Bolitho saw Plummer, the sergeant of marines, near the nettings and called, "Your best marksman and lively with it! " There was no time to seek out the debonair Captain Loftus. It might already be too late.
Why did I not think?
"I demand to know what is happening, Sir Richard! As officer appointed to command…" Trevenen got no further.
"Damn your eyes, sir! Stand closer inshore and watch for signals! " Then he was over the side and scrambling over the tumble home into the nearest boat.
"Let me, Sir Richard! " It was Captain Loftus of the marines. He was actually grinning. "I guessed something was up! "
Bolitho stared round, barely aware that the boats were away from the frigate's side, the oars thrashing at the water until they found the stroke.
It seemed so wrong without Allday at his side. I should never have sent him.
"Can you tell me, Sir Richard? I appear to be the only officer present."
Boitho gripped his arm. They will think me insane.
But thank goodness Loftus was keeping his head. He peeked over the oarsmen as they dipped then rose above him, their eyes grim and intent. The shore seemed no nearer.
He said, "My secretary saw it. I did not. It was a feeling and nothing more. Because I had nothing left."
"Sir?" He was trying to understand.
Bolitho asked sharply, "Is the marksman with us?"
Loftus nodded. "Behenna, Sir Richard. From your part of the world, I understand." He smiled. "A poacher, in fact. It was a choice between the Corps or the rope. I am not sure if he believes he made the right decision! "
The casual humour did more than anything to steady Bolitho's racing thoughts.
Tell your poacher to load his piece now. If ordered to shoot I fear there may be blood on my hands."
The word ran through the boat and then the other one, so that men tightened their grip on the looms while others reached down in the bottom boards for their weapons.
The marksman in the bows turned and stared along the length of the boat at the vice-admiral in his flapping shirt, with the old blade between his knees.
Bolitho lifted one hand towards him. The poacher was trying to tell him something with a glance. Like the young seaman that day with the bruise of a starter on his bare shoulder.
Suppose things went badly wrong? He touched the locket again and knew Loftus was watching him. Don't leave me… It seemed so wrong that Yovell, the most peaceful and un warlike person he knew, should have seen it, and pondered on the island's total lack of welcome.
In his heart he answered her. Never. What he had said when they had abandoned the Golden Plover. And had lived to tell of it.
He heard the boom of water in some cave below the cliff and knew they were closer. He gripped his sword with all his strength and whispered, I'm coming, but he spoke only to himself.
"It all seems quiet enough." Lieutenant Urquhart looked at the others, his frown deepening. "Well, we're here, so I suppose we shall have to search the place, though it is God's truth I know not for what! " He glanced around for a boatswain's mate and snapped, "Protheroe, take your party to the huts yonder. Find out what you can! " He pointed at a young midshipman. "You go with them, Mr. Powys, and take chargeV
Avery murmured to Allday, "What were you saying to Sir Richard?"
Allday grinned, but his eyes were on the rocks. "I says a lot o' things to Sir Richard."
"About the place where you were so badly wounded."
"Oh, when we were in Old Katie together?" He watched the little midshipman strutting away with the party of seamen. He was the one who had caused the man Jacobs to be flogged until he had eventually died under the lash. Little toad, he thought.
Then he said, "At San Felipe, it was. Just after you were released from a French prison, I reckon." He saw the shot strike home. Always the pain.
Surprisingly Avery gave a rueful smile. "Even prison was better than this god-forsaken place! "
Urquhart seemed rather desperate. "I shall go up to the monastery, if that's what they call it! "
Avery watched him. The first lieutenant was seeing all the pitfalls, and the end of it when Trevenen would vent his temper on him.
"No need, sir." Allday eased his cutlass very slightly in his belt. "The old fellow himself is coming down to us."
Avery wondered if he would ever get used to Allday's humour. But there was awareness too, like a fox on the prowl when a hunter is near. They all looked up the path that led from the monastery's crumbling outer wall. It was so steep in places that here and there crude stairs had been hacked out to give access.
Avery watched the slow-moving figure in the brown robe, the hood pulled up over his head to keep out the wet, salty breeze. Each stair, like the stones of the building itself, had doubtless been cut by hand. He turned to seek out the frigate,
but she had moved or drifted around the out-thrust spur of land. To see the water so empty sent an unexpected chill up his spine.
He shook himself angrily and looked at Urquhart. It was obvious he did not know what to do.
The figure was nearer now, still moving at the same steady pace. In one hand he carried a long, polished staff on which he leaned occasionally as if to get his breath. When he drew nearer Avery could see the fine carved crucifix on the top of the staff, below which was a plain gold band. It was probably the most valuable object in this dismal hole, he thought.
Urquhart said urgently, "He must be the abbot! You see, I was right. There's nothing to worry about! " When Avery said nothing he insisted, "He will demand to know what we're doing on this this sacred land! "
Allday spat in the sand but Urquhart was too agitated to notice it.
Avery said, Tell him, then. If he becomes unreasonable, we can give him some ship's stores. Can we not?"
Urquhart nodded, relieved. "Yes, I shall."
Allday grunted. In ten minutes Urquhart would imagine it was all his idea. He knew that Bolitho thought the first lieutenant would be a good officer. He chuckled. But not this week.
The abbot stopped on one of the last stairs and held up the staff so that the crucifix faced Urquhart and his companions. Then he shook his head firmly while he held the staff. It all took place in complete silence, but he might have been denying them entry into the monastery with a voice like thunder.
Urquhart had removed his hat and now gave a brief bow.
He said, "I come in the name of King George of England…"
The abbot stared down at him, his eyes expressionless. Then he shook his head several times.
Urquhart tried again. "We mean no harm. We will leave you in peace." He turned helplessly and exclaimed, "He speaks no English! "
Avery felt the wildness surging through him. Something he thought he had lost or learned to contain.
The others stared at him as he said quietly, "Duncere Classem Regem Sequi."
The abbot could only gape at him, and he added in a harsher tone, "Nor Latin either, it would seem! " He knew Urquhart was unable to understand, and he shouted, "Take this man! "
A seaman seized the man's robe but he was too strong for him.
Allday pushed past them. "Sorry, Father! " Then he smashed his fist into the man's face and sent him reeling down the steps.
Someone yelled, There be boats comin', sir! "
Allday straightened up and allowed the imposter's hand to fall on the stones. "See the tar, sir! If he's a cleric, I'd be the Queen of England! " Then he seemed to realise what had been shouted and said with relief, "Sir Richard, then. I knew it somehow! "
They all stared around as two shots cracked out, their sharp echoes repeating and ringing around the narrow landing-place as if twenty marksmen were firing.
Someone gave a shrill scream, and even as their ears cringed to that a corpse fell from the rocks overhead, still clinging to a smoking musket until he hit the ground and rolled off into the water below.
"Who was hit?" Urquhart stared round, his eyes wild.