Miller looked up from his efforts with needle and palm. “I’ve got some canvas left over, sir.” He held a ragged piece about the size of a hammock across his knees. “It’d make a fine shelter for you, ma’am.”
She smiled. “I’ll not refuse such kindness.” She ran one finger around the neck of her gown. “It is strange that it should be hotter on water than on land!”
Miller chuckled. “Lord love you, ma’am, we’ll make a seaman of you yet!”
Some of the men in the other boat nodded and grinned like unshaven galley slaves. Bolitho watched them, and then touched her shoulder.
He said quietly, “You are worth a lot more than muscle. You make them smile, when they must be thinking of nothing but escape and sleep.”
Bolitho looked at the sun. “Take the tiller, Mr Pyper. I will have a turn on the oars.” To the marine he said, “Go aft and attend to the injured.” He waited for the man to look at him. “Then examine the weapons, and make sure our powder is protected.”
The two boats drifted apart, suddenly very small and frail on the great expanse of blue water.
Across Allday’s broad shoulder he saw her watching him, her eyes shaded by her straw hat, speaking to him as if with her voice.
Pyper cleared his throat, nervous, even with so much before him, at the prospect of giving orders to his captain.
“Out oars!” He looked down at the little compass. “Give way all! ”
With his shoulders propped against the side, the wounded marine squinted up at Viola Raymond. Like everyone else, he thought of her as “the Captain’s Lady”; it had a good ring to it. She was good to him. Had watched over his wounded leg better than any surgeon, and was as gentle as an angel. He could not distinguish her face because of the sun’s glare around the brim of her hat, but he could see the grime on her gown and shoes which she had gathered from the pier. A fresh pain lanced through his leg and he moved uneasily.
She asked, “How is it, Billy-boy?”
The marine grimaced. “Fair, ma’am. Just cramp.”
The other injured man, Evans the painter, said nothing. He was watching the woman’s ankle below her gown and imagined the smoothness of her leg beyond. Then he thought of his wife in Cardiff, and wondered how she was managing without him. She was a good girl, and had given him four fine daughters. He closed his eyes and let himself drift into sleep.
By Pyper’s feet, Blissett made sure the powder and shot were well stowed, and then looked up at the sleeping Evans. It was suddenly clear to him. As if a voice had shouted it in his ear. Evans had started to die. The realization frightened him, and he did not know why. Blissett had seen many men go. In battle, in brawls, or merely because they were taken by one bout of illness or another. But seeing Evans’s face, and knowing what he did, was like falling on another man’s secret, and it disturbed him deeply.
Behind Bolitho, the American called Jenner pulled and thrust easily with his oar, his mind lifting away on one of his many imaginary journeys. When he was paid off he would buy a farm in New England. Miles from anywhere. And settle down with a girl. He tried to picture her, and then started to create his perfect mate in his imagination.
Next was Orlando, using his oar with clumsy precision, taking his stroke from the others. He ducked as Miller stepped over his oar to take his place in the bow, his sailmaking put aside until the next rest. For with only five oars in use it needed all their strength. Miller laid back on his loom and grinned at the sky. It was like a fight. And to Jack Miller that was meat and drink in one.
And so it went on, under a pitiless glare, or partly masked in low haze, the two boats crawled like ungainly beetles. Men changed round at the oars, rations of biscuit and a cube of salt meat were issued and washed down with a pannikin of water from the barrico.
Release from heat and torment came with the night, but their efforts to make steady progress continued as before.
His back aching from the unfamiliar oar, his palms blistered, Bolitho sat at the tiller, Viola’s head cushioned across his knees. Once she gripped him with her fingers and moaned softly in her sleep as Bolitho brushed the hair from her mouth.
Pyper had taken one of the oars, and Miller was bailing water from the bottom of the boat. They sounded worn out, half beaten already. He tightened his jaw. And this was the first full day.
After the cutter’s pitching motion the firm sand at the top of the beach felt as if it too was moving.
Bolitho watched Keen and Miller making sure both boats were properly secured, and heard Sergeant Quare ordering lookouts to either side of the small cove. Again, it looked and felt idyllic. Lush greenery with the regular swish and gurgle of breakers along the pale sand. But he knew how deceptive it could be, just as he knew of the vital need for watchfulness.
Pyper came to him, his face seared by the sun. “Shall we unload the boats, sir?”
“Not yet.” Bolitho trained his small telescope on the far side of the cove, suddenly tense. But what he had thought to be a plume of smoke proved to be nothing more dangerous than a swaying cloud of insects. “We will wait a while and see if we are discovered here.”
He wanted to unload the boats, if only to lighten them and stop their unnecessary pounding in the surf. But he felt uneasy. Apprehensive. He tried to tell himself he was being over-cautious, that the need for rest before the challenge of the final haul to Rutara was more important.
He saw Evans and a seaman called Colter lying beneath some shady palms. The other injured man, the marine, was propped against a tree, helping Viola to unpack some dressings. The rest of the small party moved about restlessly, feeling their way, recovering their wits after the hard work at the oars. He watched her smiling at Evans, wiping his forehead and trying to make him comfortable. Looking back over their day and two nights in an open boat, he was deeply moved. She had not once complained, nor had she asked for the slightest privilege. Before a boat half full of strained and anxious men she had performed her own needs with only Miller’s crude screen to offer a pretence of privacy. Now she was on the beach with the wounded men. If she knew Evans was dying she was hiding her dismay very well.
Quare strode across the sand. “All clear, sir.” He gestured, along the curving wall of trees. “I’ll put the hands to work getting nuts.” He forced a wry smile. “I could manage a gallon of Devon ale right now, sir.”
Keen joined them. “Shall we start a fire, sir?” He rubbed his hands and gave a great yawn. “Maybe we could kill a bird or two. Frazer had the fine sense to bring a cooking pot with him from the village.”
Bolitho nodded. “Directly. Shellfish, and some cubes of salt pork, any sort of fowl, too. It would not go down well at an admiral’s table, but something hot, no matter how doubtful, will do our people a power of good.”
He sat down and rested his head in his hands, grappling with the problems of his journey, the mounting strain it would make on all of them. He looked at her again. Especially on a woman. Yet in some ways she had more inner reserves and courage than any of them.
He heard a man laugh, and another respond with a stream of obscenity as a coconut was dropped on to his head. The luckless man on the ground swung round and gasped, “I begs yer pardon, ma’am!”
She laughed at his confusion. “My father was a soldier. I’ve heard worse from him!”
Her words struck another note for Bolitho. How little he really knew about her. She had gained more knowledge of him by reading the Gazette and speaking with his superiors, and yet in five years of separation his love had gained rather than faded.
Allday trudged towards the boats carrying a net of coconuts. He paused, drew out his cutlass and then selected a nut with great care.
“Here, Captain.” The blade flashed in the sunlight, lopping off the top of the nut like a scalp. “A local brew!” It seemed to amuse him.
Bolitho raised it to his lips and let the milk run over his tongue.
“Thank you. It is like…” He put the nut on the sand between his legs, his mind racing. “Allday.” Bolitho’s tone made him stiffen. “Do not turn. On the other side of the cove. Right by the water. I saw a face.”
Allday nodded and called to Frazer, “Big Tom! Put these in the boat.” He turned and walked back up the beach, pausing only by Viola Raymond to pass a brief message.
Bolitho stood up slowly and stretched his arms. There it was again. A quick movement amongst the thick fronds, the sun’s glitter on something bright.
It was taking too long. Men were walking back towards the water, stiff-legged, like players in a travelling band of mummers.
