'A fine day for it, Sullivan!'
Surprisingly, he thought of an earlier captain he had served. In a boat's crew, he had accidentally brushed against the officer as they had come alongside the ship. The captain had damned his eyes for it, and had threatened to have him charged with assault. But at least you knew where you were with a bloodyminded tyrant.
Sullivan was close enough to reach out and touch him. A man like himself, without the authority and the Articles of War. He sighed. It was no use. Jago was probably right.
He saw the captain touch his side and take some deep breaths, his eyes first on the shore, then up to the masthead pendant, as if to take the measure of the wind.
Adam was aware of the lookout's scrutiny. One of Unrivalled's best seamen, but more than that, like one of a ship's strongest timbers. The men you lead.
He studied the array of ships, and wondered how the brooding land mass would appear to the admiral. Like sailing into a giant trap. He checked the wind again. Almost easterly, as Cristie had assured him it would he this day. 'Off this patch of the coast it's more likely easterly than westerly. Very definite, it is.' He'd said it without a trace of a smile. Perhaps it was something he had had drummed into him many years ago, in this same sea.
He thought suddenly of the studio at the old house with the ruined chapel. Deserted now. Empty. She would know all about these waters, when the Pharaohs had ruled, and before that. Another world.
He looked at Sullivan.
'Noon?'
Sullivan nodded. 'As near as hell's kitchen, sir.'
They both laughed, and some of the marines in the maintop leaned out to try and hear.
He looked down at the ship again. Undisturbed, unhurried, as he had intended. It would be hard enough for them to stand to their guns and take the first onslaught without all the usual clamour and call to arms. But soon now. Very soon.
He pictured Midshipman Deighton, with his telescope trained on the flagship. Just one signal, and Unrivalled with Halcyon close astern would lead the attack.
Galbraith had said, when they had discussed the possibilities, 'Simple enough, if you don't think too much about it!'
Surprisingly relaxed, even cheerful. He would need all of that today. If only he had been able to sleep, but it had evaded him. Except once, when he had fallen into an exhausted doze, neither one thing nor the other.
Then he had seen her, watched her fighting, her screams silent but no less terrible. The shapeless, beast-like forms holding her down, exploring her nakedness, tormenting and entering her.
He had awakened, fighting off the blanket, his body running with sweat, calling her name.
He had almost expected Napier to burst in from the pantry, but as his mind quietened he had remembered that he was still in the sickbay.
He had dragged on his shirt and gone through the ship, speaking with watchkeepers or men who were merely squatting on deck, like himself unable to sleep, without knowing what he had said or heard in reply.
But the dream had remained, stark and terrible. As it must have been.
He had found Napier asleep, the confined space heavy with rum.
O'Beirne had been there with one of his assistants, checking his instruments, which had glittered and shivered on the table as if they were alive.
He had said, 'He took it well, sir. It was a deep incision-I found the thing after a struggle.' He had almost smiled. 'Brave lad. His only worry seems to be that he wants to be with you when the action begins.'
Adam had put his hand on the boy's bare shoulder, and had seen the frown ease away from his unconscious face. As if he had known.
'You shall have your pony ride, my lad. Be sure of that.'
He had left, the others staring after him.
He came out of his thoughts and realised that the foretop had also been occupied by a squad of marines. He looked at the land. A thousand guns, or more. Again he tested his feelings, but there was no fear, no uncertainty. It was more like a dull acceptance.
He felt inside his breeches pocket. The little note was there. All he had.
He thrust his leg out from the crosstrees and waited for the pain. There was none. That, too, was numb.
He said, 'Remember, Sullivan?'
He grinned, the youthful eyes very bright in an old seaman's face.
'Aye, sir. For th' King!' Then, as if surprised at what he was doing, he reached out and shook hands.
Adam took his time, pausing occasionally to stare through the rigging at the panorama of ships and sails. And men, hundreds of them… into the inevitable.
I want you in the van.
He swung out and around the shrouds and dropped the last few feet to the deck. Cristie gave him a quick, crinkled smile.
Captain Luxmore, 'the true soldier,' as Galbraith had called him, looked as if he were about to mount a parade or a guard of honour. The new wheel was fully manned; Midshipman Deighton, assisted by young Martyns, a mere child, was with his small party of men by the flag locker. Bellairs, Rist, and Varlo, who was up forward again by the first division of eighteenpounders. Unsmiling, even subdued. He wondered what Galbraith had said to him.
High above the main deck the chain-slings had already been shackled to the yards, to prevent heavy spars falling on to men working at sails or guns. Nets would be spread as well, and most of the boats cast adrift before they closed still further with the land. Always a bad moment for the sailors in any ship, but necessary; flying splinters cut down more men than any solid shot.
Two small fifers were standing by the weather side, moistening their instruments with their tongues, their eyes on their captain.
But only their drums would be used this day.
Jago walked towards him, eyes very calm, but watchful, no doubt taking in the breeches smeared with tar after his descent, and the open shirt, the neckcloth tied loosely around his bare throat. He was hatless, and wearing the familiar, seagoing coat with its faded and tarnished lace. Jago nodded in silent approval, as if he was putting his seal on it. No foolish chances today. But still the Captain.
He held up his arms and Jago clipped the old sword into place.
Deighton's voice shattered the momentary stillness.
'From Flag, sir! Prepare for battle!'
'Acknowledge!'
Jago said, 'We've heard that a few times, eh, sir?'
Adam grinned and impetuously seized his arm. It had been a close thing. Jago must have seen just how close.
He said, 'And a few more yet, old friend!'
He swung away, without seeing Jago's relief. 'Come on, you drummers! Beat to quarters, and clear for action!'
He felt the waiting figures hesitate, and then come alive as if something far stronger controlled them.
Adam looked up at the long masthead pendant, streaming out now, pointing the way.
Men stampeding to their stations, screens being torn down, the hull alive with noise and purpose. A ship of war.
It was now.
19. Captain's Legacy
ADAM BOLITHO glanced at the compass and strode to the packed hammock nettings to train his telescope. In those few paces he saw the helmsmen watching the peak of the driver, flapping now as a warning, while Unrivalled held as close to the wind as was possible in the gentle pressure off the land.
So slow. So slow. He steadied the glass and watched the jagged spur of land reaching out towards the ships. It was as he remembered it: the rough landscape, where it was sometimes hard to distinguish between the country
