Mutiny

_{'Here is our response, sir,' Parker said, handing the letter to Admiral Buckner. 'I shall return for your reply.'}

_{He turned and retired from the scene with dignity. There was brave and foolhardy talk at the Chequers, but Parker sat apart.}

_{At six, they filed out for the quarter-mile walk to where the flag of the Lord High Admiral of England still flew. The people of Blue Town lined their way, but in the rain there were only thin, scattered cheers. Most remained sombre and quiet, watching the seamen as if they were going to meet their fate.}

_{Buckner emerged promptly, but his head was held high and he kept his distance.}

_{'Good evening, sir,' Parker said. 'May I know if their lordships have an answer to our letter?'}

_{'They have not! There will be no answer. Are you here to make your submission?'}

_{Parker kept his silence.}

_{'You may still, through their lordships' grace, accept the King's Pardon. But if you fire again on a king's ship, then every man will be excluded from the pardon,' the admiral added hastily.}

_{Not deigning to reply, Parker gave a low bow, and left.}

 

_{'The kippers, if you please. They are particularly succulent, I find.' Renzi's lodgings in Rochester were small, but quiet. His words caused the merchant gendeman opposite to lower his newspaper and fix him with a warning glare: conversation at breakfast was of course entirely ill-mannered.}

_{Renzi inclined his head and picked up his own Rochester Morning Post. He quickly opened it to the news; with the big naval-construction dockyard of Chatham close by and Sheerness but a dozen miles further out, it was to be expected that coverage of the recent shocking events at the Nore would be extensive.}

_{He particularly wanted news on the much talked-about visit by the lords of the Admiralty, with their promises of pardon, but what he saw was far worse. It seemed that after intolerable insults from the mutinous seamen, their lordships had washed their hands of the matter and taken themselves and their pardon back to London. The editorial wondered acidly whether this meant that readers could now, all restraint gone, expect a descent by hordes of drunken seamen.}

_{Renzi slowly laid down the newspaper. This was the worst news possible. For some reason the mutineers had rejected their last hope; they had nowhere else to go. Pitt would never forgive them now, not after the inevitable spectacle of the army or the loyal remnant of the navy ending the mutiny in a welter of ignominious bloodshed..}

_{He couldn't face breakfast with the knowledge that his dearest friend was now beyond mercy, the pardon withdrawn. He left the lodging, striding fiercely in a rage of hopelessness, past the curious medieval streets and shops, up steep cobbled roads.}

_{Logic said that there were only two courses: that Kydd could be miraculously saved, or that Renzi should resign himself to his friend's fate and spare himself the hurt. The former was for all practical purposes impossible, the latter he could not face.}

_{That left the ludicrous prospect of trying to find a miracle. The path turned into a grassy lane down to the river crossing, and the soft and ancient grey stone of a Norman castle. His hand reached out to touch its timeless strength, willing an inspiration, but none came.}

_{All Renzi knew was that he had to do something, try something . .. He came to a resolution: he would go to London.}

 

_{The coach was uncomfortable and smelly, but he made the capital and the White Hart Inn well before dark. Restless and brooding, he left his bag at the inn and braved the streets. London was the same riotous mix of noise and squalor, carriages and drays, horses and hawkers, exquisites and flower-girls. Instinctively he turned into Castle Street and south past the Royal Mews — time was pressing, and it could all come to a conclusion very soon.}

_{He trudged through the chaos of Charing Cross, then entered the broad avenue of White Hall. Past the Treasury was Downing Street, where he knew behind the bland frontage of Number Ten the Prime Minister was probably in cabinet, certainly taking swift and savage measures.}

_{Renzi stopped and looked despondently down the street. His father had powerful connections in Parliament, a rotten borough and friends aplenty, but he knew he could be baying at the moon for all the help they would give him now.}

_{He retraced his steps. This was the seat of power, the centre of empire. Rulers of strange lands around the globe, the King himself, but not one could he think to approach.}

_{On past Horseguards he continued, and then to the Admiralty itself. Staring at the smoke-grimed columns, the stream of officers and bewigged civilians coming and going, he cudgelled his brain but could think of nothing that might break the iron logic of the situation: Kydd was a mutineer who had publicly declared for the insurrection — there could be no reasoning with this.}

_{Black thoughts came. Would Kydd want to see Renzi at the gallows for his execution, or brave it out alone? Was there any service he could do for him, such as ensure his corpse was not taken down for dissection?}

_{The lamplighters came out as the dusk drew in, and Renzi's mind ached. As he waited for a grossly overloaded wagon to cajole and threaten its way round Charing Cross, he concluded that there was no possible answer he could find. Perhaps there was someone who could tell him of one — but who, in his whole experience, would know both naval imperatives and political expediencies?}

_{From somewhere within his febrile brain came memories of a quite different time and place: the sun-blessed waters of the Caribbean, a hurricane, and a fearful open-boat voyage. It was a slim chance, but he had no other: he would seek out Lord Stanhope, whose life and mission he and Kydd had secured together.}

_{Stanhope would never stoop to using his standing with the government for such a cause, but he could give Renzi valuable inside knowledge of the wheels of power, perhaps an insight into how... But Stanhope was beyond reach for a mere mortal. Dejection returned as Renzi thought through the impossibility of gaining access to a senior government figure in a wartime crisis.}

_{Then another flood of recollection: a crude palm hut on a Caribbean beach, an injured Stanhope and a promise exacted from Renzi that if Stanhope were not to survive, he should at all costs transmit his intelligence to a Mr Congalton, at the Foreign Office.}

_{Renzi hurried back to the White Hart. The landlord provided writing materials, and in his tiny room he set to. It was the height of gall, but nothing could stop him now. The form of the letter was unimportant: it was simply a request for a hearing, through Congalton to Stanhope, shamelessly implying a matter of discreet intelligence.}

_{He folded the letter and plunged out into the night, scorning the offer of a link-boy. Without a long coat and sword he would not be worth the attention of robbers. The Foreign Office was well used to late-night messages passed by questionable figures, and he slipped away well satisfied.}

_{A reply arrived even while he was at an early breakfast - 'Hatchard's, 173 Piccadilly, at 10 a.m.' He forced his brain to an icy calm while he rehearsed what he intended to say, and in good time he made the most of his attire, clapped on a borrowed hat and appeared at the appointed place.}

_{It turned out to be a bookseller recently opened for business, well placed in a quality district and just down from Debrett's. No stranger to books, Renzi eyed the packed shelves with avarice. Bold tides on political economy and contemporary analysis tempted, as well as tracts by serious thinkers and pamphlets by parliamentary names. Engrossed, he missed the activity around the carriage that drew up outside.}