'Not much. From the way those French soldiers behave when a Spanish officer's about there's not much love lost between 'em.'
Drinkwater remembered the negligence of the two sentries in acknowledging De Urias. 'Good point, James.' He ought to have noticed that himself.
'And I believe there has been an epidemic in Andalucia recently, some sort of fever, and as a consequence there's a shortage of food. Cadiz is like a place under seige.'
'Good God! How d'you know that?'
Quilhampton shrugged. 'This and that, sir. Listening to the guards chatter. You can pick up some of the sense. I thought something of the kind must have happened as we came through the countryside yesterday. Not too many people in the fields, lot of young women and children… oh, I don't know, sir… just a feeling.'
'By heaven, James, that's well argued. I had not even noticed a single field.'
Quilhampton smiled thinly. 'We ain't too well liked, sir, I'm afraid. "Perfidious Albion" and all that.' He was suddenly serious and stopped strolling. He turned and said, 'D'you think we're going to get out, sir? I mean before the war's over or we're taken to France.'
Drinkwater managed a confident smile. 'D'you know, James, that an admiral is worth four post-captains on exchange. How many lieutenants d'you think that is, eh? By God, we'll be worth our weight in gold! After the battle they'll be queueing up to exchange us for admiral this and commodore that.' He patted Quilhampton's arm. 'Brace up, James, and keep up the spirits of those two reefers.'
'Oh, Frey's all right; he's as tough as a fore-tack despite appearances to the contrary. It's Gillespy I'm worried about. Poor boy cried last night. I think he thought I was asleep…'
'Poor little devil. Would it help if I had a word with him?'
'Yes, I think so. Tell him how many admirals there will be to exchange after the battle.'
Drinkwater turned but Quilhampton said, 'Sir… sir, do you think there's going to be a battle?'
'Damn sure, James,' Drinkwater replied. And for that instant, remembering Nelson's conviction, he was irrationally certain of the fact.
It is very curious Drinkwater wrote in his journal, to sit and write these words as a prisoner. I am far from being resigned to my fate but while I can still hear the call of gulls and can hear the distant noise of the sea which cannot be very far from my little window I have not yet sunk into that despond that men who have been imprisoned say comes upon one. God grant that such a torpor is long in coming or fate releases me from this mischance…
He stopped writing and looked at his pen. Elizabeth's pen. He closed his journal quickly and got up, falling to a violent pacing of the floor in an effort to drive from his mind all thoughts of Elizabeth or his children. He must not give way to that; that was the way to despair.
He was saved from further agony by the opening of his door. A strange officer in the uniform of the Imperial Navy stood behind the orderly. He spoke English.
'Capitaine Drinkwater? Good evening. I am Lieutenant René Guillet of the Bucentaure. Will you 'ave the kindness to follow me. It would be advisable that you bring your 'at.'
'This is a formal occasion?'
'Oui.'
Drinkwater was led into the same room in which he had been interviewed by Santhonax. Santhonax was there again, but standing. Sitting at the table signing documents was another man. After a short interval he looked up and studied the prisoner. Then he stood up and walked round the table, addressing a few words to Guillet who came smartly forward, collected the papers and placed them in a leather satchel. The strange man was tall and thin with an intelligent face. He wore a white-powdered wig over his high forehead. His nose was straight and his mouth well made and small. He had a firm chin, although his jowls were heavy. Drinkwater judged him to be much the same age as himself. He wore a long-skirted blue uniform coat with a high collar and corduroy pantaloons of a greenish colour, with wide stripes of gold. His feet were thrust into elegant black half-boots of the type favoured by hussars and light cavalry. Across his waist there looped a gold watch-chain from which depended a heavy gold seal.
'Introduce us, Colonel.' His voice sounded tired, but his English, although heavily accented, was good.
Santhonax stepped forward. 'Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater of the Royal Navy, formerly commander of His Britannic Majesty's frigate Antigone…'
'Ahhh… Antigone…' said the stranger knowingly.
'On his way to take command of the Thunderer,' Santhonax's voice was ironic, 'but taken prisoner en route.' He turned to Drinkwater, 'May I present Vice-Admiral Villeneuve, Commander-in-Chief of the Combined Squadrons of His Imperial and Royal Majesty Napoleon, Emperor of the French and of his Most Catholic Majesty King Ferdinand of Spain.'
The two men exchanged bows. 'Please sit down, Captain.' Villeneuve indicated a chair and returned behind the table where he sat, leaned forward with his elbows on the table and passed his hands over his face before resting his chin upon the tips of his fingers.
'Colonel Santhonax has told me much about you. Your frigate has made as much of a name for itself as Euryalus.'
'You do me too much honour, sir.'
'They are both good ships. The one was copied from the French, the other captured.'
'That is so, sir.'
'Colonel Santhonax also tells me you informed him that Nelson commands the British squadron off Cadiz. Is this true?'
Drinkwater frowned. He had said no such thing. He looked at Santhonax who was still standing and smiling, the candle-light and his scar giving the smile the quality of a grimace.
'You did not deny it when I said he was with the British fleet,' Santhonax explained. Drinkwater felt annoyed with himself for being so easily trapped, but he reflected that perhaps Santhonax had given away more. In any case, it was pointless to deny it. It seemed that Villeneuve would assume the worst, and if the worst was Nelson, then no harm was done. He nodded.
'Nelson is in command, sir,' he said.
He heard Villeneuve sigh and felt he had reasoned correctly.
The French admiral seemed abstracted for a second and Santhonax coughed.
'And several ships have gone to Gibraltar?' the admiral asked.
'Yes, sir.'
'Where is the Superb?' asked Villeneuve. 'She had gone to England for repair, no?'
'She had not rejoined the fleet when I left it, sir.' Drinkwater felt a quickening of his pulse. All Villeneuve's questions emphasised his desire to hear that Nelson's fleet was weakened by dispersal.
The admiral nodded. 'Very well, Captain, thank you.' He rang a little bell and Guillet reappeared. Drinkwater rose and bowed to the admiral who was turning towards Santhonax, but Santhonax ignored Villeneuve.
'Captain Drinkwater!'
Drinkwater turned. 'Yes?'
'I am leaving… to rejoin the Emperor tonight. You will send the picture to the Rue Victoire will you not… when you return to your ship?' Santhonax was sneering at him. Drinkwater remembered Camelford's words: 'Shoot 'em both!'
'When I rejoin my ship…'
The two men stared at each other for a second. 'Until the next time, au revoir.'
Walking from the room Drinkwater heard a suppressed confrontation between the two men. As the door closed behind him he heard Santhonax quite clearly mention 'Le spectre de Nelson…'
Tregembo's brief visit the next morning disclosed little. 'They've got their t'gallants up, zur. Frogs and Dagoes all awaiting the order, zur… and pleased the Frogs'll be to go.'