Alexander Kent - Heart of Oak

Looking directly at him, like that day in the studio: Andromeda, chained to a rock as a sacrifice. And later, when she had overcome her fear, and had lain with her wrists tied with her own long hair, and had given herself to him.

He put his hand inside his shirt and felt the silk ribbon he had taken from her that day.

He heard the screen door again. Jago was back.

He was carrying the old sword, moving it slightly up and down in its scabbard.

"Good as new, Cap'n. "He did not look beyond the open door, at the painting propped in the cot. He knew.

He said, "Fair an' clear. Wind's backed a piece, nor "west, they tells me."

Adam saw it in his mind.

Jago added, "No land in sight, "and watched Adam take the sword, and hold it to the light. That old blade could spin a few yarns.

"We should sight land again in an hour or so. We shall change tack if the wind holds steady."

Jago sighed. Always planning, always worrying.

He thought of the painting, and the girl who had posed for it.

The ship had a strong rival.

He hesitated, and then asked, "Suppose Nautilus don't come out lookin "for a fight? "He saw him turn abruptly. Maybe he had gone too far this time.

Adam laid the sword on the table.

"Then we'll go in looking for her! "Then he smiled. "But she will!"

They both looked up as some one ran heavily across the deck.

"Midshipman o "the watch, sir!"

It was Napier, a seaman close on his heels and panting noisily.

"Masthead reports sail to the nor "east, sir. "He almost dragged his companion in through the door. "Mr. Squire's respects, sir, and he said you would wish to speak to the lookout."

Adam nodded. "Nesbitt, isn't it? A Devon man, if I remember rightly."

The seaman grinned and ducked his head with pleasure.

"Aye, zur, Brixham! "It gave him time to recover his breath.

"Tell me what you saw."

"Frigate, zur. No doubt about it. "He gestured. "I "ad a glass, zur."

More voices, then Vincent appeared at the screen.

"I've just been told, sir!"

"Nesbitt here has good eyes. "Then to Napier, the formality abandoned, "Take care of yourself, David."

Then he turned and stared astern for a moment.

"I'll come up directly. "Vincent waited by the door until he had turned back, and their eyes met. "You may beat to quarters."

Jago watched his face once they were alone again. It was as he had expected, but, as always, it came as a shock.

He looked at the coat, hoping he might yet change his mind.

They wants to see you alive, Cap'n! But knowing that he would not, he lifted it down.

At that moment, the drums began to rattle.

"Ship cleared for action, sir! "Vincent touched his hat. "Both cutters towing astern."

Adam walked forward to the quarterdeck rail and stared along the ship, seeing it as he had already pictured it in his mind from the moment he had abandoned all pretense of sleep. Onward's state of readiness recalled the regular drills, which he and the gunner had timed to the minute. And yet so different. Each eighteen-pounder with its full crew, their tools, rammers and sponges and handspikes, and slow-matches within reach if a flintlock misfired. He could feel the grit under his shoes and knew that the decks had been sanded, to prevent men from slipping if water was shipped once the ports were opened. Or in blood, if the worst happened.

He saw the burly shape of the boatswain leaning back as he checked the hastily rigged boarding nets. He had already heard him once before during their recent preparations. "Slacken ‘em off, lads! They'm supposed to catch the buggers in a net, not be used as a ladder to make ‘em welcome aboard! "There had been some laughs. Not this time.

Vincent said, "I've sent Tucker to the foremast, sir. Ready and eager. "He.gestured toward the two midshipmen waiting by the flag locker. "I thought Deacon might be more useful aloft with the signals telescope."

Adam lifted his own glass and trained it across the starboard bow. Slow and steady. As if he had stopped breathing. Blurred faces, taut rigging, sharp and black in the strengthening glare.

The curved edge of the forecourse. He watched the other ship move across the lens, then stand motionless, as if trapped.

On a converging tack, leaning slightly to beat to windward.

He lowered the glass and allowed his eye to recover. The rest would be guesswork. The pyramid of sails was reduced to a miniature, like the fin of a giant fish cutting the horizon.

Beyond, there seemed to be haze or mist. But he knew it was the land, reaching out like a great arm. Or a trap.

He recalled what Vincent had said.

"Good thinking, Mark. Tell Deacon to go now."

He saw a messenger run to the flag locker. When Onward had first arrived at Gibraltar, Deacon had been the only one to realize that the flagship had been flying a commodore's broad pendant, not an admiral's flag as listed. They had all made what was a common mistake among sailors, so long staring out to sea that they only saw what they expected to see.

He saw the midshipman striding forward, the telescope slung over his shoulder like a small cannon, and Lieutenant Monteith by one of the eighteen-pounders, watching him.

Perhaps remembering when he had been like Deacon, hanging on the threshold of promotion. And little Walker taking over the signals party. Thirteen years old today. He was not likely to forget it.

Adam moved to the compass box. The chief quartermaster was on the wheel, backed up by two helmsmen. He glanced at the compass, then up at the masthead pendant, and felt the sun on his face.

"Nor "east by north, sir. Steady as she goes!"

Adam smiled. "Thank you, Carter. So be it!"

A squad of Royal Marines was standing with their sergeant, ready to add their strength to the braces when needed. But their muskets were piled nearby. Like a warning.

He returned to the rail, unhurriedly, despite the instinct crying out to be in all places at once. Nobody looked at him directly, but he knew they were watching when he passed. Men waiting to go aloft, and claw out along the yards, to dangle over the sea or fall to certain death on the deck if they missed their footing.

The gun crews, along either side as before. But restless now.

Or was he imagining that? He wanted to lift his telescope again, but knew it was too soon. He had seen some of the men at the guns turn to stare aft. They will want to see you.

But not if he was showing himself to be a fool.

His coat felt heavy across his shoulders, and his shirt was clinging damply to his skin. Such a short while ago, below in the great cabin, when he had seen Jago's expression. His doubts.

Together, they had experienced and shared so much. Like the prayer book Jago had fetched from the cabin when they had buried the three sailors. They had both been remembering that other time, in Athena, when they had committed Catherine's body to the sea. Her roses would still be blooming in their garden beside the old grey house. He touched the lapel of his coat reminiscently.

"Deck there!"

It was Tucker. Cupping his strong hands, his voice clear and steady. "She wears French colours!"

Adam stared over the gun crews and across the glistening water until his eyes were blinded. Men were shouting with relief or derision, probably both.

Vincent had said something, but Adam heard only one voice. Through the brutal memories of death and its aftermath: Marchand, as they had parted. When next we meet, there will be no flags. It will be as friends! He would be the last to forget.

"Pass the word. All guns load, but do not run out."

Vincent licked his lips. "Do we fight, sir?"

Adam looked over at Jago, and nodded.

"And we shall win!"