‘That’s more like it,’ Popham grunted, in much satisfaction.
‘Oh, and he says there’s a considerable treasure in Buenos Aires waiting for want of escort to Spain.’
‘Is there, by heaven?’ Popham said slowly, his eyes widening.
‘There’s more – I have a man aboard, a native of these parts with strong sympathy towards a rebellion. He stowed away to be in at the kill so I signed him on as translator. If he can make his number with the rebels ashore . . . ?’
‘Yes, yes – see what you can do,’ Popham said, distracted. ‘I need to think.’
Kydd took his leave and returned to L’Aurore in high spirits: when he had emerged from the fog to rendezvous with the fleet off Maldonado, he’d seen the unmistakable outlines of Justina primly at anchor in the middle of the little group, her voyage and contract now fulfilled, and beyond her, the welcome sight of Ocean, at last come to join.
Renzi stood forward, in conversation with Serrano, who was looking fixedly at the Maldonado shore.
‘So – this is your South America, Vicente,’ Renzi murmured, seeing the rapt expression on his Spanish friend’s face.
‘Si! Is very beautiful, no?’
The distant shoreline, dry, flat and a study in ochrous brown, looked anything but inviting.
‘Most attractive,’ Renzi agreed hastily. ‘Are you looking forward to setting foot on shore?’
‘When the Spanish have left, not ever before.’
‘And then?’
‘Ah. The first – it to be mi carino, the girl who wait. I finish my study, we are married. Maybe business. The silver, it will finish, the Pampas our true riches, I think. The – how you say? – skin of cow, these the whole world always want. Our meats, grain – with libre comercio we sell, all profit will stay wi’ us, we be rich.’
‘Just so, m’ friend. As soon as you’re independent.’
Serrano looked pensive then asked abruptly, ‘You English – why you’re helping wi’ us?’
‘It’s to our advantage should the Spanish lose their colonies.’
He looked sideways at Renzi’s set face with a slight smile. ‘Why quiet? You’re not agreeable wi’ this?’
Renzi hesitated, then admitted, ‘The governance of a country is its own business. Even in war I cannot see we have any right to interfere in its sovereign affairs. If the people rise against their rulers, then that is for them and only them to resolve.’
‘Your chief not think like that – he will attack, soon.’
‘As I understand it.’
‘Good. I will paint a grand battle, your soldiers with ours fighting to beat the Spanish. A magnifico drama like as Senor Shakespeare write!’
‘Er, possibly. Do enjoy this prospect, my friend. I must return to my writing, I find.’
‘Ah, Mr Serrano,’ Kydd said, rising in welcome as the artist was escorted into his day cabin. ‘There is a matter I wish to discuss.’
‘At your service, Captain.’
‘I will not hide it from you – an assault on Montevideo will begin shortly. Our commodore is desirous that all who wish to throw off the Spanish yoke may join with us to share in the glory of this occasion.’
‘Of history!’ Serrano breathed, his face glowing.
‘Er, yes. To enable this to happen, it will be necessary to join forces, to talk together of where we shall strike first, where supplies are to be found.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So we must speak with the leaders of the, um, movement for freedom.’
‘Los patriotas! The patriots, Captain.’
‘Do you know them?’
‘These I know an’ hold close to my heart, sir.’
‘Very well. We would be much obliged should you go and inform them that the British leader desires a parley.’
Serrano’s eyes shone. ‘Is dangerous, but for freedom I do it.’
Kydd remembered that the man was wanted by the authorities and hesitated. ‘Not if it places you in hazard at all.’
‘I want to landing at Puerto del Ingles, Captain. At darkness.’
It seemed only fair to send for Renzi at this point. ‘Nicholas, your friend is assisting us by contacting the rebel band. Shall you want to supervise his arrangements at all?’
‘Vicente,’ Renzi said, with concern, ‘mi amigo, you are only to find the leader of the band and bring him to us. There’s no need to play the temerario in this.’ The young painter was so intense, so bound up with his place in the destiny of his country. Would he, like Wordsworth, be caught up in the roaring chaos of a nation in revolt and then be disillusioned with its price in blood and terror?
‘Is my duty, Nicholas. I playing my part.’
The exaltation had passed and there was now seriousness – and resolve. ‘But not so easy. Los patriotas they are many, but many leaders also. They quarrel, fight each other. I will tell them for the sake of freedom they must join in one.’
‘Then – would you wish it that we go together?’ In Renzi’s past he had seen his share of naivety and treachery and feared for his young friend.
‘No es posible. Here is no place for the English gentleman. The country is raw and wicked, the people as untamed animals. No, is my duty, my glory.’
‘Then I honour you for it, Vicente. So, Puerto del Ingles, where is it at all?’
‘Ah, Maldonado, to the west twenty miles. Is where you English take on shore your smuggled goods to trade. A lagoon of seven mile protect and it have a pretty beach.’
‘Captain Kydd wishes to make contact as quickly as possible. You should be prepared to land in the darkness tonight. Are you ready?’
A knapsack of rations and a canteen of water was all he would accept, together with a stout boat-cloak and scarf, insisting he go entirely unarmed. It was Renzi who quietly pointed out that any documentation of authenticity provided by the commodore would be a death sentence if he was taken up by the authorities.
In the evening, L’Aurore ghosted into the bay. A boat was put in the water with Renzi and Serrano as passengers and they warily made for the point at the northern end of the beach, passing inshore fishermen in their curious flat boats, ignoring them as they worked. In the gathering gloom the boat doused sail and, under oars, hissed into the sand.
Serrano stood in the boat and hesitated, staring into the anonymous countryside with its wafting odour of dryness and cattle.
‘If you’d rather wait . . . ?’ Renzi offered.
He shook his head, made his way clumsily down the boat and dropped on to the beach, remembering to turn and lift a hand in farewell.
‘Vaya con Dios, mi amigo,’ called Renzi, in a low voice. He watched the man trudge up the beach and into the thickets.
Chapter 6
‘Flag, sir. All captains.’ It was Calloway, now holding a temporary warrant from the commodore as master’s mate after the death of Pearse. With a vacancy on the quarterdeck for a midshipman, the earnest Searle had been elevated, seeming young and vulnerable in the inherited uniform that hung about him.
‘Thank you,’ said Kydd. The summons was expected: at this critical point Popham had decided on a proper council-of-war, which had full legal standing – no mere gathering of opinion but the coming to a course of action that they would all agree upon. Then if there was a calamity, no one could claim they had known it all along and not been heard.
Diadem’s great cabin was soon packed. At one end of the table athwart was the commodore, at the other Beresford, general officer in command of land forces. The naval captains were along one side, the army on the other.
‘Thank you for your attendance, gentlemen,’ Popham opened, with a broad smile. ‘This council-of-war now begins.’ One of his lieutenants sat to his right, taking note of the proceedings, a subaltern next to General Beresford doing the same.