Invasion Page 7

  “And today I heard of a weapon of terror that would chill the blood of any man,” Renzi said. “It is a species of clockwork balloon.”

  “A what?”

  “An automaton aloft,” Renzi said. “Set forth, it requires no man aboard to control it. A deadly craft of the skies which, when commanded by its mechanism, soullessly rains down fiery destruction on the cowering wretches beneath.”

  “It . . . Surely they’d never . . .”

  “I’m desolated to say that it appears to be true, my friend. At the Royal Society’s rooms I was privileged to view an experimental French balloon captured only this last month. It is raised aloft not by the fire of Montgolfier but a cold miasma of Lavoisier’s ‘hydrogen,’ which, of course, will never need tending by man in order to retain its lifting powers.”

  “Then . . .”

  “Yes, dear fellow,” Renzi said quietly. “It would seem that very soon war will be visited on every creature promiscuously. Skill at arms will be of no account in this new—”

  “It’ll never happen,” Kydd retorted. “Can’t you see? England would never stoop s’ low as to use such, and for the French, why, they’d hold back for fear we’d pay ’em back in their own coin. No, they’d not dare.”

  “Bonaparte is soon to be crowned the Emperor Napoleon but, mark me, he won’t rest until he’s master of the entire world.”

  At Kydd’s look of disbelief, Renzi continued darkly, “You don’t understand the man. He holds his country in a vile subjection while he destroys and plunders, but the world sees only his glory. The France of Versailles and the Encyclopedists no longer exists, for inside the country . . .” He trailed off.

  Kydd felt unsettled. “Strong words from a man o’ letters, I’m persuaded,” he said, then added, “Where did you hear all this?”

  Renzi gave a twisted smile before he spoke. “Dear fellow, I do believe I must trust you. May I have your word that nothing of what I’m about to tell you will go any further?”

  “Why, er, yes, o’ course, Nicholas.”

  “Very well. Your understanding of my occupation in Jersey is that I was a species of secretary to an exiled royalist prince. This is, in fact, true, inasmuch that Commodore d’Auvergne is indeed the Prince of Bouillon and awaits a restoration of his fortunes. However, the greater part of my duties was to support and assist in his real vocation—an unremitting clandestine war against the tyrant conducted through a network of brave souls opposed to his rule.

  “In that cause, I had occasion to treat with spies and agents as they came and went in France as, indeed, once I was obliged to do myself. You must believe me when I say that this has given me insights of a personal nature into the character of Bonaparte’s imperium that trouble me greatly.

  “You will be startled to learn that secret police are being deployed by him for . . .” Renzi went on to recount what he had learned of the true state of the tyranny that he had played his part in trying to overthrow, the paradoxes that lay at the heart of the most rational nation in civilisation, which had been torn apart by a bloody revolution and was now being forged together again at the will of one man for one purpose: his own personal vainglory.

  Kydd felt growing disquiet; he had never seen Renzi so intense on a subject.

  “So you were a—a spy then, Nicholas,” Kydd said uncomfortably, shocked to discover that while he had been roaming the seas as a successful privateer his friend had been hazarding his life for higher principles.

  “A spy, yes, but in a particular service—the desperate plot to kidnap Bonaparte that came close to ending this war but unhappily terminated in the most hideous consequences to those involved. You should know I find the practice of spying odious and utterly incompatible with the condition of gentleman, and I pray most earnestly that I shall never again be so employed.”

  Kydd slumped in his chair. If Renzi thought that this was much more than simply the latest war with the French, there was every reason to take fear that some of the rumours and agitations at large were true, and the peril to England that much more serious than he had thought. Later, no doubt, when he was ready, Renzi would divulge more about his time in Jersey. He had come back shattered and must have endured much.

  It was a glittering affair and, with a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation, Kydd entered the grand room with Boyd. The hundred or so guests were in every mode of fashion and elegance, their stars and ribbons in a breathtaking show of splendour under the chandeliers.

  “It would oblige me, sir, should you point out the Russians to me,” Kydd murmured in his best speech, bowing civilly to a passing couple.

  “I’ll do better than that, Kydd. Come—meet Rezanov. He’s to be their new ambassador to Japan,” Boyd replied suavely, ushering him across the room. “Ah! Sir, may I present Commander Kydd, a distinguished officer in His Majesty’s Navy? He did confide to me that it would gratify him immensely to make the acquaintance of one so soon to make such an historic circumnavigation. Mr. Kydd, the Kammerherr Rezanov.” A compact but striking man with a neat black beard regarded him dispassionately as Boyd excused himself and left.

  “Your servant, sir,” Kydd said, bowing low.

  “A sea officer of note, I believe,” Rezanov said mildly, in barely accented English.

  “Why, er . . .”

  “Mr. Kydd, you bear the Nile medal and I have no doubt that your presence at this gathering is not altogether fortuitous.”

  “Sir, modesty forbids me a reply,” Kydd said smoothly, inwardly exulting at the successful deployment of his newfound urbanity. “But I do confess, I’m curious to know the objectives of your expedition.”

  Rezanov’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment, then he eased into a smile. “Very well, sir. You speak directly—and I will tell you. By direction of His Imperial Majesty the Tsar, our prime concern is to discover new routes that will enable us to supply our colonies in Russian America.”

  Russian America? Kydd supposed he must be speaking of the frozen reaches of the American continent to the north-west.

  “You will have no conception of the difficulty we face at the moment—it would astonish you to learn that we expend the lives of four thousand horses a year in the traverse of Siberia with supplies, and alternate means would be very welcome as our interests extend southward.”

  Kydd was out of his depth: if the Russians were entering from the north and, the Spanish were to the south, where did this leave the United States and Canada? He reached for more familiar ground. “A voyage of that length, sir, is a great thing. Your ships are well found, at all?”

  “From Kronstadt to Sitka Island? It certainly is an enterprise to remark, but as to our vessels, you may rest easy—both the Nadezhda and the Neva are recently purchased from the Royal Navy, Mr. Kydd. For your further questions, I believe you shall speak now with the commander of the expedition.”

  Kydd bowed in acceptance and was taken to a knot of officers in haughty discussion. “Kapitán, this is Commander Kydd,” Rezanov snapped at a young but intense-featured officer in the centre. “Mr. Kydd, Kapitán-pérvogo Ivan Krusenstern.” He bowed smartly, with a crisp click of the heels, and was gone.

  “My best wishes for your success, sir,” Kydd said to the officer, as graciously as he could. “Mr. Kru—er, I understand you’re sailing in one of our ships,” he said slowly, hoping the man had sufficient English for polite converse.

  “O’ course, Commander. Ye’ll recall Leander o’ the Nile as was?” It was passing strange to hear the robust idiom of an English fo’c’sle coming from an exotically dressed Russian. “She’s now th’ good ship Nadezhda an’ I’m t’ see her where y’r Captain Vancouver once led.” He saw Kydd’s surprise and added dismissively, “Oh, I’ve done a mort o’ service wi’ the King’s Navy afore now.”

  “Why, er, to be sure,” Kydd said, taken aback. “I do recall Leander, Mr. Krusenstern, as I was at the Nile myself. A fine ship and gallant!”

  Krusenstern beamed as his eyes flicked to Kydd’s medals.
He leaned across to shake Kydd’s hand. “So ye were, b’God! An’ ’twas a thumpin’ fine mauling ye gave ’em that night, cully!”

  The circle of officers about them fell back at the sudden comradely friendliness and Kydd grinned. “A thunderin’ hard enough mill f’r all hands, as I c’n tell ye! An’ for y’self, a world cruise, why, ye’ll have yarns enough t’ tell at every dogwatch f’r years t’ come.”

  “Aye, well, it’s aught but a tradin’ matter,” Krusenstern said guardedly, taking Kydd aside. “An’ th’ mutinous dogs o’ Tlingit tribesmen on Kodiak needin’ our attention.”

  They started walking alone together. “But belay th’ tough yarns, we’ve a tight barky or two, and our pel-compass an’ y’r Taunton’s artificial magnet as’ll see us through all a-taunto. A right rousin’ voyage it’ll be . . .”

  The two seamen disappeared happily into the throng.

  In the morning it seemed that Boyd had got together his appraisal of the situation, but before they began he told Kydd that it was noted he had conducted himself in a most satisfactory manner. “To cut out Krusenstern from under the eyes of the ambassador by talking sea-cant was a most ingenious stratagem. You should look to more of the same in the future, I dare to say.”

  “Er, the Kapitán Krusenstern, he claims service in the Royal Navy?” Kydd asked.

  “He has, and others too. Since Tsarina Catherine’s day they’ve had many of their best men serve with us for a spell. First-class training, they believe.”

  “Any . . . active service?”

  “If by that you mean a whiff of powder-smoke, then most definitely. Odd thing, though, this Ivan seems to prefer the company of the foremast hands to the officers when ashore. A hard-drinking cove, you see, your Russian.”

  As they mounted the stairs to the upper floor of the Admiralty Office Kydd tried to reconcile his excitement at the pomp and glitter of a diplomatic occasion with the nervous, febrile atmosphere of a London trying to make light of the dreadful threat of imminent invasion. The frightful images of the prints, and Renzi’s revelations, had stayed with him. “Should we take fear o’ those fantastical invasion machines, do you think?” he asked hesitantly.

  At first Boyd did not reply. Then he said thoughtfully, “It’s as well never to underestimate the Corsican, Kydd. He knows how to sow fear and panic by lie and invention. To believe every word of the Moniteur would be to credit the tyrant with ten times more victories than he has, but we must accept that there are those to which we are compelled to accede.”

  They reached a discreet door and Boyd found his keys. As he selected the right one he added soberly, “I suppose it is possible that many of these horrors are rumour and deceit, but the French are a logical and inventive people and there may well be substance in them. I really can’t say.”

  The key rattled and the door opened on a darkened room. Boyd crossed to a single shuttered window and threw it open. Daylight through the bars revealed a single bare table and chairs. What resembled a ship’s chart locker, with its array of flat drawers, stood along one wall.

  Kydd was motioned to the table while Boyd closed and locked the door, then sat opposite. “Mr. Kydd,” he said, with chilling gravity, “what I have to tell you this morning is privy information whose disclosure would cause panic and riot if known by the general public, yet it is necessary for you to learn of it should the worst happen. Do you understand?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Very well. Let me begin by admitting to you that never in the history of this realm has England lain under greater menace of invasion and consequent extinction as a nation. Our country cherishes the liberty of individuals and as such we’re ill-placed to maintain great armies. Most of our land continues its daily round much as its forefathers did, with little to tell that a war rages on the continent.

  “King and Parliament are amicable but the people will not stand for oppression. On the contrary side, France now is subject to the resolve of one man who is able to focus the entire resources of his nation to one end. An invasion. And he is so pledged to invade this country I do not well see how he can avoid it. Therefore we must stretch every sinew in our defence. There are volunteers, the militia and our army, all of which combined are greatly outnumbered by Napoleon’s battle-seasoned legions.”

  Kydd stirred restlessly. “Sir! You discount the Navy as our—”

  “If,” said Boyd, heavily, “by any means, the French get ashore there are plans.” He opened a drawer, extracted a large map and spread it out. “Our best intelligence now is that Bonaparte intends to descend on the closest part of England to the coast of France.” His finger stabbed down at the shoreline of the Downs. “In fact, just to the south. Dover Castle is an ancient but still formidable fortification, which must be subdued, but see here . . .” Kydd recognised the flat and barely inhabited Romney Marsh a few miles on to the south. “It’s wide open to a massed assault on a broad front and I fear it will prove a forlorn hope to expect our militia and volunteers to move up quickly enough to meet a sudden descent.”

  Kydd frowned. What possible chance did those inexperienced amateurs have against the hardened troops that had stormed over Europe to victory after victory?

  Boyd continued remorselessly. “Thus it would seem not impossible to conceive that a landing would be met with a rapid success . . .”

  Kydd went cold. “Did the—will the King—”

  “His Majesty is under no doubt of his duty. Glenbervie, of the Household, tells me he sleeps every night with his camp equipage and accoutrements to hand, to the evident anguish of the Queen. In course he will not be suffered to take the field. In the strictest confidence I have to tell you that the Bishop of Gloucester has prepared his palace for the evacuation of the King and the Royal Family across the Severn at Worcester.

  “In addition, Sir Brook Watson, the commissary general, has instructions in the event of the imminent loss of the capital to make ready thirty ox-wagons for the transport of the nation’s entire gold reserves to be deposited with the King at Worcester under the same guard.”

  To speak of such things! To hear and consider the destruction and conquering of his country of birth. It was a thing of horror for Kydd.

  Boyd continued, “At Woolwich the arsenal and artillery stores will be taken, as will the Purfleet Ordnance Board powder magazines, to Weedon in Northamptonshire. There is in construction there a vast military complex which will act also as a seat of government in the event of—”

  “This is hard to bear, sir!” Kydd blurted. “Surely—”

  “—the fall of the capital. It is by way of being astride the Grand Union canal and well placed for the conduct of a protracted campaign.”

  Kydd tried to gather his wits. “The—the common people, sir. How will they, er, what might be done to . . . ?”

  “They have not been overlooked. Plans have been drawn up for their preservation. Here. These instructions have been lately sent to every town and village in the south.” He extracted a leaf and passed it over.

  Kydd read. “The Deputy Lieutenants and Justices . . . the following directions . . . in case of an Alarm of the Landing by the Enemy . . . for the removal of women and children, aged and infirm to a place of general Military Rendezvous . . .” It went on to direct how a village was to be sectioned by responsibility, how carts were to be numbered, marked and covered such that those with a ticket of the right form might be conveyed away with provisions following. Males of the village over the age of twelve had duties of driving livestock or firing deadstock, nothing of value to be left for the foraging army.

  Clergy and other worthies would act as shepherds and superintendents, and it was trusted that on the receipt of an alarm, regularity, sobriety and seemliness would characterise the comportment of the villagers. More followed in the same vein, calm, ordered and clear, but underlying all was awful reality: that the defences of England had failed and a hostile army was at last to take vengeance for centuries of humiliation.

  “Sir.
The Navy is ready. We’ve fleets o’ the finest battleships as are poised to fall on the invading—”

  “Just so, Mr. Kydd.” Boyd sighed, and sat down wearily. “As you shall see later, our squadrons are outnumbered by a margin and are wide scattered. While we have the greatest confidence in them, and recognising Bonaparte faces formidable difficulties, I’m supposing they are overborne and the enemy is able to reach our coasts. In that melancholy eventuality the last service the Navy can do its country is for the small ships to throw themselves before the armada in sacrifice in the hope that the time so dearly bought might—”

  He was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. “Sir, the volunteers?” his lieutenant asked.

  “Ah, yes. We’ll be down presently.” He rose briskly, then scrupulously barred and shuttered the room.

  “Volunteers?” asked Kydd, as they clattered down the stairs.

  “Do you have any objection?” Boyd said cuttingly. “The Loyal London Volunteers. These men may well be hazarding their lives in the very near future. To attend a parade seems little enough in return.”

  “A parade? In that case, sir, o’ course I’ll be present,” Kydd hastened to say.

  Mollified, Boyd went on, “It’s a duty to be performed by those in the Admiralty who can from time to time be spared, as you must count yourself.”

  They left the rear of the Admiralty and emerged onto the great expanse of the parade-ground. Opposite, two long lines of redcoats stood motionless. Kydd’s mind, though, was on what had been passed on in the office. Of rumours he had had his fill, but he had been shaken to hear the final dissolution of his country discussed in such clinical terms.

  A stand was erected on one side, flags of all kinds proudly aloft and flanked by a guard in different regalia. “Be so good as to make a countenance, sir,” Boyd hissed icily. “There are those who look to us for assurance in these times.” His own demeanour was pleasant and confident and he stepped out forcefully, Kydd quickly falling in beside him assuming a like pose. They mounted the stage, nodding to the other officers in uniforms of every possible description, and sat nonchalantly. A corpulent and red-faced general puffed on to the central dais, and to the left, with a spirited whirl of drumsticks and crash of cymbals, a band stepped out.