Tenacious Page 19

  "Although Port Mahon is our objective, the landing will be here in the central north, at the Bay of Fornells—there is a good harbour, quite sufficient to bear our transports and larger ships. Having established ourselves ashore, we drive south to the centre of the island and to the town of Mercadal, here. At this point I will split my forces. One division will press west to invest the administrative capital of Ciudadela on the west coast. This is merely to occupy the Spanish while the more important division strikes east to take Port Mahon from landward. Is this clear?"

  "Aye, sir, but I foresee that—"

  "We shall have opportunity to discuss your objections later, Colonel. Now to the order of battle. The navy: its primary task is to prevent the Spanish fleet interfering with the landing. But equally vital is the need to keep the expeditionary force well supplied and in a timely manner. Finally, I look to the navy to deny the enemy resupply. Therefore as I have mentioned in another place previously, there will be no role for the navy ashore. The twenty-eighth Regiment of Highlanders, Colonel Paget, will be the main field force and will be accompanied ..."

  The flow of military verbiage washed over Kydd as he pondered Stuart's strategy. It sounded straightforward enough, but even with his limited experience he could think of many reasons why it could all go wrong.

  "Now, Colonel Graham, you have objections, sir?"

  "I do, sir. In any venture to put troops ashore we are critically reliant on our understanding of the enemy's positions, that they are not in sufficient numbers to prevent our disembarkation by any means. What intelligence do you have, sir, that encourages you to believe Fornells is open to us?"

  Stuart paused. "I do not have direct information, true. There is a species of revolutionary Minorcan zealot opposed to Spanish rule assisting us but their intelligence leaves much to be desired." His lips thinned. "It were better we rely on our own estimates, Colonel. If it transpires that the enemy presses us too hard in Fornells we must abandon the attempt—and strike elsewhere. Addaya to the east has been mentioned."

  "With respect, sir."

  "Colonel?"

  "Just three miles inland there is a road marked, here, passing between the two. If the enemy uses this to transfer forces rapidly between, we will not see them—we will have no warning until they fall upon our exposed landing."

  "Colonel Graham! In war, risks must be taken. The landing must take place somewhere—have you any other suggestion? No? Then, sir, we land as planned in Fornells, accepting casualties if need be. Now, on to the details. In the matter of—"

  "Sir!" Kydd felt the same exhilaration, the same unstoppable conviction that had carried him on to make the fateful decision to hand over his signal codes to the American navy. Now he was stepping forward in a council-of-war to propose a seaman's solution to an army difficulty.

  Stuart stopped, raising his eyes questioningly.

  "Sir, L'tenant Kydd o' Tenacious—we can't see th' soldiers from where we are, coming in fr'm the sea as we will."

  Stuart continued to look at him stonily, the rest of the cabin turning curiously to look at the usurper. "Yes?"

  "Sir, Minorca is a low island, not many hills as you'd say, but in th' sea service when we navigate past we always take a sight of Monte Toro, a single mount y' can see leagues out to sea without ever ye sees the island.

  "Should anyone climb t' the top with a spyglass, then nothing can be hid from him—all th' motions of the soldiers will be made clear, it bein' less'n four miles distant, and by this you shall know for a surety in which place to throw in your own forces."

  Graham thumped the table. "Preposterous! How is your spyglass man then going to advise General Stuart? Run helter-skelter back down the mountain?" There were sniggers from the other army officers. "Even with a fast horse—"

  "Colonel Graham, I am—er, was, signal l'tenant in HMS Tenacious. Gen'ral Stuart, I'm sure, will be very satisfied should he take intelligence on th' quarterdeck of Leviathan that informs him hour b' hour of where the Spanish are. We have a fine enough set o' signals in the navy we can use for th' purpose."

  The murmuring died away as Stuart contemplated Kydd. "Possibly. For this it will mean crossing unknown territory occupied by the enemy ..."

  "Aye, sir, but did I not hear about y'r Minorcan patriots? They c'n see us through t' the mountain right enough."

  "Commodore?"

  "Er, I can see nothing wrong in principle at this stage, sir, but—"

  "Mr Kydd, you are prepared that you may be taken up as a spy, as most assuredly you are?"

  "Sir."

  "One moment, if you please, sir." A young army subaltern stood up and banged his head on a deck-beam, which made him sit again abruptly. "This is an army operation, sir, and on land. I cannot see how the navy can be expected to recognise military movements. Therefore I do volunteer for the task."

  Kydd bristled. He swung on the young officer. "I think I c'n be trusted to recognise a parcel o' Spanish redcoats. But can you, sir, tell if the wind is foul f'r a landing if we have to shift from Fornells? I have m' doubts of it ..."

  "Quite so," said Stuart. "But do I understand you to mean that you can undertake to observe the enemy from their rear, signal over their heads to my headquarters at sea to advise on just where their forces are massing to oppose us?"

  "Yes, sir—and give ye warning should reinforcements be afoot."

  "Hmmm. Reliably?"

  "Sir, a line o' frigates ahead of a fleet c'n watch sixty miles o' sea—an' there's three hundred signals in the book they can use t' advise the admiral." Kydd did not mention there was no signal hoist in the book he could remember for "Fornells" or "marching towards" or any other military terms for that matter.

  "Very well, we will take this forward, Mr Kydd. Be so kind as to consult with the adjutant on how best to proceed." Stuart hesitated then declared to the meeting, "For the purposes of this operation we press on as before. If—if this signalling fails in its intention we have lost nothing and will resume the assault without the information. However, if your scheme succeeds we will be greatly in your debt, Mr Kydd."

  Kydd bowed politely, but inwardly he was exulting. He had seized the moment. This was what it was to be a Nelson! He resumed his place, but before he had settled, Duckworth leaned across and said testily, "A word with you afterwards at your convenience, Mr Kydd."

  "Say y'r piece, Nicholas, but please t' make it speedy. The landing is set f'r only two days hence." Kydd rummaged in his chest, looking for anything that he could put over his uniform. He had a dim recollection from somewhere that he could not be shot as a spy if he was in uniform.

  "Tom, my friend ..."

  "Do ye lend me y'r watch, I'd be grateful."

  Renzi untagged the expensive hunter from his waistcoat. "It's not too early to reconsider the plan," he said softly. "You see, it is not the fear of failure that troubles me, it is your unthinking trust that so many things will go right for you."

  Kydd stopped and looked directly at Renzi. "If Nelson let fear o' what can go wrong come t' the front, why, he'd never have sailed against the enemy at the Nile. Nothing was ever won b' holding back, Nicholas."

  Renzi bit his lip. "Then how will you set up for signals without you provide a mast and halliards?"

  "I'll find a way. Pass the lashing, if y' please."

  Renzi tried another tack. "If you are taken, you can expect no mercy. There are tales told of the Spanish treatment of prisoners that make ugly—"

  "Enough! I have t' be ready by six bells. If you can't help, be s' kind as to stand clear." Kydd tested the lashing round a small seaman's chest. Inside was a full set of naval signal flags and tack lines that would allow the sending of any message in the book. And all the while Tenacious cruised ever closer to Minorca's east coast for a secret night rendezvous with the revolutionary group.

  "What is your plan, brother?"

  "Not so rarefied, m' friend. After we get ashore it's just four an' a bit miles to Monte Toro through scrub 'n' a few farms.
We've got good charts o' the island from when we were here in 'eighty-two. I've copied a track from them. There's a path up to th' top where the ladies used to go for the view an' up there is just a nunnery. I'll not disturb 'em if I set up on their roof, I believe."

  "And you can see the Spanish from there?"

  "A prime position! Fornells t' the north, five miles, turn about to the nor'east to Addaya, four miles. An' with a height of eye up there close t' a thousand feet there's nothing that moves I can't see."

  Renzi murmured words of general unease as he helped bring the chest on deck.

  "Sir, ready in all respects," Kydd said to Faulkner.

  "Very well. You have no qualms at this stage, Mr Kydd? It is not too late ..."

  "Ready, sir," Kydd said stoutly.

  "Then we will proceed. Lookouts to your stations! Mr Pearce?"

  "Aye aye, sir," said the boatswain, and the darkness was suddenly split by the ghostly blue of the light of a flare reflected on sails. It sputtered and fizzed, sending dark shadows dancing about the deck, illuminating the faces of the men. In a few minutes the flare died to red sparks and blackness clamped in once more.

  "Absolute silence!" Long minutes passed. Nothing could be heard but the easy creak of the ship in the placid seas and the distant cry of a seabird. Kydd clutched a rope tightly. Tenacious was his true home, where he had been formed as a king's officer, faced death and destruction, crossed whole oceans: now he was leaving her warm security for the unknown perils that lay out in the darkness.

  A faint cry came out of the night and was immediately followed by a hail from the foretop. "Deck hooooo, an' it's three points t' larb'd."

  "Mr Pearce!"

  "Sir." He took his speaking trumpet and roared into the night, "God save King George!"

  An answering cry came and minutes later a small fishing-boat appeared. The boatswain gave a signal for it to come alongside and Kydd prepared to board. Bowden was standing close. "Bear a hand with m' chest, Mr Bowden," he asked, trying to keep the tension from his voice.

  Upturned faces in the boat watched as Bowden passed a hitch round it and went down the side to the boat to receive it from the seamen lowering away.

  Kydd turned for a farewell sight of his ship and a handshake from the captain. Renzi waited until last—his grip was tight. No words were spoken.

  "Good luck t' ye, sir," came a low cry from the anonymous darkness forward, and a lump formed in Kydd's throat. He lifted an arm in response and went into the boat.

  A jabber of nervous Spanish greeted him and a woman's voice cautioned, "Pons he say as 'ow we must not waste th' time."

  Taken aback, Kydd muttered something and took the chest from Bowden. "Away y' go, m'lad," he said, "an' thank ye."

  "Can't do that, sir," Bowden said quietly. "I'd be disobeying captain's orders!"

  "Wha—"

  "He asked me to accompany you, sir." Kydd realised that this was probably not the way it had happened, but already the anonymous figure in the bows had poled off and the comforting bulk of Tenacious was receding into the blackness.

  "Y'r a rascal, Bowden, but I thank ye all the same."

  "Pons ask you, do not spik—he listen for danger!" In the sternsheets the woman was close enough for him to be aware of her female scent.

  A darker mass loomed and the boat stopped in the water. The fitful half-moon laid a fragile luminosity over the water, revealing a third figure, whom Kydd presumed to be Pons. He was listening with rigid concentration. At length he signalled to the rower, who skimmed the boat about and glided in to the shore.

  There was just enough light to make out a rickety landingstage. The boat bumped against it and the rower went forward to secure the painter. Pons stood and made his way clumsily up behind him while Kydd prepared to land on enemy soil.

  There was a flurry of movement in the dimness forward—and in a sudden chill of horror Kydd saw the flash of moonlight on an arc of bright steel and heard a gurgling cry, then a dull splash echoing in the tiny bay.

  "Wh-why did—"

  "Is th' only safe way," the girl said flatly. "Even if he want, he can tell no tale now."

  Shaken, Kydd motioned to Bowden to help sway up the chest.

  They took a barely visible path over the low scrub-covered hillock and Kydd could smell the scent of wild thyme and myrtle on the air. It led down to a wider bay with a small village of fishermen's dwellings by a beach.

  Pons held up his hand for them to stop. There was no sound on the cool breeze beyond the distant bray of a donkey and laughter from one of the white stone houses. The walk resumed. A hundred yards short of the village Pons growled something to the woman.

  "We wait," she said. "Here!" she added urgently, moving into the scrub. They crouched down, Kydd's senses at full alert. Pons entered a brightly lit dwelling, and emerged a few minutes later with an imperious wave. The woman rose warily and gestured towards the village. "Es Grau."

  A smoke-blackened interior revealed it to be some form of taphouse, but the conversations ceased as they entered. Kydd followed Pons to a small room at the back, which reminded him of the snug in an English hostelry. "Sit."

  Kydd slipped into a chair next to Bowden.

  "Are we safe?" Kydd whispered to the woman. "Those people know we're here."

  "Here you will not find th' Spanish."

  "They are Minorcan?"

  "Minorquin!" the girl said impatiently. She wore a distinctive red cowl, which she let down to reveal black hair swept back severely into a queue, not dissimilar to the familiar tarry pigtail of the seaman. "The Minorquin do not love those 'oo seek to master them." Then a brief, wistful look stole over her as she introduced herself. "Isabella Orfila Cintes—when I a little girl, you English sailor call me Bella."

  "L'tenant Kydd, an' Midshipman Bowden." Kydd was reluctant to release his boat-cloak to display his uniform coat beneath, but he was stifling in the heat of the room.

  "That is Pons—Don Pons y Preto Carreras." She threw the words at the sullen man opposite. "Our leader," she added.

  Pons snapped something at her.

  "He ask, what do y' want of him, that the gran' navy of Englan' send you to Minorca?"

  Kydd felt disquiet. Why had they not been told details by Stuart's staff? Were they trustworthy? And were they in possession of the secret of the invasion—its time, its place?

  "I volunteered t' come," he mumbled. Without their help his entire mission was impossible. Surely he would not have been put in contact with the Minorquins unless he was expected to make use of them. It was being left up to him to decide how much to reveal. "Do ye know what is being planned for Minorca?"

  "Planned?" Isabella looked puzzled.

  Kydd saw Bowden's anxiety and knew he was thinking the same thing, but there was no help for it. "We mean t' take this island from the Spanish," he said quietly, "an' very soon."

  "You—you will come wi' soldiers an' ships ..."

  "Aye. An' we need your help."

  She stared at him then leaped up, knocking the table askew. "God be praise!"

  "¿Que? ¿Que?" Pons seized her arm to force her round. She replied in low, urgent tones, then Pons stood to proclaim dramatically what sounded like patriotic slogans.

  Kydd gestured frantically for him to sit. "There's much t' do before they come. We are here t' signal to our general where the Spanish are an' where they march to."

  Isabella's expression sobered. "That is ver' dangerous," she said darkly. "What is your plan?"

  "There is a big hill, a mountain called Monte Toro." Isabella said nothing, her concentration growing intense. "We mean t' climb up and see ..."—something stopped him going further— "... all of Minorca, and there we'll set up a little mast an' signal to th' ships at sea." She made no comment, so he tried to explain further. "Y' can see these flags fr'm a long distance an' send any message y' like." He pulled the chest over and threw back the lid, then held up some of the flags. "You see?"

  "That is your plan?" she said ici
ly. Pons affected disinterest at the sight of the bunting.

  "It is."

  "You are all fools! Do you know what is up there on Monte Toro?"

  "I've heard there's a nunnery, a convent," Kydd said warily.

  "It is. An' you know else? The army agree wi' you—a fine place for flags an' signals. They have their own post for flags. Guarded by th' heavy dragoons. So where is your plan now?"

  Kydd tried to keep dismay from his face. "We will find a place out of sight, o' course. Somewhere up there, on a roof—"

  "Where is your money? In th' box?"

  "Money?"

  She took a deep breath. "How you going to pay th' soldier to look away while you wave y'r flags?" Kydd kept an obstinate silence, his face burning. "You must! If your ship can see th' flags so can the Spanish Army." Her shoulders drooped. "How ..."

  Kydd had no answer. Then she looked up into his eyes. "Ver' well, I will help you. But first—"

  She went to the door and opened it. "Juan!" she called loudly. There was movement inside and a nervous pot-boy arrived, carrying a jug and mugs on a tray.

  "When you English here before, you teach us abou' gin. We learn well an' make our own. To hell wi' all the Spanish!"

  The gin owed more perhaps to myrtle than juniper but it had its own attractive character. "Damn right!" Kydd responded.

  The darkness outside seemed all the more intense as they stumbled along a beachside track and crossed a small stream. The chest was an irritating encumbrance and Kydd felt the effects of the gin fall away. He took off his boat-cloak and uniform coat and tied them to the chest, going in shirt and breeches alone.

  What had become of his plan? If he could not signal the invasion would certainly still go ahead—and men's lives would pay for his failure.

  It was only a little more than four miles to Monte Toro but no map could take into account the endless dry-stone walls of small plots of land, the deep ravines in the limestone bedrock, the sudden thick woods.

  At one point Pons stopped with a hiss of caution: ahead was a moonlit clearing and beyond a dark tower. "We go one b' one," Isabella whispered. Pons crouched low and scurried to the other side to disappear into the shadows. He reappeared further towards the looming tower and beckoned. Hearts thumping at the unknown danger Kydd and Bowden complied, Kydd awkwardly humping the chest. Then Isabella flitted across swiftly and they resumed the march.