Adam moved up to the rail and looked at the prisoner, who had twisted his head around so that he could see him.
'Three dozen! '
The prisoner yelled, 'You bloody bastard, you said two dozen! '
Adam said, 'I changed my mind.'
The drums rolled, and down came the lash across his shoulders. The master-at-arms called, 'One! '
The first half dozen lashes made a crisscross of bloody stripes like the claw marks of a savage beast.
The prisoner began to gasp as the punishment continued, his face almost purple when the boatswain handed the cat-of-nine-tails to his mate.
The master-at-arms counted hoarsely, 'Twenty-six! '
The surgeon held up his hand. 'He has fainted, sir! '
'Cut him down! ' Adam watched as the man fell to the deck into his own blood. He was picked up and carried below to the sickbay. A man of his obvious strength would soon recover after he had had his back cleansed with salt water and his stomach lined with as much rum as he could swallow. But the marks of the cat he would carry to his grave.
The first lieutenant watched him warily. This was a mood he did not recognise.
Adam said, There will be no martyrs in my ship, Mr. Martin.' He gave a tired smile as the men dispersed to their duties or their messes. 'There is more to command than prize money, believe me! '
He had scarcely gone below to change out of his uniform when the rain tore into the ship like a waterfall.
Adam glanced at himself in that same mirror. What would she think of me now, if she saw me?
He walked to the stern windows and thrust one open to stare at the horizon. The rain was already passing over: it would leave the decks cool, the sails hardened to receive the next wind. He looked at his coat, lying on a chair with its epaulettes glinting dully. He had been so proud when he had been posted. Now he held out his hands and felt something like sickness in his throat.
Three dozen lashes. Was that all? As captain I could have run him up to the main yard for striking a petty officer. The realisation of his power over these men had never failed to shock and awe him. But not now. It was his right.
He must have come a long, long way…
In the afternoon while he sat at his table with a plate of tasteless salt-beef barely touched nearby, he thought again about the letter, and wondered if she had received it, or even read it if she had.
If only they might meet as if by accident, on some winding track like the place where he had given her the wild roses. And she had kissed him…
He sat bolt upright as the lookout's voice pealed down from the masthead.
'Deck there! Sail on th' lee bow! '
Adam jumped to his feet. That was more like it. There was nothing between Anemone and his uncle's ships. The prospect of action would make all the difference and bring them together again. Cleansing, like the rain that had washed the blood from the grating.
The quarterdeck was crowded when he reached it.
Lieutenant Dacre touched his forehead, then pushed the wet hair from his eyes.
'I'm not yet certain, sir. The lookout says there's some mist to lee'rd might be more rain.'
'We'd not find him if that happened.' He hurried to the chart as the master's mates uncovered it.
Partridge said, 'Might be a slaver, sir. Can't think o' nothing else this far out.'
'My thoughts, Mr. Partridge! Call both watches and get the t'gallants on her. She'll likely show her heels when she sights us! '
Men poured on deck to the shrill of calls. Adam assessed their mood as they hurried past and below him. Some would still be thinking of the flogging, but by now others would be accepting it. He had brought it on himself. Or, what can you expect from a bloody officer? They could hate him when they felt like it; or perhaps when he deserved it. But fear him? That must never happen.
He saw Midshipman Dunwoody staring at him. 'Aloft with a glass. I can use your eyes today! ' He watched him swarming up the ratlines, a long telescope bouncing across his buttocks with every step.
Martin had joined him now, his face eager and excited. As I once was, Adam thought.
'Set the main course, Aubrey. I want her to fly before they can lose us! '
They grinned at one another, all else forgotten.
Anemone was riding it well. With the wind across the quarter she was taking each long trough and roller like a thoroughbred horse jumping hedges. Spray was bursting over the figurehead in solid sheets, and as each sail was set and sheeted home it hardened as if being squeezed by giants, with the rain that had soaked the canvas flying over the struggling seamen to rush into the scuppers like small brooks.
Dunwoody's voice was practically muffled by the din of canvas and clattering rigging.
'Deck, there! Two masts, sir! I think she's seen us! '
Adam wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and realised he was soaked to the skin.
'If the rain holds off it will do them no good! '
He walked across the deck, at times barely able to prevent himself from being flung against the guns as his ship pointed her jib-boom at the sky, catching the returning sunlight like a golden lance. Then down again, the hull crashing into another trough, the timbers jolting as if they had hit a sandbar.
It was the lookout again. Perhaps Dunwoody was too choked by spray to call out.
'Deck there! She's a brig, sir! Can't make it out! '
Adam said, 'Use your speaking trumpet, Aubrey. Bring Dunwoody down. None of this is making any sense! '
Dunwoody arrived on deck, shivering badly in spite of the steam that was rising from his dripping shirt.
Adam asked, 'What ails you, Mr. Dunwoody?' He was surprised that he could sound so calm, yet feel only apprehension.
Dunwoody stared down at the deck and would have fallen in the next wild plunge but for Bond, a master's mate, catching his arm. The boy turned his head to gaze across the water as if he could still see it.
'She's no slaver, sir. She is one of ours, the brig Orcadia, '
Adam turned to Martin.
'Is she mauled?' He squeezed the boy's arm very gently. 'Tell me. I need to know! '
Dunwoody shook his head, unable to accept it. 'She is out of command, sir, but she has not a mark on her! '
Martin persisted, 'Adrift? Abandoned? Speak out, man! '
Adam swung into the lee shrouds and began to climb, each ratline scraping at his fingers while the ship rolled from side to side.
He had to wait a long time for the ship to steady herself enough on one crested roller, and for the glass to clear while he rested against the shrouds.
Orcadia was pitching and rolling very badly, the sunlight sweeping across her stern windows and gilded gingerbread so that the cabin looked as if it were on fire. The quarter boat was still in place, but another was dangling from some loose tackles alongside, upended and smashing against the brig's side.
Not abandoned then. He waited for the next up-thrust beneath the keel and tried again. Orcadians ensign was tangled in the rigging. Adam could feel the upturned faces below him willing him to tell them, just as he could sense the apprehension which had banished their sudden excitement. Another look through the dripping telescope, although he knew what he had seen. He lowered himself more quickly. Very soon everybody else would see it.
He found his lieutenant and Partridge waiting together. There was no sense in delaying it.
He faced them and said simply, 'Muster the after guard and then arm yourselves, gentlemen.' He held up his hand as Lieutenant Lewis began to hurry away. 'She is Orcadia.' He wanted to lick his dry lips but dared not. 'She flies the Yellow Jack.'
Lewis croaked, 'Fever! '
'As you say, Mr. Lewis.' His voice hardened. 'Feared and hated by sailors even more than fire.'
Lieutenant Baldwin came on deck, his eyes everywhere as he buttoned his scarlet coat.
Adam said, 'We will bear up to wind'rd of her and lower a boat.' He saw the quick exchange of glances. 'I shall call for volunteers and go across myself.'
