Victory

naked, his view is that the number of volumes sold will not be sufficient to pay for its printing.’

‘What’s that against such scholarship you are bringing to your work? Why, it—’

‘Dear fellow,’ Renzi said sadly, ‘writing in these modern times must now be accounted a business, with all the attendant woes of want of treasure, wares to be displayed at the marketplace before the hoi polloi and like concerns. In fine, it would seem he’s asking I amend its delivery, adapt the words to a more modish taste, and that, brother, I will not do.’

‘So?’

‘Those in academia need fear no frowning public, neither those celebrated in the public eye. And should I be desirous of a private publishing, why, this may only be readily accomplished by raising a subscription – not, I hasten to add, for pecuniary reasons, but by this means the attention of the great and good may be secured in advance. And that I’m as yet unknown in literary circles quite dishes any prospects remaining.’

Kydd saw his friend’s face fall and the worry-lines deepen and his heart went out to him. ‘There must be . . .’

‘And that is not the worst of it,’ Renzi said, in a voice so low that Kydd strained to hear. ‘I vowed that when I laid my opus at your sister’s feet, in the same hour I would seek her hand. So what now has become of me?’

‘Nicholas, m’ friend, I’m certain it’s you in yourself she’d be satisfied with, not some old book.’

Renzi looked away and spoke in muffled tones: ‘When I received your letter of recall it was a . . . a relief. You see, Cecilia and I had h-high words and she is now gone off to her world of the highest society and I rather fear she has tired of me.’

‘Cec? Never!’ Kydd said, in sincere disbelief.

‘No? Then why did she not come – as she always has – to fare us well on our voyaging? And no fond gift? A letter, even?’

‘She – she might be busy . . .’

Renzi pulled himself up stiffly. ‘But this is no concern of yours, sir. I shall consider my position and before that time I’d be obliged should you refrain from mentioning it.’

The next morning dawned bright and clear and, unusually for the chops of the Channel, a subdued and calm seascape stretched out in a hard grey winter glitter with barely a swell to make things interesting, but Kydd was beside himself with impatience to make trial of his ship.

At last the men’s breakfast was concluded and both watches were mustered for evolutions. ‘Under all plain sail, full and bye on this board,’ he ordered. This would require the topgallants to be bent on after their easy passage out, as good a test as any of his crew’s mettle.

He watched with satisfaction as the long sausages of sails were hoisted aloft efficiently, the men working steadily under their boatswain. Kydd could have no complaint about the way Oakley swarmed aloft before even the topmen themselves, ready for them as they stretched along the sails and began passing the lines. He was as much a stranger to these men as Kydd was but he was getting the most out of them.

L’Aurore responded well, lengthening her stride like an obedient thoroughbred, the swash of her prettily dappled wake now extending broadly on either side. He called over the senior master’s mate. ‘Mr Saxton? Take two midshipmen and teach ’em to cast a log. I want our speed whenever I call for it.’

He gazed up at the set of the sails, their complexity of lines, the sweet curve of full canvas, and smothered a sigh. The last time he had handled a fully ship-rigged vessel was as a lieutenant in the old 64 Tenacious, and his main worry then had been that he would do nothing foolish under the eye of the captain. And now . . .

‘Log?’ he called imperiously. This would be a baseline performance figure – presuming the wind held he would first ring the changes on trim and see how L’Aurore did.

‘Nine knots and a whisker!’ yelled Saxton. Not bad, but not good. Earlier he had heaved to and taken the draft fore and aft. Some ships liked to be down by the head so the forefoot would bite, more often by the stern to increase manoeuvrability. What he needed now was the effect of trim on speed under standard sail.

‘Right, Mr Oakley, get those forward.’ Trundling the twelve-pounder carriage guns along the main-deck as far as possible was a quick method of shifting weights to imitate a re-stowage of the hold. The effect was immediate – not so much on the speed but the surprising amount of spray and slop that came over the bows. In heavier weather this would translate not only into a wet ship forward but L’Aurore being shy of head seas.

The guns were returned and Kydd tried something else. This time it was to see how close-hauled to the wind L’Aurore could be held, a vital matter in either chase or flight. Without fuss or complaint she lay to the breeze as close as Kydd could recall any square-rigged ship of his acquaintance – five and a third points off the wind no less. Promising!

Next he had a cask thrown over the transom with a jaunty red flag atop it. As it slipped away into the distance astern Kydd sighted aft along the centreline. As the ship slashed along hard up to the wind, little by little the flag inched its way to windward – this was leeway, the ground lost under the side pressure of the wind. He continued until the flag was a tiny speck at about a cable and a half upwind of L’Aurore’s track. Not bad – that would be the Sane steep turn of bilge he’d noticed in dock.

He wore about and ran the cask down on the other tack with similar results. It was most satisfying; here was something to rely on. Now for going large, wind abaft the beam. ‘Take us on a reach, wind four points free, Mr Kendall.’

This was a quartering breeze, for most ships their best point of sailing. Again, L’Aurore did not disappoint, her brisk motion turning to a canter. ‘Speed?’ called Kydd.

‘Near thirteen!’ yelled back Saxton. In this light breeze the figure was astonishing and gratifying, for there was the prospect of more if pushed harder. Surprised grins spread around the deck as word got out.

‘Running free,’ ordered Kydd, and the helm spun as the frigate was placed squarely before the wind. It was proverbial that a ship responding well by the wind did not relish going free – but then a ship that was good both by and large generally performed each of these manoeuvres as a compromise, an outstanding sailer on neither.