In the King's Name (3 page)

“My respects to the first lieutenant, and tell him we are all secured here.” He raised his voice as Radcliffe turned to run toward the gangway. “Easy does it! I think we've earned our pay today!”

He waited until Radcliffe had dropped out of sight. It was always too easy to take it out of those who could not answer back. He should have known that better than most. He watched some of his seamen mopping the stained deck and dismantling their tackle. Dull, necessary routine, but it gave him time to calm himself. It was over.

Someone had called his name and he tugged his hat lower over his eyes, peering into the rain. They were under way, the flagship lying across the quarter with only her flags moving, her decks deserted. He stared ahead again, the blue-grey water reaching away on either bow, the jib-boom pointing the way, like the naked figurehead of the youth with outstretched trident and dolphin beneath it.

He looked toward the land; a church or slender tower was visible despite the downpour. People might still be there, watching the solitary frigate as she headed for the open sea. There would be mixed feelings among the civilians. Pride, perhaps sadness, but certainly not envy. It was still too soon after the long years of war, the fear of invasion and, not least, the hated press gangs.

Lieutenant James Squire gripped a stay and felt it quivering as if the whole ship were straining forward, eager to leave.

And he was free
.

He heard Napier's voice, and saw him stoop beside one of the anchor party with a spare block and tackle in his hands. “Like this—it'll run free next time.” He smiled. “Wet
or
dry!”

The seaman was new, and Squire could not remember his name, but he appeared not much older than Napier. He saw him reach out with an answering grin to help the midshipman to his feet. It was a small thing, but Squire knew that it mattered, more than he could explain.

Napier was pleasant if slightly shy, and had already proved himself reliable and quick to learn. Squire gazed along the shining deck where men and boys had died. Brave, too.
One day, maybe soon
… He turned and said abruptly, “You were at the wedding, I'm told.”

Napier wiped his hands on a piece of waste. He was still not used to Squire's sharpness and swift changes of mood. A man you would never really know, unless he himself allowed it.

“Yes, sir. There were a lot of people …”

“And the bride?”

Napier recalled the church, the ceremony, the light on the uniforms. And the girl, Elizabeth, Adam Bolitho's cousin, dressed as a midshipman, carrying the flowers. She would soon forget. He would not.

“They looked so
right
together.”

Squire laughed. “Well said! And so they should.” For some reason, he knew Napier would say no more.
Like me, he has nobody to leave behind
.

“Message from the captain, sir.” Radcliffe was back, breathless, cheeks glowing from the cold wind. He held out a folded piece of signal pad and grinned at Napier. “Rain's stopped!”

Squire unfolded it deliberately. “I told you to
walk
, Mr. Radcliffe. You're puffing like an old Jack!” It gave him another few seconds, and as he opened the message he realised that the rain had indeed stopped, and the sea surging away from the stem was beginning to shimmer, although any real sun was still hidden beyond the clouds.

“Hands take station for leaving harbour. It'll be lively when we reach open water. Officers' conference aft, at noon.” He looked at the two midshipmen. “That includes
you
, for some reason.”

Both boys turned to watch a small schooner, sails in momentary confusion as she altered course toward the anchorage. Napier would be used to it, having served with Captain Bolitho before, but Radcliffe had not been long enough afloat to get his feet wet. But in all his years at sea Squire had never known a captain who made a point of sharing his immediate plan with his chain of command.

His men were separating to join others on deck, directed by the master's mate and other senior hands; the wind was strong enough to require more weight on the braces as
Onward
made more sail. Squire shivered. It never failed to excite him, even now. And he thought enviously of the youngster Radcliffe. So many years to make his own.

He saw Napier going aft and pausing as he met the newly rated bosun's mate, Tucker, heading in the opposite direction. Their hands touched, not by accident, and Tucker grinned as Napier spoke. Some good had been done. Tucker had been promoted because of Fowler's disappearance.

He stared at the foretop and waited for a face and a name to form in his mind.

“You
, Willis! Move yourself! We've not got all day!”

He knew his men. It was his strength.

Napier heard the shout but ignored it and ducked beneath the larboard gangway between two of the eighteen-pounders. The sky had become clearer, but they must have been too busy to notice. The sea bursting from the stem where he had just been standing was glittering in hard sunlight, but the touch of the drifting spray on his skin was still like ice.

He looked at Tucker, also called David, and gripped his arm. “Haven't had the time to tell you properly. I'm so glad for you—well deserved, too!”

Tucker glanced down self-consciously at his blue jacket and the telltale silver call hanging around his neck. “It'll take some wearing to get used to it!” He said it strongly enough, but when he looked up at the braced topsail yards and the small figures spaced at intervals against the sky he seemed less confident. “I know every man-jack up there, and what I was doing with them only a few weeks back. The same risks, the same laughs when we had all canvas doing what we wanted.”

Napier nodded. “I think I understand, David. I'm still getting used to it myself.”

Tucker showed his teeth in another grin. “It's
us
and
them
, remember?”

“Nothing to do,
Mister
Napier? I'd have thought that by now …” It was Monteith, the third lieutenant, hands behind his back, head on one side, and angry. He looked past them. “The boats need securing for sea, as you may recall.”

“I've already detailed hands for that, sir!” Another voice: Drummond, the new bosun, very erect, but casually picking a piece of oakum from his sleeve as if the bustle and shouted commands around him were beneath his notice. He did not drop his gaze as the lieutenant glared at him. “But if
you
are taking over, sir, I am needed elsewhere.”

Napier thought Monteith would explode, or give vent to the usual sarcasm. Instead, he shaded his eyes as if to peer abeam and snapped, “I can't do everything!” and stamped away.

To Tucker the bosun said, “I'll need you at four bells, right?” and walked aft unhurriedly, calling out an occasional name, or pausing by the various working parties as he went.

Tucker shrugged. “Sorry, David. I didn't see him.” He turned sharply as one of the foretopmen slithered down a backstay and landed as lightly as a cat at his feet. “Hey, Ted, why'n't you warn me he was coming?”

Napier recognised the seaman called Ted. He had often seen him together with Tucker, working aloft like the others they had been watching, repairing rigging, and tending the wounded after battle. Sharing a lively hornpipe during a dog watch when
Onward
had first commissioned. Friends.

Now the same man turned his back, remarking over his shoulder, “Didn't know it was an
order!”

Tucker stared after him as if he had been struck. Then he said quietly, “It's become a different ship.”

Napier gripped his arm again and waited until their eyes met, seeing the pain.

He smiled. “So, welcome aboard!”

Adam Bolitho stepped into the great cabin and heard the screen door close behind him. He had not recognised the Royal Marine on guard duty: another stranger. But he had noticed that Sergeant Fairfax was nearby, as if by coincidence.

He put his hand out to steady himself; the motion was more pronounced now that
Onward
was in open sea. But he knew it was not simply that. His entire body ached with tiredness and strain. He had been on his feet since Midshipman Radcliffe had roused him when the morning watch was called—he stifled a yawn—about ten hours ago.

He walked aft, angled to the deck, eyes on the hard light from the stern windows, sloping now to the thrust of wind and sea. He glanced briefly at the old chair, where his day had begun. To sit in it now would be fatal. Even when he had called the meeting here at noon he had remained standing. Some might have thought he was impatient to get it over and let routine take charge. Maybe the newcomers thought so, anyway.

There had been two lieutenants, the Royal Marine officer, all the warrant officers, and the six midshipmen together in a tight group. Vincent had remained on watch. The tallest present was the new carpenter, Chris Hall, who had served at sea in several men-of-war, but had also been attached to the dockyard on maintenance and even involved in the building of various types of vessel. Like other lofty visitors to the great cabin, he had taken his place under the skylight, but even there he had been stooping slightly. How did he manage between decks, or working in the lower confines of the hull?

He watched the occasional dash of salt spray, drying across the stern and quarter windows. At least the rain had stopped.

There was still a smell of rum lingering between decks. He had heard a few cheers when the order to “Up Spirits” was piped. It was the least he could do for men who had been hard at work since first light on a bitter morning.

There had been the usual comments after the meeting. Lieutenant Squire clapping Vicary, the purser, on the shoulder and grinning. “Cheer up! It's not coming out of
your
purse!”

Vicary was always complaining about stores and wastage; it did not help matters.

Murray, the Scottish surgeon, had added, “Won't need so much grog anyway, where we're bound for!”

Adam stared at two gulls which were riding the wind, drifting from side to side below the taffrail. The galley must have thrown some scraps over the side.

But the surgeon's words were still with him.
Where we're bound for
. It was Freetown, on what had been the slave coast of Africa. And it still was, for those who carried out their endless patrols there. But why all the secrecy and apparent urgency? And why
Onward
, so soon after the Mediterranean, and that bloody action with
Nautilus?

But he had discovered nothing more when he had gone ashore for the last time to sign for the sealed despatches which were now locked in his strongbox. Even that had been unusually formal: his signature had been witnessed by one of the admiral's aides, a senior captain, another unfamiliar face. Courteous but unhelpful.

“Onward
is a fast frigate, Bolitho, as you will know better than any one.” He had paused as one of his clerks sealed the despatches and stamped the wax. “Repairs completed to your satisfaction. Fully manned and stored.” He had walked to the familiar window and said after another silence, “And … available.”

Reminding him that another captain could be appointed within a day. Less. Adam had not forgotten the Admiralty waiting-room when he had been called to London. The jealousy and the hostility. Nor would he.

He walked across the cabin and heard muffled voices beyond the pantry door. Morgan and a much younger servant, a boy sent to help him during the conference. Morgan seemed to be waiting, judging the moment. Was it so obvious?

More voices, the sound of a musket being tapped on the grating. A dispute of some kind, then the door opened and closed and Jago said, “Not much to see, Cap'n. More rain on th' way.”

Adam reached for his boatcloak and changed his mind. “Trouble just now?”

Jago glanced at the door. “Yer sentry's new. Just needs to be told, that's all, Cap'n.”

He stepped aside as Adam left the cabin. The sentry was ready, and snapped smartly to attention as he passed, but he noticed Sergeant Fairfax's burly shadow lurking by the companion ladder.

On deck it seemed almost dark, although the bell had only just chimed for the first dog watch.

Vincent touched his hat. “Standing by to alter course, sir.”

Adam looked past and beyond him into the murk. Low cloud again, vague figures mustered and waiting by the braces and halliards, but strangely silent, so that the shipboard noises and the surge of water alongside predominated.

One of the midshipmen was waiting to offer him a telescope, his collar patches very bright, like those in the cabin before dawn.

He felt the air quiver, and then the vibration of the rail under his hand.

Someone said, “Thunder!”

Vincent looked toward him but did not speak.

All those miles astern, and yet the salute was with them. Personal. Sir John Grenville's farewell, or a last gesture of remembrance.
His old ship
.

Adam heard an older voice say, “Thass th' Lizard over to starboard, my son. Last you'll see of England for a while, so make th' most of it!”

Jago had handed him his boatcloak; it was raining again, but he had not felt it. The same rain must be falling in Falmouth, on Lowenna's garden … As close as they could be.

And she would know
.

L
IEUTENANT
M
ARK
V
INCENT
hesitated at the top of the ladder beneath the companion to give his eyes time to meet the glare on deck. After the sheltered chartroom, it was almost blinding.

The helmsman called, “Sou' by west, sir! Steady as she goes!” Probably to warn Squire, who had just taken over the forenoon watch, that the first lieutenant had reappeared.

Squire was talking to a midshipman, Walker, who was writing on a slate, tongue protruding from one corner of his mouth in concentration.