Джулиан Стоквин - Persephone

‘It will—’

‘It will demonstrate to the meanest wits that siding with the French now or in the future will have catastrophic consequences that we are quite able to enforce.’

‘Very well,’ Strangford reluctantly conceded. ‘But what of the British residents and citizens trapped ashore? Should you not make provision for them to flee before the French arrive?’

‘If I open the floodgates every species of Portuguee riff-raff will clamour for passage.’ Smith reflected for a moment and went on, ‘So I’ll flag a transport or two for their extricating should these prove to be bona fide subjects of His Majesty.’

‘How will you know this?’

‘Ah. I shall set up a rendezvous ashore that shall make examination of those desiring passage, manned by one of my commanders.’

Smith looked about the table before fixing on Kydd with a genial smile. ‘I believe Sir Thomas Kydd would best be suited to calm their fears.’

Kydd gave a tight nod. The admiral’s reason for his selection was unanswerable: a frigate would have little role in any operations leading up to the neutralising of the Portuguese fleet other than keeping watch on the seaward approaches, a task quite within the powers of his first lieutenant. Was this merely a ploy to put a popular hero in his place? It had happened before with Smith, he recollected, in those fevered last days in Egypt.

His orders were brief to the point of rudeness: the establishing of a rendezvous for the purpose of substantiating the claims of British citizens to passage out in a government-chartered transport. How he did this was entirely up to him, always provided he was able to furnish a thrice-daily report of the number and boarding details of successful applicants for planning purposes.

There was no question that he had the authority needed to deal with any complications – but it was hardly a job for a warrior.

Chapter 5

Leaving the evocative Drake-era Belém Tower to larboard, Tyger ’s boat sailed the remaining five miles or so to the old town of Lisbon, left in ruins after an earthquake in 1755, but now a great trading city again. Kydd had no strong interest in the sights and history but Dillon, seated next to him, looked out eagerly. The coxswain, the big Swede Halgren, was as imperturbable as usual, while the boat’s crew knew better than to rejoice in their release from ship’s routine.

One, however, sat trying to hide a smile as his gaze almost caressed the shoreline. Fernando da Mesouta Pinto, quartermaster aboard Tyger, had been with Kydd in his first ship. Then a young sailor, now a grizzled mariner, he was stepping ashore in his birthplace for the first time in many years. He had a bundle stowed under a thwart, which Kydd was careful to ignore. Inseparable friend of gunner’s mate Stirk, he’d been included as guide and translator.

It was surprising how much shipping was still crowding the channels – and across the opposite side were the dense-packed lines of Portuguese battleships in their anchorage. Kydd noted with surprise they had no sail bent on the yards and therefore were not about to put to sea for some time.

He’d given some thought to the situation after conferring with Strangford before he left. There could be no question of taking an armed marine escort with him as this was not a lawful act in a neutral country. However, he was assured that a Portuguese colonel named by the ambassador would in his own interest provide any protection needed.

For the screening process Kydd had nothing to go on other than instinct. Besides those with documentary evidence he would have to accept as well any who could show they were native Englishmen only by accent and manner – but what of the multitudes of nameless souls of vague allegiance who swarmed in every sea-port and would swear to a British connection? With the French closing in, was it right to turn any away for lack of proof?

All he could do was play it as seemed best at the time.

Under direction from Pinto they arrived to the left of a vast hollow square plaza – the Praça do Comércio, with its large bronze equestrian statue.

Kydd sent Dillon with Pinto to let the authorities know of their arrival while they lay off to a kedge anchor.

An hour later the pair returned with several officials and two army officers, and Kydd stepped ashore.

The city was in a ferment of noise, cries and gathering crowds. All about them people pushed and jostled but Kydd had prudently chosen to be out of uniform and they were largely ignored. For the sake of amity between their countries it was agreed that a rendezvous of the kind proposed would be tolerated and a waterfront office provided.

Kydd knew why he was being favoured: if events took a more serious cast he would be conveniently close for high officials to demand to be taken off. But this would be a problem for Smith to deal with.

The office was large, a hurriedly emptied Customs inspection hall with a handily placed inner office suitable for interviews.

Dillon and Pinto were sent off again to find the colonel to provide guards and Kydd set about preparing the rendezvous. Ledger books were ruled off to take the details of the fortunate. Included would be their names and present addresses. He would compile from them his reports to Sidney Smith.

As it was unknown how many days they would be required, Kydd took steps to self-sufficiency in a proper seaman-like manner. He sent for the men’s hammocks and ones for himself and Dillon – the hall would be a very adequate mess-deck. And ship’s rations could be brought back with the regular boat delivering reports.

Printed placards announcing their presence went up overnight and produced an immediate crowd at first light, an ill-tempered, noisy, seething press of humanity held back only by the bayonets of the five-man guard.

‘Hands, turn to!’ Kydd roared.

He took his place at the desk in the office with Dillon by his side, a ship’s clerk at the ledgers. ‘Pinto, go out with Halgren and pick the first dozen who look the ticket. Send ’em in here to wait.’ He braced for the flood.

Chapter 6

The traveller was tired and aching after the donkey trip from the interior, and waiting for her, instead of a hot bath and indulgences, was a terse note. In view of the dreadful news of the French advance, her tour party had unanimously voted to quit the country by the swiftest means possible; they trusted she would follow as soon as she’d returned from her travels.

Their flight was understandable but it left her abandoned. All because she’d conceived a desire to go up-country while the others dallied in the capital – to Évora, three days inland, where she’d been promised a fine Roman temple and a cathedral dating from the 1200s. It had met all expectations and she’d lingered in the sense of the exotic, the romance of the foreign.

But now Lisbon was in a frenzy of despair and panic. The spectre of Napoleon Bonaparte had risen and the result was terror and civil breakdown.

Curiously, out on the Tagus, ships showed no signs of putting to sea. One of the staff at the pousada told her bitterly that they were prevented from leaving by a British fleet, which she might see for herself, out there far to seaward, ceaselessly patrolling off the port.

She wondered what quirk of international relations had brought this about. Were they at war?

Then, barely concealing his rancour, the man added that posters had gone up overnight promising passage out, but only for the English.

She tidied herself and set out hurriedly for the waterfront to search for the promised rendezvous.