Herrick grinned. “Just a lieutenant, sir. Probably wants us to put him on the course for Paris!”
But when the young lieutenant eventually clambered aboard from the longboat he seemed anything but lost. He doffed his hat to the quarterdeck and then presented himself to Bolitho.
“I bring the respects of my capitaine, m’sieu, and the invitation to visit him.” His dark eyes moved swiftly around the manned guns, the swaying line of armed marines.
“Certainly.”
Bolitho walked to the entry port and glanced down at the French longboat. The seamen were neatly dressed in striped shirts and white trousers. But they had no life in them. They looked afraid.
“And who is your captain?”
The lieutenant seemed to draw himself up another inch or so.
“He is Jean Michel, Comte de Barras, m’sieu.”
Bolitho had never heard of him.
“Very well.”
He said to Herrick quietly, “Retain the wind-gage, and make sure Eurotas keeps proper station until I return.”
Then with a nod to the rigid side party he followed the lieutenant into the boat.
The oarsmen pulled steadily across the water, taking and mounting each round-backed roller with practised ease. He felt the spray stinging his cheeks refreshing him. A vast ocean and the ships meeting by accident on one tiny pinpoint of it.
A French count and an English captain from Falmouth.
The officer snapped an order and the boat’s oars rose dripping in two pale lines, while with a flourish the bowman hooked on to the Narval’s main chains. It was expertly done, but Bolitho had the feeling it was as much from fear as from experience.
He grasped his sword and pulled himself up towards the entry port, very aware of the eyes watching him from the deck above.
The Narval’s great cabin was in total contrast to Bolitho’s own. Once aboard, he had been met by her captain with barely a word and had been hurried through the formality of the guard and side party with what had seemed like discourtesy. Now, sitting in an ornate gilded chair, his eyes half-blinded by the sunlight, Bolitho examined his host for the first time.
The Comte de Barras was of very slight build, and framed against the sloping stern windows appeared almost girlish. His dress coat was slightly flared and of superb cut, and Bolitho wished he had not allowed Allday to talk him into coming across in his seagoing breeches.
The only other occupant of the cabin was a youth, either Indian or Malay, who was busily arranging glasses and a beautifully carved wine cabinet on one of the two tables.
But the cabin was quite breathtaking. Tempest’s builders had used all their skills in carving and shaping her captain’s quarters with the finest woods in their yard. Narval’s were only to be described as elegant and fanciful in contrast. Rich, beautiful curtains hid the usual screens and doors, and across the deck were several large rugs which must have cost a fortune.
He realized de Barras was watching him, awaiting his reactions.
Bolitho said, “You live well, Capitaine.”
De Barras’s smooth forehead wrinkled in a brief frown. Bolitho’s failure to use his title perhaps, or his treating him as a fellow captain might have offended him.
But the frown vanished just as quickly, and he sat down very carefully in another gilded chair, the twin of Bolitho’s.
“I live as best I can in these frugal circumstances.” He spoke perfect English with a slight lisp.
He snapped his fingers at his young servant. “You must take some wine, er, Captain.” He watched the boy as if daring him to spill any on a carpet.
It gave Bolitho more time to study de Barras now that his eyes were growing used to the cabin. He could be any age between twenty-five and thirty-five. With delicately fashioned nose and small chin he looked more like a member of some exclusive court than a sea captain. He was, Bolitho had observed when coming aboard, wearing a wig. That too was unusual, and only added to the sense of unreality.
But the wine was good. More, it was excellent.
De Barras seemed pleased. “My father owns many vineyards. This wine travels quite well.” Again the small, petulant frown.
Like Borlase, Bolitho thought.
“Which it needs to do. This vessel has been in unbroken service for three years now, and I have held command for two.”
“I see.”
Bolitho watched him, wondering what this strange man really wanted. He noticed how the boy was hovering by de Barras’s elbow. He was not merely attentive. He was terrified.
De Barras murmured, “And you are bound for?”
There was nothing to be gained from secrecy. “The Levu Islands.”
“You are expecting, er, trouble?” He waved one hand carelessly towards the sea, allowing a great show of lace shirt to froth from beneath his sleeve. “Two ships?”
“We have had trouble.”
Bolitho wondered if Raymond had a telescope trained on the Narval. He hoped so. Hoped too he was fuming at being excluded.
“Pirates?”
Bolitho smiled gently. “I can see you are not surprised.”
De Barras was taken off guard. “I am merely curious.” He prodded the boy’s shoulder sharply. “More wine!”
Bolitho asked, “And you are bound for New South Wales?”
“Yes.” De Barras stood up and walked quickly to the bulkhead and adjusted one of the curtains. “Clumsy fools. They live like swine themselves and have no thought for fine things!” He curbed his sudden irritation and sat down again. “I intend to pay my respects to the governor and replenish my stores there.”
Bolitho kept his face stiff. The governor would really explode when he saw a French frigate in his bay.
De Barras added quietly, “I am looking for one such pirate, and have been for many months. He is an Englishman, but a pirate nonetheless. We are both bound to his eventual destruction, eh, m’sieu?” It seemed to amuse him. “He was plundering the waters of the Caribbean, from La Guaira to Martinique. I pursued him to Port of Spain and lost him when his men sacked and burned a village nearby.” His chest was moving with agitation.
Like a spoiled child, Bolitho thought. Frail he might appear, but he was as dangerous as a serpent underneath.
Bolitho said, “It is a lot of concern for one man.” He watched for some hint, some sign of what lay behind de Barras’s confidences.
“He is a man who attracts others.” De Barras sipped his wine delicately. “One without loyalty himself, but one who can instill it in those he leads. I was going to explain these matters to the Governor of New South Wales, but it seems that he may be better informed than I realized.” He came to a decision. “The pirate is called Tuke. He has with him a man who was awaiting deportation from Martinique to France. That was to be one of my missions.” He spat out the words. “This cochon Tuke aided his escape, and now has him with his own foul company!”
“May I ask about this other man? ”
“It is no matter.” De Barras shrugged. “A traitor to France. An agitateur. But he must be taken and punished before he can cause more unrest.”
When Bolitho remained silent he added vehemently, “It is in England’s interest also. This traitor will use Tuke’s strength to spread trouble, to rob and sack more and more ships and islands as his own power expands!” He dabbed a droplet of sweat from his chin. “It is your duty!”
Something threw a shadow across the cabin, and when Bolitho turned towards the windows he imagined he was seeing a spectre from a nightmare. Dangling outside was a man, or what was left of him. Suspended by his wrists, with ropes attached to his ankles and which disappeared towards the rudder, he was naked, and his body was a mass of bloody lacerations and great gaping wounds. One eye had been torn from his head, but the other
