The Only Victor (11 page)

Bolitho reached up for the side as the boat lurched against the hull and the seamen tossed their oars, like white bones in the sunshine.

He looked down at Allday's troubled face and said calmly, “It is not a question of choice this time. For there is none.” Then he was up and over the bulwark. Allday followed and saw him already talking with Tyacke, who mercifully had his terrible scars turned away.

After what he had suffered, it was unlikely that Tyacke would offer much support.

Commodore Arthur Warren watched with open astonishment, while Bolitho tossed his crumpled shirt to Ozzard before slipping into a clean one. The little servant was fussing round him and almost got knocked over as Bolitho hurried between the table and the stern windows of
Themis
's great cabin.

Before
Themis
began to swing again to her cable, Bolitho had seen the busy activity aboard the nearest transport. The captured slaver was hidden on her seaward side, and he wondered how long it would take to complete the arrangements he had ordered.

Bolitho had never understood his own instincts; how he could sense that time was in short supply. He felt it now, and it was vital that Warren knew what was happening.

He said, “You'll have the schooner
Dove
to repeat your signals to the offshore patrol.” In his mind he could see the thirty-six-gun frigate
Searcher
tacking back and forth somewhere beyond the horizon, Warren's first line of defence should an enemy approach from the west. The second schooner was retained to keep the same contact with the main squadron at Saldanha Bay. It was up to each captain, from the senior, Varian, to the lieutenants who commanded the schooners, to use their own initiative if the wind changed against them, or they sighted any vessel which was obviously hostile. In his written orders Bolitho had stressed his requirements precisely and finally. There would be no heroics, no ship-to-ship actions without informing the commodore.

The anchorage looked strangely deserted and even more vulnerable, and he wondered if Warren were regretting the removal of his aftermost cannon to replace them with useless “quakers.” It was too late for regrets now.

Warren said, “I don't like it, Sir Richard. If you fall in this venture, or are taken prisoner, how will I explain?”

Bolitho looked at him impassively.
Is that all it means?
Perhaps Varian was right after all.

He answered, “I have left some letters.” He saw Jenour turn from an open port. “But have no fear.” He failed to conceal his bitterness. “There are some who would not grieve too much!”

Allday entered through a screen door and handed Bolitho his old sword. He ran his eyes critically over Bolitho's appearance and nodded.

Bolitho smiled. “Satisfied?”

“Aye. But it don't signify that I've changed my mind!”

Allday too had changed into his fine blue jacket and nankeen breeches. He glanced at Bolitho's other sword on the rack and remarked to Ozzard, “Take good care o' that, matey.” He patted the little man's bony shoulder. “Like the last time, remember?”

Bolitho walked to the table again and stared at the chart.

Captain Poland's
Truculent
should be on her station to the west of Table Bay, ready to rendezvous with
Miranda
and her dangerous consort. Varian's
Zest,
the most powerful of the frigates, would be standing to the south-west. If the attack was successful, it would be Varian's task to chase and take any vessels which tried to put to sea to escape the fireship.

Whether the enemy recognised the
Albacora
or not made little difference to the attack. Only to those who remained with the fireship until the last moment would it be important.

The marine sentry called from the door, “Surgeon,
sir!
”

The man who entered was a thin, unsmiling individual whose skin was as pale as Warren's.

He said abruptly, “I am sorry to intrude, sir but
Miranda
's midshipman wishes to return to his ship immediately.”

Warren frowned, irritated by the interruption. “Well, that is for you to say, surely. I am too busy for—”

Bolitho asked, “Is he recovered enough?”

Confused by the presence of the admiral dressed as he was now in his proper uniform, instead of the casual open shirt, the surgeon stammered, “It was a severe wound, sir, but he is young and very determined.” His mouth closed in a thin line, as if he had just decided not to say what he had been about to add. It was not his affair.

“Then he can come over to
Miranda
with us. See to it, Stephen.” Bolitho saw the undisguised relief on the flag lieutenant's features and added, “Did you think I would leave you yet again?” He tried to smile. “If Allday is my right arm, you surely must be my left!”

He thought of Jenour's face when he boarded the flagship only hours ago. A courier brigantine had paused at the anchorage and had sent over a despatch bag without even stopping long enough to anchor. She had been so fast that it was little wonder
Miranda
had not seen any sign of her.

Jenour had dropped his voice as they had walked aft to the cabin. “Inside your official envelope there is . . . a letter . . . for you, Sir Richard.”

Bolitho had turned on him. “Tell me, Stephen—I beg of you!”

Warren had been coming towards them, dragging his feet, trying to control his painful breathing, and Jenour had answered quickly, “It is from your lady, Sir Richard.” He had recognised Bolitho's remaining uncertainty and clarified, “From Falmouth.”

“Thank God.”
At long last. The first letter. He had half expected it might be from Belinda. With distance to give her confidence she might have been demanding more money, or suggesting another reconciliation for the sake of appearances.

The letter was in his pocket now. Somehow, even in
Miranda
's crowded world, he would find a private place where he could read it, feel her presence, hear her voice. When this was over he would write to her again, tell her all the longings he had built up since their wretched parting.

He looked towards the glittering water beyond the stern windows.
If I should fall . . .
Then there would be the other letter which was locked in his strongbox.

Bolitho raised his arm to allow Allday to clip the old family sword to his belt. So many times; and too many had seemed like the last.

Bolitho left the cabin and paused where Ozzard was waiting with his hat. “When we are finished with this matter we shall return to Falmouth.” He saw the anxiety in Ozzard's eyes and added gently, “You are better off here.” He looked across his rounded shoulders. “Commodore Warren will see that you are taken care of.”

He hurried to the entry port and glanced at the silent figures who had paused in their work to watch him leave. How different from England, he thought. These men were probably glad to see him go, as if by remaining their own lives would be more at risk.

The sun was dipping very slowly, like a gigantic red ball which quivered above its own reflection and made the horizon glisten like a heated wire.

Commodore Warren doffed his hat and the calls trilled, while the flagship's reduced section of Royal Marines slapped their muskets in salute.

Then he lowered himself to the longboat and got a brief glimpse of the midshipman, who was sitting crammed beside Jenour and Allday.

“Good day—Mr Segrave, is it not?” The youth stammered something, but at that moment the boat was cast off and with oars pulling and backing, steered away from the side.

Jenour peered astern, glad he was not remaining in
Themis
with Yovell and Ozzard. He touched the lanyard on his fine sword and lifted his chin as if in defiance.

Allday was watching the fiery sunset. It had taken on a new meaning, a threatening aspect, with Death the winner one way or the other.

To break the silence Bolitho asked, “What else do you have in your important-looking bag, Stephen?”

Jenour tore his mind from the letter he was writing in his mind to his parents in Southampton.

“For
Miranda,
Sir Richard.” He could guess what Bolitho was thinking and recalled the letter he had given to him. Bolitho had taken it as if it were life itself. It should have surprised him that his admiral could be two such different men: the one who inspired and commanded, and the other who needed that lady's love so much, but could not hide it as he did his other fears and hopes.

Lieutenant Tyacke waited by the ladder and touched his hat as Bolitho climbed aboard. He even managed an ironic smile as he looked at Jenour and Midshipman Segrave. “Two bad pennies together, eh, Sir Richard?” He took the package from Jenour and said, “The
Albacora
is all but ready, sir.” They stared across the darkening water to the other, untidy schooner. In the sunset's glow she looked as if she were already burning from within.

“We did our best, sir. But not being pierced for gunports to draw the flames, we had to cut makeshift ones to the main hold an' the like.” He nodded grimly. “She'll burn like a torch when need be.”

He turned away; his men were waiting for his attention. Both schooners would sail at nightfall, slink away from the other ships like assassins. Thinking aloud, Tyacke said, “With God's help we should rendezvous with
Truculent
at dawn. Then you'll have a mite more comfort in
her
than I can offer you, sir!”

Bolitho looked at him and saw the red glow on the ruined face. Like melted wax. As if it had just happened.

He said simply, “It is not comfort I need. Your ship has offered me what I want most.”

Tyacke asked with a touch of wariness, “And what may that be, sir?”

“An
example,
Mr Tyacke. How all ships could be, large or small, offered the right trust and leadership.”

“If you will excuse me, sir.” He turned awkwardly. “There is much to do.”

Bolitho gazed at the sun sliding into the horizon and the sea. There should be steam or an explosion, so powerful was its majesty, and menace.

Midshipman Segrave was groping beneath the companion hatch when Simcox found him and said, “You'll have to sleep rough tonight, my lad. We're somewhat overfull till I can discover
Truculent
's whereabouts.” The lighter mood eluded him and he said, “Bob Jay told me about your other injuries.” He saw the youth staring at him in the gloom. “'E
'ad
to. It was 'is duty to me.”

Segrave looked down at his clenched fists. “You had no right . . .”

“Don't you lecture me about rights,
Mister
Segrave! I've had a bloody gutful o' them since I first donned the King's coat, so let's 'ave no more of 'em, see?” His face was only inches from Segrave's as he added vehemently, “You was whipped like a dog to have scars like that, Bob Jay said.
Bully
you, did they? Some poxy scum who thought you was lettin' them down, was that it?” He saw the youth bow his head and nod. Afterwards Simcox thought he had never witnessed such despair. He said, “Well, it's in the past now. Bob Jay'll never forget you saved 'is skin.” He touched his shoulder and added roughly, “I 'ad to tell the Cap'n.”

Segrave shivered, wiping his face with his forearm.

“That was your
duty
too.” But there was no sarcasm or resentment. There was simply nothing at all.

Simcox watched him with concern. “All right then, son?”

Segrave looked at him, his eyes very bright in the lantern's glow from the cabin.

“You don't understand. I was told aboard
Themis.
I am to return to my old ship as soon as we leave the Cape.” He got to his feet and made for the companion ladder. “So you see, it was a lie, like everything else!”

Later, as darkness folded over the anchorage and the stars were still too feeble to separate sea from sky, Bolitho sat at the cabin table, half listening to the muffled commands from the deck, the creak of the windlass as the cable was hove short. Jay, the master's mate, was across in
Albacora
with a small prize crew, so all hands would be working doubly hard and standing watch-and-watch until the rendezvous was made.

Tyacke peered through the door. “Ready to proceed, Sir Richard.” He waited questioningly. “Any further orders?”

Something about him was different.

Bolitho asked, “What is troubling you?”

Tyacke said steadily, “I received orders in the despatch bag, sir. Both Mr Simcox and Segrave are leaving my command after this is over and done with.” He tried to smile, but it made him look desperate. “Ben Simcox is a good friend, and I've come to feel differently about the midshipman since . . .” He did not go on.