It seemed that, for Downing Street, the limits had been reached, the price finally too great. From now on England would have to learn to live side by side in a world dominated by the colossus of France and First Consul Bonaparte.
Kydd landed in Malta amid a ferment of rumour and anxiety; there was widespread fear on the small island, which had done well under the umbrella of British protection. The population now faced a return to the rule of the ancient knights who had allowed in the French.
Cameron had no information and Pigot was less than helpful. Kydd's only option was to report himself and his ship to the Commander-in-Chief, Keith, in person. Kydd realized the admiral would no longer be on blockade off Toulon: he would be falling back on Minorca and its capacious fleet anchorage.
The three-day voyage passed in a haze of unreality; the sea seemed full of ships going about their lawful occasions. Neither friend nor foe, all were now simply fellow seafarers. Dawn was not met at quarters, the guns' charges were drawn and Teazer proceeded with only a signal swivel gun loaded. It was unnatural.
What did the future hold? Increased trade in the Mediterranean would require the guarantee of a naval presence but what would peacetime life be like? With a wry smile Kydd acknowledged that he had no idea: his entire time at sea, from pressed man to commander, had been spent at war.
There was one bright prospect, however: with all the fleet in harbour he would at last see his great friend Renzi, first lieutenant of Tenacious. There would be so much to tell and, for the first time since he had assumed the mantle of command, Kydd would know the company of one to whom he could at last unburden his soul.
Teazer raised the distant blue of the conical peak of Mount Dacres climbed over the bulwarks with an acutely worried expression. "Sir, may I see you privately?" he said urgently.
In Kydd's cabin he looked about carefully, then closed the door firmly. "Sir, I have to inform you . . . If you'd please to read this." It was a French commercial newspaper, not the government Le Moniteur, notorious for its lies and sweeping claims, but a sober publication from Marseille, intended for merchants and others in trade. A phrase blazed out in the headlines: "La Paix"—peace!
Kydd stumbled through the rest, and the impossible became real. Apparently for more than a week it had been known that negotiations for peace from the English government had been accepted and an armistice declared, pending full ratification.
Peace? It was not possible! Had not the French been thrown so recently out of their Oriental empire at great cost? And with brilliant victories this was not a time to be treating for peace! He held up the newspaper. It seemed ordinary enough, a little grubby, with a pencilled column of trading figures. There was nothing to suggest it was a forgery.
Now he understood the reason for the confidence, the steady course probably to a port on the other side of the Adriatic. Peace! The implications were endless—the treaty that must follow had to decide the fate of empires, colonies, whole peoples. Peace! In a world at war for nearly ten years it was hard to think in any other terms.
"Er, sir?" Dacres looked anxiously at his captain. "The people—when shall I . . ."
The men: how would they take the news? Kydd's mind spun. He knew he could not keep it from them long. "Get back to th' ship with our apologies an' let 'em go. We return t' Malta."
The news had arrived in Malta the day after Teazer had sailed. Addington's government had seen fit to accept humbling terms to secure any kind of peace in a war that was reaching titanic Toro, then shaped course for the south-east of the island and the grand cliff-sided harbour of Port Mahon. Passing the ruined fortress of San Felipe at the entrance to larboard, they entered the port.
The entire Mediterranean fleet was at anchor in the three-mile-long stretch of water. These ships, their sombre lines marked by ceaseless sea-keeping, the gloss and varnish long since gone from their sturdy sides but their appearance still neat and Spartan, had kept faithful watch on Toulon over the long months to make it impossible for Bonaparte to impose his will on the world. And now they were withdrawn, idle and without purpose. It was as if the world had gone mad.
As they passed by the massive ships-of-the-line, Kydd tried to make out Tenacious but could not find her: there were just too many vessels. Teazer's anchor fell from her bows and Kydd reappeared on deck in full-dress uniform with white gloves and sword to call on the Commander-in-Chief.
He mounted the side steps of Foudroyant with mixed feelings: as a victorious captain he could be certain of a warm welcome, but in these circumstances who knew what lay ahead? After he was piped aboard he was ushered respectfully into the admiral's presence. In the vast great cabin there were three other officers who, to Kydd's surprise, did not make their excuses.
Keith looked up, his face drawn and tired. "Ah, Mr Kydd. Joy of your encounter with La Fouine, of course. Your actions were in the best traditions of the service and do you much credit." He shook Kydd's hand vigorously but was clearly distracted. "In more tranquil times you should most certainly be my guest at dinner, but I do beg forgiveness in this instance and hope to receive you at another time." His legendary chilliness melted into something akin to melancholy as he added, "But, then, these are not normal times and I can promise nothing."
He paused, staring into space for long moments, then seemed to focus again. "I have this hour received Admiralty instructions. Your orders are being prepared, Commander, and will be delivered by hand to your vessel by evening gun."
Kydd murmured something, but Keith cut him short. "You will be desirous of returning to your ship. Pray do not delay on my account." As he turned to go, Kydd felt Keith's hand on his arm. The flinty eyes bored straight into his. "Please believe, Mr Kydd, I would wish you well for your future."
Kydd went down the side to the strident squeal of the boatswain's pipe and into his boat. What did this mean? Was Keith conveying more than approval of his recent triumph? Perhaps he was to be accounted as an admiral's favourite.
As they made their way back to Teazer a chance veering of the wind direction had the great ships swinging to their anchors, and past two 74s he saw at last the familiar shape of the ship he had spent so much of his sea life aboard, HMS Tenacious.
"Stretch out f'r that sixty-four," he ordered Poulden.
"Aye aye, sir," his new coxswain replied.
As they approached Tenacious she seemed dowdy and downcast; she was well ordered, but in small things she wasn't the fine old warhorse he remembered. In places the gingerbread— the gilded carved adornments round her stern and beakhead—no longer gleamed with the lustre of gold leaf and had been economically painted over in yellow. The rosin finish between the wales of her side was now a dull black and her ensign seemed limp and drab.
But for Kydd this was a moment long coming. The first satisfaction—to be well savoured—would be in encountering Rowley once more. How would he find it in him to utter the words of civility due to a fellow captain?
Poulden answered the hail from Tenacious with a bellowed "Teazer!" indicating that not only was a naval officer to board but that this one was a captain of a King's ship. They approached slowly to give the ceremonial side party time to assemble and to warn Tenacious's captain to stand by to receive.
Mounting the side steps Kydd saw with a jet of warmth all the familiar marks left by countless encounters with the sea and malice of the enemy still there.