Julian Stockwin - Tenacious

He whipped Prince to a gallop and screamed defiance into the wind. Then he became aware of the thud of hoofs out of rhythm behind him. He snatched a backward glance and saw his father low on his horse's neck, striping his mount mercilessly. Renzi swerved aside and headed for a gnarled oak tree standing stark and alone in the middle of the field.

They dismounted without a word, the earl tight-lipped and dangerous. "Boy, I will not tolerate your peevish ways. You'll put your sailor days behind you and take hold of your responsibilities now, damn you, or I'll know the reason why."

Renzi took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt a light-headed exhilaration, a species of liberation. No longer was he going to be in thrall to the red-faced tyrant before him. He was different from the man he had once been and had seen far more of life than most. "Sir, you must allow that—"

"Be damned to your arrogant posturing!"

Renzi was pale and determined. He said nothing. This seemed to goad his father, who roared, "Unless you see fit to return and find it in yourself to act as my son and heir, I know someone who will!"

So it had come to that. Renzi was tempted to dare him to do his worst, but knew that, once said, his father would never take back his words. "I have told you that I cannot abandon my post—"

"Damn your blood, sir! I will not take this—" but Renzi had turned on his heel and led his horse away.

"Where are you going to? Come back this instant, or I—I'll—" His words were lost in a splutter as Renzi walked away. "I'll disinherit! Never fear, sir, I'll do it!" The choking rage was fearsome but it settled the matter as far as Renzi was concerned. Now the only way back was to grovel and beg, and that he would never do. He walked on.

The voice bellowed after him: "Three months! Three months— and if you're not returned I will go to law and have the title reverted. I can do it, do ye hear? And I will do it, God rot your bones!"

CHAPTER 11

"IF THERE'S ANY MORE o' that lobster salad, I'd be obliged," Kydd said lazily, from the long seat in the sternsheets of the officer's gig, where he lay sprawled under an unseasonably warm sun.

"No, you shall not!" Cecilia said crossly. "There'll be none left for the others." However, more preserved sardine fillets, it seemed, were on offer. The two midshipmen were ashore on the rocks of the little cove, trying without success to conjure a fire to grill their fish and Adams was out of sight inland.

The sun beamed and the plash of the waves was soothing. "Do you not feel a pity f'r Gen'ral Buonaparte, sis," Kydd teased, "that he's cast away in Egypt with no hope o' rescue, him 'n' his great army all alone in the desert?"

"I do not! Such a wicked man! I hope the sun quite dries him up like a wizened prune."

Kydd's grin at his sister's pout broadened as he considered how things had changed for the better. "Ye've heard we're in Leghorn now, Cec—that's in the north of Italy—"

"Thomas, I'm not ignorant."

"An', best of all, Our Nel has stirred up Naples enough that they've marched north an' taken Rome."

"'Our Nel'?"

"What we call Admiral Nelson."

"The common sailors, Thomas, not the officers!"

"They love him, Cec. When we were chasin' the French and everything looked so bad, he called across his captains then started asking 'em if they were feeding the men enough onions! And makes sure they get full measure o' grog with wine he buys himself. They'd sail through hell for him—truly."

"And you?" Cecilia pouted. "Will I see you run after a man with one eye, one arm, the most junior admiral in the list?"

"You will, Cec," Kydd said. "Nelson is th' greatest leader I know, and if he says that this is the way t' do it, why, that's the way t' do it."

"There are some who are not so easily persuaded ..." Cecilia said archly.

"Who? They're jealous, is all!"

"Lord Stanhope, for one."

Kydd paused. Stanhope's discreet position as a diplomat was mysterious, and involved much travel, but it was known his allegiance was to London alone. His presence in Minorca would not be coincidental. "What is he saying, then?"

"Well, he doesn't even tell things to Lady Stanhope," Cecilia said, "but when he heard that Sir Horatio had caused King Ferdinand to move on the French he was very uneasy—and even the news that Rome was restored didn't bring him to humour."

"Is that all? Well, now Nelson is a peer o' the realm—Baron Nelson o' the Nile! An' there's talk that the King o' Naples is going to make him a duke. Doesn't that tell you what the world thinks of him?" He sat up and tested the holding of the little kedge anchor. "Cec, we've got the mongseers on the run. Everywhere they're losin' battles—and it could be," he said, with a sudden wrinkling of his brow, "that this war is going t' be over soon."

Sir William Hamilton entered the room quietly. Nelson, scrawling at a great rate in his peculiar crabwise fashion, was at his desk by the window with its magnificent view of the Bay of Naples. He was grey with exhaustion and his slight body seemed shrivelled, but his expression nevertheless retained a fierce vitality. "Is it true?"

"I fear so. I have a letter from General Mack. In essence he cannot be sure of holding them, even at Capua. It's the very worst news—I'm sorry." It had been so extraordinarily swift: Rome had been taken but the regrouping French had rapidly struck back, vengefully striking south into the heart of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. And now it seemed that the Austrian commander of King Ferdinand's forces, Mack, with an army far larger than that of the French, had contrived to lose every encounter with them so far.

Nelson stared out of the window, then said heavily, "Our situation in Leghorn becomes insupportable. The grand duke must shift for himself."

"Our reputation would be irretrievably ruined, should—"

"I didn't mean that," Nelson said testily. "I shall send a frigate, should his household be put to hazard."

"As it appears it will ..."

Nelson threw down his quill, got to his feet, and paced the floor as if it were a quarterdeck. "Charles Emmanuel of Sardinia escapes to Cagliari, now the Grand Duke of Tuscany flees before his own people—what kind of rulers are they? And from London I've received only reproaches—never any soldiers. How can I steady these cowardly wretches without English soldiers?" He stopped pacing. "I will leave Malta to Ball. That is all I can retain of this shambles."

Hamilton murmured sympathy but Nelson interrupted, "General Buonaparte! To give the devil his due, he's now crossed an impassable desert and kept his army together, which is more than any man would credit. Now he's marching north into the Holy Land and could be anywhere. God damn his French soul!"

A young army captain covered with dust entered hurriedly and handed over a dispatch satchel. "Sir! From Capua." He saluted. "Sir, you might give thought to your safety—Naples is in a rare state of disorder. The people are terrified they are being abandoned to the French, that the King will depart privily and—"

"Thank you, sir. Now go," growled Nelson, unbuckling the satchel and scanning the single sheet. He looked up slowly. "Good God ..."

"What is it?"

"Mack has been defeated! His army is now only a rabble— more than two thousand have deserted, he's lost communication with his rear. There's nothing between us here and General Championnet's veterans." Nelson went to his desk and slumped into the chair. He stared into space for a moment, then picked up the papers he was working on and tore them up, one by one.

When he had finished he looked up with an odd smile. "There is now nothing to detain us in Naples. You may wish to make your dispositions for leaving, Sir William."

Hamilton opened his mouth but closed it again, then said, " Yes. I shall be within call," and left as quietly as he had arrived.