Pasha (24 page)

The other could not have been more different. Kydd had first met Smith in the dramatic defence of Acre, when he had been with a motley band of British seamen and Arab irregulars under Smith's command that had stood against a siege by Napoleon Bonaparte
face to face, to send him back to France in complete defeat, even to the extent of abandoning his army.

Smith was clever, ingenious and restless, but had a knack for irritating his superiors. Yet his courage was undoubted—the Swedish king had knighted him for his role in a titanic battle against the Russians that had cost them sixty-four ships and many thousands of lives. Once he had even been captured as a spy and taken to a Paris fortress but had then escaped in dramatic circumstances.

Kydd had been in his first command, the brig-sloop
Teazer,
when he had last seen Smith in Alexandria and where he had experienced his jealousy and glory-seeking at first-hand. He wondered what the man was doing in Duckworth's command, then recalled the rumour that he had been the lover of Princess Caroline of Brunswick, the consort of the Prince of Wales; there had been talk of a child. It was more than likely he had been packed off out of the country.

He knew one other of the dozen commanders seated around the vast polished table—the captain of
Ajax,
a legendary 7
4
-gun ship-of-the-line. This was Nelson's Blackwood, the dour frigate captain whom Kydd had served under at Trafalgar and who had first brought the news of the French at Cádiz to Merton. He ventured a smile across the cabin and was rewarded with a slight easing of a frown—but that was Blackwood's way, and Kydd determined to make a visit when he could, to talk over times still fresh for them both.

“Shall we come to order, gentlemen?” Duckworth's booming voice cut across the conversations. “There's much to do, and time presses.”

He was more portly than Kydd remembered, a heavy face and a ready scowl. He wore his full-dress admiral's uniform, a mass of gold lace, stars and ribbons.

“As of this date, the detached squadron of Rear Admiral Louis
is dissolved, its ships to come under my direct command. This is for a particular service for which I have my orders.”

He had their full attention and looked around the table.

“Gentlemen, we are to force the Dardanelles and lie before Constantinople.”

There were gasps of incredulity but Duckworth ignored them. “The government has had word of French intrigue and treachery in the court of the Sultan of Turkey that threatens to gain for Bonaparte what he lost at the Nile and this cannot be tolerated. My task is to reverse that state of affairs in our favour, by force, if necessary.”

“Sir, when you say force, do you mean—”

“My orders are clear. We lie off the city with guns run out. Our demands are simple: the Turk is to eject the chief French troublemaker, one M'sieur Sébastiani, and his crew to us or alternatively yield up their entire navy, ships and stores to prevent their falling into the hands of the French. Failing that, we bombard the city of Constantinople and lay it in ruins.”

“Good God! This is madness!” Smith stuttered, his face reddening. “The work of a lunatic! We can't just—”

“Admiral Smith!” rapped Duckworth, “Kindly keep yourself under control. These orders are not mine—they're not even those of the commander-in-chief. They originate in London at the highest—I say, the highest—level. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Smith subsided, his fists bunched.

“I'm further instructed to take advice from the ambassador on this matter. His assessments regarding this grave confrontation are trusted by Whitehall and are, no doubt, the reason why we're here. Where is the fellow, by the way?”

“He lies indisposed in my ship, Sir John,” Kydd answered quickly.

“Well, see he gets the best treatments. He's much to be consulted.”

“There seems to be a conundrum at large,” Louis came in.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Are not the Turks our allies? A penetration of the Dardanelles by force must be in breach of our treaty of friendship of 1
798,
surely.”

“We come in peace,” there was a muffled guffaw from Smith, “so if they open fire, it is the Turk who is in default. Never underestimate the wily Oriental, sir! They know full well what they're about and it's up to us to bring them to their senses. That is why we've been dispatched on this mission.”

Duckworth sniffed disdainfully, then said, “And, for your information, the Russian Navy in Corfu, under their Admiral Senyavin, has offered to send us ships-of-the-line in the common cause. Naturally I shall not avail myself of this, considering our present armament sufficient against the Navy of the Ottomans.”

There was quiet for a space as the import of what had been said sank in. Then Smith said coldly, “Sir, I have met Sultan Selim, my brother having been the previous ambassador. He's no fool but has problems with his own people and takes to dithering between two courses of action when pressured. He's close to the French now but can be swayed back just as easily. In all charity, can we not move forward by diplomacy instead of bludgeoning our way—”

“Your objections are noted, sir. My orders are explicit. I can see no reason to delay. We sail against Constantinople.”

“Very good, sir,” Smith said icily. “That leaves only the question of what to say when we fail.”

“Your attitude borders on the mutinous, sir. Explain yourself!”

“Certainly. I know these waters well—are you aware there are thirty-eight forts and batteries on the shores of the Dardanelles before ever the Sea of Marmora is reached? In a passage a mile or so wide this is hard enough to bear, I would have thought. A single ship is no threat and may pass unmolested, but a fleet such
as ours will be an intolerable provocation.”

Duckworth looked as though he was going to say something but stayed quiet.

“Then there are the elements. The strait is long and narrow and there are currents and winds that can set the fairest vessel at a stand—I give you what the Turk calls the
meltemi,
a remorseless nor'easterly that can blow for days and, of course, is dead foul for passage through.”

There were nods about the table. A ponderous line-of-battle ship could sail no closer than six points off the wind's eye and it didn't take a lot of imagination to picture a scene of back-winded ships milling helplessly before the guns of a Turkish fortress.

“And did I say currents? There are some swifter than a man may run, many that will stem a ship motionless in a tops'l breeze. Sir,
you
may be confident of our first armed incursion into the strait since the Crusaders, but
I
am not.”

Duckworth glowered. “Why wasn't I told of this in more detail? Don't we have pilots as will preserve us through the hazards?”

“You'll trust a Turk to conn us safely through to fall upon his countrymen?”

“Humph. A good point, o' course. Thirty-eight fortifications, you say. This will not be easy—to reduce them one by one will take time.”

“And given the narrow width of the channel we cannot concentrate our fire-power at once,” Louis added. “It requires we brave the enemy's shot ship by ship instead.”

“Quite,” Duckworth said, the frown now permanent. “In view of what I've heard on fortresses, winds, restricted waters and currents, I'm minded to delay the expedition until we have a clearer plan in hand. It seems obvious to me now that their lordships were never in possession of all the facts when they drew up their orders.”

“Sir,” Kydd intervened, “as I'm new returned from Constantinople,
I've seen how fast things are happening there. If we're indeed to make an impression on the Porte then we should move now, before the French can establish themselves further.”

“Port? What does he mean?”

“The Sublime Porte,” Smith said sharply. “The government of Turkey, named for the gateway where they meet the infidel. And he's right. If we go through with this madness, better we do it before they get word and set up a resistance.”

“I will be the judge of when we sail. And I say we wait until we can look further into the obstacles that face us. That is my decision.”

An uncomfortable silence was broken by some kind of disturbance outside the cabin. The door opened and the flag-lieutenant poked his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the ambassador, Mr Arbuthnot, is here and demands entry to any discussion concerning Constantinople.”

“Very well. Send him in.”

Arbuthnot showed no sign of any ailment. He bustled in, eyes a-gleam, seized a chair and sat close to Duckworth.

“I've just heard of your arrival, Admiral. How splendid!” he spluttered. “Excellent! London has been listening to what I've been saying these last months. A show of force! Nelson's fleet!”

“I'm happy to see you've made a full recovery from your indisposition, sir.”

“Yes, yes, I'm quite ready to play my part, Admiral. Now, how then are we to proceed on our great expedition?”

“My orders are to lie off Constantinople and demand the persons of the French delegation. Failing that, to demand the handing over of the entire Ottoman fleet and stores to prevent their falling into French hands.”

“And if they won't comply?”

“We are to bombard the city until it lies in ruins.”

“Splendid! Our standing among the Turks—who invariably connect power with prestige—will never be higher.”

“Or any other acts as you shall from time to time recommend,” Duckworth said heavily. “And are within my power to undertake.”

“It may not come to that, Admiral. So when might we start our chastising?”

“Sir, I'm not altogether of the opinion that you have a proper regard for the difficulties we are facing.”

“Difficulties?” Arbuthnot said, with surprise. “With a grand fleet such as this? They'll run like rats at the first sight of it.”

“No, sir. I'm more referring to our forcing of a passage through the Dardanelles. Have you ever given thought to the fact that no hostile armada has ever gone through unopposed since before Drake's time? There is a reason for that. Fortresses, currents—I won't weary you with details, sir. Suffice it to say that it is my inviolable decision to delay any sailing until we have thoroughly considered the elements.”

“Delay? I thought I was talking to the fearless hero of San Domingo, sir.”

Duckworth smouldered. “It is not your career that is in jeopardy, Mr Arbuthnot, it is mine. To lose a fleet to the Turk would damn me for ever.”

“You are forgetting something, Admiral.”

“What is that, sir?” Duckworth said stiffly.

“Your orders, sir,” Arbuthnot replied silkily. “Which place my wishes to the fore. And these are that we waste no time in responding to our shameful ejection by the Ottomans by appearing before Constantinople at once. At once, sir!”

“I must first await the arrival of reinforcements from the Russian Navy under Admiral Senyavin before ever I can proceed, sir.”

“Admiral. I write my dispatches at the outset of this expedition tonight. Should you wish me to include the fact that we are lying
idle at anchor indefinitely here while our high admiral waits for things to turn more in his favour?”

“I take note of your opinion, Mr Ambassador. Know that I also shall be writing dispatches—to lay before my commander-in-chief the grave professional difficulties we are under.”

“Do so, Admiral. As long as we're on our way. The triumph will be yours too, never fear.”

“Very well. We get under way tomorrow.”

Smith, who had been listening to the exchange with a lazy smile and with his hands folded behind his head, declared confidently, “I rather think not.”

“What the devil do you mean, sir?”

“Has no one noticed? The wind's in the north and veering. We'll be headed by a dead foul wind in the morning—we're going nowhere.”

As the captains waited for their boats on the spacious quarterdeck of the battleship, Blackwood came up to Kydd. “A pleasure to see you again, old fellow—oh, I do beg your pardon, Sir Thomas.”

“The pleasure is mine also, sir.”

“A trying time, this afternoon. Would you wish to take dinner with me tonight, at all? I've some capital lamb cutlets just come aboard that I'd like your opinion of—and perhaps we'll remember the more uplifting times we've had together.”

It was just what he needed to raise his spirits.

Ajax
was an old friend. He had seen her first in Alexandria, setting ashore Abercromby's army that had finished the French in Egypt while he had been a junior commander in
Teazer.
And then it was Trafalgar—from the deck of his frigate he had seen her take on the bigger French flagship
Bucentaure
and then the even bigger
Santissima Trinidad
in an epic fight, nearly invisible in the boiling gun-smoke of the cannonading going on all around her.

Now for the first time he trod her decks—and as a guest.

“Welcome to my ship, Sir Thomas.” Blackwood greeted him warmly, shaking his hand in pleasure. “Shall we go below?”

The evening was settling in, the last dog-watchmen on deck, lanthorns being rigged.

Blackwood's cabin was as austere as the man: a single polished table set squarely in the middle of the deck, a lamp on gimbals at either side and a candelabrum at the geometric centre. There were few domestic touches, a chaste, almost puritanical feel about it reflecting the personality of the man Kydd remembered.

“I so deplore it when our leaders fall out,” Blackwood murmured, over sherry. “I remember not so long ago the elevated spirit in every heart when Lord Nelson was still with us, every captain burning to do his utmost for the man and his country.”

“When orders were hardly necessary, each knowing his duty and the greater plan,” agreed Kydd.