Roger’s object in securing an interview was to find out what was going on in Portugal’s highest circles; so, instead of showing resentment at this snub, he smiled and said:
‘Would Your Lordship regard it as mere gossip if I stated that on October 27th a treaty was signed at Fontainebleau by which, in return for the southern part of Portugal as a kingdom, the Prince of Peace has sold out his country; and that General Junot, with an army of thirty thousand men, has already crossed the Pyrenees on his march to Lisbon?’
Strangford’s bright eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘How in heaven’s name, did you come to learn of this in Madrid, days, nay a week ago, when I had news of it only this morning?’
Roger shrugged. ‘Since I was a youth I have spent at least half my time travelling on the Continent. During those years I have made the acquaintance of Kings and Ministers. In Madrid, as in numerous other capitals, I have old friends who, at times, tell me things that they should keep secret. I also have powerful friends in England, Mr. Canning among them.’
The Minister’s attitude underwent a sudden change. ‘You must forgive me, Mr. Brook, for having underrated the information you may be able to give me. I should be glad to have it. Be pleased to take a chair.’
Sitting down, Roger gave an account of all that he had gathered in Madrid: the universal hatred of Godoy, the abortive conspiracy of Prince Ferdinand to usurp his father’s throne, the reluctance of the Spaniards to be forced into going to war again, and numerous other matters that might influence Spanish policy.
When he had done, as he had hoped would be the case, Strangford began to talk freely of the situation with him. Heaving a sigh the Minister said:
‘At the moment I find my position here one of the utmost difficulty. On account of my knowledge of Portuguese, I was sent out in 1802 as First Secretary to the Legation. In 1806, I was promoted to Minister Plenipotentiary. The Portuguese received me most kindly and have a high opinion of me. No diplomat could have occupied a more congenial post, but for one thing—his dealings with the royal family.
‘As you must know, Queen Maria is completely mad. Her heir, Don Joao, Prince of Brazil, took over the reins of government from her in 1792, and formally became Prince Regent in ‘99. But he is nearly as mad as his mother. He is only thirty-eight, yet as timid, irresolute and as incapable of standing up to any threat as would be a palsied old man of eighty.
‘For years past he has hovered and wavered under pressure from France and Britain, upon which side to come down. If only he would make a firm decision, we would know where we are, and could act accordingly. The certainty that, when less occupied with more important matters, Bonaparte would invade Portugal and push him off his throne, has led us to urge him, time and again, to retain his sovereignty by withdrawing to his Empire in the Americas.
‘Bonaparte sent here as his Ambassador that uncouth firebrand, Marshal Lannes, to bully him into submission. Lannes was followed by Junot, charged with the same mission. We succeeded in thwarting them by sending a fleet under Lord Cathcart to menace Lisbon from the mouth of the Tagus if Don Joao gave way.
‘Last year Lord Rosslyn, and our great Admiral Lord St. Vincent, arrived here for the special purpose of persuading him to leave for Brazil under British protection. It was even suggested that, on some pretext, he should be got down to the harbour and forcibly abducted in a boat; but they had to abandon the project.
‘And now we are faced with the final crisis. Bonaparte’s troops are actually on their way. In the intelligence I received this morning, there was a quotation from a recent issue of the Moniteur. The Corsican is reported to have declared: “The house of Braganza has ceased to rule in Europe.” Within a few weeks, that may well be. If only he could be persuaded to put his trust in Britain, Don Joao could remain Emperor of Brazil. Yet this flabby-willed Prince continues to shillyshally, and I am at my wits’ end how to persuade him to continue as a Sovereign, instead of throwing away everything.’
For another half-hour they continued talking then, having become fully convinced of Roger’s intimacy with many leading statesmen and wide knowlege of international affairs at the highest level the Minister invited him to dine two nights hence, and they parted in friendly fashion.
By midday next day it had leaked out that the French were sending an army to invade Portugal. Rumours of all kinds were rife and the whole city buzzed with excited apprehension.
On the evening of the 13th, Roger went again to the British Legation. He, and several other people who had been invited to dine that night, were told that the Minister was still out at Queluz with the Prince Regent, and it was not known when he would get back. The others accepted that the dinner was off, and took their departure; but Roger decided to stay on.
With grim determination he sat in an ante-room until close on midnight. At last Strangford came in. He looked harassed to distraction and evidently felt the urge to pour out his woe into a sympathetic ear; for, on seeing Roger, he said wearily, ‘Come in, Mr. Brook. Come in and join me in a glass of wine. God knows I need one.’
When they were seated in his study and the wine had been poured, Strangford exclaimed, ‘What a day! Oh! what a day! I argued with him for hours. No man could have done more to make the poor fool see sense. But the game is lost.’
‘You mean,’ asked Roger, ‘that Don Joao has given way to the French?’
The Minister nodded. ‘Yes. This morning he received an ultimatum from Talleyrand. It demanded that I and my staff should be given our passports, that all Portuguese ports should be closed to British shipping, that all British subjects should be expelled and that their goods should be confiscated.’
‘Stap me!’ Roger cried. ‘To require the closing of the ports and the expulsion of our people is a legitimate war aim. But the seizure of their goods would be barefaced robbery. What did His Highness say to that?’
‘The spineless creature created a terrible scene, and began to cry like a child. I told him about Bonaparte’s having declared that the House of Braganza had ceased to reign; and begged him to preserve his sovereign status by letting us take him to Brazil. At that he jumped up and ran to and fro like a crazy man, yelling, “But I love it here. I have never loved Queluz so much, and you want to take me from it.”
‘He then ran to his mother’s apartment. It being no time to observe protocol, I followed him. Falling on his knees in front of her, he implored her advice. For many years the poor old woman has been incapable of giving advice to anyone. She is convinced that when she dies she will go to hell, and thinks of nothing else. Pushing him away, she cried, “The fires! The fires of the inferno. There is no escaping them!”
‘Picking himself up, he staggered to his wife’s room and gasped out to her the terrible quandary in which he found himself. She at least behaved like a daughter of Spain; tore off her mantilla, threw it at him and cursed him for a miserable coward.
‘The Foreign Minister, d’Aranjo, then arrived. After a while he succeeded in quietening the Prince. They decided that the ultimatum must be accepted and an ordinance published to give it effect. But that the British should be given some days to get their goods away. Five.times the Prince sat down at his desk to sign the ordinance d’Aranjo had prepared, and five times threw his pen away; but at last he did sign it, and went off in a flood of tears to don a hair shirt in the monastery. The best I could do was to persuade d’Aranjo that he would at once set about having a fleet prepared in case, at the last moment, the Prince changed his mind and decided to go to Brazil; though I think there is little likelihood of such a fleet ever crossing the Atlantic.’
There was nothing Roger could say to console the depressed Minister for this major diplomatic defeat; so, having expressed his sympathy and offered his services to help if the Legation had to be evacuated, he bade Strangford good night.
On the 14th, the ordinance was published. The Portuguese were aghast at the news that a French army actually was on its way to Lisbon, and in the English quarter pandemonium ensued. In the so-c
alled ‘Factory’, where British goods were stored, there were many thousands of pounds’ worth of merchandise, and to get it all away in the space of a few days was impossible. To add to the desperate plight of these long-established traders, the rates for shipping space rose within a few hours to unprecedented heights and soared still higher when it became known that the Government had commandeered a large number of ships; although the reason for this action was not disclosed.
For three days these unfortunate people fought ruin and despair with all the energy they could command. Many sold their goods to the Portuguese at great loss, all of them dismantled their houses with frantic haste, packing their most valuable possessions to take with them if they could, and arranging to store others with Portuguese friends.
Then, on the 17th, things took a new turn. A British squadron appeared on the scene and dropped anchor in the mouth of the Tagus. This caused great rejoicing among both the English and the Portuguese, as they expected a force to be landed that would protect Lisbon from the French. Roger was not so sanguine; for, since the publishing of the Royal ordinance, Portugal and Britain had been, at least technically, at war. It therefore followed that, unless Don Joao was prepared to bring down on his unhappy head the wrath of Napoleon, and so reap the worst of both worlds, he would have to order his forts to open fire on any British troops that attempted to come ashore.
However, that night Roger learned to his delight that the Admiral commanding the squadron was Sir Sidney Smith, an old friend of his and a sailor of exceptional initiative. Sir Sidney had won glory aiding King Gustavus of Sweden in his war against Russia. Later, when commanding a flotilla of British small craft with orders to clear the Channel of French privateers, he had led his ships’ boats into the mouth of the river Seine at night, in a daring endeavour to capture an enemy lugger. He had succeeded, but she had been caught in a flood tide and carried upstream; so in the morning, fired on from all sides by French troops, he had been compelled to surrender. He was taken to Paris and for two years had been a prisoner in the Temple. But he had managed to escape. Like Roger, he could speak many languages; and, on one occasion, to secure information about the state of things in Morocco, he had gone ashore and lived there for a time, disguised as an Arab.
When the main British Fleet was based on Naples Sir Sidney had three frigates which had been detached for duty at the eastern end of the Mediterranean. Technically, he was under Nelson, who was extremely jealous of him; but, regarding his superior as too distant to appreciate the local situation, he had ignored him. It was then that Sir Sidney had inflicted the greatest defeat on Napoleon ever achieved by the British, with the one, much later, exception of Waterloo. Napoleon’s army was advancing from Egypt up the coast of Palestine, with the object of capturing Constantinople, and dared not leave the great Turkish stronghold of Acre un-captured in its rear; so laid siege to it. Sir Sidney had sent his sailors ashore and the guns from his ships, and succeeded in holding Acre until the French army, decimated by unsuccessful assaults and wasted by disease, had been compelled to retire on Egypt. That achievement had altered the course of history.
It was during the siege of Acre that Roger had met Sir Sidney, and supplied him with most valuable information. In consequence, they were not only close friends, but the Admiral was one of the very few people who knew that Roger had a dual identity, and was a secret agent.
Next morning, Roger had himself rowed out to the flagship, H.M.S. Hibernia. After receiving him with surprise and delight, the Admiral took him to his stateroom, poured two glasses of Malaga wine and asked with a laugh, ‘Do I drink with Mr. Roger Brook or M. le Colonel de Breuc?’
‘I’m Mr. Brook at the moment,’ Roger grinned back. ‘But less than a fortnight ago I was living as the guest of the French Ambassador in Madrid.’
‘Then I have hopes that you bring me news of special value.’
‘Nothing of real importance, I fear; but I can inform you of the state of things in both the Spanish and Portuguese capitals.’
‘Go to it then, friend. In me you have an eager listener.’
During the half-hour that followed, Roger gave the Admiral a précis of the information he had acquired, then Sir Sidney said:
‘My Lord Strangford came off to see me last night. I think little of his slushy poems and still less of his ability to carry out his mission. The fellow has no guts, and what is needed here is a man who will threaten this craven Prince with death and damnation unless he does as we wish.’
Roger nodded. I agree. And now that you are arrived it may not be too late to force him to change his decision.’
‘Since he is now at war with us, I have it in mind to bombard the city.’
‘That would be hard on the Portuguese.’
‘Perhaps; but it might bring him to his senses.’
The conversation got no further, because a Midshipman, sent by the Officer of the Watch, arrived to report that a barge carrying the Minister was coming alongside.
Sir Sidney, followed by Roger, went out on to the quarter deck to receive him. On coming aboard, after exchanging courtesies with the Admiral, Strangford gave Roger a somewhat disapproving look. No doubt recalling the way in which fatigue and despondency had led him into making a confidant of Roger five nights earlier, he said:
‘Good morning, Mr. Brook. Your presence indicates that, for a private citizen, you take an exceptional interest in our affairs.’
The Admiral laughed and clapped Roger on the back. ‘A private citizen he may be, milord, but quite an exceptional one. He is an old friend of mine. We were together at the siege of Acre, and I know no man I’d rather have beside me at a time of crisis.’
Roger acknowledged the compliment with a bow, and Strangford replied, ‘Then I’ll not question the wisdom of his being present at our consultations.’
They adjourned to the stateroom. Wine was poured and, as Strangford sipped at his, he said wearily, ‘I pray God that I never again have to live through such days as are just past. The Legation has been besieged by scores of our nationals, begging my help to save their properties; but there was naught I could do for them. This morning I decided that to remain longer would only embarrass my Portuguese friends; so I had the Royal Arms removed from above the door of the Legation, and am come with my most important papers to take refuge here.’
Sir Sidney bowed. ‘You are welcome, milord. I’ll give orders for accommodation to be prepared for you and your people. But surely the game is not yet up? For months past, there has been an understanding between the Portuguese Court and Whitehall that, should such a situation as the present arise, the Prince Regent would retire under British protection to Brazil; and we must hold him to it.’
Strangford shrugged. ‘I have done my utmost; but terror of the French has decided this miserable man to rat upon his promise.’
‘Maybe we’ll bring him to honour it yet,’ replied the Admiral grimly. For upwards of an hour they discussed ways and means of bringing pressure on Don Joao.
Afterwards, as Roger was about to go ashore, the Admiral offered him quarters in Hibernia. Having thanked him, Roger said, ‘Later, should events justify it, I will gladly accept your hospitality. But I have a certain private matter to settle in the city, so I shall remain there as long as possible.’
The private matter was, of course, Lisala; and he had long since arranged with an official at the docks to let him know at once should a ship come in carrying the de Pombal party.
Next day the eagerly-awaited message was brought to him by a longshoreman. Unless some evil fate had stricken Lisala during the long journey from Isfahan, she was now once again within easy reach of his arms that had for so long ached to embrace her.
Accompanying the longshoreman back to the dock, he made urgent enquiries, and learned that Lisala was with her father and aunt.
17
The Biter Bit
On receiving that assurance, Roger’s heart began to pound with relief and joy. His beloved had survived the hazards
of the voyage and very soon now he would gaze again on her bewitching face and form. He was greatly tempted to hurry down to the dock to see her land, but resisted it because, for her to have recognised him prematurely, could have proved extremely awkward. She and her family had known him as M. le Chevalier de Breuc, a member of the French mission, whereas he was now an English Admiral’s son. That could be explained away only in carefully-prepared circumstances.
Instead of remaining on the dock, he had himself driven out to the de Pombal mansion. It was a fine house, standing in its own grounds on the outskirts of the city. He had already been out there several times, both to gaze with sentimental longing at Lisala’s home and to reconnoitre the garden walls, with the possibility in view that a night might come when he would climb over to keep a secret rendezvous with her.
Now, he had his carriage pull up fifty yards short of the big, wrought-iron main gates. An hour went by, then another. At length his patience was rewarded. A cavalcade, consisting of two coaches followed by three wagons, appeared at the far end of the street. Evidently a messenger had been sent ahead with news that the family had landed, for the gates were opened by a gardener.
As the first coach turned in through the gates, Roger saw the Marquis clearly, then he caught just a glimpse of his divinity, and her aunt, on the back seat. Again a surge of relief and delight ran through him. His prayers that no fell disease might strike Lisala during the long voyage, had been answered.
The problem now was how to present himself. Suddenly it struck him that he had been absurdly lax in not already having thought out a way to do so during the past week. Before that, social life in Lisbon had continued normally. He had taken it for granted that when Lisala did arrive, he would find no difficulty in coming face to face with her at the Opera or at some reception to which he could get himself invited. But since the publication of the Royal ordinance, all normal activities had ceased. There were no Court functions, all places of public entertainment were closed; so, too, were many of the biggest mansions, their owners having retired to country estates from dread of the coming of the French army. That night, he racked his brains in vain for some means by which, without approaching her direct, he could appear before her.
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