He said, “If the Frenchman, Genin, can rouse the company against that tyrant of a captain, there’s nothing to prevent him telling them the same about us?” He pouted his lower lip. “But I still don’t see why.”
“It will be his bargain with Tuke. The ship’s authority and Genin’s safe passage set against Tuke’s own reward. Supply ships, gold, patronage, it matters little. What does and will count is his need of a safe and powerful base.”
Herrick nodded glumly. “And there is nothing to prevent it. ’Cept us.”
“Aye, Thomas. One frigate against a flotilla. Our depleted company against seasoned, maltreated veterans.”
There was a cry from overhead, and feet shuffled impatiently. Herrick was needed, but he was unable to break the spell of Bolitho’s icy determination as he added, “But we will prevent it. We will use what we have to destroy the pirate and everyone who stands with him. In months, if not already, we may be at war with France again, and I have no intention of allowing Narval the pleasure of fighting us in the future.” He looked away. “I should have seen it before. Much earlier. But I was like Le Chaumareys, too sure of my own capacity.” He smiled, but the warmth avoided his eyes. “Go to your men, Thomas. I will be up when you begin the drills.”
Herrick replied simply, “I have not spoken before, sir, but I owe it to you now, and to the lady more than ever. I was wrong to criticize, and had no place to act as I did. Your need of each other is made so plain to me now, for I see what her loss has meant. I am sorry, not just as a loyal subordinate, but still, I hope, as a firm friend.”
Bolitho nodded, the lock of hair dropping over his eyes. “My wrong was the greater. I should have taken your advice those five years back, and again just months ago. Because of my want, I put her life in danger. Because she trusted me, she is now dead.” He turned his back. “Please leave me.”
Herrick opened his mouth and closed it again. He had never seen him like this before. Pale, despite his tanned skin, his eyes ringed with shadows like a man possessed.
On deck he could not even find reassurance in the way that the company was arranged to allow for the shortages.
He saw Blissett standing with the marines at the hammock nettings, his musket at his side. Apart from looking thinner, he showed little sign of his ordeal.
He remarked, “I am glad to see you well, Corporal Blissett.”
Blissett beamed. “Sir!” For him, life had suddenly expanded. Another step.
Herrick walked to the quarterdeck rail, the last heavy drops of rain tapping down on men and sails alike. It would soon be as hot as hell. He glanced at the upturned faces on the gundeck, the bare-backed topmen who waited on either gangway ready to swarm aloft and loose the topgallants when ordered. A good company, he thought. As mixed as a crowd at a prize-fight, but none the worse for it. They had somehow come together. Learned to accept, if not agree with, the manner in which they served. He felt he should say something. Tell them just how much they would have to give and withstand if Bolitho was right.
There was a step on the deck behind him and Bolitho said, “There seems to be a delay, Mr Herrick?”
Herrick looked at his eyes, grey and steady, but something else as well. Challenging, or was it pleading?
He touched his hat. “I thought you’d be staying below for a while, sir.”
Bolitho looked slowly across the silent men and the ship herself as she laid over on the larboard tack.
“My place is here.”
He rested his hands on the rail, feeling the ship trembling through it, passing the unending messages to anyone who would listen. He recalled Viola’s expression when he had explained how a ship performed and responded. At first he had been almost shy, a boy again, as he had described what to him was his everyday life. And she had not been bored, nor had she been politely interested. In time they could have shared it. Planted something as firm and as lasting as the old house in Falmouth. But now…
He said abruptly, “Carry on, Mr Herrick. Hands aloft and loose t’gallants, if you please.”
The shrouds and ratlines became alive with scurrying figures, and the urgent shouts of petty officers shattered the calm and sent the sea-birds screaming across Tempest’s bubbling wake.
Bolitho began to pace up and down the weather side, a vital presence, and to all but those who knew him intimately, as outwardly calm as ever.
But each step was painful, and although his men bustled around him, or slithered down backstays to attend further tasks, and while canvas boomed and hardened to the wind, Captain Richard Bolitho walked entirely alone.
Tempest made a fast run south to the Levu Islands, and although they sighted no craft larger than an occasional canoe, Bolitho had the feeling that every mile of their progress had been watched.
He knew that most of the ship’s company were trying to keep their distance and avoid his eye. In many ways the isolation amongst his closely packed world suited him, and yet he was equally conscious of his responsibility to them. Especially with what might be lying ahead. Tomorrow. Next week.
To be feared by the men whose lives he held in his hands was totally repugnant to him. He saw the glances, searching for his daily reaction to their needs. Sail and gun drill. Working aloft or about the decks, he knew they watched after he had passed them by. Concerned, or merely curious. Envious, despite his grief, for all his privileges compared with their spartan existence.
On the last day, as Tempest worked slowly towards the mushroom-shaped bay, her courses brailed up and two leadsmen in the chains, he watched the island taking shape in the early light, very aware of his own mixed feelings.
The masthead had reported smoke soon after dawn, and as the light strengthened over the humped hills and brought reflections back to the water, he saw a drifting pall above the bay like a low cloud, deep-bellied with rain.
Herrick said, “From the settlement by the look of it, sir.”
Bolitho said, “It would seem so.”
He examined his feelings again. Did he want to find Raymond already dead? Or was he merely seeing the smoke as proof that he was right? About Tuke and the Narval, above all about his own part yet to come.
He said abruptly, “Give me a glass.” He took it from Midshipman Romney and trained it on the land.
As the telescope’s eye passed over the bay he saw the remains of Eurotas glistening above the surface like decayed teeth. He had almost forgotten about it, and the sight cut into him like a dirk. It brought back too many memories. Of that night they had left the bay, more afraid of being fired on by Raymond’s orders than the ordeal which they were only just beginning.
He moved the glass until he found the settlement. The smoke was from some outbuildings, probably the ones which had been built for the convicts. There were several holes in the palisades too, the work of heavy guns.
But the flag was still there. He closed the glass, angry with his acceptance. Never again.
“Send the hands to quarters, Mr Herrick. We will anchor two cables from the pier. I need to be able to leave with haste.”
He shut his ears to the squeal of calls, the immediate rush of feet along gangways and decks. On the forecastle, peering over the bows, was Borlase with the anchor party. He turned, startled by the sudden commotion, and Bolitho wondered briefly if he thought his captain was going mad, or had suffered so much in the open boat that he was beyond a proper decision.
Herrick hurried across the quarterdeck and touched his hat.
“Hands at quarters, sir.” He asked, “Shall we clear for action?”
“Not yet.”
Bolitho lifted the glass again and saw several bare-backed figures ducking through the bushes above the nearest beach. So Tinah’s village was not entirely destroyed. He found he was giving thanks, grateful they had been spared.
He lowered the glass and saw Keen on the gundeck, shading his eyes to stare ashore. Thinking of his beautiful Malua. Remembering the dream.
Lakey cleared his throat noisily. “We’re losing the wind, sir.”
Bolitho turned and saw the land sliding out to shield them, and heard the topsails banging restlessly overhead.
“Very well. We will anchor now.”
A long pull for the boats’ crews. Equally, it gave Tempest’s guns command of the whole bay.
“Man th’ lee braces! Hands wear ship!”
