The only time most of the rigging could be safely unreeved was at rest and the boatswain began his painstaking inspection as soon as the seamen had been stood down from sea watches. In a light-sparred ship, like L’Aurore, the need was that much the greater and there were few left unemployed.
Renzi came on deck and moved to the ship’s side, gazing dreamily across the hard green waters to the rumpled, scrubby land. Kydd wandered over. ‘Not as would stir the heart, Nicholas.’
‘Dear fellow, this is not only the birthplace of Homer but may lay just claim to be the centre of the civilised world.’
‘Well, we have Greece to the west’d and—’
‘Think of it,’ Renzi said, with passion. ‘A bare hundred miles or so across this wine-dark sea are Athens, Sparta, the plains of Marathon! And close at our backs are the cities of the ancient world – Ephesus, Pergamon, Sardis.’
‘And to the north?’ Kydd prompted.
‘Ah! Why, it’s Byzantium – Constantinople as now is, the Golden Horn where Jason and the Argonauts sailed, and to go further, there we have the Black Sea, and on to Russia and the Cossack hosts. But strike south and we reach the Holy Land, the oldest and first of mankind, and—’
‘And now we’re at our anchor here,’ Kydd said drily, ‘and later it seems a hard beat back to the Adriatic will be required.’
‘But consider, this very city has had a river of treasure flowing through it over the long centuries. Now we know it for its fruit, carpets, opium, yet in its day the grand Silk Route of Marco Polo stretched from Cathay thousands of miles across trackless desert and baking plain, the camel caravans three years on their journey to finish at the end of all land – here, in Smyrna.’
Kydd nodded. ‘Yes, well, when you have had your fill of the sights it would be of service to me should you pen some kind of address to that Pasha fellow. A Turk he is but we have to be—’
The officer-of-the-watch, Curzon, came up hesitantly. ‘A boat approaching, sir.’
It was a native watercraft, one of the many criss-crossing the broad roadstead and under a press of sail heading directly for them. A figure aboard waved violently.
‘It’s Orlov!’ Kydd said. The man shouted something and Curzon motioned the boatman to come alongside.
‘Thank God!’ he spluttered, as he clambered over the rail. ‘You stayed.’
‘As requested,’ Kydd said.
‘Sir! The very worst!’ he said, throwing his arms up. ‘Er, your cabin?’
Leaving a startled and curious Curzon, Kydd led the way below.
‘What is it, sir?’
Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, Orlov said dramatically, ‘We have lost, Captain! Our concessions have been taken by another!’
‘You have lost we must say,’ Kydd replied.
‘No, sir!’ Orlov came back with conviction. ‘We have both suffered – for it’s the French who now hold the concession.’
Kydd gulped. This was another matter entirely: a trade in naval stores not only lost to the British but flowing to a blockade-starved enemy.
Orlov went on, ‘They’ve bribed the Bey and secured the document. They now need only the signature of the Russian minister in the Mediterranean and it will be over for us all.’
‘Count Mocenigo.’
‘Yes.’
Renzi nodded. ‘Who favours the French – and this is what you yourself were undertaking in Corfu when you received word from your agent in Smyrna . . .’
‘The devil played for time,’ Orlov angrily agreed, ‘knowing what the French were obtaining. With his signature over that of the Pasha, the Kremlin will grant the concession.’
‘Tell me, when did the French leave Smyrna? There’s a possibility – a slim one – that we might overhaul them.’
‘A day – no, closer to two.’
‘Several hundred miles away by now at least. I’m sorry to say, Mr Orlov, that even with a flyer like L’Aurore we stand no chance.’
‘None? I beg you, shall we try?’
Kydd sighed. ‘Very well.’ Word was passed for the master, and charts were produced. ‘Now, do you have any idea what ship they took passage in?’
‘It was a – how do you say? – a fast tekne, a Turkish coasting trader as will not be troubled by the English.’
‘What rig is that, pray?’
‘Rig?’
‘Er, can you show me one?’
Orlov went up to the broad sweep of windows and scanned the busy scene. ‘There!’ he said, pointing to a ship with an exaggerated curving of the bow and stern, wonderfully ornamented, and square-rigged over an enormous main sprit on a single mast with a balancing flying jib.
Kydd noted the clever play of fore-and-aft and square sail, which had the craft bowling along and a bow-wave creaming from the swept-up stem. ‘Yes – at least seven, eight knots. Mr Kendall, what’s your guess?’
The master rubbed his chin. ‘Aye, I’d reckon so. But if we’re thinkin’ of a chase up the Adriatic, with that jackass fore-and-aft rig, he’ll have the legs of us on account o’ the reignin’ nor’-westerly wind in our face.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to say, Mr Orlov, there’s no answer to that. We’ll have three, four knots at most over him and that calculates to four or five days before we haul him in sight. He’ll be long arrived at the Ionians by then.’
Orlov crumpled into a chair.
‘Er, it does cross my mind . . .’ Renzi politely interjected, looking up from a chart of the eastern Mediterranean.
‘Yes?’ Kydd said.
‘The great Aristophanes speaks of the tyrant Periander in – when was it? – about 600BC, that—’
‘Not now, if you please, Nicholas.’
‘Oh. I was about to mention that he caused a species of rail-way to be made over the isthmus of Corinth, here.’
‘A what?’
‘Rail-way,’ Renzi said, in a pained tone. ‘A form of track upon which a wheeled trolley is mounted and –’
‘Might we leave this for a later time? I have to see Mr Orlov ashore, and—’
‘– which he employed to pull ships across the isthmus to the other side to be re-floated and sent on their way. As you can readily see, it obviates the need to circumnavigate the Peloponnese completely – the Morea if you will – a saving of some hundreds of miles in the voyage.’
Kendall snatched a pair of dividers and wielded them on the chart.
‘He wrote of it in Thesmophoriazusae, I think it was,’ Renzi went on, ‘as they say, “as fast as one from Corinth”, referring to this very rail-way. Which was called the “Diolkos” in antiquity,’ he added helpfully.
‘I make it close t’ three hundred miles saved, if this’n is true,’ Kendall said, in awe, but added suspiciously, ‘an’ I’ve never heard of it afore.’
‘Nicholas?’
‘It’s true. Sea-going triremes of thirty-eight tons were hauled across – Octavian surprising Marc Antony after Actium springs to mind – but the main use was to considerably shorten the trade route in marble and timber.’
‘How long to get them over?’ Kydd snapped.
‘Four miles or so – about three hours with a hundred and eighty slaves at the lines.’
Kydd bellowed for Howlett. ‘Get this barky to sea as soon as you like, sir,’ he told the startled officer.
Renzi hesitated. ‘Um, the reason we’ve not heard of this marvel is possibly the rail-way no longer exists. The emperor Nero conceived of a canal through Corinth and, himself turning the first sod, ruined the approaches beyond repair before he was murdered.’
‘And there’s a mort o’ difference a’tween a forty-ton Greeky old-timer and a frigate,’ Kendall muttered.
Kydd grinned at Renzi’s discomfiture. ‘Where your trireme went I dare to say a ship’s launch can follow. I mean to set a boat or two of size a-swim the other side under sail with carronades as will wait for our tekne and give it a fright.’