"The best roses need the most cow-shit, too," Ayscough huffed.
"Nevertheless, sir," Sir Hugo smiled, a disarming, lazy smile that Lewrie knew of old was one of eminent menace, "I do trust that when you come to write of this campaign, you shall sound at least the slightest bit grateful for what we've done for you so far. And commending."
"Of course I shall, Sir Hugo," Twigg relented, obviously seeing the threat that lay behind that smile, and being enough of a political animal, with the ability to read others so he could best use them for his own purposes, or the Crown's, to know he could carp no longer.
"So," Captain Ayscough grunted. "How best to conclude this'un? Now we've hamstrung this Choundas bugger so thoroughly."
"Have we, sir?" Twigg scowled. "And for how long?"
"Well, he's lost this island base of his," Ayscough rambled. "Lost La Malouine, lost Stella Mans, and his secret's soon to be out, thanks to those Yankee Doodle whalermen. Now he may have other cartel ships out here to serve him, but for now he's on his own."
"He still has the Lanun Rovers, sir," Twigg pointed out, with some glee. "And he has his freedom to rebuild a semblance of his web, like some noisome spider."
"Without the silver and opium we captured here, without all the arms he would have given the pirates, or the trade goods, I doubt he still has the Lanun Rovers," Captain Ayscough replied. "They lost too many of their brethren here for Choundas to hold their allegiance. Oh, he saved some few of 'em by showing up when he did, but he failed to rescue the rest. Even with that big, fine ship of his, he didn't sail up and fight us. He may have 'em in name only, but not firmly in his grasp any longer. And for the moment, he's vulnerable."
"If that's so bloody obvious, then why isn't he running home right now, cutting his losses?" Sir Hugo speculated, sitting back down and refilling his glass. "He must know this is his last raiding summer, and it's riskier now more'n ever."
"Because he is who he is, Sir Hugo," Twigg said with a knowing leer. "I've had a chance to interrogate the surviving Frogs from this Stella Marts. Amazing what a man will confess when threatened with a noose for piracy. The second mate told me that most of the officers thought Choundas a rather odd sort. Odder than most. Not merely in his sexual predific-tions, but in his mind, sirs. Lieutenant Lewrie, do you recall that nonsense he spouted the day of the execution, what he had to say about the ancient Gauls and Celts being related?"
"Aye, sir, I do," Lewrie agreed, tensing for another lesson in just how simply clever Twigg thought himself to be. "He said that the Britons, the Gauls and the Celts were one race, sir. Damned fool."
"Us, kin of Frogs?" Sir Hugo spluttered. "I mean, the Normans aside, what a lot of… you will pardon the play on words, but, what gall!"
"Choundas was born in low circumstances, yes," Twigg related with relish, "though not fishmonger poor. His father owned several boats, and hoped for better things for his son.
Education, and hopes he'd enter the priesthood. Don't have to be a nobleman to do well in France if you wear the cassock. But the boy, besides being a superb sailor, developed a bent for scholarship in history, and in Latin, of course. Why he named Stella Marts by a Latin name, and not Etoile de la Mer, I s'pose."
"Does this have any bearing on anything?" Ayscough groaned.
"What's the thing all Latin students read, sir? Caesar's Gallic Wars. Naturally, as a Breton, Choundas would sympathise with the ancient Gauls under Vercingetorix and such. But most specifically, he imagined himself, and his line, to be kin with the Veneti. When oared galleys daren't go five miles offshore, these Veneti in their oak ships with leather sails would roam the entire known world, much as we do today. Their strength was in their Navy. Even the Vikings of latter days didn't dare as much as they did."
"I think," Lewrie summarized for them, unable to pass up the sterling opportunity to shine, or to spill the air from Twigg's sails, "that what Mister Twigg means is that if he thinks he's the last of this noble seafaring line of Veneti, and goes on about it so much he bores his compatriots to tears with it, we may assume the silly arse will tweak our noses and raid our ships this season, sirs."
"Then why didn't you merely say so, Mister Twigg?" Captain Ayscough asked, with all innocence in his expression. "Right, then!"
Ayscough trotted out his chart of the South China Seas and laid it on the table, anchoring the corners with bottles and glasses so the wind wouldn't scud it off somewhere to leeward.
"If he thinks he's that bloody good, he can't have sailed too far to the east'rd." Ayscough chuckled. "West is out, 'cause he'd have to beat so far to windward against the prevailing sou'easterlies this time of year to get to his cruising grounds. Choate is scouting the Borneo coast now, and we may have good news from him soon. Down there is to windward, where I'd wish to base myself, were I this 'last of a noble seafaring line.' But there's a problem with that, too."
"The Borneo pirates," Lewrie interjected. 'There's little love lost between them and the Lanun Rovers, is there, sir?"
"Exactly so, Mister Lewrie. He may have some relations with 'em as a hole-card, so to speak, and he may be forced to play it to allow him one last chance to go home a winner, but… well, damme!"
"What?" Twigg rapped out.
"Well, here's this lad Choundas, born a commoner, normally denied his chance to shine in the French Navy, but thinking himself kin to ancient sea-kings. I see why you would think he would have to do something grand against us before going home, Mister Twigg, but think on this for a moment…" Ayscough beamed cleverly. "The Borneo boys are river-based, and they don't go out of sight of shore too often. Who would Choundas feel the most in common with?"
'The Lanun Rovers, still!" Twigg exclaimed.
"Right, then!" Ayscough said once more, rubbing his horny palms in satisfaction. "Were I looking for prizes, I'd be far south, opposite the Johore Straits. Around Anambas or Pulau Natuna, where we met that pirate fleet last year. Here at Spratly, maybe up farther north and still to windward of the Canton run on the Tizard Bank. No shelter there, though, if the winds pipe up."
'Too close to Dutch or English patrols down south, sir," Lewrie commented. "That's why he chose Spratly in the first place."
"Yes, so we must assume that he's somewhere up to windward, but not too far to the east'rd. With his resources reduced, he has to be close to the scene of action and do his own dirty work for a while. So if I were constrained in such a way, I'd be somewhere around the mouth of Balabac Strait." Ayscough frowned, pacing off a divider across the chart. "I'd not be too deep inside the Philippine Archipelago. If my allies started disliking me, there'd be no escape for a single ship, even as well-armed as we assume Poisson D'Or to be. So he would be west of the Sulu Sea. Still allied, even tenuously, with the Mindanao pirates. And using what's left of that alliance, and their reputation, as a shield to prevent pursuit."
"Is this not a Spanish naval base, here on Palawan?" Sir Hugo asked, leaning over the chart. "This Puerto Princesa? Seems they'd have this area covered. Why let some outsider upset what arrangement they have with their own native pirates? They'd kick him out soon as those Yankees let them know of it."