perhaps, was not what he had expected when he had donned the King's coat.
He turned away and gave his attention to the topsails, filled but only just; the weather was part of the general malaise. It was the usual north-westerly wind, but without life, sultry, more like the sirocco of this region at a later time of the year.
He considered the orders Bolitho had given him to study. When Frobisher eventually ended her mission and returned to Malta, Bolitho's successor would be there to relieve him; he had very probably already arrived. Vice- Admiral Sir Graham Bethune. Tyacke had sensed Bolitho's surprise at the choice; he knew the officer, and they had served together. The navy was a family… The thought uppermost in his mind returned; it had come, increasingly, to haunt him. Frobisher would be returning to England; Sir Richard would be allowed to lower his flag, to pass the burden to someone else.
For a change.
He had heard Kellett and the others discussing it, when they thought he was out of earshot.
Going home. He had to come to terms with it; it was a concept totally unknown to him in all his years of service. Going home. He knew what it meant to Bolitho, even to
Allday. But to him, England had become something alien, a place only of more scrutiny, more revulsion, more pain. Until that last letter from the woman he had once intended to marry. Interesting, warm, mature, truthful… He had tried to dismiss it, to laugh at himself, to accept that there was nothing for him.
In his heart, he knew that Bolitho had guessed some of it, but had said little. That was their strength.
It had all come to a head when Kellett had blurted it out, a day after they had parted with the schooner. The whole wardroom had been alive with speculation and concern for the future. What would happen to Frobisherl To them?
Tyacke had already asked himself that. Would she end up an empty hulk, in ordinary in some crowded dockyard, or allowed to sink still further to the status of a store ship or a floating prison? It had happened to other ships; Bolitho's Hyperion and even Nelson's Victory had been dragged from ignominy to serve again when the country was in danger of invasion and defeat. To find glory when others had been prepared to let them rot.
Kellett had asked him in his usual quiet fashion, 'When we return to the fleet, sir, may I ask, what shall you do?'
It had been then, without any hint or warning, that Tyacke had found his way. his purpose.
'I shall remain with the ship.'
Running away was not the answer. It never had been. He belonged.
And Marion would be there to help him. For all kinds of reasons, reasons he would have previously denied, or laughed at, they needed each other.
He thought of Bolitho and his Catherine. Love was the strongest bond.
He heard a step on the deck beside him, but it was not the first lieutenant; it was Avery, squinting at the sea and tugging at his shirt while he stared around from horizon to horizon.
Tyacke said, 'I have to see Sir Richard.' He hesitated over his choice of words. 'It is my duty to advise him.'
'I know.' Avery watched the vivid blue eyes, Tyacke coming to a decision. He said, 'Sir Richard knows this cannot continue much longer. As soon as we return to Malta, it will be out of his hands. But you know him well enough he cannot let it rest. It seems there is some flaw in it, in the pattern, which refuses to fit.'
'I know. He spoke of the Spaniard, Captain Martinez, the one you met in Algiers.'
Avery nodded, and felt more sweat run down his spine. He often thought of that fine house in London, and of the lovely Susanna; even those, he would exchange at this moment for a bath in pure, clean water.
'There was a brief mention of him in the last despatches from Admiralty. Someone took the time and trouble to look into Sir Richard's report, a lowly clerk most likely!'
Tyacke watched some seamen loitering by an open hatch; they could smell the rum being issued. With little fresh water, and all the beer long gone, rum might be all the spark that was needed.
'A renegade, and an agent for the French when they were preparing to drag Spain into the war. Not that they needed much encouragement!' He heard Kellett clear his throat, and added impatiently, 'Is that all the information we have?'
Avery said, 'It troubles Sir Richard.'
Tyacke turned to Kellett. 'This afternoon, Mr. Kellett is that what you were about to ask?'
Kellett gave one of his rare smiles. 'Aye, sir.'
'Lower gundeck. Both batteries. See if you can knock a minute or two off their time.'
He turned back to Avery, his voice very calm. 'If Sir Richard requires it, I shall wait until hell freezes.' He paused. 'But it may take more than extra gun drills to keep the people mindful of their duties, if we delay much longer, eh?'
The cabin skylight was open, and Bolitho heard Avery laugh. Tyacke was a patient man, and he knew his trade better than any he had met.
He returned to the chart, and pictured Frobisher sailing sedately above her own reflection in this Tyrrhenian Sea. So wrong for a ship of her size and quality; this was a place more used to beak-pr owed galleys with banked oars, and bearded warriors in plumed helmets. A place of the gods, of the myths of Greece and Rome.
He smiled at the notion, and opened his notes once again; he held his hand over his blind eye, out of habit, and was surprised that he could accept it. Catherine's letter had given him the strength; their lordships of Admiralty had done the rest.
It was strange about Bethune; he had seemed so suited to the ways and powers of London. Perhaps he had offended someone, which was easy enough at the Admiralty. Even Lord Rhodes' name seemed to have been dropped from despatches and orders. Was Sillitoe's hand in that, too?
He dragged his mind back to that meeting with Mehmet Pasha and his Spanish adviser, Martinez. They had known all about the two frigates moored there; nothing could move without the governor's permission, and his complicity. Martinez had been a successful and daring agent for the French revolutionary government. For Napoleon.
Tyacke needed to provide for his ship, and Bethune was probably waiting in Malta to assume command of the Mediterranean squadron.
I must go home. He did not realise he had spoken aloud to the empty cabin and its dancing, dazzling reflections.
There was no proof that Martinez was any more than he proclaimed. His roles had become less important and possibly more dangerous over the years, and in his own country he would never be trusted again. He thought of his brother, Hugh. A traitor was always remembered for his treachery.
If only he had more ships, especially frigates. This venture was a needle in a haystack; or was it merely vanity, a belief that no one else could see the hidden dangers?
He could smell the rum, and imagined the seamen and marines throughout the flagship, isolated now, and idle, no longer participating in the great events of other times and places.
As he leaned over the table he felt the locket, filmed with sweat, adhering to his skin. It would be spring when they reached England again. So much time lost, so much to rediscover.
He heard Tyacke's shoes outside the door, and, quite suddenly, made up his mind.
Tyacke entered and removed his hat; with his face in shadow, it was barely possible to see the full extent of the terrible scars.
'Join me in a glass, James.' Ozzard had appeared, as if by magic. 'I think I have pursued my instincts too far this time.'
They both watched the wine filling the glasses for a moment, then he said, 'We may run down upon Huntress before sunset. I would wish to speak with her captain.'
Tyacke nodded. 'It is possible, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho raised his glass. 'Either way, we shall return to Malta.' He smiled. 'In all truth, James, I wish you the happiness you deserve in your new life!'
Their glasses clinked, and the watchful Ozzard saw some wine splash across the admiral's white breeches. Like blood, he thought. But the admiral had not seen it.
Tyacke was on his feet again. 'I shall pass the word, Sir Richard. It may lessen the toils of gun drill!'
Ozzard went into his pantry and found Allday there, carving yet another model ship.
