Argent turned his head and smiled at her.
“Then we’ll count him amongst the rescued. He can go where he will.”
She smiled back.
“I knew you’d see reason. Eventually!”
Her smile was genuine and accompanied by a complementary jerk of her head. They both fell silent and studied the ocean, with Ariadne’s silhouette thrown across the azure blue by the Westering sun. Then Sinead said something strange.
“Himself’ll not be pleased.”
“You mean Fallows.”
“The same.”
“About what?”
“My return.”
“Why should that concern him overly? I can appreciate that there is no love lost between the two of you, but how can that affect his affairs?”
“First, is, that shadow of a man lifted not one finger when them Heathens showed up and did as they liked. That’s unfinished business between me and him and that he’ll not enjoy. Second, I have no heirs. With me gone, my estate would go to The Crown, and, with the contacts he has, he’ll be thinkin’ he’ll achieve what he tried some few years back; to get me out and take the mill for himself. He’ll be deeply disappointed.”
She drew herself up and took a deep breath.
“When he first came he knew that he had bought the village and its surrounds, including the road. He knew well enough that it didn’t include my mill, but it was surrounded by what he owned. So, he wondered just why it was that he didn’t own that, as well. So, he comes along with his Lawyer man to demand my proof of ownership. It was one of the most glorious moments of my life when I told him to get his gombeen self off to Cork museum and there he’d see my Title of Deed spread out in a glass case. My mill has been there for centuries and was given to my family by Henry II, when he took over Ireland. It was one of my ancestors, I’m ashamed to say, that helped him out with that evil deed, and the mill was his reward, well, as a part of all the land he was given. My Title is a historical document, so the museum has it. But it’s the first issue that I’m looking forward to dealing with!”
But Argent wasn’t listening. Her story had set his mind churning like a tidal race. Historical document! Lanbe Barton was centuries old and had been in their family for centuries. How they came by it, is now lost in time, but it could be…... There was a family legend about an ancestor supporting King Charles, during the Civil War.
His faraway look was not lost on Sinead. She leaned over to get in front of him as far as she could, laughing her amusement.
“Now just where are you, now, right now?”
Argent shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and smiled himself. For the first time since she had seen him again she saw a change come over his face, almost happiness, and a light had come into his eyes.
“Something’s brightened you up!”
He nodded and, to her evident pleasure, he placed his hands on her arms, just below her shoulders and patted her once.
“You are right. Your story may help with my own. My family is under threat of eviction because we don’t have our Deeds. They just may be historical like your own. That’s new hope, and for that I thank you.”
She rose herself to his sudden happy mood.
“Then you’d better kiss me. That’s the right way to say such a thank you.”
Surprise and shock came over his face but he replaced his hands and lightly kissed her right cheek. Her face changed to show disgust at such a paltry effort, but Argent was done. He touched his hat and moved on to reach the forecastle more by instinct than deliberate thought. His mind was working on the possibilities just revealed, but his spirits were already subsiding, for he realised he only had more of hope than substance, but the sailors working close by, grinned and lowered their faces to their work.
oOo
As predicted, Ariadne arrived off Killannan the following day, but late. The evening was closing, the shadows of the mountain were taking the sprawling collection of cottages into the embrace of night, when Ariadne dropped anchor in the last of the daylight, less than half a cable from shore. However, from then on Argent had no choice but to land his passengers, even if it meant doing it in the gloom of growing night. As soon as they saw their village, the captives from Killannan climbed the rigging and stood precariously on the rail, waving and halooing at the few fishermen at the shore. Within minutes, came a repeat of Loctudy, the whole village was at the shoreline, many wading waist deep to be that little bit nearer to their returning loved ones; those that they had counted as lost forever.
Argent looked at the pennant, flopping lazily in the dying breeze of evening and, judging the tide as still rising, he decided there was no danger in landing the eager inhabitants, even if it meant recovering the longboat by lamplight. He’d seen the tiny bay at low tide and knew it contained no hazards. By the foresight of experience, Bosun Fraser was close at hand and Argent turned to him.
“Ready the longboat, Mr. Fraser. Let’s get these people ashore. If we don’t they’ll end up swimming and I wouldn’t want their drowning on our conscience.”
“No Sir. Aye aye, Sir.”
The Starboard Watch were ready at the lifts and within minutes the longboat was over the side and the now desperate villagers were at the entry port, such a rush that Argent ordered the Marines to nudge and cajole them into some kind of queue. As with the French, there were no mementoes of the slaver, but they did include Kaled amongst their number, as happy as anyone, carrying a child on his shoulders. He was exchanging farewells, by gesture, and shaking hands with some of the crew stood nearby. No one felt able to view him with any animosity; he obviously loved children and the women held nothing against him, welcoming him always into their company. Mortimor was also there, on his knees to say goodbye to the little girl, her arms around his neck. When he arose his face swivelled around to show a ferocious challenge to anyone wishing to ridicule so uncharacteristic a gesture. None did.
The topmen of the Watch saw all safely down the ladder and into the longboat where the waving and shouting to those now a little closer on shore continued even more energetically. The last to go was Sinead Malley and this time she had no compunction about approaching Argent on his quarterdeck. Her formality placed Argent at his ease as she walked up to him extending her hand. He removed his hat, the signal that all there should do the same, and he shook her hand, twice.
“I’ve come to say a last thank you, Captain, to you on board your ship, that is.”
Argent bowed as she turned to the other Officers present.
“And to you Gentlemen also. You and your crew will always be welcome in our village.”
Various replies were made in the vein of “too kind”, or “it’s been a pleasure”, then Sinead turned finally to Argent.
“Will you not be coming ashore, Captain?”
Argent nodded.
“I will, yes, to see that all is well and if there is any simple assistance that we may give, but in the morning. For now we’ll leave you to your welcome home.”
Shouts were coming up from the longboat, mainly telling Sinead to hurry up. This she heard, as did the others on the quarterdeck and, although it was unintelligible, the inclusion of her name made its purpose obvious and all grinned as she turned and left. As she left through the entry port she treated Argent to a long, careful look and he cleared his throat and replaced his hat, for some reason taking extra care. He seemed relieved when he heard the “give way all”.
Even in the dying light the cavorting and capers in the gentle surf and up on the strand could be seen from the ship but what struck them mostly was the redoubling of the noise. Their anticipation too great to resist, many at the water’s edge waded out to the longboat, so far that the sailors were prevented from using their oars, but it made little difference. Those in the water seized the oars and used them as capstan bars to propel the boat up to the crowded beach; others took the children on their shoulders and triumphantly bore them ashore.
Within minutes it seemed ther
e was a bonfire up by the mill and the joyful sounds of the ceilidh band. The Larboard Watch took their places for the First Watch and listened to the joyful music for most of the night, its happy sound warming them also, for they well well appreciated their own role in making it happen.
Dawn broke murky and threatening fine rain. After their sleep, Argent took many of the Larboard Watch ashore with him, plus some supplies, the value of which equalled what Maybank thought the booty from the slaver would fetch at an auction. Argent had spoken to his Officers and Senior Warrant Officers and all had agreed that the crew would forego this prizemoney to supply the village with some good food, especially with an Irish winter fast approaching. As before, Argent concluded that Sinead Malley would be best to supervise the distribution and soon there was a small convoy of barrels, sacks, and boxes being relayed up to the mill. Argent went first to the mill, with Wentworth, expecting to knock on the door but she had seen him, or been warned, and she emerged from the open door when he was some way off. However, for the moment she ignored the supply chain that was leading up to her mill, through a corridor of villagers welcoming the men who had returned those they had thought forever gone. Applause and backslapping seemed to be the method of conveyance, Gaelic being beyond the crew. However, Sinead was evidently not in the best of tempers.
“Ah, Captain, you’re just in time to stop me from murdering James Fallows.”
Argent had no difficulty remembering.
“The day of the raid”
“That’s it, that gombeen tripehound. Piece of shite! Time’s now to settle his bloody hash!”
She set off on her way, accompanied by two Mothers, both ex-captive and their children in tow. Argent, staggered by the bad language, saw his bargecrew nearby, most of them quite close.
“Whiting. Find the bargecrew and follow me up to the castle. Be quick, I have a strong suspicion you may be needed.”
Whiting saluted from a distance and shouted over to the only one close by, Silas Beddows, but soon the whole bargecrew were following their Captain and Wentworth, both straining to catch up with the determined striding of Sinead Malley and her companions. Still some distance behind, Argent began his questioning.
“Miss Malley. What do you intend?”
She looked briefly back at him, then spoke her reply to the locked gate, now much closer.
“I’m going to give him a very big piece of my mind, and when I’ve finished these ladies have something to unburden themselves of, on top of that! And if I get a chance to swing one at his lizard face, he’ll get that as well.”
Argent felt the need to take charge.
“Stop. Stop! Stop, I say!”
They did stop and turn, but only to dismiss his wish to intervene.
“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself over this, Captain. This is for us villagers, us and him.”
Argent returned her stern look.
“If it involves riot amongst the King’s subjects, then it is my business. The King’s business!”
Both his words and his uncompromising expression did give her pause and she progressed no further. By this time, Argent had his bargecrew behind him and he walked slowly forward. He spoke directly to Sinead.
“What exactly is the issue? I need details. What did he do?”
The last was accompanied with a pointing finger in the direction of the castle wall. Sinead adopted her argumentative pose, feet planted foursquare and elbows out, hands on hips.
“More like not do. You remember what I said about that tripehound? Well, the time of the raid, during the day, we saw them coming into the bay, that’s the slaveship. We didn’t need a written message to know what they were about, that they were here with bad intent, so we all ran up to his walls, here, expecting to be let in.”
Her chin jutted further forward. She was utterly livid.
“The gobshite wouldn’t open the gate!”
She paused to allow that to sink in.
“All the people could do was scatter and many were hunted down by those Heathen Devils. Captured up on the mountain slopes were those that they wanted most, young Mothers with little children who couldn’t run as far as was needed. The Arabs took all the time they wanted. He set his men on the walls, but they didn’t fire even one shot. When they’d captured all possible, they upped and left, nice and gentle like. That I know, because they had me amongst them!”
She turned to glower at the walls, as though her fierce look would turn her into a Joshua and crumble the very stonework, then she turned back to Argent, but said no more. Argent returned her look, but his was thoughtful, which calmed her.
“Tell me, please, does Fallows have an official role, here. I mean does he represent The Crown, in any way?”
Her posture didn’t change, but her voice was calmer.
“Yes, he’s a Magistrate. And something in The Militia. Some kind of Officer.”
Argent smiled which changed her look to puzzlement.
“Then he is at fault. Massively at fault. As a Representative of The Crown, and an Officer, he has a duty of care to His Majesty’s citizens, especially when they are in danger, and especially when he posses a place of refuge, such as that.”
He pointed again at the castle.
“In fact I would not be surprised if every citizen has such a duty if it is in their power to put it into effect.”
He paused to allow his words to sink in.
“I can deal with this, and I will. You can come and watch and listen, but please don’t say anything.”
He motioned to his men and they closed up as Argent approached the imposing gate. The women and children gathered up behind them, eager to hear every word. Argent turned to Moses King.
“King. Give that door a wrap or two, let them know we’re here.”
King walked forward, closed his mighty fist and hammered on the door; four, then five times. The woodwork resounded like a drum inside the low arch, to be quickly opened by the same Michael, his face, scar and broken teeth appearing around the edge. He said nothing, but appeared merely quizzical and so Argent spoke.
“Good morning. I am Captain Argent of His Majesty’s Ship Ariadne. Perhaps you remember?”
The misshapen head nodded once.
“Please inform Mr. Fallows that I am here and wish to see him urgently.”
More of Michael was revealed and his expression grew sour.
“He’ll not see you. Not before he’s had his ride and his breakfast.”
Upon hearing this, Argent’s expression met the challenge.
“Then my answer’s the same. He comes out or I send my men over your walls. There is an issue here, which throws into grave doubt the discharge of his duties both as a Magistrate and as an Officer. As a King’s Officer myself, I am required to speak to him on this matter. Tell him so, and tell him I am waiting.”
Michael looked more than a little intimidated and withdrew his head, at the same time closing the door, at least attempting to, but big as Michael was, the tree-limb arm of Moses King came across the door and it moved no further. Argent turned to Sinead and her companions, all of who bore the expression of washerwomen who were winning the argument. After a minute or two, Fallows appeared, to stand before the door. He was dressed in the same long gone fashion of the mid-Eighteenth Century as he was before, an odd full length brocaded gown, but this time his grey wig hidden by an equally embellished box hat. Argent wasted no time but spoke the moment he appeared.
“Mr. Fallows. There seems to be some important questions over your conduct during the recent raid on this village by the Arab slavers.”
Fallows looked shocked and puzzled but said nothing, so Argent continued.
“You remember the raid?”
This time Fallows managed a nod, but no more.
“The issue of greatest concern is that you failed to give shelter to the villagers here, all His Majesty’s subjects, in your substantial home. This.”
He waved his hand expansively.
“I won’t say castle for the moment, but that’s what it is, and you, as I understand it, being both a Magistrate and a Militia Officer, have a duty to give protection to any citizens as may need it and resist invasion to the best of your power. On top, you had a force of men here and did nothing to prevent the invaders from capturing the village and carrying off some of its inhabitants, even though you were armed and manning these walls.”
Fallows face now showed both shock and anger, but Argent continued.
“I have to inform you now, that I will take witness statements and, with a covering letter from me, all will be sent to the County Sheriff in Cork, copy to the Secretary of State for Ireland in Westminster, London.
Argent paused again, only slightly and Fallows shifted his feet. Argent was growing angry himself as he laid out the story in his own mind.
“Were you a Commissioned Officer, Mr. Fallows, your arguably cowardly and inadequate conduct would merit a full Court Martial and, if what I hear is correct and I’ve no reason to doubt it, a guilty verdict would be fully justified. The charge would be just that, cowardice, in the face of the enemy!”
Argent’s voice rose in volume as he spoke the last words. Again came a pause, but no reply.
“I trust you understand the details of the actions I am about to take?”
Fallows face turned puce with anger, his unpleasant face jutting forward.
“Do your damndest and go to Hell! You think I’d risk my home and my family to help this diseased tribe of unwashed savages?”
He reached back to seize the edge of the door, to slam it, but the substantial muscles of King’s right arm again prevented its closure. After unburdening himself with his own tirade, Argent was calmer.
“Yes Mr. Fallows. Yes, indeed I do! I do expect you to take risks to protect those, whom you took an Oath to protect!”
He nodded to King who allowed the door to close. Argent turned to see the women stood stern but triumphant, with highly satisfied looks on their faces, however, he spoke to Wentworth, who had been a silent witness all along.
“Come, Lieutenant. We have some interviewing and recording to do.”
A Question of Duty Page 52