Inferno

Chapter 88

Dillon’s hastily scribbled note informed Kydd that Mitau was a twenty-mile detour off the Riga road to the south and that he should stay at the Liela inn and await him. Tysoe had taken his instructions with vexing composure, clearly of the opinion that an appearance before a mere French king was nothing exceptional for someone at his master’s eminence.

The road to Riga was smooth and the carriage well-sprung. As he gazed out of the window Kydd couldn’t help pondering the workings of Fate for a young wig-maker of Guildford who had heard with his family the horrifying news of the Revolution and execution of the King of France – and was now on his way to save his brother and successor. A tale to regale Renzi with indeed.

After an agreeable journey through a medieval landscape, Kydd and Tysoe transferred to another coach for the last miles to Mitau. It was evening when they arrived at the town. The coachman stopped outside a charming inn of the old style, set beside a river. He mimed a deep bow and the placing of a crown on his head, then proudly pointed to a long island in the river where the end of a grand building peeped above the trees. The Mitau Palace?

The rooms at the inn were small, but quaint and snug. Tysoe ignored the looks of curiosity and nobly set about his duties while Kydd accepted a glass of wine from a wide-eyed serving maid.

There was not long to wait. A quiet knock on the door and Dillon entered in severe but smart black attire that Kydd hadn’t seen before. ‘I trust you travelled well, Sir Thomas?’

‘Indeed. And you?’

‘Sir, the situation is not necessarily in our favour.’

‘Oh?’

‘The British representative is insistent that he is unable to assist in the matter of obtaining an audience.’

‘What?’

‘He will tell you himself – he’s coming here shortly and knows only that you wish to see the King privily.’

The envoy of the court of St James to the court of King Louis arrived quietly in the anonymity of darkness, regarding Kydd keenly before accepting a chair. A ruddy-faced, portly gentleman of years, with silver-tipped cane and old-fashioned breeches, he looked like a country squire.

‘Sir Benjamin Tucker, sir. And I’ve heard a strange tale from your man that you wish audience with our Louis.’

‘Of some urgency, Sir Benjamin.’

‘You’ll never get one.’

‘Pray why not?’

‘You’re a stout son o’ the sea, can’t be expected to know.’ His shrewd blue eyes held a hint of humour in them. ‘This is a court of exile. It’s run-down, threadbare and lives on past glories and future impossible dreams. It’s also the first place royalists go with their wild plots, mad schemes and petitions for funds, and you may believe there are well-tried defences. You’ve a letter of accreditation, a form of diplomatic introduction, perhaps. No? Then regrettably there’s nothing that can be done.’

‘Then why are you here listening to me?’ Kydd asked.

‘I’m sanguine there’s a very good reason why a distinguished sea captain desires the ear of the French King and, frankly, I’d wish to know it. Not that I can do anything about it, of course …’

Kydd hesitated for a moment. ‘Sir, for your ears only.’

‘Of course.’

‘I have intelligence that very shortly a party of Frenchmen will reach here whose task it is to seize the person of the King and carry him to Paris.’

‘Oh dear.’ A sorrowful smile spread. ‘I do hope you didn’t pay too much for this bauble. You’ve no idea how many of these rumours are about these days.’

‘I have it from an unimpeachable authority,’ Kydd said stiffly. ‘You may accept it as trustworthy.’

‘Might I enquire-’

‘No, sir, but I give you my solemn word upon it.’

Tucker paused, looking at him speculatively. ‘I’m minded to believe you. You will not profit by this knowledge, and it seems beyond belief that any lesser concern would see a child of Neptune so far from his natural element. Do tell me more.’

‘I have little to add other than that they’ll be here in a matter of days at most and that it is my sworn duty to convey His Majesty to a place of safety beyond the seas.’

‘Ah. Then you will face more than a few difficulties. Let me be frank. My rank and position is anomalous and low, for King Louis the Eighteenth of France is an embarrassment to the British government, who are reluctant to acknowledge him as an equal or yet more a supplicant. In short, my duty here is that of friendly ear and from time to time disburser of the generosity of King George’s private purse, no more.

‘This implies you will not be thanked for any gallantry that involves a king’s ship, for that does morally bind the principal into offering sanctuary, an alternative place of exile. At ruinous expense, you may accept. For that reason it would be trespassing beyond my powers should I assist in this way.’

Kydd bristled. ‘Sir Benjamin, I’m astonished at your attitude. Do you not have a duty to your masters?’

‘The Parliament of Great Britain and Ireland. Which requires I do not fluster them with distractions.’

‘Then, sir, out of your own mouth you are condemned. Our own King George thinks him of value, else why does he find it in his heart to fund the poor wight out of his own pocket? It would not go well with you, Sir Benjamin, should King Louis be taken by Boney’s assassins.’

‘Calm yourself, please. I cannot assist, but I can most certainly be free with my advice, which if followed might achieve the object you desire.’

‘Which is?’

‘Let me set the scene for you. The Mitau Palace is in the gift of the Tsar of Russia who now, being under Bonaparte’s spell, would be miffed indeed if its chief guest decides to depart, he no doubt seeing the King of France as a valuable bargaining piece. Therefore all Russians are your enemies. Now, in the palace our sainted king is at the pinnacle of a vast and complex establishment, all of which ceases to exist should its principal be removed, resulting in the throwing into penury of a legion of nobles and followers beyond counting. And so we must accept that all royalist Frenchmen are your enemies.

‘The country you are in does not even have a name. The Duchy of Courland, the Livonians, the Polish-Lithuanians, others, even the Teutonic Knights have all ruled territories but none paramount. The natives speak a heathen tongue, Latvian, and cling to the distinction. But, mark me well, all are proud that the King of France has chosen their land for exile and revere him. Therefore you must count the local peoples as your enemy.’

‘What of his family here? If they heard that-’

‘His queen, Marie Josephine, is his unforgiving foe for having been deprived of her female lover and would like nothing better than to see him to perdition. The Comte d’Artois, his brother, is a well-known thief of France’s patrimony and requires the King to practise upon, while his closest confidant, the Comte d’Avaray sees everything, circling like a hawk over all, and would, without question, take it as his duty to frustrate any attempt to spirit him away. The garde du corps, his personal bodyguard, is half a regiment strong and are sworn to defend his body to the death. Added to which the palace heaves with spies and corruption in which nothing may pass unseen.’

Kydd smouldered. ‘Sir, I believe if I may have audience with His Majesty I can-’

‘As I’ve made abundantly clear, sir, that can never happen.’

‘God rot it, sir, but you’re a sad comforter,’ Kydd came back.

‘You’d rather I left it in your hands, an innocent to blunder about in such a moil? No, sir. I’ve but given you the lay. Now without doing violence to my conscience I believe I will tell you something more to your advantage. The Queen is long retired to her apartments, taken by the dropsy. In her place as chatelaine, as we may say, is this king’s niece whom he dotes upon. Marie-Therese is married to Louis Antoine, Duc d’Angouleme, a callow youth but of known sympathy to England. Should you declare a pressing desire to be introduced to this noble lady, then of my esteem for your rank, naturally I will feel obliged to grant it. It is then for you to convince her of your case, after which, if you are successful, she will go to the King and matters may well take another course for you.’

‘Sir Benjamin, I’m most obliged to you.’ Like a foul wind turned fair, he was back on course.

‘You should be aware that the lady is a summer short of thirty and intelligent, but has suffered most grievously. In a fortress prison with her kingly father and mother while the revolutionary mob raged, she was torn from them, first one then the other taken to the guillotine, while she remained in durance for some years. She has the melancholy honour of being the only royal prisoner to survive the Terror, and has reason to fear the regicides. I conceive, Sir Thomas, that you will find a ready ear.’