Beneath the Aurora by Richard Woodman Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Woodman
but was at least inhabited by certainties. As he had found so often at sea, the light doze he had enjoyed earlier had restored him, and he felt an indulgence towards his fellow-traveller.
âColonel,â he said, as they passed through a patch of brilliant moonlight and he could see Bardoliniâs face in stark tones, âI do not hold out much hope for your mission.
Entre nous
, the idea of a republican king is something of a contradiction in terms. Your reception in London is not likely to be, what do you say?
Sympatico
?â
âI have plenipotentiary powers, Captain. I am on diplomatic service. I expect the normal courtesies . . .â
âI do not wish to alarm you unduly, Colonel, but I am not aware that we recognize the government of King Joachim. Only your uniform prevents your arrest as a spy. That, and my company.â
âBut you will take me to Lord Castlereagh, Captain?â Bardolini asked with a plaintive anxiety.
âI will send word to the Foreign Secretary that you are in London, but . . .â Drinkwater left the conjunction hanging in the darkness that now engulfed the two men. The unspoken clause was ominous and, unknown to Drinkwater, had the effect on the Neapolitan of causing him to come to a decision.
Upon landing in England, Colonel Bardolini had expected to be quickly picked up by the police, to be whisked to London with the Napoleonic thoroughness by which such things were managed in the French Empire and those states under its influence. He had not expected to stumble upon the discreditable Sparkman and then be locked up like a common criminal. Protestations about his honour, his plenipotentiary status and offers of his parole had fallen upon deaf ears. Now Drinkwaterâs assertions clothed this outrage with a chilling logic. The English were, just as he had been led to believe, barbarians.
Notwithstanding these considerations, Bardolini had not anticipated this strange English naval officer would possess such a commanding knowledge of the situation in Napoli; it was uncanny. Indeed, such was the extent of the captainâs familiarity with the plight of his master, King Joachim, that Bardolini suspected treachery. His imprisonment was consonant with such a hypothesis and he believed he was, even now, on his way to a more secure incarceration.
The only thing which Bardolini
had
expected was the violenceof the sea passage and the weather which now assailed the chaise and deterred him from any rash ideas of escape. Not that he had abandoned them altogether; he carried a stiletto inside his right boot, but to reach it beneath his tight cavalrymanâs overalls was well-nigh impossible, and his sword was secured to his portmanteau. Besides, there were other considerations. Though he spoke English well, he could hardly melt inconspicuously into the countryside! Besides, if he stole a horse, he would only be returned the faster to the shores of that damnable sea.
As the dismal hours succeeded one another, he resolved on the one course of action he had reserved for Lord Castlereagh alone, in the hope that this naval officer, whose grasp of diplomatic affairs seemed so inexplicably comprehensive, would favourably influence his request for an interview with the British Foreign Minister. Now, as Drinkwater hinted so forbiddingly at the hostility of his reception, Bardolini played his trump card and spoke out of the darkness.
âCaptain Drinkwater, I believe you to be a man of honour. You are clearly a person of some influence, your knowledge of affairs of state makes that quite clear. It is possible you are a police agent . . . If that is so, I ask only that what I am about to confide in you, you report to your superiors . . .â
âI am not a police agent, Colonel. We have not yet adopted all your Continental fashions. I am what I told you.â
âPerhaps,â Bardolini acknowledged doubtfully, âbut your
âColonel,â he said, as they passed through a patch of brilliant moonlight and he could see Bardoliniâs face in stark tones, âI do not hold out much hope for your mission.
Entre nous
, the idea of a republican king is something of a contradiction in terms. Your reception in London is not likely to be, what do you say?
Sympatico
?â
âI have plenipotentiary powers, Captain. I am on diplomatic service. I expect the normal courtesies . . .â
âI do not wish to alarm you unduly, Colonel, but I am not aware that we recognize the government of King Joachim. Only your uniform prevents your arrest as a spy. That, and my company.â
âBut you will take me to Lord Castlereagh, Captain?â Bardolini asked with a plaintive anxiety.
âI will send word to the Foreign Secretary that you are in London, but . . .â Drinkwater left the conjunction hanging in the darkness that now engulfed the two men. The unspoken clause was ominous and, unknown to Drinkwater, had the effect on the Neapolitan of causing him to come to a decision.
Upon landing in England, Colonel Bardolini had expected to be quickly picked up by the police, to be whisked to London with the Napoleonic thoroughness by which such things were managed in the French Empire and those states under its influence. He had not expected to stumble upon the discreditable Sparkman and then be locked up like a common criminal. Protestations about his honour, his plenipotentiary status and offers of his parole had fallen upon deaf ears. Now Drinkwaterâs assertions clothed this outrage with a chilling logic. The English were, just as he had been led to believe, barbarians.
Notwithstanding these considerations, Bardolini had not anticipated this strange English naval officer would possess such a commanding knowledge of the situation in Napoli; it was uncanny. Indeed, such was the extent of the captainâs familiarity with the plight of his master, King Joachim, that Bardolini suspected treachery. His imprisonment was consonant with such a hypothesis and he believed he was, even now, on his way to a more secure incarceration.
The only thing which Bardolini
had
expected was the violenceof the sea passage and the weather which now assailed the chaise and deterred him from any rash ideas of escape. Not that he had abandoned them altogether; he carried a stiletto inside his right boot, but to reach it beneath his tight cavalrymanâs overalls was well-nigh impossible, and his sword was secured to his portmanteau. Besides, there were other considerations. Though he spoke English well, he could hardly melt inconspicuously into the countryside! Besides, if he stole a horse, he would only be returned the faster to the shores of that damnable sea.
As the dismal hours succeeded one another, he resolved on the one course of action he had reserved for Lord Castlereagh alone, in the hope that this naval officer, whose grasp of diplomatic affairs seemed so inexplicably comprehensive, would favourably influence his request for an interview with the British Foreign Minister. Now, as Drinkwater hinted so forbiddingly at the hostility of his reception, Bardolini played his trump card and spoke out of the darkness.
âCaptain Drinkwater, I believe you to be a man of honour. You are clearly a person of some influence, your knowledge of affairs of state makes that quite clear. It is possible you are a police agent . . . If that is so, I ask only that what I am about to confide in you, you report to your superiors . . .â
âI am not a police agent, Colonel. We have not yet adopted all your Continental fashions. I am what I told you.â
âPerhaps,â Bardolini acknowledged doubtfully, âbut your