Command a King's Ship (41 page)

Undine
's disengaged gunports were also awash, and her runout battery was pointing almost towards the sky as each captain jerked his lanyard.

Even above the roar of cannon fire and the wail of the wind Bolitho heard the chain-shot whimpering through the air and ripping into
Argus
's fully exposed topsails and braced yards. He heard, too, the immediate clatter of severed rigging, the louder explosions of bursting stays and shrouds as foremast and main- topmast swayed together like great trees before booming and splintering into the smoke.

Bolitho waved his sword above his head. “Hold her steady, Mr. Mudge! She'll be alongside directly!”

He ran to the gangway, and then stopped dead as the wind sucked the smoke downwind and away from the two drifting hulls. Dead and wounded lay everywhere, and as the marines ran to their places for boarding Bolitho saw Shellabeer mangled beneath a gun, and Pryke, the carpenter, pinned across a hatch coaming by a bro- ken length of gangway, his blood linking with all the rest around him. And Fowlar, could that thing really be him?

But there was no more time to regret or to think.
Argus
was here, alongside, and as Soames led his men across the bows Bolitho shook his sword and yelled hoarsely, “Over you go, lads!”

The French seamen were struggling to free themselves from the great tangle of spars and rigging, the broken cordage lying in heaps like giant serpents.

But the steel was ready enough. Bolitho crossed swords with a petty officer and then slipped in some blood, the breath driven from his body as the Frenchman pitched headlong across him. He felt the man jerk and kick, saw the awful agony in his eyes as Carwithen pulled him away, a boarding axe locked into his collar bone.

On every hand men were fighting and yelling, the pikes and bayonets waving above the more desperate work of sword and cutlass.

Davy was heading for the quarterdeck ladder, shouting to the men at his back, when a rally of French seamen left him momen- tarily isolated and alone. Bolitho watched his contorted face above the thrusting shoulders, saw his mouth shaping unheard screams as they cut him down, their weapons not still even after he had dropped from sight.

Midshipman Armitage stood shaking on the gangway, his skin like chalk as he shouted, “Follow me!” Then he, too, was dead, pushed aside and trodden underfoot as the two opposing groups surged together again.

Bolitho saw it all as he fought his way aft towards the main quarterdeck ladder. Saw it, and recorded it in his mind. But with- out sequence, like a nightmare. As if he were a mere onlooker.

He reached the ladder and saw the French lieutenant facing him, the one named Maurin, who had an English wife. The rest seemed to fade into a swirling, embattled fog as the two swords reached out and circled each other.

Bolitho said harshly, “Strike, Maurin! You have done enough!”

The Frenchman shook his head. “It is not possible,
m'sieu!
”

Then he lunged forward, taking Bolitho's sword on the hilt, and deftly turning it towards the sea. Bolitho let himself fall back to the next step, seeing the desperation on Maurin's face, knowing, without understanding why, that this man alone stood between victory and senseless slaughter.

“Le Chaumareys is dead!” Bolitho tested the next step with his left foot. “Am I not right?” He had to shout at the top of his voice as more of
Undine
's men burst yelling on to the gun deck and attacked the French crew from behind. They must have climbed through the shattered stern, Bolitho realised dully. Again it was more of a reaction than anything. He added coldly, “So for God's sake
strike!
”

Maurin hesitated, the uncertainty plain on his face, and then made up his mind. He sidestepped and raised his hilt almost level with his eyes before lunging towards Bolitho's chest.

Bolitho watched him with something like despair. Maurin had been too long in the one ship, had forgotten the need for change. It was easy. Too sickeningly easy.

Bolitho took his weight on his foot, parried the blade as it darted towards him, and struck. The lieutenant's weight was more than enough, and Bolitho almost had the sword wrenched from his grip as Maurin fell gasping to the deck below.

A pigtailed seaman raised his boarding pike, but Bolitho shouted, “Touch him, and I'll kill you myself!”

He saw Herrick walking between the French seamen who were throwing their weapons on to the bloodied deck, the fight over. Their strength going at the sight of Maurin's last gesture.

He thrust the sword into its scabbard and walked heavily up the last few steps. He knew Allday was behind him, and Herrick took his place at his side as together they stood in silence looking at Le Chaumareys's body where it lay beside the aban- doned wheel. He looked strangely peaceful, and amidst so much carnage and horror, almost unmarked. There was a dark stain below his shoulder, and a small trickle of blood from a corner of his mouth. Probably one of Bellairs's sharpshooters, Bolitho thought vaguely.

Bolitho said quietly, “Well, we did meet, Captain, just as you said we would.”

Lieutenant Soames knelt to unfasten Le Chaumareys's sword, but Bolitho said, “Leave it. His was a bad cause, but he fought with honour.” He turned away, suddenly sick of the watching dead, their pathetic stillness. “And cover him with his flag. His proper flag. He was no pirate!”

He saw Davy's body being carried to the gangway, and added, “A moment longer and he would have seen
Argus
taken. Enough prize-money even for his debts perhaps.”

As they climbed across the trapped water between the drift- ing hulls Bolitho turned, startled, as some of the seamen gathered to cheer him. He looked at Herrick, but he shrugged and gave a sad smile.

“I know how you feel, sir, but they are glad to be alive. It is their way of thanking you.”

Bolitho touched his arm. “Survival? I suppose it is a fair cause for battle.” He forced a smile. “And for winning.”

Herrick picked up his hat and handed it to him. “I'll set the people to work, sir. The pumps sound too busy for my liking.”

Bolitho nodded and walked slowly towards the stern, his shoes catching at splinters and broken cordage. By the taffrail he paused and looked wearily along his command, at the broken planking and stained decks, the figures which were picking their way amidst the debris, more like survivors than victors.

Then he leaned back and loosened his neckcloth, and shook open his best dress coat which was torn and slashed in a dozen places.

Above his head the flag was flapping more easily, the sudden squall having passed on as quickly as it had arrived to save them from
Argus
's great guns. But for it . . .

He looked round, suddenly anxious, but saw Mudge in his place near the helm, cutting at a piece of cheese with a small knife which he had fished from one of his pockets. He looked very old in the dusty sunlight. Little Penn was squatting on a gun truck, having his wrist bandaged, and dabbing at his nose which had started to bleed when a charge had exploded prematurely nearby.

Bolitho watched them with something like love. Mudge and Penn. Age and innocence.

There was Keen, speaking with Soames, and looking very strained. But a man now.

Feet crunched on the debris, and he saw Noddall approaching him cautiously, a jug of wine clasped against his chest.

“I am afraid I can't yet find the glasses, sir.” He kept his eyes fixed on Bolitho's face, and had probably had them shut as he had groped past some of the horror below.

Bolitho held the jug to his lips and said, “But this is some of my best wine.”

Noddall dabbed his eyes and smiled nervously. “Aye, sir. All of it. The rest was destroyed by the battle.”

Bolitho let the wine fill his mouth, savouring it. Needing it. They had come a long way since that shop in St. James's Street, he thought.

And in a few weeks they would be ready again. The missing faces would still be remembered, but without the pain which even now was getting stronger. Terror would emerge as bravado, and courage be recalled as duty. He smiled bitterly, remembering the words from so long ago.
In the King's name.

He heard Penn say in his squeaky voice, “I was a bit frightened, Mr. Mudge.” An awkward pause. “Just a
bit.
”

Old Mudge looked across the deck and held Bolitho's gaze. “Frightened, boy? Gawd, 'e'll never make a cap'n, will 'e, sir?”

Bolitho smiled, sharing the moment with Mudge alone. For he knew, better than most, that the truth of battle was not for chil- dren.

Then he looked along his command again, at the gleaming shoulder of the proud figurehead below the bowsprit.

Undine
was the real victor, he thought, and he was suddenly grateful to have her to himself.

E
PILOGUE

L
IEUTENANT
Thomas Herrick stepped into the stern cabin and tucked his hat beneath his arm.

“You sent for me, sir?”

Bolitho was standing by the open windows, his hands on a sill, watching the weed on the sea-bed and tiny, bright fish darting around the motionless rudder.

It was afternoon, and along the shoreline of Pendang Bay the trees and green fronds waved and shone in a dozen hues to a steady breeze. Good sailing weather, he thought absently, but not for
Undine.
Not just yet.

He turned and gestured to a chair. “Sit down, Thomas.”

He saw Herrick's gaze resting on the opened despatches which had been brought aboard that day. A brig from Madras. Orders and news.

“Another Indiaman will be arriving shortly, Thomas. This des- patch is from the Admiral Commanding the Inshore Squadron. He is sending fresh hands to replace some of those we lost in battle.”

How easily said.
Lost in battle.
He glanced slowly around the cabin, knowing that Herrick was watching him, sharing his memories.

There was little to show of the mauling the ship had suffered under Le Chaumareys's guns. Fresh paint covered the repaired timbers, and the smell of tar and wood-shavings lingered through- out the hull. A month and two days since they had gone alongside
Argus
, but despite the back-breaking work, and the rewards of see- ing the ship looking her old self again, the pictures of the fight hung in Bolitho's mind as if it were yesterday.

And how they had worked. Perhaps, like himself, the rest of the company had needed it, if only to hold the memories at bay a little longer.

Small moments stood out when you least expected them. Midshipman Penn crouching down as a gun recoiled inboard, wreathed in smoke, while its crew dashed forward again with sponge and rammer. A man had been hurled to the deck in a wave of flying splinters. Had lain there staring unwinkingly at the sky. Penn had reached out to touch him and had tried to jump away as the man had reached out to seize his wrist. He must have died at that very instant. Bolitho did not remember seeing the incident at the time, but it had lurked in wait within his mind. And Armitage leading his squad of boarders after Davy had fallen under those plunging blades. The clumsy, awkward mid- shipman, blind with terror, yet gathering his few reserves of strength only to find they were not enough.

And after the battle, the smells and the sounds, not least the surgeon fighting-drunk and being dragged bodily to his sickbay by three of his men.

When the wild cheering had given way to the realisation of victory, they had faced up to their own immediate situation. Wounded to be tended, the dead to be buried, and the work begun without delay.

Looking back, it was surprising they had reached Pendang Bay at all, Bolitho thought. Fore and main lower yards badly sprung, the mainmast itself so splintered and pitted that it was only quick work on stays and rigging which kept it upright, the tasks had seemed unending. More than a dozen holes below the waterline had kept the hands working at the pumps through every watch, as with the battered
Argus
in tow they had crawled painfully towards the land and safety. The captured frigate had already sailed under jury-rig for a yard in India where she would be quickly refitted and included in the Company's own private fleet.

Herrick asked, “Any further instructions, sir?”

Bolitho reached for a bottle of wine. “It is confirmed that Pendang Bay will be exchanged for another station now held by the Dutch East India Company.” He looked up, seeing the aston- ishment in Herrick's eyes. “Now that we have established the settlement, the Dutch are more than willing to make the exchange, apparently.”

He recalled with sudden clarity Rear Admiral Conway's face when the first despatch had been opened. Brought from Madras by Raymond himself.

He had said hoarsely, “So it was all for nothing?”

Raymond had looked away. “No, sir. The other settlement in the north is far more suitable to our requirements. Sir Montagu Strang has explained. You will see that your part in all this is highly thought of.”

Later, when Raymond had left the room, Conway had said, “Highly thought of. But a
new
governor will be appointed.”

Bolitho had replied, “I am sorry, sir. It is a bitter victory.”

“Bitter?” Surprisingly, he had laughed. “This sort of work is more for shopkeepers than sailors, Bolitho. Remember that well.”

He pushed a goblet across the table and realised that Herrick was still awaiting an answer.

“Once our replacements have been signed on, we will maintain a local patrol until ordered otherwise.” He smiled gravely. “I am temporarily the senior officer in these waters. Not too surprising, since
Undine
is the only King's ship!”

Herrick grinned. “And well earned, sir. When I realised how you had put yourself inside the French captain's mind, I—”

Bolitho looked away. “If the wind had dropped, Thomas, you might think differently.”

“Lady Luck, sir?” The grin was broader.

There was a tap at the door and Penn stepped into the cabin.

“Mr. Soames's respects, sir. The Indiaman has just weighed. He said you wished to be told, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Bolitho waited for the door to close, his heart suddenly heavy. Even Penn had not helped. Keen now stood above as acting lieu- tenant, and Soames had replaced Davy. The same story. One dies, another profits.

Herrick said quietly, “The Indiaman's sailing for Madras, sir. Our wounded will get better treatment there.”

Bolitho picked up his hat. “We'll see her off.”

The sun across the quarterdeck was harsh enough, but in the steady offshore wind felt less severe as with Herrick he stood by the nettings to watch the deep-hulled Indiaman spreading her top- sails, her paintwork and company flag very bright against the land.

Bolitho looked along
Undine
's deck and saw the hands paus- ing in their work to watch the big ship as she tilted to the pressure, her hull shining while she continued to tack clear of the anchorage. Thinking of home perhaps, where the Indiaman would eventually make her landfall. Or of old friends lying ban- daged within her fat hull, and of the others who were not here to see anything at all.

Bolitho beckoned to Penn. “Your glass, if you please.”

Only once had he been able to see Viola Raymond alone since
Undine
's return. Because of Raymond, or because she understood better than he that it was pointless to add to the pain of parting, Bolitho was still not certain.

“A fine ship, sir.” Herrick, too, had a glass. “To think my old father wished me to go to sea in an Indiaman. Things would have been very different, I suppose.”

Bolitho tensed, seeing the pale green gown on the ornate poop, that same wide hat she had brought from Santa Cruz. He could hear her words to him, as if she had just spoken across the broad expanse of lively white-horses in the bay.

“If you come to London, please visit me. My husband has gained his promotion. What he wanted. What I thought I wanted, too.” She had squeezed his hand. “I hope you got what you wanted from me?”

A gun boomed dully from the settlement, and another from the Indiaman's forecastle. Flags dipped in mutual respect.

Bolitho felt the ache returning. She was right. There must be no pain, only understanding. Peace, as after a great gale of wind. Something which they had seized, if only for a moment.

He thought of Raymond, going to a better appointment, while Conway returned to obscurity. It was impossible to fathom.

While he was much as before, except for that one moment. Or was he? By trying to mould him as she would have wished her husband, perhaps she had indeed changed him.

Penn called, “Signal, sir! From
Wessex
to
Undine.
”
He was straining his eye to a telescope to watch the flags breaking from the Indiaman's yards as she laboriously spelled out her message.
“Good luck go with you.”

“Acknowledge.”

Bolitho kept his eye on the pale green figure. She was waving her hat slowly back and forth, her autumn hair blowing unre- stricted to the wind.

Half to himself he said, “And with you, my love.”

Some of the seamen were cheering and waving as the other vessel spread more canvas and heeled ponderously on a new tack.

Bolitho handed the telescope to a ship's boy and said, “Well, Mr. Herrick?”

Herrick watched him and then nodded. “Aye, sir. A glass of wine. I think we deserve it.”

Bolitho held on to the mood, keeping his eyes away from the Indiaman as she stood purposefully towards the headland.

“At least we have
earned
it.”

Allday watched them pass, seeing Bolitho's hand touch his side-pocket where he carried his watch. Just a brief gesture, but it told Allday a great deal. He walked to the nettings and stared after the departing Indiaman.

Sail away, my lady. You have left your mark, and for the better. But a closer embrace?
He sighed. Neither of them would have weathered it.

Keen joined him by the bulwark.

“She makes a goodly sight, eh, Allday?”

Allday looked at him. “Aye, sir.”
You don't know the half of it.
“But a bit too good for a poor sailorman, sir.”

Keen walked away and began to pace the quarterdeck as he had watched Bolitho do a hundred times or more. He knew Allday was laughing at him, but did not care. He had been tested, and he had won through. That was more than he had dared to hope, and it was more than enough.

He paused by the skylight, hearing Bolitho's laugh and Herrick's quiet rejoinder.

And he had shared all of it with them.

When he looked again for the Indiaman she had slipped past the headland and gone from view.

He started to pace the deck once more. Acting-lieutenant Valentine Keen, of His Majesty's frigate
Undine,
was content.