Tenacious

They stood in a semicircle while a French officer in high boots and cockaded hat stalked forward.

'J'exige votre reddition,' he snapped.

Kydd had no idea what he had said. 'Sir, I ask terms f'r my capitulation,' he said wearily.

'You surrender, ees it?' the officer said, smirking.

'What are y'r terms, sir?' Kydd repeated stiffly.

'Terms? You surrender, you safe your lifes. You not, then ...' He shrugged.

'Very well. We, er, surrender.' It was done.

'C'est excellent, Lieutenant.' He held out his hands. Kydd was at a loss to understand. Then he realised. He unbuckled his fine sword, still unblooded, and gave it to the officer. Bitterness threatened to choke him as he watched the man put the cherished sword under his arm, then turn to give the orders that must send them into captivity.

CHAPTER 13

KYDD WAS IMPRISONED in a former office above some sort of trading floor. Two sentries stood guard outside. As far as he knew, his men were below, crowded into the odorous basement room he had seen briefly as he mounted the stairs.

There was an echoing quiet in the barely furnished room, which contained a table, two chairs to one side and some untidy rubbish in the corner. A palliasse had been thrown on to the floor with a grey blanket. Moonlight entered through the window, which was barred, ironically, to prevent entry rather than exit. The view outside was limited to the slab side of another building. Kydd had no idea where he was.

He crossed to the palliasse; it was going to be a long night. Using an old seaman's trick, he thumped it several times in the centre with his fist and saw dots scrabbling in the indentation. He kicked it aside and sat moodily in a chair. He felt shame at surrendering, giving up in the face of mere musket fire when at sea he had stood firm against decks of heavy cannon. It was hard to accept in a service where hauling down one's flag was a rare and final humiliation.

His mind raced over the events, probing mercilessly for evidence of stupidity, neglect, cowardice—had he done his duty as a king's officer to the full? Would he be able to stand before a court-martial and swear he had done all that was possible?

Hot, accusing images of men screaming at their death-wounds flooded in. Did the survivors blame him? What did they think of him as an officer? What did he think of himself?

But he was torturing himself to no purpose. He fought down the whirling thoughts but his feverish mind found a new tack: these soldiers were the same troops who had recently taken out three thousand surrendered men and massacred them on the spot. Would they do the same with them? It made little sense to guard and feed them in the middle of a full-scale siege. And probably Smith would not have heard of their fate ...

The night passed slowly for Kydd, full of phantoms and dread of the unknown. With the first grey light came another question: what lay in store for the day—for the endless time that lay ahead? Smith had endured years in a Paris prison before his dramatic escape. Escape! But as soon as the thought had flowered, it died. Kydd had no mysterious friends to help him, no funds and, above all, he could not abandon his men to the French army. He vowed to share their fate, whatever it might be.

A breakfast of flavoured rice and gruel arrived, but it was not until the morning sun had come to full strength that he received a visitor, the officer who had accepted his sword in surrender. 'Ah, bonjour, mon brave,' he said, gesturing to the guards to wait outside. He took a chair and sat. 'I am Lieutenant d'Infantrie Cadoux. An' you are Lieutenant Keed, n'est-ce pas?' He smiled. 'Of ze ship-o'- ze-line Tenacious?'

Kydd remained silent. The French could only have known this if his men had been interrogated.

'Alors, eet is of no consequence. Do you know, Monsieur, zat you are famous? No? Then let me tell you, ze great General Napoleon Buonaparte 'imself knows of you. 'E wish to offer 'is condolences on your misfortune, but regrets 'e cannot receive you at zis moment. 'E is engaged on an important matter.'

Kydd said nothing. No doubt Buonaparte had heard of him— his capture would have been quickly reported by the triumphant officer in charge, but whether the general had any real interest in him he very much doubted.

'Ze general wonders if you can be of service to 'im. 'E would be much oblige eef you are able to assist 'im with 'is unnerstand-ing of ze geography of Akker. For zis 'e wants you to know zat 'e will be grateful. Very grateful—eef you unnerstan' me?'

'No,' he said defiantly.

Cadoux drew his chair closer. 'M'sieur—you do not comprehend! One does not refuse ze general's politeness. Did I not express mysel' sufficiently?' He tried again. Then, frustrated at Kydd's lack of response, he stood and left.

The day drew on. Clearly the defences of Acre were of vital interest to the French and there was little they would not do to secure the intelligence. Kydd's capture must have seemed a godsend. His stomach was in a knot and he could not bring himself to eat; he wondered what his men had been given, but seamen were inured to poor food when victualling declined and would probably eat whatever was put before them.

He paced round the shabby room trying not to think about what must follow his stubbornness. The sun gentled into evening and Cadoux returned. He entered slowly, his right hand concealing something behind him. Kydd went cold: if this was the end he would not go meekly.

'Lieutenant Keed, you are a very fortunate man.'

Kydd tensed. Then Cadoux whipped out his beloved fighting sword from behind his back. 'You are to be exchange. General Buonaparte graciously agree, you may return to your ship.' He bowed elegantly and proffered the scabbard as though Kydd had absentmindedly left it behind.

Hesitating in disbelief, Kydd reached out for his sword.

Another figure entered the room, Smith's secretary. 'True enough, sir,' the man said drily. 'As soon as he heard, Sir Sidney sent me to Gen'ral Buonaparte, flag o' truce. You—and your men—are to be exchanged for two Frenchmen we hold. If you'd come with me down to the quay ...'

'Fortunate? I'd say you were damn lucky, Kydd!' Smith, in his cabin in Tigre, did not seem to share Kydd's relief at his deliverance. 'You know that you've cost me my only two French captives of worth?' With a sigh he stared through the stern windows. 'Buonaparte taking up his positions, bombarding me with demands to turn over the