Bolitho waited, allowing Broughton time to calm down. He said quietly, “Had you wished it, sir, I could have obtained a flag-lieutenant from the squadron…”
Broughton eyed him coldly. “Oh, to damnation with him! Some favour I received years ago has to be repaid. I promised to take that fool off his father’s hands and away from London.” He broke off and peered up at the skylight, his head on one side as if listening.
Then he said, “You have heard the news, no doubt.” His chest was moving with sudden anger again. “These miserable, treacherous scum have the impudence to mutiny, eh? The whole fleet at the Nore aflame with, with…” he groped for the word and then added harshly, “so much for your damned humanity. Conceit is what I call it, if you believe for one single moment that their sort respect leniency!”
Bolitho said, “With all deference, sir, I think there is no connection between the Auriga and the trouble at the Nore.”
“Do you not?” His voice was steady again. Too steady. “I can assure you, Captain Bolitho, I have already had my fill of treachery at Spithead. To have my own flagship taken over by a lot of crawling, sanctimonious, lying bastards. The humiliation, the very shame of it clings to me like the stench of a sewer.”
There was a discreet tap at the door and Captain Giffard of the ship’s marines peered in and reported, “All ready, sir.” He withdrew hurriedly under Broughton’s stare.
Bolitho said, “May I ask what is happening, sir?”
“You may.” Broughton dragged his coat from the chair, his face shining damply with sweat. “Because of you I went against my better judgement. Because of you I allowed the Auriga’s mutineers to stay free and untried.” He swung round, his eyes blazing. “Because of you and your damned promises, promises which you had neither the authority nor the right to offer, I must leave them untouched, if only to uphold your authority as flag captain!” He was shouting now, and Bolitho could picture the other captains beyond the closed door sympathising with him, or grateful that a superior was being cut down to their level. Bolitho did not know any of them enough to decide which. He only knew he was both angry and bitter at the admiral’s sudden attack.
He said harshly, “It was my decision, sir. There was no one else here at the time…”
Broughton yelled, “Do not interrupt me, Bolitho! By God, it might have been better if you had attacked the Auriga and blown her to pieces. If they have officers like you at the Nore, then heaven help England!”
He snatched his sword and clipped it into his belt, adding, “Well, we shall see about mutiny in this squadron.”
Bolitho controlled his voice with an effort. I am sorry you cannot accept my judgement, sir.”
“Judgement?” Broughton looked at him. “I call it surrender.” He shrugged and reached for his hat. “I cannot right a wrong, but by heaven I’ll show them I’ll have no insubordination in my ships!”
He threw open the door and strode into the great cabin.
“Be seated, gentlemen.” He took his place in the centre chair and gestured to Bolitho to sit beside him. “Now, gentlemen, I have called this summary court by the authority invested in me which has been given special powers until such time as the present emergency has been curtailed.”
Bolitho looked quickly at the others. Their faces were like masks. They were probably dazed by the swift change of events and wondering how it would affect them personally.
Broughton seemed to be speaking to the opposite bulkhead, his voice even and under control once again. “The ringleader of the Auriga’s insurrection was one Thomas Gates, captain’s clerk. He was, er, allowed to escape, and will no doubt be responsible with others for the death of the courier and seizure of my sealed despatches.”
The air in the cabin was stiff with tension, so that shipboard noises seemed suddenly loud and unreal.
Broughton continued calmly, “The master’s mate,” he glanced at a paper before him, “one John Taylor, at present under guard for conspiracy, is thereby the senior culprit available to this court.”
“May I speak, sir?” Bolitho’s voice made every head turn towards him. For just those few seconds he saw the others as individuals, the differing expressions mirrored in their eyes. Sympathy, understanding, from one even amusement.
He shut them out of his thoughts as he continued quietly, “Taylor was one of many, sir. He came to me because he trusted me.”
Broughton turned to study him, his eyes distant. “Two of his companions have already laid evidence against him as the ringleader, next to Gates.” For an instant his gaze softened with something like compassion. “They could be getting even with Taylor for deposing their leader. They might equally be just and loyal seamen.” His mouth hardened. “That is no longer my concern. This squadron is, and I intend to see it fulfils whatever duty laid upon it without interference.” He let his gaze lock with Bolitho’s. “From anyone.”
Then he rapped the table with his knuckles. “Bring in the prisoner.”
Bolitho sat quite still as Taylor entered between two marines with Captain Giffard marching stiffly at his back. He looked pale
but composed, and as he saw Bolitho his face lit up with sudden recognition.
Broughton eyed him coolly. “John Taylor, you are charged with mutinous conspiracy and seizure of His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Auriga. You were accused with one other, not yet in custody, of this same act, and are called here to receive sentence.” He tapped his fingertips together and added quietly, “Your treachery, at a time when England is fighting for her very life, singles you out as a man without either pride or conscience. You, a master’s mate, trained and trusted by your superiors, have betrayed the very Service which has given you your means to live.”
Taylor seemed stunned. He replied in a small voice, “Not true, sir.” He shook his head. “Not true.”
“However,” Broughton leaned back in his chair and looked at the deckhead beams, “in view of your past record, and all that my flag captain has done and said on your behalf…” He broke off as Taylor took half a step forward, his eyes shining with sudden hope. As a marine pulled him back again Broughton added, “I have decided not to impose the maximum penalty, as your case, in my personal view, demands.”
Taylor turned his head dazedly and peered at Bolitho. In the same small voice he whispered, “Thankee, sir. God bless you.”
Broughton sounded irritated. “Instead, the punishment awarded will be that of two dozen lashes and disrating.”
Taylor nodded, his eyes swimming with emotion. “Thankee, sir!”
Broughton’s voice was like a knife. “Two dozen lashes from each ship assembled here at Falmouth.” He nodded. “Remove the prisoner.”
Taylor said nothing as the marines wheeled him round and marched him out.
Bolitho stared at the closed doors, the empty space where Taylor had stood, and felt as if the cabin was closing in on him. As if he and not Taylor had received the sentence.
Broughton rose and said briefly, “Return to your ships, gentlemen, and read my new standing orders which Mr Calvert will make available. Punishment will be carried out at eight bells tomorrow forenoon. Normal procedure.”
As they filed out past Calvert, Bolitho said quietly, “Why, sir? In the name of God, why?”
Broughton looked past him, his eyes bleak, “Because I say so.”
Bolitho picked up his hat, his mind dulled by the sudden savagery of Broughton’s justice.
“Any more orders for the present, sir?” He did not know how he was managing to keep his tone formal and devoid of feeling.
“Yes. Pass the word to Captain Brice to resume command of Auriga.” He regarded Bolitho for several seconds. “Mine is the responsibility. So too is the privilege.”