'Ah, Sophia, there you are.' A tall hussar in dark green uniform, gold frogging and ornate hat slipped neady between the two of them, his back to Kydd. 'Allow me to escort you around the boat,' he said, offering his arm.
She pulled free, and defiantly dropped Kydd a magnificent curtsy. She held it, her eyes locked on his. The moment passed, then she laughed delightedly, and took the soldier's arm. She moved away, throwing a single glance back at Kydd, who stared after them, afraid to break the spell.
Kydd, at the fore-royals, had caught a glimpse of his princess as the party went ashore. She was looking up, as if searching among the hundreds of cheering men.
The ship's company had only just come down from manning the yards for a three times three for His Majesty. The King had paused on his way back through the lines of redcoats and turned, clearly affected. He bowed this way and that while the huzzahs echoed from the buildings, the sailors redoubling their efforts at his unfeigned pleasure.
They assembled now on the main deck below the boat-space, and on the gangways each side, some hanging in the rigging to get a better view. Powlett stood forward of the wheel, his face working under evident emotion.
Kydd waited impatiently for Renzi. It was with the utmost pleasure that he told him of his meeting with a princess. His friend stared in frank amazement, and then rubbed his chin. 'That would probably have been Princess Sophia of Mecklenburg, I believe.' His face held every indication of envy, causing great satisfaction to Kydd. Then Renzi chuckled. 'You should keep an eye to windward, my dear fellow, for after the unfortunate passing of the Duke of Buccleuch's eldest, she is now an unattached maiden.' Kydd's smile broadened.
Boatswain's calls piped the still, and the men quickly fell into silence.
'His Majesty is — pleased,' Powlett said, seeming to have difficulty with the words. 'And he has — will be doing me the deepest honour, in conferring on me a knighthood.' He paused and looked down at his spotless court shoes. The ship erupted into cheers upon cheers.
He looked up, the hard face mobile. 'He has also been so kind as to present me with a purse. In it is a golden guinea for every man. His Majesty commands that with this his honest tars shall drink his health in a bumper.' The cheers were genuine and long.
Powlett's voice strengthened. 'In the matter of prize money . . .' he grinned, knowing the interest his words were creating '. . . I have to tell you that I have been led to understand that, subject to survey, the Frenchman will be bought into the Service!' A wave of muttering passed among the assembly. Prize money was a subject for intense satisfaction, not cheers. 'And as a result, and in view of our previous successes, it is my intention to make a preliminary award now, while your liberty tickets are being prepared.'
There was no stopping it. 'Three cheers an' a tiger fer Cap'n Powlett!' came a roar from the throng. The hoarse cheering went on and on, emotion from the battle finally released in a flood of affection for the tough Captain. 'Carry on!' Powlett said, and abruptly turned on his heel and went below.
The golden orbs above the old dockyard gate seemed to draw the people like a magnet, all of them eager to catch a sight of their famed hearts of oak. Beside the marine sentry were soldiers, shoving back at the crowd. Kydd was astonished at the press of people, the riot of heaving, jostling humanity. 'What ship - what ship?' The cries were insistent.
An elderly seaman from another vessel answered nervously, indistinct in the clamour. With shouts of derision he was shouldered aside. In their turn Kydd and Renzi were challenged.
There was a deafening uproar inside the taproom; red faces and blue smoke, sweating men and flashing-eyed femininity along with the sickly sweet smell of beer and wet sawdust.
'To the sons o' Neptune 'oo are Old England's right true glory!' A generous roar followed, and tankards tilted. Kydd flushed with pleasure and raised his own.
Renzi noticed a calculating gleam in several female faces. Like birds of prey they detached from their perches and sidled across. The two sailors found themselves with a brace apiece, one on each arm. Renzi skilfully disengaged, but Kydd did not seem to be in any hurry to part.
'Gave 'em a right quiltin', did yer not, darlin'?' one said, her face flushed and hair peeping out from under her mob cap. She looked up at Kydd's face and said huskily, 'Wager you didn't hang back, me lovely, when the call ter duty went out.'
The other fingered his jacket. Defying the venomous looks of the first, she said, 'Why doesn't you an' me take a short cruise? I c'n show yez a time as'll keep yer warm for a year.' The first raised her leg gently and caressed Kydd's thigh. He coloured and pretended to enjoy his beer while she teased him towards her.
The tug-of-war continued until a thin-faced man in drab shore clothes appeared, and plucked at Kydd's sleeves. 'Ben Watkins — mizzen topsailman o' the
The pulling and tugging subsided a little. 'Yes,' said Kydd shortly, but with a smile.
'Know somethin' about it, me bein' aboard when we took the - the
Kydd felt inside his waistcoat and came out with a crown piece. Renzi grabbed his hand, but Kydd pressed it on the man. He looked at Renzi. 'I know,' he said, 'but I'm feelin' flush.'
Renzi realised that Kydd knew the man to be a fraud —there was no such thing as a 'mizzen topsailman' and he had never heard of a
