guest at an unhappy marriage. This group had no confidence in me, or each other. “Hard to fight Nelson with unready ships,” I volunteered.
“All know the courage of Spain,” Villeneuve tried, “and a demonstration of that courage would be to sail now, while the wind blows fair. I know we’re not ready for a final battle, but staying in this wretched port is not helping us get there.” He pointed at me. “I fear infernal rockets and torpedoes. I met Fulton in Paris and consider him in league with the devil. His boats smoke like volcanoes and sneak about under the sea.”
Gravina disagreed. “The barometer is falling. This east wind will soon disappear and a westerly gale could drive our fleet onto the rocks of Cape Trafalgar. Waiting isn’t cowardice. It’s prudence.”
Villeneuve saw an opening. “Perhaps it is not the glass, but the courage of certain persons that is falling.”
The Spanish admiral leaped to his feet as if on a spring, hand on sword. “Then let us test my courage!” Half the table followed, with a scrape of swords half lifted.
The French admiral stayed in his chair. “That was ill said,” he said mildly. “We’re talking strategy, not courage. Please, sit down.”
“The Spanish navy led the way fighting Calder off Cape Finisterre,” Gravina muttered. His fellow Spaniards nodded. But then he did sit, honor restored, and I saw that Villeneuve had successfully provoked him. Maybe the French admiral was smarter than I thought. “We’ll prove our valor again by leading you to sea, Admiral, Nelson be damned.”
“We sail not for combat,” said Villeneuve, seeking to satisfy both sides, “but to redeploy and refit in the Mediterranean. If a westerly gale is coming, we need to get to the Straits of Gibraltar so it can blow us through.”
I was alarmed. Such an escape would prolong the naval campaign for months or years. It would also infuriate Nelson and put the Combined Fleet between Astiza and me. “Maybe I can negotiate your free passage under flag of truce,” I stalled. “Reporting my failure if I must, but surely being on my way. I’m no coward, but as a neutral American, this isn’t my fight. And fight you shall have if you try to make Gibraltar without agreement from Nelson. Thank you for listening, gentlemen, but having exhausted your hospitality, I will now return to the British.”
“No,” said Villeneuve, more decisive toward me than toward Nelson. “I don’t trust you. This Gage will stay with us while I write Paris for instructions on what to do with him. If he’s truly Napoleon’s pet, let the emperor tell us so.”
“But I’m a diplomat!” Such instructions could take weeks, and who knows who might dictate them? Talleyrand, seeking revenge for my stealing of his cloak? Or Réal, on advice from Pasques? “Let me report your courage to England and the world. I’m thinking of writing a book.”
“Certainly not, English spy.” The admiral stood, as confident of bullying me as he was bullied by the specter of Nelson. “England will see our courage soon enough. And we never intended to let you travel from our war council back to the enemy. We wanted to hear what you had to say, but you’ve been on far too many sides.”
“That’s what we concluded about Gage at Boulogne,” Magon said. “Napoleon said he was a puppet, but I don’t trust him.”
“Then he shares our fate,” said Villeneuve. “You want to help France, Monsieur Gage? Until new orders come, I hereby impress you into the French navy.”
The other officers smiled at this jolly idea.
“What? I’m no sailor!”
“Neither are three quarters of the men on my ships. If we win through to the Mediterranean, we’ll give you passage to Venice. Can you swim?”
“Quite well, actually. Admiral Magon may not admit it, but I did save Napoleon.”
“Then we’ll keep you in irons until we’re out to sea, so there’s no chance for you deserting overboard and betraying us.”
This was disaster. In trying to foil Napoleon’s coronation I’d enhanced it, and in trying to prevent a battle I’d been drafted into it. A messenger of fate? I couldn’t control my own.
But my protests seemed to be the best humor they’d had in weeks.
I might have felt better about being conscripted if the relatives of the Spanish sailors and soldiers showed more confidence at the likely outcome of a battle. Instead, the final unwilling recruits were marched down the streets to the departing men-of-war dragging a train of weeping women and snot-nosed children behind.