The Scent of Betrayal (17 page)

Harry smiled. ‘We can’t ship gunpowder to the foot of that bastion, without being seen, but amongst thirty Frenchmen’s possessions, if we can get them ashore, it’s another matter.’

‘So we’re not trapped after all,’ said James.

‘Oh, we are, brother, but cornered rats always try to escape. If it comes to it, so shall we.’

The decision to address the entire group of Frenchmen had, at the time, seemed like good sense. But what Harry and James failed to realise was just how exposed that made them. Lampin and Couvruer, trying to intervene, were bluntly told that they were as much responsible for the loss of their treasure as these damned Englishmen, and only a loud threat from Harry stopped Brissot from turning violent.

‘If anyone, of any nationality, so much as raises a fist from now on, I’ll stretch his neck.’

‘And I would remind you that the only reason we are here in New Orleans is to help you,’ added James.

Harry coughed to cover a slight degree of embarrassment, wondering which of the two statements had done more to calm things. Whichever, he was glad, though the buzz of men grumbling was, in the confined space between decks, loud and worrying.

‘Because of that,’ James continued, ‘our ship, and the entire crew, is under threat.’

Lampin, sensing a chance to speak without being shouted down, took a pace forward. ‘Because of what you said to me, Captain Ludlow, I assured my friends that their money was safe.’

‘It makes no difference that it was in my brother’s cabin,’ James replied. ‘The Spaniards would have taken it from wherever it was found.’

Couvruer, who’d joined Lampin, spoke in English, which earned him some hard looks.

‘You will not convince all of them that is true.’

The giant bearded Brissot stepped out of the crowd, grabbed both Lampin and Couvruer by the scruff of the neck and dragged them backwards.

‘You are a rich man, Rosbif,’ he said. ‘You give us the money you lost and then keep what you get back from the stinking Spaniards.’

That was greeted with a howl of approval, and an aggressive surge forward that forced Harry and James to step back quickly.

‘You told us that our money was safe in your cabin.’

Harry’s voice, rebounding off the low deck beams, brought all forward movement to a halt. It also killed off any sound.

‘Perhaps you’d like me to tell the Governor where that treasure really came from!’ He glared at them for several seconds, then with a slight tug at James’s sleeve, he spun on his heel and made his way up to the deck. Pender was standing at the top, the look on his face enough to convince Harry that even if he hadn’t comprehended most of the language he’d understood the mood.

‘I have to tell you, your honour,’ he intoned gravely, ‘that if they start any of that on me while you’re ashore, I’ll clap them in the cable tier, one an’ all.’

Harry, still seething, matched his tone.

‘Make it so, Pender, make it so.’

DE CHIGNY WAS
waiting ashore with a strong escort, all armed with long muskets tipped with vicious-looking bayonets; but a closer inspection showed the soldiers to be rather lacklustre in their bearing. Their mere presence had caused a crowd to gather, as usual in these situations, the most disreputable members of the community. Many a question was shouted at them, mixed with a stream of invective aimed at the escort, all studiously ignored as they marched through the dimly lit streets.

‘This is rather like going to an execution, Harry,’ said James.

His brother looked at him closely only to see that he’d made nothing more than a calm observation. As they reached the part of town that had survived the most recent fire, everything became brighter; this was due to gas lamps, a very modern innovation, affixed to the walls of the houses. A question to de Chigny quickly established that de Carondelet was a great improver, digging canals and strengthening the defences; and in installing lamps to replace flaring torches, he not only cut down on street crime, but reduced the risk of another devastating fire.

‘Perhaps we should adopt the same solution in London, Harry.’

‘You’d have to destroy the place first.’

‘Considering what a sink of iniquity it is, the notion doesn’t bother me.’

Because of such lights they could see the faces of the crowd that accompanied them, as well as hearing their voices.

‘Harry, those fellows on the outer edge, the Indians?’

Harry followed James’s pointed finger. ‘What about them?’

‘Do they seem unusual to you?’

‘Why should they? This is where they come from. We saw several weary creatures this morning trying to sell fruit.’

‘These men are different from the fruit sellers, I think you’ll agree.’

Harry peered at them again. ‘True. I’m almost sure I’ve seen them already.’

‘Where?’

‘They’re similar to the party that was on the levee when we returned earlier.’

‘I don’t recall seeing them.’

‘You were busy with de Carondelet.’

Both brothers were now concentrating on them as they kept pace with the marching soldiers. Their copper-coloured skin stood out, as did the brightly decorated buckskin clothing, but it was their silence that marked them. While all around them the crowd was yelling imprecations, including that same
Cochon du lait
insult aimed at the Governor, the Indians merely looked on, dark brown eyes studying the Ludlows with stoical indifference.

‘They look like the warriors you see at Hoxton Fair.’

Any further thoughts on that score were put to one side as the escort, hitherto content to ignore the crowd, suddenly dropped their bayonets. As they entered the square before an imposing building de Chigny had drawn his sword and was issuing orders, while at the same time threatening those too close to him with the flat of the blade. The formation changed as the soldiers, straightening up and adopting a more military bearing, levelled their weapons to form a sort of phalanx. This meant that anyone who interfered with their passage risked serious injury.

‘Why the fuss now?’ shouted James, craning his neck.

‘I think we’re approaching the Governor’s residence. Our young lieutenant wants to show how zealous he is.’

‘It doesn’t seem to be having much effect.’

Nothing proved this more than the way James had to shout to be heard. The attendant crowd, if they’d been loud before, found
a new supply of air to fuel their anger, and they showed little fear, continually tempting the guards, darting forward and forcing the soldiers to withdraw their weapons. Harry observed this with some satisfaction. Nothing demonstrated how tenuous was the Spanish position more than the caution of the soldiers: even under their leader’s windows they had no wish to be the cause of a wound or a fatality, and the attitude of the crowd was such that he knew they were looking for an excuse to start something. A wound inflicted on a French colonist was just the thing to trigger off a riot. Finally they reached the entrance to the building. Two stories high, it had brick pillars and what looked like the plastered timber walls to be found at home in England. The soldiers formed an avenue, a frisson of bayonets pointing outwards, and de Chigny led the two brothers into the relative quiet of the interior.

It was only when they’d ascended the stairs that Harry realised they were in the same building as they’d come to that morning, having merely used another entrance. The passage leading to the Governor’s quarters was lined, as before, with smart-looking white-coated soldiers. Close to, Harry observed that their height, bearing, and dress contrasted sharply with the depressed-looking men who’d escorted them here. They approximated more to Fernandez’s Cuban garrison, although their uniforms were in a better condition. Two footmen swung open the double doors that led to a grand salon hung with Flemish tapestries. These depicted ancient, stylised battles, in which mounted knights speared fearful infantry, all the while watched by admiring ladies in court dress.

James was entranced, explaining to Harry the quality of these hangings. His fingers gently brushed against some of the embroidery as he pointed up the most delicate details. Harry, even less interested in tapestries than paintings, was trying to relate the actions portrayed to the more military detail, such as castles and fortified camps. They talked quietly, each pursuing their own interests, until another set of doors opened noisily to admit the Governor and his party.

De Carondelet wasn’t alone. Apart from San Lucar de Barrameda, de Fajardo de Coburrabias, and Captain Fernandez, three civilians stood respectfully behind him. The two hidalgo officers had tried to outdo each other in the glory of their apparel. Their bright silk coats, one blue, the other scarlet, overshadowed, despite its evident quality, the sober burgundy of de Carondelet. Even Fernandez had made an effort. In a clean, well-cut uniform he looked plain, but more soldierly, though the drooping moustaches on such a dark face somewhat spoilt the effect. At least he had the good grace to smile at the Ludlows, proof that though his antecedents were Spanish his disposition reflected the more relaxed climate of the Caribbean. The three civilians, no doubt determined to establish their sobriety, were dressed in uninspiring grey cloth.

‘Señores! Welcome,’ said the Governor. Harry and James bowed slightly, managing to look at each other surreptitiously. ‘Allow me to introduce to you to the members of the
Cabildo
. You will recall that they are members of the council that assists me in running New Orleans. They also act as judges in the courts. Señor Ignacio de Lovio, Señor Joseph Xavier de Pontalba, and Señor Pablo de Aquivar.’

Each man bowed in turn as the brothers struggled to attach a name to them. De Lovio was small and fat, with piglike eyes set in a pockmarked face. De Pontalba had a flat countenance, a squashed nose, and the scar of harelip. De Aquivar, medium height, pleasant-faced if rather nondescript, was the only one whose lips showed even a trace of a smile. Then, as if he remembered where he was, it abruptly disappeared.

De Carondelet had no sooner finished his introductions than he emitted a stream of apologies. First for being a bachelor, so that the feminine touch was sadly lacking from his arrangements, then for the circumstances that forced him to entertain in a borrowed house. He explained to the two indifferent Ludlows that his own official residence had disappeared in one of the numerous fires that plagued the town. This was followed by a catalogue of misfortunes that had, in yet another conflagration, robbed him
not only of his cook, but also of decent plate and crystal on which to serve the poor efforts of his temporary replacement.

‘All lost, gentlemen. So instead of fine European cuisine, I am thrown back on the efforts of a local fellow who is not even French.’

Both brothers took this gabbling, rather excitable explanation as a ruse to avoid any discussion of their situation. Yet his civilian guests nodded with sympathetic understanding.

‘Can there be a shortage of French cooks in New Orleans?’ asked James.

De Carondelet’s face creased with anxiety. ‘There are many, that is true. But I fear that to a man they’d try to poison me.’

‘Surely …’ said Harry.

‘Perhaps if we shoot a few more,’ said San Lucar de Barrameda, ‘they’ll learn some respect for their masters.’

That brought forth more emphatic nods from the councillors. De Fajardo de Coburrabias, whom the Ludlows thought, from their single previous meeting, lacked any knowledge of French, surprised them by speaking it now.

‘What a good idea, Don Felipe San Lucar de Barrameda. You can shoot some, then skittle off to sea and leave my soldiers to clean up the mess.’

The faint noise of the remains of the crowd floated up towards the slightly open window of the chamber. ‘If your soldiers showed more élan, Don Cayetano de Fajardo de Coburrabias, we’d have nothing to fear from these French swine.’

Had anyone else spoken, it would have been different. But after what they’d just witnessed in the street, James couldn’t help himself. He knew, as well as Harry, that they needed to be polite. He did adopt a grave expression, but a close look would have revealed the twinkle in his eye.

‘How I heartily agree, Don Felipe San Lucar de Barrameda. We all know how violence cows a Frenchman. They behaved like rabbits on the way here. And I recall King Louis was quite eloquent on the subject. That is, until he found out he was mistaken.’

De Fajardo de Coburrabias grinned as much as San Lucar de Barrameda frowned.

‘They are a barbarous breed, Señor Ludlow,’ said de Pontalba, quite missing the point of the sally. ‘To chop off their own King’s head.’

De Carondelet coughed. After all, the English had beaten the French to such an act by a good hundred years. De Aquivar filled the silence with a bitter denunciation.

‘And none are worse than those who have colonised Louisiana. They are also stupid. So stupid that they set fire, in the name of a search for what they call political rights, to their own city. Not once, Señores, but several times.’

‘We witnessed their anger on the way.’

‘Please do not misunderstand what you have observed in the streets, Captain Ludlow,’ said the Governor, managing a look that wiped the grin off de Fajardo de Coburrabias’s face. ‘We are in control here and intend to remain so. What Don Pablo de Aquivar refers to is no more than the work of a few disgruntled agitators, people whom we are anxious to isolate by giving them no cause for grievance. Patience, not violence, is our watchword.’

San Lucar de Barramdea snorted insolently, which, in turn, earned him a glare from his superior.

‘They will learn in time that not only is Louisiana Spanish, but that it will remain so; that it is still ruled by a powerful King and a great nation.’

That, accompanied by more enthusiastic nodding, caused both Ludlows to emulate de Carondelet in polite coughing. The Governor must know, as well as his guests, that the state he represented was a shadow of its former self. The nation that had dominated Europe and conquered the New World was no more. The King of Spain was a simpleton who cared only for hunting. The real ruler in Madrid was a jumped-up nobody called Manuel de Godoy, recently titled Prince of the Peace for the treaty he’d signed with France. In doing so he had deserted his ally Great Britain in the most shameful manner, and gone some way to legitimising the
Revolutionary despots in Paris. The Prince, reputedly handsome, had risen from being a humble courtier to having absolute control of the Spanish government by being the simultaneous lover of both the Queen and, it was rumoured, her husband. The treaty de Godoy had signed with France in the previous year had been, as James had so acidly pointed out, a humiliating surrender, one that reflected the true state of Spanish power.

Harry didn’t give a toss about de Carondelet’s food or his fantasies about his King. Hitherto silent, he now spoke out. He’d been dying to ask about the treasure chest since they’d entered, and given what looked like an opportunity he couldn’t contain himself.

‘I’m sure we will see how great a nation you represent, Barón, when you return our property and give us permission to depart.’

‘Señores,’ he exclaimed in reply, as though both matters were trifling, ‘it is not the Spanish custom to discuss matters of business when food is on the table.’

That earned a grunt from Harry Ludlow. But he knew that he would be wasting his time if he asked again. De Carondelet was not going to discuss what interested the Ludlow brothers until it suited him, and it was difficult not to let it slip from their minds: the Barón might bemoan the loss of his cook but the food they sat down to was quite delicious. Highly spiced, certainly, but made from fine ingredients which represented the abundance of choice available in the delta. Without concurring, both brothers had decided they might as well take what pleasure they could. Conversation, though often stilted, did flow, as when de Carondelet or his councillors were speaking.

De Fajardo de Coburrabias was a particularly witty dinner companion, who could sail very close to an insult without delivering one, which made the civilians and de Barrameda the butt of jokes they barely comprehended. Yet he was careful of his superior, which led Harry to the conclusion that the Governor had a sharp brain, that the soldier respected. Sat near the brothers, he explained, while de Carondelet was being bored rigid by his
Cabildo
members, that he’d been in Louisiana for eight years, that he liked the colony so much the thought of ever departing was unwelcome. Though not in the least boastful, he had, it seemed, prospered in his service, and was the owner of several plantations.

‘And gentlemen,’ he whispered quietly, ‘should you require entertainment while you are in New Orleans, I have connections with quite a good establishment just outside the north wall of the city. The Hôtel de la Porte d’Orléans. A Mademoiselle Feraud runs it for me. I will tell her of my invitation for you to visit. That will assure you of her very best attention.’