Second to None (32 page)

He sighed, and walked back to the desk. There was a letter from his wife as well, asking about the possibility of joining him in Malta, or of his coming back to London. She made it sound like the only civilised place to live.

He glanced at Adam Bolitho's report. Two more prizes. Surely their lordships would offer him extra ships now. There was proof enough that the activities of the Dey of Algiers and his equally unpredictable ally in Tunis required swifter, sharper measures. He almost smiled. It would also make an impressive spearhead for his return to another post in London.

Bethune enjoyed the company of women, and they his, but
he had always been discreet. The prospect of his wife joining him in Malta made him realise just how far they had grown apart since her attempts to humiliate Catherine, perhaps even long before that. Of course, he thought bitterly, there were always the children . . .

He looked at the other window, thinking of Lieutenant Avery standing beside him, sharing it, remembering it. And now he was dead. The Happy Few were only ghosts, only memories.

Bazeley's young wife would turn a few heads here when her presence became known. She had probably married the great man for his fortune, which, allegedly, was considerable, but if any of the young bloods from the local garrison got the wrong ideas, they had better watch out. He wondered how Adam had managed to resist her very obvious charm on the passage here from Gibraltar. He was reckless. But he was not a fool.

The flag lieutenant was back. ‘Captain Bouverie is here, Sir Graham.'

Bethune nodded. It was even harder to recall Onslow as he had been on that last night together, lying on his back, snoring and drunk. But almost human.

‘Very well.'

Onslow smiled, as always apologetic. ‘And Captain Bolitho is due shortly. His boat was reported a few minutes ago.'

Bethune turned away and looked across the courtyard.

‘I will see them.' He added abruptly, ‘Separately.'

Onslow understood, or thought he did. He would do it by seniority.

Bethune was well aware of the peculiar rivalry between Adam Bolitho and Emlyn Bouverie of the frigate
Matchless.
They scarcely knew one another, and yet it had leaped into being. He thought of the successes his small squadron had achieved, despite, or perhaps even because of this personal conflict. It might even be used to greater advantage if he could enlarge his chain of command here. He smiled again. He could never go back to being a mere captain, and he wondered why he had not noticed the change in himself before.

Adam Bolitho stood aside to allow two heavily laden donkeys to push their way through the narrow street. When he glanced
up at the strip of blue sky overhead, it seemed the buildings were almost touching.

He had deliberately taken a longer route from the jetty where he had landed from the gig, perhaps for the exercise, maybe to think; his mind was only vaguely aware of the babble of voices around him. So many tongues, so many different nationalities crammed together in apparent harmony. Plenty of uniforms, too. The Union Flag was obviously here to stay.

There were stairs across this part of the street, and he felt the stabbing pain, when earlier he had all but forgotten it.

He paused to give himself time and heard the gentle tap of a hammer. Here the open-fronted shops were as varied as the passers-by. A man selling grain, another asleep beside a pile of gaudy carpets. He ducked beneath a canopy and saw a man sitting cross-legged at a low table. The sound was that of his hammer against a miniature anvil.

He looked up as Adam's shadow fell across shallow baskets full of metal, probably Spanish silver like the chain on Catherine's locket, and asked in faultless English, ‘Something for a lady, Captain? I have much to offer.'

Adam shook his head.

‘I may return later . . .' He hesitated, and bent to examine a perfect replica of a sword. ‘What is this?'

The silversmith shrugged. ‘Not old, Captain. Made for a French officer who was here,' he gave a polite smile, ‘before you came. But never collected. The war, you understand.'

Adam picked up the sword, so small, but heavy for its size. A brooch, or a clasp of some kind. He smiled; he was being ridiculous, and he knew it.

The silversmith watched him calmly. ‘There is an inscription, very small. It must have been important. It says
Destiny
, Captain.' He paused. ‘I have other pieces also.'

Adam turned it over in the palm of his hand. ‘You speak very good English.'

Again the shrug. ‘I learned in Bristol, many years ago!' He laughed, and several people who had paused to observe the transaction joined in.

Adam heard none of them.
‘Destiny.'
Like the horizon which never got any nearer.

Somewhere a bell began to chime, and he clapped his hand
to his empty watch pocket. He was late. Outwardly at least, Bethune was tolerant enough, but he was still a vice-admiral.

He said, ‘I would like to have it.'

The silversmith watched him take out his purse, and when he was satisfied held up one hand.

‘That is
enough,
Captain.' He smiled as Adam held it to the light. ‘If the lady declines it, sir, I will buy it back from you, at a consideration, of course.'

Adam returned to the sunlight a little dazed, amazed at his own foolish innocence.

He touched his hat to a Royal Marine sentry and walked into the courtyard.

An unknown French officer, and a silversmith from Bristol.

Then he saw her on the balcony, in the same gown she had been wearing when she had left
Unrivalled.
She was looking down at him, but she did not smile or wave to him.

He felt it again, like a challenge. Destiny. The horizon.

And he knew it was already too late for caution.

Adam was surprised by the warmth of Bethune's welcome, as if he were genuinely pleased, relieved even, to see him.

‘Sit here.' He gestured to a chair far from the reflected glare. ‘I saw you come through the gates just now – limping, I thought. I read the full report.' He glanced at the dour-faced clerk at the other table. ‘Most of it, in any case. I am glad it was nothing worse.'

‘The shot struck my watch. Which is why I was late, sir.' He saw Bethune look meaningly at his flag lieutenant. So they had noticed.

‘You are here and you are safe, that's the main thing. I am so damned short of vessels I am beginning to think that nobody cares in the Admiralty.' He laughed, and Adam saw the young officer again.

Bethune said, ‘We shall take wine in a moment. I would ask you to stay for a meal, but I have matters which require prompt action.' The easy smile again. ‘But you've heard all that before, eh? We all have!'

Adam realised for the first time that Bethune was adrift here in Malta. Perhaps high command was even lonelier than the life of a captain.

‘No matter, sir. I have to return to my ship. But thank you.'

Bethune walked to the window, one hand tapping against the flaking shutter.

‘Captain Bouverie of
Matchless
was here.'

‘I saw him briefly, sir.'

‘Not a happy man, I fear. His ship badly requires an overhaul. She has been the longest out here, as far as I am aware.'

Adam thought of something he had heard Jago say.
Like a man who's found a penny but lost a guinea.
It fitted Bouverie well.

And Adam did not need to be told. If
Matchless
was sent to a dockyard in England she might be paid off, laid up, her company disbanded.

It could happen to me. To us.

He saw Bethune step back from the shutter, and knew he had been watching the balcony. Watching
her.
The revelation surprised him, and he began to see him in quite a different light, recalling that Catherine had spoken of him favourably in her letters. Rank had its privileges, and its drawbacks too, apparently.

Bethune said, ‘We have received information from what is judged to be a reliable source.' He waited for Adam to join him at the other table where Onslow had arranged a chart, weighed down with carved ivory figurines. ‘These islands to the south-west of Malta. Owned by nobody, claimed by many.' He tapped the chart. ‘Almost midway 'twixt here and the coast of Tunis. They are useless for trade or habitation except for a few fishermen, and not many of those, with the corsairs so active in these waters.'

He stood aside as Adam bent over the chart.

‘I know them, sir, but at a distance. Dangerous shoals, not even safe for an anchorage. But small craft,' he looked up and saw Bethune nod, ‘
they
would find the islands useful.' There was a sudden silence, broken only by the scratching of the clerk's pen. Even the sounds of the street did not penetrate to this room.

‘Some of the islands have high points of ground.' He touched the chart as if to confirm it. ‘When this one was last corrected,
it stated that two of them could be three hundred feet or more above sea level.'

Bethune rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I believe the corsairs are sheltering their chebecks among these islands. The high ground rules out any kind of normal approach. A blind lookout would see our t'gallants before we got within five leagues of the place!'

‘And the information is good, sir?'

Bethune glanced towards the window again, but seemed to change his mind.

‘Two traders have been attacked in the past week, another is missing. A Sicilian vessel saw the chebecks – her master has given us some useful information over the years. Us
and
the French, of course!'

Adam said quietly, ‘My uncle always had the greatest respect for the chebecks, sir. His flagship
Frobisher
was attacked by some of them. Lieutenant Avery told me about it.'

They both looked at the empty chair, and Bethune said, ‘He saw what many of us missed.'

Adam walked a few paces. ‘A landing party. At night. Volunteers.'

‘Royal Marines?'

‘I think not, sir. They are fine fighters, but they are foot soldiers at heart. This would require stealth, men used to working aloft in all weathers, sure-footed, eager.'

A door opened and he heard the clink of glasses. No wonder Bouverie had looked so depressed and so angry. His ship was too slow. By the time
Matchless
was restored to her proper trim it might be too late. For him.

Bethune said, ‘I can offer
Halcyon
in support. I cannot spare my flagship, and the rest of the squadron is deployed elsewhere.' He banged the table with his fist. ‘God, I could find work for ten more frigates!'

Adam knew the other frigate, half
Unrivalled
's size, twenty-eight guns, with a youthful and zealous captain named Christie. The family again . . . Christie had been a midshipman under James Tyacke at the Nile. They had both been scarred, in different ways, on that terrible day.

Adam could feel Bethune watching him, perhaps seeing
himself already there, confronted by an operation which at the best of times could spell disaster. But if the corsairs were using the islands they could not have chosen a more effective lair. A thorn in the side; no. Far deeper than any thorn.

Hazardous or not, Captain Bouverie would perceive it as an act of favouritism.
As I would.
He felt the piece of silver inside his shirt, and wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.

He recalled a captain who had once said to him after a bitter hand-to-hand engagement, ‘You might have been killed, you young idiot! Did you ever pause to consider that?'

He straightened his back and took a goblet from the hovering servant.

‘I think it can be done, sir.'

‘I hoped you might say that.' Bethune could scarcely conceal his relief. ‘But no unnecessary risks.'

Adam smiled tightly. Bethune had never lost his ship, witnessed her agony, and that of her people who had trusted in him.

Perhaps it made it easier for him.

Onslow ventured, ‘The reception, Sir Graham?'

Bethune frowned at him. ‘It would be better if you weighed at first light. I will have your orders prepared immediately, Christie's too.' He looked at the pile of documents awaiting his signature, and said abruptly, ‘Sir Lewis and Lady Bazeley, were they any trouble?'

‘We had a fast enough passage, sir.'

Bethune looked at him and smiled. It was not what he had asked.

‘There is a reception for them this evening. Short notice, but they are used to that in Malta.
I
am not.'

He walked with him to the door, while Onslow made a display of folding the charts, probably in readiness for the next visitor.

Bethune said, ‘Captain Forbes will give you all the help he can. He has served in these waters for many years.' Then, at a complete tangent, ‘I am truly sorry that you cannot join us this evening. Everything must appear normal.' He paused, as if he had gone too far. ‘A king once said, if you tell your best friend a secret, it is no longer a secret!'

The mood did not last, and he said almost brusquely, ‘I will
see you when you sign for your orders. No matter what I am doing, I want to be told.'

Adam descended the marble stairs, his mind already on the details of his mission. Total responsibility. He had heard it from his uncle several times.
If you succeed, others will get the reward; if you fail, yours is the total responsibility
.

He saw the flag captain's stocky figure by the entrance. Ready to play his role.

Unrivalled
had arrived that morning; tomorrow she would weigh and proceed to sea once more. And suddenly he knew he was not sorry to leave.

Leigh Galbraith stood by the hammock nettings and studied the boats alongside. One of them was
Halcyon
's gig, her crew very smart in checkered shirts and tarred hats. He smiled.
A ship shall be judged by her boats
.

The other frigate's captain had been down in the great cabin for more than an hour. Each seeing his own ship's part in what lay ahead, the selection of men, and who would lead them.