Winds of Folly (24 page)

‘Not before we rejoin the squadron.'

‘If I was him, I'd rather hang now than be stuck in chains in the orlop for God knows how long. Worse'n bein' a slave. An' still be hanged at the end of it.'

Nathan gave him a withering look. ‘I call it a poor thing when a man may get off scot free for robbery with violence upon the King's highway, and be hanged for striking a man.'

Gabriel remained astonishingly unwithered. ‘Aye well, an' there's some would say there's not that much difference between being a highwayman and servin' as an officer in the King's Navy,' he observed coolly, ‘but that one may be hanged for it an' the other make his fortune with the blessings of His Majesty the King. Savin' your presence.'

A knock on the door prevented any further discussion of this contentious and potentially treasonable subject, and Mr Lamb made his usual timely entrance. ‘Mr Duncan's respects, sir, and we are beyond sight of land.'

‘Thank you, Mr Lamb, I shall be on deck shortly.'

He emerged to find the frigate under full sail, but barely heeling with the lightness of the breeze from the south-west. He could still make out Vesuvius and its attendant cloud to the east, but they were well out of sight of any watchers on the shore, even with the advantage of one of Sir William's excellent lenses.

‘Very well, Mr Duncan, let us wear ship, and Mr Perry, you may set us a course for the Strait of Messina.'

But as he studied the charts in the master's day cabin, he began to think again. The Strait of Messina ran for twenty miles between the toe of Italy and the island of Sicily, a perfect short-cut to the Ionian Sea. But at its narrowest point it was barely two miles wide. Any ship passing through could be viewed along almost the whole of its length from either shore. The only possibility of evading detection was to make the journey by night or in a thick mist, but the massive amounts of water channelled into the narrows created dangerous currents and whirlpools. So dangerous, in fact, that it had given rise to the legend of Scylla and Charybdis, the two monsters said to reside on either side of the Strait.

Scylla, as Nathan recalled, was a kind of octopus with six long necks and six heads containing rows of razor-sharp teeth, while Charybdis was a whirlpool resembling a huge bladder with a mouth that could swallow a ship whole. The Strait being so narrow, mariners attempting to avoid Charybdis would pass too close to Scylla and vice versa.

The only alternative was to sail round the southern coast of Sicily, staying well out to sea, and this would add hundreds of miles to their voyage. It might take them a week longer to reach Corfu. And their problems would not end there. For within days of mooring in Corfu Town – or Kerkyra as the locals called it – the presence of two British men-o'-war would be known throughout the region. It might effectively curtail the activities of the corsairs, but it would not help
Unicorn
's quest for prizes of her own.

But perhaps there was a solution to both problems. And the more Nathan thought about it, the more it appealed to the deceiver in him.

He discussed it with his first lieutenant and the sailing master. There was a natural reluctance from Duncan, who hated anything of the irregular and disorderly, but Mr Perry welcomed any alternative to sailing right round the island of Sicily. In deference to Duncan, Nathan waited until the morning watch on the third day out of Naples when they were, by the master's calculations, only a few hours' sailing distance from Castello di Scilla at the northern end of the Strait, but then the hands set to with exemplary, indeed almost distressing zeal. The perfect white stripe along the gunports was painted black to match the rest of the hull, the topgallants struck down and the remaining sails patched with oddments of canvas. More shoddy canvas was hung over the telltale beak of war and the proud unicorn at her bow; the frigate's name was painted over and the name
Gullveig
inscribed in its place with the port of
origin given as Tergeste which Dr McLeish assured Nathan was the Old German for Trieste. And finally Mr Duncan's spotless decks were soiled with buckets of slush and other food waste from the galley which the hands took the greatest delight in treading in, just to see the look on the first lieutenant's face, even though they knew there would be long hours of holystoning to restore the decks to their former glory when there was no further need for deception.

Nathan had himself rowed out in the ship's launch to view the result. It would not pass a close scrutiny, but from a mile or so distant he thought it might pass muster. To add to the confusion for the watchers ashore he had resolved to send the
Gullveig
through the Strait first, with
Bonne Aventure
about a mile astern flying French colours and in apparent pursuit. She might even fire a few rounds from the 6-pounders at her bow, he conceded, though woe betide her commander and the gun crew if any came aboard.

And so halfway through the forenoon those putative watchers ashore might have observed an Austrian merchant vessel sailing close-hauled through the Strait of Messina chased by a French privateer which fired successive rounds vainly at her stern. Once clear of the Strait, however,
Unicorn
backed her mizzen and the two men-o'-war proceeded less dramatically around the toe of Italy and began the long haul across the Ionian Sea.

Nathan had set their course for Corfu, the largest of the seven Ionian Islands which lay off the western coastlines of Epirus and Morea, and were the main base for the Venetian fleet. The islands had been settled by the Greeks a thousand years before Christ. One of them – Ithaca – was believed to be the home of Odysseus and the place to which he had been trying to return during the adventures chronicled by Homer in the
Odyssey
. But they had been part of the Venetian Empire for the
last five hundred years and were a key element in the
Serenissima
's vital trading links with the Orient. Apart from his desire to view the Venetian fleet at close quarters, Nathan was also hopeful of meeting with Spiridion Foresti, British Consul to the Seven Islands and a valuable source of intelligence, he had been informed, on the politics of the Most Serene Republic. If anyone knew what had happened to Admiral Dandolo – and the British Ambassador, for that matter – it was likely to be Foresti.

On the morning after leaving the Strait of Messina the wind shifted to west-nor'-west, and for the next few days it did not depart from that quarter, or stir itself to propel them at more than two or three knots, often falling away altogether. There was little to do aboard the frigate, for the normal tasks of swabbing the decks and making everything shipshape had gone by the board in the interests of deceit. But the crew practised frequently at the guns, which had been spared the general air of neglect, and spent their leisure hours fishing or watching the dolphins that sported in the seas around them. Mr Lamb had set himself up as a naturalist and instructed Nathan in the identity and character of the large number of birds that trailed in their wake. Caspian and Slender-billed Gulls were the most common, but they also saw a pair of Glossy Ibis and once, in the distance, a flock of pink flamingos from the Sicilian lakes. In return, Nathan instructed him and the other young gentlemen in their navigation and mathematics, though he was but a poor tutor and was relieved for the most part to leave their education to Mr Perry and the schoolmaster. By night he watched the stars and tried to divert himself from considerations of policy and command and the thought of the prisoner in his chains down in the orlop.

And so at length, on the sixth day after leaving Naples, they came to Corfu.

*

‘I fear it is true. Admiral Dandolo is dead. He was murdered on the steps of the Convent of San Paolo di Mare on Ascension Day – the last day of
Carnevale
. Stabbed to death by hired assassins. Which, even by the standards we have come to expect from the Serene Republic, is topping it a bit rich, as they say in the Navy.'

Spiridion Foresti, British Consul in the Ionian Islands, was a man of impressive stature and considerable presence who looked very like John Kemble's Othello on a poster Nathan had seen in Drury Lane. A paler version of the Moor, perhaps, but with the same swarthy, hawk-nosed air of a pirate turned diplomat – who was ready to turn back to piracy the moment it appeared to his advantage. He spoke excellent English with a hint of Wapping – he had served on an English merchant ship for many years in his youth, he said – but he was a native of Zante, the third largest of the Seven Islands, where he had his official residence. Nathan was lucky to find him in Corfu, he disclosed, for he only came here in pursuit of his own business concerns. He had extensive shipping and trading interests throughout the region and, indeed, as far afield as the Levant. Nathan assessed him as an honest rogue. He had warmed to him within minutes of their acquaintance.

His confirmation of Dandolo's death was a blow, though not unexpected.

‘Do we know who killed him?' Nathan enquired. ‘And why?'

The Consul spread his arms in a generous embrace. ‘In Venice, that is like asking why are the streets filled with water and who put it there. It could have been agents of the French, the Austrians, any one of a dozen Italian states – the Papacy or the Florentines are the usual suspects when a knife or poison is involved – or agents of the Republic itself, always assuming the
motive was political. But it could as easily have been a crime of passion, or a family feud, or some deadly insult demanding instant revenge. And a deadly insult in Venice can be as trivial as treading on someone's toe. It takes very little to require the employment of a
bravo
in the
Serenissima
.'

Nathan confessed he was not acquainted with the term.

‘Nor would you wish to be,' the Consul assured him. ‘A
bravo
is a hired assassin – as common in Venice as are chimney-sweeps in London, and almost as cheap.' He topped up Nathan's glass with wine. ‘But did you have a particular reason for wishing to meet with him – if it is not to betray a confidence?'

It probably was but Nathan told him anyway. There seemed little reason not to now. ‘In the event of a French invasion, Dandolo was prepared to come over to the British,' he said, ‘and bring the fleet with him.'

‘Ah.' This was clearly news to the Consul. ‘Well, in that case we need not trouble ourselves with crimes of passion. If that had become known to the French, or even the Venetian authorities, his life would not have been worth a single
denaro
. But I am intrigued. He offered to bring over the fleet, you say?'

‘That surprises you?'

‘No, it does not surprise me. Only that someone would take him up on the offer.'

Nathan queried this with a frown, and by way of a reply the Consul rose from his chair and opened the window to the balcony.

‘Come,' he said, ‘and I will show you.'

The Consul's house was on the waterfront and offered a panoramic view over the harbour and across the North Channel to the distant mountains of Epirus on the mainland. Immediately below them was the little Bay of Faliraki where some twenty or
thirty sea-going vessels were moored, including the
Bonne Aventure
in her present guise of a packet bringing despatches for the British Consul – but not the
Unicorn
, which they had left in the sheltered bay of Kassiópi a few miles along the northern coast.

Nathan had glimpsed the masts of several ships-of-war on his way up the Channel from the south, but the Consul's balcony afforded him a far better view. Lying under the guns of the old fortress on the headland were eight ships of the line and as many frigates and sloops, all flying the winged lion of St Mark. The Consul invited him to study them at his leisure through the telescope mounted on the balcony.

When Nathan finally withdrew his eye, Spiridion Foresti smiled at the expression on his face.

‘What do you think?' he enquired.

‘I think they could never put to sea,' Nathan ventured. ‘Not in that condition.'

‘Never,' the Consul agreed complacently.

‘They have no halyards, no braces, some of them have no yards or topmasts,' Nathan announced in a tone of wonder. ‘It is as if they are laid up in ordinary. I think some are without guns.'

‘Most of them are without crews.'

‘But …' Nathan struggled to make sense of this. ‘How long have they been like that?'

The Consul shrugged. ‘Years, in some cases.'

‘Years?'

The Consul invited him to re-enter the building. ‘You must understand that nothing in the
Serenissima
is real,' he said, when they had resumed their seats and he had filled their glasses. ‘All is artifice and illusion. Like
Carnevale
. A mask upon a mask.
“We depend entirely on the idea of Venice that others have of us.”
This was said by the last Doge, Paolo
Renier, who was more of a realist than most, much good it did him. So – we have ships-of-war that can never put to sea, forts that would crumble to pieces the first time they fired a gun, an army without weapons, or the powder to fire them, a Doge who is a mere figurehead, a Senate that goes through the motions of debate, and no one cares. Music, dancing, gambling, theatre and debauchery, they are the chief objects that excite interest. For the rest …' He spread his fingers in the manner of a conjuror making an object vanish into thin air. But Nathan's mind was still on the ships.

‘Are they all like that?' he asked, jerking his head towards the window and its view across the bay. ‘The entire fleet?'

‘Oh, I would suppose there are three or four that could take their place in the line of battle, though not in the British Navy. You might find them in Venice or Porto Quieto. As to the rest …'

‘But have you not reported this?'

‘I have. I have reported it to Sir William Hamilton in Naples and to Sir Gilbert Elliot in Corsica.'