Balkan Glory

Book 36: Thomas Kydd

by Julian Stockwin

Genres: Historical Fiction; Renaissance; War & Military

Synopsis

'Paints a vivid picture of life aboard the mighty ship-of-the-line' - Daily Express

1811. The Adriatic, the 'French Lake', is now the most valuable territory Napoleon Bonaparte possesses. Captain Sir Thomas Kydd finds his glorious return to England cut short when the Admiralty summons him to lead a squadron of frigates into these waters to cause havoc and distress to the enemy.

Kydd is dubbed 'The Sea Devil' by Bonaparte who personally appoints one of his favourites, Dubourdieu, along with a fleet that greatly outweighs the British, to rid him of this menace.

At the same time, Nicholas Renzi is sent to Austria on a secret mission to sound out the devious arch-statesman, Count Metternich. His meeting reveals a deadly plan by Bonaparte that threatens the whole balance of power in Europe. The only thing that can stop it is a decisive move at sea and for this he must somehow cross the Alps to the Adriatic to contact Kydd directly.

A climactic sea battle where the stakes could not be higher is inevitable. Kydd faces Dubourdieu with impossible odds stacked against him. Can he shatter Bonaparte's dreams of breaking out of Europe and marching to the gates of India and Asia?

(P) 2020 Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

Release date: October 1, 2020

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 416

Sample

*indicates fictional character

* Sir Thomas Kydd

Captain of HMS Tyger, Commodore of the Adriatic Squadron

* Renzi, Nicholas

Earl of Farndon, former confidential secretary to Kydd

Tyger, ship’s company

*Bowden

first lieutenant

*Brice

second lieutenant

*Carew

master’s mate

*Clinton

captain, Royal Marines; i/c marines aboard Tyger

*Dillon

Kydd’s confidential secretary

*Doud

petty officer

*Gilmore

temporary gun captain

*Gilpin

senior midshipman

*Halgren

captain’s coxswain

*Harman

purser

*Herne

boatswain

*Joyce

sailing master

*Maynard

third lieutenant

*Pinto

quartermaster’s mate

*Poulden

petty officer

*Rowan

midshipman

*Scrope

surgeon

*Stirk

gunner’s mate

*Tysoe

Kydd’s manservant

Others

Amherst, Lord

British minister to Sicilian court

Andréossy, Count

French ambassador to Sicilian court

Bandone

loyalist general at Sicilian court

*Bruni, Cesare

academic of Palermo

Cavaignac

French general

*Cecilia

Kydd’s sister, Countess of Farndon, Renzi’s wife

*Congalton

high-ranking member of British secret service

Cotton

commander-in-chief, Mediterranean station

*Craddock

merchant of the Balkans

*d’Aubois, Comte Philippe

royalist emigré in Sicily

Dubourdieu

commander of French force sent to destroy Kydd

*Emily

Persephone’s cousin and companion

Ferdinand

King Ferdinando III of Sicily and Ferdinando IV of Naples

*Fookes

MP, a.k.a. Prinker

Franz I

Kaiser of Austrian Empire

Gordon

captain, Active

Haynes

midshipman, Active

*Hetty

companion to Cecilia, Countess of Farndon

Hornby

captain, Volage

*Jago

under-steward of Lord Farndon’s Eskdale Hall

*Kovacs, Tibor

centurion of Kassa Carpathian Hussars

*Lamb

Agnes, a.k.a. ‘lady of the blossoms’

Lewis

captain, Melampus 36

Maria Carolina

queen and wife of King Ferdinand

Marie Louise

eldest daughter of Franz I, a.k.a. Archduchess Maria Ludovika

Martin

lieutenant i/c, Squirrel cutter

Mazzuoli

general at court of Sicily with French sympathies

Metternich, Count

foreign minister of Austria

Murat

marshal, King of Naples

Pearce

captain, Redwing

*Persephone, Lady Kydd  

Kydd’s wife

*Schönau

Freiherr, Hofmeister; imperial chamberlain

Smith, Sir Sidney

admiral of standing force, Sicily

Stuart

general, notional commander of British forces, Sicily

*Šubić Tvrtkó

youngster, a.k.a. Tomkin Toughknot

*Trautmann

chamberlain assigned to Lord Farndon

*Valois

général de brigade, captured by Tyger

Vaudrei

colonel, i/c detachment of troops sent against Kydd

Whitby

captain, Cerberus

*Willendorf

merchant in Trieste

*Woodhouse, Fanny

wife of Marsala merchant





Captain Sir Thomas Kydd rustled his newspaper in guilty daring but it passed unnoticed, even in the afternoon somnolence of his gentlemen’s club. Comfortable in a high-winged leather armchair in the library, he took in remembered odours of polished furniture, the odd whiff of horsehair mustiness and stale cigar smoke.

After his recent time in India and the Orient, he was now back in the civilisation of his birth and looking forward to making its reacquaintance. He’d been in England for some days, posting immediately to the capital to report to the Admiralty after his ship Tyger and her convoy of Indiamen had safely arrived after a long but uneventful voyage. While his first lieutenant could be relied on to oversee her docking, his duty was to await their lordships’ pleasure in the matter of his future, and on an assurance of enforced idleness for the present, a hurried note to Knowle Manor had brought his wife Persephone flying to his side from their country estate.

‘Why, stap me if it isn’t Tiger come back to haunt us!’ a familiar voice called.

‘Prinker, old chap,’ Kydd said, with feeling, throwing aside his newspaper. ‘Draw up a chair and tell me how you do.’

The plump face of Peregrine Fookes MP, his old friend-about-town, beamed with pleasure. ‘As I’d heard you’d long since been shipped out to a land of pagodas and houris. Didn’t expect you back from such for years.’ He signalled a waiter. ‘Join me in a snifter?’

‘A burra peg o’ whisky would be prime.’

Fookes blinked in incomprehension but the waiter bowed, with a nod of understanding.

‘Not as if there’s many pagodas in Madras but as to the other …’

‘Well—’

‘And—’

‘You first, old bean,’ Fookes prompted.

Kydd realised this worldly man of politics would have heard the news of his successes in the Spice Islands and the Java capitulation. He gave an apologetic smile. ‘Prinker, allow that I’ve been out of the country since … for some time. Do tell – what’s happened at all while I’ve been a-cruise?’

‘Well, now, rather a lot, I suppose.’ He paused and reflected. ‘You’ll have heard that Portland had to yield the prime ministership, stress o’ health. We’ve got a new one, Perceval. A good ’un, I trow, been a dimber hand at the cobbs as chancellor of the exchequer for more’n five years. Now fancies to be premier and chancellor both.’

‘And who’s the—’

‘An all-Tory cabinet. Hawkesbury – or should that be Lord Liverpool now? – secretary of state for war, a dry old stick but stands to his guns as he should. Perceval’s chum Ryder as home secretary and Wellesley – that’s the elder and marquess – in foreign affairs. And as your first lord of the Admiralty we have—’

Kydd gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Yorke. I’ve had the pleasure.’ An austere, full-browed man, whose deliberate manner and high voice were unsettling, although as son of an admiral he was no fool in naval affairs.

Kydd’s interview had been short with no attempt to draw out first-hand detail of his engagements. This first lord played it by the book. Bluntly, he’d told Kydd that in view of his record he should expect early employment, but whether in continued command of Tyger or elevation into a ship-of-the-line was not revealed.

‘Talking York, this time the Duke of, did the scandal get out to you in the Indies at all?’

‘It did, Prinker.’ Kydd sighed at the mention of the hard-living but high-achieving commander-in-chief of the forces brought down for a squalid accusation of the sale of commissions by his mistress. It had prevented him from coming to the fore in the dismal disaster that was the Walcheren expedition when an encouraging thrust against Antwerp was ruined by a combination of indolence and the dreaded Walcheren fever.

‘And our famous duel?’

‘Castlereagh and Canning? Who would have thought it – our two highest ministers of state on Putney Heath popping away at each other. Yes, Prinker, we did have word of it but you’ll tell me more, I’m sanguine.’

‘Are we now talking the state o’ the world on this side of the planet?’

‘Thank you, m’ knowing old chap, but my friends in the Admiralty have given me the lay as I need to know. Boney at a stand, can’t take an army anywhere without it has dry land to march on, but still owns Europe from Russia to Spain, Poland to Italy. We rule the sea but are sore pressed in the article of ships and men to keep it. Sweden’s declared war on us but their heart isn’t in it, and the Baltic’s safe. What else? Oh, yes, the tsar is allowing neutrals into Russian ports,’ Kydd added.

‘Is not that to be celebrated?’

‘Why, I’d say it’s remarkable. It means he’s defying Bonaparte and the tyrant’s nose will be put well out of joint. There’ll be consequences, my friend.’

Fookes looked grave. ‘Don’t we get grain and such from there? You should understand that this has been a hard year for the farmers, very hard. Harvests failed for the second time in a row and there’s real hunger in the land, Tiger, I’ll have you know.’

‘I feel for them,’ Kydd said sincerely, at the thought of twelve months’ labour all for naught.

‘This damnable Continental System is making it hellish difficult for the merchantry. Above a dozen banks have failed this year alone and there’s manufactories sunk with all hands on every side. It means idleness forced on the northern workers as will see ’em starving soon. And this bullion tiff doesn’t help.’

‘Oh?’

‘Bullion and paper money. Is the tare and tret on redeeming worth the credit advantage?’

Kydd nodded thoughtfully, finished his whisky, then brightened. ‘So tell me, dear fellow, what’s really been happening in Town? You’re not to leave me in ignorance, are you?’

‘Ah. Never! Pray do not dare to mention the name of Dolly Witherspoon in the presence of any of our noble families or …’ With a fruity chortle, Fookes launched into a racy account of the morsels of infamy that had taken his attention, sparing few of the details, until he recollected himself and enquired of Kydd’s situation. ‘Are you at all in need of an entertainment, Tiger? If so I can—’

‘Thank you, Prinker, but I’m being right royally cared for in the townhouse of Lord Farndon, my particular friend – you’ll remember he’s married to my sister – and I dare to say I’ll not be in want of diversion.’





‘He’s at his club, Cecilia,’ Persephone answered her sister-in-law archly, adding, ‘I’ve no doubt to the vast entertainment of his intimates.’ Her tone hinted that his attentions might at this time be more properly bestowed elsewhere.

‘Oh, do allow him a mort of leeway, my dear,’ the countess responded, with sisterly insight. ‘A dash of playtime, as it were. You have him returned safe to you, never taken by the fever and served on a bier as so many are that venture out there.’

‘We’ve a rendezvous at Almack’s and I want him on his best behaviour. He’s to be a guest of honour and it will be my great pleasure to be led out before the assembly,’ Persephone said primly.

Cecilia rolled her eyes at her husband, Nicholas Renzi, Earl of Farndon, who gave a shame-faced grin. He understood perfectly what Kydd was about. A constant round of social performances was the last thing that one who had experienced the loneliness and responsibility of command of a ship-of-war on an independent cruise in distant seas would want on return to his native shore. However much Persephone, who in his absence had been forced to live the life of what amounted to a widow, now wished to flaunt him to the world.

‘The fellow has his duties, I’ll agree,’ Renzi said diplomatically. ‘But does this include overmuch the company of women?’ he added.

He and Kydd had risen through the ranks as common seamen together until they had parted at Renzi’s elevation to the earldom on the death of his father. His taste for danger and adventure had been met by an approach at the highest level of secrecy to undertake clandestine missions of state in the guise of a foppish English aristocrat. After a number of deadly assignments his last had been the successful securing of a large quantity of continental specie to induce the Austrians to rise up in a fifth coalition. But this had been rendered worthless by Bonaparte’s subsequent savage victory at Wagram, which had left the Austrians prostrate. He had not been called upon since and was finding it hard to be enthusiastic about yet another rout or ball.

‘That’s not the point, Nicholas, and well you know it.’ When she was cross Persephone could be a formidable woman. ‘Thomas is my husband and his place is at my side.’

‘Then, sister, I will remonstrate with him,’ Renzi said weakly. Under the stern gaze of both women he rose and left the room, reappearing a little later in afternoon promenade garb.

‘Shall we know where it is you’re visiting without a footman?’ Cecilia asked coldly.

‘Why, St James’s Park, the better to contemplate what cogent persuasion I will bring to bear in the matter.’

He left as decently fast as he could but he had no intention of pacing through the nearby green spaces. He was on another errand entirely, one not connected with Kydd.

His footsteps were taking him towards Whitehall and the centre of power of the kingdom but his destination was a humble windowless building equally close to Horse Guards and the Admiralty. His pace quickened as he drew near and, after observing the usual precautions against watchers, he slipped in through the little door and made his way to the room of his contact in the Foreign Office.





Congalton rose from his desk and bowed politely. ‘Good afternoon to you, m’ lord Farndon.’

‘As I was passing by I betook it upon myself to pay you a visit, sir.’

The room was, as always, a mass of papers, books and much pencilled-upon wall maps but with only one desk and a single guest chair.

‘I stand flattered, m’ lord.’

Renzi felt unexpectedly nervous at the crow-like glitter in the man’s dark eyes as he asked, ‘I presume that affairs across our moat are in a state of quiescence as it were, none daring to defy the Corsican?’

‘I will concede that all appears peaceful enough,’ replied Congalton, carefully, and paused to adjust a paperweight. ‘The Russians have made their gesture but show no inclination to throw off the shackles of Tilsit, and Spain is as quarrelsome and vexatious with their allies as ever they were. Viscount Wellington – General Wellesley that was – sees it as right and proper to sit behind his lines of the Torres Vedras, while the French under Masséna waste their substance against it.’

Renzi took in the studied movements and responses, each word weighed for content and effect before it was uttered. ‘Overseas – the Caribbean, perhaps?’

‘Every French possession there is now ours.’

‘The east?’

‘With the reduction of Mauritius and the capture of the entire Dutch East Indies there is now nothing to dismay our shipping in the entirety of their voyage to Canton even.’

‘Then …?’

Something in Renzi’s tone brought on a slight smile. ‘You will know better than to judge by appearances alone, my lord,’ Congalton said softly. ‘There is one part of the world, not so very far from us, where Bonaparte holds sway and at sea, too.’

Renzi caught the implication and his interest quickened. ‘At sea? I cannot imagine where.’

‘The Adriatic.’ A near-enclosed region of the Mediterranean, it stretched the whole eastern side of Italy from Venice in the north to the Ottoman territories of Greece in the south.

‘The French have moved fast. The Austrians, soundly defeated, have lost Trieste and their share of the coast opposite Venice. In fact, the whole of their Adriatic-facing lands. The Austrian Empire is now completely landlocked.’

It was staggering. One of the biggest nations in Europe without access to the sea, their trade highway to the rest of the world.

‘Bonaparte has named his new possessions the Illyrian Provinces and, wasting no time, has pushed on further down the coast, taking Dalmatia, with Ragusa and the other ancient trading ports, right down to the Ottoman border.’

‘So the devil has his name on both sides of the Adriatic?’

‘He has, and proclaims that the Adriatic is a French lake, with his brother King of Italy on the one side, and his troops and ships well able to command the whole Balkan coast on the other – a complete encircling.’

‘Surely the Royal Navy has something to say about that?’

‘We have individual captains of daring and initiative who penetrate into the forbidden sea to the exceeding annoyance of the French, but because our numbers are stretched so sorely these sallies are infrequent.’

‘A military matter, therefore.’ Renzi’s hopes of employment in a daring exploit were fading fast.

‘True, my lord, but there is as well an element of interest that must concern us.’

‘Oh?’

‘Austria is a proud nation, and three times it’s joined a coalition against Bonaparte and in each case has lost the cause, but none as entirely as lately at Wagram. The Schönbrunn treaty for peace terms has robbed and paralysed them, Emperor Franz humbled before all the chancelleries of Europe. Yet with Austria at the very centre of the continent any kind of combined rising to bring down Boney will necessarily depend on their backbone, their willingness to stand up once more against him. Without we can trust they will, how can we attract the rest into any kind of coalition?’

He regarded Renzi for a long moment. ‘His Majesty’s minister for foreign affairs must make judgement on this very question as central to his decisions on the future course of the war. On what will he base his determination? A dry paper from a book-learned dominie? Or the collective opinions of spies who, for a suitable fee, will always find one? The matter, my lord, is too nice for that, bearing as it does on the fate of Britain and her allies.’

It was a dismaying summary and pointed up the stupefying level of stalemate that the war had reached.

Unexpectedly Congalton broke into a smile. ‘My lord, your presence here today might be considered fortuitous. Indeed it has prompted in me an idea, one that touches on the very essence of this quandary.’

Renzi returned the smile. Something was afoot. Was he about to be rewarded for his less-than-innocent visit?

‘Austria, its empire, was not dismembered by Bonaparte after Wagram and remains an untouched sovereign nation under its emperor in Vienna, even if effectively neutralised. It still stands therefore as the most central great power in Europe.’

Congalton continued: ‘A thoroughly autocratic court rules, every servant of the state acting in the Emperor’s name and not a whiff of the egalitarian. The palace is not merely the seat of the Crown but of the governing apparatus, all found in a monstrous edifice of bumbledom, and set about with the most elaborate ritual and appearance.’

‘Your idea, sir?’ prompted Renzi, gently.

‘Their foreign minister is a wily old bird, one Klemens Wenzel Nepomuk Lothar, otherwise Graf von Metternich-Winneburg zu Beilstein. You may be more comfortable with him known as the Count Metternich.’

‘I believe I would.’

‘The master of dissembling, the diplomatic manoeuvre, the logical finesse. A gentleman of vast social connections and an uncommonly favoured élève of the Kaiser Franz.’

‘And so …?’

‘My lord, if any may be said to know the mind of the Austrian ruler, it must be he. I wonder – a curious fancy only – that if one were to reach a state of amity approaching the confiding, a more sound and trustworthy picture of the Austrian position might be won? Certainly set against that to be gained from the more usual diplomatic ploys.’

‘A reasonable assumption,’ Renzi murmured. But was Congalton suggesting another play at the aristocratic dilettante, opposite a formidable intellect that had no reason to dally with a fop? ‘I really cannot see it,’ he said abruptly. ‘As an Englishman, to appear suddenly in a fiefdom so recently and forcibly drawn into Bonaparte’s orbit, then seen to be familiar with its highest functionary would attract attentions of a nature that Count Metternich must find acutely embarrassing.’

A soft but enigmatic smile briefly appeared before Congalton leaned back and responded politely, ‘Not if there is a good and valid purpose for your intimate and private converse.’

‘What possible reason can be given for such behaviour between us, pray?’

‘My lord, what do you know of the Almanach de Gotha?’

Taken aback, Renzi replied, ‘Why, since the last century this is your directory of royalty and the reigning houses of the civilised world.’

‘In which your own lineage is to be found.’

‘It is, but hardly notable, being but one entry in above a thousand pages.’

‘The volume is regularly consulted upon the continent, much store being set there in ancient bloodlines.’

‘So I understand.’

‘And none more diligently than in the Imperial Chancellery of Austria. This, my lord, is why you will be allowed, even welcomed, into the country and particularly into private conclave with Count Metternich.’

‘Mr Congalton, I fail to see—’

‘In England a union between two noble houses through marriage is a weighty matter, never the casual choice of the two principals.’ Renzi had the grace to blush as Congalton went on, ‘Matters of social standing in polite society, a proper settlement upon the pair and, above all, a satisfaction at the suitability of the match in the affair of birthright and descent are scrupulously examined. How much more, then, in the case of a continental connection where dynasties and crowns pass to the issue of these unions?’

‘Such is being contemplated by Austria?’

‘The eldest of Emperor Franz the First, Marie Louise, is now of an age. Of the first rank in eligibility she’s courted by near every royal house in Europe, not excepting Great Britain, Russia … and France. It’s to be expected that retainers of the respective courts bearing diplomatic protections will attend on the palace to plead their case to the one Austrian most concerned in the result – their foreign minister. Strict discretion will be observed and no account will be given to the most earnest tête-à-tête for it will be universally assumed that much play will be made with the Almanach de Gotha and such in demolishing and vilifying rival claims, with no scandal or canard left unrecruited in the process.’

‘So I will be a panderer-in-chief to the Court of St James.’

‘Not at all, my lord. We have in place our own man who will in all good faith pursue that goal. Your situation is that of worldly-wise family friend, taking the part of the young and naïve potential groom that he is not pitchforked into an unfortunate foreign marriage.’

‘Umm. It does seem possible, Mr Congalton.’

‘I believe so, my lord. Dependent as always on your own good self strutting your role upon the stage to satisfaction.’

‘Then who do you believe will win the hand of this fair lady?’

‘With so many suitors, each the shining ornament of their nation, it would be an invidious choice, accepting one at the certain risk of offending all others. I therefore cannot say, other than that in the end it is the most likely it will be some obscure German principality that will prove fortunate.’

It needed no reply and Renzi waited for the final benediction.

‘It really doesn’t signify but it does meet the need for an excuse and reason for your presence. I should make mention that there will be one other who must be considered as involved.’

‘Oh?’

‘The Countess Farndon. For form’s sake, she must, of course, accompany you but—’

‘No! This is not—’

‘My lord, let me assure you that there’s no danger to be apprehended. Any untoward incident involving an honoured guest would be intolerable, and I suspect you will be safer in the Hofburg Palace in Vienna than in your own Totnes market of a Wednesday.’

‘Then I agree.’





Kydd strode into the drawing room of the Farndon townhouse. ‘It’s Toulon!’ he announced grandly, flinging his coat over the back of a chair and assuming a fine quarterdeck brace. A brief note from Whitehall earlier that day had been a summons from the first lord to learn his fate once Tyger had been refitted.

‘The Toulon blockade,’ Persephone murmured, digesting the news.

‘A very important duty, I’m persuaded,’ Cecilia said firmly, looking at Renzi as if expecting contradiction.

‘What Jack Tar calls the “Toolong Blockade”, I seem to remember,’ Renzi muttered, ‘as being of no sport at all.’

‘Then this will suit Thomas admirably,’ Persephone pronounced. ‘He’s lately been called on for more adventuring than is right and proper. The respite will be most welcome.’

At Kydd’s rather odd smile, Cecilia broke in, ‘Cheer up, Thomas! We’re off on an adventure of our own soon. Can I tell them, Nicholas?’

‘All the world will know of it before long, I believe, my dear.’

‘Well, you’d never guess! Not as if it can stand against your most gallant feats of arms.’ She beamed. ‘Nicholas and I will be going to Vienna. Hetty has agreed to be my lady companion on the journey and—’

‘Vienna?’ Persephone gasped. ‘Of Herr Beethoven? Of – of Austria and Hungary and the Holy Roman Empire and the three palaces and – and—’

‘Just so,’ Cecilia said.

‘Oh, how I’ve wished to visit such a monument to the arts in all their glory! You’re so fortunate, my dear.’ Her eyes shone, then she added in a puzzled voice, ‘Um, I thought it had been conquered by Napoleon. How then will you …’

Cecilia gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Not as if it’s so difficult. We sail under cartel to Hamburg, then on to the Danube. You see, the eldest daughter of Emperor Franz is to be married and all Europe contends in providing a match. We’re in attendance to press the claim of Viscount Henry Capstock. He’s related to Nicholas through his mother and—’

Renzi broke in, ‘Yes, my love, but I dare to say your brother can wait to hear the details. He’s to prepare Tyger for some hard enough sea-time. Wouldn’t that be so, old fellow?’

Kydd’s wry smile broadened into a grin. ‘I would think that probable, given where she’ll be venturing.’

‘Toulon.’

‘Not so, Nicholas. I’m to be sailing under the flag of Admiral Cotton, commander-in-chief of the Mediterranean Fleet before Toulon, true. But as we’re sharing confidences, I can tell you that this is a contrivance to keep me from the clutches of the wicked Admiral Sidney Smith, who commands the waters about Sicily.’

‘Shall you reveal to us why he shall be cheated of Tyger’s presence?’ Renzi asked curiously.

‘I’m to be given further frigates to make up an independent squadron, which will be charged with giving the lie to Bonaparte’s claim that the Adriatic is a French lake!’

Renzi sat bolt upright but said nothing.

‘Not in blockade at Toulon?’ Persephone said faintly. ‘So no rest and reprieve?’

‘I fancy not, dearest,’ Kydd said gently. ‘This is not your daring single frigate making rapid foray and return, it’s a proper squadron with a mission to raise havoc in the Adriatic where Boney believes himself secure because he holds both sides of the sea. It’ll set his teeth to gnashing, you may trust.’

‘So you’ll be alone in the middle of the sea, knowing that on every hand there’s an enemy who lies in wait, with every port and town closed to your hungry sailors and with danger in every hour.’ Her face was pale, her eyes fixed on his.

‘Not alone, my dear. A tight ship with as brave a crew as I might desire and others besides to keep me company.’

‘The question of a base does arise, old horse,’ Renzi added.

‘Why, Sicily itself remains to us, Nicholas. And three prime harbours – Messina, Syracuse and, o’ course, Palermo.’ He grinned boyishly. ‘And a rattling fine shame that you won’t be with me, as you’ll know there’s the bones of history on all sides as will forever have your eyes on stalks. I shall probably take shore lodgings at the Syracuse of Archimedes or is it to be the Palermo of the King of the Two Sicilies?’

Cecilia intervened with a frown, ‘I’ve heard that Sicily is not to be thought, who should say, sophisticated in these days,’ she said darkly. ‘Old ruins to be sure, but …’

‘Thomas has been in far stranger lands,’ Renzi reminded her. ‘I’m sanguine he’ll know how to endure and take care of himself.’

‘He won’t have to, in course,’ Persephone said firmly. ‘I’ll be coming with him.’

‘You’re going to …?’

‘My dear, you can’t mean it!’

‘No!’ The voices blended into one but Kydd’s sounded above them all. ‘No! Seph, thank you for your considering my comfort but this is war and Boney’s legions lie only across the Messina Strait, a bare mile or so. I’ll not have you thrown into jeopardy just for my convenience.’

‘I’m coming, Thomas. If Cecilia can go with Nicholas to exciting places, then so shall I. I’m not content to spend another year or more every day wondering what’s become of you so this time I shall be going with you.’

‘You’ll do no such thing. Whoever heard of wives following their husbands around the world like dogs? As if they didn’t trust their men in strange parts.’

‘Then you’ve not heard of Torre Abbey in Torquay?’ she answered cuttingly. ‘Half a hundred officers’ wives of the Brest blockade following their husbands as far as the water’s edge, ever ready for when the fleet puts in.’

‘This is Sicily, Seph! How will you get there?’ Kydd dem. . .