For My Country’s Freedom

'Royal Marines, present arms!' The flash of bayonets and the usual cloud of pipeclay rising from the slings, the shrill of boatswain’s calls, ear-splitting at close quarters.

Bolitho raised his hat to the quarterdeck, his eyes resting only briefly on the White Ensign curling from its staff, then he turned to face forward. Then he said, 'A moment, if you please!'

In the silence he held out his hand to support her, so that Avery could kneel and replace Catherine’s shoes. He saw the smudge of tar on her foot and a bad snare in her stocking.

As she straightened up their eyes met, and Tyacke saw what passed between them. The love. But above all, the triumph.

Then the fifes and drums broke into Heart of Oak. Only then did Bolitho look up at the mainmast as the flag was run smartly to the truck, where it broke immediately to the wind.

Somehow he knew that Catherine was near to tears. With all society against them, they had achieved this, and they were together.

He stared at the flag until his eyes watered, or was that his own emotion?

His flag. The cross of St George.

There was cheering too, but not because of the flag or the honour of the occasion. It was because of her. The sailor’s woman who had come amongst them to show that she at least cared, for them and for her man.

The din subsided and Catherine curtsied to Tyacke before saying, 'You look very well, James Tyacke.' Then as he reached out

to take her hand, she lifted her face and kissed him on the cheek. 'You are so welcome here.' Then she looked over the rail at the silent, watching sailors and marines. 'They will not let you down.' She could have been speaking to either of them, Tyacke thought. Or to the ship, Indomitable.

7. Like a Troubled Sea

Richard Bolitho sat on the long leather bench seat at the foot of the tall stern windows and watched the sea heaving and breaking astern. The ship was no longer quivering to the squeak and rumble of gun trucks, and he guessed that Lieutenant Scarlett had decided to discontinue yet another drill and await better weather while the crews recovered their strength. Sail and gun drill: Tyacke had exercised all hands within a day of leaving Falmouth. He had seen Tyacke glancing at him, as though to know his opinion, whenever he had taken a walk on the quarterdeck, but Bolitho had left him to his own devices. It was difficult enough for him as it was, without interfering or making suggestions.

He felt the timbers bite into his shoulder as the ship plunged into another long trough, every stay and spar creaking to the pressure. It was late afternoon and the watch would be changing soon. He glanced at the unfinished letter on his table, and imagined her face when she opened it, whenever that might be. Unless they met with a friendly homebound vessel, the letter was likely to be put ashore in Antigua.

He massaged his forehead and pictured her as she had gone down the side in Falmouth, that time in a boatswain’s chair as he had insisted. They had cheered her again when she had been assisted into his barge, with Allday and Avery to see her safely ashore.

Only she had known the pain their parting had given him. Equally, she had realised that by coming aboard into his world, no matter how briefly, she had made such a difference for all the men who were sailing into the unknown. Six days out from Falmouth, and a thousand miles already logged. This night they would pass the Azores and cross the 40th parallel of latitude, south-by-south-west, and further still.

He stared at the sea again, shark-blue with long ranks of yellow-toothed breakers. Indomitable was taking it well, and smashed over every obstacle with a kind of arrogance he had rarely seen before. Many of the new hands, raw to the navy and its brutal indifference, had either been seasick or knocked senseless when the pitching deck caught them unawares and flung them against unyielding guns or stanchions. But they would learn; they had no choice. Bolitho had noticed that Tyacke was always on deck whenever drills were being carried out, or some violent change of tack sent the topmen swarming aloft, leaving the landmen and marines to man the braces and trim the great yards while the wind roared around them.

He had heard Scarlett call after a particularly hard exercise at the larboard battery, 'Better that time, sir!'

And Tyacke’s blunt reply. 'Not good enough, Mr Scarlett! It took twelve minutes to clear for action. I want it done in eight!'

Six days. How different from those times when he had been so eager to get to grips with the enemy, any enemy that their lordships dictated.

He thought suddenly of the moment when Indomitable had weathered the headland to find open water in the Channel. Catherine had said nothing of her plans, but he had known she was watching him. He had snatched a telescope from the rack and steadied it carefully while the ship had leaned over stiffly in the offshore wind.

Below the point, where the cliffs dropped to the rocks and the

tiny beaches were then covered by the tide. She had been there, her hair blowing unheeded in the wind, one hand holding Tamara’s bridle while she levelled a small glass on the slow-moving ship. She would have seen Indomitable come to life, sails being freed from every yard and sheeted home so that they bulged like steel breastplates. She would have seen it all, would have watched the spray leaping beneath the snarling lion while Indomitable carried her man away, beyond touch, each denied to the other. In her own way she had given an example to Tyacke’s watching sailors. Showing that she knew how they felt, and that she shared the same pain of separation.

Then the land had crept out, and Bolitho had handed the telescope to a staring midshipman.

He had seen the boy’s awe and had said quietly, 'Aye, Mr Arlington, mark it well. The other price of war.'

The midshipman had not understood. But it must have made a good tale in the gunroom. How the admiral had confided in him.

Ozzard tapped at the door and entered silently. 'May I lay for supper at seven bells, sir?'

'Thank you. Yes.' Crossing the first bridge. He would dine with both Tyacke and Avery tonight.

He glanced around the cabin. At least here were familiar furnishings, the mahogany sideboard and dining table, tugging occasionally at their lashings whenever the tiller head gave a particularly violent jerk. Kate’s fine wine- cooler; and beyond in the smaller sleeping compartment he could just see the two new dressing-chests and mirror Catherine had insisted on buying for him.

Ozzard stood in his usual stooped position, his hands held mole-like in his apron. He seemed ill at ease, but these days that was nothing new. As he had with Allday Bolitho had offered him his freedom to stay behind in safety at the house in Falmouth. But Ozzard had always refused, apparently determined to remain as his trusted servant for as long as he was needed. Not that he

liked the sea; he was openly terrified whenever they had been called to battle. It was as if he served not out of duty or straightforward loyalty, but as some kind of penance.

He heard the sentry shout, 'Captain, sir!'

Tyacke entered, his lean body angled to the extreme slope of the deck.

'I hope I am not disturbing you, sir?'

Bolitho waved him to a chair. 'Of course not. Is something wrong?'

Tyacke glanced around the cabin as if he were seeing it for the first time. 'I can’t say for certain, sir.'

Bolitho gave him time to assemble his thoughts. 'You have been on deck for most of the day, James. Will you take a glass with me?'

Tyacke seemed about to refuse, then reconsidered and nodded. Perhaps the casual use of his Christian name had taken him by surprise.

'At noon, sir, when our young gentlemen were shooting the sun, one of them, Craigie, was skylarking. The master sent him aloft to mend his manners.'

He took a glass of cognac from Ozzard and examined it thoughtfully. Bolitho watched him. Mastheading was a common enough punishment, used to curb a midshipman’s high spirits. He had endured it himself. For him it had been worse than for most, as he had always hated heights. The way Indomitable was leaning over on the starboard tack would be enough to teach anyone a lesson, but it was hardly something to