In the King`s Name

9 JUSTICE OR REVENGE

HUGH MORGAN, the cabin servant, lurked behind his pantry door and watched his captain’s shadow move past, pacing toward the stern windows again. After all their months together he thought he knew most of Bolitho’s moods: with Onward cleared for action and shuddering to the crash and thunder of a broadside, or reeling through a storm in Biscay or the Western Approaches. Or simply waiting, like this, on edge without knowing why.

They had entered harbour quite early, in the forenoon watch, with all the usual bustle and what seemed conflicting orders, to the stamp of feet and sound of gear being hauled across the deck above and other shouted demands. Now it was afternoon, and would soon be the first dog watch. Morgan’s ears recorded these things without careful attention; they were part of his daily life.

He had been on deck when they had entered harbour. The experience was always different. Even the harbour itself and the anchorage seemed larger than when they had left it for the outpost optimistically called New Haven. He had already heard several of the sailors suggesting other, less pleasant names for it.

The guardboat had guided them to their new anchorage, closer to the moored flagship, Medusa. Morgan had heard Luke Jago remark that it would be harder for the admiral to launch another surprise attack without being spotted by the duty watch. He had said a few other things too, less polite. Jago might be a brave and loyal friend to his captain, but he would never be asked to wait and serve at the table.

The officer in the guardboat had apparently brought word from the flagship requesting Bolitho’s presence aboard during the afternoon watch. The admiral was otherwise engaged with “important visitors.”

He clucked with disapproval. What did the admiral think he was saying? The landing party, the slaughter at the mission, the sea burials, and the captain was still waiting. Dress uniform coat folded over a chair, sword and belt lying across the bergere where the admiral had sprawled during his visit. I’ll wager his servant could tell a few tales if he ever got the chance…

The shadow stopped moving, and Morgan opened the pantry door.

“Can I tempt you with something, sir? A glass, maybe?”

Adam shook his head, although he appeared more relaxed. “I expect the admiral is reading my report. Unless the officer of the guard dropped it overboard!”

Morgan sniffed and brushed some invisible dust off the small desk. More likely the admiral was still enjoying a lavish meal with his guests. Morgan had made a habit of studying the various officers he had served over the years and considered himself to be quite an expert at it. When he had been on the quarterdeck briefly this morning it had been a case in point. A new frigate was anchored in Onward‘s previous place, a fifth-rate of thirty-eight guns. So new, in fact, that she was not yet fully registered in the Navy List, described only as Portsmouth, building. Her name, Zealous, was shining in the early sunlight. He had heard Bolitho say, “A fine command for somebody. A lucky man, whoever he is!”

Julyan, the sailing master, was more outspoken, as usual. “Has a friendly hand on his shoulder, if you ask me!”

Morgan had seen the first lieutenant’s face at that moment, clearly recalling how close he might have come to being given command of Onward.

Adam walked to the centre of the cabin and glanced up at the partly opened skylight. He could smell fresh paint: one of the cutters was being freshened up after running aground during the landing, Drummond, the bosun, silencing a few audible grumbles with, “Keep you out of trouble for a bit longer, eh?”

So unlike New Haven. Here, the local boats pulled and paddled as close to the warships as they dared, displaying their wares and offering their services. In a couple of craft, each with the sternsheets protected by screens, there had been women, reclining and smiling.

Drummond had said, “You’ll get more than a smile if you take a run ashore with any of that lot!”

Adam had reached the stern windows again, and stared across the water toward the other frigate. To casual onlookers she might appear a twin of Onward. He could remember …

Morgan called, “The surgeon, sir!”

The sentry was holding the screen door wide open, and Adam could see members of a working party lingering and watching as Murray took the young woman’s hand to guide her over the coaming.

Murray said, “I was just told, sir,” and stood aside for her to enter the cabin. “Otherwise I would have waited.”

Adam held out his hands. “A boat has arrived for you. I sent word earlier.” He felt her hands close around his. They were warm now, but she was shivering. “It is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

She nodded slowly, the hair on her forehead parting to reveal the bruise. “It is for the best. My friends there will expect it. After that, I will have to make plans.”

He walked with her to the stern. “I am waiting to present myself to the admiral, otherwise I’d escort you in person.”

She gazed unblinkingly at the waterfront and the buildings shimmering in the heat. “I can see the parent mission from here. My father was once …” She did not finish it. “So, good-bye, Captain Bolitho. I will not forget you, or your men.”

Morgan stood by the screen door, blocking it, and muttering angrily to someone outside. Then he turned and said apologetically, “The lady’s boat is alongside, sir.” He peered around. “Is there anything I can do?”

She was about to say something, then her expression changed. “My bracelet! Your lieutenant found it and put it in the strongbox.” She unfastened her cuff and touched the bandage. “All my worldly goods.”

They walked away from the cabin, toward the shaft of sunlight streaming down the companion ladder.

Adam offered his arm but she said, “I can manage, Captain!” Then she twisted round toward him. “One day …”

The silence was intense, as if the ship was holding her breath.

She smiled. “I am ready.”

Drummond was here now, his silver call swinging from his neck. “Sorry, sir. Took me all aback!”

Adam was still not accustomed to him as bosun, but it was rare to see Drummond disconcerted by anything or any one.

They climbed into the light, where some of the senior hands had formed an impromptu guard of honour to the gangway, and a bosun’s chair had been rigged by the entry port. Somebody ran from the opposite side and slithered to a halt. It was Midshipman Hotham, a signal slate wedged beneath one arm. He could barely take his eyes from the girl in sailor’s garb.

“Signal from Flag, sir! Captain to repair on board.” He swallowed. “Shall I acknowledge, sir?”

Nobody moved, and Adam heard the newly arrived boat being warped closer alongside.

He took her arm and turned her toward the watching faces. He said quietly, “Let him wait.”

Someone had climbed up from the boat, and was holding out some sort of afternoon shawl and a wide-brimmed straw hat with ribbons. Claire spoke to him by name. As she tied the ribbons beneath her chin, she waved the shawl aside. “I feel more suited to this, thank you.” She was still smiling, but very close to breaking down.

Vicary, the purser, pushed some seamen aside and held out a small package. “From the strongbox, ma’am.” He smiled also, which was rare for him. “I was asked to make certain you received it.”

She said nothing, gazing past him toward the boat tier. Squire was standing there with his working party, all of whom were waiting simply to see her depart.

Adam knew it was as near as Squire would come, and that Murray was hovering watchfully, and yet it was as if they were alone together. She unwrapped the bracelet and held it as though for Squire to see, then she kissed it and put it inside her midshipman’s shirt.

Two seamen helped her climb into the bosun’s chair; others seized the tackle and waited for the order to hoist.

A voice yelled hoarsely, “Give ‘er a cheer, Onwards! We don’t want ‘er to go!”

The response was immediate and deafening. Even the cook and his helpers emerged from cover and were waving and shouting with the rest. Adam felt her gripping his arm, as if unable to break the final contact; her dark eyes were filling her face.

Across the water, men aboard the new frigate had manned the side to join in the farewell, although they could not have understood it.

She said, “I pray that if we meet again …” She could not continue, but pulled Adam’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. Then she waved at the upturned faces and tensed, holding tightly as Drummond shouted, “Easy, lads! Hoist away!”

Her shadow crossed the hammock nettings and dipped slowly over the side. Only then did Murray speak.

“A brave young woman. She wasn’t expecting a farewell like that. I shall join her now.” But he lingered, watching the men beginning to disperse, some still peering down at the boat with its insignia, a blue osprey, painted on either bow. Some of them had already seen it at the smouldering mission, amidst its grisly remains.

“I shall miss her, and that’s the truth.” Murray strode toward the entry port without looking back.

Vincent had climbed onto the gangway, and beyond him Adam could see the Royal Marine guard and side party already in position.

“When you are ready, sir.”

Morgan had brought the sword, and helped him to adjust it, his face troubled. Routine was taking over again, and most of the decks were clear. Adam glanced aft where Squire was now standing alone, looking toward the shore. Once, he raised his arm as if to wave, but let it fall back to his side. Her boat was well clear by now, and Adam saw Murray sitting beside her in the sternsheets. She did not turn her head.

He walked toward the entry port where Drummond and his mates were waiting, calls moistened and poised.

“Attention on the upper deck!”

Adam returned the salutes and raised his hat to the flag as he went down the side, where Jago had moored the gig without wasting a moment, always with one eye on the flagship.

“Busy day, Cap’n?”

“And not over yet.” But Adam’s eyes were still on the other boat, even as it disappeared beyond a clutter of moored barges.

Jago waited until he was seated before adding warily, “She’ll be lookin’ for justice, I reckon.” His words were almost lost in the ripple of movement beneath the gig, but moments like these were never shared. And the captain knew it.

He realised that Adam had turned to face him, and his voice was cold and calm. “If she were my girl, only revenge would suffice.”

“Welcome back, Captain Bolitho!” The flag lieutenant touched his hat as Adam walked away from Medusa’s entry port, and the stamp and shrill of salutes. The first lieutenant was in charge, and had explained that Captain Tyacke was escorting the admiral’s visitors ashore. He seemed surprised and pleased that Adam had remembered his name when they had only met once, and very briefly.

The flag lieutenant turned aft and said, “We have all been extremely busy-” One bell chimed from the forecastle. “The admiral will receive you now.”

They had reached the shadow of the poop when he added suddenly, “I watched you enter harbour and anchor today. It was later than expected, of course.”

Adam retorted, “We were quite busy, too!” It must have taken more out of him than he knew. “Forgive me. No reason to bite your head off.”

The lieutenant said with dignity, “I was going to say, sir, that I read your report. It made me very proud.”

Two Royal Marines snapped to attention, one shouting, “Captain Bolitho, sir!”

The flag lieutenant murmured, “I shall be close by if I’m needed, sir,” and effaced himself.

A servant Adam did not recognise opened the screen door to the great cabin and he saw Rear-Admiral Giles Langley sprawled in a deep leather chair beneath the skylight, his heavy coat with the gold epaulettes tossed across a cabinet, and his discarded shoes even further away, as if he had kicked them off.

Langley did not stand up. Instead, he waved languidly toward another chair and said, “Come and take the weight off your feet, Bolitho!” He patted the front of his own straining waistcoat, grinning. “Not that you need to, by the look of it!”

He snapped his fingers. “A glass for the captain!” and laughed, but broke off in a fit of coughing. “An’ another for me. I deserve it!”

Adam looked around the cabin. It was much as he remembered it, but the stern windows were not now hidden by curtains, and the sun reflecting from the anchorage seemed dazzling.

Langley’s fair hair had been neatly trimmed and was even shorter than on the previous visit, and his eyes were gleaming like blue glass in the glare. The servant had been carrying out a wastebasket, the contents of which might have been bottles. Langley and his guests had not been too busy with affairs to enjoy themselves.

Langley patted the arms of his chair. “What d’you think of this beauty? Got the idea after visiting Onward.” His mood changed just as quickly. “I read your report, of course. Just as well I sent you down there. Otherwise it might have taken months before the facts became known.” He frowned so deeply that his eyes almost vanished. “And the missionary’s daughter? Ashore now, recovering?” He did not wait for an answer, a habit of his, apparently. “Probably never will.” He dabbed his eyes. “There to help others, but when they need it this is too often their reward!”

“She is at the Osprey Mission, sir.”

“Hmph. Best solution. A civil matter, as far as we’re concerned. Our work is still at the sharp end.”

He heaved himself abruptly from his new chair and took several deep breaths. “And you spoke with Sir Duncan Ballantyne?” He moved to the broad stern windows and leaned against a frame. “Gave nothing away, I take it?”

“He’s sent some of his militia to the mission, until …”

“Yes, yes, but what’s he like? Friend or foe? Or just another opportunist lining his pockets under the King’s protection?”

The servant padded softly back into the cabin and placed two crystal goblets on a table.

Langley turned sharply. “Over here, man!” and Adam could see the sweat shining on his forehead. The servant was filling the glasses. Brandy: he had smelled it as soon as the door had opened for him. “You can leave it!”

Langley’s mood seemed to change again, and he waved his goblet expansively toward the harbour. “What d’ you think of that new frigate, eh? A damn fine sight, especially these days. His first command, too.”

Some of the brandy was running down his wrist, staining his sleeve. Tyacke was probably used to this sort of behaviour. He could cope with just about everything.

Adam said, “Who is her captain, sir?”

Langley shrugged vaguely. “Somebody called de Vere. George de Vere. Know him?”

“There was an Admiral de Vere, but …”

Langley snorted with laughter. “His uncle, no less! Fair sailing for some, eh?” He swung round angrily and snapped, “What is it now, dammit? You don’t buy a dog and bark yourself, do you?”

It was the flag lieutenant. “I am very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Well, you have! What’s so important this time?” He attempted to thrust his foot into one of the shoes and almost lost his balance.

The flag lieutenant said, “Onward‘s surgeon is come aboard, sir.” He did not take his eyes off the admiral, but he was speaking to Adam. “He wishes to see the captain.”

Langley grunted. “Sawbones. I hate ‘em!” Then he waved dismissively. “Well, send him in.”

Murray stepped into the cabin and bowed, ever so slightly. “My apologies, sir.” He was looking at Adam. “I thought it might be urgent, sir.”

“I gathered that!” Langley had picked up a telescope and was training it toward something on the frigate’s quarter.

Murray said in a low voice, “We had almost reached the Osprey stairs when,” he paused as the telescope stopped moving, “I thought she was having a relapse. I had to restrain her.” He glanced at Langley’s powerful shoulders, framed against the restless water. “She had seen a ship she seemed to recognise. Said it had been near the mission. It’s here now.”

Langley lowered the telescope. “She’s quite sure of that? Women often make mistakes about …” He snapped the telescope shut and strode across the cabin. “Dundas’s daughter? Where is she now?”

Murray said, “With me, sir.”

Langley sat down. “Well! That will have all the tongues wagging!”

“I was careful, sir.”

But Langley was already on his feet again. “And she’s the only available witness!” He returned to the quarter windows. “Today, of all bloody days-” He turned, his face in shadow. “She will have to identify the vessel herself.”

Murray said curtly, “I am not at all certain we can ask that of her.”

Langley snapped, “Don’t ask. Tell her!” and looked up at the skylight, suddenly calm again. “You are my senior captain, Bolitho, until James Tyacke returns. And you are directly involved, in any case.” His mouth moved in what might have been a smile, but Adam could not see the expression in his eyes. “I leave it in your hands. But this is not a battle, remember?”

“I shall send word, sir.”

The flag lieutenant followed them from the cabin, still glancing nervously over his shoulder.

Adam said, “I shall want my gig,” and to Murray, “I am sorry you had to endure that.”

Murray walked lightly, keeping pace, his hawkish profile withdrawn. “I am still not convinced …”

“I doubt she would have been mistaken. So let’s find out, shall we?”

Medusa‘s first lieutenant was waiting for them on deck. “Your gig is here, sir.” And to Murray, “The schooner you were asking about is the Delfim. Came in yesterday, taking on cargo.” He looked toward the flag lieutenant, who was still hovering nearby as if listening for a summons from aft.

Adam saw Jago standing in the gig, two of his crew holding the hull steady.

The first lieutenant added, “Delfim is under Portuguese colours, sir.” He shaded his eyes to look across the water at Onward. “Do you need some extra hands?”

Adam shook his head. “Time might be getting short.” He was thinking aloud. “A few spare cutlasses would be welcome.”

“Good as done, sir.” He gestured to a bosun’s mate. “What about the young lady?”

Adam said, “I’m afraid she’s a part of it,” and looked over at the gig once more. Claire was sitting in the sternsheets, the wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face; she could have been an ordinary passenger. Even the oarsmen were sitting on their thwarts, apparently unconcerned.

“Watch your step, sir. The officer of the guard will be doing his rounds in the last dog.”

Adam walked to the side. “I hope it won’t come to that.”

Nobody moved as he climbed down the side; there was no ceremonial this time. Murray followed him into the boat and sat beside Claire Dundas.

“I am not in favour of her coming to confront these people.”

The wide-brimmed hat turned slightly. “I want to be with you,” she said. “Don’t you see?”

Adam leaned over but did not touch her. She was very calm; even her breathing was controlled.

He said, “Trust me,” and thought he saw Jago nod. “Trust us.”

They were moving, and faces were watching them from the flagship’s open gunports, men stopping work on the forecastle to saunter alongside, keeping pace until the gig gathered speed. It had to be now. Few secrets in a busy harbour could be kept for long.

The girl reached out and laid her open hand flat on Murray’s arm. “If?”

He covered it with his own, and said only, “When.”

They were pulling abeam of some moored lighters, and there was the Delfim, lying alongside another landing-stage. She was a topsail schooner which, properly handled, could give a larger vessel, even a frigate, a run for her money.

The small figurehead the girl must have seen and remembered was a leaping dolphin, like a miniature replica of Onward‘s own. A bare-backed figure was stooping beneath the foremast, polishing something that occasionally caught the sunlight; he did not look at the gig. Some tackle was already coiled nearby. The loading, or unloading, was finished.

Adam stared along the boat, watching the regular stroke of oars, the familiar faces looking aft but somehow avoiding his eyes.

Jago said, “They’ve got a brow lowered, Cap’n. Larboard side, forrard.”

Adam glanced at the tapering bowsprit, and the gleam of water between hull and scarred timbers. He snapped, “Now!”

Jago was ready, swinging the tiller-bar hard over before easing it against his hip, his eyes fixed on the narrowing gap ahead.

“Boat yer oars!” He swore under his breath. “Stand by to fend off forrard!”

But for some it was already too late. An oar blade splintered before it could be withdrawn, and one of the bowmen was struck by his loom as it jammed in its rowlock, and was sent sprawling.

Adam clambered over the side and steadied himself against the end of the brow. A grapnel slithered past him but held fast as the seamen hurried to join him, each one snatching a cutlass as he jumped ashore. One man stayed in the gig with Murray and the girl.

There were shouts and the sounds of running feet, and Adam saw men coming from aft.

Something slithered over the side, a boathook or boarding pike. It was gone.

Adam reached the top of the brow and heard someone yell in English, “It’s the navy, fer Christ’s sake!”

Others had appeared on deck, staring at the sailors and the bared cutlasses, and one said, “What is the meaning of this?”

Adam rested his hand on his undrawn sword. “Are you the master?”

The man shook his head, staring at Adam’s uniform, noting his rank. “Bosun.” He waved vaguely at his men. “An’ most of them are Portuguese.” He folded his arms. “This vessel is registered as such.” Then he twisted round as he noticed the three people still in the gig. “What’s all this, a joke or somethin’?”

Jago called, “In position, Cap’n!”

The bosun said hoarsely, “You’re goin’ to be real sorry for this, Captain-”

“I command here!”

The newcomer had appeared through a hatch, half dressed, with a towel hanging carelessly around his neck. He was pulling it slowly up and down. “I am Pecco!” His eyes flicked around at the armed seamen. “Arthur Pecco. And who might you be, may I ask? A full captain, no less!”

He did not wait for a reply. “I know this intrusion is your right. And I understand, in these difficult times. We have finished loading.” He shrugged. “Coconut oil. You can look for yourselves, if you must. But I am about to step ashore. We sail tomorrow.” He made a crude gesture at one of the crew. “Don’t stand there dreaming, Miguel! Work!”

Adam said, “I wish to see your charts. And the log.”

Adam heard Murray clear his throat, and when he had Adam’s attention he gave an imperceptible shake of the head. The girl had boarded also and was standing a pace behind him, gazing fixedly at the schooner’s master.

“So if you will excuse me, Captain, I have work to do.”

He grinned and dabbed his cheek with the towel. There was a trace of blood on it.

Like facing an enemy, Adam thought, out of nowhere. Gunports open, ready to fire. And in his mind he saw Luke Jago, razor poised for the much-needed shave. He said, “Did your man have a beard, Claire?”

“What the bloody hell are you saying? I’ll see you broken for this!”

Jago was there. “Keep yer mouth shut, Mister Pecco.”

The girl’s voice was very quiet, but not subdued. “Yes, it’s him. I should have known immediately.”

“What is she saying?” It was almost a scream.

Adam put out his hand protectively, but she was very calm, and her eyes remained on Pecco.

She said softly, “I remember the beard. How could I forget?” Her fingers were unfastening the buttons of her shirt, and before Adam or Murray could stop her she had dragged it down over her shoulders and turned them toward him. “I felt it when you did this to me!”

She tore the dressing away, so that the scars seemed raw and untreated where she had been bitten. She was saying, almost to herself, “He was the first.” She did not look down as Murray gently fastened her shirt. “Then he watched the others …”

Adam said sharply, “Search him!” He beckoned to one of his men. “Take a message to the officer of the guard.”

Jago said, “Here now, by the sound of it, Cap’n.” There was a jacket in his hand, but he was holding up a medallion on a thin chain. “Yours, missy?”

She snatched it and pressed it to her lips. “My father’s.”

The Delfim’s master tried to push one of the seamen aside. “You’ll never prove a charge of slavery against me!”

Jago seized his arm and twisted it behind him. “No need, matey! You’ll swing for murder!”

Murray had managed to pacify the girl and had seated her on a hatch cover. He pulled a flask from his pocket, and said, “Against doctor’s orders, but it will help.”

There were more shouts as booted feet thudded across the brow and onto the deck. Marines.

Murray said, “I’ll take you to the mission, Claire. It’s safe now.”

She was staring at the scarlet uniforms as they hurried past, and whispered, “Where’s the one you call Jamie?” Then she collapsed.

Adam saw Murray supporting her head on his folded coat, while he murmured and stroked the hair gently from her face.

“Up to us now, sir.”

And Adam heard the voice in his mind respond.

It is up to me.

Captain James Tyacke waited for his cabin door to close, then seized Adam’s hand and shook it warmly.

“I hate to drag you aboard at this hour. I’ve only just returned myself!” He strode to the stern windows and stared across the water. It was still broad daylight, but darkness came suddenly, and they both knew that all the lanterns would be burning within the hour.

In another part of the flagship’s hull someone was singing, in time to the scrape of a violin.

Tyacke said to the window, “Our lord and master has gone ashore again. I don’t know where the man finds the strength,” and faced Adam once more. “I heard about this proposed passage in Delfim. I think you’ve done more than enough already.” He half smiled. “I wish I was going with you.”

Adam said quietly, “I’ve chosen some good hands, and I’m leaving my first lieutenant to carry the load.”

“Vincent. A good fellow.”

Adam recalled Vincent’s expression when he had been told. He was far from pleased.

“You’ll take extra care, I hope.” Tyacke might have been thinking aloud. “That poor woman you rescued-is she reliable?”

Adam thought of her confrontation with Pecco, if that was his real name, the naked courage in her face. “I trust her.”

Tyacke looked at him keenly, eyes very blue in the ruined face. “I’ll make damn sure no unauthorised vessel leaves harbour before, or when, you do.” He tugged out his watch and opened its cover. “Meanwhile, I’ll be right here.” Then, “You’ve been a flag captain yourself, so I don’t have to remind you. If you do the right thing, your superiors will get the credit. If you fail, you’ll take the blame.”

He closed the watch gently and held it for a moment. “A gift from Sir Richard, bless him.”

They walked to the door together. It was time.

Adam said, “And these important guests of the admiral’s? Hard going, was it?”

Tyacke was feeling his pocket as if to ensure that the watch was secure. “Guests? Useless popinjays, as far as he’s concerned. Only one of them matters, just between ourselves.” He paused. “I’ll leave you here,” then seemed to recall what he had been about to say. “The Honourable Sir Charles Godden, no less. I see you’ve heard of him.”

Adam said nothing.

“Well, he’s now become head of the First Lord’s advisory staff. Member of Parliament as well. So our lord and master may have other things on his mind.”

It was like hearing Duncan Ballantyne’s own words. Promotion or oblivion.

Adam clipped the sword to his belt and said, “Sir Richard is still with both of us!”

He was suddenly impatient to begin.