A door opened and he heard the clink of glasses. No wonder Bouverie had looked so depressed and so angry. His ship was too slow. By the time Matchless was restored to her proper trim it might be too late. For him.
Bethune said, “I can offer Halcyon in support. I cannot spare my flagship, and the rest of the squadron is deployed elsewhere.”
He banged the table with his fist. “God, I could find work for ten more frigates!”
Adam knew the other frigate, half Unrivalled’s size, twenty-eight guns, with a youthful and zealous captain named Christie. The family again… Christie had been a midshipman under James Tyacke at the Nile. They had both been scarred, in different ways, on that terrible day.
Adam could feel Bethune watching him, perhaps seeing himself already there, confronted by an operation which at the best of times could spell disaster. But if the corsairs were using the islands they could not have chosen a more effective lair. A thorn in the side; no. Far deeper than any thorn.
Hazardous or not, Captain Bouverie would perceive it as an act of favouritism. As I would. He felt the piece of silver inside his shirt, and wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.
He recalled a captain who had once said to him after a bitter hand-to-hand engagement, “You might have been killed, you young idiot! Did you ever pause to consider that?”
He straightened his back and took a goblet from the hovering servant.
“I think it can be done, sir.”
“I hoped you might say that.” Bethune could scarcely conceal his relief. “But no unnecessary risks.”
Adam smiled tightly. Bethune had never lost his ship, witnessed her agony, and that of her people who had trusted in him.
Perhaps it made it easier for him.
Onslow ventured, “The reception, Sir Graham?”
Bethune frowned at him. “It would be better if you weighed at first light. I will have your orders prepared immediately, Christie’s too.” He looked at the pile of documents awaiting his signature, and said abruptly, “Sir Lewis and Lady Bazeley, were they any trouble?”
“We had a fast enough passage, sir.”
Bethune looked at him and smiled. It was not what he had asked.
“There is a reception for them this evening. Short notice, but they are used to that in Malta. I am not.”
He walked with him to the door, while Onslow made a display of folding the charts, probably in readiness for the next visitor.
Bethune said, “Captain Forbes will give you all the help he can. He has served in these waters for many years.” Then, at a complete tangent, “I am truly sorry that you cannot join us this evening. Everything must appear normal.” He paused, as if he had gone too far. “A king once said, if you tell your best friend a secret, it is no longer a secret!”
The mood did not last, and he said almost brusquely, “I will see you when you sign for your orders. No matter what I am doing, I want to be told.”
Adam descended the marble stairs, his mind already on the details of his mission. Total responsibility. He had heard it from his uncle several times. If you succeed, others will get the reward; if you fail, yours is the total responsibility.
He saw the flag captain’s stocky figure by the entrance. Ready to play his role.
Unrivalled had arrived that morning; tomorrow she would weigh and proceed to sea once more. And suddenly he knew he was not sorry to leave.
Leigh Galbraith stood by the hammock nettings and studied the boats alongside. One of them was Halcyon’s gig, her crew very smart in checkered shirts and tarred hats. He smiled. A ship shall be judged by her boats.
The other frigate’s captain had been down in the great cabin for more than an hour. Each seeing his own ship’s part in what lay ahead, the selection of men, and who would lead them.
A landing party. A raid, to flush out the corsairs so that the frigates could get amongst them before they could make good their escape.
He heard Lieutenant Massie, who had the watch, speaking sharply to a boatswain’s mate, a man not known for his quick response to anything beyond routine. Massie had little patience with anyone who could not keep up. He was a good gunnery officer, one of the best Galbraith had known, but he was not a man for whom it was possible to feel any affection.
Massie joined him now, breathing hard. “A bloody block of wood, that man!” Galbraith glanced at the open skylight. Soon now. He heard Bolitho laugh. A small thing, but reassuring.
The captain had said to him while they had been waiting for Christie to arrive from Halcyon, “I want you to take charge of the landing party. I’ve a few suggestions which we can discuss later, but mostly it will be your initiative, and your decision when you get there.” His dark eyes had been intense. “Not a battle, Leigh. I need you as my senior lieutenant, not as a dead hero. But you are the obvious choice.” He had smiled. “The right choice.”
Massie said, “One man to be flogged, so why all the fuss?”
A seaman had been found in his mess, off duty and drunk. It seemed they had only just dropped anchor, and now they were leaving again… There will be danger. Aboard ship it was different. Faces and voices to sustain you, the strength of the timbers surrounding you.
Galbraith said, “A flogging helps no one at a time like this.”
“They’d laugh in your face without firm, strong discipline, and you know it!” Massie sounded triumphant when Galbraith did not respond. “They offer us scum to be made into seamen. Well, so be it!”
Galbraith stared at the other ships, their reflections less sharp now in a freshening breeze.
Massie seemed to read his thoughts, and said angrily, “I expect half of Malta knows what we are about! When we reach those damned islands the birds will have flown, and good riddance, I say!”
Is that what I was hoping? Galbraith thought suddenly of the gathering in the captain’s cabin when they had entertained Sir Lewis Bazeley and his young wife at supper. The wine, like the endless procession of tempting and distracting adventures with which Bazeley had dominated the conversation, disappearing bottle by bottle. Like most sea officers, Galbraith had little experience of fine wines. You took what was available, in a far different world from that described by Sir Lewis. But once or twice he had received the impression that Bazeley had not always known the luxury of good food and wine, or beautiful women. He was a hard man in more ways than Galbraith had yet fathomed.
Massie waved an arm towards the shore. “And a reception, no less! We should be there, after all we’ve achieved since we joined this damned squadron!”
Galbraith remembered most of all how the young woman had looked at the captain whenever he had answered one of Bazeley’s many questions. As if she were learning something. About him, perhaps…
He answered wearily, “Next time, maybe.”
Midshipman Cousens said, “The captain’s coming up, sir.”
Galbraith nodded, glad that the conversation had been interrupted, and that Massie would be quiet for a while.
“Man the side!”
The two captains stood together by the rail and waited for the gig to grapple alongside.
Christie turned and smiled at Galbraith. “My second lieutenant will be supporting you on this venture. Tom Colpoys-he’s an experienced officer, so you’ll have no complaint on that score!”
So easily said. As if neither of these young captains had a care or a doubt in the world.
The muskets slapped to the present, a sword sliced through the dusty air, the calls squealed, and moments later Christie’s gig pulled smartly out from Unrivalled’s shadow.
Adam Bolitho swung on his heel. “A man for punishment, I understand?”
Galbraith watched his face as Massie reeled off the offences.
“Willis, you say?” Adam paced to the rail and back again. “Foretopman, starboard watch, correct?”
Massie seemed surprised. “Aye, sir.”
“First offence?”
Massie was out of his depth. “Of this kind, sir.”
Adam pointed towards the shimmering rooftops and battlements.
“Over yonder, a good many will be too drunk to stand tonight, Mr Massie. Officers, no less, so think on that too! They shall not be flogged and neither shall Willis. Give him a warning, this time.” He looked keenly at the lieutenant, as if searching for something. “And a warning for the one who brought him aft in the first place. Responsibility pulls in two directions. I’ll not have it used for working off old scores.”