‘Sir?’
‘Gentlemen. I’ve been given the sailing time and place of the flota de los galeones, which, for those of you without the Spanish, I should explain is the means by which the Dons ship across to their mine-workings in America the mercury without which they can’t swill out their ore to get at the silver.’
‘A mercury ship!’ breathed Mason, leaning back in admiration. Rare and legendary beasts, the mercury they carried was so much more valuable than the silver or even gold of the treasure fleets.
‘The loss of such will be a catastrophic blow to the Spanish. They are desperate to restore their fortunes in the Americas, for which they’ll need their quicksilver.’
‘And-’
‘And of course I cannot deny that in the process we ourselves shall be rewarded in full measure.’ Rowley’s eyes gleamed. ‘In fact,’ he said, his voice lowering, ‘my calculations are that each of you before me shall be the richer by not less than two hundred and forty years’ pay for that one day’s work.’
They looked at one another in wondering disbelief.
‘Yes, gentlemen, in a very short while you shall be wealthier than you could ever dream of.’
‘So … this is why the secrecy,’ Mason said in a whisper. ‘Don’t want to scare off the Dons.’
‘Er, just how good is your intelligence, may we know?’ rumbled Layton, with a grimace. ‘All seems too good t’ be true, if you ask me.’
‘I vouch for it personally,’ Rowley said loftily, ‘as the gentleman in question is both at an eminence in court and stands to share in our good fortune, as it were.’
‘Then …’
‘Yes, Mr Hayward?’ Rowley drawled.
The captain reddened. ‘Nothing, sir, do stand on.’ This was not the time to bring up that it would appear Rowley had kept the intelligence so secret to restrict the prize distribution to himself only and the captains under his direction. This would ensure that there would be no others on the scene to claim a share, the usual rule being that those in sight at the time were included in the proceeds.
‘Good. Then I shall be brief.’
Mercury, it seemed, came from a very few places in the world, by far the largest being the mines of Almaden in the centre of Spain, known since Roman times. It was prepared for shipping and sent down to Seville, then to Cadiz, where it made its way across the Atlantic.
‘The last flota was three years ago, and they’re in serious straits for want of it, our blockade being so active. Now they’re trying another way – bringing it by mule to a lonely part of the coast and taking it aboard a transport there. My information gives this as Mazagon, in two days’ time.’
‘Ah. That’s …’
‘Some fifty miles north of Cadiz, inside a sandspit at the mouth of some heathen river. I’ve no knowledge as to how many transports, the escort and so forth, which is why I’m making sure of it by bringing you all in.’
This was met with thoughtful expressions: he would need to be very sure of success to justify removing the inshore blockade even overnight.
‘A straightforward enough operation, I would have thought,’ Rowley continued smugly. ‘Two offshore north and south, the remainder to seaward, with one bearing my flag in the offing. A matter of lying in wait for them to come out to us. The flag vessel will take care of the transport,’ he said smoothly. ‘In the event there are two, Riposte will take the other,’ he added, smiling indulgently at Mason.
‘Orders?’ said Hayward, pointedly. He was asking for written orders, which in themselves would point to Rowley’s neat appropriation of the operation and its proceeds.
‘No time, no time,’ Rowley boomed, collecting up his papers. ‘We sail tomorrow noon. Now, are we all clear about our part?’
Layton shifted in his chair. ‘Just one thing, sir,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Don’t you think it a hard thing that Captain Kydd is not here, to take his portion with us all?’
‘Kydd is away to the south and can’t be reached,’ the admiral said quickly. ‘A sad pity, but I rather think that this must be accounted a party to which he’s not been invited.’
The Inshore Squadron sailed the next day, standing well out to sea until the land was sunk, then shaping a course north. Watchers on shore would no doubt conclude that these were fleet exercises again, but aboard every ship there was tension – confined to just one man: the captain. Their mission could not be compromised by excited talk so their true purpose was unknown to all others, officers and seamen.
The trap was simple but effective: an impenetrable semi-circle about the departing port, Mazagon, with every ship just below the horizon. When the mercury convoy sailed it would find itself facing the seaward frigates but by then it would be too late. Others to the north and south would have closed in behind to complete the circle and it would be over very quickly.
The one thing that could bring it all to a ruin was a frigate sighted from shore. Aboard each, therefore, the sailing master found himself under the harshest direction as to the ship’s position, and a mystified crew kept at the first readiness for … what?
As if in sympathy the Atlantic winds moderated to a useful south-westerly breeze and in perfect weather the frigates took up their positions, hours only from wealth immeasurable.
Chapter 25
Aboard HMS Tyger
From her deck Cape Trafalgar, abeam to larboard, was unimpressive, simply a low bluff on a sandy tongue of land with a stumpy lighthouse atop. It had not only witnessed the greatest sea battle in history but was one of the major seamarks between Cadiz and Tarifa, the privateers’ nest sixty miles on at the entrance to the Mediterranean.
Even the lowliest midshipman knew it well, sighting it for exercise in running fixes, and aware of the numberless offshore sandbanks and rip-currents that made it notorious to every sailor. Most often it was given a generous offing and course laid direct for Tarifa across the bay.
This day, however, the wind being fair, Kydd ordered the helm put over to follow the bay around. There was nothing of significance within before it came out again at the seamark of Cape Caraminal, past the little fishing village of Barbate on its river, but it varied the scenery.
In a mile or two they raised the nondescript scrubby heights that led along the coast, and after another few miles, set back from the monotonous flat sand dunes, reached Barbate. It was time to ease south-east.
A sudden piercing hail from the masthead brought the deck to an alert. ‘Saaail! Sail two points t’ larboard agin the land. A frigate!’
Kydd was rudely jolted out of his reverie. A frigate – this was no English vessel, Tyger was southernmost of the blockade cruisers, and in any case, what was it doing so close in?
He crossed to the leeward side and raised his glass. It was full-rigged, certainly no merchantman with that single gun-deck and low, war-like lines. It could only be enemy.
‘Quarters, Mr Bray,’ he ordered crisply. A chance encounter, an opponent of equal size, guns ablaze in the forenoon. Precisely what Tyger was built for.
In the commotion of readying he studied the situation. It was almost as if the frigate had recently put to sea from Barbate, the near parallel river mouth delivering the ship in a wide curve to seaward. But why in Hades was a ship of consequence visiting the humble village?
The frigate seemed untroubled by what it must have seen and, under all plain sail, continued out to sea towards Tyger.
Uneasily, Kydd kept his glass on it. Something about the confident standing on, the gun-ports still closed, so many men about her decks …
Almost lazily it went about and headed out to sea, royals appearing above its topgallants as if spreading its wings for an ocean passage.
Astonished, Kydd followed its track. It would intersect with theirs about a mile ahead. ‘Close with the beggar,’ he ordered. ‘And keep our gun-ports shut as well.’ It meant hauling in each gun and dropping the lids but if the other was determined on a peaceful aspect so was he, until he learned otherwise.