Duty and Duplicity; Book 5 of Poacher's Progress
Chapter 1: Cadiz

Copyright© 2017 by Jack Green

Historical Sex Story: Chapter 1: Cadiz - It is said that travel broadens the mind, and Jack Greenaway enjoys a plethora of new experiences during his visit to Europe, ranging from the sublime to the terrifying. However, three factors drive Jack's peregrination through the continent. One is his quest for his disappeared sister. Another is investigating the whereabouts of Eloise de la Zouche, the woman responsible for the deaths of Jack's wife and children. The third, and most exacting, is the machinations of the British government.

Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Historical   Military   Violence  

Captain Bracegirdle took the telescope from his eye.

“Continue on this heading until we are abeam of the signal station on the headland to larboard, and then heave to, Mister Easy.”
The Midshipman gave an ‘Aye, aye, Sir,’ and set HMS Atropos’s deck hands scurrying in motion.
Bracegirdle handed the telescope to the quartermaster then turned and spoke to me.

“I spent the greater part of my time as a Midshipman aloft in the fore top with a telescope fixed on the port of Cadiz, watching for signs of the Dons coming out to fight. There was once a gun battery on that headland, but now, in the piping days of peace, there is a signal station.”
He sighed, somewhat wistfully, “and here I am waiting to enter Cadiz with not so much as musket aimed at me.”

We had made excellent time from London, due to the fair weather encountered in the Bay of Biscay, which if not as smooth as a mill pond was not the towering gale driven waves I had encountered when travelling in HMS Hazard on my way to St Helena in 1816.
Even so poor Otto Blackmore, the Anglo-Hanoverian lieutenant who had been my adjutant with the Lincoln Militia, spent most of the voyage retching, while draped over the leeward side of the vessel. One experience on the windward side of the ship had insured his subsequent allegiance to the leeward.
I chuckled at the horror on Otto’s face when I told him a life in His Majesty’s army would bring him many such voyages, as promotion, wealth and glory were only to be found in HM’s dominions overseas -- a long way overseas. The hail of the lookout broke my reverie.

“Boat approaching on the starboard side.”

It was the pilot cutter, with a fussy little Spaniard harbour pilot aboard.
He was soon on the quarterdeck where he, in a mixture of Spanish, French, and English, guided the helmsman through the channel into Cadiz harbour.

“There seems to be plenty of shipping in the anchorage, but with little activity about them,” I said to Bracegirdle.

“The vessels are waiting for the South America convoy to arrive. The winter convoy arrives any time between Christmas and the end of January, the summer convoy sometime during July. Each convoy is generally made up of four or five galleons, huge craft, as large as any East Indiaman.”
He excused himself, and saw to the correct exchange of salutes and civilities when a Royal Navy vessel enters a foreign port.

The unexpected report of a cannon had me flinching, and wondering why the Spanish should fire on us. Of course, it was nothing more than a saluting gun, answered by a roar from Atropos’s signal gun. The flag on the forts guarding the approach to Cadiz dipped and then rose, and Atropos’s ensign returned the gesture.
As we glided into the anchorage the Royal Marine detachment aboard lined the side and presented arms. Another cannon banged out a salute, and all officers raised a hand to their hat brim. As I was dressed in civilian clothing, I raised my hat. Bracegirdle lowered his hand, followed by the rest of his officers. The marines recovered arms and marched off the deck.
We had arrived in Cadiz.


Atropos tied up alongside a row of warehouses, where Otto’s and my dunnage were hastily deposited on the quayside.

“I’ll get my water barrels replenished here, which will save me stopping at the Cape Verde Islands. I shall also purchase as many sacks of onions as possible, and hope to leave on the evening tide.” Bracegirdle noted the look of interrogation on my face.

“Onions are damned effective against scurvy, Greenaway, besides which they enliven the taste of even the rankest of salt beef or pork. Forgive my abruptness but I must bid you farewell and see to provisioning the vessel.”
He shook hands with Otto and me with a hand like a weather-hardened ham. We then walked down the gangplank in search of a Mr. Charles Godfrey, His Britannic Majesty’s Consul in Cadiz.

We did not travel far before encountering him. There was a gaggle of people milling about near the foot of the gangplank, prevented from making an uninvited visit to the vessel by a brace of Royal Marines with fixed bayonets. A civilian detached himself from the crowd, and in an inquiring tone of voice said, in English.

“Would you two gentlemen be in need of Consular services? I am His Britannic Majesty’s Consul in Cadiz, Charles Godfrey.”
He was a well-built man of some forty years of age, his blue eyes and fair hair indicating English origin, although his deeply tanned face showed where he had lived for many years.
I shook the hand he offered, his grip was firm and the palm calloused.

“Colonel Greenaway and Lieutenant Blackmore, Mister Godfrey, and we are most happy to make your acquaintance. How is it you are on hand to welcome us?”

“When the information was passed to me from the Harbourmaster that a British warship was entering the bay I made haste to get here from my office, which is in a warehouse on the quay over there, behind the Aduana – that is the Custom House.” He pointed along the wharf. “I endeavour to meet all British vessels arriving in case my assistance is required.”
He turned and spoke in rapid Spanish to a tall, thin, middle age man behind him. The Spaniard nodded and dashed away when Godfrey finished speaking.

“I’ve instructed my man Felipe to arrange a cart to take you and your luggage to my warehouse. I maintain accommodation there for when I remain overnight in Cadiz, and for any British nationals who needs to stay in Cadiz for a spell, which I insist you use during your stay.”
He indicated a taberna a hundred yards or so away. “Meantime I suggest we repair to Casa Luigi’s until Felipe arrives with the cart, and you can tell me how best I can be of assistance.”

Judging by the dress and weather-beaten appearance of the clientèle, the taberna was popular with seafarers, as many of that calling were talking quietly and drinking wine. Godfrey motioned to the man behind the counter, who nodded, then came around the bar and shook his hand, before handing him a large iron key. Godfrey indicated we follow him up a flight of stairs, where he unlocked a door and ushered us in to a small room furnished with several armchairs, an imposing desk and ornately carved chair.

“Welcome to the Office of His Britannic Majesty’s Consulate in Cadiz,” Godfrey said with a smile. “I have ordered a bottle of Amontillado, from my own vineyard, to be sent up from the bar.”

“I thought you were a merchant who shipped sherry to England, Mister Godfrey?”

“Indeed I do, Colonel, but I am also a producer of fine sherry, and equally fine olive oil. My estate is near Jerez, where I have my hacienda and family.”
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the bottle of Amontillado. It was a pleasurable surprise to note the bottle bore the brand name ‘Don Carlos’.

“This is the same excellent sherry as served at my London club,” I said.

“Then I take it you are a member of Boodles, which is the only establishment in London I supply. Most of my produce is shipped to my home town of Southampton, not that I’ve been back there for many a year.” Godfrey poured out three brimming glasses of the nectar and handed a glass to Otto and me.

After taking several generous sups of the sherry, I apprised Godfrey of the reason my being in Cadiz, informing him of the suspicion that Satan’s Breath, or White Lady as it has become more familiarly known, was being imported through Cadiz into Europe. I also asked if he had gleaned any information relating to Eloise de La Zouche as requested by the Foreign Office via the British embassy in Madrid.

“I have not received any communication from our embassy in Madrid concerning any Eloise de La Zouche.” Godfrey said. “Fact is I have not had any communication with our embassy for nearly a year, since the King was made a virtual prisoner in the Palacio Real de Madrid...”

“The King of Spain has been usurped?” I said, mightily astonished at the news.

He shook his head. “Not exactly, but the country is split between Constitutionalists and Absolutists. The former are supporters of the Constitution of eighteen twelve that gave rights and liberties to the common people, while the others support the King in his revoking of the constitution. After the French were pushed out of Spain and King Ferdinand regained his throne, he turned the clock back to before the French invasion. The Cortes, the government, had wrung concessions from him but Ferdinand revoked the eighteen twelve constitution after Napoleon’s abdication. The two sides are in deep conflict, almost a civil war, and His Majesty is in what is euphemistically described as ‘protective custody ‘until such times he sees the error of his ways and agrees to relax his autocratic rule. Fat chance of that ever happening; Ferdinand is a Bourbon, as is his fat cousin in Paris. A dynasty which learns nothing and forgets nothing.”

“How is the country governed?”

Godfrey sighed. “It depends in what part of the sorry country you live, but generally badly. Catalonia is practically an autonomous state, and is governed quite adequately from Barcelona. Madrid and Castile are in constant turmoil. Here in Cadiz we have a committee of moderates, and Andalusia functions as successfully as Catalonia. There are areas in The Mancha governed by Absolutists adjoining those governed, if that term can be applied to their rule, by Jacobins. Churches in their region have been desecrated, and priests and nuns murdered. One travels that area at ones peril. Both sides are as murderous as each other when it comes to dealing with those who do not hold their beliefs.”
He shook his head resignedly.

“However, let us return to your question concerning the woman you seek, and the product you call Satan’s Breath or White Lady. I have not heard talk of any such substance being brought into Cadiz by the South America convoy but I can make inquiries. As for the lady, I will need a description.”

I described Eloise as dark haired, with a voluptuous body and blue eyes, besides furnishing Godfrey with a list of her many aliases.
He perused the list of names.”I have not heard mention of any of these women – and her description could match many Cadiz ladies, other than the blue eyes of course My man Felipe may know more than I. He is a native of Cadiz, and his wife is an inveterate gossip. If this woman is in Cadiz then Senora Felipe will know.” He paused and gazed at me. “Who is this woman you are so avid to find, Colonel?”

“Eloise de La Zouche is the embodiment of evil.” I could hear the bitterness and anger in my voice. “Among her many other heinous crimes she is responsible for the deaths of my wife and children.”

“And after you locate her you will you bring her to trial?” Godfrey said.

“No, I will kill her.”

There was a moment of deathly silence before Godfrey cleared his throat, and then changed the subject by describing the procedure when a South American convoy docks in Cadiz.

The depth of water in Cadiz bay allows vessels to berth alongside the wharf, facilitating the swift offloading of their of cargo; coffee beans, tobacco, also substantial amounts of exotic wood like mahogany and ebony, with a few young slave-girls destined for the bordellos and bawdy houses of Spain and France. Because of the growing amounts of sugar produced from beet in Europe the import of sugar from Spain’s West Indian colonies has dwindled to nothing – their sugar plantations are in crises as are those in Britain’s West Indian islands.

Once the Custom officials had levied the taxes on the goods the administrador de la flota can then set the prices for the consignment, and the merchants quickly buy up the various commodities, before shipping them around the Mediterranean on the many vessels waiting impatiently for the arrival of the convoy.
The galleons are then re-loaded with produce destined for the colonists in South America; Spanish wine, olive oil, woollen and linen clothing, weapons and gunpowder, and some settlers going out to wrest more land from the indigenous population.

“And there has been nothing suspicious, which could indicate felonious behaviour taking place, when the convoy docks? “ I finished my drink after posing the question, and Godfrey indicated I should refill my empty glass, which I did.
Godfrey spent a some time in thought before replying to my query.

“Now, when I think about it, there was something which intrigued me concerning the South America convoys last year.”
He leaned forward in his chair conspiratorially. “As you are aware ships can berth alongside the wharves to unload their cargoes directly into the warehouses, however on the occasion of the convoy’s arrival last January, and then again in June, I noted one vessel moored out in the fairway, where the cargo was transferred by barge and boat to the warehouse – a task involving much unnecessary labour. After being unloaded, the vessel was moved alongside a wharf to be loaded for the return trip to South America. I thought it unusual at the time but paid it no mind until your question about this White Lady. With so much activity around the vessel in the fairway it is possible some of the cargo being unloaded is not landed on the wharf, but is diverted into one of the waiting merchant’s ships.”

I asked if a watch could be kept on any vessel from the convoy that anchored away from the wharf.

“My warehouse is so situated that activity on any vessel moored alongside or near the wharf can be monitored. “ Godfrey let out a guffaw of laughter. “The fact I keep a large telescope in the apartment is of great assistance in the monitoring.”
I then asked him if he could recommend anyone to transport Otto and myself to Leghorn.

“Captain Salvatore Montalbano will be your man, Colonel. I engage him to ship my goods to the Balearic Islands, and his homeport is Genoa. I am certain he would be happy to convey you to Livorno, for the right price. I expect he is downstairs; this taberna is popular with those from the Italian states, as the proprietor is from Milan. I will see if he is available.”

He left the room, returning a few minutes later with a stocky, bald headed, man dressed in seaman’s clothing, who I took to be Captain Montalbano. He spoke adequate Spanish, and some French, but little English, however an Italian speaking Otto made the arrangements with the captain, whose vessel was named Circe, to carry us to our destination. A price was agreed, and I paid the captain a retainer to show my good faith. His grin, and firm handshake, informed me I had gained a friend.
Shortly after he had left, clinking the three gold sovereigns I gave him, Godfrey’s man Felipe arrived with a cart to carry Otto and I, with our luggage, to the accommodation in Godfrey’s warehouse. As we climbed onto the cart, Godfrey looked at his pocket watch.

“I will give Felipe the description of this de La Zouche woman, and the other names she uses, before boarding a galley to take me across Cadiz bay to El Puerto Saint Maria. It is only a ten mile ride from there to Jerez, and I can be home by dark.”

“What if the convoy arrives later today?” I asked.

“As soon as the convoy is sighted entering the Gulf of Cadiz signal flags are hoisted and beacons lit all along the coast to inform us merchants. I can be back in Cadiz well before the convoy enters the anchorage.”

It was two days before the South American convoy arrived in Cadiz.
Time for relaxing. After a dank, cold, January London, and a chill February voyage, strolling through the ancient seaport in the warm winter sunshine of Andalusia was exceedingly pleasurable, although I knew from experience summer months in Spain brought unbearable heat.
Time for eating and drinking at the many tabernas and posadas; allowing me to reacquaint myself with Spanish cuisine. One meal at the Posada Real Cádiz, an excellent Caldereta de Cordero con Verduras, rekindled memories of Dolores, the young Spanish girl I had found hiding in a cellar during the Sack of Badajoz. She had attached herself to me when the army moved on, and became my enthusiastic galloping companion, besides an efficient washerwoman and cook, and she would frequently cook the dish as an evening meal, although the cordero – lamb – would be, more often than not, cabra – goat – and the vegetables filched cattle feed.

I had often thought of Dolores over the eight years since we parted in Bordeaux – me back to England and a captain’s commission, and she back to Spain, riding the French army artillery mule I captured after the battle of Salamanca, and carrying a bag of gold relieved from the French after the battle of Vitoria.
Dolores had been a loving and warm presence for over two years, a young woman with a cheerful disposition, who would lift my spirits.with her ready smile and freely given body. after a day spent on the battlefield killing enemies, and seeing friends killed and maimed. I hoped she had put the gold to good use, and was living a happy and contented life.

My musing ended when a waiter asked what I would like to drink.
Later that day Felipe reported there had been no sightings, or knowledge, of Eloise de La Zouche, nor her aliases, nor any sign of White Lady being sold, in Cadiz.

Otto found the time to regain his natural good humour, after having it severely strained by the sea passage to Cadiz, although he was not looking forward to our forthcoming voyage to Italy.
The vessel engaged to carry us to Leghorn was Circe, a square-sailed, two masted sloop with a rakish appearance, as had many of her crew. Otto and I paid the ship a visit, and with his knowledge of Italian he soon made himself comfortable in their company. I was confident Circe would be a safe and efficient method of travel to where I shall now refer as Livorno, the Italian name for the port of Leghorn.
Godfrey’s warehouse apartment was comfortable without being luxurious; the leather upholstery was scuffed and the carpet worn, and two of the dining room chairs were rather rickety, but everything was clean. The telescope sat on a mahogany stand by a bay window, giving an all-embracing view of any activity taking place on the wharf and in the anchorage – which was precious little until the convoy arrived.

It was the bells of Cadiz that announced the approach of the convoy, and true to his word, a flushed and rather dishevelled Godfrey arrived at the warehouse as the first ship of the convoy entered the bay.
Godfrey explained his rather rumpled appearance was due to the galley coming from El Puerto Saint Maria being overcrowded with merchants, eager to be on the quayside when the cargo was unloaded.
Godfrey intended buying as much coffee as he could afford, which then would then deliver by Circe to merchants in the Balearic Islands, and Genoa.

“And I expect Montalbano will buy some extra sacks to sell in Livorno as he is visiting the port.” Godfrey said.

When the convoy returned to South America it would be carrying many hogsheads of Godfrey’s olive oil.
I asked him if he shipped sherry to the colonists.
He shook his head and laughed. “For reasons best known to themselves it is mainly England which consumes the vast majority of my sherry. I do ship some to The Low Countries, and to several of the northern German states, but generally sherry is thought here in Spain to be only worth selling to the English.” He chuckled as he helped himself to glass of Oloroso from a decanter on the table. “It just goes to show how ignorant foreigners are.”

Later that morning Otto and I watched from the warehouse apartment window as four stately galleons sailed into the harbour. Three tied up alongside the wharf but one, the Santa Barbara de los Angeles, dropped anchor out in the fairway, a half cable length from the quay.

“What reason, other than surreptitiously offloading some clandestine cargo, would a vessel moor so far from the wharf?” I said to Godfrey.

“Twice before, when the captain of the vessel moored away from the wharf, the reason given was a South American rodent had managed to board the vessel, Santa Barbara de los Angeles, at Cartagena. The vermin carry a fatal disease, so the vessel kept clear of the wharf to prevent the rodent making its way to shore.”

“What of the fearsome rodent when the cargo has been removed, and the vessel moves alongside the quay to be loaded for return to South America?”

“The holds are then clear of cargo, and the rodents can be hunted and killed.” Godfrey sighed. “A strange story, but who knows what manner of fauna dwells in that exotic land?”

“A species intelligent enough to always board one particular vessel in a convoy of four,” was my suspicious response.

Otto and I took it turn to keep Santa Barbara de los Angeles under observation, and it was nearly dusk when Otto noticed a jolly boat approach the vessel from the larboard side, whilst the other barges and boats offloading the cargo approached from the starboard. A number of sacks were dropped down into the waiting arms of men in the jolly boat, which then pulled away to a vessel just visible across the bay. That vessel appeared to be fitted with oars as well as masts. I could not discern the name of the ship but when Felipe, Godfrey’s chief clerk at the warehouse and general factotum, arrived I gleaned from him, via my rusty Spanish, the name of the craft was the Bonaventure, a xebec whose home port was Naples, or Napoli as I learned to refer to the city.
The xebec, or zebec, is a vessel peculiar to the Mediterranean area, and carries two or three lateen, i.e triangular, sails and has a bank of ten oars per side.

I asked Charles Godfrey what he knew of the ‘Bonaventure’.

“The captain is Francesco Caracciolo; he is both the owner of the vessel, and a merchant who does his own trading, although I believe recently he has joined a consortium of merchants based in Venice.” He said, before helping himself to a glass from the carafe of Oloroso, the ever-present carafe of Oloroso, on the table.

“The Caracciolos are an ancient and well-respected Neapolitan family, and Francesco is justly proud of his heritage, although he does not often live up to the high moral standards of the family when money is to be made or females are to be seduced.”

“So he would not be averse to importing a substance which can destroy a man’s moral fibre, and lead to debauchery and degradation.” I said.

Godfrey burst out laughing. “Living in Naples does that without the need of any external stimulant.” He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Believe me, Colonel, the saying, ‘See Naples and die’ is a well merited aphorism, and I believe many of our fellow countrymen taking the Grand Tour begin in Naples and do not proceed any further. If they are not physically dead, they are morally so. Any perversion, any depravity, is on sale in Naples; the perfect setting for this White Lady of which you speak.”

I took from Godfrey’s less than high opinion of Naples that Satan’s Breath would be welcomed, and probably sold, to those taking the Grand Tour. However I doubted Sigismund Metzendorf, the former importer of young girls and White Lady, obtained his supply from Naples as he had travelled mainly in the east of Europe, other than his final trip to England.

Godfrey poured another glass of sherry. “But how do you know it is sacks of White Lady being off loaded? It could just as well be sacks of coffee or tobacco. Although,” he added pensively, “to have those sacks loaded into Bonaventure’s hold without going through the Custom House would mean a senior officer on board Santa Barbara de los Angeles plus a high official in the Aduana must be involved in the chicanery – a high level of corruption for the mere evasion of import duty.”

“The whole saga of White Lady began with a syndicate of wealthy and well-connected men.” I said. “There are huge profits in the manufacture and sale of White Lady, and I dare say Spanish members of the syndicate know which officials to bribe on board the vessels of the convoy, and in the Cadiz Custom house.”
A thought struck me, and I asked Godfrey if the Bonaventure would sail directly to Naples when loaded.

“No, Caracciolo delivers coffee, tobacco, and olive oil to Barcelona and Marseilles before making for his home port.”
This made sense. White Lady would be delivered to those ports for onward transmission to other parts of Europe overland.

I was surprised how swiftly the convoy was unloaded, and then the South America bounty just as swiftly transferred to the many ships waiting to distribute the cargo throughout the Mediterranean littoral.
Two days after the convoy’s arrival Circe was loaded, and Captain Montalbano eager to depart. Godfrey met us at his warehouse before we embarked, and presented me with a case of a dozen bottles of amontillado.
I was thanking him when he called out to a man walking by, a swarthy Spanish looking fellow with a badly pock marked face.

“Don Esteban! May I introduce you to a compatriot of mine, Colonel...”
The man stopped, and launched a baleful look Godfrey, and then at me.

“There is already one too many Englishman in Cadiz. I have no wish to meet another.” He said in heavily accented English. With that he walked off, his nose in the air.

I was dumbfounded by the man’s rudeness. The Spanish can often be as haughty as the English, but are seldom impolite.

“Who is that -- person? He definitely needs a lesson in manners.” I said.

Godfrey sighed. “Esteban Suarez is my neighbour. He bears a grudge against me for buying the estate he coveted. I strive to make peace between us but to no avail. I apologise that you had to suffer his hatred of me.”

“Hatred? That is a strong emotion. Charles.”

“Unfortunately it is what Suarez holds for me. He has appointed himself the chairman of the Public Safety Committee of Jerez, and spends most of his time implying that I am an Absolutist as I am the subject of a King. Utter nonsense of course, but he hopes to have me arrested, or at least held on suspicion, and then he might be able to seize my property.” He shrugged his shoulders “But I apologise for his behaviour, and for subjecting you to his unpleasantness.”

I held out my hand. “Think nothing of it, Charles. You have been more than friendly and helpful during our stay, and a man cannot be responsible for his friends’, or enemies’, behaviour.”

“I regret you have not had opportunity to visit my home, and meet my wife Dolores and our son Elijah –” Godfrey said, while shaking my hand.
I confess when I heard the name of his wife, coupled with the name of his son, it gave me a something of shock. “- but on your return journey to England you might spend more time in Cadiz, and be able visit Jerez and my estate, Rocinante.”
He laughed at the look of shock on my face. “A strange name for an estate I grant you, but it is the name of the mule Dolores was riding when we first met.”

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