The Iberian Flame

Chapter 63

The Captain’s Club, Lisbon

‘I pay no mind to that strut-noddy,’ Broadwood of Lynx said loftily, helping himself to a sherry from a steward after Kydd had bitterly given his opinion of Rear Admiral Rowley. ‘Never can remember what the codshead said two minutes after I walk out.’

Kydd gave a wintry smile. Was Rowley’s malice just a reflection of a weak character or was he indeed out to get rid of him? But the man was an admiral – and his superior.

He forced his mind to another track. ‘Where is everybody?’ he asked, puzzled by the few men-o’-war in harbour when he’d arrived.

‘Because it’s happened, is all.’

‘What?’

‘We’ve made our move. General Moore has upped anchor so to speak and marched off into Spain, lad. Lots of ceremony and such, quantities of the beauty and fashion of Lisbon to see ’em off but they’ve done it.’

‘Do we know how he’s succeeding?’

‘Main well, is most people’s reckoning. Set off eastwards, straight into the Dons’ territory on a compass course for Paris and disappeared from view. Next thing we hear, Madrid is relieved, the French are running like rabbits back to the frontier and all of Spain looks to be free before Christmas, b’God.’

‘A right good crack on the nose for Boney,’ another chimed in, ‘and a gnashing of teeth I wouldn’t wonder, as this puts France itself before a row of cannon mouths and lines of redcoats, which I doubt they’ll relish.’

It was a stunning prospect: could this be a royal road into Bonaparte’s France through which Britain could at last pour men and guns, possibly bring Bonaparte to the peace table and end the war?

‘He’s still got a monstrous navy,’ Kydd mused, finding it difficult to picture Napoleon Bonaparte on the defensive.

‘Which in course he pulls in to defend the homeland,’ Broadwood said.

‘And we’re not talking navy here, we’re talking about soldiery, marching in to finish him. He can’t stop that – his men are all on the run!’

‘So we’re every one out as escorts bringing in more?’

‘Well, not as who’s to say. There’s not so many under arms in England as we can call on, I’ve heard. Never had much to do with big armies, we. My understanding is that Moore’s is the only army of consequence we can muster. Good thing we’re doing so well.’

It seemed the future would be one of supporting the army as it finished the job. Kydd had never really thought about it – the final chapters of the war and how it would all end, for until now Bonaparte’s evil genius had seen them lurch in reaction from one desperate crisis to another, which in truth only the navy had been able to pull the nation through.

At the same time he was uneasy. It was all too quick – but he could see that a vain emperor with conquered territories to hold down, ranging from the distant outposts of Russia nearly to the Atlantic, would have few and thinly spread troops available to deal with an uprising on a nation-wide scale. If Moore was swift he might soon be storming across the frontier. After all, the Spanish must be seeing what he’d achieved and be ready at last to join with him in the driving out of the hated enemy.

The depot had readily replaced Tyger’s small arms so in a day or so Kydd would be back on the north coast ready for who knew what? All that could be said was that he should be prepared for anything.

‘Another one here, steward. As I think we must raise a glass to General Moore’s health and success, bless him!’