Bolitho 19 - Beyond the Reef (6 page)

He stood up stiffly, but instead of the rear-admiral Bolitho could only see the stubborn and caring lieutenant he had first met in Phalarope.

Herrick said, “I know you mean for the best, Richard …”

Bolitho persisted, “We are friends.”

“Well, don’t throw away all you’ve achieved for yourself because of me. After this I don’t much care what happens, and that’s the truth. Now please go.” He held out his hand. The grip was just as hard as that lost lieutenant’s had been. “You should not have come.”

Bolitho did not release his hand. “Don’t turn away, Thomas. We have lost so many friends. We Happy Few—remember?”

Herrick’s eyes were faraway. “Aye. God bless them.”

Bolitho picked up his plain cocked hat from the table and saw a finished letter in the light of two candles. It was addressed to Catherine, in Herrick’s familiar schoolboy hand.

Herrick said almost offhandedly, “Take it if you like. I tried to thank her for what she did for my Dulcie. She is a woman of considerable courage, I’ll grant her that.”

“I wish you might have told her in person, Thomas.”

“I have always stood by my beliefs, what is right or wrong. I’ll not change now, even if they allow me the opportunity.”

Bolitho put the letter in his pocket. He had been unable to help after all; it had all been a waste of time, as Godschale had hinted it would be.

“We shall meet again next week, Thomas.” He stepped out on to the dark landing and heard the door close behind him even before he had reached the first stair.

Thornborough was waiting for him by his busy kitchen.

He said quietly, “Some hot pie to warm you, Sir Richard, afore you leaves?”

Bolitho stared out at the darkness and shook his head. “Thank you—but I’ve no stomach for it, Jack.”

The innkeeper watched him gravely. “Bad, was it?”

Bolitho said nothing, unable to find the words. There were none.

They had been strangers.

3

ACCUSED

CAPTAIN Valentine Keen stood by Black Prince’s quarterdeck rail and watched two unhappy-looking civilians being swayed up from a boat alongside, their legs dangling from boatswain’s chairs.

The court martial was to be held in the great cabin, which had been stripped of everything, the dividing screens removed as if the ship was about to go into action.

The first lieutenant came aft and touched his hat. “That’s the last of them, sir.” He consulted his list. “The wine bills will probably be enormous.”

Keen glanced at the sky. After the longest winter he could recall, it seemed as if April had decided to intervene and drive it away. A clear, bright blue sky and perfect visibility, with only a hint of lingering cold in the sea-breeze. The great ship seemed to tremble as the wind roused itself enough to rattle the rigging and halliards, or to make lively patterns across the harbour like a cat ruffling its fur. In days, perhaps, Keen would be gone from this proud command, something he still found hard to believe when he had time to consider it.

The members of the court, spectators, clerks and witnesses had been coming aboard since morning, and would soon be seated in their allotted places according to rank or status.

“You may dismiss the guard and side-party, Mr Sedgemore.” He took out his watch. “Tell the gunner to prepare to fire at four bells.” He looked up at the great spars overhead, the sails now in position and neatly furled, Bolitho’s flag at the fore. “You know what to do.”

Sedgemore lingered, his eyes full of questions. “I wish we were away from here.” He hesitated, trying to judge his captain’s mood. “We shall miss you when you leave with Sir Richard Bolitho … It is rumoured we may be going to Portugal’s aid before much longer.”

“I think it most likely.” Keen looked past him towards the dockyard. The green land beyond, the smells of countryside and new growth. Sedgemore was probably already planning his next step up the ladder, he thought. He took a telescope from the midshipman-of-the-watch and levelled it on a spur of jetty. He had seen the bright colours of women’s clothing but as they leaped out of the distance he saw they were merely a handful of harlots waiting for easy prey.

He thought of Zenoria’s eyes when he had told her of his mission with Bolitho. What had he expected? Opposition, resentment? Instead she had said quietly, “I knew you were a King’s officer when I married you, Val. When we are together we must enjoy our lives, but once apart, I would not stand between you and your duty.”

It was like being lost in thick woodland, not knowing which way to turn or what to do. Perhaps she did not care; perhaps she was even relieved that he was going, to break the tension between them.

He saw a captain of marines passing below him with a sword carried in a cloth: Herrick’s sword, a necessary part of this macabre ceremony. When the court had made its decision the sword on the table would tell Herrick if he was found guilty or innocent. What malicious mind had thrown up Admiral Sir James Hamett-Parker as a suitable president? He had been known as a tyrant for much of his service. Just eleven years ago when the fleet had erupted in the great mutiny at the Nore and Spithead, Hamett-Parker had been one of the first senior officers to be ordered ashore by the delegates. He would not forget that; nor would he allow anyone to interfere with his judgement. As flag captain Keen had met most of the others. A vice-admiral, a rear-admiral, and six captains. All of the latter held commands either at Portsmouth or in the Downs squadron. It was hardly likely they would want to annoy Hamett-Parker, with the war about to spread into the enemy’s own territory.

Sedgemore said shortly, “Sir Richard is coming, sir.” Then he was gone, probably still wondering why Keen should exchange this proud ship for some vague huddle of small vessels in Africa.

Bolitho said, “A fine day, Val.” They walked to the side to be away from the watchkeepers. “God, I wish it was all over.”

“Shall you give evidence, sir?”

Bolitho looked at him. There were shadows under Keen’s eyes, tension around his mouth.

“I shall be there to explain our deployment on that morning.” He seemed to hear Herrick’s bitterness. To describe what you found after the battle. “It seems I am barred from asking questions. A witness after the event.”

Keen saw the ship’s gunner standing by as a crew loaded and then began to run out a twelve-pounder. When it was fired, and the Union Flag was run up to the peak, everyone would know that the trial had begun. When the flag flew from there, and only then, did it tell outsiders what was happening. The court-martial Jack would bring memories to some, pity from others, and indifference from the many who did not have to risk their own lives at sea.

“I wanted to speak with you, Val, about your views. You were there also—you saw it, and the aftermath.” Bolitho glanced around the upper deck. “We too lost some good men here that day. But for the enemy swallowing the bait, and our false Danish flag, it might have gone very differently.”

Keen regarded him steadily. “I have known Rear-Admiral Herrick for much of my life. As a first lieutenant, a captain and now a flag officer. In those early times I came to appreciate both his courage, and I think, his sincerity.”

Bolitho sensed his uncertainty, his search for an explanation which might not be painful, or worse, come between them.

“You can speak freely to me, Val.”

Keen bit his lip. “I think he has always been surprised at being given flag rank, sir.”

“That is shrewd of you. He has often said as much to me.”

Keen made a decision. “But I cannot forgive or forget that he was about to stand me in the very predicament he now finds himself in. He would listen to no reason; he was guided only by the book. But for your intervention on my behalf—” He stared across at Portsmouth Point, the sea lapping below it as if the land itself were on the move. “So I am afraid I do not see his actions in quite the same light.”

“Thank you for telling me, Val. It meant much to you, and now it means a great deal to me.”

Keen added, “I once said that I thought I knew what you would have done if committed to the same circumstances—” He glanced round sharply as a lieutenant touched his hat from the foot of the ladder. “What is it, Mr Espie?”

The lieutenant looked at Bolitho. “I beg your pardon, Sir Richard. The Judge Advocate sends his respects and wishes you to know that the Court is about to assemble.”

“Very well.” To Keen he remarked, “I understand that your dear Zenoria is meeting with Catherine today while we are thus employed. I am glad they are close by.” He saw Keen’s face suddenly laid bare, the inner anxiety as plain as if he had called out aloud. He touched his sleeve. “We have seen many storms and have weathered them, Val. We are friends.”

The words mocked him. He’d said the same thing to Herrick at the Swan Inn. He turned and walked aft to the companion-way.

Minutes later the air reverberated to the crash of a single charge, while from aft, perfectly timed, the court-martial Jack broke to the breeze. It had begun.

The great cabin was barely recognisable. Even two of the twenty-four-pounders had been hauled and handspiked around to make more room for the many lines of chairs. Bolitho seated himself and handed his hat to Ozzard, who scurried down the narrow aisle between the mass of figures without apparently noticing any of them. The little man’s sense of outrage, perhaps, at seeing his personal domain, where he served and cared for his vice-admiral, demeaned by what was happening.

Bolitho had seen many heads turn to watch his entrance.

Some would know him, may even have shared his exploits. Others would only savour the scandal, his open affair with Lady Somervell. Those who knew him very well would appreciate his feelings today, and his concern for a man who had known the same dangers and shared similar perils.

They all rose respectfully as the members of the Court came along the same narrow aisle and seated themselves in silhouette against the tall stern windows, Hamett-Parker at the centre of the table, with his fellow members paired off on either side of him in strict order of seniority.

He gave a curt nod to the Judge Advocate, a tall, heavy man who had to stoop between the deckhead beams, and who looked more like a farmer than an official of Admiralty.

“Be seated, gentlemen.”

Bolitho saw Herrick’s sword for the first time, glittering faintly in the reflected sunlight, lying before the President. Then he realised that Hamett-Parker was looking straight at him. Recognition, curiosity, perhaps dislike; it was all there.

He said, “You may bring in the accused, Mr Cotgrave.”

The Judge Advocate bowed slightly. “Very well, Sir James.”

Bolitho touched the locket beneath his shirt. Help me, Kate.

He stared hard at the stern windows and concentrated on the shimmering panorama of moored shipping and blue sky. At these windows he had sat and dreamed or planned. Had watched Copenhagen burning under the merciless bombardment of artillery, and the huge fireballs from the Congreve rockets.

He heard Herrick’s limping step and the crisp click of boots from his escort.

Then he saw him, to one side of the table, regarding the men who would judge him with little more than a mild interest.

The President said, “You may be seated. There is no point provoking the pain from your wound.”

Bolitho found that his fists were so tightly clenched that they hurt. With relief he saw Herrick sit down on the proffered chair. He had expected he might refuse, and so set the tone of the whole proceedings.

Herrick’s blue eyes turned and then settled on him. He gave a brief nod of recognition and Bolitho recalled his own anger and hurt when they had met at the Admiralty; it felt like a thousand years ago. Bolitho had shouted after him, stung by Herrick’s rebuff over Catherine. Are we so ordinary? It had been a cry from the heart.

Hamett-Parker spoke again in the same flat tones.

“You may begin, Mr Cotgrave.”

Herrick’s escort, a debonair captain of marines, leaned forward but Herrick was already on his feet again. He had attended enough court martials to know every stage of the procedure.

The Judge Advocate faced him and opened his papers, although Bolitho suspected he knew them as a player knows his lines.

“In accordance with the decision made by their lordships of Admiralty, you, Thomas Herrick Esquire, Rear-Admiral of the Red, are hereby charged that on diverse dates last September as stated in the Details of Evidence, you were guilty of misconduct and neglect of duty. This is contrary to the Act of Parliament dated 1749, more commonly called the Articles of War.”

Bolitho was conscious of the great silence that hung over his flagship. Even the footfalls of the watchkeepers and the occasional creak of tackles were faraway and muffled.

Cotgrave glanced at Herrick’s impassive features before continuing, “Contrary to Article Seventeen, whilst you were appointed for the convoy and guard of merchant ships, you did not diligently attend to that charge. Further, you did not faithfully perform that duty, nor did you defend the ships and goods in said convoy without diverting to other parts or occasions, and if proven guilty shall make reparation of the damage to merchants, owners and others. As the Court of Admiralty shall adjudge, you shall also be punished criminally according to the quality of the offences, be it by pains of death or other punishment as shall be adjudged fit by the court martial. God Save the King!”