`We will alter course again, Mr. Herrick.' He lowered the glass and dabbed his eye with his wrist. `Steer east nor'-east.'
He saw the men by the larboard twelve-pounders peering through their open ports, the guns already shimmering in the sunlight as if they had just been fired.
Herrick shouted, `Hands to the braces! Alter course two points to larboard, Mr. Mudge!'
Bolitho sought out the frail figure of Potter amongst the unemployed hands below the forecastle, and when he glanced up beckoned him aft.
He slipped out of his heavy coat and handed it with his hat to Allday, saying as calmly as he could, `I will go aloft myself.'
Allday said nothing. He knew Bolitho well enough to understand what it was costing him.
Potter hurried on to the quarterdeck and knuckled his forehead.
`Sir?'
'D'you think you could climb to the maintop with me?'
Potter stared at him dully. `If you says so, sir.' Herrick called, `East not'-east, sir!'
He looked from Bolitho to the mainyard stretching athwartships and vibrating to the great press of canvas below it.
Bolitho unbuckled his sword and gave it to Allday. `I may need your eyes today, Potter.'
Feeling every man watching him, he swung out on to the weather shrouds and began to climb, his fingers locking so tightly around each ratline that the pain helped to steady him. Up and up, with his gaze fixed on the futtock shrouds which leaned out and around the sturdy maintop where two marines were studying his progress with unblinking curiosity.
Bolitho gritted his teeth and fought the urge to look down. It was infuriating. Unfair. He had first gone to sea at the age of twelve. Year by year he had studied and matured, had replaced his child's infatuation for the Navy with a genuine understanding which had amounted almost to love. He had overcome seasickness, and had learned to hide his loneliness and grief from his companions when his mother had died while he had been at sea. So, too, his father was buried while Bolitho had been fighting Frenchman and American in and around the Caribbean. He had watched men suffer horribly in battle, and his body bore enough scars to show the narrow margin between his own survival and death. Why then, should he be cursed with this hatred of heights?
He felt his shoes scrabbling on the ratlines as he hauled himself out and around the futtock shrouds, his body hanging in space and supported only by fingers and toes.
A marine said admiringly, `By God, sir, that was a fair climb !'
Bolitho arrived beside him, his chest heaving painfully. He watched the marine to see if he was disguising his sarcasm, but saw it was the same sharpshooter who had discovered the anchored schooner just two days back.
He nodded and allowed himself a glance at the ship far below.
Foreshortened bodies moved about the quarterdeck, and when he looked forward he saw the leadsman in the chains, the blur of his arm as he hurled the heavy weight deftly beyond the bows.
He relaxed, and waited for Potter to scramble up beside him.
For a moment longer he toyed with the idea of forcing himself up the next length of quivering shrouds to the maintopsail yard, but rejected it. Apart from proving something to himself, or showing his capability to those who might be watching from below, it would serve for little. Potter was exhausted by the climb, and if Herrick needed him urgently on deck he would look even more foolish if he fell headlong from his perch.
He unslung the telescope from his shoulder and trained it on the channel between the islets. In the time it had taken him to climb from the deck and regain his wind Undine had cruised over a cable, and it was possible to see the next overlapping islet behind the central hill with its forbidding fortress and steep, sunbaked cliff.
Potter said, `I never bin to the east'rd side, sir. There's a good channel there, too, I'm told.' He shuddered. `They used to bury the corpses in the sandbars at low water. What there was left of 'em.'
Bolitho stiffened and momentarily forgot the deck far beneath him. He saw the blacker silhouette of a ship's masts and yards almost hidden around the curve of the inner channel. A frigate.
Potter saw his interest and added dolefully, `Best place to anchor, sir. The battery on the fortress can protect two channels at once, an' any craft wot chooses to lay there.'
Something pale flapped and broadened against the furthest islet. A small boat hoisting its sail.
Bolitho glanced quickly at the foretopmast where Herrick had run up a big white flag. One way or another they would soon know.
There was a hollow boom, and after what seemed like an age, a tall waterspout shot skywards about a cable off the larboard beam. He trained the glass quickly towards the fortress, but the smoke had already fanned away so it was impossible to gauge the angle of the shot.
He shifted the glass again and saw the boat moving more quickly around a litter of broken rocks, the sail braced back like the fin of a great shark.
He let out a long breath as he saw a white flag flapping from her masthead. His request to parley was accepted. The single shot from the battery was a warning.
Bolitho slung the telescope across his shoulder. `You stay here, Potter. Keep an eye on everything, and try to remember any item which might be of use. It could well save lives one day.' He nodded casually to the two-marine marksmen. `I hope you'll not be needed.' He slung a leg over the low barricade and tried not to lower his eyes. 'Argus intends us to do all the sweating!'
The men grinned and nudged each other, as if he had just given them access to some priceless and vital information.
Bolitho swallowed hard and began to make the journey to the deck. When he reached the point where he could see the nettings on the opposite side again he allowed himself to look at the group which awaited him by the bulwark. Herrick was smiling, although whether from relief or amusement it was hard to tell. Bolitho jumped down to the deck and glanced ruefully at his fresh shirt. It was dripping with sweat, and bore a black streak of tar across one shoulder.
He said, `Never mind. The coat will hide that.' In a brisker tone he added, `A boat is coming out, Mr. Herrick. Heave-to, if you please, and prepare to anchor.'
He glanced up at the great yards again. It had not been quite so bad as he had imagined that time. Then he thought of the ideal conditions as compared with a screaming gale, or making the same climb in pitch darkness, and changed his mind.
Bolitho allowed Herrick to shout his orders before asking Mudge, `What did you make of that shot?'
The master regarded him dubiously. `Old gun, I'd say, sir. From where I was standin' it sounded like a bronze piece.'
Bolitho nodded. `As I thought, too. It would be likely that they'd still have the original cannon.' He rubbed his chin, thinking aloud. `So they'd be loath to use heated shot for fear of splitting them.' He grinned at Mudge's mournful expression. `Not that it matters much, I daresay. If they fired solid rock, they could scarcely fail to hit a ship trying to force the channel!'
Fowlar shouted, `The boat has an officer aboard, sir.' He grinned. `Most o' the hands are the colour of coffee, but he's a Frog if ever I saw one.'
Bolitho took a glass and watched the oncoming boat. Locally built, with the familiar high prow and lateen sail, it was moving fast and well on a converging tack. He saw the officer in question, standing easily below the mast, his cocked hat pulled down over his forehead to shade his eyes from the fierce glare. Fowlar was right. There was no mistaking this one.
He made himself walk a few paces away from the side, as with her courses brailed up and her topsails in booming confusion Undine turned noisily into the wind to await her visitors.
Bolitho gripped the rail and watched in silence as the boat surged round and under the main chains, where some of Undine's seamen and Mr. Shellabeer waited to secure her lines and, if necessary, fend off any risk of collision.
He said, `And now, Mr. Herrick, we shall see.'
He walked along the swaying gangway to the entry port and waited for the officer to scramble aboard. He stoo
d quite alone framed against the cruising ranks of small whitecaps, his eyes exploring Undine's gun deck, the watching seamen and marines above and below him. Seeing Bolitho, he removed his hat with a flourish and gave a small bow.
`Lieutenant Maurin, m'sieu. At your service.'
He bore no marks of rank, and his blue coat showed plenty of evidence of patching and repairs. He was tanned to the shade of old leather, and his eyes were those of a man who had been at sea for most of his life. Tough, self-assured, competent, it was all there on his face, Bolitho decided.
Bolitho nodded. `And I am Captain Bolitho, of His Majesty's ship Undine.'
The lieutenant gave a wry smile. `My capitaine 'as been expecting you.'
Bolitho glanced briefly at the cockade on Maurin's hat. It bore the small red beast instead of a French insignia.
He asked, `And what is your nationality, Lieutenant?'
The man shrugged. `I am employed in the service of Prince Muljadi.' He shrugged again. `Naturally.'
Bolitho gave a wry smile. `Naturally.'
He added sharply, `I wish to meet your captain, and without delay. I have certain matters to discuss.'
`But of course, m'sieu.' The lieutenant was looking at the men on deck. His eyes were always moving. Calculating. He continued, 'Capitaine Le Chaumareys is prepared for-me to remain aboard as 'ostage to ensure your, er, good 'ealth!'
Bolitho hid his relief. Had Le Chaumareys been killed or replaced he might have had to alter his tactics.
He said calmly, `It will not be necessary. I have every faith in your captain's honour.'
Herrick exclaimed, `But, sir, you cannot mean it! Keep him, I say! Your life is too valuable to risk on a Frenchman's word!'
Bolitho looked at him and smiled. `If Le Chaumareys is the callous brute you describe, do you imagine he would care about losing a lieutenant if it were to gain him a better bargaining point?' He touched his arm. `I have made some notes in my cabin. They may help you to pass the time in my absence.' He touched his hat to the quarterdeck and said to Maurin, `I am ready.'
For a moment longer he stood in the port, looking down into the boat alongside. There were about a dozen men aboard, naked but for a few scraps of rags, but armed to the teeth, and with the looks of men prepared to kill without question.
Maurin said quietly, `You will be safe with me, m'sieu.' He lowered himself swiftly on to the boat's gunwale, adding, `For the moment.'
Bolitho jumped the last few feet and steadied himself against a crude backstay, very conscious of the acrid stench of sweat and filth which floated unheeded in the bilges.
`You choose strange allies, Lieutenant.'
Maurin signalled for the boat to be cast off, one hand resting casually on his pistol.
`Lie with a dog and you arise with fleas, m'sieu. It is quite common.'
Bolitho glanced at his profile. Another Herrick perhaps?
Then as the sail billowed and cracked to the wind, and the slim hull began to gather way, he forgot Maurin, even the anxious faces on Undine's quarterdeck, as he considered what he was about to do.
Bolitho clung to the backstay as the boat scudded dangerously close to a line of black-toothed rocks and then went about to enter the main channel. He noticed that the current was strong and at odds with the incoming sea, and felt the hull leap and stagger as it straightened up for the final leg of the ourney. When he looked astern he could see nothing of his own ship. She was already hidden by a wedge of land, the side of which lay, deep in shadow.
Maurin asked suddenly, `Why d'you take such risks, m'sieu?'
Bolitho looked at him impassively. `Why do you?'
Maurin shrugged. `I obey orders. But soon I will be going 'ome again. To Toulon. I 'ave not seen my family for. ..' He smiled sadly. `Too long.'
Bolitho glanced across the lieutenant's shoulder and studied the grim fortress which was slipping past the port beam. It was still difficult to see the extent of its buildings. A high wall, undulating with the edge of the clifftop. The spaced windows were little more than black slits, like mournful eyes, while above, on the weatherworn battlements, he could see the muzzles of several large guns, just visible through their individual embrasures.
Maurin said, `A foul place, is it not? But they are not like us. They live like crabs in the rocks.' He sounded contemptuous.
Bolitho saw several small boats bobbing at anchor, and a schooner similar to the one they had captured moored to a stone pier.
Maurin did not try to stop him looking at everything, to prevent his interest in the many figures which moved about the pier and up the sloping track to the fortress gates. Bolitho decided he was being brought by the main channel by careful design. So that he should see the growing strength of Muljadi's private army. And it was impressive. To think that a pirate, an alien to the Indies, could muster this force, and instil such discipline, was enough to impress anyone. Even a pompous fool like Major Jardine.
He turned as the boat's crew began to shorten sail, and saw the anchored frigate lying directly across the bows. Close to in a confined space she seemed even larger. Far bigger than Undine. Even his last command would have been reckless to match her deadly broadside of eighteen-pounders.
He remarked, `A fine ship.'
Maurin nodded. `The best. We 'ave been together for so long, we even think alike!',
Bolitho saw the activity around the entry port, the gleam of sunlight on fixed bayonets where a guard awaited his arrival.
A very carefully staged performance, he thought. He noticed that boarding nets were furled along the gangways where they could be spread without delay. Fear of a cutting-out attack? More likely he was taking no chances with his new `ally'. It was the only promising thing Bolitho had seen so far.
A small fishing dory drifted abeam, and he saw some natives standing in it shaking their fists at him and baring their teeth like wild beasts.
Maurin said simply, `They probably think you are a prisoner, eh?' It seemed to depress him.
Bolitho pushed him from his thoughts as the boat swung heavily towards the frigate's main chains. Capitaine Paul Le Chaumareys, a man about whom many tales had been told. Battles won, convoys harried and settlements destroyed. His record in the war had been formidable, just as Conway had described. But as an individual he was a mystery, mostly because he had spent much of his service far away from his own beloved France.
He ran his eyes the full length of the ship's side. Argus, the hundred-eyed messenger of Hera. Very appropriate for a man as elusive as Le Chaumareys, he thought. Sturdily built, and showing the scars and blemishes of hard service, she was a ship he would have been proud to command. She lacked Undine's grace, but had a heavier toughness which could not be ignored.
The boat had made fast to the chains, and the crew stood grouped by the mast as Bolitho climbed up to the gunwale. Nobody attempted to assist him. Then, a young seaman jumped down from the chains and held out his hand.
`M'sieu!' He grinned broadly. `A votre service!'
Bolitho seized his wrist and levered himself towards the entry port. The French seaman could have been one of his own.
He removed his hat to the broad quarterdeck, and waited while the calls shrilled a salute and a guard presented muskets. Not crisply like Bellairs' marines would have done, but with a familiar jauntiness. Of long practice. Like the upper deck itself, he thought. Not dirty, but not gleaming and in perfect order either. Well used. Ready for anything.
'Ah, Capitaine !' Le Chaumareys stepped forward to greet him, his eyes fixed on Bolitho's face.
He was quite unlike anyone he had expected. Older. A good deal so. Perhaps in his middle forties. And one of the largest men he had ever met. Taller than six feet, with shoulders so broad that his bared head seemed tiny by comparison, especially as he wore his hair very short, like a convict.
`I welcome you to my ship.' He waved his hand around the deck. `To my world, as it has been for so long.' He smiled, the effect lighting up his face in an instant. `So come b
elow to the cabin.'He nodded to Maurin. `I will call for you when it is time.'
Bolitho followed him to the cabin hatch, seeing the eyes watching from both deck and gangways, the way they studied his every move, as if to discover something.
Le Chaumareys said casually, `I hope Maurin took good care of you?'
`Very, thank you. His English is excellent.'
`Yes. One of the reasons I chose him for my ship. He is married to an Englishwoman.' He chuckled. `You, of course, are not married. So why not a French bride for you, eh?'
He threw open the door and watched Bolitho's reactions. The cabin was large and well furnished, and like the rest of the ship, vaguely untidy. Lived in.
But Bolitho's attention was immediately drawn to a table which was laden with food.
Le Chaumareys remarked, `Much of it is locally obtained.' He jabbed a large joint with his finger. `Like this. It is very much the same as smoked ham. You must eat your fill, while you can, eh?' He chuckled, the sound rising from what Bolitho now saw to be a large belly.
He replied, `I am here to present
The other captain wagged a finger. `You are aboard a French ship, m'sieu. First we drink.'
He shouted a brief command and a servant hurried from the adjoining cabin with a tall crystal jug of wine. It was extremely good, as cool as spring water. Bolitho glanced from the jug to the table. Genuine? Or was it one more trick to show they were superior, even in their supplies and comforts?
A chair was brought for him, and when he was seated Le Chaumareys seemed to relax.
He said, `I have heard of you, Bolitho. You had a fine record in the war for one so junior.' His eyes did not flicker as he added, `It was difficult for you. The unfortunate affair of your brother.'
Bolitho watched him calmly. Le Chaumareys was a man he could understand. Like a duellist. Relaxed one moment, making a thrust the next.
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