Hardacre seemed to read his mind. “I brought stability to the islands. Before I came the chiefs had fought each other for generations. Stolen women, taken heads, adopted barbarous customs which even now make me breathe a little faster to think of them. You are a sailor. You know these things. But I made them look to me, forced them to trust me, and from that small beginning I founded the first peace they had enjoyed. Ever. So if someone breaks it, he or they must be punished. Instantly. Finally. It is the only way. And if I began to use their trust to cause havoc amongst them, by allowing you or the Frenchman’s cannon to smash down their primitive world, these islands would revert to blood and hate.”
Bolitho thought of the laughing, supple girls, the sense of freedom and simplicity. Like the shadow of a reef, it was hiding what lay just below the surface.
Hardacre remarked absently, “You know of course that Narval’s captain is more concerned with recapturing a prisoner of France than he is in killing Tuke.” He nodded. “I see from your face you had already thought as much. You should grow a beard, Captain, to hide your feelings!”
“What you were saying earlier about white women.”
Hardacre chuckled. “That too you could not hide. The lady means something to you, eh?” He held up his hand. “Say nothing. I have severed myself from such problems. But if you want her to continue in health, I suggest you send her back to England.” He smiled. “Where she belongs.”
There was a commotion of voices and hurrying feet in the yard below the window, and moments later Herrick, with Lieutenant Finney panting in his wake, strode into the room.
Herrick said, “The guard boat found a small outrigger canoe, sir.” He ignored Hardacre and his officer. “There was a young native aboard. Bleeding badly. The surgeon says he is lucky to be alive.” He glanced at Hardacre for the first time. “It would appear, sir, that North Island in this group was attacked by Tuke and two schooners, and is now in their hands. This young lad managed to escape because he knew of the canoe. Tuke burned all the other boats when he attacked.”
Hardacre clasped his big hands together as if in prayer. “God, their boats are their living!” He turned to Herrick. “And you are?”
Herrick regarded him coldly. “First lieutenant, His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Tempest.”
Bolitho said quietly, “So it seems you do need us after all.”
“North Island is the hardest to defend, its chief the least willing to learn from past mistakes.” Hardacre was thinking aloud. “But I know how to seek him out.” He looked at Finney. “Muster the men, and take them to the schooner. I will leave immediately.”
Bolitho said gently, “No, you will stay here. I will take the schooner in company with my command, and with your permission some of your men and a few reliable guides.” He added, “You will serve your islanders the better if you stay here.” He saw his words sink in.
Hardacre nodded his massive head. “Raymond, you mean.” He frowned. “No matter. I understand, even if you cannot say it.”
Bolitho said to Herrick, “Recall the shore parties, Thomas.
News travels fast in the islands apparently. We must travel faster. The wind is still with us, so we shall clear the anchorage and reefs before dusk.”
Herrick nodded, absorbed in the only world he understood and respected. “Aye, sir, Lady Luck permitting.”
He hurried away, and Bolitho heard him shouting for his boat’s crew.
“A resourceful lieutenant, Captain.” Hardacre watched him grimly. “I could use him here.”
“Use Thomas Herrick?” Bolitho picked up his sword. “I’ve not seen any man, including his captain, do that as yet!”
He strode from the room, leaving the bearded giant and the two silent girls to their thoughts.
Then he stopped dead as he heard her voice. “Richard!”
He turned, holding her against him as she ran down the narrow wooden stairs. She felt hot and shaking through her gown, and her eyes were desperate as she asked, “Are you leaving? When will you return?”
He held her tenderly, putting aside the mounting demands and questions which only he could answer.
“There has been an attack. Tuke.” He felt her shoulders go rigid. “I may be able to run him to ground.” In the courtyard he heard Finney bawling orders, the clatter of boots and muskets. “The sooner I can do it, the quicker you will be free of this place.”
She studied him, stroking his face with her hand as if trying to mould it in her memory.
“Just be careful, Richard. All the time. For me. For us.”
He guided her back into the shade and walked into the harsh glare again.
Raymond was already in the courtyard, he must have run from his room to find what was happening for himself.
He snapped, “You were going to tell me, Captain?”
Bolitho looked at him gravely. “Yes.”
He touched his hat, the movement needing all his selfcontrol. “Now, sir, if I may go to my ship?” He turned away, seeing the brief twist of her gown on a stairway above the yard as she watched him leave.
Allday already had the gig prepared, the crew ready.
Bolitho sat in the boat and tried to think clearly as the oars churned the water alive. Tuke, de Barras, Raymond, they all seemed to revolve and blend into one enemy. A last barrier between him and Viola.
Borlase met him at the entry port.
“I have reported back to duty, sir.”
“So I see.”
Bolitho looked past him at the mingled brown figures of the islanders, the familiar ones of his own seamen and marines.
“Clear the ship, Mr Borlase. Then let me know when the schooner is ready to make sail.” He saw the confusion in his eyes. “Come along! Let us not be all day!”
Herrick came hurrying towards him. “I am sorry I was not here to greet you, sir. You must have the wind under your gig!”
Bolitho nodded vaguely. “I’ll want you to take command of the schooner, Thomas. Use the native crew and Hardacre’s militia. But take Prideaux and twenty marines.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Action, Thomas. What a way to begin the New Year, eh?”
Herrick stared at him as if he had gone mad. Then he nodded. “Of course, sir. Tomorrow is the first day of seventeen hundred and ninety. I have been checking the log on each and every day and had forgotten all about it.” He strode towards the quarterdeck ladder calling for the boatswain.
Aft by the taffrail Bolitho paused to collect his thoughts into some semblance of order. Another year. He had hoped it might be different. The beautiful surroundings and quiet shore made it harder still to accept that she was here also, and denied him. He sighed deeply. And tomorrow, because circumstances insisted, they might be fighting for their lives yet again.
He watched the boats pulling from different angles towards the ship. The carpenter’s crew and the purser, the guard boat and the surgeon, who had probably been ashore to examine the local vegetation.
Some of his men had been thinking more of other distractions, and almost everyone had expected at least a few days and nights at anchor.
He shaded his eyes to look up at the masthead pendant. Still whipping out strongly enough.
He started to walk towards the companionway. As captain of a man-of-war you must earn respect. But to obtain and hold popularity was somewhat harder.
Bolitho paced deliberately up and down the weather side of the quarterdeck, his mind going over the sketchy plans while his eye wandered towards the nearest islands as they moved slowly abeam. Their hills and crags were painted like dull copper by a magnificent sunset.
Ahead, just off the lee bow, was Hardacre’s little schooner, and beyond her a deeper curtain of shadow to mark the closeness of night.
On the opposite side of the deck his officers chatted quietly, and watched the view as they discussed their ideas of what would happen.
It was strange not to see Herrick moving about the deck, or hear his familiar voice. In some ways his absence was a blessing, and allowed Bolitho to stay remote, more able to contain his thoughts.
He heard Lakey murmuring with his two mates, and guessed he was repeating his earlier doubts and anxieties
