Artemis

Outside the fresh air discommoded Kydd. The excitement of the day had its inevitable effect and he staggered over to the low sea-wall, and heaved on to the rocks below. Renzi stood back until it was all over. As Kydd recovered, he went into the tavern and reappeared with a pan of water. Kydd accepted it gratefully. Dusting off his new rig, which had miraculously escaped being soiled, he stretched, then looked at Renzi. For no logical reason he felt resentment, not at Renzi but at the world, at things.

It grew and burned, and gradually took focus. 'I need - a woman,' he said thickly, glaring into space.

Renzi's expression did not change. 'Do you not feel a slattern's lues a hard price for the joy of the moment?'

Kydd's feelings erupted. 'D'ye think to preach at me? I do as I will!'

Looking at him dispassionately, Renzi knew there was no dissuading him. Kydd would have his way, and some raddled trull would know his youth and innocence.

'And, pray, what shall I tell Princess Sophia?' As soon as it was uttered, Renzi regretted the unworthy spite that made him say it, but it was too late. Kydd turned abruptly and disappeared into the crowds.

Renzi stood still and watched him go. The coolness of his logic was slipping: he needed to rationalise recent events, to process them into tidy portions fit for inspection by a rational mind. He needed to get away. He trudged north, away from town, with no clear purpose in mind. Before reaching Landport gate, the landward entrance to Portsmouth, he heard the grinding of an ox-cart behind.

It was a farm worker in embroidered smock and shapeless hat driving two hand of oxen, returning after delivering his produce. Renzi stopped him. 'I'd be obliged were you to offer me passage.'

'Oi has no truck wi' deserters, tha knows,' the man said doubtfully.

'Do I sound like one, my friend?' Renzi said, offering silver. The man bit the half-crown piece and grinned widely, patting the bench beside him.

At the Landport arch they were stopped by a sentry. Renzi pulled out his ticket-of-leave, and waved it at the soldier. The sergeant ambled over and took a look. 'Ah — this 'ere is a Jack Tar orf the Artemis, lad. Come t' raise the dust after their 'orrible great battle.'

It was pleasant in the hot afternoon sun. The farmhand was not given to idle chat but had a steady grin of amusement on his homely face. They left Portsea Island and approached the foothills, joining the highway to Petersfield for a short while before taking the steep Southwick road to the summit of Portsdown Hill.

Bidding the man a courteous farewell, Renzi alighted there, and stretched out on the chalky grass. It was a superb view, high above the coastal plain, looking out over the town and dockyard for miles. The sunlit sea stretched out, the fleet at Spithead dark models against the sparkling flat sea.

He plucked idly at the grass and let his thoughts run free. He had been taken by surprise at the ferocity of his feelings as they boarded Citoyenne, equally as blood mad as any of his shipmates. The hopeless bravery of the French Captain had impressed him greatly, and he had been touched to hear that Powlett had taken steps to remit a competence to his widow in recognition of this. The value of the coast signals lay in the secret of their recovery, and the world would never know of Maillot's gallant failure.

Now he also realised that for all his carefully erected barriers there was a personal vulnerability, an unguarded breach for which his own weakness was to blame. Kydd and he had endured and laughed together too many times for the friendship to be cast aside, and therefore he had to face the fact that through Kydd he was vulnerable. The thought of Kydd's clumsy attempts at a woman made him wince, as much at the memory of his own past concupiscence and wilfulness as anything, for in his own case there had been no excuse.

The sun beat down and he lay back, letting the tension seep from his bones. He tipped his hat over his eyes. An occasional insect buzz reached him over the gentle sough of the breeze. He lay there, drowsy and tranquil.

Faint shouts wafted up on the late-afternoon breeze, difficult to decipher. Behind closed eyes he tried to make sense of them. Then he heard the vexatious whinny of a horse and the unmistakable gritty progress of carriage wheels.

Renzi sat up. Bursting into view came a coach, the horses snorting and nodding after the long haul up. But this was no ordinary conveyance: it was fitted out for a cruise by a crew of enterprising sailors. With a flag hoisted at the main, a cargo of a stout keg aft and the inn-sign of the Lamb and Flag forward for a figurehead, she was manned by a cheering, drunken crew of seamen from Artemis bent on a roaratorious frolic.

The coach pulled up and painted doxies fanned out decorously to sink relieved to the grass. Renzi stood up in amazement. The keg was tapped again and again and pots waved assertively in the air as bets were laid on the race down the long hill and back into town. The browbeaten driver nervously checked the traces.

'Why, damn me eyes if it ain't Gennelman Jack hisself.' A quartermaster's mate of Renzi's slight acquaintance pointed at him in astonishment. Others joined to peer in his direction. Renzi gave a diffident wave and approached. Then from the other side, buttoning the flap on his trousers, came Kydd. He stopped dead.

For a moment Renzi stood nonplussed, then clapping his new hat over his breast, he loudly declaimed,

'While up the shrouds the sailor goes, or ventures to the yard The landman who no better knows, believes his lot is hard But Jack with smiles each danger meets . . . . . . and drinks his can of grog!'

Inwardly flinching at the populist doggerel he was nevertheless met with a storm of cheers. 'Welcome aboard th' barky, shipmate.' A dusty, well-used tankard was thrust at him and he joined the riotous crew, winking at Kydd as he passed to climb inside.

The coach jerked off down the road, drunken sailors aloft and alow. 'Whoay, mateys!' said one, left astern as he scrambled to reach his post aft on the postillion's seat. The coach rattled and shook in a cloud of dust as it plunged madly down the road, a fiddler scraping a jig alongside the terrified driver. Renzi smiled at the apprehensive women opposite, dust streaked over their caked rouge, their mob caps askew. 'Your acquaintance, ladies!' He bowed. Their eyes flashed white as they strove to make sense of it all, the rattling coach now violently swaying.

The most worldly wise looked at him in suspicion, his manner so utterly at odds with the open hilarity of the sailors outside. Eventually she appeared to make up her mind and, lifting her chin, stared out determinedly.

Cheers and whoops came from outside as they plunged past a startled populace, and an upside-down face