The Iberian Flame

Chapter 41

Aboard Tyger

‘A message, sir,’ the duty midshipman said dubiously, offering Kydd a folded piece of paper. ‘From a vegetable-hawker. Says you’re to read it at once.’

It could be from only one source and he opened it quickly.

It was indeed from Renzi, but it was formally phrased and he reread it in astonishment.

Be pleased to dispatch a boat to the Castle of San Sebastian at four, therewith to convey the person of the captain general of Andalucia and governor of Cadiz, chief deputy of the Provisional Cadiz Cortes and military governor of the junta, on board with a view to plenary discussion.

Who? Plenary discussion? Wasn’t that something that was binding?

Reception in the nature of that accorded to a foreign admiral is advised, stand fast gun salutes. Entertainments will not be required.

So, no dinners and so forth, just talking.

Kydd read on.

Do signify acceptance in the usual way.

‘Mr Maynard!’ Kydd bellowed. ‘Throw out “affirmative” at the main this instant!’

No mention of a white flag or the panoply of a cartel exchange.

Nevertheless, at the appointed time, when Tyger’s barge put off to perform the honours it bore on one mast stay the flag of Spain and on the other that of Great Britain. Halgren sat imperturbably at the tiller, Bray in full fig in the sternsheets, with Mr Midshipman Gilpin opposite him, trying to appear grave and noble, the boat’s crew in their tiger-striped yellow and black bending effortlessly to their oars.

Side party assembled and the ship’s company told off to their stations, Kydd waited in full dress-uniform for the august personage to appear.

General Morla, in a florid scarlet and gold-laced uniform, with prodigious bicorne, was a striking figure, his entourage only a little less so.

After all had been piped aboard and greeted, Kydd caught sight of Renzi, in plain dress, slipping over the bulwarks.

‘What the devil’s to do with this crew?’ he hissed at him. ‘Who-’

‘Play it as you will, brother. I fancy you’ll be well pleased by the news he brings.’

Accompanied by Renzi, Kydd returned to the Spaniards, ill at ease in a ship of war of such evident qualities as Tyger.

‘Sir Thomas,’ Renzi began, ‘this is Captain General Tomas de Morla y Pacheco. He desires you to know that the French warships lately at large in Cadiz now lie under the guns of his fortresses and do so beneath the colours of Spain.’

A haughty interpreter rapidly conveyed this to the general, who nodded slowly.

Dumbfounded, Kydd stuttered a reply. That the victorious general thought to make immediate visit to the blockading fleet was significant – and the implications of this were incredible. Probably even more so than this worthy knew.

‘General Morla has dispatched messengers to all of Spain telling of this victory, and wishes to explore the possibility of making common cause against the vile legions of Bonaparte, going forth equally together to effect his ruin and destruction.’

Kydd felt out of his depth. This was hardly a situation he could do much about. Recovering his composure, he declared, ‘Tell him that there is a far greater commander than I who lies out to seaward who would be pleased to hear him.’

He hid a savage smile. By rights he should have passed the general and the decision up to his superior, Rowley, but after the boat assault, the man had gone away with half his squadron, no doubt for even more manoeuvres. Collingwood it would have to be.

‘Hands to unmoor ship!’

At an urgent plea from Morla’s interpreter Renzi hastily intervened: ‘If this is a grand captain of the fleet, General Morla states that he requires opportunity to dress more appropriately. He wishes to send for his manservant and garb fit for an emissary of Spain.’

Kydd gave a nod of acknowledgement, and Renzi confided, ‘And, to be truthful, it would be of some service to me to rescue Jago and my other loyal household hands from their plight.’