Alexander Kent - Bolitho 20 Darkening Sea

by Darkening Sea [lit]

  Bolitho asked sharply, "Is the marksman with us?"

  Loftus nodded. "Behenna, Sir Richard. From your part of the world, I understand." He smiled. "A poacher, in fact. It was a choice between the Corps or the rope. I am not sure if he believes he made the right decision!"

  The casual humour did more than anything to steady Bolitho's racing thoughts.

  Tell your poacher to load his piece now. If ordered to shoot I fear there may be blood on my hands."

  The word ran through the boat and then the other one, so that men tightened their grip on the looms while others reached down in the bottom boards for their weapons.

  The marksman in the bows turned and stared along the length of the boat at the vice-admiral in his flapping shirt, with the old blade between his knees.

  Bolitho lifted one hand towards him. The poacher was trying to tell him something with a glance. Like the young seaman that day with the bruise of a starter on his bare shoulder.

  Suppose things went badly wrong? He touched the locket again and knew Loftus was watching him. Don't leave me... It seemed so wrong that Yovell, the most peaceful and un warlike person he knew, should have seen it, and pondered on the island's total lack of welcome.

  In his heart he answered her. Never. What he had said when they had abandoned the Golden Plover. And had lived to tell of it.

  He heard the boom of water in some cave below the cliff and knew they were closer. He gripped his sword with all his strength and whispered, I'm coming, but he spoke only to himself.

  "It all seems quiet enough." Lieutenant Urquhart looked at the others, his frown deepening. "Well, we're here, so I suppose we shall have to search the place, though it is God's truth I know not for what!" He glanced around for a boatswain's mate and snapped, "Protheroe, take your party to the huts yonder. Find out what you can!" He pointed at a young midshipman. "You go with them, Mr. Powys, and take chargeV

  Avery murmured to Allday, "What were you saying to Sir Richard?"

  Allday grinned, but his eyes were on the rocks. "I says a lot o' things to Sir Richard."

  "About the place where you were so badly wounded."

  "Oh, when we were in Old Katie together?" He watched the little midshipman strutting away with the party of seamen. He was the one who had caused the man Jacobs to be flogged until he had eventually died under the lash. Little toad, he thought.

  Then he said, "At San Felipe, it was. Just after you were released from a French prison, I reckon." He saw the shot strike home. Always the pain.

  Surprisingly Avery gave a rueful smile. "Even prison was better than this god-forsaken place!"

  Urquhart seemed rather desperate. "I shall go up to the monastery, if that's what they call it!"

  Avery watched him. The first lieutenant was seeing all the pitfalls, and the end of it when Trevenen would vent his temper on him.

  "No need, sir." Allday eased his cutlass very slightly in his belt. "The old fellow himself is coming down to us."

  Avery wondered if he would ever get used to Allday's humour. But there was awareness too, like a fox on the prowl when a hunter is near. They all looked up the path that led from the monastery's crumbling outer wall. It was so steep in places that here and there crude stairs had been hacked out to give access.

  Avery watched the slow-moving figure in the brown robe, the hood pulled up over his head to keep out the wet, salty breeze. Each stair, like the stones of the building itself, had doubtless been cut by hand. He turned to seek out the frigate,

  but she had moved or drifted around the out-thrust spur of land. To see the water so empty sent an unexpected chill up his spine.

  He shook himself angrily and looked at Urquhart. It was obvious he did not know what to do.

  The figure was nearer now, still moving at the same steady pace. In one hand he carried a long, polished staff on which he leaned occasionally as if to get his breath. When he drew nearer Avery could see the fine carved crucifix on the top of the staff, below which was a plain gold band. It was probably the most valuable object in this dismal hole, he thought.

  Urquhart said urgently, "He must be the abbot! You see, I was right. There's nothing to worry about!" When Avery said nothing he insisted, "He will demand to know what we're doing on this this sacred land!"

  Allday spat in the sand but Urquhart was too agitated to notice it.

  Avery said, Tell him, then. If he becomes unreasonable, we can give him some ship's stores. Can we not?"

  Urquhart nodded, relieved. "Yes, I shall."

  Allday grunted. In ten minutes Urquhart would imagine it was all his idea. He knew that Bolitho thought the first lieutenant would be a good officer. He chuckled. But not this week.

  The abbot stopped on one of the last stairs and held up the staff so that the crucifix faced Urquhart and his companions. Then he shook his head firmly while he held the staff. It all took place in complete silence, but he might have been denying them entry into the monastery with a voice like thunder.

  Urquhart had removed his hat and now gave a brief bow.

  He said, "I come in the name of King George of England..."

  The abbot stared down at him, his eyes expressionless. Then he shook his head several times.

  Urquhart tried again. "We mean no harm. We will leave you in peace." He turned helplessly and exclaimed, "He speaks no English!"

  Avery felt the wildness surging through him. Something he thought he had lost or learned to contain.

  The others stared at him as he said quietly, "Duncere Classem Regem Sequi."

  The abbot could only gape at him, and he added in a harsher tone, "Nor Latin either, it would seem!" He knew Urquhart was unable to understand, and he shouted, "Take this man!"

  A seaman seized the man's robe but he was too strong for him.

  Allday pushed past them. "Sorry, Father!" Then he smashed his fist into the man's face and sent him reeling down the steps.

  Someone yelled, There be boats comin', sir!"

  Allday straightened up and allowed the imposter's hand to fall on the stones. "See the tar, sir! If he's a cleric, I'd be the Queen of England!" Then he seemed to realise what had been shouted and said with relief, "Sir Richard, then. I knew it somehow!"

  They all stared around as two shots cracked out, their sharp echoes repeating and ringing around the narrow landing-place as if twenty marksmen were firing.

  Someone gave a shrill scream, and even as their ears cringed to that a corpse fell from the rocks overhead, still clinging to a smoking musket until he hit the ground and rolled off into the water below.

  "Who was hit?" Urquhart stared round, his eyes wild.

  A seaman called, "Mr. Powys, sir! He's dead!"

  Somebody else said, "He's no bloody loss."

  "Silence!" Urquhart was trying to assert himself.

  Bolitho and the captain of marines appeared at the landing place, and a squad of scarlet coats fanned out amongst the rocks, their bayonets very bright in the sunshine.

  Bolitho climbed up beside them and nodded to Allday. "Well, old friend?"

  Allday grinned, but the pain in his chest had been awakened and he had to speak carefully.

  This fellow must be one of them, Sir Richard." He held up a pistol. "Not quite right an' proper for a man of the cloth, eh?"

  Bolitho looked at the abbot who was trying to recover his senses. Then he said, "We've much to do here."

  Protheroe, who had been with the unpopular midshipman,

  appeared on the slope, his eyes dull with shock. As a boatswain's mate he was one of those required to carry out a flogging, and yet by the navy's own code he was not blamed for what he must do. Especially under Trevenen's command.

  "What is it, man?"

  Protheroe wiped his mouth. "Two women we found, sir. Raped several times is my guess, then cut about something' terrible!" He was shaking despite everything he had seen in his service.

  Bolitho glanced at the figure in the brown robe and saw his eyes move. He said calmly, "There ap
pear to be no trees here. Take this man to the water's edge. Captain Loftus, you will detail a firing party. At once!"

  Captain Loftus looked so grim that it was likely he would shoot the man himself. As he stepped forward the imposter flung himself forward, and would have gripped Bolitho's shoes but for Allday's heavy foot across his neck.

  "Down, you scum! Butchering women is that all you're good for?"

  "Please! Please!" The man's earlier composure, which had so convinced Urquhart, had vanished like smoke. "It wasn't me! It was some of the others!"

  "Strange how often it's the others!"

  Avery felt his hand trembling on his sword hilt but managed to say, "Speaks English now well enough!"

  "How many of you are there here?" Bolitho turned away. He was beyond pity. The women were probably fishermen's wives, daughters even. What a terrible way to end. Later he would see the corpses for himself, and tend to them. But now... his voice hardened. "Speak out, man!"

  The man did not struggle as a marine dragged off the robe and took the fine staff from him as if it might break.

  The cowering figure sobbed, "We was ordered to stay here, sir! I speak the truth! The monks are safe enough, sir! I'm a religious man I was against what happened. Have mercy, sir!"

  Bolitho snapped, "Get a flag of truce for this creature, Mr. Urquhart, and go with him to the door. His friends will know they cannot be rescued while we are here. If they resist I will have the door broken down, and there will be no quarter."

  Urquhart was staring at him as if he had never seen him before.

  Bolitho watched as the man was dragged to his feet and a white rag produced from somewhere. He did not notice at the time, but it had blood on it. It was probably the hated midshipman's shirt.

  "How many men? I did not hear a reply!"

  But the prisoner was gaping at something beyond him, and without turning Bolitho knew it was the Valkyrie moving past the entrance. She more than anything would convince the pirates, or whatever they were.

  Avery whispered, "I'll go, Sir Richard. If they recognise you..."

  Bolitho tried to smile. "Like this?" He plucked at his grubby shirt. Had that hidden marksman seen him in uniform, he and not Midshipman Powys would be lying dead. He noticed that Avery had used his title despite what he had told him. It revealed that he was not as calm as he appeared.

  He walked up the steps and asked, "What of the Abbot? Did you murder him too?"

  The man tried to turn but two marines gripped him fast. He whined, "No, sir! A man of God?" He sounded almost shocked at the suggestion. "He's locked in a room with the other prisoner!"

  It was as if someone had spoken in his ear. "You had better not be lying."

  The door was already opening when they reached it. There were ten of them. Had they wanted to they could have held the place against an army. But they were throwing down their weapons and getting a few blows from the marines as they drove them into a corner.

  Bolitho saw the marksman swoop up an expensive-looking pistol from the floor, his eyes gleaming. Despite his smart uniform he still looked like a poacher in the guise of a ferret.

  Their voices rang and echoed around the walls, which were dripping with moisture. The sound of chanting in this place must be like the cries of the damned.

  His heart was beating so painfully that he had to pause on the stairs to recover his breath.

  "Captain Loftus, search the building, though I doubt if you'll find anything. Have the prisoners taken to the beach. Tie them up if need be." He was speaking in a harsh, clipped tone he barely recognised as his own, and his mouth was as dry as dust.

  Allday said, This is the place, I think, Sir Richard." He sounded very wary.

  Avery lifted a large key from a hook beside the door and after a slight hesitation he opened it.

  There was bright sunshine streaming in through a window, alien in this place, which was without furniture. The floor was strewn with loose straw. A man with a white beard was leaning against the wall, his leg chained to a ringbolt, his breathing laboured and shallow.

  Bolitho said softly, "Send word to the ship and have the surgeon attend here."

  He bent and then knelt beside the other man who was propped against the wall, one hand in filthy bandages. For a moment longer Bolitho thought he was dead.

  He said, "Thomas. Can you hear me?"

  Herrick lifted his chin, then very slowly opened his eyes. Blue in the sunlight, they seemed the only living thing about him.

  A marine handed Bolitho his water flask, and Herrick stared at the man's bright uniform as if he could not believe it was real.

  Bolitho held the flask to his lips and saw Herrick's pathetic attempt to swallow some water.

  Herrick said suddenly, "Allday! It's you, you rascal!" Then he coughed and water ran down his chin.

  Allday watched, his face like stone. "Aye, sir. You can't get rid o' me that easy!"

  Bolitho looked round and noticed Herrick's best uniform coat hanging on a wall, carefully protected from dust and damp by a piece of linen.

  Herrick must have seen his eyes move toward it, and said, "They wanted to parade us together, so they had to keep my clothing nice and clean." He almost laughed, but he groaned with the pain.

  Bolitho took the bandaged hand very carefully and prayed that the surgeon would soon come.

  "Who did this to you, Thomas? Was it Baratte?"

  "He was here, but I did not see him. It was another man."

  "American or French?"

  Herrick stared at the crude bandage. "Neither. A bloody Englishman!"

  "Save your strength, Thomas. I think I know the man now."

  But Herrick was staring past him again, at the prisoner who had taken the abbot's place. "Whoever he was, he knew he was wasting his time when he questioned me about the squadron." His body shook with silent laughter. "Not that I had anything to tell. Remember, I was on my way to the great country." Then he became very calm. "So this renegade, or whoever he is, made me a promise before he left. That I would never hold a sword for the King again." He gestured with his head to a stone block in the corner. "They held my arm and smashed my hand with that!" He held up the bandage and Bolitho could imagine the damage and the agony. "But they even made a mistake there, eh, Richard?"

  Bolitho looked down, his eyes blurring. "Yes, Thomas, you are left-handed."

  Herrick was fighting to stay conscious. "That prisoner by the door. He did it."

  Then he fainted. Bolitho held him in his arms and waited while a marine prized open the leg-iron with his bayonet.

  He looked round, thinking that Herrick had called him by name; and that while he had been struggling to speak, something had stopped, like a clock.

  Sergeant Plummer said quietly, "The old gentleman has died, sir."

  It was rare for a man to look dignified in death, Bolitho thought. He said, "Remove his leg-iron, Sergeant, then take him to where the others lie dead." He walked to the door as more men with Lieutenant Urquhart hurried in.

  Avery asked, "And what about this man, sir?"

  The prisoner's eyes watched him like bright stones.

  "We'll leave him with the others. Dead."

  The man's protests filled the barred room so that Herrick seemed to stir as if in a bad dream.

  "I will not take him to the ship. The people have had enough examples of authority to witness." He watched the horror and disbelief on the man's face. "The only witnesses will be the women you destroyed!"

  Outside the door Bolitho leaned against the wall, the stones surprisingly cold through his shirt. He listened to the man's screams and pleading cries as he was dragged down the steep stairs.

  Avery waited with Allday as some sailors carried Herrick's limp body carefully through the door.

  Avery asked bluntly, "What does it mean? You can tell me, man!"

  Allday looked at him sadly. "It means he's found his friend again."

  They fell in step to follow the others, then Allday asked, "What did
you say to that rat, sir?"

  "Well, I was not certain, you see. But all priests speak Latin. I was answering the question he should have asked. I said, To Lead the Fleet, to Follow the King."

  A single shot echoed over the monastery and Allday spat on the ground.

  "Hope he said his prayers!"

  SIXTEEN

  Captains All

  Yovell leaned slightly to one side as Bolitho ran his eyes over the orders he had just completed. Around them the big frigate groaned uneasily as she lay hove-to while Laertes's captain came over in his gig.