The Narval

 

Lieutenant Thomas Herrick sipped at a mug of scalding, bitter coffee and watched Bolitho making notes beside his chart.

A week out of port, and Herrick for one was glad to be at sea, doing something he understood. Six days they had lain at anchor, and it had been painful to watch Bolitho’s efforts to hide his anxiety, to contain his dismay as he looked at the anchored Eurotas and the town beyond.

Even now Herrick was not sure what Bolitho was really thinking. To anyone who did not know him as he did he seemed his usual alert, interested self. He was studying the chart with care, comparing his notes with those of Lakey, the sailing master.

Herrick did not know much about the Levu Islands, except that they were some two hundred miles to the north of where they.had recaptured the Eurotas. Now they were plodding along, held back by the slower merchantman, while Tempest stayed watchfully to windward of her.

Bolitho looked up, his eyes bright. ‘D’you remember old Mudge, Thomas?’

‘Aye.’ Herrick smiled. Mudge had been the sailing master in Undine. ‘Must have been the oldest man in the King’s service. The oldest afloat maybe. He admitted to sixty, and kept to that. A great lump of a man, but a fine master. Pity he didn’t meet Mr Lakey. Maybe they’ll have a yam in heaven one day.’

Bolitho looked wistful. ‘He knew a lot about these waters. How he rebuked me when I ordered every sail to be set. But how he grumbled when we crawled like this.’

Herrick looked up as Keen’s feet moved across the deck. Borlase was in charge of the Eurotas. It was a pity in some ways, he thought. Borlase might say too much to Raymond. He was like that. On the other hand, he was glad to be here with Bolitho. If he had gone across to the merchantman instead he might have spoken too forcefully to that scum Raymond. .

He asked, ‘What d’you expect to find in the Levu Islands, sir?’

Bolitho walked to the stem windows and stared at the sloping horizon. There was mist about, and the glittering sea looked as if it was boiling from some great marine cauldron.

‘A flag on a pole, Thomas. A few hard-working servants of the country. Much what we’re used to.’

Noddall pattered into the cabin, the coffee jug in his paws.

‘There’s some more’ere, sir.’

‘Good.’ Bolitho thrust out his mug. ‘It makes me sweat, but it is good to taste something which is neither rotten nor rancid for a change.’

He held the mug to his lips, feeling it burning down to his stomach.

Another day. The same empty sea. He had taken to counting seconds whenever he went on deck to consult the compass and their estimated position. Seconds before he had to look towards Eurotas’s fat hull. She.always seemed to remain in the exact position, held in the frigate’s shrouds as if snared in a giant web. In fact, she was well down to leeward, too far to examine without a glass. Those occasions too had to be measured, rationed.

He heard some muffled shots and knew the marines were practising again, firing their muskets from the tops at makeshift’ targets which Sergeant Quare had hurled overboard. He wondered if one of the. marksmen was the ex-gamekeeper, Blissett, and whether or not he was remembering the man he had silently killed on the beach.

Herrick said suddenly, It’s no use, sir. I must speak, my mind.’

‘Good.’ Bolitho turned towards him. I have been expecting something, so be done with it.’

Herrick put his mug very carefully on the table.

It’s all been said before. But I’m no less concerned. Me, I don’t count. I’ll never rise above wardroom rank, and I think

I’m glad for it, having seen what command can drag out of a man. But you have a family tradition, sir. When I saw your house in Falmouth, those portraits, all that history, I knew I was lucky to serve under you. I’ve been at sea since I was a lad, like most of us, and I know the measure of a captain. It’s not right that you should be in jeopardy because of all this!’

Bolitho smiled gravely, despite his inner ache.

‘By all this, I take it you mean my indiscretion? My discovery that I could fall in love like other men?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Thomas, I’ll not let anyone abuse that lady just to hurt me. I’ll see Raymond in hell before that!’ He turned away. ‘Now you’ve made me abandon my self-control.’

Herrick replied heavily, ‘At the risk of offending you further, I still believe Commodore Sayer was right to,’ he shrugged awkwardly, ‘to keep you occupied aboard ship.’

‘Perhaps.’ Bolitho sat down again and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. ‘If only -‘

He looked up sharply. ‘What was that?’

‘A hail from the masthead.’

Herrick was already on his feet as the call floated down again. ‘Deck thar! Sail on the lee bow!’

They both hurried from the cabin and collided with Midshipman Romney who was on his way aft.

‘Sir! Mr Keen’s respects and - ‘

Herrick brushed past him. ‘Aye. We know.’

Bolitho strode past the wheel, feeling the sun across his shoulders as if he were naked. A glance at the compass and to the trim of the sails told him all he needed, Eurotas was still on station, her big courses filling and deflating, depriving her of any beauty.

‘Anything further?’

Keen looked at him. ‘Not yet, sir.’ He trained his telescope. ‘Nothing.’

‘Hmm.’ Bolitho tugged out his watch. ‘Send another lookout aloft, if you please.’ He searched round for Midshipman Swift. ‘Make a signal to Eurotas. Sail in sight to the nor’-east.’ He looked at Herrick. ‘Though in God’s name they should have seen it themselves.’

Herrick held his peace. Merchantmen rarely maintained a good lookout, especially when they Bad a naval escort. But there was no point in mentioning it now. He could tell Bolitho’s anxieties were only just below the surface. One spark and…

Bolitho snapped, In heaven’s name, what are our people doing?’

‘Deck there!’ It was the new lookout. ‘She be a man-o-war, zur!’

Bolitho turned to Herrick again. ‘What can she be about, Thomas?’ ‘One of ours maybe?’

‘Bless you, Thomas!’ He clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We are the only one of ours in this whole ocean! Even the Governor of New South Wales is having to plead for ships! -

Herrick watched him, fascinated. The prospect of action was making Bolitho react, no matter what he was enduring privately.

Herrick said, ‘And we’ve absolutely no idea what’s happening in the world. We may be at war with Spain or France, anybody!’

Bolitho walked aft to the wheel again and examined the compass. East-north-east, and the wind still comfortably across the starboard quarter. The stranger was on a converging tack, but it would take hours to come up with her. What would he do if the newcomer turned and fled at the sight of them? He could not leave Eurotas.

But as the hour ran out and another began the, lookouts’ reports showed that the other vessel gave no sign of going about.

‘Set the forecourse, Mr Herrick.’ Bolitho crossed the quarterdeck and climbed into the mizzen shrouds. I shall feel happier if we lie closer to our charge.’

The hands hurried to their stations, and a few minutes later the frigate’s big foresail filled to the wind and sent a tremor running through the shrouds arid rigging like a message.

Bolitho steadied his glass, waiting for the long, undulating swell to lift the other ship long enough for him to examine her. Then he saw the ship with surprising clarity as with a freak of nature she and Tempest rose together.

For just a few moments he held her in the lens, then mist

and distance distorted the picture, and he lowered himself to the deck.

Trigate. French by the cut of her.’

He peered up at the masthead pendant. ‘Be up to her in two hours if this wind holds. Within range of a long shot before that’

Lakey observed quietly, ‘We’re not at war with France, sir’

‘So I believe, Mr Lakey. But we’ll take no chances all the same’

He glanced along his command, picturing her wreathed in smoke and flying iron.

But not this time. The Frenchman was taking his time and making no effort to change tack enough to grapple for the wind-gage.

He added, ‘Send the hands to quarters in good time, and make sure we have some experienced eyes at the masthead to see if the Frenchman does likewise’ .

He took the glass again and trained it on the Eurotas. He saw the flash of a gown as she walked across the poop, one hand holding the big hat to prevent the wind taking it from her.

Oh God. He lowered the glass and she dropped into distance, leaving only the ship.

‘Deck there! She’s run up ‘er colours!’ A pause. ‘Frenchie, right enough, zur!’

Even without a glass Bolitho could see the tiny patch of white breaking from the other ship’s peak as she tacked heavily to hold the wind, her yards braced round until they were all but fore and aft.

It was a strange feeling. Like many of the men aboard, Bolitho had rarely met a French ship other than across the muzzles of a broadside. He thought of Le Chaumareys and was suddenly sad for him and the waste of his life. Captains were like kings in their own ships, no matter how small. But to the powers which manoeuvred and used them they were expendable pawns.

He made himself leave the deck and return to his cabin, almost blind from staring across the shining blue water. Allday entered the cabin. I’ll tell Noddall to fetch your coat and hat, Captain’ He grinned. ‘Those breeches, patched or not, will do for a Frenchman!”

Bolitho nodded. If the’ French captain was new to these waters he would want to see every other captain he could. Would he come to Tempest, or would he go to htm?

Noddall scuttled through from the sleeping cabin, carrying the coat over his arm, tutting to himself.

‘Bolitho had just finished transforming himself into some semblance of a King’s officer when he heard the pipe, ‘All hands! Hands to quarters and clear for action!’

The drums rolled, and he felt the hull quiver as her company rushed to obey.

By the time he had reached the quarterdeck it was done, even to the sanding of the planking around each gun. It would not be needed, he was quite certain, as he watched the other frigate’s approach. But sand was plentiful, and every drill gained experience for some.

‘Load and run out, sir?’

‘No, Mr Herrick.’ He was equally formal.

He looked along the black guns and bare-backed men. He found he was wishing it was the pirate Mathias Tuke lifting and plunging across the water towards him. -

Midshipman Fitzmaurice came running aft to the quarterdeck ladder and called, ‘Beg: pardon, sir, but Mr Jury sends his respects and says that frigate is the Narval, thirty-six, and that he saw her in Bombay.’

Bolitho smiled. ‘Give my thanks to the boatswain.’

He looked at Herrick. It was always the same in a ship. Always someone who had seen or served in another. No doubt the French captain was receiving similar news about the Tempest. Thirty-six guns. The same as his own. Ball for ball, if so ordered.

He. watched the other ship shortening sail with professional .interest. A lighter, sleeker hull than Tempest, well-weathered, as if she had been at sea for a long time. Her sail-handling was excellent, another mark of long usage.

Bolitho shaded his eyes and looked up at the peak. Gut here Tempest sailed under the white ensign, and he wondered if the trench captain was looking at it. Remembering.

‘She’s hove tol’ Keen strode across the gundeck, ducking to peer over a twelve-pounder. ‘And dropping a boat!’

Herrick grinned. ‘Just a lieutenant, sir. Probably wants us to put him on the course for Paris!’

But when the young lieutenant eventually clambered aboard from the longboat he seemed anything but lost. He doffed his hat to the quarterdeck and then presented himself to Bolitho.

‘I bring the respects of my capitaine, m’sieu, and the invitation to visit him.’ His dark eyes moved swiftly around the manned guns, the swaying line of armed marines.

‘Certainly.’

Bolitho walked to the entry port and glanced down at the French longboat. The seamen were neatly dressed in striped shirts and white trousers; But they had no life in them. They looked afraid.

‘And who is your captain?’

The lieutenant seemed to draw himself up another inch or so. ‘He is Jean Michel, Comte de Barras, m’sieu.’ Bolitho had never heard of him. ‘Very well.’

He said to Herrick quietly, ‘Retain the wind-gage, and make sure Eurotas keeps proper station until I return.’

Then with a nod to the rigid side party he followed the lieutenant into the boat.

The oarsmen pulled steadily across the water, taking and mounting each round-backed roller with practised ease. He felt the spray stinging his cheeks refreshing him. A vast ocean and the ships meeting by accident on one tiny pinpoint of it.

A French count and an English captain from Falmouth.

The officer snapped an order and the boat’s oars rose dripping in two pale lines, while with a flourish the bowman hooked on to the Narval’s main chains. It was expertly done, but Bolitho had the feeling it was as much from fear as from experience.

He grasped his sword and pulled himself up towards the entry port, very aware of the eyes watching him from the deck above.

The Narval’s great cabin was in total contrast to Bolitho’s own. Once aboard, he had been met by her captain with barely a word and had been hurried through the formality of the guard and side party with what had seemed like discourtesy. Now, sitting in an ornate gilded chair, his eyes half-blinded by the sunlight, Bolitho examined his host for the first time.

The Comte de Barras was of very slight build, and framed against the sloping stern windows appeared almost girlish. His dress coat was slightly flared and of superb cut, and Bolitho wished he had not allowed Allday to talk him into coming across in his seagoing breeches.

. The only other occupant of the cabin was a youth,-either Indian or Malay, who was busily arranging glasses and a beautifully carved wine cabinet on one of the two tables.

But the cabin was quite breathtaking. Tempest’s builders had used all their skills in carving and shaping her captain’s quarters with the finest woods in their yard. Narval’s were only to be described as elegant and fanciful in contrast. Rich, beautiful curtains hid the usual screens and doors, and across the deck were several large rugs which must have cost a fortune.

He realized de Barras was watching him, awaiting his reactions.

Bolitho said, ‘You live well, Capitaine.’

De Barras’s smooth forehead wrinkled in a brief frown. Bolitho’s failure to use his title perhaps, or his treating him as a fellow captain might have offended him.

But the frown vanished just as quickly, and he sat down very carefully in another gilded chair, the twin of Bolitho’s.

‘I live as best I can in these frugal circumstances.’ He spoke perfect English with a slight lisp.

He snapped his fingers at his young servant. ‘You must take some wine, er, Captain.’ He watched the boy as if daring him to spill any on a carpet.

It gave Bolitho more time to study de Barras now that his eyes were growing used to the cabin. He could be any age between twenty-five and thirty-five. With delicately fashioned hose and small chin he looked more like a member of some exclusive court than a sea captain. He was, Bolitho had observed when coming aboard, wearing a wig. That too was unusual, and only added to the sense of unreality.

But the wine was good. More, it was excellent.

De Barras seemed pleased. ‘My father owns many vineyards. This wine travels quite well.’ Again the small, petulant frown.

Like Borlase, Bolitho thought..

‘Which it needs to do. This vessel has been in unbroken service for three years now, and I have held command for two.

I see.’

Bolitho watched him, wondering what this strange man really wanted. He noticed how the boy was hovering by de Barras’s elbow. He was not merely attentive. He was terrified.

De Barras murmured, ‘And you are bound for?’

There was nothing to be gained from secrecy. ‘The Levu Islands.’

‘You are expecting, er, trouble?’ He waved one hand carelessly towards the sea, allowing a great show of lace shirt to froth from beneath his sleeve. ‘Two ships?’

‘We have had trouble.’

Bolitho wondered if Raymond had a telescope trained on the Narval. He hoped so. Hoped too he was fuming at being excluded.

‘Pirates?’

Bolitho smiled gently. ‘I can see you are not surprised.’

De Barras was taken off guard. I am merely curious.’ He prodded the boy’s shoulder sharply. ‘More wine!’

Bolitho asked, ‘And you are bound for New South Wales?’

‘Yes.’ De Barras stood up and walked quickly to the bulkhead and adjusted one of the curtains. ‘Clumsy fools. They live like swine themselves and have no thought for fine things’ He curbed his sudden irritation and sat down again. ‘I intend to pay my respects to the governor and replenish my stores there.’

Bolitho kept his face stiff. The governor would really explode when he saw a French frigate in his bay.

De Barras added quietly, ‘I am looking for one such pirate, and have been for many months. He is an Englishman, but a pirate nonetheless. We are both bound to his eventual destruction, eh, m’sieu’ It seemed to amuse him. ‘He was plundering the waters of the Caribbean, from La Guaira to Martinique; I pursued him to Port of Spain and lost him when his men sacked and burned a village nearby.’ His chest was moving with agitation.

Like a spoiled child, Bolitho thought. Frail he might appear, but he was as dangerous as a serpent underneath.

Bolitho said, It is a lot of concern for one man.’ He watched for some hint, some sign of what lay behind de Barras’s confidences.

‘He is a man who attracts others.’ De Barras sipped his wine delicately. ‘One without loyalty himself, tut one who can instil it in those he leads. I was going to explain these matters to the Governor of New South Wales, but it seems that he may be better informed than I realized.’ He came to a decision. ‘The pirate is called Tuke. He has with him a man who was awaiting deportation from Martinique to France. That was to be one of my missions.’ He spat out the words. ‘This, cochon Tuke aided his escape, and now has him with his own foul companyl’

‘May I ask about this other man?’

‘It is no matter.’ De Barras shrugged. ‘A traitor to France. An agitateur. But he must be taken and punished before he can cause more unrest.’

When Bolitho remained silent he added vehemently, It is in England’s interest also. This traitor will use Tuke’s strength to spread trouble, to rob and sack more and more ships and islands as his own power expands!’ He dabbed a droplet of sweat from his chin. ‘It is your duty..’

Something threw a shadow across the cabin, and when Bolitho turned towards the windows he imagined he was seeing a spectre from a nightmare. Dangling outside was a man, or what was left of him. Suspended by his wrists, with ropes attached to his ankles and which disappeared towards the rudder, he was naked, and his body was a mass of bloody lacerations and great gaping wounds. One eye had been torn from his head, but the other stared fixedly at the ship, while his mouth opened and closed like a black hole.

De Barras was almost beside himself with anger. ‘Mon Dieu!’ He pushed the frightened boy towards the bulkhead door, pursuing him with angry words and threats.

Voices sounded overhead, and the dangling body dropped swiftly from view. Bolitho sat stock-still in his chair. He knew what was happening. Had heard about the savage and barbarous custom of keelhauling from old sailors. To punish a man in this manner was to condemn him to an horrific death. The victim was lowered over the bow and dragged along the keel, his progress controlled by lines attached to his hands and feet. After three years in commission, coppered. or not, Narval’s keel and bilges would be covered with tiny, razor-sharp growths which would tear a man to fragments unless he was sensible and let himself drown. But man’s instinct was to survive, even when the case was without hope.

Bolitho stood up and said, ‘I will leave now, M’sieu le Comte. I have my duty to attend to. So if you would excuse me.’ He turned towards the door, sickened and disgusted.. , De Barras stared at him. ‘That man was a trouble-maker! I will not tolerate such insolence! Filthy, degraded beast!’

Bolitho walked into the sunlight, remembering Le Chaumareys, the way his solid courage had inspired and welded his ship together. By comparison, de Barras was a monster. A vicious tyrant who had probably been appointed to Narval to keep him away from France.

By the entry port de Barras said sharply, ‘Save your anger for your enemies!’

Then as Bolitho took his first step through the port he swung on his heel and stalked aft towards the poop.

The lieutenant who had escorted Bolitho aboard accompanied him back to Tempest. When they were almost alongside Bolithd asked, Is that how your ship is run, m’sieu? By terror?’

The young officer stared at him, his features pale under the

tan.

Bolitho stood up in the boat, eager to be back in his own ship. Then he added, ‘For if that be so, watch out that the terror does not consume you!’

 

Within minutes of returning to his ship Bolitho received a signal from Raymond. A summons to attend him aboard the Eurotas without delay.

Although still appalled by what he had seen aboard the French frigate, Bolitho could nevertheless find room for personal satisfaction. In his heart he had known that Raymond . would insist on his going across to the transport, even at the risk of his meeting Viola. Raymond needed to display that he and not Bolitho held the reins of command, and his curiosity at what had passed between him and the Frenchman would do the rest. Also, Bolitho suspected, Raymond felt less in control when he was aboard a King’s ship.

Herrick watched him anxiously as he prepared to make another crossing, this time in his own gig.

Bolitho was changing into some clean breeches, and had just finished his description of de Barras and the atmosphere of tyranny aboard the Narval. He guessed Herrick was probably comparing de Barras with the captain of the Phalarope where they had first met. Only seven years ago? It did not seem possible. They had seen and done so much together.

Herrick said eventually, ‘I hate even the sound of his kind, and I for one’ll be a sight more happy when his tops’ls dip below the horizon!’

I’d wager you’ll be disappointed, Thomas.’

Bolitho took a glass of wine from Noddall. It was as much to destroy the French captain’s taste as to clear the salt from his throat.

Herrick looked at him with surprise. ‘But I thought you said Narval is steering for New South Wales?’

Bolitho tugged his neckcloth into position and smiled grimly: ‘She was. My guess is that de Barras has hot irons under him to recapture this mysterious Frenchman, and now sees us as a better chance. He may be right.’ He snatched up his hat.

‘Well?’

Herrick sighed. ‘Fine, sir.’ There seemed no point in further protest. Bolitho’s eyes were shining more brightly than they had for some time.

He followed Bolitho to the entry port and stood with him above the swaying gig. A quick glance aft told Herrick that Keen and Lakey, and even young Midshipman Swift, were all watching and smilingjike involved conspirators; It only made him depressed. They did not understand that this was not-just a man going away in the hopes of seeing his love, but one who could easily be casting his career into ashes.

Borlase was at the Eurotas’ side to greet Bolitho, but his childlike features were carefully set, giving nothing away.

Bolitho looked around the maindeck, and was thankful to see there appeared to be quite a number of competent-looking seamen amongst the replacements for those killed or maimed by the pirates. In every scattered seaport, even one as new as Sydney, there always seemed to be a few abandoned sailormen who were ready to chance one more strange ship. Just once more. All sailors said that.

‘How are the prisoners, Mr Borlase?’ It was strange that the term prisoner seemed to carry more dignity than convict.

‘I’ve had them put to work in small parties as you suggested, sir.’ A mere hint of disapproval here.

‘Good.’

Maybe Borlase found them too much responsibility and worry. Or perhaps he thought they should be kept penned up as before. But once ashore in the Levu Islands they would need all their health arid agility to stay alive. Deported convicts in the Americas, and now in New South Wales, had left plenty of bitter examples in their wake. They must survive, like those who guarded and directed them, upon their own resources.

They moved into the poop’s shadow and made their way aft to the great cabin.

Raymond was waiting there, sitting at the desk, his body silhouetted against the reflected glare from the tall windows.

He said crisply, ‘You will remain here, Mr Borlase.’

Bolitho waited impassively. Raymond was keeping the lieutenant as a defence or a witness. Or both.

‘And now, Captain.’ Raymond leaned back, his fingertips pressed together. ‘Perhaps you will be so kind as to inform me of your discourse with the Narval’s captain.’

‘I would have sent you a report.’

‘Of that I am certain.’ It sounded like sarcasm. ‘But give me the bones of the matter for now.’

Borlase made as if to get a chair for his captain, but after a glance at Raymond seemed to change his mind.

Curiously, Bolitho felt better because of Raymond’s attitude. No pretence, no change between them. Nor would there be.

He listened to his own voice as he explained briefly what had passed between him and the Frenchman. Calm, unemotional. Like evidence at a court martial, he thought.

Raymond dismissed the keelhauling as ‘a matter for each country to decide.

Bolitho said quietly, ‘France decided long ago. But out here, de Barras is their country.’

‘It is not my concern.’ Raymond’s fingertips drummed rapidly together in a silent tattoo. ‘But the Narval most certainly is.’

‘She will not dare to -‘ Bolitho got no further.

Raymond snapped, ‘Really, you sea officers are as one! We are not at war with the King of France now. You must adjust to your new role, or exchange it for another.’ His voice was louder and crisper. It was as if he had been rehearsing for just such a moment.

‘With French aid we can explore all possibilities of trade and the mutual defence of it.’ The fingers tapped in and out to mark each item. ‘The crushing of piracy and plundering for instance. The covering of greater sea areas for our combined benefit. If one day we are forced to fight France again, and I think it unlikely, no matter what I have heard to the contrary, then we will be better placed because of this cooperation now. Know your competitor, every merchant will tell you so. A pity that those entrusted with our protection cannot bring themselves to do likewise.’

In the sudden quiet Bolitho could feel his own heart beating with anger and caution. He could tell from the manner in which Borlase’s eyes were flickering back and forth between them that he was expecting him to lash out at Raymond’s last remark. A calculated insult, doubly so as Bolitho’s men had saved his life and restored his freedom with no little risk.

Raymond frowned. ‘Have you no comment?’

‘I know little of merchants, sir. But I do know an enemy from a friend;’

Borlase shifted his feet noisily.

Raymond said, ‘Anyway, you sent the Narval on her way, ‘ ‘ no doubt with fresh fuel to bum at our expense.’

‘I expect de Barras will be close to us for this passage, sir. He is determined to recapture his prisoner, and if we fall on the pirate Tuke his chances of doing so are good. From his point of view.’

‘Quite. Tuke hanged and this renegade restored to his chains may in some way make up for what has happened already.’ He paused, waiting to see if Bolitho would take up the bait. When he remained silent he snapped, ‘When do you expect a landfall?’

‘If this wind holds it will be under three weeks. If not, it could take two months.’

It was pointless to compare the sailing ability of the unmatched vessels, just as it was dangerous to be too optimistic. Raymond was waiting for a weakness. A flaw.

Raymond pulled out his watch and said, ‘Tell my servant to bring some wine, Mr Borlase.’ He looked at Bolitho coolly. ‘I am sure my wife would wish to join us here also.’ He glanced around the cabin. ‘Yes, I am certain of it.’

Bolitho looked away. He should have expected it. Raymond’s top card.

To Borlase it may have sounded a formal or expected invitation. Out of custom or courtesy. The senior official sharing his wine with the captain of a naval escort.

But the way his voice had lingered on the Word here. Bolitho needed no other key to his reasoning. For here was the cabin where Bolitho had met with his wife. Had held her to drive away the terror and despair of the Eurotas’s capture. Had kissed the cruel burn on her shoulder. Where they had loved with all passion and simplicity.

The screen door opened and she stepped into the cabin. Despite her daily walks on deck she looked pale, and there were shadows under her eyes which filled Bolitho with pain.

‘A visitor, my dear.’ Raymond half rose and sat down again.

A red-coated captain of the militia sent as guards for the convicts had followed Borlase into the cabin too, and was. beaming at Bolitho and the wine, totally ignorant of the real drama around him. Another witness.

Bolitho crossed the cabin and took her hand. As he put it to his lips he lifted his gaze to her face.

She said softly, ‘It is good to see you again, Captain.’ She tossed her head. It has been too long.’ She looked at her husband as she spoke. ‘Under any circumstance!’

Borlase said, ‘A toast to the King!’ He sounded as if his neckcloth was strangling him. He at least guessed what was happening.

‘Indeed.’ Raymond sipped at his glass. ‘Perhaps after I have completed my affairs out here the Palace of St James will be ready to offer me an appointment which will keep me suitably employed in London.’

Bolitho watched him. Again the hint was there for Borlase and the militia captain to note. That Raymond was a man of influence, with more advancement on the way. Not one to cross or deny obedience.

Surprisingly, he thought at that moment of his dead brother Hugh. Always hasty to react, always the leader. In this instance he would most likely have searched out some ‘point of honour’ on which to challenge Raymond to a duel. He would not have stopped to consider the consequences, the risk to all parties concerned. To him it would have been the simplest solution. Swords or pistols, he was more than a match with either.

He realized that Viola had crossed the cabin and had deliberately turned her back towards Raymond.

She asked, ‘Do you know of these islands, Captain?’ But her eyes were exploring his face, his expression. Consuming him with their need.

‘A little. My sailing master is better versed.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Please take care, once ashore. It is a cruel climate, even for one as used to travel as yourself.’

‘I am sorry, I did not hear that?’ Raymond stood up and lurched against the desk as the ship wallowed steeply. Then he added, ‘I think the wind may be rising, Captain.’

Bolitho looked at him, his eyes hard. ‘Aye. Mr Borlase, would you signal for my gig.’

He hesitated by the door. Knowing he was beaten, and that the battle had not even been joined as yet.

Raymond nodded curtly. ‘I hope the wind does stay fair.’ He smiled. ‘Why not see the gallant captain to his boat, m’dear?’

On deck the heat was oppressive, and the sea had risen slightly to a lively breeze. Tempest was standing to windward, her sails flapping in disorder as she lay hove to and awaited his return. The French ship was already well away, her courses and topsails hardening to the wind, and to all intents still set on her original destination.

Bolitho saw all and none of these things.

He stood by the bulwark, looking at her eyes, watching her hair breaking free and streaming into the wind like fluid bronze.

‘I cannot stand it, Viola. I feel like a useless traitor. A buffoon.’

She reached out and laid a hand on his cuff. ‘He is baiting you. But you are so much stronger.’ She made to touch his face and then lowered her arm. ‘My darling Richard. I cannot bear to see you so sad, so despairing. I am still full of happiness that we found each other again. Surely we could not be parted again. Forever?’ She raised her chin. ‘I would rather die.’

‘Boat’s alongside, sir!’

Raymond’s feet scraped across the deck, and Bolitho saw him watching from below the poop.

Just to snatch her in his arms and be damned to Raymond and all else. Even as he thought it, Bolitho dismissed the dream. Raymond would use all he had to keep her out here. Like a beautiful prisoner. A possession.

Bolitho raised his hat, his hair ruffling across his forehead. ‘Rest easy, my love. I do not intend to strike just yet!’

Then with a nod to Borlase he climbed down into the tossing boat.

 

8