Artemis

'I — can only tender my felicitations.' Renzi's voice was distant, controlled.

Kydd said nothing, but scraped on. After a while he heard Renzi catch a replacement scraper before he, too, resumed the work.

'Thing is, I'm not sure o' the tightness of it all,' Kydd continued.

The strokes ceased again. 'Surely it's simple enough,'

Renzi replied; his voice was tightly controlled, but no longer venomous.

'No, Nicholas, she wants me to swallow th' anchor and go ashore - for good 'n' all,' Kydd said warmly. 'Well, why not, pray?'

Kydd thought and could not come up with other than the truth. 'I've found m'self since I've been t' sea, and don't hanker after the longshore life.'

Renzi bit his lip. 'The nub of it, I believe,' he began, with a slight tremor to his words, 'is whether you love her enough.'

For long moments Kydd hesitated. 'I don't know.'

'You must know.'

Kydd faced his friend. 'That is th' point, d'ye see?' His earnest expression made Renzi drop his eyes. 'I lay with the woman, I must own, but I cannot in all truth say before you - that I love her.'

The stage swung with a small movement of the ship. Renzi sat motionless.

'So where does m' duty lie?' Kydd asked.

For a long time Renzi mechanically picked at the sea-faded paintwork. The problem was not of a class that could yield readily to logic. And without the confidence and comfort of solid reasoning at his back he felt diminished. 'Duty,' he admitted finally, 'is a stern mistress.' He was uncomfortably aware that he had been overborne by emotion in the last few days, and now he was failing his friend. There was such an entanglement of ramifications in this problem, rooted in society, personal feelings, obligation — and his own reactions.

He pulled himself together. 'My dear friend, in this matter, alas, I cannot help. It distresses me, but I would rather not betray your trust with glib emollients or superficial observations. I am sorry, but . . .'

Kydd nodded once and turned back to his work.

Instead of hurrying ashore at noon, Kydd slowly climbed to the bare foretop. He could be sure of being undisturbed there, and the clean, seamanlike expanse spoke to him of other things. He sat with his back against the foremast and gazed unseeingly across the anchorage.

He had lain with Sarah: that was the solid fact at issue. The question was, did he therefore owe her a moral obligation? She was a warm, passionate woman who in marriage would see to his needs and more — that was clear. But marriage, he intuitively realised, might involve more than that. A woman needed security and stability; his mind shied at the images of domesticity that this idea generated, the dreary round of politeness, social calls, suffocating conformity. And love. For some reason she had been attracted to him. But he sensed the emotional power that ruled her actions and was instinctively repelled. He himself could never relinquish control like that. He sighed, deeply. In all this, he knew that he must do what was right for Sarah, not himself. His sense of personal honour and moral duty ran deep and true — he would not be able to live with it for the rest of his life should he make a selfish choice.

On deck Cundall stared upwards, trying to make out what Kydd was doing. 'Foretop ahoy!' he shouted.

There was no reply. Cundall took another pull at his bottle. 'Kydd, yer sad lobcock, you mopin' after some syebuck biddy? You—'

From the other side of the bitts, Renzi appeared, his eyes murderous. 'Stow it!' he snapped. Rowley emerged aft on to the quarterdeck. The drunken shouts had been audible over the whole deck.

Cundall squared up to Renzi. 'An' what's it ter you?'

Renzi's fist took Cundall in the stomach, doubling him up. The second, a moment later, hammered the chin, straightening Cundall before he crumpled to the deck. Renzi stood over him, his chest heaving, then moved back to the forebitts and resumed his vigil. Rowley deliberately turned and gazed out over the stern.

In the foretop, Kydd pondered on, oblivious. So what was his duty? To Sarah, that was now obvious. So he should marry her and give up the sea? If that was what she wanted. But was this decision the best one for her? What if he could not give her love, security, stability? He knew, too, from his previous experience of exile from the sea that he could never counterfeit happiness in a land-based existence, and he would end up the poorest of companions for her.

No, this was impossible, she deserved better than that. She deserved a lover who would be able to provide her with the solid, respectable marriage she needed. He felt a strange pang at the thought of another kissing her, possessing her, but the conclusion was inescapable. He felt the lifting of a dreadful cloud. In her best interests, he must be strong for both of them and refuse her. It would be hard, but any day the frigate could be released to take up her mission of war and they would part. Kydd tested the decision every way he could, suspicious that it was based on hidden motives, but it held firm. Therefore he would implement it, see it through without flinching.

Renzi saw Kydd rise, look once at the shore then descend the shrouds briskly. He busied himself at the bitts until Kydd reached the deck. 'Do I take it that you are in possession of a decision?' Renzi enquired.

'I am,' Kydd said, his chin lifting slightly. 'May I know?'

'I am to refuse her, I believe.'

Renzi looked at the deck, doubting his ability to control his emotions. His own recent reflections had led him to place their friendship out of reach of baser human urges, and he would have suffered much pain were he now to lose it.

Kydd approached the residencia with heavy but resolute steps. He was unsure what he would say to Sarah, but he was certain of his decision, and was prepared to bear any consequences arising from it.

Nunez frowned and smoothed his robe. 'My child . . .' he began.