Colours Aloft!

by Alexander Kent

  “Well, be seated. Allday, fetch Ozzard.” He knew Adam was staring at him, measuring his hurt as Keen had done.

  “And what brings you here, Mr, er, Pullen?”

  The man arranged himself in a chair. He was all in black. Like a carrion crow, Bolitho thought. He turned to keep the light behind him, knowing they would see the bandage and nothing more.

  “I have certain affairs to manage in Malta, Sir Richard. Admiral Sir Hayward Sheaffe has given me instructions.”

  Bolitho forced a smile. “Secret, eh?”

  “Certainly, Sir Richard.” As Ozzard hurried to him with a tray he said, “Some watered wine will suffice, thank you.”

  Adam said, “I wish to speak with you, Uncle.”

  Bolitho sensed something in his tone. “Will it not keep?”

  The man called Pullen took an envelope from his coat and laid it on the table. Bolitho stared at it, feeling trapped, stripped of his pretence. “May I ask the same of you, Mr Pullen?”

  The man shrugged. “I would imagine that you have many things on your hands, Sir Richard. You have been in battle, although to glance around you you would scarce believe it.”

  Bolitho controlled a sudden irritation. “We destroyed a French seventy-four.” That was all he said.

  “Excellent. Sir Hayward will be pleased.” He regarded the glass of watered wine. “I’d not trouble you, Sir Richard, it is after all a nuisance but a necessity none the less. I am required to serve notice on your flag-captain to attend a court of inquiry in Malta with all despatch.”

  No wonder Adam had tried to warn him. Bolitho said calmly, “To what purpose?”

  Pullen seemed satisfied. “Two bothersome reasons, I understand, Sir Richard. He behaved somewhat foolishly by ignoring a government warrant and then removing a woman,” his voice lingered on the word as if it were obscene, “from custody. I feel he can explain his reasons no matter how misguided, but I must point out—”

  “Who had made this accusation?”

  Pullen sighed. “It was a written report, Sir Richard. As I said, it should not concern or trouble you. A nuisance, nothing more.”

  Bolitho said quietly, “You are impertinent, sir. That woman was being abused, flogged! Captain Keen was doing his duty!”

  “That is in the past, Sir Richard.”

  Bolitho stared at him and replied, “This is a battleground, Mr Pullen, not a safe and secure office. Here, I command. I could have you seized up and flogged to within an inch of your life and none would question my order.” He heard the man’s quick intake of breath. “It would be months before anyone acted on it, and I would like to know if you might call that a nuisance!”

  Pullen swallowed hard. “I meant no offence, Sir Richard.”

  “Well, it was taken! Do you imagine that I’ll stand by and permit a gallant officer to have his name smeared by this—this absurdity?”

  Pullen leaned forward, his confidence returning. “Then it is not true, any of it?”

  “I do not have to answer that.”

  Pullen stood up and placed his glass, still full, on the table. “Not to me, sir. But you will see in your orders that you are also required to attend with your captain.”

  Bolitho stared at him. “Leave this station? Do you know what you are saying? Have you no conception of what the enemy intends to do?”

  Pullen said, “It is out of my hands, Sir Richard.” He gave a brief bow. “If I may, I would like to withdraw while you decide.”

  For a long moment Bolitho stood stock still beneath the skylight. It was like a bad dream. Like his failing sight. It must soon clear away.

  Adam said bitterly, “He explained nothing, Uncle. You did not tell me about this woman.” He hesitated. “We must see that there is no gossip.”

  Bolitho took his arm. “She is aboard this ship, Adam.” He turned him slowly to face him. “If that wretch made it sound coarse and indecent, he has done more harm than I imagined. She is a fine, brave girl, wrongly charged, falsely transported, and we shall prove it.”

  The door opened and Keen walked slowly aft, his hat dangling from one hand.

  Keen said, “But in the meantime she will be sent in irons to another transport.” He looked at Adam. “You see, I love her. I love her more than life itself.”

  Adam glanced from one to the other, instantly aware of the strength of Keen’s sincerity, of his uncle’s compassion.

  Adam said, “Pullen plays cards.”

  They both stared at him, at his dark features which had become so grim.

  “I could accuse him of cheating and call him out—”

  Bolitho crossed to his side and grasped his shoulders.

  “Enough of that. We are in enough trouble. Keep your steel covered.” He squeezed his shoulders. “Bless you.”

  Adam said wretchedly, “I have a letter from Lady Belinda.” He held it out. “I think I know why you did not read Pullen’s brief, Uncle.” He sounded shocked, stunned by the realization.

  Bolitho asked, “Do you have to leave immediately?”

  “Aye.” Adam looked down and his unruly hair fell across his forehead. “I heard about John Hallowes, Uncle. He was my friend.”

  “I know.” They walked together to the screen. “I shall have to quit the squadron when I am most needed, Adam, over this tragic affair. I will place Inch in command until we return.” He looked at Keen. “Have no fear. I shall not desert that girl.”

  Adam followed Keen to the quarterdeck and saw Pullen waiting by the entry port. Who was behind these accusations, he wondered? The fact that they were true seemed less important.

  He touched his hat to the side party and then looked at Keen.

  He said, “You have my loyalty, sir.” He touched his sword. “This too when and if you need it.” Then he followed Pullen into the boat.

  Keen waited only until the gig was under oars and then crossed to his first lieutenant.

  “We shall make sail as soon as a letter has been sent over to Firefly from the admiral.”

  It was obvious that Pullen had wanted to remain on board as an observer until they reached Malta where he would change his role to that of jailer. Now he would be there waiting for them, his determination sharpened by Bolitho’s hostility.

  “I’m sorry about all this, sir.” Paget flinched under Keen’s stare but stood his ground. “We all are. It’s not fair.”

  Keen dropped his eyes. “Thank you. I once believed it was enough to fight a war. Apparently there are those who think we are better used fighting each other.”

  A boat carried a hastily penned letter across to the brig and by the time dusk had closed in, Firefly had already dipped below the horizon.

  Keen walked the quarterdeck and watched the red sunset. Firefly had brought only bad news after all.

  11 A TIME FOR CARING

  IT WAS early morning when Bolitho made his way to the quarterdeck. Two days since Firefly had found them and Adam had given him the news.

  Argonaute was lying comfortably on the larboard tack under topsails and jib, her decks damp from the night air, her seamen moving about in the half-light, clearing up loose lines and holystoning the poop under the supervision of their petty officers. There was a sickly smell from the galley funnel, and all hands would soon be dismissed for their breakfast.

  Bolitho saw the officer-of-the-watch glance at him startled, then move hastily to the lee side. The helmsmen too straightened their backs when moments before they had been clinging to the big double wheel, tired after their watch, thinking only of breakfast, poor though it might be.

  One or two of the seamen looked up at him from the main deck. They had seen very little of Bolitho since the injury, and later the smoke of battle had hidden him better than any disguise.

  He shaded his eye and stared towards the land. Purple and deep blue above a steely horizon. There were clouds about, rimmed with pink and gold from the sunrise. The sea was calmer and the deck much steadier.

  He walked a few paces inboard, his h
ands grasped firmly behind him. When he sought out individual figures he felt his heart quicken. He could recognize all but those in shadow between the guns.

  He called to the lieutenant in charge of the watch.

  “Good morning, Mr Machan.” The officer touched his hat and hurried towards him.

  “A fine day, Sir Richard.” He sounded confused and pleased.

  Bolitho studied him. Detail by detail. He could see him better than he had dared hope and recalled how he had once mistaken Sheaffe for another officer entirely.

  He realized that Machan was visibly wilting under his stare.

  Bolitho said, “Is Helicon in sight from the masthead?”

  They had seen Inch’s ship and her consort just as night had closed in, but daylight would bring them all together again except for Barracouta in her odd disguise, and they would be reduced again as soon as the flagship left for Malta.

  It was madness, but Bolitho knew that the orders left nothing to chance or conjecture. If Keen was required to face a court of inquiry he must go in his own ship. To be sent as a passenger in some courier brig would be as good as condemning him and holding the door wide to a court martial.

  He found he was pacing again, and that Machan had returned to his place at the lee nettings. The news would spread, first through the lower deck, then to every ship in the squadron. The admiral was up and about again.

  Bolitho allowed his mind to grapple with Belinda’s letter. He was still not sure what he had expected. Her letter was not brief, but lacked any personal contact. She had written of the estate, of Ferguson’s plans for extending the market garden, of the old exciseman whose wife was having another baby.

  It had been a strange experience, but he had not wanted Yovell or Ozzard to read it to him. Instead he had asked for the girl to be brought aft and to do it. Belinda’s voice had become hers, but the letter had been light and evasive, no mention of London or the coolness of their parting.

  Bolitho paused as a shaft of sunlight lanced through the shrouds, then took the letter from his pocket. He held it to the light, careful to hide what he was doing from the officer-of-the-watch and his midshipman.

  He could just make out some of the words. Yesterday it would have been impossible.

  It ended, “From your loving wife, Belinda.”

  He recalled the sound of her name on Zenoria’s lips, how it had moved him and made him vaguely uneasy because of it.

  The girl had handed him the letter and had said, “She is a fine lady, sir.”

  Bolitho sensed her despair and her envy. Keen had told her about Pullen.

  Bolitho had said, “Sit closer.” When she had joined him he had taken her hands, remembering how he had removed his coat with the proud epaulettes the first time he had met her.

  He had said, “I shall keep my word, have no doubt of that.” He had sensed her disbelief as she had replied, “How can you help me now, sir? They will be waiting.” He had heard her frightened determination. “They’ll not take me alive. Never!”

  He had pressed her hands between his. “What I tell you must be our secret. If you tell my captain, he will be an accomplice and there must be no more blame.”

  She had hesitated. “I trust you, sir. Whatever you say.”

  Bolitho put the letter back in his pocket. He was still not sure how to deal with the matter. But her spirits must be held high. Otherwise, she might throw herself overboard or do some other injury to herself rather than face arrest and custody again.

  The masthead lookout yelled, “Deck there, sail in sight to the sou’-east!”

  Bolitho could picture Inch’s ship, her sails like pink shells in the frail sunshine as she headed towards Argonaute.

  He thought of the girl again. She would soon hear of the other ship’s arrival. Another turn of the screw, hastening her passage to Malta and heartless authority.

  Keen came on deck, hatless and without a coat. He stared at Bolitho and made to explain.

  Bolitho smiled. “Easy, Val. I could not sleep. I needed to walk.”

  Keen grinned with relief. “Just to see you on deck again is like a tonic, sir!”

  He became serious. “I do not wish to burden you further, but—”

  Bolitho interrupted. “I have a plan.”

  “But, sir,—”

  Bolitho held up his hand. “I know what you will say, that you will insist that the responsibility is yours. You are wrong. My flag flies over this squadron, and while it does I will pilot the affairs of my officers and in particular those of my own captain.” His voice sounded bitter as he added, “Ever since my brother deserted to the American Navy there have been those who have been eager to bring discredit on my family. My father suffered because of it, and more than once I have been a ready target for their malice and plotting. Adam too, but then you know that. So I shall not have you brought down merely because it might hurt me.”

  “You really think that someone intends you harm, sir?”

  “I have no doubts at all. But nobody will expect me to release you from responsibility and take it on myself.” No wonder Pullen, the carrion crow, had seemed so confident.

  The realization chilled him, angered him with the same intensity as when he had almost ordered the last broadside on the French two-decker.

  He heard himself say, “Let me deal with it my own way, Val. Then we can go after the real enemy, if it is not already too late!”

  Keen watched him and saw the emotions, like the lines on a chart. Perhaps Bolitho’s injury had affected his reasoning more than he realized. Keen had heard about the attacks on Bolitho’s family, the way it had been used in the past to prevent promotion or stem recognition which had been bravely earned.

  But surely, in the middle of a campaign, nobody would be mad enough to exploit such deep-rooted malevolence?

  Keen said, “Just so long as Zenoria is safe, sir.”

  “She is merely being used, Val. I’m certain of that.” He turned as the midshipman called, “Rapid’s signalling, sir!”

  Bolitho watched the flags breaking from the yard and heard Keen say, “You can see the signal, sir!”

  Bolitho tried to conceal his excitement. “Well enough.” He turned towards the poop. The other bandage would come off and to hell with Tuson’s gloomy predictions. When Inch came aboard he would find his admiral again, not some faltering cripple. He strode beneath the poop and only once lost his balance as the ship dipped into a long trough.

  The scarlet-coated sentry made to open the door for him but Bolitho said, “No need, Collins. I can manage.”

  The marine gaped after him, astonished that Bolitho had even remembered his name.

  Yovell looked up startled from the desk, his spectacles awry as he saw Bolitho stride through the door.

  “I want to prepare some instructions for Captain Inch of the Helicon, Mr Yovell. After that I will receive that gentleman on board before we part company again.” He watched Yovell opening drawers and searching for a new pen.

  “And after that I shall want Midshipman Hickling to lay aft, if you please.”

  Yovell nodded. “I understand, Sir Richard.”

  Bolitho eyed him keenly. You don’t, but never mind.

  Yovell said, “The surgeon is waiting to see you, sir.”

  Bolitho leaned both hands on his chair to study himself in the mirror. The small cuts had almost healed, and his eye looked almost normal. Even the occasional pricking sensation was less noticeable.

  He said, “Send him in.” He tugged the bandage. “I have a job for him directly.”

  Allday came through the other door and watched anxiously as Bolitho prepared to remove the bandage.

  “If you’re sure, sir?”

  “I shall want you to perform as a barber later on.”

  Allday glanced at Bolitho’s black hair. It looked suitable, he thought. But he knew better than to say or do anything which might dampen Bolitho’s new mood.

  Tuson made no bones about it; he even raised his voice as
he said hotly, “If you won’t listen to me, at least wait until you can be examined by someone more qualified, sir!”

  The bandage had fallen to the deck and Bolitho had tried not to flinch or bunch his fists as Tuson had examined the eye for the hundredth time.

  “It is no better,” he said at length. “If you will but rest it, I—”

  Bolitho shook his head. The vision was misty, clouded, but the pain held back as if surprised by his sudden action.

  “I feel better, that is the important thing.” He turned to Tuson and added simply, “Try to understand, my friend.”

  Tuson closed his bag angrily. “If you were a mere common seaman, Sir Richard, I’d say you were a damned fool.” He shrugged. “But you are not, so I will say nothing.”

  Bolitho waited until the door closed then massaged his eye until he realized what he was doing.

  Then he stared at himself in the mirror for several seconds. He would find and destroy Jobert’s squadron no matter what. And, like Inch, when his men looked to him at the cannon’s mouth, they must find confidence and not lose heart.

  To the cabin at large he said, “So let us be about it.”

  During the five and a half days it took for Argonaute to take passage to Malta, Bolitho remained for much of the time in his quarters. It allowed Keen time and scope to complete his repairs, and to change his watch-bill whenever he discovered a weakness in his company. Gun and sail drill, he kept them at it on each monotonous day. They might curse their captain, but the results were clear to Bolitho as he heard the creak of gun trucks on deck or the yells of the petty officers as they drove some reluctant landmen aloft to the dizzy yards.

  As he studied his orders and information he was conscious of their slow progress, sometimes only six knots, often less. He became very aware that it would take just as long to return to his patrol area if the enemy decided to move.

  He trusted Inch as a skilful and experienced captain. He did not lack initiative, but often hesitated about using it. It troubled Bolitho, for over the years Inch with his eager horse-face had become like a brother.