Passage to Mutiny (15 page)

“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 nose 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, but one who can instill 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 company!”

“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 spec-tre 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 Bolitho asked, “Is that how your ship is run,
m'sieu?
By terror?”

The young officer stared at him, pale under his 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 smiling like 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'
s 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.