Tenacious

Bampton let it hang, then said, 'This should result in your court-martial, you villain. How do you feel about that?'

'Sir.'

'However, in this instance I am prepared to be lenient. Mr Kydd?'

'Sir, I'm certain Soulter did not intend a disrespect t' his superior and now regrets his acts,' he said stolidly. Kydd knew that Bampton would never hand a court-martial to Houghton on his return and felt nothing but contempt for the show he was making.

'Very well. Soulter, you are to be disrated as of this hour and shall shift your hammock forward immediately.'

Soulter's eyes glowed, then went opaque.

'And you shall be entered in the master-at-arms' black book for one month.'

This was shabby treatment indeed: the man would revert to common seaman and Laffin would therefore have free rein to indulge his revenge. Not only that: for a month Soulter would be cleaning heads and mess-decks before all the seamen of whom he had been in charge before.

The men were dismissed and went below for the noon meal. Kydd sat at the wardroom table without appetite. It could have been worse—at least there were no lashes awarded for an act that was so predictable for top fighting seamen kept in idleness in a port of this nature. He would see to it that Soulter was reinstated at the first opportunity. Kydd brightened: he knew Soulter was a popular petty officer, fair and hard-working. By the unwritten rules of the lower deck he would have been seen to be unjustly treated and therefore would not be demeaned before the others by his impositions.

'I'm getting t' be a mort weary of Naples, m' friend,' Kydd said reluctantly. 'It's not a place f'r your right true shellback.'

Renzi did not hasten to offer a further run ashore. Kydd had noticed his distaste for the squalor of some streets. Renzi was no prude but Kydd had a feeling that it sat uneasily with the classical splendours that filled his head.

After a space Renzi said smoothly, 'You wish to depart these shores? Before you have been introduced to culture of altogether a different sort, an evening of entertainment of a far more ... decorous nature?'

'Oh?' said Kydd, without enthusiasm.

'An invitation from Sir William that even the admiral feels it an honour to accept ...'

'Nelson!'

'A select few will be there, you may be sure. The ambassador honours us greatly for our interest in antiquity, and should you be absent, it will be noticed, I fear.'

'But Nelson—an' probably some of his captains?'

'Almost certainly.'

In the warm dusk Kydd ran his finger about the constricting circle of the stock round his neck, irritated as well by the tickling of the frilly starched jabot under his chin. He consoled himself that a naval officer's full-dress uniform was a trial at times but was far easier than the elaborate frogging and tight pantaloons of the army.

The Palazzo Sessa was ablaze with lights and rich banners flew from each corner of the building, crowds massed outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the hero of the hour. The two officers passed through the doorway to cheers from the excited people. After the dimness of a violet dusk the light of massed chandeliers was overpowering, highlighting rose-bloomed faces and sparkling jewellery over ample bosoms.

'I say, you're Kydd of Tenacious, are you not?' The left epaulette and single ring at the cuff proclaimed him a commander, a captain in the quaint naval way of an unrated ship, even if he was younger than Kydd.

'Aye, sir,' said Kydd.

'My father has mentioned you,' he said, with just a hint of the supercilious. 'But I see these knaves are neglecting you. Here,' he neatly abstracted a champagne flute from a passing tray, 'should we not be well primed to salute the honour of the all-conquering Nelson?'

He took a long pull at his glass before Kydd could recollect himself enough to utter an unconvincing 'Sir Horatio—victor o' the seas!'

'Yes, well. Must make my number with Carraciolo, the bumbling fool.' He thrust through the assembly and was lost.

Kydd looked round for Renzi and found him talking with a thick-set post-captain who stood bolt upright, the champagne flute in his fist looking diminutive. 'Ah, Kydd, please make the acquaintance of Captain Troubridge.'

'Sir, a pleasure t' see you again. An' dare I offer m' consolation on Culloden takin' the ground as she did and missing the sport?'

'Damn charts—but a glorious occasion, hey?'

Kydd caught a sight of the commander he had spoken to before. On impulse he asked, 'Sir, are you acquainted with th' officer over there speakin' to the lady in blue?'

'I am,' Troubridge answered, looking at Kydd oddly. 'That's the captain of Bonne Citoyenne and, as you should know, he is also Nelson's son.'

'I—I—'

'Step-son, that is to say. Josiah Nisbet.'

'I see. Thank ye, sir.'

The buzz of conversation increased, then fell away quickly as a hush spread over the room. A trio was coming down a staircase that led from the apartments above: the ambassador with Nelson and between them, an arm on each, a cherubic but striking lady whom Kydd had not seen before but who must be Emma, Lady Hamilton.