by Alaric Bond
“Fair,” King said, his voice intentionally flat. “We’ll see Gibraltar all right, that’s certain.”
The provisions, along with other stores, armament and supplies, would all be minuted as part of the prize when the ship was condemned. Every man on board had earned their share, and King had no intention of letting Soames get his greedy hands on them until then.
Caulfield reached for his watch and looked at it significantly.
“Better get you back, young man,” he said. “We’ll keep you up with events this side. Belike we’ll know more when Sir Richard makes his return.”
“Aye,” said Fraiser, draining his glass. “That’s a conversation I’d pay a fair price to hear.”
Caulfield walked with him to the entry port where a cutter filled with stores and men awaited him. King turned to go, but there was an odd look in Caulfield’s eye that made him pause.
“We’ve not had much chance to talk, not since the first action.” Both men knew he was referring to Pigot’s death. King waited; he had nothing to say.
“You’ll have left your report?”
“Aye, with the captain’s secretary.”
Caulfield nodded. He liked King, and wanted so much to help him, although the right words would not form.
“There’ll be a court of enquiry; you know that, don’t you?”
King nodded.
“With luck you won’t be called, but if so, just say as little as you need.”
It was good advice, whatever the circumstances, although King wondered quite why he was being treated to it at that moment. The ship’s bell rang, and the men in the cutter below were making less than subtle noises. Caulfield slapped King on the shoulder, and bid him farewell.
*****
Grey and Calder were there to meet Banks as he climbed through Victory’s starboard entry port.
“I trust I find you well?” Calder, the captain of the fleet, ran his eyes over his junior’s uniform as if eager to find something of which to disapprove.
“Very well thank you, sir, and yourself?”
“Fair enough, fair enough.”
The guard of honour had finished paying their respects and Banks found himself being hustled away before he had had a chance to salute them.
“Captain Grey, I’m sure you have pressing matters that concern you with the ship.”
“Indeed so, good to see you again, Sir Richard, I wish you joy of your prize.”
Banks shook hands with Victory’s captain, conscious of Calder twitching impatiently behind him.
“Admiral’s waiting for you in his quarters; we need to catch the afternoon tide, so you will have to be brief.”
Banks, rushing along the deck of the flagship, experienced the very reverse of King’s earlier emotions. Compared with his frigate, Victory was a complete contrast. Built almost fifty years before, she had the dimensions and timbers of a different age. Solid, secure, and maintained to the very peak of excellence, it was hard to imagine such a ship being bothered by any form of weather or enemy.
At the entrance to the admiral’s quarters a very superior marine, freshly pipe-clayed leather and with a powdered wig, snapped to attention and announced the pair, as Calder breezed straight through.
“We’re due to be joined by Vice Admiral Waldergrave with five from the Channel fleet,” he told Banks in a disdainful voice. “But before we can meet, we are bound to accompany a convoy out directly.”
Banks said nothing, although the schoolboy inside felt he should apologise for his sudden arrival. Presumably Calder considered his appearance, together with a powerful French prize, had been intended as yet another obstacle to cause him nuisance.
Jervis was sitting at his desk as they swept into the great cabin. Now decidedly aged, he still bore an active light in his eyes, and even though his gout made standing a slow affair, there was no mistaking the warmth and energy in the firm hand he extended towards Banks.
“You’ve brought company with you,” he said, after they had exchanged pleasantries.
“Yes, sir. I fell in with a French frigate shortly after sighting the invasion fleet.”
Jervis nodded. “Invasion fleet, eh? You’ll have a story to tell.”
“If I may interrupt, Sir John…” Calder was positively bending forward with impatience. “The commodore will be wanting to proceed, with luck we may catch the afternoon tide.”
“Pah! The commodore will not be ready this side of Christmas.” The admiral directed a particularly fierce glare, causing Calder to take a step back. “Sir Richard has come a long way and will be staying for dinner; you may wish to advise my steward of that on your way out.”
Never was a knight of the realm and captain of the fleet dismissed in such a way, yet Banks was not in the least surprised. Sir John was a fair but hard man who knew his own mind and spoke it. Also regarded as one who did not suffer fools, it was quite clear he fitted Calder in this category. Banks found himself swallowing dryly as the admiral turned his attention back to him.
“Take a glass of wine with me, sir, and tell me your story.” He indicated an upright chair, set opposite his desk.
“I have my journals here.” Banks patted the canvas-covered parcel, but Jervis waved it away.
“All in good time; first, from your own mouth, sir, and in order. Leave nothing out, I want to know everything.”
*****
Guppy was waiting for the first lieutenant when he returned from seeing King off the ship. The sight of the master at arms always made Caulfield remember his own predecessor and it was with forced civility that he showed the man through to the now empty gunroom. Caulfield knew Guppy to be a bully and a coward, both rare attributes in his particular station and equally likely to influence Caulfield’s impression of the man for the worse. He also suspected him of other, far more sinister habits, but then Caulfield tended to make allowances when dealing with people he especially disliked.
“Is somethin’ I was meanin’ to bring up ’afore now, only, what with the prize, I realise ’ow busy you was, sir.”
Guppy normally spoke to anyone in authority in an obsequious, fawning manner that aggravated all the more when his treatment of those junior to him was known. Sitting across the gunroom table, Caulfield made no response, his face remaining totally impassive. Whatever mischief the master at arms might be making there would be no encouragement from him.
“It was about the firs’ lieutenant, sir. I mean, Mr Pigot.”
That came as no surprise, Pigot and Guppy had worked closely together; there was nothing unusual in that, considering their positions and responsibilities, although Caulfield had managed very well with the minimum of contact with the master at arms.
“An’ it was more how he came to die.”
This was more serious. It was Caulfield’s job to find out all he could about the incident, and Guppy might well have important information.
“It weren’t no accident, I mean, he didn’t get hit by the Frenchies, sir. It were someone on board this ship.”
There was no revelation in that; most of the crew were well aware how Pigot had met his end. Some, Caulfield suspected, knew more and it was possible that Guppy was one.
“I’d like to tell you what I know, but you have to consider my position, sir.” He smiled ingratiatingly, displaying an incomplete collection of tortoiseshell teeth. Caulfield shook his head.
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be popular, like, ’specially if people were knowing it were me what told.”
Caulfield sat back in his seat. “You are the master at arms, you are charged with the security and safety of this ship. If you cannot protect yourself, I fail to mark how you carry out your duties.”
Guppy’s face grew white and for a moment Caulfield thought he might be about to lose his temper. Then the sickly smile returned once more.
“It were the ship I was thinkin’ ’bout. Her, an’ the good of the people.”
“Rubbish, the only thin
g on your mind was your skin. Now, what do you have to tell me?”
For a moment the smile vanished and Guppy’s gaze lowered. “I was hopin’ for an exchange, sir. When we reach Gib, if that were agreeable.”
It was certainly agreeable from Caulfield’s point of view, but the man’s bargaining was starting to irritate him.
“Right now I’m not interested in exchanges, Guppy. If you have information about Mr Pigot’s death, I want to hear it, but I’ll make no trades with you, are you clear on that?”
The eyes rose up once more and looked directly into Caulfield’s. “I’ve a mind I should be speakin’ with the Fleet,” he said in a totally different voice. “There’s information I have that other officers would want to hear, even if you don’t.”
Caulfield fought to control his composure. In his own mind there was little doubt that King had dealt with Pigot. He could not condone the action, but the lad had more than enough reason, if not for himself, then for the men he served with. Pigot; never was a name more aptly given; he was an animal, and one whose particular brand of evil fed upon the misery it could make of other men’s lives. Given time it would doubtless have infested the entire ship. King had done well to be rid of him, and yet the evil lived on and now, in the person of Guppy, would probably see a promising young officer disrated and maybe even shot.
“You can speak to the Fleet,” Caulfield said, slowly. “There’ll be an official enquiry, it may even be being planned as we speak. You will have your chance then. Your chance to give them all the details. A man may well die for what you say, but whatever happens, remember this: There is no privacy in the court martial, every word will be reported, every name shall be known. Be sure you will spend the rest of your life serving in a navy where people have marked you down.”
Guppy started back, at first uncomprehending, then a small glimmer of understanding began to burn about his face. Caulfield considered extending the threat, mentioning likely crimes that Guppy may have committed in the past. No man could serve as a master at arms without creating a few enemies, and Guppy would have more than his share. Besides, Caulfield had seen the way he watched men, the way he chose favourites amongst the younger hands, and generally abused his position. There would be many who would gladly stand against him. There had been other times when Caulfield had noted the irony of the lower deck accepting illegal ways without protest, yet rising up in anger when natural justice had conflicted with written law.
“Go and think on what I say,” Caulfield told him softly.
Guppy blinked, his mind reeling from the implications that were still unfurling before him. He rose from the table and turned to go, then stopped and looked Caulfield directly in the eye.
“Don’t you even want to know who done it?” he asked.
Caulfield held his glare for a second, then relaxed into a half smile. “I already know,” he said.
CHAPTER TEN
The right hand of Admiral Sir John Jervis KB struck the desk with enough force to rattle the crystal and silver inkwell.
“You’re tellin’ me that an officer was killed on board your ship, killed, like as not, by the hand of one of your people, and you have done nothing about it?”
Banks swallowed. He could repeat the fact that he had ordered his officers to carry out their own investigation, he could remind the admiral that Pandora had been in action, and immediately afterwards had been weighed down with a prize. He could cite a thousand different reasons, but there was a good deal of similarity between his father and Sir John when in a rage and in his father’s case he had learnt to say nothing until the anger abated.
“Damn it all, the man is still amongst you; there should be a court of enquiry, maybe even a court martial. And the sooner the better.”
There was a slight twitter from Calder who, unable to remain out of the room for long, had sneaked back while Banks had been relating his tale.
“All right, Calder, I’m not suggesting we do it here.” His eyes swept back to Banks and held him in their glare. “But at Gibraltar, and as soon as you arrive. There can be no more shilly-shally, do you hear me?”
Jervis sat back in his chair and sighed. The lid had been knocked from his inkwell, a present from his wife, Martha. Silently and with care he replaced it.
“So be it,” Sir John paused, and looked Banks in the eyes once more. “Now on to more important things. You are a King’s officer; I shall not dress this up for you. We have received intelligence reports of a large Franco Spanish force that sailed from Toulon just a few weeks back. We know that Villeneuve took the French ships through the straits alone, and believe the Dons went in to Carthagena for stores or repairs. They are there now, ready to sail and of a force that all but doubles ours. They may try and meet up with the French, in which case we are looking towards a spring invasion.” He smiled suddenly, and Banks was aware of a strength of character he had rarely met before. “So you can understand, and maybe forgive, an old man’s impatience?”
“Of course, Sir John.”
“There are no marines available at present, but we have taken on men of the sixty-ninth regiment who are doing admirably well. Calder, you will organise a draft to accompany Sir Richard’s prize.” The captain of the fleet nodded gravely. “But you will be needing another officer; is your second up to handling the prize?”
“Mr King? Yes, sir. Although he only carries my acting warrant.”
“Has he passed his board?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does his duty? Pleases you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we had better see him made.” His eyes flashed to Calder who, once more, nodded in agreement.
“Once you make Gib do what you can to get Pandora ready for sea. There won’t be time for a refit, just attend to the important matters, and that damned court of enquiry. Then return, and make sure you bring the soldiers with you. Commodore Nelson will be passin’ through the straits at any time. If you can join with him, so much the better, if not call here for news of a rendezvous, though with luck we will meet before then.”
Jervis suddenly looked very tired, and Banks felt his heart go out to him. Responsibility for the fleet rested with this one elderly man. And more than that, he had to negotiate with a friendly neutral, one who might turn, or be invaded at any moment, as well as anticipate the Navies of two major powers. All this with minimal backup, and communications to and from the Admiralty taking several weeks. “You had better return to your ship and prepare to leave. We too will be under way shortly.”
The admiral’s eyes were closed now, and he appeared to be asleep. Calder nodded and turned to go; Banks stood up silently and went to follow him. Without opening his eyes, Jervis spoke once more.
“It was a good effort, Sir Richard.”
Banks stopped, momentarily taken aback.
“To take that frigate, with a ship the size of Pandora, a damned good effort, sir.” He opened his eyes and smiled once more. “Tell me, are you a married man?”
“No, sir.”
“That is good. Marriage is a wonderful thing, but not for young officers. I expect you to go far, Sir Richard, but only if you keep yourself unencumbered.”
Calder was gone now, and Banks felt that he should follow. “Thank you, sir,” he said softly, and left.
*****
King returned to the prize to find Pandora’s marines handing over to the soldiers. The decks were cluttered with red and blue coats, with the white helmets of the guards looking strangely at odds with the leather shakos of the marines. An army lieutenant approached him and saluted hesitantly. Even though he had removed the white collar flashes, King was still wearing his midshipman’s coat, which lacked the white lapels of a full naval lieutenant’s uniform.
“You are the officer in charge, sir?” the man said. Although a member of a Welsh regiment, the only accent he possessed was that of an upper class Englishman.
“Thomas King, lieutenant in command,” King replied in as stiff a voice
as he could muster. The prejudice he held had nothing to do with the fellow being in the army, he had had remarkably little contact with proper land solders. But for all his life King had lived under the control of the aristocracy; control that had rarely been blessed by intelligence, and seen him placed in awkward and dangerous situations on more than one occasion. This particular example was of inferior rank and King was determined not to be lorded over.
“Alexis John Horatio Stafford at your service, sir. My men will be accommodated within the hour, you are free to remove your marines at any time.”
“Very good.” King looked about for Martin, who was nowhere to be seen. He turned and questioned a corporal standing near.
“Mr Martin is below, speaking with my captain,” the lieutenant interrupted, adding in a more conversational tone, “They were at Eton together, don’t you know?”
King might have guessed as much. He had been looking forward to being free of the stuffy marine lieutenant although now, it seemed, he had only exchanged him for two like-minded prigs.
“Make sure your men are fully conversant with the exercise arrangements of the prisoners,” he said. The lieutenant raised an eyebrow.
“Exercise? “You want to give the prisoners facilities to roam? Damn it, sir, they are Frenchmen!”
“I want the prisoners to reach Gibraltar in as good a condition as possible. That will entail allowing a proportion above decks on a regular basis. I am also keen to see that this ship remains afloat; hands are needed to man the pumps at all hours and I would rather they be French ones. If your men are not capable of seeing to this in a competent manner, I will request my marines to be retained. And you and I, sir, are not equal in rank; you will address me properly at all times. That is the way we do things in the Navy, don’t you know?”
His anger was partly fuelled by the man’s impertinence at questioning an order, and partially by the tone and timbre of his voice, although King assured himself that it was also the idea of keeping the French soldiers penned up for long periods, long periods when their confined state might lead them to rash plans for retaking the ship; that was the real justification behind his outburst. The lieutenant saluted smartly and turned away, the nearest he could get to snubbing King in return. King was in no way put out; he had made his point and would continue to do so for as long as was necessary.
