The Only Victor (12 page)

“I understand.” Bolitho saw the surprise on Tyacke's maimed face.

“Because I am what I am, is that it?” He shook his head and Tyacke caught a quick glimpse of the terrible scar which was only partly hidden by the lock of hair. “I had another flag lieutenant once. He used to call me and my captains,
We Happy Few.
By God, Mr Tyacke, there are precious few of us now! Oh yes, I know what it is to find a friend, then lose him in the twinkling of an eye. Sometimes I think it is best to know nobody, and to care for nothing.”

Somebody called from the deck, “Th' slaver's under way, sir!”

“I—I am sorry, sir.” Tyacke had to leave, but wanted to remain.

“There's no need.” Bolitho met his gaze and smiled. “And know this. I
do
care. And when I call for volunteers tomorrow—”

Tyacke turned to the ladder. “You'll not lack them, Sir Richard. Not in this ship.” Then he was gone, and moments later came the cry,
“Anchor's aweigh!”

Bolitho sat for several minutes, his ears deaf to the din of rudder and canvas as the schooner curtsied round, free of the land once more.

Why had he spoken to Tyacke like that? He smiled at his own answer. Because he needed him and his men more than they would ever know, or understand.

With great care he opened the letter, then stared with surprise as a dried ivy leaf fell to the table.

Her writing seemed to blur as he held the letter closer to the swaying lantern.

My darling Richard,

This leaf is from your house and my home—

It was enough. The remainder he would read later when he was quite alone.

6
W
HILE OTHERS DARE . . .

L
IEUTENANT
James Tyacke clung to the weather rail and squinted through the spray as Bolitho appeared by the companion-way.

“Sail in sight, sir!”

Bolitho clutched a backstay and nodded. “I heard the call, Mr Tyacke. You've a good man aloft!”

It had been dark to all intents when he had caught the lookout's cry. Even in so small a vessel it had been difficult, and to anyone less experienced the overnight change in wind and weather would have appeared astonishing. The wind had veered several points and now came from the north, or near enough. With her bowsprit pointing due east,
Miranda
appeared to be lying hard over, the sea occasionally licking above the lee bulwark; when it touched your skin it felt like ice.

Bolitho peered to where the horizon should be, but could see nothing. Only the creaming wave-crests and the blacker depths of fast-moving troughs. It would make the two schooners' approach doubly challenging. A lantern was shuttered across the tumbling water, and Bolitho guessed that the captured slaver was less than half a cable away. It was a mark of Tyacke's and Jay's experience that they had managed to keep in close company all through the night. When dawn finally broke the seamen would be at their worst, he thought. Worn out by trimming sails, reefing and changing tack over and over again.

Tyacke shouted, “Time to close with
Albacora,
sir.” He was watching him in the darkness, his eyes well accustomed to the night while Bolitho was still trying to adjust to it.

It was strange to realise that the lookout could not only see the rising dawn but the sails of another vessel. It had to be
Truculent.
If it was not, it could only be the enemy.

“Deck there! She's a frigate, sir. Hove-to.”

Bolitho heard Simcox release a sigh. So it was
Truculent.
Captain Poland could justly be proud of another successful rendezvous.

Someone called, “Th' slaver's come about, sir. 'Er boat's in the water.”

Tyacke muttered, “Lucky it's no further. It'll be a rough haul for the oarsmen.”

Bolitho touched Tyacke's arm and said, “About the volunteers?”

Tyacke faced him. “That deserter was sent over from the flag-ship with the prize crew. There was a Royal Marine too, for all the use
he'll
be.” He spoke with the unreasonable contempt of sailors for members of the Corps.

“Is that all?”

Tyacke shrugged. “It's better this way, sir. My ship will provide the remainder.” His teeth showed faintly through the shadows as the first hint of light fingered the horizon. “I spoke to them myself, sir. Men I know and trust.” He added bluntly, “More to the point, who trust
me.
”

“Mr Simcox knows what he must do?”

Tyacke did not answer directly. He was watching the approaching boat as it lifted and plunged like a winged fish while it fought around the stern to find shelter beneath
Miranda
's lee. He said, “Mr Simcox will remain in
Miranda.
” He paused as if expecting to be challenged.

Bolitho said, “I placed you in charge. It must be your decision.”

Simcox suddenly lurched towards them. “
I must protest!
I know these waters, and in any case—” Tyacke seized his arm and spun him round. “Do as you're bloody told, man! I command here! Now attend to that boat!”

Bolitho could barely see the acting-master in the gloom, but felt his disbelief and hurt as if Tyacke had struck him.

Tyacke said heavily, “Ben is a fine sailor. If he survives this bloody war, begging your pardon, sir—and I said
if
—he'll have a career. Something waiting for him even if they pitch him on the beach with all the others.” He gestured angrily towards the confusion in the waist of the schooner. God damn you, Morgan, catch a turn there, or you'll stove in the bloody boat!”

Bolitho had not heard him berate any of his seamen before. He was trying to get it out of himself, to forget what he had said and done to his only friend.

Figures lurched through the darkness and then Jay, the master's mate, appeared by the tiller.

“All prepared, sir! Ready to change crews!” He glanced quickly from Tyacke to Simcox, who was standing by the foremast, then asked, “Ben not ready yet, sir?”

Tyacke said harshly, “I am going in his place. So stay with him.” For a moment his voice softened. “And the ship.”

Another figure appeared and Bolitho saw it was the midshipman, Segrave.

Tyacke murmured, “He volunteered, sir, and I might need another officer, if things go badly.” He said more loudly, “Are you still eager, Mr Segrave? You can still fall out—no one would blame you after what you did for Mr Jay.”

The youth's face seemed to grow out of the shadows as the first pale sunlight reflected from the dripping sails and rigging. He said firmly, “I
want
to go, sir.”

The lookout's cry made them look up again. “She's
Truculent
right enough, sir!” A further pause, then, “She's shaken out some reefs an' she's comin' about.”

Tyacke said, “She'll be sending a boat for you, sir.”

“Yes.” Bolitho saw Allday with the small bag of clothing which they had brought with them from
Themis.
So like those other occasions, when suddenly there is no more time left. Lastly came Jenour, yawning hugely. He had slept through everything. The other figures had disappeared into the pitching boat alongside; Tyacke was eager to leave. To get it over.

He said in a calm voice, “I'll not let you down, sir.”

Bolitho took his hand. It was hard like Thomas Herrick's. He replied quietly, “You wouldn't know
how,
Mr Tyacke.”

Tyacke swung one leg over the bulwark, but paused as Simcox pulled himself along the side heedless of the sea sluicing along the scuppers, dragging at his legs.

“You want me, Ben?”

Simcox staggered and almost fell headlong, but Tyacke caught him with his arm. Watching from the mainmast bitts Bolitho saw and understood. It was like a last embrace.

Tyacke said roughly, “You've too much to lose, Ben, and you know it. You'll make a fine Master, with a proper captain to take care of, eh?”

Simcox said something but it was lost in the drumming rigging and the turmoil alongside.

When Bolitho looked again Tyacke had gone and the boat was surging away once more, spray flying from the oar blade like ragged silk.

Bolitho said, “Get under way, Mr Simcox. The sooner we can meet with
Truculent,
the faster we can—” He left the rest unsaid.

Allday said gruffly, “He's all aback, an' that's no error!”

Bolitho called, “Mr Simcox, once I am in
Truculent
you will follow the fireship.” He had not used her name. By accident or design, he wondered? Perhaps to make Simcox accept her brutal role. What it might well mean for her crew.

Simcox stared at him. “Pretend to give chase, Sir Richard?” He sounded vague.

“Yes. It is an old trick but it may well work, and give Mr Tyacke the opportunity to stand closer to the enemy.”

He glanced at his cuff and saw the gold lace suddenly clear and bright; even felt the first warmth as the sunlight rolled down from the horizon.

Jenour asked, “What
are
their chances, Sir Richard?”

Bolitho looked at him, steadily. “Not good. With the wind against them they will have to lose valuable time tacking back and forth. After Mr Tyacke has fired the fuses he will have to pull away in the boat and head for the shore. They will fall into Dutch hands, but with our army so near I feel certain they will not be harmed.” He saw the doubt on Jenour's young face. “If Mr Tyacke fails and is too late to get away, we will lose twelve good men. In a frontal attack we could lose every ship and every soul in the squadron.”

Allday gazed towards the land. “Not a choice
I'd
care to make, Sir Richard.”

Bolitho pushed the lock of hair from his forehead. Allday understood. One man or a thousand; life or death; it was a decision which was damned either way.

Allday added, “I'll lay odds at the Admiralty they never gives it a thought, nor lose a wink of sleep.”

Bolitho saw patches of cloud scudding out from the land and imagined he could feel dust between his teeth.

Allday was studying him grimly and said, “I was a mite bothered back there, Sir Richard. Knowin' you, I did think once or twice that
you
might take charge o' the fireship.”

Bolitho looked at Simcox, who was still staring after
Albacora
as she laid herself over on her new course.

“Not this time, old friend.”

Allday watched
Truculent
's pyramid of pale canvas rising above the departing shadows while she bore down on the schooner.

His worry had been real enough, until he had remembered what Bolitho had said when they had been together.
I want to go home.
It was as if the words had been torn from his throat. Allday had shared most things with Bolitho but he had never heard him speak like that before. He released a huge sigh. But they were still a long way from England.

Even as the deck planking began to steam in the first morning warmth,
Truculent
went about and then lowered the gig smartly from her quarter.

Bolitho waited for Simcox to have his depleted company piped to halliards and braces to heave-to and await the boat, then said, “I wish you well, Mr Simcox. I have written a report which will not come amiss at your final interview.”

Simcox nodded and replied, “I am grateful, Sir Richard.” He struggled for the right words. “Y'see, Sir Richard, we was friends, an' I know why he's doin' this for me.”

Bolitho said, “If anyone can do it,
he
can.” He thought of that last handshake, firm and hard like Herrick's; and of Herrick's
Lady Luck
in whom he had always believed so fervently.

He saw the frigate's boat pulling strongly towards them, a lieutenant trying to stand upright in the sternsheets while the hull bucked beneath him. So like Poland, he thought, everything correct and beyond criticism.

To Simcox he said, “I hope we meet again. You have a good company and a fine little ship.” Even as he spoke he knew what was wrong. It was better not to know them, see and recognise their faces, before you made a decision which could kill them all. He had told himself often enough in the past, and after
Hyperion
's end he had sworn it to himself again.

“Stand by, on deck!”

Bolitho nodded to those by the bulwark. Old Elias Archer the gunner, Jay the master's mate who would probably take Simcox's place when he quit the ship. Faces he had come to know in so short a while. He noticed that Sperry the boatswain was not here. It was good to know he would be with Tyacke. He wondered why the midshipman had insisted on going with the prize crew when he had just received orders to return to his old ship. Perhaps the one riddle answered the other? In Tyacke's hands they might manage to reach the shore. He shut it from his thoughts like slamming a door.

“And I shall not forget the beer, Mr Simcox!”

Then he was down and into the boat, gripping the lieutenant's shoulder and trying not to allow his legs to be caught by his sword.

Only Allday saw his face when he made that last carefree comment.

He was also the only one who knew what it had cost him.

“So this is where it happened?” Tyacke stooped to peer into the
Albacora
's cabin. “It's like a pig-sty!”

Midshipman Segrave darted a quick glance at the bunk as if he expected to see the naked slave-girl still chained there. Like the rest of the crew's quarters, the cabin was full of inflammable material of every sort which had been piled or thrown on top of the original master's possessions. The whole schooner stank of it. Oil, old canvas and oakum soaked in grease, wood dipped in tar which had been gathered from Warren's two transports: anything which would transform
Albacora
into a raging torch. Segrave felt the air playing around his face from one of the jagged vent holes which had been cut in the deck to fan the flames. For the first time since he had pushed himself forward to volunteer he knew true fear.

Tyacke's voice helped to reassure him. He sounded completely absorbed in his own thoughts, almost matter-of-fact. As if he accepted the inevitability of his fate with the same coolness as he had changed roles with Simcox.