The Iberian Flame

Chapter 37

La Vina

Renzi pondered. Morla had spurned the British offer of assistance. It was to be expected, for with a state of war still existing it would have to be an exceptional circumstance that could bring the proud Spaniards to accept. Their reduction of the French squadron would change things, certainly, but could they do it? Against three, four hundred pieces of artillery in the ships, three or four thousand men aboard them – these were fierce odds.

And time was against them. Who knew when the French would reach Cadiz? Unless they moved fast it would be too late to achieve their victory and claim British aid. Just like Madrid, the old city would fall into Bonaparte’s hands and he would then have the finest harbour in Atlantic Iberia to mass his battleships to burst forth on the over-stretched British.

A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts and the maid entered, bobbing and proffering a jar of English marmalade. Taken aback Renzi accepted it, then looked it over with suspicion. To his great surprise, he recognised the unbroken seal.

It was incomprehensible that Kydd should think he needed such a gift at this time. He broke the seal, and under the lid was a folded piece of paper.

The message brought the worst conceivable news. There was going to be a move by the Inshore Squadron on the French ships in an attempt to neutralise them before the French troops reached Cadiz, to be led by Kydd himself.

Renzi screwed up the paper in despair and hurried to the door, heart pounding. It was a beautiful evening, but one imperative blotted out all else: Kydd must not be allowed to go through with it.

Apart from the hideous danger, such an act would comprehensively put paid to any chance of bringing the Spanish over. He had to get to him to stop the assault, whatever it took.

Couples stared at him curiously as he ran down to the beach. Where was the vegetable-seller? Not seeing him, he asked one of the idle boatmen, who said, as if to an idiot, ‘They’re all gone home, as any Christian gent does after they’ve sold up their fresh stock.’

Indeed no boats were plying out to the fleet, now darkening shadows against the sunset.

Catastrophe lay only small hours away – unless he could get credible word out to Kydd that would have him suspending a complex operation in its last stages before execution. He tried to think of something but, there being no communication with an ‘enemy’ fleet, there could be no pleading in the little time left. He must just watch helplessly as the drama played out to its end.

It was only as he reached the Los Carros alley that cold logic intervened. There was a way to prevent it happening – a sure and certain way.

He stopped and thought about it, but only for a moment. The stakes were too high.

Turning on his heel, he started to walk, quickly and purposefully.