immediately better after he had seized control at the man-high wheel. The familiar tug and thrum of the tiller-ropes with their subde transmission of the sea's temper was medicine enough. Trajan felt ponderous but obedient to the wheel, just a little weather-helm, not enough to be a griping, calm and sure.
He warmed to the ship. Glancing up often to the weather leech of the comfortable old main topsail, he tested how far he needed to meet each boisterous sea on the bluff bows, and what she needed to correct the yaw induced when a sea passed at an angle down her length. It seemed she had no real vices — which would be verified or otherwise when the old lady was really put to the test.
He could look forward under her sails the whole length of the ship, a sight he never tired of — the lazy heave and fall of the deck, the blue horizon dropping out of sight then emerging at a slightly different angle, a continuous, comforting, satisfying motion. He nodded, and a smile broke through. She couldn't be mistaken for a racehorse, but as a homely old mare she was perfect.
'Watch yer luff!' growled the quartermaster's mate-of-the-watch. There was no need for his caution — Kydd had been completely in control of the situation and there was never any question of losing way by coming too far into the wind.
He glanced at the man. Squat, powerfully built, he wore rumpled clothing and a glower that triggered a warning in Kydd. 'Aye,' he said, to be on the safe side.
At the interchange the officer-of-the-watch looked back from his pacing. Kydd kept his gaze politely forward, aware that he was under eye. He had nothing to worry about, and continued in his duty. After a minute or two, the officer came over. 'You're one of the Artemises, are you not?' he asked. It was not at all the right thing to engage the helmsman in conversation, but this was an officer.
'Aye, sir,' he said. It would be understandable to keep his eyes on the weather leech of the mainsail.
'You've got a frigate's touch at the helm, I see.' That did not require an answer, but it must have been apparent from his many light moves at the wheel instead of the more deliberate, slower action of a ship-of-the-line.
'What is your name?'
'Kydd, sir!' broke in the quartermaster's mate firmly. In direct charge of the conn, the petty officer had every right to deflect any interference from his helmsman.
'Thank you, Coltard,' the officer said smoothly, but continued to address Kydd, 'So you were in Artemis around the Horn?'
'Sir,' said Kydd briefly. He wished the officer would go away.
'At the helm?'
'Quartermaster's mate, sir.'
'Hmmm.' Kydd caught the quick glance at Coltard and wondered what it meant. The stumpy petty officer flushed and looked dogged.
The half-hour trick was over all too quickly, and Kydd felt reluctant to hand over to the able seaman waiting. The officer-of-the-watch contemplated him with a ghost of a smile, and he stood down with a light heart.
Kydd went forward along the moving deck to complete his watch, ready to lay aloft as a topman at the mainmast The Atlantic's influence was becoming more marked, the longer ocean seas sweeping up the Channel and adding stateliness and a wider range to Trajan's movements. He glanced up at the less-than-white canvas, noticing patches in her sails and signs of hairy chafing in her lines running aloft; as with Duke William earlier they were cutting corners to keep the most valuable units of the Fleet at sea.
Portland was disappearing astern. They would fetch Torbay on this tack, and from there, rumour had it, they would pick up the convoy to Madeira and then the Caribbean. Another surge of resentment swept over Kydd, this time dulled by resignation.
* * *
'An' here's ter pieces o' eight an' a right good frolic in Port Royal!' chuckled Larcomb, raising his pot His sally drew general approval, and expressions lightened along the table.
'Frien' o' mine in Daemon frigate was out there wi' Rodney in 'eighty-two — an' paid
