Passage to Mutiny (13 page)

“Three days. I can't stand seeing you with him. Perhaps I should have returned to my ship and put a lieutenant in command. It will be three weeks before we make a landfall.”

He felt her skin in his touch. Soft and warm.

She was looking at him, her eyes very steady. “And I have been waiting and hoping for five years. We were wrong. We should have dared. Have broken with convention.” She raised her hand to his face. “I have
never
forgotten.” Her teeth showed white in the gloom. “Even the special smell you have. Of ships and salt. I'd have thrown myself to the sharks which killed your poor sailor rather than submit to that monster Tuke!”

Bolitho heard the chime of a bell, the attendant slap of bare feet as the watch changed. Someone, Ross or Keen, might come aft at any moment.

He said, “Take care, Viola. You have made a bad enemy in your husband.”

She shrugged. “He has made himself
that.
He did not even lift a finger to protect me.”

Allday clattered down a companion ladder and shot them a brief glance.

She asked calmly, “What do
you
see, Allday?” She smiled at him. “More things to worry you?”

Allday scratched his head. Viola Raymond was part of a world he had never shared, and rarely trusted.

“Squalls, ma'am. I see plenty o' them. But I've no doubt we'll manage.”

Bolitho watched him go. “You have him at a loss for words. That is rare indeed.”

They walked forward, past the big double wheel, and out on to the broad deck.

The air tasted fresh after the cabin, and from the set of the topsails Bolitho guessed they were making fair headway. He wondered if Herrick was watching them through his glass, worrying like Allday at what might happen.

She slipped her hand through his arm and said lightly, “The deck is very unsteady, is it not?” Then she looked up at him, her eyes challenging. Pleading.

In a quieter tone she said, “Three weeks, you say?”

He felt her fingers digging into his arm.

She continued, “After so long, I could not bear it.”

Keen stood with Ross at the lee side and watched discreetly.

The master's mate asked, “What d'you make of it, Mr Keen? The cap'n seems to weather as many risks here as he does in battle.” He chuckled. “Man, he's fair taken wi' th' lass, there's no doubt to it!”

Keen cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, I'm sure.”

The big Scot stared at him. “Mr Keen, sir, you're blushing!” He strode away, enjoying his discovery, and leaving the lieutenant with his confusion.

Midshipman Swift hovered nearby and asked, “Is there anything I can do, sir?”

Keen glared. “Yes. Attend to your duties, damn you!”

The two figures by the weather rail heard none of this. The savagery of hand to hand fighting and what had gone before was momentarily lost against the darkening blue sea, and the future still lay out of reach and without form.

Perhaps it had all been quite hopeless from the beginning, and yet Bolitho felt restored.

Commodore James Sayer moved wearily to avoid the bright sunlight from the stern windows as his flagship swung heavily to her cable.

He had just returned from the governor's residence, and was still wearing his dress coat. Beneath his shirt his skin felt cold and clammy, even after the pull across the anchorage in his barge, so great was the contrast in his cabin.

Through the quarter windows he could just see the frigate
Tempest,
her outline bending through the thick glass as if she was in a haze. She had anchored at first light that morning, and Captain Bolitho had come aboard the flagship in response to Sayer's signal, and had delivered his written report, as well as a verbal account of the
Eurotas'
s plundering and murder.

The important passenger, James Raymond, had not visited the flagship, but had gone straight to Government House.

Sayer breathed out slowly as he recalled his own reception there. Usually he got on quite well with the governor, allowing for the usual span between government and the Navy. This time he was surprised to find him fuming with rage.

“If things weren't bad enough, Sayer, we've now got that animal Tuke on our hands. He stripped the
Eurotas,
and God knows what use he'll make of her artillery. I'm sending the brig
Quail
to England with my despatches immediately. I
must
have more support here. I can't be expected to take incoming prisoners, build their accommodation, tend to their security
and
keep our trade routes patrolled.”

Commodore Sayer had never met Raymond, and he had not known what to expect. He had heard that he had been promoted from being a government adviser to the East India Company to his present post out here. As far as Sayer was concerned, being posted to the Great South Sea could never be seen as promotion. Punishment more like.

But Tuke he did know. Mathias Tuke, like many of his trade, had begun life at sea in an English privateer. It had seemed the natural thing to take the next step and act merely for himself. Against any flag, and with every means at his disposal. He had missed hanging by inches many times, and all the while his influence and the stories of his horrific deeds had spread across two oceans. He had sailed these waters before, and had then set up a base near more prosperous routes in the Caribbean and the Spanish harbours of the Americas.

Cruel, ruthless, feared even by his own sort, Tuke had given many an admiral a headache wondering where he would strike next. And now he was here.

Sayer had said, “I have a full report of the happenings in
Eurotas,
sir. But for Captain Bolitho's prompt action, with no little risk to himself and his landing party, I fear we would have lost everything, and all the people aboard the vessel slaughtered in a most callous manner.”

“Quite.” The governor had fiddled with papers on his great desk. “I am furious with
Eurotas'
s master for acting so
stupidly!
Taking extra passengers at Santa Cruz with so many convicts and too few guards on board!” He had thrown up his hands in despair. “Well, he has paid for it, poor devil.”

Sayer had said nothing. He had known for some while that most of the captains of merchantmen on government warrants had added to their payment by taking extra passengers. Like deck cargo, they paid handsomely, and many a sea captain retired rich. But not Captain Lloyd of the
Eurotas.

“It puts me in the very devil of a position.” The governor had moved around the room despite the sullen heat. “Mr Raymond has important work to do in the Levu Islands. It is all arranged. Now, with
Eurotas
virtually disarmed and in need of competent officers and replacement crew, I dare not allow him to proceed there without escort.”

Sayer had still remained silent. The Levu Group, adjacent to the Friendly Islands where Tuke had run
Eurotas
to ground, had been under discussion for many months, and almost as long as the colony in New South Wales had been founded. The local chiefs were friendly and open to barter. They hated each other, but that was safer. There was a good anchorage on the main island, with fresh water and plenty of timber. The group, or parts of it, had been claimed and reclaimed over and over again by any ship's captain who chose to anchor there in search of water and food, and hoist his country's flag.

But now, with a bad situation brewing once again between Britain and His Most Catholic Majesty of Spain, the island group represented more than a mere extension of trade and local influence. With Sydney and the rest of the great colony growing and spreading by the month, the newly opened trade and supply routes and the flanks of the colony itself had to be protected. The Levu Islands would easily act as a base for men-of-war to patrol the routes from the South Americas and Cape Horn.

He could not picture Raymond there at all in any capacity. He looked too spoiled by comfortable living. There was a hardness to him also, but it seemed to come from the heart and not the body.

Raymond had said, “Yes. I
must
have an escort.” He had looked at Sayer. “You command the squadron here.” It had sounded like an accusation, one which Sayer was used to, but resented. “Surely you can manage that?”

“I have a few schooners, some armed cutters and the brig
Quail.
” He had gestured towards the window. “Now, I have
Tempest,
thank God, and a captain with the experience and dash to make good use of her.”

Sayer had seen the quick exchange of glances. They had been discussing Bolitho. Strange there should be an atmosphere of unease. Fear perhaps that Bolitho's commodore might say something not meant for his ears.

Then the governor had said, “You will send
Tempest.
I am drafting orders for her now. I have also instructed that
Eurotas
be restored with whatever supplies we have available. The guns and the money are another matter,” he had added bitterly.

Raymond had excused himself and had gone to another part of the residence where he and his wife were being quartered. Sayer would have expected Raymond to show some sign of gratitude for being alive, compassion for those less fortunate. It was as if the whole incident had been shut from his mind.

But once alone with the governor, Sayer had received his second surprise.

“I can assure you, Sayer, that but for Bolitho's recovery of the ship, his obvious bravery and his successful rescue of many of the people, I would order you to arrange his, his court martial.”

Sayer had been astounded. “I must protest, sir! I know his record, he is a fine officer in every sense, as was his father.”

“And his brother?” The governor had watched him coldly. “Mr Raymond tells me that Bolitho's brother was a traitor during the war. A bloody renegade!” He had held up one hand. “That was unfair of me, Sayer, but I am
feeling
unfair. I am overworked, beset with strife in the colony and the incompetence of my administrators. Now this. James Raymond, an important man from London, who has the Prime Minister's ear, the King's too in all probability, is accusing Bolitho of having a liaison with his wife.”

So that was it.
Something like a bell had tinkled in Sayer's mind. Four or five years back. Bolitho had commanded the frigate
Undine
and had given support to another newly founded possession. In Borneo. That was it. The governor appointed to that godforsaken place had been a retired admiral. There had been talk of an attachment between the wife of a government official and the young frigate captain.

The governor had said crisply, “I see from your face, Sayer, that you have already heard something of it.”

“No, sir. A long time ago. Just rumours.”

“Maybe. But some damned fate has drawn them all together out here. But it is not the same as before. Bolitho is still a frigate captain, but Raymond has grown in influence if not in charity. Try to see it from my point of view. I cannot afford more trouble. I will send word to London with my despatches and ask that
Tempest
be replaced. I am not such a tyrant that I would suggest the removal of her captain.”

The governor had more or less admitted that he had not liked Raymond. It was just as well, Sayer had decided.

Now, as he stood in his own cabin again, Sayer was uncertain how to face Bolitho when he came aboard. He was a fine officer, better still, he was a good man. But Sayer had his own responsibility. It was the chain of command again.

His captain peered into the cabin. “
Tempest'
s gig approaching, sir.”

“Very well. Receive Captain Bolitho and show him aft.”

He turned towards the windows again. Mrs Raymond was a very beautiful woman, or so he had heard. He supposed she had taken passage here merely to keep her husband company. She would hardly fit into the Sydney society, he thought. Officials, officers of the Corps, their wives and their women. Sayer had seen more social gatherings in Cornwall than he had out here. Not quite the thing for a lady of breeding.

He heard the stamp of feet, the trill of the boatswains' calls as the side party paid its respects to a visiting captain. He turned and faced the door, bracing himself without knowing why.

When Bolitho entered he looked as he had that morning. In his dress coat, with his gold-laced hat tucked under one arm, he was, Sayer thought, enough to win any lady's heart. He was very tanned, and his black hair with the rebellious lock above one eye gleamed in the filtered sunlight like a raven's wing. He looked at ease, and with none of the strain Sayer had seen when he had first sailed into Sydney harbour.

“Sit down, Richard.” Sayer looked at him awkwardly. “I've just come from the governor. Been with him for hours. I'm about dead with weariness.”