Alexander Kent - Command a King`s Ship

Bolitho stiffened and momentarily forgot the deck far beneath him. He saw the blacker silhouette of a ship's masts and yards almost hidden around the curve of the inner channel. A frigate.

Potter saw his interest and added dolefully, 'Best place to anchor, sir. The battery on the fortress can protect two channels at once, an' any craft wot chooses to lay there.'

Something pale flapped and broadened against the furthest islet. A small boat hoisting its sail.

Bolitho glanced quickly at the foretopmast where Herrick had run up a big white flag. One way or another they would soon know.

There was a hollow boom, and after what seemed like an age, a tall waterspout shot skywards about a cable off the larboard beam. He trained the glass quickly towards the fortress, but the smoke had already fanned away so it was impossible to gauge the angle of the shot.

He shifted the glass again and saw the boat moving more quickly around a litter of broken rocks, the sail braced back like the fin of a great shark.

He let out a long breath as he saw a white flag flapping from her masthead. His request to parley was accepted. The single shot from the battery was a warning.

Bolitho slung the telescope across his shoulder. 'You stay here, Potter. Keep an eye on everything, and try to remember any item which might be of use. It could well save lives one day.' He nodded casually to the two-marine marksmen. 'I hope you'll not be needed.' He slung a leg over the low barricade and tried not to lower his eyes. 'Argus intends us to do all the sweating!'

The men grinned and nudged each other, as if he had just given them access to some priceless and vital information.

Bolitho swallowed hard and began to make the journey to the deck. When he reached the point where he could see the nettings on the opposite side again he allowed himself to look at the group which awaited him by the bulwark. Herrick was smiling, although whether from relief or amusement it was hard to tell. Bolitho jumped down to the deck and glanced ruefully at his fresh shirt. It was dripping with sweat, and bore a black streak of tar across one shoulder.

He said, 'Never mind. The coat will hide that.' In a brisker tone he added, 'A boat is coming out, Mr. Herrick. Heave-to, if you please, and prepare to anchor.'

He glanced up at the great yards again. It had not been quite so bad as he had imagined that time. Then he thought of the ideal conditions as compared with a screaming gale, or making the same climb in pitch darkness, and changed his mind.

Bolitho allowed Herrick to shout his orders before asking Mudge, 'What did you make of that shot?'

The master regarded him dubiously. 'Old gun, I'd say, sir. From where I was standin' it sounded like a bronze piece.'

Bolitho nodded. 'As I thought, too. It would be likely that they'd still have the original cannon.' He rubbed his chin, thinking aloud. 'So they'd be loath to use heated shot for fear of splitting them.' He grinned at Mudge's mournful expression. 'Not that it matters much, I daresay. If they fired solid rock, they could scarcely fail to hit a ship trying to force the channel!'

Fowlar shouted, 'The boat has an officer aboard, sir.' He grinned. 'Most o' the hands are the colour of coffee, but he's a Frog if ever I saw one.'

Bolitho took a glass and watched the oncoming boat. Locally built, with the familiar high prow and lateen sail, it was moving fast and well on a converging tack. He saw the officer in question, standing easily below the mast, his cocked hat pulled down over his forehead to shade his eyes from the fierce glare. Fowlar was right. There was no mistaking this one.

He made himself walk a few paces away from the side, as with her courses brailed up and her topsails in booming confusion Undine turned noisily into the wind to await her visitors.

Bolitho gripped the rail and watched in silence as the boat surged round and under the main chains, where some of Undine's seamen and Mr. Shellabeer waited to secure her lines and, if necessary, fend off any risk of collision.

He said, 'And now, Mr. Herrick, we shall see.'

He walked along the swaying gangway to the entry port and waited for the officer to scramble aboard. He stood quite alone framed against the cruising ranks of small whitecaps, his eyes exploring Undine's gun deck, the watching seamen and marines above and below him. Seeing Bolitho, he removed his hat with a flourish and gave a small bow.

'Lieutenant Maurin, m'sieu. At your service.'

He bore no marks of rank, and his blue coat showed plenty of evidence of patching and repairs. He was tanned to the shade of old leather, and his eyes were those of a man who had been at sea for most of his life. Tough, self-assured, competent, it was all there on his face, Bolitho decided.

Bolitho nodded. 'And I am Captain Bolitho, of His Majesty's ship Undine.'

The lieutenant gave a wry smile. 'My capitaine 'as been expecting you.'

Bolitho glanced briefly at the cockade on Maurin's hat. It bore the small red beast instead of a French insignia.

He asked, 'And what is your nationality, Lieutenant?'

The man shrugged. 'I am employed in the service of Prince Muljadi.' He shrugged again. 'Naturally.'

Bolitho gave a wry smile. 'Naturally.'

He added sharply, 'I wish to meet your captain, and without delay. I have certain matters to discuss.'

'But of course, m'sieu.' The lieutenant was looking at the men on deck. His eyes were always moving. Calculating. He continued, 'Capitaine Le Chaumareys is prepared for-me to remain aboard as 'ostage to ensure your, er, good 'ealth!'

Bolitho hid his relief. Had Le Chaumareys been killed or replaced he might have had to alter his tactics.

He said calmly, 'It will not be necessary. I have every faith in your captain's honour.'

Herrick exclaimed, 'But, sir, you cannot mean it! Keep him, I say! Your life is too valuable to risk on a Frenchman's word!'

Bolitho looked at him and smiled. 'If Le Chaumareys is the callous brute you describe, do you imagine he would care about losing a lieutenant if it were to gain him a better bargaining point?' He touched his arm. 'I have made some notes in my cabin. They may help you to pass the time in my absence.' He touched his hat to the quarterdeck and said to Maurin, 'I am ready.'

For a moment longer he stood in the port, looking down into the boat alongside. There were about a dozen men aboard, naked but for a few scraps of rags, but armed to the teeth, and with the looks of men prepared to kill without question.

Maurin said quietly, 'You will be safe with me, m'sieu.' He lowered himself swiftly on to the boat's gunwale, adding, 'For the moment.'

Bolitho jumped the last few feet and steadied himself against a crude backstay, very conscious of the acrid stench of sweat and filth which floated unheeded in the bilges.

'You choose strange allies, Lieutenant.'

Maurin signalled for the boat to be cast off, one hand resting casually on his pistol.

'Lie with a dog and you arise with fleas, m'sieu. It is quite common.'

Bolitho glanced at his profile. Another Herrick perhaps?

Then as the sail billowed and cracked to the wind, and the slim hull began to gather way, he forgot Maurin, even the anxious faces on Undine's quarterdeck, as he considered what he was about to do.

Bolitho clung to the backstay as the boat scudded dangerously close to a line of black-toothed rocks and then went about to enter the main channel. He noticed that the current was strong and at odds with the incoming sea, and felt the hull leap and stagger as it straightened up for the final leg of the ourney. When he looked astern he could see nothing of his own ship. She was already hidden by a wedge of land, the side of which lay, deep in shadow.

Maurin asked suddenly, 'Why d'you take such risks, m'sieu?'