Winds of Folly (41 page)

‘He placed them at the disposal of the Jacobin committees to hunt down traitors – mostly nobles, but virtually anyone might qualify if Landrieux and his thugs took against them, or there was money in it. They were bandits, brigands. Don't get me wrong, I'm as much in favour of the Revolution as any man, but it brought a few scorpions out from under the stones – and Landrieux was one of them.'

‘So what does he do now?' Adjutant-Général was an office rather than a rank; it could cover a multitude of sins.

‘He runs Army intelligence in the whole of Italy. Among other things. So what did he want?'

The whole of Italy
. Dear God. Junot was waiting for an answer. ‘It is probably confidential,' Nathan said.

Junot shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.' He moved one of his knights to threaten Nathan's king. There seemed to be no reason why Nathan should not take it. But Junot only sulked if he lost. He moved a pawn instead.

‘He wants me to undertake a hydrographical survey of the Ionian Islands,' he said.

Junot looked at him. ‘The hell he does.' Now Nathan
shrugged. Junot was still looking at him. ‘Now why would he want you to do that?'

Nathan said nothing. He was thinking about it himself. Junot took his pawn. ‘He's always been interested in the Ionian Islands,' he said.

‘Landrieux?'

‘No. Bugger Landrieux. This is nothing to do with him. Buonaparte.' He used the Italian pronunciation. ‘Landrieux is just the messenger boy. Did you say you would do it?'

‘I said I would think about it. Why is Bonaparte interested in the Ionian Islands?'

‘He says they are more important than the rest of Italy put together.'

‘Good God, why?'

‘As a stepping stone to the East.'

Nathan frowned. ‘What do you mean,
the East
?'

‘The Orient. He is fascinated by the East. Always has been. As long as I have known him, anyway. Remember when he was in Paris – and the Turks wanted him to come and command their artillery? He was all for it.'

‘I thought that was just because he didn't have a job.'

‘Well, that was part of it – but he liked the idea. And now he's just one step and a jump from Constantinople.'

‘I would have thought Vienna was far enough,' Nathan said.

‘Oh, he's not interested in Austria – apart from knocking them out of the war. Then he'll march on India.'

He made a move but Nathan ignored it. ‘What are you taking about?' he said. ‘Why would he want to march on India?'

Junot shrugged. ‘Why not? You know our boy.' He was staring intently at the board. ‘Your move,' he said.

Nathan moved a bishop. ‘The Directory would never let him.'

‘Don't you believe it. It would be the end for the British if they lost India. Barras knows that.'

‘Barras?'

‘
The
Barras.' He tutted. ‘Director Barras. Our new King, in all but name. I thought you'd got your memory back, not lost your wits.'

‘I'm sorry. I'm confused. So Barras is involved in this?'

‘It wouldn't surprise me. He fought against the British in India – in the old King's army. He was at the fall of Pondicherry. He's always going on about how important India is to the British, that without India they're nothing. But this will be Buonaparte's idea. To march in the footsteps of Alexander the Great.'

‘And that's why he wants me …' Nathan stopped himself from saying more. ‘Good God.' He tried to picture it on the map. ‘But he would need a fleet.'

‘He's got a fleet. The Venetian fleet. And the British are not going to stop him. Not now.' He moved his Queen. ‘Checkmate!' he declared triumphantly.

Absently, Nathan took his Queen. ‘It would never work,' he said.

But it
could
work. Junot was right. Now the British fleet had withdrawn from the Mediterranean, there was nothing to stop Bonaparte moving his pieces across the board, taking whatever he liked. Venice. The Ionian Islands. And then? What was he planning next?

H
e left at dawn with an escort of dragoons. The nuns turned out to see him go, but Sister Francesca was not among them. He thanked them for all they had done for him. They said they would pray for him. Then, just before he stepped into the coach he looked back and saw her standing there, in the shadows by the door. He thought of going over to her, but in the end he just lifted his hand in half-wave, half-salute. He did not know if she waved back. He knew that she did not care that he was an Englishman, but she would care that he had lied to her. He felt like Gilbert Imlay.

They travelled due south to Florence, skirting Mantua – its Austrian garrison still holding out after six long months – but the French seemed to be everywhere else. All the way from the Veneto down through Modena and into Tuscany, Nathan saw the signs of French occupation. Garrisons in all the towns, checkpoints on all the roads. A constant demand for ‘
vos papiers
'. It was like France at the time of the Terror. The dragoon escort and the safe conduct from Landrieux saw Nathan through them all without undue hindrance, but there
were constant delays from convoys moving supplies and munitions up to the front at Mantua and Lake Garda.

Nathan was tired and depressed. Tired from his wounds, depressed by what he saw from the coach window. Evidence, if it were needed, of how badly the war was going for Britain and her few remaining allies. It was only a matter of time, he thought, before Austria threw in the towel. The German princes would follow suit. Then Britain would be fighting with Portugal as her sole ally against the combined might of France, Spain and Holland. The three most powerful navies in the world after her own.

A year ago it had seemed to Nathan that England was fighting for a few sugar islands in the Caribbean. Now she was fighting for her very survival.

But if he had ever puzzled over what he was fighting for, he knew now, he thought, as he watched the French troops swaggering around Modena.

There was heavy snow coming over the Tuscan Hills and they were held up for two days at an inn before a mild thaw set in. Then it was mud for the rest of the way. They had been four days on the road before they passed through Florence, and it was another day before they arrived at Leghorn. Back to the place where it had all started – and with an escort of French dragoons. It seemed only yesterday that he had stood off the mole in the
Unicorn
and watched the French cavalry advancing down from the surrounding hills.

He had never set foot in the place when it was the main British naval base in Italy. Never called at the house of Mr Udny to view his collection of harpsichords and loose women; or paid a visit to the opera, where you picked them up. But now he was a hero of France and it was nothing but the best. The best hotel, the best food – and the best whore in town.

He had been furnished with the address by Citizen Landrieux
but he waited until the following day – and the civilised hour of noon – before presenting himself at her door. He owned to some trepidation. Their relations had improved somewhat since the incident of the rats on board the
Unicorn
, but he wondered how she would greet his sudden appearance in French-occupied Livorno, in a French uniform. But at least he did not have to take his escort with him.

A maid answered the door and Nathan gave his name as Captain Turner, a friend of Colonel Murat. He was passing through Livorno, he said, and the Colonel had asked him to call upon the Signora to pay his respects. The maid regarded him shrewdly, assessing his potential. The Signora was presently engaged, she said, but if he were to call back in an hour or so she might be free to see him.

Nathan kicked his heels down by the harbour. There were several ships-of-war moored off the mole – privateers, by the look of them. But not many merchant vessels. In fact, it was bizarrely quiet for a major port, which suggested the British still maintained their blockade. This was one good sign, at least.

He returned to the Signora's house and this time he was admitted. And there was Signora Correglia sitting in the window of her little salon, little changed from when he had last seen her. Her welcoming smile faded when she saw who he was, but she recovered herself well under the watchful eye of the maid.

‘Why, Captain Turner,' she said in excellent French, ‘and have you brought any rats with you this time?'

He was tempted to tell her only one, and she was looking at it. He had no intention of giving her false information to pass on to her English friends, as Landrieux called them, but he did mean to use her.

There was nothing for it but to throw himself on her good
graces. He told her he had undertaken a confidential mission for Commodore Nelson under false colours but that he was now desirous of making his escape from Italy.

‘And so you come to me,' she said, ‘bringing the respects of a French Colonel.'

‘I met Colonel Murat in the north,' he told her, ‘and when he heard I was coming to Livorno he gave me your address.'

‘As one French officer to another.'

‘Precisely.'

But he could not leave it there. If Landrieux suspected the Signora of being a spy for the British, he had a duty to warn her.

‘A little later I was summoned to the office of the Adjutant-Général,' he said. ‘And he told me you were in the practice of passing on pieces of information to your English friends.'

She stared at him for a moment and he sensed the fear beneath that bold front.

‘He thinks I am a spy?'

‘He did not use the word spy as such.'

‘That is a gross slander!' she exploded, following up with some choice slanders of her own in French and Italian directed upon the Adjutant-Général's character and family antecedents. She had come back to Livorno because the facilities in Corsica were less than adequate, she said, and the company fell a great deal short of her expectations. But there was no question of her being a spy for the British.
‘Non. Absolument pas!'

‘Then you no longer have any communication with Commodore Nelson?' Nathan enquired mildly.

‘How could that be possible,' she demanded hotly, ‘when I am here in Livorno and Commodore Nelson is in Portugal – or back in England, for all that I know of it?'

The maid came back with tea and some tiny biscuits dusted with icing sugar. Signora Correglia calmed herself a little.
Nathan regarded her speculatively. She had lost some weight since he had last seen her aboard the
Unicorn
but she looked no less fetching for that. Several unhelpful thoughts crossed his mind. She caught his eye upon her.

‘So what will you do now?' she enquired when the maid had left.

‘I shall leave word for Citizen Landrieux that I have done what he required of me,' he said, ‘and then take the first ship I can that is heading for the Atlantic.'

‘And what am
I
to do, if the French think I am a spy?'

‘You can come with me, if you like,' he offered engagingly. ‘But I do not suppose you are in danger, so long as they think you are of use to them.'

She mulled over this for a moment in silence. Nathan offered to pour the tea.

‘No, I will pour the tea,' she said. She said something else in Italian that he suspected was not very polite. But she poured the tea. He took the cup and saucer from her and a biscuit and thanked her politely.

‘So you will not go to Elba?' she said.

He frowned. ‘Why would I wish to go to Elba?'

‘To join your friends there.'

This was equally puzzling. ‘What friends do I have in Elba?' he enquired, as one might humour a lunatic.

She was looking at him with much the same expression. ‘You do not know that the British are there?'

‘What?'

‘Fremantle and Sir Gilbert Elliot and five thousand soldiers.'

‘Good God, no.' He stared at her in bewilderment. ‘What are they doing in Elba?' Elba was the largest of the several islands of the Tuscan Archipelago, halfway between Corsica and the mainland. When he was last in the vicinity it had been
in the possession of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. But now, according to Signora Correglia, it had been taken by the British. Most of the troops evacuated from Corsica were stationed there – with a small naval detachment under Captain Fremantle to maintain a blockade of Leghorn and Genoa.

This made no sense to Nathan. ‘Why would we do that,' he demanded, ‘if the main battle fleet has been withdrawn into the Atlantic?'

The Signora shrugged as if the decisions of the British High Command had very little to do with her: which, to be fair, they probably did not.

‘Is it possible for me to get there?' he asked her. He read the obvious challenge in her expression. ‘I can pay,' he said, for the Adjutant-Général had supplied him with sufficient funds to impress with his largesse.