shouldn’t wonder. One less worry.”
“Sir?” Bolitho looked at him blankly.
Sayer crossed the cabin and gripped his arm. “No matter, you were leagues away. But take heart. Think of Cornwall. Do your work. The rest will unfoul itself.”
Bolitho replied, “Aye, sir.”
He had in fact been thinking of Cornwall. The big grey house in Falmouth. A few moments ago it had begun to come alive again in his thoughts. She would like it there, and they would all love her as they had his mother, and the other captains’ ladies who had walked on the sea wall and watched for their husbands’ ships, some in vain.
And now, because he had lowered his guard, he had betrayed the one person he really loved. Because of the resulting hatred and envy, Raymond was risking everything, and would do so even if it cost Viola’s life.
“I’d like to return to my ship, sir.”
Sayer watched him. “Yes. I’ll send word if I hear anything. They’re gathering some hands for the Eurotas, and you will have to supply an officer to take charge of her.” He added firmly, “An officer, Richard. You must remain in your own ship. Once established in the Levu Islands, Eurotas will act as accommodation vessel. She can be safely left with someone junior until I can send more replacements. But you will act as you see fit when you have made the place secure.”
Bolitho held out his hand. “Thank you, sir. For doing what you must hate doing. I know plenty who would have made it short and sharp.”
Sayer smiled. “True. But mark what I said. I cannot save you if you cross Raymond. He is the sort of man who looks for scapegoats well in advance of anything he attempts. I do not wish to fit that role. Nor do I wish to see you as one.”
Bolitho went on deck and paid his respects to the quarterdeck and to Hebrus’s captain.
A gun boomed dully in the distance, and the other captain said, “There go your two captured pirates. They don’t waste time on trials out here for such carrion.”
With the execution gun still echoing over the harbour Bolitho climbed down to the gig where Allday stood to receive him, his face expectant.
“To the jetty, Captain?”
Bolitho looked past him towards the slow-moving crowd of people who had gone to see two men kicking out their lives on a gibbet.
She was there somewhere.
“No, Allday. To the ship.”
Allday barked, “Shove off! Out oars!” Something had gone badly wrong. “Give way all!”
He shaded his eyes to look across at the anchored transport, recalling the screams and frenzy of hand to hand fighting and killing.
What did these poxy dolts know of such things? He looked down at Bolitho’s shoulders, the way he was gripping the hilt of that old, tarnished sword.
Once, Allday had been thankful to see Viola Raymond parted from Bolitho. He had known what might happen, as it was happening now. But as in a fight, once committed, Allday believed in seeing it through. He would think about it. Slip in a good word or two when he got the chance.
Bolitho watched the rise and fall of the oars, the carefully blank faces of the pigtailed seamen. They all knew. Some would be glad, others sympathetic. All would be interested in what was to happen next.
He heard the creak of the tiller as Allday steered the boat past the stern of a Dutch trading schooner.
Him most of all, he thought. He could almost feel Allday’s mind working. All of his loyalty, courage and cheek could not help him this time.
He saw the side party mustered at Tempest’s entry port. The blue and white of the officers, the scarlet of Prideaux’s marines. Stand by to receive the captain.
He straightened his shoulders and looked up at the ship. He was sailing as escort. It was not much of a bridge, but it was better than nothing. There was hope, and his determination, like Allday’s, was stronger than ever.
7. The Narval
LIEUTENANT Thomas Herrick sipped at a mug of scalding, bitter coffee and watched Bolitho making notes beside his chart.
A week out of port, and Herrick for one was glad to be at sea, doing something he understood. Six days they had lain at anchor, and it had been painful to watch Bolitho’s efforts to hide his anxiety, to contain his dismay as he looked at the anchored Eurotas and the town beyond.
Even now Herrick was not sure what Bolitho was really thinking. To anyone who did not know him as he did he seemed his usual alert, interested self. He was studying the chart with care, comparing his notes with those of Lakey, the sailing master.
Herrick did not know much about the Levu Islands, except that they were some two hundred miles to the north of where they had recaptured the Eurotas. Now they were plodding along, held back by the slower merchantman, while Tempest stayed watchfully to windward of her.
Bolitho looked up, his eyes bright. “D’you remember old Mudge, Thomas?”
“Aye.” Herrick smiled. Mudge had been the sailing master in Undine. “Must have been the oldest man in the King’s service. The oldest afloat maybe. He admitted to sixty, and kept to that. A great lump of a man, but a fine master. Pity he didn’t meet Mr Lakey. Maybe they’ll have a yarn in heaven one day.”
Bolitho looked wistful. “He knew a lot about these waters. How he rebuked me when I ordered every sail to be set. But how he grumbled when we crawled like this.”
Herrick looked up as Keen’s feet moved across the deck. Borlase was in charge of the Eurotas. It was a pity in some ways, he thought. Borlase might say too much to Raymond. He was like that. On the other hand, he was glad to be here with Bolitho. If he had gone across to the merchantman instead he might have spoken too forcefully to that scum Raymond.
He asked, “What d’you expect to find in the Levu Islands, sir?”
Bolitho walked to the stern windows and stared at the sloping horizon. There was mist about, and the glittering sea looked as if it was boiling from some great marine cauldron.
“A flag on a pole, Thomas. A few hard-working servants of the country. Much what we’re used to.”
Noddall pattered into the cabin, the coffee jug in his paws.
“There’s some more ’ere, sir.”
“Good.” Bolitho thrust out his mug. “It makes me sweat, but it is good to taste something which is neither rotten nor rancid for a change.”
He held the mug to his lips, feeling it burning down to his stomach.
Another day. The same empty sea. He had taken to counting seconds whenever he went on deck to consult the compass and their estimated position. Seconds before he had to look towards Eurotas’s fat hull. She always seemed to remain in the exact position, held in the frigate’s shrouds as if snared in a giant web. In fact, she was well down to leeward, too far to examine without a glass. Those occasions too had to be measured, rationed.
He heard some muffled shots and knew the marines were practising again, firing their muskets from the tops at makeshift targets which Sergeant Quare had hurled overboard. He wondered if one of the marksmen was the ex- gamekeeper, Blissett, and whether or not he was remembering the man he had silently killed on the beach.
Herrick said suddenly, “It’s no use, sir. I must speak my mind.”
“Good.” Bolitho turned towards him. “I have been expecting something, so be done with it.”
Herrick put his mug very carefully on the table.
“It’s all been said before. But I’m no less concerned. Me, I don’t count. I’ll never rise above wardroom rank, and I think I’m glad for it, having seen what command can drag out of a man. But you have a family tradition, sir. When I saw your house in Falmouth, those portraits, all that history, I knew I was lucky to serve under you. I’ve been at sea since I was a lad, like most of us, and I know the measure of a captain. It’s not right that you should be in jeopardy because of all this!”
