Command a King's Ship (6 page)

“Helm a'lee!”

He waited, as with dignity
Undine
turned quietly into the wind, her remaining canvas shivering violently.

“Let go!”

There was a yell from forward, followed by a splash as the anchor plunged down beneath the golden figurehead.

Herrick waited until the last of the canvas had vanished as if by magic along the yards and said, “They did quite well, I thought, sir?”

Bolitho watched him, holding back the smile. Then, relenting, he replied, “
Quite
well, Mr. Herrick.”

Herrick grinned. “You'll not need the gig today, sir. A boat's heading out to us in fine style.”

Allday strode forward and presented Bolitho's sword. He frowned and muttered, “Not the gig, Captain?” He sounded ag- grieved.

Bolitho held out his arms to allow the coxswain to buckle the belt around his waist.

“Not this time, Allday.”

It was terrible how both Herrick and Allday watched over his every move.

The marines were stamping and shuffling into a new forma- tion by the entry port, Sergeant Coaker's face shining beneath his black shako like a great sweating fruit.

Bolitho turned to watch the approaching launch, a grand affair with a gilded and canopied cockpit. Beside it, Allday's poor gig would look like a Falmouth harbour boat. A resplendent officer stood watching the anchored frigate, a scroll under one arm. The usual welcoming words. The first link to whatever lay ahead.

He said quietly, “You will remain aboard, Mr. Herrick. Mr. Davy will accompany me ashore.” He ignored the obvious disap- pointment. “Take good care of matters here, and make certain our people are ready for anything!”

Herrick touched his hat. “Aye, aye, sir.” He hurried away to tell Davy of his good fortune.

Bolitho smiled gravely. With shore boats and other tempta- tions it would need all of Herrick's skill to keep the ship from being swamped by traders and less respectable visitors.

He heard Herrick say, “So
you
are to accompany the captain, Mr. Davy.”

Davy hesitated, gauging the moment and Herrick's mood. Then he said calmly, “A wise choice, if I may say so, Mr. Herrick.”

Bolitho turned away, hiding his smile, as Herrick snapped, “Well, you are damn little use here, are you?”

Then as the four minute drummer boys struck up with their flutes and drums “Heart of Oak” and Bellairs's sweating guard pre- sented muskets, Bolitho stepped forward to greet his visitor.

The Governor's Residence was well situated on a gently sloping road above the main anchorage. On his way from the ship by barge and carriage Bolitho was relieved to discover that his official es- cort, a major of artillery, spoke very little English, and contented himself with occasional exclamations of pleasure whenever they passed anything unusual.

It was obvious that everything was well planned, and that from the moment
Undine
's topgallants had been sighted the previous evening things had begun to move.

Bolitho barely remembered meeting the Governor. A bearded, courteous man who shook his hand, received Bolitho's formal greetings on behalf of King George, and who then withdrew to allow an aide to conduct the two British officers to another room.

Davy, who was not easily impressed, whispered, “By God, sir, the Dons live well. No wonder the treasure ships stop here en route for Spain. A ready market for 'em, I would think.”

The room into which they were ushered was spacious indeed. Long and cool, with a tiled floor and a plentiful selection of well- carved furniture and handsome rugs. There was one huge table in the centre, made entirely of marble. It would take seven gun crews to move it, Bolitho decided.

There were about a dozen people standing around the table,
arranged,
he thought, so that without wasting time he could distin- guish those who counted from those who did not.

The man he guessed to be James Raymond stepped forward and said quickly, “I am Raymond, Captain. Welcome. We had ex- pected you earlier perhaps.” He spoke very abruptly. Afraid of wasting time? Unsure of himself? It was hard to tell.

He was in his early thirties, well dressed, and had features which could pass as handsome but for his petulant frown.

He said, “And this is Don Luis Puigserver, His Most Catholic Majesty's personal emissary.”

Puigserver was a sturdy man, with biscuit-coloured features and a pair of black eyebrows which dominated the rest of his face. He had hard eyes, but there was charm, too, as he stepped forward and took Bolitho's hand.

“A pleasure,
Capitan.
You have a fine ship.” He gestured to a tall figure by the window. “Capitan
Alfonso Triarte of the
Nervion
had much praise for the way she behaved.”

Bolitho looked at the other man. Very senior. He would be, to command the big frigate in the roads. He returned Bolitho's ex- amination without much show of pleasure. Like two dogs who have fought once too often, perhaps.

He forgot all about Triarte as the emissary said smoothly, “I will be brief. You will wish to return to your ship, to make last arrangements for sailing to our destination.”

Bolitho watched him curiously. There was something very compelling about the man. His stocky figure, his legs which looked so muscled, despite the fine silk stockings, even the rough hand- shake could not disguise his confident assurance.

No wonder the Governor had been quick to pass Bolitho on to him; Puigserver obviously commanded respect.

He snapped his spatulate fingers and a nervous aide hurried forward to take Bolitho's hat and sword. Another beckoned to some servants, and in minutes everyone was seated around the altar-like table, a beautifully cut goblet at his elbow.

Only Puigserver remained standing. He watched the ser- vants filling the goblets with sparkling wine, his face completely unruffled. But when Bolitho glanced down he saw one of his feet tapping very insistently on the tiled floor.

He raised his glass. “Gentlemen. To our friendship.”

They stood up and swallowed the wine. It was excellent, and Bolitho had a mental picture of his own doubts and fumblings in the shop at St. James's Street.

Puigserver continued, “Little came out of the war but a need to avoid further bloodshed. I will not waste our time by making empty promises which I cannot keep, but I can only hope that we may further our separate causes in peace.”

Bolitho glanced quickly at the others. Raymond leaning back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed, but as taut as a spring. The Spanish captain looking at his wine, eyes distant. Most of the oth- ers had the empty expressions of those who pretend to understand when in fact they do not. It seemed likely to Bolitho that they only understood one word in ten.

Davy sat stiffly on the opposite side of the table, his clean fea- tures glowing with heat, his face set in a mask of formality.

It all boiled down to the three of them. Don Luis Puigserver, Raymond and himself.

The former said, “Thankfully, Spain has received back Mi- norca and certain other islands as concessions following the
unfortunate
war.” His eyes rested on Bolitho very briefly. Dark, almost black. They were like Spanish olives. “In return, His Most Catholic Majesty has seen fit to bless this new venture between us.” He looked at Raymond. “Perhaps you would be good enough to expand the details, yes?”

Raymond made to stand up and changed his mind.

“As you will know, Captain Bolitho, the French Admiral Suffren was responsible for many attacks on our ships and posses- sions in the East Indies and India itself. Holland and Spain”—he hesitated as Capitan
Triarte coughed gently—“were France's allies but they had not the available squadrons and men to protect their possessions in that area. Suffren did it for them. He captured Trincomalee from us and restored it to the Dutch after the war. There were several other instances, but you will know of most of them, Captain. Now, in exchange for certain other considerations which need not concern you, Spain has agreed in principle to hand over to Britain one of her remaining possessions in, er, Borneo.” He eyed Bolitho flatly. “Which is where you will eventually be going, of course.”

Of course.
It sounded so simple. Another two or three thousand miles added to their present voyage. The way Raymond spoke it could have been Plymouth.

Bolitho said quietly, “I am not certain I understand the pur- pose of all this.”

Puigserver interjected, “Of that I am sure,
Capitan.
” He glanced coldly at Raymond. “Let us be frank. To avoid further trouble in this uneasy truce, for that is what it is, we must move with caution. The French gained next to nothing in the Indies despite all their efforts, and they are, how you say?
Touchy
about any swift expansions around their dwindling influence there. Your final destination will be Teluk Pendang. A fine anchorage, a com- manding position for any country with the will to expand elsewhere in that area. A bridge to empire, as some Greek once remarked.”

Bolitho nodded. “I see,
Señor.
”

He did not, nor had he even heard of the place mentioned.

Raymond said sharply, “When peace was signed last year, our Government despatched the frigate
Fortunate
to Madras with the bones of this present agreement in her care. On her way around the Cape of Good Hope she met with two of Suffren's frigates which were returning to France. Naturally enough, they knew nothing of the peace, and
Fortunate
's captain was given no time to explain the point. They fought, and
Fortunate
so battered one of the enemy that she took fire and sank. Unfortunately, she, too, was set ablaze and was lost with most of her company.”

Bolitho could picture the scene. Three ships on an open sea. Countries at peace at last, but their captains eager to fight, as they had been conditioned to do.

“However, one of the French captains, the surviving one, was a veteran called Le Chaumareys. One of France's best.”

Bolitho smiled. “I have heard of him.”

Raymond seemed flustered. “Yes. I am sure, of it. Well, it is believed in some quarters that France, through Le Chaumareys, now knows about this arrangement we are making with Spain. If that is so, then France will be troubled at the prospect of our gaining another possession, one which
she
fought for on Spain's behalf.”

Bolitho did understand now. All the veiled remarks at the Admiralty. The secrecy. No wonder. One hint that England was about to push her way further into the East Indies, no matter for what outward reason, and a war might burst out again like an exploding magazine.

He asked, “What are we to do?”

Raymond replied, “You will sail in company with the
Nervion
.” He swallowed hard. “
She
will be the senior ship, and you will act accordingly. Upon arrival at Madras you will embark the new Brit- ish Governor and convey him, with whatever forces he may have, to his new destination. Teluk Pendang. I will accompany you with despatches for him, and to advise in any way I can.”

Puigserver beamed at them, his black eyebrows arched like great bows. “And
I
will be there to ensure that there is no nonsense from our people, eh?”

Raymond added wearily, “The French have a forty-four-gun frigate in that area, the
Argus
. It is said that Le Chaumareys is with her. He knows the Sunda Isles and Borneo as well as any European can.”

Bolitho breathed out slowly. It was a good plan as far as it went. A British squadron would invite an open battle sooner or later, but two frigates, one from each nation, would be more than a match for the heavily-armed
Argus
both verbally and in artillery.

Puigserver walked slowly to the broad window and stared down at the anchored ships.

“A long voyage, gentlemen, but I hope a rewarding one for us all.” He turned towards Bolitho, his square face in shadow.

“Are you ready to sail again?”

“Aye,
Señor.
My people are preparing to take in more water and fresh fruit, if that is possible.”

“It is being attended to,
Capitan.
” He showed his teeth. “I am sorry I cannot entertain you now, but in any case, this island is a dismal place. If you come to Bilbao.” He kissed his fingertips. “
Then
I will show you how to live, eh?” He laughed at Raymond's grim features. “And I suspect we will all know ourselves
much
better after this voyage is done!”

The Spanish aides bowed politely as Puigserver walked to the door, and he called, “We will meet before we sail.” He turned away. “But tomorrow we raise our anchors, come what may.”