HMS Belvidera - 39. Chapter 39

July, 1796

“Boat’s putting off from the shore, sir,” Gatling said. “It appears to be heading for us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gatling,” Granger said. The summer heat was stifling, and would be unbearable if there weren’t a slight breeze. He felt a trickle of sweat flow down his back, landing at the waist of his already wet trousers. They had awnings rigged and the gun ports propped open, hoping that the wind would ease their discomfort. Their effect was minimal at best. Granger took the glass from Gatling, fixed it on the boat and saw a familiar red coat in the stern sheets. Harleton was coming to see him, and that would make it some sort of official function. He sighed out loud this time, rebelling against the need to change from his open shirt and relaxed trousers into full uniform. “Keep me informed.”

Granger went below and snapped at Winkler for his uniform, then chided himself. No use would come from venting his bad temper on Winkler. He forced his sweaty legs into stockings, and felt the clean shirt stick to his glistening torso as soon as it went on. The waistcoat was hot beyond belief, but that was nothing compared to the positively oppressive feeling of wearing his coat. He stormed up on deck, grumpy and irritated, to await Harleton’s arrival. He secretly hoped that Roberts would have forgotten all the arrangements due to an Adjutant Governor so he could work out some of his temper on him, but he was as prepared as ever.

Harleton hauled himself aboard with alacrity, smartly saluting the quarterdeck before strolling jauntily toward Granger. “Welcome,” Granger said, forcing himself to be friendly. “Will you join me below for some refreshments?”

“Thanks Granger, but I fear there is no time for it. There’s a Spaniard here to see you and your charge. Looks to be some government or court official. The Governor requires you both to report ashore at once.” The look in Harleton’s eyes said he wasn’t enjoying being out and about in this heat any more than Granger, and that steeled Granger’s resolve and pulled his mood up a bit.

“Of course. Pass the word for the Duke of Lerma,” Granger said. “Mr. Roberts, I will be ashore if I am needed.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. It took some time for Lerma to appear. Apparently, he needed to dress appropriately, Granger though cynically, as Carlos appeared in some of the clothes they’d had made since they reached Gibraltar. They were ill-fitting, but they seemed to serve.

“Your Excellency, we are bidden to go ashore and meet with a representative of His Most Catholic Majesty,” Granger said, bowing slightly.

“As you wish,” Lerma said. Granger followed them into the boat and they rowed ashore in silence. Granger shot sideways glances at the handsome young Spaniard, wondering at his lack of enthusiasm to return home. Granger had taken the brig with its former Spanish slaves to Algeciras and had received a hearty welcome and effusive appreciation from the Spanish Governor there. He’d wondered if Carlos would change his mind and go with them, to return to Madrid at once; but he’d been firm in his decision to stay aboard Belvidera. Carlos had spent the past days going ashore with Granger to be fitted with some proper clothing and for the occasional fresh water bath. That and he’d helped Granger alleviate the boredom of being stuck in port by working on Granger’s Spanish, which was coming along fairly well.

Harleton had brought an open-aired carriage this time, and Granger enjoyed the fleeting breeze as the horses whisked them to Government House. It was a short-lived relief from the heat, and if anything, Government House was more stiflingly hot than Belvidera. The Governor was waiting for them, along with an older Spaniard, his clothing so resplendent with gold lace it was difficult to tell if he was wearing a uniform or civilian dress.

“Ah, Granger. This chap says he brought a letter to you from His Most Catholic Majesty himself,” the Governor said affably. “Welcome, Your Excellency,” he said to Lerma. Lerma bowed slightly to acknowledge the Governor’s greeting.

The Spaniard introduced himself with a string of names and titles that Granger forgot as soon as he mentioned them. He gathered this man was one of the King’s Chamberlains. Granger introduced Lerma, and watched the interplay between the two. The immediate obeisance the Chamberlain paid to Lerma was indicative of what he would encounter when he returned to Spain. The introductions having been completed, the Chamberlain turned back to Granger and spoke in his halting French.

“His Most Catholic Majesty is currently at the Alhambra. He commands you both to attend to him at once, providing your circumstances permit such a journey.” Granger smiled at how deftly the Chamberlain had put it, conveying a Royal Order to a foreigner quite diplomatically. For Lerma, there was no option. His King had ordered him to attend him, so he must go. Granger opened the envelope and read the letter which said much the same thing the Chamberlain had just said.

“Would you allow me a few minutes to confer with His Excellency?” Granger asked politely, referring to the Governor. The Chamberlain bowed his assent, and Granger led the Governor to the side of the room where they could converse in private.

“I am evidently commanded to attend His Most Catholic Majesty,” Granger said.

“You can hardly refuse. We are barely at peace with Spain as it is,” the Governor said.

“How far is it to Granada?” Granger asked, keeping his voice low.

“If you don’t dally at the Alhambra, you should be gone for two weeks,” the Governor said. “I will draft orders directing you to go.”

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said, smiling. The Governor could have left it up to him to make the decision, but by issuing orders, he’d covered Granger from any repercussions for leaving his ship. “I will return at once to the ship to prepare to leave.”

“Good luck Granger. I think you’re popular enough in Spain to get out even if we go to war. If not, we’ll try to get you out, one way or the other,” the Governor groused.

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Granger said. “It would be unlikely to be invited as a guest of the King only to find myself a prisoner of war, but I will be careful.”

They rejoined the others. “I would be most honored to accept His Most Catholic Majesty’s invitation. I will be ready to leave in one hour.”

The Chamberlain smiled, evidently relieved that this potentially troublesome foreigner had accepted his King’s invitation. He followed them to the ship, which broke into a frenzy of activity as soon as they arrived. Granger left detailed orders for Roberts, bid goodbye to Robey and his officers, and took a reluctant Winkler and Lerma back to the shore where they embarked in the ornate Spanish carriage the Chamberlain had brought and began their journey to see the King of Spain.

When he looked back on the journey, Granger would most remember the dust and the heat. The heat intensified as they travelled inland, and the dust kicked up by their carriage and their entourage permeated every crevice of his body and clothes. They stopped at some old Roman baths near Málaga and spent an hour immersed in warm natural springs, savoring the refreshment, but other than that, they’d spent their time travelling over horrid Spanish roads. After the first day, Granger and Carlos had given up the carriage and ridden horses. A frustrated Winkler was stuck in the carriage with the Chamberlain, a mis-match if ever there was one. It took them three days to get within range of Granada, and finally, on the fourth day, they were able to reach the Alhambra Palace.

Granger watched wide-eyed as they rode up to its massive gate. As soon as the guards saw the Chamberlain and the King’s coach, they let them pass without further incident. The entire palace appeared to be a relic from Spain’s Muslim past, with beautiful Moorish buildings and gardens. There was one exception to the old Moorish architecture: a European building near the fort, one that had evidently been built by the Bourbon Kings as a more suitable abode. They were met by another Chamberlain, dressed as elaborately as their escort, with a long string of titles Granger didn’t even try to remember.

“His Majesty is hunting and will return later. We have arranged accommodations for you in the palace,” the new Chamberlain said. Their escort vanished; seemingly glad to be rid of them, and this new man led them to a small suite of rooms in the old Moorish part of the Palace. They were eyed by the courtiers, mostly women, as they went, and must have looked somewhat ridiculous: a foreign naval officer and a young man in unstylish clothes. But there was a pool adjacent to their quarters, and Granger indulged himself in a bath, despite the horrified looks his request had gotten from the Chamberlain. Evidently, these Spaniards still held that bathing was unhealthy. He emerged from his bath and felt the heat once again envelop him.

“I’ve managed to get your best uniform in order, sir,” Winkler said. How he’d managed that in a Spanish palace was beyond Granger.

“I am grateful for your resourcefulness,” Granger said. “Although I fear I will be less pleased when I put those hot clothes on.”

“I expect you are right, sir,” Winkler said. “No one has come for the Duke yet.”

“He will not be received by anyone until he is reunited with his family, and they are undoubtedly with the King,” Granger stated. Still, Granger dressed hastily and went in to see Carlos. “How are you?” he asked pleasantly.

“Nervous,” he said candidly. “I have not seen my parents or my brother for years, and now I return, not even a man anymore.”

“You must not let that bother you. You are here by right, not by anyone’s invitation. They must accept you.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said glumly.

“If I am not, you can return with me. We can always use an accomplished linguist,” Granger said with a smile, and in Spanish.

“I am not the only one who learns languages quickly,” Carlos said, grinning back. Their banter was interrupted by Winkler.

“There are some gentlemen here to see you,” he said. Then he ushered in two men and a woman; one was the Duke of Cardona, the other man was older. The woman was escorted by the older man and retained some of what must have been amazing beauty when she was young. This must be the Duke and Duchess of Medinaceli.

Here at the moribund Spanish Court, with its rigid rules of protocol, Carlos was reunited with his family. The older couple approached him formally, but Luis was having none of it. He brushed past them and hurried to Carlos, grasping his hands in his own. “Carlos, is it really you?”

“It is,” Carlos replied meekly. Luis pulled him into a hug, and Carlos responded. Granger smiled as the two brothers embraced for what seemed like an inordinately long time, ignoring the mildly disapproving looks of their parents.

“It is good to see you back, safe and sound,” the Duchess said imperiously, breaking into the fraternal reunion.

“Thank you, Mother,” Carlos said formally, bowing to kiss her hand. “It has been an ordeal I would like to forget.”

“We shall do our best to help you do that, my son,” the Duke said, letting his feelings show through his implacable façade. Granger watched the brothers smile at this evident outpouring of affection by the stolid Duke.

“It is very good to see you again, Captain,” Cardona said, turning to Granger at last. He raised his eyebrow slightly, the gesture enough to make Granger want to drag him aside and rip off his clothes.

Instead, Granger bowed. “The pleasure is entirely mine, Your Excellency.”

“Please allow me to introduce you to my parents,” Cardona said. He rattled off their expansive list of names and titles, something the Spaniards seemed to relish.

Granger bowed first to the Duke, and then to the Duchess, kissing her gloved hand just as Carlos had done. “We owe you more than we can ever repay, Captain,” the Duke said. “You have ensured that both of our sons have been returned to us safely.”

“With sons such as these, Your Excellency, I do not think such a debt can be repaid. They are both admirable young men. But having done a service for Your Excellency is reward enough,” Granger said, spitting out the courtly rhetoric that seemed to suit the occasion.

“You are too kind,” the Duchess said. Granger just bowed to acknowledge and thank her for her comment.

“His Majesty will be dining soon, and it is our duty to attend him,” the Duke said. “Perhaps you will join us?”

That was as good as a command, but Granger agreed amicably. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, bowing again. The Duke and Duchess led them from their quarters, while Granger walked behind Cardona and Lerma as they headed toward the newer, European building. He eavesdropped on the conversation between the two brothers, trying desperately to understand their Spanish, until they got to the King’s dining room. Cardona peeled off from the group and pulled Granger aside.

“We will find some time alone later,” he whispered, his breath on Granger’s ear and his words sending erotic shockwaves through Granger’s body. “You will meet the King after dinner. The younger man with him is his son, Prince Ferdinand, but he is of no consequence right now. The man with power here in the kingdom is Manuel de Godoy. You must treat him with as much respect as you would the King. He has the Queen’s ear, and it is rumored he shares her bed. She controls the Kingdom through Godoy, or vice versa.”

“Thank you,” Granger said. “I will be fine, as long as you honor your promise to spend time with me later.”

“All of these people combined could not stop me,” he said, being cheeky. They entered the main area and Granger got his first view of the King. Old, fat, and gouty, were his impressions. The young man with him, the Prince, looked like a man in a cage. The other man, Godoy, looked at him suspiciously, as if concerned that this Englishman could cause him some problems. The Queen was no more attractive than her husband. Granger decided that if Godoy was sleeping with her, he probably deserved the power he had accumulated.

No one spoke as the King and the Queen, along with members of the Royal Family, were served dinner. Everyone else watched as they ate, noting their every move. Granger had cringed at being mobbed by fans in London, but that was nothing compared to this. These people lived in a cage, like rare birds at a zoo. He suddenly felt sorry for them, and wondered if they were ever able to enjoy themselves. Probably only when they were hunting, he mused, which would explain why hunting was such a passion for the King.

Off to the side he saw a familiar figure, a man who was a friend of his father’s: the Marquess of Bute. He was the British Ambassador to the Court of Spain. He caught Granger’s eye and gave him a brief nod and smile, then gestured to a door off to the side. After the King and Queen finished dining, Granger excused himself and headed to the door indicated by Lord Bute. He found himself outside, and in the presence of the Marquess.

“It is good to see a familiar face, my lord,” Granger said affably.

“I could say the same thing, Granger. How is your father?”

“He is well, the last I had word of him, my lord.”

“Your exploits have made you quite the celebrity here,” Bute said. “I have tried to use that to our advantage, but I fear nothing can wean Godoy away from France.”

“That is too bad, my lord,” Granger said sincerely. “What would you have me do?”

“You will be honored by the King tomorrow, in a brief ceremony. I am not sure what he will do, but he will convey some additional award to you. You already hold the Order of Charles III?”

“I have that honor, my lord,” Granger said.

“Probably an elevation in that, then,” Bute said. “You’re familiar with the steps in the order?”

“I hold the Knight’s Cross, my lord. Above that, I believe, are the Commander, then Grand Cross, and then finally the Collar,” Granger said.

“That is correct. I suspect he’ll present you with the Commander. After that, you’ll need to stay until the next day, and then you may return to Gibraltar. While you’re here, make sure to be nice to Godoy, and avoid Spanish politics. The webs of intrigue are too much even for a bright young man to navigate.”

Granger digested that compliment. “I will be happy to return to my ship as soon as decently possible, my lord.”

“Then I will bid you goodnight. I will see you at 9 in the morning.” Granger wandered back to his quarters, eschewing the gambling tables that were no doubt set up in the palace. He was almost to his rooms when he felt a hand on his bicep, gently grabbing it to get his attention.

“His Highness the Prince of Peace would like a moment of your time, Captain,” an equerry said. The Prince of Peace was Godoy.

“It would be my pleasure,” Granger said. He followed the equerry through a warren of rooms, evidently the back way, until they arrived at a large room that was Godoy’s office. It was as magnificent as one would expect of a King. Granger saw the man standing at the end of the room and bowed low, then approached him, bowing again, giving him almost the same respects he’d give to the King. Almost.

“Thank you for interrupting your evening to call on me, Captain,” Godoy said pleasantly, speaking fluent French. It seemed that the entire court spoke French, a great relief to Granger, who was barely able to communicate in Spanish.

“It was no interruption, Highness, and certainly it is quite an honor to meet Your Highness privately,” Granger said. They exchanged niceties, and a servant brought them wine, before Godoy finally got down to business.

“You attacked Algerian pirates before you knew of their capture of your merchant ship? Why?” He was remarkably well informed, Granger thought.

“They were about to assault His Excellency the Duke of Cardona,” Granger said. “His life was in danger. It was perhaps impulsive, but having spent time with him, I am confident that I made the right decision.”

“In today’s world, such aristocratic niceties are rare,” he said sadly. Granger said nothing. “You did not do your country any favors with your attack on Oran.”

“We captured a French prize in port, Highness. I think our ability to create an alliance with them was precluded by our French enemies,” Granger replied. “Even had we not destroyed most of the Oranian fleet, we should have had a difficult time forming a friendship with them.”

“The French are bumbling diplomats, nothing like they used to be,” he said with a sneer. Granger kept his mouth shut, not wanting to disparage his enemies lest it do them some good. “Our countries were allied before, and are at peace now.”

“Some say the peace is only temporary, Highness. I truly hope that is not the case,” Granger said.

“As do I,” Godoy said, although Granger wondered at his sincerity. “If the fates find us at odds, it is good to know we will have honorable opponents like you.”

“You flatter me, Highness,” Granger said gallantly. “I am not worthy of such compliments.”

“The Duke of Medinaceli and his sons think you are,” he observed. “They have good judgment.”

“I must thank you, Highness,” Granger said.

“We will detain you until tomorrow. Enjoy your time at the Alhambra,” Godoy said, dismissing him.

“I will, Highness. It was an honor to meet you.” Godoy bowed with him, and Granger withdrew, conscious that he’d been interviewed by the most powerful man in Spain. He wandered back to his room, this time without incident, to find a worried Winkler waiting for him.

“The Duke of Cardona is here to see you, sir,” he said. Granger smiled and pulled off his clothes, handing them haphazardly to Winkler. He almost dashed into his bedroom, where he found Cardona in his bed, as naked as he was. It seemed as if they moved at double speed, then in slow motion, as they reunited with each other. Granger made love to Cardona, and then Cardona made love to him, both of them relishing their reunion. As they lay there in bed after, enjoying the intimacy of being naked together, Granger realized that his feelings for this Spaniard were far more advanced than he’d been willing to admit the last time they’d parted.

“I have so yearned to see you,” Cardona said.

“As have I. It seems as if you are always in my thoughts, almost haunting me,” Granger replied; only partly teasing.

“Thank you for saving my brother.”

“How is he doing?” Granger asked. Carlos had been whisked away after his reunion with his parents, and Granger hadn’t seen him since dinner.

“He is learning to be who he is. It is horrible what those barbarians did to him,” Cardona said sadly.

“It is. A worse fate is hard to imagine. But he is a talented and bright young man, one that will serve your family and King with honor,” Granger said, possibly a little too pompously.

Cardona eyed him curiously and seemed to get slightly irritated, but brushed it aside. “He has brought us together.”

“And that makes it all worthwhile,” Granger said, pausing to kiss Cardona. “So that is why you were on the brig, to try and find your brother.”

Cardona sighed. “I am sorry. I should have told you. We have kept his absence hidden for so long; it is more of a habit than any sign that I do not trust you.”

“I understand,” Granger said, absolving him of any guilt.

“I do trust you, you know. Completely.”

“After I saved you from that massive Arab cock, I should think so,” Granger teased.

“Instead, you replaced it with one that fits me perfectly,” Cardona said with a leer as he grabbed Granger’s hard member. They coupled again, savoring their brief time together, and then Cardona slipped out of Granger’s rooms and headed back to his own quarters, leaving Granger feeling very alone.

Granger was awakened before it was even dawn to get ready for the King’s Levee. The Duke had arranged for him to be allowed special precedence, and to enter after the Grandees of Spain but before the nobility. The glares he got from some of the other courtiers, and the positively sinister look he’d gotten from the French ambassador, told him what an honor such a breach of protocol was. He watched the King dress, trying to follow the rituals that had probably been imported or at least enhanced by Phillip of Anjou, Louis XIV’s grandson and the first Bourbon King of Spain. After that ritual, there was breakfast for the royal family, and following that a buffet for the rest of them. Granger was ravenously hungry, and had to force himself to eat slowly so as not to seem boorish.

After the meal was over, a chamberlain approached him, summoning him to see the King. Lord Bute went with him, as if he were his attendant. Granger felt his stomach flutter with nervousness as he forced himself to ape Bute’s signs of courtesy, his bows and flourishes. He was escorted up to the King, where he bowed, and then was subtly directed to kneel before the Spanish monarch.

“George Granger, we have already had cause to recognize your great service to our kingdom by awarding you the Order of Carlos III,” the King said. He spoke French, just like his courtiers. Granger thought he didn’t sound very kingly, but ignored that impression and tried to adopt the appropriate expression. “Lately, you have performed even more favors for us, rescuing two of our cousins from the barbarian hordes, along with almost one thousand of our subjects. We have already drafted a personal letter of thanks to your King, our brother, expressing our gratitude for your brave achievement.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Granger said as seemed to be expected. He paused to congratulate himself for not stammering.

“In recognition of your services to us, we hereby elevate you to the Collar,” the King said. Granger looked up at him, and only barely remembered to keep his mouth from falling open. The King took an elaborate golden collar from a velvet cushion and leaned forward, placing it around Granger’s neck.

“I do not know how to thank Your Majesty for such a high honor,” Granger said. The King smiled slightly, and then nodded. Granger, recognizing that he’d been dismissed, stood up and bowed, then backed away from the throne and out of the room. Bute followed him, and pulled him into an alcove as soon as they were out of the chamber.

“He gave you the Collar. Less than 50 people have been given that award. That is indeed a high honor,” Bute said.

“Indeed, my lord. I hope it makes your job here easier.”

“Sadly, Granger, I fear it will make no difference. The French are agitating for Spain to join them, and I have learned that Spain has signed a secret treaty agreeing to do just that,” Bute whispered.

“When will they fight, my lord?” Granger asked, truly saddened.

“I do not know, but it will be soon. Walk with me,” he said, leading Granger off to an area with more privacy. “I have dispatches that must get to London, detailing all of this. I am entrusting them to you. With that collar around your neck, no one will dare to stop you or question you while you travel through Spain.”

“I will guard them with my life, my lord,” Granger said.

“I hope that will not be necessary. But it does mean that I will want you to leave at once,” he said.

“Should I not ask for leave from the King and the Prince of Peace before I depart, my lord?” Granger asked. He did not want to leave just yet. He wanted another night with Cardona.

“I will make excuses for you,” Bute said. “Go and pack your things, and bid your farewells to the Medinaceli family. I will have horses readied for you. I don’t think you fancy returning in a carriage?”

“No, my lord. Horses will be more than adequate,” Granger said, smiling. He went back to his quarters and instructed Winkler to pack up their things. He was about to go track down Cardona when the young man arrived. Granger led him back to his bedroom, clearing Winkler out as he did.

“Congratulations on your award. I expect it may have been something more were not the world in such a state of chaos,” Cardona said sadly.

“Thank you. It is a beautiful honor, but sadly, I am ordered to return to Gibraltar at once,” Granger said.

Cardona’s lip quivered, the emotions too strong for even his stoic façade to block them, and then he embraced Granger. They coupled again, quickly, and said tearful goodbyes outside of the public eye. Granger spent the next few hours taking his leave from Cardona’s family and from Bute. He mounted his horse and was preparing to ride off when Carlos stopped him.

“I am sending one of my servants with you,” he said. “He can help you continue with your Spanish lessons.” A young man emerged from behind Carlos and looked up at Granger, bowing respectfully. “This is Jorge. I am hoping he can help Winkler care for you.” The young man could only be described as beautiful.

“That really is not necessary, Your Excellency,” Granger said. He saw the disappointed look on both of their faces and relented. “But if you insist, I am sure Jorge will be a useful addition, and I am enjoying learning your beautiful language.” They both smiled and Jorge walked back to where Winkler was, introduced himself, and mounted a horse.

With a final goodbye, Granger once again found himself on horseback, trotting back to Gibraltar. As he bounced in the saddle he smiled, thinking how fortuitous it was that he’d been the one to make love to Cardona that last time and not the other way around. Around his neck hung an exquisite and beautiful necklace, the Collar, and in his pocket he carried secret dispatches from Lord Bute, dispatches warning that war with Spain was imminent.