The Flag Captain

Bolitho studied her in silence. She had been here with him all the time. Seeing his fight against pain, tending to his body’s wants when he could do nothing to help himself or know what he was doing. He was conscious of his nakedness under the sheet, the hair matted over his forehead in sweat, and was ashamed.

She added quietly, “It seems you are a hard man to kill.”

As Angus removed his bowl of bloodstained rags she looked at Allday and said, “Go and rest.” When he hesitated she added sharply, “Away with you, man! God knows you have not rested since your return, and from what I have heard, not since our charge here fell wounded!”

Bolitho shifted his left arm beneath the sheet and said hoarsely, “My hand!”

Allday lifted the sheet and seized Bolitho’s fingers with his own. Bolitho felt the sweat running across his bared chest as he used his failing strength to grip the hand tightly.

“You do as she asks, Allday!” He tried not to watch his face. “I’ll rest easier if I know you’re fit and ready when I need you.” He forced himself to smile. “True friends are hard to come by!”

Allday moved away and Bolitho heard the door close.

“He’s gone.”

When Bolitho looked at her again he saw that her eyes were gleaming with tears.

She shook her head angrily. “Damn you, Captain, it is true what they say! You bewitch all those who come near! It must be the Cornish magic in you!”

“I fear the magic, as you call it, comes from others, Mrs. Pareja.”

She sat down on the bed and stirred some broth in a bowl. “My name is Catherine.” She smiled, and for an instant he saw some of the same boldness he had noticed aboard the Navarra. “But you call me Kate. I was known by that name before I married Luis.”

She lifted his head to arrange a pillow carefully and then dipped a spoon into the bowl.

He said quietly, “I am sorry about your husband.”

The spoon did not waver, and he allowed the thick soup to explore his throat, reviving him in spite of the pain.

She said, “You called out several times for Cheney. Your wife?”

He looked at her. “She is dead.”

“I know. One of your officers told me.” She wiped his lips with a clean cloth before adding, “You talked a lot, although much of it I didn’t understand. Sometimes you spoke of home and some portraits on a wall.” She studied him gravely. “But we will not speak of such things just now. You are very weak and must rest.”

Bolitho struggled to move his arm. “No. I do not want to be

left.” Almost desperately he added, “Tell me of yourself!”

She sat back and smiled as if recalling some event long past. “My home was London. Do you know much of it?”

He shook his head slightly. “I have visited there.”

Surprisingly, she lifted her chin and laughed. It was a throaty, uninhibited sound, as if he had said something hilarious.

“I can see by your face you do not like London, my dear Captain. But I suspect that your London was different from mine. Where ladies danced the quadrille and hid their blushes in bouquets while the young blades made fine postures to excite their attention.” She tossed her head, so that the hair fell loosely around her throat. “It is a way of life I have tried to learn. But it now seems that my efforts were wasted.” For a moment her eyes became wistful, and then she said shortly, “Life can be cruel.”

She stood up and placed the bowl on a table, and Bolitho saw that she was wearing a different gown, of yellow silk, low cut and painstakingly embroidered around the waist. She saw his eyes and remarked, “One of the Spanish ladies here gave it to me.”

He asked, “Did you meet your husband in London?” He did not wish to disturb her memories, but somehow he needed to know.

“The first one.” She watched his puzzled expression and gave another bubbling laugh. “Oh yes, I have buried two husbands, in a manner of speaking.” She moved swiftly to the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do not look so worried. It is history. The first was a real dashing person. Together we were going to set the world ablaze. He was a soldier of fortune, a mercenary, if you like. After we were wed he took me to Spain to fight against the Frogs. But all the battles he fought were in taverns, over some woman or other. One day he must have met his match, for he was discovered dead in a ditch outside Sevilla. That was where I met Luis. He was twice my age, but seemed to need me.” She sighed. “He was a widower and had nothing but his work to sustain him.” In a quieter tone she said, “I think he was happy.”

“Of that I am certain.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She turned her face away. “You did not need to say that.”

Once again the door scraped open but this time it was Gillmor. He bobbed his head politely to her before crossing to the bed.

“I am sincerely glad to know you are recovering your health, sir.”

Bolitho saw the strain on his face and guessed Coquette’s captain had had more than his share of worry because of his own incapacity.

Gillmor hurried on, “The lookouts have just sighted the squadron returning, sir.” He breathed out slowly. “At last.”

“What are you hiding?” Bolitho felt a sudden touch of apprehension. “Something is wrong.”

“Euryalus is under tow, sir. She appears to have lost her bowsprit and fore topgallant mast. I have sent Mr Bickford in a cutter to meet the admiral.”

“I must get up!” Bolitho tried to free himself from the sheet. “Take me to my ship, for God’s sake!”

Gillmor stood aside and allowed the woman to press Bolitho back against the bed. “I am sorry, sir, but we have decided against it.”

Bolitho clenched his teeth against the pain. “We have decided?”

Gillmor swallowed but stood his ground. “Commander Inch and I, sir. There is no sense in having you die now that the worst is past.”

“Since when do you give me my orders, Captain Gillmor?”

The frustration and helplessness, the realisation he had thought more of his own suffering than of his duty to the squadron, filled him with an unreasoning anger.

She interrupted before Gillmor could reply. “Now, that is being childish! Do not excite yourself or I will call Mr Angus to you!”

Gillmor said, “I am sorry, sir. But I think we will need you very soon, and in good health.”

Bolitho closed his eyes. “No. I am the one to apologise. To you both.” Then he asked, “Is Restless with the squadron?”

Gillmor hesitated. “No, sir. But maybe she is too far to seaward to be observed by Giffard’s men.”

“Perhaps.”

Bolitho could feel himself getting drowsy again, the throbbing in his shoulder growing more insistent. It was difficult to concentrate on what Gillmor was saying, harder still to sort his thoughts into any semblance of order.

Gillmor said, “I will leave you, sir. As soon as we have any news…” He backed out of the room before Bolitho could protest.

“A good officer.” He felt her sit down again on the bed, the cool touch of a cloth across his forehead. “When I was his age I had a ship like Coquette. In the Great South Sea. That was another world.” It was growing more difficult to remember. “Lizards three feet long, and turtles big enough to carry a man. Unspoiled by civilisation…”

“Rest, Captain.” Her voice faded away as Bolitho sank into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Some hours later he awoke shivering violently and ice cold. Although the shutters were closed across the windows he knew it was night, and as he moved his head from side to side he heard Allday say, “He’s awake, ma’am!”

A small lantern appeared around a screen and he saw their two figures peering down at him.

Allday whispered, “My God, I must call Mr Angus!”

“Wait.” She stooped over the bed so that he could feel her hair touching his face. Then, “Don’t fetch him yet.