'What chance?' Aloud, unwittingly.
'Sir?' The seaman nearest him, bending over his oar.
'Nothing. I said nothing. Lay out with a will, there.'
The echoes of the action followed them, muffled now by smoke and increasing distance.
THUD THUD THUD BOOM THUD
The ripple of the oars, and the huffing breath of the oarsmen, then:
'Sir? I think Expedient has struck, sir!'
James looked, and saw that her red ensign had indeed been lowered. The two French frigates were already flanking Expedient, starboard and larboard, and the troop-laden bisquines had begun to close her. All gunnery ceased, and as if embodied in the drifting pall of smoke a threatening silence spread over the sea.
In the pinnace the hunched figures of the royal party – reduced to a mere dozen souls – remained mute in their cloaks and hats, all powdered finery hidden, all authority fled. A thought came to James as he glanced at them. It occurred to him that he had never really seen the faces of the king and queen, that these people seated in his boat, under his charge of protection, were no more significant in the vastness of the world and the totality of the human condition than anonymous beggars huddled at the alms-house gate, waiting for the beadle with his lantern and keys, and his parochial contempt.
'And what are they to me, any more than to the beadle?' In his head. Rennie's words rose to follow that question: 'This ain't our fight, James.'
A breath, and he thrust such thoughts aside. He must rise to his responsibilities and his duty. Now that Expedient was lost, this boat was all that remained between its occupants and disaster. he must do his utmost to save Their Royal Highnesses – and himself. Aloud:
'Monsieur Félix?'
No response.
In French: 'Monsieur Félix, will you come aft over the thwarts, if you please? I wish to discuss my plan with you.'
No response.
'Is Monsieur Félix not here?'
No response. And now in English James:
'Lay on your oars, there!' The crew ceased rowing, the oars lying horizontal in the thole pins. The boat drifted to a halt, riding the swell.
Again in French: 'I must respectfully ask Your Royal Highnesses to allow Monsieur Félix to speak. I must discuss my plan with him, my proposal to escape these waters.'
No words. No sound. Nothing. He could not understand it. Surely Monsieur Félix had come into the boat with the royal party? He had seen him on the side ladder ... but had he seen him in fact come into the boat?
'I did not. By God, he has stayed behind.' To himself. 'But why?'
'Sir?' The seaman nearest him, nodding aft past James.
James turned and saw with deep dismay that one of the bisquines had detached itself from the mêleé and smoke, and now approached the pinnace with speed and purpose.
'Give way together!'
The boat's crew gripped their oars and bent their backs. Droplets and rinsing splashes flew from the blades, and the pinnace began to move briskly through the water. But even as they came up to their best speed, James could see over his shoulder that the bisquine was gaining, five and twenty soldiers aboard. In half a glass – less – the bisquine would overhaul them.
'It is hopeless.' He did not say the words, nor even whisper them, but in his head and heart he was certain of their truth.
FOURTEEN
James woke in darkness, and for a moment thought he was returned to the underground passage at the Château de Châtaigne. The air was similarly dank and confined, and there was the same smell of stony damp. He stirred, and felt leg irons bite into his shins. Manacles bit into his wrists. There was the dull, gritty clinking of chains on the stone floor. His head ached severely, and there was a foul taste in his mouth. He was very cold, and felt that he had been wet, and was now clammily half-dry. He was wearing only shirt and breeches, and his feet were bare. Now he heard another set of chains as someone stirred nearby in the darkness.
'Who is there?' His voice echoing against a low ceiling.
'Christ, but my head aches ... ohh. Is that you, James?' 'Aye, sir, it is.'
'Thank God. I feared when I woke that I was alone in this place.'
'You are not alone, sir. And I too have a headache. Did they give you cold tea, when you were took? That is what they gave us to drink.'
'I was blindfolded when they took me out of Expedient – and yes ... yes, I was given cold tea.'
'And I remember nothing after. We were drugged, sir, both of us, to be brought here. But where are we, though? Is it a dungeon?'
'Don't know that, James.' A further clinking of chains.
'And you do not know what has become of the king, sir?'
'I fear I do not. What happened in the pinnace?'
'One of the bisquines overhauled us, and we were obliged to surrender without resistance, to protect the royal party from immediate injury. The soldiers outnumbered us, and were armed very heavy, and we had no weapons above pistols, and a musket or two.'
'Y'did right, James, y'did right. There was no choice. Nor for me – I struck my colours.' A sigh.
'Yes, sir, I know.'
A long moment, then Rennie: 'We are certainly in a fix this time, James.'
'D'y'think they will hang us?'
'Put us on the gallows with the king? Make a show of executing us with him?' A mirthless chuckle. 'I doubt that. We are small beer, James, in this affair.'
'You think they will simply imprison us, then?'
'Ha. They have done that already.' Clinking his chains.
'I meant – permanent.'
'Very likely we shall be left to rot, in least for the time being.'
'But first there will have to be a trial, and that will give us time to—'
'Trial? My dear James, why should they dignify us with a trial? We are interlopers and pirates, who smashed French ships in French waters, when we are not at war. No no, they will leave us here until we have been made thoroughly frightened and miserable, and then when they are ready they will hang us right enough. Not in course from the yardarm of the French flag at Brest, nor even in a public square, with a roll of drums. No, it will be done in a little sullen courtyard, hid from view, and our corpses dragged away on handcarts to the burial pit.'
'Unless we escape.'
'Escape!' The word bounced dully off the ceiling.
'We must always think of it, sir, while ever we have our health and wits.'
'Ever the optimist, hey, James?'
'I will never like to give up my freedom gladly.'
'As if we had a choice. Christ's blood, we have nothing to "give up". We are shackled in irons in a stone chamber far below ground. We might as well be in Hades.'
'Did you say below ground, sir? I do not think so.'
'Eh?'
'Listen. Ain't that the sound of ...'
They both listened. Distantly, much muffled, the hollow booming sound of waves bursting in over rocks.
'The sea.' Rennie, softly.
'Surely we could not hear the sea unless we were near to the shore, and above it. On a clifftop, as an instance.'
'You think we are in a castle?'
'Or a fort, sir, on a headland.'
'Fort? Where?'
'Somewhere near to Brest. There are fortifications all along the northern reaches of Brest Roads. We studied them on the charts, if you recall, when we came here in Expedient.'
'Aye, you are right, we did.'
'And if we are held in a fort, then likely our ship is in the harbour – or in the dockyard, repairing.'
'You think they will repair her, James? When she has done such damage to them? Will not they wish to break her up?'
'No, sir, I do not think so. She is badly injured at present, but beneath her wounds she is an oak-built, Chatham-built, stout and sturdy sea boat. There is no better frigate afloat.'
'There is no need to sing her praises to me, James. I am well acquainted with her virtues, you know.'
'Then y'will like to re
new that acquaintance, will not you, sir?'
'What, from a stone cell in a military fort? Ha.'
'From a boat, sir, with a cutting-out party, at night.'
'Yes yes, well well ...' A sigh. 'It don't do to speculate on the impossible, James.' A clinking of chains. 'I wish to God they would relieve us of these damned irons. They cut into the flesh very painful.'
'Which is why we must always think of escape, sir. Of freedom.'
'Freedom?' A breath. 'Even if we could be free as you suggest, and retake our ship by some fantastic circumstance – a miracle – and then escape to England, what would we face, at home? The king of France has been snatched from our care, and returned to his fate at the hands of the revolutionists. We have failed, James. The commission is a dismal reverse in every distinction.'
'All the odds were against us from the beginning. We have done our best – and very nearly succeeded, too.'
'Very nearly don't answer in a case like this, as you know very well.'
'I will never like to despair, sir. It ain't a condition befitting a sea officer in the Royal Navy.'
'Ah. Hm. You wish to stiffen my sinews, hey? To remind me of my oath, and so forth? Yes?'
'Well – yes. It ain't like you to lie down and die without a murmur, sir.'
'You prefer me to stand up on my legs and die, do you?' Not harshly. 'Shouting my love for freedom as the noose is tightened at my neck?'
James made no reply. After a few moments he said:
'Our people are very likely held in this same fort. As a military establishment it must function by military rules and customs. One of those is certainly that prisoners should be allowed exercise from time to time – released from their confinement and brought into the open air to march about. If I am not mistook, they will be guarded by a small number of troops. Now then, if we could get a message to our people, there is a good chance they could rush and overpower their guards, and get their hands on a set of keys.'
'Ahh. Keys.' Without enthusiasm.
James began to crawl across the uneven stone floor, dragging his chains with him. He was at the limit of their length when his outstretched hand found a door. A heavy timber door, studded with nails. His fingers scrabbled over the surface of the timber – and found a lock.
'One of which will fit this door.'
'James, my dear friend – you are grasping at straws. Straws in the wind.'
'Nay, I am not, sir. My hand is on the very lock that will release us. That is what I grasp.'
'Yes yes, ye've found the door, and the door is provided with a lock. Very good. Excellent.'
A groan, off to one side in the darkness, and a stirring of chains.
'Good God, who is that?' Rennie peered unseeing.
A cough, then a croaking voice:
'I – I am here, sir. What is—'
'Who are you?' Sharply.
'Lieutenant Leigh, sir, at your service. Are we in the orlop?'
'No, Mr Leigh, we are ashore. In a dungeon.'
'Dungeon?' The chains. 'I don't recall being ... ohh, my head!'
'Yes, Mr Leigh, we are all in the same boat.'
James smiled in the darkness, then:
'We believe we are held in a military fort, Leigh, that overlooks the harbour at Brest. Our wish is to attempt an escape, and retake our ship.'
'Hayter, is that you? But how can we escape, when we are held in irons?' Further clinking.
'You may well ask that, Mr Leigh.' Rennie, with a sniff.
They were all silent a moment, then James:
'Sir, we are three resourceful sea officers, of long service and experience. Surely, if we put our heads together, it's not impossible we could devise between us a scheme to gain our freedom ... ?'
'You really have got such a scheme, James? But is it practical, hey? That is the question. Or merely a fantasy, concocted gorgeous and elaborate in your head by the action of the drug we was all given?'
'No, sir, I did not say that I had a plan wholly formed, only that perhaps we might discuss ideas severally among us, and—'
Over him: 'Oh, very well, in least it will pass the time. Go on, then, James – you begin.'
'Thank you, sir.' And he began.
*
Heavy footfalls thudded outside the door, and there was the rasping squeak of a key in the lock. A creaking sound as the door swung open, and a breath of less stale air from the passage beyond. And light. Light from a lantern held up at the open door. The gleam of a ring of keys, the dim bulk of the man behind the light, and his harsh, penetrating voice:
'Your time has come, messieurs.' In French. 'You will be blindfolded and released from your chains – but you will remain manacled.'
'What does the fellow say?' Rennie, peering at him.
James glimpsed a chevron on a sleeve, and asked in French:
'Where do you take us, Sergeant?'
'Silence!'
'I merely wish to—'
'You will be silent, or you will be gagged!' The sergeant advanced.
James made one more attempt:
'Are we to see the commander of the garrison?' Again in French.
The sergeant advanced further into the cell and struck James full in the face with the heavy bunch of keys. James fell back with a gasp, blood dripping from his nose and cheek, and dropped dazed to his knees.
'You bloody wretch!' Rennie snarled at the sergeant, who raised the keys to him. 'Yes, strike me too, you villain! And by God I will live to see you disembowelled!'
The sergeant now placed the lantern on the floor, and Rennie saw his face. An ugly moon face, with a bulbous nose. A thatch of dark hair. There was another figure in the passage outside. The sergeant straightened with a grunting sigh, and swung the keys in a sudden vicious arc at Rennie's head. At the same moment Lieutenant Leigh rose from the darkness at the side, looped his chains about the sergeant's neck, and jerked. The sergeant grunted, struggled, and was pulled off his feet. He and Lieutenant Leigh crashed over on the stone floor in a furious clinking rattle of chains. The second guard now rushed into the cell, brandishing his bayoneted musket. Rennie kicked his feet from under him, felt an agonising pain in his ankle as the leg iron bit into it, and he too fell. The musket flew from the guard's grasp, and sent the lantern skittering away across the floor. It tumbled against the far wall, tipped over in a crash of broken glass, and went out.
Black dark.
A moment of utter silence.
Then furious activity erupted. Shouts, grunting breaths, heaving, struggling bodies, and the chinking rattle of chains and irons. Rennie grappled with the guard he had tripped up, and found him powerful, and powerfully fierce. Lieutenant Leigh kept his wrist chains clamped under the sergeant's chin, and dragged them back into the fellow's throat. Demonic thrashing, and hands scrabbling at the chains, and at last the sergeant slumped and was still. Lieutenant Leigh heaved and kicked his way clear. Rennie reared back, blindly aimed his held-together fists at his opponent's skull, and felt the twin manacles at his wrists thud home. A grunt, and Rennie felt the guard go limp.
James Hayter, down on his knees, shook his head and felt blood splash on his hands. He stumbled to his feet.
'Sir? Captain Rennie? Are you all right?'
'I am all right.'
'As am I.' Lieutenant Leigh.
'We must get hold of those damned keys, and free ourselves.'
A frantic search for the ring of keys, in the jostling, chain-clinking darkness. At last Lieutenant Leigh located the ring by the sergeant's outstretched foot. And in blind, fumbling and cursing haste he tried to find the correct key for his irons, and could not. James crouched and searched the pockets of the sergeant's coat, and found a tinderbox. He stretched to the farthest extent of his chains to where he thought the lantern had fallen. And could not find it.
'Christ's blood, where is it!'
Stretching, straining, his fingertips swiping and scrabbling over the filthy stone floor. A squeak as his hand touched a slippery tail, an
d he heard the rat scuttling away along the wall. And now his fingers found the tip of the bayonet on the guard's dropped musket. With great difficulty he managed to grasp the bayonet and pull the musket toward him, cutting a finger on the razor edge of the blade. At last he had the musket in his hands, and with it probed for the lantern, located it, hooked the handle with the bayonet and dragged it toward him.
A moment, a light struck with blood-dripping fingers, and the lantern was lit. The glass of one facet was broken, but the lantern stayed alight, and in a few moments more they had found the correct keys for their manacles and leg irons on the ring. The three Expedients were free. But only free, as they were obliged to acknowledge, within one section of a large fort.
'A change of plan,' said James now. 'Since we are no longer obliged to wait until we could be brought out of the cell and took before an officer, and then attempt our escape – as I'd originally proposed – we can now proceed of our own volition.'
'Yes, by all means, James. There ain't a moment to lose.' Rennie, rubbing his wrists and moving to the door of the cell.
'With a proviso.' James held up a finger.
'Eh?'
'We must proceed – in disguise.'
'Disguise? Good God, you are wedded to disguise!'
'Not quite, sir. She is merely a mistress of convenience. Mr Leigh and I will be sergeant and man, and you will be our prisoner. So you will not have to go in disguise, only your two lieutenants.'
'Ahh.' A nod. 'Very good, very good.'
'However, I must ask you, I fear, to ...' Picking up a set of irons.
'What, put those damned things back on?'
'If our subterfuge is to be convincing, sir, you must. Just as Lieutenant Leigh and I must shift into these stinking, sweaty uniforms.' Nudging the prostrate sergeant with his foot.
'God damn me ... ohh, very well.' And Rennie held out his hands.
Presently the three officers quit the cell and ventured into the low-arched, echoing passage, which proved to run in one direction only, away to the left. James and Lieutenant Leigh, dressed in the boots and uniforms of the sergeant and guard, followed the manacled and shackled Captain Rennie. The sergeant and his companion they left behind, bound and gagged on the floor of the cell.
The Gathering Storm Page 21
