Havoc`s Sword

… biftecks, we satanic … les sanglants!'

'You could take that to Drury Lane, Mister Peel!' Lewrie congratulated, even briefly applauding him; languidly, spiritlessly, like the 'better sort' of theatre-goer in London. He rose to his feet and pulled his watch from his fob pocket, opened the face…

Four Bells of the Day Watch chimed from the forecastle belfry__

two in the afternoon, which conformed to what his watch told him. He closed the face of his watch and slipped it back into its pocket.

'Let me ask you something, Mister Peel,' Lewrie requested. 'I asked you once before, but… you and Mister Pelham got access to the French signals books, somehow. You know rather a lot about who's who on Guadeloupe, and Choundas's inner circle. Is there a spy, or a conspiracy of agents on the island? Do you really… own people close to the Directory in Paris, too?'

'And what did I say, when first you asked, sir?' Peel smirked, come over all superior and inscrutable again. 'That I could not tell tales out of school, was that how I put it? What do you think?'

'That your department has the place riddled with spies,' Lewrie declared. 'Were you afraid my suggestion might expose people you had in place already? Was that why you rejected it out of hand? And so dismissively?' he wearily accused, their spat still rankling.

'My apologies for being brusque, sir,' Peel said with a bow in his direction. 'Truly. Aye, there is some small shred of truth in your surmise that not all the French on Guadeloupe are resigned to the success of the Revolution. Less effective or informative as we wish, nor as widespread as we could hope, but… I am relatively sanguine that whatever false spoor we lay for Choundas to follow, it will not lead too close to our true operatives. Do we actually lose one or two minor players, well… that's the cost of doing such business. Regrettable, but… there you are.'

'Dear Lord,' Lewrie gawped. He'd thought Peel cold-blooded before, but… that took the cake.

'Well, then,' Lewrie declared, rising energetically. 'Lots to do, and the hours too short, as usual. We'll up- anchor and sail down to Roseau. Deliver our prize to the Court, now they've her manifests and such… land our prisoners with 'em. Then,' he concluded with an anticipatory wince, 'we'll get under way, 'bout dusk.'

'Sorry,' Peel queried in surprise, 'get under way, did ye say? Wherever are we bound, this time, sir? I'd thought…'

'Oh, didn't I tell you?' Lewrie blurted out in a rush, as if to trample peel's objections with his news, 'The Yankees are missing some merchant vessels, and are sailing to go look for them. After I told 'em about Choundas and his four raiders bein' at sea, they swore they would run them down, too, but think they might need a spot o' help.'

He gave Peel a rapid thumbnail sketch; Peel's mouth gaped open wider and wider, the more Lewrie explained to him.

'… so we're t'sail with 'em,' Lewrie concluded, 'with three ships to make up almost a proper little squadron, and sweep the seas as far South as Caracas. Might scoop up the odd Don or Dutch trader as well, ye never can tell, Peel. More prizes'd suit, don't ye…?'

'But!' Peel spluttered, turning nigh plum-complexioned. Both of his hands were squeezed into bone-white fists as he fought to hold in his sudden rage. 'But…!'

'Like we discussed, don't ye know,' Lewrie insisted. 'When you got so 'both sheets aft' on whisky. We'd go south, and McGilliveray and Sumter would scout with us. Well, now we've Oglethorpe along, as well, and… you agreed to it, do you recall,' he quickly pointed out.

'Lewrie, you…!' Peel squawked. 'Damn… my eyes! Foreign Office… Maitland! Lord Balcarres, and Pelham, all their cautions! Keep the Yankees at arm's reach, half a foe, and… and you just up and decide to, on your blo-At your own whim! Spur of-'

'After gaining your agreement, Mister Peel!' Lewrie pouted.

'Damn y-Dammit, Lewrie!' Peel retorted, raising his fists as if ready to take him on, barehanded. 'You just can't-'

'Our prisoners'll see all three men o' war, two American and one British, sail together, Mister Peel, and they'll dread the chance there's been an alliance made against 'em, but news of it hasn't got to 'em, yet. That'll give Hugues and Choundas something to bite on! Drive em bug-eatin', slung into Bedlam mad Mad enough to lash out and declare real war on the United States, then we get 'em as allies, and whoever managed that wins himself a knighthood, and…'

Peel lowered his fists, exhaled long and hard, nigh to a death rattle, and dropped his head. He jerked out his chair and sagged into it, cradling his face in his hands, fingers kneading his temples.

'You need t'be leashed, I swear you do, Lewrie,' he weakly said. Leashed and muzzled, like a… Oh, I thought I was prepared to deal with you, thought I had your measure years ago. Twigg, he warned me t'keep you on a taut rein, but…!

'Think of the possibilities!' Lewrie beguiled.

'Think of the disaster,' Peel said with a sorrowful groan, 'if it all goes bust.'

'Now really, Mister Peel,' Lewrie countered. 'What could possibly go much wrong with chasing after French warships?'

'The mind boggles,' Peel croaked. 'Damn… my eyes, Lewrie but you've done it to me… again! Lord, what'll Pelham say!'

'Well, I must go on deck and get us ready to sail,' Lewrie told him, more than eager to get away, back on his quarterdeck where he was completely in charge. Where Peel wasn't, in point of fact.

'Don't know as I can trust you outta my sight that long,' Peel almost whimpered. 'Leashed and muzzled, like a dancin' bear…' He sounded almost wistful at that image.

'Later, Mister Peel,' Lewrie said, scooping up his hat and coat and making his escape. Once on the quarterdeck, he passed the word for Lt. Langlie, to apprise him of their sailing. As he waited for him to appear, there came the sound of a mug clanking off a bulkhead. Later followed by another, and, perhaps, the sound of flung furniture.

'He's takin' that well,' Lewrie could but suppose.

BOOK FOUR

'Maturate fugam gegique haec dicte vestro;

non illi imperium pelagi saevumque tridentum

sed mihi sorte datum. '

'Speed your flight and bear this word to your king;

not to him but to me were given by lot

the lordship of the sea and the dread trident.'

– Aeneid, Book I, 137-139

Publius Vergilius Maro

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE