Bolitho walked awkwardly between the shouting, grinning faces, only half aware of what was being said and vaguely conscious of Herrick striding at his side, his body used to shield his wounded arm from any over-enthusiastic officer in the swaying mass of blue and scarlet.
Pomfret waited. at the far end of the room, resplendent in full dress, his head cocked on one side, his lips compressed in what might be either amusement or irritation. He waited until a footman had placed a goblet in Bolitho's hand then held up his arm for silence.
He said, 'We have already drunk the loyal toast, gentlemen. I will now give you another. Let us drink to victory, and death to the French!'
Bolitho sipped at the wine, his mind dazed by the noise and the excitement around him. The toast was common enough, but not under these particular circumstances, he thought. But as he glanced quickly around the room he saw with surprise there was not a single French officer or leading citizen present.
Pomfret said, 'That was quite a greeting, Bolitho! A hero's welcome, if I may say so.' His face was blotchy with heat and his eyes seemed very bright.
Bolitho said quietly, 'Did none of the French leaders come, sir?'
Pomfret eyed him calmly. 'I did not ask any!'
The wound throbbed in time to Bolitho's sudden anger. 'But, sir, this is a common venture! They are equal in their desire to overthrow the Revolutionary Government!'
'Equal?' Pomfret regarded him blankly. 'In the eyes of the Almighty maybe. But in mine they are Frenchmen, and not to be trusted! I told you before, I do not care for compromise. I am in command here, and I will brook no interference from these damn peasants!'
He turned and saw Herrick for the first time. 'Ah, your able lieutenant. I trust that he has accepted there will be no prize-money from this venture? With Saphir and Fairfax sunk it may be some time before we catch another sizable ship, eh?'
Herrick flushed. 'I've heard no complaints, sir. Saving life is more important than money in my opinion!'
Pomfret smiled coldly. 'I was not-aware that I asked for an opinion, Mr. Herrick.' He turned his back as Colonel Cobban thrust his heavy frame through the throng of officers. 'Ah, Sir Torquil! Are all your men in position now?'
The soldier grunted and took a goblet from a silver tray. 'Earthworks thrown up. Guns in place.' He showed his teeth. 'We can sit here forever if needed!'
Bolitho asked, 'Is that wise, sir? It seems unlikely that-we will be forced to stay here long. As soon as reinforcements arrive we shall be thrusting further inland if this landing is to be of any use.'
Cobban turned slowly, his eyes suddenly hostile. 'May I ask what the hell it is to do with you, sir?'
Bolitho could almost taste the brandy on:Cobban's breath. He must have been drinking steadily since he had got ashore. He said stubbornly, 'It is a lot to do with mel And I see no reason for your attitude.'
Pomfret interrupted, 'Be at ease, Sir Torquil! Captain Bolitho is the one who took the port in the first place. He is naturally keen to see that his efforts are not wasted.' He was smiling gently.
Cobban looked blearily from one to the other. Then he said harshly, 'I am a soldier, I do not care to be questioned by his sort.'
There was a sudden silence, then Bolitho said calmly, 'That is a great pity, Colonel. It is also a pity that when you purchased your commission you did not purchase thee manners to go with it!'
The flush mounted Cobban's face like blood. When he spoke he sounded as if he was being strangled by his high collar. 'You impertinent upstart! How dare you speak to me like that?'
Pomfret said coolly, `That is enough, gentlemen! Quite enough!' He turned his pale eyes on Bolitho and added, 'I know that fighting duels is common enough in your family, Captain, but I will have none of it under my flag!'
Cobban muttered angrily, 'If you say so, Sir Edmund. But if I had my way. ..'
Bolitho said, 'You will find me ready enough, Colonel, if you give me occasion!' His head was hammering like an anvil and he could feel the wine churning in his stomach like a fever. But he no longer cared. Pomfret's quiet malice and Cobban's crude stupidity had driven him beyond caution. He saw Herrick's face, anxious and wary, and then looked down with surprise as Pomfret laid one hand on his arm.
Pomfret said, 'Your wound is no doubt troubling you. I will overlook this outburst.' Then he sighed as if it was of no importance. 'You will be sailing tomorrow, Bolitho, back to Cozar.' He glanced idly around the big room, his eyes distant. 'You can take my despatches to the garrison, and upon your return bring Miss Seton back to St. Clar.' He became almost jovial. 'We will show these people that we are here to stay. I think I might even give a reception of some kind, eh?'
Cobban had recovered himself only slightly. 'The wedding, Sir Edmund? Will you have it here?'
Pomfret nodded, his eyes still on Bolitho's unsmiling face. 'Yes. I think that would show a sort of confidence in the future.' He smiled, 'A final touch, very well timed.'
Bolitho swayed. Pomfret was laughing at him. It was too obvious. And Hyperion was being ordered to sea yet again. It seemed as if the ship would never be allowed time to rest. Time to recover and heal her wounds.
He said flatly, 'A frigate would be faster, sir.'
Pomfret replied, 'I want you to go, Bolitho. It will give you time to recover yourself. And in the meantime we will try to run this war to your personal satisfaction!'
Bolitho said, 'Is that all, sir?'
The admiral seemed to consider the question. For the present.'
A footman held out another tray of goblets but Pomfret waved him away, adding, 'Now, if you will excuse me, Bolitho?' Then he turned on his heel and walked towards the curved staircase.
Cobban said, 'I'll not forget what you said, Captain! You'll be sorry, be sure of that!'
Bolitho glanced at Herrick. 'Shall we return to the ship? Without a glance at Cobban he walked towards the door.
Herrick swallowed his drink and followed him. His mind was still reeling from the controlled exchange of insults. He wanted to shout aloud to the assembled officers, to tell them what Bolitho had done for them, and exactly what each man owed to him.
He caught up with him by the door and saw that he was breathing deeply and staring up at the fresh stars, his face relaxed and strangely sad.
Herrick muttered, "The admiral refused another glass, sir. I can't understand it. He had a great appetite for wine aboard the Phalarope!'
Bolitho did not even hear him. He was thinking of the girl. This time it would be more difficult than ever to carry her as a passenger. When Hyperion dropped anchor here again Cheney Seton would become a bride.
He hitched up his sword and said absently, 'We will take a drink with M'sieu Labouret and the others before we leave. I have a bad taste in my mouth at present.' Without another word he strode through the gates and down towards the harbour.
`Let got'. Herrick's voice echoed across the sheltered water, and as he lowered his speaking trumpet the Hyperion's anchor splashed down, the ripples moving lazily away in widening circles towards the surrounding cliffs. The forenoon watch had hardly begun, yet after the light airs of the open sea the enclosed harbour already felt like an oven.
Bolitho watched in silence as his ship tugged gently at her cable and the usual business of lowering boats and spreading deck awnings got under way. Cozar had not changed, he thought. The only other ship at anchor below the gaunt cliffs was the frigate Harvester, and he could see without usingg his glass that Leach, her captain, had almost completed his repairs.
He walked slowly to the nettings and looked up towards the hill fortress. Beyond the harbour mouth the sea mist which had floated out to greet their slow approach hung across the entrance, blotting out the horizon and curling around the grey stonework of the fortress and battery like a fog. He shivered and moved his bandaged arm away from his ribs. They had sighted the island early the previous day, but because of the poor breeze had been forced to lie to for the night, with the distant fortress rising from its protect
ive mist like some enchanted castle.
Herrick touched his hat and said formally, 'Boats lowered, sir.' He glanced towards the sloping hillside beyond the fortress. 'It looks as if there are plenty more soldiers to carry to St. Clar.'
Bolitho nodded. The sun-scorched hillside was covered with lines of small tents, and occasionally he caught sight of a redcoated figure and the gleam of sunlight on a bayonet. But it was very quiet, as if like the island the heat and the dust had beaten the heart out of the isolated garrison.
Herrick said, 'I passed the word to Mr. Seton, sir. He is ready to go across.' He was watching Bolitho worriedly. 'Is that all right?'
'Yes.' Bolitho saw the retrieved jolly boat pulling clear from the ship's black shadow, two midshipmen sitting together in the sternsheets. It was right that Seton should see his sister alone before the upheaval of getting under way again, The boy had made a remarkable recovery, and if anything seemed to have gained in stature since the struggle aboard the burning Fairfax. The ball which had cut him down had burned a savage crease across his shoulder, but apart from shock and loss of blood he had escaped anything serious. An inch or so lower and ... Bolitho bit his lip as he watched the oarsmen picking up the stroke and heading for the pier.
Had he really been considering Seton's feelings when he had allowed him to visit his sister? Or was it just one more attempt to postpone the inevitable meeting?
He asked quietly, `How is Mr. Fowler?'
Herrick shook his head. 'The surgeon is worried about him. His face is a terrible sight. If it were me, I'd rather be deadl'
Bolitho replied, half to himself, `That is easy to say, Thomas. There have been times before or during a fight that I have prayed for death rather than mutilation. But when Rowlstone cut the sleeve from my arm I was praying just as fervently to stay alive.'
Herrick watched him and asked, 'How is the wound, sir?'
Bolitho shrugged. 'I would rather be without it.' He did not., feel like talking, even with Herrick. On the short voyage to Cozar he had stayed aloof and remote from his officers, con-, tenting himself with an occasional walk on the poop, but staying mostly in the privacy of his cabin. He was being unrealistic and stupid, he knew that. The fever had hardly left him when he had been up and in action again. That fact, and the throbbing ache of his wounded arm was the real reason for his depression. Or so he told himself.
He tried to regain interest in the coming offensive from St. Clar but could find little to excite his usual zeal and eagerness for action. And there was no room for personal bitterness, not for a captain of a ship of the line. He must thrust all his misgivings aside and put right the wrongs which Pomfret's indifference had laid upon his ship.
Once during a night watch when he had been driven from his cot by the tormenting agony in his arm, he had walked out to the darkened quarterdeck and had overheard Rooke speaking with Gossett.
Rooke had said angrily, 'Whatever we do is wrong! When we go for the enemy alone we are blamed! Yet when we succeed, someone else always seizes the credit!'
The master had replied gruffly, 'Sometimes it goes hard when old scores are evened at the expense of others, Mr. Rooke. I think the admiral is doing his task well enough. But I cannot forgive him for his manner to our captain.'
Rooke's response had been sharp. 'It's damned unfair that the whole ship should be punished because of their dislike for one another!'
Gossett had said firmly, 'With all respect, Mr. Rooke, it seems to me that the captain has treated you more than fairly.'
'What the devil are you implying? I should have been first lieutenant, it was my right!'
'We both know we don't mean that.'., Gossett had sounded very calm. 'Given a better chance under Cap'n Turner you would have been ready enough, that is true.' He had lowered his voice. 'But Cap'n Bolitho said nothing to you about the gambling, did he? Not once did he threaten to take action against you for stripping poor Mr. Quarme of his savings, or driving Dalby to thieving from his own kind!'.
Rooke had remained silent as Gossett had finished, 'You can log me if you have a mind for saying this, but I think our cap'n has treated you more than well. Your needs exceed your purse, so you do the one thing, apart from fighting, which you do so excellently!'
As Bolitho watched the little jolly boat make fast to the pier he wondered why he had not confronted Rooke with this new knowledge. Maybe it was because of his own heated exchange with Cobban. Even as he had spoken he had seen himself with new eyes. He was just like his brother after all. Given the opportunity he would have fought a senseless duel, not perhaps over cards or dice, but for reasons no less trivial. It was an unnerving discovery, and more so because Pomfret had seen it, too.
Herrick said, 'No sign of the convicts, sir. I suppose they're working at the other end of the island.'
Bolitho nodded. The Justice had sailed back to England. As far as her master was concerned the convicts could all rot in this place.
He said suddenly, 'Call away the barge. I am going ashore directly.' He could no longer contain his restlessness.
Herrick studied him anxiously. 'Look, sir, it is none of my business, but when you were under the fever I did hear some rumours.' He dropped his eyes under Bolitho's steady gaze. 'You know without my saying that I'd do anything for you. That goes beyond question. I'd die here and now for you if needed.' He looked up, his blue eyes defiant. 'I think that gives me the right to speak up.'
Bolitho asked, 'And what is it you wish to tell me?'
'Just this. Sir Edmund Pomfret is a powerful man to op208
pose, sir. He must have great influence to ride above losing his first command and all the other trouble he has caused. He has risen to flag rank in spite of all these things. He would be quick to use his influence and authority against you if he thought for one minute you were interested in his lady, sir!'
Bolitho's voice was very calm. 'Is that all?'
Herrick nodded. 'Aye, sir. I couldn't stand by and see such a thing happen without saying my piece.'
Bolitho clenched his fingers and felt the pain shoot up his arm like a knife. 'Now you may call my barge, Mr. Herrick.' He turned away, his face controlled, but inside his mind was boiling like a whirlpool. It was no comfort to realise that Herrick was right. No compensation to weigh what his words must have cost him.
He added coldly, 'You need have no fears on my behalf. But in future I would be pleased if you would refrain from trying to live my life for me!'
He saw Gimlett lounging by the poop ladder and called' sharply, 'Lay out my shoregoing uniform!' He turned beside the abandoned wheel and looked -back at Herrick's troubled features. 'So let that be the end of the matter!'
Twenty minutes later Bolitho strode to the entry port, his wounded arm strapped against his side and covered by his heavy dress coat. Herrick was waiting with the other officers, and Bolitho was momentarily tempted to take him aside, to kill this stupid rift which had been of his own making. Angry with himself, angrier still that Herrick had seen through his pitiful defences he snapped, 'Carry on!' Then he lifted his hat to the quarterdeck and climbed down to the waiting barge.
The pipes shrilled and died as the boat idled clear of the ship's protective shadow, and when he looked astern he saw that Herrick was watching him, his sturdy figure suddenly small against the Hyperion's towering side.
Allday said softly, 'Is the arm well, Captain? Then he saw Bolitho's rigid shoulders and pursed his lips. There would be more squalls ahead for someone, he thought. As he steered the barge towards the distant pier he watched cautiously for some sign, some small change in Bolitho's grim expression. He could not recall having seen him like this before, and any sort of change did not fit into Allday's placid acceptance of things. There was a strange tenseness about Bolitho. A nervous expectancy which was completely alien to him.
Allday sighed and shook his head doubtfully. Like Herrick, all he wanted was to protect Bolitho, no matter from whence, or from what the danger came. But he could not shield him from hi
mself, and the enormity of this discovery was very worrying.
To his surprise and annoyance Bolitho was greeted at the pier by a very young officer in the red tunic and facings of the infantry.
He touched his hat in reply as the-boy saluted smartly and said, 'Ensign Cowper, sir, of the 91st Foot.' He swallowed hard beneath Bolitho's unsmiling gaze and added awkwardly, 'I have brought a horse, sir. I-I thought it would make the journey easier.'
Bolitho nodded. 'That was thoughtful.' He had wanted to make the journey to the fortress on foot. To give him time to think. To clear his mind and plan what he was going to say.
The ensign saw his indecision and said helpfully, 'If you cannot ride I will lead the beast by the reins, sir.'
Bolitho studied him coldly and replied, 'A sea officer I may be, Mr. Cowper, but I am also a Cornishman. Horses are not unknown in my country!' With all the dignity he could muster he heaved himself into the saddle of the dozing animal, watched with both admiration and awe by his barge crew and the ensign's orderly.
They trotted slowly up the dirt road, each jolt of the hooves causing fresh agony in Bolitho's bandaged arm. He forced himself to take an interest in the surrounding scenery, if only to take his mind off himself and his discomfort. The road was deserted but for a listless sentry, with nothing left to mark the havoc wrought by the carronade or the jubilant onslaught of Ashby's marines.
As they turned the bend in the road he saw the fortress, and spread away across the bleached hillside the neat rows of military tents.
He said, 'I suppose that you are eager to join the rest of your people in St. Clar?'
The young ensign twisted easily in his saddle and looked at him with surprise. 'I do not quite know what is to happen yet, sir.'
Form Line Of Battle! Page 24