Cross of St George (23 page)

Tyacke checked the compass again, impatient to make contact with the senior ship of the escort and then lay his own ship on a new tack for their return to Halifax.

Carleton called, “There is a frigate closing, sir, larboard bow.” He was peering at the bright hoist of flags, but Tyacke said, “I know her. She's
Wakeful
…” Like an echo, Carleton called dutifully, “
Wakeful
, 38, Captain Martin Hyde.”

Bolitho turned. The ship which had brought Keen and Adam out from England, after which the
Royal Herald
had been pounded into a coffin for her company. Mistaken identity. Or a brutal extension of an old hatred?

Carleton cleared his throat. “She has a passenger for
Indomitable,
sir.”

“What?”
Tyacke sounded outraged. “By whose order?”

Carleton tried again, spelling out the hoist of flags with extra care.

“Senior officer for duties in Halifax, sir.”

Tyacke said doubtfully, “That must have been a potful to spell out.” Then, surprisingly, he smiled at the tall midshipman. “That was well done. Now acknowledge.” He glanced at Bolitho, who had discarded his cloak and was facing into the frail sunlight.

Bolitho shook his head. “No, James, I do not know who.” He turned and looked at him, his eyes bleak. “But I think I know why.”

Wakeful
was coming about, and a boat was already being swayed up and over the gangway in readiness for lowering. A smart, well-handled ship. The unknown senior officer would have been making comparisons. Bolitho raised the glass again and saw the way falling off the other ship, the scars of wind and sea on her lithe hull. A solitary command, the only kind to have. He said, “Have the side manned, James. A boatswain's chair too, although I doubt if it will be needed.”

Allday was here, Ozzard, too, with his dress coat, clucking irritably over the admiral's casual appearance.

Allday clipped on the old sword, and murmured, “Squalls, Sir Richard?”

Bolitho looked at him gravely. He of all people would remember, and understand. “I fear so, old friend. There are still enemies within our own ranks, it seems.”

He saw the marines stamping to the entry port, picking up their dressing, their bayonets gleaming like silver. Showing a mark of respect, a salute to yet another important visitor. Equally, they would not question an order to place him in front of a firingsquad.

Avery hurried from the companion hatch, but hesitated as Tyacke looked over at him and shook his head very slightly in warning.

Indomitable
was hove-to, her seamen obviously glad of something to break the monotony of work and drill.

Wakeful
's gig came alongside, rolling steeply in the undertow. Bolitho walked to the rail and stared down, saw the passenger rise from the sternsheets and reach for the guide-rope, disdaining the assistance of a lieutenant, and ignoring the dangling chair as Bolitho had known he would.

Coming to judge the
Reaper
's mutineers. How could it be that they should meet like this, on a small pencilled cross on Isaac York's chart? And whose hand would have made this choice, unless it were guided by malice, and perhaps personal envy?

He made himself watch as the figure climbing the side missed a stair and almost fell. But he was climbing again, each movement an effort. As it would be for any man with only one arm.

The colour-sergeant growled, “Royal Marines …
Ready!
” more to cover his own surprise at the time it was taking the visitor to appear at the entry port than out of necessity.

The cocked hat and then the rear-admiral's epaulettes appeared finally in the port, and Bolitho strode forward to meet him.

“Guard of honour!
Present arms!
”

The din of the drill, the squeal of calls and the strident rattle of drums drowned out his spoken welcome.

They faced one another, the visitor with his hat raised in his left hand, his hair quite grey against the deep blue of the ocean behind him. But his eyes were the same, a more intense blue even than Tyacke's.

The noise faded, and Bolitho exclaimed, “Thomas! You, of all people!”

Rear-Admiral Thomas Herrick replaced his hat and took the proffered hand. “Sir Richard.” Then he smiled, and for those few seconds Bolitho saw the face of his oldest friend.

Tyacke stood nearby, watching impassively; he knew most of the story, and the rest he could fathom for himself.

He waited to be presented. But he saw only an executioner.

Herrick hesitated inside the great cabin as if, for a moment, he was uncertain why he had come. He glanced around, acknowledging Ozzard with his tray, remembering him. As usual on such occasions, Ozzard revealed neither surprise nor curiosity, no matter what he might be thinking.

Bolitho said, “Here, Thomas. Try this chair.”

Herrick lowered himself with a grunt into the high-backed
bergère
and thrust out his legs. He said, “This is more like it.”

Bolitho said, “Did you find
Wakeful
a mite small?”

Herrick smiled slightly. “No, not at all. But her captain, Hyde—a bright young fellow with an even brighter future, I shouldn't wonder—he wanted to
entertain
me. Humour me. I don't need it. Never did.”

Bolitho studied him. Herrick was a year or so younger than himself, but he looked old, tired, and not only because of his grey hair and the deep lines of strain around his mouth. They would be the result of his amputated arm. It had been a close thing.

Ozzard padded nearer and waited.

Bolitho said, “A drink, perhaps.” There was a thud on deck. “Your gear is being brought aboard.”

Herrick looked at his legs, stained and wet from his climb up the ship's tumblehome. “I can't order you to take me to Halifax.”

“It is a pleasure, Thomas. There is so much I need to hear.”

Herrick looked across at Ozzard. “Some ginger beer, if you have any?”

Ozzard did not blink. “Of course, sir.”

Herrick sighed. “I saw that rascal Allday when I came aboard. He doesn't change much.”

“He's a proud father now, Thomas. A little girl. In truth, he shouldn't be here.”

Herrick took the tall glass. “None of us should.” He examined Bolitho as he sat in another chair. “You look well. I'm glad.” Then, almost angrily, “You know why I'm here? The whole damned fleet seems to!”

“The mutiny.
Reaper
was retaken. It was all in my report.”

“I can't discuss it. Not until I've carried out my own investigation.”

“And then?”

Herrick shrugged, and winced. His pain was very evident. The steep climb up
Indomitable
's side would have done him no good.

“Court of inquiry. The rest you know. We've seen enough mutinies in our time, eh?”

“I know. Adam captured
Reaper,
by the way.”

“So I hear.” He nodded. “He'd need no urging.”

Calls shrilled overhead and feet thudded across the planking. Tyacke was under sail, changing tack now that the way was clear.

Bolitho said, “I must read my despatches. I'll not be long.”

“I can tell you some of it. We heard just before we weighed anchor. Wellington has won a great victory over the French at Vitoria, their last main stronghold in Spain, I understand. They are in retreat.” His face was closed, distant. “All these years we've prayed and waited for this, clung to it when all else seemed lost.” He held out the empty glass. “And now it's happened, I can't feel anything, anything at all.”

Bolitho watched him with an indefinable sadness. They had seen and done so much together: blazing sun and screaming gales, blockade and patrols off countless shores, ships lost, good men killed, and more still would die before the last trumpet sounded.

“And you, Thomas? What have you been doing?”

He nodded to Ozzard and took the refilled glass. “The
scraps.
Visiting dockyards, inspecting coastal defences, anything no one else wanted to do. I was even offered a two-year contract as governor of the new sailors' hospital.
Two years.
It was all they could find.”

“And what of this investigation, Thomas?”

“Do you remember John Cotgrave? He was the Judge Advocate at
my
court martial. He sits at the top of the legal tree where the Admiralty's concerned. It was his idea.”

Bolitho waited, only the taste of cognac on his tongue to remind him that he had taken a drink. There was no bitterness in Herrick's tone, not even resignation. It was as if he had lost everything, and believed in nothing, least of all the life he had once loved so dearly.

“They want no long drawn-out drama, no fuss. All they want is a verdict to show that justice is upheld.” He gave the thin smile again. “Has a familiar tune, don't you think?”

He looked towards the stern windows, and the sea beyond. “As for me, I sold the house in Kent. It was too big, anyway. It was so empty, so desolate without …” He hesitated. “Without Dulcie.”

“What will you do, Thomas?”

“After this? I shall quit the navy. I don't want to be another relic, an old salt-horse who doesn't want to hear when he is surplus to
Their Lordships
' requirements!”

There was a tap at the door, and as the sentry had remained silent Bolitho knew that it was Tyacke.

He entered the cabin and said, “On our new course, Sir Richard.
Taciturn
and
Doon
will remain with the convoy as you ordered. The wind's freshening, but it'll suit me.”

Herrick said, “You sound pleased with her, Captain Tyacke.”

Tyacke stood beneath one of the lanterns.

“She's the fastest sailer I've ever known, sir.” He turned the scarred side of his face towards him, perhaps deliberately. “I hope you will be comfortable on board, sir.”

Bolitho said, “Will you sup with us this evening, James?”

Tyacke looked at him, and his eyes spoke for him.

“I must ask your forgiveness, sir, but I have some extra duties to attend to. At some other time, I would be honoured.”

The door closed, and Herrick said, “When I've left the ship, he means.” Bolitho began to protest. “I do understand. A ship, a King's ship no less, has mutinied against rightful authority. At any time in war it is a crime beyond comparison, and now when we face a new enemy, with the additional temptation of better pay and more humane treatment, it is all the more dangerous. I will doubtless hear that the uprising was caused by a captain's brutality … sadism … I have seen it all before, in my early days as a lieutenant.”

He was speaking of
Phalarope,
without mentioning her name, although it was as if he had shouted it aloud.

“Some will say that the choice of captain was faulty, that it was favouritism, or the need to remove him from his previous appointment—that too is not uncommon. So what do we say? That because of these ‘mistakes' it was a just solution to dip the colours to an enemy, to mutiny, and to cause the death of that captain, be he saint or damned sinner? There can be no excuse. There never was.” He leaned forward and glanced around the shadowed cabin, but Ozzard had vanished. They were alone. “I am your friend, although at times I have not shown it. But I know you of old, Richard, and could guess what you might do, even if you have not yet considered it. You would risk everything, throw it all away on a point of honour and, may I say it, decency. You would speak up for those mutineers, no matter what it cost. I tell you now, Richard, it would cost you everything. They would destroy you. They would not merely be victims of their own folly—they would be martyrs. Bloody saints, if some had their way!”

He paused: he seemed wearied suddenly. “But you do have many friends. What you have done and have tried to do will not be forgotten. Even that damned upstart Bethune confided that he feared for your reputation. So much envy, so much deceit.”

Bolitho walked past the big chair and laid his hand for a moment on the stooped shoulder.

“Thank you for telling me, Thomas. I want a victory, I crave it, and I know what this has cost you.” He saw his reflection in the salt-smeared glass as the ship fell off another point or so. “I know how you feel.” He sensed the wariness. “How I would feel if anything happened to separate me from Catherine. But duty is one thing, Thomas … it has guided my feet since I first went to sea at the age of twelve … and justice is something else.” He walked around, and saw the same stubborn, closed face, the determination which had first brought them together in
Phalarope
.“In battle I hate to see men die for no purpose, when they have no say and no choice at all in the matter. And I'll not turn my back on other men who have been wronged, driven to despair, and already condemned by others who are equally guilty, but not charged.”

Herrick remained very calm. “I am not surprised.” He made to rise. “Do we still sup this evening?”

Bolitho smiled: it came without effort this time. They were not enemies; the past could not die. “I had hoped for that, Thomas. Make full use of these quarters.” He picked up the despatches, and added, “I promise you that nobody will attempt to entertain you!”

Outside the cabin he found Allday loitering by an open gun-port. He had simply happened to be there, in case.

He asked, “How was it, Sir Richard? Bad?”

Bolitho smiled. “He has not changed much, old friend.”

Allday said, “Then it
is
bad.”

Bolitho knew that Tyacke and Avery would be waiting, united even more strongly because of something which was beyond their control.

Allday said harshly, “They'll hang for it. I'll shed no tears for 'em. I hates their kind.
Vermin.
”

Bolitho looked at him, moved by his anger. Allday had been a pressed man, taken the same day as Bryan Ferguson. So what had instilled in them both such an abiding sense of loyalty, and such courage?