Julian Stockwin - Tenacious

Something of Kydd's scepticism must have shown, for Smith went on, "Our object is simply to hold the town until relieved. And I can tell you now that at this very moment a Turkish army eight times the size of Buonaparte's is preparing to advance towards us. Not even the victor of Italy may prevail over that."

There was the sound of movement and voices below. "Ah, he has arrived." Smith went to the window and stared out until an older officer, with a deeply lined face, wearing a uniform that Kydd did not recognise, entered. Smith turned and, with a warm smile, greeted him in a stream of mellifluous French, gesturing first to Hewitt, who responded with a bow and murmured French, and then to Kydd, who could only bow and mutter in English.

"For those without the necessary accomplishment I will translate," Smith said. "This gentleman is Lieutenant General the Count Phélippeaux, an honourable Frenchman of the ancien régime. He is in the first rank of those learned in the arts of fortification and will tell us how best we may prepare for our siege."

Kydd's expression altered, but Smith, mistaking the change, went on, "Set aside your concerns. This was the officer who, in the most handsome manner, assisted in my escape from the prison cell in Paris. He has every reason to detest the revolutionaries, you may believe, Mr Kydd."

The conference moved forward quickly. Whatever else, Smith was clear-headed and energetic. Within the hour they had settled on immediate priorities: with an unknown time before Buonaparte appeared, their defences had to be completed as soon as possible.

The most effective would be in the deploying of their two ships of force, which amounted to the equivalent of a regiment of artillery. Each ship would be anchored in position so that it could fire down the length of one side or the other of the walls, their line of fire intersecting at the end. The open ground in front of the walls across which the enemy must pass for an assault could therefore be kept under fire. The only problem with this was that shallow water with rocky shoals extended in places for several miles, making it a dangerous and exposed anchorage for ships of size. They would be firing at extreme range.

The count engaged in long, earnest discussions with Smith, which Smith summarised tersely. It seemed that, without effective artillery of their own, they would be at a grave disadvantage: they had to keep Buonaparte's siege guns at a distance or they would effect a rapid breach.

"I shall land guns from Tigre and Tenacious with volunteer seamen gunners to serve them. The men relish a jaunt ashore and I shall oblige them." More discussion yielded their number and position.

Things were looking up for Kydd: with seamen to command and a worthy task ahead, there was every prospect of distinguished service.

Smith stood and stretched theatrically. "At this point it would appear appropriate to involve Djezzar Pasha." He began to pace about the room, his hands behind his back. "I would have you understand the importance I attach to our alliance. He alone has the men close at hand whom we need, and without him we are lost. Now, before we make audience, allow me to say something of this worthy gentleman. He is pasha of this region, holding nominal allegiance to Sultan Selim in Constantinople but has always been an independent spirit."

He glanced significantly at the other two officers in turn. " 'Djezzar' means Slasher or Butcher and it is an apt name. When he was young he sold himself into slavery to the Mamelukes and by sinister means made himself indispensable as an assassin until he turned his blade on his master. He is cruel and has the morals of a polecat, but is the ruler and will be accorded all possible marks of respect. Is that clear?"

"Understood, sir," said Hewitt. Kydd nodded.

"Then we shall proceed to the harem."

"Sir?" both officers said, in astonishment.

"All official business with Djezzar Pasha is conducted in his seraglio. Shall we go now?"

With an increasing sense of unreality, Kydd followed Smith through noisy ancient streets to a complex of buildings to the north and a tent surrounded by chattering Arabs in a courtyard with palm trees and a fountain. A tall man in a turban approached and bowed in the eastern manner.

"To see His Excellency," Smith said, with practised hauteur. This was the man, Kydd had been told, who had recently won over the Sublime Porte in Constantinople to secure a treaty—he would be no stranger to eastern ways.

They entered the tent: rich hangings, soft carpets, riotous colour, unknown tongues—it was all an exotic wonder to Kydd.

To one side a man sat cross-legged and others stood round him obsequiously. The man, whom Smith indicated was Djezzar, rose: well-built and mature, he wore the full burnous of the desert Arab and carried himself with dignity, a diamond-hilted dagger at his waist.

Smith bowed deeply and Kydd hastened to do likewise. Smith spoke in French to Djezzar, and the four then retired to the interior where they all sat cross-legged. Kydd refused a bubble-pipe but Hewitt accepted out of curiosity. Kydd looked furtively about for ladies of the harem but, disappointingly, saw none.

Smith conversed urbanely and at length with Djezzar, whose harsh, booming voice had a hard edge of authority. Kydd leaned over to Hewitt. "What's the drift?" he whispered.

"Asking for men to build up the fortifications," Hewitt replied, in a low voice, "and about the Turkish cavalry promised to us." There was a snarl and impassioned words from Djezzar. "He says he told them to go out and attack the enemy and not to return until they had done something worthy of his notice."

The audience had apparently been a success: on the way back to their headquarters Smith made light commentary on the sights, approving the purposeful hurry of gangs now setting about clearing detritus and rubble from the walls, labouring at the stonework, shoring up weak bastions.

In their campaign room Smith looked in satisfaction at the map as he made corrections and notes. "So far, so good," he said briskly. "El Djezzar is proving most co-operative, and I'm sanguine that if we do our part we shall have a good chance of delaying the French long enough for the Turks to bring them to battle.

"There is much to do—I shall be returning aboard Tigre. I want those guns landed before sunset and placed in position without delay. Your orders are here." He produced a slim sheaf of papers. "In essence they require you to act for me ashore.

Djezzar Pasha has been notified that you may do so in my name. Therefore you will acquaint yourselves thoroughly with my orders so that nothing is overlooked."

He considered for a moment, then said, "We have no reliable knowledge of the French advance. It might be prudent to begin a regular reconnaissance south until their presence is detected. One of you will take a boat away at dusk for this purpose."

"So, we have our orders, an' our task is tolerably clear. I only hope we can get away in time."

"You are not confident of a favourable outcome?" Hewitt responded coolly.

"Are you?"

"I know my duty, I believe," Hewitt said stiffly.

"F'r me ..." Kydd began, and thought better of it. "Then let's be started. Where's Suleiman, the translator we've been promised?" He turned out to be the tall man at the seraglio.

"Er, Mr Suleiman, I want t' see the serang —whatever you'd call th' chief of the workers on the wall. There's not a moment t' lose."

The first gun from Tigre was landed at the mole soon after midday: a heavy twenty-four-pounder, laid along the thwarts of a launch, and its two tons of cold iron swayed ashore by improvised sheer-legs. A gun-carriage followed, then boats with powder and shot, some with stores and rum casks.