Alexander Kent - The Flag Captain

As Bolitho sat moodily at his lonely table toying with the cold rabbit pie which must have been sent directly from the shore by Rook, he thought back over what Taylor had told him. The fact that he had been able to reach Falmouth and find the house so quickly spoke volumes, and suggested there were other watchful

eyes already close by, ready to pass the word back to the Auriga. Any sort of deception, marines landed at the jetty or some such precaution other than normal port practice, would soon arouse suspicion, and the Auriga ’s captain would be in grave danger, the consequences terrible.

He stood up angrily. How long would it take before such men were pruned from the Navy once and for all? A new breed of officer was growing up, and finding the scope to attack the enemy as well as better the living conditions of their own seamen. But here and there was the bully and tyrant, often men with influence in high places who could not be broken or removed until moments like these, when it was too late.

Trute returned and eyed him worriedly. “Did yew not like the pie, sir?” He was a Devon man and viewed Bolitho, like all Cornishmen, with both apprehension and a little awe.

“Later perhaps.” Bolitho glanced at the sword. Old and so worn, the one which appeared in many of those family portraits. “I will leave this in your care.” He tried to keep his voice normal. “I shall take a hanger.” He paused. “And pistols.”

Trute gaped at the sword. “ Leave it, sir?”

Bolitho ignored him. “Now pass the word for my cox’n.”

Allday was equally surprised. “Won’t seem the same without the sword, Captain.” He shook his head. “Whatever next!”

Bolitho snapped, “I have told you before that one of these days you will open your mouth too wide. You are not so old and wise that you can avoid my displeasure!”

Allday smiled. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

It was hopeless. “We will be going ashore together. Do you know the Drake’s Head?”

Allday became serious. “Aye. Veryan Bay. ’Tis owned by an old yaw-sighted villain. One eye points forrard, t’other almost abeam, but his wits are as sharp as a midshipman’s hunger.”

“Good. That is where we are going.”

Allday frowned as Trute re-entered and laid a brace of pistols on the table beside a curved hanger.

He asked mildly. “A duel, Captain?”

“Call away the barge. Then give my compliments to Mr Keverne and tell him I am ready to leave, as soon as I have written his orders.”

Bolitho made a further visit to see the admiral, but there was little change. He appeared to be resting quietly, his wizened face more relaxed in sleep.

On deck he found Keverne waiting for him.

“Barge alongside, sir.” Keverne looked aloft at the listless flag. “The wind has died for some while, I think.”

Bolitho grunted. It was just as if Keverne was trying to warn him. That once he left the ship he was alone and without much hope of assistance. He cursed his own uncertainty. Keverne did not know, and anyway, what else could be done? To wait until the new admiral arrived was merely hiding from the responsibility he had accepted as his own. He said abruptly, “Look after her.” Then he lowered himself down to the waiting boat.

When they reached the jetty he climbed the steps and paused to look back. Framed against the blue water and clear sky the ship seemed indestructible, permanent. An illusion, he thought grimly. No vessel was stronger than those who served her.

Allday watched critically as the acting coxswain manoeuvred the barge clear of the stones for the return journey. Then he asked, “What now, Captain?”

“ To the house. I have things to do, and we will require two horses.”

He reached up and felt the locket beneath his shirt. The one she had given him containing a lock of that perfect chestnut hair. He would leave it at the house. Whatever happened this night, he was not going to have someone else pawing over the locket.

He added slowly, “A fine day. It is hard to think of war, and other things.”

Allday said, “Aye, Captain. A tankard and a woman’s voice would not come amiss right at present.”

Bolitho was suddenly impatient. “Well, come along, Allday. When the oven’s hot it is time to bake. No sense in wasting time in dreams.”

Allday followed him readily, his mouth set in a smile. Like the wind across the sea, all the signs were there. Whatever the captain was planning, that which was troubling him enough to make him provoke his own anger, would go hard with someone before another dawn.

He thought suddenly of Bolitho’s words and grimaced. A topsail yard or a rough backstay, he could manage either. Even a reluctant woman was not too much trouble. But a horse! He rubbed his buttocks. By the time they reached the Drake’s Head he would have need for more than a tankard, he thought gloomily.

They left the house before dusk, but by the time they had crossed the river at a small ford, well clear of Falmouth, it was getting dark rapidly. But Bolitho knew the countryside like the back of his hand, and with Allday trotting uncomfortably behind him kept up a good pace until he had found the narrow twisting lane which led to Veryan. In places it was very steep, with the trees almost touching overhead, the thick brush alive with squeaks and startled rustlings as they passed by.

Then a sharp curve and for a few more minutes he saw the edge of the headland itself, with a writhing pattern of surf far below where the rocks lay like black teeth at the foot of the high cliffs.

Allday gasped, “My God, Captain, this horse has no respect for my rump!”

“Hold your noise, damn you!” Bolitho reined his horse at the

top of yet another steep slope and strained his eyes towards a darker line of tangled bushes.

The cliff edge had moved inwards again and probably came to within yards of the bushes. Beyond he could see the sea shining dully in the gloom, flat and unruffled, like pewter. But the bay was in deeper shadow, there might not be a ship there at all. Equally there could be half a dozen.

He shivered slightly and was glad he had allowed Mrs. Ferguson to have her way over the boat-cloak. It was cold up here, and the air felt damp. There would be another sea mist in before dawn.

He heard Allday breathing heavily beside him and said, “Not much farther now. The inn is about half a mile from here.”

Allday grunted. “I don’t like it, Captain.”

“You do not have to like it.” Bolitho looked at him. He had told Allday the bones of what was happening and nothing more. Just enough to clear himself if anything went wrong. “Surely you’ve not forgotten…”

He broke off and gripped his arm. “What was that?”

Allday stood up on his stirrups. “A hare maybe?”

The shout, when it came, was with the suddenness of a shot.

“Keep still and raise yer ’ands in the air where we can see ’em!”

Allday groped for his cutlass. “By God, it’s a bloody ambush!”

“Belay that, Allday!” Bolitho wheeled his horse against him and knocked his hand away from the weapon. “It is what I expected, man.”

The voice said, “Easy, Cap’n! We don’t want to cut you down but…”

Another voice, more insistent and hard with tension, snapped, “ We can do without wasting time, just you go an’ disarm ’em, and lively with it!”

There seemed to be about three men, Bolitho thought. He watched as a shadowy figure reached up to relieve Allday of

his cutlass, and heard the clatter of steel as it fell in the lane.

Another man materialised out of the darkness right beside him and said, “An’ you, sir. You’ll have pistols with you?”

Bolitho handed them down with the hanger and said coldly, “I was told that some sort of trust was needed. I did not know it was to be one-sided.”