In the King's Name Read online

  “Heave, me bullies, heave!”

  He heard Julyan, the sailing master, speaking to the quartermaster and his extra helmsman. Calm, unhurried, just loud enough to carry above the chorus of wind and rigging. One eye on the compass, another on his captain, whose ultimate responsibility this was.

  Adam remained by the quarterdeck rail, the ship and her company moving around him, but as if he were quite alone. Did you ever become so accustomed to this moment, or so confident, that it became merely routine?

  The capstan was moving more slowly, but steadily, and no more hands were called to add their weight to the bars. He could see their breath like steam blown away on the wind, and feel the air on his spraywet cheek like ice rime.

  He glanced forward again, and across the larboard bow. The two-decker was anchored apart from the other ships, her sealed gunports a chequered pattern shining in the strengthening light. There were lighters moored alongside, empty, like undertakers waiting for the last rites. How did the ship feel? How would I feel?

  He looked away, but not before he had seen the powerful shape of Lieutenant James Squire at his station in the eyes of the ship, watching the incoming cable. A born seaman and navigator, and one of the most senior men aboard. He had come up from the lower deck, and had won respect and popularity the hard way. Two midshipmen stood nearby: David Napier and the latest addition to the berth, John Radcliffe, who was about to begin a day, good or bad, which would live in his memory—his first at sea in a King’s ship.

  Adam could recall his own. Only the faces seemed blurred or merged by time, save for a few.

  Jago murmured, “Morgan brought yer boatcloak, Cap’n.” He was standing by the packed hammock nettings, but hardly raised his voice.

  “Still got a lot to learn!” Then the familiar chuckle.

  The cabin servant had thought of everything that his captain, any captain, might require under any circumstances. But he doesn’t know me yet. That I would freeze or be soaked to the skin rather than take cover on this day.

  Adam glanced down and saw that Maddock, the gunner, had paused by one of the upper deck eighteen-pounders as if to speak with its gun captain. A careful man, perhaps still puzzled by the latest order from the admiral’s headquarters ashore.

  There will be no salutes fired today, until …

  Adam saw him look up, his hand resting on the gun’s wet breech, head half-turned. He was deaf in one ear, common enough in his trade, but quick enough to acknowledge Adam’s private signal from the quarterdeck.

  He had heard the first lieutenant brushing Maddock’s question aside, his mind too full of the business of getting Onward under way: “Sir John Grenville, Admiralty. Today’s his funeral. That’s why!” And Vincent had turned away to deal with another problem.

  Adam had last seen and shaken hands with Grenville in the very cabin beneath his feet. Both of them had known they would not meet again. He gave me hope, when he gave me Onward. And in his way, Grenville was sharing it today.

  Adam saw Squire move toward the cathead and gesture behind him, as if he could feel the anchor like a physical force.

  “Stand by on deck!” That was Drummond, the new bosun. An unhurried but sharp, almost metallic voice which carried easily above other sounds around him. He seemed to be blessed with a good memory for faces, even names: in his brief time aboard, Adam had never seen him consult a book or slate.

  Faster again, the capstan bars turning like a human wheel.

  “Anchor’s hove short, sir!” They faced one another along the ship’s length. Squire did not even cup his hands.

  “Loose the heads’ls!”

  Always a testing moment. Maybe too soon? Onward thrusting over her own anchor, at the mercy of wind and tide.

  Adam stared at the masthead; the rain was heavier and the long pendant was moving only sluggishly in the wind. He was soaked and his neckcloth felt tight around his throat, like a sodden bandage. He could feel the tension on deck, sharing it. Small things stood out: a leadsman hurrying to the chains, ready to call out the soundings instantly if they moved into shallows before Onward was under way. Vincent would take no chances today. Beyond the revolving capstan he saw Jago piling muskets to allow some marines to add their weight for the last few fathoms.

  “Anchor’s aweigh, sir!”

  Shouts, running feet, a few curses as the sails broke free and more water cascaded from the flapping canvas. Adam felt the deck tilt more steeply as the topsails filled and hardened, the quartermaster and an extra helmsman straddle-legged at the big double wheel to keep their balance.

  Julyan was close by, outwardly untroubled as bowsprit and tapering jib-boom began to answer the helm, so that the anchored flagship appeared to be moving as if to cross Onward‘s bows.

  “Steady—meet her.” Julyan peered at the compass, rain dripping from his hat. “Steady as you go.” Adam saw him look over at the quartermaster, perhaps still surprised. His predecessor had been Julyan’s friend. He had been killed there at the helm during the fight with Nautilus.

  Adam shielded his eyes to gaze up at the topmen spread out along the yards, no doubt breathless after fisting and kicking the canvas into submission. A fall to the deck, or into the sea alongside as the hull submitted to the wind, must never be far from their minds.

  Lieutenant Squire was watching the anchor until it reached and was secured to the cathead, the mud and weed of the seabed still clinging to the stock and flukes. His forecastle party was already lashing it firmly into place. He wiped spray from his face with his fist. Until the next time…

  He gazed aft and waited until he knew the captain had seen him before crossing his hands to signal that the anchor had been made secure.

  The remaining cable was still being hauled inboard, where it was seized by the nippers, ship’s boys who would scrub and scrape it before stowing it below. No more than children, he thought, and what a filthy job: it reminded him of the mudlarks, naked youths who dived for coins in the shallows at some seaports. It had cost a few of them their lives.

  Squire glanced at the two midshipmen, Napier and the new arrival, Radcliffe. Both good lads, although it was hard to judge either of them without experiencing a pang of envy. Napier’s background was vague; he had close ties to the captain’s family and was a ward of some kind, and Radcliffe was always full of questions and completely untrained. It was said that his father had an important position in banking. A different world.

  “Bosun’s Mate! Pipe those waisters to be ready to add their weight to the braces!”

  Squire swung round, still waiting for the voice, even though he knew he was mistaken.

  The bosun’s mate in question was newly rated, and had been one of Onward’s best topmen and a fine seaman until his promotion. He replaced Fowler, a man Squire had known for years; they had been on the lower deck together. A bully and a petty tyrant, he had become a real enemy.

  I wanted him dead. Him or me.

  Now Fowler was missing, having gone ashore in Plymouth, and they had marked him in the muster book as RUN. Deserted. But nobody really knew. Maybe he was dead; maybe someone else had had a score to settle. But until Squire knew for certain, he would remain a threat.

  He gestured to the new midshipman, who responded instantly.

  “My respects to the first lieutenant, and tell him we are all secured here.” He raised his voice as Radcliffe turned to run toward the gangway. “Easy does it! I think we’ve earned our pay today!”

  He waited until Radcliffe had dropped out of sight. It was always too easy to take it out of those who could not answer back. He should have known that better than most. He watched some of his seamen mopping the stained deck and dismantling their tackle. Dull, necessary routine, but it gave him time to calm himself. It was over.

  Someone had called his name and he tugged his hat lower over his eyes, peering into the rain. They were under way, the flagship lying across the quarter with only her flags moving, her decks deserted. He stared ahead again, the blue-grey water reaching away on either bow, the jib-boom pointing the way, like the naked figurehead of the youth with outstretched trident and dolphin beneath it.

  He looked toward the land; a church or slender tower was visible despite the downpour. People might still be there, watching the solitary frigate as she headed for the open sea. There would be mixed feelings among the civilians. Pride, perhaps sadness, but certainly not envy. It was still too soon after the long years of war, the fear of invasion and, not least, the hated press gangs.

  Lieutenant James Squire gripped a stay and felt it quivering as if the whole ship were straining forward, eager to leave.

  And he was free.

  He heard Napier’s voice, and saw him stoop beside one of the anchor party with a spare block and tackle in his hands. “Like this—it’ll run free next time.” He smiled. “Wet or dry!”

  The seaman was new, and Squire could not remember his name, but he appeared not much older than Napier. He saw him reach out with an answering grin to help the midshipman to his feet. It was a small thing, but Squire knew that it mattered, more than he could explain.

  Napier was pleasant if slightly shy, and had already proved himself reliable and quick to learn. Squire gazed along the shining deck where men and boys had died. Brave, too. One day, maybe soon… He turned and said abruptly, “You were at the wedding, I’m told.”

  Napier wiped his hands on a piece of waste. He was still not used to Squire’s sharpness and swift changes of mood. A man you would never really know, unless he himself allowed it.

  “Yes, sir. There were a lot of people …”

  “And the bride?”

  Napier recalled the church, the ceremony, the light on the uniforms. And the girl, Elizabeth, Adam Bolitho’s cousin, dressed as a midshipman, carrying the flowers. She would soon forget. He would not.

  “They looked so right together.”

  Squire laughed. “Well said! And so they should.” For some reason, he knew Napier would say no more. Like me, he has nobody to leave behind.

  “Message from the captain, sir.” Radcliffe was back, breathless, cheeks glowing from the cold wind. He held out a folded piece of signal pad and grinned at Napier. “Rain’s stopped!”

  Squire unfolded it deliberately. “I told you to walk, Mr. Radcliffe. You’re puffing like an old Jack!” It gave him another few seconds, and as he opened the message he realised that the rain had indeed stopped, and the sea surging away from the stem was beginning to shimmer, although any real sun was still hidden beyond the clouds.

  “Hands take station for leaving harbour. It’ll be lively when we reach open water. Officers’ conference aft, at noon.” He looked at the two midshipmen. “That includes you, for some reason.”

  Both boys turned to watch a small schooner, sails in momentary confusion as she altered course toward the anchorage. Napier would be used to it, having served with Captain Bolitho before, but Radcliffe had not been long enough afloat to get his feet wet. But in all his years at sea Squire had never known a captain who made a point of sharing his immediate plan with his chain of command.

  His men were separating to join others on deck, directed by the master’s mate and other senior hands; the wind was strong enough to require more weight on the braces as Onward made more sail. Squire shivered. It never failed to excite him, even now. And he thought enviously of the youngster Radcliffe. So many years to make his own.

  He saw Napier going aft and pausing as he met the newly rated bosun’s mate, Tucker, heading in the opposite direction. Their hands touched, not by accident, and Tucker grinned as Napier spoke. Some good had been done. Tucker had been promoted because of Fowler’s disappearance.

  He stared at the foretop and waited for a face and a name to form in his mind.

  “You, Willis! Move yourself! We’ve not got all day!”

  He knew his men. It was his strength.

  Napier heard the shout but ignored it and ducked beneath the larboard gangway between two of the eighteen-pounders. The sky had become clearer, but they must have been too busy to notice. The sea bursting from the stem where he had just been standing was glittering in hard sunlight, but the touch of the drifting spray on his skin was still like ice.

  He looked at Tucker, also called David, and gripped his arm. “Haven’t had the time to tell you properly. I’m so glad for you—well deserved, too!”

  Tucker glanced down self-consciously at his blue jacket and the telltale silver call hanging around his neck. “It’ll take some wearing to get used to it!” He said it strongly enough, but when he looked up at the braced topsail yards and the small figures spaced at intervals against the sky he seemed less confident. “I know every man-jack up there, and what I was doing with them only a few weeks back. The same risks, the same laughs when we had all canvas doing what we wanted.”

  Napier nodded. “I think I understand, David. I’m still getting used to it myself.”

  Tucker showed his teeth in another grin. “It’s us and them, remember?”

  “Nothing to do, Mister Napier? I’d have thought that by now …” It was Monteith, the third lieutenant, hands behind his back, head on one side, and angry. He looked past them. “The boats need securing for sea, as you may recall.”

  “I’ve already detailed hands for that, sir!” Another voice: Drummond, the new bosun, very erect, but casually picking a piece of oakum from his sleeve as if the bustle and shouted commands around him were beneath his notice. He did not drop his gaze as the lieutenant glared at him. “But if you are taking over, sir, I am needed elsewhere.”

  Napier thought Monteith would explode, or give vent to the usual sarcasm. Instead, he shaded his eyes as if to peer abeam and snapped, “I can’t do everything!” and stamped away.

  To Tucker the bosun said, “I’ll need you at four bells, right?” and walked aft unhurriedly, calling out an occasional name, or pausing by the various working parties as he went.

  Tucker shrugged. “Sorry, David. I didn’t see him.” He turned sharply as one of the foretopmen slithered down a backstay and landed as lightly as a cat at his feet. “Hey, Ted, why’n’t you warn me he was coming?”

  Napier recognised the seaman called Ted. He had often seen him together with Tucker, working aloft like the others they had been watching, repairing rigging, and tending the wounded after battle. Sharing a lively hornpipe during a dog watch when Onward had first commissioned. Friends.

  Now the same man turned his back, remarking over his shoulder, “Didn’t know it was an order!”

  Tucker stared after him as if he had been struck. Then he said quietly, “It’s become a different ship.”

  Napier gripped his arm again and waited until their eyes met, seeing the pain.

  He smiled. “So, welcome aboard!”

  Adam Bolitho stepped into the great cabin and heard the screen door close behind him. He had not recognised the Royal Marine on guard duty: another stranger. But he had noticed that Sergeant Fairfax was nearby, as if by coincidence.

  He put his hand out to steady himself; the motion was more pronounced now that Onward was in open sea. But he knew it was not simply that. His entire body ached with tiredness and strain. He had been on his feet since Midshipman Radcliffe had roused him when the morning watch was called—he stifled a yawn—about ten hours ago.

  He walked aft, angled to the deck, eyes on the hard light from the stern windows, sloping now to the thrust of wind and sea. He glanced briefly at the old chair, where his day had begun. To sit in it now would be fatal. Even when he had called the meeting here at noon he had remained standing. Some might have thought he was impatient to get it over and let routine take charge. Maybe the newcomers thought so, anyway.

  There had been two lieutenants, the Royal Marine officer, all the warrant officers, and the six midshipmen together in a tight group. Vincent had remained on watch. The tallest present was the new carpenter, Chris Hall, who had served at sea in several men-of-war, but had also been attached to the dockyard on maintenance and even involved in the building of various types of vessel. Like other lofty visitors to the great cabin, he had taken his place under the skylight, but even there he had been stooping slightly. How did he manage between decks, or working in the lower confines of the hull?

  He watched the occasional dash of salt spray, drying across the stern and quarter windows. At least the rain had stopped.

  There was still a smell of rum lingering between decks. He had heard a few cheers when the order to “Up Spirits” was piped. It was the least he could do for men who had been hard at work since first light on a bitter morning.

  There had been the usual comments after the meeting. Lieutenant Squire clapping Vicary, the purser, on the shoulder and grinning. “Cheer up! It’s not coming out of your purse!”

  Vicary was always complaining about stores and wastage; it did not help matters.

  Murray, the Scottish surgeon, had added, “Won’t need so much grog anyway, where we’re bound for!”

  Adam stared at two gulls which were riding the wind, drifting from side to side below the taffrail. The galley must have thrown some scraps over the side.

  But the surgeon’s words were still with him. Where we’re bound for. It was Freetown, on what had been the slave coast of Africa. And it still was, for those who carried out their endless patrols there. But why all the secrecy and apparent urgency? And why Onward, so soon after the Mediterranean, and that bloody action with Nautilus?

  But he had discovered nothing more when he had gone ashore for the last time to sign for the sealed despatches which were now locked in his strongbox. Even that had been unusually formal: his signature had been witnessed by one of the admiral’s aides, a senior captain, another unfamiliar face. Courteous but unhelpful.

  “Onward is a fast frigate, Bolitho, as you will know better than any one.” He had paused as one of his clerks sealed the despatches and stamped the wax. “Repairs completed to your satisfaction. Fully manned and stored.” He had walked to the familiar window and said after another silence, “And … available.”