Tenacious

captain, I've found him amiable enough. And he's devilishly well connected—his brother's our top diplomat in Constantinople, and he takes his orders direct from the Foreign Office as plenipotentiary, which has probably put Our Nel's nose somewhat out of joint.'

'What are our orders, then?' Kydd said.

'We'll both discover shortly—he's coming ashore to plan his defences.' Hewitt looked at Kydd shrewdly. 'As I said, make no hasty judgements. He's damned clever and brave to a fault.'

Smith arrived promptly at noon. Fastidiously dressed, he had made no concessions to their surroundings. His uniform coat even bore the bejewelled star of some order. Kydd noted the delicacy of his grip as he shook his hand, the sensitivity of his face.

'Conference now, if you please, gentlemen.' He led the way to an upper room with plain furniture scattered about and pulled a table to the centre. There he spread out a large hand-drawn map, showing the land features that were necessarily missing from the familiar sea chart. 'This, gentlemen, is the town of St John d'Acre. As you can see, walled around, open ground without. Two sides to the sea, two facing inland—here at their corner is a large square tower. It has good observation possibilities. The locals call it the 'Cursed Tower.'' He added lightly, 'It seems it was paid for with Judas Iscariot's thirty pieces of silver.'

Kydd was not interested in a Biblical allusion. 'Sir, ye're thinking on making a stand against Gen'ral Buonaparte here?'

Smith's smile vanished. 'I most certainly am, Mr Kydd. Can you be one of those wretched crew who cringe at the sound of his name? I mean to show the world that he can be bested—and, remember, we have the sea at our backs.'

Kydd felt Hewitt's eyes on him. 'Sir, with no soldiers it'll be a hard job.'

'You're forgetting Djezzar, the ruler of this region. He is providing three thousand of the best troops—Anatolian, Albanian, Kurds, Africans—and will reside within these walls while the French do their worst, trusting us to effect its defence.'

Something of Kydd's scepticism must have shown, for Smith went on, 'Our object is simply to hold the town until relieved. And I can tell you now that at this very moment a Turkish army eight times the size of Buonaparte's is preparing to advance towards us. Not even the victor of Italy may prevail over that.'

There was the sound of movement and voices below. 'Ah, he has arrived.' Smith went to the window and stared out until an older officer, with a deeply lined face, wearing a uniform that Kydd did not recognise, entered. Smith turned and, with a warm smile, greeted him in a stream of mellifluous French, gesturing first to Hewitt, who responded with a bow and murmured French, and then to Kydd, who could only bow and mutter in English.

'For those without the necessary accomplishment I will translate,' Smith said. 'This gentleman is Lieutenant General the Count Phelippeaux, an honourable Frenchman of the ancien regime. He is in the first rank of those learned in the arts of fortification and will tell us how best we may prepare for our siege.'

Kydd's expression altered, but Smith, mistaking the change, went on, 'Set aside your concerns. This was the officer who, in the most handsome manner, assisted in my escape from the prison cell in Paris. He has every reason to detest the revolutionaries, you may believe, Mr Kydd.'

The conference moved forward quickly. Whatever else, Smith was clear-headed and energetic. Within the hour they had settled on immediate priorities: with an unknown time before Buonaparte appeared, their defences had to be completed as soon as possible.

The most effective would be in the deploying of their two ships of force, which amounted to the equivalent of a regiment of artillery. Each ship would be anchored in position so that it could fire down the length of one side or the other of the walls, their line of fire intersecting at the end. The open ground in front of the walls across which the enemy must pass for an assault could therefore be kept under fire. The only problem with this was that shallow water with rocky shoals extended in places for several miles, making it a dangerous and exposed anchorage for ships of size. They would be firing at extreme range.

The count engaged in long, earnest discussions with Smith, which Smith summarised tersely. It seemed that, without effective artillery of their own, they would be at a grave disadvantage: they had to keep Buonaparte's siege guns at a distance or they would effect a rapid breach.

'I shall land guns from Tigre and Tenacious with volunteer seamen gunners to serve them. The men relish a jaunt ashore and I shall oblige them.' More discussion yielded their number and position.

Things were looking up for Kydd: with seamen to command and a worthy task ahead, there was every prospect of distinguished service.

Smith stood and stretched theatrically. 'At this point it would appear appropriate to involve Djezzar Pasha.' He began to pace about the room, his hands behind his back. 'I would have you understand the importance I attach to our alliance. He alone has the men close at hand whom we need, and without him we are lost. Now, before we make audience, allow me to say something of this worthy gentleman. He is pasha of this region, holding nominal allegiance to Sultan Selim in Constantinople but has always been an independent spirit.'

He glanced significantly at the other two officers in turn. ' 'Djezzar' means Slasher or Butcher and it is an apt name. When he was young he sold himself into slavery to the Mamelukes and by sinister means made himself indispensable as an assassin until he turned his blade on his master. He is cruel and has the morals of a polecat, but is the ruler and will be accorded all possible marks of respect. Is that clear?'

'Understood, sir,' said Hewitt. Kydd nodded.

'Then we shall proceed to the harem.'

'Sir?' both officers said, in astonishment.

'All official business with Djezzar Pasha is conducted in his seraglio. Shall we go now?'

With an increasing sense of unreality, Kydd followed Smith through noisy ancient streets to a complex of buildings to the north and a tent surrounded by chattering Arabs in a courtyard with palm trees and a fountain. A tall man in a turban approached and bowed in the eastern manner.

'To see His Excellency,' Smith said, with practised hauteur. This was the man, Kydd had been told, who had recently won over the Sublime Porte in Constantinople to secure a treaty—he would be no stranger to eastern ways.