The shadow of the eagle

Did he intimidate Frey?

He must have some sort of reputation: it was impossible not to in the hermetic world of the Royal Navy, and God only knew what lurid tales circulated about him. Then he recalled Marlowe himself making some such reference the night Hortense came aboard, warning him against possible Russian reaction to Drinkwater's presence off Calais. Marlowe knew that much about him. The recollection brought him full circle: Marlowe's initial courtliness could have been a generous interpretation of unctuousness, and although not ingratiating, the man's hauteur in objecting to Drinkwater's proposal to acquaint the ship's company with their task, demonstrated either arrogance or a stupid narrow-mindedness. Or perhaps both, Drinkwater mused.

He had little doubt Marlowe, a man of good birth and social pretensions, was infected with an extreme consciousness of rank and position that coloured all his actions and prevented the slightest exercise of logical thought concerning what he would call his 'inferiors'. There was a growing sensibility to it in the navy, an infection clearly caught from the army, or society generally, and something which Drinkwater heartily reprehended. Men stood out clearly in rank, without the need to resort to arrogance.

Drinkwater grunted irritably. Whatever the cause of Marlowe's disagreeableness, the man was a damned lubber! In tune with this conclusion, Frampton came in to clear the table and Drinkwater leaned back in his chair, toying with the stem of his wine glass.

'There's some fine duff, sir.'

'Thank you, no, Frampton.'

'Very well, sir,' Frampton sniffed.

'Oh, damn it, Frampton, did you prepare it yourself?'

'Of course, sir.'

'Very well then, but only a small slice,' Drinkwater compromised.

Frampton vanished, then brought in a golden pudding liberally covered with treacle. 'God's bones, Frampton, would you have me burst my damned breeches, eh?'

'It'll do you no harm, sir. You should keep your nerves well covered.'

'That's a matter of opinion,' Drinkwater commented drily. He picked up fork and spoon and was about to attack the duff when another thought occurred to him. 'Frampton, would you ask the sentry to pass word for Mr Marlowe.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'You sent for me, sir?'

Marlowe swayed in the doorway, the flickering light of the bulkhead glim playing on his features, giving them a demonic cast which somehow emphasized the fact that he was drunk.

'Pray sit down.' Drinkwater considered dismissing him, thought better of it and watched his first lieutenant unsteadily cross the cabin and slump in the seat recently vacated by Kennedy. Drinkwater laid fork and spoon down on the plate, shoved it aside and dabbed his mouth with his napkin, dropping it on the table.

'Please tell me what happened this afternoon, Mr Marlowe.'

'Happened? Why, nothing happened. A damned fool fell from aloft, that's what happened.'

'The damned fool you speak of, Drinkwater said in a measured voice, 'was an experienced topman. He had been on the ship since she commissioned, since he was a boy, in fact.'

Marlowe shrugged. 'The ship was standing into danger and carrying too much canvas.'

'What were you doing on deck? I thought it was Ashton's watch.'

'It was, but I wished Lieutenant Ashton to undertake another duty and relieved him.'

'What other duty?' Drinkwater pressed, though there was nothing very remarkable about the change of officers.

'Oh, some modifications to the watch-bill.'

Drinkwater had the fleeting impression Marlowe was lying, but the man was cunning enough, and perhaps sober enough to think up an excuse. 'We had the men in special divisions for the royal escort. In view of what you told me, I thought it best to rearrange matters.'

'So you took over the deck in order for Lieutenant Ashton to act as your clerk.'

'I took over the deck with the ship carrying too much canvas. Lieutenant Ashton was concerned about it.'

'But neither of you thought fit to tell me.'

'We thought you would know.'

'So you think it was my fault?' Drinkwater asked quietly. Marlowe shrugged again but held his tongue. 'The fact is, Mr Marlowe, that if the ship was carrying too much canvas, it was my fault. Nevertheless, the fact does not exonerate you from the consequences of your own misjudgement. Why did you not complete the reefing before attempting to tack ship?''

'The ship was standing into danger,' Marlowe repeated.

'It is a matter of opinion whether or not you had sufficient time to finish snugging the reef down. I'm inclined to believe you had left it too late. You could have taken in a reef earlier ...'

'I wanted some shelter from the land.'

'Very well, but a more prudent officer would have tacked and then reefed while the ship lay in the lee of the Wight.'

'A more prudent officer?' Marlowe, emboldened by the drink, affected an expression of wounded pride. 'It was because of my prudence that I took action.'

Drinkwater watched; the man was a fool and he himself was rapidly losing patience, but he had no wish to push Marlowe beyond propriety. Before the first lieutenant could say more Drinkwater stood up. The sudden movement seemed to curb Marlowe. He flinched and frowned.

'Mr Marlowe,' said Drinkwater moving round the table, 'I do wish you to consider this matter. You are the worse for liquor. If one of those men forward, whom you affect to despise, should come on deck in the condition you are now in, I daresay you would have him flogged. Now, sir, do you retire to your cabin and reconsider the matter when you are sober.'

Marlowe looked up at his commander and shook his head. 'Trouble with you, Captain Drinkwater,' Marlowe began, levering himself to his feet, 'is you think you know everything.' Marlowe stood confronting Drinkwater. He swayed so close that Drinkwater could smell the rum on him.

'Have a care, Mr Marlowe. Do please have a care.' Marlowe stood unsteadily and for a moment Drinkwater thought he was going to raise his hand, but then he concluded a wave of nausea affected the lieutenant and he merely covered his mouth. Whatever his motive, Marlowe managed to stagger from the cabin, leaving Drinkwater alone. Drinkwater let his breath go in a long sigh. In his present circumstances, this was something he could well have done without.

Late morning found them still on the starboard tack, but their course lay more nearly west-south-west, for the wind had continued to veer and was now north-west by north. The thick weather that Drinkwater had predicted had run through during the night. Now the wind was lighter, no more than a fresh breeze. The topgallants had been set again, and Andromeda bowled along under an almost cloudless sky. If the tide did not play them up and they maintained no less than the nine knots they had logged at the last streaming, they would clear the Caskets and be free to stand out into the Atlantic before long.

Fulmars and the slender dark shapes of shearwaters swooped above the wake in long, shallow glides. The solitary fulmars rarely touched down into the sea, but the shearwaters would swim in gregarious rafts, lifting by common consent and skating away over the waves as the frigate drove down upon them, disturbing their tranquillity. Away to starboard, in line ahead, a dozen white gannets flew as though on some aerial patrol, graceful and purposeful, with their narrow, black-tipped wings.