Chapter Three - Before the Storm
"How much have you been drinking, then, my lad?"
I spun round. O'Donnell. Not good. O'Donnell was far from stupid. He was a recent arrival, a lieutenant like myself.
"Actually I think it must have been something I ate." The lie came fluently, I was practised.
"Which would explain your arranging the world's slowest set of signals for the Loire as well?" Hell, how did I bluff this one out? "No need to look so sheepish, then. Not many men can boast of having started a war."
Steady, steady. "Hurried it up a bit perhaps." I tried for an insouciant shrug. "I'm tired of the waiting game. About time Bonaparte and his cohorts followed through on some of their promises."
"Spoken like a proper gambler." He sounded half-mocking and half- impressed. "Now I know why you won't play dice, it's far too dull for you. Now I wonder, Kincaid, I really wonder why you deserted to the Irish Legion?"
"It's no secret," I told him casually. Naturally, I'd needed a cover story, and had picked one close to the truth. Perhaps a bit too close for comfort. "The top-brass wanted someone to blame for one of their cock-ups. You could say I got the short straw."
"Because of being Irish?"
"No, I don't think so. Not that it matters."
"Uh-huh. Proper little patriot aren't you? I notice you haven't asked why *I'm* here."
"I assumed if you wanted me to know you'd tell me." And I didn't really want to hear. There was always the possibility I'd sympathise. I had developed a most troubling tendency to like O' Donnell already.
"No one reason. I fought for King George for ten years, then I got to wondering why. They're happy to have Catholics die for them, but won't permit anything else. No voting rights, no office holding. Of course there's the right to pay rents and taxes, I mustn't overlook that. Not that I've suffered myself, but I've heard plenty of stories about the English landlords, and some at least are true. So I thought, why fight for them? I owe no loyalties there. Things might even be better for my countrymen under Bonaparte, at least it's worth a try. And that, my friend, makes me an idealist and you an opportunist."
"Anything wrong with that?" I said lightly.
"Not at all. Mercenary fighting is a grand old Irish tradition. And you're honest about it. I like fighting myself, I don't pretend otherwise."
"A clear fight, where you can get at the enemy," I said with the vehemence of truth.
"You're right there. A clear fight then, if we have to start the war ourselves."
I should cut this short, but.... "Did you know about the Irish Legion, before you came over."
"I'd heard rumours. There are stories amongst the Irish officers." Nothing new, and nothing I could use. "Had you heard them, then?"
"No," I lied. "I knew nothing about this beforehand. I just thought the French might use me."
"Ah, well, you weren't wrong there. Although after today, maybe you should put that the other way around. You want to go into the village and drink to renewed war?"
I shook my head. "I really do have a bad stomach. I was planning to turn in early. Some other time, perhaps." I *really* didn't want to start making friends here.
Started a war. I supposed I had, although not single handed. Naturally I'd sent back the information about the troops in training, the build-up on this stretch of coast. Reporting on that sort of thing wasn't the reason I was here, but it had turned out a useful bonus. I thought I could guess what had followed.
Obviously Admiral (as he now was) Pellew couldn't take the report of a highly unofficial spy to the Admiralty. In fact even the report of an official spy likely wouldn't be enough for the government to act on. But a responsible Admiral wouldn't simply let the build-up go on while Britain did nothing.
So.... fake a message. A message from a Frenchman to a friend in England, asking for a meeting, somewhere near a certain, very important, stretch of coast. And give the job of conveying the friend to the supposed rendezvous to an officer who could be counted on to exceed his orders.....
So far so clear, but how did Ulysses come in? Was his learning of the message an accident? Or was it a design, a calculated risk taken in the hope of trapping the man at last?
......... "An accusation against such a man cannot be made lightly or easily. He has an unquestioned reputation, considerable social standing and many influential connections. I *cannot* accuse him without solid evidence. The accusation would not be believed and he would be alerted to the fact I know, which so far he is not. I need *proof*, proof which cannot be argued with. And I need a man to get it. A man who can disappear without questions asked. To raise the least suspicion would be fatal, to the goal and very probably to the man as well. Understand this is not a minor matter. The amount of harm a man in such a position is capable of doing is incalculable.".........
Horatio. How much had he known? Perhaps very little, I'd learned for myself that Pellew believed in telling men as little as he could. Had he been sent in blind, Pellew simply deducing what he would do when the rendezvous failed to appear? Very likely. No doubt he had relied on Horatio's own ability to extricate him. Perhaps he had even relied a little on me. How Pellew came to learn of Ulysses - as the man chose to be known in France for purposes of secrecy - and of the Irish League in the first place, I don't know. Perhaps one of the League's members had thought again and chosen to desert a second time. Perhaps he had simply noticed certain leakages and done a bit of subtle investigating. Perhaps both - or neither. But he was right about the need for solid evidence. Unfortunately in more than six months I still hadn't managed to get it.
He was clever, Ulysses. Clever and careful. Not even Hare knew who he really was, although it wouldn't be any use for my purposes if he had. The information sent across the channel was carefully presented, there was nothing that could point to any one man. I knew. I'd burgled the Commandant's office to read the dispatches.
And time was running out. One way or another we'd be at war again before long. Since coming here I'd learned details even Pellew hadn't know. The Irish League wasn't the half of it. Ulysses was constructing a network throughout the Navy. His own ship was manned by carefully selected individuals, ready to change sides at a moment's notice. There were other Naval officers, some in high positions, already converted to his cause; still others not yet approached, who it was thought might change sides when the moment came. And there was a network being constructed in Ireland itself by a contact of Ulysses, reading between the lines I thought a brother. This was much less far advanced, landowners being, on the whole, reluctant to join the cause. However massive disruption in the Navy might well inspire the waverers. At the least, if Ulysses' plans were fulfilled, the Navy would be thrown into complete chaos, and there might well be an uprising which, if it did not throw the British out of Ireland would provide great opportunities for the French, perhaps even lead to a French invasion.
But virtually all of this I'd gathered by word of mouth alone. No *proof*. Nothing to offer the government. I could just imagine what they'd make of the testimony of a self-confessed mutineer. And nothing at all on Ulysses himself.
I was getting desperate, and not just for altruistic reasons. I didn't think I could take this life much longer.
I loathed the lies, the constant wariness, the need to hide my real self. I loathed existing in shadows, I always had. Too much of my life had been spent that way. I wanted, I'd always wanted to be able to stand straight in the sun. To look anyone in the eye and have nothing to hide. And I'd had that, for far too short a time, back on the Indefatigable. Had that and lost it, and if I couldn't get it back soon I was going to crack. My dreams were agony already, the nightmares almost preferable to the memories of better times. I wanted to drink myself into a stupor but did not dare.
I must try not to hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope, or rather its destruction, had nearly killed me before now. No, I must not hope I could go back.
Why did I want to anyway? After Justinian and Renown, why should I want to go back? If I could survive this there would be other futures open.
Because.... the Navy was all I knew, all I'd ever known. I could take other paths, but I couldn't imagine myself succeeding. I wasn't shaped for anything else. And I did want success. Not to the same degree Horatio does, I didn't care if I never became an Admiral, but I did want to prove I had some use, some value. However flawed the service was, I had been made as I was by it, and it was too late to form myself into another mould. If I wanted a life that would give me satisfaction it was the Navy or nothing.
And perhaps I was overly cynical, if I'd seen the worst of the Navy I'd also seen the best and I missed the best of it with all my soul. A hard life, but fulfilling, except in the very worst of times, and nothing is perfect after all. I was still letting Kingston affect my judgement. That court-martial had not been real. No point in asking if it could have been.
And.... there had only ever been one person who really cared what happened to me, and you couldn't prize him out of the Navy with a crowbar. And although I didn't really expect to serve with Horatio again, yet the service would be a link, and I needed that.
No. I must not hope. Must not think of Horatio. Must not think of the good times either, I needed to cling to cynicism in order to stay sane. Think of Ulysses. Of Ulysses, who I hated as I'd only ever hated one other man. Hate was a reason to hold together. I'd get him. I'd get him no matter what the price.
"How much have you been drinking, then, my lad?"
I spun round. O'Donnell. Not good. O'Donnell was far from stupid. He was a recent arrival, a lieutenant like myself.
"Actually I think it must have been something I ate." The lie came fluently, I was practised.
"Which would explain your arranging the world's slowest set of signals for the Loire as well?" Hell, how did I bluff this one out? "No need to look so sheepish, then. Not many men can boast of having started a war."
Steady, steady. "Hurried it up a bit perhaps." I tried for an insouciant shrug. "I'm tired of the waiting game. About time Bonaparte and his cohorts followed through on some of their promises."
"Spoken like a proper gambler." He sounded half-mocking and half- impressed. "Now I know why you won't play dice, it's far too dull for you. Now I wonder, Kincaid, I really wonder why you deserted to the Irish Legion?"
"It's no secret," I told him casually. Naturally, I'd needed a cover story, and had picked one close to the truth. Perhaps a bit too close for comfort. "The top-brass wanted someone to blame for one of their cock-ups. You could say I got the short straw."
"Because of being Irish?"
"No, I don't think so. Not that it matters."
"Uh-huh. Proper little patriot aren't you? I notice you haven't asked why *I'm* here."
"I assumed if you wanted me to know you'd tell me." And I didn't really want to hear. There was always the possibility I'd sympathise. I had developed a most troubling tendency to like O' Donnell already.
"No one reason. I fought for King George for ten years, then I got to wondering why. They're happy to have Catholics die for them, but won't permit anything else. No voting rights, no office holding. Of course there's the right to pay rents and taxes, I mustn't overlook that. Not that I've suffered myself, but I've heard plenty of stories about the English landlords, and some at least are true. So I thought, why fight for them? I owe no loyalties there. Things might even be better for my countrymen under Bonaparte, at least it's worth a try. And that, my friend, makes me an idealist and you an opportunist."
"Anything wrong with that?" I said lightly.
"Not at all. Mercenary fighting is a grand old Irish tradition. And you're honest about it. I like fighting myself, I don't pretend otherwise."
"A clear fight, where you can get at the enemy," I said with the vehemence of truth.
"You're right there. A clear fight then, if we have to start the war ourselves."
I should cut this short, but.... "Did you know about the Irish Legion, before you came over."
"I'd heard rumours. There are stories amongst the Irish officers." Nothing new, and nothing I could use. "Had you heard them, then?"
"No," I lied. "I knew nothing about this beforehand. I just thought the French might use me."
"Ah, well, you weren't wrong there. Although after today, maybe you should put that the other way around. You want to go into the village and drink to renewed war?"
I shook my head. "I really do have a bad stomach. I was planning to turn in early. Some other time, perhaps." I *really* didn't want to start making friends here.
Started a war. I supposed I had, although not single handed. Naturally I'd sent back the information about the troops in training, the build-up on this stretch of coast. Reporting on that sort of thing wasn't the reason I was here, but it had turned out a useful bonus. I thought I could guess what had followed.
Obviously Admiral (as he now was) Pellew couldn't take the report of a highly unofficial spy to the Admiralty. In fact even the report of an official spy likely wouldn't be enough for the government to act on. But a responsible Admiral wouldn't simply let the build-up go on while Britain did nothing.
So.... fake a message. A message from a Frenchman to a friend in England, asking for a meeting, somewhere near a certain, very important, stretch of coast. And give the job of conveying the friend to the supposed rendezvous to an officer who could be counted on to exceed his orders.....
So far so clear, but how did Ulysses come in? Was his learning of the message an accident? Or was it a design, a calculated risk taken in the hope of trapping the man at last?
......... "An accusation against such a man cannot be made lightly or easily. He has an unquestioned reputation, considerable social standing and many influential connections. I *cannot* accuse him without solid evidence. The accusation would not be believed and he would be alerted to the fact I know, which so far he is not. I need *proof*, proof which cannot be argued with. And I need a man to get it. A man who can disappear without questions asked. To raise the least suspicion would be fatal, to the goal and very probably to the man as well. Understand this is not a minor matter. The amount of harm a man in such a position is capable of doing is incalculable.".........
Horatio. How much had he known? Perhaps very little, I'd learned for myself that Pellew believed in telling men as little as he could. Had he been sent in blind, Pellew simply deducing what he would do when the rendezvous failed to appear? Very likely. No doubt he had relied on Horatio's own ability to extricate him. Perhaps he had even relied a little on me. How Pellew came to learn of Ulysses - as the man chose to be known in France for purposes of secrecy - and of the Irish League in the first place, I don't know. Perhaps one of the League's members had thought again and chosen to desert a second time. Perhaps he had simply noticed certain leakages and done a bit of subtle investigating. Perhaps both - or neither. But he was right about the need for solid evidence. Unfortunately in more than six months I still hadn't managed to get it.
He was clever, Ulysses. Clever and careful. Not even Hare knew who he really was, although it wouldn't be any use for my purposes if he had. The information sent across the channel was carefully presented, there was nothing that could point to any one man. I knew. I'd burgled the Commandant's office to read the dispatches.
And time was running out. One way or another we'd be at war again before long. Since coming here I'd learned details even Pellew hadn't know. The Irish League wasn't the half of it. Ulysses was constructing a network throughout the Navy. His own ship was manned by carefully selected individuals, ready to change sides at a moment's notice. There were other Naval officers, some in high positions, already converted to his cause; still others not yet approached, who it was thought might change sides when the moment came. And there was a network being constructed in Ireland itself by a contact of Ulysses, reading between the lines I thought a brother. This was much less far advanced, landowners being, on the whole, reluctant to join the cause. However massive disruption in the Navy might well inspire the waverers. At the least, if Ulysses' plans were fulfilled, the Navy would be thrown into complete chaos, and there might well be an uprising which, if it did not throw the British out of Ireland would provide great opportunities for the French, perhaps even lead to a French invasion.
But virtually all of this I'd gathered by word of mouth alone. No *proof*. Nothing to offer the government. I could just imagine what they'd make of the testimony of a self-confessed mutineer. And nothing at all on Ulysses himself.
I was getting desperate, and not just for altruistic reasons. I didn't think I could take this life much longer.
I loathed the lies, the constant wariness, the need to hide my real self. I loathed existing in shadows, I always had. Too much of my life had been spent that way. I wanted, I'd always wanted to be able to stand straight in the sun. To look anyone in the eye and have nothing to hide. And I'd had that, for far too short a time, back on the Indefatigable. Had that and lost it, and if I couldn't get it back soon I was going to crack. My dreams were agony already, the nightmares almost preferable to the memories of better times. I wanted to drink myself into a stupor but did not dare.
I must try not to hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope, or rather its destruction, had nearly killed me before now. No, I must not hope I could go back.
Why did I want to anyway? After Justinian and Renown, why should I want to go back? If I could survive this there would be other futures open.
Because.... the Navy was all I knew, all I'd ever known. I could take other paths, but I couldn't imagine myself succeeding. I wasn't shaped for anything else. And I did want success. Not to the same degree Horatio does, I didn't care if I never became an Admiral, but I did want to prove I had some use, some value. However flawed the service was, I had been made as I was by it, and it was too late to form myself into another mould. If I wanted a life that would give me satisfaction it was the Navy or nothing.
And perhaps I was overly cynical, if I'd seen the worst of the Navy I'd also seen the best and I missed the best of it with all my soul. A hard life, but fulfilling, except in the very worst of times, and nothing is perfect after all. I was still letting Kingston affect my judgement. That court-martial had not been real. No point in asking if it could have been.
And.... there had only ever been one person who really cared what happened to me, and you couldn't prize him out of the Navy with a crowbar. And although I didn't really expect to serve with Horatio again, yet the service would be a link, and I needed that.
No. I must not hope. Must not think of Horatio. Must not think of the good times either, I needed to cling to cynicism in order to stay sane. Think of Ulysses. Of Ulysses, who I hated as I'd only ever hated one other man. Hate was a reason to hold together. I'd get him. I'd get him no matter what the price.