The Baltic Prize

Chapter 9

The Baltic Fleet made an uneventful crossing to Gothenburg in grey, sullen seas before casting anchor, ten miles to seaward of the port but safely clear of the maze of offshore islands and in easy reach of the open sea.

The Northern Expedition was on its way, and would arrive in a few days, but here was a powerful fleet, token for all to see that Britain took her obligations to an ally most seriously.

A response from the shore was quick in coming, and Kydd found himself stepping on to Swedish soil in full regalia for a reception by the governor, joining three admirals and a cluster of senior captains in carriages to be whisked through the broad streets to the residence.

He was quite a different creature from the one he’d been just a few years ago. Then, awed, he had floundered in fashionable and influential society. Now he was at ease at the highest levels. He couldn’t help noticing that he was the only frigate captain, in company with but half of the ship-of-the-line commanders. So Saumarez had seen fit to include him in the select band who would represent their country on this diplomatic occasion. Or was it on account of his splendid star and sash?

In the hushed murmuring of the gathering, it dawned on him that, while he may have been flaunted for the occasion, perhaps in fact he was being covertly appraised by Saumarez or his flag-captain. This was nothing like a social occasion or even a political gathering – he could sense the edge to the easy talk, noted the unblinking eyes and calculated gestures of politeness, the languid and polished phrases.

It was a skill just as much as reading the wind to trim the sails – and was essential to develop, if he was to become anything more than a warrior captain. To be trusted with a delicate situation, to be left on his own to make diplomatic decisions, have his reports and assessments valued, these were the crucial accomplishments required of an officer of flag rank.

He felt a thrill of what might be. It would be years yet but if he was under eye there was more than a fleeting chance he could achieve the ultimate felicity if he had the right competencies.

Kydd saw Saumarez speaking genially with a be-sashed Swede. He would be looking now to forge the very links, military and diplomatic, that would set in motion the strategics of his immense tasking. If he was anxious or distracted he didn’t show it.

Keats was in polite conversation with a whiskered gentleman of advanced years, amid much amiable bowing and a modicum of guarded merriment, while Hood was in careful talk with two Swedish naval officers. What wouldn’t he give to overhear what passed! Others were doing their duty, some wearing expressions so controlled as to appear blank, others with countenances more to be seen on the quarterdeck with an enemy in the offing.

An affable and distinguished Swede with a broad blue sash across his chest, accompanied by an unsmiling military officer, looked at him with mock concern. ‘I say, young fellow, you haven’t touched your champagne. Is it not to your liking?’

‘On the contrary, sir,’ Kydd replied courteously, impressed by his command of English. ‘Sir Thomas Kydd, captain of Tyger 38.’ He was acknowledged by a short bow with a click of the heels, Continental fashion. ‘I was in admiration for your paintings. Are they of your royal family?’ Kydd continued.

‘They are. His Majesty Gustav IV Adolf stands in the centre, his family about him.’ He smiled benignly. ‘Axel Rosen, governor of Gothenburg. This is Colonel Lagerhjelm.’

Kydd sipped at his champagne. ‘A fine entertainment, sir. And I’m looking forward to making closer acquaintance with your country in the near future.’

This prompted a sharp glance, which left him at a loss to interpret, so he continued warmly, ‘As the alliance of our two nations is newly signed, that is. Should we not be friends?’

Rosen gave a faint smile. ‘Sir, we may be allies but not necessarily friends. Do enjoy yourself tonight, Sir Kydd.’

He moved on, leaving Kydd to untangle what had just taken place.

There was little time for thought, however. The swirl of guests was thickening and he was claimed by two youthful naval officers, who asked if he was indeed the same Kydd who had taken on three frigates off the Prussian coast. Now wary, he answered briefly and factually and, despite ill-disguised prodding, refused to make criticism of the Prussian showing before Tilsit, leaving them disappointed.

Just what had Rosen meant? He determined to find out more of how the wind blew in this part of the world.

Hood seemed headed in his direction, accompanied by a tall, acidulous-looking individual with impressive diplomatic decorations. He paused. ‘Sir Thomas Kydd, sir, a fighting seaman and ornament to our profession. Kydd, this is Sir Edward Thornton, our envoy to His Swedish Majesty, new returned from Stockholm to welcome our Northern Expedition.’

‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Edward,’ Kydd responded, unsure how an envoy figured in the watch and station bill of an embassy. Above or below an ambassador?

‘Likewise, Sir Thomas. Your exploits are known even in these far parts and I honour you for them.’ The tone, however, was chill.

On impulse he asked, ‘Sir, I’d be glad of a steer in the matter of what Mr Rosen said to me.’

Thornton stiffened.

‘He said, “We may be allies but not necessarily friends”, and I’m curious to know what it means.’

‘Sir! You should be well advised to refrain from touching on matters above your competence,’ he said, in a low, hard voice. ‘Affairs are not necessarily what they seem, and are at a most delicate stand. Do confine your pleasantries to the weather or some such trifle.’

‘Sir. Allow that I’ve had my share of confidences at court and similar,’ Kydd bit off. ‘If I’m in shoal waters here, it’s for want of a pilot. Do tell what I must appreciate, if you will.’

There was a reluctant glimmer of a smile. ‘You’re not to know, of course. However, I’ll be open with you. The Swedish king stands alone in his defiance but is confounded in his intellects in a court packed with Francophiles. His military have set their face against us and are untrustworthy, and I’ve news that the Russians have just fallen upon Swedish Finland and are even now advancing at a pace.’

‘So your King Gustav needs all the friends he can find. Why did Rosen say we’re not?’

‘Rosen you can trust. He’s intelligent and, as governor of a great seaport, is not dazzled by Bonaparte’s victories on land. He knows the true winner in a long war is going to be the one who rules the open seas, not the bounded land. He’s a friend to England whom we’d do well to hear, and what he’s telling you is that Sweden as a whole is seething in factions and cannot be relied upon. And he’s right – I’ve a task worthy of Tantalus himself to find a path to put together a working alliance in this enterprise.’

‘Then I do wish you well of it, sir,’ Kydd said sincerely.