The King's Marauder

by Dewey Lambdin

  Twenty-three? Lewrie wolfishly thought; Yum, yum!

  “So, take what joy you may, for as long as you can,” Mountjoy suggested with a twinkle, “and I’m sure you’ll treat her better than Hughes ever would.”

  “And make arrangements, should…” Lewrie agreed, stopping short of the thought of his own demise, and rapping the nearest wood surface for luck, and to ward off the very idea.

  “Quite,” Mountjoy said, beaming.

  “Well, if that’s all, I’m off,” Lewrie said, tossing back the last of his wine and rising. “Time for my dinner … our dinner.”

  “Bon appétit!” Mountjoy cheerfully wished, with a wry wink. “Oh, by the by, before you go, I think I should pass along one bit of information that’s reached me via Cummings and his damned boat. He’s been into Cartagena, and says that there’s some activity round the navy yards … a couple of large frigates now have their yards crossed and are victualling?”

  “The Dons, preparing t’go to sea?” Lewrie said, frowning. “If that’s so, perhaps I should leave the transport behind, this time. It ain’t all the warships in Cartagena gettin’ ready, is it? Their Navy hasn’t ventured out since Trafalgar, and I can’t think of a good reason for them t’start, unless our raids’ve pricked ’em too sore.”

  “Cummings said that it was only the two frigates,” Mountjoy assured him as he rose to see him out, “but, he was in no position to nose about too closely. Do you think they might sail out against us?”

  “Hmm … not unless they knew exactly where we’d be goin’ this time,” Lewrie replied, slowly mulling over the possibilities. “Else, they’d have to cruise the whole coast from Málaga to Alicante, lookin’ for us, and that’d require that they manage t’slip past the blockadin’ squadrons, first. To cruise in search of us would put them at risk of bein’ spotted by our other ships, brought to action, and taken before they discover us.”

  “Well, keep a sharp eye peeled, no matter,” Mountjoy cautioned.

  “Aye, I shall,” Lewrie promised, though he was quickly coming to see the odds of the Spanish sailing, and finding him, quite low.

  For now, I’ll eat, drink, and be hellish-merry with Maddalena, he told himself on the way down the stairs, past Mister Deacon’s faint leer as if he knew exactly where he was going, and who he would be with. Damn all sneakin’ spies, he thought; And what they must think o’ me. And the Dons? Tomorrow’s another day!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Māe de Deus,” Maddalena cooed with her head resting against his shoulder, still a little breathless from their last bout of lovemaking, with one slim leg cross his. “Maravilhoso.”

  “My stars,” Lewrie said with a chuckle of delight, sprawled on his back with his arms loosely embracing her. “Damned right, it was! Ye deserve a reward for that, me girl.” Which statement made her laugh deep in her throat, snuggle closer, and make purring sounds. She had slipped atop him and had ridden “St. George”, this time, abandoning her earlier reticence and modesty, spitted upon his lance, pierced to the heart and dying the “little death” as the mythic dragon had, hair swishing, strong fingers clutching his shoulders, rocking, thrusting mindlessly, and crying out ’til the moment she’d broken. He had not reached his release, and after a long moment, had thrust upwards and had driven her to a second effort, even more frantic than the first. Lewrie had taken hold of her wrists and had leaned her back, feeling how she’d grown snugger and snugger, savouring her wee yelps and gasps ’til the moment he’d exploded as hot and as fiercely as a great gun, and she had quivered and cried out as she’d found a second, searing wave of utter bliss, almost at the same instant as his, which had left them gasping and completely spent.

  “That was my reward, Alan,” Maddalena whispered close to his ear, a pleased-beyond-measure smile curling her lips. “I please you?”

  “God, yes! You please me right down to me toes, Maddalena,” he assured her, turning to share a long soul kiss, eliciting a long, happy groan from her before they snuggled up, again, eyes closed in exhaustion, and sighing. “Every time, in fact,” he murmured.

  “Sim, me too,” she vowed, reaching up one hand to stroke at his cheek. “Such a wonder I never know…’til you,” she said with a wee giggle. “Uhm … pardon, but I have to…”

  She rose, slipping away from him, trailing her hand down his out-stretched arm as she left the bed to go behind a Chinese-looking folding screen to use the chamber pot. “Play with Precious,” she said.

  Lewrie rolled over to her side of the bed and lifted the waiting kitten up to the sheets. “Spyin’ on us, are ye, kitty?” he said.

  Precious was Maddalena’s latest acquisition, found in one of the local markets, though paying even six pence for him, when Gibraltar Town teemed with strays, Lewrie thought silly. He was a ram-cat, only three months or so old, wide-eyed and white-furred, with random splotches of ginger. As soon as he had all four paws down, he gave out a wee Mew and pounced on Lewrie’s wiggled fingers, and his tiny fangs and claws were sharp! Before Lewrie could pull the sheets up to cover his groin, Precious discovered the ribbons which bound his cundum on, and the kitten made a pounce in that direction!

  “Oh no, ye don’t!” Lewrie cried, scooping him up.

  Maddalena returned from behind the screen, her dressing gown on but unbound, and the sight of her marvellously pleasing and delightful body made Lewrie beam at her. “Here, you manage this wee beast whilst I take my turn before he claws me ‘wedding tackle’.”

  “Oh, never do that, Precious,” Maddalena cooed at her kitten, picking him up and cuddling it to her breast. “Some things are precious to me besides you,” she added, looking teasingly at Lewrie.

  Here, that sounds damned promising, Lewrie thought as he took off his cundum and stowed it in a linen draw-string bag, then let go a stream of pee into the chamber pot, quickly putting the lid back on, regretting that fetchingly good-looking young women’s shite smelled as disagreeable as normal people’s. “Whew!” he whispered, wrinkling his nose, before returning to the bed-chamber.

  Maddalena had tied the sash of her dressing gown, so he felt that he should don his long-tailed shirt, at least, which might protect his groin should the kitten go exploring, again. He stretched out beside her on the bed, propped up on one elbow, gave her a short kiss, and accepted a glass of wine that she’d poured for him in his absence. A neutral American merchant ship, still allowed to trade with France, had come in with lashings of luxury goods including champagne, and he had purchased a case of twelve, and had brought two of them along for their evening together. Even warm, it still tasted very good.

  “You must leave before midnight?” Maddalena asked with a little pout.

  “Not tonight, no,” Lewrie told her, with a gladsome sigh and a laugh. “Thought I’d take an ‘All Night In’, and go back aboard round sun-up.” He grinned again, recalling what had passed last year when he’d had the Reliant frigate, when his ever-randy First Lieutenant, Geoffrey Westcott, had wished for an “All Night In” ashore in Buenos Aires, and their Sailing Master at the time had quipped, “All Night In in what?” Should’ve asked “In Whom!” he thought.

  “Bom, good!” Maddalena said, leaning close to brush her cheek upon his. “I do not like when you leave me in the middle of the night. I like sleeping with you, the waking up, and seeing you off with coffee and some bread and jam.”

  “That pleases me, too,” Lewrie muttered fondly. “It’s hellish-hard t’leave your bed for me … your warmth, your sweet aroma?”

  “You like my perfume?” she teased in a soft, promising voice.

  “All of you and your perfume,” he cooed back.

  Maddalena scooted up the bed, plumped up the thick feather pillows, and lolled against the headboard, giving out a glad sigh.

  “Ah,” she said, cocking her head to one side to listen. Far off, there was a rumble of thunder. A breeze stirred the chintz drapes by the open doors to the balcony, and a patter of rain could be heard as a late autumn storm blew
up. “Good!” she declared. “You cannot go to sea tomorrow. I pray it rains all week!”

  “Won’t last that long, more’s the pity,” Lewrie said, getting up to pad to the balcony for a look, then returning. “We’ll be back at sea in a day or two. Gone for a fortnight, perhaps. About that,” he added, getting back in bed, up by the headboard near her. “When I do sail, on the rare off-chance, I’ve made arrangements for you if … something happens to me. Don’t look so distressed, Maddalena! It is only prudent. The branch offices of Coutts’ Bank is holding a sum for you, and a letter of instructions. If I don’t return, your rent will be paid for a full year beyond the six months. I already paid, and you’re t’have ten pounds a month to live on. If ye wish to take passage somewhere else, you can exchange the year’s rent for…”

  She set aside her glass of wine and threw herself upon him to clutch him close and squeeze. “Do not say that, Alan! Do not tempt Fate! Por Deus, you give me more happiness than I know in years, so kind and generous, so gentle with me, so funny you are, so merry with me…!” She broke off in a choked sob, and he felt tears wetting her close-pressed cheek.

  “Dear girl, dear girl!” he muttered, stroking her to try and ease her sudden fears. “I’ll not leave you in the lurch like that un-thinking, un-caring fool Hughes did. I’d do the same for you even if I suddenly got orders sendin’ me halfway round the world. I’d not sail off and just abandon you, in any case. You’re dear to me.”

  He heard a quick, in-drawn breath, and knew that he’d erred badly. Fool! Should’ve said “becoming”, not already dear! Lewrie chid himself: God knows what she’ll make of it, and …

  “You are dear to me, too, Alan,” Maddalena whispered against his neck, then leaned back to look him in the eyes, sobrely for a moment, then began to beam as she took another shuddery breath. “So very dear!”

  Too late! he thought; I’m in the quag up t’my neck!

  Maddalena put her arms round his neck and kissed him, a writhing and long soul kiss with her breath growing musky again, and almost giggling deep in her throat in sheer delight of his declaration.

  Oh, Hell, Lewrie thought; In for the penny, in for the pound … and if I get her drunk enough, maybe she won’t remember in the mornin’.

  She pulled him down over her, impatiently tugged the sash of her gown and parted it, then reached under the tails of his shirt to draw it upward, light fingers brushing against his re-awakening erection.

  For a very brief moment, Lewrie considered qualifying his slip of the tongue, but decided to go with it, wondering if Maddalena’s passion could be any greater than that she’d evinced before.

  “Just … let me get a, ah, umm … cundum,” he rasped.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “Lastly,” Lewrie said to the assembled officers and Mids gathered aboard the transport for a final planning session, “we’ve gotten a report that there are two Spanish frigates with their yards crossed and taking provisions aboard in Cartagena. How they expect to elude our blockade’s beyond me, but one never knows, so we should be prepared for ’em, should they manage t’come out. Captain Hedgepeth?”

  “Aye?” the ugly old bugger responded as if wakened from utter boredom. The most he’d done in the meeting was scratch his whiskers.

  “Do we spot any strange sail whilst the troops are ashore, I’ll fire two guns for a General Signal, and hoist Discontinue The Action,” Lewrie told him. “Captain Pomfret, do I make the signal, drop whatever you’re doing and get your troops back to the beach, instanter, for recovery. As soon as the troops are back aboard, Captain Hedgepeth, get under way and run Westerly as fast as you can. I will cover your withdrawal as best I can, even if you get back to Gibralter all alone.”

  “Ehm, what if the Dons are upon us before my Marines, and your boat crews, are back aboard Sapphire, sir?” Lieutenant Keane asked in a worried tone. “Mean t’say, sir, our ship would be short-handed, and Roe and I would miss out on a good fight.”

  “Hmm, little chance o’ that, I think,” Lewrie replied after a moment of thought. “With decent weather … else we’d not land … we should be able t’see their tops’ls over twelve miles away, and would have enough time to get everyone off the beach, at least an hour and a half before they were up within gun range. As I said, it’s only a remote possibility, but, it’s best if we didn’t leave anything to mere chance. Questions? Answers? Anybody want a sweet?” he japed.

  There were a few niggling details, mostly answered by Captain Pomfret since they dealt with operations ashore, and a meek gripe from Midshipmen Hillhouse and Britton that, if there was a possibility of a sea-fight in the offing, was there any way for them to get back aboard Sapphire before it happened, the answer to which was “no”; they had a responsibility to speed the men of the 77th back aboard Harmony, then aid Captain Hedgepeth in driving his ship out of harm’s way as rapidly as she could, and if she was overtaken, organise the boat crews into as stout a resistance as possible.

  The meeting broke up soon after that, and Lewrie and his two Marine officers took a boat back to Sapphire.

  “Beg pardon, sor, but, we’ll be goin’ out on another’un soon?” his Cox’n Liam Desmond asked as he handled the boat’s tiller.

  “Good possibility, Desmond,” Lewrie cryptically muttered back.

  “Wish we was goin’ ashore with th’ solgers, sor,” Furfy said. “I got me a taste for them cured Spanish hams, and sure, th’ Spanish must have better wine than wot we can buy here.”

  “You go foraging, Furfy, and ye just might get taken by the Dons, like Major Hughes,” Lewrie said with a grin. “No ham or wine, in a Spanish prison hulk, not for the likes of us.”

  “You’d be surprised by how raw and bad is the wine that we’ve run across,” Marine Lieutenant Roe told Furfy. “Just peasant swill.”

  “Ah, well … someday,” Furfy said, with a disappointed sigh.

  “Mister Keane, might you join me in my cabins once we’re back aboard?” Lewrie invited.

  “Of course, sir,” Keane replied.

  * * *

  “What do you make of Captain Pomfret?” Lewrie asked once they were seated, and had glasses of cool tea in hand.

  “Oh, he’s miles better than Major Hughes, sir!” Keane replied, with a smile on his face. “I gather he’s had far more experience in combat, too. And, having led a light company of skirmishers, he’s much more … flexible,” Keane related, searching for the right word for a second or so. “More … enthusiastic, too. In our latest exercises on the parade ground, he’s not only worked us in separate companies, one covering the advance or retirement of the next, but broke the companies down into platoons of eight or ten men so that part of each company can advance whilst the rest are firing. In our case, he’s drilled us as five files of ten men each, three delivering fire and two in motion, then two firing while three move. He said that he wished that he had a chance to get the troops used to skirmishing in pairs, too, sir … the rear-rank man covering his mate, and taking turns shooting, but, he thought it might be too much, too soon.”

  “Sounds … ambitious,” Lewrie said, nodding. “Not that I know all that much about land-fighting, but it may be so novel an approach that the enemy would be confused, and overwhelmed by the speed with which it’s done. So, you’re satisfied, Mister Keane, in the tactics, and with Captain Pomfret?”

  “Completely, so, sir,” Keane enthusiastically told him, and that was saying something from a man as stern and sobre as Keane.

  “Very good, then,” Lewrie said, glad that the land side of any future landing seemed to be in good hands. “Weather allowing, we will embark the troops tomorrow afternoon, and sail at first light the day after. Thank you, Mister Keane, for your opinions.”

  “Aye, sir,” Keane said, finishing his glass of tea and rising.

  “More tea, sir?” Pettus asked once Keane had departed.

  “No, not for now, Pettus,” Lewrie told him, moving over to the settee where he could sprawl and prop his feet on the
tray table. He still had his doubts about striking at the incomplete battery at Cabo de Gata, worried that Mountjoy might be too eager to show his superiors in London that they were getting a good return on the money they’d advanced him, and that he’d chosen Cabo de Gata for lack of actionable information on a better one. Lewrie hoped that Mountjoy hadn’t opted for it out of quiet desperation! If he’d been in charge of selecting targets, he would have waited ’til that battery was complete, but … he wasn’t in charge; he was still a gun-dog to Secret Branch, even after all these years.

  “Sit up, beg, sic ’em,” he sourly muttered. “Good boy!”

  That drew Chalky from his contemplations of devouring the gulls that alit on the stern gallery’s rails. He came trotting with his tail up, mewing for attention and leapt into Lewrie’s lap for a minute or two of pets, before settling down for a slit-eyed nap, sprawled across Lewrie’s legs.

  Lewrie considered going to his desk to pore over the operational details one more time, closely scan the best coastal chart that could be found with a magnifying glass looking for the unforseen reef, shoal, or obstruction, but he’d already done that a dozen times. He yawned, and considered a nap might be of better use. The next day, the weather allowing, he’d be busy with the last-minute preparations and the loading of troops, and at getting his ship to sea the next. Tonight was his last opportunity for a run ashore, and a man would need to be well-rested for a night with Maddalena.

  Damme, I keep with her much longer, and I’ll have t’send to London for another two dozen o’ the Green Lantern’s very best cundums, he mused, not trusting the cheaper ones smuggled cross The Lines from Catholic Spain, where the prevention of babies was harshly dis-approved, if not the risk of catching the Pox from a diseased doxy. Lewrie thought that the Spanish might even accept that risk as a scare tactic to keep their benighted people chaste!