On the water, every ship replied with thunderous broadsides; even the smallest found guns to mount and fire. The sailors dressed their ships in flags and there were wild scenes that night in the grog-shops.
Kydd responded warmly, but this was tempered by the realisation that he had missed what must have been the defining battle of the age. With a stab of dread he realised that Renzi might have been struck down, mortally wounded, thrown overboard in the heat of battle. He fought down the thought, then turned his mind to other things. Emily.
At their last meeting, she had shyly offered a little package, neatly finished with a bow. It was a pair of gloves - kidskin, probably Moorish, but of obvious quality. There was no conceivable need in his station for gloves, but Kydd's imagination grew fevered with conjecture. A gift from her to him: what did it mean?
He found Cockburn with a slim book. 'Tarn, I'd be obliged f'r the lend of a clean waistcoat, if ye please. That scurvy gunroom servant's in bilboes after a spree ashore.' Cockburn looked up, but said nothing. 'I have t'go somewhere tomorrow,' explained Kydd.
Cockburn laid down his book. 'Tomorrow, it seems, I shall need my waistcoat,' he said, his face hard.
This was nonsense: without means, he was spending all his time on board. 'Then y'r other one — I know you have 'un.'
'Strangely, it appears that I shall need that also,' Cockburn said evenly.
Kydd breathed hard. 'An' what kind o' friend is it that—'
'A friend who sees you standing into perilous waters, who fears to see you play the cuckold without—'
'She cares f'r me, I'll have ye know.'
'Oh? She has told you? Pledged undying love when not free to do so?'
Kydd clamped his jaw shut.
'I thought so. You are naught but a fool,' Cockburn said, in measured tones, 'treading a path where so many poor loobies have gone before.' He sighed and returned to his reading. 'I can only grieve for your future.'
'Be damned t' you 'n' y'r prating,' Kydd snarled, and stormed off petulantly.
* * *
They started in the cool of the morning, Emily mysterious as to their destination. 'It might be Africa - or the bowels of the earth. Or the very summit of the Rock ... or perhaps all three.'
Kydd grunted in bafflement, but was much taken by Emily's outfit; instead of the wide morning dress, it was a more close-fitting garment. Letitia followed behind, leaving the conversation to them.
They emerged on to the upper spine of the Rock, a stretch of rifted rock layers, covered with furze and pungent with goat smell. Emily descended daintily from her donkey and pointed to an irregular small peak. 'The highest point of the Rock,' she declared.
Silently cursing his clumsiness, Kydd staggered off his beast.
'Governor O'Hara wishes to build a tower on it, which he swears will allow him to look into Cadiz bay,' Emily said, idly twisting her muslin scarf. 'The surveyor calls it "O'Hara's Folly", but he will not be dissuaded.'
Her cheeks appeared rosier at this height, wisps of hair framing her face under the wide straw hat, and Kydd felt desire build. He glanced behind. There was Letitia, still on her donkey, her unblinking eyes gravely on him.
'They call him "Cock o' the Rock",' Emily said, with a giggle, then dropped her eyes. To cover his embarrassment, Kydd bowed gallantly to Letitia and offered to help her down, but she shook her head mutely and slipped easily to the ground.
From nowhere a dark-complexioned Iberian appeared, taking the donkey bridles and fixing Kydd with glittering, unfathomable eyes. Kydd hastily caught up with Emily, Letitia as usual falling behind.
'This is our destination, then,' Emily said. *I do hope you think it interesting.'
'Africa? Th' bowels of the earth?' It was nothing more than an undistinguished cleft in a jutting crag.
Emily stepped forward confidently, Kydd at her side. It was a cave of sorts, the outside light dimming the further they entered, their footsteps changing from a tap into an echo as the light died and mysterious vertical shapes appeared from out of the Stygian blackness.
She stopped to let the Iberian catch up. He produced candles in colourful pottery holders, and got to work with flint and steel. As each flame leaped and guttered, the golden light spread to reveal a huge vaulted cavern, a magnificent palace of gilded stone.
Emily's candle illuminated her face from beneath in an unearthly radiance, and for a long moment Kydd was lost to her beauty.
'St Michael's cave. Such a spectacle - you'd never know that the Rock is hollow from the outside,' she said softly, her eyes wide. The cavern smelt of damp soil, and tiny drip sounds were amplified all around.
Letitia shivered, and stepped back, pulling her shawl close.
Emily pointed forward: the path trended down, then reached a lip of rock. 'We must climb down there.' It continued as another chamber beyond, untouched by their candlelight.
'I — I shall wait here, Emily,' came Letitia's small voice. 'I have no stomach for these places. Do let's return now.'
'Nonsense, Letitia. I mean to show Thomas the inner chambers.' Carefully she laid her candle-holder on the stone, and slid over the lip to the blackness beyond. 'Come along!' she called imperiously to Kydd.
The inner cave was smaller, longer, much colder. The path dipped sharply, and as they plunged out of sight Letitia's plaintive voice echoed, 'Please hurry back - I'm frightened.'
Kydd kept up with Emily, the candlelight casting startling shadows that continually moved as if alive. They entered a vast chamber, the sounds of their steps and voices dissipating into the cold, breathy stillness..
Emily stood still, gazing upwards, enraptured. She moved further in, found a broken-off stalagmite and placed her candle on it, letting the tiny golden light lose itself in the distance, as it did, hinting at fantastic shapes in the gloom. 'Isn't this the most splendid sight you have ever seen?' she breathed.
Kydd's heart was thumping: this was the first time they had been alone.
Her eyes roamed upwards, and Kydd added his candle to hers. The combined light beamed out strongly and grotesque shapes were illumined on all sides. But Emily's face was brushed with gold.
'We're now in the centre of the Rock! No one has ever reached the end of these caverns — it is said that they stretch all the way to Africa . ..' Her voice was a whisper of awe.
A swell of emotion surged in Kydd — a wellspring of feeling that could not be stopped. It found focus in the soft loveliness of Emily's face. He closed with her, held her, and kissed her in silence.
Her lips were formless with surprise, but she did not resist: his kiss grew deep with passion and she responded avid and strong, her body pressing against his. They broke apart, hands clasped, staring into each other's eyes.
'M' dear Emily! You - you're . . .' Kydd was shaken with the power of his feelings.
She did not speak; her face was flushed and taut. Kydd still held her hands, and their warmth and softness triggered another passionate upsurge. He pulled her close, but she turned away her face, yet not resisting him.
Baffled, he let his arms drop. 'Emily, I—'
'Thomas, please.' Her voice was shaky. She disengaged from him, and half turned away. Kydd was unsure of what was happening; he felt gauche and adolescent.