Command

Then he slumped, trembling with anger but trying for composure. It was not only the base demands they were making but the whole sordid business of penal servitude that was sapping his humanity. Yet if he was to return to claim a proper master's berth his only chance was to deal with it and make a success of the voyage. If only Renzi would—

A soft tap at the door broke through his bleak thoughts. Mowlett entered carrying a large phial. 'As doctor, Mr Kydd, I prescribe a medicinal draught, to be taken at once,' he said firmly.

The sharp tang of neat whisky enveloped Kydd. He took a stiff pull and felt its fire—it steadied him and he looked sharply at Mowlett. 'Thank 'ee, Doctor.'

'Would you object if I speak my mind?' Mowlett said quietly.

'If ye must,' Kydd said, bristling. 'But I'll have y' know I won't have any seaman aboard the Castle makin' play f'r a female convict.'

'Please understand, I know your position and honour you for it.' Mowlett had dropped all trace of banter and spoke with sincerity. 'However, for all our sakes a small piece of advice I would offer.

'These 'Bay ships have been plying the route now for above a dozen years and I dare to say are proficient in the art. They have necessarily developed practices to deal with conditions that many might find . . . remarkable. For instance, in the matter of females mixing promiscuous with the crew.' He held up an admonishing finger. 'No doubt you have not given it overmuch thought, dismissing it as a moral scandal, but there are elements of practicality that you should perhaps consider.'

Kydd glowered but allowed Mowlett to continue. 'Putting aside the obvious fact that, it being the custom in the past, you will be setting the entire crew to defiance should you stand in their way, you will not be amazed to learn that most of your felonious ladies are no strangers to the arts of Venus and will in fact warm to the opportunities on offer to take up with a protector.'

At Kydd's expression Mowlett hastened to add, 'Yes, a protector. Has it crossed your mind how much common theft, sneaking, bullying, lonely hardship must be suffered out of your sight below? In any case, Mr Captain, whether you like it or not the consorting will happen.'

Kydd could think of no immediate response and he fell back on the larger issue: 'Y'r transportation is a vile thing, Doctor. The suffering, the misery!'

'Perhaps, but reflect—they have now a chance. If you ask it of them they must inevitably reply that what you provide is infinitely better than the hangman would serve.

'But to return to your women. I would venture to say that, whatever you are able to do, the consorting will take place privily. Animal spirits will ensure this—is it not better to regulate than condemn?'

Kydd stared down moodily.

'Those more uncharitable than I would perhaps be tempted to point out a certain degree of what might be considered hypocrisy in you, Mr Kydd,' he added meaningfully.

'Hypocrisy?'

'Why, of course! Or has the Navy changed its spots so completely that the sight of women flocking aboard a wooden wall of old England coming into port is no longer to be seen? Or that these same have put out for some harmless recreation with the honest tars?'

'They have a choice!' Kydd snapped.

'Quite so—therefore do you allow your ladies their choice, should they desire, Mr Kydd.'

'I shall think on it.' Kydd fidgeted with his sleeve. 'No one t' take up with any without they agree,' he said finally, 'and they shall tell me so 'emselves in private.'

'An eminently practical solution.'

'An' we'll get windsails rigged, a bit o' fresh air in that stink-pit. Yes, an' have 'em up in the sun—without irons, except they deserve it. At least we can do something f'r the poor brutes.'

He looked Mowlett directly in the eyes. 'You mentioned th' Navy. We might take some lesson from there. Let's see. We'll have two watches of convicts to take the deck b' turns, an' each morning we'll have a fine scrub- down.

'Each mess o' six will have a senior hand who'll take charge an' see all's squared away. An' a petty officer o' the deck who'll take charge o' them. We'll give 'em something useful t' do in the day—men to seaming canvas with the sailmaker, females to . . . Well, a parcel o' women can always find things t' do.'

CHAPTER 12

RENZI STOOD BY the weather main shrouds, now so worn with use, and gazed forward to where the cry of the lookout indicated land would soon be in sight. New South Wales. The other side of the globe, as far as it was possible to be from England—any further and they would be on their way back again. Four and a half months of wearisome sailing—it seemed like a lifetime. The banality of the other settler family, the ever-present sight of the shuffling condemned, the absence of anyone with any pretence at education . . . Without the solace of his books he would not have survived this far.

'I see it!' squealed the settlers' vapid daughter, rushing to the barrier. Convicts soon crowded forward anxious to catch their first glimpse of an unguessable fate, but Renzi stood back, a half-smile marking his detachment from the excitement of landfall as he contemplated the events that had led to this moment.

The fever that had carried him ashore to the Lazaretto had nearly killed him: he had little recollection of the twilight of existence there, only the later swirling chaos and screeching nightmares as he had struggled to lay hold on life.

Then Cecilia.

It had been she who had watched over him as his consciousness emerged from its horrors, had been there when every token of life itself was so precious, her voice of compelling tranquillity, soft, comforting, his assurance of life.

He had begun to mend: still Cecilia sat by him, reading softly, responding to his feverish babbling, her dear image now coming into focus with a smile so indescribably sweet—and for him alone. For her sake he had concentrated on getting better—until the melancholia had come.