Ричард Вудмен - 1805

'Poor Collingwood talked of coming home,' remarked Drinkwater, taking the decanter.

'He will be disappointed, I fear. Pitt was right, I think: almost anything was acceptable to end this damnable war, so that he and Cornwallis and Collingwood and all of us could go home and enjoy an honourable retirement.'

'And Camelford's death,' asked Drinkwater, ' was that an act fomented by French agents?'

Dungarth filled his glass again. 'To be honest I do not know. Camelford was a rake-hell and a philanderer. What he got up to on his own account I have no idea.' Dungarth sipped his port and then changed the subject. 'I understand you met our old friend Santhonax at Cadiz?'

Drinkwater recounted the circumstances of their meeting. 'I suppose that, had Santhonax not recognised my name on the Guarda Costa report, I might still be rotting in a cell at Tarifa.'

'Or on your way to a French depot like Verdun.'

'I was surprised he departed suddenly before the action.'

'I believe he too was at Austerlitz, though on the winning side.' Dungarth's smile was ironic. 'Napoleon recalled several officers from Cadiz. We received reports that they passed through Madrid. I think the Emperor's summons may have saved you from a fate worse than a cell at Tarifa or even Verdun.'

'A fact of which I am profoundly sensible,' Drinkwater replied. 'Now what of this new service, my Lord?'

The ironic look returned to Dungarth's face. 'A duty I think you will not refuse, Nathaniel. I have a post-chaise calling for you in an hour. You are to proceed to Reading and then to Rye where a lugger awaits you.'

'A lugger?'

'A cartel, Nathaniel. You will pick up a prisoner at Reading. He has been exchanged for four post-captains.'

Drinkwater remembered Quilhampton's multiplication table of exchange. He frowned. 'An admiral, my Lord?'

'Precisely, Nathaniel. Vice-Admiral Pierre de Villeneuve. He wishes to avoid Paris and he mentioned you specifically.'

'You are awake, sir?' Drinkwater looked at Villeneuve opposite, his face lit by the flickering oil-lamp set in the chaise's buttoned-velvet side.

Admiral Villeneuve nodded. 'Yes, Captain, I am awake.'

'We do not have far to go now,' said Drinkwater. The pace of the chaise was smooth and fast as it crossed the levels surrounding Rye. A lightening in the east told of coming daylight and Drinkwater was anxious to have his charge below decks before sunrise.

'You are aware that I wish to be landed at Morlaix?' Villeneuve's tone was anxious, even supplicating.

'Indeed yes, sir. I have specific instructions to that effect,' Drinkwater replied tactfully. Then he added, 'You have nothing to fear, sir. I am here to see you safe ashore.'

Villeneuve made as though to speak, then thought better of it. After a silence he asked, 'Have you seen your wife, Captain?'

'Yes.' Drinkwater did not add that he had been prostrated by fever and that Elizabeth had born his delirium with her customary fortitude.

'You are fortunate. I hope that I may soon see my own. If…' he began, then again stopped and changed the subject. 'I recall,' he said with a firmer tone to his voice, 'that we spoke of destiny. Do you remember?'

'Yes, I do.'

'I was present at the funeral of Lord Nelson, Captain. Do you not think that remarkable?'

'No more than the man whose interment you honoured, sir.'

Villeneuve's sigh was audible. He said something to himself in French. 'Do you think we were disgraced, Captain?'

'No, sir. Lord Nelson's death was proof that you defended your flag to the utmost. I myself was witness to it.'

'It was a terrible responsibility. Not the defeat—I believe victory was earned by you British—but the decision to sail… to set honour against safety and to let honour win… terrible…'

'If it is any consolation, sir, I do not think that Lord Nelson intended leaving you unmolested in Cadiz. I believe it was his intention to attack you in Cadiz itself if necessary.'

Villeneuve smiled sadly. 'That is kind of you, Captain. But the decision to send many brave men to their deaths was mine, and mine alone. I must bear that burden.'

Villeneuve fell silent again and Drinkwater began to pay attention to their approach to Rye. Then, as the chaise slowed, Villeneuve said suddenly, ' You played your part, Captain, you and Santhonax and Admiral Rosily who was already coming to replace me…'

' I sir? How was that?'

But the chaise jerked to a stop, the door was flung open and the opportunity to elaborate lost. They descended onto a strip of windswept wooden-piled quay and Drinkwater was occupied with the business of producing his documents and securing his charge aboard the cartel-lugger Union . An hour later, as the lugger crossed Rye bar, he went below to find something to eat and renew his talk with Villeneuve. But the French admiral had rolled himself in a cloak and gone to sleep.

They enjoyed a swift passage down Channel, being brought-to twice by small and suspicious British cruisers. They crossed the Channel from the Isle of Wight and raised the Channel Islands where a British frigate challenged them. Drinkwater was able to keep the identity of their passenger secret as he had been ordered and, making certain that he had the passport from the French commissioner for prisoners in London, he ordered the lugger off for the Breton coast and the port of Morlaix. During the passage Villeneuve made no attempt to renew their discussion. The presence of other people, the cramped quarters and the approaching coast of France caused him to withdraw inside himself. Drinkwater respected his desire for his own company. It was after they had raised Cap Frehel and were coasting westwards, that Villeneuve called for pen and paper. When he had finished writing he addressed Drinkwater.

'Captain, I know you to be a man of honour. I admired your ability before you had the misfortune to become a prisoner, when I watched your frigate run up into Cadiz Road. Colonel Santhonax only reinforced my opinion of you. You came to me as an example of many… a specimen of the esprit of the British fleet… everywhere I was surrounded by suspicion, dislike, lack of cooperation. You understand?'

Drinkwater nodded but remained silent as Villeneuve went on. 'For many years I have felt myself fated, Captain. They called my escape from Abukir lucky, but,' he shrugged, 'for myself it was dishonourable. It was necessary that I expiate for that dishonour. You persuaded me that to fight Nelson, to be beaten by Nelson, would be no dishonour. I would be fighting men of your quality, Captain, and it is to you as one of Nelson's officers that I entrust this paper. Should anything befall me, Captain, I beg you to make known its contents to your Admiralty.'

'Your Excellency,' said Drinkwater, much moved by this speech and unconsciously reverting to the form of address he had used when this unfortunate man commanded the Combined Fleet, 'I assure you that you will be landed in perfect safety…'

'Of that I too am certain, Captain. But my Imperial master is unlikely to receive me with the same hospitality shown by my late enemies. You know he has servants willing to express his displeasure.'

For a moment Drinkwater did not understand, and then he remembered Santhonax, and the allegations of the murder of John Wesley Wright in the Temple. Drinkwater picked up the letter and thrust it into his breast pocket. 'I am sure, sir, that you will find happiness with your wife.'

'It is a strong condemnation of the Emperor Napoleon and of the impossible demands he has put upon his admirals, captains and seamen,' said Lord Dungarth as he laid down Villeneuve's paper and looked at Drinkwater. 'This is dated the sixth of April. He wrote it on board the cartel?'