Bolitho stared at the fortress. 'Well, I hope your commanding officer is better informed.'
Cowper grinned, unabashed by the sarcasm. 'But, sir, I am the commanding officer!'
Bolitho reined the horse to a halt and faced the ensign across the road. 'You are what?'
Cowper's grin vanished and he shifted uncomfortably under Bolitho's fierce stare. `Well, that is to say, sir. I am the only officer here.'
Bolitho pointed at the tents. 'And you command all these men on your own? For God's sake, what are you saying?
The boy spread his hands. 'Well, actually, sir, there are, only twenty men and a sergeant. The tents are there just in case some French frigate comes spying for information.' He sighed. 'I command an empty camp so to speak!'
Bolitho felt the horse swaying beneath him as he grappled with Cowper's crazy explanation. 'No reinforcements for St. Clar? Nothing at all?'
'None, sir. I received word from Lord Hood two days back. A brig came here from Toulon.' He flicked the reins as Bolitho nudged his horse forward. again. 'My orders are to stand guard here untill further notice. Also to increase and extend the existing camp as much as possible.' He hurried on as if fearful of what Bolitho would say. 'We cut up every piece of canvas we could find. Old sails, matting, anything. My chaps just march about relighting camp-fires and keeping an eye on the convicts.' His slim shoulders dropped slightly. 'It's all very upsetting, sir.'
Bolitho looked at him with sudden compassion. Just a boy. He could not have been commissioned long enough to have seen active service, yet he was given a task which would have made others, years senior to him, grey before their time.
He said, 'So the war goes badly at Toulon?'
Cowper nodded. 'It seems so. Lord Hood had two regiments with him there, but they cannot do much more than contain the town and hold the forts around it. It appears that many of the French who were thought to be loyal to the Royalist cause have deserted to the other side.'
'And there will be no men to spare for St. Clar.' Bolitho spoke his thoughts aloud. 'But no doubt the matter is in hand.'
Cowper sounded doubtful. 'It is to be hoped so, sir.'
In silence they trotted across the wooden bridge above the steep ditch with its cruel-looking stakes, and on through the open gates of the fortress. A solitary soldier paced the ramparts beside the battery and another ran to take the horses. Apart from them the only other living person to be seen was a half-naked man tied to the wheel of a gun-carriage, his skin raw from the probing sun, his mouth open and twitching piteously in the glare.
Cowper said unhappily, 'A defaulter, sir. My sergeant says that it is the only way to punish him.' He turned away. 'I suppose that discipline must be enforced by such means.'
Bolitho said, 'Field punishment is all very well when you have an army at your back, Mr. Cowper. I suggest you tell your sergeant that even a bad soldier will be more use than a dead one if you are attacked!'
Cowper nodded firmly. 'Thank you, sir. I will tell him.'
Once inside the round tower the air was cool, even icy after the furnace heat of the compound, and as Bolitho followed the ensign up the narrow stone stairs he remembered that other time, when this small space had been filled with musketsmoke and the screams and curses of dying men.
The quarters, occupied over the years by one commandant after another, were grim and characterless. The main room which overlooked the headland was curved to the shape of the tower, and its narrow, deepcut windows shone like brightly painted pictures of another world. There were a few rush carpets, and here and there he saw some of the plain but well-shaped furniture made by the Hyperion's carpenters. They were the only real signs of human habitation worth considering.
A small studded door opened to one side and the girl, followed by her brother and Midshipman Piper, entered the room.
Cowper said, 'Captain Bolitho is here to see you, ma'am.' He looked meaningly at the midshipmen. `If you will accompany me I will show you the rest of the, er, fortress.'
Seton said, 'I am sorry I-I was n -not at the pier t-to meet you, s-sir.'
Bolitho replied vaguely, 'I was not expecting you.'
He watched the girl as she walked to one of the windows. She was wearing a loose white dress, and her rich chestnut hair hung across her shoulders untied and unchecked.
As the others left the room she said quietly, 'You are welcome, Captain.' Her eyes dropped to his empty sleeve. 'I heard from my brother what happened. It must have been horrible.'
Bolitho felt strained. 'He did well, Miss Seton. His own wound was bad enough, even for a seasoned man.'
She did not seem to hear. 'When I -saw him with his bandaged arm I think I nearly hated you. He's such a boy. He was never meant for this sort of life.' Her eyes flashed in the sunlight and seemed to match the green water below the headland. 'I suppose that is quite natural. But as I listened to him I came to realise that he is changed. Oh how he is changed!' She looked directly into Bolitho's face. 'And all he can talk about is you, did you know that?'
Bolitho did not know what to say. All his carefully rehearsed words had flown as soon as she had entered the room. He said clumsily, 'That, too, is natural. When I was his age I thought much the same of my captain.'
She smiled for the first time. 'I am glad that you at least have not changed, Captain. Sometimes in the cool of an evening I walk along the rampart and think back to that voyage from Gibraltar.' Her eyes were distant. 'I can even smell the ship and hear the thunder of those terrible guns.'
'And now I have come to take you to St. Clar.' The words seemed to stick in his throat. `But I imagine you were expecting a ship?'
'A ship, yes.' She nodded, the movement of her hair and neck bringing a fresh ache to Bolitho's heart. `But not your ship, Captain.' She stared up at him, her hands clenched. 'Were you ordered to come for me?'
'Aye. It was your, I mean, Sir Edmund's wish.'
She looked away. 'I am sorry it had to be you. I thought we would never meet again, you and I.'
'I know.' He could no longer hide his bitterness. 'I expect that I will be there too when you become Lady Pomfret!'
She stepped back, her face flushing beneath her tan. 'Do you despise me then, Captain? Does your pride never allow you to make a mistake or do anything to spoil your sense of duty?' She held up her hand. 'Do not answer! It is plain on your face what you think!'
Bolitho said quietly, 'I could never despise you. What you do is your choice. I am one of Sir Edmund's officers. -I could have been anyone.'
She ran her hand across her face to brush away a loose hair, the gesture both familiar and painful. 'Well, let me tell you something, Captain. When my mother died in the uprising in Jamaica things were bad enough. But shortly afterwards . there was a great storm when many ships were lost. Among them were two owned by my father. The rioters had destroyed most of our crops and all the buildings. My father needed those two ships to reach England with our last full cargo, you understand? He needed them!'
Bolitho watched her anger and despair with growing helplessness. 'I heard of that storm.'
'It ruined my father! And with my mother gone his health gave way completely. Sir Edmund came to Jamaica with his ship to crush the rising. He did not have to help us, but he never hesitated. He paid our passage back to Fngland and covered my father's debts. We could never repay him, because my father's mind became as sick as his body.' She gestured helplessly. 'We were even allowed to use his town house as our own, and Sir Edmund paid for Rupert's education and encouraged him to go to sea in a King's ship, your ship, Captain.'
'I am sorry.' Bolitho wanted to reach out and touch her, but his limbs felt like stone.
She stared at him searchingly. 'Look at me, Captain. I am twenty-six years old. With Rupert at sea I am completely alone now. I know Sir Edmund does not love me, but he needs me as a wife. I owe him that at least!'
Bolitho said, 'The years pass, and then suddenly you feel that something has escaped you ..' He broke off as she
took a step towards him, her face both shocked and hurt.
'I told you, Captain, I am twenty-six already. That does not mean I have to throw my body to the first man who asks! Sir Edmund needs me and that is enough, it has to be.'
Bolitho looked at the floor. 'I was speaking of myself, not of you!' He did not dare to face her until he had finished. Then he would leave. 'I am ten years older than you, and up to our first meeting I never regretted anything. My home is in Cornwall, even the land itself was just an interval in time. Somewhere to have roots, but not to stay.' He waited for a sudden outburst but she remained silent. 'I cannot offer you the fine living of London and Sir Edmund's way of life, but I can offer you .. '
His voice trailed away as she asked quietly, 'What can you offer me, Captain?'
He raised his head and saw her standing very erect, her face in shadow. Only the quick rise and fall of her breasts showed either emotion or anger.
He kept his voice level. 'I can offer you my love. I do not expect it to be returned in the same way, but if you will give me the chance, just the chance, I will try and make you happy and give you the peace you rightly deserve.' He was aware of the great silence around the room, the indistinct sounds of lapping water beyond the windows. Above all the painful beating of his heart.
Then she said, 'I must have time to think.' She walked quickly to a window, hiding her face from him. 'Do you really know what you are doing, Captain? What it could meant
'I only know what you mean to me. Whatever you decide, nothing can or will ever change that.' He saw her shoulders quiver and added quietly, 'I would tell Sir Edmund if you decided . '
She shook her head. 'No. I must decide.' Then almost distantly she added, 'Sir Edmund can be a hard man. It might go badly for you.'
Bolitho's heart gave a quick leap. Then you think, I mean, you really believe you might...?'
She turned and then laid her hands on his shoulders, her eyes shining so that they seemed to fill her face. 'Was there ever any doubt? But as he made to hold her with his sound arm she stepped away, her hands held up to his chest. `Please! Not now! Just leave me alone to think.'
Bolitho stepped backwards towards the door, his mind awhirl with a hundred churning thoughts and ideas. 'But you will marry me? Just tell me once, before I go!'
Her lip trembled and he saw a tear splash down across her breast. 'Yes, Richard.' She was smiling in spite of the tears. 'You are all the man my brother worships, and more besides. Yes, I will marry you gladly!'
Later, when the barge carried him back to the Hyperion, Bolitho could feel nothing but numbness. The officer of the watch made a formal report as he climbed to the quarterdeck, but he neither heard what he said nor did he remember his own reply.
Herrick was standing dejectedly beside the poop ladder, a telescope beneath his arm. Bolitho crossed the deck in quick strides and said, 'I owe you an apology, Thomas.' He waved aside the unspoken protests. 'My attitude was inexcusable, my words nothing more than ridiculous!'
Herrick was watching him anxiously. 'Is your wound troubling you, sir?'
Bolitho stared at .him. 'Wound? Of course not!'
Herrick said awkwardly, 'Well, I am sorry too, sir. I could not bear to see you in trouble, not of your own making.' He gave a great sigh. 'But now we can get to sea, and after the wedding all will be well again. And that is as it should bel' He grinned with sudden relief.
Bolitho eyed him cheerfully, undecided whether or not to play with him further. He said, 'The wedding is postponed, Thomas.'
'Postponed, sir?' Herrick looked dazed. 'I do not understand.'
Bolitho massaged his bandaged arm with his fingers. 'I think Falmouth will be a more suitable place, don't you? And you can give the bride away, if you would do that for me?'
Herrick was almost speechless. 'You didn't? You couldn't possibly have!' His mouth was opening and shutting in confusion. 'Not Miss Seton, sir? The admiral's lady?'
Bolitho grinned. 'The very same, Thomas!'
He walked below the poop, and before the cabin door slammed shut Herrick heard him whistling. Something Bolitho had never done before at any time.
Herrick grasped the teak rail. 'Well I'll be damned!' He shook himself like a dog. 'Well, I'll be double-damned!'
14
BURDEN OF COMMAND
The Hyperion's reappearance in St. Clar excited little attention or interest, and as she lay at her anchor astern of the flagship it was evident that the townspeople had more on their minds than the arrival of the ship which had started a train of events over which they had no control.
The Monarchist flags still fluttered bravely from buildings and headland, but in the narrow streets the air was heavy with speculation and apprehension. Occasionally people halted in their stride or broke off short in conversation as the distant rumble of artillery or the racing wheels of a gun-carriage reminded them of the sudden proximity of danger.
Within minutes of anchoring a launch had come alongside and Fanshawe, Pomfret's harrassed aide, had arrived to accompany Cheney Seton ashore.
On the slow boat back from Cozar Bolitho had discussed only briefly what they should do. He had not wanted to spoil the peace and new-found happiness, and when the moment of parting had arrived he had still been unwilling to allow her to accept the full responsibility of facing Pomfret alone. But that was the one thing about which she was quite adamant. As he had watched her helped down into the boat he had felt something like pain, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from following her.
That was three days ago, and as he threw himself into the business of assisting with the port's defences he expected to hear something from Pomfret at every minute of each dragging hour. And there was plenty do do. Men had to be found to crew a hastily commandeered flotilla of fishing boats and luggers to be used to patrol the countless coves and minute beaches around the inlet and prevent any attempt at infiltration or surprise attack from an unseen enemy. Unseen except by Cobban's pickets and the wide-flung sections of Spanish cavalry.
The news was not encouraging. It was said that heavy guns had been sighted along the inland road, and never a day passed without some clash between the patrols. A local school had been taken over as a field hospital, and plans were in hand to introduce food rationing should the enemy presence tighten into a full-scale siege.
Each day when he returned wearily to the sanctuary of his quarters Bolitho waited for news from Pomfret. Then when the ship fell quiet for another night he would take out the one note he had received from the girl. and go over it again as if for the first time. She was not staying at Pomfrets headquarters, but had accepted his suggestion to take up residence with the town's mayor and family, at least for the present. She had ended with the words:... from my window 1 can see your ship. My heart is there with you.
Bolitho knew that it was right they should not meet just yet. It was likely that the news of what he had done would spread over the whole port soon enough, but there was no point in adding fuel to whatever fire Pomfret chose to make.
On the third day the summons came. 'All captains and officers in charge of troops to report to field headquarters immediately.'
In the afternoon sunlight the house looked less imposing, and Bolitho noticed that the marines at the gates no longer watched passers-by with indifference, but fingered their bayoneted muskets and stayed close to the guardhouse. It was rumoured that some of the townspeople had already fled to the hills, either out of fear for their families' safety or to await a more prudent time to change their allegiance. Bolitho could not find it in his heart to blame them. Pomfret had drawn an unwavering line between his own forces and the people of St. Clar. Their resentment would change to something worse if the news did not improve soon.
Some of the servants were packing china and glass into wooden cases as he entered the wide doorway, and he guessed that the house's rightful owner was making sure of his possessions before it was too late.
An orderly ushered Bolitho into a darkly panelled
study where the others were already assembled. He recognised the other captains who, apart from the two sloop commanders, were all present. The sloops were busy patrolling the northern approaches and keeping a wary eye on the coast road, down which a full-scale attack might come.
Pomfret was standing beside a desk listening to Colonel Cobban and a tall, haughty-looking Spaniard whom he vaguely recognised as Don Joaquin Salgado, the senior Allied officer. There were various representatives of the military, and two or three marines. Not enough to withstand the whole weight of France, he thought grimly.
Fanshawe whispered across Pomfret's shoulder and he glanced quickly towards Bolitho. Just a few seconds, and in that brief exchange Bolitho recognised nothing in the admiral's pale, protruding eyes. Nothing at all.
Pomfret said crisply, 'Be seated, gentlemen.' He tapped one foot impatiently until the noise and shuffling had ceased. 'I have received despatches from Cozar, brought by Hyperion three days ago.' Again the merest glance. But ice-cold and without recognition. 'It seems that we are not to receive the military reinforcements which were expected.' He allowed the murmur of voices to subside before continuing, 'But they will come, gentlemen, they will come.' He waved one hand across his map. 'This campaign in St. Clar could be the making of our stepping-stone to Paris! As more ships and men are made available, we will cut the soft underbelly of France until the enemy sues for peace!' His eyes flashed as he looked round the room. 'And we will deny them that privilege! There will be no peace or parley this time. It will be victory, absolute and final!'
Someone said, 'Hear, hear!' But apart from the lone voice the room's atmosphere was completely still.
Bolitho turned to watch the nearest window. The dusty panes were glittering in the sunlight, and he could see large flies buzzing unconcernedly amongst the awvell-kept flower.beds. Now, in Cornwall, they would be thinking about the coming winter. Laying in fresh logs, and fodder for the animals. In the country winter was an enemy to be held at bay with no less determination than they needed here in St. Clar. He thought suddenly of the girl, as she would look when he showed her around the old grey house below the castle. The house would live again. It would not just be a place for memories, but a home. A real home.
Form Line Of Battle! Page 25