For My Country’s Freedom

dry cough.

Adam watched him. A sick man, despite his authority and intelligence. Another victim.

'So then must I attend to my duty. You will be moved when you are fit enough, and be detained in a safe house. There you will remain until the war is finished. Is there anything I can do for you?'

Adam was about to offer an angry rebuff, but something in the man’s voice told him to desist. Brice did not like what he was doing, nor the mission which had been given him by others.

'I would wish to write some letters, Captain Brice.'

'You must realise they will have to be examined, censored if need be?'

Adam nodded.

'To a wife or lover perhaps?'

'There is none.' He met his gaze directly. 'Not any more.'

'Very well. Tell the man Chimmo when you are ready.' He stood up and held out his hands to the fire. In his unemotional tone he explained, 'Fever. The Levant, long, long ago.'

He was still by the fire when the lieutenant of the guard came to escort Adam back to his room.

The true realisation hit him like a fist. A prisoner of war. A

nobody, who would soon be forgotten or conveniently overlooked.

The lieutenant said, 'Not so much to say now, eh?' He stood aside for Chimmo to collect some cups and added, 'You’ve had it your own way too long, so accept it.'

Adam regarded him calmly and saw him flinch. 'I shall see that someone spells your name correctly for the grave, mark you that, sir!'

He saw Chimmo staring past the flushed lieutenant, his eyes moving like marbles, back and forth to the room’s solitary table.

The door slammed and Adam stood with his back pressed against it until his heartbeat had returned to normal.

A prisoner. He might as well take his own life.

Something caught his attention. The Holy Bible lay on the table, a piece of paper acting as a bookmark. It was the only book in the room and he had certainly not marked a place in it, nor had he even picked it up.

He stared round the room and out of the window to the deserted stable yard where he had lost his chance to ride away at the gallop. As Dr Derriman had asked in anger and amazement, Where the hell did you hope to reach?

Adam even thought of kneeling to peer under the bed where he had spent so much of his time.

He walked to the table and opened the much-used Bible.

There was a single sheet of paper, the handwriting scrawled with obvious haste. Adam had seen the same script many times when he had inspected Anemone’s daily log.

For a few seconds he felt nothing but despair and disappointment. It was from Richard Hudson, the bloody traitor who had surrendered the ship. He could feel his eyes stinging, and he was about to crumple the letter into a tight ball when something held him motionless like an icy hand. Words stood out through the mist until, with an almost physical effort, he forced himself to read it slowly and carefully.

Do not believe what they say. I heard some officers speaking of you. You are to be moved to a safe place, somewhere on the coast. You will not know where it is but word will be smuggled to the admiral…

Adam had to pull his nerves under control. The admiral. Hudson was talking of Sir Richard Bolitho.

If I say more, others will suffer.

Adam stared at the last two words. Forgive me.

If I say more… Adam held the letter to a candle and watched it burn in the empty grate. He did not need to go any further. If his uncle knew where he was and could trust the source he might mount a rescue attempt, no matter how stretched his squadron had become.

He had always treated him like a son. Trusted him. Loved him. Had even held his tongue about his secret, Zenoria.

They wanted to take Richard Bolitho dead or alive. His name alone was the one danger they feared at sea.

He walked to the window and watched the breeze stirring dead leaves around the overgrown, sun-scorched grass.

He thought of the new American frigates, some of which might be right here in the bay.

He rested his forehead against the dusty glass. Aloud he said brokenly, 'Oh God… I’m to be the bait…'

When Arthur Chimmo came with Adam’s midday meal he could barely prevent his hands from shaking.

With one eye on the door he whispered, 'You wouldn’t tell ’em what I done, would you, sir? You ’eard what ’appened to your cox’n!'

'Easy, man. I have burned the note. But I must know what is happening.'

Adam could hear the officer’s boots tapping outside the door. A different lieutenant for the afternoon, one who was usually disinterested, probably glad to have an easy duty away from the war and its risks.

'All I can say is, it were a sailor who brought the message. If anybody finds out…' He did not need to finish it.

A sailor. Theirs or ours, he wondered.

It was true that the men involved, including the quivering Chimmo, were risking their lives even by discussing it.

Chimmo had made up his mind, and said very heavily, 'It will be while you’re here, Cap’n.' He nodded to emphasise each word. 'While you’re here.'

Adam’s mind was working at a feverish pace. No wonder the grave-faced Captain Brice had obviously disapproved. One of the old salt-horse sea officers. He almost smiled, but the sudden excitement was too much for it. As my father would have been, had he lived. As my uncle is now. A man who could still maintain standards and old loyalties despite the endless war and the carnage it brought everywhere in the world.

'I’ll see you don’t regret this…'

Chimmo put down a plate of steaming beef with difficulty and shook his head wildly. 'No, sir, nary a word! I’m ’appy in this country, ’appy as any man with one pin. I’d not want to go back. Beggin’ on the streets o’ Bristol. What would my old mates think of me, eh?'

Adam touched his fat arm. 'Go your way. I’ve said and heard nothing.' He looked at his food, his appetite gone. 'I wonder who this man is?'

Chimmo had his fingers on the door. 'He knows you, Cap’n.'

Through the door Adam heard the lieutenant complaining, 'Pity you don’t pay as much attention to the officers here, Arthur!' Then he laughed. 'Another four hours and I’m off watch!'

Not surprisingly, Chimmo said nothing.

That afternoon the doctor came to make his usual examination. He told Adam he was well satisfied with the wound’s progress, but he seemed vaguely troubled.

Eventually Derriman said, 'You’ll be told soon enough, so I

might as well share the news. You’re to leave here tomorrow. You are strong enough to travel, but I hope somebody has made certain that the regular inspections continue, for a while anyway.'

Adam watched him as he put away his bag of instruments.

'Where to?'

The doctor shrugged. 'I’m not trusted to be told, apparently!'

Adam was satisfied that the doctor knew nothing. He was an open sort of man, unused as yet to the demands war would make upon him.

So it was soon. He tried to hold on to the fading glimmer of hope. Or never.

But he said, 'Thank you for all you’ve done, Doctor Derri-man. I could easily have gone over the side.'

Derriman smiled. 'It was the French surgeon in Unity you should thank. A man I’d like to meet, that’s for sure.'