Lewrie! The Proteus frigate! It was inconceivable that Lewrie, that swaggering, irreverent, and bawdy brute, could be that clever, that he had appeared by mere coincidence! Surely, he had been aided, aimed by his betters, his masters. The Dutchman, Haljewin's, feeble excuses and attempt to point the finger somewhere else just might have a grain of truth to them. Choundas dismissed Lt. Mercier's presence as utterly as he ignored the droning flies, in speculation of betrayal and treason done by someone close to Governor-General Hugues, or close to himself.
It would have to be someone on Guadeloupe with access to secret signal books, the new private signals that had come out from France in this very ship! Someone who could get access to fishing boats so they could be smuggled to the lurking British, or pass them to a spy already in place who could make the arrangements. Someone who had seen a copy of Kaptein Haljewin's cargo manifests of all they sent to bolster General Rigaud's forces, the largesse to buy his allegiance once Citizen Hedouville got ashore on Saint Domingue and contacted Rigaud with the Directory's proposal to make him the new ruler… in the name of France.
The British… such a perfidious race, thinking themselves so very clever and subtle, Choundas thought, sneering. Had they intended to flaunt Lewrie in his face to divert him from his plans, as if he was so brainless, so driven by a need for revenge that he'd fly after him, mewl in mad circles like a kitten chasing a streamer of wool yarn?
Well, he'd see about that, the fools! He shifted his good leg under him and slid off the gun breech, bracing himself erect with his cane.
'Maitre?' he heard Lt. Hainaut say by his side. Lt. Mercier had departed, perhaps minutes before after suffering his inattention. 'I thought you could use some refreshment,' he added, offering a shiny pewter mug, and an arm on which to lean, but Choundas brushed him off, to make his own way to the break of the quarterdeck nettings, creaky in his joints from long stillness, and long-ago maiming.
Clump-shuffle-tick… clump-shuffle-tick, 'til he could lean upon the railings and discard his cane, with the ever- solicitous Hainaut at his elbow the whole way.
'Watered wine, m'sieur. Quite cool,' Hainaut tempted.
Choundas turned his head to study him for a moment. There was a subtle difference to Hainaut's voice, to his demeanour; not quite so much smarmy deference as he usually displayed, which deference always secretly amused Choundas, to see his protege toady so eagerly, yet be so ambitious and scheming, and imagine that he disguised it. Now he sounded… smug. Pleased with himself, of a certainty, but self-confident as well. Daring to be his own man, not Choundas's, was he?
'Merci, Jules,' Choundas allowed, reaching out for the pewter mug, now that his hand was free, and took a long gulp or two.
'All those poor men… never had a chance, m'sieur,' Hainaut mourned, removing his hat (rather the worse for wear, Choundas noted) and shaking his head sadly, as if honouring the dead and wounded.
'A waste of good material, Jules,' Choundas growled. 'But we will be free of them by dawn. Had we met les anglais far out at sea we would be cursed with them for days. After all, good Catholic widows cannot re-marry until some bit of their dead husbands is shipped for burial in France,' Choundas said with a dismissive sing-song. 'In the dirt, with the worms! Following the old customs and superstitions we would have been forced to bury them in the gravel ballast belowdecks until we came into port. Peu! What ancient… idiocy!' he scoffed.
'Eu, merde' Hainaut grimaced in seeming agreement.
'The 'Bloodies' shove their dead out a gun-port without even a kind word,' Choundas casually informed him between appreciated sips of his wine. 'Those too mangled to live, they bash on the head with gun-tools or mallets, then shove them over, unconcious, to drown. That is British… mercy, hein?'
'We must avenge them, m'sieur,' Hainaut vowed with some heat to his voice. 'We must strike back. We cannot let this pass unanswered.'
Choundas eyed him more closely. Hainaut's zeal for vengeance sounded suspiciously like true conviction, not one of his usual poses. What had gotten into the lad? Choundas had to wonder.
'All in good time, Jules,' Choundas promised with a sly smile. 'But I shall not be diverted by such a silly, sentimental passion.'
'Even if it was that salaud, Lewrie, m'sieur? I saw him plain, close enough to read his ship's name, close enough to recognise him at once,' Hainaut declared, half- questioning, but mostly boasting in case his master had forgotten how bravely he had shown.
Choundas uttered an evil little laugh, turning his gaze on his aide, the sort of appraisal that would shrivel the scrotums of braver men. Choundas had seen L'Impudente's attack. Jules had never gotten quite as close as that, but… was there anything praiseworthy to the whole disastrous day, his terrier-nip charges had seemed to drive away the 'Bloodies,' in the eyes of the town's inhabitants, the uninformed.
'You did well today, Jules,' Choundas decided to say.
'Merci, m'sieur,' Hainaut responded, turning so hellishly stern and heroically 'modest' that Choundas had to bite down on the lining of his cheek not to laugh in his face at such posturing.
'I must give this frigate a new captain, Jules,' Choundas began.
'M'sieur?' Hainaut asked, as if it were grievous news to him and indeed a mortal pity, hope and greed rising despite his best efforts.
'Griot, I think,' Choundas continued, between sips of his wine. 'Lieutenant Houdon to take Griot's corvette. He could not serve under a new man, when he is senior enough for a ship of his own. He makes a good impression, n 'est-ce pas? That fellow Mercier, I think his name is, promoted to First Officer under Griot. He kept a cool head on his shoulders during the worst of our drubbing.'
And me? Hainaut furiously thought; And what for me?
'Griot obviously will wish to bring one of his lieutenants with him, so he has one familiar face in his coterie,' Choundas speculated.
'Quite understandable,' Hainaut allowed, though squirming with expectation.
'Leaving a Lieutenant's berth open aboard Le Gascon' Choundas temptingly decided. 'Does anyone able spring to mind, Jules?'
'Well…' Hainaut began to say, averse to just blurting out to one and all his aspirations. 'If he wasn't such a failure, there is that Recamier fellow, m'sieur, but… heh, heh.'
'No, he's commanded a ship, after all. To be made Third Officer under another… that is not the use I eventually intend for him. After he has had enough time to ponder his 'sins,' ' Choundas quibbled.
'Well, if we're really desperate, m'sieur, I could, ah… that is to say, might a spell of sea-duty continue my nautical education as an officer?' Hainaut finally flummoxed out. 'I can already hand, reef, and steer, stand a watch, as Capitaine Desplan allowed me as we sailed to Guadeloupe, and…'
'You do merit some reward, Jules, oui' Choundas grumbled. 'As junior-most officer, well… hmmm. I must think on that. Come. Let us board your ratty little schooner. Take me back to Pointe-a-Pitre. You can show me what a tarry young man you are, hein?'
'But of course, m'sieur' Hainaut said with an enthusiasm that he did not feel, almost despising the sly bastard for taunting him so cruelly. But with such a cruel ogre, what could he really expect?
'And once in my own bed, after a good supper, I will sleep on it Jules, I promise,' Choundas vowed.
'You will not visit Capitaine Desplan, before he goes away from us, m'sieur?' Hainaut asked without thinking.
'I think not, Hainaut,' Choundas said, more frostily, as if he had been criticised. 'The good Capitaine fell as a true Breton sailor and warrior, without complaint or regret. To paw
