Beneath the Aurora (5 page)

‘Your servant, sir,' the artillery officer said with a good deal more
savoir-faire
than Sparkman had mustered, handing back the paper. ‘Lieutenant Patmore, sir, at your service. I've made the Italian officer as comfortable as possible, sir . . .' Patmore paused and shot a look at Sparkman, ‘but I'm afraid he's frightfully touchy about his honour.'

Drinkwater regarded Sparkman and raised an eyebrow. ‘You may announce me, Mr Sparkman. Lead on, Mr Patmore.'

They turned left and for a moment Drinkwater caught a glimpse of the open sea to the south-east, then the opposing salient of Landguard Point with its much older fortification, a shingle distal which formed a breakwater to the Harwich Shelf whereon a dozen merchantmen, collier brigs for the most part, rode out the last of the gale. To the north the River Orwell disappeared beyond a pair of Martello towers, winding through woodland to the port of Ipswich. Somewhere, beyond those tree-tops, lay Gantley Hall beneath the roof of which dwelt his wife Elizabeth, his children Amelia and Richard, and all his worldly desires.

Closer, behind the roofs of Harwich itself, the River Stour stretched westward to Manningtree, where he had had his final change of horses prior to traversing its banks that very forenoon.

‘Your batteries command the harbour very well, Mr Patmore. Have you been stationed here long?'

‘I came with the guns, sir, from Woolwich, three years ago.'

They passed a stiffly rigid bombardier and two gunners, then turned suddenly, out of the wind and down through a stepped tunnel, descending rapidly to the level of the bottom of the dry moat, emerging within the wall's circumference on to a parade ground almost ninety feet across. Walking quickly round its edge they passed a number of wooden doors, some open, betraying a kitchen, a guardroom and the garrison's quarters, then stopped beside one which Sparkman unlocked.

Inside the casemate, wooden stalls formed the fort's prison, and at the opening of the door the inmate of the nearer leapt to his feet and Drinkwater saw the blazing dark eyes and fierce moustaches of the Neapolitan officer.

‘This is an outrage! I demand you release me at once! I am invested with plenipotentiary powers by King Joachim Napoleon of Naples! An insult to me is an insult to the King my master! You have taken my sword and with my sword my honour! I wish to be taken to London . . .'

As this tirade burst upon them, Drinkwater turned to Patmore and, putting up a hand to the artillery officer's ear, asked, ‘Do you have a room I could use? Somewhere you could serve some bread and meat, and perhaps a conciliatory bottle?'

Patmore nodded.

‘Would you oblige me by attending to the matter?'

‘Of course, sir. I advised Sparkman against this line of conduct.'

‘Leave the matter to me, Mr Patmore.'

‘Of course, sir. If you'll excuse me . . .' Patmore turned away, obviously glad to be out of the embarrassing din which echoed about the chamber.

‘I give myself up to you, Signor Sparkman, in honour, in friendship, in trust. I have plenipotentiary powers . . .'

‘Will you hold your damned tongue!' Sparkman cried, his efforts to expostulate having failed under Bardolini's verbal barrage. Bardolini grew quiet, seeing Drinkwater properly for the first time as he moved away from the door and ceased to be in silhouette to a man who had spent fifteen hours in the dark.

‘This is Captain Drinkwater, Colonel, from London . . .'

‘A
captain
,' Bardolini sneered, ‘a
captain
? I am a colonel in the light cavalry of the Royal Life Guard! Am I to be met by a
captain
?'

‘I am a captain in His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy, Colonel Bardolini,' Drinkwater said, stepping forward and edging Sparkman to one side. ‘I believe us to be equal in rank, sir,' he added with a hint of sarcasm which, he noted, was lost on Bardolini. ‘Do you release our guest, Mr Sparkman.'

‘I, er, I don't have the key, sir. Mr Patmore . . .'

‘Then run and get it,' Drinkwater snapped. As soon as they were alone, he turned to Bardolini. ‘I beg you to forgive the inconvenience to which you have been put, Colonel. You must appreciate the dangers of accepting everyone arriving from Europe at face value. Our orders are quite specific and to men of Lieutenant Sparkman's stamp, essential. D'you understand?'

‘What is
stamp
?'

‘Character . . .'

‘Ah,
si
. Not so clever, eh?'

‘Indeed, yes.' Drinkwater smiled. The untruthful but reassuring little collusion between two senior officers mollified Bardolini, and then Sparkman was back with a key and they led the Neapolitan out into a watery sunshine which showed the
breaking up of the scud and foretold a shift in the wind. On the far side of the parade, Patmore stood beside an open door and Drinkwater began to walk towards him.

Behind him Bardolini stopped and looked up at the circle of sky above them, stretching ostentatiously. He ran a finger round his stock, then put on the hat which he had tucked under his arm. Drinkwater was amazed at the splendour of the man. He wore the tight
kurtka
deriving from the Polish lancers of the Grande Armée, a white jacket with a scarlet plastron and silver epaulettes. His long cavalry overalls were scarlet, trimmed with twin rows of silver lace, while his headdress also echoed the Polish fashion, a
czapka
with its peak and tall, square top, braided with silver and magnificently plumed in white. Colonel Bardolini was turned out in
la grande tenue
of parade dress and wanted only a shave to complete the impression of military perfection.

‘Come, Colonel. I have ordered some meat and wine for you, and if you wish we can send for hot water for you to shave . . .'

‘Good!' snapped Bardolini and crossed the parade.

Patmore led them into another casemate which served as the officers' mess. It was simply furnished with a table, chairs, a sideboard and some plate. Another artillery lieutenant lounged over a glass and bottle, already well down the latter for his welcome was heartily indulgent.

‘Please sit down, gentlemen. Henry Courtney
à votre service
. Here, sir,' he said to Bardolini, ‘your breakfast.' A gunner in shirt-sleeves brought in a platter of sliced meat and bread. Courtney poured wine into a second glass. Bardolini hesitated, then sat and fell ravenously upon the plate.

‘Mr Courtney,' Drinkwater said as Bardolini devoured the food, ‘would you do me the courtesy of allowing me a few moments of privacy with our guest?'

‘Oh, I say, I've not finished . . .'

‘Harry!'

Courtney turned and caught the severe look in Patmore's eye. ‘Oh, very well,' he said unconvincingly, and rose with a certain display of languid condescension, ‘as you wish.'

Drinkwater helped himself to a glass of wine as the door closed. The shirt-sleeved gunner looked in and Drinkwater
dismissed him, closing the door behind him. Then he walked back to the table, drew the identification paper from his breast yet again and laid it before Bardolini. The Neapolitan read it, still chewing vigorously. Then he stopped and looked up.

‘My own papers, they are with my sword and sabretache! I do not have them!'

‘Calm yourself, my dear Colonel,' Drinkwater said and sat down opposite Bardolini. ‘We can attend to the formalities on our way back to London. At the moment I wish only to know the purpose of your visit.'

‘I have plenipotentiary powers, Captain. They are, with respect to yourself, for the ears of King George's ministers. I have a letter of introduction to Lord Castlereagh . . .'

‘You speak excellent English, Colonel, where did you learn?' Drinkwater adroitly changed the subject.

‘I worked for many years in the counting-house of an English merchant in Napoli. He taught it to all his clerks.'

‘You were a clerk then, once upon a time?'

‘But a republican always,' Bardolini flared.

‘Yet you represent a king, and seek the ministers of a king. That is curious, is it not?'

‘King Joachim is a soldier. He is a republican at heart, himself the son of an inn-keeper. He is a benevolent monarch, one who wishes to unite Italy and be a new Julius Caesar.'

‘I thought Caesar refused a crown . . .'

‘King Joachim is not a king as you understand it, Captain. Believe me, I lived under the rule of that despot Ferdinand and his Austrian bitch. They are filth, perhaps as mad as they say your own king is, but certainly filth, not worthy to eat the shit that ran out of the sewers of their own palazzo.'

‘And yet I have to ask what King Joachim would say to the mad King George's ministers?'

‘I cannot tell you.'

‘I cannot take you to London.'

‘You would not dare to refuse!' Bardolini's eyes blazed.

‘Colonel, the ocean is wide, deep and cold. The men who have seen you today will have forgotten you in a month. Why do you think I have come here today? Do you think I myself do not have special powers, eh?' Drinkwater paused, letting his words sink in. ‘Come, sir, telling me what you have come here
for is likely to have little effect on matters if I am a man of no account. On the other hand, going forward to London on my recommendation will ensure your mission is swiftly accomplished.'

Bardolini remained silent.

‘Let me guess, then. You are here in order to open secret negotiations to preserve the throne of Naples in the name of King Joachim Napoleon. You speak very good English and have plenipotentiary powers in case it becomes possible, in the course of your discussions, to conclude a formal accommodation, or even a full treaty of alliance, in which the British government guarantee Naples for the King your master who, though he remains a Marshal of France and Grand Admiral of the Empire, lost his French citizenship on succeeding to the crown of Naples.' Drinkwater paused, aware that he had Bardolini's full attention.

‘You have, moreover, a difficult game to play because, on the one hand, King Joachim does not want his brother-in-law, the Emperor Napoleon, to know of this action. Nor does he wish the Austrians to learn of it, for while they may well toy with King Joachim, his desire to unite the Italian republicans and then the whole peninsula is inimical to their own interests. Moreover, it will cause deep offence to King Ferdinand, whose wife, Queen Maria Carolina, is not only the sister of the late Queen of France, Marie Antoinette, but was also born an Austrian archduchess and whose husband, though ruling still in Sicily, has been deprived of the Italian portion of his kingdom by conquest. King Ferdinand regards your King Joachim as an usurper.

‘Nevertheless, Prince Cariati at Vienna is assiduously pressing King Joachim's suit to the Austrian ministry. So your master must play a double game, for the Emperor Napoleon works to detach the Austrian Emperor from his alliance with us, thinking his own new wife, the Empress Marie-Louise, yet another Austrian archduchess, possesses influence to succeed in this endeavour, being daughter to the Emperor Francis himself.'

Drinkwater paused. Bardolini had ceased chewing and his jaw lay unpleasantly open so that half-masticated food was
exposed upon his tongue. Drinkwater poured another glass of wine and looked away.

‘Now, Colonel, do you have anything to add to this?'

Bardolini shut his mouth, chewed rapidly and swallowed prematurely. He lunged at his glass and gulped at the claret, wiping his mouth on the scarlet turn-back of his cuff.

‘
Sympatico
, Captain, we are of one mind!'

‘Perhaps. But King George's ministers will be less easy to oblige than you imagine, Colonel. Consider. Your master has already communicated with us through his Minister of Police, the Duke of Campochiaro, who sent one of his agents, a certain Signor Cerculi, to discuss with Colonel Coffin at Ponza matters of trade and an easement of the naval blockade of Calabria. Is that not true? And after these negotiations had been concluded, Cerculi let it be known that King Joachim and his brother-in-law had fallen out, indeed, that they were frequently at odds. King Joachim wants to rule in his own name and Napoleon wants him as no more than a tributary-king, a puppet – a marionette. Is this not so?'

‘How do you know all this?' Bardolini looked genuinely puzzled.

‘Because', Drinkwater said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, ‘Colonel Coffin reported the matter back to the Sicilian court at Palermo, and from there it was passed to London.'

Such a torrent of detail clearly surprised Bardolini. He was astonished at the knowledge possessed by this strange Englishman. He did not know that Coffin had regaled the British frigate captain with the whole story and he, bored with the tedium of blockade, had confided all the details to his routine report of proceedings. This, in turn, had crossed Drinkwater's desk within two months, at the same time that the confidential diplomatic dispatch from Sicily had reached the office of the Foreign Secretary.

‘But therein lies our dilemma, Colonel,' Drinkwater continued relentlessly. ‘King Ferdinand has been assured that the British government wants to see the King of the Two Sicilies restored to his rightful place in his palace at Naples. How, then, can His Britannic Majesty's government take King Joachim seriously?'

It was, Drinkwater thought wryly, a fair question. Napoleon
Bonaparte, having driven Ferdinand across the Strait of Messina, placed his brother Joseph on the vacant throne at Naples, leaving Ferdinand and Maria Carolina to vegetate under British protection at Palermo. Then, when he deceived the King of Spain and took him prisoner, Napoleon transferred Joseph to Madrid, installing him as king there, and sent Marshal Murat to Naples as King Joachim. It was rather a tawdry and expedient proceeding.

‘Ferdinand is not important. He fled in English ships to Palermo. You support him there, without English ships he is powerless. Your government can abandon Ferdinand. Lord William Bentinck, your former minister at Palermo, has already been recalled by Lord Castlereagh.'