Massie, the second lieutenant, remained scornful, if not openly critical of Bethune’s change of direction.
“When Boney surrenders this time, their lordships will cut the fleet to the bare bones! We’ll have less chance than ever to topple these would-be tyrants!” To recover from such a costly war every nation, former friends and enemies alike, would be seeking fresh trade routes, and would still need the ships and men to protect them.
He saw Noel Tregillis, the purser, poring over one of his ledgers. He rarely stopped work even in here.
Captain Bosanquet of the Royal Marines was asleep in his chair, an empty goblet still clasped in his fingers, and his second-in-command Lieutenant Luxmore had gone to share a drink with his sergeant.
The portly surgeon, O’Beirne, had made his excuses and had gone aft to the great cabin, leaving his food untouched. The prisoner, Lovatt, was unwell; the wound was not healing to O’Beirne’s satisfaction.
He had said sharply, “He should have been put ashore in Malta. All this is quite unnecessary.” The severity of the comment was uncharacteristic of this generally quiet, affable man, who Avery knew took his work very seriously.
Even O’Beirne had touched on the subject, on their first night at sea. He had known Lefroy, Frobisher’s bald surgeon. It was to be expected: the fraternity of fleet surgeons was even more close-knit than the family of sea officers.
But once more it had all come back. The surgeon rising from his knees, from the bloodstained deck where Allday had held his admiral with such terrible anguish, and saying, “He’s gone, I’m afraid.” In so few words.
Through a skylight he heard someone laugh. It was young Bellairs, sharing the afternoon watch with Lieutenant Wynter. What must it be like to be seventeen again, with the examination for lieutenant anticipated with every despatch satchel? A boy to a man, midshipman to officer, and Bellairs would deserve it. Avery thought of Adam, and how he had changed, confidence and maturing tempering him like the old sword he now wore. He smiled. A man of war. Perhaps…
And me? A passed-over luff with memories but no prospects.
He thought of Sillitoe, his energy, his manipulations, and of the last time they had met and parted. He had never believed that he could have felt something like pity for him.
Feet scraped outside the screen door, and Galbraith looked up from an old and much handled news-sheet.
“What is it, Parker? D’ you want me?”
The boatswain’s mate nodded towards Avery and said, “The cap’n’s compliments, zur, an’ ’e’d like you to step aft, directly.”
Galbraith stood up. “The prisoner?”
The boatswain’s mate gazed curiously around the wardroom. Just another part of the same ship. But so different.
He said, “Dyin’, I thinks, zur.”
The purser glanced up from his ledger, his face trained to give nothing away. One less mouth to feed.
Galbraith reached out and took the empty goblet from Bosanquet’s limp hand. He said, “If you need me…”
Avery picked up his hat. “Thank you. I know.”
He walked into the deeper shadows of the poop and saw the Royal Marine sentry standing outside the screen door of the great cabin. The seat of command, which he himself would never know. Also the loneliest place in any King’s ship.
The sentry straightened his back and tapped his musket smartly on the deck.
“Flag lieutenant, sir! ”
Avery glanced at him. A homely, unknown face.
“Not any more, I’m afraid.”
The marine’s eyes did not even flicker beneath his leather hat.
“You always will be to us, sir!”
Afterwards, he thought it was like a hand reaching out to him.
So let’s be about it.
Adam Bolitho put a finger to his lips as Avery began to speak.
He said quietly, “Come aft,” and led the way to the sloping stern windows. With the sun directly overhead, the panorama of blue water and cloudless sky was like some vast painting.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.” He turned his head as he heard Lovatt’s rambling voice again. More like a conversation than one man. Questions and answers, and, just once, a tired laugh. And coughing. “He’s dying. O’Beirne’s done all he can. I’ve been with him, too.”
Avery watched the dark profile, the strain around the eyes and mouth. He could feel the energy too, refusing to submit. When he had entered the cabin, his mind still clinging to the sentry’s words, he had taken in the coat tossed carelessly on to a chair, one of Cristie’s charts weighed down on a table by the bench seat, some brass dividers, the master’s notebook. An untouched cup of coffee and an empty glass beside it. The captain was driving himself again; perhaps in truth he did resent the change of orders. Avery knew well enough that there were few bonds as strong as the one he had enjoyed with Richard Bolitho anywhere in the navy. Rank and responsibility did not allow it.
Or did he blame himself in some way? What captain would tolerate a prisoner, even a wounded one, in his own quarters?
Adam said, “He’s delirious for much of the time. Young Napier’s in there with the surgeon-he’s a good lad.” He added with some bitterness, “Lovatt believes he’s his son!”
Avery had seen Lovatt’s son on the way here, waiting with one of the midshipmen as escort. He could guess the rest.
When Adam turned, he was calm again.
“I asked you to come here because I think you can help me.”
Why had he sent for him, and not the first lieutenant?
Adam said, “In your original report to Sir Graham Bethune, you made mention of a Captain Martinez, whom you described as adviser to Mehmet Pasha, the governor and commander-in-chief in Algiers. Spanish…”
He broke off as Lovatt shouted, “Helm a’ lee, man! Are you blind, damn you!” It was followed by a bout of coughing, and Avery heard O’Beirne’s resonant voice for the first time.
Adam continued, “A renegade, you said?”
Avery forced himself to think, aware of the controlled urgency in the captain’s tone.
“Yes, sir. He changed sides several times, but is useful to the Dey. He has or had connections in Spain when we met him. But the Dey is a hard man to serve, and Martinez will be very aware of it.”
Adam said, “Lovatt spoke of him this morning. He said that the powder and shot, and other supplies not listed, were provided by Spanish sources, the whole of Tetrarch’s cargo to be exact.”
Avery tried to shut his ears to the pitiful muttering and retching from the sleeping compartment. This was important, it had to be, and yet it made no sense.
Adam said, “He also told me that a second supply ship was to follow Tetrarch.” He gestured impatiently to the chart. “Tomorrow we shall be north of Bona. The hornets’ nest, eh?” He almost smiled. “You will doubtless remember it well?”
Avery was silent for a moment, seeing it in his mind, as he had done in the past.
“It would make sense, sir. Our patrols, such as they are, would be less likely to sight them, and even then…”
Adam touched his sleeve. “And even then, supporting ships would be required, and the admiral would have to be informed, and consulted-it is an old and familiar story!”
So he was bitter about Bethune’s change of heart. Avery said, “News travels fast in these waters, sir. Tetrarch’s capture, and your cutting out of La Fortune, will put an edge on things.”
The door opened slightly, and O’Beirne peered into the cabin.
“If you still wish it, sir, I think this might be the time.”
Adam acknowledged it. He meant, the only time.
“So be it.” He looked briefly at his coat, hesitated and then slipped his arms into the sleeves. Then, to Avery, he said softly, “Captain to captain, remember?”
To Avery the scene was nightmarish. Lovatt was propped up in the surgeon’s makeshift trestle, one hand gripping it as if it was moving, his arm around the waist of the boy called Napier. O’Beirne was wedged into a corner, fingers interlaced on his knees, as if he had to force them to stay still.
“Aha, Captain! No urgent matters to keep you occupied?”
Lovatt’s voice was stronger again, but that was all. His face seemed sunken, and his hazel eyes very bright, like somebody else looking out from a feverish mask.