"You will, Cec," Kydd said. "Nelson is th' greatest leader I know, and if he says that this is the way t' do it, why, that's the way t' do it."
"There are some who are not so easily persuaded ..." Cecilia said archly.
"Who? They're jealous, is all!"
"Lord Stanhope, for one."
Kydd paused. Stanhope's discreet position as a diplomat was mysterious, and involved much travel, but it was known his allegiance was to London alone. His presence in Minorca would not be coincidental. "What is he saying, then?"
"Well, he doesn't even tell things to Lady Stanhope," Cecilia said, "but when he heard that Sir Horatio had caused King Ferdinand to move on the French he was very uneasy—and even the news that Rome was restored didn't bring him to humour."
"Is that all? Well, now Nelson is a peer o' the realm—Baron Nelson o' the Nile! An' there's talk that the King o' Naples is going to make him a duke. Doesn't that tell you what the world thinks of him?" He sat up and tested the holding of the little kedge anchor. "Cec, we've got the mongseers on the run. Everywhere they're losin' battles—and it could be," he said, with a sudden wrinkling of his brow, "that this war is going t' be over soon."
Sir William Hamilton entered the room quietly. Nelson, scrawling at a great rate in his peculiar crabwise fashion, was at his desk by the window with its magnificent view of the Bay of Naples. He was grey with exhaustion and his slight body seemed shrivelled, but his expression nevertheless retained a fierce vitality. "Is it true?"
"I fear so. I have a letter from General Mack. In essence he cannot be sure of holding them, even at Capua. It's the very worst news—I'm sorry." It had been so extraordinarily swift: Rome had been taken but the regrouping French had rapidly struck back, vengefully striking south into the heart of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. And now it seemed that the Austrian commander of King Ferdinand's forces, Mack, with an army far larger than that of the French, had contrived to lose every encounter with them so far.
Nelson stared out of the window, then said heavily, "Our situation in Leghorn becomes insupportable. The grand duke must shift for himself."
"Our reputation would be irretrievably ruined, should—"
"I didn't mean that," Nelson said testily. "I shall send a frigate, should his household be put to hazard."
"As it appears it will ..."
Nelson threw down his quill, got to his feet, and paced the floor as if it were a quarterdeck. "Charles Emmanuel of Sardinia escapes to Cagliari, now the Grand Duke of Tuscany flees before his own people—what kind of rulers are they? And from London I've received only reproaches—never any soldiers. How can I steady these cowardly wretches without English soldiers?" He stopped pacing. "I will leave Malta to Ball. That is all I can retain of this shambles."
Hamilton murmured sympathy but Nelson interrupted, "General Buonaparte! To give the devil his due, he's now crossed an impassable desert and kept his army together, which is more than any man would credit. Now he's marching north into the Holy Land and could be anywhere. God damn his French soul!"
A young army captain covered with dust entered hurriedly and handed over a dispatch satchel. "Sir! From Capua." He saluted. "Sir, you might give thought to your safety—Naples is in a rare state of disorder. The people are terrified they are being abandoned to the French, that the King will depart privily and—"
"Thank you, sir. Now go," growled Nelson, unbuckling the satchel and scanning the single sheet. He looked up slowly. "Good God ..."
"What is it?"
"Mack has been defeated! His army is now only a rabble— more than two thousand have deserted, he's lost communication with his rear. There's nothing between us here and General Championnet's veterans." Nelson went to his desk and slumped into the chair. He stared into space for a moment, then picked up the papers he was working on and tore them up, one by one.
When he had finished he looked up with an odd smile. "There is now nothing to detain us in Naples. You may wish to make your dispositions for leaving, Sir William."
Hamilton opened his mouth but closed it again, then said, " Yes. I shall be within call," and left as quietly as he had arrived.
Nelson's head drooped in despair. The door opened again. "Why, what's this? England's Glory in a stew, is 'e?" Lady Hamilton crossed to Nelson, whose face lit up. "The conqueror of th' Nile cast down? For shame!"
"Your ladyship has only to bestow a smile and I shall be made new again."
"There's somethin' wrong, isn't there?" she said, her hand on his shoulder.
Nelson stood up, as though to throw off her touch. "We are to evacuate Naples, I believe," he said harshly. "That is to say, the King and Queen and their household—they must not be allowed to fall into the hands of the French."
She went pale. "You mean—well, we must, o' course. But if—"
Outside, from the cold corridors of the palazzo came shouts and the sound of people running. She looked fearfully at Nelson— and the Queen burst into the room. "Siamo persi!"
Emma crossed to the frantic woman and held her, stroking, comforting. "She's hearin' the tumbrels comin' for her too," she said. The Queen's sister, Marie Antoinette, had been guillotined by the revolutionaries in Paris. "Non i preoccupare, signora, cara, Nelson ci sta con noi," she added in spirited Italian. Looking over her shoulder at Nelson, she said, "If we're t' do it proper, it's best we 'ave a good plan. What are we to do, Adm'ral?"
There were ships enough. Vanguard lay at anchor in the bay with other warships, and there were smaller vessels, which Nelson ordered to be prepared for the evacuation of English residents— but no indication of the Royal Family's departure could be even hinted at.
As if on a visit of state, Sir William Hamilton and Admiral Nelson made the short journey from the embassy to the vast Palazzo Reale, palace to the kings of the Two Sicilies for centuries and a fortress in its own right.
"Your Majesty," Nelson murmured, bowing low to King Ferdinand. A repugnant figure, with the raw-boned build of a farm labourer, the King had small, sly eyes each side of a grotesquely long nose, and gave a doltish impression—yet the safety of this monarch was Nelson's prime duty.
"Do acquaint His Majesty of our intentions, if you please, my dear." Emma Hamilton was fast becoming indispensable with her warm, practical handling of the royal couple, whom she had long known, not to mention her easy familiarity with the language. It seemed there would be no difficulties from them, as long as the Queen's hysteria could be kept in check. Nelson crossed to a window and pulled aside the curtain to peer out: the waterfront was seething with angry crowds converging on the palace.
"We're not going to be able to get to the boats through that," he said soberly, "even with a regiment of soldiers."
"Don't be fooled, sir. They love the King an' would never 'ave a revolution," Emma came back.
"That is quite true," Hamilton said. "The lazzaroni, the common people, adore their king. It's the lawyers and petty bureaucrats who see their opportunity at this time. We must ensure that their loyalty is not tested by, er, their sovereign's precipitate flight. Sir Horatio is quite right in his concern—I rather fear we may find ourselves trapped here." In the rich surrounds of the immense gold-vaulted room they were as helpless as any felon in the local prison.
"There is one course that we may consider." Hamilton's cool words were in English; his warning glance at Emma kept her mute. "It would be a coup beyond compare should the famous Horatio Nelson be taken by the French. At all costs this must not happen. I suggest that as we are English, the mob will let us pass ..."
"No," Nelson said crisply. "There will be another way to get them out—at night perhaps. We prepare for evacuation now. Troubridge will arrive soon and we shall conceive a plan together."