The shadow of the eagle

'Yes,' said Drinkwater, as the main yards were hauled round parallel with those on the fore and mizen masts and Andromeda began to gather headway again. 'Yes, it may well do if he has orders to engage us. He certainly wasn't about to hang about and parley'

For a moment both men stood side by side, watching the exertions of the men at the braces, trimming the yards almost square across the ship as Andromeda answered her helm and swung to port, to run downwind again, heading for Flores which loomed five miles away.

'On the other hand,' mused Drinkwater, 'we are supposed to be allies.'

'Those shots across our bow didn't look very friendly,' laughed Marlowe ruefully.

'No, they didn't, but Rakov might have been trying to cow us.'

'Why should he do that, sir?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Drinkwater replied wearily, unwilling to explain to Marlowe the hostility he had felt from the Russian when Rakov discovered he was the British officer responsible for the destruction of the Suvorov. 'It's just a feeling I have,' he added conciliatorily, seeing Frey come up from the gun-deck. 'Perhaps another time, Mr Frey.'

'I rather hope not, sir: they were 18-pounders at least.'

The knot of officers laughed a trifle uneasily. 'Poor old Ashton,' remarked Hyde. 'He's missed all the fun.'

Lieutenant Da Silva had conducted Ashton to the Governor's undistinguished residence where the British officer was received with every courtesy including a glass of wine. Da Silva introduced the Governor, Dom Miguel Gaspar Viera Batata, his secretary, whose name appeared to be Soares, and a tall thin man in a black worsted suit, silver buckled shoes and the elegant affectations of an English fop.

The Englishman introduced himself. 'I am Edmund Gilbert, Mr Ashton, British consul at Angra. By good fortune I am visiting Dom Batata at this time.' Ashton had no idea where Angra was, but his bow was elegant enough and it took them all in.

'Your servant, gentlemen. Lieutenant Josiah Ashton of His Britannic Majesty's frigate Andromeda, gentlemen, Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater commanding.' He took Drinkwater's letter from his breast and handed it to Batata.

'Thank you, Lieutenant.' Batata took the letter, slit the wafer and began to read while Soares served the wine. When he had finished reading, Batata passed the letter to Gilbert who blew his gaunt cheeks out and expelled his breath slowly, as if this was an essential accompaniment to the process.

'Well, well, well,' he concluded, refolding the letter and returning it to Batata who passed it directly to Soares.

'May I... ?' Gilbert sought the Governor's permission which was granted by a grave nod of Batata's head. 'Do I gather from this missive, Lieutenant... I beg your pardon, sir, I have forgotten ...'

'Ashton, Mr Gilbert,' Ashton prompted quickly, colouring uncertainly.

'Yes, yes. Well, Mr Ashton, do I infer your commander, Nathaniel What's-his-name, believes Napoleon Bonaparte is to be exiled here, on the island of Flores.'

'Yes, sir,' replied Ashton, slightly mollified by Gilbert's inability to remember Drinkwater's name and accepting a refill of his glass from Soares, 'if he ain't here already'

'Here? Already? 'Pon my soul, Mr Ashton, this is the first hint we've heard that Napoleon Bonaparte ain't, as you say, Emperor of the French!'

'He has abdicated, gentlemen,' Ashton explained, inflated by his assumption of the role of harbinger.

'You are our winged Mercury' Gilbert echoed Ashton's thoughts with a thin smile.

'King Louis has returned to France.'

'Then the war is over?' asked Batata.

'Indeed yes, sir. In Europe, at least.'

'Ah yes, your country is still at war with the Americans. Now these other ships, Lieutenant, we have no knowledge of them, have we?' Gilbert shrugged and a query to his secretary by Batata produced a negative shrug from Soares. Batata turned back to Ashton. 'We have no knowledge of any other ships other than merchantmen ...'

'And is there no news at all in the archipelago, of preparations for the reception of Bonaparte, gentlemen?' Ashton asked as Soares bent over his glass again.

Batata shrugged and shook his head. Gilbert was more emphatic.

'I have heard nothing on Terceira and am certain we should have done by now, if such a thing was meditated.'

'Very well,' Ashton bowed, 'thank you for your time, gentlemen. I am sorry to have troubled you.'

'It is no trouble, Lieutenant,' Dom Batata said.

Gilbert addressed the Governor in fluent Portuguese and Batata nodded in agreement, then Gilbert turned to Ashton. 'Mr Ashton, I have been here for ten days attending to some business with the master of the brig Mary Digby of Sunderland. If your Captain Drinkwater would condescend to convey me back to Angra, we could quickly ascertain if the packet from Lisbon has brought orders relevant to the fate of Bonaparte.'

'Well, sir, I suppose Captain Drinkwater will have no objection...'

'Good, then the matter is settled. Give me a quarter of an hour, and I shall be with you.'

Da Silva accompanied Ashton and Gilbert back to the beach, with two servants bearing between them Mr Gilbert's portmanteau. As they approached the boat, Ashton noticed two of the launch's seamen sauntering ahead of them, each carrying a canvas bag.

'If you will excuse me, Mr Gilbert, I will just get on ahead and prepare the boat for you.' Ashton preferred the excuse and, without waiting for a reply, walked briskly on. A moment later he overtook the two seamen, one of whom he recognized as the launch's stroke oarsmen.

'Shaw!' he called and the man turned round as Ashton hurried up. 'Shaw, what the bloody hell d'you think you are doing out of the boat?'

'We was sent up by, er ...'

'Went to get fresh bread, sir,' the other man said, holding up one of the canvas bags.

'Who the devil said you could leave the boat?'

'Well, sir, we only sent to get bread, sir, had a tarpaulin muster and reckoned we could afford a few loaves...'

'Let me see in those bags.'

'It's only bread, sir ...'

'Let me see, damn you!' Furious, Ashton pulled the loaves out and hurled them into the water.

'Sir! We paid for them!'

'Aye and you paid for these too, I daresay!' Ashton triumphantly drew two bottles from the bottom of the bag and turned to Shaw. 'Empty yours too,' he commanded.

'Sir!' Shaw protested.

'Empty it, damn you and be quick!' Ashton was aware of Gilbert approaching as Shaw upended the bag. Four richly smelling and warm loaves fell out and two green bottles followed. One hit a stone and smashed with a tinkle, staining the sand with wine. Ashton kicked both loaves and broken glass into the water where screaming gulls were already congregating round the floating debris of the first lot of bread. He hurled the two remaining bottles after them while the fishermen tending an adjacent canoa, watched in astonished silence.

'Now get back to the boat and be damned quick about it!' Ashton hissed. He turned as nonchalantly as he could as Gilbert came up to him.

'Trouble, Lieutenant?'

'Not really, Mr Gilbert. Not what I'd call trouble.'

'And what would you call trouble, Lieutenant Ashton?' asked Gilbert, spurning the broken neck of one of the bottles with his foot, and looking at the ravenous gulls tearing the loaves apart, their wings beating with the fury of their assault on the abandoned bread.

'Oh, I don't know,' Ashton said, utterly discomfited.