by Wilbur Smith
Yet he had no call to feel out of place, for he was wearing the new burgundy-coloured velvet suit that he had had tailored for the occasion, and the buckles of his shoes were solid silver. Around his neck he wore the order of a Nautonnier Knight of the Order of St George and the Holy Grail, which had belonged to his father and grandfather before him. It was a magnificent decoration: on a massive gold chain hung the golden lion of England with ruby eyes, holding in its paws the globe of the world with diamond stars of the heavens twinkling above. It matched in splendour any of the myriad other orders and medals that glittered down the length of the gallery. At his hip hung the Blue Neptune sword, the blue sapphire, big as a pullet’s egg, glowing on its pommel, the scabbard worked in gold inlay.
At that moment an avuncular grip closed on his elbow and Hyde’s voice murmured in his ear, ‘I am pleased you could come. We need not waste too much time here. ’Tis but a gathering of peacocks showing off their tails, but there are some it might be worth your while to meet. Let me present you to Admiral Shovel. He is to be the governor of the new naval shipyards that the King is building at Devonport, and there is Lord Ailesham, a good man to know – he gets things done.’
Oswald Hyde led Hal adroitly through the press and each knot of men opened invitingly at his approach. At Hyde’s introduction they studied Hal keenly, noting him as someone of importance simply because he was the protégé of the Chancellor. Hal realized that Hyde was working his way gradually towards the panelled doors at the end of the gallery, and once there he took up a position where they would be among the first to encounter whoever came through.
Hyde leaned closer to Hal and murmured, ‘His Majesty signed your commission in cabinet yesterday.’ He slipped the roll of parchment out of his sleeve. It was tied with a red ribbon and secured by a wax imprint of the Great Seal of England: ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense’. ‘Guard it well!’ He placed it in Hal’s hand.
‘Have no fear,’ Hal assured him. That scrap of parchment might be worth a vast fortune, and a peerage.
At that moment there was a stir, and a murmur ran along the gallery as the doors were thrown open. William III, King of England and Stadholder of the Netherlands, stepped through on small neat feet in slippers encrusted with seed pearls and gold filigree. Everyone in the gallery bowed in unison.
Of course, Hal had known of his deformity, but the actuality came as a shock. The King of England stood not much taller than Dorian, and his back was hunched, so that the scarlet and blue mantle of the Order of the Garter rose in a peak behind his small bird-like head, and the massive gold chain of the order seemed almost to weigh him down. Beside him his wife, Queen Mary II, towered over him, although in truth she was only a young, slender girl in her twenties.
The King saw Hyde immediately and nodded for him to approach. Hyde bowed low before him, sweeping the ground with his hat. Two paces behind, Hal followed his example. The King looked at him over Hyde’s back. ‘You may present your friend,’ he said, in a heavy Dutch accent. He had a deep, strong voice out of place in such a childlike form.
‘Your Majesty, I present Sir Henry Courtney.’
‘Ah, yes. The mariner,’ said the King, and he gave Hal his hand to kiss. William had a long beaked nose, but his eyes were wide set, bright and intelligent.
Hal was amazed that he had been so readily recognized, but he said, in fluent Dutch, ‘May I assure Your Majesty of my loyal devotion.’
The King looked at him sharply and replied in the same language. ‘Where did you learn to speak so well?’
‘I spent some years at the Cape of Good Hope, Your Majesty,’ Hal replied. He wondered if the King knew of his imprisonment at the Dutch castle there. William’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement, and Hal realized that he did – Hyde must have told him. Strange it was that this King of England had once been its bitter foe, and that as a soldier he had bested many of the English generals who now stood along the gallery ready to pay him deep respect and allegiance.
‘I expect to have good reports of you before long,’ said the little man, and the Queen nodded to Hal. He bowed again as the royal entourage moved on down the gallery. Hal’s presentation was over.
‘Follow me,’ said Hyde, and led him surreptitiously to a side door. ‘That was good. The King has a remarkable memory. He won’t forget you when the time comes to claim those rewards of which we spoke.’ Hyde held out his hand. ‘These stairs will lead you down into the courtyard. Farewell, Sir Hal. We will not meet again before you sail, but I too expect to have good reports of your exploits in the Orient.’
The two ships went downriver in company. The Seraph led, with the Yeoman of York trailing her by two cables’ length. The Seraph still had workers from the shipyard aboard. They had not been able to complete her final fitting out by the date they had so faithfully promised, but Hal had sailed nevertheless. ‘I will send your men ashore when we reach Plymouth,’ he had told Master Greene, the ship-builder, ‘if they have finished their work when we reach there. If they haven’t I shall drop them in the Bay of Biscay and let them swim home.’ The handling of the ship was still clumsy as the crew settled in. Hal glanced back over his stern and saw how, in sharp contrast, the Yeoman’s crew worked their sails with speed and expertise. Edward Anderson, the captain of the Yeoman, would be watching him too, and Hal flushed with mortification at the ineptitude of his men. That would change before they reached Good Hope, he vowed.
When they reached the open water of the Channel, the wind veered and strengthened into an autumn gale. The sun went behind the clouds and the sea turned sullen green and boisterous. The night came on prematurely, so that the two ships lost contact with each other in the darkness before they passed Dover.
For some days the Seraph slogged into a head-sea but at last they were off the Isle of Wight and Hal found the Yeoman only four miles distant and on the same tack as he was.
‘Good!’ He nodded and closed his telescope. He had reserved his judgement on Anderson. The Yeoman’s captain was a burly Yorkshireman, red-faced, unsmiling and taciturn, who, it seemed, resented having Hal placed in authority over him. But during those first days he had proved that, if nothing else, he was a reliable seaman.
Hal switched his attention back to the Seraph. Already the crew’s ship-handling was improving with practice in these conditions, and the men seemed cheerful and willing, as well they should. Hal had offered good wages to secure the best, making up the difference over what the Company offered out of his own pocket.
At that moment the three boys came pelting up the companionway together, released by Master Walsh from their studies. They were excited and boisterous, showing not the least sign of sea-sickness after their time afloat in half a gale. Aboli had been able to outfit them with seagoing clothing in London, where there were numerous chandlers along the docks. They were better turned out than Hal had been when he sailed for the first time with his father. The old man had not believed in spoiling him, and he remembered the petticoats of rough canvas and the tar-daubed pea-jacket, stiff with salt crystals, that had rubbed him raw under his arms and between his thighs. He smiled ruefully at the memory of how he had slept beside Aboli on a damp straw pallet on the open deck, with the other common seamen, had eaten his meals crouched behind the shelter of one of the guns, using his fingers and dirk to spoon the stew out of his pannikin and break the hard biscuit, had used the leather bucket in the heads for his private business, and never bathed from the beginning of a voyage to the end. It did me little harm, Hal recalled, but on the other hand it did me little good. A lad does not have to be reared like a pig to make him a better seaman.
Of course, the circumstances of his first voyages with his father had been different. The old Lady Edwina had been less than half the size of the Seraph, and even his father’s cabin had been a dog-kennel compared to the spacious stern cabin, which was now at Hal’s disposal. Hal had ordered the workmen to partition off a small section of his own quarters, hardly larger than a cupboard, and build three
narrow shelves to serve as bunks for the boys. He had signed on Master Walsh as captain’s clerk, over the tutor’s protestations that he was no seaman. He would continue his instruction of the boys, using his own tiny cabin as a schoolroom.
Hal watched now with approval as Daniel seized the whooping skylarking boys as soon as they appeared on deck, and sternly sent them to the duties he had devised for them. He had separated the twins, placing Tom in the starboard watch and Guy in the other. They were always a bad influence on each other. Guy’s proximity encouraged Tom to show off, while Tom distracted Guy with his antics. Dorian was sent to the galley to help the cook bring up the breakfast.
Hal felt a pang of anxiety that Daniel might send the twins aloft to help handle sail, but he need not have worried: the time would come for that when their sea legs were hardened and they had learned to balance easily on the heeling, plunging deck. For the time being, Daniel kept them on the open deck, helping to handle the sheets.
Hal knew he could leave the boys under the big man’s watchful eye, and turn his attention to the problems of his own seamanship. He paced up and down the quarterdeck, tuned now to the hull beneath him, the feel of how his ship responded to every alteration and trim of sail. She’s down in the bows, he judged, as she took a green wave on board and the water streamed back down the deck and poured out through the scuppers. Over the last days he had been visualizing how he could reload the cargo in the hold, especially the heavy water-barrels, to achieve the trim he wanted. I can put two knots of speed on her, he estimated. Childs was sending him on a warlike expedition but, nevertheless, the main concern of the East India Company was always profit and the Seraph’s hold was crammed with a variety of trade goods for delivery to the Company factories at Bombay.
While part of his mind was busy with the loading and trim, the other part was on his crew. He was still short of watch-keeping officers. This was the main reason why he was putting in at Plymouth instead of hauling away directly to round Ushant on the French coast, cross the Bay of Biscay and head south for the bulge of the African continent and eventually for Good Hope. Plymouth was their home port, and Daniel and Aboli knew almost every man, woman and child in the town and surrounding countryside. ‘I can fill the watch-bill with the best men in England within a day of setting foot on the Plymouth dock,’ Daniel had boasted to Hal, who knew it was true.
‘My uncle Ned sent word that he will be waiting for us there,’ Wilson had said, to Hal’s satisfaction: he had set his heart on having Ned Tyler aboard the Seraph.
Apart from the necessity of finding crew there were other reasons for this detour. Powder and shot were virtually unobtainable in London. The Irish war had led to the shortage of munitions and now, with a French war in the offing, the Admiralty was hoarding every barrel of powder and every round of shot. It had even embargoed the factories to take every scrap of their production.
One of the warehouses Hal owned at the Plymouth docks was piled high with powder kegs and iron shot. He had stored these here in preparation for the last voyage of the Golden Bough, which he had been forced to abandon when Dorian’s mother had died and left him with a baby to care for. Although several years old, the new powders Hal had stored did not deteriorate as fast as the older types and should still be in good condition.
The final reason for the stop at Plymouth was that Childs had passengers for him to convey to the Company’s factory at Bombay Island: they would be waiting for him in the port. Childs had not told him how many he was sending and Hal hoped they would be few. Accommodation was at a premium in any ship, even one of Seraph’s size, and some of his officers were bound to be evicted from their cabins to make space for them.
So engrossed was Hal with all these problems that it seemed little time had passed before they had the Isle of Wight abeam. Then they were rounding Gara Point, heading down the Sound past Drake’s Island, and Plymouth Ho was opening before them. On shore, a few dozen idlers had seen the two fine ships coming down the Sound and had lined the waterfront to watch them tie up.
Daniel stopped beside Hal and murmured, ‘Do you see that head of silver hair shining there like a beacon?’ He pointed with his chin towards the quay. ‘You cannot miss it, can you now?’
‘Dear God, it’s Master Ned.’ Hal laughed.
‘And that’s Will Carter with him. Ned must have laid a line on him,’ Daniel agreed. ‘A good lad is our Will. With him as third and Ned as mate, looks like you’ve got all your watch-keepers, Captain, sir.’
As soon as they tied up alongside Ned Tyler was the first on board, and Hal had to restrain himself from embracing him. ‘It’s good to see you, Mr Tyler.’
‘Aye,’ Ned agreed. ‘And she’s a pretty little ship you have under you, but she’s down in the bows and her sails look like a bunch of dirty shirts on washing day.’
‘You’ll have to see to that, then, won’t you, Ned?’ Hal said.
Ned nodded lugubriously. ‘Aye, that I will, Captain.’
Despite the condition of the roads, Aboli had made good time down from London with the carriage and he was waiting on the dock, sitting on the box with the horses still in the traces. Hal gave orders to Daniel to begin bringing the powder down from the warehouse and to have the Seraph’s water-barrels off-loaded onto the quay so that they could be reloaded with better attention to her trim, before he called the boys to join him and went to where Aboli waited with the horses. Guy followed his father dutifully, even with a certain amount of relief.
On the other hand, Tom and Dorian climbed the gangplank onto dry land only after elaborate delaying tactics, including protracted farewells to all those members of the crew with whom they had made friends. They had taken to shipboard life as though born to it. Which, of course, they were, Hal thought, and grinned. ‘Come on, you two. You may return tomorrow to help Big Daniel with the reloading.’ As soon as they had scrambled onto the box beside Aboli, Hal said, ‘Take us up to High Weald, Aboli.’
A while later, as the carriage passed through the gate in the stone wall that marked the boundary of the estate, Tom looked ahead and saw a single rider crossing the moor at a canter, aiming to intercept the carriage at the foot of the hill. There was no mistaking the tall figure dressed all in black on the back of the black stallion, coming from the direction of the tin shaft at East Rushwold. Dorian saw Black Billy at the same time, and moved a little closer to Tom as if for protection, but neither boy spoke.
William put the stallion to the hedge. Horse and rider sailed over, the black cloak billowing out behind, and landed easily, then turned up the road immediately to meet the oncoming carriage.
William ignored Aboli and his two younger brothers on the box, but wheeled his horse to canter alongside. ‘Well met, Father!’ he greeted Hal through the carriage window. ‘Welcome back to High Weald. You were sorely missed.’ Hal leaned from the window, smiling with pleasure, and the two fell at once into an animated conversation. William recounted everything that had taken place in Hal’s absence, with special emphasis on the running of the mines and the reaping of the grain harvest.
They were coming up the last hill to the big house when suddenly William broke off, with an exclamation of annoyance. ‘Ah! I forgot to mention that your guests have arrived from Brighton. They have been here two days awaiting your coming.’
‘My guests?’ Hal looked mystified.
William pointed with his riding-crop to the distant figures on the far lawns. A large, solid gentleman stood with a lady on each arm, while two girls in brightly coloured pinafores were already racing each other across the grass to meet the carriage, squealing with excitement like steam from a boiling kettle.
‘Girls!’ said Dorian, with disdain. ‘Small girls!’
‘But a big one also.’ Tom’s sharp eyes had picked out the slimmer of the two women on the arms of the portly gentleman. ‘Damned pretty too.’
‘Have a care, Klebe,’ Aboli murmured. ‘The last one landed you in deep water.’ But Tom was like a hunting dog on poi
nt to the scent of a bird.
‘Who on earth are they?’ Hal asked William irritably. He was engrossed in fitting out a ship for a long voyage and it was not the time to have uninvited guests at High Weald.
‘A certain Mr Beatty and his brood,’ William answered. ‘I was told you were expecting them, Father. Is that not the case? If so, we can send them packing.’
‘Damn me!’ Hal exclaimed. ‘I had almost forgotten. They must be the passengers on board the Seraph as far as Bombay. Beatty is to be the new auditor-general for the Company factory there. But Childs never mentioned he was bringing his whole tribe with him. This is a nuisance. Four females! Where, in the devil’s name, will I find berths for all of them?’
Hal concealed his annoyance when he stepped out of the carriage to greet the family. ‘Mr Beatty, your servant, sir. Lord Childs has given me good reports of you. You had a pleasant enough journey down to Devon, I trust?’
The truth was that he had expected the family to find lodgings in the port rather than to arrive at High Weald, but he put a good face on it and turned to greet the wife. Mrs Beatty was full-fleshed, like her husband, for they had sat at the same dining-table for twenty years. Her face was red and round as a child’s ball, but little girlish curls peeped out from under the peak of her bonnet. She gave Hal an elephantine curtsy.
‘Enchanted, madam.’ Hal told her gallantly.
She giggled when he kissed her hand. ‘May I present my eldest daughter, Caroline?’ She knew that, apart from being one of the richest men in Devon and a great landowner, Sir Henry Courtney was a widower. Caroline was almost sixteen, and lovely. There was not more than twenty-five years’ difference in their ages, she estimated, the same as between Mr Beatty and herself. They would all be on a long voyage together, plenty of time for friendships to ripen, and sometimes dreams became reality.