A Tradition of Victory (22 page)

A thought crossed his mind, and when Bolitho walked to the entry port he saw
Benbow
’s barge directly below him, the maid and a pile of boxes filling the sternsheets where Allday stood beaming up at him.

Browne explained awkwardly, “Well, sir, I thought, for the admiral’s lady it should be an admiral’s barge.”

Bolitho looked at him gravely and then touched his arm.

“That was well said, Oliver. I’ll not forget.”

Browne flushed. “And here she comes, sir.”

She joined them by the port and stared down at the green-painted barge for several seconds.

Then she looked at Bolitho, her eyes misty. “For me, Richard?”

Bolitho nodded. “I’d give you the world if I could.”

With great care she was assisted into the barge, the seamen in their checkered shirts and tarred hats peering round their tossed oars as if a creature from another world had suddenly come amongst them.

Allday held out his hand to guide her to a cushion on the thwart, but she took it in hers and said quietly, “I am pleased to see you again, John Allday.”

Allday swallowed hard and waited for Bolitho to sit down.

She had come to them. She had even remembered his name.

He glanced at the maid and winked.

“Bear off forrard!”

Allday thought of the lordly Indiaman and the easy discipline of her people. Then he looked at his barge crew, men hardened by the sea and by war. Originally from the jails and the gutters, but he knew he would not change one of them for John Company’s hands.

“Give way, all!”

“What will you do now, Belinda?” It was even hard to speak her name aloud after nursing it in his mind for so long.

“Take passage for England.” She turned to look at
Benbow
as the barge swept abeam. “I would that I could sail with her!”

Bolitho smiled. “In a King’s ship? Poor Thomas would never rest at nights with you in his care!”

She dropped her eyes. “I must be alone with you. I am ashamed of the way I feel, but I am helpless.”

Bolitho saw the eyes of the stroke oarsman fix on a point somewhere above the girl’s shoulder. If he had heard her words the stroke would have been thrown into chaos.

“I am the same. Once I have seen you received ashore I shall

see what must be done for your safe passage to England.” He wanted to touch her, to hold her.

She asked, “When will
you
be going home?”

Bolitho heard the note of anxiety in her voice. “Soon.” He tried not to think about his despatches which he would send in the next fast packet. Orders which would bring
Indomitable
and
Odin
to make up the full strength of his small squadron. In her heart Belinda must already know how it would be. He said, “Then we shall be together.”

At the jetty there were two civilians, a man and a woman, waiting to meet them.

The man, a ruddy, genial giant, said, “We’ll take good care of her, Admiral! Visit whenever you will, though from all the rumour flying round the Rock, my guess is that you’ll up-anchor again soon!” He grinned, not realizing what he was causing. “Give those Frogs a bloody nose or two, eh, sir!”

Bolitho removed his hat and murmured something appropri-ate.

Once more they held hands and looked at one another without caring, without hiding their feelings.

“I shall come, Belinda. No matter what.”

He kissed her hand, and as he did so he saw her other hand move as if to touch his face. He released her fingers and stood back.

At the jetty he found Browne prowling up and down above the barge. He saw Bolitho and touched his hat.

“I have just seen a packet drop anchor, sir. She hoisted a signal to the Flag, despatches on board for the admiral.”

Bolitho looked past him. The big Indiaman and another of the ships from the convoy were already shortening their cables and shaking out their canvas ready to sail. Far out to sea, her upper yards hidden in mist, a frigate lay hove to, an escort to shepherd them clear of any potential danger.

Life went on. It had to. It was what Studdart had tried to explain, just as he had warned him of the consequences of failure.

The packet had probably brought new orders for Herrick, as nobody in England would yet have heard of
Ceres
’ destruction and their escape.

What then? Should he take Studdart’s advice and await a further ruling from the Admiralty?

Again he thought of the
Styx,
the bleeding and dazed survivors on the beach. The Frenchman who had attacked one of the sailors, the girl who had stared at him from the crowd.

There was no easy way, nor had there ever been.

He looked down into the waiting barge.
For the admiral’s lady.

If he turned back now he would dishonour himself. Worse, she might despise him too when time sharpened the memory of his decision.

Allday recognized the mood better than words.

Here we go again, John.
He thought he knew how Bolitho felt, and later on he might even share it with him.

He grinned unsympathetically at his bargemen. The rest?

They would follow the flag and do their duty, for that was the lot of poor Jack.

“MAKE SIX copies and bring them to me for signature.” Bolitho looked over Yovell’s shoulder and marvelled that so large a man could write with such a neat, round hand.

Herrick sat by the stern windows and watched the smoke from his long pipe as it curled out and over the placid water of the bay. It was still only afternoon, and it had been bustle, bustle, bustle from the moment the anchor had hit the bottom.

He said, “When the Admiralty receive your despatches they’ll
know
you’re alive and well, sir.” He chuckled softly. “Your intended action against the Frogs will make a few sore heads in Whitehall, I’ll wager.”

Bolitho moved restlessly about the cabin and tried to discover if he had forgotten anything. Captain Inch would have already sailed his repaired
Odin
around from the Nore to join Veriker’s
Indomitable
at Plymouth, and Keen’s ship lay at anchor here, less than a cable distant.
We happy few.
They were getting fewer.

The fast packet which had anchored during the forenoon with despatches for Sir John Studdart had also carried further orders for Herrick, as he had suspected. He was to return to Plymouth with
Nicator
and the frigate
Ganymede
in company, where he would take overall charge of the squadron until further instructions.

Fast packets, like the hard-worked courier brigs, had little time to themselves. This one, the
Thrush,
would sail in the morning, and his despatches had to be on board.

Their lordships would get a shock when they found that not only was he alive, but had been rescued by his own flagship.

He watched the clerk gather up his papers and stride heavily from the cabin. He had no need to ask him to hurry. Yovell would have everything ready to sign with time to spare.

Bolitho thought of the one sour note in Herrick’s orders. He was to make contact with the blockading force off Belle Ile and notify Captain Emes that he would stand before a court-martial once
Phalarope
was relieved from her station.

He thought it wrong and unfair, even though the instigators of the orders had no idea that the squadron’s rear-admiral was alive and free from captivity.

Herrick, on the other hand, had been adamant in his contempt for Emes’s actions.

“Of course he was wrong, sir. Leave
Styx
to fend for herself and disobey your orders to close with the enemy? If I’d been there A

I’d have run him up to
Benbow
’s main-yard and save the expense of a court martial!”

A boat pulled slowly below the stern, some seamen singing and skylarking as they made their way back to their ship. Bolitho watched them. To the
Thrush.
He had already discovered that no other such vessel was leaving for England for a week.

Belinda would have to be put aboard for, although he had learned that the people with whom she was staying were friends she had known in India, Gibraltar was no place for her to remain.

The squadron would put to sea without delay. If fate turned against him after raising his hopes so high, she would need to be in England, in Falmouth where she would be cared for and loved.

He gestured to Ozzard to fetch some wine from his cooler and said, “Now, Thomas, there is a matter I wish to discuss.”

Herrick emptied his pipe and proceeded to refill it with slow, deliberate stabs of his finger.

He did not look up but said, “You have already done so, sir, and my answer is the same. I was appointed acting-commodore because the squadron was divided. You still command the full force as described in the orders.” He looked up, his blue eyes hidden in shadow. “Do you want me to be like Emes and run when I’m needed?”

Bolitho took two goblets from Ozzard and carried them to his friend.

“You know that is rubbish, Thomas. It is not the risk of battle which worries me, but the threat to your future. I can send you with another force to watch over Lorient. That would keep your broad-pendant where it belongs, at the masthead. Damn it, man, you deserve it and much more beside! If you had obeyed the rules and left
Ganymede
to cut and run from the French, I would still be a prisoner. D’you imagine I’m not grateful for that?

But if the price for my safety is your loss of promotion, then I’m not so sure of the bargain.”

Herrick did not flinch. “I didn’t wait for the arrival of my new flag-captain when I quit Plymouth. I never expected to command a ship of the line such as
Benbow.
So a captain I’ll probably remain until they kick me on to the beach for good.” He grinned.

“I know one dear lady who would not be too worried by that.”

Bolitho dropped on to the bench and studied him gravely.

“And if I order you, Thomas?”

Herrick held a taper to his pipe and puffed placidly for several seconds.

“Ah, well, sir. We’d have to see. But, of course, if you send me out of the main squadron before you commit it to an attack, which in all probability will be cancelled anyway, their lordships will see your act as a lack of confidence.” He eyed him stubbornly.

“So if I am to face ruin either way, I’d rather remain here as your second-in-command.”

Bolitho smiled. “God, man, you’re like Allday!”

“Good.” Herrick reached for his goblet. “He is the only man I know who makes you listen to sense.” He grinned. “No disrespect, sir.”

Bolitho laughed. “None taken.”

He stood up and walked to the sword rack. “I wonder what has happened to the old sword, Thomas?” He shook himself as if to drive away the past. “In truth, I have nothing left. They took my watch, everything.”

Herrick nodded. “A new start. Perhaps that too was as intended.”

“Maybe.”

Herrick added, “Let’s get to sea and finish this damnable waiting.” When Bolitho remained silent he said, “For once you are not so keen to leave, sir. And I’m sure I don’t blame you.”

Bolitho took down the bright presentation sword and examined it while he tortured himself with his doubts.

Herrick said, “A lot of good folk put their faith into that A

sword, sir. Because they trusted you, because you are one of their own sons. So don’t you fret on it now. Whatever happens they’ll stand by you.” He stood up abruptly and added, “And so will I.”

He lurched unsteadily against the seat and grinned. “Ship’s a bit lively, sir.”

Bolitho watched him, moved as always by his sincerity.

“It’s like a mill-pond, Thomas. Too much wine, that’s your trouble.”

Herrick gathered up his dignity and walked towards the door.

“And why not, sir? I’m celebrating.”

Bolitho watched him leave and murmured, “And God bless you for that, Thomas.”

Browne must have been waiting in the lobby, and as he entered Bolitho said, “Visit the
Thrush
’s master, Oliver, and arrange passage for—” he turned and faced him “—your admiral’s lady. Make certain she is well cared for. You, better than anybody I know, can manage that.”

Browne watched him impassively. “They sail tomorrow, sir.

Early.”

“I know.”

All this way she had come to find him, directed by some uncanny faith in his survival. Now he was putting her aboard another ship. And yet somehow he knew he was right, that she would understand.

He said suddenly, “I’m going ashore. Have them pipe for my barge crew.” He was speaking quickly in case he should discover an argument against his own actions. “If anything happens, I shall be …” He hesitated.

Browne handed him his hat and the regulation pattern sword which Herrick had given him.

“I understand, sir. Leave everything to me.”

Bolitho clapped him on the shoulder. “How did I ever manage without you?”

Browne followed him on deck, and while the calls shrilled to muster the barge crew he said, “It is mutual, sir.”

As the barge pulled rapidly clear of
Benbow
’s shadow, Bolitho looked up at her maze of spars and rigging and at the haughty figurehead of Admiral Sir John Benbow. He had died of wounds after being betrayed by certain of his captains.

Bolitho thought of Herrick and Keen, Inch and Neale who had perished for his loyalty.

If Admiral Benbow had been as lucky as he was, it would have been a very different story.

Allday looked down at Bolitho’s squared shoulders, the black queue above the gold-laced collar. Admiral or Jack, it made no difference, he thought. Not when it came to a woman.

The room was small but comfortably furnished, with only the thickness of the outer wall giving any hint that it was part of Gibraltar’s fortifications. There were a few portraits and ornaments to mark the comings and goings of various company agents who had lodged briefly amongst the garrison and the naval presence.

Bolitho said quietly, “I thought they would never leave us.”

He had known the Barclays for only a few moments but already thought of them as a single entity rather than individuals.