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“Aye, that it is, Lieutenant,” I agree.
Everyone on board our skiff looks up to admire the ornate carving on the stern over the captain’s quarters, depicting two Roman soldiers standing guard at either end while cherubs float through the clouds above. It is freshly painted, the dominant bright red standing out against the black hull, white trim, and two bands of yellow gold that follow the line of the gun flaps. As we pass the bow, we see another Roman soldier taking charge as the figurehead of the ship, wielding his shield and sword.
At the docks, we find the expected crowd of men busily gathering supplies and completing their shore-bound duties before setting sail, as well as the plenitude of whores offering the wares to lonely sailors. It’s loud, and it reeks of the stench of too many people and an unfortunate lack of sanitation.
My liaison, Mr. Wickham, picks me up and takes me to the tavern where Nelson has planned our meeting. It is further inland, away from the hustle of the port, a detail that pleases me immensely. Before parting ways, I hand Mr. Wickham a stack of letters and a shilling.
“Thank ye for the comfortable ride. If I may impose further, would ye please find a ship departing for Scotland? If there is’na one, England will do. I need these delivered as soon as possible.”
“Yes, m’lord. I know of one leaving this afternoon.”
“Good. Much obliged.”
It’s dark upon entering the tavern, but my eyes quickly adjust, and I see the admiral seated across the room with two other men.
“Good day, gentlemen,” I say as I approach.
“Ah! Stewart, you finally made it!” Nelson says with a firm pat on my back as the other men stand.
“Gentlemen, may I introduce you to my friend and esteemed compatriot, Captain Alasdair Stewart.”
“Josef Wagner. A pleasure to meet you, Captain Stewart,” the taller man says, reaching for a handshake.
“Likewise,” I reply, noticing he has a slight accent.
The other man is a bit older and quite familiar.
“Hello, Captain Stewart. It’s been a while.”
It hits me then. “Bloody hell! William Davies! ’Tis been far too long. I almost did’na recognize ye.”
“Yes, well, age does tend to play tricks on your appearance. White hair, furrowed skin, and a potbelly are an excellent disguise.” He laughs, and the sound brings back memories of my early days captaining and long nights of cards and spirits.
“Ye look well, my friend. Wise and well-traveled as we all hope to be.”
Davies is a tradesman and, at times, a privateer for the British. He makes his way around the world rather efficiently and has always been a reliable source of information, as well as a damn good poker player.
“Have a seat, gentlemen.” Nelson offers. “Captain Stewart, you already know that Davies has always been a valued ally of Great Britain. Well, Wagner here is considered the same. He is Austrian by birth but lived much of his life in England, or perhaps I should say at sea, as he is very proficient captain of a rather large merchant ship.” Wagner chuckles and nods his head at Nelson’s clarification. “These fine men have come to me with the same information: the French are going to invade Egypt and are setting up a naval blockade at the Port of Alexandria in the Aboukir Bay. I heard this same intelligence weeks ago, yet when I arrived, the bay was empty. There wasn’t a French ship within sight. But Davies and Wagner have assured me that the French fleet, commanded by Admiral Brueys, is currently there, while Napoleon’s army has already left Malta and is heading to Egypt. Needless to say, we must make haste.”
“How many ships are in Brueys’s fleet? Do we know?” I ask.
“Thirteen,” Wagner replies. “Said to be almost 1200 guns.”
“The French Navy does have an impressive line of ships. It is unfortunate for them that many of their most talented admirals and captains were all banished during the Revolution,” says Nelson.
“That’d be a fine example of cutting off your nose to spite your face,” Davies adds.
“That it would,” Nelson agrees. “Now, Stewart, so you know, by the time the rest of the fleet arrives, we will have fourteen ships, though we will be shy, maybe a hundred guns. That is never a concern for me, though, as strategy is what wins a battle.” He raises his ale so that we can all toast our agreement. “Davies and Wagner will be on standby to help deal with the injured, make any emergency transports necessary, and relieve us of some of our prisoners to take back to England. In the meantime, we will finish supplying our ships and prepare our men.” He pauses to look me in the eye. “And to pray. This is going to be a bloody battle.”
