The Gathering Storm (20 page)

'Thank you, sir.' With evident relief. 'Will you then strike?'

'And be took ourselves?'

'Surely that is better than being smashed and killed? With
the king gone out of the ship, then it really ain't your fight
any more – is it?'

'I will decide when ye've gone, James. And I'd be obliged
if ye'd go right quick. There ain't a moment to lose.'

'Very good, sir. I will say goodbye.'

'I hope not permanent, James.' A nod, and he went aft
through the smoke.

The orders given, and
Expedient
came about. The boat
brought in.
Expedient
continued to fight her guns, and the two
French frigates pressed home their attack, while the bisquines
hovered beyond the fighting ships.

Expedient
loosed two further broadsides, and under cover
of the dense smoke the royal party went into the boat – the
pinnace – and James and a small crew pulled away toward
the islets. James went with a heavy heart. He knew that
his scheme had little hope of success. He knew also that
when – not if – Rennie struck his colours,
Expedient
and all
in her would likely suffer very hard at the hands of their
vanquishers.
Expedient
had done very great harm, in French
waters. She had destroyed a frigate and a corvette, and
damaged the two present frigates, whose people would wish
to exact payment.

'Even if we slip away under cover of the islets, they will
certainly come looking for us. And to reach England we
would have to break cover and head for the open sea.' James
to himself as he stood at the tiller in the stern sheets. 'What
chance can there be for us?' Looking over his shoulder at
the continuing battle, and the heavy clouds of smoke hanging
over the sea.

'What chance?' Aloud, unwittingly.

'Sir?' The seaman nearest him, bending over his oar.

'Nothing. I said nothing. Lay out with a will, there.'

The echoes of the action followed them, muffled now by
smoke and increasing distance.

THUD THUD THUD BOOM THUD

The ripple of the oars, and the huffing breath of the
oarsmen, then:

'Sir? I think
Expedient
has struck, sir!'

James looked, and saw that her red ensign had indeed been
lowered. The two French frigates were already flanking
Expedient
, starboard and larboard, and the troop-laden
bisquines had begun to close her. All gunnery ceased, and
as if embodied in the drifting pall of smoke a threatening
silence spread over the sea.

In the pinnace the hunched figures of the royal party –
reduced to a mere dozen souls – remained mute in their
cloaks and hats, all powdered finery hidden, all authority
fled. A thought came to James as he glanced at them. It
occurred to him that he had never really seen the faces of
the king and queen, that these people seated in his boat,
under his charge of protection, were no more significant in
the vastness of the world and the totality of the human condition
than anonymous beggars huddled at the alms-house
gate, waiting for the beadle with his lantern and keys, and
his parochial contempt.

'And what are they to me, any more than to the beadle?'
In his head. Rennie's words rose to follow that question:
'This ain't our fight, James.'

A breath, and he thrust such thoughts aside. He must rise
to his responsibilities and his duty. Now that
Expedient
was
lost, this boat was all that remained between its occupants
and disaster. he must do his utmost to save Their Royal
Highnesses – and himself. Aloud:

'Monsieur Félix?'

No response.

In French: 'Monsieur Félix, will you come aft over the
thwarts, if you please? I wish to discuss my plan with you.'

No response.

'Is Monsieur Félix not here?'

No response. And now in English James:

'Lay on your oars, there!' The crew ceased rowing, the
oars lying horizontal in the thole pins. The boat drifted to
a halt, riding the swell.

Again in French: 'I must respectfully ask Your Royal
Highnesses to allow Monsieur Félix to speak. I must
discuss my plan with him, my proposal to escape these
waters.'

No words. No sound. Nothing. He could not understand
it. Surely Monsieur Félix had come into the boat with the
royal party? He had seen him on the side ladder ... but had
he seen him in fact come into the boat?

'I did not. By God, he has stayed behind.' To himself. 'But
why
?'

'Sir?' The seaman nearest him, nodding aft past James.

James turned and saw with deep dismay that one of the
bisquines had detached itself from the mêleé and smoke, and
now approached the pinnace with speed and purpose.

'Give way together!'

The boat's crew gripped their oars and bent their backs.
Droplets and rinsing splashes flew from the blades, and the
pinnace began to move briskly through the water. But even
as they came up to their best speed, James could see over
his shoulder that the bisquine was gaining, five and twenty
soldiers aboard. In half a glass – less – the bisquine would
overhaul them.

'It is hopeless.' He did not say the words, nor even whisper
them, but in his head and heart he was certain of their truth.

James woke in darkness, and for a moment thought he was
returned to the underground passage at the Château de
Châtaigne. The air was similarly dank and confined, and
there was the same smell of stony damp. He stirred, and felt
leg irons bite into his shins. Manacles bit into his wrists.
There was the dull, gritty clinking of chains on the stone
floor. His head ached severely, and there was a foul taste in
his mouth. He was very cold, and felt that he had been wet,
and was now clammily half-dry. He was wearing only shirt
and breeches, and his feet were bare. Now he heard another
set of chains as someone stirred nearby in the darkness.

'Who is there?' His voice echoing against a low ceiling.

'Christ, but my head aches ... ohh. Is that you, James?'
'Aye, sir, it is.'

'Thank God. I feared when I woke that I was alone in this
place.'

'You are not alone, sir. And I too have a headache. Did
they give you cold tea, when you were took? That is what
they gave us to drink.'

'I was blindfolded when they took me out of
Expedient
–
and yes ... yes, I was given cold tea.'

'And I remember nothing after. We were drugged, sir,
both of us, to be brought here. But where are we, though?
Is it a dungeon?'

'Don't know that, James.' A further clinking of chains.

'And you do not know what has become of the king, sir?'

'I fear I do not. What happened in the pinnace?'

'One of the bisquines overhauled us, and we were obliged
to surrender without resistance, to protect the royal party
from immediate injury. The soldiers outnumbered us, and
were armed very heavy, and we had no weapons above pistols,
and a musket or two.'

'Y'did right, James, y'did right. There was no choice. Nor
for me – I struck my colours.' A sigh.

'Yes, sir, I know.'

A long moment, then Rennie: 'We are certainly in a fix
this time, James.'

'D'y'think they will hang us?'

'Put us on the gallows with the king? Make a show of
executing us with him?' A mirthless chuckle. 'I doubt that.
We are small beer, James, in this affair.'

'You think they will simply imprison us, then?'

'Ha. They have done that already.' Clinking his chains.

'I meant – permanent.'

'Very likely we shall be left to rot, in least for the time
being.'

'But first there will have to be a trial, and that will give
us time to—'

'Trial? My dear James, why should they dignify us with a
trial? We are interlopers and pirates, who smashed French
ships in French waters, when we are not at war. No no, they
will leave us here until we have been made thoroughly frightened
and miserable, and then when they are ready they
will hang us right enough. Not in course from the yardarm
of the French flag at Brest, nor even in a public square, with
a roll of drums. No, it will be done in a little sullen courtyard,
hid from view, and our corpses dragged away on handcarts
to the burial pit.'

'Unless we escape.'

'Escape!' The word bounced dully off the ceiling.

'We must always think of it, sir, while ever we have our
health and wits.'

'Ever the optimist, hey, James?'

'I will never like to give up my freedom gladly.'

'As if we had a choice. Christ's blood, we have nothing to
"give up". We are shackled in irons in a stone chamber far
below ground. We might as well be in Hades.'

'Did you say below ground, sir? I do not think so.'

'Eh?'

'Listen. Ain't that the sound of ...'

They both listened. Distantly, much muffled, the hollow
booming sound of waves bursting in over rocks.

'The sea.' Rennie, softly.

'Surely we could not hear the sea unless we were near to
the shore, and above it. On a clifftop, as an instance.'

'You think we are in a castle?'

'Or a fort, sir, on a headland.'

'Fort? Where?'

'Somewhere near to Brest. There are fortifications all
along the northern reaches of Brest Roads. We studied them
on the charts, if you recall, when we came here in
Expedient
.'

'Aye, you are right, we did.'

'And if we are held in a fort, then likely our ship is in the
harbour – or in the dockyard, repairing.'

'You think they will repair her, James? When she has done
such damage to them? Will not they wish to break her up?'

'No, sir, I do not think so. She is badly injured at present,
but beneath her wounds she is an oak-built, Chatham-built,
stout and sturdy sea boat. There is no better frigate afloat.'

'There is no need to sing her praises to me, James. I am
well acquainted with her virtues, you know.'

'Then y'will like to renew that acquaintance, will not
you, sir?'

'What, from a stone cell in a military fort? Ha.'

'From a boat, sir, with a cutting-out party, at night.'

'Yes yes, well well ...' A sigh. 'It don't do to speculate
on the impossible, James.' A clinking of chains. 'I wish to
God they would relieve us of these damned irons. They cut
into the flesh very painful.'

'Which is why we must always think of escape, sir. Of
freedom.'

'Freedom?' A breath. 'Even if we could be free as you
suggest, and retake our ship by some fantastic circumstance
– a miracle – and then escape to England, what would we
face, at home? The king of France has been snatched from
our care, and returned to his fate at the hands of the revolutionists.
We have failed, James. The commission is a dismal
reverse in every distinction.'

'All the odds were against us from the beginning. We have
done our best – and very nearly succeeded, too.'

'Very nearly don't answer in a case like this, as you know
very well.'

'I will never like to despair, sir. It ain't a condition befitting
a sea officer in the Royal Navy.'

'Ah. Hm. You wish to stiffen my sinews, hey? To remind
me of my oath, and so forth? Yes?'

'Well – yes. It ain't like you to lie down and die without
a murmur, sir.'

'You prefer me to stand up on my legs and die, do you?'
Not harshly. 'Shouting my love for freedom as the noose is
tightened at my neck?'

James made no reply. After a few moments he said:

'Our people are very likely held in this same fort. As a
military establishment it must function by military rules and
customs. One of those is certainly that prisoners should be
allowed exercise from time to time – released from their
confinement and brought into the open air to march about.
If I am not mistook, they will be guarded by a small number
of troops. Now then, if we could get a message to our people,
there is a good chance they could rush and overpower their
guards, and get their hands on a set of keys.'

'Ahh. Keys.' Without enthusiasm.

James began to crawl across the uneven stone floor, dragging
his chains with him. He was at the limit of their length
when his outstretched hand found a door. A heavy timber
door, studded with nails. His fingers scrabbled over the
surface of the timber – and found a lock.

'One of which will fit this door.'

'James, my dear friend – you are grasping at straws. Straws
in the wind.'

'Nay, I am not, sir. My hand is on the very lock that will
release us. That is what I grasp.'

'Yes yes, ye've found the door, and the door is provided
with a lock. Very good. Excellent.'

A groan, off to one side in the darkness, and a stirring of
chains.

'Good God, who is that?' Rennie peered unseeing.

A cough, then a croaking voice:

'I – I am here, sir. What is—'

'Who are you?' Sharply.

'Lieutenant Leigh, sir, at your service. Are we in the orlop?'

'No, Mr Leigh, we are ashore. In a dungeon.'

'Dungeon?' The chains. 'I don't recall being ... ohh, my
head!'

'Yes, Mr Leigh, we are all in the same boat.'

James smiled in the darkness, then:

'We believe we are held in a military fort, Leigh, that
overlooks the harbour at Brest. Our wish is to attempt an
escape, and retake our ship.'

'Hayter, is that you? But how can we escape, when we are
held in irons?' Further clinking.

'You may well ask that, Mr Leigh.' Rennie, with a sniff.

They were all silent a moment, then James:

'Sir, we are three resourceful sea officers, of long service
and experience. Surely, if we put our heads together, it's not
impossible we could devise between us a scheme to gain our
freedom ... ?'

'You really have got such a scheme, James? But is it practical,
hey? That is the question. Or merely a fantasy,
concocted gorgeous and elaborate in your head by the action
of the drug we was all given?'

'No, sir, I did not say that I had a plan wholly formed,
only that perhaps we might discuss ideas severally among
us, and—'

Over him: 'Oh, very well, in least it will pass the time.
Go on, then, James – you begin.'

'Thank you, sir.' And he began.

*

Heavy footfalls thudded outside the door, and there was
the rasping squeak of a key in the lock. A creaking sound
as the door swung open, and a breath of less stale air from
the passage beyond. And light. Light from a lantern held
up at the open door. The gleam of a ring of keys, the dim
bulk of the man behind the light, and his harsh, penetrating
voice:

'Your time has come, messieurs.' In French. 'You will be
blindfolded and released from your chains – but you will
remain manacled.'

'What does the fellow say?' Rennie, peering at him.

James glimpsed a chevron on a sleeve, and asked in French:

'Where do you take us, Sergeant?'

'Silence!'

'I merely wish to—'

'You will be silent, or you will be gagged!' The sergeant
advanced.

James made one more attempt:

'Are we to see the commander of the garrison?' Again in
French.

The sergeant advanced further into the cell and struck
James full in the face with the heavy bunch of keys. James
fell back with a gasp, blood dripping from his nose and cheek,
and dropped dazed to his knees.

'You bloody wretch!' Rennie snarled at the sergeant, who
raised the keys to him. 'Yes, strike me too, you villain! And
by God I will live to see you disembowelled!'

The sergeant now placed the lantern on the floor, and
Rennie saw his face. An ugly moon face, with a bulbous
nose. A thatch of dark hair. There was another figure in the
passage outside. The sergeant straightened with a grunting
sigh, and swung the keys in a sudden vicious arc at Rennie's
head. At the same moment Lieutenant Leigh rose from the
darkness at the side, looped his chains about the sergeant's
neck, and jerked. The sergeant grunted, struggled, and was
pulled off his feet. He and Lieutenant Leigh crashed over
on the stone floor in a furious clinking rattle of chains. The
second guard now rushed into the cell, brandishing his bayoneted
musket. Rennie kicked his feet from under him, felt
an agonising pain in his ankle as the leg iron bit into it, and
he too fell. The musket flew from the guard's grasp, and sent
the lantern skittering away across the floor. It tumbled
against the far wall, tipped over in a crash of broken glass,
and went out.

Black dark.

A moment of utter silence.

Then furious activity erupted. Shouts, grunting breaths,
heaving, struggling bodies, and the chinking rattle of chains
and irons. Rennie grappled with the guard he had tripped
up, and found him powerful, and powerfully fierce.
Lieutenant Leigh kept his wrist chains clamped under the
sergeant's chin, and dragged them back into the fellow's
throat. Demonic thrashing, and hands scrabbling at the
chains, and at last the sergeant slumped and was still.
Lieutenant Leigh heaved and kicked his way clear. Rennie
reared back, blindly aimed his held-together fists at his opponent's
skull, and felt the twin manacles at his wrists thud
home. A grunt, and Rennie felt the guard go limp.

James Hayter, down on his knees, shook his head and felt
blood splash on his hands. He stumbled to his feet.

'Sir? Captain Rennie? Are you all right?'

'I am all right.'

'As am I.' Lieutenant Leigh.

'We must get hold of those damned keys, and free
ourselves.'

A frantic search for the ring of keys, in the jostling, chain-clinking
darkness. At last Lieutenant Leigh located the ring
by the sergeant's outstretched foot. And in blind, fumbling
and cursing haste he tried to find the correct key for his irons,
and could not. James crouched and searched the pockets
of the sergeant's coat, and found a tinderbox. He stretched
to the farthest extent of his chains to where he thought the
lantern had fallen. And could not find it.

'Christ's blood, where is it!'

Stretching, straining, his fingertips swiping and scrabbling
over the filthy stone floor. A squeak as his hand touched a
slippery tail, and he heard the rat scuttling away along the
wall. And now his fingers found the tip of the bayonet on
the guard's dropped musket. With great difficulty he managed
to grasp the bayonet and pull the musket toward him, cutting
a finger on the razor edge of the blade. At last he had the
musket in his hands, and with it probed for the lantern,
located it, hooked the handle with the bayonet and dragged
it toward him.

A moment, a light struck with blood-dripping fingers, and
the lantern was lit. The glass of one facet was broken, but the
lantern stayed alight, and in a few moments more they had
found the correct keys for their manacles and leg irons on
the ring. The three Expedients were free. But only free, as
they were obliged to acknowledge, within one section of a
large fort.

'A change of plan,' said James now. 'Since we are no
longer obliged to wait until we could be brought out of the
cell and took before an officer, and then attempt our escape
– as I'd originally proposed – we can now proceed of our
own volition.'