Ebb tide

He felt the sword-blade bite and slashed at a face. It pulled back and, in the gloom, the pale oval passed briefly across the dim light from the Flying Fish's shrouded binnacle. For a moment, Drinkwater thought he recognized the man but he swiftly dismissed the thought as a figure loomed to his left and he thrust hard, driving his very fist into another man's belly as his sword-blade ran his victim through.

Drinkwater felt something strike his own shoulder as he twisted his wrist to wrench the sword-blade clear and half staggered, barking his shin painfully against a carronade slide as he broke free of his dying assailant. After the first moment of shock and the reactive thunder of his accelerating heart, he found the cool analytical anodyne to this horrible work. He seemed to be able to see better, despite the darkness, and he breathed with a violent and stertorous effort, snorting through distorted nostrils as he hacked at the invaders, slashing with a terrible effect, and twisting his wrist with a savage energy that tore at the very tendons with its violence. He was a butcher of such ferocity that he had cleared the deck and fought his way to the very stern over which the last of his opponents jumped, when he heard Robinson cry out, 'Turn, sir! Turn!'

It was the smuggler he had first seen and whom he thought he had struck down, the man whose face had been briefly illuminated by the binnacle light. Now he recognized him, and by some strange telepathy, he himself was recognized.

'Jago!'

'Stand aside, Captain, or I'll not answer...'

'You damned fool!'

'Stand aside, I say!'

For a moment they confronted each other in silence as Drinkwater raised his sword. His madness cooled and then, through teeth clenched ready for reaction, he muttered, 'Go over the side, man, or I must strike you ... Go!'

But Jago did not jump. Instead, the sword of another ran him through from the rear and he stood transfixed, staring at Drinkwater as he fell, first to his knees and then full length, snapping the sword-blade and revealing his executioner as Captain Moring, a broken sword in his hand.

'That, sir,' Moring said, his eyes agleam, 'is how strong a trade-wind may blow!'

CHAPTER 15 The Knight Commander

1830

Drinkwater drew off his gloves, threw them on to the table and took the glass stopper from the decanter.

'There are some strange ironies in life, are there not, my dear?' he asked, pouring two glasses and handing one to Elizabeth. 'To be thus honoured as an act of spite against a foreign power for something done years ago seems too ridiculous.'

Accepting the glass, Elizabeth sank into a chair, kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes ecstatically. 'Thank you, Sir Nathaniel,' she said, smiling up at him.

'I hope that is a jest and does not become a custom,' Drinkwater replied, sitting opposite and raising his glass in a silent toast to his wife.

'Is that a command, Sir Nathaniel?'

'It most decidedly is, my dear, or else I shall have to call you Milady and refer to you as Her Ladyship...'

'Leddyship, surely, my dear.'

'Well at least we agree about that being fatuous.'

'I was referred to in that way sufficiently today to last me the remainder of my life. But tell me', Elizabeth said, after sipping her wine, 'what you mean by annoying foreign powers. It all sounds rather serious and sinister, this matter of spite.'

'It's also damned ironic, but I had no idea until that fellow, what was his name, the cove who looked after us at the levée...?'

'Ponsonby, I think.'

'That's the fellow! Must have spent half his life bowing and scraping! What a damned tedious time he seems to have had of it too...'

'Took us both for a pair of country tree-sparrows and I'm not surprised, this gown must be at least three years out of fashion ...'

'You looked perfect, my dear, even the King said so.'

Elizabeth clucked a laugh. 'Bless him,' she purred, 'he reminded me of a rather over-grown midshipman in his enthusiasm. He seemed to have a soft spot for you too.'

'Yes, odd that. I think 'tis because we both commanded the frigate Andromeda at one time or another and he still believes I took the Suvorov when I commanded her. Well,' Drinkwater said with a sigh, "tis too late to disabuse him now that I'm dubbed knight for my trouble.'

'Knight Commander of the Bath,' his wife corrected, laughing, 'that is surely better than being an Elder Brother of the Trinity House.' She made a face. 'But you haven't told me of this spiteful snub to France.'

'Not France, my dear. Russia is the target of the Government's displeasure. The diplomatic vacillations of St Petersburg have, as Ponsonby put it, to be "disapproved of" and this disapproval has to be signalled by subtle means ...'

'La, sir, and you are a "subtle means", are you? Well,' she burst out laughing, "tis as ludicrous as being a Knight of the Bath or an Elder Brother...'

'And I never commanded a ship-of-the-line,' he laughed with her, adding ruefully, 'nor hoisted a flag, though I managed a broad pendant but once.'

'My dear Nathaniel, the King is not quite the fool he looks. Your services were more subtle than the means by which your knighthood is to be used against the Russians, and the King knows sufficient of you to be aware that of all the post-captains on the list your name is the most deserving...'

'Oh come, my dear, that simply isn't true.' Drinkwater spluttered a modest protest only slightly tinged with hypocrisy.

'Well I think so, anyway.'

'I approve of your partiality' Drinkwater smiled and looked about the room. They had hardly changed a thing since the house had been left to him as a legacy by Lord Dungarth. It had apparently been the only asset in Dungarth's estate that had not been sold to satisfy his creditors. It was a modest place, set in a terrace in Lord North Street, and it had been Dungarth's intention that Drinkwater should use it when he succeeded the Earl as head of the Admiralty's Secret Department. In the event Drinkwater's tenure of that office had been short-lived and the house had merely become a convenience for Drinkwater and Elizabeth when they were in London. They had discussed selling it now that the war was over and they had purchased Gantley Hall, but Elizabeth, knowing the modest but secure state of their finances, had demurred. Now, with her husband's knighthood, it had proved a wise decision. She was already contemplating a visit or two to a dress-making establishment near Bond Street in anticipation of the coming season.

'I thought His Majesty paid you a singular compliment in speaking to you for so long,' she said, echoing his mood of satisfaction.

Drinkwater laughed. 'Whatever King William's shortcomings,' he said, 'he does not lack the loquacity or enthusiasm of an old sailor.'

'They say he knew Nelson.'

'They say he doted on Nelson,' Drinkwater added, 'and certainly he admired Nelson greatly, but poor Pineapple Poll had not a shred of Nelson's qualities ...'

Drinkwater refilled their glasses and they sat in silence for a while. He thought of the glittering occasion from which they had just returned, the brilliance of the ladies' dresses and the uniforms of the men, the sparkling of the glass chandeliers and mirrors, the powdered immobility of the bewigged servants and the ducking, bobbing obsequiousness of the professional courtiers.