In the King's Name (11 page)

Now the oars were tossed, the bowmen ready to make fast as the flagship's side loomed over them. Only one deck higher than
Onward
, but it seemed like a cliff. There was the entry port, with two side-boys waiting below it. Voices, the sound of a solitary call, then total silence.

Adam stood up and half turned as Jago handed him the sealed package. He began to climb, the orders pressed firmly beneath his arm, and gripping a hand rope to steady himself. One slip now, and it would be the story of how Adam Bolitho fell into the sea at Freetown … But the smile eluded him. He could smell food, and recalled that he had not eaten since midnight.

He saw a line of feet, and boots as well—Royal Marines—and heard the sudden bark of commands. He was still unused to these honours for himself. Then the piercing squeal of calls, heels clicking together, and the distant shouting of commands. He stepped through the entry port and faced aft, doffing his hat as the sounds of the salute died away.

A shaft of sunlight from the opposite side of the deck blinded him, and the uniforms, scarlet or blue like his own, seemed to blur and merge. He almost lost his balance.

But a hand reached out. “Here, let me take that.” And he heard what might have been a dry chuckle. “It's safe with me, Captain Adam Bolitho!”

Adam saw the hand gripping his arm now, strong and sunburned, like the man.

So many memories crowding into seconds, good and bad, which neither time nor distance could dispel. It was Captain James Tyacke, who had done and given so much, almost his life, and who had become one of Sir Richard Bolitho's firmest friends as his flag captain in
Frobisher
. He had been with him when Bolitho had fallen to a French marksman four years ago.

It was not possible.

Tyacke was handing the sealed orders to a tall sergeant of marines. “Guard ‘em with your life, right?” and the man smiled gravely as he saluted.

Somewhere there was the pipe,
“Hands carry on with your work!”
and Tyacke was saying, “I hoped it was you, as soon as I was told that
Onward
was in sight. But I wasn't sure till I saw you in the glass that you were still in command.” He gripped Adam's arm. “By God, it's good to see you! Come aft with me. The admiral's ashore, but he'll be back about noon.”

A lieutenant was hovering by the gangway and Tyacke paused to speak with him, gesturing toward the entry port, now deserted except for the watchkeepers and a sentry.

It was the first time Adam had seen the scarred side of his face since he had stepped aboard; maybe, like most people, he had been subconsciously avoiding it, for both their sakes.

Tyacke, then a lieutenant, had been wounded at Aboukir Bay—the Battle of the Nile as it was officially called. He had been stationed on the lower gundeck when an explosion had transformed the confined world of
load—run out—fire—sponge out—reload
… into an inferno. Tyacke had lived. Many had not.

Now, only the overwhelming victory against the old enemy was remembered, but James Tyacke would never forget. One side of what had been a handsome face was deeply tanned, like the strong hands. The other was lifeless, like melted wax. That his eye had survived was a miracle.

The devil with half a face
, the slavers used to call him.

He turned now and said, “I've sent word for your boat's crew to be taken care of. I see you've got the same fierce cox'n. Glad about that.”

They walked aft together, then Tyacke halted and gazed across the water toward the anchored frigate.

“Fine ship, Adam.” He softened the emphasis with a smile. “I envy you.”

They walked on; Adam could feel his shoes sticking to the deckseams, and it was still the forenoon. He said, “I saw that you were lowering the winds'ls.”

Tyacke glanced at him but did not pause. “Flagship, Adam. The admiral considers ‘em unsightly.”

They reached the shade of the poop and Adam saw two Royal Marines, one a corporal, checking the contents of a box. He pitied them in their heavy uniforms, but to be dressed otherwise would be “unsightly” too, he guessed.

The corporal cleared his throat and said, “Beg your pardon, sir?”

Adam recognised him. “Price. Ginger Price, am I right?”

The corporal nodded and grinned, momentarily at a loss for words. Then he said, “Not quite so ginger now, sir! But I ain't never forgotten the old
Unrivalled!
”

They were both gazing after the two captains as Tyacke said quietly, “You're very like him, y' know, Adam.” He did not need to elaborate, and Adam was moved by it.

He had already noticed that the flag captain's aiguillette Tyacke wore was quite tarnished compared with the other lace on his uniform coat. It might have been the same one he had been wearing on that fateful day.

The cabin door was closed behind them, although Adam had not noticed any one in attendance. He must be more tired than he imagined.

Tyacke turned, framed against the broad stern windows. “And the sword, too! I want to hear all about you!” His eyes rested briefly on the sealed orders, which had been laid on a table. He must be wondering how they might affect the entire command, or his own ship. His life.

But all he said was, “From England.” Then he smiled freely. “It does me good to see you again—I can't tell you how much. And I want to apologise for dragging you aboard when your anchor'd hardly touched the bottom. I wanted to meet and talk with you before anybody else hauled you away. You've been a flag captain yourself—you won't need telling!” He unfastened his coat and slung it over the back of a chair, gesturing for Adam to do the same. “The admiral usually keeps to time, so we have a while to ourselves.”

Adam hung his coat on another chair and loosened his sweat-stained shirt. Then he unfastened his sword, and hesitated as Tyacke said, “Here. Let me.”

He held the sword with both hands for a long moment, then drew the blade a few inches, very slowly, before snapping it into the sheath. “Brings it all back, Adam. The man, too.” The scarred face softened at some private reminiscence. “‘Equality Dick.' God bless him.”

The door opened and a man in a white jacket peered in at them seriously. “You called, sir?”

Tyacke smiled. “No, Simpson, but I will now,” and to Adam, “Sun's over the yardarm. D'you fancy a brandy with me?”

“Thank you.” But as the door closed and the cabin servant departed, Adam said, “Suppose the admiral arrives?”

“He's been ashore with some ‘important officials.'” Tyacke winked. “I imagine they'll have shared a tot or two by this hour!”

Adam looked uneasily at the door. “The admiral—is he easy to work with?” and Tyacke grimaced.

“Under
, more like.” He loosened his neckcloth. “He's been in command for three months, and I know him no better than the first day.” He laughed shortly. “Except that he's always
right
. You'll know the situation?”

Someone shouted, the sound muffled by deck and distance, and followed by the regular thump of feet. Marines.

Tyacke shrugged. “We have a lot of Royals in Freetown. Here aboard
Medusa
, too. Just in case, as they say.” He leaned forward from his chair. “Didn't someone tell me you were getting married?” He frowned. “Dear old John Allday, I think it was. When I was still a frigate captain like you, till I was shifted to this.” He waved one arm around the spacious cabin. “I'm luckier than many, I suppose. But …”

The door swung open and the servant came in quietly and set two crystal goblets down beside the sealed orders.

Tyacke nodded. “That's excellent, thank you.” The servant was hesitating, and he said with a certain emphasis, “All for now, Simpson,” and when they were alone again, “Here's to you and your lady.” When he put down the goblet, it was empty.

Then he said, “What's her name?”

Adam gazed past him. “Lowenna. It means ‘joy' in old Cornish. We were married at Falmouth, in November,” and he thought Tyacke sighed.

“That's a lovely name.
I
gave up hope long ago.” He was touching the scarred side of his face, a habit of which he was probably unaware. “But I didn't drag you from your own fine ship just to hear all my—”

The door opened once more, although there had been no knock. It was a lieutenant, one of the officers who had been with the side party when Adam had climbed aboard.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but …” He glanced at the two coats draped casually over the chairs. “… the admiral is on the jetty, sir.”

Tyacke stood up without haste. “Thanks, Martin. I'll do the same for you one day!”

The lieutenant was hurrying from the cabin.

Tyacke said dryly, “Stand by to repel boarders!” and reached out to keep Adam seated. “Now we wait. You do, anyway.” Then he was suddenly serious. “You don't know what this means to me, Adam.” He touched the sword again.
“Together.”
And the door closed behind him.

Adam refastened the sword and resumed his seat, stretching his legs, trying to relax. No matter what others might think, Tyacke was quite alone. He had asked about Lowenna, but what did he really feel? Envy or resentment?

On that last night, Adam had awakened, reaching out for her, and had seen her standing by the windows, curtains wide, moonlight like silver on her naked shoulders. They had held one another again, trying to delay the inevitable. When the dawn came he had heard her say, “Today, the sea is my enemy.”

He stared up at the same white-coated servant. Had he touched his shoulder to awaken him? Was that possible? He asked, “Time to move, Simpson?”

The man seemed surprised, perhaps that the stranger had remembered his name, or even cared to use it. He said, “Heard voices, sir,” and jerked a thumb up at the deckhead. “Best to be prepared.”

Adam stood up and tugged his collar into shape, and paused as the servant said, “You've not had your drink, sir.”

The goblet was still full, the brandy unmoving, as if the flagship were firmly aground.

Adam clapped his shoulder impetuously. “Too late now! I hope you can find a good home for it!”

The man regarded him with disbelief for a second, then grinned back. “As good as done, an' thank you, Captain!”

Footsteps outside the door: it was the lieutenant again, the one Tyacke had called by his first name. Probably his first lieutenant.

Adam patted his pockets and paused at the door to make certain he had forgotten nothing. The goblet was already empty.

The lieutenant said, “The admiral is ready to receive you now, sir.”

“Wish me luck, Martin.”

A Royal Marine sentry stamped his heels together, and an orderly called, “Captain Bolitho,
sir!
”

Medusa
‘s great cabin was not unlike that of any two-decker Adam had known, or Bethune's flagship
Athena
. Although most sailors would swear that no two ships were the same. He had expected others to be present, Tyacke and perhaps a flag lieutenant, or a clerk at least, to take note of any exchange of views. But there was nobody else, and the cabin was dominated by its sole occupant.

Rear-Admiral Giles Langley was tall and square-shouldered, thick-set beneath his immaculate uniform. His hair, reflected now in the white-painted deckhead, was very fair and trimmed short in the style favoured by the younger breed of sea officer. His eyes were in shadow, and Adam realised there was a curtain of some kind half-drawn across the stern lights and windows.

But the smile was immediate and, he thought, sincere.

“I regret the delay, Bolitho. You must be feeling the strain after your long haul.” He gestured to a large table and a litter of papers, and the package, now sliced open. There were pens and ink containers close by so he had not been alone, until now.

He waved Adam to a chair but walked restlessly to the curtain and twitched it slightly. “Yours is a fine-looking ship, Bolitho. Fast too, it would seem.” He did not wait for an answer. “But for the weather,” he looked over his shoulder, “and the unfortunate
Moonstone
diversion, you would have arrived here even earlier, eh?”

In those few seconds Adam saw that his eyes were blue, and pale like glass.

Langley shuffled some papers. “I read your report, of course. In the little time I've had since …” He did not finish. Instead, he turned over a page. “Boarding party. With your own first lieutenant in charge?” The pale eyes lifted briefly. “Good man, is he?”

“He's been
Onward
‘s first lieutenant since she commissioned, sir.”

“Not quite what I asked, but no matter.” Langley looked at him directly. “And there was only one survivor on board? The master, you thought? Did your lieutenant express any opinion?”

“That
Moonstone
had been totally unprepared, and had been fired on without warning. She was already sinking when the boarding party reached her. I signalled the recall when the weather deteriorated and was threatening my men.”

Langley nodded slowly. “The lone survivor was still alive at that time.” His fingers tapped the papers. “Did your first lieutenant glean any information from him?”

“Mr. Vincent was on deck when I made the recall signal. It was one of my midshipmen who was speaking with him, and who stayed with him until he died. He was all but trapped himself.”

The fingers rapped the papers again. “Hardly an experienced witness, Bolitho.”

Adam met the pale eyes coldly. “I trust him, sir.”

Langley's smile was almost gentle. “That is commendable too, Bolitho.” He was on his feet again. “You know my flag captain, I understand. A very capable officer. I don't know how I would have coped when I was given this command, without his knowledge and persistence. A pity I could not …” He shrugged, and the epaulettes glittered in a shaft of sunlight which had somehow penetrated the curtain.