Джулиан Стоквин - Persephone

‘When is it expected that—’

‘Now. Junot is only some leagues beyond the hills, I’m told. They’ve run out of time. Your order pack is prepared, you’re under sailing orders for perhaps two days hence. I should think it proper for our people to board the transports in the morning. Don’t delay in this – we shall not linger for stragglers.’

He picked up his papers. ‘We shall not reconvene before we sail. This is a straightforward operation. I see no difficulties.’ Catching Kydd’s eye, he finished crisply, ‘ Tyger and Viper will not be needed on the voyage. After they’ve discharged their last duty to me they are free to return to England.’

There were murmurs of envy from the battleship captains but, with at least a dozen sail-of-the-line in company, the Portuguese needed fear no enemy.

‘The duty, sir?’ Kydd asked.

‘ Viper ranging south, Tyger to the north, you are to watch for any surprises that the French may throw to catch us as we sail. They’ve spies in the palace and, with Spanish ports only a day or so away, we take no chances.’

It was a prudent move: any small squadron including ships-of-the-line could cause havoc as the unwieldy armada formed up.

‘Sir.’

‘You’ll sail immediately – you’ve not much time.’

Guiltily Kydd remembered. ‘Oh, just one thing, sir. I have a lady I’ve promised passage to England. I’d like to send for her.’

Smith frowned in annoyance. ‘What’s that to me? I said immediately! Stand fast your promise, she goes with the others in a transport.’

There could be no arguing, and by this Kydd was neatly relieved of the necessity of her company.

Chapter 13

‘You must sign , sire!’ Louriçal pleaded in desperation, thrusting the pen towards the figure of Dom João, who did not respond, sitting with his head in his hands at his state desk.

The others stood silent, held by the unfolding drama. It was nothing less than the voluntary exile of a sovereign, who was abandoning his country and its citizens to their fate at the hands of an invading army.

‘No. I will not.’ The muffled words were more sobbed than spoken. ‘My people – I cannot flee from them like a craven cur.’

Rodrigo intervened smoothly: ‘They cannot all come, Highness. Do you not see? It is your duty to the crown to safeguard it. Only in this way—’

He was interrupted by a harsh bark from Azevedo. ‘Junot and his troops are within a day of Santarem. If you do not act they will soon be here to seize your noble self and your family and take you in a cart to Paris!’

‘They will see me, can’t you understand? My good people will watch their prince regent desert them … They will be angry, they will hate me!’

Louriçal came forward and, to the horror of the assembled nobles, stuffed the quill into his hand. ‘Sign, sire. Now.’

Dom João looked up with a piteous expression, his eyes filling, then murmured brokenly, ‘Very well. For the sake of my country.’ His hand went down and the extravagant signature began to form. Suddenly he threw the pen to the floor and shot to his feet. ‘I – I cannot! Please believe, I cannot.’

Quickly, Louriçal thrust behind him and forcefully jammed the chair into the back of his knees, causing him to collapse back into it, to a hiss of indrawn breath from around the room. ‘Sire. Sign!’

Again the failed signature.

This time Louriçal was joined by Rodrigo and between them they guided the hand. It was signed.

‘Sire, your duty is done,’ he said crisply. ‘Now let us do ours. Admiral, your plans, if you please.’

Almirante Dom Pedro was ready. ‘As this scheme must be followed to the letter. Agreed?’

‘As you will, sir.’

Quietly, he and foreign minister Azevedo had drawn up a list of those to be granted the benison of safety and exile. State dignitaries, the royal family, high bureaucrats – all were to be issued a numbered permit with details of ship and baggage allowed. Others – church functionaries, treasury officials, clerks, comptroller of the household and gentlemen of the bedchamber, servants, pages, pastry cooks – were meticulously allocated space, to a staggering number, in all, of some fourteen thousand.

A hum of incredulous murmuring set up at the scale of what was being contemplated.

There was more. The laws and records of the Portuguese nation, since the great days of the Discoverers and beyond, were to be crated and consigned to the hold in their entirety. Even the royal library of some sixty thousand volumes would be found a place.

Church silver and precious relics would be accorded particular reverence and plans were being drawn up to notarise the contents of the royal palaces of Mafra and Queluz with a view to their removal and shipping. The treasury would be emptied, as would every bank and repository – rapacious French looting of conquered countries was notorious.

The fleet would begin at once the task of victualling and watering for the long voyage and it was expected that this would soon be done, allowing an early departure.

Finally it was announced that the whole enterprise was to be concealed from the general population. Any disclosing these intentions would lose their place in the armada.

He finished, with a wry smile: ‘And this whole only if the French oblige us by allowing us the days to execute it.’

At the Belém docks the situation rapidly turned into bedlam. Quiet and deserted while the English blockade had stopped all movement, now there was frantic activity – boats, carts, stores, endless casks of water, rope and spars.

Later in the day mysterious crates, numbered in code, were stacked on one side. Baggage left in heaps, drays arrived with full loads, and soon the waterfront was a jumble of all manner of items. Still more were unloaded.

The next morning, when rumour had it that within a day Junot would be on the hills overlooking Lisbon and contemplating his conquest, the tempo increased to a frenzy.

The carriages began arriving. Some of the occupants were eager to be gone while others were reluctant and stood in small groups, looking back mournfully at the land that was no longer theirs. As if in sympathy a gentle rain began to fall, the sky leaden and bleak. The steep cobbled roads down from Lisbon’s hills ran with water and the docks puddled quickly, soaking and muddying the piles of belongings and turning the scene into one of heart-breaking desolation.

Fearful crowds gathered, held back by bayonet-wielding soldiers. The onlookers gaped as carriage after carriage jostled for space by the quayside. The notion that a wholesale planned flight to the colonies of the prince regent, his government and nobility was simply too much to take in.

A procession of wagons and pack mules appeared on the dock road. Each was heaped with the wealth and effects from the royal palaces of Mafra and Queluz, hundreds of conveyances attended by pages and officials, watching over cutlery, priceless paintings, magnificent ornamentation, carpets and every species of luxury. In trunks and sacks sodden with rain, the accumulated riches of the Portuguese court were piled together for dispatch to the flagship.

The boats were now openly taking the fortunate out to the ships and the incredible truth began at last to dawn. Angry and frustrated, the populace stormed and battered at the carriages, in despair at their betrayal. As rumours spread there were shouts of rage, anguish and despondency. With the French so near their fate was now very clear.

Noble carriages stood empty, their footmen and servants no longer needed, unemployed. Baggage was looted, and as the last of the favoured hastened to board the boats, they left many of their belongings to the mob.