The mate, Lincoln, had been on watch. He explained to the master that he had been told one of the military prisoners was having some kind of fit, to the despair and anxiety of his companions.
Lincoln had described the scene, how out of pity for the prisoner and the need to quieten the others he had had the man brought on deck, thinking it would calm him. What had happened next was not clear. Without even a cry, the prisoner had broken from his escort and hurled himself over the bulwark. He had still been wearing manacles on his wrists, although this had not been reported until after the quarter-boat had been sent on its fruitless search.
Catherine watched Bolitho's hand resting on his thigh. The hand that knew her so intimately, that could tease her to the height of passion until neither could wait.
Then there had been the incident of the flogging, a rare occurrence, she had guessed, aboard the Golden Plover. A seaman had been found drunk on watch, and had set about Britton, the boatswain, who had discovered him sprawled in the forecastle when he should have been at his station.
She had seen Keen's face, like a mask as the sound of the lash had penetrated this sealed cabin. Imagining Zenoria as she must have been, enduring the bestiality of the transport's captain and the excitement of many of the prisoners who had swarmed to watch her punishment, the whip laid across her naked back.
She said, 'There you are, my girl.' She smiled as Sophie modestly refastened her clothing. 'Now be off with you and help Ozzard prepare some food.'
Alone with Bolitho, Catherine said, 'I love to watch you.'
'Are you bored, Kate?'
'Being with you? Never.'
Bolitho pointed abeam. 'In a few days, if the wind is kind, we shall pass the Cape Verde Islands to starboard, and the coast of Senegal over yonder.' He smiled. 'I doubt if we shall see either!'
'You have memories of these parts, Richard?'
He looked at the blue water astern. 'A few. I was a midshipman at the time in the Gorgon, an old 74 like Hyperion.'
'What age were you?'
She saw the sudden pain in his grey eyes. 'Oh, about sixteen, I think.'
'You were with your friend then?'
He faced her. 'Aye. Martyn Dancer.' He tried to shake it off. 'We were chasing slavers even then. I expect that damnable fortress is still there to this day. Different flag, but the same foul trade.'
The door opened slightly and Ozzard peered in at them. He saw Catherine and was about to withdraw when Bolitho asked, 'What is it? Please speak freely.'
Ozzard tiptoed into the cabin and carefully shut the screen door behind him.
Catherine placed her hands on the sill of the stern window and stared out at the empty ocean. 'I shall not listen, Ozzard.'
Ozzard looked at her body, framed against the sparkling water. Her long dark hair was piled on her head, held in place by a large Spanish comb, 'brailed up' as Allday had called it. He watched her partly-bared shoulder, the fine arch of her neck. It was like being bewitched. Constantly reminded and tortured by that other hideous memory.
He said abruptly, 'I've been in the after hold, Sir Richard. I was getting some of that hock her ladyship brought from London. It stays cool there.'
Bolitho said, 'We shall look forward to it.' He felt the little man's desperation: it was something almost visible. 'And what happened?'
'I heard voices. I found a vent and listened. It was those prisoners. One said, 'With that gutless fool out of the way, we can stand together, eh, lads?'' He was reliving his discovery, his face screwed up as if afraid of missing something. 'Then the other man said, 'You'll not be sorry. I'll see to that!''
Catherine did not turn from the ocean but asked gently, 'Who was it? You know, don't you?'
Ozzard nodded wretchedly. 'It was the mate, Mr Lincoln, Sir Richard.'
'Go and find Captain Keen, if you please.' He held out one hand. 'Walk, Ozzard. We do not want to rouse suspicion, eh?'
As the door closed she moved across the deck and sat by him. 'Did you know, Richard?'
'No. But I did notice that all the incidents happened during either Lincoln's watch or Tasker's.' He was the new mate who had come aboard at Gibraltar.
She felt his hands tighten around her body, pressing the damp skin beneath her gown. She said, 'Have no fear for me, Richard. We have been in peril before.'
Bolitho looked over her shoulder, his mind racing from one possibility to the next. Whichever way you considered it, at best it was mutiny, at worst piracy. Neither crime would permit the survival of witnesses. And there was Catherine.
She said very calmly, 'It is because of me that you are here and not in some King's ship with all the power to do your bidding. Tell me what to expect, but never think of defeat for my sake. I am by your side.' She held the flashing ring to the sunlight. 'Remember what this means? Then so be it.'
When Keen entered he saw nothing untoward until Bolitho said, 'We must talk, Val. I believe there will be an attempt to seize this vessel and then make a rendezvous with our 'shadow,' which I am convinced is still somewhere close by.'
Keen glanced at Catherine, trying to put her possible fate out of his mind.
'I am ready, sir.' Whatever lay ahead, he was surprised to discover that he was unmoved by it.
The following day passed without incident until late in the afternoon. Another hard, cloudless sky, with the sea and the vivid horizon too bright to look at. Bolitho stood with Keen abaft the wheel and watched the slow-moving activity of the watch on deck.
Bezant had taken sun-sights with his sextant and now seemed satisfied with his vessel's progress. The warm north-westerly wind filled every sail, and was strong enough to throw white pellets of spray high over the bowsprit.
'Will you tell him, sir?'
Bolitho glanced toward Catherine and her maid sitting on a makeshift seat beneath a canvas canopy. Sophie knew nothing of their suspicions, and it was better so. And what of Bezant? He had seemed genuinely surprised to discover the status of his passengers when Jenour had gone ahead to inform him at Falmouth. Usually he carried minor officials, garrison officers and sometimes their wives. The vice-admiral and his lady could hardly be classed as ordinary.
'Tell him?' He watched the fish leaping astern. 'When you tell your best friend a secret, Val, it is no longer a secret. And Bezant, capable though he must be, is no friend.'
Keen said evenly, 'Ozzard might have made a mistake. Or perhaps the mate was genuinely trying to calm the prisoners after what had happened.'
Bolitho smiled and saw Catherine look away. 'But you do not think so, eh?'
Keen tried not to stare as a seaman paused near them. Every move seemed suspicious. Who was friend or possible enemy?
Bolitho saw Jenour appear from the companion-way, his sketching book in his hand.
He crossed the slanting deck and joined them.
'What did you discover, Stephen?'
Jenour shaded his eyes as if to search for some new subject for his collection.
'This vessel was originally pierced for some four-pounders. There is a gunport directly beneath the mizzen chains. Allday found it. He says he can force it open if need be. It's only sealed with tar.'
Keen frowned. 'I do not see the point.'
Bolitho turned aside. They should separate soon. They must not appear to be forewarned conspirators.
'There is a swivel-gun mounted on the starboard bulwark, Val. It is always loaded. Not uncommon in small merchantmen sailing alone. It could be trained inboard as well as out.'
Jenour made a few scratches in his book. 'Allday says it would need someone thinner than himself to get through.' He gave an uncertain smile. 'It seems I am exactly the right size!'
More pictures flashed through Bolitho's mind. In his frigate Phalarope, where there had once been a mutiny, he could recall a small midshipman named John Neale; Bolitho and some others had covered his naked body with
