Kydd picked up the "your" and wondered at Bonnici's loyalty, but remembered his years of service to the Royal Navy. "They did a fine job, right enough. An' since then, Mr Bonnici, has any dared t' invade Malta?" In the magnificence of Grand Harbour the island seemed one extended fortress and quite impregnable.
"None, sir," said Bonnici, simply. "The French were let here b' treachery, no fight." He stopped and added, "Ah, none saving th' English—only one time Malta taken, an' that was you, last year against the French."
"I rather fancy you're glad to see the back of them," Dacres murmured.
"Yes!" Bonnici spat with the first emotion Kydd had seen him display. "They come as robber, bandit—take fr'm our church an' the people. We hunger, starve, our trade finish. They say they come as liberatore, to throw out th' knights, but really they wan' to take, seize."
Kydd let him subside then asked, "Where are th' knights now, then?"
"The Gran' Master and most o' the knights go to Russia an' wait to return," he finished abruptly.
"You don't want 'em back?"
"For me—no, sir, they are no good f'r Malta."
"But if they are Maltese—y' knows, of th' noble orders—"
"They are not, sir. They come in th' year 1530. Ver' old, but they given Malta by others."
"So you were before . . . ?"
"No, sir. The Normans were here before, the Count Roger."
"And before then, you?"
"No, sir. Before them the Arab, an' before them the Greeks."
"I see."
"Before them th' east Roman, an' the empire, they call it Melita."
"And—"
"The Carthaginian before, stay seven hundred years. An' before them . . ."
"Er, yes?"
"Before them many say we are giants—at Tarxien, in the country, are strange an' magic dwelling of stones, even th' wisest cannot tell of them . . ."
The boat approached the landing place on the flanks of the fortress city and Yates stood for the final approach. "Hold water larb'd, give way starb'd—Jones, y' fawney bastard, ye're nothing but a mumpin' packet rat. Do I 'ave ter show y' how?"
The trio climbed a short way up some broad steps before a water fountain with a statue of Neptune. "We call this th' Nix Mangiare Stairs, on account of the beggars have nothing t' eat. This is their cry," Bonnici said, then went ahead for a carriage.
"The cales," he said. In the four-seater Kydd and Dacres sat facing forward with Bonnici opposite. They set off, with the driver walking, bridle in hand, and wound up into the city proper. People streamed past, most ignoring them; the women, many in hooded black silk capes, were all prettily adorned with rings, bracelets and silver shoe-buckles and stepped out proudly, while the men affected either dress that would go unremarked in Oxford Street or colourful country garb of trousers and a long sash.
As he took in the sights Kydd realised he had been more than a little distracted before. They began with the five-hundred-year-old Grand Master's Palace, now occupied by Cameron and his administration. The interior of the Cathedral of St John took Kydd's breath away. A riot of gilded tracery, with a blue-stone altar before a life-size religious group in marble, it reeked of a past age of splendour and devotion.
"Th' Manoel theatre—it's lower down, an' some say th' oldest in Europe." It was not large but well appointed.
Then followed sightseeing of the mighty walls, and the public gardens in Floriana outside the massive gates offering views without end of surrounding bays and inlets with their fortifications.
Over a simple meal Bonnici finished their education: the ancient capital, Mdina, was apparently a perfect medieval walled city, complete with drawbridge and castle. At nearby Rabat there were catacombs and noble buildings, while on the coast the alluring Blue Grotto waited to bewitch unwary seafarers. And if it were at all possible the little port of Marsaxlokk and the enchanting Dingli cliffs should not be missed, to say nothing of Zurrieq and Kirkop, Qrendi and Mqabba. Proudly he described in detail the bravery of the Maltese sailors when the apostle Paul was wrecked in a bay up this very coast after meeting with a gregale, a fierce local storm, on his way to Rome.
Kydd was sorry when the day ended and they made their way down to the marina and their boat.
"Sir—for you." Bowden was waiting at the gangway and passed across a note. It was sealed inside an expensive card and addressed impeccably to himself as "The Captain, His Britannic Majesty's Ship Teazer ." Kydd took it down quickly to his cabin away from curious gazes.
"Well, damme!" he muttered. It was an invitation: but this was no ordinary social occasion. Phrases like ". . . sensible of the obligation owing to Commander Kydd upon his late meeting with the Barbary pirates . . ." and ". . . we, merchants of Malta in the Adriatic trade, do wish to render plain our deepest appreciation . . ." left no doubt of its drift.
There was to be a presentation of silver to the brave captain who had defied the sea-robbers so cunningly, and this was to be made by the distinguished English merchant Mr Roderick Mason in the presence of Chevalier Antonio Mancini, fifth Baron Baldassare.
"Tysoe!" Kydd roared. "D' ye think m' best red 'n' green with th' lace will serve for a baron?" He held out the invitation with the merest trace of smugness.
" Oh, sir, my opinion is . . ."
"Spit it out, man!"
"Then sir, if you'll permit me . . ."
"Yes or no, y' villain!"
Tysoe's eye held a glimmer of complacency as he continued suavely, "Sir must be aware that he cuts a fine figure—in uniform blues, and most especially in full-dress. The guests will be expecting you to appear in the character of a sea officer and we don't wish to disappoint, do we, sir?"
He was met by torchlight and conveyed in a carriage to a well-proportioned building with an impressive entrance. Standing waiting were several elderly gentlemen of apparent wealth—silk stockings and lace, ostrich-fringed hats, gold-tipped canes, and jewels on their shoe-buckles.
Kydd felt his relative youth but took assurance from the splendour of his full-dress uniform with the substantial gold of the epaulette, cuffs and lapels against the discreet dark-blue and white of the rest. He took off his gold-laced hat and waited politely.
"Captain, so happy you were able to come." A dignified man greeted him with a quick bow. "Mason, Roderick Mason, at your service." His shrewd grey eyes appraised Kydd.
They went in together to an enclosed inner courtyard crowded with people. The murmur of voices stopped as they appeared. "Gentlemen, might I present HMS Teazer's gallant commander? Captain Thomas Kydd!"
There was a spatter of genteel applause, and he bowed civilly to right and left. A footman appeared at his side with wine in a tall crystal glass. He accepted it and turned to Mason. "S' good of ye t' invite me, sir."
"Our honour entirely, Captain. Shall we proceed?"
The room was not large and was warm with the glitter of candles on a long table. Mason ushered Kydd to its head where a jovial man in scarlet stood up to meet them. "Sir, may I present Captain Thomas Kydd?" He turned slightly. "Chevalier the Baron Baldassare."
"Y'r servant, sir," Kydd replied, with a workmanlike bow, and allowed himself to be seated between the two, trying to remember the graces taught so patiently by his noble-born friend Renzi. Turning to the chevalier he opened, "Rousin' weather we're having, this time o' the year, or do ye prefer it the cooler?"
The dinner passed most pleasantly. Lingering looks were cast his way by the ladies, and valiant attempts made to engage him in conversation over the energetic sawing of a string trio. Mason leaned closer. "I must allow, sir, it was a fine service you performed for us. Have you any conception of the value, for instance, of a single Ragusa-bound brigantine in currants?"