COLOURS ALOFT!

4. BAIT

WITH THE crash of a salute lingering in the air the small squadron came round into the wind and anchored in succession.

Bolitho stood by the nettings and saw the relief on Keen's face. The manoeuvre was executed well despite so many new hands throughout the ships.

He turned and looked up at the great towering mass of Gibraltar. In the past it had always been a refuge, a safe anchorage; now it seemed edged with menace.

There were few men-of-war present, and they were moored clear of the jetty near the other convict ship Philomela and some local craft. Several guard-boats plied slowly back and forth. Bolitho saw that they carried redcoats and each mounted at least one swivel. It was as bad as that.

"We call the other captains aboard today."

He saw Keen training his telescope on one of the boats which was pulling towards the flagship. "Aye, sir. I think we have a visitor."

The boat paused, the oars backing water below the main-chains while the crew stared up at the two-decker as if she was part of another world.

A post-captain stood in the sternsheets and squinted up at the quarterdeck.

"I cannot come aboard, Sir Richard! I have to tell you that the Governor has taken charge here; the admiral is ill." He kept his voice unhurried and level as if well aware of the countless ears and eyes which were gauging the danger.

Bolitho walked to the entry port and stood looking down at the boat. Each man in it would probably give all he owned to be allowed on board, even though he might bring the fever with him.

The sunburned captain in the boat called, "I have sent a courier brig, Firefly, to Lord Nelson."

It was strange that only Inch had ever met the little admiral and had rarely ceased to tell of it. Now Adam might meet him.

The captain added, "I understand that officers' wives are taking passage in your squadron, Sir Richard. I have to tell you that if they land, they must do so now. It is their right to be with their husbands if they so wish. But they cannot leave until this fever is broken."

Bolitho saw the Orontes swinging to her anchor, a guard-boat idling nearby to deter anyone from trying to swim ashore.

It would require a lot of planning. Water, supplies, repairs. The squadron would need them all and more.

"I have despatches from the Governor, Sir Richard." A satchel was being lifted to the main-chains on a boat-hook. Bolitho saw Carcaud, the lanky surgeon's mate, leaning down to seize it in a flannel bag. Tuson was taking no chances even with that.

Bolitho felt Keen watching him as he called, "All the ladies are astern of me in Helicon. I have one woman aboard my ship."

The captain shrugged apologetically. "If she is not of the garrison, Sir Richard, I am ordered to inform you no other person can be landed."

The boat began to move away, the oars stirring unwillingly. The captain raised his hat. "I shall collect the ladies now, sir!" The contact was broken.

Keen lowered his voice. "You did not tell him that the girl is a prisoner, sir?"

Bolitho watched the flannel bag being carried aft.

"I do not recall that he asked, Val." He left a patch of shade and stared up at the Rock, its ancient Moorish castle shrouded in heat haze.

"The Governor might easily have shut her in a cell, Val. He has raised a state of seige here, one girl more or less would stand no chance."

Keen stared after him, knowing that his lieutenants were waiting with their demands and lists.

Bolitho had to search through his despatches and compare them with his instructions from the Admiralty. It was a great responsibility to his ships and his men. But he had still found time to think about the girl named Zenoria. It was unnerving.

He turned and looked at his officers. "Well, Mr Paget, where shall we begin?" His face was quite calm; he was the flag-captain again. If one hint of this matter reached higher authority Bolitho's name would be smeared too. And yet he had not hesitated.

By the boat tier Allday peered up at the green-painted barge and frowned. It would not be lowered, here at Gib anyway. He climbed up to peer into the sleek hull, biting his lip as if he expected the hot pain to surge through his chest again. The boat was half filled with water. The seams would not open in the sunlight. He glanced down at Bankart and grinned.

"You've made a good start, lad." He was pleased although still dazed by the change of events which had given him a son. That was the strange thing. They spoke a lot with each other, but apart from Bankart's dead mother they had nothing in common except the Navy. But he was a pleasant lad and did not abuse his small authority of second coxswain as some might.

Allday dropped to the deck and said, "Time for a wet. We'll not be needed just now." He glanced aft. "The admiral's too busy for chatter."

Bankart ducked beneath a gangway and asked, "What is he like? I've heard tell you've been with him since-"

Allday eyed him fondly. "Since around the day you was born, I reckon. A fine man. Brave, an' loyal to his mates."

He thought of the girl in midshipman's clothing. All bloody hell would break if Keen wasn't careful. He had heard some of the seamen laying odds on whether the captain had had his way with her. "All right for the officers, eh, lads? Poor Jack is the one to suffer!" Allday had silenced that one with his fist, but there would be plenty more who thought as much.

He said, "I'll take you with me to the house when we gets home. It's a grand place, but they found room for me like one o' their own."

The mention of Falmouth made him suddenly uneasy. He had seen Bolitho's dismay change to resentment over something Lady Belinda had said or done.

Allday would back Bolitho anywhere against all odds, but he felt sympathy for his lovely wife. It could not be a smooth passage to follow in Cheney's shadow. Bolitho would have to accept this. There was no going back.

He shook himself out of his mood as he caught the heady aroma of rum.

"A good wet, that's what we need."

The surgeon was standing just inside the door of the makeshift cabin, wiping his strong fingers on a cloth, as Keen appeared. Keen glanced at the Royal Marine sentry and saw that his blank face was wet with sweat, for despite the hastily rigged windsails to every hatch the air felt hot and sluggish. "How is she?"

Tuson eyed him for several seconds. "I've removed the dressing, sir."

Keen walked past him and saw the girl sitting on a stool, her hair released from its ribbon and covering her shoulders.

He asked, "Does it still hurt very much?"

Her eyes lifted to his. "It is bearable, sir." She moved her shoulders warily beneath the shirt and winced. "It feels stiff." She seemed to realize that her borrowed shirt had fallen open and dragged it together quickly.

Then she said, "I heard what happened today. About me." She looked up and he saw the anxiety stark in her eyes. "Will I be sent to that ship again, sir? I'll kill myself before-"

Keen said, "No. Don't speak of it."

Tuson watched from the door. The tall, elegant captain and the long-haired girl on the stool. Miles apart and yet there was something like a shaft of light between them.

He cleared his throat. "I'll fetch some ointment for that scar, my girl." He looked at Keen and added quietly, "I shall be about ten minutes, sir." Then he was gone.

She asked, "Would you like to sit with me, sir?" She gestured to a heavy chest. Then she smiled. It was the first time Keen had seen her smile. She said, "Not what you're used to, I'm sure." Her sudden confidence left her and she added huskily, "I am sorry."

"Don't be." Keen watched her hands in her lap and wanted to hold them. "I wish I could make you more comfortable."

She lifted her gaze and watched him steadily.

"What is it you want of me?" She sounded neither angry nor frightened. It was as if she had been expecting him to demand freely what she had already been brutally forced to give.

Keen said, "I want to take care of you." He looked at the deck. He thought she would call for the sentry or, worse, laugh at him and his clumsiness.

Without a word she moved from the stool and knelt down against his legs and rested her head on his knees.

Keen found that he was stroking her long hair, saying meaningless words, anything to prolong this impossible moment.

There were footsteps on a companion ladder and outside the door the sentry dragged the butt of his musket across the deck. Tuson was coming back.

Then she looked up at him and he saw that her eyes were streaming with tears, could feel them wet through his white breeches.

"You mean it, don't you?" The words were torn from her.

Keen stood up and raised her to her feet. Without shoes she barely reached his chest.

He touched her face, and then very carefully as if he was handling something precious and delicate he lifted her chin with his fingers. "Believe it. I have never meant anything so much."

Then as Tuson's shadow moved between them he stepped back through the door.

Tuson watched them, surprised that he could still feel so emotional after what his trade had done to him. It was like sharing something. A secret. But it would not remain one for long.

Ozzard and his assistants had brought extra lanterns to the great cabin so that the windows overlooking the harbour seemed black by comparison.

It was the first time that all the captains of Bolitho's squadron had been gathered together like this. There was an air of good humour and perhaps some relief that they were staying away from the fever.

Keen waited until all the goblets had been filled and then said, "Pay attention, gentlemen."

Bolitho stood by the windows, his hands tucked behind him under his coat-tails.

A landsman would be impressed, he thought; his little band of captains made a fine sight beneath the slowly spiralling lanterns.

Francis Inch was the most senior, his long face empty of anxiety or concern about anything. Keen, the only other post-captain, looked tense as he glanced at his companions.

His mind was still turning over what had happened between him and their passenger. One good thing had occured, Bolitho decided. A Jamaican girl, one of the servants who had been travelling with the garrison wives, had pleaded not to be sent ashore. In view of the Governor's order this seemed a suitable solution for a companion for Zenoria Carwithen. It would not stop the speculation but might halve the gossip.

Philip Montresor of the Despatch was a young, eager-faced man, who was not in the least daunted by the solitary epaulette on his right shoulder. Next to him, Tobias Houston of the Icarus looked old for his rank and had indeed gained it by a roundabout route through John Company and later the Revenue Service. He had a round, hard face like a weathered nut, and a mouth little more than a slit.

Commander Marcus Quarrell was leaning across to whisper something to Lapish, who had commanded his brig Rapid before him. Quarrell was a lively, friendly man from the Isle of Man. But his humour was failing with Lapish who still looked sunk in gloom.

Lieutenant Hallowes of the cutter Supreme was also present and quite rightly, he was as much a captain as any of them. For the present anyway.

They were a mixed bunch, Bolitho thought. The whole fleet must be like this as their lordships tried to produce ships and men for a war which even an idiot should have expected.

He looked over their expectant faces, the gold and blue of their uniforms, the confidence he had heard in their voices.

He said, "Gentlemen, I intend to sail with a minimum of delay. In his despatches the Governor has informed me that an East Indiaman will be arriving any day now to take passage around the Cape of Good Hope. With her trained company and heavy artillery she will be able to offer a suitable escort to the two convict vessels until they are clear of French interference. I am sure the Governor will be able to persuade the grocery captain."

They all laughed. The HEIC was not known for losing time on a fast passage no matter for what reason.

It hid Bolitho's relief. He had been afraid that the Governor might demand one of his ships for the task; there were too few already without that.

He continued, "This is unlike the blockades of Brest and the Bay. There, foul though it is for the ships involved, they can be relieved and sent to England for restoring or repairs in a couple of weeks. In the Mediterranean there is no such relief. Toulon is our main cause of anxiety; to watch the enemy and discover his intention will need constant vigilance. But where can we go for our supplies and, even more important, our fresh drinking water? Gibraltar is eight hundred miles from Toulon, and Malta about the same. A ship sent from Malta might be away from her admiral for over two months." He smiled wryly. "Pleasant for her captain maybe," he saw them grin, "but in the meantime the enemy could be away on the wind. I have no doubt that Vice-Admiral Nelson has already found a possible solution. If not, I intend to act independently." He could see the captains of the seventy-fours considering what he had said. Each ship carried fresh water for only ninety days, and that was on a restricted ration. They had to find a source of water above all else.

"You must continue regular gun and sail drills at all times. Apart from improving both it will keep the people occupied."

There was a smell of food and he guessed that Ozzard was waiting to serve dinner for the gathered captains.

He said, "We will speak later, but do you have any questions?"

Montresor got to his feet. Like Keen he had fair hair and the fresh complexion of a schoolboy.

He asked, "Are we to blockade the French at Toulon and the other ports, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho replied, "Not entirely. Our main task is to catch them if they break out, and destroy them. They will be testing us, remember, feeling our strength as well as our ability." He saw Keen's face. He alone knew what Bolitho had left until now.

"There is one French squadron, newly formed, but not yet reported in Toulon."

Even as he said it he found it hard to believe, impossible to accept.

"Rear-Admiral Jobert commands it." He saw their exchange of glances; for some it had not sunk in.

He looked round the great cabin. "This was his ship, gentlemen. We took it from him some five months ago." How had Jobert managed it? To obtain an exchange with some British prisoner of equal rank perhaps, but Bolitho had heard of no such arrangement.

"He will know our movements, also that my flag flies above the squadron. He is a brave and resourceful officer and will be out for revenge."

Inch leaned forward and bobbed. "We'll finish him this time!"

Bolitho looked at the three junior officers. "Your importance is paramount. I have no doubt in my mind that Jobert was behind the trap laid for Barracouta." It was little more than a guess, but fitted what he knew about Jobert. The look of gratitude on Lapish's face more than made up for it. He would not repeat his mistake.

Bolitho said, "Jobert may intend to seek out any small, detached vessel and destroy her and so leave the flagship deaf and blind."

With his ex-flagship and Helicon, another French prize, trailing their coats in his waters, Jobert would need little encouragement to level the score.

At the back of his mind Bolitho wondered if Admiral Sheaffe had known about this when he had last seen him. An encouragement for one was a goad for the other. Perhaps I am the bait?

Keen murmured bitterly, "We should have done for him there and then!" It was unusual for him to sound so vehement.

Worrying about the girl and what would become of her now that they were moving deeper into the Mediterranean? What should be done with her? Perhaps, after all, his plan had gone wrong and might eventually do her some real harm.

He thrust it from his mind. The war would not wait. It was something greater than any of them had known.

He said quietly, "So let us dine together, gentlemen."

Inch beamed. "And think of our loved ones, eh?"

Captain Houston gave a thin smile. "Some can do more than think about them to all accounts."

Keen looked pale but managed to remain silent.

Bolitho said, "Captain Houston, I am not sure if that was meant to be offensive? If so, then I am offended." His grey eyes were suddenly hard. "I am waiting."

The silence was oppressive like the humidity in the cabin.

Houston met Bolitho's gaze and said hesitantly, "I meant no offence to you, Sir Richard."

"I am glad to know it." Bolitho turned aside. Houston was a fool. Worse, he might become the weak link in their slender chain.

He thought of Inch's words which brought Houston's response. I shall write to Belinda tomorrow. But the thought remained motionless in his mind, like a cloud.

As the others made their way towards the long table with its gleaming candles, Keen said urgently, "It is beginning, sir, I blame myself. I would not have had this happen-"

Bolitho faced him and, ignoring the others, gripped his arm with sudden force.

"Say no more on the matter. Tomorrow, next week maybe, we could join our lost friends, or be whimpering as our parts drop in Tuson's wings and limbs tubs." He tightened his grip still more. "It is something you could never have foreseen." Then he smiled and released his hold. "In truth, Val, I damned well envy you." He turned away before Keen could speak.

Two days later, as a lordly East Indiaman dropped anchor in the bay, Bolitho's squadron weighed and put to sea in watery sunlight. Throughout the squadron every purser was worrying over fresh water and rations, and each captain considered the need to be sparing with cordage and canvas as they sailed farther and farther from the land.

A thousand miles ahead of the squadron the little brig Firefly lay hove-to under the flagship's lee.

Adam Bolitho stood on the broad quarterdeck and glanced across at the other ships and then up at the vice-admiral's flag at the fore. Like his uncle, and yet it was all so different. Several other visitors were aboard, and the flagship's own captain had barely paused to offer him a nod.

The solitary epaulette counted for very little here, he thought. But the challenge and the thrill of making his first rendezvous in his own command still held him. Even sighting the Rock in all its majesty had seemed exciting and personal. And now he was here in the old Victory, ignored perhaps, but here.

He shaded his eyes to look across at his small command. She was young and alive, the way he felt.

He owed it all to his uncle, although he would be the first to deny it. Adam sighed. It was his uncle's birthday tomorrow, although without someone to remind him he would let it pass unnoticed. He would more likely be thinking of the day after, two years exactly since he had married Belinda at Falmouth. They had been a hard two years, much of them spent at sea, as was the way of the Bolitho men. Now there was little Elizabeth, but something was missing.

The flag-lieutenant joined him on the quarterdeck and eyed him curiously.

"The secretary is completing the despatches you are to carry. It will not take long." "Thank you."

"In the meantime Lord Nelson would be pleased to receive you. Please follow me."

Adam walked aft, his mind awhirl. He was twenty-three years old and with Firefly had thought he had everything.

A voice announced, "Commander Adam Bolitho, my lord."

In fact it was just beginning.