Julian Stockwin - Tenacious

Before he could confirm it, Rawson exclaimed, "Flag, sir—she signals." It was "cast off the tow." Tenacious would round to, and wait for Vanguard with her reduced sail to overtake and precede her into harbour.

The press of boats advanced and one by one the upper-deck guns of Vanguard began to thud—twenty-one for the King. Tenacious followed gun for gun, her brave show of flags streaming out in the smoke. The ambassadorial barge at last reached the flagship, which backed topsails while a small party was helped up the side. A large union flag broke at the mizzen and Vanguard moved ahead slowly to her anchorage.

Even before she had swung to her anchor she was surrounded by clamouring watercraft. Guns banged and thudded from the towered castles ashore as salutes were exchanged and shrieks of feminine delight greeted the thunder of the flagship's guns, which had last spoken at the Nile.

The tide of boats enveloped Tenacious as well. Nobles and wives, courtiers and mistresses, all had come to see the famed warriors of the sea. Renzi's Italian was much in demand as the flower of Neapolitan society was escorted aboard and given a tour of one of Nelson's famed men-o'-war.

A richly ornamented royal barge put off from the shore. "Quickly, lad," Kydd told Rawson. "Rouse out y'r Naples standard an' as many ensigns as y' can find. Hoist 'em for breaking at fore, main 'n' mizzen." The navy had a way of invisibly hoisting a flag and setting it a-fly at exactly the right time, by folding the bunting tightly and passing a hitch round it. At the signal a sharp tug on the halliard would burst it open to float proudly on the wind.

The royal barge headed directly for the flagship and curious eyes made out the long figure of the King in black velvet and gold lace as he joined the ambassador on the quarterdeck of Nelson's ship, then went below. An hour later the King returned on deck, to resume his ceremonial barge for his return, Admiral Nelson prominently at his side.

"Gentlemen!" Houghton called for attention, holding a paper. "Tonight every officer of the fleet shall be a guest at a grand official banquet in our honour. I desire each of you to exert every effort in your appearance ..."

In the evening twilight boats of the fleet made their way inshore. As each pinnace touched at the quayside it was met with surging crowds and strident huzzahs of Bravissimo! Nelson, il vincitore di Abukir! The officers stepped ashore in a cloud of flapping birds released by fishermen.

Open-top carriages whisked them away, through noisy, ecstatic crowds, into the maze of streets behind the massive fortress that dominated the foreshore, and after a short journey they arrived in the courtyard of a dark stone Romanesque building.

They were handed down by liveried footmen, and conducted into a reception room entirely in red and gold, with extravagantly ornate chandeliers. For Kydd, the simple blue, white and gold of the naval officers stood out clean and noble against such overpowering opulence.

A receiving line was in progress at the opposite end of the room. Officers conversed self-consciously as they waited their turn while servants bore round flutes of iced champagne. It all had a giddying impact on Kydd's senses. He glanced at Renzi, who winked.

"You have met General Acton?" a nearby equerry asked.

"L'tenant Kydd, HMS Tenacious, an' I have yet t' make His Excellency's acquaintance," Kydd replied, remembering what he had been told: Acton was the English-born prime minister of Naples, known afar as a master diplomatist.

The room filled with more blue and gold, the champagne came round again, and Kydd found himself being politely addressed by the general, who was arrayed in a handsome embroidered uniform, complete with a sash at the waist. Kydd had taken the precaution of having Renzi move through the line before him, so his civil inclination of the head and his polite notice of the austere woman at the general's side was a model of urbanity.

Others arrived: one Italianate officer, improbably in black leather buskins, had a large scimitar hanging from a broad belt, his moustache working with the effort of conveying his emotions at the magnificent victory.

A short peal of trumpets in the next room summoned all to dinner. Kydd knew his duty, and as a junior officer obediently entered the banquet hall among the first, and was ushered to a table far from the place of honour awaiting its hero. A small ensemble in sordina delicately picked its way through "Rule Britannia" while the purple and gold banquet hall filled with sea officers trying hard to appear unaffected by the magnificence.

"Boyd, third o' the Alexander." The cherubic officer on Kydd's right introduced himself.

"Kydd, fifth o' Tenacious. An' proud t' take the hand of any out o' the ship I saw so handsomely take th' admiral under tow in that blow off Corsica."

Boyd broke into a grin, which widened when the officer opposite Kydd leaned over to offer his hand as well. "Aye, that was clean done indeed," he rumbled, his older face creased with memory. "You should really have been there to see Our Nel in a passion, shaking his fist at Alexander for disobedience in not casting off the tow. Oh—Hayward of Vanguard," he added.

A lieutenant from the flagship attracted interest immediately, but Hayward deflected it by addressing Kydd. "Tenacious —was it not an impudence for a sixty-four to lay herself alongside an eighty and have at her?"

Kydd chuckled. "We saw our chance when one o' the French fell out o' the line. It gave us a berth off the stern o' Franklin an' we didn't waste our powder."

The conversations died as the orchestra trailed off into silence and all eyes turned to the doorway. Then it burst into a rapturous "See The Conquering Hero Comes!" as General Acton appeared with Nelson, who looked frail and tired but was clearly enjoying the occasion.

They processed up the room together, each table rising to clap and huzzah the commander as he passed. At the high table Nelson stood in his place for a moment, looking out over his officers, who had achieved so much in his name, then bowed low to left and right. A storm of cheering erupted that continued long after he had taken his seat.

Excited conversation resumed while soup appeared in gold-rimmed bowls; Kydd was now experienced enough at formal dinners not to expect it to be hot.

"Damme, but this is a night to remember," said Boyd, dipping his spoon with gusto. "Can't say, however, as I'd know any of 'em up there with His Nibs," he added, nodding at the high table, which seemed to be populated mainly with Mediterranean-looking notables.

"It's a puzzler t' me," Kydd said, "why the King's not here as well t' welcome the admiral."

"Why, it's not such a mystery," Renzi said calmly, helping himself to a sweetbread sautie.

The others, not knowing Renzi, raised their eyebrows.

"Our noble host is the prime minister, no less, of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, a certain John Acton—who also happens to be an Englishman employed in that post. The King dare not show his approbation of our late action in too formal a manner with the French at his borders and a treaty in place—but he cannot, of course, prevent a display of natural feelings at such a victory from an English national ..."

"Do ye think we'll meet the King, Nicholas?" Kydd asked.

"I do—but in another place, I believe."

"And the ambassador, you would say he is diplomatically absent from a private party, will you not?" Hayward said half defensively.

"Indeed. That would serve to avoid adding moment to the occasion."

Hayward leaned back. "You seem unusually well informed for a sea officer, Renzi."