Cross of Fire

by Mark Keating

  No matter. He still had tricks to press young men.

  ‘Christopher, I have decided that the pirate will not talk. Questioning him further will not serve. We need to consider other avenues to find Devlin.’

  ‘Perhaps the Standard would consider the return to our original orders?’ Manvell hoped. ‘Ogle and Herdman. And hunt for Roberts – and Devlin. Is that not why we are shaping for the Comoros?’

  ‘In part.’ Coxon spied Manvell’s deerskin slippers and looked down at his own cracked, wooden-soled shoes. He should have married a duke’s daughter; he should have attended more balls. Then he remembered that Manvell was only a publican’s son and forgot his envy. He had done well, that was all.

  ‘In “part”, sir?’ Manvell’s hopes fell.

  Coxon was still gazing at his own pinchbeck-buckled shoes with the sloping heels.

  ‘It would be unfair to the men to join up and share their gold with other crews. I still intend to capture Devlin on our own. We more than outgun him. And your sword must be worth ten.’

  ‘How would we achieve such?’

  Coxon looked surprised at his First’s ignorance.

  ‘The letter of course, Christopher. The one you left with the priest. Its purpose was to let Devlin know we had his man and Kennedy. To let his men know that their captain had murdered Kennedy’s father and that the poor boy wants revenge. And as Kennedy became a pirate because of it Devlin would have to accord with that. Accord to the codes they live by that pass for their honour. I had hoped that it might set their minds to doubting their captain. He might leave his man, captured, but not refuse to meet Kennedy.’

  Coxon looked over to the worn Cervantes. ‘But I knew he could not leave his man. He travelled half the world before for one of them. All for a porcelain cup. I have played him, Christopher. We will head for Juan de Nova off of Madagascar and wait for Devlin there. I have told him so in the letter. That is where we will have our day with him. It is the longer plan. I had hoped the pirate would tell all but when Devlin returns to Bourbon for his man we have won.’ He clasped Manvell’s shoulders proudly. Proud of himself. Proud of the lessons he was imparting.

  ‘If he returns for him,’ Manvell said. ‘This is all supposition is it not?’

  Coxon marvelled at the lack of instinct that some men seemed to possess. To him it was akin to fashioning a rope, tying it around the object of your desire and then waiting to feel a tug. Somewhere between childhood and manhood some men plainly let go the rope and fell to paper and laws – lost faith in the feelings which kept them from briers and nettles as children.

  ‘Christopher, we know that Devlin was at Sierra Leone before us. Had the same information. He drops his man at Bourbon. Somewhere is his treasure. A Porto priest in a French church. The Virgin of the Cape carrying Porto gold. It is not supposition. It is a clock winding down.

  ‘He will be on my footsteps instead of us seeking him. You will return to your father-in-law a rich man. Rich in service also. A captaincy shall be my recommendation. You will see it just so.’ He gave as much as he thought he could deliver.

  ‘There is much here that I cannot share, but hold that I have only the Standard’s concerns before me. Devlin may have already returned to Bourbon. He has the letter and we are only days away from glory.’

  Manvell reached into his coat. Coxon’s hands dropped as Manvell pulled out the folded paper.

  Coxon did not see just the black seal and ribbon on the swan white packet but also a grey tombstone heaved into place, Devlin’s name in Coxon’s script plain on its face.

  ‘You mean this letter, John?’ Manvell said.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Manvell was on the floor, his hand to his mouth where the blow had struck. The letter lay beside him.

  ‘You fool!’ Coxon stood over him. ‘You bloody fool!’ He kicked Manvell down as he tried to rise.

  ‘Ponce! Punk! Do you know what you’ve done?’

  Manvell pushed himself up to sit.

  He saw Coxon then. Stocky and strong with fists and solid feet and hating as he panted over him.

  The man who had fought the French and the Spanish and then had to swallow them both as allies. The man sent to hunt for pirates.

  ‘I have protected my ship.’ Manvell wiped his lip. No blood. His strong jaw or Coxon holding back, as if smiting a child.

  ‘You want to bring a pirate frigate upon us. Alone. When we could have two men-of-war to go against them. As per our orders. Go for Roberts. He who has taken hundreds of ships. Not your bloody valet!’

  ‘Coward!’ Coxon spat. ‘You have lost everything!’ He stood back.

  There was pressure in his chest and arms, a need to vent more violence but he held it back. The tempering of a good man of strength. His head went light and the room brightened and he let Manvell climb to his feet.

  ‘Do you think the pirates would not know of three warships on the ocean?’ Coxon stomped the room.

  ‘They would scatter like rats from a light. But one ship? One ship is a dare. A slight. A challenge. And me upon it. And Kennedy. That would be the game they live for. Draw them. Your obtuseness I’m sure will get you a fine place on the Board and a good country seat. Is your ambition, sir, just to the fattening of your arse?’

  Manvell brushed himself down.

  ‘I bow to your superior knowledge of pirates, Captain. But this has gone beyond. You have not acted as the Standard. With Ogle and Herdman we were to hunt, to protect. You have confided in pirates and slave-traders. You condone torture of prisoners. Your men lust for gold not duty. Even Howard says you have become one of them.’

  He watched Coxon go to his desk and push upon it with white knuckles, his head hung.

  ‘You have disobeyed orders, Manvell,’ he said, turned away. ‘I will charge you with that.’

  ‘I will contest,’ Manvell said calmly. ‘My objection will be based on my log entry and my concern for the Standard and her prisoner.’ He rubbed his side where Coxon’s shoe had delved.

  ‘I shall not mention the assault upon my person. Spirited as it was.’

  ‘So we say to the men that we are not for the gold? That because of my First’s insistence we are coursing back. Will that go well? Shall I make my speech before breakfast?’ He swung back from the desk. ‘I will take you from them. For your own safety.’

  He went for the door, pulled the powerful marine through it.

  ‘Take Lieutenant Manvell. Confine him to his quarters. He is under my arrest pending inquiry. Restrain him in irons if he protests. He is to be denied parole.’

  Manvell shook his head incredulously.

  ‘On what charge?’

  ‘On my charge!’ Coxon shouted him down and then calmed himself.

  ‘Do not make me say it now, Manvell. You should concentrate on your defence. For the time when we return to England. Do not wish to let the Standard know now.’

  The marine shouldered his musket and grappled Manvell into his ham fists.

  Manvell held fast.

  ‘It is my prerogative, Captain, to ask to have a man to mediate.’ He stiffened but did not struggle. ‘I ask for Lieutenant Howard.’

  ‘No,’ Coxon said. ‘Thomas . . . Mister Howard will now be my First.’ He let the marine hear him, eyed him just so.

  ‘You have cost the men their gold. It will be for your own protection.’

  Manvell smirked.

  ‘You want to say “mutiny” don’t you, John? In front of this man? I have seen how you work the common man.’

  The marine’s fists clamped harder.

  Coxon crossed his arms. He had no need to say the word. The touchpaper lit.

  ‘I am the common. You have forgotten that. Take him away,’ he tossed his head to the door. ‘I will inform the Standard at supper.’

  The marine had to dance Manvell from the room and his beef felt the steel of the body held fast in his arms.

  ‘You cannot silence me, John!’ Manvell yelled, hoped for more of the ship to
hear as he was dragged through the coach. ‘What I have done is for the good of the ship!’

  ‘I’ll make sure to tell the men’s wives how well you cost them their share. For the good of the ship. That will feed their children well!’

  He slammed the door, fumbled with the weak brass latch with fingers that seemed engorged. He put his hands to his stomach to settle the rising sickness and looked down at the unsent letter. The pirate’s name glared up at him.

  ‘Oh, John. What will you do now?’

  He left it on the floor and went for a drink to steady his shaking arms. He needed to think. An empty chair at supper. That would be a conversation not conducive to their meal. Possibly the worst words to share between officers and words that he had never had to say before. Not in thirty years. He sank a full glass of rum.

  No matter. Manvell had disobeyed his orders, sound orders. A letter to Devlin, a simple hook now slipped. So what next?

  He splashed rum in his glass again and drank before his mouth had dried from the last – but paused and turned with the drink still at his lips as he noticed his window latches rattle.

  They banged and pulled and pushed to be open and then stilled as the ghost that yanked at them let go and moved on.

  Coxon walked to the casements and looked down at the water below that lay as flat as glass; and then, as if caught out by his observation, the sea bashfully went back to making undulating waves and a creamy wake.

  A knock at the door turned him back round. He bid the steward in to light the stern lanterns. He did not know his name.

  ‘Did you spy that wind, man?’ Coxon asked.

  ‘No, Cap’n?’ the man opened the windows and tended to his tallow and candles on poles. ‘Although it is about, Cap’n. North I reckons. This be a large ocean for winds. That’s why no civil man lives here.’

  Coxon passed the man his rum to finish.

  ‘How’s the ship? The humour?’

  The steward gulped the rum.

  ‘The whole is much enamoured for the gold, Cap’n. All of ’em hard for pirates, thanks to you, Cap’n.’ He gave back the glass with a wink. ‘You just say the word and we’ll walk that pirate round the deck. He’ll talk then, Cap’n, so he will.’

  Coxon put down the glass.

  ‘Much obliged. It may come to that, sailor.’ He picked up the bottle and drank straight. Gave it over for the steward to do the same.

  ‘The men are not afraid of pirates I take it?’

  The bottle went high.

  ‘No, Cap’n. Ain’t you got one of Roberts’s dogs aiding us? And you Devlin’s master before.’ The bottle came back gratefully.

  Coxon tipped it in salute.

  ‘I have an empty chair at my table, my man. If not for the impropriety it would suggest I should have you fill it. My officers could learn some appreciation from you.’

  The steward blushed and gathered his things. ‘If that be all, Cap’n.’

  Both men marked their stations, the bottle corked. Coxon dismissed him and waited for the door to close before uncorking the bottle again.

  Howard, he thought, as he drank.

  I have lost Manvell. Him I thought the best. I must keep Thomas Howard to my side. Too late to go back to Bourbon? Deliver the note? Perhaps wait a degree north, along the latitude? Catch Devlin in a net. But he could long be gone from Bourbon. Manvell has cost all.

  Coxon’s only hope was that Devlin would learn from the priest that it was he who took Dandon. That Devlin would also then hunt for him. Two needles looking for each other in a bottle of hay.

  He drank away the worst of his thoughts and, in truth, the rum did ease, as it was made to. The rum eased him, and the sailor who had lit his lamps.

  Speak to Thomas Howard at supper over tortoise liver, gravy and bread. He corked the bottle again. There was no answer there. The answer was in the youth. The answer always in youth. He picked up the letter.

  Thomas Howard would hold the faith.

  It had taken a run to Doctor Howe to secure some laudanum. The doctor could only raise a hand in agreement as he muttered into his pillow that the draught was exactly what the wounded man required and Thomas Howard applied it to a leather mug of rum and plied it into Walter Kennedy’s hand. And Kennedy was not in the habit of refusing mugs of rum from officers.

  Ten minutes later Kennedy had slumped to the deck and was snoring like the doctor, and then Thomas Howard had his arms under Dandon’s shoulders and was hauling him to the gundeck. The first watch was at supper above. He had half an hour when the deck would be empty. His supper would be after the second watch. That was the only fact that he would be assured of. Between now and then he was chancing that no soul would come across him heaving Dandon up from the hold.

  Dandon stirred awake and eased Thomas Howard’s burden. They climbed together, their shoulders locked. Dandon protested aloud.

  ‘Thomas? What is this?’

  ‘I am getting you out of here, sir. Be quiet now.’

  They reached the gundeck. Thomas had opened a port, had set a ladder from it and a boat waiting bobbing below. He had stolen a boat. When he had swung it over the side he had imagined its ropes around his neck.

  Providently, no-one had seen.

  The night had covered and no-one had seen.

  Men were at supper one deck below and no-one had seen. Or cared not: had not cared to see an officer at some private business. Men had swung for less.

  The rumour of the First being held in irons had already become fact. Turn your pipe to windward and let the young officer to his noose.

  Dandon became strong now. He gripped himself against the gun as Howard slung a bag to the boat below.

  ‘This is madness, Thomas! Hold now. I wish no part!’

  Howard pulled him by his shirt.

  ‘They will kill you! Do you understand? It is night. By morning you will be gone. Gone from me.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘There is a compass in the boat. East and you will be back at Île de France. There are pirates there.’ He set to whispering. ‘Or west and Bourbon. Please, sir. You saved me once. I put your coat in the boat. Your yellow coat. Please move now.’

  Dandon felt himself being pulled towards an open square.

  ‘I am to leap? My faith is not that strong.’

  ‘I have set a Jacob’s ladder to the boat. Climb down.’

  They shared hands in the dark like walking a rural lane at night. Dandon stared at a cannon’s mouth as he let himself through a hole and felt the wind whip at him.

  ‘We are moving!’ he declared.

  ‘Barely. Fore-course only. I will release the boat when you are free.’

  ‘I will be crushed!’

  ‘Are you not a sailor, sir?’

  ‘No I am not! You have perceived me wrong, Thomas.’ He tried to scramble back through the hole. Thomas Howard held him by his wrists and pulled his face to him.

  ‘Go!’ he pleaded. ‘You must go. I cannot stand to—’ He let the wrists fall to hands and Dandon’s feet hit the slats of the ladder.

  ‘You did me good once. See it as no more than that. I am willing to fight pirates. I will hold with my captain . . . but I do not understand what this is.’ He let his hands slip and Dandon caught the lip of the port hole.

  ‘Thomas, you will be in trouble for this.’

  Thomas Howard stood back from the hole.

  ‘I was in trouble from the moment I saw you once more.’ He smiled and became the boy again and wiped his eyes. ‘We have a tradition, I feel.’

  ‘Aye,’ Dandon said. ‘A corrupt tradition.’ And he vanished from the port hole.

  Howard leaned out through the hole and saw that already Dandon was in the bucking boat.

  ‘I will release you!’ he called. ‘You are belayed above. Hold on to the gunwales.’

  ‘Wait!’ Dandon cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Do I have wine?’

  ‘Brandy. Wrapped inside your coat lest it break.’

  ‘Bless you
!’

  ‘Fare well, sir! And thank you! I never got a chance to say it.’

  ‘I have brandy, what else is there to say? But hold Mister Howard.’

  Howard stretched further out of the port.

  Dandon, his hands still cupped and masking his voice just for Howard, whispered up to the freeboard.

  ‘To save your punishment! I can afford some small word! Something to give our good John!’

  ‘But you did not talk?’ Howard rubbed away tears now but only from the wind against the port and the spray of the salient sea.

  ‘I give willingly.’

  ‘I must cut the boat now.’

  Dandon stood. The boat objected and Howard put his arm out motioning him to sit but still he called up.

  ‘Tell John that the Portos call the islands “The Three Brothers and the Seven Sisters”. It is the largest one that Devlin has gone to. Where the treasure lies. You mind me, Thomas.’ He lowered his voice and saluted. ‘You mind me, Thomas.’ He sat as the officer vanished from the hole.

  Mere moments passed, a rope hit the water and Dandon watched the ship coast away and saw a white face against the gunwale and an arm that waved and waved until he could no longer perceive it against the blackening sky.

  He rubbed his swollen eyes and went through the hemp sack and his coat for the brandy buried under the cheese and bread. He found also a compass with a mirror and fishing line and hook.

  He popped the cork just as the Standard stopped buffeting the boat and the sea opened up around him like he was sitting on the moon.

  He took a long draught, becoming Dandon again as something like strength returned to his arms and he flexed his fingers that had become dead. He saluted the Standard’s stern lights with the bottle.

  ‘Good boy, brave boy,’ he said, and drank long.

  Often he had drunk without tasting. He had now gone days without wine and to him that was like days without sunlight.

  He was lost to the bottle, he knew that. But now and then one bottle came along that meant something.