Winds of Folly (21 page)

‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,' murmured Sir William who was not asleep after all, but observing Nathan from beneath the shade of his hat.

‘Do you suppose they think of it at all?' enquired Nathan, who felt oddly uncomfortable under the Envoy's searching regard, the prey of the mantis.

‘I doubt it,' Sir William replied. ‘It is as God wills, like so much in their lives.'

He was silent a moment, then he added: ‘The Queen once had a plan to make it safe. She brought in an expert who advised her to lop a thousand feet from the peak and to channel the lava in one great river to the sea. She seriously considered it – the labour would not have been a problem in Naples, it would have given the
lazzaroni
something useful to do – but happily it did not come to fruition, like so many other plans.'

‘Happily?' Nathan could not help but respond.

A thin smile and Sir William inclined his head in acknowledg ment of the jibe. ‘For those of us who do not live in its shadow,' he acknowledged, ‘but admire its wonders from afar.'

‘So even the volcano comes under the Queen's authority,' Nathan prompted him, for he was slightly apprehensive about this meeting – his first ever with royalty – and eager for whatever information the Envoy might care to give him.

‘The Queen likes to think so. I am not sure it has been discussed with the volcano.'

A note of censure there? Nathan wondered.

Sir William was still watching him keenly. ‘You will find their Royal Highnesses to be the most amiable of sovereigns,' he said, as if divining Nathan's discomfort, ‘if not the most gracious. They do not stand on ceremony, especially at Portici. It is the only one of the King's hunting lodges where the Queen is entirely at ease, largely because there is little for His Majesty to kill there.'

‘The Queen is opposed to killing?'

‘To the killing of animals. I am not sure she raises any objection to the killing of Frenchmen, so you need not fear her rebuke.'

Nathan smiled dutifully. ‘I doubt we will do more than exchange the briefest of pleasantries,' he said.

‘Oh, I would not count on that. Indeed, I expect the Queen will interrogate you mercilessly. She will wish to know every detail of the support you have been giving to the Austrians in the north. But do not worry; at least she is on our side, which is more than can be said for the King at present.'

Nathan frowned. ‘He is opposed to the British interest?'

‘I would not go so far as to say that, but his natural disposition is vacillating – inasmuch as he cares about politics at all. He will probably ask your opinion on fox-hunting. No, you will have no problems with either the King or the Queen. The man you must be wary of is the Chief Minister, Sir John Acton.'

Nathan looked surprised. ‘He is English?'

‘No, strangely, with a name like that. He is French. That is to say, he was born in France, though of English ancestry. He served in the French Navy for a time so you will have something in common. He is addressed as Admiral, by the way, though I do not believe he has ever attained a greater rank than that of lieutenant. He came to Naples to take over the duties of Minister of Marine, which is equivalent to the First Lord of the Admiralty. He is now also the Minister for War and the Minister of Finance, which is why I call him the King's Chief Minister, though there is no official title as such. He is also the Queen's lover.' He smiled at Nathan's look. ‘But that is not an official title, either.'

‘And does the King know of this?'

Sir William frowned thoughtfully. ‘I must suppose he does, though he has never spoken to me of it. I am not sure that he would care very much. There is one thing you should know about the King,' he added after a moment's consideration. ‘There has always been a taint of madness hanging over the Spanish House of Bourbon – a curse, one might call it, of hereditary madness and melancholia. For this reason his father, the King of Spain, directed that Ferdinand should not be over-taxed mentally. Indeed, he should be given no schooling whatsoever but be brought up entirely in ignorance. I am not sure if this was a wise decision – I will leave that to your own observation – but it may explain certain aspects of his behaviour which some have found childish at times, even oafish.'

Dear God, Nathan thought, another madman.

‘But I am sure he will be quite charming to you personally,' Sir William assured him, smiling. ‘And you will be quite – charmed.'

It was barely seven in the morning and the sun barely risen when they arrived at their destination. It was, of course, more
palace than hunting lodge. Vast, sprawling and sumptuous, it was built in an eclectic style of Italian Baroque and neo-Classical – and put Nathan uncomfortably in mind of the Luxembourg Palace in Paris, where he had been imprisoned for a while during the Terror.

The King, they were told, was at breakfast, but he had left instructions for Sir William to join him as soon as he arrived. The Minister took off his broad-brimmed hat and replaced it with one more appropriate to his station and led the way into the royal presence.

The King of the Two Sicilies was standing at the far end of the breakfast room throwing food at the servants. They were covered in bits of fried egg and tomato and what looked like porridge or oatmeal, but they continued about their duties, some smiling, some stony-faced, while the King picked his targets and hurled his missiles. It was clearly his idea of a game, for he did not seem to be the least bit angry or ill-disposed towards them. On the contrary, he appeared in the best of spirits. He was using a spoon as a catapult and every time he scored a hit he roared with laughter, while his guests, of whom there were above a dozen, either clapped politely or cheered their approval or carried on eating as if nothing extraordinary was happening.

Nathan stood in the doorway, just behind the British Envoy, and stared in amazement. The King looked up and saw them there and aimed his spoon at them, but Lady Hamilton appeared from behind her husband and shouted something at him in the local dialect and he grinned bashfully and put the spoon down. The entourage, led by Sir William, then advanced and made their bows. Sir William introduced Nathan, in French, and the King made some kind of reply that might have been French but could have been any language on God's earth. He was probably in his mid-forties, Nathan thought, but he looked like a large,
fat schoolboy. Apart from his size he was probably the most unprepossessing individual Nathan had ever encountered – the only outstanding feature of his appearance being his long bulbous nose. He seemed to be wearing a nightgown, or a kind of smock, tucked into a pair of pantaloons, and hessian boots. He was without his wig and the little hair he had was short and grey and stubbly. Some of the food he had been throwing had spattered over his own clothing, unless the servants were allowed to throw it back, which seemed unlikely. He did not look at Nathan properly when they were introduced but only in a kind of furtive, shifty way, as if he was shy, or a drooling idiot, but he was attentive enough to Sir William. In fact, he seemed slightly in awe of him.

They sat down to breakfast, not that Nathan felt like any after seeing most of it dripping from the servants or congealing in soggy dollops on the floor, but coffee was served and fresh rolls brought to the table. There was no sign of the Queen. Probably she had more sense than to put in an appearance at a food-throwing event, or perhaps it would not have happened had she been here. The King talked happily enough to Sir William and Lady Hamilton in his version of Italian – at least Nathan assumed it was Italian – but made no further attempt to talk to Nathan; for which Nathan was, on the whole, extremely grateful.

After a few minutes another guest arrived and was introduced as Sir John Acton. He, at least, greeted Nathan with apparent enthusiasm and in perfect English. It was delightful, he said, to have another naval officer at the table. Then, to Nathan's surprise, after addressing a few words to the King, who appeared to have fallen into a sulk, he proposed that he and Nathan take a turn around the garden. Nathan threw a questioning glance at Sir William but he appeared not to have noticed, or if he had, not to care.

‘I felt you needed some air,' Sir John explained when they had emerged on to the long terrace at the rear of the palace. ‘I certainly did.'

He was a man of about the same age as the Minister Plenipotentiary and somewhat resembling him in appearance, though more of the wasp than the mantis. Like Sir William, he was immaculately attired and bewigged, with silver buckles on his shoes and a silver-tipped cane: a courtier of the old school. But there was also something of the Admiral in him, if only in his brisk, bluff air and a face of broken veins, rosy with wind or wine or both. Indeed, Nathan had a suspicion that he had been drinking, even this early in the morning, and his conversation certainly lacked discretion.

‘Well, I trust you have been sufficiently entertained since your arrival in Naples?' he began with the hint of a sneer. Nathan uttered some platitudes about the city and its surroundings which he interrupted impatiently: ‘But what think you of the real wonder of Naples?'

‘You mean Vesuvius?'

‘Vesuvius be damned; I mean Venus, my boy. Lady Hamilton. Is she not the Eighth Wonder of the World? Has she shown you her Attitudes yet?'

Nathan confessed politely, but with some mild embarrassment, that he did not know what Sir John was talking about.

‘Why then, I will not spoil it for you. I am sure she will not leave here without a show – the King will insist upon it. But you have not said what you think of her. Surely she has made some impression upon you?'

‘I – why, she has been very kind …'

‘Oh, I do not doubt it. She has the good nature and easy manners of a barmaid.' Nathan was at a loss for a reply but the Minister did not appear to expect one. ‘Her real name is Amy. Amy Lyon, that was her maiden name, a blacksmith's
daughter from, I forget precisely where, but like many a comely wench from the provinces she was soon attracted to London where she found employment in a number of establishments frequented by gentlemen of quality. She was the mistress of Sir William's nephew when he first met her …' He smiled at the expression on Nathan's face and took it for surprise. ‘You did not know that?'

Nathan's expression, in fact, was one of disdain. He wondered if the man was deliberately trying to provoke him and he was preparing a dismissive remark when the Minister continued: ‘Oh, do not mistake me. I have nothing but admira tion for the woman, or at least, her skill in self-advancement. She is by no means stupid, but she acts upon instinct, not intellect – an instinct for survival.' There was barely a pause before he launched into the next topic, or perhaps it was the same one. ‘She has become a great intimate of the Queen, as I expect you know.'

‘I did not,' Nathan lied easily. So this is what vexes you, he thought. You have a rival – and a mere blacksmith's daughter at that.

‘Oh, but it may very well become your concern, sir. The Queen is very much enamoured of her ladyship. A quite harmless passion, I would say, if their minds and energies did not turn so much to politics.'

So they were here at last, Nathan thought. Barmaids were very well in their sphere, even when they married into the quality, but when they became involved in politics …

‘Lady Hamilton is of a … theatrical bent, as I expect you have noticed. Everything about her is artifice – a performance – and she loves to think that she occupies centre stage, or has some significant influence upon the people that do, like one of Molière's clever little maids. And the Queen, of course, has a murdered sister to avenge. So there you have it. Your plot.
Two women and not a brain between them.' He gave an awkward laugh. ‘One recalls the phrase of John Knox and his monstrous regiment.'

Knox had, in fact, referred to the monstrous
regimen
of Elizabeth, Mary and Marie de Medici, the three Queens of England, Scotland and France, and for all his invective against them, Knox had never doubted their intelligence. But Nathan did not trouble to contradict him. He listened with increasing interest as Acton arrived at the heart of the matter: ‘The conceived ambition of these two ladies is to secure an alliance of the Italian states, led by Naples and Venice, against the French.'

‘And is that not in your own interest?' Nathan ventured after a moment.

‘In what way would it be in
my
interest?'

‘Only that I understood you had been influential in inclining Naples to the British interest.'

Acton arched his brow. ‘My interest is the interest of my employers, the Royal House of Bourbon.' Then, after a moment: ‘However, it is true that for some time I have considered those interests to be linked to those of Britain and Austria, if only to contain the spread of Revolution. Now …' He made a face. ‘I think we must play a waiting game. See which way the wind blows. And at present, though you would not know it here, there is a very cold wind blowing from the north. Bonaparte's victories have given many people in Italy a great deal of unease. And if Spain enters the war on the side of the French, which I believe is only a matter of time …' He was watching Nathan's face for a reaction. ‘Did the Viceroy not tell you this? Oh yes, I assure you it is true. When it happens, the British Admiralty will pull their fleet out of the Mediterranean, for they cannot hope to defeat the combined fleets of France and Spain. And where will that leave Naples?
Where will it leave
you
, my friend, if you persist in your journey to Venice?' He laughed at the expression on Nathan's face. ‘Oh, I know all about your mission to the
Serenissima
– there is little that passes me by. But now that you know what has happened to Dandolo, perhaps you have had second thoughts.'

Nathan had tried to keep his face from showing the effect of these several blows, though clearly without success. The information about Spain he could dismiss as pure mischief, or at least speculation, but how did Acton know of his mission to Venice? It could only have come from Sir William Hamilton, or Emma. Unless he had his spies in the British Envoy's house … But of course he did. And in all probability so did the French. Acton was watching him carefully, waiting for his response.