The Iberian Flame

Chapter 43

The Inshore Squadron, off Cadiz

‘Sir, it’s a hard thing to lie at idleness these weeks,’ Layton said, with barely hidden bitterness. As captain of Jason he was the most senior of the frigate commanders in Rowley’s great cabin. Fast greying, his opportunities for prize money to cushion his retirement were receding by the day.

Mason of Riposte scowled, the powder burns on his face hinting, as they always did, of some diabolical encounter. ‘I’m at a stand to think of anything more I can do to get those lazy scowbunkers up an’ active. Always trouble when a barky isn’t under way, I find.’

Rowley fiddled with a silver-chased letter opener, his features sulky. It was the regular weekly captains’ meeting and as usual there was nothing to report, nothing to reveal, nothing to do.

Collingwood’s order stood: active operations against the Spanish were suspended indefinitely pending the result of the mission to England. There was nothing else the Inshore Squadron could do except remain at anchor.

‘You know my view, of course,’ he rumbled. They did, but knew better than to say so.

‘It’s all a fizzle! A parcel of town-hall heroes think to drive out the French with our assistance. Pah! No administration worth its salt, not even Portland’s, is going to listen to them. The navy stands ready to slap down any French sally but what we’re talking about here is a full-blooded intervention by the army, like we did in Egypt, and we haven’t got one. No, gentlemen, rest easy for a trifle longer and Bonaparte’s marshals will put ’em to the finish and then it’ll all be over – Spain is his, and it’s business as usual.’

Kydd allowed the murmurs of dutiful agreement to die, then said, ‘It’s not just your general from Cadiz, it’s everywhere. I heard tell of Asturias, Seville, all these other places rising up against the Frenchies. There’ll come a time when the French won’t have the numbers to hold ’em down. Then we’ll be busy enough, getting arms and troops in to double their effort.’

Rowley made much of ignoring Kydd. His reaction to Kydd’s failure with the boats had been a sullen reception of one who hadn’t been able to provide him with a famous victory. At first Kydd had suspected that the betrayal had been his, an attempt to have him wiped out with his brave band, but the Spanish had shown their hand too early and he’d been able to win the open sea with few casualties. And then he reasoned that treachery would hardly have been part of the game if it was triumph that Rowley had wanted.

Hayward of Vigilant glanced at Kydd. ‘He has a point, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s highly in our interest to have our redcoats in Iberia – after all, over the border is France itself, never forget!’

‘Ha! Keep your daydreams for those who’ll believe pigs may fly, Hayward. We’ve got to find something to do, keep the swabs from getting stale.’

The captains of the Inshore Squadron looked at him wearily.

‘I have it. Another admiral’s inspection. Even more detail than the last. Right?’

The groans were loud and heartfelt.