He counted four ships-of-the-line and only one frigate.
Kydd had told him he was being attached to Collingwood’s fleet and, with his record, he would certainly find himself part of it. Was that Tyger? A pang of longing touched him: it was approaching the first dog-watch and the men would be looking to their well-earned issue of grog. They’d be gossiping about the day’s events, which on blockade would not be gripping or blood-curdling but in the warmth and fellowship would go far to make up for its tedium.
He returned to the present: the French had won. They’d turned the Fontainebleau treaty into a means of plucking the second largest country in Europe and now, with the Bourbon kings in their grasp, it was all over. The uprisings in Madrid had been leaderless, easily and savagely put down, and there was no opposition left worthy of the name.
He went downstairs. The women, it seemed, had much to talk about. Cadiz was far from Madrid and had yet to taste the bitterness of French occupation and control, certainly not the brutality of retribution, and Benita listened wide-eyed to what Dolores told her of the scenes in the capital.
‘Benita, mi alma. Hola!’ A deep masculine roar came from the entrance.
‘Oh! Pedro – I’m coming,’ she called.
She returned beside a powerfully built Spaniard, with deep-set, suspicious eyes. He started in surprise when he saw Renzi, but before he could move Benita purred, ‘Mi amado, where are your manners? I have a surprise for you. This is an English milord, excelentisimo senor, Conde de Farndon.’
Pedro gave a jerky bow, then suddenly exploded, ‘English? In my house? What are you doing, you stupid woman?’ His hand fell to his rapier.
She smiled. ‘No, not the enemy, this one. He does pilgrimage to Our Lady of Toledo under special protection, and was caught in all our trouble.’ Turning to Dolores, she said quickly, ‘Do tell your lord that my husband means no harm.’
Dolores curtsied prettily to Renzi and said in English, ‘You are enchanted to meet Pedro, are you not, sir?’
Renzi took his cue and answered politely with a bow.
It seemed to suffice and he went to his room to leave them to their talk – and find time to think.
There was no point staying any longer in Spain. He’d be telling Congalton that French occupation was spreading fast in the absence of a focus for resistance and therefore the British had no part to play in encouraging any kind of revolt. Under Bonaparte’s able generals, the subjugation of Spain would not take long.
But how to make his departure? He’d have to leave as soon as he could for, without doubt, the French would be bringing their garrisons here in the near future.
He went down to the evening meal, in the Spanish fashion held well into the night.
Pedro was the host and Renzi was made to know it, but was given a place at his right hand, resigned to an unspeaking role while happy chatter swirled around.
Unsuspected, he listened to it all, the gossip, what the day had brought, the rumours.
And then he heard something that brought him to full alert. Pedro, it seemed, was a fiery member of the town council, his opinions decided and acute. And this day the business was entirely dominated by what they were hearing of the atrocities in Madrid. It was believed that Cadiz, the ancient and second greatest city of Spain, would not fall prostrate before the tyrant, and no less a personage than Don Tomas de Morla, general of the army of Andalucia, had sworn in front of the entire assembly that, before God, with its position and defences it would stand.
Renzi saw there was a fleeting chance to bring about a common front. He wouldn’t trouble with the town counciclass="underline" they were representative of the feeling of the people, certainly, but at his eminence he could command the attention of the royal governor.
‘Dolores,’ he asked, at a break in the animated conversation, ‘my stay in Spain has been … eventful, yet it would be my pleasure and obligation to express the sensibility of my gratitude at its indulgence of my presence. To the governor in person would be my desire. Does Don Pedro think this at all possible?’
He had the measure of the man. It seemed it could be arranged for a town councillor to make introduction of English nobility at the highest regal level.
Chapter 28
The next morning, arrayed as befitted an audience with Don Francisco Solano, Marques del Socorro, royal governor of Cadiz, they waited on the august being.
Solano made an impressive figure, his uniform elaborate and extravagant, but his features were austere, unsmiling, and his elaborately pointed beard spoke of a Spain of glorious centuries past. He was polite but firm to Renzi. ‘Excelentisimo, I’m honoured beyond measure, but find it most irregular.’
Dolores translated faithfully, her hands together and head bowed in respect to them both. Don Pedro had been neatly ushered outside after the initial introductions.
‘Sir, I wished only to pay my respects in person to the Spanish Crown, which I hold in the highest regard.’
‘Nevertheless, is it not strange that a noble at your station finds it necessary to make pilgrimage at this precise time?’ Solano asked quietly. The level gaze was too calm and intelligent to be comfortable.
‘Alas, sir, I return to one who lies mortally ill, he who entrusted me with the charge. I pray I’m in time to tell of its accomplishing.’
‘This is an age of tumult and rivalry. Nations struggle and contend. I wish you well for the future, Conde.’
Renzi took a breath. He was being dismissed – it was now or never.
‘Thank you. I return to an England equally pressed by a disorderly world. But as a grandee of that country I find myself with command of the ear of the highest. If there is something you feel might be accomplished by my intercession, then do be open with me, sir.’
‘You will wish to talk of a conjoined front against the French.’
Renzi fought down his elation. ‘I’m sanguine this is not impossible,’ he allowed neutrally.
Solano made a dismissive gesture.
‘Sir?’
‘The French are here, you are in your island fortress. Who then shall we offend?’ There was no faulting the logic.
‘But-’
‘Besides which, as you will grant, this requires a cessation in the state of war that exists between us.’
Renzi bowed without comment.
‘And a declaration of hostilities by Spain against the French, both of which are unthinkable.’
‘Sir, I cannot see-’
‘For the simple reason that it is His Majesty alone who can set seal to such. And he is at the moment in Bayonne, guest of Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, not free to act as he chooses.’
A gate had just slammed resoundingly shut.
The man, whatever his convictions, was moderate and reasonable. Yet his hands were securely tied and there was nothing he could do except carry out the orders of his royal master, who, very shortly, would be Joseph, the brother of Bonaparte.
Renzi felt a deep sympathy for what this honourable and rational man was facing. ‘I understand, sir. And wish you well for your own future.’
Solano saw him to the door.
The evening was drawing in. As the warm breeze died, the streets and passageways started to fill with noisy, shouting streams of humanity, some jostling rudely, others with bottles in their hands.
Pedro pushed to the front and drew his rapier. ‘Out of my way, you pox-faced villains!’ he bellowed, challenging to left and right.
The crowd drew back but its mood darkened and ugly shouts pierced the hubbub.
Pedro scornfully stood his ground. ‘Any who wants to be skewered on my fine Toledo steel, come to me, mi pequeno cordero!’