Second to None (41 page)

Ozzard had not changed in one way. He was as curt and abrupt as ever, the pointed features unsmiling.

He said, ‘Thought you'd have a corner where I could pipe down before moving on.'

Moving on. Up home in London.
Ozzard had no home.

‘
Course
you can stay, you old bugger!'

Unis observed this from the doorway, seeing all things which her beloved John did not see, or want to see. The split shoes, and the threadbare coat with its missing button, the fading hair tied back with a piece of worn ribbon. But this man was part of a world which she could only share at a distance, the life which had taken one husband and had given her another, this big, shambling man who was so glad to see one of its ghosts return. He had spoken often of Ozzard, Sir Richard's personal servant. Like Ferguson, joined now by Yovell up at the house, he was part of the little crew.

She said gently, ‘I've some stew on the fire. Maybe you've not eaten yet.'

Ozzard stared at her with eyes which were almost hostile. ‘I haven't come because I need anything!'

Allday said quietly, ‘Easy, Tom. You're among friends
here,' and frowned as voices echoed from the yard. The first of the road labourers were arriving.

Unis was aware of two things. That Ozzard was wary, even distrustful of women, and that her John's pleasure was changing to distress.

She said, ‘Come into the parlour. That lot are too noisy for greeting old friends.'

Ozzard sat silently at the table, staring around the room until his eyes came to rest on the model of
Hyperion
in its place of honour.

Allday wanted to talk, if only to reassure him, but was afraid to break something so tentative, so fragile.

Unis was stirring the pot in the kitchen, but her mind was elsewhere.

She said over her shoulder, ‘Of course, you being used to Sir Richard an' the likes of other naval gentlemen, you'll know all about wines an' that like.'

Ozzard said suspiciously, ‘More than some, yes.'

‘I was thinking. With the trade improving on this road, you could be a help to us. To me. There's a room over the tack store. You'd be more'n welcome until you want to move on again.'

She sensed Allday's pleasure and added casually, ‘I can't vouch for the money though.'

She had to say something, she thought. Anything. She had noticed the torn cuffs and broken, dirty nails. But he was one of the men who had been with her John and Sir Richard in battles she dared not even begin to imagine.

She came over with the bowl and said, ‘Game stew. Get that inside you, an' think about what I said.'

Ozzard bowed his head and blindly picked up the spoon. Then he broke.

‘I've got nowhere else,' was all he said.

Much later, when they were alone together, and the inn was quiet until the new day, Allday held her in his arms and murmured, ‘How did you know, Unis love?'

She pulled his shaggy head down to her breast. ‘Cause I knows
you,
John Allday. An' that's no error!'

She could taste the rum in his kiss, and she was content.

‘
HEAVE, LADS! HEAVE
away!'

With both of
Unrivalled
's capstans fully manned and every available seaman putting his weight on the bars, the cable was barely moving. Adam Bolitho stood by the quarterdeck rail, his hands clasped beneath his coattails, watching the strange light and the low, scudding clouds. The harbour walls, like the waterfront buildings, seemed to glow with a dull yellow texture, and although it was morning it seemed more like sunset.

The wind had risen slightly, hot against his face, and he tasted grit between his teeth, as if they were already standing off some desert shore. He heard Midshipman Sandell shout impatiently, ‘Start that man! Put some weight on the bars there!'

And, instantly, Galbraith's curt, ‘Belay that! The cable's moving at last!' He sounded impatient, frustrated, perhaps because of the time wasted here in Malta since Admiral Lord Rhodes had hoisted his flag, which had been followed by this sudden order to get the ships under way.

Clank.
The iron pawl of the capstan dropped into position.
Clank,
and then the next one.

Someone said, ‘Flagship's cable is shortening, sir!'

Galbraith retorted, ‘They have six hundred idle hands to play with!'

Adam looked forward where Massie was peering through the beakhead to watch the bar-taut cable. All of
Unrivalled
's tonnage and the pressure of wind, set against muscle and sweat.

Clank. Clank.
As if to a signal he heard the scrape of a violin and then the shantyman's quavery voice. So many times. Leaving harbour. For the sailor the future was always unknown, like the next horizon.

Adam relaxed slightly. To sea again. But this time under the Flag. The fleet's apron strings, as he had heard other frigate captains describe it.

It was coming in faster now, the capstans turning like human wheels.

Midshipman Sandell hurried past, pointing out something to the new member, Midshipman Deighton.

He had heard Jago remark, ‘Look at 'im, will you? Cocking his chest like a half-pay admiral!'

Another memory. What Allday had often said to describe some upstart.

He thought of Admiral Rhodes' hurried conference aboard the flagship. He had received news of another unwarranted attack on some innocent fishermen. A battery had fired on the vessels, and then chebecks had appeared as if from nowhere and had captured or massacred the luckless crews. One of the squadron's armed schooners had been nearby and had attempted to offer assistance, only to be driven off herself. It had been a close thing, to all accounts.

Rhodes had been beside himself with anger.
An example must be made,
before the weather changed yet again. He would delay no longer; all available ships must be ready to sail.

The squadron had been reinforced by a bomb vessel named
Atlas
. She had sailed at first light with
Matchless
as escort.

Adam knew from experience that bomb vessels were difficult at the best of times, being clumsy and unhandy sailers. To use just one such craft without waiting for promised reinforcements would be asking for trouble, no matter how experienced her company might be.

At the captains' conference aboard
Frobisher
he had said as much. Rhodes had turned on him instantly, as if he had been waiting for the chance.

‘Of
course
, Captain Bolitho. I almost forgot! A frigate captain of your style and record would condemn the more controlled approach.'

Only Captain Bouverie of
Matchless
had laughed. The others had waited in silence.

Rhodes had continued, ‘No daring cutting-out, or some hand-to-hand skirmish with undisciplined renegades, so
you
consider this is not a useful undertaking!'

‘I resent that, my lord.' The words had hung in the air, while Rhodes had made a point of studying one of his charts. ‘To break the Dey's hold over the Algerine pirates, as he chooses to call them when it suits his purpose, a fleet action will be required.'

Rhodes had shrugged. ‘Knowledge is not necessarily wisdom, Captain Bolitho. I trust you will remember it.' He had looked pointedly at the others. ‘All of you.'

The shantyman's reedy voice broke into his thoughts again.

Massie yelled from the forecastle, ‘Anchor's hove short, sir!'

Adam nodded, satisfied. ‘Loose the heads'ls!' He stared up at the braced yards. ‘Hands aloft and loose tops'Is!'

Midshipman Cousens, who had not lowered his telescope and was still watching the flagship, shouted, ‘Signal from Flag, sir!
General . . . Make haste!
'

Adam saw the wind feeling its way into the loosely brailed topsails. It was easy to contain your anger when the enemy was so obvious.

The shantyman ended with a flourish, ‘Well, still I've got that same old knife!'

‘Anchor's aweigh, sir!'

Adam walked to the opposite side to watch the land sliding away, as more men released from the capstan bars hurried to add their weight to the braces, to haul the yards round and capture the wind.

He took a telescope from its rack and trained it on the ancient battlements, and the gaping embrasures where cannon had once dominated the harbour. Where they had held one another. And had loved, impossible though it was to believe.

Galbraith had found him on deck during the morning watch, and had probably imagined he had risen early to see the bomb vessel and the weed-encrusted
Matchless
clearing the harbour.

Or had he guessed that he had been watching the third ship making an early departure, tall and somehow invulnerable with her spreading canvas. A merchantman, the
Aranmore
, bound for Southampton. Had she also been on deck to watch the anchored men-of-war, he wondered? Had she already forgotten, or locked it away, another hidden secret?

He said, ‘Take station on the Flag, Mr Galbraith, and lay her on the starboard tack once we are clear.' He tried to smile, to lighten it. ‘As ordered, remember?'

He paced to the compass box and back again. And then there was Catherine's letter. Perhaps it would have been better to have sailed earlier, before the latest courier had anchored.
My dear Adam
 . . .

What, after all, had he expected? She had nobody to care for her, to protect her from malicious gossip and worse.

He raised the glass again and waited for the image to focus on the first patch of windblown water.
Frobisher.
Much as she had been when she had quit Malta with his uncle's flag at the main. He had felt it when he had walked her deck, sensed it in the watching faces, though few, if any, could have been aboard on that fatal day.

He lowered the glass and looked at his own ship, the seamen flaking down lines and securing halliards. In spite of everything, he had seen the bond grow and strengthen. They were one company.

Perhaps he was wrong about Rhodes, and a show of force was all that it needed. But in his heart he knew it was something else. Unsaid, like that which Bethune had left behind, as dangerous as
Unrivalled
's shadow on the seabed when they had entered the shallows.

He saw Napier coming aft with something on a covered tray. The boy who had trusted him enough to come and tell him of Lady Bazeley's plight. He laid his palm briefly on the polished wood of the ladder where she had been lying helpless.

He should be able to accept it. Instead, he was behaving like some moonstruck youth.

He heard Cristie give a little cough, waiting to make his report, course to steer, estimated time of arrival. Then the purser would come: provisions and fresh water, and this time, no doubt with Forbes' influence, some welcome casks of beer from the army.

‘Signal from Flag, sir!' Midshipman Cousens sounded subdued. ‘
Make more sail!
'

‘Acknowledge.' Adam turned away and saw Midshipman Deighton speaking with the newly minted lieutenant, Bellairs. It gave him time to think, to recall Forbes' words on board
Frobisher. Not afraid to take a risk if you thought it justified
.

He said, ‘Be patient, Mr Cousens. I fear you will be much in demand until we sight an enemy!'

Those around him laughed, and others who were out of earshot paused in their work as if to share it.

Adam looked through the great web of spars and rigging. Perhaps Rhodes was watching
Unrivalled
at this very moment.

Aloud he said, ‘I'll see you damned,
my lord
!'

Bellairs watched the captain walk to the companion way and then gave his attention to the new midshipman again. It was hard to believe that he had been one himself, and so recently given his commission. It would make his parents in Bristol very proud.

The war was over, but for the navy the fighting was never very far away. Like this new challenge, the Algerine pirates. He found violent death more acceptable than the prospect of life as one of those he had seen left wounded and hopelessly crippled.

He touched the fine, curved hanger at his side. He had been astounded when the first lieutenant had told him of the captain's offer.

He suddenly realised what Midshipman Deighton had been asking him about the ship and her young captain.

He said simply, ‘
I'd
follow him to the cannon's mouth.'

He touched the hanger again and grinned. A King's officer.

Midshipman Cousens lowered the big signals telescope and dashed spray from his tanned features with his sleeve.

‘Boat's casting off from the flagship now, sir!'

Lieutenant Galbraith crossed to the nettings and stared at the lively, broken water, the crests dirty yellow in the strange glare. The weather had worsened almost as soon as they had left Malta, wind whipping the sea into serried ranks of angry waves, spray pouring from sails and rigging alike as if they were fighting through a tropical rainstorm. If the wind did not ease, the ships would be scattered overnight. As they had been last night, and they had struggled to reform to the admiral's satisfaction.

As Cristie had often said, the Mediterranean could never be trusted, especially when you needed perfect conditions.

He saw the cutter staggering clear of
Frobisher
's glistening side; it was a wonder that it had not capsized in its first crossing. To use the gig had been out of the question. A cutter was heavier and had the extra brawn to carry her through this kind of sea.