Free Inferno by Julian Stockwin Page B

dressed, but no one in the room would say as much to George Canning, the imperious foreign secretary.
    â€˜I thank you, sir, but it does not answer, I’m grieved to say,’ Portland replied, in a thin voice.
    Canning allowed a shadow of concern to appear. ‘Your Grace, I’m persuaded I speak for all present in wishing you speedy relief from your bodily trials.’
    â€˜That is kind in you,’ the prime minister answered, with a civil nod.
    Further down the table an intense-featured man, handsome in a distant, patrician manner, muttered, ‘As we have been here assembled to do business of the realm, let us not waste time in flatteries.’
    â€˜My lord Castlereagh,’ Portland said, to the secretary of state for war, ‘be assured, we’ve come to discuss the gravest of matters. Do set aside your differences, I beg of you, in the face of this peril.’ He looked around the room, then paused to collect his thoughts.
    Spencer Perceval, a pale individual, the able and principled chancellor of the exchequer, prompted, ‘Meaning Bonaparte’s Continental System, Your Grace?’
    Perceval had performed heroics to fund Britain’s lonely stand against Bonaparte without ruinous taxation imposts and stood outside the poisonous feuding between the power-hungry Canning and the gifted Castlereagh.
    â€˜Quite, quite. Gentlemen, it doesn’t need me to remind you that this has been a truly momentous development. When Bonaparte issued his Berlin decree, prohibiting any from trade with this country, we were not to know that within months almost the entire continent would be closed to us. His master-stroke has been to hurt us grievously without ever a shot fired in battle.’
    His cabinet stirred restlessly. It was the fate of the most talented government for a generation to be led by a frail figure of the past – the previous administration, following Pitt’s inspired leadership and then premature death, had been called the Ministry of All the Talents but had collapsed in ignominy. The Tories had returned to power, but under this enfeebled figurehead leadership.
    â€˜For the sake of clarity in our deliberations I would call upon you severally to state your opinion as to our positionfrom your perspective as a minister of state. Foreign Secretary, would you outline to us how you believe we stand in these parlous times?’
    Canning pursed his lips. ‘Easily laid out, Your Grace. Napoleon Bonaparte has devoured most of the civilised world. This leaves us with precious few friends. To the east of France, Austria is tottering and Prussia is being overrun as we speak. At the present time, sir, the only nations in the whole of the continent not under the tyrant’s boot are Denmark, which as ever remains strictly neutral, Sweden, with its eccentric king, Gustavus, and Russia. As this last is ruled by the ambitious but dim-witted Tsar Alexander, we can be sure of nothing. To the west of France there is only Portugal, our last and most loyal friend. And a pitifully vulnerable liability.
    â€˜In sum, Boney and his puppets hold a vast empire stretching from the Russian border to the shores of the Atlantic. There is nothing left, I’m grieved to say, and it must be faced that the entire European seaboard, save Denmark and Sweden, now girdles his private fiefdom.’
    â€˜Hmmph. Secretary of State for War?’
    Castlereagh wasted no time outlining his views. ‘In fine, we have a stalemate. At sea we are peerless and unconquerable. On land Bonaparte stands invincible. Only if he puts to sea to try conclusions with us, which I very much doubt he will do, or on the other hand we make landing with an army to match his millions, which I equally doubt, will there be any chance of resolution. This is the essence of the situation – a stalemate.
    â€˜Yet with this Continental System he seeks to break the impasse and take the war to a different dimension.