“Oh?”
“Able Seaman Jeakes, sir.”
“Pass the word for Jeakes.”
A gangling black man pushed his way diffidently forward, his old canvas hat passing from hand to hand nervously.
“What can you say about this, Jeakes?”
The eyes in the dark features flashed white in anxiety.
“Take your time, Jeakes. We want to know the truth,” Caldwell said kindly, glancing at Cantlow’s stubborn face.
“Well, sir, it’s like this ’ere, sir. I wuz shinnin’ down from the maintop ’n’ I sees Mr. Cantlow and Kydd, sir.”
“You mean, you could see them from the main shrouds to the poop deck?”
“Well, see, we was sailin’ full ’n’ bye on the starb’d tack, sir. I could see down at ’em, like.”
“What did you see?”
“Mr. Cantlow, sir, he was quiltin’ the very ’ell outa Kydd, sir. Layin’ into ’im wiv a will, he wuz, sir.”
“I see,” said Caldwell, looking sharply at Cantlow. “And then?”
“Well, sir, he stops, sir.”
“Yes?”
Jeakes looked over his shoulder at the silent mass of men. If he told Julian Stockwin the whole story and it went ill for Kydd, they would take it out on him. But if he lied Cantlow might get another witness and he would find himself next to Kydd. “He stops, sir,” he said unhappily.
“Speak up!” the Master-at-Arms said angrily.
“And then ’e ’as a go at Kydd again, sir,” he added.
“Get on with it!” the Master-at-Arms spluttered.
“And Kydd grabs ’is rattan.” The stirring among the men stopped.
“’N’ then ’e breaks it, like!” The words fell into a heavy silence.
“Sir – in front of the men, sir! It’s intolerable!” Cantlow said, incensed.
“Be silent!” the Captain said. There was the rub – Kydd might have been provoked, he might have been an innocent outraged, but he had been seen in front of others to have held his superior in contempt.
“Do you not feel that Kydd may have acted hastily? Remember, he has only been in the King’s Service a short while.”
“No, sir, it was a deliberate act of contempt,” Cantlow said stubbornly.
“Then consider the consequences of your position, sir. You are perhaps bringing down punishment on one of the most promising seamen I have ever seen for what, I am sorry to say, seems like personal vengeance. I ask you again, can you not conceive – ”
Cantlow missed the significance of the emphasized “I” and broke in sullenly, “It’s a matter of discipline – sir!”
Tyrell leaned over. “No choice, sir, in front of witnesses. Kydd’s guilty, and if – ”
“I know my duty, Mr. Tyrell,” Caldwell said testily.
He looked over Kydd’s shoulder, avoiding his eye. “Articles of War,” he ordered.
Kydd went cold.
The words of the relevant article rang out. It was a nightmare.
“Seize him up!”
It couldn’t be happening – his world spun around him. The boatswain’s mates stepped forward and waited. Kydd started and realized that they were waiting for him to strip. He slowly tore off his shirt, still smeared with the gray of powder smoke.
He let it fall and turned to look back at Caldwell, but the mild blue eyes were looking out to seaward.
“Twelve lashes,” the Captain said, distantly.
The boatswain’s mates seized hold of Kydd and dragged him to the grating. One held his arms spreadeagled while the other passed spun yarn around his thumbs.
His head twisted to the other side – Cantlow stood relaxed and, as Kydd looked at him, his head lifted and a slight smile appeared.
Out of sight the drum thundered away – and stopped. He knew what this meant and braced himself.
He heard the deadly hissing and the blow fell.
It was of shocking force and he felt as if his torso had been plunged into ice. Then came the pain. So murderous was it that it forced a desperate intake of breath before the scream, which Kydd forced to a hoarse grunt.
The sound of the drums floated into his consciousness, which began to retreat.
Again the drums ceased. He writhed at his bonds as the blows slammed him into the grating and the intolerable slash of pain cleaved deep inside. It was inhuman – he bit his lips and tasted the warm blood trickling down.
The agony continued. One part of him begged for release, anything that would halt the torture, but by far the larger part was of consuming fury, a blind rage – not so much at Cantlow and the injustice of it all, but in the betrayal by his adopted world.
The torment went on and on, the monotonous count, the fearful lashing.
Suddenly it was over. Kydd was dimly aware that he was hanging from the gratings and there was a sawing at the lashings. Unable to move, his vision whirling, he felt himself lowered to the deck, his back a roiling bed of unendurable pain. His arms were held, and Renzi’s agonized face swam into view. “Whoresons!” Kydd said thickly. He didn’t hear any reply, for at that moment his mind ceased to take any further interest in the world.
Renzi wrung out the rag, dipped it into clean water and dabbed at the frightful mess of purple and black that was Kydd’s back. He was deeply worried – not about Kydd’s physical condition, which after a few days was already showing signs of healthy healing, but at his brooding silence. Kydd went about his work sullenly, stiff with pain, and responded in monosyllables when talked to. Even Renzi was given short shrift. Now he sat on the chest, his back bowed.
“I am sanguine it will heal within the week,” Renzi said.
Kydd grunted.
“You will forget all about it in – ”
“No!”
Renzi stopped dabbing. “There’s nothing you can do about it. You may as well – ”
“I know exactly what I’m goin’ to do about it.”
“May I know what it is you propose?”
Kydd hesitated. “No.”
“Very well. I’m sure you intend no fatal mischief for the sake only of immediate satisfaction.”
“I know what I’m doing, if that’s what you mean.” The grim set of his face worried Renzi. He finished the job and reluctantly left Kydd alone.
“So all it takes is a few fuckin’ stripes to get you thinking.” Kydd looked up. It was Stallard.
“Bollocks!” Kydd said weakly.
“Just thought I’d give you the word, brother. There’s a meeting tonight for all them that have had a gutful of this and fucking well want to do something about it.” He waited.
“Where?” Kydd said, without thinking.
Stallard smiled. “Cable tiers, starb’d side, last dog-watch.”
He looked around and leaned forward. “Password, ‘freedom or death,’ ” he mouthed dramatically.
It was no part of Kydd’s plans to plot mutiny, but the way he was feeling, there would be no harm in seeing what was in the wind.
Turning aft from the fore hatch, Kydd saw that the orlop was in its usual darkness amidships, the area between the surgeon, purser and others aft, and the carpenter and boatswain with their stores forward.
His senses on full alert, he padded down the walkway until he was abreast the starboard cable tier. The anchor cable had long since dried and the thick rope was ranged out in long coils, one on the other nearly to the low deckhead.
