The Flag of Freedom (37 page)

‘We have nothing to hide,' Imlay had protested, when Nathan warned him of the possible embarrassment of the encounter. Personally Nathan would have settled for the exchange of news and compliments at the length of a pistol shot – but Imlay must needs invite the Captain and his officers for dinner.

‘We will not, of course, mention that you and several of your associates are in the service of King George,' Imlay pro posed, ‘but I am assured Captain Poe and his men will be delighted to hear of the success of our mission against the Barbary corsairs.'

This was inevitable.

‘It is the greatest victory for American arms since we kicked the British out of Yorktown,' Captain Poe declared. ‘Allow me to shake you by the hand, sir.' Seizing Nathan by this implement, he pumped it so vigorously it was a wonder Nathan did not gush water like Tully's fire engine.

At Imlay's request the Captain brought his doctor with him, but the latter shook his head gravely over Lamb's wound and confirmed Nathan in his belief that the wound was best not disturbed. ‘For they always die, you know,' he murmured confidentially, ‘once they have been put to the probe.'

Nathan had been ‘put to the probe' himself, after the Battle of Castiglioni, and been saved by the expertise of a French surgeon sent by Bonaparte himself, but he understood this to be the exception rather than the rule. Certainly it would have been fatal to let Kite try his hand
at it, and Dr Beamish was ‘more physician than surgeon', he assured Nathan with a great air of consequence.

‘No, you had best let him sweat it out,' he added, ‘for I never met a surgeon yet that was not a butcher, and the fellow who is attending to him, he is an Englishman, is he not?'

Nathan admitted that this was indeed the case. As was his patient.

‘We have a number of Englishmen among the crew,' Imlay confessed in a tone of apology. ‘Deserters for the most part, or fugitives from the British concept of justice.'

Dinner, Nathan reflected, was going to be a trial.

Imlay's Portuguese cook, Balsemao, had done his best at short notice with the limited fare at his disposal. He had made a large fish pie from the most recent of their catch, with a ragoût of salt-pork and pease to follow; and for pudding they were to have a figgy-dowdy – a great favourite of the service, consisting of ship's biscuit, pounded into crumbs by a marlin-spike and reconstituted with a mixture of pork fat and dried fruit soaked in grog. Imlay appeared less than impressed with this menu, but contributed a dozen bottles of wine from his private stash in the hold.

‘If we cannot be genteel,' he submitted, ‘we can at least be merry.'

Privately Nathan considered that it would take a great deal more than twelve bottles, but he kept his peace. He felt obliged to invite Tully and O'Driscoll to the feast, warning them of the need to put aside their loyalties to King and Country for its duration. They seemed rather amused than not at being taken for fugitives from British
justice, and were ready to play their part – rather too enthusiastically in Nathan's opinion, with O'Driscoll giving his impression of a bog Irishman and Tully speaking in a fake French accent. But whatever suspicions their visitors might have entertained were entirely erased by the appearance of Miss Devereux.

She was wearing a dress made of red sailcloth, which the sailmaker had apparently knocked up for her, with a fringed shawl of the same material draped over her shoulders. Her golden hair was woven into a long pigtail, happily not tarred, which she hung over her left shoulder, and she had contrived to bring some colour into her lips, probably by biting them, for they looked faintly, and desirably, swollen. She looked as stunning as when Nathan had first seen her on the Grand Canal in Venice and the company was duly stunned.

Inevitably the conversation turned to her capture by the corsairs and her enforced stay in Tripoli as a hostage, and for the best part of the meal she entertained them with a description of the Pasha's harem and the various customs and practices she had encountered during her prolonged stay there.

Nathan observed her thoughtfully from his position at the opposite end of the table. He was surprised as much by her exuberance as he was by her appearance, for she had looked like a bedraggled urchin when she first came aboard. There were certain women, he reflected, who could transform them selves from hoyden to society beauty whenever it was required of them, and Miss Devereux clearly came into this category. He could not help comparing her to Sara, who was a good fifteen years older and
a great deal more damaged by her experiences, but blessed with the same ability to adapt herself to vastly different circumstances and environments.

But it was best not to dwell on Sara, not if he did not wish to arouse his demons to further torment.

‘Do you not think so, Captain?'

With a jolt Nathan realised she was addressing him directly, and with a twinkle of what might be mischief in her eye, but although he had been staring at her with what passed for rapt attention, he had not the faintest idea what she was talking about, or where the conversation had taken them.

He inclined his head in pretended consideration. ‘As to that, I will have to reserve my judgement,' he said.

She seemed a little disappointed at this but the rest of the company resumed their conversation as if he had not spoken at all and he was able to catch up a little. It appeared that they had been discussing her dramatic escape from the harem and the part played in this by the mysterious Frenchman, Monsieur Naudé. The Americans had been shocked at her assertion that Naudé had fallen in love with her beautiful companion, Sister Caterina, though it was not clear if this was because Sister Caterina was a nun or because they could not imagine anyone more captivating than Miss Devereux herself. She had further provoked them by proposing that Frenchmen were of a more romantic and reckless a disposition than Americans – hence her remark to Nathan.

He wondered now at that glint of mischief in her eye. Either she was flirting with him or she had reason to believe he was not who he said he was. He was trying to
think of a remark convincing enough to establish his credentials, when Captain Poe remarked that whatever Monsieur Naudé's motives in rescuing them from the corsairs, it was interesting that he had taken them to Egypt.

Nathan was moved to ask him why.

‘Why, because it is rumoured that the French have deter mined to invade the country,' the Captain replied, ‘and have put out with a great fleet from Toulon.'

Nathan was shocked. ‘And where did you hear this rumour?' He struggled to keep his voice normal.

‘Oh, it was current in Gibraltar when we were there,' declared the Captain dismissively, ‘and we heard it again in Carloforte, when we called there for fresh water.'

‘Carloforte?' Nathan strove to place it on the charts.

‘On the island of San Pietro, that lies off Sardinia,' replied the Captain's mate, a red-haired gentleman by the name of Finlay who had not previously said a word beyond a mumbled request for the salt.

That such rumours had circulated in Gibraltar was distress ing, if not entirely surprising, but Nathan was at a loss to discover how they might have reached a small island off Sardinia. The Captain's explanation, however, was a much greater surprise.

‘The British had been there,' he said. ‘Indeed, we just missed them, for which I was exceedingly thankful. They would have stripped me of half my crew, the scoundrels.'

‘The British? What do you mean?' Nathan challenged him with more aggression than he had intended.

‘Why, the British fleet, of course.' Captain Poe frowned at Nathan's tone. ‘But there is no reason for alarm, sir, for it was in the last week of May.'

‘In May?' Nathan's voice rose even higher. Two months ago. It was not possible. Unwarily, he said as much.

‘Well, I am only repeating what was said to us.' The Captain, a little put out, gazed about the table for confirmation, and Mr Finlay and Mr Beamish nodded obligingly. Imlay shot Nathan a warning glance.

‘I am sorry. I do not mean to give you the lie,' said Nathan, ‘but I understood the British fleet had abandoned the Mediterranean.'

The Captain shrugged. ‘Well, I am not privy to the decisions of the British Admiralty. All I can tell you was what I was told when I was in Carloforte.'

‘And did they give you any idea of their number?'

‘As to that, they were not precise. I gather that some remained out to sea. They were caught in a tempest, I was told, and the flagship dismasted.'

‘The flagship?'

‘The
Vanguard
, I believe. She was in the port for some days undergoing repairs.'

The
Vanguard
. Third-rater, of seventy-four guns, laid down in Deptford before the war – but who had her now? Nathan was damned if he knew, but she was not at the Battle of St Vincent, nor the Siege of Cadiz – though she may well have joined the fleet since.

Had the Admiralty sent a squadron back into the Med? No, it could not be true. If an English Admiral had news of Bonaparte's destination in May, even late May, he would have intercepted the French long before they reached Alexandria … unless he had been defeated, which was unthinkable. But how had they known the name of the ship?

‘And did you discover who commanded this mysterious fleet?' he asked the Captain.

‘I did. According to my informants, his name was Nelson.'

‘Nelson!'

‘You have heard of him, perhaps?' The Captain raised a heavy brow.

‘Of course I have heard of him, but …' He caught Imlay's eye again. The Americans – and Louisa Devereux in particular – were all looking at him curiously.

He had been about to say that Nelson had lost his arm at Tenerife and been invalided out of the service, but the Captain of an American privateer was unlikely to be so well informed. It confirmed Nathan in his suspicions, however. The story was arrant nonsense. This really was a phantom fleet.

‘Is there a particular reason for your interest, Captain?' Poe enquired.

‘Only that if there is a British fleet in the Mediterranean, we would wish to avoid running into it,' replied Imlay, ‘and for the same reasons as you, Captain. We are not greatly desirous of losing our best men to the British Navy.'

‘Well, bad cess to them, wherever they be.' Captain Poe raised his glass. ‘Let us hope the Frenchies make fools of them as they did in the last war, and we can all go about our business in peace.'

‘Oi'll drink to that, Captain,' cried O'Driscoll vigorously, raising his own and treating the company to an exaggerated wink.

‘I had thought the French were making more trouble
for us than the English at present,' put in Imlay. ‘Or is that not your opinion, Captain?'

‘As to that, I will tell you my opinion, sir,' replied the Captain. ‘And it is that I would not trust either of them as far as I could spit. Begging your pardon, Miss. But if I had to choose between them, then I would choose the Frenchies, at least the present lot, for it is my belief that for all their failings – and they have many, I'll not deny – they are inclined to favour Freedom over Tyranny and the Rights of Man over the Pride of Kings and Princes.'

‘And Popes,' cried O'Driscoll in a loud voice. ‘Don't forget the Popes.'

‘No, I do not forget them, sir,' replied Captain Poe in the silence that followed this contribution, ‘and Bonaparte has served out the present Pope very much as he deserves, I believe, in his march through Italy. But I recall now that you are Irish, sir, so I hope I have not given offence.'

‘Irish but not Papist, sir. No, by God, and I'll fight any man who says I am.' He glared around the table belligerently but his lips twitched a little when he caught Nathan's eye. Nathan was not amused. O'Driscoll was topping the Irishman a deal too much in his opinion, and was, besides, in danger of losing his bearings. If he was not a Papist, or inclined to their cause, what did he think the Americans would make of him, save a loyal subject of King George?

‘Well, and I am pleased to hear it, sir,' declared Poe, ‘for I'll not deny I am a Presbyterian myself – not that I'd hold a man's religion against him,' he added hastily, in case there were those around the table of a less exalted persuasion.

‘So, Captain, I take it you are in favour of Bonaparte and his march through Italy?' enquired Louisa Devereux before Nathan could move the conversation into less troubled waters. In the King's Navy there was an unwritten rule that you did not discuss sex, religion or politics at the dinner-table. It made for very dull conversation at times but at least it cut down on the potential for violence.

‘Well, I have heard that it has brought Freedom to a great many people,' said the Captain, ‘who were otherwise in thrall to Tyranny. And you cannot deny that Bonaparte is known throughout the peninsula as the Liberator.'

‘Well, certainly he has liberated a great many treasures and sent them back to Paris for safekeeping,' Miss Devereux declared, ‘but I am not sure the Venetians would agree that their liberty has been secured by handing them over to the Austrians and ending a thousand years of independence.'

Nathan looked at her in surprise. Were these her own ideas, he wondered, or was this the influence of Sister Caterina Caresini – after six months of shared captivity in the seraglio of Tripoli? But whatever stimulus she was under it had brought a very attractive flush to her features.

‘Well, as to that, Miss, I do not know,' Captain Poe conceded with ill grace. ‘All I am saying is that they know how to deal with kings and princes and the like.'

‘By cutting off their heads, do you mean?'

‘I think what the Captain means …' began Imlay, who was looking a trifle alarmed at the turn the conversation was taking. But Miss Devereux would not be diverted.

‘I take it you do not think much of kings, sir?' she addressed the Captain.