“There ought to be little cakes and sweetmeats, too, sir,” said Turner. “But we couldn’t offer him blackstrap and biscuit.”
“I suppose not,” said Hornblower.
The Mudir sipped cautiously at his coffee again, and resumed his speech.
“He says you have a very fine ship, sir,” said Turner. “I think he is coming to the point soon.”
“Thank him and tell him what a wonderful village he has, if you think that’s the right thing,” said Hornblower.
The Mudir sat back in his chair — it was plain that he was not accustomed to chairs — studying first Hornblower’s face and then Turner’s. Then he spoke again; his voice was well modulated, well controlled.
“He’s asking if Atropos is going to stay long, sir,” said Turner.
It was the question Hornblower was expecting.
“Say that I have not completed my stores yet,” he said.
He was quite sure that the preliminary operations of salvage, sweeping for the wreck, buoying it, and sending down the divers, had escaped observation, or at least would be quite unintelligible from the shore. He did not take his eyes from the Mudir’s face as Turner translated and the Mudir replied.
“He says he presumes you will be leaving as soon as you’ve done that,” said Turner.
“Tell him it’s likely.”
“He says this would be a good place to wait for information about French ships, sir. The fishing boats often come in with news.”
“Tell him I have my orders.”
The suspicion began to form in Hornblower’s mind that the Mudir did not want Atropos to leave. Perhaps he wanted to keep him here until an ambush could be laid, until the guns at the fort could be manned, until the Vali returned with the local army. This was a good way to carry on a diplomatic conversation. He could watch the Mudir all the time, while any unguarded statement of Turner’s could be disavowed on the grounds of poor translation if no other way.
“We can keep an eye on the Rhodes Channel from here, sir, he says,” went on Turner. “It’s the most likely course for any Frenchy. It looks as if he wants to get his twenty guineas, sir.”
“Maybe so,” said Hornblower, trying to convey by his tone that he saw no need for Turner to contribute to the conversation. “Say that my orders give me very little discretion.”
With the conversation taking this turn it was obvious that the best tactics would be to display a reluctance that might with great difficulty be overcome. Hornblower hoped that Turner’s command of lingua franca was equal to this demand upon it.
The Mudir replied with more animation than he had previously shown; it was as if he were about to show his hand.
“He wants us to stay here, sir,” said Turner. “If we do there’ll be much better supplies coming in from the country.”
That was not his real reason, obviously.
“No,” said Hornblower. “If we can’t get the supplies we’ll go without them.”
Hornblower was baring to be careful about the expression on his face; he had to say these things to Turner as if he really meant them — the Mudir was not letting anything escape his notice.
“Now he’s coming out in the open, sir,” said Turner. “He’s asking us to stay.”
“Then ask him why he wants us to.”
This time the Mudir spoke far a long time.
“So that’s it, sir,” reported Turner. “Now we know. There are pirates about.”
“Tell me exactly what he said, if you please, Mr. Turner.”
“There are pirates along the coast, sir,” explained Turner, accepting the rebuke. “A fellow called Michael — Michael the — the Slayer of Turks, sir. I’ve heard of him. He raids these coasts. A Greek, of course. He was at Fettech two days back. That’s just along the coast, sir.”
“And the Mudir’s afraid this’ll be the next place he raids?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll ask him so as to make sure, sir,” added Turner, when Hornblower glanced at him.
The Mudir was quite eloquent now that he had taken the plunge Turner had to listen for a long time before he could resume his translation.
“Michael burns the houses, sir, and takes the women and cattle. He’s the sworn enemy of the Mohammedans. That’s where the Vali is with the local army, sir. He went to head off Michael, but he guessed wrong. He went to Adalia, and that’s a week’s march away, sir.”
“I see.”
With Atropos lying in Marmorice Bay a pirate would never venture in, and the Mudir and his people were safe as long as she stayed there. The purpose of the Mudir’s visit was plain; he wanted to persuade Hornblower to stay until this Michael was at a safe distance again. It was a remarkable piece of good fortune; it was, thought Hornblower, ample compensation for the freak of fate which had left McCullum wounded in a duel. In the same way that in a long enough session the whist player found that the luck evened itself out, so it was with war. Good luck followed bad — and for Hornblower that was an astonishing admission, although he was ready enough to admit that bad luck followed good. But he must on no account show any pleasure.
“It’s a stroke of luck for us, sir,” said Turner.
“Please keep your conclusions to yourself, Mr. Turner,” said Hornblower bitingly.
The tone of his voice and Turner’s crestfallen expression puzzled the Mudir, who had not ceased to watch them closely. But he waited patiently for the unbelievers to make the next move.
“No,” said Hornblower decisively, “tell him I can’t do it.”
At Hornblower’s shake of the head the Mudir actually showed a little dismay even before Turner translated. He stroked his white beard and spoke again, choosing his words carefully.
“He’s offering to bribe us, sir,” said Turner. “Five lambs or kids far every day we stay here.”
“That’s better,” said Hornblower. “Tell him I’d rather have money.”
It was the Mudir’s turn to shake his head when he heard what Turner had to say. He looked, to Hornblower’s searching eye, like a man quite sincere.
“He says there isn’t any money, sir. The Vali took all there was when he was here last.”
“He has our twenty guineas, anyway. Tell him I want them back, and six lambs a day — no kids — and I’ll stay.”
That was how it was decided in the end. With Turner escorting the Mudir back in the launch Hornblower went forward to inspect the gunner’s work. It was nearly completed. A hundred odd feet of hose, carefully coiled, lay on the deck, and one end disappeared into a powder keg covered over with canvas which the gunner was smearing thickly with pitch. Hornblower stooped to examine what must be the weakest point, where the canvas cover of the keg was sewn round the hose.
“That’s as good as I can make it, sir,” said the gunner. “But it’s a mighty long length of hose.”
At a hundred feet below water the pressures were enormous. A minute, indetectable pinprick anywhere in the fabric and water would be forced in.
“We can try it,” said Hornblower. “The sooner the better.”
That was how it always was — “the sooner the better” might be found written on a naval officer’s heart like Queen Mary’s Calais. Man the gig, see that all necessary equipment was packed into it, herd the divers into the bows after their last-minute instructions from McCullum, and start off without a minute wasted. Drink coffee with a Turkish Mudir at one hour, and dabble in underwater explosives the next. If variety was the spice of life, thought Hornblower, his present existence must be an Oriental curry.
“Easy!” he ordered, and the gig drifted slowly up to the moored plank which marked the accessible point of the wreck underneath.