He thought of the last flogging. There would be others soon, he decided bleakly.
He pushed himself away from the sill and crossed to the quarter windows. At the far end of the little bay he could see the Spanish Princesa floating calmly above her reflection like a carved model. Perhaps he had ordered the Hyperion to be moored across the entrance because of her and not for fear of a seaward attack, he thought. From the moment the other ship had dropped anchor there had been friction, mounting in some cases to open fighting, between seamen from the Hyperion and those of the Spaniard.
After the first week of fruitless waiting the Spanish captain had come aboard to see him. He had got straight to the point. There were nearly a hundred French prisoners on the island. One hundred more bellies to be filled with food and fresh water.
'We must destroy them.' Captain Latorre, had sounded eager. 'They are useless to us!'
His lust for blood had been another reason for Bolitho's decision to keep control of the main fortress in his own grasp. Ashby's marines had it to themselves,. while the Spanish soldiers from the Princesa had to content themselves with the old Moorish fort at the other end of the island.
Latorre had been furious, both with Bolitho's refusal to butcher the prisoners and with his equally firm refusal to allow the Spanish flag to fly above the battery.
The purser broke into his thoughts. 'Them Spaniards have got plenty of water, sir. I'm sure of it.' He scowled. 'Damn them!'
Bolitho eyed him calmly. 'Maybe, Mr. Whiting. I suspect you are right. But if Hyperion were not anchored here with her guns bared I think the gallant Captain Latorre would have already gone. To demand to inspect his ship's stores would be inviting disaster. And I do recall that we are supposed to be allies in this venture!'
The sarcasm was lost on the purser. 'Dons or Frogs, you can't trust none o' them!'
There was a further interruption as Quarme poked his head inside the door.
'Well, Mr. Quarme? Bolitho saw Whiting sigh, as if relieved that the weight had been lifted from his fat shoulders.
Quarme looked tired. 'Signal from the battery, sir. That French frigate was just sighted to the nor'-west, though God knows what he is using for wind.' He wiped his face. 'I wish to heaven we were out there with him!'
Bolitho nodded to the purser. 'Carry on, Mr. Whiting, but make sure that the casks are guarded watch by watch.' As the door closed he continued, 'That frigate will be keeping an eye on our topmasts, or the flag above the battery.'
Quarme shrugged. 'It is a waste of time. Even with Ashby's small force we can hold the island against a fleet!'
Bolitho eyed him narrowly. It was strange that Quarme had so little imagination. 'Let me remove any doubts, Mr. Quarme. If we do not get water within the week we will have to leave this place. Evacuate it!' He turned away angrily. 'The French know about the water, just as they must know we have not been sent any relief.' He shaded his eyes and stared across at the tall cliffs. Below in the placid water the charred remains of the Spanish flagship Marte shone in the sunlight like black bones. 'And without a favourable wind we might even then be too late. Our people are in a bad state already for want of water.'
`Help may be on its way, sir.' Quarme watched him pacing the cabin. 'Lord Hood must have received your report.'
'Must he?' Bolitho paused in his stride, suddenly angry with Quarme's empty trust and his own inability to find a solution. 'I am glad to bear it. Damn it, man, the Chanticleer could have foundered! There might be fire or mutiny aboard her right this minute!'
Quarme tried to smile. 'I think that unlikely..
Bolitho stared at him coldly. 'So you believe that we should just wait and see, is that it?'
Quarme's smile froze. 'I was only meaning that we could not be expected to know this would happen, sir. We took the island as instructed, we carried out our orders to the best of our ability!'
Bolitho felt suddenly calm. 'Obeying orders is not always the final solution, Mr. Quarme. In the King's service you may have many victories and triumphs. But make one mistake and the value is wiped away.' He tugged the shirt away from his damp skin. 'It is not always enough to have tried.'
He made himself sit down again. 'Face the facts. We have no water to speak of, but against that we have ample stores of spirits and wine. Sooner or later some hotheads are going to run wild, and when that happens we will lose more than this damned island!' H, gestured towards the cliff. 'Without Ashby's marines aboard how long do you imagine we could control a company of drink-maddened seamen?'
Quarme stared at him. 'I have served in this ship for several years, sir. I know most of our people well. They would never betray.
Bolitho waved his hand. 'I do not know whether to admire your faith or to pity you your ignorance!' He ignoredd the sudden flush of anger on Quarme's cheeks. 'I have seen mutiny at close quarters. It is an ugly thing. A terrible thing.' He stared out at the mocking water. 'But they were just ordinary men. No better or worse than these. Men do not change. Only situations.'
Quarme swallowed hard. 'If you say so, sir.'
Bolitho twisted on the bench seat as Allday opened the door a few inches.
'Yes?'
Allday darted a brief glance at the first lieutenant and then said evenly, 'Begging your pardon, but a marine has just come aboard with a message from Captain Ashby.' He eased himself into the cabin. 'He sends his respects, Captain, and would you be prepared to receive the senior French officer in audience?'
Bolitho dragged his mind away from the mental picture of
the empty water casks. 'For what reason,' Allday?'
The big coxswain shrugged. 'Private reasons, Captain. He'll only speak with you.'
Quarme scowled. 'Bloody impudence! I suppose because you stopped the Dons from cutting their throats the French prisoners think you'll grant any damn thing they ask!'
Bolitho looked past him, 'My compliments to Captain Ashby. Tell him to send the man across without delay. I will see him.'
Quarme clenched. his fists. 'Will you require me here, sir?'
Bolitho stood up, his face thoughtful. 'When I send for you, Mr. Quarme.' He watched him stalk towards the door and added slowly, `In war we must change with the wind, Mr. Quarme. No breeze can be ignored when you are drifting on a lee shore!'
The senior surviving officer of the Cozar garrison was an elderly lieutenant of artillery named Charlois. He was a heavily built man with a crumpled, melancholy face and a drooping moustache, and in his ill-fitting uniform and heavy boots presented anything but a military appearance.
Bolitho dismissed Lieutenant, Shanks, who had brought the prisoner from the fortress, and then asked the Frenchman to sit down beside the desk. He saw his eyes watching him as he poured two glasses of wine, but was not deceived by this officer's unprepossessing appearance. For he had commanded the island's main battery. Under his care and knowledge the big but outdated guns had pounded the Spanish eighty-gun flagship into a blazing inferno in a matter of minutes, so that when her magazines had finally exploded the savage victory had been complete. Of the thousand or so ship's company and soldiers crammed aboard, less than a dozen had survived the ordeal. The latter had been carried by the sluggish current to the opposite side of the anchorage, and this fact alone had saved them from the final slaughter by the French sharpshooters below the cliffs.