Betrayal

Chapter 12

The sound of Kydd’s steps echoed from the stone stairs as he made his way yet again to the roof parapets of the fort. He stood and looked out to the restless grey water, with its limitless horizon, feeling for the freedom and contentment of the open sea.

With every fibre of his soul he wanted to be quit of the place, with its mood of foreboding and treachery; the monotony of the flat, endless landscape; the inescapable stink of mud and animals; the pinched rations and strained faces; the tedium of waiting and keeping his flotilla at their vital blockade until relief finally came.

He thought of brave little Beekman, who would leave his bones here, never again to see the grand sight of Cape Town’s Table Mountain and the sun-splashed veld. In his sea life Kydd had seen countless tragedies and had acquired a detachment that usually kept him distant, but Beekman had got under his guard. Such a pitiable waste.

Swallowing, Kydd forced himself to concentrate as he made his usual appraisal of the weather. The glass was falling but too little to worry about, the winds gusty and sulky from the north-east, not a concern for the blockade of Colonia. Moreover, the mud-flats close by were under water, ensuring there was navigability around the Chico Bank. There was no telling, however, in these duplicitous waters: he had heard of one occasion when, with an adverse wind, the incoming tide had actually been cowed into retreating, leaving the whole River Plate a vast mud-flat, shore to shore.

He turned to go, but hesitated at what he saw developing inland to the south-west. A peculiar roll of cloud, separate from the rest, stretched for miles and had a dark, unhealthy hue. It put him in mind of the Southerly Buster, a phenomenon he had once been caught up in some years ago off Australia: it had the vicious trick of advancing with high winds from one direction, then whipping round to attack an unfortunate ship from the opposite direction.

When he wandered back up just before noon to check, it was considerably nearer, a peculiar uniform long tube of brown-grey, slowly and ominously rolling forward. Under its baneful influence the winds before it faded, bringing an oppressive humidity and the feral apprehension that always came before a storm.

Kydd thought of his little band of vessels on their ceaseless patrol against the far shore. At the sight of this kind of weather he himself would be taking full storm precautions, no matter how big his vessel. Should he call off the blockade and bring them all safely back to port? If this was a harmless local phenomenon he would be risking all, for Liniers with his superior knowledge of these parts would jump at the chance of a breakout. No: he must leave it to the judgement of his captains.

At two, however, it became clear that this was no trivial weather spat. The rolling cloud was nearly overhead and behind it hung a dark pall. In nearby buildings wooden shutters had been hastily fastened, the last people abroad were hurrying home and all small craft had vanished.

And not one of his little fleet had returned. They had chosen to stay at their post – but if it was the same species of tempest he’d encountered in Australia, would they know of the fiendish wind reversal? Even if they survived they’d be thrown on a deadly lee-shore, driven in by the bluster, and-

A heavy concussion, so loud it shook the stonework of the fort, startled Kydd. Not far out on his right a fork of lightning burst on his senses – then another, leaping between the clouds in hideous display. A further avalanche of thunder pealed out, nearly deafening him.

In the breathless atmosphere it was a devil’s display of malice, intense blue-white lightning arcing down in strikes seconds apart, the smell of sulphur clear on the air. Then a squall buffeted him, a chill and malevolent blast – from the south! The wind swung back, fretful and restless, before another southerly gust caught him, pummelling with a force that increased all the time.

Then came the rain. Gusty torrents and afterwards a hammering roar of heavy drops that quickly became a deluge, driving Kydd to take shelter in a corner. His last sight of the sea was of a perfect fury of whiteness. It was a fight for life that now faced his navy, out there somewhere.

Another stupefying round of thunderclaps burst overhead, this time accompanied by a volley of hailstones as big as musket balls that rushed and clattered violently about. Kydd retreated, hurrying back down the steps, now echoing with the storm’s frenzy, and returned to his desk. The view from the window was a blur of grey and white through the sheeting rain on the glass, the muted drone and scream of the wind, quite different from the open howl through bare rigging at sea, and his heart went out to the seamen facing the worst in this chaos.

For hours the tempest beat about them, from dead south to more in the west, a flat, hard, savage blast that numbed the senses with its roar and venom.

Kydd was unable to work and sat staring at his papers. Here he was in the warm and dry while others fought for their lives. And was L’Aurore in good hands? He knew Gilbey as a tarpaulin to be sensitive to weather moods but for the same reason he could be relied on to make no concessions to comfort and the frigate would be lying to two anchors, jibbing like a frightened horse at the onrush of frenzied seas.

Kydd dozed at his desk but was wide awake at the first sign of light before the winter dawn. The storm had diminished to a sullen bluster, cold and heartless, but the rain had thankfully ceased. The sea was in a fret and restless, and wherever he peered there was no sight of distant sails. Clutching an oilskin to himself he went outside and looked towards the mole to see one craft alongside, and one poling itself in. Just two.

He pretended to exercise, pacing up and down the foreshore in the mud, among the seaweed and debris thrown up, his oilskin ballooning and the cold wind piercing, but of his seven vessels, by mid-morning there was only one further arrival. Unable to keep up the pretence, he returned to the fort but was shortly summoned back.

‘Um, just beyond the point, sir,’ a soldier said, stolidly leading. It was as Kydd had dreaded. Some way out there was the low, untidy black outline of a washed-up wreck with two figures picking at it. With a catch in his throat he started out to it.

‘Oi, sir, don’t you . . .’ began the soldier, but Kydd was not to be stopped and squelched on over the mud, then into the heavily discoloured water until he reached the pathetic remains, shattered and tangled with seaweed-strewn rope.

‘Stalwart, sir,’ said a petty officer from the fort.

‘Any . . . ?’

‘Two on ’em only, sir,’ the man said, pointing to the foreshore where tarpaulin-covered bodies lay, which he’d overlooked in his haste. He sloshed back and, with the soldier gravely watching, he carefully pulled back the covering on one.

Dougal. Master’s mate. The pallor of death but a calm face, a trace of wistful sadness that was so touching in one on the threshold of manhood. Kydd tenderly covered it again.

The other was Lieutenant Hellard, utterly determined to succeed in his first command. His features were heavily bruised but not enough to hide the bitter indignation, the rage at Fate that had been his final emotion.

Kydd turned away. This cursed place was touching so many lives. He felt hatred rising as he stalked back, trailing mud and water into the fort.

In his office he heard the reports of the three vessels that had survived, listening with compassion as the officers recounted their ordeal.

The hard truth of the matter was that two might be made fit for sea but the third was little more than a wreck, brought back by sheer bull-headed courage and matchless skill.

Two – to stand before Colonia and the massing Spanish Army. It was impossible, but the imperatives of war dictated he try.

Conscious of their tired and strained faces, Kydd nevertheless spoke firmly: ‘That’s a grim tale, which I’m sure’ll be told in every wardroom in the fleet – but here’s the rub. You’re the only ones left to me. We have to make a showing off Colonia or the Dons will take heart and try a crossing.

‘Gentlemen, I desire you’ll get your craft ready for sea by any means you can contrive. In two hours you’ll put out for Colonia and the blockade where you’ll stay to the last biscuit, drop of water and shot. They must not sail! Do you understand me?’

He did what he could, finding seamen to bear a hand with repairs, soldiers to help with the storing and watering, and any small thing he could think of that might in any way make their lot more bearable.

When he went back to his desk a hovering clerk said apologetically, ‘Sir, a Mr Serrano t’ see you – seems very anxious an’ all.’

‘Show him in,’ Kydd said. That the artist was daring to come to the fort and risk being taken for a spy in the pay of the British must indicate some urgency.

‘Good in you to come, Mr – er, Senor Serrano. A tea, perhaps?’ The young man was rumpled and unshaven but had an intensity about him, an exaltation even.

‘No! Captain Keed – no time. I will tell you, ver’ important. I come as quick as I can. Gen’ral Liniers, he coming! He trick you – while your ships scatter because of the storm he’s to make a crossing over.’

‘When?’ Kydd breathed, his tiredness vanishing in a flash.

‘Is not when, is where. Not from Colonia del Sacramento, there he knows you will see him. No, he march forty mile along to Punta Pavon. At there is deeper, an’ ship can come in close. He can load up his boats wi’ soldiers quickly, you cannot see him.’

Kydd rummaged for his largest-scale chart and found the spot, a third of the way back to Montevideo. Sure enough, there was a tongue of three- or four-fathom water the other side of the Ortiz Bank, coming to within a short distance of the uninhabited coast.

‘Ships – how’s he going to get them, without we see them move from Colonia?’ Kydd snapped, cudgelling his mind to take in the implications of the all-too-possible stratagem.

‘He leave them there, an’ you think he will still cross. He brings boats from Montevideo, many.’

‘Mr Serrano, I need to know – when?’

‘Not more an’ two days. This I hear from the general talking.’

Kydd slumped in despair. Only two to set against a probable armada, and they a good sixty miles off in still rough conditions. And in two days . . .

‘This is hard news, Mr Serrano. Are you very sure of what you heard?’

‘Is so, sir.’

‘And . . . you’re telling me the truth, that is to say, no twisters? Do you swear to it?’

‘I say it true,’ the young man said, set and pale.

‘Oh, I’m not saying your flamming me,’ Kydd said hastily. ‘It’s just as how I must now change plans at the gallop.’

‘They come, I swear it.’

Kydd looked into the burning eyes, then eased into a smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Serrano, I believe you. Can we find you some refreshment? You must be-’

‘I go now,’ he whispered, and slipped away.

Kydd tried to marshal his thoughts. He should go immediately to Beresford with the news and the grave admission that the Navy was powerless to stop Liniers; the general would have to improvise his own defences, but if only he could report to him with -

Something stirred at the back of his mind. He peered again at the chart. The tongue of deeper water was indeed an extension of the indented sea passage that gave Montevideo its ocean access – the sparse soundings were probably unreliable but it was worth a try. Animated, he snatched up the dividers and stepped it out. Forty-eight miles. Possible.

He shouted for the master’s mate. ‘Rouse out our fastest dispatch boat – I’ve orders for L’Aurore frigate as will need it to fly.’

It would be a close-run thing but if the frigate met Liniers’s invasion at sea it would be a massacre. Grinning savagely, he dashed off the order that would have the frigate rendezvous off Punta Pavon with his remaining two sumacas, Staunch and Protector. Sobering, he took another sheet and carefully outlined the situation for Popham, setting out his reasoning for working the frigate up to the embarkation point even if it meant stranding the vessel, helpless on the mud between tides.

It would exercise Gilbey considerably to lighten the ship to the extreme as well as the tricky task of feeling his way through the shoals and banks.

Was there anything else? Yes – he should make some showing off Colonia to assure the Spanish that he was still there and blockading, for if they suspected he knew of the real embarkation point they would revert back and no frigate could make it up that far. There was just one snag – he didn’t have a ship for the task.

In frustration he stood up and looked out over the open roadstead before the city. There was a huddle of small fry and one or two larger craft – like the fine-lined schooner close in and the European-looking ship-rigged merchantman. Circumstances demanded a desperate remedy – but what he was contemplating was little more than piracy.

When the master’s mate returned, Kydd was ready. ‘I want a party of twenty good seamen. Arm them and let me know when they’re mustered.’

‘Aye aye, sir!’

It was done. Now, with his orders safely on their way across the storm-torn waters, it was time to let Beresford know what he had in mind.

The general smiled thinly. ‘I can only suppose you are aware of the legal niceties, Captain. If there is a disinclination to assist and you have a confrontation then there’s nothing I can do to intervene or, indeed, shield you from the rigours of the law should they press suit.’

Kydd bit his tongue. That Beresford was honourable and upright was well known; that his high principles would prevent him giving his support to an action that would save his situation was taking it to absurdity.

‘I understand, sir,’ he replied evenly. ‘You have my word there’ll be no contravention of the law.’

He had until those ships were boarded to think of something . . .

The men were waiting when he returned. ‘Ask the duty lieutenant to join us with our usual interpreter cove,’ he ordered, surveying his party. These were good men, volunteers out of the big ships and reliable.

The lieutenant appeared, out of breath. ‘L’tenant Herrick. Sorry, sir, I-’

‘Stand easy, sir. I’ve something to say.’

He turned to the little group and stood in an uncompromising quarterdeck brace. ‘If you men are the kind of prime hands I think you are, looking for a frolic at the expense of the Dons, then today you’ll get your fill. I’ve word General Liniers thinks to cross secretly from another place. Only we can stop him and it may turn out to be a first-rate dusting.

‘Now, L’Aurore frigate is on her way to dispute with him. We’ve Staunch and Protector but need more sail and I’ve a notion where we’ll find it.’

He had their full attention and as he outlined his plan it turned to a fierce glee. ‘I’ll repeat – no man to raise a weapon unless he gets my personal order. Clear?’

Diadem’s launch was manned, Kydd himself taking the tiller, and they pulled for the schooner.

There were no colours evident – he would have to play this carefully.

‘Schooner, ahoy!’ he hailed. A frightened face appeared above a hatch coaming. ‘I’m coming aboard!’

Her low freeboard allowed him to step directly on to her deck and he wasted no time. ‘What flag?’ he demanded, miming the hoisting of one.

‘Ai-ya, Portuguee!’

Kydd heaved a sigh of relief. The Portuguese were neutral – but this was no Portuguese vessel. In his experience they still continued the old custom of the prominent display of a crucifix on the after-deck to which every officer and seaman made passing obeisance, and here the deck was bare. More tellingly, in his capacity as port captain, he had not heard of any such seeking clearance, their canny merchants keeping well away until the situation was settled. This had to be a local trader seeking to evade port dues.

He addressed the launch: ‘L’tenant Herrick and five, if y’ please.’ From below two more bemused crewmen appeared and then an apprehensive officer. ‘Inform this man of who I am, that I suspect his vessel of illegal entry to Buenos Aires,’ he told his interpreter. ‘And that I’m impounding it forthwith.’

It was unheard of to have the captain of the port himself board a harmless trader at the head of an armed party, but it had the desired effect. The officer babbled nervously, then waited while the interpreter said, ‘He say he forget t’ get his paper sign. Isn’t there some way he can . . . ?’

‘Possibly,’ Kydd said, stroking his chin. ‘Has he a cabin where we can talk?’

Some minutes later he came back on deck and, with a smile, made a mock bow to Herrick. ‘L’tenant, this is your new command. I wish you to ship guns and make motions before Colonia until relieved. Good luck.’

Now for the larger ship: it would add presence and should, with its row of false gun-ports, give pause to any troop-laden vessel.

It was anchored further out and the launch began shipping water from the still-boisterous seas. Resolutely they pressed on until they made its lee – but Kydd had noticed that this ship was an altogether different matter: its red flag with three vertical crowns proclaimed it a Danziger, which he remembered hazily was nominally under the Grand Duchy but in practical terms a fief of Prussia, disputed by Poland.

There was no other in sight that was as substantial and he had no alternative but to go through with it. As the boathook seized the main-chains he grabbed the man-rope and hauled himself over the gunwale – to be confronted by a bull of man who stood with his arms folded and feet planted on the deck.

‘Kydd, captain of the port of Buenos Aires,’ he said, in crisp tones. ‘You are the captain?’

‘Ja.’

‘Papers,’ Kydd said, making riffling motions.

They were produced in the old-fashioned saloon. As far as Kydd’s experienced eye could tell, they were faultless. And flourished last, like a trump card, were the entry papers to Buenos Aires, signed by Kydd’s own staff.

He snatched one up. ‘This charter party admits you’re trading with Spain, sir.’

Another paper was slapped down. It was a form of release, signed in florid detail by the Danzig authorities and counter-signed with margin notes by the British consul there.

‘Nevertheless, Captain, you have attempted to land cargo out of bond contrary to port regulations and I must therefore-’

‘I haf not broken bulk.’

The bald statement was irrefutable: if the freight had not been broached then the cargo was in the same legal position as that of any ship with part retained for the next port and therefore not subject to duty or exaction.

‘I jus’ wait for th’ Spanische to take back Buenos Aires.’

Kydd had been inclined to let him go, but this remark made him smoulder. A mischievous thought broke in – but if it went wrong there was no going back. ‘Sir – I have reason to believe you have been engaged in commerce with France, a belligerent power, in violation of your status.’

A look of open astonishment was quickly replaced by one of contempt. ‘So! You vill search me?’

‘Yes,’ Kydd snapped, and got up abruptly. If he was wrong in his estimate of the man, it would be nothing short of disastrous. He went up on deck and motioned to his men to come aboard. He whispered instructions to Bolt, the petty officer in charge, then stood back.

Instead of heading for the monkey-hatch to the hold forward, Bolt went straight to the master’s cabin, closely followed by the Prussian, who was now spluttering with anger. Ignoring him, the men looked for the small hatch let into the deck in which all captains kept private provisions. It was opened, and Bolt dropped into the little store-room – and, to Kydd’s intense relief, passed up three bottles. Of best French cognac, not the usual schnapps.

‘Another three down there, sir,’ Bolt called up helpfully.

Kydd allowed a look of grave displeasure. ‘Sir, I have proof positive that you have been in breach of the law. It is now my duty-’

‘Gott in Himmel - is for my use on voyage!’

‘Half a case? And more elsewhere I dare to say?’ Kydd said darkly. ‘No, sir. This will not do. Cognac is not to be obtained without you trade with the enemy. I think we must talk together, don’t you?’

Well before sunset, standing out beyond the Chico Bank, a small group of odd-looking ships under the flag of King George’s Navy made a brave sight, bound for rendezvous off Punta Pavon.

But for Kydd the feeling of elation had faded.

The cold reality was that there were only two effectives, Staunch and Protector. The schooner was off Colonia and the Danzig merchantman would be there but only as a hired vessel to sail about looking fierce and not to engage directly. Could they stand fast before the unknown number of ships that Liniers had been able to muster? L’Aurore had been summoned, but could she be relied upon to navigate the banks and shoals in time?

In his borrowed hammock in the saloon, sleep evaded Kydd. In the morning much would be decided. Into his mind came images of the unforgettable spectacle that he had witnessed – only the previous year – of Nelson’s fleet at Trafalgar sailing to glory as they defended England against invasion. Here he was, an admiral of his little fleet, in much the same position. Would he fail, succeed or die in the attempt?

At dawn they made landfall down the coast and spent the morning working up towards Punta Pavon. The shoreline was flat, drab-brown and monotonous, and without any sign of settlement. With tension building by the hour, they approached the point until a little before midday they raised the slight foreland – and not a sail in sight.

It was inconceivable that they had failed to make contact with a wide-scattered flotilla heading for Buenos Aires on the direct course they had taken so the ships and boats for the crossing had not yet arrived from Montevideo. They were in time.

But there was no sign of L’Aurore. If the transports and their escorts made their appearance it would go hard for them, but there was nothing he could do about it, other than be prepared to sacrifice them all in an attempt to deter the crossing.

While they waited there was no point in uselessly sailing back and forth and he ordered an anchoring with doubled lookouts.

An hour passed – two. Kydd climbed the stumpy shrouds and scanned the hinterland with his pocket telescope. He saw nothing – the Spanish Army was either on its way, out of sight inland or well concealed.

For now he sent away boats to take soundings all round with the hand lead to give him a picture of their room for manoeuvre, which turned out to be little enough outside their length of deeper water.

Evening drew in, and Kydd deployed the two sumacas to the south by turns during the hours of darkness to give warning of the approach of the enemy, then stood his men down. Another endless night began, condemning him to the sleeplessness of tension and worry.

When a wan sun rose the next morning, it revealed a waste of cold grey but nothing else. He sent the men to breakfast but could not face his own greasy offering and remained on deck, gazing resentfully at the shore.

In the middle of the morning the situation changed completely.

‘Sail hooooo!’

Heart bumping, Kydd leaped for the shrouds and trained his glass southwards. Barely visible against the cheerless murk was a sight that he could never mistake: the topsails of L’Aurore frigate.

It was a wonderful, glorious vision that pricked at his eye: she was under triple-reefed sails and moving slowly ahead, on either bow two boats leading. And no one could deny that she was quite inexpressibly, breathtakingly beautiful.

She came to in the Danziger’s lee, correctly recognising Kydd’s flag in the bluff merchantman as the senior. He wasted no time in going to her. Blank-faced, the boatswain piped him aboard with what seemed her entire company watching on.

‘Well done, Mr Gilbey. You’re in time for our little party,’ he said, unable to stop himself shaking hands heartily with his first lieutenant. Behind him was Curzon and beyond him Renzi, watching gravely.

‘We’re glad t’ have you back aboard, sir. It’s been a rare trial.’ Judging from Gilbey’s grey face, it had been a nightmare of responsibility for him.

‘Officers to muster in ten minutes, if you please – in my cabin.’ That longed-for – yearned-for – familiar haven with all its comforts and appointments.

‘Dear brother – if you’ll pardon my remarking it, your appearance gives pause to all who love you.’

‘Oh?’ Kydd said. ‘Well, Nicholas, I have to confess to some difficult times – er, I do have to say, this claret tastes like nectar of the gods,’ he added.

‘Just so. We’ve been hearing rumours concerning conditions in the city that are a mort unsettling. Do you wish to talk, at all?’

‘Not now, old bean. The Spanish are mounting a counter-attack. Here – we’re to stop them joining with their friends the gauchos on the far side.’

‘Then they’re not yet persuaded of the felicities of British administration?’

Kydd put down his glass sharply. ‘I know how you feel about the commodore and his scheme but I’m to tell you we’re seeing this through, b’ God.’

‘I have my reservations, yes, but they don’t prevent me offering my services to you in these . . . entangled times. As you know, I have the Spanish and-’

‘Thank you, Nicholas, that’s well said. I’m bound to tell you, however, we’ve enough Spanish speakers and, er, more mouths to feed would be unwelcome, I believe.’

Kydd, however, saw the sincerity and tried to make amends. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t had time to bear more of a fist with your novel, m’ friend, it’s just been so-’

‘Pay no mind to it, brother. It’s done – that is, complete.’

‘Finished! Well, now, and you’re to be truly congratulated, old fellow!’ Kydd said warmly. ‘Um, what happens next as will see you a copper-bottomed author at all?’

Renzi gave a half-smile. ‘To be truthful, I’m not so sure. A pile of papers into which I’ve put my heart and soul means a lot to me, but will it to the world?’

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Kydd said firmly.

‘I know. That’s why I took the opportunity to send it off in a mail with Narcissus and the bullion.’

‘What? Without you have some lawyer cove draw you up a legal thing as will save you from plaguey copyists and so forth?’

‘I’ll have you know the business is too complex by half. It has to be entered at Stationer’s Hall and, um, other things, which I’m not to be expected to know, and so I’ve placed it all in the hands of Mr John Murray with instructions that he may do with it as he will in my interests.’

Kydd sat back, appalled. ‘So if he prints it, he may set his own price on the book and give you naught but a pauper’s bauble. I’m bound to say it seems to me a wry way to proceed, Nicholas.’

Renzi drew himself up. ‘Mr Murray is a gentleman. It’s done,’ he said defensively, ‘and nothing more to be said.’

There was an awkward pause, so he went on, in a different tone, ‘Then you are receiving satisfaction from Mr Serrano? A young man of some ardour it would seem.’

‘We are.’ Kydd chuckled. ‘In fact, it was his timely warning that told us of this Spanish trickery. Now, time presses, my friend, and I have to see my officers before the battle.’

Almost light-hearted, he brought them together and explained the situation. The more he spoke the better he felt; even with a warship of comparable strength present to oppose them, L’Aurore would put paid to any sally by Liniers.

‘Any questions?’

‘Sir, when will-’

Curzon never finished the sentence as clear above their talking came the urgent hail of the masthead lookout.

Sail! Kydd leaped to his feet and pounded up to the quarterdeck, fumbling for his glass, which he had up as soon as he could see the southern horizon. At first he couldn’t spot anything and began searching more carefully – until the master pointed out that the sail was actually to the north.

Puzzled, he swivelled round and focused in the other direction. In a few minutes he made out that it was a lone sail and schooner-rigged. It couldn’t be – but it was. Herrick had abandoned his place off Colonia and was heading towards them at a great clip.

Through his glass Kydd saw that the schooner’s sails were ragged with holes, and pockmarks of shot-strike showed dark against the hull. With a growing sense of dread, he waited.

‘Captain Kydd, sir?’ Herrick’s voice floated across the water, its edge of urgency clutching at Kydd’s heart.

‘Yes?’

The schooner rounded to, brailing up.

‘Sir, I’ve news! The Dons have sortied from Colonia! I did my best but so many . . .’

‘Say again!’ Kydd shouted down at the powder-stained and bandaged figure, more for time to think.

‘I have it from a prisoner that they sailed together for Las Conchas. I brought ’em to action but only winged a few. I thought it my duty to acquaint you without delay.’

Shocked to the core, Kydd felt desolation and fury. There could be only one possible explanation for what had happened: he had been utterly and comprehensively deceived. Cynically betrayed by Serrano, decoyed away from the true crossing point – and now the fate of Buenos Aires was sealed.