Artemis

'Stow it, y' mad dogs!' Kydd shouted, trying to force himself between them. Stirk was angry and powerful, but the slighter-built Crow had a dogged tenacity that made it impossible for Kydd to separate them. It eventually ended in a panting truce and bitter words.

Kydd pulled his shabby blue jacket closer. Artemis was now deep into the Atlantic proper, and the first cool precursors of the north were making themselves felt. The fever had run its course, only the poignancy of empty places at familiar seats a reminder of their time of trial. He looked across at Renzi, but the sunken eyes and sallow appearance would take time to dispel. Renzi seldom spoke now.

There was a sullen lethargy about the men that Kydd found difficult to confront: he sympathised with their hard circumstances, which he shared. Since the shock of seeing the body of their captain committed to the deep, there had been a marked decline in the sense of unity and purpose; the loss of such a strong figure at the centre of their world allowed it to fly apart. Petty tyrannies spread unchecked, the humbler members of the power structure suffering the most. The lack of a respected figure to distribute praise or criticism meant that the traditional engine of cohesion was no longer there — and whatever else Fairfax was, he was not a leader.

A bare ten days or less and it would all be over — but Kydd's heart was heavy. It felt as though Artemis herself, sea-worn as she was, was the only one staying loyal and true to Powlett's memory. His hand fell, and under cover of the table he felt for the ship's side and secretly caressed its — her — timbers.

The officers gathering on the quarterdeck for the noon sight stood together. Fairfax lowered his sextant and inspected it. 'I make it thirty-two degrees nineteen minutes north, gentlemen. And that is a bare four hundred leagues from England.' There was a favourable stir. 'I will confess, a fine game pie is haunting me — perhaps in harness with a glass of decent claret not stinking of the bilge.' He handed over his sextant to be stowed below, and stretched, sniffing the steady trade winds. 'It will not be long now, we shall meet our families.'

Kydd, at his post, let the conversation slip past. He watched the helmsman catch a wind-flaw and ease the wheel a spoke or two.

Rowley added languidly, 'I do believe we shall be in time for the Season — the duchess means her daughter to be presented at court this year, and I have the liveliest recollection of Vauxhall gardens by torchlight.'

'There is no likelihood of the Season for me, I fancy,' replied Fairfax. 'We are an old county family and there will be too much to attend to on the estate, more's the pity.' He looked pleasantly at the wooden Party. 'You will be in Town for the Season, or are you to be rusticated?'

Parry said with a set face, 'Neither, sir.' He hesitated, then added, 'I believe I will visit my older sister at Yarmouth.'

'Yarmouth?' said Fairfax. 'Oh.' He and Rowley exchanged looks, then stepped forward together in easy conversation. They halted while Rowley drew out his snuff box and laid some on the back of his hand. Before he could inhale, a playful wind scattered the grains in the air and back over Parry.

Parry's face went red. 'Take your filthy habit somewhere else, sir!' he shouted.

Rowley's eyebrows rose in astonishment. He glanced at Fairfax, then allowed an expression of exaggerated good humour to accompany his urbane inclination of the head. He looked back at Fairfax and burst out laughing.

Storming forward Parry fronted Rowley, breathing deeply and raggedly. 'Be damned to your popinjay ways, Rowley! Your infernal high-born humbug grates on my nerves.'

Fairfax looked shocked. 'Mr Parry! I do hope—'

Ignoring Fairfax, Rowley replied coolly, plucking at the lace of his cuffs, 'Sir, intemperate words do nothing but reflect on breeding.'

'Mr Rowley, this is not—' began Fairfax, his hands flapping, pacifying.

With the entire quarterdeck watching silently, Parry's face clamped in a murderous loathing. 'Rowley, if you cross my bows once more . . .'

'Is this in the nature of a threat, sir?' 'Gentlemen, I implore you - please . . .' 'It is, sir!'

'Then may I take it that as a gentleman you are dissatisfied by my conduct?' 'Gentlemen, please!’

'I am, sir, damn you to hell!' Parry's voice was thick with emotion.

Rowley's voice turned silky. 'Then could it be that you are looking for satisfaction in the matter?' 'Yes, I am!' Parry said hotly.

Instantly, Rowley snapped to attention. 'Then, sir, I accept, as Mr Fairfax is my witness.' Turning to Fairfax, he continued, 'Kindly inform Mr Parry, sir, that my second will wait on his by sunset.'

In the shocked silence Fairfax wrung his hands. 'Gentle-men, can you not be reconciled? Consider, this is a ship of war, we are—'

Parry drew in a breath with a hiss. 'No, sir, we cannot!' With a look of savage content, as of a monstrous burden lifted, he added, 'But of course I will allow Mr Rowley to withdraw.'

Rowley turned away and studied the horizon with his arms folded.

'Then it is my most sorrowful duty to inform you both, that as there is no satisfaction offered, then the matter must come to an unhappy conclusion.' Fairfax paced aft pensively and returned. 'There is no prospect of a meeting until we make landfall in England. It is customary in these matters to refrain from interchanges, but in the meantime, for the sake of the ship, I must ask you both to continue your professional duties, but through an intermediary.' He wiped his forehead forlornly. 'May I express how deeply saddened I am by the way this day has turned out.'

On into the broad wastes of the North Atlantic Artemis sailed, watch by watch, routines performed by rote, duties done with no heart in them. The first Atlantic gales came; once more the smash of seas and hiss of spray over the decks, racing dark clouds, deep thrumming in the rigging.

When Kydd came on watch at midnight, dirty weather had set in to accompany the spiteful blasts of the gale, rain driven with vindictive force that reddened cheeks and eyes.

He set the first helmsmen of the watch, checked the slate by the light of the binnacle and took the state of sail.