A Sea Unto Itself

by Jay Worrall

  Charles saw that she was clearly proud of what had been accomplished. It must have been a struggle against harsh odds. And now she and her companions would have the added difficulty of the arrival of their old European enemy. “Are you not worried by the appearance of the French warship in these waters?” he said. “They are in Egypt and have established a foothold at the north end of the Red Sea.”

  She made such a charming expression of distress that Charles smiled. “They are a hateful, low people who seek only to subjugate all the world,” she said forcefully. “The French Generale Bonaparte now in Egypt is the same that ravaged my homeland. He has pillaged all he desired in Genoa as he passed across, even to the very virtue of the women. There is much fear he will come here. We have no army and no navy. We can do nothing.”

  “I am no friend to the French,” Charles said confidently, his mind captured by the thought of the pillaged virtue of the women, or at least this woman. “I mean to fight them whenever they are. If it will reassure you, I have had some success in the past.”

  “I am certain that you are very capable in such things,” she said, her eyes on his. “But, do you not think they will attempt to come south? Many are hopeful that they have no reason to do so.” Her voice turned to despair. “It cannot happen. The malletto French would destroy everything we have built, everything we have hoped for.”

  The governor spoke out, interrupting their conversation. From his tone, Charles thought he was asking questions, which Teresa promptly answered in an unemotional, matter-of-fact manner. Charles watched the two and listened carefully, comprehending few of the words and none of the meaning, as the man’s expression changed from inquiry to authority. The woman answered twice, once with an impatient, “Si, si,” followed by a longer sentence or two. The second reply was more animated, her breast rising and falling as she spoke quickly, almost angrily. Charles wondered what the disagreement had been about.

  “The governor has asked me to offer an invitation to you to dinner,” Teresa said, regaining her composure. “He has also said that all the facilities of our little colony are of course available to you, such as to food and water or whatever your needs. He hopes you to call often to our harbor and asks only your protection from our mutual enemy.”

  Charles heard Winchester, seated on his other side, cough discreetly. He turned and asked, “What is it?”

  “The boat’s crew and the marines have been out in the sun this past hour,” Winchester said under his breath. “Also, if you will forgive my saying so, you have no orders to protect this place. You do have orders to transport Jones and his party. May I suggest that we get that accomplished and dally later.”

  Charles thought Winchester to be impertinent. He saw a disapproving look as his brother-in-law glanced past him at the Italian woman. The implied accusation irritated him. There was nothing improper in his behavior toward Teresa. Any such suggestion was absurd on the face of it. But he also knew the lieutenant to be correct—he had no business remaining in Massawa any longer than necessary, no matter how pleasant it might be. Of course, he could always return, to resupply for example.

  “I hope you will accept my deepest apologies,” he said, nodding to the governor, but speaking to the woman. “I have orders to sail north which cannot be avoided. My mission is to prevent the French from progressing southward.” His eyes met hers. “This I will do with every resource available to me, you may rest assured.”

  For the smallest of moments he wondered if he had spoken too freely. It might have been better if he’d left his future movements undisclosed. He looked to Teresa’s smile and direct gaze. The concern left him. These Italians were his allies against a common enemy after all. If he could not confide in them, whom could he trust?.

  “If you must depart so quickly, then you must,” Teresa said, clearly unhappy at his decision. Bellagio rose at his end of the table. He spoke a few words and accorded Charles the barest of bows. “The governor wishes you a profitable voyage and a soon return,” the woman translated. “It is his sincerest wish that your mission will be blessed with every success. Come, I will accompany you to the harbor.” Somehow Charles had the impression that the leader of the Italians had not been nearly so warm in his well-wishing, but he thought it unimportant. Perhaps he was one of those men who were naturally reserved in their sentiments.

  Outside, in the heat of a blaring sun now nearly directly overhead, Teresa paused by the doorway to allow the others to go ahead. When they had gained some relative privacy, the woman slipped her free arm into his.

  “These times are most difficult for everyone,” she said. “Signore Bellagio has many responsibilities. As a consequence he may not always express himself as friendly as he feels. Please do not yourself be offended.”

  “I am not offended in the least,” Charles said seriously. “I feel I have been warmly received in Massawa.”

  “Good,” Teresa said with a broad smile. She squeezed his arm tightly against her side. “It is my wish also that you have victory in your every effort. I, my personally, am much saddened that you must go. I will pray that you may return to me as soon as is possible.”

  Charles felt his heart pounding in his chest. The brush of her body against his side carried its own implications. He knew he must leave, he didn’t want to, he had no excuse to delay his departure. He looked out at Cassandra riding at anchor in the harbor. He remembered something he should have inquired about before. It was important. It was delicate. It was something he would have to speak with a man about. It might serve to keep his ship in harbor at least another day. He should have gotten Winchester to ask discretely, but it was too late for that now. “Is there anyone beside yourself here who speaks English?” he asked hopefully.

  Teresa assumed a helpful expression. “No,” she said. “Why do you ask such a thing?”

  Charles hesitated. He wanted—needed, he realized—to ascertain whether there might be suitable diversions available for his crew, should he allow them on shore: a brothel or drinking establishments, for example. Such places didn’t have to be large; he could rotate the men in small parties. There had to be something, every port had some such enterprise to service seamen’s needs. But he couldn’t ask a woman, especially not this woman. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It was something to be discussed among men.”

  “Do you wish to ask the governor? I will translate.”

  Charles felt himself redden. “No. I’m sorry; it is in the nature of . . . It is too indelicate for a woman’s ears.”

  Teresa’s brow furrowed inquisitively, her curiosity peaked. “Carlo, you may speak anything to me. I am a grown woman, not a novice in a nunnery. I think you cannot say anything I have not before heard.”

  Charles decided to take the plunge for the sake of his crew. He spoke softly, lest they be overheard. “Is there a brothel hereabouts? You know somewhere . . .” His voice trailed off in embarrassment.

  Her reaction was abrupt. She released his arm and stared at him wide-eyed. “Do you require such services as from a bordello?”

  “Me?” Charles said, aghast. “Oh, no. Oh, good lord, no. Not for myself, of course not.” His face went flush. “For the men of my ship. Some have not been on land for a year or more. I’m sure you understand. No, I’m not sure, but for me personally, no.” He thought to add a few additional denials that he had any intentions in this line, but stopped when he saw she was laughing at him.

  “More than a year,” she said warmly. “But the prostituto would be very busy, I think.” She pursed her lips. “To answer your request, I must speak that we have no such profession in Massawa.”

  “Any wine shops?” Charles asked, hoping for something. He began to be concerned about the reaction of his crew. “Taverns? Anything at all?”

  “I am sorry, no. We are such a small place.”

  “Would it be possible for them to come ashore to walk up and down, if only to look around?” It wouldn’t satisfy them, but at least the men would see for themselves that th
ere was nothing for them here.

  “There is little to see,” Teresa said doubtfully. “But I will ask.” She turned to the governor, standing a short way off with a few of his lieutenants, and spoke in her language.

  “No,” Bellagio answered, gruffly shaking his head.

  “I must apologize,” she said to Charles. “It would be inconvenient at the moment. He hopes you will return another time.”

  “I see,” Charles said. “Thank you for making the request.” There didn’t seem to be any further reason to delay. He bowed to the governor and the other men. To Teresa, he took her hand and kissed it lightly. “Until we meet again,” he said, then turned, almost bumping into Augustus who he realized with a start had been standing close behind him all the while. He followed his servant and Winchester down into the boat and took his place in the sternsheets. “Shove off,” Winchester growled immediately. Looking back, Charles saw that Teresa stood alone and unmoving, framed against the sky until the launch bumped against Cassandra’s side. When he gained the deck and looked back, she was gone.

  He turned to Winchester, waiting at the entry port and staring at him disapprovingly. “Is Jones returned from the island yet?” Charles said. The last thing he wanted was more pert criticism from his lieutenant and brother-in-law.

  “The jollyboat’s still out,” Winchester answered, his lips pursed in a hard line.

  “Then send someone to fetch him back.”

  Before he could turn away, Winchester spoke: “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’re going to. You’d better be careful, Captain, or you’ll do something you’ll regret.”

  “I’ll thank you to keep your speculations to yourself,” Charles snapped.

  Daniel Bevan arrived in the middle of the exchange from the quarterdeck. “What?” he said.

  “Prepare to weigh the anchor, Daniel,” Charles ordered. “We shall sail immediately Jones is on board. I am going below.”

  “What was that about?” he heard Bevan say to Winchester. Charles made his way to his cramped temporary cabin in a sour mood. My God, he would be grateful when he could be rid of Jones and his women and have his own quarters back. He sat down on the edge of the cot to think. Was Winchester right? Had he done anything improper? Of course not. He had made an ally of the Italians and secured a haven where they could water and revictual. That was all to the good. And what of the woman, Signora Teresa di Correglia? Even her name sounded desirable as she pronounced it: “T-e-e-resa.” It was nothing serious, he reassured himself. She was simply a woman who’d spoken English, a chance occurrence. He had to speak through her. She was friendly and attractive—desirable even, to be sure—but no more than that. He’d done nothing improper. There were no secret understandings, no implied promises; he’d been a perfect gentleman. Winchester was out of line and intruding into affairs that were beyond his concern. Besides, if his brother-in-law kept his mouth shut Penny would never know anything he did or did not do. Not that he had the slightest intention of doing or not doing anything.

  Unbidden, he could feel his skin tingle where Teresa had traced her fingers across his hand. It had been too long since he had felt a woman’s touch, any woman’s touch. The remembrance of her eyes, her lips, the firmness of her body against his arm made him ache. It wasn’t bedding, it wasn’t just bedding that he yearned for, but intimacy. Someone he could be unguarded with, familiar. Winchester was partly right, he decided. It would do no harm for him to be careful.

  A knock came at the cabin door. “Come,” he said.

  Augustus entered, rather deferentially, Charles thought. “Be you all right, Cap’n?”

  He sighed. Everyone was anxious about his deportment. Probably he should have been more guarded than he had been. “Yes, I’m fine. Everything is fine. Thank you for your concern.”

  “If I may say, she were a powerful pretty lady.” The servant’s voice was cautious.

  It occurred to Charles that his servant would be as troubled as anyone about his possible wanderings. After all, Miss Viola was a member of Penny’s household. “Yes, she is. But you have no need to worry on my behalf.” To change the subject, he said, “What did you think of this little colony of Italians?” Charles had in mind the apparent harmony between the Europeans and the local tribe's people.

  Augustus’ reaction was unexpected. His expression hardened. “I saw too many blacks workin’ and too many whites with muskets watchin’. I do’n like it; I do’n like it at all.”

  “I see,” Charles said. He wished he’d paid more attention to those kinds of details.

  “Afore I forget,” Augustus said quickly. “I’m to tell you Mr. Jones is back on board. He wishes a word with you in your cabin. Mr. Bevan, he say he be ready to weigh in a half hour.”

  “Thank you,” he said to his servant, then called “Mr. Hitch!” into the wardroom. He remembered seeing the midshipman leafing through his book on navigation, which was remarkable enough.

  “Yes, sir?” Hitch said, appearing in the doorway.

  “Get you up to my cabin and inform Mr. Jones that he will attend to me in the wardroom immediately.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “And, Mr. Hitch, if you would be so good as to ask Lieutenant Bevan to send word as soon as the anchor is atrip.”

  “Aye, aye,” Hitch repeated and left.

  Augustus busied himself brushing off Charles’ uniform coat and putting his things in their correct places. Charles went into the wardroom and sat at the table to await the American and whatever news he brought back from the Arab village. Jones appeared almost immediately, still dressed in his flowing native gown. “What do you have to report?” Charles said as he came into the room.

  “I don’t report to you. I work for the Admiralty,” Jones replied testily.

  “Fine,” Charles said. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  “To tell you that we must sail for Egypt immediately. I am informed the French are scouring the sea for every transport available, and not only with the frigate we did with yesterday. I am certain they will make the attempt as soon as the wind favors it. There is no time to lose.”

  Charles felt he already knew or had guessed all of these things. “From where will they sail?” he asked. That was the central question. When Jones looked at him blankly, he added, “Where is all this shipping being collected and where will their troops be embarked?”

  Jones rubbed his bearded chin. “The local traders think it might be at Koessir, in Egypt. They haven’t seen it first hand, but it’s a logical place.”

  “Is that where you want me to take you, Koessir?”

  “Don’t be stupid, of course not. We must go further north, to Zafarana. It will be easier to make our way inland to Cairo from there. You may return to take us off at Koessir.”

  Charles groaned inwardly. This was getting to be a complicated undertaking. What was he to do while Jones was on land? He supposed he couldn’t just leave him there, tempting though that might be. He reminded himself again that he wanted to get the thing over with as quickly as possible. “When?” he said.

  “When what?”

  “When do you want me to arrive to take you off?”

  “When we’re finished. What difference does it make?”

  “I can’t just anchor off Koessir and wait for you to appear. Someone’s bound to notice. We must set a specific day, even a certain time of day, that you will be at an agreed place. I will stand off the shore and send a boat to fetch you. We’ll arrange a signal.”

  “That will not do,” Jones said hotly. “I can’t possibly know how long this will take. In any event, I’ve never been good at appointments. It’s a lot of unnecessarily rigid thinking if you ask me.”

  Charles sighed in frustration. “You’d better make this appointment or you’ll find yourself walking back to London. How long do you need on land—a week, two?”

  Jones actually laughed. “Two months, at least.”

  “That’s impossible. I can’t sail ar
ound in circles for two months.”

  “Then I suggest you find something useful to do with your time for a change.” On this Jones dug in his heels and would not be budged.

  “All right, fine. I’ll give you two months,” Charles said irritably. “I’ll take you off near Koessir, but you must be there at the agreed time. I’ll give a day or two’s grace; after that I’ll sail without you.”

  Jones glowered at him. He had just opened his mouth to speak when Hitch raced in, slamming the door loudly behind him. “Sir,” the midshipman began excitedly.

  Charles could not remember hearing the capstan turn to take up the strain on the anchor cable or any of the other activity which he would have expected preparatory to weighing. “Just a moment, Mr. Hitch,” he snapped. “Watch your manners, if you please. I will attend to you as soon as Mr. Jones and I are finished.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hitch said, fidgeting nervously.

  “Then we are agreed?” Charles said, turning back to Jones.

  “Sir, the crew has mutinied!” Hitch blurted out, unable to contain himself any longer. “They refuse to lift the anchor or go further until their grievances are answered.”

  “What?” Charles said.

  “Lieutenant Bevan has requested your presence on the quarterdeck as soon as you find it convenient, sir,” the boy said, finishing his message.

  Jones rolled his eyes heavenward in disbelief.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Charles bolted from the wardroom without thinking to take up his uniform coat and hat, or even his sword. “Come with me,” he snapped at the marine sentry outside the door, leapt onto the aft ladderway and ran upwards. He had thought to make for his quarterdeck, but as he emerged onto the gundeck he saw the crew clustered in the waist. He could see from their attitude that it was not a mutiny, at least not in the sense that they were attempting to seize control of the ship by force. Hitch had said that they refused orders to hoist the anchor; he could guess why. Charles started forward, angry that his crew was once again disobedient, angry at the impossible situation he found himself in, and above all, angered that he had been frustrated at every turn in finding a solution.