'Thomas, it's me. Richard.'
There was another long pause and then the door opened very slightly. Herrick stood back and waited for Bolitho to enter. The small, poorly-lit room was littered with clothing, an open sea-chest, and incongruously on a table amongst some letters lay Herrick's beautiful telescope, Dulcie's last gift to him.
Herrick dragged a coat from a chair and stared at him. He was stooped, and in the candlelight his hair seemed greyer than before. But his eyes were bright enough, and there was only ginger beer on another table, no sight or smell of brandy.
'What are you doing here, Richard? I told that fool Godschale not to drag you into it… I acted as I thought best. They can all go to hell before I'd say otherwise!' He walked over to get another chair and Bolitho was further saddened to see that he still limped from his wound. He had been cut down by a jagged splinter on Benbow's quarterdeck, with his marines and gun crews strewn about him like bloodied bundles of rag.
'You'll need help, Thomas. Someone must speak for you. You know who the President is to be?'
Herrick gave a tight smile. 'I heard. Killed more of his own men than the enemy, I shouldn't wonder!'
Wheels scraped over the cobbles and harness jingled in the inn yard at another arrival. It seemed as if it came from another world; but suppose it was the Admiralty Marshal? There was only one stairway, and not even the impressive Jack Thornborough could hold him off forever.
Herrick said suddenly, 'Anyway, you'll be called as a witness.' He spoke with savage bitterness. 'To describe what you found after the battle. As a witness you'd not be allowed to defend me, even if I wanted it.' He paused. 'I just thank God my Dulcie is not here to see this happening.' He stared at the shining telescope. 'I even thought of ending it all, and damn them and their sense of honour.'
'Don't talk like that, Thomas. It's not like you.'
'Isn't it? I don't come from a long line of sea officers like you.' It was almost an accusation. 'I started with nothing; my family was poor, and with some help from you I gained the impossible-flag rank. And where has it got me, eh? I'll tell you: probably in front of a firing-squad, as an example to the others. At least it won't be my own marines-they all bloody well died.' He waved a hand vaguely, like a man in a dream. 'Out there somewhere. And they did it for me-it was my decision.'
He stood up stiffly, but instead of the rearadmiral Bolitho could only see the stubborn and caring lieutenant he had first met in Phalarope.
Herrick said, 'I know you mean for the best, Richard…'
Bolitho persisted, 'We are friends.'
'Well, don't throw away all you've achieved for yourself because of me. After this I don't much care what happens, and that's the truth. Now please go.' He held out his hand. The grip was just as hard as that lost lieutenant's had been. 'You should not have come.'
Bolitho did not release his hand. 'Don't turn away, Thomas. We have lost so many friends. We Happy Few- remember?'
Herrick's eyes were faraway. 'Aye. God bless them.'
Bolitho picked up his plain cocked hat from the table and saw a finished letter in the light of two candles. It was addressed to Catherine, in Herrick's familiar schoolboy hand.
Herrick said almost offhandedly, 'Take it if you like. I tried to thank her for what she did for my Dulcie. She is a woman of considerable courage, I'll grant her that.'
'I wish you might have told her in person, Thomas.'
'I have always stood by my beliefs, what is right or wrong. I'll not change now, even if they allow me the opportunity.'
Bolitho put the letter in his pocket. He had been unable to help after all; it had all been a waste of time, as Godschale had hinted it would be.
'We shall meet again next week, Thomas.' He stepped out on to the dark landing and heard the door close behind him even before he had reached the first stair.
Thornborough was waiting for him by his busy kitchen.
He said quietly, 'Some hot pie to warm you, Sir Richard, afore you leaves?'
Bolitho stared out at the darkness and shook his head. 'Thank you-but I've no stomach for it, Jack.'
The innkeeper watched him gravely. 'Bad, was it?'
Bolitho said nothing, unable to find the words. There were none.
They had been strangers.
3. ACCUSED
CAPTAIN Valentine Keen stood by Black Prince's quarterdeck rail and watched two unhappy-looking civilians being swayed up from a boat alongside, their legs dangling from boatswain's chairs.
The court martial was to be held in the great cabin, which had been stripped of everything, the dividing screens removed as if the ship was about to go into action.
The first lieutenant came aft and touched his hat. 'That's the last of them, sir.' He consulted his list. 'The wine bills will probably be enormous.'
Keen glanced at the sky. After the longest winter he could recall, it seemed as if April had decided to intervene and drive it away. A clear, bright blue sky and perfect visibility, with only a hint of lingering cold in the sea-breeze. The great ship seemed to tremble as the wind roused itself enough to rattle the rigging and halliards, or to make lively patterns across the harbour like a cat ruffling its fur. In days, perhaps, Keen would be gone from this proud command, something he still found hard to believe when he had time to consider it.
The members of the court, spectators, clerks and witnesses had been coming aboard since morning, and would soon be seated in their allotted places according to rank or status.
'You may dismiss the guard and side-party, Mr Sedgemore.' He took out his watch. 'Tell the gunner to prepare to fire at four bells.' He looked up at the great spars overhead, the sails now in position and neatly furled, Bolitho's flag at the fore. 'You know what to do.'
Sedgemore lingered, his eyes full of questions. 'I wish we were away from here.' He hesitated, trying to judge his captain's mood. 'We shall miss you when you leave with Sir Richard Bolitho… It is rumoured we may be going to Portugal's aid before much longer.'
'I think it most likely.' Keen looked past him towards the dockyard. The green land beyond, the smells of countryside and new growth. Sedgemore was probably already planning his next step up the ladder, he thought. He took a telescope from the midshipman-of-the-watch and levelled it on a spur of jetty. He had seen the bright colours of women's clothing but as they leaped out of the distance he saw they were merely a handful of harlots waiting for easy prey.
He thought of Zenoria's eyes when he had told her of his mission with Bolitho. What had he expected? Opposition, resentment? Instead she had said quietly, 'I knew you were a King's officer when I married you, Val. When we are together we must enjoy our lives, but once apart, I would not stand between you and your duty.'
It was like being lost in thick woodland, not knowing which way to turn or what to do. Perhaps she did not care; perhaps she was even relieved that he was going, to break the tension between them.
He saw a captain of marines passing below him with a sword carried in a cloth: Herrick's sword, a necessary part of this macabre ceremony. When the court had made its decision the sword on the table would tell Herrick if he was found guilty or innocent. What malicious mind had thrown up Admiral Sir James Hamett-Parker as a suitable president? He had been known as a tyrant for much of his service. Just eleven years ago when the fleet had erupted in the great mutiny at the Nore and Spithead, Hamett-Parker had been one of the first senior officers to be ordered ashore by the delegates. He would not forget that; nor would he allow anyone to interfere with his judgement. As flag captain Keen had met most of the others. A vice-admiral, a rearadmiral, and six captains. All of the latter held commands either at Portsmouth or in the Downs squadron. It was hardly likely they would want to annoy Hamett- Parker, with the war about to spread into the enemy's own territory.
Sedgemore said shortly, 'Sir Richard is coming, sir.' Then he was gone, probably still wondering why Keen should exchange this proud ship for some vague huddle of small vessels in Africa.
