Game of Bones

by David Donachie

  Harry followed the lookout’s finger as the bows lifted, the motion much exaggerated by their height. With a sheer face set against the incoming Atlantic, the biggest outcrop, the aptly named Île du Large, was diamond shaped. Harry’s charts showed a tiny bay at the south-western end, opposite the much smaller Île du Tertre. As an anchorage it left a lot to be desired, since the tidal race through the narrows, at certain times of the year, would be truly fierce.

  But if Tressoir was moored there, waiting for the flood to take him up to Isigny, it had one priceless asset: it protected him from any sudden descent by an armed enemy. A man with a telescope on the peak of du Large would have spied Bucephalas over an hour ago, before Harry’s lookout had picked up the first hint of the islands. No wonder Tressoir wasn’t worried about British warships. Any notion of a frigate springing a surprise was foolish as long as the weather stayed clear. Tressoir would be waiting for them, ready to run for the Seine Estuary if he sensed danger.

  Any doubt that it was a flagstaff was removed as Bucephalas breasted the next wave. Tressoir had not only hoisted some kind of pennant, he was loosening his topsails, a wise precaution given that he had no idea who was approaching. Harry cupped his hands and shouted down to his passenger.

  ‘Time to break out the truce flag, I think, Captain Illingworth.’

  This instruction had really been delivered to Pender, who’d already brought the two flags on deck, one the East India Company ensign, the other plain white. Dreaver stood by the loaded signal gun and as soon as they broke out aloft he pulled the lanyard, sending a loud boom, and a puff of white smoke to windward. The sound must have carried, since it was immediately matched by a cannon from the top of the island, which sent a hundred thousand gulls into panicky flight.

  ‘Pender,’ said Harry, now back on deck. ‘Get the ship cleared for action below, and have the gunner prepare charges. Do nothing on deck, since that will be observed.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’ asked Illingworth. But Harry had walked to the rail, so hadn’t heard him.

  It was Pender who replied, his face split with a wide grin, the snow-white teeth lighting up his weather-beaten face.

  ‘If they’ve got a signal gun all the way up that rock, your honour, this ain’t no temporary base. Capt’n’s being cautious, which is only right considering he don’t know what’s laying ahead. It don’t do to get caught with your breeches down, Mr Illingworth, in either clear weather or fog.’

  Harry had no intention of taking his ship right into the narrows. For one thing, common sense allied to prudence dictated that he run out his guns, regardless of the way it could be misinterpreted. And even if it was possible to guarantee Tressoir’s peaceful nature, Harry had no knowledge of the best place to anchor. The charts showed deep water in mid-channel, but were vague as to the way it shelved nearer the shoreline. So he luffed up to windward of the islands, put a boat over the side, instructed Dreaver to sail round to the eastern, lee shore and, taking care with the tide, to box the compass and wait for him.

  They needed boatcloaks in the cutter, though the weather wasn’t rough. But the swell was substantial, and in such a small boat that inevitably meant they shipped a certain amount of cold green seawater. With the tide rising their progress was swift, the oars only needed for steering, especially as they entered the narrows between the two islands and the current increased markedly. The Lothian was anchored in what had to be deep water, right under a steep escarpment, sheltered from the westerly wind by the bulk of the island. There was no sign of Tressoir’s small corvette. With a shallower draught, she could easily be upriver in Isigny.

  It wasn’t an anchorage Harry would have chosen. This part of the world was very prone to stormy weather, and given a gale of wind this sound could very easily change from its present benign nature to an absolute death trap. He reasoned that the main part of the lookout’s job, atop the cliff, was to keep a weather eye out not for the enemy but for squalls.

  The wind dropped as they rowed into the lee of the cliffs, but the tidal flow increased. To Harry’s left lay the small bay that he had seen on the chart, a thin strand of white sand barely enough to support the few fishing huts that lay along its edge. Behind them the land rose steeply, black threatening rocks, with ledges here and there for a climbing man to rest. Whoever occupied the place had planted gorse bushes to shelter each piece of flat ground, and Harry suspected that behind them lay small vegetable plots. The countless gulls that occupied the seaward side of the island were muted here, enough to hear the piercing cries of individuals, swooping for food to the rock-blackened waters.

  As they closed with the East Indiaman, Harry glanced at Illingworth, noticing that his eyes were slightly moist. That had nothing to do with spume and everything to do with emotion. Every sailor, regardless of how garrulous or pompous, felt for his ship. The ruddy-faced merchant captain had sailed to India and back in his ship a dozen times, had spent more time in her cabin than he had in his own family home. She was a segment of his being, just as Bucephalas was part of Harry’s. No landsman could understand that feeling, not even James, who’d spent a long time at sea.

  ‘She’s a beauty, Captain Illingworth.’

  ‘Ain’t she just, Ludlow,’ he rasped in reply, ‘ain’t she just. A fine sailer going large, and not too bad on a bowline. A sound vessel that has never let me down. There might be a bit of Hooghly mud on her keel, but that would be my wandering mind, and a crew trying to shake off the pox as much as the drink they’ve consumed. I will not have any man say that Lothian is crank.’

  ‘Who would dare!’ Harry said, wondering what fellow sailor had so offended Illingworth by making that very remark. It was a commonplace of seafarers as well that whatever faults their ship had they were blind to them. ‘Let us hope you can get her back, and prove it to be true.’

  ‘I hope that blackguard has shown proper respect for my furniture.’

  Harry had to hide the temptation to laugh, and so did Pender. They were rowing, unarmed and unprotected, into the unknown. Furniture, however valuable, seemed an odd thing to be concerned about.

  ‘Steer for her lee, Pender, it might be easier to get aboard with our dignity intact.’

  They swept round the stern, under a heavy cable that ran to the shore, several pairs of eyes on the poopdeck following them; silent, unsmiling, definitely unfriendly. Under the counter, they passed beneath the stern casements that formed the rear of Illingworth’s cabin. Suddenly one was flung open to reveal the faces of two young women, their eyes excited. Harry had a fleeting impression of the closest, mainly the auburn colour of her abundant hair. Then a voice, faint, firm, and deeply masculine admonished them, ordering that the casements be shut.

  ‘That was, without any doubt at all, Sir William Parker,’ groaned Illingworth. ‘No hearty greeting of a rescuer from that source. Stiff ain’t the word for his sort.’

  ‘He must have been a trying companion on the voyage home.’

  ‘Very,’ sighed Illingworth, his diplomacy slipping. ‘Just as any man who is never wrong is prone to be.’

  The faces on the lee rail were less threatening, with one or two actual smiles visible. The gangway was open, and side ropes lined either side of the ladder. Pender hooked and pulled the cutter close, he and one of the oarsmen holding it against the side so that it rose and fell on the swell. Harry pointed to the way aboard, indicating that Illingworth should precede him. The older man hesitated for a fraction of a second, took a deep breath, and obliged. He was standing, hat off, abundant grey and ginger hair blowing in the breeze, when Harry joined him on the deck.

  ‘Allow me to present to you Captain Harry Ludlow,’ said Illingworth, ‘who has kindly undertaken to escort me here. Captain Ludlow, this is the man who took my ship, M. Auguste de Tressoir.’

  This was addressed to a tall man who in turn removed his own hat and bowed. He had a sharp but handsome face, lively eyes and an engaging, lopsided smile which feature slipped quickly, to be replaced by a quizzica
l expression.

  ‘I had a long look at your ship as she sailed by the western approach, Captain. A fine vessel, though she is not a naval warship?’

  ‘No, Monsieur. I am a private individual. Admiral Parker asked me to transport Captain Illingworth as a favour to a busy fleet.’

  ‘I see you have some very new wood about the forward bulwarks.’ Harry nodded, and Tressoir continued, his expression now concerned. ‘Then something tells me that we might have met before.’

  Harry replied in a friendly tone, since he saw no point in being bitter. ‘We have, Monsieur, and I am open enough to admit that you bested me. But I would also add that should we meet again, in clear weather, you’d not enjoy the advantage a second time.’

  ‘I thought I did more damage than that I observed a few minutes ago.’

  ‘You did, Monsieur,’ said Harry, producing a sudden, full smile. ‘Especially, it has to be said, to my pride.’

  Tressoir responded well to that, clearly amused, as his lopsided smile reappeared. Then he adopted an expression of mock sadness. ‘Pride, Captain. That is something that takes a great deal longer to repair than mere planking.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HARRY’S senses were not dulled by this exchange of pleasantries. There were many things to see: the guns that the Frenchman had run out, probably when Bucephalas had first been sighted on the horizon, the loosed topsails and the axes by the hawse-hole ready to cut the cables for a quick getaway. But most of all that unless Tressoir had a host of seamen below, the Lothian had only the minimum crew to sail her.

  Had the rest of his crew stayed aboard his corvette, preferring the delights of Isigny-sur-Mer to the discomfort of this exposed anchorage? Harry’s nerves were tingling with anticipation, so much so that he wished he was not standing right before his late adversary. He was frightened that he would fidget, worried that even if he mastered himself Tressoir might pick up from his manner some hint of his thoughts.

  The Frenchman was vulnerable and with the deep keel of the Indiaman, in no position to alter matters. He’d moored here out of necessity, using the channel despite its manifest disadvantages. To then send off his own ship and most of the men was sheer folly: it robbed him of the ability to defend the straits or to fight off any predator who, favoured by good fortune, could block his route to the Vire Estuary. Harry’s mind was racing with possibilities, and several moments passed before he realised that the Frenchman was talking to him. ‘Sorry,’ he said, quickly.

  Tressoir smiled again, much to Harry’s annoyance, in a way that seemed to imply that he could read his thoughts. ‘I asked, Captain Ludlow, if you would object to meeting the passengers that we took with the ship.’

  ‘Why would I object to that?’

  ‘You are here to bargain, are you not? It strikes me that sentiment, which could very well enter into your calculations, would hardly aid your purpose.’

  ‘You are mistaken, Monsieur de Tressoir, I am merely here as a supernumerary. It is to Captain Illingworth that you must look for terms, and he has already met Sir William and his party.’ Then Harry remembered the moist-eyed way the merchant captain had looked at his ship, and silently chastised himself for his haste in replying. ‘But I am, of course, to be consulted regarding any offer price for the Lothian herself.’

  Tressoir must have guessed that was a lie by the way that Illingworth, with an absence of subtlety, shot his fellow emissary a questioning look. Harry realised that because the merchant captain had deferred to him on the journey, they’d never actually talked of the method by which a decision to attack would be made. Now their adversary knew that, since the pause between that look and Illingworth actually speaking was so slow it approximated to instructions sent through the post.

  ‘Yes. Captain Ludlow has the ear of the East India Company directors,’ Illingworth waffled, waving his arms to cover his confusion. ‘But Admiral Parker was adamant that I come for his family, since I know them well.’

  Tressoir threw back his head and laughed out loud. ‘Did the good admiral think I might substitute them?’

  ‘Of course not!’ snapped Illingworth, as aware as anyone of the illogicality.

  ‘Rest assured that I was not even tempted. Though I find Sir William’s daughter and her companion delightful, the gentleman himself is a little oppressive.’

  ‘His wife, I trust, is well?’

  ‘Yes, though you’d hardly know it since she says very little. I have left them in my … sorry, your cabin, Captain, where there is also a good dinner waiting. I suggest that we eat first, before conducting business.’

  Illingworth looked at Harry, to check that he agreed, and when he nodded they followed Tressoir towards the spacious area under the poopdeck. Tressoir afforded them no chance to speak privately as they passed through the forward section, the table set with good china and crystal that Illingworth could not help inspecting, it being his own property. The Frenchman stood aside as he entered the rear, day cabin, to show the assembled party their visitors. The girls, even more attractive whole than they had been through the window, were desperately trying not to fiddle. Lady Parker curtsied slightly. Only Sir William seemed in control, his angular face wearing an expression of undeniable hauteur.

  ‘Well, Illingworth. You took your time in returning to your duty.’

  ‘I hardly think less than a week a lifetime, sir.’

  Harry was sure that Parker actually curled his lip when he responded. ‘I suggest you try confinement, Captain, before you advance any theories on that score. Meanwhile, I will be obliged if you will do the decent thing and introduce this other fellow.’

  Illingworth opened his mouth to do so, but Harry cut him off.

  ‘This fellow, sir, to whom you so offhandedly refer, has come over seventy-odd miles to effect your release. But as a free agent, under no obligation to anything other than my own notion of duty, I am quite capable of upping my helm and going straight back home.’

  Sir William turned away, his head lifting to create a noble and troubled profile against the light coming through the casements. ‘Naturally you have my gratitude, sir.’

  It was Harry’s turn to be cut off, since what Sir William had proffered was the very opposite of thanks. He acted like a man complimenting his servant for doing a good job burnishing his boots. This was certainly an occasion to have James in tow. He had a readier wit than his elder brother, and would have punctured Parker in an instant. Harry sought desperately for the words James would have employed, while Illingworth, his ruddy face an even deeper hue, had his hands up to stop him from saying anything.

  ‘This is Captain Harry Ludlow, Sir William, and I do assure you he is a man of parts. Your brother, Sir Peter, engaged him personally as being both by birth and temperament most suited to the task.’

  Parker turned back slowly, to examine Harry more closely, as if birth or breeding was a commodity that could be worn on the breast. Harry himself was only aware of Tressoir’s silent mirth. The Frenchman was watching him closely, and with the pained look on the faces of the three females it capped his anger. If he couldn’t manufacture his brother’s wit, he could at least, as he had done on more than one occasion in his life, borrow his manners. James, when exposed to intolerable condescension, generally adopted a tone of studied languor to demolish an adversary.

  ‘That is so, Sir William. I’m not to be engaged to rescue any old Tom, Dick, or Harry. I confine myself, in the Good Samaritan line, to persons of quality, sir.’

  The redhead’s chest started to heave inside her cream dress, the pale face turning puce as she tried to contain her laughter, proof, to Harry, that he had done better than he’d expected. Illingworth looked like the other two women, pained. Harry was racking his brain for a riposte to the inevitable blast of anger. None of them, not even the man’s wife, a much put-upon creature judging by her mouselike demeanour, suspected that Sir William would do as he did, which was to take Harry’s words at face value.

  ‘Then my brother h
as shown rare sensitivity, sir, in choosing you. Perhaps his service in such a rough trade as the navy has not coarsened him as much as I suspected. Though I confess the name Ludlow does not register with me as anything other than a fortified town on the Welsh marches. There was, of course, a low-born Cromwellian general so styled.’

  As a way of putting Harry in his place, it would have been perfect, especially since he was a direct descendant of that same General Ludlow. But the expression on Sir William’s face was one of enquiry, not triumph.

  ‘Allow me to name the ladies,’ said Illingworth quickly. ‘Lady Parker, her daughter Caroline, and her companion Lady Katherine Fitzgerald.’

  The bobbing curtsies of the trio identified them, which established that the girl with the round face and full figure was Sir William’s offspring. The redhead, who was quite a beauty, didn’t look much like a lady, since she was still trying to control her giggles.

  ‘Lady Katherine is a blood relation of the Duke of Leinster,’ said Sir William, his head slipping sideways to indicate to all that they should be impressed.

  ‘Then I am honoured,’ Harry replied, with a slight bow. Lady Katherine, who had sparkling green eyes and a trace of freckles showing through her powder, pulled a face which implied that the subject was as regular as it was tedious.

  ‘Indeed,’ added Sir William, ‘you will be aware that Leinster is Ireland’s premier dukedom. That is why I consented to allow her to travel with us. One cannot be too careful when initiating one’s daughter to society.’

  ‘Now that the introductions are complete,’ said Tressoir, even more amused than before by the legion of raised eyebrows, ‘I suggest that we repair to the dining cabin. My cook has gone to some trouble over the dishes we’ll consume. Too much delay will only annoy the poor man.’