Tenacious

Owen returned carrying a long package, which he carefully unwrapped on the counter top. Kydd caught his breath. Despite the ugly, naked tang at the top, the sword blade's lethal gleam shone with an impossibly fine lustre. 'Take it,' urged Owen. 'If you look closely you might perceive the damascene workings.' Kydd lifted the blade, sighting along it and feeling its weight, admiring the almost imperceptible whorls of metal colour.

'The other Toledo I have is a thirty-two-inch,' Owen said, 'this being only a twenty-eight.'

'No, sir. Aboard ship we set no value on length,' Kydd said, stroking the blade in reverence. 'Sudden an' quick's the word, the shorter swings faster.'

'Is the fullering to your satisfaction, sir?'

Kydd slid his thumb down the single wide groove, feeling its sensual curvature as it diminished towards the tip. 'Aye, it will do.'

'Then perhaps we should discuss the furniture.'

Kydd's brow creased.

'Yes. The blade is forged in Toledo, we perform the hilting here.' Kydd avoided Renzi's eye and listened politely. 'Naval gentlemen are taking a stirrup knuckle-bow these days,' he said, familiarly lifting a sword by its blade and holding it vertical. Instead of forming a round semicircle, the guard had a pleasing sinuosity, ending in a flat bar.

'You will remark the short quillion on this piece,' he added, touching the sword crosspiece. 'More to your sea tastes, I believe.

And the grips—for a fighting sword we have ivory, filigree—'

'Sharkskin,' Kydd said firmly, and turned to see Renzi nodding. 'Aye, dark sharkskin it must be. Now, y'r pommel.'

'Ah, yes. You naval gentlemen will be asking for the lionhead pommel. It remains only to specify how far down the backpiece of the grip you wish the mane to extend. Some gentlemen—'

'Half-way will be fine.'

'Chased?'

'Er ...'

'Silver, gold?'

'Ah, yes. How will gold chasin' look, d'ye think, Nicholas?'

'Dear fellow, this is a fighting sword.'

'I think, then, none.'

Owen returned the sword to its place. 'And the detailing.' He pursed his lips and crossed to another rack. 'Triangular langets?' he said, showing the neat little catch for holding the sword secure in its scabbard.

'Not so plain, I'm thinkin'—have you an anchor, perhaps?'

'Certainly. Would you consider damascening in blue and gold? Some blade-etching—a mermaid, a seahorse, perhaps? And the scabbard: black oiled leather, of course, with carrying rings and frog stud for belt or shoulder carriage. Shall the sword knot be in bullion or blue tassels?'

It was well into the afternoon before all details had been settled. The sword-cutler had puzzled over Kydd's insistent demand for engravings of choughs, but he had promised a sketch of the birds for the etching. For the rest, it had cost a pretty premium to command the entire resources of the workshop to have it finished in time, but he would then possess the finest sword imaginable— and there was every reason to suppose that it would soon be drawn in anger.

Back on board, the remainder of the day passed busily. Men sweated in the heat as they struck stores down into the hold; others roused out cannonballs from their lockers and scaled rust from them; more still went over every inch of rigging.

So far signal instructions from their new admiral had not been sent over, so Kydd concentrated on what he had; a detached squadron was not a fleet, even if commanded by an admiral and there might be difficulties. Probably a fat sheaf of complex signal details would arrive the day they sailed, Kydd thought ruefully.

The following day the pace had calmed. Gibraltar dockyard was not a major fleet base and had no vast stocks of sea stores. Men's minds began to turn shoreward for the last opportunity to raise a wind for who knew how long. Liberty was granted to the trusties of the larboard watch until evening gun. Kydd knew where they would head— there were establishments enough in Irish Town alone to cater to an entire fleet.

He and Renzi found time to share a pleasant meal at the Old Porter House on Scud Hill. They sank an ale on the terrace. The entire sweeping curve of Gibraltar Bay lay before them under the setting sun; Spain, the enemy, was a bare five miles distant. The two friends talked comfortably together of remembered places far away; unspoken, however, was any mention of the fire of war, which must soon reach out and engulf them both.

Soon after breakfast, a midshipman appeared. 'Mr Kydd, sir, and the cap'n desires to see you when convenient.'

The coding of the summons indicated delay would not be in his interest and his pulse quickened as he remembered that the previous day Houghton had spent the whole afternoon and evening with Admiral Nelson. Kydd quickly mounted the companionway and knocked at the door.

'Sir?' There was another captain with him, and a midshipman rigid to one side.

Houghton rose. 'Thank you for your time, Mr Kydd. I believe you remember Captain Essington?'

Kydd's astonishment quickly turned to pleasure as he shook the hand of his captain in Triumph at the bloody battle of Camperdown, who had commended him to acting lieutenant in Tenacious. But for Essington's intercession at his lieutenant's examination, Kydd would have been for a certainty back before the mast.

'He is flag-captain of Princess Royal,' Houghton added.

Essington's face creased to a smile. 'Lieutenant, if you are at leisure, it would gratify me should we take the air on the quarterdeck for a small while.'