Inferno

Chapter 84

All the panoply and magnificence of a marshal of France was on display in the courtyard. Plumes, frogging, bear-skins; sword hilts, halberds, gleaming muskets; officers haughty with pomp; troopers rigid with pride. Bernadotte led the way to a plain but deeply polished carriage, chatting amiably with Kydd. Inside, the lavish appointments were of tasselled red silk and pearl satin, the seats of enfolding softness. The entourage moved off with fanfare and circumstance, through the gates and into the town. Gaping onlookers were held back as the cavalcade swept by and out into the countryside, on the road west to Paris.

As the sun sank lower it became necessary to seek encampment for the night and the village of Lobnitz found itself host to a squadron of the imperial guard. In the ferment and disorder of such an arrival no one noticed a small group make its way in the gathering dusk the mile and a half northward to the water’s edge where a fishing boat was drawn up.

‘One of your ships was sighted off this coast only this morning and I’ve no doubt if you floated about a trifle you would soon be spotted,’ Bernadotte murmured. In a brisker tone he ordered, ‘Bring the other two here.’

A stunned Dillon and Halgren were bundled aboard the boat.

‘I fear I must make my farewell here, Sir Thomas. That I owe the honour of France to the actions of an Englishman is something we shall both remember.’

‘You have my word upon it, sir,’ Kydd said.

Bernadotte gave a tiny smile and turned to his aide-de-camp who on cue gave him an object wrapped in a cloth. ‘Then if we wish to part on terms of amity it were better I returned to you your property.’

It was Kydd’s precious sword, and he took it with a short bow. ‘I will never forget your nobility of character, sir.’

Bernadotte contemplated him intently for a space, then nodded, turned back for his coach – and they were left to their freedom.

The sea was calm, the winds light, and under a single lugsail they stole out into the gunmetal expanse of the Baltic, seeing the ruler-flat coast diminish into insignificance. At the tiller was a hoary old fisherman who saw everything and noticed nothing, his rheumy gaze unwavering on the open sea.

Halgren seemed lost in a world of his own and Dillon’s eyes were fixed on a pair of seagulls swooping and soaring in their wake. It didn’t seem to be the time to talk about what had happened, how they had been spared and why.

After an hour the horizon dissolved into pale grey, which hardened: a rain curtain. Yet another in this essentially inland sea. It advanced, then enveloped them in light, insistent rain. Kydd didn’t care – after a prison cell, its cold purity was almost a sensual experience.

It brought problems, though, the first of which was that they could not see beyond thirty yards and any cruising British ship would miss them entirely. The other was that the wind had dropped almost to nothing and their progress with it. They were at the mercy of offshore currents, and if those trended inshore they would find themselves taken back whence they’d come.

As far as Kydd could see there were no oars, only a scull. The fisherman seemed unconcerned, keeping way on with the bows to seaward but if-

‘There!’ Halgren’s hoarse shout made them all start. Over to the right – a thickening shadow slowly moving. It could be anything and Kydd prayed it to be that which his soul had cried for these past two days …

A chance wind flaw and the veil was momentarily drawn back to reveal His Majesty’s frigate Tyger.

In an instant Halgren was on his feet. The boat swayed alarmingly as he delivered a mighty bellow through cupped hands: ‘Tyger!’ The age-old hail indicated that the boat contained the august person of the captain himself.

Kydd motioned for quiet – and faintly in the stillness they heard the bull roar of Bray, rousing the watch-on-deck to throw off lines and heave to. Then more bellowing to muster a side-party.