Cross of St George (26 page)

“There's the other boat now, sir!” Dyer sounded shocked by what he was seeing, the very savagery of it.

Ritchie called, “Standing by, sir!”

Adam raised the telescope, and then said, “Belay that, Mr Ritchie.”

He'd seen the first lieutenant at the tiller, the remaining seamen lying back on their looms, no doubt staring at the exploding flames which had almost consumed them. Beside Urquhart lay the midshipman, Lovie, staring at the smoke and the sky, and seeing neither.

To those around him Adam said, “We'll pick them up first— we have the time we need. I'll not lose John Urquhart now.”

The two frigates were completely ablaze, and appeared to be leaning toward one another in a final embrace.
Success
's bilge had been blown out in the first explosion, and, grappled to her attacker, she was taking the American with her to the bottom.

A few men were splashing about in the water; others floated away, already dead or dying from their burns. From a corner of his eye Adam saw Urquhart's small boat drifting clear of
Valkyrie
's side. It was empty: only the midshipman's coat with its white patches lay in the sternsheets to mark the price of courage.

He hardened himself to it, and tried to exclude the sounds of ships breaking up, guns tearing adrift and thundering through the flames and choking smoke, where even now a few demented souls would be stumbling and falling, calling for help when there was none to respond.

Midshipman Warren called, “The other ship's standing away, sir!” Adam looked at him and saw the tears on his cheeks. All this horror, but he was able to think only of his friend, Lovie.

Ritchie cleared his throat. “Give chase, sir?”

Adam looked at the upturned faces. “I think not, Mr Ritchie. Back the mizzen tops'l while we recover the other boat.” He could not see the American ship with the commodore's broad-pendant: it was lost in the smoke, or the painful obscurity of his own vision.

“Two down, one to go. I think we can rest on a promise.”

He saw Urquhart coming slowly toward him. Two members of a gun's crew stood to touch his arm as he passed. He paused only to say something to Adam's servant, Whitmarsh, who, despite orders, had been on deck throughout. He would be remembering, too. Perhaps this was also vengeance for him.

Adam stretched out his hand. “I am relieved that you did not leave it too late.”

Urquhart looked at him gravely. “Almost.” His handshake was firm, thankful. “I'm afraid I lost Mr Lovie. I liked him. Very much.”

Adam thought of one of his own midshipmen, who had died on that other day. It was pointless, destructive to have friends, to encourage others to form friendships which would only end in death.

When he looked again,
Success
and the American were gone. There was only a great haze of smoke, like steam from a volcano, as if the ocean itself were burning in the deep, and wreckage, men and pieces of men.

He walked to the opposite side and wondered why he had not known. To hate was not enough.

R
EAR
-A
DMIRAL
Thomas Herrick stood squarely by the quarterdeck rail, his chin sunk in his neckcloth, and only his eyes moving while
Indomitable,
under reduced sail, glided slowly toward her anchorage.

“So this is Halifax.” His eyes followed the running figures of the extra hands who were answering the boatswain's hoarse shout. Only then did he turn his head and glance at the captain on the opposite side of the deck. Tyacke was studying the landmarks, the nearest ships, anchored or otherwise, his hands behind him as if he were unconcerned.

Herrick said, “A good ship's company, Sir Richard. Better than most. Your Captain Tyacke would be hard to replace, I'm thinking.”

Bolitho said, “Yes,” sorry that they were soon to be parted, and also saddened on behalf of the man he had once known so well. He had offered Herrick the full use of the ship while she was in Halifax, and typically, Herrick had refused. He would take the accommodation he had been offered. It was as if it was painful for him simply to see and feel a ship working around him again.

York, the sailing-master, called, “Ready when you are, sir!”

Tyacke nodded, without turning. “Wear ship, if you please!”

“Man the lee braces there! Hands wear ship!” The calls shrilled and more men scampered to add their weight to haul the yards around. “Tops'l sheets!”

Two fishermen stood in their heavy dory to wave as they passed through
Indomitable
's shadow.

Bolitho saw one of the midshipmen waving back, then freeze as he found the captain's eyes on him.

“Tops'l clew-lines! Roundly there—take that man's name, Mr Craigie!”

Bolitho had already noticed that
Valkyrie
was not at her usual anchorage, nor was the American ship
Success
. He was not surprised that the latter had been moved. The harbour, large though it was, seemed to be bursting with ships, men-of-war, merchantmen and transport vessels of every type and size.

“Helm a' lee!”

Slowly, as though recalling her earlier life as a ship of the line,
Indomitable
turned into the light wind, the panorama of houses and rough hillside gliding past her jib-boom, as if the land and not the ship was moving.

“Let go!”

The great anchor dropped into the water, spray dashing as high as the beak-head and its crouching lion while the ship came obediently to rest.

“I'll have the gig take you ashore, Thomas. I can send my flag lieutenant with you until you are ready …”

The bright blue eyes studied him for a moment. “I can manage, thank you.” Then he held out his remaining hand, his body visibly adjusting to the movement, as if still unaccustomed to the loss. “I can see why you have never quit the sea for some high office ashore or in the Admiralty. I would be the same, if they had allowed it.” He spoke with the same curious lack of bitterness. “I'll wager you'd find no Happy Few in that damned place!”

Bolitho took his hand in both of his own. “There are not too many left, I'm afraid, Thomas.”

They both looked along the deck, the busy seamen, the marines waiting by the entry port, the first lieutenant leaning out from the forecastle to check the lie of the cable.
Even here,
Bolitho thought. Charles Keverne had been his first lieutenant in the three-decker
Euryalus,
when he had been a flag captain himself. A reliable officer despite a hasty temper, with the dark good looks which had won him a lovely wife. About twelve years ago, as a captain, Keverne had commanded this same ship, when she had been a third-rate. Together they had fought in the Baltic. Once again,
Indomitable
had triumphed, but Keverne had fallen there.

Herrick watched his sea-chest and bags being carried on deck. The gig was already hoisted out: the contact was almost severed.

Herrick paused by the ladder, and Bolitho saw the Royal Marine colour-sergeant give a quick signal to his officer.

Herrick was fighting with something. Stubborn, strong-willed, intransigent, but loyal, always loyal above everything.

“What is it, Thomas?”

Herrick did not look at him. “I was wrong to regard your feeling for Lady Somervell so ill. I was so full of grief for my Dulcie that I was blind to all else. I tried to tell her in a letter …”

“I know. She was very moved by it. And so was I.”

Herrick shook his head. “But I can see now, don't you understand? What you've done for the navy, for England, no less—and yet still you drive yourself.” He reached out and seized Bolitho's arm. “Go while you can, Richard. Take your Catherine and be grateful. Let someone else carry this goddamned burden, this war that nobody wants, except those who intend to profit from it!
It is not our war,
Richard. Just this once, accept it!”

Bolitho could feel the strength of the man in the grip of the solitary hand. No wonder he had forced himself to climb the ship's side, to prove what he could do, and who he was.

“Thank you for saying that, Thomas. I shall tell Catherine when I write to her next.”

Herrick walked beside him to the entry port. His bags and sea-chest had vanished. He saw Allday waiting, and said, “Take care, you rascal.” He stared past him at the land. “I was sorry to hear about your son. But your daughter will give you much happiness.”

Allday looked at Bolitho. It was as if he had known what Herrick had just said, had felt the very urgency of the plea.

“He won't listen to me, Mr Herrick. Never does!”

Herrick held out his hand to Tyacke. “She does you credit, Captain Tyacke. You have suffered for what you have earned, but I envy you, for all that.” He turned toward Bolitho and removed his hat. “You, Captain, and one other.”

The calls shrilled and the marines' bayonets flashed in the bright sunlight.

When Bolitho looked down once more, the gig was already backing water from the side. He watched until it was lost beyond an anchored brigantine. Then he smiled. Typically, again, Herrick did not look back.

Tyacke fell into step beside him. “Well, I don't envy him
his
job, Sir Richard. It's
Reaper
's captain who should be on trial. I've run better slavers up to the main-yard before now!”

Bolitho said, “He may surprise us, but I agree. His is a thankless task.” But the force of Herrick's words refused to leave him, and he could not imagine what it must have cost him to speak.

Tyacke said suddenly, “This victory you mentioned, Sir Richard. Some place in Spain, you said?”

It was said to be Wellington's greatest triumph over the French so far. The war could not last much longer, surely.

Bolitho replied, “They speak of months, not years any more, James. I have learned not to hope too much. And yet …” He watched the courier schooner
Reynard
speeding toward the harbour mouth, her ensign dipping in salute as she passed abeam of his flagship. A small, lively command for the young lieutenant who was her lord and master. Like
Miranda,
the schooner which had been Tyacke's first command; he would be thinking of it now, and of their own first wary meeting. What they had now become to one another.

He said abruptly, “Well, James, the war is still with us here, so I
shall
have to accept it!”

Bolitho stood by a window and watched his flag lieutenant walking along the stone-flagged terrace, carrying his hat in the warm sunshine. In the background, the anchorage was so crowded that it was hardly possible to see
Indomitable.
But for his flag curling in the wind, she might have been any one of them.

Valentine Keen was saying, “I decided to send
Valkyrie
to Antigua. She was the only ship powerful enough to escort the prize and frighten off any over-eager enemy.”

In the glass Bolitho saw Keen's reflected arm wave across the litter of papers and despatches which the schooner
Reynard
had delivered to him. Bolitho had sensed a moment's uneasiness when the schooner had sailed smartly abeam as he had been speaking to Tyacke:
Reynard
's youthful commander had known then that Keen was here, otherwise he would have made his report on board
Indomitable
.

“
Valkyrie
met with two American frigates. It is all here in Adam's report, which he passed to
Reynard
when they happened to meet at sea.”

“And one was destroyed, Val.
Valkyrie
suffered no losses but for a midshipman. Remarkable.”

“Yes, they picked up a few survivors, not many, apparently, and discovered that the ship that went down with
Success
was the USS
Condor.
A Captain Ridley was in command, killed, with most of his people, it seems.”

“And the other frigate was the
Retribution
.”

Keen did not seem to hear him. “I did not intend that either
Valkyrie
or the prize should be put at unnecessary risk. Had I been aboard, I would have made certain that a more open course was observed. Captain Bolitho was too near to the enemy coast.”

“Two hundred miles, you say?” He turned from the glare, his eye suddenly painful. “You and I have trailed our coats a good deal nearer than that, in our time!”

“I think it was deliberate.” Keen faced him across the table. “I know he is your nephew, and I am the first to appreciate that. But I think it was an impetuous and dangerous course of action. We could have lost both ships.”

Bolitho said, “As it was, Val, we exchanged a broken-down prize which would have taken months or perhaps years to overhaul and refit, for one of a group which has been a thorn in our side since our return to Halifax. Your place was here, while you were waiting to receive the latest convoy. You made the right decision, and it was yours to make. And as the one in command, Adam had no choice but to act as he did. I would expect that of any of my captains. You must know that.”

Keen recovered himself with an effort. “The survivors also confirmed your belief that Captain, now Commodore Rory Aherne was in command of the group.” He banged his hand down on the papers, and anger put an edge to his voice. “He might have taken my flagship!”

“And Adam—where is he now?”

Keen plucked his shirt away from his skin. “He had orders for the Captain in Charge at Antigua. He will return here when he has carried out my instructions.”

“Remember when you were my flag captain, Val. Trust extends in two directions. It has to be the strongest link in the chain of command.”

Keen stared at him. “I have never forgotten that. I owe everything to you … and Catherine.” He smiled, ruefully, Bolitho thought, and said, “And to Adam, I know that!” He touched his pocket, and Bolitho wondered if he carried the miniature there. So that was it. This was, after all, Benjamin Massie's house, and the St Clairs would be staying here also. It was not difficult to guess what had come between Keen and his flag captain.
The girl with moonlit eyes.

In fairness, it might prove to be the best thing that could happen to Keen. As Catherine had predicted … A brave and defiant young woman, one strong enough to help Keen in his future. And able to stand up against his father, he thought grimly.

Adam would not regard it in that light at all.

“And what of the latest intelligence, Val?”

Keen took two goblets from a cupboard. “The Americans have brought two more frigates to Boston. I ordered
Chivalrous
and the brig
Weazle
to patrol outside the port. If they come out …”

Bolitho said, “I think they will. And soon.” He looked up, and asked, “And York—is there any more news?”

Keen shrugged. “Very little. It takes so long to reach here. But David St Clair told me that weapons and supplies were stored there for our ships on the lakes. They might have seized or destroyed them. Either way, it will make our vessels less able to control Lake Erie, which St Clair insists is the vital key to the whole area.”

“And tell me about
Miss
St Clair.” He saw Keen start, so that some of the claret he was about to pour pattered onto the table. He added gently, “I shall not pry, Val. I am a friend; remember that, too.”

Keen filled the two goblets. “I admire her greatly. I have told her as much.” He faced him again. “Perhaps I delude myself.” He gave his boyish smile, which Bolitho had seen from his youth to this moment, and seemed relieved that he had at last spoken openly about it.

Bolitho thought of Adam's despair, his agony when he had read Catherine's letter, breaking the news of Zenoria's lonely and terrible death. But he said, “Thank you for sharing it with me. I wish you good fortune, Val. You deserve it.” He returned the smile, touched by Keen's obvious relief. “I mean it. You cannot be an admiral all of the time!”

Keen said suddenly, “I am told that Rear-Admiral Herrick is here. Transferred to
Indomitable
when you made your rendezvous with the convoy.” He did not attempt to soften his tone.

“I know there was no love lost between you, Val. He does not relish this mission, let me assure you.”

Keen said shortly, “The right man for the task, I think. He has known what it is to sit on both sides of the table at a court martial!”

“That is past, Val. It has to be.”

Keen persisted, “But what can he do? Ninety men, British sailors. Hang them or flog them? The crime was done, the penalty is already decided. It has always been so.”

Bolitho moved to the window again, and saw Avery speaking with Gilia St Clair.

Without turning he asked, “When you met up with
Reaper,
and before she struck to you, did you believe that Adam would order the guns to fire on them?” He waited a few seconds. “Hostages or not?”

“I … am not certain.”

Bolitho saw the girl throw back her head and laugh at something Avery had said. Caught up in a war, and now in something more personal. She had talked with Adam: she would have known, or guessed, how near death might have been that day.