Bolitho thought of the big room overlooking the battery, and the scattered remnants of the corpses. I command out there! He said, 'There are a few of the Galicia 's original company, who were allowed to leave with our prize crew. Captain Christie had them separated. Perhaps they could be questioned, now that their safety is assured.' He recalled Christie's own description, the terror, the disbelief and hysteria amongst the few sailors who had been spared the' brutality and eventual death meted out to the master, and others who had 'resisted'.
Avery glanced at the others, sensing the bond, the quiet understanding. He had seen Bolitho take the letter from the despatch bag, and the expression in the grey eyes as he had read through it. It must be like a hand reaching out, a security which few could understand. He thought of Susanna. Still no letter, but then, he had not hoped for one. He gave a rueful smile. Even that was a lie.
Bolitho said, 'I shall send orders to the squadron, so that each captain is left in no doubt of the kind of enemy we are facing.'
Tyacke watched him. So that you will carry the blame if we are proved wrong.
He was glad about Christie. Majestic had done precious little for anyone else.
The sentry bawled, 'First lieutenant, sir!'
Bolitho looked at his secretary. 'You are frowning.'
Yovell smiled gently, behind his small, gold-rimmed spectacles.
'I was asking myself, Sir Richard, why do the marines always shout so loudly?'
Lieutenant Kellett stood in the doorway, his hat beneath his arm. 'Officer-of- the-guard, sir.' He spoke to Tyacke, but his deceptively mild eyes were on Bolitho.
Tyacke took an envelope from him, and then said, 'Major-General Valancy requests the pleasure of your company at his headquarters for dinner.' He looked up from the page in time to see the disappointment and frustration which, in those few seconds, Bolitho had been unable to hide.
Bolitho said only, 'Make the necessary arrangements, James. It may be important.'
Yovell gathered up his papers. It was time to go.
He said, 'I will have these copied at once, Sir Richard. I have a clerk and one of the young gentlemen to assist me.'
Avery said. 'I shall accompany you, Sir Richard.' He saw the unspoken protest, and added, 'The army, Sir Richard. They will expect it.'
He left, and Tyacke said, 'You could refuse, sir.'
Bolitho smiled, rather bitterly, he thought. 'People think we are inspired by duty. In truth, we are its slaves!'
Later, with the barge alongside, the crew in their best cheque red shirts and tarred hats and Allday poised massively in the stern sheets the marines and boatswain's mates were ready and waiting. Frobisher's captain and senior lieutenant saw the admiral over the side.
Allday waited for Bolitho to settle himself beside Avery, and then gave the order to cast off.
He saw it in the eyes of the barge men as they laid back on their looms. Their admiral, who wanted for nothing.
Allday scowled at the bow oarsman as he stowed his boat hook
How could they ever know? At moments like these, nothing was all he had.
The day after Bolitho's return to Malta, Frobisher weighed anchor and put to sea. At first light two of the frigates, Huntress and Condor, had also departed with orders to take station outside Algiers, where their presence would be seen and understood.
Bolitho had been on deck to watch them leave, his heart and mind responding to the sight of the two sleek frigates spreading their sails, and leaning obediently to an early breeze. He had wanted more than anything to have an opportunity to know all of his captains, but he was again reminded that time was the enemy. The ships in his new squadron were mostly known to him by name or reputation, even the small brig Black Swan, which was to be the flagship's only companion.
After Frobisher had cleared the harbour Bolitho went to his quarters, surprised that he felt no trace of fatigue from the previous evening, despite the heavy meal and entertainment by the army. Avery had fallen asleep at the table, but he had not been alone; their hosts seemed to expect it, and made no comment.
He had returned to the ship to find Captain Christie waiting for him in Tyacke's cabin.
A small thing, a fragment of information, but it was all they had. Of the handful of men who had been released with the Galicia, one had been the boatswain, a Greek who, because of his captors, had feared for his life more than the others. He had described to Christie how they had been attacked and boarded, as if Galicia 's, presence had been known to the Algerines. Every man had been robbed and the vessel looted, and two of the seamen had been killed for no apparent reason. The master's son had been aboard; the attackers had known that, too. Unable to obtain information from the wretched master, they had beaten his son, and then nailed him to a crudely fashioned cross, where he had died. There had been other pirate vessels nearby, which had altered course to the east once the attack had been completed. The boatswain had been certain he had heard someone mention Bona. On the chart it was shown as a small port, little more than a segment of a bay, some hundred and fifty miles from Algiers. Halcyon had sailed past it only days ago, and Christie was probably cursing his misfortune that he had not known it was being used as a base by Algerine pirates.
Tregidgo, the sailing master, had confined himself to saying that Bona was known to be used by fishermen for shelter, and sometimes for trade. It would be a likely choice for ships waiting to pounce on some unwary merchantman.
A show of force, then. Afterwards, they would meet up with the two frigates outside Algiers. It would be interesting to know what Captain Martinez would have to tell his master about that.
He sat down and thought once more of Catherine's letter. He had read it very carefully when he had returned from his visit to the garrison. With the lantern unshuttered, and the ship silent but for the secret noises in any living hull, he had sensed again the reserve, the unspoken, as if she wanted to protect him from something, like the riots of which she had written earlier.
The roses are at their best just now. I would that they might last for ever.
The summer would soon be over in Cornwall. In his mind, he could see her on the old path, their path. Watching the empty horizon. Waiting.
Hoping… Ozzard hurried to the door and opened it, although Bolitho had heard nothing.
It was Tyacke, outwardly relaxed, glad to be at sea again, even if it proved a worthless exercise.
His blue eyes moved quickly to the untouched coffee, and back again to his admiral.
'Black Swan is taking up her station ahead of us, sir.'
Bolitho nodded. The brig might remind Tyacke of his old command, but her commander was not of his world. A forceful, determined young officer, he might go far, if fate was kind to him. When the fleet was reduced in strength and numbers, he would be only one of many trying to prosper in the career of his choosing.
Tyacke had commented bluntly, 'A big mouth to match his head, that one!'
Bolitho said, 'When you hear of slavery even here, does it bring the past back to you, James?'
Tyacke squinted against the sudden glare as Frobisher altered course very slightly.
'It was different then.' He did not explain. 'But where there's gold you'll find slavers. In the end they'll not be so quick to run they'll stand and fight. Turks, Arabs, they are always the hardest to control.' He saw Ozzard by the pantry. 'Would you fetch a chart for me? The master knows which one.'
Ozzard almost frowned, but hurried away after glancing at Bolitho.
When the door closed, Tyacke said, 'I am sorry about the trick, sir. I wanted to talk. A ship can be a small market-place where privacy is concerned.'
Bolitho waited. This was the moment.
Tyacke said, 'Years ago, there was a girl in my life. That was before..' He hesitated. The Nile. Then I lost her. I never thought I'd ever see her again. Or want to, for that matter.' He looked at his hands and added simply, 'So I lost her.'
Bolitho wanted to tell him that he understood, but if Tyacke lost the will to speak now, it would not return.
'She wrote to me, and I wrote to her, but never posted it.'
Bolitho said nothing. It was the letter he had put in the strongbox before Indomitable's battle, with another of his own addressed to Catherine. But we both survived that day.
