Overlooking a courtyard of lush gardens, the room in Sir Alexander’s Valletta residence was large, airy and opulent. The furnishings were too ornate for Jack’s taste, and the decor too flamboyant, so he immediately felt out of place and awkward. Bethany, however, seemed to expand into her new environment, her personality overcoming any imagined imperfections in her dress.
‘This is exceedingly elegant,’ she said, looking around. ‘Very impressive.’ Instinctively walking to a gold-framed mirror, she removed her hat and patted her hair into an approximation of order. ‘Dear Lord, what a mess I am in. I do wish we had been given time to prepare.’
‘Can’t be helped,’ Jack said. He could feel his heart thumping nervously. ‘But I do wonder why the Commissioner wants to see us?’
Mr Egerton shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, snapping his fingers. ‘But I must leave you now. The invitation did not extend to me.’ He seemed quite relieved to back away, hurrying down a broad marble staircase, leaving Jack and Bethany alone in the room.
‘This is exceedingly elegant,’ Bethany said again, testing one of the chairs that stood around a long, highly polished table on which lay a three-month-old copy of The Gazette. She stood up immediately as the door opened, showing that she was not as relaxed as she was trying to appear.
In his early fifties and with a receding hairline above a long, sensitive face, Admiral Ball dominated the room as he strode in. His smile contained genuine warmth, as he bowed to Bethany, then shook Jack’s hand far more warmly than his rank dictated.
‘Mr Tarver! Admiral Blacklock wrote me all about you.’ His eyes were wryly amused and he had retained a homely trace of Gloucestershire in his accent.
‘I am honoured, sir,’ Jack bowed.
‘Nonsense! You are a skilled engineer, and a man with other talents too, according to Edward – Admiral Blacklock. And you, Mrs Tarver’ – again Sir Alexander bowed, his eyes now shrewd – ‘I have heard the most favourable reports of you.’
‘I cannot think why, Sir Alexander,’ Bethany wondered.
‘Indeed?’ Sir Alexander stood beneath the ornate chandelier, with the portrait of a sombre Grand Master behind him and the sun filtering through the plants outside. He stepped back to look at Bethany. ‘Admiral Blacklock informed me that you would be accompanying your husband. That may be useful in this island. The Maltese are a family-oriented people, Mrs Tarver, and having you here may help Mr Tarver in his endeavours.’ He smiled at Jack’s obvious perplexity. ‘HMS Rowan carried Admiral Blacklock’s letters, Mr Tarver, and I have spent the past half-hour reading them.’
‘I see, sir.’ Jack hoped that Bethany would not mention their long hot wait on the steps.
‘It is an honour to meet you, Sir Alexander.’ Bethany said. ‘Why, the whole world knows about your part at the Battle of the Nile, where you sunk L’Orient, and your defeat of the French in Malta was a grievous blow at Bonaparte’s pride.’ Bethany had not wasted her time during the voyage, but had read everything she could about the recent history of Malta.
‘The Maltese people defeated the French quite as much as I did,’ Sir Alexander said, with a slight smile. ‘But now we must ensure that they remain under British protection. It is their wish and our desire, after all.’ He shook his head, ‘Did you know that one of their most noted leaders, Vincenzo Borg, wrote to me stating that – and I can quote this directly, it is so dear to my heart – “the vast majority of us wish to see the islands fall under British jurisdiction”.’
‘Yes, Sir Alexander.’ Bethany curtsied, but her eyes never left those of the Admiral. ‘It is good to know that the Maltese people desire our presence.’
‘Indeed, it is. It is only a pity that a small minority disagree with their fellows. They are a fine people, Mrs Tarver, and your husband will be instrumental in keeping these islands British and free from Bonaparte’s wiles.’ He smiled: ‘I believe that it is as a British port and arsenal alone that Malta can contribute to check the progress in this quarter of the present common enemy of Europe.’
‘Yes, Sir Alexander,’ Jack agreed. He glanced at Bethany. The Admiral was being so emphatic in convincing them that it was obvious there was some doubt over the matter.
Ushering them to the padded seats around the table, Sir Alexander rang a silver hand bell and called for drinks, even as he unrolled a map of the island.
Weighing down the corners of the map with lead musket balls, Sir Alexander indicated the island. ‘Malta, you see, is not large. At seventeen miles by nine, it is slightly smaller than the Isle of Wight and has around 200 miles of coastline. However’ – he looked up and raised his voice to add emphasis to his next point – ‘it is important for its strategic position in the heart of the Mediterranean. For centuries, it was the home of the Knights of St John, who warred on the Mohammedan powers of North Africa, but now things have changed.’
‘Indeed, Sir Alexander,’ agreed Jack, studying the map, looking for the central town of Mdina and the southern fishing village to which he was to build a road.
‘Bonaparte removed the Knights as a power, but Malta is more important than ever. Whoever holds Malta controls the central Mediterranean, which is crucial to our global strategy.’ Sir Alexander looked up. ‘You may know that the Third Coalition, which we organised and are financing, is not, at present, militarily successful.’
‘Not successful?’ Bethany looked up. ‘I have been led to believe that Admiral Nelson did a thorough job of defeating the combined fleet in October past!’
‘Oh, we can always win at sea,’ Ball agreed, ‘but on land, our record is poor. The armies of the Third Coalition have fared badly, I fear. Bonaparte defeated the Austrians and smashed both them and the Russians at Austerlitz. Great Britain needs a land victory badly, or however much money we throw at Europe we will be left without allies.’ He sighed. ‘But in the meantime, all we can do is buy Continental armies.’
‘But what about our own army?’ Bethany asked. ‘Why can’t we use our own soldiers?’
‘Ah …’ Sir Alexander looked pensive for a moment, then poured from the crystal decanter that a soft-footed servant had brought. ‘Try the wine, Mr Tarver,’ he suggested. ‘It is Maltese. If we are to be guests on this island, then we should endeavour to encourage their economy.’
‘Of course, Sir Alexander,’ Jack agreed. He preferred English beer, but his first tentative sip had not been as offensive as he had feared.
‘Now, Mrs Tarver,’ Sir Alexander continued, ‘why can’t we use our own army? Because it’s a broken reed, I’m afraid. We’ve won one battle in recent years, when Abercrombie defeated the French at Aboukir in Egypt, and then got himself killed.’ He finished his wine and replaced the glass on the table. ‘He’s buried in Malta, you know. Until we beat a French army of equal numbers, and preferably in a European campaign, our allies will rightly consider our army as second class and we will have to hire their soldiers.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Unused to such a stark appraisal of Britain’s military performance, Bethany looked dismayed. She glanced at Jack, who could offer no succour.
‘So that is why we are subsidising King Ferdinand of the Two Sicilies. With both Russia and Austria defeated, we have only the Sicilies as a fighting ally against the French. As Malta is the closest British base to that kingdom, we must retain this island if we are to help.’
‘I see, Sir Alexander.’ Jack nodded. He was flattered that Sir Alexander was discussing such high matters with him but remained more interested in his own forthcoming engineering undertaking.
‘You will be aware that the prime value of Malta is the Grand Harbour,’ Sir Alexander said, jabbing a finger downward at Valletta. ‘It is undoubtedly one of the finest natural harbours anywhere.’
Jack nodded, ‘Yes, Sir Alexander.’
‘However, the south coast, as you see, is far more dangerous, with cliffs and rocks and headlands for our ships to negotiate. It is for that reason that I have asked Mr Egerton to build a harbour of refuge in case of bad weather, and I need a road connecting the harbour to Rabat and Mdina.’
That made sense. Ships caught on a bad coast would appreciate somewhere to run for shelter, and a road would be useful to bring in supplies and information. ‘I cannot see a village on that particular stretch of coast, Sir Alexander.’ Jack traced his finger along the map. ‘There seems to be no habitation on the coast between this place, Kalafrana’ – he stumbled over the unfamiliar names – ‘in the extreme east, and Ghajn Tuffieha in the west. Perhaps it is too small to be on the map?’
Ball smiled softly. ‘There is a village, Mr Tarver, although it hardly warrants the name. It is called Fiddien.’
For some reason, the name seemed sinister. ‘Fiddien?’
‘It is perched right on the edge of the cliff.’ Sir Alexander smiled. ‘There are only a few houses, and it’s the last place in Malta that any Frenchman would want to visit.’ He laughed softly. ‘I have already mentioned Vincenzo Borg. You may have heard of Joseph Borg?’
‘He was another of the leaders of the Maltese resistance,’ Bethany said. ‘I take it by the name that they were related?’
‘Cousins, I believe,’ Sir Alexander said. ‘But with quite different ideas. While Vincenzo Borg is content to have us here, Joseph is tainted with republicanism. He did not want the Knights or the French in charge, nor does he want us. Remember I mentioned that there is a small minority who want us out of Malta? Mr Joseph Borg heads that minority. I believe he wants Malta to rule itself.’
‘What a card!’ Bethany looked at Jack, astonished that anybody could not immediately recognise the benefits of British rule. ‘That’s fustian nonsense, surely! Even you cannot deny the absurdity, Jack.’
‘Indeed not,’ Jack agreed.
‘Mr Egerton has met Mr Joseph Borg and the two do not see eye to eye,’ Sir Alexander continued. ‘And that may cause you difficulties.’
‘Can you not just put him in jail?’ Practical as ever, Bethany gave her solution.
‘That is what the French would do,’ Sir Alexander said softly. ‘I hope to govern this island by consent, not by force.’
As Bethany nodded grudging understanding, Jack murmured, ‘It would seem that this engineering operation may not be straightforward.’
‘Indeed,’ Sir Alexander agreed. ‘Mr Egerton is certainly making heavy weather of it. He does not seem to be the most diplomatic of men and has experienced labour problems, which is slowing him down.’ He straightened up, sipping at the red wine. ‘That is why the navy carried you here directly, Mr Tarver. There are a number of competent engineers, but Admiral Blacklock indicated that few have your uncommon capabilities.’ He glanced at Bethany and produced his benign smile, more like that of a parish priest than a fighting admiral, Jack thought.
‘That was kind of him.’ Bethany could not be quiet for long.
Sir Alexander’s smile became slightly cynical. ‘Not necessarily, Mrs Tarver. Admiral Blacklock is a pragmatic man. He takes all considerations into account, so he was not acting out of the kindness of his heart. He believes that your experiences with the Hereford Canal may have helped prepare you for this task.’
Jack glanced at Bethany, who was frowning. ‘I don’t see how, Sir Alexander.’ He looked over to the Admiral. ‘I just dug a canal.’
Sir Alexander shook his head. ‘You dug a canal, Mr Tarver. And you dealt with rioting navvies, I hear.’ He indicated the seats around the table. ‘Pray sit down, Mr Tarver, for what I am about to say is not intended for the general ear. Mrs Tarver, I take it I may rely on your discretion?’
Bethany nodded. ‘Of course, Sir Alexander.’
‘There’s no “of course” about it, Mrs Tarver.’ Sir Alexander’s smile no longer disguised the steel in his eyes. ‘There are many people I would not count in my confidence, and Mr Egerton is one such … however …’ – his eyes softened to their previous amiability, before he continued – ‘as I said, Admiral Blacklock recommended you both. He said that together you form a unique combination that may be useful to me. You, Mr Tarver, have the engineering qualities I need, and being in company with Mrs Tarver will prove your stability. As I said, the Maltese are family-oriented and they prefer married men. There is less risk to their daughters that way.’
‘I see, sir,’ Jack said.
‘Indeed.’ Sir Alexander’s voice was dry. ‘But that is only one consideration. You are also classically educated, a Wolvington man, which can only be an advantage.’
‘I fail to see how that is relevant, Sir Alexander.’
‘If you can survive the hell’s kitchen of an English public school, then nothing else will ever be as bad.’ Jack was unsure if Sir Alexander was being humorous or not, but he thought it politic to smile.
‘Mr Egerton lacks that advantage,’ Sir Alexander continued. He was silent for a second, and then straightened in his seat. ‘In the meantime, let me show you exactly where you will be working, and tell you what you have to do.’ His smile held a wealth of understanding. ‘I know that Admiral Blacklock gave you few details.’
Jack nodded. ‘A few, Sir Alexander.’
Turning the map around, Sir Alexander pressed his forefinger down on the centre. ‘Here is Mdina, the old capital of Malta. Outside of Valletta, it is still the most strategic place in the islands.’
‘Yes, Sir Alexander,’ Jack agreed, locating Mdina and the adjacent town of Rabat.
‘And here,’ Sir Alexander said, tracing his finger along the south coast, ‘are nothing but cliffs and rocks and headlands. See these names? Blata, Gebel, Ras and Rdum – they mean rock, rocky hill, headland and cliff. Along here’ – he then traced a section of the southern coast – ‘is the Rdum Depiro, which we know as the Dingli Cliffs. These are limestone cliffs that in places rise 800 feet sheer from the sea. There may be few villages, but there are plenty navigational dangers for our seamen.’ Sir Alexander looked up again. ‘If the sirocco is blowing, that is a south-easterly wind direct from North Africa, this coast can become very unpleasant, and vessels can be driven against the cliffs. That is one reason for building a harbour.’
‘You say one reason, Sir Alexander,’ interrupted Bethany, pouncing on the Admiral’s word. ‘That would imply there are others.’
Sir Alexander nodded. ‘Yes, Mrs Tarver. We do not know what course this war may take, so it may be necessary, from time to time, to have vessels there.’
‘Why?’ Bethany wondered.
‘Sometimes,’ Sir Alexander explained, ‘it is best to conceal the movement of our vessels. Valletta, in common with every port in the Mediterranean, is cosmopolitan. As well as the legitimate traders, there are Greeks, Bulgarians, Albanians and the usual ragtag and bobtail. The Manderaggio district in particular contains the sweepings of the Mediterranean. There are even French prisoners of war, for God’s sake, some let out on parole. Any of these could send or sell information to the French, so it is advisable to have another, less accessible harbour from where our ships can leave.’
Motioning Jack closer, Sir Alexander pointed to a spot on the southern coast. ‘This is the bay where I want Mr Egerton to build me a harbour of refuge, and the bay from which you will build me a road to Mdina.’
Jack looked closer. The map was hand drawn, but it was obvious that the bay was little more than a rocky cove cowering between two headlands. He read the names, trying to translate as he did so: Ras il-Wahx, or Horror Point; Ras il-Mignuna – Mad Point and the bay itself was Bahar Ahrax: Rugged Bay.
Sir Alexander looked over his shoulder. ‘The names should inform you it is not exactly a soft sandy shore, suitable for a pleasant Sunday stroll and ladies’ bathing parties.’
Jack looked closer. ‘And there is Fiddien, right there.’
Even on the map it was like a village at the end of the world. There was no habitation for miles on the landward side, and to the south were only great cliffs and the Mediterranean Sea. There seemed no reason for any village to be built there.
Stepping back from the map, Sir Alexander spoke over his shoulder, as if in afterthought. ‘I have let a house for you a mile or so outside of Mdina. It is handy for your work, Mr Tarver, and Mrs Tarver has the amusements of Mdina and Rabat to hand, if she so wishes.’
Jack bowed. ‘Thank you, Sir Alexander, that is most kind.’
‘Most essential, Mr Tarver. But now I think I had better bid you farewell. You have a road to build and I have an island to run.’ Standing up, he bowed to Bethany, while holding out his hand to Jack. ‘I expect a weekly report on your progress, Mr Tarver, and if you could come to see me every month or so, I would be most grateful. The sooner this harbour and road is constructed, the more secure I shall feel about the southern portion of the island.’ He faced Bethany again. ‘The house is named Ta Rena, Mrs Tarver, and I hope that you find your stay on our island most interesting.’
‘Oh, I’m sure we all will.’
The door opened and Dover walked uninvited into the room. ‘With Mrs Tarver around, I think I can guarantee that things will be interesting,’ he said.
His bow was as low and mocking as Bethany’s curtsey was perfunctory.