'Mr. Midshipman Wilmot is a brighter one than some. Didn't wait to be told.'
But Avery had seen the midshipman drop his eyes from Tyacke's face. How could he ever come to terms with it?
Tyacke turned as the flags shot up to the yard and broke to the offshore breeze. 'We might hear some news.' He smiled wryly. 'Or it may be a recall!'
Avery said, 'Do you know Malta well, sir?'
Tyacke said, 'Look at those damned boats!' His arm shot out and he called, 'Mr. Pennington? You are the officer-of-the-watch, I assume?'
The lieutenant swallowed hard. 'I saw the boats, sir.'
'Well, tell them to stand away. I'll not have the flagship trading with scum like that! I don't care what they're trying to sell!' He turned away. 'Drop a round shot through the first one that tries to come alongside!'
Avery sighed. Tyacke would not be drawn about the past. We make a fine pair.
A seaman who was intently polishing the spokes of the big double wheel glanced across at him and said, 'The admiral's comin' up, sir.'
Pleased, Avery acknowledged it. It was another beginning.
Bolitho walked over to join him. 'I have just heard about Halcyon.' He shaded his eyes and stared across the busy anchorage. 'Which is she?'
Avery pointed her out. He thought Bolitho looked rested and untroubled, although he knew he had been working with Yovell almost every day since they had left Spithead. Instructions, details of ships and their captains, a thousand things which Avery could only guess at.
He had seen him pacing the deck at night under the stars, or standing with his open shirt rippling in the wind when the hands were turned up to take in a reef, or to change tack on the run south. Thinking of his Catherine, perhaps. Holding on, while the leagues rolled away from Frobisher's great rudder.
Perhaps he did not need sleep like other men. Or was it denied him?
'Strange to be here.' Bolitho touched his eye and massaged it slowly. 'I was out here after the revolution, when the royalists hoped to raise a counter-action at Toulon. It was doomed from the conception, George. So much waste.'
He stared across at the opposite side: the coast of Spain, almost swallowed in heat-haze. Another memory. Algeciras. He could remember someone pointing to it and saying, 'Look. Yonder lies the enemy.' But the face eluded him.
Avery wanted to speak, but after Tyacke's abruptness he was afraid to break the moment, which like all the others had become a part of his life. A part of him.
He asked, 'You will know what to expect, sir?'
Bolitho did not seem to hear. 'All that time ago, George. But later when I was here as flag captain in Euryalus, I can see it so clearly. The old Navarra being attacked by Barbary pirates. People smile when you mention them now, but they're as dangerous as they ever were. They'll not be tamed simply because we say so.'
'Navarra, sir? What was she?'
Bolitho looked at him. 'Just an old ship. She had no place in any line of battle. No prize court would have parted with a handful of gold for her.' He smiled, as if he was reaching out. 'Catherine was on board that ship with her husband. Where we met. Where we found and lost one another.' He paused. 'Until Antigua.'
Avery tried to imagine it, Catherine as she must have been; like Golden Plover, which Tyacke had described in one of these rare moments of intimacy.
Bolitho looked round as a seaman called, 'Boat's cast off from Halcyon, sir!' Then he said, 'I've seen so many victories and failures in this sea, but nothing could outshine that meeting.'
Tyacke appeared, and said sharply, 'If you're mistaken, Mr. Pennington..'
The second lieutenant stood firm. 'No, sir, the boat carries Halcyon's captain!'
Tyacke glared at him. Then man the side, if you please.' He saw Bolitho and touched his hat. 'From England, sir. Got here ahead of us.' Then he relaxed slightly. 'Hardly surprising!'
Avery watched them. From England. Maybe new orders for Bolitho. And letters? It was too soon. He thought of Allday; he might want one written for him before they weighed.
The marines fell into two ranks at the entry port, and Tyacke waited to greet the visitor. Routine.
The calls trilled, the salutes were exchanged, hats raised to the quarterdeck, the flag.
Captain Christie said, 'Despatches, sir, and some personal mail.' He was a tall, serious-faced officer, probably in his late twenties, his gleaming epaulettes marking him out as a post-captain. War or no war, he had been posted, and he had his own ship.
Bolitho said, 'Come aft and take a glass.'
Avery followed them, knowing that the young captain had been unprepared for this invitation from the admiral.
They all sat down in the spacious cabin, and Ozzard appeared silently with his tray.
Christie said, 'It is an honour to be serving under your flag, Sir Richard. In these uncertain times one cannot be sure what……'
He turned as Tyacke said quietly, 'Do I know you, sir?'
Christie took a goblet and almost spilled the wine. But his eyes were level enough.
'I know you, sir.'
Bolitho knew it was difficult for some reason, as difficult as it was important.
Christie said, 'Majestic, sir.'
Just the name. The ship where it had happened. A ghost from the past.
Tyacke did not speak but studied Christie, trying to put the pieces together. As he had so many times, until it had almost driven him insane.
Christie said to Bolitho, 'I was a midshipman in Majestic, Sir Richard. My first ship, and I had barely been aboard her for more than a couple of months.' He looked around, as if searching for something. 'When Lord Nelson led us to Aboukir Bay.' He hesitated. 'To the Nile.'
Tyacke said slowly, 'I remember you.'
Christie continued, 'We were amongst the French fleet in no time at all, and were locked with the big eighty- gun liner, Tonnant. Broadside after broadside.' His voice was contained and unemotional, which made his description all the more vivid and terrible. 'Dead and dying lay everywhere. I was too junior to have a proper station and I was kept running messages from the quarterdeck to the guns.' He stared at the misted goblet. 'Our captain was killed, people I knew were being torn to pieces, calling for help when there was none to be given. I – I almost broke that day. I was carrying a message to the lower gundeck, and I was terrified that the ship would be blown apart before I could find somewhere to hide. All the training meant nothing. I wanted to hide. To escape.' Again, he hesitated. 'And then
Outside, Avery could hear another boat being ordered to stand away, someone laughing. But only this was real.
Christie said, 'The lieutenant in charge of the forrard division of guns called to me, Sir Richard. He put his hand on my shoulder and shook me back and forth until I was calm again.'
Avery saw Tyacke nod, his blue eyes distant, unseeing.
'He said to me, 'Walk, boy. Walk. To these poor devils you are a King's officer, but today you are the captain's voice, so use it clearly and show them what you can do.'
Avery thought of the midshipman called Wilmot. How Christie must have been.
Christie said, 'You sent me aft. Then the French broadside found us again. But for you I would have died with all the others. I told my father about it, and he tried to write to you. I wrote to you myself, but heard nothing.' He looked directly at Bolitho. 'It is wrong of me to speak of things so personal, but they have always meant so much to me, ever since that day. It made me a man, and I hope a better one.'
He stood up and said, 'I shall return to my ship now, Sir Richard. It has been an honour.' He raised his hand as Tyacke made to follow. 'No, sir, I shall see myself over the side.' Then he smiled. Relief, gratitude, surprise, it was all there. 'In the fleet they always spoke of The Happy Few. Now I understand.'
Behind the pantry hatch Allday put down his rum, his 'wet', and considered what he had heard.
In the navy you had to expect it. Faces from the past, like old wounds, were not easily forgotten. Always the pain. But they were safe now. And yet, why was he so uneasy? He wanted to ask Lieutenant Avery to write a letter
