eventually the ground levelled and they found themselves standing on the rim of Vesuvius. Kydd felt his palms sweat in a way they never had even at the height of the battle, for the track was only a few feet wide, meandering along next to the colossal maw of the volcano. A Stygian stink of steam and sulphur hung on the air, but to Kydd's mingled relief and disappointment there was no heaving hell of fire in the interior, merely dead scree slopes and untidy heaps of grey ash from which vapours issued.
While Renzi helped Hamilton with his stakes, chain measures and thermometers, Kydd wandered along the path, fascinated and repelled. It felt like some great sleeping beast that was harmless until a careless act woke it to terrible life. He was not sorry when Hamilton concluded his work and they set off down the track to the horses.
When they arrived it was already late afternoon and a spectacular sunset promised to the west, directly at their feet.
'Sir,' Renzi said suddenly, 'it would gratify my spirit beyond words were we to linger a while to partake in the close of this day ...'
Hamilton grunted as he heaved himself up on to his pony. 'I understand you, Renzi, please believe me, but tonight I am to receive someone who has travelled far, and must prepare. Should you wish, however, I shall send my carriage back for you.'
'That is most kind in you, Sir William,' Renzi said, with a bow.
Kydd sighed with exasperation, but as he had seen in the South Seas, Renzi was always most at peace in the midst of one of nature's displays and it would not be a kindness to fret about moving on. They settled on the cinders and watched the unfolding beauty. 'And afterwards, dear friend, we shall sample the entertainments of the night at the first hand,' Renzi said softly.
There was peace of a kind here, on the flanks of a volcano that had devoured all of two ancient towns, but to Kydd it was the peace of the dead. What he could not get out of his mind was the magnitude of their recent success—and all the consequence of a single mind's contriving and command.
' 'Like madness is the glory of this life,'' Renzi murmured, his eyes fixed on the gathering rose and gold display.
'What was that you said, Nicholas?' Kydd asked politely.
His eyes still on the gathering sunset, Renzi declaimed, ''Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall. Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay.''
Kydd frowned. 'That's as may be, Nicholas, but you'll agree, we've a famous victory t' be proud of.'
Renzi, rapt with the heavenly closing ceremony of the day, said nothing.
'I've been thinking about things,' Kydd said seriously.
'Working through m' life, y' understand.'
'Oh? What did you conclude, brother?' Renzi answered distantly.
Kydd held on to his temper. 'I was considering m' position in the light o' recent events,' he said.
'Ah, yes.'
'Do ye want t' hear, or no?'
Renzi turned to Kydd. 'Of course, dear fellow—do fill and stand on, as it were.'
Kydd caught his breath. It was difficult enough to put into words the powerful feelings he had found within him, the insight into himself that he sensed was there for the perceiving. 'It's—it's that steppin' ashore a hero, I—I find it agreeable, is all.'
'Some would find it diverting,' Renzi murmured, his attention clearly elsewhere.
'What I mean is—if y' take my meaning—I'd rather it were me, my doing, my victory.' His eyes burned. 'Is it so necessary to crave pardon f'r the sin of ambition? Why should it not be me?'
'Indeed, why not?' Renzi said drily, then noticing Kydd's anger he sat up. 'That is to say, it would be well to reflect that to be in the character of a hero necessarily involves elements of chance as well as merit.'
Kydd glowered at him. 'Chance? O' course there's chance. Was it mischance or luck that had me in the Horse 'n' Groom sinking an ale just when th' press-gang went in? Or when
