Ричард Вудмен - The shadow of the eagle

'Have you seen Ashton?'

'Ashton? No, I haven't, but I suspect the worst.'

'Oh God ...' Marlowe stood uncertainly shaking his head. Then he looked up at Frey, a frown on his face. 'I've a curious ringing in my ears, Frey...'

'Count yourself lucky that's all you've got,' said Frey. 'Now let us take stock of matters, shall we.' It was a gentle hint more than a question, and Marlowe dumbly nodded his agreement.

'Mr Gilbert, please forgive me for not coming ashore ...'

'My dear Captain Drinkwater, pray do not concern yourself. It is you who have, been put to the greater exertion, I do assure you.' Gilbert smiled urbanely. As for the Captain-General, why, he perfectly understands your situation and joins me in wishing you a speedy recovery'

'Please convey my thanks to His Excellency and, pray, do take a seat.'

Gilbert sat in the cabin chair opposite Drinkwater whose left arm was doubled in a splint and sling. He observed the sea-officer's pallid complexion as Drinkwater moved uneasily in his chair, evidence of the pain he was in.

'Frampton, a glass for Mr Gilbert.'

'Thank you.'

Frampton offered a glass from a small silver tray and Gilbert raised it in a toast. 'To the squadron that never was,' he said, indicating the view from the stern windows of the cabin. Lying at anchor between the commanding guns of His Britannic Majesty's frigate Andromeda and His Imperial Majesty's frigate Gremyashchi, lay the Arbeille and L'Aigle.

'Your fellow Marlowe gave a vivid account of the action,' Gilbert said, sipping his wine. 'It seems a pity it will go unrecorded, but...' he shrugged, 'c'est la guerre.'

Drinkwater raised his own glass and half-turned to contemplate the view. The sheltered anchorage of Angra lay between low, maquis-covered slopes, and the subtle, poignant scent of the land permeated the open sash. The ships presented a curious appearance, the regularity of their masts cut down by the action and now undergoing repair. The shortfall of spare spars occasioned by Andromeda's hurried departure for escort duties was being made good from the stock aboard the French ships, so that it was estimated that within three or four days all would be sufficiently sea-worthy to attempt the passage to a home port. And therein lay complications.

'That is where you are wrong,' Drinkwater said, swinging round to Gilbert. 'Unfortunately it is not war; unfortunately it is a mess, though you are correct it will go unrecorded. Poor Marlowe will be disappointed if he expects to get a step in rank or even to take a prize home. We have taken no prizes ...'

'I entirely agree, Captain, and the situation is the more complicated since we received news from Lisbon only yesterday that Napoleon Bonaparte has for some time been installed as King of Elba...'

'Elba?' Drinkwater frowned. 'I know only of one island of Elba and it is off the Tuscan coast, a dog's watch distance from France, not far from Naples...'

'Your incredulity is unsurprising, but it is the same Elba.'

'Good God!'

'I have no idea why the place was selected; it seems the height of stupidity to me.'

'So all the endeavours of these poor benighted devils would have been wasted, which consideration begs the question of my own ...'

'And Rakov's,' added Gilbert.

'I suppose that is some consolation.'

'I understand from young Marlowe that Rakov played a double-game.'

Drinkwater nodded. 'It would seem that having offered the Bonapartists his protection, he abandoned them when it became obvious that to do so meant a full-scale engagement with a British frigate. I don't know how much discretion Rakov was permitted in the interpretation of his own orders, but he can scarcely have been sleeping easily since our confrontation.'

'It was just as well that he did have a change of heart,' said Gilbert. 'According to Marlowe, he was in a position to retake L'Aigle ...'

'Ah, yes, but he came alongside the French ship on the opposite side to ourselves; had he meant mischief to the last, he would have ranged alongside our unengaged, starboard side.' Drinkwater paused a moment, then added, 'We were a sitting duck.'

'I see,' said Gilbert contemplatively, adding, 'Well, the interpretation of your own orders cannot have been easy'

The remark brought a rueful smile to Drinkwater's face. 'I enjoyed far greater latitude than Count Rakov,' he said, then cutting off any further comment which might have been indiscreet and let too much slip to a stranger, Drinkwater said, 'As matters stand now, Rakov's action has fortuitously compromised no one.'

'Indeed not. In fact, quite the contrary, for if the Lisbon papers are to be believed, and I have one here,' Gilbert put down his wine glass and fished in a large black-leather wallet, "twas the Tsar himself who approved Elba.'

'The Tsar?' queried Drinkwater, 'But that makes no sense.'

'Unless His Imperial Majesty had second thoughts.' Gilbert held out the newspaper.

'I don't read Portuguese,' said Drinkwater drily.

'Of course not, I do beg your pardon ...'

'It occurs to me that if you were able to read that to Rakov, we might defuse any further problems.'

'Why not read it to them all? Boney's partisans should know this too. It diverts their attention from America back to Europe ...'

And will ensure we can send both ships in to a French port,' added Drinkwater enthusiastically.

'Who commands the French?'

'As far as I can determine, their original leader was a Rear-Admiral Lejeune but he was mortally wounded and it would seem that a military officer is now the senior.'

Gilbert uncrossed his legs and sat up, placing his half-empty glass on the table. 'Captain, may I presume to make a suggestion to which I am also able to make a modest contribution?'

'By all means.'

'Would you be prepared to host a dinner here, this afternoon? I shall send off a porker and some fresh vegetables, together with some tolerable wine. If you invited, say, three French officers, Rakov and two of his own men together with some of your own, we might stop any further unpleasantness and thereby offer all the other poor devils an explanation.'

'Would you act as interpreter of the newspaper?'

'Yes, why? Oh, you are thinking the French or the Russians might not trust us?'

"Tis a possibility'

'You are quite right; I will bring one of the Portuguese customs officers.'

Drinkwater nodded and Gilbert, pulling out a gold hunter, said, 'At three of the clock?'

'What time have you now ... ?' Drinkwater confirmed Gilbert's Azorean time coincided with Andromeda's own ship's time and nodded. 'We shall expect you then. I will arrange to have invitations delivered.'

Gilbert rose, his manner suddenly brisk. 'We both have work to do, Captain, so I shall take my leave for the nonce and look forward to seeing you later.' He smiled. 'An event like this certainly livens up a dull, if pleasant place.'

'I should have thought', replied Drinkwater, walking with Gilbert to the cabin door, 'that this was almost lotus-eating.'

'Almost,' Gilbert said with a laugh, 'but a man can choke, even on lotuses.'

When he had seen Gilbert's boat off, Drinkwater returned to the cabin and stood for a moment looking out through the stern windows. The atmosphere aboard the two French ships must be wretched in the extreme with half of Hyde's marines doing duty as guards, just as disarmed French grognards did duty as donkeys aboard Andromeda, assisting with the business of re-rigging and labouring under duress. Matters can have been no happier aboard the Gremyashchi. Rakov had studiously avoided personal contact with Drinkwater and conducted all intercourse through the medium of his son, a lieutenant who spoke better English than his father. Drinkwater turned and his eye was caught by Gilbert's abandoned, half-full glass. He recalled the consul's offer of some 'tolerable wine'.