‘This is true enough, but if you’d heard the talk after mess dinner in the castle enough times, as I have, you’d not be in doubt. They, poor wights, are in far worse case than we. At least we’ve the passing prospect of a privateer or cruiser to look forward to. They’ve nothing but idleness each and every day and pray for any kind of alarum that might test their mettle. To dangle a chance before them to share in such an adventure, why, we’d be trampled underfoot by eager military not desiring to be overlooked.’
Kydd joined in the comradely chuckle but knew the discussion was becoming pointed. ‘Um, yes. But at the same time if ever we’d think to make a descent it must take an expedition of size . . . of cost. Where would-’
‘I should think that question easily answered. If our doughty governor, himself of some record as a military strategist, should be taken by the idea, then he has the power and resources to mount such a one. As to equipment, surely that which served in an opposed landing in Blaauwberg would serve us in an identical campaign elsewhere.’
There was no question but that Popham was seriously considering a full-scale move against Spanish South America and all that that implied. The only question now was where Kydd himself stood. With him . . . or against him?
Chapter 3
‘He what?’ gasped Renzi, choking on his breakfast. ‘You seriously mean to tell me-’
Kydd nodded.
‘This cannot be! He’s implying that there’s going to be an assault on Spanish America with – if he strips Cape Colony of its entire sea defences – a pair of old sixty-fours, two or three frigates and a brig-sloop? Ha! Either you misheard our noble commander or I’m compelled to believe this southern moon must have powers to induce lunacy beyond the ordinary.’
Kydd paused. In the cold light of day it did seem more of a dream than a possibility, but then he returned strongly: ‘Think of it, Nicholas! Not only will it tear away their main source of income from the Spanish but we deny Bonaparte his tribute and means to wage war. And with such a market opened up to us, our factories and merchants’ll swell in riches past all counting. It’s . . . it’s a chance that, for the sake of England, can’t be missed.’
Recovering, Renzi said, with an irritating air, ‘Tom, have you any conception how vast is the continent of South America? How many leagues of mountains and deserts, hills of silver, towns and cities? I’ll grant it’s a worthy aspiration – but conquest?’ He broke off in snorts of laughter.
Nettled, Kydd waited for him to subside. ‘You don’t know the whole of it, Nicholas. He’s in confidential communication with a cove called Miranda, who’s said South America is ripe and ready for rebellion. And he does know about things – Billy Pitt himself asked him personally to write a secret memorandum on the subject.’
‘That’s as may be. It doesn’t take anything away from the utter hare-brained idiocy of it all. Even supposing he gets an expedition from England prodigious enough in size to land an army, what then? He wins a first battle – and where will he go next? When it takes a year to march to the other side, how does he prevail upon the Spanish to wait for him there?’
Kydd reddened. ‘So this is how you treat commanders of spirit and enterprise? At least Popham’s not falling asleep on a quiet station – he’s looking to find ways to annoy the enemy in the best way he can, and if he’s considering ways for an assault, I, for one, honour him for it,’ he snapped, then helped himself to the last of the precious English marmalade in silence.
‘Humph. Leave us trust he’ll come to his senses. Now, I’ve had some thoughts about Portrait. If you’d be so kind as to hear these out . . . ?’
‘Well, if you think they’re important. I’ve a busy day, Nicholas.’
Renzi pushed his plate to one side. ‘Then this. What do you think is the best measure of the scale of the task that awaits?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘The simple exercise of multiplying the words on a page, by the number of pages in a book, gives the result of no less than one hundred thousand words!’
He went on in awe, ‘Scratching away at, say, a brisk two or three words a second – why, it’ll be months continuous for me just to cast it in words.’
‘Very well. To first things first, Nicholas. What shall be the meat of your piece? That is to say, you’ve shown me two books which are novels and each is different from the other. Yours will be like . . . ?’
‘Mr John Murray, a most estimable publisher whom I consulted before, I seem to remember did mention that the female fancy is not to be neglected and that a travel work would answer. Should I combine the two it may well prove fruitful.’
‘And shall it be a biography?’
‘It will be built upon the events of my life to be sure but, good heavens, none must suspect it.’
‘Nicholas, you’re aware a novel is a work of fiction? You may write what you will, providing it satisfies.’
‘Ah – there you have it! What will please a reader? An extensive treatment of the customs and economy of the local polity, as observed on my travels? Or is it to be a detailed account of events, whether uplifting or tragic?’
Kydd sighed. ‘I’d be happy with a rousing good tale of your wenching in Venice with your poetic friend on that Grand Tour you never want to talk about.’
Renzi coloured. ‘That is never a subject worthy of literary endeavour, as well you know. Recollect, brother, this has to be fit for a gentlewoman’s eyes.’
‘Then I’d say that you’re at a stand, old chap. Until you know what your readers desire, your words are all puff and vapour.’
‘I’ll think on it,’ Renzi muttered, with a hurt expression.
An apologetic knock on the door announced the mate-of-the-watch with a note. ‘Sent from the commodore, sir. His boat’s still alongside,’ he added.
Brief and polite, the message had obviously been written in haste: ‘If you can spare the time, there’s someone I’d wish you to meet.’
Kydd folded the note and put it into his waistcoat. ‘We’ll talk novels again later, Nicholas.’
There was no indication of the rank of the person, and Kydd compromised by omitting his sword. This was not like Popham: he was generally considerate to his subordinates in the matter of timing. It must be a matter of importance.
The commodore was waiting for him at the rail of Diadem beside a chubby figure with a florid face, dressed in comfortable merchant seaman’s rig. ‘This is Captain Waine, Kydd. He’s master of the trader Elizabeth, yonder.’ Popham indicated a plain-featured brig at the edge of the anchorage.
The man touched his old-fashioned tricorne respectfully. ‘Cap’n,’ he said carefully, with a slight American accent.
‘Captain Waine has some interesting things to tell us, Kydd. Shall we go to my cabin?’
Dismissing the sentry, Popham offered wine, then turned to Kydd. ‘This gentleman has been talking to me about his recent experiences in the viceroyalty of the River Plate, which I thought you’d wish to hear.’
‘My pleasure, Admiral,’ Waine responded.
‘Among the things he’s imparted is that at the moment there are no Spanish ships of war in the whole River Plate – none. They’ve left to sail north to contest a rumoured landing at Caracas.’ He winked at Kydd, and went on smoothly, ‘And it seems the inhabitants are restless and bitter, concerning the state of trade obtaining there. The Spanish, being at war with England, have been sorely affected, their relations with their colonies all but severed by our blockade.’
‘Ain’t none been seen this two-month!’
‘And what is worse to the situation is that commerce with any other nation is forbidden under the direst penalties. It’s true there’s a species of smuggling of contraband into the main metropolitan centres, but none may legally trade without leave from the viceroy.’
‘From Viceroy Sobremonte hisself!’ Waine picked up a newspaper, which he identified as the Telegrafo Mercantil of Buenos Aires and waved it at Kydd. ‘There it’s at, less’n a couple o’ months old.’