would profit by his escort, and while Drinkwater might commit Andromeda to an action with two men-of-war acting illegally under an outlawed flag, the presence of a powerful Russian frigate would dissuade even a zealous British officer from compromising his own country's honour by firing into an ally!

As for the degree to which Captain Count Rakov was privy to Tsar Alexander's secret intentions, Drinkwater could only conclude however Rakov saw the presence of Andromeda, that of Gremyashehi was more revealing to himself. There seemed a strong possibility that Rakov's task in conveying the despatch to Angra might be subsidiary to that of pursuing and outwitting Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater of His Britannic Majesty's frigate Andromeda. Quite apart from anything else, it would be a small but personal revenge for Captain Drinkwater's destruction of the Suvorov.

And then it occurred to Drinkwater that something must have happened to Hortense, for how else could Rakov have followed so swiftly in their own wake? It seemed that while the war was over, the old game of cat and mouse would go on, though who was now the cat and who the mouse, remained anyone's guess.

For Sergeant McCann the fact that Lieutenant Ashton was compelled to stand watch-and-watch held no more satisfaction for him than the beating of Mr Paine. Ashton's double insult had wounded him deeply, vulnerable as he was, reinforcing his feelings of inadequacy as well as affronting his sensibility. These feelings were exacerbated by Ashton's unrepentant attitude, manifested by the lieutenant's haughtiness as he nursed his own wounded pride through the tedious extra duties imposed upon him by Captain Drinkwater.

Under such stress, the predominant aspects of the temperaments of both men dominated their behaviour; the sergeant of marines nursed his grievance, the lieutenant cultivated his touchily arrogant sense of honour. And such was the indifference to private woe aboard the frigate, each man in his personal isolation formed dark schemes of revenge. Under the foreseeable circumstances, such imagined and impractical fantasies were no more than simple, cathartic chimeras.

These disaffections were set against the burgeoning of Mr Marlowe who, under Drinkwater's kindly eye and with the tacit support of Frey, seemed to grow in confidence and stature in the following few days. Frey rather liked Marlowe, whose dark visage held a certain attraction, and had engaged to execute a small portrait of the first lieutenant, a departure for Frey, whose subjects were more usually small watercolour paintings or pencil drawings of the ship and the landmarks which she passed in her wanderings. As for Marlowe, his contribution to the relative success of Birkbeck and the carpenter in partially staunching the inflow of water by caulking and doubling the inner ceiling of the hull, had lent substance of a practical nature to his increased stature. It was thus easier for his fellow shipmates to attribute his former behaviour to indisposition, and for him to gain confidence in proportion.

With these small ups and downs mirrored throughout the ship's company as the men rubbed along from day to day, Andromeda lay to, or cruised under easy sail to the north of Corvo, never losing sight of this outpost of the Azores, yet ever questing for the appearance of strange sails approaching from the north.

But all they saw were the cockbilled spoutings of an occasional sperm whale and, at the southern end of their beat, the hardy Azoreans out in their canoas in pursuit of their great game, chasing the mighty cetaceans with harpoon and lance, so that the watching Drinkwater was reminded of the corvette Melusine and the ice of the distant Arctic.[10] Along with this reminiscence, came gloomy thoughts of the inexorable passing of time and the tedious waste of war.

For a dismal week, under grey skies alleviated occasionally by promising patches of blue which yielded nothing but disappointment, Andromeda haunted the waters north of Corvo and Flores.

'We haul up and down like a worn-out trollop on Portsmouth hard, draggling her shawl in the mud,' Hyde observed laconically, yet with a certain metaphorical aptness, leaning back in his chair, both boots on the table.

'Indeed,' agreed Marlowe, sighing sadly, thinking of Sarah and his child growing inside her, 'my only consolation is that our diminishing stores will compel Our Father to head for Plymouth Sound very soon.'

'I think', warned Frey, 'that he will hang on until the very last moment.'

'Well, that's as maybe, but the last moment will arrive eventually,' said the flexible Hyde philosophically.

'I do not think', Frey said with a wry smile, 'you quite understand how Captain Drinkwater's luck has a habit of running.'

'You mean you think we shall encounter these ships?' Marlowe asked.

Frey nodded. 'Oh yes; I have no doubt of it. They cannot long be delayed now and the presence of that Russian almost guarantees it. Why else did she turn up like a bad penny?'

Marlowe shrugged and twisted his mouth in a curious grimace of helpless resignation. 'Perhaps you'll prove to be right, perhaps not.'

'Well, if you ask me,' put in Hyde, 'I think it is a wild-goose chase. All right, the Russkie turns up and his appearance ain't coincidence, but neither is ours as far as he is concerned and my money is on his intercepting these so-called Antwerp ships and turning them back.'

'That would mean they had had the wild-goose chase,' laughed Marlowe.

'Or that's what we have all been engaged on,' added Frey, pulling out his pencil and sketch block.

'Well, let's drink to the damnation of His Majesty's enemies, damnation to Boney, wherever he is, damnation to the Tsar of all the Russians, damnation to despair and depression and anything else which irks you,' Hyde said, his books crashing on the deck as he rose to pour three glasses of blackstrap and pass them to his messmates.

'I do wish you would move with a little more grace and a little less noise, Hyde,' complained Marlowe good- naturedly.

'Sudden decisive action, Freddie, is the hallmark of the accomplished military tactician.'

'Or a lazy oaf,' Marlowe riposted, grinning as he accepted the proffered glass.

'Steady, or I'll be demanding satisfaction,' joked Hyde.

Marlowe pulled another face. 'One touchy sense of honour in a wardroom is enough, thank you,' he said.

'Don't forget Sergeant McCann,' prompted Hyde.

'Oh, he don't count...'

'Don't be too sure,' warned Hyde. 'He is no ordinary man.' And Frey looked up from his drawing with a shudder, catching Hyde's eye. 'You all right?' Hyde asked.

'Yes. Just a grey goose flying over my grave,' Frey said quietly.

'More likely a wild goose,' Marlowe added with a short laugh.

'Perhaps,' said Frey in a detached tone of voice that made Hyde and Marlowe exchange glances.

PART THREE

Caging the Eagle

'Napoleon in the Isle of Elba has ... only to be patient, his enemies will be his best champions.'

General Sir Robert Wilson

CHAPTER 14

St Elmo's Fire

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