Winds of Folly (27 page)

Spiridion regarded him warily. ‘You think you can pass for an American?'

‘I have done it before,' Nathan assured him. ‘And it was generally regarded as convincing. My mother is an American. It is necessary only to speak more slowly and spit a lot.'

‘Well, it may serve,' Spiridion conceded grudgingly. ‘But how will you travel? You cannot go in the
Unicorn
, even in her present disguise. She may look like an old tramp from a distance, but she will not deceive the port authorities of the
Serenissima
.'

‘I was thinking of the
Bonne Aventure
under an American flag.'

But the Consul shook his head. ‘It is not permitted for a foreign ship-of-war to enter the lagoon of Venice,' he explained. ‘Besides, what manner of American are we speaking of here?'

‘Well, something in the merchant shipping line, I believe. I should have something to trade. Otherwise, I might be a wealthy gentleman embarking upon the Grand Tour.'

‘Travelling by sea?'

‘There is no reason why not. Though it still poses the question of a suitable conveyance,' Nathan added thoughtfully. He felt a sudden movement as the corvette began to take the tow, and experienced a small measure of guilt at not being on deck to at least give the appearance of command. An apologetic cough at the cabin door alerted him to the presence of Mr Holroyd who begged to report that they had found a doctor, but that he was insisting the wounded be carried below.

‘Well, can we not do that?'

‘I did not know if you wished to take the risk, sir.'

‘I do not think there is a great risk, Mr Holroyd. How many are there?'

It was a shocking number. Twenty-three from the
Jean-Bart
, eleven from the
Unicorn
.

‘And the dead?'

‘Fourteen Frenchies, sir. Five of our own. And one missing.'

More than in many a battle with broadsides. Almost a third of the corvette's crew dead or wounded.

‘One missing?' Nathan repeated.

‘George Banjo, sir,' Holroyd replied without expression. ‘Two of the hands saw him leap overboard after the French surrender and swim for the shore.'

‘Very well. There is no point in going after him now. Log him as a deserter and we will bury the dead when we are well out to sea; I do not want them washed up on shore.' Then, considering that this might sound more callous than not, he added: ‘But let us try to ensure there are no more of them.'

‘If you insist upon going to Venice,' Spiridion continued when the officer had gone, ‘I have a schooner in Corfu Town that might be of some use to you. The Captain is a man called Kyrgyakos. Perhaps not the most amiable of men, but reliable. He will see you safely ashore and perform any translating that may be necessary. The common language of the Venetians is a sort of bastard Latin, though the better-off speak French. I would come with you myself but I have urgent business to attend to in Paxos. However, I still think it is folly. Dangerous folly.'

‘Even so.' Nathan shrugged. ‘I think it is expected of me.'

‘Even though Dandolo is dead.'

‘I would not feel I had completed my commission to the best of my ability,' Nathan confessed, ‘if I had not explored every possibility of success.'

‘Well, I suppose that is very British of you.'

Nathan regarded him curiously. ‘Do you consider yourself to be British, Spiridion?'

‘No, my friend, I think of myself as a Venetian, and sometimes a Greek, and sometimes, when I have been exceptionally clever, or devious, a Levanter.'

‘I thought that was a wind. Or a ship.'

‘It is both of these things. It also describes a man with trading interests in the Levant, or one who absconds with large debts. Between which two, regrettably, there is often no distinction.'

‘And how did you come to be British Consul of the Seven Islands?'

‘I really have no idea,' Spiridion admitted frankly. ‘Perhaps they could find no one else to do it.' But then after a moment he added thoughtfully: ‘I have always admired the British.'

‘Why?'

‘Why do you think?'

‘I have no idea. That is why I ask.'

‘Well, there are many things. But – a sense of justice? Fair play. And perhaps your sense of humour.'

Nathan sniffed. ‘Well, we have a sense of humour, I suppose. I am not so sure about our sense of justice – certainly it is not apparent in our courts of law. But on that score, I have a favour to ask of you.'

‘It will be my pleasure.'

‘You may not think so when you hear what it is. It concerns the man who swam for the shore. George Banjo. He is in the monastery above the headland, where we had that wine you recommended.'

Spiridion regarded him with a bemused smile. ‘How do you know that?'

‘Because I gave him the directions to it. And before I left I made sure he would be given sanctuary there. He was on a charge, for striking an officer. I believe it to be unjust, but – he would have hanged.' The Consul was still staring at him, though he may have blinked a little. ‘I have given him some money and told him to make for Corfu Town where he may find a ship. He is a good seaman – and a good man. He has
saved my life on at least two occasions. But he is an African and he speaks no Italian or Greek. He may need an introduction. Of course, I will understand if this is an embarrassment …'

Spiridion shook his head. He was smiling. ‘It will remind me of why I am the British Consul,' he said. ‘I will send for him when I return to Corfu. I take it you met with no objection from the Prior when you spoke with him?'

‘None whatsoever. I gave him a small donation to Saint George.'

‘That was probably wise. It is always good to have Saint George on one's side. You will certainly have need of him in Venice if the Devil sniffs you out.'

‘The Devil? Is he a particular problem in Venice?'

‘He is. He goes under the name of Cristoforo Cristolfi and he is the chief agent of the Inquisition. Which in Venice is an instrument of the State, not the Church, and dispenses what passes for justice in the Republic. But the three Inquisitors are changed every month. Cristolfi is not, so you could say he is the most powerful man in Venice. Pray God and Saint George you do not encounter him.'

‘Anything else – before I set off on this little venture?'

‘Yes. The wind.' Nathan smiled, if a little uncertainly, but Spiridion's expression was serious. ‘There is a wind which the Venetians call the Sirocco. You may have heard of it?' Nathan was nodding. ‘Good. But you will not wish to experience it, my friend. At sea it comes upon you of a sudden and with a tremendous violence, driving you before it until you run upon the rocks. On land it has a more subtle but no less extreme effect. It drives men mad and women wanton. There are some who call it the Wind of Eris – the Goddess of Strife who haunts the battlefield and delights in human bloodshed. It was she who caused the discord that led to the Trojan War. And all wars since. She is adroit in the manipulation of human folly.
When she wishes to stir it up, she sends the Sirocco. The Wind of Eris. The Wind of Folly.'

‘So.' Nathan regarded him curiously, for this was a side of Spiridion he had not hitherto observed. ‘French agents and assassins. Eris and the Devil. You paint a grim picture. And I had heard it was one long Carnival.'

‘Oh, it has its diversions, as I hope you will discover. However, in Venice one must always watch one's back. The Republic has been ruled by the same clique of noble families for a thousand years. They allow of no dissent, not even among themselves. And they do not trouble with trial by jury, as you do in England. If you offend against their authority and their own narrow sense of order, they will look to the Devil for redress. And the Devil will dispose of you, my friend, in the most convenient manner that is available to him.'

Another presence at the door, this time Mr Bailey. ‘Mr Tully's compliments, sir, and he thought you would wish to know that the
Unicorn
is in sight.' The merest pause. ‘And the dead are ready for burial, sir.'

‘S
eigneur Dieu, par la puissance de Ta Parole
…
'

‘Lord God, by the power of Thy Word that stilled the chaos of the primeval seas, made the raging waters of the Flood subside, and calmed the storm on the Sea of Galilee
…
'

Nathan listened solemnly while Ensign Leveque, as the only surviving French officer present, intoned the words of the Catholic Prayer for the Dead.

‘As we commit the bodies of our brothers to the deep, grant them peace and tranquillity until that day when all who believe in Thee will be raised to the glory of new life promised in the waters of Baptism.'

They were, Nathan reflected, rather more comforting than the words he had himself spoken from
The Book of Common Prayer
, with its emphasis on the corruption of the body and the eventual, but by no means certain, absorption into the body of Christ. But then as they were spoken in French they were unlikely to win any converts among the Protestant and, in some cases, downright disbelieving crewmen of the
Unicorn
who
had come aboard. And as for the Frenchmen … Nathan wondered if the Resurrection of the Dead complied with the hopes and aspirations of the French Revolution. But the young ensign did not appear to be unduly troubled on this score and there were no vocal objections from the prisoners as they stood in the waist of the corvette under the watchful eyes of the Marines.

He realised with a start that the ensign was looking towards him, waiting for the signal. He nodded. Then, six at a time, the shrouded figures of the French dead slid from the sloping mess tables into the sea. Eighteen of them now, four more having died since the battle, and three more from the
Unicorn
. All sharing the same watery grave off Cape Drastis: ‘until the sea shall give up her dead.'

The service over, Nathan retired to the stern rail of the
Jean-Bart
as the hands returned to their duties and the French prisoners were despatched to their gloomy confinement in the orlop deck.

‘Martin, I want you to take command here,' Nathan told Tully when he came aft. ‘I am afraid I cannot spare you much in the way of a crew, but some of the prisoners may agree to serve – I note there are a number of Italians among them – and we will put the rest ashore on the mainland.'

And so they proceeded northward: the
Unicorn
, restored to her former pristine lines, the
Bonne Aventure
, the
Jean-Bart
, and the schooner
Angelika
, named for one of Spiridion's daughters, which joined them from Corfu. They were desperately short-crewed and the corvette scarcely had enough people aboard to fire half her broadside, but they made an impressive picture as they cruised in line ahead off the Italian coast. It was Nathan's own little squadron and he was about to abandon it.

‘Well, good luck,' he said to Mr Duncan, ‘and remember, if
I have not rejoined you or sent word within ten days, you must sail for Naples without me.'

Duncan's expression was stern. He did not approve of his Captain's jaunts ashore, as he doubtless referred to them privately. But equally he would relish a few days of command, even with a third of his crew aboard the
Jean-Bart
.

Nathan was greeted with little ceremony on the
Angelika
. Captain Kyrgyakos was not, as Spiridion had put it, of an amiable disposition, and though his crew appeared cheerful enough there was not a one of them that spoke a word of English or French. Nathan felt a pang of loneliness as he stood at the rail and watched the squadron fade into the distant haze. When he went below he found his cabin was the size of a cupboard, and the Angel Gabriel, who was the only man he had permitted to accompany him, complaining that they had missed dinner and there was no prospect of lighting the galley fire until morning.

‘I expect we will eat well in Venice,' Nathan assured him gloomily, ‘when we get there.'

This, as it transpired, was by no means assured. For within a few hours of leaving the squadron, the Sirocco found them – and it was every bit as bad as Spiridion had advised.

It was almost sunset, the sea the colour of molten lead and the sky so like a burnished shield that Nathan was about to comment upon it to the Captain when, with a blast as of the Devil's breath, a sudden gust laid them over almost on their beam ends. The next few minutes were a desperate fight for survival as they struggled to take in canvas in a lather of flying ropes and warm stinging spray. Then the wind drove them before it under bare poles or at best a scrap of staysail, always northerly and at such a pace Nathan feared they might run out of sea room in the murky shallows of the Gulf of Venice and drive upon the Doge's Palace in the dark.