A seaman called, "Mr. Powys, sir! He's dead! "
Somebody else said, "He's no bloody loss."
"Silence! " Urquhart was trying to assert himself.
Bolitho and the captain of marines appeared at the landing place, and a squad of scarlet coats fanned out amongst the rocks, their bayonets very bright in the sunshine.
Bolitho climbed up beside them and nodded to Allday. "Well, old friend?"
Allday grinned, but the pain in his chest had been awakened and he had
to speak carefully.
This fellow must be one of them, Sir Richard." He held up a pistol. "Not quite right an' proper for a man of the cloth, eh?"
Bolitho looked at the abbot who was trying to recover his senses. Then he said, "We've much to do here."
Protheroe, who had been with the unpopular midshipman,
appeared on the slope, his eyes dull with shock. As a boatswain's mate he was one of those required to carry out a flogging, and yet by the navy's own code he was not blamed for what he must do. Especially under Trevenen's command.
"What is it, man?"
Protheroe wiped his mouth. "Two women we found, sir. Raped several times is my guess, then cut about something' terrible! " He was shaking despite everything he had seen in his service.
Bolitho glanced at the figure in the brown robe and saw his eyes move. He said calmly, "There appear to be no trees here. Take this man to the water's edge. Captain Loftus, you will detail a firing party. At once! "
Captain Loftus looked so grim that it was likely he would shoot the man himself. As he stepped forward the imposter flung himself forward, and would have gripped Bolitho's shoes but for Allday's heavy foot across his neck.
"Down, you scum! Butchering women is that all you're good for?"
"Please! Please! " The man's earlier composure, which had so convinced Urquhart, had vanished like smoke. "It wasn't me! It was some of the others! "
"Strange how often it's the others! "
Avery felt his hand trembling on his sword hilt but managed to say, "Speaks English now well enough!"
"How many of you are there here?" Bolitho turned away. He was beyond pity. The women were probably fishermen's wives, daughters even. What a terrible way to end. Later he would see the corpses for himself, and tend to them. But now… his voice hardened. "Speak out, man! "
The man did not struggle as a marine dragged off the robe and took the fine staff from him as if it might break.
The cowering figure sobbed, "We was ordered to stay here, sir! I speak the truth! The monks are safe enough, sir! I'm a religious man I was against what happened. Have mercy, sir! "
Bolitho snapped, "Get a flag of truce for this creature, Mr. Urquhart, and go with him to the door. His friends will know they cannot be rescued while we are here. If they resist I will have the door broken down, and there will be no quarter."
Urquhart was staring at him as if he had never seen him before.
Bolitho watched as the man was dragged to his feet and a white rag produced from somewhere. He did not notice at the time, but it had blood on it. It was probably the hated midshipman's shirt.
"How many men? I did not hear a reply! "
But the prisoner was gaping at something beyond him, and without turning Bolitho knew it was the Valkyrie moving past the entrance. She more than anything would convince the pirates, or whatever they were.
Avery whispered, "I'll go, Sir Richard. If they recognise you…"
Bolitho tried to smile. "Like this?" He plucked at his grubby shirt. Had that hidden marksman seen him in uniform, he and not Midshipman Powys would be lying dead. He noticed that Avery had used his title despite what he had told him. It revealed that he was not as calm as he appeared.
He walked up the steps and asked, "What of the Abbot? Did you murder him too?"
The man tried to turn but two marines gripped him fast. He whined, "No, sir! A man of God?" He sounded almost shocked at the suggestion. "He's locked in a room with the other prisoner! "
It was as if someone had spoken in his ear. "You had better not be lying."
The door was already opening when they reached it. There were ten of them. Had they wanted to they could have held the place against an army. But they were throwing down their weapons and getting a few blows from the marines as they drove them into a corner.
Bolitho saw the marksman swoop up an expensive-looking pistol from the floor, his eyes gleaming. Despite his smart uniform he still looked like a poacher in the guise of a ferret.
Their voices rang and echoed around the walls, which were dripping with moisture. The sound of chanting in this place must be like the cries of the damned.
His heart was beating so painfully that he had to pause on the stairs to recover his breath.
"Captain Loftus, search the building, though I doubt if you'll find anything. Have the prisoners taken to the beach. Tie them up if need be." He was speaking in a harsh, clipped tone he barely recognised as his own, and his mouth was as dry as dust.
Allday said, This is the place, I think, Sir Richard." He sounded very wary.
Avery lifted a large key from a hook beside the door and after a slight hesitation he opened it.
There was bright sunshine streaming in through a window, alien in this place, which was without furniture. The floor was strewn with loose straw. A man with a white beard was leaning against the wall, his leg chained to a ringbolt, his breathing laboured and shallow.
Bolitho said softly, "Send word to the ship and have the surgeon attend here."
He bent and then knelt beside the other man who was propped against the wall, one hand in filthy bandages. For a moment longer Bolitho thought he was dead.
He said, "Thomas. Can you hear me?"
Herrick lifted his chin, then very slowly opened his eyes. Blue in the sunlight, they seemed the only living thing about him.
A marine handed Bolitho his water flask, and Herrick stared at the man's bright uniform as if he could not believe it was real.
Bolitho held the flask to his lips and saw Herrick's pathetic attempt to swallow some water.
Herrick said suddenly, "Allday! It's you, you rascal! " Then he coughed and water ran down his chin.
Allday watched, his face like stone. "Aye, sir. You can't get rid o' me that easy! "
Bolitho looked round and noticed Herrick's best uniform coat hanging on a wall, carefully protected from dust and damp by a piece of linen.
Herrick must have seen his eyes move toward it, and said, "They wanted to parade us together, so they had to keep my clothing nice and clean." He almost laughed, but he groaned with the pain.
Bolitho took the bandaged hand very carefully and prayed that the surgeon would soon come.
"Who did this to you, Thomas? Was it Baratte?"
"He was here, but I did not see him. It was another man."
"American or French?"
Herrick stared at the crude bandage. "Neither. A bloody Englishman! "
"Save your strength, Thomas. I think I know the man now."
But Herrick was staring past him again, at the prisoner who had taken the abbot's place. "Whoever he was, he knew he was wasting his time when he questioned me about the squadron." His body shook with silent laughter. "Not that I had anything to tell. Remember, I was on my way to the great country." Then he became very calm. "So this renegade, or whoever he is, made me a promise before he left. That I would never hold a sword for the King again." He gestured with his head to a stone block in the corner. "They held my arm and smashed my hand with that! " He held up the bandage and Bolitho could imagine the damage and the agony. "But they even made a mistake there, eh, Richard?"
Bolitho looked down, his eyes blurring. "Yes, Thomas, you are left-handed."
Herrick was fighting to stay conscious. "That prisoner by the door. He did it."
Then he fainted. Bolitho held him in his arms and waited while a marine prized open the leg-iron with his bayonet.
He looked round, thinking that Herrick had called him by name; and that while he had been struggling to speak, something had stopped, like a clock.