The Baltic Prize

Chapter 11

Some days later, the Northern Expedition arrived at Flemish Roads, the inner anchorage, close by the city for disembarkation. Scores of ships; men, horses, guns. Stores to keep an army of ten thousand fed and watered for the voyage, and with munitions and spares sufficient for a long campaign. And aboard, soldiers looking longingly at the shore: even the one week they’d been cooped up in the cramped and reeking decks of the troop-ships had left them with a compelling need to set foot on the good earth.

But first their commander, Lieutenant General Sir John Moore, had to pay a courtesy visit to the Swedes and make due arrangement for their reception.

Within the hour a boat put out and in its sternsheets against the grey sea could be seen the scarlet and gold of a high military officer. At the quayside a small group awaited him; these were not Swedish for he’d been asked first to attend a private meeting with the British envoy in the house of the consul.

Thornton stood by the fireplace in the spacious room with tall windows looking out over the flat, sprawling city. The bare masts of the expedition ships just offshore in a huddle gave point to what they were about to discuss.

‘General Moore.’

At the door was a slightly built man in dress regimentals. He had soft brown hair, a well-rounded face and seemed startlingly young to be a general, but as he advanced to meet him, Thornton noted the lines of determination and rigid bearing of a dedicated career soldier.

‘Sir Edward? You wished to see me.’ The voice was controlled. This was the handsome creature who had lately stolen Lady Hester Stanhope from the ardent clutches of none other than the foreign minister, Canning.

‘Thank you, Sir John, I did. You’re about to make acquaintance with the Swedes, our allies. I rather thought I might be able to assist you in your dealings with them.’

‘I’m quite capable of settling my own arrangements, and any consideration of military deployments need not concern you, sir.’

It was said without rancour, a flat and impersonal statement.

‘Sir, my capacity as envoy to His Swedish Majesty has allowed me insights into the condition of this country that-’

‘Quite. And if they are of military interest, my aide would be pleased to take notes at a later time, thank you. I have interpreters attached and you will not be troubled in the petty details of the disembarkation.’

‘There are significant problems of a political nature attaching to this expedition,’ Thornton said carefully, ‘that do considerably impinge on your mission, sir.’

‘Sir Edward. I’m a soldier. My objectives do not include diplomatic niceties at the cost of operational effectiveness. Do grant that I can be relied upon to stand by my orders from Horse Guards while you are free to fulfil yours from the Foreign Office.’

Thornton winced. The thought of this no doubt brave but single-minded general blundering into the rickety patchwork of delicate understandings that was all he’d been able to achieve in the way of an alliance was dismaying. But he’d caught one thing that might be important. Moore had his orders from Horse Guards, the highest echelon of military command, in just the same way as Saumarez had his from the highest naval body, the Admiralty. ‘Indeed, Sir John. As they will be the expression of the will of the government we both serve,’ he said smoothly. ‘Might I be made privy to them?’ As the ranking diplomat he had every right to ask it.

‘Certainly,’ Moore said crisply. ‘The first, as leader of the Northern Expedition, I’m to secure communications to the Baltic, by which is understood to mean that my army shall be placed in such manner that the enemy will not be suffered to violate Swedish territory. Deployment to the province of Scania directly opposite Denmark has been mentioned in this regard.’

‘I see.’

‘The second is to establish and defend a base of operations for our military and naval forces. Marstrand, where I understand our fleet foregathers, would seem acceptable.’

‘Go on.’

‘And to render such assistance to the King of Sweden as should most discomfort his enemies, wheresoever they be found. This, sir, is the essence of my orders. Now, I have much to accomplish – disembarking my men into a shore barracks and putting in train their provisioning and supply, to make local currency conversion of the pay chest and-’

‘General. Your orders are plain and well meant, but they will not do. They will certainly not do in the circumstances.’

‘Sir! Dare you question my orders? If so, I can only-’ Moore responded, clearly outraged.

‘I must, for they are impossible to carry out.’

‘Sir, what do you mean by that, exactly?’ Moore said dangerously.

‘What if I tell you that King Gustav’s prime ambition is that of detaching Norway from the Danish Crown to add to his?’

‘That cannot possibly be of any concern to me, sir.’

‘It is, for you will find your first task will be to join with his forces in a grand invasion of Sj?lland, the island of Denmark whereon the capital, Copenhagen, lies.’

Moore fell back in disbelief. ‘No! This is preposterous – your sources are a mockery, they-’

‘Sir, this I heard from the lips of the King himself. Do you then question me as to its veracity?’ He brought to mind the morning just days ago in Stockholm, the cunning leer as Gustav had disclosed to him his grand plan for the restoration of Sweden to the table of great nations, the hunted look as reasonable objections had been raised and the sudden storm of vilification and accusation that had ensued.

It was an unhappy fact of these times that, in stark contrast to Great Britain, all of the Continental powers had autocratic monarchs who knew no check to their rule. Few used it well. Some, like the Queen of Portugal and the King of Denmark, were irretrievably insane while others were as out of touch with the real world as they were with their subjects. It made diplomacy a nightmare of unreason, and a graveyard of ambition to any high-minded minister.

Gustav was a particular difficulty. Lacking both foresight and patience, his judgement of men ludicrous, his decisions were so often wildly askew, so grotesque, that he’d been suspected of madness and attempts made to dethrone him.

Yet Gustav was implacably, mystically opposed to Bonaparte, holding that he was none other than the Beast of Revelation, who would not rest until he’d drowned Europe in an apocalyptic blood-bath. This had not stopped him demanding outrageous sums in subsidy before taking the field against the French.

The temptation was to abandon him and let Fate take its course, but Sweden was the one and only ally left to Britain. The alliance must stand – and succeed, for the alternative was unthinkable. He had therefore done all he could to bring it about and-

‘Sj?lland? Have you any conception of what we’d face if we made assault?’ Moore threw at him.

Thornton had, but let it pass.

‘Thirty thousand and more under Bernadotte – and I’m expected to make landing with my ten thousand and a handful of Swedish conscripts? It’s not to be countenanced, sir!’

‘Just so, General. But I do advise-’

‘And with the Russians devouring Finland as we speak! I was led to believe that my task was in the securing of the entrances to the Baltic, releasing Swedish resources to fly to the frontier in its defence. Any talk of Norway or Sj?lland is madness, sir!’

Thornton smothered a sigh. ‘I can only remind you of your orders – to render such assistance to the King of Sweden as should most discomfort the enemy. If the King in his wisdom decrees Norway to be the field of honour, then should you not-’

‘Damn it all to blazes! I will not be a party to this absurdity.’

‘So you will defy your own orders, General?’