The Trojan Horse

by Christopher C Tubbs

  Marty rose and bowed as he backed away before turning to the door.

  Reports came in on the 25th of November from his Scouts that the French invasion force had crossed the border at Abrantes and were camped just seventy-five miles from Lisbon. He sent the information to the Prince.

  He got a message back from Don Nuno saying the Prince had sent an emissary to Junot offering to, as he described, ‘roll over and offer our arses up to the French.’

  Junot’s response was to set out for Lisbon with four battalions with the obvious intent to capture the city.

  Sir Sydney met Marty at the dock on the morning of the 27th. Marty had forewarned Nuno, and a carriage was waiting to carry them to the Prince.

  “Your Highness, the French mean to have your head,” Smith told him and showed him a copy of Le Moniteur from the 13th October that declared the house of Briganza deposed.

  “My God! The arrogance!” The Prince cried when he read it. “What am I to do?”

  Smith nodded to Marty to make the suggestion that they had come up with.

  “You Highness, if I may suggest a possible solution?” Marty offered.

  The Prince indicated he should continue.

  “If the French capture your family here in Lisbon, they will not only remove you from the throne and possibly send you to the guillotine, they will confiscate all your goods, leaving you with nothing even if they let you live.

  However, you have probably four days. I have men in position to slow Junot down by destroying bridges and setting ambushes. I will delay them as long as I can.” He paused to let that sink in then continued,

  “You have a fleet here, which if the French take over Lisbon, we will be forced to destroy to keep out of their hands. Now, if you were to take that fleet and all the personal wealth that you can carry and sail to Brazil, that would satisfy our remit and deny the French both the ships and the benefit of your money.”

  The Prince pondered Marty’s remarks then sighed and said,

  “I don’t seem to have much choice, do I?” and started giving orders.

  He isn’t slow to make a decision when his arse is on the line. Marty smiled to himself.

  Two days later, there were lines of wagons loaded with gold, silver, works of art, dinner services and all manner of treasures along the shoreline, waiting to be loaded on ships of the line and merchantmen that moored up to the dock in turn. In the end, fifteen warships and twenty transports (some of them frigates en flute) were loaded when Marty’s marines appeared on the docks saying that the French were almost at the gates.

  The Prince waited no longer, and the refugees set sail for Brazil on the 29th November. Sir Sidney provided three ships as escorts, and the rest of his Fleet stayed on blockade duty. Marty watched the last of them go and looked along the dock to the fourteen wagons that were left unloaded and the few small warships that were left behind.

  He joined the British fleet at the mouth of the Tagus the next morning, the eastern skyline grey with the smoke of burning ships and empty wagons. He had taken onboard any British citizens he could find that were left in Lisbon and escorted the British merchantmen out of the estuary.

  The Formidiable sat a little lower than normal in the water and had an armed cutter in attendance that Marty had spared from being burnt. He would give that to Collingwood as a gift when he returned to Gibraltar.

  Junot entered Lisbon at the head of a ragged, rabble of an army. They had taken the fastest but hardest route from Spain into Portugal along the Tagus Valley as ordered by Napoleon. The going was not so much hard as almost impossible as there was almost no food that could be foraged along its entire length. He lost almost all his horse and cannon and was only able to enter Portugal with four pieces of horse artillery he requisitioned from the Spanish. The main body of his force would not join him for another ten days.

  “We could have stopped them with our hundred marines,” Marty said afterwards, “but they walked in without firing a shot.”

  Junot had been relying on capturing the wealth of Lisbon to re-equip and pay his troops, but he found that the royal family and the rest of the refugees had taken it all with them. Around half the specie (available coin) in the country had been taken. His men had to resort to looting to feed themselves and replace their shredded uniforms, which didn’t endear them to the locals at all.

  Chapter 4: A different Bonaparte

  Back in Gibraltar, the Formidiable’s cargo was unloaded and securely stored in a locked and guarded cellar. Marty decided it should be used to fund resistance activities in Portugal and anything that was left would be returned to the Royal Family on their return. The Admiralty might have disagreed, but he didn’t ask them. The cutter was presented to Collingwood who expressed his gratitude and would use it for message carrying.

  During December, news trickled back from Portugal that Napoleon was extremely angry that the majority of the country’s wealth was gone, and he levied a punitive fine of one-hundred million Francs on the nation. He also ordered Junot to confiscate the property of the refugees. Consequently, the population rose and rioted.

  In January, reinforcements arrived and Junot was back up to his full strength of twenty-five thousand troops. In February, he disbanded the governing council and sent the Portuguese Army to France.

  During this time, the Flotilla prowled up the West coast of Portugal to the Bay of Biscay, taking any French or Spanish merchantmen. They made a nuisance of themselves and mapped places where they could land and pickup agents.

  Marty enjoyed being based out of Gibraltar as he got to see his family more often. No more attempts had been made on his or their lives, but he kept the standing security detail of marines in place all the same. Caroline had practiced with pistol and sword, and Marty found Senior Dominguez, a Spanish armorer, on the peninsula to have a custom-made sword forged for her.

  On one of his stop overs between sweeps, he visited the armourer and specified what he wanted.

  “The blade should be around thirty inches, like a French small sword, sharp on both sides and finely balanced. The hilt should be narrow enough for her hand,” he had one of her gloves to show the size, “wrapped in shagreen, and a basket guard.”

  “Si, Señor, I can make that. Have you seen a sword being made before?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” Marty replied.

  “Would you like to assist me?” Dominguez offered.

  Marty’s face lit up like a kid in a sweetshop.

  He expected that they would just take a bar of steel and hammer a sword out of it, but he was wrong. Dominguez had other ideas. He took two different pieces of steel, that he explained were of different hardness, and proceeded to start forging them together. What followed was a long and intricate process that involved heating, hammering, and cooling the steel. The timing, he was told, had to be exact and Dominguez would recite psalms and prayers to make sure it was.

  The process was long, and Marty returned to the forge many times between sailing trips to monitor progress. He showed Dominguez his fighting knife, and the smith admired the steel and workmanship, telling him that it was forged using a different method. What he was making was Toledo steel and the knife was made of Damascus. The processes were similar, he thought, but the secret of making Damascus was only known to a few Muslim smiths, whereas the process for Toledo steel was only know to a handful of Spanish smiths.

  The blade was finally finished, thirty inches long, was razor sharp on both sides, and tapered to a point just as specified. The balance point was perfectly placed four inches in front of the cross guard, the hilt wrapped in shark skin (Shagreen), and it had a deceptively delicate basket hilt that had gold intertwined through the elements and jewels set in the base of the cross guard. The hilt hid a surprise, a catch, concealed near the cross guard - it would release a six-inch sprung blade from the pommel. Something that would give an opponent a nasty surprise.

  Their family arms were etched at the balance point and the Latin moto Mortiferum e
t Pulcherrima (Deadly and Beautiful), etched along the blade, which applied to both the sword and Caroline. Dominguez had a leatherworker friend of his make a beautiful scabbard.

  Marty was stunned at its beauty. He paid Dominguez the three hundred pounds without a second’s hesitation.

  Meanwhile, at the end of March in Spain, the French under Murat had occupied Madrid with forty thousand troops. Prior to that, the Spanish kicked King Charles off the throne and installed his son Ferdinand in his place. Napoleon demanded Ferdinand take his family to France and took them hostage. It was the beginning of the French domination of Spain.

  Ridgely found a number of Portuguese speaking agents, which the Flotilla infiltrated into Lisbon, Alhão, and Porto. The Hornfleur was used to deliver and recover the agents either by using its whalers where the rendezvous point was a beach or the fishing boat Marty had acquired the year before. While they were at it, they started smuggling port and Dao wine back to Gibraltar as a cover. Which was then was shipped back to England by one of his personal fleet and distributed by Caroline’s network.

  Marty continued to support the Spanish in Grenada with advisors and regularly visited to maintain his personal relationship with the council. The Formidiable, under a Spanish flag, was the perfect ship for this.

  Unexpectedly in mid-April, he received orders to report back to London for a meeting with Hood. He duly sailed back, with a shopping list Caroline had given him, and reported to the Admiralty as soon as he could. Fletcher was given the list.

  Marty kicked his heels for an hour in the waiting room and chatted to some of the other officers waiting there. Many were looking for ships and many, who had read of him in the Gazette, offered themselves if he had vacancies. He was a ‘lucky’ captain who was known to be well connected. He was eventually summoned, made his way down the familiar corridors to Hood’s office, and was surprised to see a soberly dressed man with a bald pate and bushy sideburns there as well.

  “Martin! How are you?” Hood greeted him in his familiar way. He was looking well for his advanced years.

  “I am well Sir; I must say you are looking in particularly good health!” Marty responded.

  “Quite so, I am blessed. May I introduce Mr George Canning, Foreign Secretary of his Majesty’s Government and William’s successor,” Hood introduced the second man.

  “Pleased to meet you Captain Stockley, I have heard and read much about you,” Canning welcomed him.

  “Mr Canning has a mission for you Martin,” Hood interjected, it seemed he wanted to move things along.

  Canning threw Hood a look that said, ‘I know when I’m being shepherded,’ and continued as he wanted.

  “That was a very satisfactory outcome to the Portuguese Royal family affair. Whose idea was it to repatriate them and their wealth to Brazil?”

  “Sir Sidney and I came up with the plan together, Sir,” Marty replied modestly. “We concluded that the real reason for Napoleon to invade Portugal was to get his hands on its wealth and to get a standing army onto the peninsula. Getting the Royal family and their treasures out of the country seemed the best way to cause him some discomfort. We hadn’t banked on the general exodus of the wealthy citizens that it triggered as well.”

  “How many left in the end?” Hood asked, trying to regain some control.

  “Around sixteen thousand, they took everything they could cram onto the ships. I understand that around half the available coin went with them.”

  “You burnt the remaining ships?” Canning enquired.

  “Yes Sir, every one that could carry a gun.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Supporting the rebels in Granada, infiltrating spies into Portugal where they can agitate and encourage rebellion against the French, and raiding up and down the coast to prevent the French from resupplying their troops by sea. In Italy, we are also infiltrating agents as required.”

  “What about Malta?” Canning asked with an arch of the eyebrows.

  “You mean the clean up?” Marty asked.

  Canning nodded.

  “A messy affair, but we managed to sweep up all the elements of the French network back to their controller in Naples,” Marty summarized.

  “A huge understatement if ever I heard one,” Canning smiled, “considering that you also managed to wipe out most of the French ships in the region as well.”

  “Ships can be replaced, Sir; it didn’t take the French long to send more.”

  “Be that as it may, it was still a considerable achievement,” Canning concluded. “Now I need you to perform a more diplomatic mission.”

  Diplomatic? He’s got the wrong man! Marty thought.

  “Napoleon appointed his brother Louis, the King of Holland in 1806. It would appear that Louis has since gone native, adopted the name of Lodwijk, speaks only Dutch and resists Napoleon’s demands for troops. Napoleon has consequently blockaded the country economically, and that is causing extensive damage to their economy.”

  Marty was surprised at the news; his experience of Holland went back many years to the time when they kicked out their king and founded the Batavian republic. He was out of date on developments since then. He wondered what it was they wanted him to do.

  The secretary brought in coffee at that point, and the conversation stopped. Marty helped himself to a cup, strong and black as he liked it.

  “What we want you to do is to visit King Lodwijk in Amsterdam and make him an offer,” Canning continued.

  Marty almost choked on his coffee.

  “Why me, Sir, and not a diplomat?” he asked.

  “Because we think we have a leak in the Foreign Office, and this is something we don’t want getting back to Paris,” Canning admitted ruefully. “That is something I may ask your help with at a later date, if we can’t find it ourselves, but for now we want you to take care of this.”

  He went on to brief Marty on an offer of economic assistance for the Kingdom of Holland, as it was now called, including trade and financial support in return for them staying as neutral as they could.

  This is as hair-brained a scheme as I’ve ever heard, Marty thought once he heard it all, but he had no choice but to give it his best shot.

  “I will sail as soon as we have replenished,” Marty assured him.

  “Good, we have forewarned the Dutch you are coming, so they will be expecting you,” Canning said as he rose, shook his hand, and excused himself as he had another meeting he had to attend.

  As soon as he left, Hood indicated Marty should join him in the comfortable chairs by the fire. He gazed into the flames then sighed,

  “be careful, Marty. This is, at best, a shot in the dark. Remember, it is Napoleon’s brother we are dealing with here and even if he has gone native, I don’t believe he will knowingly betray his brother. Defy him, yes, but betray him, no.”

  “Is that the real reason they won’t risk a diplomat?” Marty asked.

  “No, they really do have a leak, and we may well be asked to find and plug it given your track record in Malta,” Hood confirmed. “Now, give me the full details of your recent escapades in Portugal.”

  Marty returned to the Formidiable the next morning, Hood having kept him busy until after it was too late to get back to the ship that was moored at Admiralty dock. He stayed the night in his London home, much to the surprise of the staff. It also gave the men the night in town as before he left the Admiralty, he sent a message granting shore leave until six o’clock the next morning to all those who wanted it.

  It was a rather surprised and damp Marty, the weather had turned particularly foul, who arrived at the Formidiable to find it not only fully manned at 6 AM but almost fully provisioned. When asked, his first lieutenant replied,

  “I thought if they recalled us from Gibraltar, it was probably for something urgent, so I started re-provisioning as soon as you left. Fletcher went into town to see to Lady Caroline’s shopping but came back in a couple of hours. Apparently he asked one of his old contacts to
do it so he could get on with sourcing the ship’s needs.” He looked pleased and continued,

  “we acquired a couple of new main spars for the Alouette to replace those short ones the yard in Gibraltar fitted when she was repaired and a number of replacements that are suitable for all our ships.”

  “Excellent, when will we be ready to sail?” Marty asked, looking at the pennant and seeing a nice South-westerly breeze blowing.

  Ackermann looked down the dock and saw a pair of hackney carriage approaching with a large number of boxes tied to their roofs.

  “If I’m not mistaken, that is Lady Caroline’s shopping and the water hoys are just pulling up alongside, so we should be ready for the next high tide.”

  They set sail as the tide started to ebb and apart from dodging the usual Thames barges, they had an uneventful trip down river. Caroline’s shopping list had been fulfilled admirably for just a small commission and they stocked up on all the ship’s spares that were hard to get in Gibraltar.

  Once clear of the estuary, they turned North-by-Northeast and headed up the Channel.

  “Mr. Grey,” Marty approached the Master, “we need to enter the port of Amsterdam. Do you know how to do that?”

  “I have done it in the past,” Grey replied, “you have to enter from the North past the island of Texel, then travel down the Texel Stroom into the Zuyderzee, but that route is surrounded by sandbanks that move year on year. I’m afraid it would be a slow trip down with men in the chains all the way.”

  Marty frowned and asked,

  “Well, how do we do it then?”

  “We will need to get a pilot; they wait on the island for ships and guide them in,” Grey answered.

  Marty had one thing he wanted to do before he got to Amsterdam, and they hove to off the beach at Noordwijk where he, Matai and Blaez went ashore.

  He made his way to the farm where he first met Blaez and knocked on the door. The old lady, Mrs. Jongeline, answered the door and when she saw Marty and Blaez, she grabbed him and gave him the three kisses he knew were traditional. Blaez got a thorough petting and told he was a ‘mooie jongen.’