Winds of Folly (40 page)

Nathan could have had no greater master in the dark arts of subterfuge and deception. Even as he spoke, he heard Imlay's voice in his own and was filled with a dread that he was becoming uncomfortably like him.

To divert Sister Francesca – and himself – from this topic, he began to express an interest in religion. It was not entirely feigned. Death was no stranger to him but in the past few months it had been his constant companion. He was haunted by the words of the burial service he had read off Cape Drastis.

We therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; Who at His coming shall change our vile body, that it may be like His glorious body, according to the mighty working whereby He is able to subdue all things unto Himself.

How many times had he read those words? Yet only now did he begin to wonder what they meant. But if he hoped that Sister Francesca might enlighten him, he was disappointed. ‘Christ is perfection,' she told him, ‘and we must work our way towards Him.'

‘But what does that
mean
?' he said.

‘It means we must strive to be as like to Christ as it is possible for any human to be. Would you like me to fetch you a priest?' she asked him doubtfully.

‘No. I don't want a priest. I want to know what
you
believe.'

‘I believe in the Apostles' Creed,' she said with a smile. ‘Shall we say it together? I believe in God the Father, Almighty Creator of Heaven and Earth …'

‘No,' he said. ‘No, no, no. I know all that. But what do you
believe
in?'

But she would not discuss it any further with him. She was not qualified, she said. She was not a theologian. If he was troubled in his mind he must speak to a priest. But clearly it worried her, for one night she came back to him and renewed the discussion. She told him that she believed that all Christian souls, men and women, were in the process of a journey that would bring them to perfection, perfection in Christ.

‘A journey?' he said. He could understand that.

‘Yes. But …' She hesitated and then it came out in a rush. ‘Perhaps more than one.'

‘You mean more than one life?'

She did not answer but he could tell that this was what she meant. ‘Is that not a heresy?' he asked.

‘I rely upon you not to tell on me,' she said with a smile.

‘Oh, I will not tell on you.'

He liked the idea of life as a journey. More than one journey was even better. What he did not like was the idea of arriving at the end of it. In life or in death. He did not look for a resolution; only a continuance of the unresolved.

But he was curious that she could hold such an opinion and still feel she could remain within the Church.

‘One finds one's own way to Christ,' she said. ‘But the Church provides one with a shield – and a set of moral standards.'

He thought of the standards set by the convent in Venice.

‘I was brought up to believe that the Church of Rome had
no moral standards,' he said truthfully. ‘And that the Pope was the anti-Christ.'

‘And now you believe in Revolution,' she said, mocking him with her eyes. ‘And that has become your God.'

‘I did not say that.'

‘But you fight for the French.'

‘Yes, but that is not necessarily the same as fighting for Revolution. Most of us, most men, fight for their friends and family. Their comrades-in-arms. Their shipmates.'

‘Are the French your friends? Your family? Your shipmates?'

‘No.' He was not entirely comfortable with where this was leading him. ‘Well, I have friends amongst them, but …'

‘But you do not believe in Revolution?'

‘No, not as such. But if it appears to be the only means of opposing tyranny … I mean, we had a Revolution in England – we cut off the head of a King.'

‘We?'

‘I mean, they. The English.' He felt the colour flood to his face. ‘At the time of King Charles we were all English. Even in America.'

But he could tell from the look she gave him that he had done little to remedy matters. For the next day or so he saw nothing of her. He worried that she was avoiding him; that she might report her suspicions to a superior. But she would never do that. She had no reason to love the French, and nor did the Church. If she was avoiding him it was because she knew he had lied to her.

Nathan was surprised by how much time had passed since he was wounded. It was now mid-October. The leaves were falling and there was snow on the high mountains. He wondered what had happened to the
Unicorn
. And the
Angelika
. Had Kyrgyakos discovered what had happened to him? It seemed unlikely. They must think he was dead.

One day Junot came to see him. His head was wrapped in a bandage and he was almost as thin as Nathan. He suffered from terrible headaches and the doctors said his wits were scrambled but he seemed the same old Junot to Nathan. He said that the Austrians had recovered from their defeat at Castiglioni and that Mantua continued to hold out. It was only a matter of time before it fell, however, and then Bonaparte would march on Vienna. Meanwhile, Spain had come into the war on the side of the French. The English, he said, would soon be driven from the Mediterranean. Then the war would be over.

Nathan began to think of leaving. They had stopped packing his chest with honey and the wound was healing. Irritatingly, it was his leg that caused him the most inconvenience. He could only hobble around with the aid of a stick. But he was eating well and putting on weight. He felt fitter by the day. He wondered if he could contrive to steal a horse and ride back to Venice. But he was more worried about Cristolfi than he was about the French. It might be safer, if a lot further, to try to reach the opposite coast and find a boat to take him to Corsica.

Then, while he was thinking about this, he had another visitor.

His name was Landrieux. Jean Landrieux. He introduced himself as Adjutant-Général to the Army of Italy. He had taken a break from shuffling paper to call at the hospital, he said, and see how Captain Turner was progressing.

‘General Bonaparte sends his best regards,' he said, ‘and his hopes for your continued recovery.'

‘It is due to the General's regard that you find me almost fully recovered,' Nathan told him. ‘If it had not been for the physician he sent from Milan, I would have been feeding the worms long since.'

Landrieux smiled, but from the look in his eyes his sympathies were entirely with the worms. He wore the uniform of a Colonel in the cavalry but he had the look of a thorough ruffian. Dark, saturnine and hairy. He was a large man, but he sat hunched up into himself, as if he was afraid of bursting out at the seams. His hair, however, was beyond control and was in the process of bursting out from wherever it found an opening to do so – his scalp, his nostrils, his brows and ears, even out of his collar where it pressed into his neck. He rather put Nathan in mind of a troll.

‘The General will be pleased to hear it,' he said. He glanced towards the stick resting beside Nathan's chair. ‘But you are still convalescing, I see?'

It was more a question than an observation. ‘Oh, I need the stick less and less,' Nathan assured him. Indeed, he had begun to think of it as more of an affectation than a necessity. ‘I believe I am playing the old soldier.'

The officer laughed good-naturedly, inasmuch as he could achieve that happy state. ‘Then you will soon be off on your travels,' he said.

Nathan's hopes rose. Perhaps he was to be sent on his way, with the thanks of a grateful nation. Someone had seen the doctor's bill and sent this bully boy to put a boot under his arse.

‘Well, I think I will not go back to Venice,' he said. The officer obliged him with a tight little smile. Nathan wondered if he had been informed of the circumstances in which he had left the city. ‘But I thought perhaps I might find an American vessel in Genoa or Livorno heading back across the Atlantic,' he added artlessly.

‘Then you intend to return to America?'

‘Indeed, I cannot let my interests in New York languish much longer, or I am a ruined man.'

‘Livorno is probably your best hope of finding a suitable ship,' reflected Landrieux thoughtfully. And then, after only the slightest of pauses, but as if it had just occurred to him: ‘And it is possible that you might be able to do the General a small service while you are there.'

‘I would be glad of the opportunity,' Nathan replied with a bow, hoping it would not involve as much injury and inconvenience as the last ‘small service' he had done the General.

‘I do not suppose you have heard much about the course of the war while you have been here,' Landrieux ventured.

‘Not a great deal.'

‘Then you do not know that Spain has now joined the conflict on the side of France.'

‘Well, I had heard a rumour to that effect,' Nathan replied.

‘It throws the balance of power in the Mediterranean decisively in our favour. Especially at sea. The combined fleets of France and Spain far outnumber the British – certainly in the Mediterranean.'

Nathan was aware of this. It had been preying on his mind ever since Junot told him of the event. But why was Landrieux telling him now?

‘In consequence of this, the British Admiralty has withdrawn its fleet from the region and abandoned all its outposts apart from the Rock of Gibraltar. However …' he drew his chair forward and lowered his voice. ‘What I am about to tell you is in the strictest confidence, you understand?'

Nathan nodded and tried to keep his expression one of polite interest, no more.

‘Before the withdrawal could be effected, one of our vessels encountered an English frigate off Corfu in the Ionian Sea.' His dark eyes bored into Nathan's. ‘You did not hear anything of this while you were in Corfu?'

Nathan slowly shook his head. ‘Not a thing.' Was this a
mistake? There was no way of knowing from the officer's expression.

‘Well, it was not widely known but the Englishman got the better of the exchange. The French ship was taken and the survivors were landed at Ancona. They reported that the name of the frigate was the
Unicorn
, Captain Nathan Peake.'

Nathan felt like a rabbit fixed by the glare of a snake. It was hard not to swallow. He said nothing. Nor did he trust his voice. After a moment the Frenchman went on: ‘The
Unicorn
has since been reported in Naples, presumably on her way to rejoin the British fleet.' Now Nathan struggled not to show his relief. ‘Our fear is that she may have taken with her certain … documents. Evidence, of a sort, of our intentions in the region.'

It was necessary for Nathan to speak, if only to permit him to swallow. ‘I see.' His voice sounded normal. Then: ‘Forgive me, but what has this to do with me?'

Landrieux leaned back a little. His regard was more speculative now than intense. ‘We would like you to drop a word in someone's ear,' he said.

Nathan frowned enquiringly.

‘There is a woman in Livorno called Adelaide Correglia.'

This was becoming more bizarre by the minute. Nathan wondered if Landrieux knew of his acquaintance with Signora Correglia; knew exactly who he was, in fact, and was playing a game with him for his own amusement, like a cat with a mouse. When he had finished playing with him, he would hang him.

‘Signora Correglia is a whore. She is also a spy for the British. We have known this for some time. And so we feed her the occasional scrap of misinformation to pass on to her English friends.'

Nathan continued to stare mutely at him but there was a
strange ringing sensation in his ears. Did Landrieux know that one of those friends was Commodore Nelson? Certainly he did. So how long had Signora Correglia been feeding Nelson these ‘scraps of misinformation' – for as long as he had known her, or only since the French had been in Livorno? It occurred to Nathan that if he agreed to go along with this proposal, it was possible he would find the answer to this. It also occurred to him that the duties of an Adjutant-Général in the Army of Italy clearly involved a lot more than shuffling paper.

‘How can I be of assistance?' he enquired.

‘We would very much appreciate it if you were to call upon Signora Correglia on your way through Livorno. You may bring her the regards of a certain Colonel Murat who is acquainted with her …'

This did not surprise Nathan in the least. He had known Murat in Paris.

‘You may tell her that whilst in Venice you were approached by Colonel Murat with a view to making a hydrographical survey of the Ionian Islands. The reason for which was to use them as a French naval base for an attack upon the port of Trieste.' He regarded Nathan thoughtfully. ‘Is that clear to you, Citizen?'

‘Of course, but—'

‘And it is agreeable to you?'

‘Why, yes, but why do you want me to …' He affected enlightenment. ‘Ah. This is another piece of misinformation you want me to feed her.'

Landrieux regarded him evenly but said nothing.

‘Well.' Nathan spread his arms. ‘I am ready to go whenever it pleases you.'

‘Excellent. You would be ready to leave tomorrow?'

‘Tomorrow? Why – yes. There is no reason why I should not.'

Landrieux stood. ‘Then I will make the arrangements.' He bowed. ‘The General will once more be in your debt.'

‘What did that bastard want?' Junot enquired later that evening, when he came round to play chess.

‘Is he a bastard?' enquired Nathan mildly as he moved a rook.

‘In the early days of the Revolution he raised a corps of irregular cavalry known as the Hussards Braconniers,' Junot offered by way of a reply.

Nathan was puzzled for a moment.
Hussards
meant hussars but he had to think about
braconniers
. The best he could come up with was ‘poachers'. The Poacher Hussars?