stared fixedly at the ship, while his mouth opened and closed like a black hole.
De Barras was almost beside himself with anger. “Mon Dieu!”
He pushed the frightened boy towards the bulkhead door, pursuing him with angry words and threats.
Voices sounded overhead, and the dangling body dropped swiftly from view. Bolitho sat stock-still in his chair. He knew what was happening. Had heard about the savage and barbarous custom of keelhauling from old sailors. To punish a man in this manner was to condemn him to an horrific death. The victim was lowered over the bow and dragged along the keel, his progress controlled by lines attached to his hands and feet. After three years in commission, coppered or not, Narval’s keel and bilges would be covered with tiny, razor-sharp growths which would tear a man to fragments unless he was sensible and let himself drown. But man’s instinct was to survive, even when the case was without hope.
Bolitho stood up and said, “I will leave now, M’sieu le Comte. I have my duty to attend to. So if you would excuse me.” He turned towards the door, sickened and disgusted.
De Barras stared at him. “That man was a trouble-maker! I will not tolerate such insolence! Filthy, degraded beast! ”
Bolitho walked into the sunlight, remembering Le Chaumareys, the way his solid courage had inspired and welded his ship together. By comparison, de Barras was a monster. A vicious tyrant who had probably been appointed to Narval to keep him away from France.
By the entry port de Barras said sharply, “Save your anger for your enemies!”
Then as Bolitho took his first step through the port he swung on his heel and stalked aft towards the poop.
The lieutenant who had escorted Bolitho aboard accompanied him back to Tempest. When they were almost alongside Bolitho asked, “Is that how your ship is run, m’sieu? By terror?”
The young officer stared at him, pale under his tan.
Bolitho stood up in the boat, eager to be back in his own ship. Then he added, “For if that be so, watch out that the terror does not consume you! ”
Within minutes of returning to his ship Bolitho received a signal from Raymond. A summons to attend him aboard the Eurotas without delay.
Although still appalled by what he had seen aboard the French frigate, Bolitho could nevertheless find room for personal satisfaction. In his heart he had known that Raymond would insist on his going across to the transport, even at the risk of his meeting Viola. Raymond needed to display that he and not Bolitho held the reins of command, and his curiosity at what had passed between him and the Frenchman would do the rest. Also, Bolitho suspected, Raymond felt less in control when he was aboard a King’s ship.
Herrick watched him anxiously as he prepared to make another crossing, this time in his own gig.
Bolitho was changing into some clean breeches, and had just finished his description of de Barras and the atmosphere of tyranny aboard the Narval. He guessed Herrick was probably comparing de Barras with the captain of the Phalarope where they had first met. Only seven years ago? It did not seem possible. They had seen and done so much together.
Herrick said eventually, “I hate even the sound of his kind, and I for one’ll be a sight more happy when his tops’ls dip below the horizon!”
“I’d wager you’ll be disappointed, Thomas.”
Bolitho took a glass of wine from Noddall. It was as much to destroy the French captain’s taste as to clear the salt from his throat.
Herrick looked at him with surprise. “But I thought you said Narval is steering for New South Wales?”
Bolitho tugged his neckcloth into position and smiled grimly. “She was. My guess is that de Barras has hot irons under him to recapture this mysterious Frenchman, and now sees us as a better chance. He may be right.” He snatched up his hat. “Well?”
Herrick sighed. “Fine, sir.” There seemed no point in further protest. Bolitho’s eyes were shining more brightly than they had for some time.
He followed Bolitho to the entry port and stood with him above the swaying gig. A quick glance aft told Herrick that Keen and Lakey, and even young Midshipman Swift, were all watching and smiling like involved conspirators. It only made him depressed. They did not understand that this was not just a man going away in the hopes of seeing his love, but one who could easily be casting his career into ashes.
Borlase was at the Eurotas’s side to greet Bolitho, but his childlike features were carefully set, giving nothing away.
Bolitho looked around the maindeck, and was thankful to see there appeared to be quite a number of competent-looking seamen amongst the replacements for those killed or maimed by the pirates. In every scattered seaport, even one as new as Sydney, there always seemed to be a few abandoned sailormen who were ready to chance one more strange ship. Just once more. All sailors said that.
“How are the prisoners, Mr Borlase?” It was strange that the term prisoner seemed to carry more dignity than convict.
“I’ve had them put to work in small parties as you suggested, sir.” A mere hint of disapproval here.
“Good.”
Maybe Borlase found them too much responsibility and worry. Or perhaps he thought they should be kept penned up as before. But once ashore in the Levu Islands they would need all their health and agility to stay alive. Deported convicts in the Americas, and now in New South Wales, had left plenty of bitter examples in their wake. They must survive, like those who guarded and directed them, upon their own resources.
They moved into the poop’s shadow and made their way aft to the great cabin.
Raymond was waiting there, sitting at the desk, his body silhouetted against the reflected glare from the tall windows.
He said crisply, “You will remain here, Mr Borlase.”
Bolitho waited impassively. Raymond was keeping the lieutenant as a defence or a witness. Or both.
“And now, Captain.” Raymond leaned back, his fingertips pressed together. “Perhaps you will be so kind as to inform me of your discourse with the Narval’s captain.”
“I would have sent you a report.”
“Of that I am certain.” It sounded like sarcasm. “But give me the bones of the matter for now.”
Borlase made as if to get a chair for his captain, but after a glance at Raymond seemed to change his mind.
Curiously, Bolitho felt better because of Raymond’s attitude. No pretence, no change between them. Nor would there be.
He listened to his own voice as he explained briefly what had passed between him and the Frenchman. Calm, unemotional. Like evidence at a court martial, he thought.
Raymond dismissed the keelhauling as “a matter for each country to decide.”
Bolitho said quietly, “France decided long ago. But out here, de Barras is their country.”
“It is not my concern.” Raymond’s fingertips drummed rapidly together in a silent tattoo. “But the Narval most certainly is.”
“She will not dare to-” Bolitho got no further.
Raymond snapped, “Really, you sea officers are as one! We are not at war with the King of France now. You must adjust to your new role, or exchange it for another.” His voice was louder and crisper. It was as if he had been rehearsing for just such a moment.
“With French aid we can explore all possibilities of trade and the mutual defence of it.” The fingers tapped in and out to mark each item. “The crushing of piracy and plundering for instance. The covering of greater sea areas for our combined benefit. If one day we are forced to fight France again, and I think it unlikely, no matter what I have heard to the contrary, then we will be better placed because of this co-operation now. Know your competitor, every merchant will tell you so. A pity that those entrusted with our protection cannot bring themselves to do likewise.”
In the sudden quiet Bolitho could feel his own heart beating with anger and caution. He could tell from the manner in which Borlase’s eyes were flickering back and forth between them that he was expecting him to lash out at Raymond’s last remark. A calculated insult, doubly so as Bolitho’s men had saved his life and restored his freedom with no little risk.
