Sword of Honour

15. The Next Horizon

Catherine Somervell gripped a vibrating stay and felt her cloak lift around her legs in the gusty wind. She had become used to ships and had always respected the sea, even before she had learned so much about its moods and hidden cruelties from the man she loved.

Grace and Bryan Ferguson had been openly despairing about her decision to take passage to Malta, and even Nancy, with the sea in her blood, had been concerned.

Catherine had travelled in all kinds of vessel, from humble merchantman to the ill-fated Golden Plover. None could compare with the East India Company's lordly and powerful Saladin. Even in the unreliable waters of the Bay of Biscay, Saladin, as large and imposing as any naval three-decker, had made the voyage more of an adventure than a discomfort.

She pulled the cloak tighter around her; it was the faded boat cloak of Richard's which she used for her cliff walks, doubly welcome now, like an old friend.

It was strange that she had hardly seen or spoken with Sillitoe since they had departed from Plymouth five days ago. There were a dozen other passengers, mostly merchants and their wives, privileged to be in this ship which was sailing to Naples to restore the severed links between Britain and the Neapolitan government after the escape of Naples from French rule, and the bloody recriminations which had followed it.

Strange, too, that Sillitoe should hold the same important role as her late husband, Viscount Somervell. although his appointment had been by the King when he had been in the early stages of madness. Whatever else the Prince Regent might appear to the public, he was genuinely determined to recoup the losses in trade brought about by the years of war with France.

She heard some sailors laughing together as they ran to deal with some rebellious cordage. Richard had told her a great deal about "John Company' and its ships. Carrying trade to the ends of the earth, and when their flag was hoisted, it rarely came down. Well-manned and armed to full capacity, the company's ships were a match for any pirate or privateer, and had won several battles with enemy men-of-war. Richard had spoken of them with a kind of wistfulness, if not envy.

"Their men are well-paid and cared for, and carry a protection against impressment. They are true seamen, not held against their will. Perhaps when all this is over, Adam will be in a position to see those conditions in his navy. Think of that

Sillitoe had touched only briefly upon his actual business in Naples, except to confirm that he was going to sign a new treaty and an agreement on trade. Nelson was still remembered there for his part in crushing the rebels and their French protectors, although Sillitoe had referred to the Neapolitans as 'fiddlers, poets, whores and scoundrels'. He had smiled at her surprise, and had added gently. "Nelson's appraisal, not mine."

She watched the gulls cutting back and forth across the ship's high stern and thought of the open boat, and their survival. Tonight those gulls will sleep in Africa. And the day after tomorrow, Saladin would anchor at Gibraltar. There might even be news of Richard and his ships.

One evening she and Sillitoe had supped alone, the other passengers apparently too sickened by Biscay. Even her new companion and maid, Melwyn, had crept quietly into her cot.

While they had sat listening to the sea against the hull and the muffled voices of men on deck, Sillitoe had said, "I fear you cannot remain in Malta for long. When this ship returns from Naples, you must leave with her." He had given that fleeting, wry smile again. "With me. Nobody may question my arrangements; you have no such protection. In Malta 's society, there would be talk of scandal. It could harm Sir Richard." He had looked at her very directly. "I can always offer that defence against envy and hypocrisy, things you know only too well. I can sometimes turn such hostility aside, and use it to advantage."

Not once had he mentioned Oliphant and his attempt to rape her.

She had spoken to only a few of the other passengers, but had enjoyed her daily conversations with the captain, a bluff and very experienced officer who had once served in the navy as a lieutenant. He seemed much older than the captains she had met through Richard: boys who became men in the aftermath of battle.

And there was a master's mate, whom she had seen watching her when she had been walking on the poop. Not unlike Allday, a true man of the sea; like so many sailors he had been almost too shy to speak to her.

He had served with Richard in a frigate named Tempest, and it had been like sharing a fragment of his past. Richard had told her of the ship and her cruise in the Great South Sea, when he had almost died of fever, and Valentine Keen's first love, a Tahitian girl, had fallen to the same fate.

The man had fumbled with his belt and had said, "We'm all that pleased to 'ave you aboard with us, m'lady. There's many o' th' lads who've served with Sir Richard Bolitho or knows all about him." Then he had grinned, the shyness suddenly gone. "We'll ne'er see his like again!"

She could almost hear Allday say. An' that's no error.

She could think of nothing but seeing him again: the reality of leaving so soon afterwards must not spoil it. She had agreed, they were Sillitoe's terms for this privileged passage. She had learned from one of the officers that Saladin would not have been calling at Malta but for Sillitoe's instruction. Powerful indeed…… Almost hesitantly, she thrust her arm outside the cloak and studied her wrist in the hard light. The marks were still there, like the memory of the cord tightening around her arms.

If he knew, or sensed in some way… We have no secrets. It was easy enough to say.

And she remembered Sillitoe's last words at their undisturbed supper, while the sea and the wind had boomed around them, but she had felt no fear.

He had said quietly, "I am a willing party to this, and you must be sensible of my feelings for you. But I am curious to know what drives you… what carries you in the face of everything? Sir Richard is as safe as any flag officer can be. He has a good ship, to all accounts, and a reliable squadron. Not what he has been used to. So I have to ask myself, why?"

She had answered simply, without pausing to consider it.

"Because he needs me."

Richard Bolitho stepped into Frobisher's sick-bay and hesitated, unprepared for the brightness of its interior, the white-painted bulkhead and partitions, and the shelves of bottles and jars which rattled occasionally in time with the ship's motion. A world completely apart from the rest of the ship; Lefroy's domain. It was said that he even slept down here, rather than use one of the wardroom cabins, which, built as they were only of screens, could be torn down whenever the ship cleared for action. They were only temporary; here on the orlop deck, below the waterline, a place which had never seen the light of day since Frobisher had been built at Lorient, there was an air of permanence. On deck, in that other world, which he understood, Bolitho knew the hour was close to noon, the sky almost empty of cloud. In the sick-bay, time had no measure.

Lefroy was regarding him thoughtfully, more like a country parson than ever in the curious white smock he favoured when working among the wounded.

He said, "Another has died. Sir Richard." He sighed. Two amputations. A strong man, but……" He shrugged, almost apologetically. "Miracles are hard to come by."

"Yes. Captain Tyacke told me. Fifteen killed in all. Too many."

Lefroy heard the bitterness, and wondered at it. But he said, "His name was Quintin."

"I know. He was a Manxman. I spoke with him one night when it was his trick at the wheel." He repeated, "Too many."

He glanced at the spiralling lanterns, and said, "It's no better."

Lefroy gestured to a chair. "It was most unfortunate that the musket was discharged so close to your face. It could only aggravate the original injury."

Bolitho sat and leaned back in the chair. "I would be dead but for that Royal Marine's aim, my friend!"

Lefroy was wiping his hands, but thinking of the hours which had followed the fanatical attack on the flagship. He had only served under one admiral before, and could not have imagined him visiting the orlop as Bolitho had done, to talk with the wounded, or to take a hand in a strong clasp, and watch the life ebb from a man's face.

"I shall try this patch again." The steely fingers adjusted a patch and placed it firmly over Bolitho's uninjured eye. The fingers again. Probing, stinging, another kind of ointment. He felt the heat of a lamp, so close that he could smell the wick. His eyelid was held, the eye wide open, while Lefroy said, "Look right. Look left. Up. Down."

He tried not to clench his fists, to contain the rising fear. What he had known from the beginning, when he had been unable to see the sergeant who had been right beside him. What he had been unable to accept.

Lefroy said. "Anything?" He bit his lip as Bolitho shook his head.

"Nothing. Not a glimmer."

Lefroy replaced the lantern. He had held it very close, so there could be no deception.

He untied the patch and turned away from the chair.

Bolitho looked around him. Everything the same as before; everything completely different.

He said quietly, "As you said, miracles are hard to come by."

Lefroy said, "Yes," and watched Bolitho stand again, the casual way he adjusted his coat, then touched his hip as if he expected to find his sword still there. A remarkable man, one who had been wounded several times in the service of his King and country, although he somehow doubted if the admiral would regard it in that light.

"I shall prepare something for it, Sir Richard. It should afford you no discomfort."

Bolitho glanced at his reflection in a hanging mirror. How could it be? The same face, the same eyes, the same lock of hair which hid the deep scar there.

He thought of Catherine, that night in Antigua when he had found her again. When he had stumbled in a shaft of light. Now he would not stumble; there was nothing to deceive him.

"When we return to Malta, Sir Richard… He was caught off guard as Bolitho answered, Tomorrow morning, early, if Mr. Tregidgo can be believed."

"I was going to suggest that you might visit a local doctor. I am no expert in this field."

Bolitho touched his arm and reached for the door. "See to the wounded.

I shall be all right."

On the quarterdeck once more, he stood for a few minutes staring at the dark blue water, the spray leaping over the beak head with a movement like flying fish.

Tyacke had been waiting for him, but Bolitho knew he would never admit it.

"All well, sir?"

Bolitho smiled at him, warmed by his concern. A man who had suffered so much, and had never been allowed to forget it; who had almost broken when the woman he had loved had turned away. And all I think about is what Catherine will see when she looks at me again.

He said, "I shall walk with you a while, James." He paused. "But for Sergeant Bazely, I would not be doing that!"

Avery had been looking at the signals log with Singleton, the midshipman in charge. Bolitho had been down on the orlop for only a short while, although it had felt like hours.

He heard Bolitho say, There may be some letters for us when we anchor that would sweeten the pill, eh?"

He heard them laugh, saw some seamen look up to watch them pass.

Midshipman Singleton said, "My ambition is to be like that, sir."

Avery turned sharply, surprised by the seriousness and the sincerity of this youth who had seen men die screaming on this same deck.

He said. "Keep to your studies, my lad. One day you might remember what you just told me. I hope you do." He stared unseeingly at the open log. "For all our sakes!"

Singleton was still gazing at the two pacing figures, remembering how the admiral had gone to speak to each of the survivors from the brig Black Swan. It had been impossible to save the brig, and she had been set alight to prevent her capture and repair by the Algerines.

He would remember that most of all. Black Swan's young commander, wounded, but too stricken to accept attention while he had watched the dirty column of smoke against the blue sky. The end of his ship. He had heard the lieutenants saying it would finish his career too, at a court-martial table.

Bolitho had joined him by the nettings and had gripped his uninjured arm, held it until the other officer had turned towards him.

Singleton could still hear it. The worst lies behind you now. Think only of the next horizon.

He turned to Avery, but the tall lieutenant with the tawny eyes and the grey streaks in his hair was gone.

The first lieutenant called wearily, "When you are through with your dreams, Mr. Singleton, I would be obliged if you would bring me your log!"

Singleton stammered, "Aye, aye, sir!"

Order and routine. But for him, things would never be quite the same again.

Daniel Yovell. Bolitho's round-shouldered secretary, dripped the red. official wax on to yet another envelope before sealing it. Then he shifted slightly in his chair, and peered through the salt-dappled stern windows, where the sun was touching the bright sails of some local craft as Frobisher made her final approach. He heard Allday moving restlessly in the sleeping cabin, still brooding over the short, savage fight on the upper deck when one twist of the Algerine's great blade had rendered him helpless to defend his admiral. His friend.

Yovell's frown softened slightly. People mocked him behind his back. Old Yovell and his Bible. But it had helped him in more ways in the past than people would ever know. Allday had no such release.

He was here now, looking at the pile of letters and despatches which had kept Bolitho, and Yovell's pen, busy for much of the time since the encounter with the chebecks.

Allday asked, "What d'you think will happen?"

Yovell adjusted his small gold-rimmed spectacles. "It depends. On what orders are waiting for us in Malta. On what the patrols may or may not have discovered about the two frigates at Algiers. I sometimes wonder if anyone ever takes heed of all this intelligence." He made another attempt, for he was a kindly man. Try to forget what happened that day. You did your best. The pirate, from what I've heard, was a giant, and a savage, probably filled with some devil's potion as well as an unholy lust to kill." He added gently, "We get no younger, John. We sometimes forget that."

Allday punched one fist into another. "I should have stopped the bastard! Not left it to some bloody bullock!"

Yovell half-listened to the stamp of bare feet, and the sudden squeal of blocks as the ship began to change tack again.

He said, "Sir Richard seems well enough. I think he always knew his eye would, eventually fail him. It could have been worse. Much worse." He folded his hands on Bolitho's desk. "I prayed. I hope I was heard."

Allday turned on him, but was moved to silence by the simple assurance.

He growled, "Well, I think we should stop now. Haul down the flag an' let some other up-an'-comin' Nelson take the strain!"

Yovell smiled at that. "Within a month you'd be burrowing round, looking for some job to keep you occupied. I would lay odds on it, and you know I am not a gambling man."

Allday sat heavily on the bench seat, and glared at the nearest eighteen- pounder.

"I don't never want to become like most of the old Jacks you see. You knows 'em well enough, swingin' the lamp and sayin' how great an' fine it was to be raked by some bloody mounseer, an' to lose a spar like poor Bryan Ferguson." He shook his shaggy head. "Never! What we done, we done together. That's how I wants to remember it!"

The door opened and Avery entered the cabin. He, too, glanced at the pile of waiting letters and despatches, and shook his head.

"I don't know what drives him so!" He waved Allday back to his seat and remarked, "There might be some fleet mail for us." He peered through an open gun port "I just saw a sight, a big Indiaman, making all plain sail with the skill and swagger of a first-rate! Young Singleton told me she was Saladin, on passage to Naples. On the King's business for a change, by the sound of it."

Allday looked at him. '1 knows her, sir. We was just talking about Bryan Ferguson, back home. Him an' me went down to see her once when she dropped her hook at Falmouth."

Avery said something vague in acknowledgement. Like

Singleton, this seasoned, unflinching sailor could still surprise him. Back home…… Not many landsmen would ever understand what that meant to men like Allday, worn out by war and unready for peace. And what of me?

He could hear Ozzard rattling glasses in his pantry, preparing for the ship's first visitors after they had anchored. He smiled faintly. Dropped her hook… Yovell was saying, "In a few weeks it will be Christmas again. And we don't even know if the war with the Yankees is over."

Avery, still gazing out idly, saw another local sailing craft pass Frobisher's quarter. Eyes everywhere. The news of their destruction of the Algerine pirates would have preceded them, too. He thought of Black Swan's commander, Norton Sackville. Even in the crowded wardroom, he remained alone. Avery knew what such isolation was like, while he had been waiting for the unwarranted court martial, and had seen former friends cross the road to avoid contact with him.

Ozzard appeared and said stiffly, "Sir Richard's not here, then? Must be still on deck for entering harbour."

Allday stood up abruptly. "I'll take his sword." It was suddenly important, and he knew Avery was watching him with his steady cat's eyes.

Avery said, "It'll be a while yet. Another hour, the master informs me."

Allday took down the sword, nonetheless. Remembering all those other times, the excitement, the madness, the survival. Always the pain.

It was still damp on deck, and the air was surprisingly cool, reminding him of what Yovell had said. It was November now, but hard to compare with England 's bare trees and angry, autumnal coastline.

The watch on deck were at their stations, and Allday noticed the extra lookouts aloft for the final approach. He thought of Captain Tyacke blaming himself for losing the Black Swan; you could never be too careful with so many mindless natives controlling all these hundreds of small vessels. Not a true seaman amongst them.

He found Bolitho with Tyacke by the quarterdeck rail, shading his eyes while he watched the land opening out to greet them. There was an anchored sloop-of- war close by, her yards and rigging full of cheering seamen as their flagship passed slowly abeam.

Allday gave a satisfied grin. As it should be.

Bolitho saw him, and the sword. That was thoughtful, old friend… I was looking at the harbour, preparing myself for what we might expect."

Allday fastened the sword into place. The belt needed adjusting; Sir Richard was losing weight. He frowned. One of Unis's pork pies, now, that would be more like it.

Kellett called, "Signal that fool to stand away!" He sounded sharper than usual, on edge.

A master's mate said, "Guard boat, sir!"

Bolitho walked to the side and saw the smart pinnace with a midshipman and a captain of marines in the stern sheets coming about to lead them in; the marine stood to raise his hat in salute. He had always enjoyed the moment of entering harbour, no matter where it might be, but his heart refused to rise to it. He thought suddenly of Keen; he would be married by now, and a port admiral in his own right. He wondered who else would have been at the wedding. Bethune, perhaps even Thomas Herrick. He bit his lip. No, not Thomas. He had never healed the rift between himself and Keen.

She would be good for Val. Strong enough to stand up to his overbearing father, woman enough to help him forget.

"Guard boat is comin' alongside, sir!" The master's mate sounded shocked at such a breach of procedure.

Kellett shouted, They have a message for the admiral! Lively there, Mr. Armytage! Your people are all like old women this morning!"

"Stand by for entering harbour! Hands aloft, Mr. Gilpin!"

Bolitho raised his arm to the guard boat as the oars backed water, and swung the stem towards the sand-coloured fortifications once again.

Tyacke said, "Carry on, Mr. Kellett."

Armytage arrived on the quarterdeck, still flushing from Kellett's rebuke and the grins from various seamen. It was his first commission as a lieutenant.

He saw Avery and hurried across, a small package, wrapped in oilcloth, in his hand.

Bolitho said, "Here, Mr. Armytage!"

He felt the others watching him, as if unable to move while the ship and her tall shadow carried them forward, some invisible force in command.

Thank you, Mr. Armytage." He unfolded the oilcloth carefully, his head turned very slightly to correct the imbalance of his vision. Then the paper; for a moment he held it in his hands. A carefully pressed rose, velvet-red, as he had seen them so many times. Again he read the card, the writing he knew so well. I am here. We are together.

Avery's voice broke in anxiously. "Is something amiss, Sir Richard? Can I…"

Bolitho could not look at him, remembering yesterday's verdict from Lefroy. He answered quietly, "A miracle, George. They do happen after all."

They stood side by side on a small balcony which looked down over a cobbled courtyard and an arched entrance from the street. There was a fountain in the centre of the courtyard, but. like the cobbles, un cared for, and full of weeds browned by the Maltese sun. There were servants, unobtrusive and unseen, their presence marked by fresh fruit and wine in the room behind them.

Even the island's sounds were distant and muffled, someone singing, or perhaps chanting in a strange, quavering voice, and the regular clang of a chapel bell.

She turned slightly inside his arm, which had never left her waist since they had stepped on to the balcony. She felt his fingers tighten, as if he still could not believe it, as if he was afraid to release her, and like a dream it would all be lost.

She said, "I wanted to go to the jetty and watch you come ashore. To meet you and hold you. I wanted it so much. Instead……"

They both glanced down as an old dog turned over, panting in the sunshine before dragging itself into the retreating shadows.

He tightened his hold around her waist, thinking of the haste with which he had cut short his immediate duties to come ashore, to this quiet street, to her.

She had told him about Sillitoe, how he had arranged this passage, how even this house belonged to one of his friends or associates, someone who owed him favours. He had felt no resentment or jealousy. It was as if he had known.

As he had slipped out of his heavy coat she had told him the rest of the story, or most of it. How Sillitoe had come with his men to her aid, and had saved her.

Then Bolitho had held her for the first time, pressing her face to his, stroking her hair, his words muffled until he had lifted her chin in his fingers and had said without emotion, "I would have killed him. I will kill him."

She had kissed him, and had whispered, "Sillitoe is a law unto himself.

He will deal with it."

"He is in love with you, Kate." She had flinched at the familiar use of the name. "Who would not be?"

"I am in love with you."

He thought of the piles of despatches which had been brought by the last courier from England. Once so important; he had barely scanned them, and had left Tyacke to sift through them.

She turned again in his arms and looked directly into his face.

"I would have done anything to be here with you. When the ship sailed into the harbour and your Frobisher was not at anchor, I thought I would die." She moved against him. "And then you came. My admiral of England." She struggled with the words. "Will you be able to stay? Saladin is returning in a matter of days. If only……"

He kissed her face and her throat, and felt the pain draining away like sand. "It is more than I dared to hope for."

She led him into the room and closed the shutters. "They know you are here?"

He nodded, and she said softly, Then they will know what we are doing." He reached out for her, but she twisted away from him. "Pour some wine. I must do things." She smiled, and pushed some hair from her face. "Oh, Richard, I love thee so!" Then, like the dream, she was gone.

Bolitho thought of Avery and Allday, who had accompanied him ashore. Each unwilling to abandon him in a strange port, and yet both so determined not to display their anxieties.

And she was here. It was not another dream, wherein she was torn away from him. He felt again the anger and shock as he recalled her careful description of the attack, and what

Oliphant had intended. It was as if Oliphant represented all those nightmare figures, the rivals and lovers which were always a part of his fears.

And she had shown a courage which he could only imagine; it was not even something he could compare with the shipwreck, or their first embattled meeting aboard the Navarra.

She called through the door, "What of tomorrow?"

"I must meet the garrison commander, and receive some officials."

"Afterwards?"

He felt the sudden excitement. "I shall be meeting a very beautiful girl."

She came into the room very quietly, her feet bare, her body clothed from neck to ankles in a fine, white gown.

She put her arms around his neck and held him tightly.

"A girl? If only I still were." She gasped as he cupped her shoulders and ran his hands down her spine.

She said softly, "And I missed your birthday. It was all done in such a hurry. Perhaps I shall buy something here in Malta."

She stood quite still, her arms at her sides as he found the gold cord and pulled it towards him. The gown was so thin that, in falling, it scarcely made a sound, and she watched him, her lips suddenly moist and parted in the filtered sunlight, as he held her against him before lifting her, and carrying her to the bed.

Her fingers were like claws in the sheets as he kissed her nakedness, her mouth and her throat, each breast, with a lingering pressure which made her cry out as if in pain as her nipples hardened in his lips. Once she had dreaded that this reunion would only bring back the disgust and the terror of that night. But it was as if she had no memory, and no control at all; she felt her body writhing as he came to her and she drew him down, touching and caressing, taking him into her, as if it was for the first time.

He kissed her, deeply, and tasted what might have been tears. But their need of one another drove all reserve, all memory, into the shadows. She arched her back so that he could lift her, to join them even more closely; they were one.

She turned her head from side to side, her hair spreading across the disordered sheets, her face damp as if from fever.

"I can't wait, Richard… I can't wait… it's been so long

The rest was lost as they fell, entwined like broken statuary, and there was nothing, only the sound of their urgent breathing.

When, eventually, they stood again at the shuttered doors the shadows were deeper, and the old dog had disappeared. Together they drank the wine, neither noticing that the glasses were hot from the sun.

She put her arm around his shoulder, and did not look away when he turned his head to see her more fully.

"I know, dearest of men. I know."

He felt her move against him, and the need of her again.

She tossed the mood aside. "I am out of practice! Come, my love… I shall do better this time!"

Faint stars were in the sky when they finally fell asleep, in one another's arms.

There was a smell of jasmine in the room. The miracle was complete.