Then the midshipman turned to stare at him, and said, “Never fear, sir, they’ll be up to your standard soon!” And he was proud of it.
Allday looked around, avoiding the eyes as the seamen lay back on their looms, unable to accept it. The midshipman knew who he was. Knew him.
Eventually he managed to ask, “And who is your captain?”
The boy looked surprised, and almost misjudged the tug of the tiller-bar.
“Why, Captain Tyacke, sir! Sir Richard Bolitho’s flag captain!”
Allday looked up at the fierce kestrel with its spread wings, at a seaman using a marlin spike but pausing in the middle of a splice to peer down at him. Captain James Tyacke. A face from yesterday. Or half a face, with that terrible disfigurement, his legacy from the Nile.
And the midshipman stood and removed his hat as the boat hooked on to the main chains, and Allday climbed up the “stairs” to the entry port. His mind was too crowded to record that he did it with ease and without pain.
It was like one of those things you think about, in a dream or a part-remembered story from someone else. A lieutenant greeted him, older than most for his rank, so probably from the lower deck. Come up the hard way. He had heard Tyacke speak of others like that. From him, with his qualities of seamanship and professional skill, there was no higher praise.
Beneath the quarterdeck, his mind trying to take in everything. Neat stands of pikes, and smartly flaked lines. The smell of fresh paint and new cordage. Just months since he had seen Bolitho fall, had caught and held him to the last. Tyacke had been there, too, but because of the close action he had been prevented from leaving his men. He nodded to himself, as if someone had spoken. Yesterday.
A Royal Marine sentry drew his boots together as the lieutenant tapped on the screen door. She could have been any ship… He almost expected Ozzard to open the door.
But it was Captain Tyacke. He shook his hand, waved aside all formality and guided him into the great cabin. Through the broad, sloping stern windows Allday was aware of Carrick Roads, stationary masts and moving patches of sails. But, in truth, he saw none of it.
Tyacke seated him by a table, and said, “I called at Falmouth in the hope that I might see Lady Somervell. But when I sent word to the house I was told that she is in London.” He looked at the skylight, and made no attempt, as he had used to do, to turn aside to hide the hideous scars.
Allday said, “She would have wanted to see you, sir.”
Tyacke held up his hand. “No rank here. I shall write to her. I am under orders for the West African station. But when I saw you through the glass just now, I had to speak with you. Chance, like happiness, does not come so easily.”
Allday said, awkwardly, “But we thought…” He tried again. “My wife Unis was certain that you were to be married, if and when Frobisher was paid off. I thought you might spend some time ashore.” He tried to grin. “You’ve earned it more’n most!”
Tyacke glanced at the adjoining sleeping cabin, glad that his big sea-chest had at last been taken below. His companion for so many years. Thousands and thousands of miles logged, icy gales and blistering heat. Guns and death. The chest had been standing near the door of Marion ’s house, waiting for men to come and take it to his new command. This ship.
He said, “I always thought I’d like to return to Africa. Their lordships were good to me, and granted my request.” He looked up at the skylight again; maybe he could see the mainmast truck from there. No admiral’s flag any more. A private ship. His own.
Allday heard someone bringing glasses. He thought of Unis, how lucky he was to have her.
Tyacke was speaking again, with no discernible emotion in his voice.
“It would not have worked, you see. The two children…” He touched his scarred face, reliving it. “I can understand how they felt about it.”
Allday watched him sadly. No, you don’t.
Tyacke gestured to the unknown servant.
“Nelson’s blood, am I right?”
Allday saw the servant give him a quick glance, and was glad he had put on his best coat today. As if he had known.
“It will do me good to get away from all of it. There’s nothing for me here. Not any more.” Tyacke took a full goblet. “It’s something we shared, were a part of. Nothing can alter that.” He swallowed some of his drink, his blue eyes very clear.
Then he said, after a silence, “He gave me back my pride, my hope, when I had thought them gone forever. I’ll never forget him, and what he gave to me.” He smiled briefly. “It’s all we can do now. Remember.”
He poured another generous measure of the rum and thought of Marion, her face when he had left the neat house, the children hiding in another room. Another man’s home, another man’s children.
Then he stared around the cabin and knew it was what he wanted. It was the only life he knew, or could expect.
Back to the anti-slavery patrols where he had been serving when he had first met Richard Bolitho. The trade was more extensive and more lucrative than ever despite all the treaties and promises; the slavers would have the pick of the ships as soon as this war was finally ended. Like the ones which had been there that day. When he had seen him fall, and this big, shambling man with the goblet almost lost in one of his hands had held him with a tenderness which few could imagine. Unless they had shared it. Been there. With us.
He smiled suddenly. And he never had told Marion about the yellow gown which he had always carried in that old sea-chest.
Later in the afternoon they went on deck. There was a hint of mist below Pendennis Castle, but the glass was steady and the wind was fair. Kestrel would clear harbour before most good people were awake and about their business.
Allday stood by the entry port, feeling the ship stir slightly beneath his fine shoes. He was surprised that he could accept it, without pain and without pity. He would never lose it, any more than the tall captain with the burned and melted face would forget.
The jolly-boat was already coming alongside, and the same midshipman was at the tiller. For some reason Allday was glad of it.
They faced one another and shook hands, each somehow knowing they would not meet again. As was the way with most sailors.
Tyacke waved to the boat, and asked, “Where to now, old friend?”
Allday smiled. “Goin’ home, Cap’n.”
Then he walked to the entry port, and paused and touched his forehead to the quarterdeck, and to the great ensign curling lazily from aft. For John Allday, admiral’s coxswain, it would never end.
He climbed down into the boat and grinned at the young midshipman. The worst part was behind him.
The midshipman eased over the tiller-bar and said shyly, “Will you, sir?”
Allday nodded, and waited for the bowman to cast off.
“Bear off forrard! Out oars! Give way together!”
It would never end.
10. Captain to Captain
LUKE JAGO made his way unhurriedly aft, his lean body angled easily to the deck. Unrivalled was heading west again, steering close-hauled on the starboard tack under topsails and topgallants, the wind light but enough to hold her steady.
Here on the ship’s messdeck the air was heady with rum, and the smell of the midday meal. Unlike a ship of the line, there were no guns on this deck. Each mess was allotted a scrubbed table and bench seats, with hooks overhead where the hammocks would be slung when the ship piped down for the night. In larger vessels the guns were a constant reminder to seamen and marines alike, when they swung themselves into their hammocks, and
