by Jay Worrall
“No, sir.” Charles’ mind returned to the earlier subject. “What are your concerns about Jones and his party?”
Blankett sighed as if to deliver some unpleasant news. “I regret to tell you that all of your efforts have been wasted. I have discovered from reliable sources that this Jones fellow is in the employ of the French. His object was to determine the strength of my squadron and report it to Cairo. In the circumstances, I imagine this to have been accomplished. I don’t hold you responsible, of course. There is no way you could have known. Still, as it happens, you’ve ended up doing his work for him. Very clever on Jones’s part. There’s no point in your going north to take him off. I’m certain he won’t be at the rendezvous in any event.”
Charles felt his face flush. The cabin became unbearably close. “May I ask how you came by this information, sir?”
Blankett glanced at the deck beams above, then at the desktop before meeting Charles’ eyes. “I really shouldn’t say. It is of a most confidential nature.”
“I can well understand that,” Charles said, choosing his words carefully. “I must insist. I am, after all, answerable to the Admiralty for his transportation and may be called upon to justify any inaction.” He could guess the answer, but wanted it confirmed. If the source was Gladfridus Underwood, he was going to have to make some difficult decisions.
“You will recall, Mr. Underwood, the local representative, I believe,” Blankett said, lowering his voice as if they might be overheard.
“I do, sir,” Charles said, his heart sinking.
“He has been of invaluable service to the government for many years, and to myself in particular since I took this command. Don’t know what I would have done without him.”
“I see,” Charles said.
“I tell you this in the strictest secrecy. Mr. Underwood and Mr. Jones have, shall we say, crossed paths several times. I have been informed, with details and particulars, of Jones’s unsavory character and untrustworthy nature. The man and his two cohorts are well known to serve the master with the most gold and will switch allegiances at the drop of a purse.”
Charles held himself expressionless. He recalled the evident rivalry between the two men, and he wondered again at Underwood’s relationship with Blankett and the influence he exerted over him. “I must admit that I am shocked at this revelation,” he said carefully. “I would never have guessed otherwise. Where is Mr. Underwood, is he in the town?”
“I’ve found you can’t take everything at face value, young man,” Blankett said paternalistically. “You’ll learn as you gain more experience. To answer your question, Gladfridus is on a commercial mission. To Jeddah, I believe.”
“It is a most unfortunate turn of events,” Charles said, moving to stand. “If that is all, sir, I have responsibilities on board my own ship.” Since the admiral seemed in an agreeable mood, he had thought to make a formal request for leave for his crew. Now he decided against it. He was about to incur Blankett’s extreme displeasure anyway. It wouldn’t matter if the doings of his men were discovered or not.
“Of course,” Blankett said. “I am sure you are aware that your orders from the Admiralty specify you are to place yourself under my command once the Jones business had been completed. Since we are in agreement that this condition has been fulfilled, I will have new orders drawn up within the next several days.”
“Thank you, sir,” Charles said. “There’s no hurry on my part.” With that, and a few additional niceties, he removed himself.
*****.
“Daniel,” Charles said the moment he set foot on Cassandra's deck. “We need to get a number of things done very quickly.”
“What things?”
“Revictualing and watering as much as possible and getting the crew their leave. Forget about the subterfuge with the water casks. All of those who weren’t put ashore today will go tomorrow. We sail the night after.”
“I don’t know where to start. Do you have the admiral’s permission?”
“It’s neither been approved nor denied. I didn’t ask.”
Bevan was silent for a moment while he thought this through. “Then why the hurry?” he said.
“Because the local resident is on a vendetta to exact revenge against Jones,” Charles answered. “I am soon to be officially forbidden to sail up the sea to take him off. I don’t wish to be charged with willful disobedience to orders at my court martial. I would prefer the charges be something with a less permanent penalty. Hopefully, we will be gone before any written orders are forthcoming.”
“Death is rather inflexible,” Bevan observed philosophically. “Either way it would resolve your conflict over resigning your commission. We won’t get the watering and resupply done in two days, you know.”
“Collect as much food as you can. We’ll water someplace else. I am thinking to call on the Italians at Massawa again. Nobody would think to look for us there and they’ve offered to help with supplies.”
*****.
At two bells in the middle watch two nights later, Charles stood tensely by the mainmast in the dark listening to forty pairs of padded footfalls as the capstan pushed round. Its axel was newly greased and nearly silent. There was no tic-tic-tic as the pawl was tripped, since it had been removed. He could hear the anchor cable as it rubbed in through the hawse, uncomfortably loud to his ears. He looked to starboard and saw the single lantern hung on Leopard's mizzenmast, a pinprick in the night. If he stared hard he could just make out a similar beacon on Daedalus at anchor on the flagship’s far side. Cassandra showed no light beyond that shielded from outside view in the binnacle. This would not be remarkable, she had shown no light the night before either. The tide was on the make, such tides as there were in the almost enclosed sea. A soft groan came from the ship’s timbers forward as the cable tautened. Movement on the capstan slowed, then ceased.
“The bower’s hove short, Charlie,” Bevan’s voice said, a little more than a whisper. With Leopard only a hundred yards upwind, Charles thought his friend’s caution prudent.
“Sheet home the fore and main topsails, if you please,” Charles ordered. “Steady on the bars,” he said to the men at the capstan. “She’ll come atrip in a minute.” The word to release the sails was relayed to the topmen in the yards by Aviemore and Hitch, racing up the ratlines. The sounds of the heavy canvas unfolding as it descended seemed almost deafening. “Brace up,” he said to Winchester, supervising the men on the falls. “Mr. Cromley, we will make due west, if you please.”
Charles felt the deck beneath him begin to move. Someone on the bars slipped and fell with a curse, caught unprepared as the strain came off the anchor cable and the capstan began to turn. “Smartly, now,” Charles said. “Get her up.” Beechum would see to having the smaller of the two bow anchors catted home once they were out of earshot.
Leopard's lantern faded sternward, then in time blinked out. There had been no outcry at Cassandra's departure, in fact no sign that anyone on board had noticed at all. Blankett would be called in the morning to find the space empty where one of his frigates had been the day before. Charles gritted his teeth, then took in a deep breath and breathed it out slowly.
Daylight found them entering Beylul Bay across the sea from Mocha. Cassandra came about to tack northward until the Hanish Islands were sighted forward of the bow shortly before dinner time, then tacked again to west-by-northwest, slowly clawing her way to windward and up the sea. On the third day they rounded to the west into the Dahlak Archipelago on the same path they had followed on their first visit to Massawa. Toward evening Cassandra passed carefully between the recently named Ellie’s and Penny’s Islands, then put down a stream anchor to wait out the night.
“You know the course?” Charles said to Cromley the next morning as preparations were being made to get under way.
“Aye, sir. It’s straightforward enough from here. With the breeze on her beam, I reckon we’ll be there in the early afternoon.”
“Very good,” Charles said. In spite
of himself, he felt a thrill of anticipation at reaching the town. Teresa would be there. It was only a friendship, of course, nothing more. But he would welcome the opportunity to speak “intimamente,” as she had put it, and escape from the weight of his responsibilities, at least for a time.
The rugged coast of the Abyssinian highlands slowly rose and took form over the starboard bow, the last of the archipelago diminishing behind. What an out of the way and curiously sheltered place, Charles thought. It was like a sea unto itself. A fleet could be hidden in these waters and no one sailing up or down would ever suspect. The familiar mouth of Massawa’s bay showed to the southwest. With his glass, Charles could see the stone redoubt at the end of the point and the newly completed quay in front of the settlement. The harbor was bare of shipping save a single Arab sambuk.
“Show the colors,” Charles said to Sykes, close by his side awaiting instructions.
“Do we fire a salute, sir?” Sykes asked. “We did t’other time.”
Charles thought of his now seriously diminished supply of gunpowder. “No,” he said. “The colors will do.”
Cassandra glided toward the harbor under a breeze that barely ruffled the sea’s surface. The figures of people appeared from the buildings along the waterfront, tiny in the distance. Charles raised his glass again to examine them. He soon picked out what he was looking for, a petite woman in a full-length skirt holding an umbrella for shelter from the sun. It was hard to be certain, even magnified in the lens, but he thought her to be Teresa. His heart beat quickened. She was speaking with three men, one of whom, he was certain, he recognized as the governor of the colony, Bellagio. Charles transited the glass the length of the quay to the redoubt. He was surprised to see the muzzles of a number of small cannon in its embrasures.
“Let go the anchor,” Charles said. Cassandra came to rest at almost the same space she had occupied during her previous call. The topmen aloft fisted in the canvas to furl the sails and tie them against their yards. He looked shoreward and saw a cluster of people gathered along the quay. Almost immediately he picked out Teresa, standing a little apart and waiving a handkerchief at him. Charles lifted his hat and waived back. He noticed some of the crew staring out at the settlement. Leave might be arranged for them on shore, he thought. There was no reason not to; it would be several days before he was required to start north to find Jones.
“Anchor’s down, Charlie,” Bevan announced.
“Hoist out the jollyboat. I’ll go across.”
“Do you want a few of the marines?”
“Not this time,” Charles said. “I don’t think it will be necessary. I plan to inquire about completing our water and stores and liberty for the men while we’re in port.”
“Two ports of call in a row. They’ll hardly know what to make of it,” Bevan said.
“God knows what they’ll find to do. Speak with them about respect for the local women, if you will. I don’t want any incidents.”
Charles climbed down over the side and settled into the sternsheets of his boat. A glance told him that Augustus was at his place on the stroke oar. In spite of himself, he took comfort in having him close by. It was something he was becoming accustomed to. “Make for that near ladderway on the quay wall,” he said to Malvern.
“Out oars,” the coxswain ordered. “Push off.”
Charles looked up at the top of the wharf for Teresa to see if she might be watching. He found her right away, her side to him. She was listening to a man speaking volubly, gesturing urgently with his hands. The man turned for an instant to look at the approaching boat. Charles recognized the sun-darkened features of Gladfridus Underwood, the British representative at Mocha. “Put your backs into it,” he snapped at the boat’s crew.
They soon came alongside the ladderway, securing it with a boat hook and pulling close. “Augustus, come with me,” Charles said, stepping over the gunwale and starting quickly upwards.
Teresa came forward as Charles climbed onto the quay’s surface. “Capitan Edgemont,” she began.
Charles saw Underwood’s back, in the company of two others, hurrying away. “In a minute,” he said and started after them. “Wait,” he shouted. “I want a word with you.” Underwood’s pace quickened, aiming toward a second ladder with an open-decked dhow waiting below. Charles broke into a run. “God damnit, Underwood. Stop!”
The British representative reached the head of the ladder and paused to stare malevolently at his pursuer. The two men in his company turned. Charles saw they were the large doormen he had encountered at Underwood’s house in Mocha. He came to a halt in order to avoid running into them. Augustus arrived to stand beside him. The two bodyguards stood their ground. Underwood went down the ladder.
Charles moved to the edge of the wharf as the bodyguards followed their master into the boat. “I know your game, you bastard,” he called down. “It won’t work, do you hear? It’s a despicable thing to turn on an agent of your own country. It doesn’t matter what grudge you carry.”
At this Underwood looked up. “It would have been better for you to have followed orders and remained at Mocha, Captain Edgemont,” he said.
“I’m not finished with you,” Charles shouted back. “We have a score to settle.”
Underwood shrugged, then he gestured to the dhow’s crew to cast off.
Teresa caught up a moment later with the governor and several others close behind. Slightly breathless, she said, “Capitan, Carlo, what is this? Why have you so angered with Signore Underwood?” She laid her hands on his arm, alarmed by the confrontation. “He is you countryman, no?”
“Yes, he’s my countryman,” Charles said, his anger still high. “He’s also betrayed a man I’m responsible for. I am on my way north, all the way to Koss . . . ,” he caught himself, “. . . to Egypt, to take him on board. Underwood would rather I left him there to die at the hands of the French.”
“I didn’t know,” Teresa said. “What a very bad thing.”
Charles watched as the dhow came alongside a sambuk, larger than usual with two masts. Underwood boarded and went immediately below. The crew set about pulling her small bow anchor and loosening the sails. If Charles had wished to, he could have the craft stopped and the representative detained, but on what charge? He let the idea go. “Why was that man here?” he asked.
“He comes often on the affairs of trade,” Teresa said. “It is normale, no?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Charles said. He looked into her eyes and saw she was upset. “I apologize for my behavior. This is no way for a gentleman to call on one’s friends.” He noticed she was wearing a loose blouse, scooped modestly in front, and a full black skirt reaching down to her shoes. She looked altogether beautiful.
She took his arm in hers, pressing it against her side. He could feel the warmth of her body through the fabric of his jacket. “Come,” Teresa said. “For myself, I am very pleased you have come, but you must be respectable to Signore Bellagio.”
Charles saw the governor waiting impatiently a few paces away. The man glowered unhappily, but then he remembered Bellagio always seem unhappy. Teresa spoke at some length in Italian. Bellagio reluctantly half bowed; Charles half bowed in return. Bellagio spoke a terse sentence which Charles did not understand. He looked to Teresa.
“Governatore Bellagio welcomes you again warmly to our small colony,” she said. “Of course our hospitality is open to you. He asks how he may be of service.” She ended with a dazzling smile.
“Please thank the governor on my behalf, and on the behalf of my king, for his courtesy,” Charles said, searching for the correct diplomatic niceties.
Teresa translated.
Bellagio half bowed.
Charles bowed back. “We wish to complete our stores of water, a small part of our foodstuffs, and firewood. This was agreed on our last visit. We will pay, of course.”
This provoked an unexpectedly lengthy exchange between the governor and the woman, spoken in rapid staccato sentences. Bellag
io seemed to be insisting on something which Teresa found unwelcome. In the end she nodded her acceptance. The governor’s expression softened. He almost smiled.
“We are most hopeful to serve your every need,” Teresa said to Charles. She seemed for a moment to be distracted, then spoke with a renewed smile. “Water is plentifully available by the aqueduct at the end of the harbor. Signore Bellagio is only concerned that time will pass before sufficient food can be obtained. What was the other?”
“Firewood for cooking,” Charles said. He wondered what the discussion had been about and what she might have agreed to.
“This will take a few days only,” Teresa said. “It must be gathered, you understand.”
“I will have my men do it.”
“No, no. We are pleasant to perform every service for you.”
“Thank you,” Charles said. “We will do it ourselves. I do not want to impose on you more than necessary.” He still wanted to get his men some time on the land under any guise. “I have one additional request.”
“Si?”
“Would it be permitted to allow my crew leave to come ashore? They would benefit from the experience.”
Her face reddened. “I have spoken before, we have no such facilities,” she said in a low voice.
“For seeing the local sights only,” Charles said. “They would come in small groups so as not to be disruptive.”
There was a brief exchange. The governor shook his head vehemently. “It is not possible,” she said. “We have concern for the honor of the women. I am sure you understand.”
“I will vouch for their behavior,” Charles said. “This is important to me. I would consider it a personal favor.” He was sure that at least a few of Massawa’s ladies would receive offers to which they were unaccustomed, no matter what he said to his men. Still, he thought no real damage would be done.
Teresa looked doubtful. Charles decided that Bellagio was simply being disagreeable. There was clearly no good reason to keep his men confined on board. If he decided to put them ashore anyway, there was little the Italians could do to stop him. “I must insist,” he said firmly.
