Julian Stockwin - The Iberian Flame - Thomas Kydd 20

‘That, and permission to march to Portugal through Spain, thereby defying the English fleet.’ He allowed his voice to acquire a more reverential tone and went on, ‘He does aver that such will be the resulting great accession of territory to the Spanish Crown that it may be necessary henceforth to refer to the King of Spain as emperor – his suggestion is “Emperor of the Two Americas”, sire.’

The coat finally settled in place while the King blinked happily. ‘A fine and statesmanlike resolving of an ancient problem,’ he pronounced at length. ‘What should I do?’

‘Merely the ratifying of the treaty will answer, sire. I’ve given the clauses my personal care and attention so you may be sure there will be no difficulties.’

‘Yes, yes, I shall. You’ve done very well, mi primo , and let the world know how grateful I am for your ministry. Is there aught else?’

Godoy’s face fell, his features carefully sorrowful. This final move would set the seal on a brilliant stroke, serving to rid himself of his deadliest and until now untouchable adversary.

‘Sire, why is it that the gods raise us up with one hand only to cast us down with the other?’

King Carlos frowned. ‘There is an impediment to the treaty?’

‘No, sire,’ he hastened to say, ‘rather it is a matter of personal sadness that I feel obliged to divulge to you.’

‘You can tell me, old friend.’

‘My man in Fontainebleau, while in the process of negotiation, discovered a grave and sinister design, no less than your deposing and replacing by another more pliable to the foreign cause.’

‘Have you the details?’

‘As of last evening, unhappily, I have, sire.’

‘The wretch shall be made to pay for his villainy!’

‘It is in truth naught but an attempt to bind Spain for ever to France through an unequal and demeaning marriage.’

‘Deposing – what in Heaven’s name is this damnable roguery?’

‘Majesty, it is the act of one who has agreed – in writing – to take whomsoever the French Emperor chooses as pledge of loyalty and obedience.’

‘He shall die, of course. Who is he – do I know the treasonous Judas?’ he spluttered.

‘Sire, it grieves me to say it but we have the evidence that it is the foolish intriguing of none other than … the Prince of Asturias.’ The King’s son Fernando. Impatient heir and implacable foe of Godoy in whatever he did.

‘No!’

‘I fear it be so, sire. Acting on information received, I made search of the royal apartments and found certain letters that shall be laid before you that are unanswerable proof of his perfidy. Shall I …?’

‘Seize him and take him to El Escorial,’ King Carlos said heavily. ‘He shall be dealt with.’

Luxuriating in the satin caress of the big four-poster bed, Godoy smiled indulgently at his mistress. ‘As it was a coup rarely seen, Pepita. In one afternoon I have vanquished that toad Fernando but much more than that – to be made a prince of Spain with a demesne of my own to rule as I please!’

‘Prince of the Algarves,’ murmured Pepita, sleepily. ‘I like that. Does your wife still have to be with us?’

‘As crowned head I shall put her from me, mi pichóncita, ’ Godoy said airily. ‘Besides which, you plainly haven’t deduced what all this will lead to.’

She wriggled round to see him more clearly. ‘To more? Tell me.’

‘You really want to know?’ he teased.

‘If it touches on you and me, of course.’ She pouted prettily.

‘Then I shall tell you, cariño . After so much hard striving, the biggest prize of all is within my reach.’

‘Yes, yes, go on.’

‘With the heir to throne now disgraced, and as the only Prince of Spain not in the royal line of that old imbecile, there are many advantages to my acceding … to the throne myself.’

‘You!’ she squealed.

‘I.’

‘But …’

‘I will not weary you with details, Pepita, but there’s one that stands above and beyond all others.’

‘Tell me!’

‘Consider this. I am not a Bourbon. The French exerted themselves to extraordinary lengths to rid themselves of that decrepit bloodline, and Emperor Napoleon would like nothing better than to ally himself to one not tainted by such. As prince, I will be in the line of succession. He will undoubtedly bring much pressure to bear on the Cortes that will, in the end, see me King of Spain!’

Chapter 1

The Hamoaze moorings, Plymouth, England

‘Very good. You may stand down sea watches, Mr Bray,’ Captain Sir Thomas Kydd told his first lieutenant.

He took a deep breath and looked around in satisfaction. After her far voyaging, Tyger had picked up moorings in the broad stretch of water fed by the river Tamar between Devon and Cornwall that went on into Plymouth Sound. On its eastern bank was the well-equipped King’s Dockyard. While the ship’s small hurts were attended to, all would have time for leave and liberty.

And not far inland, over the soft green rolling hills, his heart had its home: Knowle Manor, nestling in the Devonshire countryside, now the seat of Sir Thomas and Lady Kydd.

Persephone would not be expecting him – the hastily mounted Northern Expedition into the Baltic that had called him away had had all the signs of a savage and protracted confrontation. As it happened, it was now over, leaving Admiral Saumarez and his Baltic Fleet predominant at sea.

Some ships had been released to return to their original duties. For Tyger this meant rejoining Admiral Collingwood’s Mediterranean Fleet and its eternal blockade of Toulon and the western seaboard of Europe – but that would come later. First, liberty!

For her ship’s company it would be the delights of an English shore where they could raise the wind a-rollicking in a sailors’ town to drown memories of gales and iron-bound coasts, a shipmate lost to the sea or the rage of battle. And with prize money to spend they would make it a famous time.

And for her captain, a release of shipboard cares. With his valet Tysoe at pillion, he took coach to the pretty village of Ivybridge, then a hired trap from the London Inn, his heart thudding with anticipation. The road followed the crystal waters of the river Erme, then veered off into the wooded foothills below the moors before the quaint loveliness appeared of Combe Tavy, with its pond and goose green.

Without stopping, they trotted up the little country road … that left-hand bend … the enfolding woods and then … the ancient wall and the gatehouse, its arch bearing the precious legend, Knowle Manor.

Tysoe brought the horse to a walk as the trap ground grittily along the driveway to the entrance – but Kydd had seen a female figure at the roses by the creeper-clad walls look up in surprise. In a single mad movement he vaulted from the seat and raced forward, crushing her to him.

‘My darling – my love! Seph, I’ve so missed you!’

‘My dearest … you’re home! My sweet, my—’ Her voice broke with emotion.

They kissed, long and passionately.

‘Oh dear,’ she said shakily, brushing the dark earth from her gardening apron, ‘and I’m not fit to be seen.’

‘Seph, you’d look as comely in a pedlar’s rags, my love, never doubt it,’ he said tenderly, kissing her again and taking her arm.

A beaming Mrs Appleby, the housekeeper, held open the door, then made much of primping the cushions on the two comfortable armchairs by the fire. ‘Aye, but you an’ the captain’ll have much to talk on, so I’ll leave ye be.’

Kydd dragged his chair closer and they sat, hand in hand, lost in the moment.