She touched on her feelings for him, but was careful not to trouble him with her own pain of separation.
There had been one ugly note; she had mentioned it in case he should hear it from someone else. There had been a riot in Bodmin, the county town, although he found it hard to imagine in that sort of community; a local regiment had been disbanded, and the men had mounted a protest to demand work after their service to their country.
If it had happened in Falmouth, Bolitho wondered what Lewis Roxby would have done. He might well have put some of the men to work on his own large estate, and encouraged other landowners to do the same. In Bodmin, a magistrate had read the Riot Act, and called out the dragoons from Truro.
She had told him that she was going to London to see the lawyers again.
She would think of him. Dearest of men… always.
He heard Ozzard's sharp voice from the pantry, and then Allday's. They were bickering about something, as usual. Without them and their concern over his welfare, he sometimes thought that the inactivity would drive him mad.
There were receptions, for him and his officers, and for visiting ships, old enemies who were now classed as allies. That would take a long, long time to accept.
He had seen little otherwise of the island itself, and although he had been offered facilities ashore with as many servants as he might need, he had remained in his flagship. As if it were a last link with the only life he knew and understood.
Malta was full of history, and as one senior officer had described it, 'the stronghold of Christianity'. When the French had been forced to withdraw because of the naval blockade, the Maltese had requested British protection, and a restoration of their rights and privileges. The island, small though it was, had once again become a stronghold. Now, with Napoleon's surrender and his incarceration on Elba, it was assumed by some that Malta would be allowed to resume its own self-government, not so different from that of the old Knights of Malta.
That same senior officer had laughed outright when Bolitho had suggested it. He had exclaimed, 'Have you ever known the flag hauled down after a victory, Sir Richard? If a place is worth dying for, it's worth holding on to, in my opinion!'
He heard the marine sentry's heels click together, and then Ozzard hurrying to the outer screen door.
It was Captain Tyacke, his scarred face very deeply tanned above the whiteness of his shirt. He was so used to the heat and the sun of Africa that he scarcely noticed it.
'Officer-of-the-Guard has just brought a message, Sir Richard.' He glanced around the cabin, made still more spacious by the removal of the eighteen- pounder guns which would otherwise have occupied even an admiral's quarters. They had been replaced by short wooden replicas, quakers as they were termed, so that, outwardly at least, the ship would appear fully armed.
Bolitho slit open the envelope. It bore a military seal on the outer flap. Another visitor… He said, 'We shall have a major-general coming aboard during the dogs, James. His name is Valancy, although it does not give a reason for this honour.'
'I shall deal with it, sir.'
Bolitho looked at him, aware of the change in him; he had seen it develop during their passage into the Mediterranean, and these dragging weeks in harbour. Perhaps he had found the challenge of the new command stimulating; he had performed miracles with some of the inexperienced hands and the junior officers. But that was only a part of it.
We are so alike in many ways. He will share it with me, when he is ready.
Tyacke said, 'Perhaps we shall be told something, sir.'
'Soon, I trust.' He stood up and walked to the quarter gallery and watched a small boat being pulled across the harbour. A boy and an old man; they did not even glance up as Frobisher's big shadow passed over them.
He said quietly, 'If it does not happen, James, I shall write a suitable report to their lordships.'
Tyacke watched him, the set of his shoulders, his hair still as black as the day they had first met. And later, when Bolitho had asked him to be his flag captain. Not ordered or demanded, as most flag officers would have done, as, indeed, they were entitled to do. He had asked. And had said, because I need you. No wonder they spoke of the legend, the charisma, but it was both and neither of them. It was the man himself.
Tyacke said, 'If we can get to sea……'
Bolitho turned towards him. 'I know. Drive her if we must, fight if we have to, but get to seal'
He saw Tyacke glance down at the wine cooler, made for him after the other had been lost in Hyperion. Even here, Catherine was very close. He saw the disfigured side of Tyacke's face in the reflected glare from the skylight. Like melted wax, the flesh burned from the bone, the eye, miraculously un blinded as clear and blue as the other. Even that seemed different…… From the moment the ship had left Spithead Tyacke had gone about his duties, explaining his standards to his lieutenants and senior warrant officers without flinching beneath the scrutiny of strangers. Landsmen and some of the younger midshipmen still could not meet his gaze without dropping their eyes; Tyacke had endured this every hour and every day since he had been smashed down at the Nile. Was it possible that he had accepted it? Or was there some other, deeper reason?
He had spoken of his feelings concerning Malta to Tyacke. The reply had been blunt, uncompromising, like the man.
'We'd be fools to let it go, sir. It may be only seventeen miles by nine, a landsman might say the same as the Isle of Wight. But it stands here, and who commands it holds the key to the Mediterranean. Every trading nation knows that well enough!'
Bolitho said, 'Perhaps this commission will be shorter than we thought possible.' He touched his eye as the sunlight found its mark. The cruel reminder. Which I cannot accept. 'Will you still go back to Africa?'
Tyacke smiled faintly. 'I would have to think on it.' He seemed to consider it. 'Yes, I would have to give it a deal of thought.' He looked at the deck head as a call twittered,
and feet padded across the under-dry planking. 'I must see the first lieutenant, if you will excuse me, sir.'
Bolitho watched his hand hesitate on the door, and said, 'If there is anything you wish to talk about, James, I am here.'
Tyacke paused with his hat halfway to his head. Then he smiled fully, and seemed suddenly young again.
'If you were not, sir, then neither would I be.'
Allday entered as the door closed, and glanced at the two swords on their rack.
'Might be another courier vessel soon, Sir Richard.'
So he was fretting, too. Needing to be here, but thinking of his newfound life with Unis and his daughter.
Bolitho gestured toward the cupboard. 'Have a wet, old friend. We are both all aback, it seems.'
Allday stooped beside the cupboard, and said over his shoulder, 'Get this little lot over, an' maybe we can make sail for home.'
Bolitho rubbed his eye. He must have missed something.
Allday held up a glass of rum and grinned.
'To us, Sir Richard!'
'What have you heard?'
Allday looked at the high-backed chair in green leather, which she had given Bolitho. Like the wine cooler, and the locket he always wore when they were apart from one another. A sailor's woman. There was no higher compliment.
He said, 'I was talkin' to the men in the guard boat just now, Sir Richard. There's a yarn goin' around about an attack on some local merchantmen. Pirates, they says.'
He felt something like a chill against his damp spine. How they had first met, all those years ago. Barbary corsairs.
He said, 'The officer-of-the-guard left no such message.'
Allday put down the empty glass, careful not to leave any wet mark, which would cause more trouble with Ozzard.
'With respect, Sir Richard, the Royals are all well an' good, in their place.' He tapped his forehead. 'But their officers don't know it all.'
Bolitho smiled. 'Off with you. And don't fret over Unis. She is in good hands.'
Allday went out, un reassured and found Ozzard in his pantry. He sniffed suspiciously, and said, 'Been at the grog again!'
