‘So?’
Renzi whipped off his hat and pirouetted, ending with a stamp, Spanish-style.
‘Wha’?’ Kydd blurted in amazement. ‘Nicholas! You’re … you’re …’
‘I’m here, if that is your meaning.’
‘Good God! What on earth …?’ He shot out of his chair, went to Renzi and clasped his hand in delight. ‘Never mind, as you say, you’re here, old trout!’
Tysoe was back with another glass, his celerity pleasing.
‘I won’t ask what the devil you’re doing in Spain, you’ll just pull me up with a round turn and serve me right.’ He surveyed his friend with concern. ‘But we’ve been hearing of some rum doings ashore, Nicholas.’
‘Don’t worry your kind self about me, dear fellow. I’m perfectly secure, just caught up in my, er, pilgrimage, as it were.’
‘Well, you’re now safely aboard but I can’t say when we’ll next be in England. However, we’re off north, and then I can probably get you passage on a victualler.’
‘That’s kindly said, m’ good friend, but I’ve Jago and some others I should take care of first. I mustn’t stay long. Oh, I need this to be added to your payment for the fresh vegetables before I leave.’ He passed some coins to Tysoe.
Kydd’s forehead creased. ‘What’s going on ashore, can I ask it? We’re hearing all kinds of rumours about the Dons taking against the Frogs or something.’
‘Yes, there’s just been a mort of unpleasantness against their own man, the governor of Cadiz. He was a moderate, reasonable kind of fellow but now they swear that, after Madrid, they’ll stand against the French columns sent to subdue them. Bonaparte won’t let it go, and all will end in nastiness, I fear.’
‘But you’ll be out of it.’
‘Soon, I do hope. Yet I’ve a yen to see how it all ends.’
‘Well, you can be sure Tyger will be here for you when you give me a hail. Er, can I beg you’ll give me your address – in the case there’s a need for, um …?’
Renzi scribbled it down and asked, ‘And may I know what can worry the lords of the sea?’
‘Ah. The main trouble is we haven’t any idea what’s afoot. We thought the Dons and the French were friends, even if they’ve got their differences, and now we’ve heard there’s bad things happening in Madrid. Why?’
‘Dear fellow, don’t ask. What’s plain is that Bonaparte has comprehensively fooled the Spanish and is now in the process of taking and pacifying the country, and anon we’ll be seeing the tyrant Emperor with a brother on the throne of Spain. It’s all but over, Tom.’
‘Well, Whitehall’s in a wretched moil. They know there’s a fair-sized French squadron here and whoever ends up with it is going to be a right worry to us. They’re saying to Collingwood that he’s to deal with them as soon as they show themselves.’
‘There’s no chance of that, dear chap. I’ve seen them with my own eyes scuttle to the naval base at the inner harbour. You’ll never get them there.’
A knock at the door interrupted them. ‘Sir, the trader’s asking where’s his friend?’
Renzi got up. ‘I have to go, Tom. You’ve no idea how soothing to a worry of spirits it is to know you’re here. We’ll see each other soon, I’ve no doubt.’
In the now-empty boat the vegetable-seller was exultant. ‘You were right, Vasco. Here’s your twenty reales.’ The coins clinked into Renzi’s hand. ‘And I’m to wait on ’em again. Ha!’
As the sun was setting in a glorious golden blaze out to sea, Renzi made his way back and found that he hadn’t been missed. Pedro was sprawled in the best chair, his feet on the table, eating an orange with coarse, tearing bites and regaling the women with his triumph.
‘You’re missing the fun, Ingles.’
Dolores explained that in their wisdom the good folk of the town council had come together in a quite different assembly. This was the Cadiz junta – and, by masterful command of words, they had created a form of sovereign assembly that was outside the direct rule of governance, releasing them to rise against the French in their own name. The inflammatory document would be rushed to wherever there were those who’d swear to stand together to throw off the yoke.
Most importantly, eventually there would be created a Grand Cortes, with representatives from all of Spain, which would convene to produce a constitution and government with comprehensive national legitimacy.
And they were declaring war in their own right on the greatest military power in the world.
Renzi listened politely. Was this the usual bombast of a warlord in rebellion, or something much more profound? ‘How will your junta stand against Murat and his thousands?’ he asked, hiding his doubts.
It seemed General Morla, now captain general of all Spanish forces in the south, had definite views on the defence of Cadiz and, by the simple device of requiring sworn allegiance to the junta, was raising a militia, a voluntary band that would eventually be numbered in their tens of thousands.
Renzi’s attention grew. This was, in effect, a rebellion, but not of the usual kind. Not against the King, but in support of an ideal, whatever was laid out in their constitution, sovereignty apparently to reside in the nation, not in the person of the monarch. And, interestingly, this was not one man’s work, no revolutionary figurehead leading it, and therefore it was free of the taint of personal ambition.
And, significantly, it promised to spread over all of Spain.
A general rising, no single head to be lopped off – the French would find the swallowing of their conquest far harder than the winning of it.
But by now all the fortresses, arsenals, military stores and highways would be firmly in Bonaparte’s hands. How could they survive, let alone prevail?
Of course, if they found help, it might be another story.
He had to see Morla.
Chapter 33
It wasn’t easy to gain audience with the captain general, and it was not until late evening that this was granted over a hasty meal in the chambers of the council, then among noisy debate and occasional flaring arguments.
‘What is it you want, Englishman? I’m a busy man,’ he asked, through an interpreter.
‘General, I’ve been treated well by the Spanish and wish you well of your noble cause.’
‘And?’
‘Sir, this is an endeavour fraught with difficulties. How can you think to arm and train your citizenry, your militia, without the means to do so? If-’
‘This is my business, Ingles, not yours. Is that all?’ He broke off more bread, the toss of his head dismissive.
‘You and I both know you haven’t powder, shot or even pay for your army to make a good showing against the French, and if you don’t, your glorious uprising will melt away in shame.’
‘So? What do you suggest?’
‘That England brings you help and sustaining. Not only ammunition and uniforms but-’
‘No.’
Taken aback by Morla’s blunt retort, Renzi asked quietly, ‘May I know why not? You’ll agree we have common cause against the French tyrant, surely.’
‘I need to explain it to you?’ Morla snarled. ‘We’ve been at war for centuries past. Why should we trust you with our country now?’
‘I can assure you that-’
‘I’m a military man, Ingles, and I notice things different to your man of words only. Like Cadiz – an old city sticking out into the sea on an easily fortified peninsula. How you English would adore to possess a second Gibraltar!’
It took Renzi’s breath away but the man was clearly sincere in his views. ‘Sir, that’s not at all in our conceiving.’
‘No? Then you’re going to pour in your arms and treasure and not take a price for it? You think me a fool? There’s one prize you haven’t wrung from us yet, Ingles. Our colonies in the Americas. You’ve forgotten your invasion of Buenos Aires already? We haven’t.’
Renzi swallowed. He was losing the argument. And the infinitely precious chance to turn an enemy into an ally.
Morla finished his wine, drinking like a peasant from a skin. ‘You’ll act like a conquistador, see us weak and helpless, then trample over us. Ours is a proud country and never will allow this. Thank you for your preaching, now let me get on with my work.’