They went on deck together, the sun high overhead making each set sail appear transparent against the taut black rigging.
The Royal Marines were lined up across the quarterdeck with their lieutenant, Montague Baldwin. The curved sabre he favoured was already drawn and resting across his shoulder. Lieutenant Dacre was the officer-of-the-watch and stood beside Partridge the sailing master, youth and old age together. The midshipmen and other warrant ranks stood by the quarterdeck rail, while on the gun deck, the gangways, and clinging to the shrouds the bulk of Anemone's company watched in silence.
Martin saw the captain nod and give his own signal for the ritual to begin. The prisoner was brought up, a tall erect figure, head upheld like some well-known felon going to the gallows, flanked by Gwynne the boatswain and one of his mates, and followed by McKillop the surgeon and by the master-at-arms. Then there was complete silence, and even the bellying canvas seemed still.
"Uncover! " The few present wearing hats removed them.
Some men watched the prisoner, who had been generally disliked until now; the rest kept their eyes on the slim, dark-haired figure with the gleaming epaulettes, surrounded by his officers, protected by the double rank of marines, and yet completely alone.
Adam removed his hat and tugged the Articles of War from his coat. As he did so he looked at the prisoner. Of one company, he thought, yet a thousand miles apart.
His voice was steady and without emotion, so that many of the assembled seamen and marines barely heard him. Not that it mattered: the old Jacks at least knew the relevant articles by heart. Adam even imagined that he saw the carpenter nudge one of his mates when he reached the last line… Or shall suffer death as is hereinafter mentioned." He shut the folder and added, "Given under my hand in His Britannic Majesty's Ship Anemone." He replaced his cocked hat. "Carry out the sentence."
The grating had already been rigged against the gangway, and before he could resist the prisoner was stripped to the waist and seized up, arms apart, with further lashings to hold his legs so that he was spreadeagled.
Adam saw the youngest midshipman closing and opening his fists, but not out of pity. His eyes were fixed on the man's muscular back with the expression of a stag-hound approaching a kill.
Adam snapped, "Carry on, Mr. Gwynne."
Somebody shouted, "You show 'em, Toby! "
Lieutenant Baldwin said calmly, "Steady, marines."
It reminded Adam of Keen when he had served under him. He had used the same tone in moments of great tension, like a groom calming a nervous mount.
"Take that man's name! "
Gwynne the boatswain, who was completely deaf in one ear after close action with a French man-of-war, called, "How many, sir?"
Adam moved up to the rail and looked at the prisoner, who had twisted his head around so that he could see him.
"Three dozen! "
The prisoner yelled, "You bloody bastard, you said two dozen! "
Adam said, "I changed my mind."
The drums rolled, and down came the lash across his shoulders. The master-at-arms called, "One! "
The first half dozen lashes made a crisscross of bloody stripes like the claw marks of a savage beast.
The prisoner began to gasp as the punishment continued, his face almost purple when the boatswain handed the cat-of-nine-tails to his mate.
The master-at-arms counted hoarsely, "Twenty-six! "
The surgeon held up his hand. "He has fainted, sir! "
"Cut him down! " Adam watched as the man fell to the deck into his own blood. He was picked up and carried below to the sickbay. A man of his obvious strength would soon recover after he had had his back cleansed with salt water and his stomach lined with as much rum as he could swallow. But the marks of the cat he would carry to his grave.
The first lieutenant watched him warily. This was a mood he did not recognise.
Adam said, There will be no martyrs in my ship, Mr. Martin." He gave a tired smile as the men dispersed to their duties or their messes. "There is more to command than prize money, believe me! "
He had scarcely gone below to change out of his uniform when the rain tore into the ship like a waterfall.
Adam glanced at himself in that same mirror. What would she think of me now, if she saw me?
He walked to the stern windows and thrust one open to stare at the horizon. The rain was already passing over: it would leave the decks cool, the sails hardened to receive the next wind. He looked at his coat, lying on a chair with its epaulettes glinting dully. He had been so proud when he had been posted. Now he held out his hands and felt something like sickness in his throat.
Three dozen lashes. Was that all? As captain I could have run him up to the main yard for striking a petty officer. The realisation of his power over these men had never failed to shock and awe him. But not now. It was his right.
He must have come a long, long way…
In the afternoon while he sat at his table with a plate of tasteless salt-beef barely touched nearby, he thought again about the letter, and wondered if she had received it, or even read it if she had.
If only they might meet as if by accident, on some winding track like the place where he had given her the wild roses. And she had kissed him…
He sat bolt upright as the lookout's voice pealed down from the masthead.
"Deck there! Sail on th' lee bow! "
Adam jumped to his feet. That was more like it. There was nothing between Anemone and his uncle's ships. The prospect of action would make all the difference and bring them together again. Cleansing, like the rain that had washed the blood from the grating.
The quarterdeck was crowded when he reached it.
Lieutenant Dacre touched his forehead, then pushed the wet hair from his eyes.
"I'm not yet certain, sir. The lookout says there's some mist to lee'rd might be more rain."
"We'd not find him if that happened." He hurried to the chart as the master's mates uncovered it.
Partridge said, "Might be a slaver, sir. Can't think o' nothing else this far out."
"My thoughts, Mr. Partridge! Call both watches and get the t'gallants on her. She'll likely show her heels when she sights us! "
Men poured on deck to the shrill of calls. Adam assessed their mood as they hurried past and below him. Some would still be thinking of the flogging, but by now others would be accepting it. He had brought it on himself. Or, what can you expect from a bloody officer? They could hate him when they felt like it; or perhaps when he deserved it. But fear him? That must never happen.
He saw Midshipman Dunwoody staring at him. "Aloft with a glass. I can use your eyes today! " He watched him swarming up the ratlines, a long telescope bouncing across his buttocks with every step.
Martin had joined him now, his face eager and excited. As I once was, Adam thought.
"Set the main course, Aubrey. I want her to fly before they can lose us! "
They grinned at one another, all else forgotten.
Anemone was riding it well. With the wind across the quarter she was taking each long trough and roller like a thoroughbred horse jumping hedges. Spray was bursting over the figurehead in solid sheets, and as each sail was set and sheeted home it hardened as if being squeezed by giants, with the rain that had soaked the canvas flying over the struggling seamen to rush into the scuppers like small brooks.
Dunwoody's voice was practically muffled by the din of canvas and clattering rigging.
"Deck, there! Two masts, sir! I think she's seen us! "
Adam wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and realised he was soaked to the skin.
"If the rain holds off it will do them no good! "
He walked across the deck, at times barely able to prevent himself from being flung against the guns as his ship pointed her jib-boom at the sky, catching the returning sunlight like a golden lance. Then down again, the hull crashing into another trough, the timbers jolting as if they had hit a sandbar.