Inferno (24 page)

‘Very well. We shall continue – but keep me informed of its progress past us, Bernstorff.'

‘Sire.'

In a stroke, matters had gone from bad to catastrophic.

The primary reason for mounting the expedition was to apply decisive pressure to the Danes to concede. Instead its presence had been misconstrued, and therefore its value in negotiation was as nothing. Canning's show of force had failed – and would bring about the very thing it was intended to avoid: an armed landing and bloodshed.

It mustn't happen.

Renzi's mind raced. He was losing in his king-to-king accord and now he was the only agency that could halt the inevitable. If he did nothing … ‘Your Royal Highness. To say I know nothing of this armada would be untrue.'

He avoided the man's eye but sensed his sudden rigid attention.

‘While about to leave England I heard rumours of a fleet to be sent into the Sound at the government's direction.'

‘You knew!'

‘But as a king's envoy there could be no question that I be given details, or even that it would sail. Sire, I must tell you that its very presence here reveals to me something of the anxiety of the administration to conclude a form of mutual security touching the Baltic. That they dispatched it is an earnest to their intentions, I'm sorry to say.'

‘You're part of this!'

‘Sire, I do swear to you I am not. This is an initiative by the political heads of government.' That much was perfectly true.

‘My mission is directly from His Majesty to you, sir, in trust that an understanding beyond that of politics might be achieved.'

Frederik was pacing about the room like a bear.

He stopped and stared angrily at Renzi. ‘My only conclusion can be that this intrusion of a battle-fleet into our waters is to be interpreted as a form of menace, of threat to the sovereign rights of neutral Denmark.'

‘Sire, as I have stated to you, I am detached from this affair and can offer only my most sincere advice, which I pray you will accept.'

‘What advice can you possibly give me, sir?'

It was the last throw.

‘Sire, this whole business is in train for one thing, and one only. That the British government may be assured of the security of its Baltic trade.'

‘Ha!'

‘In a manner that is unequivocal and committed.'

‘If you're talking of an alliance or alignment of interests at diplomatic level, you're insane. The French would never—'

‘No, sir, I am not. I'm speaking of a move that at one stroke would send the British armada back to England and at the same time render Denmark of no value to Bonaparte and therefore of no military interest.'

‘Do tell me then, my noble lord, what will be your marvellous remedy?'

‘My most sincere advice to you, sire, is to release the Danish fleet into the custody of the British admiral, to be returned in its entirety after this unpleasantness is over.'

At first he thought he'd not been heard, then saw Bernstorff's look of horror, and the Crown Prince standing rigid with anger, his eyes blazing.

‘This – this is monstrous! It's barbaric and unworthy of a great nation!'

‘Yet if it achieves its object—'

‘It strikes at the heart of Danish honour to yield up our fleet in the teeth of a superior hostile threat.'

‘Sire, if it's seen that Denmark is powerless to block the Sound neither Britain nor France may derive any further advantage from interfering with the neutrality of your nation.'

‘Never! On my honour, I shall never do it.'

‘Sire, I beg you. It's without question that the admiral will launch his fleet else, and with diplomacy at a stand—'

‘I said no!' shrieked the Crown Prince, slamming both his fists on the desk in a crash. ‘The Danes will not be
dictated to! Honour demands we resist – and we shall, God help us!'

‘Sire, if—'

‘No more,' Frederik said huskily. ‘This audience is at an end.'

‘Your Highness, my duty urges me—'

‘Go. Now.' He faced Renzi, his chest heaving. ‘You've performed your duty, sir, now leave us to ours.'

F
ootmen and soldiers regarded Lord Farndon stonily as he sat moodily in the waiting room. The Crown Prince and Bernstorff remained closeted together, their voices rising and falling behind closed doors. Eventually he returned to his apartment and slumped in a chair: in the face of the inexorable grind of events his mission had probably been doomed before it had begun yet he had to play it out to the last.

One advantage only remained. There would be no unleashing of the dogs of war until the fleet had his categorical assertion that further negotiations were futile, and that was far from the case. He was certain he'd at least preserved the character of a plain-speaking impartial observer, and there was still a chance that Frederik would grasp that his best interests lay in being seen by all to have yielded to insuperable force.

Renzi would then have suggestions to offer: that the fleet proudly depart in line ahead, each ship manned by its Danish crew and commanded by a Dane, with all appropriate banners
and ensigns amain, nothing abroad to imply craven surrender. It could be handled smoothly and with all the honours of war.

The day ended inconclusively. He was neither summoned nor dismissed.

Bernstorff kept at a distance and Renzi dined alone. He retired, knowing that the clock was ticking towards an unknown future.

At breakfast the next morning he had hopes that the Crown Prince might have had a change of heart and come down to greet him but, lingering over his coffee, Renzi saw no sign of him.

Somewhat at a loss, he rose to return to his suite but the door was flung wide and Bernstorff entered, giving a short bow and a click of the heels. ‘My lord, I would be much obliged should you grant me an interview at the earliest,' he demanded. Nothing could be read in his expression.

‘Gladly, Count Bernstorff. Shall we …?'

This time it was an inner office and the door was firmly closed.

The foreign minister sat heavily in a chair by his desk and looked away as if reaching for words.

‘My lord. This is to say … that His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Frederik has … decided on a course of action.'

‘I'm happy to hear it, sir.'

‘Which in confidence to you I cannot recommend and I fear will lead to ruin for my country.'

‘May I know what it is?'

‘Sir. He … he is not to be moved, no matter the arguments brought forward, and is irrevocably set in his intentions.'

‘I see.'

‘It is … to resist with all the powers at his command any assault on the integrity of Denmark's neutrality. He is determined to be seen as standing staunch and true for the honour of Crown and nation. He's to defy the worst that your armada is threatening and will not capitulate. Sir, I must tell you that during the night hours he left for Copenhagen to order it set in an immediate state of defence – this I have just heard. I do not have to tell you that any motion of your fleet will now be an act of war, and that to all the world against a helpless neutral.'

Renzi went cold. All was changed: by his action Frederik had called the bluff. The fleet must act or slink away defeated. But he knew there would be no withdrawal by the British and the end was therefore inevitable.

Bernstorff gave a thin smile. ‘Sir, do not think I'm unaware of what must follow, but ministers are helpless when princes decree. My lord, I'm before you to beseech your understanding.'

‘If there's anything …'

‘Thank you. Then I beg of you, follow Prince Frederik to Copenhagen and, from your royal connection, do plead with him to disavow his action. My lord – you are our last hope.'

F
rom where he stood Kommandørkaptajn Johan Krieger could see nearly every ship in the Danish battle-fleet stretching away in long rows – a sturdy, martial vision that made him swell with pride.

However, the Danish naval officer was a realist. He'd seen service fighting the English as a youngster in the Caribbean and during the hard days leading up to Nelson's ferocious action against Copenhagen six years earlier. These veterans were no match against the might and experience of the greatest sea-power in the world but, by God, if called upon again, they would sail out and do battle to the finish, like true-hearted Danes.

But it wouldn't come to that. The British fleet that had been sighted off the Sound had politely anchored and exchanged salutes with Kronborg Fortress, hardly the act of a force determined to fall on a neutral country. Besides, the English weren't like the French who, under a ruthless Napoleon Bonaparte, had few scruples about sovereignty.

Krieger had been made first lieutenant of
Prinsesse Louisa
Augusta
, an elderly ship-of-the-line, but she'd been delayed in returning from Kristiansand on the Norway station. Left between appointments, he was now strolling restlessly past the rows of ships. In deference to the frayed political situation, and to avoid provocation, they'd been prepared for winter early, topmasts sent down, de-stored and tidily moored fore and aft. But all gear had been carefully laid along in the adjacent Nyholm storehouses and it wouldn't take long to rig them for war.

There was the 90-gun
Christian VII
, blessed with remarkable sea-handling and beautiful stern-works, and beyond,
Valdemar
and
Norge
, both 80s, either of which could stand against any English 74-gun battleship. A dozen and a half of those beauties, many more frigates and others put the Danish Navy easily in the top four or five in the world. Not bad for such a tiny nation!

The officers' mess was noisy and more than usually crowded, all ranks loudly giving opinions on latest developments. Krieger nodded pleasantly to his friends and sipped his chilled akvavit.

The happy chatter died away as urgent voices were heard outside. A breathless army major burst in and announced, ‘His Royal Highness has this hour returned from Kiel!'

It caused consternation. The Crown Prince was sworn to defend the Schleswig border far to the south against the menace of the massed French divisions: anything that could have torn him from that duty must be serious indeed.

Another soldier marched in and demanded, ‘His Royal Highness bids all senior officers attend on him immediately.'

Krieger glanced across to Steen Bille, a thick-set, crusty commodore, who stood up quickly, looking about the officers.
His finger stabbed out at this one and that, including Krieger, then beckoned them imperiously.

The room was full, juniors like Krieger standing at the back. An unnatural quiet settled. Then the door opened and Crown Prince Frederik appeared, to massed scraping of chairs. ‘Sit – there's not much time,' he snapped, striding over to the head of the table and taking the carved, gilded seat. ‘This assembly is now a council of war.'