The Flag Captain

marines.

The man named Tom said sharply, “We’ll go aft and you can meet the cap’n.” It was impossible to see his expression. “But no tricks.”

Bolitho walked aft and ducked beneath the poop. In spite of serving in two ships-of-the-line in succession, he had never gotten used to their spacious headroom. Perhaps, even after all this time, he still yearned for the independence and dash of a frigate.

Two armed seamen watched his approach, and after a further hesitation shuffled their feet to attention.

“That’s right, lads, show some respect, eh?” The delegate was enjoying himself.

He threw open the cabin door and followed Bolitho inside. It was well lit by three swaying lanterns, but the stern windows were shuttered, and the air was moist, even humid. A seaman, armed with a musket, was leaning against the bulkhead, and seated

on the bench seat beneath the stern windows was the Auriga’s captain.

He was fairly young, about twenty-six, Bolitho imagined, with the single epaulette on his right shoulder to indicate he held less than three years’ seniority as captain. He had sharp, finely defined features, but his eyes were set close together so that his nose seemed out of proportion. He stared at Bolitho for several seconds and then jumped to his feet.

The delegate said quickly, “This is Captain Bolitho.” He waited as the emotions changed on the other man’s face. “He is alone. No grand force of bullocks to save you, I’m afraid.”

Bolitho removed his hat and placed it on the table. “You are Captain Brice? Then I shall tell you at once that I am here without authority other than my own.”

Briefly he saw something like shock in the other man’s eyes before a shutter fell and he became composed again. Composed yet watchful, like a wary animal.

Brice replied, “My officers are under guard. The marines have not yet joined the ship. They were due to be sent direct from Plymouth.” He darted a look at the delegate. “Otherwise Mr Gates here would be singing a different tune, damn his eyes!”

The delegate said quietly, “Now, sir, none of that, please. I’d have you dancing at the gratings right now if I had my way! But there’ll be time enough for that later, eh?”

Bolitho said, “I should like to talk with Captain Brice alone.”

He waited, expecting an argument, but the delegate replied calmly, “Suit yourself. It’ll do no good, and you know it.” He left the cabin with the armed seaman, slamming the door and whistling indifferently as he went.

Brice opened his mouth to speak but Bolitho said shortly, “There is little time, so I will be as brief as I can. This is a very serious matter, and if your ship is handed to the enemy there is no saying what repercussions may result. I have nothing to

bargain with, and little to offer to ensure these men are brought back under command.”

The other man stared at him. “But, sir, are you not the flag captain? One show of force, a full-scale attack, and these scum would soon lose the heart for mutiny!”

Bolitho shook his head. “The new squadron has not been formed as yet. Every ship is elsewhere, or too far to be any use. My own is at Falmouth. She could be on the moon for all the help she can be to you.” He hardened his voice. “I have heard some of the grievances and I can find little if any sympathy for your personal position.”

If he had struck Brice the effect could not have been more startling. He jumped to his feet, his thin mouth working with anger.

“That is a damnable thing to say! I have worked this ship to the best of my ability, and I have a record of prizes to prove it. I have been plagued with the scum of the gutters, and officers either too young or too lazy to enforce anything like the standard I expect.”

Bolitho kept his face impassive. “Except for your senior, I understand?”

Before Brice could reply he rapped, “And kindly sit down! When you address me you will keep a civil tongue in your head!” He was shouting and the fact surprised him. It must be infectious, he thought. But his sudden display of anger seemed to have had the right effect.

Brice sank on to the seat and said heavily, “My first lieutenant is a good officer, sir. A firm man, but that…”

Bolitho finished it for him. “That is what you expect, eh?”

Beyond the bulkhead some voices were raised in argument and then died away just as quickly.

He added, “Your behaviour, were you now in port, would make you eligible for court-martial.” He saw the shot go home. The

sudden clenching of Brice’s fingers. “Surely after the affair at Spithead you should have taken some heed of their requirements? Good God, man, they deserve justice if nothing else.”

Brice regarded him angrily. “They got what they deserved.”

Bolitho recalled Taylor’s words. An unhappy ship. It was not difficult to imagine the hell this man must have made her.

“Then I cannot help you.”

Brice’s eyes gleamed with sudden malice. “They’ll never allow you to leave the ship now!”

“Perhaps not.” Bolitho stood up and walked to the opposite side. “But there will be a mist in the bay at dawn. When it clears your ship will be facing something more than words and threats. I have no doubt that your people will fight no matter what the odds, for by then it will be too late for second thoughts, too late for compromise.”

Brice said, “I hope I see them die!”

“I doubt that, Captain. In afterlife maybe. For you and I will be dangling high enough for the best view of all.”

“They wouldn’t dare!” But Brice sounded less sure now.

“Would they not?” Bolitho leaned across the table until they were only two feet apart. “You have tormented them beyond all reason, have acted more like a demented fiend than a King’s officer.” He reached out and tore the epaulette from Brice’s shoulder and threw it on the table, his face stiff with anger. “How dare you talk of what they can or cannot do under such handling? Were you one of my officers I would have had you broken long before you could bring disgrace to the commission entrusted to you!” He stood back, his heart pumping against his ribs. “Make no mistake, Captain Brice, if your ship does escape to be given to the enemy, you were better dead anyway. The shame will otherwise grip you tighter than any damned halter, believe me!”

Brice stared round the cabin and then let his eyes rest on the

discarded epaulette. He seemed shocked, even stunned, by Bolitho’s attack.

Bolitho added in a calmer tone, “You cannot kill a man’s need to be free, don’t you understand that? Freedom is hard to win, harder still to hold, but these men of yours, confused and ignorant perhaps, they all understand what liberty means.” He had no idea if his words were having any effect. The voices on deck were getting louder again and he felt a growing sense of despair. He continued, “All seamen realise that once in the King’s service their lot is as good or as bad as their commanders will allow. But you cannot ask or expect them to fight or give of their best when their own treatment is unnecessarily wretched.”

Brice looked at his hands. They were trembling badly. He said thickly, “They mutinied. Against me, and my authority.”

“Your authority is nearly done.” Bolitho watched him gravely. “Because of you I have put my coxswain in jeopardy. But you have sacrificed far more than our lives, and I am only sad that you will not live long enough to see what you have done.”

The door banged open and the man Gates stepped into the cabin, his hands on his hips.

“All done, gentlemen?” He was smiling.

Bolitho faced him, aware of the dryness in his throat, the sudden silence in the airless cabin.

“Thank you, yes.” He did not look at Brice as he continued evenly, “Your captain has agreed to place himself under open arrest and await my orders. If you release the ship’s officers immediately…”

Gates stared at him. “What did you say?”

Bolitho tensed, expecting Brice to shout abuse or demand the immediate withdrawal of his promise. But he said nothing, and when he turned his head he saw that Brice was staring at the deck, as if in a state of collapse.

The master’s mate, Taylor, pushed through the other men and shouted wildly, “D’you see, lads? What did I tell