The shadow of the eagle

it.'

'But neither of you thought fit to tell me.'

'We thought you would know.'

'So you think it was my fault?' Drinkwater asked quietly. Marlowe shrugged again but held his tongue. 'The fact is, Mr Marlowe, that if the ship was carrying too much canvas, it was my fault. Nevertheless, the fact does not exonerate you from the consequences of your own misjudgement. Why did you not complete the reefing before attempting to tack ship?''

'The ship was standing into danger,' Marlowe repeated.

'It is a matter of opinion whether or not you had sufficient time to finish snugging the reef down. I'm inclined to believe you had left it too late. You could have taken in a reef earlier ...'

'I wanted some shelter from the land.'

'Very well, but a more prudent officer would have tacked and then reefed while the ship lay in the lee of the Wight.'

'A more prudent officer?' Marlowe, emboldened by the drink, affected an expression of wounded pride. 'It was because of my prudence that I took action.'

Drinkwater watched; the man was a fool and he himself was rapidly losing patience, but he had no wish to push Marlowe beyond propriety. Before the first lieutenant could say more Drinkwater stood up. The sudden movement seemed to curb Marlowe. He flinched and frowned.

'Mr Marlowe,' said Drinkwater moving round the table, 'I do wish you to consider this matter. You are the worse for liquor. If one of those men forward, whom you affect to despise, should come on deck in the condition you are now in, I daresay you would have him flogged. Now, sir, do you retire to your cabin and reconsider the matter when you are sober.'

Marlowe looked up at his commander and shook his head. 'Trouble with you, Captain Drinkwater,' Marlowe began, levering himself to his feet, 'is you think you know everything.' Marlowe stood confronting Drinkwater. He swayed so close that Drinkwater could smell the rum on him.

'Have a care, Mr Marlowe. Do please have a care.' Marlowe stood unsteadily and for a moment Drinkwater thought he was going to raise his hand, but then he concluded a wave of nausea affected the lieutenant and he merely covered his mouth. Whatever his motive, Marlowe managed to stagger from the cabin, leaving Drinkwater alone. Drinkwater let his breath go in a long sigh. In his present circumstances, this was something he could well have done without.

Late morning found them still on the starboard tack, but their course lay more nearly west-south-west, for the wind had continued to veer and was now north-west by north. The thick weather that Drinkwater had predicted had run through during the night. Now the wind was lighter, no more than a fresh breeze. The topgallants had been set again, and Andromeda bowled along under an almost cloudless sky. If the tide did not play them up and they maintained no less than the nine knots they had logged at the last streaming, they would clear the Caskets and be free to stand out into the Atlantic before long.

Fulmars and the slender dark shapes of shearwaters swooped above the wake in long, shallow glides. The solitary fulmars rarely touched down into the sea, but the shearwaters would swim in gregarious rafts, lifting by common consent and skating away over the waves as the frigate drove down upon them, disturbing their tranquillity. Away to starboard, in line ahead, a dozen white gannets flew as though on some aerial patrol, graceful and purposeful, with their narrow, black-tipped wings.

'I remember gannets like them having blue feet down in the South Pacific,' Drinkwater remarked to Birkbeck as the two older men took the morning air on the weather side of the quarterdeck.

'Aye, they call 'em boobies, I believe,' replied Birkbeck, 'talking of which, you heard about young Marlowe last night?'

'That he was drunk? Yes, I happened to send for him.'

'It doesn't help, sir, if you don't mind my saying so.'

'No, it doesn't.'

'Twould be less of a problem if Ashton didn't possess so much influence over him. I can't make Ashton out. He's a clever enough cove, which is something you cannot say for young Marlowe. The two of them shouldn't be on the same ship, but...' Birkbeck paused and shrugged, 'oh, damn it, I don't know.'

'Go on, Mr Birkbeck.'

'To be honest, sir, I ain't sure there's anything to add. It's just that when the senior officer in the wardroom is weak, there is usually trouble. Someone tries to take over.'

'Frey doesn't cast himself in that role?'

'Good Lord, no, sir. Poor fellow sensibly keeps himself to himself.'

'And the marine officer, what's his name? Hyde?'

Birkbeck chuckled and shook his head. 'He's impervious to any influence. An idle dog, if ever there was one, but amiable enough. No, I think there's something personal between Ashton and Marlowe, though what it is, the devil alone knows.'

'Do you know what experience Marlowe has had?' Drinkwater asked. 'He was singularly inept yesterday.'

'I don't think there's much to tell, sir. Borne on the books as a servant, then midshipman in the Channel Fleet. Passed for lieutenant under the regulation age, took part in a boat expedition off Brest, his sole taste of action I shouldn't wonder, and the rest of his time on the quarterdeck of a seventy-four, I think. He was invalided ashore for some reason,' Birkbeck paused, 'could have been drink, I suppose, then he came here.'

'Rather as I thought.'

'Well, I couldn't vouch for the details, but the substance is about right.'

'It must be somewhat tiresome for you in the wardroom.'

'Frey and Hyde are pleasant enough, and Ashton and Marlowe are civil when they are separate; 'tis together they begin to smell fishy.'

'Fishy?'

Birkbeck shrugged again. 'Just something I can smell.'

Drinkwater considered the matter as seven bells were struck, 'I think it is time we buried our dead and I spoke to the people. We will pipe up spirits after that, and this afternoon exercise at the guns.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

By tonight, Birkbeck thought, the ship should settled down. He felt he could have put money on it if it were not for Mr Marlowe. And Mr Ashton.

They hove-to and buried the dead Watson at noon, when the ship's day changed. The frigate, with her main-topsail and topgallant hacked against the mast and her courses up in their bunt and clewlines, dipped to the blue, white-capped seas that rolled down from the west. After Watson's corpse, in its weighted canvas shroud, had slipped from beneath the red ensign and plummeted to the sea-bed, Drinkwater stationed himself at the forward end of the quarterdeck, his officers ranged about him, the red, white and black files of Hyde's marines drawn up in rigid lines on either side, their backs to the hammock nettings. Andromeda's midshipmen stood together in a pimply gaggle. Like his officers, they had all been sent aboard by their patrons, even sent by the captains of other ships, as though brief service in the vicinity of a prince of the House of Hanover would admit them to the company of the most august. It gave Drinkwater some grim amusement to consider what patrons and parents would say when it got out that instead of being returned to their comfortable berths after a cross-Channel jaunt, they were stretching out into the Atlantic. On the orders of His Royal Highness, of course!

Amidships, over the boats on the chocks in the waist, along the gangways and in the lower ratlines of the main and fore shrouds, the ship's company waited to hear what he had to say, for scuttlebutt had been circulating since the previous day to the effect that the mystery which preoccupied them all would shortly be resolved.

At the conclusion of the short burial service Drinkwater closed the prayer book and nodded to Marlowe. The first lieutenant looked like death, his naturally pale and gaunt features now conveyed the impression of a skull, emphasized in its modelling by his dark beard, imperfectly shaved by his shaking hand. He had nicked himself in two places and still bled. At Drinkwater's nod he ordered the ship's company to don hats. Drinkwater watched carefully, the degree to which this movement achieved near simultaneity was the first indication as to how well his people