The Only Victor (25 page)

Sir Charles Inskip was sitting at the table, his head resting on one hand while his secretary, a Mr Patrick Agnew, turned over papers for him to examine by the light of a lantern which he held above them.

Inskip looked up as Bolitho seated himself, and waited for Allday to appear with his razor and hot water from the galley.

“Will this ship
never
be still?”

Bolitho stretched his arms to relieve the ache of clinging to one handhold or another, while trying to keep away from the watchkeepers bustling around him.

He said, “Look at the chart. We are entering the narrows where I made my mark yesterday. We should sight Helsingør presently—”

“Hmmm. We are being met by a Danish escort at that point—” Inskip did not sound too certain. “After that, we are in their hands.” He glanced at his reedy secretary. “Not for too long I trust, Mr Agnew?”

They both looked up as a shout probed thinly through the sealed skylight before being lost in the wind.

“What was that?” Inskip turned as usual to Bolitho. “Did you hear?”

Bolitho smiled. “Land.”

Allday padded through the door of the sleeping cabin and wedged his steaming bowl on a chair before stropping his deadly-looking razor.

Inskip was calling for his servant and searching for a heavy coat. “We had better go on deck.”

Allday tucked a cloth around Bolitho's neck and could almost have winked. Poland would make damn certain that it was the right landfall before he reported as much to his admiral.

Bolitho closed his eyes while Allday prepared to shave him. Like the first strong coffee of each new day, it was a moment to think and contemplate.

Allday poised the razor and waited for the deck to steady again. He was still unused to seeing Bolitho's hair cut in the modern fashion. What her ladyship apparently admired. He smiled to himself as he remembered her pleasure when he had fumbled with the package he had brought home to Falmouth. He heard himself muttering, “Sorry about the smell of baccy, m'lady. 'Twas all I had fit to carry it in without him seeing it, so to speak!”

He had been astonished by her reaction, the poignant pleasure in those dark eyes, which Allday knew had said it all.

He had saved most of Bolitho's queue after his sudden insistence on having it cut off. After seeing her face he was glad.

Captain Poland entered the cabin just as Allday stood back and folded his razor.

“We are in sight of Helsingør, Sir Richard.” He waited, a puddle forming around his boots.

“I shall come up directly, Captain.” He smiled at him. “Well done.”

The door closed and Bolitho allowed Allday to help him into his coat. Simple words of praise, yet Poland still frowned. When invited through the gates of Heaven he would likely seek out a reason before entering, he thought. Another hail floated down.

Bolitho looked up at the salt-stained skylight. “That poor wretch must be frozen to the masthead!”

“Shouldn't wonder.” Allday grimaced. Not many captains would care about a lowly seaman, never mind a vice-admiral.

The door banged open and Inskip and his secretary rushed into the cabin. It was all confusion as they tore open their chests and called for the servant, while trying to find what they needed to wear.

Inskip gasped, “A
ship,
Sir Richard! It will be the Danish escort.”

Bolitho heard the sullen rumble of gun trucks as some of the main armament was freed from the breechings and loaded. Poland again.
Just in case.

“Then we had best attend to our business.” He gave a wry smile. “
Whatever
it proves to be!”

“A moment, Sir Richard.” Allday plucked a shred of spun-yarn from Bolitho's fine coat. What little Ozzard would have seen to. Then he stood back and nodded with approval. The bright gold lace, the Nile medal which he always wore with such pride, and the old sword. Like one of the portraits, he thought. No wonder she loved him like she did. How could you not?

He said roughly, “None better, Sir Richard, an' that's no error!”

Bolitho eyed him gravely. “Then we are well matched, old friend.” He stepped aside as Inskip's servant dashed past with a crumpled shirt.

“So let us be about it, eh?”

12
S
TORM WARNING

S
IR
C
HARLES
I
NSKIP
peered gloomily from a narrow window and shivered as a sudden squall rattled the thick glass.

“This is hardly the treatment I had been expecting!”

Bolitho put down his empty coffee cup and joined him to look across the harbour at some of the vessels which lay at anchor. He had not failed to notice the thick bars across the window, nor the way they had been kept in semi-isolation since they had stepped ashore. Their quarters in what appeared to be a part of a fortress were comfortable enough, but the door was locked at night all the same. He saw
Truculent
tugging at her cable, her furled canvas quivering as the wind ruffled up the surface of the anchorage and pounded against her hull and rigging. She, too, appeared isolated and vulnerable. The big Danish frigate
Dryaden,
which had met and then escorted them into Copenhagen, lay some two cables clear. Bolitho gave a grim smile. That was not a sign of trust, but to make sure she would suffer no damage if Captain Poland tried to cut and run.
Truculent
was lying directly beneath the guns of one of the main batteries. It would be an unhealthy place to be if it was forced to open fire.

Seven days.
Bolitho tried not to let his mind linger on it. Inskip had told him repeatedly that they were here at the suggestion of a senior Danish minister named Christian Haarder. A man dedicated to keeping Denmark out of the war and safe from attack either by France
or
England.

Bolitho looked towards the array of anchored men-of-war, their scarlet flags with the distinctive white crosses taut and bright in the stiff wind. It amounted to quite a fleet despite the savage losses in this very harbour some five years back. The Danes had probably mustered all their available warships from the mainland to place them under a single command. It made good sense, no matter what happened.

Inskip said irritably, “I have sent two messages with no effect. Out of courtesy the palace was informed, and my own letters should have made further delays totally unnecessary.”

“People must be wondering about the presence of one of His Majesty's frigates in the harbour.” Bolitho watched a long-oared galley pulling slowly past the
Truculent,
the red blades rising and failing gracefully like a relic of ancient Greece. But Bolitho knew from hard experience that they were not simply for decoration. They could outmanœuvre almost any ship under sail, and for armament they carried a solitary, heavy cannon with which they could maul a vessel's stern and pound her into submission while her prey was unable to bring a single gun to bear. To be attacked by several at once, as the flagship had been, was like being a beast torn apart by fleet-footed wolves.

Inskip said, “They'll soon find out if they keep us waiting much longer.”

Bolitho saw Allday gathering up the cups although Inskip's own servant was in an adjoining room. He glanced at his watch. Jenour should have returned long ago. Inskip had sent him with another letter which he had written himself. Bolitho bit his lip. Too many secrets. Like trying to carry sand in a fishing-net. “Do you think the French may be involved at this stage?”

Inskip wrenched his thoughts into perspective. “The
French?
Dammit, Bolitho, you see the Frenchman's fingers in everything! But I believe—” He broke off as Agnew, his long nose red from the cold, peered around the door and whispered, “The lieutenant has returned, Sir Charles.”

Inskip adjusted his wig and glared at the main doorway. “Not alone by the sound of it, by God!”

The door swung inwards and Bolitho saw Jenour, accompanied by the
Dryaden
's captain and a tall man in a dark velvet coat whom he guessed was the minister named Haarder.

Bows were exchanged and to Inskip Haarder offered his hand. Like old antagonists, Bolitho thought, rather than friends. A sort of familiar wariness which he guessed was as much a part of them as their political evasiveness.

Haarder looked steadily at Bolitho and said, “You I know from your last visit to my country.”

Bolitho searched for hostility but found none. “I was treated with great courtesy.” He did not add,
unlike this time.
He did not need to.

Haarder shrugged. “We are under no illusions here, Admiral. The Danish fleet is once again a rich prize to those who would seize it for their own cause.” His eyes flickered in amusement. “Or those who might wish to destroy it for another reason, yes?” He glanced at their faces and said, “My associates are hard to convince. Either way they lose—” He raised one hand as Inskip seemed about to argue. “If, as your government is suggesting, the French intend to demand authority over our fleet, what will we do? Deny them, face them in battle? How could we survive when your own powerful nation has been at war with the same enemy for over twelve years? Think what you are asking before you condemn our uncertainty. We want only peace, even with our old foes in Sweden. Trade, not war—is that so alien that you cannot envisage it?”

Inskip sat back wearily and Bolitho knew he had given up before he had had a chance to negotiate.

Inskip said, “Then you cannot, or
will
not help us in this matter? I had hoped—”

Haarder eyed him sadly. “Your hope was mine also. But my voice is only one against many.”

Bolitho said, “On my last visit I saw the Crown Prince, although his identity was kept secret from me until later.”

Haarder smiled. “It is often better for royalty to stay removed from affairs of state, Admiral. I think I will have your agreement on
that
at least.”

Bolitho knew that Inskip was watching him anxiously, as if he expected him to rise to the bait.

Bolitho replied, “I am a sea-officer, sir, not a politician. I came here to advise, if required, on the balance of naval power in a very small area. But in all honesty I would not wish to see Denmark suffer the same terrible losses as before. I believe I have
your
agreement on that!”

Haarder stood up and said heavily, “I will keep trying. In the meantime I am instructed to end this attempted interference in Danish neutrality. Captain Pedersen of the
Dryaden
will escort you to open waters.” He held out a sealed envelope and handed it to Inskip. “For your Prime Minister, from someone far more senior than I.”

Inskip stared at the envelope. “Lord Grenville dislikes being threatened no less than Mr Pitt did.” He straightened his back and smiled, the old antagonist once again. “But it is not over.”

Haarder shook his hand gravely. “Nor is it yet begun, my old friend.”

To Bolitho he said simply, “I have long admired your achievements.” Again the twinkle of a smile. “Ashore as well as afloat. Be assured that my King would have wished to receive you but—” He shrugged. “We are in a vice. To show favour to one is to open the gates to another, yes?”

More bows and solemn handshakes and then Haarder took his leave.

The Danish captain said politely, “If you will permit?” Some armed seamen entered the outer room and waited to collect their belongings. “I will have a boat waiting to take you to your ship. After which,” he spoke haltingly but clearly, “you will please obey my directions.”

The captain walked from the room and Inskip said, “I wonder why they kept Haarder waiting so long. Just to tell me that he could do nothing?” It was the first time Bolitho had heard him sound puzzled.

Bolitho turned as if to watch Allday directing the Danish seamen into the other room for his sea-chest.

But he did not want Inskip to see his face, as his simple remark seemed to explode in his thoughts like a mortar shell.

Was it just imagination, a twist of words? Or had the tall Dane been trying to warn him, knowing at the same time that Inskip would not recognise it, or might challenge even a hint of suggestion?

Lieutenant Jenour remarked quietly, “At least we shall be back in England before the winter gales return to the North Sea, Sir Richard.”

Bolitho took his arm and felt him tense as he said, “I think we were delayed deliberately, Stephen, not the other way round.” He saw the understanding in Jenour's eyes. “And it is a long way yet to England, remember?” He heard Inskip calling to his secretary and added sharply, “Not a word. Just hurry our departure as much as you can without causing a stir.” He shook his arm lightly. “Something else to tell your parents about, eh?”

Allday watched their exchange. Bolitho's alertness, like a reawakening, and the young lieutenant's sudden excitement. Jenour had never been able to hide his feelings anyway.

He walked across and clipped the old sword to Bolitho's belt. Like the moment when they had prepared to leave
Truculent
and transfer to the Danish frigate for the final approach to Copenhagen. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them.

Bolitho looked at him searchingly until Allday murmured, “Seems we might soon be needing this old blade again, Sir Richard?”

Inskip bustled into the room. “A good hot tub and a fine English serving of roast beef, that's what I—” His eyes flashed between them and he asked suspiciously, “I suppose you think it was all a waste of time, what?”

Bolitho faced him grimly, the first elation of danger already contained. “Indeed, Sir Charles, I hope that is all it was!”

The same short journey in a sealed carriage as when they had arrived, and then on to the wet, windswept jetty, where a boat was hooked on waiting for them. Inskip pulled his heavy coat around his body and gave the Danish captain a curt nod before he clambered down into the boat.

His face was a mask, his mind already grappling with what he had heard and probably with what had remained unsaid.

Bolitho waited for the others to fit themselves amongst the baggage in the sternsheets and turned to look across at the city, now blurred with rain like a painting left out in bad weather. He was moved by what he saw. The familiar green spires and handsome buildings, none of which he had been allowed to revisit. Catherine would love it.

He realised that the Danish captain was waiting. To make certain that he shared no contact with anyone; or was he merely curious to discover more about the man whose cannon had once pounded their ships into submission? Richard Bolitho, next to Nelson the youngest vice-admiral on the Navy List. Now, with Nelson gone—Bolitho shook it from his thoughts. Perhaps this very captain was a part of some scheme to delay them.

The captain said, “I wish you God's speed, Sir Richard. Perhaps we shall meet again?”

No, he was not part of some sinister plot. Bolitho smiled, remembering his own remark to Haarder.
I am a sea-officer, sir.

He replied, “In fairer times, Captajn Pedersen, when you and I are no longer needed.”

He climbed down into the boat, one hand gripping Allday's shoulder as the hull lurched against the piles.

Apart from an occasional command from the boat's coxswain, nothing was said by the passengers huddled in the sternsheets. Bolitho glanced at a passing guardboat, the lieutenant rising to doff his hat as he passed. All the correct courtesies, he thought, and was suddenly saddened by it. Like
in fairer times.
It was more than likely that the next time he met with that captain or any other, it would be across the muzzles of a full broadside.

Captain Poland was waiting with his side-party to greet them as they climbed aboard and the Danish longboat backed away from the chains in a welter of icy spray.

Poland began, “I hope all is well, Sir Richard?” He stared after Inskip as he pushed past the reception and hurried aft to the poop.

Bolitho said, “Prepare to get under way immediately, Captain Poland. We are to be escorted by
Dryaden
as before, but yours is the faster ship. Once clear of the narrows I want you to sail
Truculent
like you did to Good Hope!” He wished that Poland would stop staring at him. “I shall explain why, directly, but I believe we may have to fight before we are much older.”

Poland was at last coming out of his daze. “Er,
yes,
Sir Richard. I shall attend to it—” He peered round for his first lieutenant. “If fight we must then my ship will give good account—” But when he looked again, Bolitho had vanished. He cupped his hands, his voice shattering the stillness of the side-party while they shivered in the intermittent rain.

“Mr Williams! Prepare to get the ship under way! Have the master lay aft!” He swung round, rain water running from his hat. “Mr Munro, be so good as to pipe all hands, unless of course you are too engrossed in staring at the city yonder. I daresay you will see more than
that
before long!” He watched the lieutenant as he fled from the quarterdeck. Then he snapped, “Once clear of land we shall exercise gun crews, Mr Williams.” He derived some pleasure from the lieutenant's surprise. “It seems we are a passenger-vessel no longer!”