something their enemies could only dream of without command of the sea.
On the following day Smith brought grave news. 'Gentlemen, I have to tell you now, the Turkish reinforcements are beaten— outnumbered many times. That devil Buonaparte won a victory over them at Mount Tabor in Canaan. They're fleeing north as fast as they are able and we can expect nothing from them now.'
'May we then know your intentions, Sir Sidney?' Hewitt asked, in a low voice.
Without any relieving force in prospect their main reason for holding out was gone. Slowly but surely the mining was reaching their walls, and a victorious General Buonaparte was returning with his booty and no threat in his rear to distract him. When the news got out who knew how it would be received? An evacuation was the only real course left.
'We stay,' Smith said calmly. 'To yield up Acre is to hand Buonaparte a highway to Constantinople and the world. While we are still here he dare not proceed further with us in his rear. Therefore our duty is plain.' It was the cold logic of war. 'We bend every sinew to defend ourselves, every man to bear a hand in doing whatever Count Phelippeaux desires in the article of fortifications. We send away any who cannot hold a weapon. Let there be nothing left undone that can help us resist the tyrant.'
Hewitt got to his feet and reached for his sword. 'Then we had best be about our business. Mr Phelippeaux has the idea to place a ravelin outside the walls. I have no idea what species of animal this is, but I look forward to finding out. Good-day, gentlemen.'
Kydd looked nonplussed. 'Outside the walls?'
'Certainly. We raise an earthworks on each flank of the wall—this in the shape of an arrowhead pointing towards the Cursed Tower. Each will contain a twenty-four-pounder and they will have an unrivalled field of fire when they play upon the approaches to the breach.' Building these ravelins in the open would be a bloody affair, Kydd mused.
'And I desire you, sir, to attend to our port. I'm sure there's much that can be done to dismay the French. Take what you need and tell me about it afterwards—and thank you, Mr Kydd.'
A brass eighteen-pounder was found and, in consultation with the gunner of
Kydd turned his attention to the mole: here was a potential hostile landing place. Remembering his first success in the dunes, he moored a barge there with spring cables to bow and stern. A thirty-six-pounder carronade was mounted in it, the ugly muzzle capable of blasting hundreds of musket balls at any who were brave enough to attempt a landing.
There were fishing-boats, gunboats, every kind of small fry— why not use them? Capable of clearing the shoal water inshore they could render the entire southern approaches impassable by soldiers. Each craft could be equipped with the smaller guns of the ships anchored offshore, then spaced close around the walls, ready for immediate service at any point.
When dusk brought a halt to the work Kydd returned to the headquarters. Smith had the map laid out and courteously enquired what steps he had taken. Kydd told him, puzzled that Hewitt was not present as was their usual practice when setting the night watch. Smith's expression did not change. 'I'm grieved to say that Lieutenant Hewitt was gravely wounded in the discharge of his duty and has been returned to his ship. I have asked for another officer.' Kydd's heart went out to the dry, sensitive Hewitt, who had suspected from the first that his own blood would join that of others in the history of this ancient, holy land.
'Therefore I will assume the first watch,' Smith said, in a controlled tone.
'Aye, sir. May I ask if the ravelins—'
'They are secure and their guns will be in place tomorrow.'
Kydd tossed in his cot. The endless striving, the blood-letting, and the knowledge that under the ground a mine was advancing that would end at any moment in a deadly explosion—all this, and the exhaustion of days and weeks facing the worst that the most famous general of the age could throw against them—was bearing down on his spirit.
At daybreak he went to the parapets to scan the distant French encampment with his signal telescope. There were no signs of untoward activity: perhaps today would be quiet.
At breakfast the new lieutenant was announced. Kydd lifted his eyes—to see Renzi standing there. 'Have I lost m' reason in the sun—or is it you, m' dear friend?' he cried, lurched to his feet and gripped Renzi's hand. He broke into a smile—the first for a long time.
Renzi greeted his friend warmly, and Kydd brightened. 'Why, Nicholas, but I had hoped you were safe in England,' he said. 'How is it I find you in this place o' misery?'
'And leave all the sport to your own good self?' Renzi said lightly. 'Besides, I am only returned these two days, and seeing this is set fair to be the most famous siege of the age, I could yet find myself noticed ...'
They paced slowly along the scarred walls of Acre, Renzi blank-faced as he learned of the perilous state of the siege and the imminent return of the victorious Buonaparte.
'Did your visit to y'r family go well?' Kydd asked, after a space. Renzi had said nothing to him before he left, other than that a family concern required his attention.
They walked further before Renzi replied quietly, 'It was a matter involving a decision of great importance to my future and, I confess, it is not yet resolved.'
Kydd knew his friend to be one who cared deeply about moral issues and worried at them until he had drawn all the threads into a satisfactory conclusion. Perhaps this was one such instance. 'Should you wish t' debate a little, Nicholas ... ?'
'That is kind in you, dear fellow, but the nature of my dilemma does not readily yield to the powers of rational philosophy.'
'Then I shall no longer speak on it,' Kydd said firmly. Renzi would come out with a fully reasoned decision when he was ready, and at the moment they had other more pressing concerns.
