Victory

‘Never! How can you think it? Nicholas, I know well how you abhor spying and so forth. No – that will never do!’

‘Then?’

‘My dear chap, the getting of intelligence is quite at a distance from spying, being as it is the noting of facts merely, the gathering of opinions and observations. You see, in this we frigates who are far-ranging up and down the Med are best placed of all to collect together morsels to present to our commander.

‘What would be of prime service to me, Nicholas, is if you’re able to turn your headpiece to how L’Aurore can pull her weight before Nelson in all this. If when we touch at a port you go ashore and put your ear to the ground, if you take my meaning. Buy a newspaper and see what’s in it, help me persuade a Bey to his duty with iron words in honey, um, as we might say.’

Renzi was speechless with relief. Now he would have definite purpose and meaning in his life while he pondered the future. Naturally, he should first acquire a thorough grounding in the tortuous political currents in the Levant before even—

‘That is, if it does not incommode your studies, Nicholas,’ Kydd added anxiously.

‘My dear chap, if you deem it of value to our functioning here, then you may rely upon my duty in the matter.’

Kydd beamed.

L’Aurore’s orders arrived as they completed storing. And, true to his practice, the commander-in-chief had rotated L’Aurore away from the tedium of blockade for fresh tasking. ‘So it’s to be the Adriatic,’ Kydd mused, as he finished absorbing the terse, vigorous instructions.

‘Venice?’ said Renzi, curiously.

‘We go a-roaming. Trade protection our cardinal charge.’

‘Convoys.’

‘It would appear, but not neglecting any opportunity to distress the enemy wheresoever and so on. Now, here’s a rum business, Nicholas. We’re required first to make our number with a Russian cove on Corfu – I didn’t know there were any in these parts.’

‘For what it’s worth, old trout, here’s the fruit of my reading, insubstantial as it is. Corfu is the chiefest of the Ionian Islands, seven that belonged to the Venetians since olden times and of high value – they were the only part of Greece to hold out against the Ottomans. With Mr Bonaparte’s seizing of Venice he thereby acquired them for their same strategic significance, but now the Ottoman Turks are our friends.’

‘And the Russians?’

‘Not so mysterious. Tsar Paul took against the French in 1798 after the Nile and sent Admiral Ushakov to assist our Nelson. He did so most nobly by ejecting Napoleon and his friends from the Ionians, which he then garrisoned for himself.’

‘So we—’

‘But the Tsar turned again, this time against us in armed neutrality in 1801. Not for nothing was he called the “Mad Tsar”, I believe.’

‘Oh.’

‘And he was assassinated by his drunken officers not long after. We honour his son Alexander – who was present in the palace at the time – as the Tsar today. It might be said that he’s a friend to England but in this we have to accept that these same Russians are known to covet the Morea, in which the French do intrigue for the same end.’

‘The Morea?’

‘A large island at the end of Greece, also known as the Peloponnesus,’ Renzi said. ‘While it may be of inestimable value in strategical terms it’s nevertheless the sovereign territory of our allies the Ottomans.’

Kydd’s brow furrowed. ‘I do recall that when we took Malta from the French after the Nile we were supposed to hand it on to the Grand Master of the Knights of St John – and he your friend Tsar Paul. They were much miffed when we were hailed by the Maltese instead. I’ve a notion I shall need to watch my luff while there.’

‘Indeed. Remembering, too, that it could be said Malta owes its continued existence to the grain fleet from Odessa, which the Russians could cut at a whim.’

‘But I can see now that Nelson must rely on the Russians to make a presence in these waters to discourage the French from eastern adventures. Is this why we went east-about in the late alarm, they not altogether trusted to be staunch in this, I wonder?’

‘No doubt.’

Kydd sighed. ‘A carefree life on the bounding main is for me quite past, it seems. A frigate captain needs to hoist in a gallows sight more than how to reckon his position. Lend me some of your books, Nicholas, and let’s see what we can make o’ this’n.’

In the wan glitter of the enfolding calm of Corfu Roads HMS L’Aurore picked her way delicately past the two 74s and five heavy frigates displaying the blue diagonal on white of Imperial Russia, and dropped anchor.

While her thirteen-gun salute thudded out in respect to the commodore’s pennant at the main of the largest, Kydd saw the low white Mediterranean sprawl flying the two-headed eagle standard of the Tsar. He nervously twitched his full-dress uniform into obedience, anxious to adhere scrupulously to the protocol attending the meeting of two powers.

His barge was swung out but remained suspended, the minutes ticking by. Then the thump of an answering salute began from the Russian flagship. The gunner, Redmond, importantly noted their number with a nod to each, then reported to Kydd.

Precisely the same had been returned. The next act was for his boat to be lowered and manned. In dignified