Raymond frowned. “Have you no comment?”
“I know little of merchants, sir. But I do know an enemy from a friend.”
Borlase shifted his feet noisily.
Raymond said, “Anyway, you sent the Narval on her way, no doubt with fresh fuel to burn at our expense.”
“I expect de Barras will be close to us for this passage, sir. He is determined to recapture his prisoner, and if we fall on the pirate Tuke his chances of doing so are good. From his point of view.”
“Quite. Tuke hanged and this renegade restored to his chains may in some way make up for what has happened already.” He paused, waiting to see if Bolitho would take up the bait. When he remained silent he snapped, “When do you expect a landfall?”
“If this wind holds it will be under three weeks. If not, it could take two months.”
It was pointless to compare the sailing ability of the unmatched vessels, just as it was dangerous to be too optimistic. Raymond was waiting for a weakness. A flaw.
Raymond pulled out his watch and said, “Tell my servant to bring some wine, Mr Borlase.” He looked at Bolitho coolly. “I am sure my wife would wish to join us here also.” He glanced around the cabin. “Yes, I am certain of it.”
Bolitho looked away. He should have expected it. Raymond’s top card.
To Borlase it may have sounded a formal or expected invitation. Out of custom or courtesy. The senior official sharing his wine with the captain of a naval escort.
But the way his voice had lingered on the word here. Bolitho needed no other key to his reasoning. For here was the cabin where Bolitho had met with his wife. Had held her to drive away the terror and despair of the Eurotas’s capture. Had kissed the cruel burn on her shoulder. Where they had loved with all passion and simplicity.
The screen door opened and she stepped into the cabin. Despite her daily walks on deck she looked pale, and there were shadows under her eyes which filled Bolitho with pain.
“A visitor, my dear.” Raymond half rose and sat down again.
A red-coated captain of the militia sent as guards for the convicts had followed Borlase into the cabin too, and was beaming at Bolitho and the wine, totally ignorant of the real drama around him. Another witness.
Bolitho crossed the cabin and took her hand. As he put it to his lips he lifted his gaze to her face.
She said softly, “It is good to see you again, Captain.” She tossed her head. “It has been too long.” She looked at her husband as she spoke. “Under any circumstance!”
Borlase said, “A toast to the King!” He sounded as if his neckcloth was strangling him. He at least guessed what was happening.
“Indeed.” Raymond sipped at his glass. “Perhaps after I have completed my affairs out here the Palace of St James will be ready to offer me an appointment which will keep me suitably employed in London.”
Bolitho watched him. Again the hint was there for Borlase and the militia captain to note. That Raymond was a man of influence, with more advancement on the way. Not one to cross or deny obedience.
Surprisingly, he thought at that moment of his dead brother Hugh. Always hasty to react, always the leader. In this instance he would most likely have searched out some “point of honour” on which to challenge Raymond to a duel. He would not have stopped to consider the consequences, the risk to all parties concerned. To him it would have been the simplest solution. Swords or pistols, he was more than a match with either.
He realized that Viola had crossed the cabin and had deliberately turned her back towards Raymond.
She asked, “Do you know of these islands, Captain?” But her eyes were exploring his face, his expression. Consuming him with their need.
“A little. My sailing master is better versed.” He dropped his voice. “Please take care, once ashore. It is a cruel climate, even for one as used to travel as yourself.”
“I am sorry, I did not hear that?” Raymond stood up and lurched against the desk as the ship wallowed steeply. Then he added, “I think the wind may be rising, Captain.”
Bolitho looked at him, his eyes hard. “Aye. Mr Borlase, would you signal for my gig.”
He hesitated by the door. Knowing he was beaten, and that the battle had not even been joined as yet.
Raymond nodded curtly. “I hope the wind does stay fair.” He smiled. “Why not see the gallant captain to his boat, m’dear?”
On deck the heat was oppressive, and the sea had risen slightly to a lively breeze. Tempest was standing to windward, her sails flapping in disorder as she lay hove to and awaited his return. The French ship was already well away, her courses and topsails hardening to the wind, and to all intents still set on her original destination.
Bolitho saw all and none of these things.
He stood by the bulwark, looking at her eyes, watching her hair breaking free and streaming into the wind like fluid bronze.
“I cannot stand it, Viola. I feel like a useless traitor. A buffoon.”
She reached out and laid a hand on his cuff. “He is baiting you. But you are so much stronger.” She made to touch his face and then lowered her arm. “My darling Richard. I cannot bear to see you so sad, so despairing. I am still full of happiness that we found each other again. Surely we could not be parted again. Forever? ” She raised her chin. “I would rather die.”
“Boat’s alongside, sir!”
Raymond’s feet scraped across the deck, and Bolitho saw him watching from below the poop.
Just to snatch her in his arms and be damned to Raymond and all else. Even as he thought it, Bolitho dismissed the dream. Raymond would use all he had to keep her out here. Like a beautiful prisoner. A possession.
Bolitho raised his hat, his hair ruffling across his forehead. “Rest easy, my love. I do not intend to strike just yet!”
Then with a nod to Borlase he climbed down into the tossing boat.
8. Short Respite
BOLITHO’S estimate for a landfall at the largest island of the Levu Group was closer than he had imagined, the total passage from Sydney having taken only twenty-six days. The first few hours at anchor in the mushroom- shaped bay were busy for everyone aboard the Tempest, for apart from the importance of selecting a safe anchorage with room to swing and little chance of dragging in a sudden gale, the company were further hindered by a growing collection of native craft from this and surrounding islands.
They were different from other islanders which Tempest had encountered. Their skins were paler, their noses less flat, and their bodies for the most part devoid of violent tattoos and tribal scars. The girls who crowded the canoes, or swam happily around the frigate’s stem as she glided to her anchorage, caused plenty of comment amongst the seamen, and were obviously well aware of the interest they were arousing.
As Scollay, the master-at-arms, remarked sourly, “There’ll be trouble with that lot, you see!” But he was quick to wave and grin with the best of them.
Herrick came aft as soon as the anchor was down and reported to Bolitho on the quarterdeck.
Bolitho moved his glass past the anchored Eurotas and trained it slowly along the shoreline and creamy-white beach. Low surf, lush green trees which held the shade to the water’s edge, and bright blue water. Beyond, partly hidden by haze or low cloud, the island’s tallest point shone like polished slate, towering above the other hills and forest like a perfect pyramid. It was like some part of paradise.
This, and probably nothing more, could have caused the Bounty’s company to mutiny. How different from the slums and seaports from which so many sailors were drawn. Warmth, friendly and hospitable natives, abundant food. It was a margin between hell and heaven.
He steadied the glass on the settlement. Here, the paradise was less evident.
Herrick was also looking at the stout wooden palisades and blockhouses, the larger building beyond the outer perimeter with the flag above it. There were places like this all over the Pacific, the East and West Indies, and as far north as China, some said.
“Well sited.” It was all Herrick could find to describe his feelings. He was probably thinking, like Bolitho, of Viola
