Seaflower (3 page)

the
massive length of a 74-gun ship-of-the-line. They passed around the stern, with
its old-fashioned open gallery, and Kydd looked up. In faded gold there was a
big heraldic ribbon. The name
Trajan
was elegantly lettered inside.

Bitterness
welled up and choked him. Kydd gripped a rope at the edge of the foredeck and
stared back at his homeland, unwilling to let the fast-receding land disappear.
The seas lengthened as Trajan met the first Atlantic rollers coming up the
Channel, sending men staggering. The two-decker was soon clawing to windward as
close as she would lie, two other vessels astern and one ahead. The land
finally turned to a misty anonymity and vanished, and the lump in Kydd's throat
deepened.

'I
must declare myself truly gulled,' Renzi said, appearing at Kydd's elbow
shaking out the chinckles in a light line for coiling. Kydd was supposed to be
at work on the fo'c'sle, but no one felt inclined to make a point about it. The
Artemises were sadly ill-used, was the general opinion, and they were left
alone to their misery.

Kydd
glanced at him. 'Gulled? Not th' word I'd choose f'r it m'self,' he muttered.

Renzi
paused. 'Is the loss of the flying Artemis so much on the public mind that we
are all to be kept out of the way? Or is the Fleet so in need of seamen that
they press even the shipwrecked mariner? No! What we have is a political act, a
move to shield the reputation of one who should be brought to account. Instead,
and with the exercise of interest at the highest level, Rowley has been excused
of blame, your evidence is suppressed — it is only a deposition — and we
...
we are an embarrassment
...'
His voice trailed off for Kydd's
thickening anger was apparent on his face.

'We're
shipped out t' the Caribbee to save Rowley's hide!' His face white with anger,
Kydd said harshly, 'T' the West Indies, fever
...'

'I
fear so. But, dear fellow, it is also the Spanish Main, treasure, the richest
islands in the world — and glory, too, as we mercilessly seize the sugar
islands from the French!' Renzi winced inwardly at the last, but Kydd had to
see some purpose in this twist of fate.

'In
this old scow!' Kydd's scornful words were heartfelt. After the trim beauty of
Artemis, the elderly Trajan was all that Renzi knew he despised. A
ship-of-the-line, she was lumbering and massive, her timbers old and decaying —
and she had big-ship discipline: Master-at-Arms and corporals, trumpeter,
boatswain's mates. And his previous rate as acting petty officer had not been
accepted in Trajan', she had her full complement and no need of him. He was now
no more than an able seaman, even if a topman, and he had to sling his hammock
with the rest instead of in the cosy privacy of a screened-off petty officer's
berth.

Renzi
said nothing. Kydd's words were powerful and true, and could not be denied. He
had every reason to feel aggrieved. Howe's great victory had released forces
for the ongoing island invasions in the Caribbean, and
Trajan
was on her way to assist in these — what better way
to be rid of an embarrassment? His gaze lost itself in the tumbling waste of
seas stretching to infinity ahead. He tried to swallow his bitterness and went
below.

The
noon meal was a cheerless affair — no grog this close to home, small beer only
on offer. Boiled with dandelion and herbs, it had a bitterness that was
intended to hide rankness, but at least it was better than water from the cask,
which quickly grew stale and flat, then stagnant. After weeks at sea the beer
would give out and they would revert to rum, which was much preferred, but for
now Kydd's pot contained a thin brew that did nothing for his mood.

Kydd
pulled forward his meal — the square wooden plate he remembered only too well
from his first ship as a pressed man: no pewter and crockery here. He glowered
at the mush of peas and odd-tasting pork. There was soft tommy taken aboard in
Spithead, the bread only a couple of days old and useful for wiping up the last
of his meal — there would only be hard tack in the weeks ahead.

'Got
yer watch 'n' station, then, mate?' Doggo asked, his grog-roughened voice
uncharacteristically low. His ugly, monkey-like face was long and grim.

For
as far ahead as could be seen, Kydd would have to perform his sea duties as
assigned this morning in his part-of-ship and watch, and this could be onerous
or a satisfaction depending on the character of those in charge. And his
quarters in battle — this might have been manning the helm, and therefore
defenceless before the pitiless musketry of an opponent alongside, or with the
ship-smashing 32-pounder cannon on the lower gundeck, or any one of a number of
other dangerous duties.

'Second
o' larboard, maintopman,' said Kydd gloomily, fingering his bread. 'An' the
fore magazine f'r quarters.' To his great disappointment he had learned that
Renzi was in the opposite watch. This meant that they would only meet for meals
and the odd 'make and mend' when they could sit together on the foredeck at
work on their clothing. In
Artemis
they had been in the same watch, and had spent many
hours happily discussing life, philosophy and other conundrums.

Isaac
Larcomb's pleasant, open face creased. 'Could be worse, cully, topman ain't a
bad start,' he said.

Renzi
nodded, but did not say anything.

'Aye,
and that means I'm in yer watch, Tom!'

Kydd
looked across at the tow-headed Luke, a ship's boy from Artemis. He smiled, but
only briefly. Luke was eager and had come to admire Kydd, but he was no
substitute for Renzi.

Kydd
was slated to do his trick at the helm in the first dog-watch, and felt
immediately better after he had seized control at the man-high wheel. The
familiar tug and thrum of the tiller-ropes with their subde transmission of the
sea's temper was medicine enough. Trajan felt ponderous but obedient to the
wheel, just a little weather-helm, not enough to be a griping, calm and sure.

He
warmed to the ship. Glancing up often to the weather leech of the comfortable
old main topsail, he tested how far he needed to meet each boisterous sea on
the bluff bows, and what she needed to correct the yaw induced when a sea
passed at an angle down her length. It seemed she had no real vices — which
would be verified or otherwise when the old lady was really put to the test.

He
could look forward under her sails the whole length of the ship, a sight he
never tired of — the lazy heave and fall of the deck, the blue horizon dropping
out of sight then emerging at a slightly different angle, a continuous,
comforting, satisfying motion. He nodded, and a smile broke through. She
couldn't be mistaken for a racehorse, but as a homely old mare she was perfect.

'Watch
yer luff!' growled the quartermaster's mate-of-the-watch. There was no need for
his caution — Kydd had been completely in control of the situation and there
was never any question of losing way by coming too far into the wind.

He
glanced at the man. Squat, powerfully built, he wore rumpled clothing and a
glower that triggered a warning in Kydd. 'Aye,' he said, to be on the safe
side.

At
the interchange the officer-of-the-watch looked back from his pacing. Kydd kept
his gaze politely forward, aware that he was under eye. He had nothing to worry
about, and continued in his duty. After a minute or two, the officer came over.
'You're one of the Artemises, are you not?' he asked. It was not at all the
right thing to engage the helmsman in conversation, but this was an officer.

'Aye,
sir,' he said. It would be understandable to keep his eyes on the weather leech
of the mainsail.
Trajan
sailed
on; Kydd sensed interest in the officer.

'You've
got a frigate's touch at the helm, I see.' That did not require an answer, but
it must have been apparent from his many light moves at the wheel instead of
the more deliberate, slower action of a ship-of-the-line.

'What
is your name?'

'Kydd,
sir!' broke in the quartermaster's mate firmly. In direct charge of the conn,
the petty officer had every right to deflect any interference from his helmsman.

"Thank
you, Coltard,' the officer said smoothly, but continued to address Kydd, 'So
you were in Artemis around the Horn?'

'Sir,'
said Kydd briefly. He wished the officer would go away.

'At
the helm?'

'Quartermaster's
mate, sir.'

'Hmmm.'
Kydd caught the quick glance at Coltard and wondered what it meant. The stumpy
petty officer flushed and looked dogged.

The
half-hour trick was over all too quickly, and Kydd felt reluctant to hand over
to the able seaman waiting. The officer-of-the-watch contemplated him with a
ghost of a smile, and he stood down with a light heart.

Kydd
went forward along the moving deck to complete his watch, ready to lay aloft
as a topman at the mainmast The Atlantic's influence was becoming more marked,
the longer ocean seas sweeping up the Channel and adding stateliness and a
wider range to Trajan's movements. He glanced up at the less-than-white canvas,
noticing patches in her sails and signs of hairy chafing in her lines running
aloft; as with Duke William earlier they were cutting corners to keep the most
valuable units of the Fleet at sea.

Portland
was disappearing astern. They would fetch Torbay on this tack, and from there,
rumour had it, they would pick up the convoy to Madeira and then the Caribbean.
Another surge of resentment swept over Kydd, this time dulled by resignation.

*     
*      *

'An'
here's ter pieces o' eight an' a right good frolic in Port Royal!' chuckled
Larcomb, raising his pot His sally drew general approval, and expressions
lightened along the table.

'Frien'
o' mine in Daemon frigate was out there wi' Rodney in 'eighty-two — an' paid
off in Plymouth carryin' home twelve guineas o' prize money,' said the man next
to Larcomb, with evident satisfaction at the prospect.

'Yair,
but I got three ol' shipmates went out too an' ain't one of 'em come back yet,'
Doggo responded.

Kydd
put down his tankard. 'But y' can have fever anywhere,' he said, 'C'n remember
in Artemis we had th' fever after roundin' the Horn, 'n' on our way home — even
did f'r the captain.'

'Aye,
but—'

Larcomb
broke in earnestly, 'Look, if yer gonna make fishmeat, yer number is a-written
down already, no use wonderin' about it,' he said, 'S' why not rest easy 'n'
take yer life as it comes t' yer?'

There
were troubled looks, but Larcomb ignored them. 'Has anyone bin ter the West
Indies?' he asked. It seemed none had, and he lifted his pot

Renzi
stirred. 'It would seem that we are doing well in the Caribbean — we have taken
Martinique,' he said, to general incomprehension. 'A big island, and wealthy,'
he explained. 'I believe our intent is to detach, one by one, the enemy islands
from the French.'

'But
if our ships are out there, doin' this invadin', then the French will feel free
to fall on England!' Kydd said, with spirit.

'Yet
if we leave these islands to themselves, the enemy will take them! No, the
islands are a wellspring of English wealth, and we must defend them.' Renzi's
cool assessments were not to the taste of his new shipmates and the
conversation faded.

Auberon,
the first lieutenant, was on deck the next forenoon for Kydd's next trick at
the helm. He took the wheel from a grey-haired able seaman and squared up. The
quartermaster of the previous watch hovered, fidgeting with the traverse board
and slate as the minutes lengthened and no one came to relieve him.

'For
God's sake, what's the matter?' Auberon said peevishly to him.

'Er,
'aven't had m' relief,' he said hesitantly.

Auberon
stiffened. 'You mean he's adrift?' he snapped.

With
some hesitation the petty officer nodded awkwardly. Auberon showed him no
sympathy. 'You shall quit the deck only when properly relieved,' he growled,
and began to pace back and forth.

Kydd
felt the rising tension, and kept a careful alertness. The duty watch on the
quarterdeck fell silent as time extended, avoiding each other's eyes, trimming
the sails and coiling down the lines from aloft, carefully and quietly.