Inferno (49 page)

There could be no answer to that, but a major in crumpled and stained uniform said flatly, ‘The firemen have not rested. I cannot answer to their effectiveness should the bombardment continue. If it does, all Copenhagen will be left ablaze and—'

‘Sir! Your cares are noted. Allow that I have the higher concern. The decision is mine. And that is to fight on.'

‘But—'

‘Enough!' Peymann blared. ‘How are we to know what the Crown Prince intends? At this moment an army of thousands may be on the march to relieve us. Should we cravenly surrender before it's had chance to reach us, I shall answer for it with my head.'

‘Then—'

‘Then you shall do your duty, sir, as I will do mine.'

‘I
t's insufferable!' spluttered Cathcart, holding the paper at arm's length. ‘Worse than that – it's rank madness! Peymann has an offer of terms such as no besieged ever had – yield up custody of his damned fleet and we go. Quit! Leave! What more can he ask of us? It bears heavily on me that we're obliged to visit ruination on his capital but we've no other recourse, given his intransigence. This he sends as answer on the day following. Listen to it:

‘“
My Lords

“Our fleet, our own indisputable property, we are convinced is as safe in his Danish Majesty's hands as ever it can be in those of the King of England, as our master never intended hostilities against yours.

“If you are cruel enough to endeavour to destroy a city that has not given any the least cause to such a treatment at your hands, it must submit to its fate; but honour requires—
”

‘He gives not an inch, damn it! We're no further forward than the day we landed and time is sorely lacking. How
can we proceed in the face of this? Hey? Hey?'

Ludlow, of the Guards, smiled sadly. ‘My cousin Joan is married to a Dane. Says they're incurably stubborn and declares it's of their Lutheran persuasion. We'll never move them by ordinary means, I fear.'

Gambier shook his head gloomily. ‘Lord Nelson accounted them his fiercest foes at our first encounter in the year one. They do not lack the spirit and courage to defy us and for myself I have the gravest reservations of the outcome.'

The cool voice of Wellesley intervened: ‘There is little to discuss, I believe. We have embarked on a course of coercion, which we cannot retract or abandon, else we render the whole business a nullity.'

‘Your opinion is then—'

‘My opinion is neither here nor there. Logic requires us to go on – to resume the bombarding until a satisfactory conclusion is reached.'

‘This is bitter medicine, sir!' Finch ground out. ‘Can you not conceive of the terror in the breasts of the inhabitants, the innocents caught in—'

‘In war there can be no allowance for feelings of a delicate nature, sir. The dictates of one's strategics are the only consideration and here they are plain. Do you propose to deny them?'

Cathcart shifted irritably. ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen. Sir Arthur has clarified the situation that faces us beyond disputing. We have no alternative – the bombardment will resume tonight with the utmost rigour, the quicker to bring an end to it all.'

T
he terror returned. Once darkness had fallen the air became alive again with the evil whine and drone of high projectiles, the lethal swash and hiss of lower trajectory missiles and always the crump and tremble of explosions in a never-ending dread that the next would seek them out and end their lives in a blinding instant.

A street away, a market took fire, its towering flames impossible to control. And as medieval houses were hit with exploding shells they crumbled to gaunt ruin. There were so many now, stark and desolate. The rockets hissed unseen from the sky, their sharp iron points enabling them to pierce deep within a building where the flare of their patent composition would leap from the floors to the walls and bring inferno to yet another ancient habitation.

Through the drawing-room window they were confronted with a hellish picture. The fire and destruction were reaching into the sky, the clouds now tinged an ominous blood-red, flashes playing on their undersides in a devil's tattoo.

They shrank from the scene and sat together by the dead
fireplace but could not speak. What could be said in the circumstances?

As midnight passed, Frue Rosen collapsed, inconsolable and broken, weeping softly.

Hetty and Cecilia held her by turns, comforting and quieting her.

Renzi waited until Frue Rosen was settled, then took Cecilia aside and held both her hands. ‘My darling love.' He struggled with the lump that was forming in his throat. ‘My very dearest. You cannot conceive how it beats on my spirit that I've brought you to this place of ruin and death. If it were only myself …'

Cecilia gripped his hands so tightly it hurt and, looking deep into his eyes, whispered, ‘Dear Nicholas – believe me, my love, when I tell you that I'd a thousand times be here by your side than safe and without you.'

They clung to each other for a long moment.

Dabbing his eyes, Renzi pulled himself together. ‘I do believe we must seek shelter lower down. The cellar, perhaps.'

‘Then that's where we must set up our home!' Hetty said, with brittle gaiety. ‘Do go down and I'll bring our things to you.' She hesitated, then said in an off-handed way, ‘Dear Frue Rosen was not able to go out today, the people being all of a moil. We can do without our foodstuffs but we're in sore want of water. The pump is at the end of the street – I'll see if I can squeeze out a dish or so.'

‘No!' Cecilia said in consternation. ‘They'll see you're English and – and hang you!'

‘There's not so many out there and they'll have other things to worry on. I'll be quick, don't bother about me.'

She shooed them down the stairs to the cellar and found a pan.

H
etty cringed in fear. In the open air every explosion and rending smash was clear and immediate as though she were part of it. Fires leaped and crackled on all sides, and drifting fragments of ash came down in a constant soft rain.

The flash and detonation of an exploding shell nearby made her jump. Moments later shards of stone and iron skittered down around her while the raw stench of burning and ruination hung heavily in the air.

The pump was only a hundred yards away and seemed to have been abandoned. She hurried towards it, heart pounding. There, she was confronted with an appalling sight. A cross street led to the dignified Vor Frue Kirke and its lofty fine spire. The church that had seen the weddings of the kings of Denmark and their coronations was now ablaze, a giant torch, engulfed to the very steeple tip. Against the merciless flames the black outlines of dancing figures were trying vainly to save what they could.

Mesmerised by the awful sight, Hetty couldn't move – and
then, in a stupendous flare of heat and flame, the steeple gave way and the church collapsed, swallowing the people below in a surge of victorious conflagration.

Stricken with horror she dropped her pan and turned to flee back, whimpering, desperate to reach their sanctuary.

But at that precise instant a mortar shell detonated in a blinding flash nearby, closely followed by another further along. The blast reached her and tore at her flimsy dress, and when her sight cleared, she saw that the entire front façade of their town-house refuge was now a smoking pile of rubble along the road, the dark voids of rooms on the upper floor grotesquely exposed.

Heart in her mouth she was about to run forward when the remaining structure teetered, masonry crumbling, then fell, with a heavy and prolonged crash and swirling dust.

Where before there had been a princess's mansion there was now only a collapsed ruin – and lying crushed and dying within were Lord Farndon and his countess.

Choking with emotion, Hetty ran towards the devastation, a vast pile of brick and shattered stone. She fell on it, tearing at the rubble with bleeding fingers, blinded by tears of frustration.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, patting, comforting. A deep male voice uttered soft words in Danish and instinctively she flung herself at him, weeping and howling. The man held her, gently saying something over and over and lifting her face to see if she understood.

But she had no idea what he was saying.

She pulled herself together and tried a weak smile.

Awkwardly, the man spoke again, then turned and left.

As he disappeared into the distance Hetty surrendered to a tidal wave of inconsolable grief.