Command a King's Ship (25 page)

Bolitho picked up his hat. You could never be sure about Conway. Where the warmth ended and the steel began.

Conway said, “Please come ashore tonight and dine with the rest of . . .” he waved one hand around the room, “. . . the cast- aways.”

Bolitho recognised the dismissal and walked from the room.

Beyond the palisades the jungle was as thick and as overpow- ering as ever, and yet already the place felt familiar, lasting.

He found Allday lounging in the shade below the main en- trance. He was watching some native women who were washing clothes in a large wooden trough. They were small and olive- skinned, and although well covered, displayed supple charm which Allday apparently admired greatly.

He straightened his back and said, “All done, Captain?” He saw Bolitho's glance and nodded. “Fair little wenches. We will have to watch our people, Captain.”

“Only the people?”

Allday grinned. “Ah, well now . . .”

At that moment Bolitho saw the surgeon emerge from the makeshift hospital, wiping his hands on a rag and squinting into the slanting sunlight.

He saw Bolitho and nodded. “Two of the men wounded in your battle can return to work, sir. Two more died, as you know, but the rest stand a good chance of survival.” He looked away. “Until the next time.”

Bolitho considered his words. A total of twelve had died be- cause of
Argus
. Despite the luck at there being few in comparison to the fierceness of the battle, it was too many. He sighed. Perhaps Herrick had got some more “volunteers” from the other ships.

Whitmarsh said, “Your coxswain did a good job, by the way. The boy should have died by rights.” He looked at Allday. “Wasted. You should make something of your life!”

Bolitho said quietly, “I am glad you thanked him for his efforts on Mr. Keen's behalf. But I am sure he will decide his own future.”

Allday could have been stone-deaf for all the notice he paid to their comments.

Whitmarsh said, “Well, anyway, sir, I've cleaned up a bit here. Most of them will heal, although a few more will die before they reach Spain. Disease mostly, of course.”

“Of course?”

Whitmarsh looked him full in the eyes. “Rotten with it just as they have given it to these poor ignorant savages, too. If any one of your sailors comes to me with that damned pox, I'll make him wish he'd never touched a woman in his life!”

“They are your sailors, too, Mr. Whitmarsh.”

Bolitho regarded him searchingly. Despite his usual attitude where naval matters were concerned, he looked a great deal better. Or perhaps there was little to drink here? Either way, he was noth- ing like the drunken hulk who had tumbled aboard in England.

“So
there
you are, Captain!”

He turned and saw her watching him from the entrance. She was almost covered by a white smock, and wore the same straw hat she had brought from Santa Cruz. Her eyes were in shadow, but there was no doubting the warmth of her smile.

He replied, “I am grateful for what you have done, ma'am.”

Whitmarsh nodded. “She is the one who took charge here. Organised the whole hospital from top to bottom.” His admiration was genuine.

She smiled at Allday and then slipped her hand through Bolitho's arm.

“I'll walk with you to the beach, if I may. It is so refreshing to have you back again.”

Bolitho could feel Whitmarsh and Allday watching them.

He said, “You are looking, er, very well.”

Her hand tightened very slightly. “Say Viola.”

He smiled. “Viola.”

“Better.”

When she spoke again her voice was different. “I saw your ship dropping anchor and was half mad with anxiety. I wanted James to take me out to her by boat. He refused. He would. Then I saw you with a telescope. It was like being there with you. And today I have spent a little time with Valentine.”

“Valentine?” Bolitho looked at her profile. “Who is that?”

She laughed. “Of course, you would never remember a thing like a mere name. Why, I am speaking of your Mr. Keen.” The mood changed again. “The poor boy. He looks so ill, yet can speak of no one but you.” She gripped his arm hard. “I am almost jealous!”

Bolitho looked past her to where the gig lay beached on the sand, the small breakers hissing and receding around it. The boat's crew were engaged in noisy conversation with some seamen from the brig, and it was plain they were describing what they still saw as their victory over the
Argus
and the schooners.

He smiled, despite his earlier bitterness and disappointment. Perhaps they were right. To remain alive under such circumstances could well be seen as a victory.

She was looking at him, standing slightly apart as if searching for something.

“You smile, Captain? At me? At my boldness perhaps.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Not that. Never.”

She tossed her head. “That is better, Captain.”

He heard Allday's shoes on the sand, the sudden silence from the gig.

“The name is Richard,” he said gravely.

Allday heard their combined laughter and felt suddenly wor- ried. This was a danger he could recognise well enough, far better than his captain, he thought.

He removed his hat as Bolitho walked, down the beach to- wards the gig, and heard him say, “I will be ashore later, ma'am!”

She held the hat brim to shade her eyes. “Until then, Captain!”

But Allday had seen the look on her face before it was hidden in shadow. That, too, was something he could recognise. He glanced quickly at the tower above the fort and took a deep breath. Squalls ahead, he decided, and not too far away.

Bolitho looked it him. “Well?”

Allday's face was rigid. “So it would appear, Captain!

Three days after returning to Teluk Pendang His Majesty's frigate
Undine
weighed anchor again and put to sea. By late afternoon of that day she stood well out in the glittering expanse of the Java Sea with not even a cormorant for company.

To any casual observer who might have watched her departure there was little to betray her mauling from
Argus
's cannon, but as Bolitho came on deck he was well aware of it.

Shrouds and stays which had been cut by grape and canister shone brightly in their fresh tar. Deck planking, hastily replaced, looked duller than the well-tried and holystoned wood which had been in the ship since she had been built. The sailmaker and his mates had been busier than most, and even now, as he walked slowly along the weather side, Bolitho saw Jonas Tait squatting with some helpers, his one eye gleaming watchfully as with needles and palms they continued with their patching.

Fowlar, who was master's mate of the watch, touched his fore- head and reported, “South-west by south, sir.” He gestured abeam. “A bit of a swell, and Mr. Soames has gone forrard to check the gun lashings!”

Bolitho glanced at the compass and then the set of each sail by turn. He had already noticed the steep, sickening motion, but it was too early to gauge its importance. The barometer was un- steady, but that was usual in these latitudes, and when he had consulted Mudge he had chosen his words carefully.

“Could be in for a storm, sir. You never know in these waters!”

He nodded to Fowlar and walked to the quarterdeck rail, feel- ing the sun lingering on his shoulders and face. It was a fair wind, he thought, but sultry, and somehow depressing.

He saw Herrick speaking with Soames by the starboard twelve-pounders. The boatswain was there, too, pointing out various repairs yet to be done, and through the main hatch he heard the lively sounds of a jig from the ship's fiddler. Normal, everyday sights and noises. He shifted wearily and begin to pace up and down the weather side.

From one corner of his eye he saw Soames climb from the gun deck, make as if to approach him, and then return to the opposite side of the deck. Bolitho was relieved. Soames had proved himself a tower of strength in a fight, but as a conversationalist he was heavy and limited.

And Bolitho needed to be left alone. To think. To examine the rights and the wrongs of what he had done. With the land left far astern, and once more abandoned to his own resources, he could view everything much more clearly. Now, as his shadow bobbed and swayed above the black six-pounders, he decided there were far more wrongs than rights.

Inevitable? Something which either of them could have stopped in a second merely by a word, a hint even? He recalled the way she had watched him across the table while the others had talked and chattered the night away. Capitan Vega had entertained them with a song so sad it had brought tears to his eyes. Puigserver had spoken of his adventures in the South Americas and the West Indies before the war. Raymond had become steadily drunk after getting into a fruitless argument with Major Jardine on the possi- bilities of a lasting peace with France.

Conway had remained terribly sober, or if not, Bolitho thought he must be a better actor than he had imagined.

When then, had the actual moment of decision arrived?

He had found himself on the upper rampart with her at his side, leaning over the rough timber to look at the anchored ships in the bay. They had made a fine picture. Tiny lights reflected on the uneasy water, the pale splash of oars as a guardboat patrolled mo- notonously around its heavier charges.

Without looking at him she had said, “I want you to stay on shore tonight. Will you?”

Perhaps that had been the moment? He had felt reckless, dangerously so.

“I'll send a message to my first lieutenant!”

He turned to stare along the deck. Herrick was still talking to Shellabeer, and he wondered if he had guessed what had occurred.

He could remember the room exactly. More like a cell, with fewer luxuries than a lieutenant's cabin in a man-of-war. He had lain on the bed, his fingers locked behind his head, listening to the strange noises beyond the walls and the rapid beats of his own heart.

Cries from the jungle, the occasional call of a picket challeng- ing one of the sergeants of the guard. Wind murmuring around the square tower without response from deck or rigging which was his normal life.

Then he had heard the sound of her footstep in the passage- way, a quick whisper to her maid before she opened the door and shut it quickly behind her.

It was becoming harder to remember in perfect sequence. The continuity was confused. He could recall holding her tightly against his body, the warmth of her mouth on his, the overwhelm- ing, desperate need which threw all last sudden caution to the winds.

There had been no light in the tiny room, but that from the moon. He had seen her only briefly, her bare shoulder and thigh shining like silver before she had climbed on to the bed, pulling him down and down, until at last, spent and gasping with the ex- tent of their desire they had lain together as one.

He could not remember sleeping at all. Just holding her, need- ing her, tortured by the realisation it could not last.

Once during the night and towards dawn she had whispered in his ear, “Do not reproach yourself. It is not a question of honour. It is a part of life.” She had put her lips to his shoulder and had added softly, “What a lovely smell you have. Of the ship. Salt and tar.” She had giggled quietly. “I must have it, too.”

Then the nervous tap on the door, the quick scramble to put on her gown as her faithful maid warned of the coming of another day.

But for Bolitho it had been different from all other days. He felt totally unlike anything he had been before. Alive, yet restless. Replete, but needing more.

He heard steps on the deck and saw Herrick watching him.

“Yes, Mr. Herrick?”

“Wind's freshening again, sir. Shall I call the hands to reef tops'ls?” He ran his eyes across the ship. “Rigging's straining a'piece by the sound of it.”

“We'll give her her head a while longer. Until eight bells if pos- sible, when we change tack and run to the west'rd. No sense in tiring the hands when one operation will suffice.” He leaned back, hands on hips as he stared at the main topgallant masthead, the long pendant undulating in the wind. “She's a lot of power to offer us yet.”

“Aye, sir.” Herrick sounded tired.

“Is anything wrong?”

Bolitho walked to the weather rail and out of earshot of Soames and two seamen who were splicing halliards.

Herrick said quietly, “You know already, sir. I've said my piece. What's done is done.”

Bolitho watched him gravely. “Then let us leave it well alone.”

Herrick sighed. “Very well, sir.” He looked at the helmsmen. “I'm sorry I could only get four extra hands. Neither
Bedford
nor the
Rosalind
were eager to part with any more. And those I did obtain are troublemakers by the cut of them.” He gave a slow smile. “Although Mr. Shellabeer assures me they will change their ways before another dawn.”