Julian Stockwin - Tenacious

"Sir, it seems in this part of the Mediterranean they only have dog-Italian or German. I—I don't know those." He flushed.

Kydd turned back to the master. "What—course—they— steer?" He aped a man at the wheel peering at a compass.

"Scusi, they not seen by me," he said, turning away.

The fleet had sailed after invading Malta. Now the French were close, very close—but this was about as much information as he was going to get. "Thank you, sir, you've been very helpful," Kydd said. He hailed the cutter alongside and tumbled in. "Stretch out, y' buggers, pull y' hearts out—the Frogs're close by!"

"You are quite certain, sir?" Admiral Nelson fixed Kydd with a stare so acute it made him falter.

"Er—sir, you'll understand I had t' win his favour, so I overlooked his contraband cargo as prize—"

"Rightly so!" Nelson snapped. "It is never the duty of a naval officer to be gathering prizes when the enemy is abroad."

"—and therefore, sir, he had no reason t' lie to me."

The stare held, then Nelson turned to his flag-lieutenant. "Fleet to heave to, and I shall have—let me see, Troubridge, Saumarez, Ball and Darby to repair aboard directly."

Kydd waited, uncertain. On the weather side of the quarterdeck Nelson paced forward, deep in thought. He saw Kydd and said absently, "Remain aboard, if you please. We may have further questions of you." The slow pacing continued. Kydd kept out of the way.

The first boat arrived. Boatswain's calls pealed out as a commanding figure with a patrician air and wearing full decorations came up the side. The young officer-of-the-watch whispered to Kydd, "That's Saumarez o' the Orion, a taut hand but a cold fish betimes."

Next to board was a well-built, straight-eyed captain in comfortable sea rig. "Troubridge, Culloden, second senior, o' course. Fine friends with Our Nel from the American war. Don't be flammed by his appearance—Jervis thinks him even better'n Nelson." Nelson greeted him warmly and began to walk com-panionably with him.

A voice called loudly from the poop-deck and a signal lieutenant appeared at the rail. "Sir, the strange sail we saw earlier—

Leander signals they're frigates." Culloden and Orion hauled their wind and prepared to close with them.

Nelson stopped: frigates were a significant force and the first French warships they had seen. He hesitated for a second, then ordered, "Call in the chasing ships." The signal lieutenant disappeared to comply. "I rather think that with the French fleet close, I shall keep my fleet whole," he added, to the remaining officers.

Another captain arrived, a man with deep-set eyes, who punctiliously raised his hat to Nelson even while the admiral welcomed him.

"Ball, Alexander. Much caressed by Our Nel since he passed us the tow-line in that blow off Sardinia." Kydd looked at him. There was little of the bluff sea-dog about the ascetic figure, nothing to suggest that this was a seaman of courage and skill.

The last was a slightly built officer with guarded eyes. "Darby, Bellerophon. Keeps t' himself, really."

"Shall we go below?" There was a compelling urgency in the tone.

Kydd followed them in trepidation into the admiral's quarters where the large table in the great cabin was spread with charts. "Do sit, gentlemen," Nelson said. His clerk busied himself with papers. Kydd took a small chair to one side.

Tenacious stopped a Ragusan brig not two hours ago. Lieutenant Kydd—" he nodded at Kydd, who bobbed his head "—performed the boarding and is available for questions. I am satisfied that he has brought reliable word.

"He has found that the French armament is no longer at Malta. It has sailed. And we have no indication of course or intent. None. I do not have to tell you that our next action is of the utmost consequence, which is why I have called you together to give me your views and strategic reasoning."

Saumarez broke the silence. "Sir, are we to understand that this is in the nature of a council-of-war?" he said carefully. It was an important point: if a later inquiry found Nelson's decision culpable, the formalities of a council would provide for him some measure of legal protection—at the cost of involving themselves.

"No, it is not. Kindly regard this as—as a conference of equals, Saumarez," he said, with a frosty smile. "Now, to business. The French have left Malta. Where are they headed?"

He looked at each captain in turn. "I desire to have you answer this question. Do we stand on for Malta or steer for Sicily? Or do you consider it altogether another destination?"

Kydd recalled that this was Nelson's first command of a fleet of ships in his own right: was he seeking support for a command decision that should be his alone?

"May we have your own conclusions first, sir?" Troubridge asked.

"Very well. They might be on their way back to France after their conquest, but I doubt it. And, besides, they'd find it a hard beat with transports against this nor'-westerly. No, in my opinion they are headed further into the eastern Mediterranean." He stopped.

"The Turks and Constantinople," murmured Troubridge.

"I think not."

"The Holy Land? There's plunder a-plenty there and a royal route to India across Mesopotamia." It was the youthful-looking Berry, present as captain of the flagship.

"Possibly." As there were no further offerings, Nelson declared incisively, "There is one objective that I think outweighs all others. Egypt."

There were mutterings, but Nelson cut through forcefully: "Yes, Egypt. Should they take the biggest Mediterranean port, Alexandria, they have then but twenty leagues overland and they are at the Red Sea, and from there two weeks to our great possessions in India."

Saumarez stirred restlessly. "Sir, saving your presence, I find this a baseless conjecture. We have not one piece of intelligence to support such a conclusion."

"Nevertheless, this is my present position," Nelson said. "I should be obliged for your arguments to the contrary. In the absence of news we deal in speculation and presumption, sir. We must reason ourselves to a conclusion. This is mine."

Troubridge leaned back with a broad smile. "'Pon my word, Sir Horatio, this will set them a-flutter in Whitehall. Conceive of it—the entire fleet dispatched to the most distant corner of the Mediterranean, to Egypt no less! The Pyramids, the desert—"

"Whitehall is two months away. The decision will be made today." The reflected sun-dappled sea played prettily on the deck-head, but it also threw into pitiless detail the admiral's deep lines of worry, the prematurely white hair, the glittering eye.

"Then I concur," Troubridge said. "It has to be Alexandria."

"Should Alexandria be captured, our interests in India will be at appalling risk. This cannot be allowed." Unexpectedly, it was Saumarez.

"Yes. Captain Ball?"

"It seems the most likely course, sir."

"Darby?"

"Putting to sea in a wind foul for France does appear an unlikely move unless their intentions lie eastward."

"Anything further? No? Then it shall be Alexandria. Thank you, gentlemen."

A thousand sea miles to the east—to the fabled Orient: the Egypt of Cleopatra, the Sphinx, the eternal Nile. And a French invasion fleet waiting for them there. The English fleet prepared accordingly.

The most vital task was to crowd on as much sail as possible to try to overhaul the French and force a meeting at sea before the landings. The winds were fair for the Levant and, with stuns'ls abroad, the fleet sped across the glittering deep blue seas for day after day. There was little sail-handling with the winds astern, and for watch after watch there was no need to brace and trim: the steady breeze drove them onward in an arrow-straight course for the south-east corner of the Mediterranean.