‘That is more than I do, sir.’ Trevenen stared at him. ‘If you value my word, I must tell you I am against wasting more time.’
‘It is my responsibility, Captain. I should not need to remind you.’
He heard Trevenen’s heavy feet crossing the quarterdeck, and the sudden activity as Larne’s number was bent on to the halliards.
In his mind’s eye Bolitho saw his little command: Larne leading the invisible line with Jenour’s Orcadia well up to windward, her topsails visible to the masthead lookout.
Far, far astern was the other frigate Laertes, the prize that had once been Baratte’s own flagship.
He thought of Adam when they had last met at Cape Town, the rebellion in his eyes when he had been ordered to remain with Keen’s convoy and escort. He was the vital link between them and their flag officer in Valkyrie.
Adam had argued that his place was in the van, not with the slow-moving transports. Not with Valentine Keen, he had really meant.
Bolitho had been as honest as was possible.
He had said, ‘You are arguably one of the best young frigate captains in the fleet. You have more than proved it on this station. The recapture of your prizes and Thruster’s loss must not deflect your aim. Your true worth will be at my right hand when I call for it.’ He had watched Adam’s resistance soften as he had added, ‘If I keep you with me all the while, which I am sorely tempted to do, it will reek of favouritism to the others, will it not?’
But it had proved that Catherine’s worst fear about Adam and Zenoria must be justified.
He looked at Yovell’s fat hand holding his pen, Avery making a few notes from the chart.
Whatever it was, it would have to wait. He saw Allday give his lazy grin as he said, ‘Thought I’d forgotten, did you, Sir Richard? When we was together in Old Katie?’ Even the affectionate nickname for Bolitho’s little two-decker Achates brought it all back. ‘Strange to see how things slide along. Commodore was the captain, an’ young Cap’n Adam was your flag lieutenant.’ He smiled almost shyly. ‘An’ then there was me.’
Bolitho touched his thick arm as he walked back to the table. ‘I thought I’d lost you that day, old friend.’ He spoke with such emotion that Avery and Yovell stopped to listen. Bolitho did not notice.
A midshipman tapped at the door and he saw the marine sentry’s scarlet arm out-thrust, as if the boy was not important enough to be admitted.
‘Beg pardon, Sir Richard. The captain’s respects, and Larne has acknowledged.’
Bolitho smiled at him. ‘Quite a mouthful, Mr Rees. Thank you.’
Allday murmured, ‘That’ll go through the young gentlemen’s berth, an’ that’s no error.’
Yovell said, ‘I’m ready, Sir Richard.’
Bolitho touched Avery’s shoulder. ‘I am going to put a landing party ashore. I want you to go with it.’
Avery replied calmly, ‘For the experience, sir?’
Bolitho smiled. ‘Don’t take offence at everything I say!’ He shook his head. ‘Mr Urquhart is a good officer.’ He almost added, if he is allowed to be. ‘But beneath his lieutenant’s coat there is still only a boy.’ He glanced at Allday, but not before he had seen the surprise on Avery’s face. ‘I would take it a favour if you would accompany my flag lieutenant, Allday.’
He turned, but Bolitho was already standing behind Yovell’s round shoulder, his face unusually stern with concentration.
To all captains and officers-in-charge of such vessels under my command …
He thought suddenly of the last courier schooner that had run down on them. He could not recall when it had been. One day was much like all the rest.
There had been no more letters from Catherine. He felt another touch of anxiety and concern. He could still hear her voice nonetheless. Don’t leave me …
But all Avery saw was the vice-admiral.
It took another full day, even under all the sail Valkyrie could carry, before the small island of San Antonio was sighted by the masthead. Without the other ships in company it had been strangely lonely, and many times Bolitho had seen seamen pause in their work to stare at the sea as if they expected to sight another friendly vessel.
The island seemed to rise from the ocean itself as the Valkyrie tilted to the unwavering south-westerly. It was, as Tyacke had described, a bleak place. It could have been the remaining half of an extinct volcano, on the side of which Bolitho saw the crude monastery like an extension of the terrain it was built on.
With the coming of dawn every available glass was trained on it while the sailing master and his mates studied the chart, which they had mounted near the wheel itself.
Avery joined Bolitho by the quarterdeck rail, his jaw still moving discreetly on a piece of salt pork which was too tough to swallow.
‘How long, sir?’
Bolitho rested his hands on the rail, feeling the rising heat that would soon engulf the whole ship.
‘Two hours. More or less.’ He rubbed his eye and trained the telescope once again. There was some smoke rising from a saddle in the land which he had taken earlier for haze. There was life here. He had heard that the monastery had had many changes of occupant during the course of its long life. Disease had taken a toll, and once, Tyacke had told him, all the monks had died of starvation simply because the sea had been too rough to launch any of their boats. What sort of men would give up the real world for such a demanding life, and, some would say, pointless sacrifice?
He heard Trevenen snapping out orders to his lieutenants. He was very much on edge, for the safety of his command, perhaps?
The sailing master called, ‘Steady on nor’ nor’ east, sir!’
Trevenen folded his hands behind his back. ‘Leadsman in the chains, Mr Urquhart, lively now!’
The first lieutenant was with the master. ‘But there’s no bottom hereabouts, sir.’
‘Damn it, do I have to repeat everything I say? Do as I tell you!’
Bolitho could understand any captain’s anxiety for his ship. But this place was known for its isolation, and for the impossibility of landing here without the use of boats.
Avery thought the same but said nothing. He watched Urquhart hurry past, his face flushed with humiliation at being upbraided in front of the hands.
The leadsman’s cry echoed aft. ‘No bottom, sir!’
Bolitho raised the telescope and studied the hard landscape as it continued to grow and reach out on either bow. There was a patch of green below the monastery, a possible kitchen garden.
The sea was deep, and he watched a big swell at the foot of some fallen rocks. According to Tyacke and the chart there was a tiny cluster of huts used by visiting fishermen when their favourite catch was in season.
Bolitho saw Allday lounging against an eighteen-pounder, his new cutlass already in his belt. Urquhart might resent having Avery and Allday with him, especially as he was in charge. Trevenen would see to that.
Ozzard appeared at his side. ‘Shall I bring your coat, Sir Richard?’
Bolitho shook his head. ‘No. Someone may be watching us. It is better this way.’ He saw Ozzard’s expression as he stared at the island. As if he loathed what he saw. What had done this to him?
‘No bottom, sir!’
Trevenen said, ‘Shorten sail, Mr Urquhart! Take in the t’gallants and stays’ls. We are moving too fast over the water!’
Men swarmed to the ratlines. With their captain on deck they needed no urging.
Bolitho stiffened. There was the landing place, and he could see one of the wooden huts beyond it. Even a castaway would feel wretched here.
He said ‘You may assemble the landing party, Captain.’
Trevenen touched his hat but did not look at him.
Bolitho watched one of the cutters being swayed up from the boat tier. The chosen party of men looked capable enough. They were all armed, and he saw the gunner getting ready to supervise the mounting of a swivel in the boat’s bows once it was in the water.
Urquh
art had donned his sword, and looked vaguely ill at ease as he handed over his duties to the second lieutenant.
Bolitho watched the courses being brailed up to the yards and felt the way go off the ship as she rolled heavily in the offshore swell.
He said, ‘Just make certain that all is well, Mr Urquhart. These are men of peace, and any unnecessary show of force would be resented. Discover what you can.’ He glanced at Allday. ‘And be careful.’
Urquhart nodded stiffly, very aware of his captain standing nearby with a sardonic smile on his lips.
Trevenen said, ‘Stand by to wear ship. We shall heave-to!’
It would be a hard pull for the oarsmen, Bolitho thought. Nevertheless, he sensed that the sailors who were remaining on board envied the landing party.
‘Sway out the boat!’ As Valkyrie came up into the wind with all remaining sails flapping in confusion, the selected men clambered down into the cutter alongside. The last to board were the two lieutenants. Bolitho noticed that Urquhart was careful to climb down last, as if he needed to prove that, on this occasion at least, he was the senior officer.
‘Bear off! Out oars!’
The cutter looked deceptively small in the great glassy swell, but was soon under command and cleaving through the steep water like a dolphin.
Bolitho said, ‘You may get under way again, Captain. But stand no further offshore.’
Valkyrie steadied again as the courses and topsails were reset, and with neither Allday nor Avery to talk to he felt strangely depressed. Instinctively he reached up to his damp shirt and touched the locket inside. I am here. You are never alone.
He rubbed his left eye and winced. It must be getting worse. They must never know.
He took up the telescope again and looked for the boat but it was merging with the shore, moving briskly towards the landing-place, possibly aided by an undertow.
He went down into the cabin and dabbed his eye with water.
Yovell said gently, ‘Is there anything I can do, Sir Richard?’
He dropped the cloth, angry with himself. He had told others to delegate and to trust those they commanded, so what was the matter with him?
He answered, ‘I think everyone believes I am wasting time.’
Yovell smiled inwardly. Bolitho meant the captain. ‘Never mind, Sir Richard. Mr Avery and Allday will get a warm welcome. Fresh faces must be more precious than Christianity in this place!’ He was surprised as Bolitho turned to stare at him, his eyes wild in the reflected light. Then without a word he snatched the old hanger from the bulkhead, and was still buckling it around himself as he ran to the companionway.
‘Captain Trevenen!’ He swung round blindly, unable to see him, caught off-guard by the sun’s power. ‘Heave-to immediately!’ He saw the others looking at him as if they thought him mad. Dyer, the second lieutenant, was turning to the captain, not knowing what to do.
Trevenen sounded very calm, almost defiant. ‘You ask me to perform some strange things, Sir Richard!’
‘I am not asking you. Just do it!’ He could not resist adding, ‘Do I have to repeat everything I say?’ It was petty, and later he might regret it. But there was no time. Above the squeal of blocks and the boom of canvas he shouted, ‘I want two boats, a squad of marines in each one!’ Men seemed to be scampering in all directions, dodging the hands at the braces and halliards as they brought the ship into the wind again.
Bolitho saw Plummer, the sergeant of marines, near the nettings and called, ‘Your best marksman and lively with it!’ There was no time to seek out the debonair Captain Loftus. It might already be too late.
Why did I not think?
‘I demand to know what is happening, Sir Richard! As officer appointed to command …’ Trevenen got no further.
‘Damn your eyes, sir! Stand closer inshore and watch for signals!’ Then he was over the side and scrambling over the tumblehome into the nearest boat.
‘Let me, Sir Richard!’ It was Captain Loftus of the marines. He was actually grinning. ‘I guessed something was up!’
Bolitho stared round, barely aware that the boats were away from the frigate’s side, the oars thrashing at the water until they found the stroke.
It seemed so wrong without Allday at his side. I should never have sent him.
‘Can you tell me, Sir Richard? I appear to be the only officer present.’
Boitho gripped his arm. They will think me insane.
But thank goodness Loftus was keeping his head. He peeked over the oarsmen as they dipped then rose above him, their eyes grim and intent. The shore seemed no nearer.
He said, ‘My secretary saw it. I did not. It was a feeling and nothing more. Because I had nothing left.’
‘Sir?’ He was trying to understand.
Bolitho asked sharply, ‘Is the marksman with us?’
Loftus nodded. ‘Behenna, Sir Richard. From your part of the world, I understand.’ He smiled. ‘A poacher, in fact. It was a choice between the Corps or the rope. I am not sure if he believes he made the right decision!’
The casual humour did more than anything to steady Bolitho’s racing thoughts.
‘Tell your poacher to load his piece now. If ordered to shoot I fear there may be blood on my hands.’
The word ran through the boat and then the other one, so that men tightened their grip on the looms while others reached down in the bottom boards for their weapons.
The marksman in the bows turned and stared along the length of the boat at the vice-admiral in his flapping shirt, with the old blade between his knees.
Bolitho lifted one hand towards him. The poacher was trying to tell him something with a glance. Like the young seaman that day with the bruise of a starter on his bare shoulder.
Suppose things went badly wrong? He touched the locket again and knew Loftus was watching him. Don’t leave me …
It seemed so wrong that Yovell, the most peaceful and unwarlike person he knew, should have seen it, and pondered on the island’s total lack of welcome.
In his heart he answered her. Never. What he had said when they had abandoned the Golden Plover. And had lived to tell of it.
He heard the boom of water in some cave below the cliff and knew they were closer. He gripped his sword with all his strength and whispered, I’m coming, but he spoke only to himself.
‘It all seems quiet enough.’ Lieutenant Urquhart looked at the others, his frown deepening. ‘Well, we’re here, so I suppose we shall have to search the place, though it is God’s truth I know not for what!’ He glanced around for a boatswain’s mate and snapped, ‘Protheroe, take your party to the huts yonder. Find out what you can!’ He pointed at a young midshipman. ‘You go with them, Mr Powys, and take charge!’
Avery murmured to Allday, ‘What were you saying to Sir Richard?’
Allday grinned, but his eyes were on the rocks. ‘I says a lot o’ things to Sir Richard.’
‘About the place where you were so badly wounded.’
‘Oh, when we were in Old Katie together?’ He watched the little midshipman strutting away with the party of seamen. He was the one who had caused the man Jacobs to be flogged until he had eventually died under the lash. Little toad, he thought.
Then he said, ‘At San Felipe, it was. Just after you were released from a French prison, I reckon.’ He saw the shot strike home. Always the pain.
Surprisingly Avery gave a rueful smile. ‘Even prison was better than this god-forsaken place!’
Urquhart seemed rather desperate. ‘I shall go up to the monastery, if that’s what they call it!’
Avery watched him. The first lieutenant was seeing all the pitfalls, and the end of it when Trevenen would vent his temper on him.
‘No need, sir.’ Allday eased his cutlass very slightly in his belt. ‘The old fellow himself is coming down to us.’
Avery wondered if he would ever get used to Allday’s humour. But there was awareness too, like a fox on the prowl when a hunter is near. They all looked up the path th
at led from the monastery’s crumbling outer wall. It was so steep in places that here and there crude stairs had been hacked out to give access.
Avery watched the slow-moving figure in the brown robe, the hood pulled up over his head to keep out the wet, salty breeze. Each stair, like the stones of the building itself, had doubtless been cut by hand. He turned to seek out the frigate, but she had moved or drifted around the out-thrust spur of land. To see the water so empty sent an unexpected chill up his spine.
He shook himself angrily and looked at Urquhart. It was obvious he did not know what to do.
The figure was nearer now, still moving at the same steady pace. In one hand he carried a long, polished staff on which he leaned occasionally as if to get his breath. When he drew nearer Avery could see the fine carved crucifix on the top of the staff, below which was a plain gold band. It was probably the most valuable object in this dismal hole, he thought.
Urquhart said urgently, ‘He must be the abbot! You see, I was right. There’s nothing to worry about!’ When Avery said nothing he insisted, ‘He will demand to know what we’re doing on this – this sacred land!’
Allday spat in the sand but Urquhart was too agitated to notice it.
Avery said, ‘Tell him, then. If he becomes unreasonable, we can give him some ship’s stores. Can we not?’
Urquhart nodded, relieved. ‘Yes, I shall.’
Allday grunted. In ten minutes Urquhart would imagine it was all his idea. He knew that Bolitho thought the first lieutenant would be a good officer. He chuckled. But not this week.
The abbot stopped on one of the last stairs and held up the staff so that the crucifix faced Urquhart and his companions. Then he shook his head firmly while he held the staff. It all took place in complete silence, but he might have been denying them entry into the monastery with a voice like thunder.
Urquhart had removed his hat and now gave a brief bow.
He said, ‘I come in the name of King George of England …’
The abbot stared down at him, his eyes expressionless. Then he shook his head several times.
Urquhart tried again. ‘We mean no harm. We will leave you in peace.’ He turned helplessly and exclaimed, ‘He speaks no English!’
The Darkening Sea Page 25