The Shadow of the Eagle (36 page)

‘What time have you now … ?’ Drinkwater confirmed Gilbert’s Azorean time coincided with
Andromeda’s
own ship’s time and nodded. ‘We shall expect you then. I will arrange to have invitations delivered.’

Gilbert rose, his manner suddenly brisk. ‘We both have work to do, Captain, so I shall take my leave for the nonce and look forward to seeing you later.’ He smiled. ‘An event like this certainly livens up a dull, if pleasant place.’

‘I should have thought’, replied Drinkwater, walking with Gilbert to the cabin door, ‘that this was almost lotus-eating.’

‘Almost,’ Gilbert said with a laugh, ‘but a man can choke, even on lotuses.’

When he had seen Gilbert’s boat off, Drinkwater returned to the cabin and stood for a moment looking out through the stern windows. The atmosphere aboard the two French ships must be wretched in the extreme with half of Hyde’s marines doing duty as guards, just as disarmed French
grognards
did duty as donkeys aboard
Andromeda,
assisting with the business of re-rigging and labouring under duress. Matters can have been no happier aboard the
Gremyashchi.
Rakov had studiously avoided personal contact with Drinkwater and conducted all intercourse through the medium of his son, a lieutenant who spoke better English than his father. Drinkwater turned and his eye was caught by Gilbert’s abandoned, half-full glass. He recalled the consul’s offer of some ‘tolerable wine’.

His own was obviously intolerable. Well, so be it; lotus-eating clearly had its drawbacks. Drinkwater eased himself into his chair, reached for pen, ink and paper and called his servant.

‘Frampton, pass word for a midshipman to report in a quarter of an hour. I shall be entertaining at six bells in the afternoon watch. Dinner for,’ he paused and made a quick calculation, ‘for seventeen. Yes, I know, we shall have to borrow some of the wardroom silver and their table. A pig and some vegetables will be sent off this morning from the shore.’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Frampton’s tone bore the dull acquiescent tone of the hopeless servitor. He began his shuffling retreat to his pantry with a sigh when Drinkwater, who had already bent to his writing, looked up.

‘Oh and, Frampton, the consul will also be sending off a quantity of tolerable wine.’ ‘Very good, sir.’

The unusual nature of the gathering aboard HMS
Andromeda
that sunlit afternoon precluded any real sociability. Two thirds of those present had recently been, as the colloquialism had it, at hammer and tongs with each other, while the motives of the other third were highly suspect. A jolly, convivial dinner being out of the question, Drinkwater had decided that the proceedings would be formal and the serving of the meal incidental to the real business in hand. To this end, Drinkwater instructed Hyde to parade those of his marines left aboard
Andromeda,
and two files lined the quarterdeck as a guard of honour, commanded by Hyde, resplendent in scarlet, with his gorget glittering at his throat and a drawn sword in his white-gloved hand. The turnout of the marines owed much to the assiduous training of the late and lamented Sergeant McCann who lay, with over a score of his ship-mates, buried off the western cape of the island of Graciosa.

Drinkwater had also turned out in full dress, as had his three lieutenants, the master and the surgeon, though Drinkwater suspected the latter resented the flummery of the occasion. All the British officers wore their hangers and, in accordance with Drinkwater’s instructions, each had his assigned group of foreign officers to look after. In his written invitations, Drinkwater had stated
Andromeda’s
boats would pick up the French officers, and his midshipmen had been given explicit orders to allow the barge from the
Gremyashchi
to arrive alongside ahead of them. Gilbert and the Portuguese customs officer, however, came off first.

‘Captain Drinkwater, may I introduce Senhor Bensaude,’ Gilbert said, smiling.

‘Welcome aboard, sir, I understand you have a good command of English and will translate the news for us.’

‘It will be my pleasure, Captain.’

‘I have acquainted Senhor Bensaude with the delicacies of the situation,’ Gilbert added.

‘Indeed, I understand quite perfectly,’ Bensaude added, his accent curiously muted.

‘Your English is flawless, Senhor,’ Drinkwater replied, impressed.

‘I formerly worked in a Lisbon house exporting wine to England. It was run by an English family by the name of Co’burn.’

‘Ah, that explains matters.’ Drinkwater turned to Gilbert. ‘And thank you for your pigs; as you can smell, they will be ready shortly.’

Marlowe approached with the news that the
Gremyashchi’s
boat was coming alongside, and a few moments later Captain Count Vladimir Ivanovich Rakov and his son were engaged in conversation with Gilbert and Lieutenants Ashton and Frey, while Drinkwater welcomed the party from the French ships.

He recognized their leader immediately. The thin, ascetic, sunburnt features with the dependent moustaches, the pigtails and queue were that of the hussar officer Drinkwater had cut down and he had last seen slumped against a carronade slide. Beneath the burnished complexion, the hussar’s skin bore a ghastly pallor. Like Drinkwater, he wore a sling, but he concealed this beneath his brown, silver-frogged pelisse which he wore, contrary to common practice, over his sword-arm. A large sabretache dangled from his hip, vying for the attention of any onlookers with his sky-blue overalls, but he wore no sword.

The hussar officer carried an extravagantly plumed busby under his left arm. His hessian boots were of scarlet leather and bore gold tassels. Apart from regimental differences, he reminded Drinkwater, in his dress, of Lieutenant Dieudonne, whom he had fought on the ice at the edge of the Elbe.
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‘I am Colonel Marbet,’ the hussar officer said in halting English, inclining his head in a curt bow. Then, having established his precedence, he stood back and a naval officer came forward.

‘I am Capitaine de Fregate Duhesme.’ Drinkwater had a vague recollection of seeing this man before, after he had suffered the ministrations of debridement and bone-setting by Kennedy, when he accepted the formal surrender of
L’Aigle
and relinquished the details to Marlowe and Frey, with the sole instruction to return her commander’s sword to him.

‘Welcome aboard, Capitaine. I understand Capitaine Friant of the
Arbeille
is too indisposed to join us.’

‘He is badly wounded,’ answered Duhesme in good English. ‘Colonel Marbet of the Second Hussars is the senior of us, but this is Capitaine Duroc of the Imperial Horse Grenadiers …’

The big man in the blue and white coat held a huge bearskin under the crook of his left arm and wore ungainly jack-boots and spurs.

These had been buffed for the occasion, and judging by the gleam in his eyes, there was fight still left in Duroc.

Drinkwater coughed to gain their collective attention. ‘Gentlemen, there is much to discuss and it would be the better done over dinner. Please be so kind as to follow me into the cabin.’ And without further preamble he led the way below.

As soon as the company was seated and their glasses filled, and while the lieutenants each carved a joint of pork, Drinkwater rose and addressed them all.

‘Gentlemen, welcome aboard His Britannic Majesty’s frigate
Andromeda.
For those of you who do not already know it, I am Nathaniel Drinkwater, a post-captain in the Royal Navy of Great Britain.’ He spoke slowly, allowing Duhesme to translate for Marbet and Duroc. ‘The unfortunate circumstances that led to the actions between our several vessels,’ Drinkwater paused a moment, laying emphasis on the point and staring at Rakov, ‘have been overtaken by events. Mr Gilbert here, the British consul at Angra do Heroismo, has informed me that news has arrived from Lisbon which affects us all, one way or another.

‘Capitaine Duhesme, would you be kind enough to translate what I have said for the benefit of Count Rakov …’

‘Not necessary,’ Rakov said. ‘I understand …’

‘I beg your pardon, Count, I did not know you spoke English very well.’

‘I serve with Admiral Hanikov’s squadron in North Sea. You not know…’

‘On the contrary, Count, I am perfectly acquainted with Admiral Hanikov’s movements in the North Sea. Now I shall proceed …’

Drinkwater ignored Rakov’s glare and continued while the plates were passed and vegetables served. Frampton and the wardroom messmen fussed about the fringes of the tables and Drinkwater noted Gilbert’s wine was tolerable enough to be swallowed in considerable quantities.

‘Mr Gilbert has solicitously brought off Senhor Bensaude, an officer of the Portuguese customs service, to impartially translate this news to us.’ Drinkwater turned to Bensaude. ‘Senhor, if you would be so kind …’

Bensaude rose and the crackle of the newspaper filled the expectant cabin as he held it up to read. He was not a tall man, but the broadsheet’s top touched the deck-beams above his head.

‘The despatch is dated Paris, 2nd May, and the date of this newspaper is Lisbon, 14th May. The despatch states that: “It is reported from Frejus that Napoleon Bonaparte arrived at that place and embarked in the British Frigate
Undaunted,
Captain Ussher commanding, on the evening of 28th April. Bonaparte landed at Portoferraio on the morning of 4th May and assumed the title of King of Elba …’

But Bensaude got no further, the succulent pork and its steaming accompaniment of cabbage and aubergines went ignored for three full minutes, while the assembly digested the fact of an Elban exile and its implications for them all. Drinkwater’s attempt to break the parties by interspersing his own officers among his guests only added to the babel, for Rakov leaned across Frey and Duroc to speak to his son, at first in French and then in Russian, while Duroc, his face dark with anger, almost bellowed at Marbet across Hyde, Marlowe and the interval between the two tables. For Drinkwater himself, the thought that a mere four days difference would have saved them all the necessity of the tragic adventure that now drew to its conclusion, ate like acid into his soul. He thought again of the urgency of Hortense’s news, of the awful consequences should the thing come to pass, and of the needless dead who had been sacrificed to prevent something that would, as matters turned out, never have happened anyway.

Thought of the dead made him look at Marbet. The hussar was trying to listen to Duroc, who boomed at him passionately, but the fight with pain and sickness was obvious to a fellow sufferer. Drinkwater felt a sudden presentiment that Marbet would not see France again. The guilty certainty diverted him and he wondered if the French conspirators knew Hortense Santhonax, then dismissed from his mind any intention to ask. If they agreed to what he was about to propose, he did not want another, vengeful death laid to his account. Let Hortense prosper, even though he must himself support her. The thought of this brought Drinkwater to himself. He waited a moment for things to quieten down and when there seemed no prospect of this, he thumped on the table until the cutlery and the glasses rang, simultaneously calling them all to order with a commanding, ‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please do not neglect your victuals!’

He paused just long enough for those translating to effect a silence. Like guilty schoolboys they picked up knife and fork. He took advantage of their awkwardness and resumed his speech. ‘I appreciate this news excites us all. Colonel Marbet and Capitaine Duhesme, I trust that you will return to a French port. If I may suggest it, flying the Bourbon lilies to ease matters. I am sure Count Rakov would join me in signing a document saying that you were lately on a cruise and learned about the fate of the Emperor from us …’ Drinkwater smiled as Marbet looked at Duhesme and Duroc, exchanging quick, low remarks with both officers. While this public, if muted conference took place, Drinkwater caught Rakov’s eye.

‘As for you and the
Gremyashchi,
Count Rakov, I consider the unfortunate matter of our exchange of fire should be regarded as accidental.’ Drinkwater watched Rakov’s expression, ramming his point home: ‘Unless of course you wish me to report your opening fire upon the British flag … It was doubtless an error, probably attributable to one of your officers …’ Drinkwater picked up his glass and smiled over it. ‘Well, then, it seems a pity that the French national cruisers
L’Aigle
and
Arbeille
had not heard of the abdication of the Emperor Napoleon and the restoration of King Louis, and engaged this ship before Capitaine Duhesme could be acquainted with the facts …’

Drinkwater looked round the table. The French were disconsolate; not only had they suffered defeat, they now knew the fate of their Emperor was no glorious resurrection in Canada, but that of a petty king, on an arid and near worthless island off the Italian coast. Count Rakov seemed sunk in gloom, alternating deep draughts of wine with short bursts of conversation with his son who seemed to be arguing some point of cogency.

Drinkwater raised an eyebrow at Gilbert who gave an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction, before addressing a remark to Bensaude. Drinkwater decided to avail himself of the pork before him, which had been carved in small slices for him to eat one-handed. It was almost cold, but the flavour remained delicious, and with Gilbert’s wine to wash it down Drinkwater began to relax.

‘Captaine Drinkwater …’

Drinkwater looked up. Duhesme was addressing him from the far table. ‘Colonel Marbet…’ Duhesme looked at Marbet who nodded with an exhausted resignation, then at Duroc whose face looked more drawn than ever. Duhesme began again. ‘We agree with your idea and accept your proposal.’

‘That is good news, Colonel.’ Drinkwater turned to Rakov. ‘Count, it remains for you to agree …’

Rakov coughed and put his wine glass down with a heavy nod. ‘Ver’ well. I agree.’

Drinkwater looked round the table and raised his own glass high. ‘Gentlemen, we have all lived our lives under the shadow of the eagle and the eagle is now caged. Let us drink to peace, gentlemen.’ He looked round the table. Duroc’s face was full of the rage of humiliation and mutilated pride and Drinkwater added, ‘At least for the time being.’