14. BURDEN OF COMMAND
The Hyperion's reappearance in St. Clar excited little attention or interest, and as she lay at her anchor astern of the flagship it was evident that the townspeople had more on their minds than the arrival of the ship which had started a train of events over which they had no control.
The Monarchist flags still fluttered bravely from buildings and headland, but in the narrow streets the air was heavy with speculation and apprehension. Occasionally people halted in their stride or broke off short in conversation as the distant rumble of artillery or the racing wheels of a gun-carriage reminded them of the sudden proximity of danger.
Within minutes of anchoring a launch had come alongside and Fanshawe, Pomfret's harrassed aide, had arrived to accompany Cheney Seton ashore.
On the slow boat back from Cozar Bolitho had discussed only briefly what they should do. He had not wanted to spoil the peace and new-found happiness, and when the moment of parting had arrived he had still been unwilling to allow her to accept the full responsibility of facing Pomfret alone. But that was the one thing about which she was quite adamant. As he had watched her helped down into the boat he had felt something like pain, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from following her.
That was three days ago, and as he threw himself into the business of assisting with the port's defences he expected to hear something from Pomfret at every minute of each dragging hour. And there was plenty do do. Men had to be found to crew a hastily commandeered flotilla of fishing boats and luggers to be used to patrol the countless coves and minute beaches around the inlet and prevent any attempt at infiltration or surprise attack from an unseen enemy. Unseen except by Cobban's pickets and the wide-flung sections of Spanish cavalry.
The news was not encouraging. It was said that heavy guns had been sighted along the inland road, and never a day passed without some clash between the patrols. A local school had been taken over as a field hospital, and plans were in hand to introduce food rationing should the enemy presence tighten into a full-scale siege.
Each day when he returned wearily to the sanctuary of his quarters Bolitho waited for news from Pomfret. Then when the ship fell quiet for another night he would take out the one note he had received from the girl. and go over it again as if for the first time. She was not staying at Pomfrets headquarters, but had accepted his suggestion to take up residence with the town's mayor and family, at least for the present. She had ended with the words:… from my window 1 can see your ship. My heart is there with you.
Bolitho knew that it was right they should not meet just yet. It was likely that the news of what he had done would spread over the whole port soon enough, but there was no point in adding fuel to whatever fire Pomfret chose to make.
On the third day the summons came. 'All captains and officers in charge of troops to report to field headquarters immediately.'
In the afternoon sunlight the house looked less imposing, and Bolitho noticed that the marines at the gates no longer watched passers-by with indifference, but fingered their bayoneted muskets and stayed close to the guardhouse. It was rumoured that some of the townspeople had already fled to the hills, either out of fear for their families' safety or to await a more prudent time to change their allegiance. Bolitho could not find it in his heart to blame them. Pomfret had drawn an unwavering line between his own forces and the people of St. Clar. Their resentment would change to something worse if the news did not improve soon.
Some of the servants were packing china and glass into wooden cases as he entered the wide doorway, and he guessed that the house's rightful owner was making sure of his possessions before it was too late.
An orderly ushered Bolitho into a darkly panelled study where the others were already assembled. He recognised the other captains who, apart from the two sloop commanders, were all present. The sloops were busy patrolling the northern approaches and keeping a wary eye on the coast road, down which a full-scale attack might come.
Pomfret was standing beside a desk listening to Colonel Cobban and a tall, haughty-looking Spaniard whom he vaguely recognised as Don Joaquin Salgado, the senior Allied officer. There were various representatives of the military, and two or three marines. Not enough to withstand the whole weight of France, he thought grimly.
Fanshawe whispered across Pomfret's shoulder and he glanced quickly towards Bolitho. Just a few seconds, and in that brief exchange Bolitho recognised nothing in the admiral's pale, protruding eyes. Nothing at all.
Pomfret said crisply, 'Be seated, gentlemen.' He tapped one foot impatiently until the noise and shuffling had ceased. 'I have received despatches from Cozar, brought by Hyperion three days ago.' Again the merest glance. But ice-cold and without recognition. 'It seems that we are not to receive the military reinforcements which were expected.' He allowed the murmur of voices to subside before continuing, 'But they will come, gentlemen, they will come.' He waved one hand across his map. 'This campaign in St. Clar could be the making of our stepping-stone to Paris! As more ships and men are made available, we will cut the soft underbelly of France until the enemy sues for peace!' His eyes flashed as he looked round the room. 'And we will deny them that privilege! There will be no peace or parley this time. It will be victory, absolute and final!'
Someone said, 'Hear, hear!' But apart from the lone voice the room's atmosphere was completely still.
Bolitho turned to watch the nearest window. The dusty panes were glittering in the sunlight, and he could see large flies buzzing unconcernedly amongst the awvell-kept flower.beds. Now, in Cornwall, they would be thinking about the coming winter. Laying in fresh logs, and fodder for the animals. In the country winter was an enemy to be held at bay with no less determination than they needed here in St. Clar. He thought suddenly of the girl, as she would look when he showed her around the old grey house below the castle. The house would live again. It would not just be a place for memories, but a home. A real home.
Pomfret was saying, 'Patrols must be maintained at all times, but no attempt to force a major combat will be entertained until we get more troops and artillery, or unless there is no possible alternative.'
He nodded to Cobban and then slumped down in a highbacked gilt chair, his eyes distant and brooding. Cobban rose to his feet, his boots squeaking in the rich carpet.
'Nothing much to add. My men are ready and eager to fight. We have had a few casualties already, but that was to be expected. Watch and guards's the motto, gentlemen! We will hold this port and make the enemy wish he had never chosen to oppose us!'
Don Salgado did not look up as he r%marked casually, 'Fine words, Colonel. But I am nimpressed!'•He toyed with the ornate frogging on his yellow tunic, his face apparently deep in thought. 'I am of the cavalry. I am not used to skulking along hedgerows, or being shot at by some ragged marksman I cannot even see!'
Cobban glared down at him, his carefully chosen words broken by the sudden interruption. He said pompously, 'It is not your concern, if I may say so.'
The Spaniard's dark eyes lifted slowly and fixed on Cobban's red face. 'Brave talk! Perhaps you have overlooked one important point? I command over half of this force, not you!' His voice seemed to sting. 'It was agreed that I would subordinate my infantry and cavalry to your overall command, provided,' the word hung motionless in the air, 'provided the English sent reinforcement!' He gave an eloquent shrug. 'Your Admiral Hood cannot succeed at Toulon with two regiments. So how can you hope to do better with a mere handful of foot soldiers!' He smiled calmly. 'I trust you will remember that when next you decide to tell me my duty here!'
Pomfret seemed to come alive from his trance. 'That will do, gentlemen! The town is ringed by the enemy. There will be harder times to come. But I am assured that massive aid is on the way even as you sit here bickering like women!'
Bolitho watched him closely. If Pomfret was lying to ease away the tension he was doing so very convincingly. He recalled with sudden clarity something Herrick had said of Pomfret's past and of what this whole campaign could mean to him. He had to succeed, and would suffer no interference or uncertainty amongst his small force. He thought too of Sir William Moresby who had died on Hyperion's quarterdeck below the Cozar battery. He had been a different man entirely. Unsure and uncertain of everything but his plain duty. Pomfret at least was single-minded to a point of fanaticism.
The admiral said, 'It seems that everyone has had his say.' The pale eyes flickered around the room. 'Questions?'
'Captain Greig of the frigate Bat rose to his feet. 'But if the reinforcements do not come, sir, I cannot see what…'.
He got no further. Pomfret must have been holding himself in check for some time, and the young captain's
