working with despair, a need to release his anger. 'Or by heaven you will be sorry!'
The surgeon gave an awkward bow. 'But I am sorry, believe me! Sorry for you, sir, at being given this wretched task.' He swayed towards Bolitho. 'For the good captain, who will eventually be made to stand between justice and tyranny. And more sorry perhaps…' He pitched forward in an untidy heap and lay completely still.
'By the mark eight!'
The leadsman's call brought Bolitho back to reality.
He snapped, 'Have him taken to his quarters.'
As some seamen seized the inert surgeon and carried him to the ladder, he caught the sour odour of vomit and spilled wine. The stench of a man's decay.
Conway was still staring at the deck. 'Another second and I'd have had him in irons!' He glared at Bolitho. 'Well?'
'There was something in what he said, sir. What is on a sober man's mind is often on a drunkard's tongue.'
Herrick called, 'Close enough, I think, sir.'
Bolitho hurried to the quarterdeck rail, glad to be free of Conway's mood. He studied the lie of the smaller headland to larboard, the great eastern one on the opposite beam, thrusting out to sea, and already a delicate green in the early sunlight.
'Signal our intention to Rosalind, and then wear ship, if you please.' He waited until the anchor party had assembled above the cathead. Then he added, 'Tell Davy to keep our people together once we are ashore. I want no plague raging through Undine.'
'D'you think there is fever here, sir?'
For just a moment there was fear in Herrick's eyes. Like most seamen he could accept blood and broadside, as well as the harsh discipline which guided his daily life. But the unknown, the terror of plague which could render a whole ship useless, turn her into a floating tomb, was entirely different.
'That we will discover directly.'
'Rosalind's acknowledged, sir!'
Keen seemed his usual carefree self. Even Armitage was watching the land with something like expectancy.
'Wear shipV
'Man the lee braces!'
Bolitho saw the helm going over, and moved to Conway'ss side to avoid the rush of seamen across the quarterdeck as the frigate turned slowly into the wind.
'Will you wait for Don Puigserver, sir?'
Conway looked at him, a nerve jumping in his throat, as the anchor plunged into the clear water in a mighty cascade of spray.
'I suppose so.' He peered towards the brig which was already swinging easily to her cable. 'I wish you to accompany me.'
'An honour, sir.'
'You think so?' Conway removed the gold-laced hat and ran his palm over his grey hair. He smiled bitterly. 'We shall see.'
Noddall came on deck with Bolitho's sword, but quailed as Aliday rasped, 'Here, give me that!'
He hurried to Bolitho's side and carefully buckled the scabbard into place, muttering, 'The very idea!'
Then he straightened his back and stared at the boats which were being swayed up and over the nettings.
'A long way we've come together, Captain.' He turned to watch the brig's boats being lowered into the water. 'It's not a happy place, I'm thinking.'
Bolitho did not hear him. He watched the marines clambering out and down into the swaying boats, their coats very red, their boots slipping and clattering as they always did. Captain Bellairs was studying each and every one of them, especially the young corporal who carried the sheathed Union Flag which would soon be planted on foreign soil.
Like many sea officers, Bolitho had often thought about such moments, but the mental picture had always been grander and vaster. Endless lines of men, bands playing, cheering people, and the anchored ships looking splendid and secure at the sea's edge.
Now he understood differently. It was only a beginning. Small, but no less impressive because of that.
Conway said, 'Well, we had best begin. I see the Don is already on his way.'
The brig's boats were indeed moving inshore, one bearing the Spanish flag, the others that of the Company.
Bolitho was thankful Viola Raymond was remaining aboard the Rosalind.
Conway followed him into the gig, and with the armed and crowded boats fanning out on either beam they started towards the nearest beach.
Bolitho could smell the jungle long before they were within hail of the people by the frothing surf, like incense, heady and overpowering. He gripped his sword-hilt tighter and tried to compose himself. It was a moment he must always try to remember.
He glanced quickly at Conway for some sign or reaction.
He looked remote and sadly stern.
The new governor of Teluk Pendang had arrived.
Lieutenant Thomas Herrick walked a few paces across the quarterdeck, his movements restless as he watched Bellairs' marines and some seamen below the nearest palisade. It was ast noon, with the sun blazing down on the anchored ships with savage intensity. Most of the unemployed hands were sheltering by the guns beneath the gangways, but Herrick felt unable to leave the deck, even though his head was swimming, his shirt plastered against his body like a wet rag.
Tugging at her cable, the Undine had swung her stern towards the long, pale beach, and with the visibility sharp and clear, it was easier to see the extent of Conway's new command. Larger than he had first imagined, it had obviously been planned and constructed by a military engineer. Even the unfinished timber pier looked neat and strong, but like the rest of the place, was in a state of bad neglect.
As he had paced the quarterdeck, or peered across the taffrail, Herrick had seen Bolitho and some of the landing party moving along the wooden ramparts, or exploring the ground between the two separate palisades which guarded the approaches to the fort and its surrounding buildings. The boats lay like dead fish on the beach, exactly where they had ground ashore some four hours earlier. He had watched some marines hauling the swivel guns towards the fort, others, harried by the massive Sergeant Coaker, had manned the ramparts, or could now be seen patrolling near the pier. The handful of Spanish soldiers had withdrawn into the fort, and of the enemy, or whatever the garrison had been firing at, there was not a sign.
He turned as a heavy step fell on the tinder-dry planking and saw Soames shading his eyes with one hand, and munching a biscuit with the other.
'Any sign yet, sir?' Soames eyed the distant settlement without enthusiasm. 'What a place to end your years, eh?
Herrick was worried. Something should have happened by now. There were supposed to be some three hundred Spanish soldiers and followers in the settlement, and God alone knew how many local natives. From what he had seen there were hardly any. The same old thought crossed his mind. Plague perhaps? Or something even more terrible.
He replied, 'They appear to be examining the inner defences. I am not surprised the Dons wish to be rid of it.' He shuddered. 'From here it looks as if the damned jungle is pushing the whole lot back into the sea.'
Soames shrugged and pointed his half-eaten biscuit at the gun deck. 'Shall I dismiss the gun crews? There seems to be little here to excite action.'
'No. There are only five of them manned. Change 'em round and send the others below for a spell.'
He was glad when Soames walked away. He needed to concentrate, to decide what to do if he was suddenly required to act without Bolitho at his elbow. It had been different the last time. A sort of wild recklessness had come over him, prompted as ever by the need to dash to Bolitho's aid in the only way he knew.
But here were no yelling savages, no darting canoes which a few bursts of canister could scatter. Silence, and
