Julian Stockwin - Tenacious

Nelson's head drooped in despair. The door opened again. "Why, what's this? England's Glory in a stew, is 'e?" Lady Hamilton crossed to Nelson, whose face lit up. "The conqueror of th' Nile cast down? For shame!"

"Your ladyship has only to bestow a smile and I shall be made new again."

"There's somethin' wrong, isn't there?" she said, her hand on his shoulder.

Nelson stood up, as though to throw off her touch. "We are to evacuate Naples, I believe," he said harshly. "That is to say, the King and Queen and their household—they must not be allowed to fall into the hands of the French."

She went pale. "You mean—well, we must, o' course. But if—"

Outside, from the cold corridors of the palazzo came shouts and the sound of people running. She looked fearfully at Nelson— and the Queen burst into the room. "Siamo persi!"

Emma crossed to the frantic woman and held her, stroking, comforting. "She's hearin' the tumbrels comin' for her too," she said. The Queen's sister, Marie Antoinette, had been guillotined by the revolutionaries in Paris. "Non i preoccupare, signora, cara, Nelson ci sta con noi," she added in spirited Italian. Looking over her shoulder at Nelson, she said, "If we're t' do it proper, it's best we 'ave a good plan. What are we to do, Adm'ral?"

There were ships enough. Vanguard lay at anchor in the bay with other warships, and there were smaller vessels, which Nelson ordered to be prepared for the evacuation of English residents— but no indication of the Royal Family's departure could be even hinted at.

As if on a visit of state, Sir William Hamilton and Admiral Nelson made the short journey from the embassy to the vast Palazzo Reale, palace to the kings of the Two Sicilies for centuries and a fortress in its own right.

"Your Majesty," Nelson murmured, bowing low to King Ferdinand. A repugnant figure, with the raw-boned build of a farm labourer, the King had small, sly eyes each side of a grotesquely long nose, and gave a doltish impression—yet the safety of this monarch was Nelson's prime duty.

"Do acquaint His Majesty of our intentions, if you please, my dear." Emma Hamilton was fast becoming indispensable with her warm, practical handling of the royal couple, whom she had long known, not to mention her easy familiarity with the language. It seemed there would be no difficulties from them, as long as the Queen's hysteria could be kept in check. Nelson crossed to a window and pulled aside the curtain to peer out: the waterfront was seething with angry crowds converging on the palace.

"We're not going to be able to get to the boats through that," he said soberly, "even with a regiment of soldiers."

"Don't be fooled, sir. They love the King an' would never 'ave a revolution," Emma came back.

"That is quite true," Hamilton said. "The lazzaroni, the common people, adore their king. It's the lawyers and petty bureaucrats who see their opportunity at this time. We must ensure that their loyalty is not tested by, er, their sovereign's precipitate flight. Sir Horatio is quite right in his concern—I rather fear we may find ourselves trapped here." In the rich surrounds of the immense gold-vaulted room they were as helpless as any felon in the local prison.

"There is one course that we may consider." Hamilton's cool words were in English; his warning glance at Emma kept her mute. "It would be a coup beyond compare should the famous Horatio Nelson be taken by the French. At all costs this must not happen. I suggest that as we are English, the mob will let us pass ..."

"No," Nelson said crisply. "There will be another way to get them out—at night perhaps. We prepare for evacuation now. Troubridge will arrive soon and we shall conceive a plan together."

"Then might I recommend that the treasury be not left to the French? It is reputed to be of several millions in specie alone." There were also rich paintings, hangings, gilded carvings beyond counting—but these would have to remain. Only the state reserves could be taken.

Darkness fell. More crowds gathered below, chanting and restless. There would be no flight from the palace even at night. Troubridge arrived at last: grave and polite, he listened while Nelson gave his orders, then slipped away to prepare communications with the ships.

The chanting grew in volume and Hamilton peeped out. "Dare I ask that Their Majesties show themselves to the crowd?"

The King and Queen of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies appeared on the balcony of the palace to tumultuous applause, bowing and waving, held for an hour by the baying crowds before they could move inside, pale and shaking.

"We move the treasury to the embassy," Nelson snapped. "I want every cask and barrel that the kitchens can find, and we'll stow it all in those." The embassy in the Palazzo Sessa was conveniently on high ground at the back of the palace, and before long, gold ducats, silver from a dozen countries and even gold sovereigns were being nailed into hogsheads and ankers, Emma loyally scrawling in chalk on each one "Stores for Nelson."

The howls of the mob grew louder. Hamilton eased back the curtain again. The streets were alive with packs of men, some carrying torches, others weapons. "They're staying around the palace," he murmured. "We dare not leave.

"There goes Ferreri," he said, and stiffened. A figure in a dark cloak thrust across the waterfront road and began to board a boat not a hundred yards away. The boatman gestured angrily, shouting at the crowd. Ferreri was a valuable man to Hamilton, a royalist Frenchman with a line to secrets within the Jacobin underworld.

With horrifying swiftness the mob closed round him. His French accent had triggered suspicions and he was dragged from the boat on to the quayside where he disappeared under a flailing pack. They punched, kicked and tore at the black figure until it moved no more, then a rope was tied round one leg and the corpse was dragged over the cobblestones towards the palace, leaving a slime of blood to glitter in the torchlight. A maniac chanting started from the upturned faces below the balcony.

"My God," said Hamilton. "They want to show the King what they've done for him!"

Queen Maria Carolina dropped into a swoon; the King made odd gobbling noises. Nelson turned to Hamilton. "We have to leave now, sir. Do you know—"

The Queen came to herself, muttering strangely.

"Be quiet! Everyone!" Emma listened intently, then threw a triumphant look at Nelson. "She says there's some kind o' door—a gate. It connects her rooms to th' old caves an' passages under Naples."

"That could well be so," said Hamilton. "We know of the sottosuolo, where the Romans left underground catacombs and tunnels after excavating for tufo building stone. Huge voids, some, and artefacts have been found that date—"

Emma gave a twisted smile. "She says she hasn't told us before as she's always worried a thief might get to know of it an' rob her in her sleep."

"Do any of these connect with the sea?" Nelson demanded.

"Apparently most of them do, yes," Hamilton said.

"The sea!" Nelson's cry was heartfelt: to an Englishman the sea was a friend, a highway to freedom. "At which point?" he added hastily.

"The Molosiglio."

"That's all I need. I'll get word to Troubridge directly. Please to inform Their Majesties to prepare for their departure."

Soon after midnight Nelson stood grimly at the top of a dark stairway, listening to the hollow sound of approaching footsteps. A naval officer came into view, blinking uncertainly in the bright light. "Cap'n Hope, Alcmene frigate, sir, with a party of men," he said, touching his hat.

"Well met, sir! Shall we proceed?"

"Aye aye, sir."

"Light the torches—I shall go first." Nelson descended the dank stairs and paused at the bottom to inspect the seamen. They were in their familiar sea rig and all had drawn cutlasses, which gleamed in the flickering torchlight.