Kydd kept well away and, towards dusk, had made the far side of the port. Earlier he had noted a cryptic marking on the French chart that had piqued his interest: Pointe du Brick and within, a tiny bay, Anse du Brick. "Brick" was French for "brig" and—who knew?—it might have a more subtle meaning. He intended to anchor for the night close in, under full view of the enemy shore, thereby retaining his clamping hold on the coast.
"Is this wise, sir?" Hallum murmured. "At our moorings we'll be at the mercy of any of superior force."
"Aye, this must be so," said Kydd, "but ye'll observe that nothing can get by without we know it." No vessel of size would risk a close-in passage at night and by dawn they would be well on their way.
In the fading light they found their place, little more than a deeply wooded cleft in impassable terrain with a neat beach at its foot. The hand-lead told of rapidly shoaling water so Teazer went to two anchors with a precautionary kedge to seaward. It left them in an admirable position to pounce on any vessel trusting to the cover of darkness to slip by into Cherbourg.
The quiet of the night enfolded them; the delicate scent of woodland was borne out on a gentle breeze and the faint maaaaa of a goat sounded to one side. Only the soft slap and gurgle of the current along Teazer's sides intruded and about the deck men spoke in low voices in respect to the stillness.
It was a bold, even impudent move—but it had a weakness that might prove fatal. If the wind shifted foul in the night they might find themselves trapped against the shore, unable to claw off, helpless against the gunboats that would be quickly called from Cherbourg once their plight was discovered.
The night was quiet and the wind had held, if anything backing more southerly. At dawn Teazer weighed and stood out for the north but almost immediately there was a heavy thud and smoke from a fort on a small promontory.
"Surprisin' t' see 'em awake," growled the boatswain, shielding his eyes from the first rays of the day as he tried to make it out.
"Fort Lévi," Queripel said.
"An' they should've held their fire until we were under their guns," Kydd said contemptuously. "Bear away, if ye please." They skirted around the impotent fort while he considered the next hazard. "We'll keep inside the Septentrionale," he told Dowse, leaving Queripel to mutter on his own. It was hard on the man but this was the only way they would be in any real position should enemy craft chance by.
Once Cap Lévi was rounded and they resumed eastward, Queripel came up to Kydd and offered, "If ye'd keep east b' south five mile, there's an inside passage only th' fisher-folk takes as will see us through t' Barfleur."
After they had angled across near to the low, marshy coastline Teazer found herself easing between the land and a near-submerged cluster of dark, granite rocks, the highest with a strange-looking twist of iron atop it. "Th' Chenal Hédouin the Frenchies call it," Queripel said, "on account of—"
"Aye, well, do keep a weather eye on y'r channel, then, Mr. Queripel. I don't want to leave Teazer's bones here," Kydd said tightly. He suspected that only a small number of the countless crags under the surface were showing trace of their existence.
Now within less than half a mile of an endless dun-coloured beach the country's remote nature was plain: low, marshy, a reedy lake. They were far from the civilised world. Eyeing a projecting knot of rock on shore, Queripel said, "Now east b' north, sir."
Teazer altered more to the northward until she was just abreast a large lake, at which point the helm went over again and they found themselves heading between a sullen clutch of offshore rocks and a flat headland sprawling out to sea with a lighthouse that was a good seventy feet high.
"Pointe de Barfleur?" Kydd asked doubtfully. Surely they had not reached the end of their patrol area so quickly.
"Aye, sir," Queripel said, with satisfaction. They emerged suddenly into the open sea. It was masterly piloting, Kydd conceded, grateful for the Channel Islander's years of merchant-service experience on this coast in the peace.
He took in the calm glitter of an unbroken horizon. This was now the Baie de Seine, and at its opposite shore was Le Havre and with it the Seine River down from Paris. It was an utterly different land, and the start of the line of ports stretching away that Bonaparte was using to assemble his invasion fleets. Those would be the desperate business of the legendary Downs squadron under Admiral Keith, daily hand-to-hand struggles as small ships like Teazer were thrown at the enemy flotillas in epic engagements before Napoleon's very eyes.
They themselves had seen nothing—one or two fishing luggers, lobstermen and tiny craft; no sign of the armada that was threatening England. But they had reached the limit of their cruise: it was time to return.
Renzi came on deck, blinking in the sunlight. He glanced in puzzlement at the open sea with the coast at their backs, then at the sun. "Either the land has shifted in its axis or the celestial orb has taken leave of its senses," he mused.
"Neither." Kydd chuckled. "This is the termination of our patrol line. Y' see the Baie de Seine ahead but, when wind an' tide permit, we wear about and return."
Renzi gazed intently at the French coast.
Concerned that his friend was still fatigued from his labours in Jersey, Kydd said softly, "Not as if you're to miss a fine sight, Nicholas. The coast here is dull enough country, you'll believe."
Renzi turned to face him. "Ah. Then this is . . . ?" "Pointe de Barfleur."
"Barfleur?"
"The town is a league down the coast."
"Quite." Renzi brightened. "Then . . . would it be at all convenient should we sight the same?"
Kydd responded to the sudden animation in his tone. "Why, yes, m' friend. The breeze backing more southerly by the hour, a little diversion will find us with a fair wind for our return. An' t' tell it true, I'd be happier then with th' tide on the make."
Hauling their wind, Teazer made sail southwards and Barfleur was sighted, a small but prosperous-looking village with a squat church in a tight little harbour, but otherwise undistinguished. The quarterdeck officers were respectfully standing to leeward, allowing the friends their privacy.
"The Edward III of Capell's Shakespeare mentions this place warmly, I believe." Renzi looked about. "Then there must be under our keel at this very moment the last sad relics of the Blanche Nef."
"Erm, which is?"
"I will tell you, dear fellow. On a dark night in the year 1120, the White Ship sailed from Barfleur for England, with the only son of the most puissant Henry the first aboard. The mariners, in a merry state, neglected to consult the state of the tide, with the dolorous consequence that the ship ran fast upon a rock and was lost. Only one was saved—and that was not the King's son."
"A cruel tragedy."
"It was—but worse for England. At Henry's soon passing in grief, his daughter Matilda's crowning as Queen of England was disputed by his nephew, Stephen. The realm was plunged into years of an anarchy that only a medieval world can produce."
Kydd nodded. "Aye, but this is y'r centuries past. We're now to consider the invading of England herself, no less!"
"Then what more apposite place than this little town I cannot conceive of, brother," Renzi said drily. "It was from Barfleur, of course, that in 1066 William the Conqueror did sail to seize England, the last successful invasion of our islands, I believe."
Further historical musings were cut short, for Kydd had found it necessary to give the orders that saw Teazer go to exercise of her foretopmen while they stretched further down the coast. As anticipated, the wind's backing produced a useful southerly, and by the time the ship reached Pointe de Barfleur again it was fair for the return, a near perfectly executed cruise, were it not for the complete lack of action.