Winds of Folly (20 page)

F
our bells into the first watch and Nathan leaned on the quarterdeck rail of the
Unicorn
watching the fireworks. They had commenced with several gouts of flame that leaped skywards from between the twin peaks. Red-hot chunks of rock were projected into the heavens and an enormous black cloud spread out across the sea. Tongues of fire licked the dark underbelly of cloud and a river of molten lava spilled over the rim of the volcano and proceeded with ponderous majesty down the upper slopes.

Even in his current mood, Nathan was impressed.

For two days
Unicorn
had lain becalmed off the mole, sweltering in the midsummer heat, while he puzzled over the various courses of action that were open to him. Or not, as the case may be.

Dandolo was dead. Or was he?

She had it direct from Her Majesty who had it from her agents in Venice
…

This sounded very like moonshine to Nathan. If the Queen of Naples did maintain a string of agents in the
Serenissima
,
which he very much doubted, he considered it unlikely that she would share their intelligence quite so freely with the wife of the British Ambassador.

But it was alarming enough that Dandolo had been spoken of at all.

‘Whatever is said between Her Majesty and Lady Hamilton, you can be sure it will be in the strictest confidence,' Sir William had assured him.

Nathan wondered. He was by no means happy about this three-way converse between Sir William, Lady Hamilton and the Queen of Naples, no matter how confidential Sir William considered it.

‘Her Majesty holds Lady Hamilton in the highest esteem,' the Minister insisted. ‘She consults with her on a great many subjects and attaches considerable value to her opinion.'

Nathan wondered at this, too, but as he had no means of confirming it – or the information about Admiral Dandolo – he continued to stock up with provisions for his foray into the Adriatic.

He had interpreted the phrase
virgo intacta
– in the context in which it was uttered – to mean that he was not to become embroiled in Venetian politics, combined as they were, in some as yet undiscovered way, with sexual intrigue. This was difficult enough, given that he was being asked to bribe a senior government official, but if Dandolo was dead, it became considerably more so. Which was presumably why Sir William was advising him to abandon the mission.

Nathan did not for a moment consider this as an option. Even if the report was true, and he had reasons to doubt it, he still had to deal with the privateers operating out of Ancona.

He had been invited to stay at Palazzo Sussa while he was in port but he excused himself on the grounds that it was necessary for him to remain aboard the ship. The real reason
was that he had no wish to be drawn into the intrigues that seemed to be the stuff of life at the Palazzo. But he had dined there on two occasions and had spent a pleasurable few hours being shown the sights of the city by Lady Hamilton in her carriage.

He turned away from the rail and caught the eye of Mr Tully, who was officer of the watch. ‘I am going below,' he said, but with a certain reluctance, for the long, lonely night stretched before him.

Gabriel was already below, lighting the candles, for he knew it would be some hours before Nathan retired for the night. There was a packet ready to leave for Corsica as soon as the wind picked up and he had despatches and letters to write. He had already begun a letter to Sara but it was not going well. He had stopped in the middle of a description of Lady Hamilton and crossed it out as being both too critical and too enamoured. It sounded as if he was falling in love with the woman, if only he did not have a haughty distaste for her manner of speaking.

He tried a description of the city instead.

When I first arrived I thought it a City of the Dead. It transpired that this was because it was Siesta, which is observed as zealously in this part of Italy as it is in Spain, but at certain times of the morning and early evening it is as lively a place as any I have seen. The streets are full of
lazzaroni,
a term which is used to describe the great mass of common people and which I took at first to mean the Lazy Ones, but though many are beggars, most work as messengers or porters or do all manner of odd jobs about the city, and the term approximates more to the Sans Culottes of Paris, except that they are said to be fanatically loyal to the Monarchy. If this report were to prove
ill-founded I would not give two figs for the survival of the House of Bourbon, as they are a powerful presence and number above 50,000, I am told. King Ferdinando, how ever, is a very different creature from his cousin, the late King of France. Unlike that unfortunate he does not remain aloof from his subjects but appears to enjoy their company, especially the lowest amongst them, mingling with them on the streets and sporting with them, so much so that he is known as the Beggar King, or King Big Nose.

Nathan paused for a moment's thought, for most of this information had come from Emma, Lady Hamilton, and he was not sure how much of it was true. She was a fanatical monarchist and may have exaggerated the King's popularity. But certainly she had painted a colourful picture. He smiled fondly at the recollection.

‘Whenever 'e's bin out fishin' 'e goes down the fish market wiv 'is catch an' flogs it, same as the ordinary fisher-folk. As God's my witness, I swear it's true …' She had observed his look of disbelief. ‘You see 'im there most mornings. Or 'e'll be down in the 'arbour sportin' with the
lazzaroni
. 'E pushed one of 'em in once, clownin' around like, and when 'e finds 'e can't swim, 'e strips off 'is coat an' dives in after 'im. Speaks their lingo, too, same as I do.'

And as if to demonstrate this, she had leaned from the carriage to exchange insults with a group of
lazzaroni
lounging on the street corner, informing Nathan that they were the King's regular hangers-on and were ready to die for him if the French tried to turn him off his throne.

But if there was any truth at all in her account, it seemed astonishing to Nathan that their loyalty could be bought so cheaply, for some of the images he had seen were disturbingly
similar to reports of Paris before the Revolution. Gilded carriages racing about the streets preceded by large dogs scattering anyone and anything in their path, priests and monks in long processions bearing icons of the Virgin Mary or the saints, queues of women outside the bread shops, immense wealth and luxury contrasting with the dirt and the poverty – and a tendency for a mob to gather at the drop of a hat.

And then, of course, there was the coincidence of the two Queens – for Maria Carolina, Queen of Naples, was the sister of Queen Marie Antoinette.

‘An' they was that close,' Emma informed him, ‘that when they was becomin' young ladies, their mother, the Empress Maria Theresa, forbade 'em to ever see each other again, 'cos she said as 'ow they was a bad influence on each other. An' they never did,' she added tragically, he eyes filling with tears, ‘for one is sent off to marry the King of Naples and the other is sent to France – and the 'orrible fate that awaits 'er there.'

It transpired that Emma had visited Marie Antoinette in Paris as a special emissary for her sister, when she had travelled back to England with Sir William before the war.

‘“Give 'er this missive,” says she, 'anding me a letter, “an' tell 'er as 'ow I still loves 'er and as 'ow she is never from my thoughts.” The times I've sat with 'er,' she went on, ‘when she's 'eard the news from France. Of 'ow 'er beloved sister was spat upon by the mob an' thrown into prison. And the dreadful accusations that was made concerning 'er. I was with 'er the day she 'eard the news of 'er death on the guillotine. I will not say the words she uttered to me, for it was in the privacy and the passion of 'er grief, but I will tell you this – that woman will not rest until she 'as avenged the death of 'er sister. Vengeance! That is all she lives for – that and 'er beloved children. An' now the King 'is Majesty wants peace with
France. Wants 'er to turn against 'er own family in Vienna. 'Ow do you think she feels about that?'

Nathan took up his quill again.

The King has very little interest in the practical business of government, devoting much of his time to the hunt and other earthly pursuits, whereas Queen Maria Carolina plays a very active role in his Council, particularly in matters of foreign policy, and this has aroused as much resentment in certain sections of society as did her sister Marie Antoinette in France.

He paused again, wondering if this was quite what he should be writing to the woman he loved and, more to the point, whether it was what she wanted to hear. It was more in the nature of a despatch than a love letter. But he felt inhibited in what he wrote to her, unsure of her feelings towards him, and – for that matter – of his towards her.

All of which reminds me very much of my time in Paris
, he wrote,
when first we met, though, of course, the circumstances were very different
.

It had been Christmas when they met. Cold and wet. And the mob had been trying to string him up from a lamppost because he was not wearing the Revolutionary colours. And then later, when he had gone to her house, it had been snowing. But he felt the same sense of threat now as he did then, of being in a city and a nation that was on the brink of some great cataclysm; and the same sense of being caught up in the treadmill of history, and being unable to leap off or change its direction.

Emma had read his palm at Palazzo Sussa. A piece of nonsense, he had thought it. She had required the time and place of his birth and then embarked on some flummery about
his astrological sign and the winds that blew him hither and thither, of rising waters and a bridge, and of how his fate was bound up with the life of one who was King or Emperor, or shortly to become one.

Of course it was. All their fates were bound up with the lives of kings and emperors. That was the tragedy of it: that they could not live their own lives free of such concerns. That he could not spend the day with Sara at Cuckmere Haven with a picnic, and no cloud on the horizon, no shadows of war or conspiracy, no thoughts but of each other and the play of sunlight upon the sea.

She must be in England now, he thought. But there was little likelihood of hearing from her until he rejoined the squadron. And by the time she received this letter – if he ever sent it – he might be anywhere. Or dead.

A knock on the door, followed by the chubby features of Mr Anson.

‘Beg pardon, sir, but Mr Tully sends his compliments and there is a launch come out from the shore with a message for you.'

Nathan frowned. It was late to be receiving messages from the shore. He took the letter and broke the seal. It was from the British Minister. The King and Queen of Naples had sent an invitation to Sir William and Lady Hamilton to join them at their hunting lodge at Portici – and to bring Captain Peake with them.

They picked him up at first light at the shore end of the mole – so as to arrive before the sun became too hot, he was informed. They were in three carriages – Sir William in the first with Nathan and Mr Smith; Lady Hamilton in the second with her maid, and her companion Mrs Cadogan, who was said to be Emma's mother; and more servants in the third, for though
this was meant to be an informal visit, Sir William always travelled in style, Emma had explained to Nathan, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘On account of 'im bein' of royal blood.'

Nathan had expressed proper surprise at this announcement. He was aware that Sir William had been a kind of foster-brother to King George when they were both children, but not that they were linked by a more substantial bond. Oh yes, her ladyship had assured him, Sir William being the natural son of King George's father and his royal mistress the Duchess of—. Personally, Nathan could not see the faintest resemblance between the Praying Mantis and Farmer George, but stranger things had happened at court. It might even be the reason Hamilton had been sent to Naples: out of sight and out of mind.

He sat opposite Nathan in the carriage, shading his eyes with one elegant hand. He might have been asleep. Certainly, he was very still. He wore a blue silk suit with cream silk stockings and handsome shoes with large silver buckles. Possibly this was the proper rig for a diplomat attending the court of a prince, but he looked like a man from an earlier age – which in many ways, he was. Somewhat incongruously, he wore a rather louche wide-brimmed hat, such as the Revolutionists wore in Paris, presumably against the sun. Emma, in the carriage behind, was dressed in her hallmark muslin with a broad crimson sash at her waist and a kind of shepherdess hat tied with red ribbon. She looked slightly odd but ravishing. Nathan sweltered in his full-dress uniform, even this early in the morning.

Portici was on the slopes of the volcano – slumbering now after its exertions of the night; a gentle plume of smoke feathering out to sea – and to reach it they climbed through the fields and vineyards Nathan had viewed on his arrival from
the deck of the
Unicorn
. At closer quarters, they appeared even more luxuriant than they had from out in the bay: oranges, lemons and figs hanging thick on the bough and the vines strung along trellises with tall cypress trees and magnificent elms planted at regular intervals either to provide shade or simply because someone thought they added to the visual effect. Certainly the whole landscape was so ordered and graceful it could have been sculpted by a master hand: oddly so, given the wild, unpredictable nature of the giant who presided over it. The dead city of Pompeii was not far from here, preserved as in aspic by a sea of lava and a cloud of deadly dust.

Nathan watched a file of workers toiling in the rising sun under the watchful eye of one of the many Madonnas that had been erected in the fields.