A Sea Unto Itself (44 page)

“By the mark, eight,” cried the leadsman, starting a regular chant.

“Sir.” Sykes came running from forward. “There’s someone a piece up the coast. A woman it looks like. She’s waving a cloth at us.”

Charles ran to the far side of the deck where he could look northward. He raised the glass and saw something moving on the shore. He transited the lens in both directions, then focused on the figure again. Whoever it was wore a black gown. That would likely be Constance or the other Mrs. Jones. Where the hell was Mr. Jones? “Mr. Sykes,” Charles said. “Pass the word . . . , no, find Lieutenant Ayres and have him report to me immediately. Afterward I will want the name of the seaman who spotted her.” He turned, looking for Cromley. “Bend to the north. As close in as you consider prudent.”

“The wheel’s already over,” Cromley answered.

“By the mark, five and a quarter.”

Charles looked for the French. The foot soldiers were too far from the woman to present a problem. The horsemen were not.

“You asked for me, sir?” Ayres reported. His eyes too were on the line of horses.

“I’m going to put you and your men on the shore between that first squad of lancers and a woman just up the coast from here. You must delay them long enough for us to take away her and her companions. Can you do that?”

“Give me your glass,” Ayres said. He scanned slowly along the shoreline. Charles looked for the cavalry and found them not two miles from the riverbed, moving quickly. “There’s a track running along under the bluffs,” Ayres said calmly, lowering the lens. “That’s how they’ll come, seeing as we’re tied to the sea. Just by that outcropping, a hundred yards short of where she is, it appears to be some cover. We’ll land there.”

“Can you stop them?” Charles asked. “Only the first. I want you away before that larger body catches up.”

Ayres stroked his chin. “It depends on how much courage they have,” he said. “We’ll stop some.”

“I’m sure you will do your best. Assemble your men. They will go down into the launch within the half-hour.”

“By the mark, four, less an eighth.” The edge of the land lay a quarter mile to the north. It was a close as they were going to get.

“The launch and cutter are alongside,” Winchester said, appearing at his side. “Shall I send the crews down?”

“In a minute.” Charles called for Bevan and Beechum. When his lieutenants were assembled, he said, “Stephen, you will command the launch with the marines. If it goes badly, take them off and return to the ship. Lieutenant Ayres knows where he wants to land.”

Winchester touched his hat and left. Charles took a quick look at the slowly passing terrain. A glance told him that the first group of horsemen had closed on the wadi, the leading riders just then crossing. He realized that they would use Cassandra's progress to locate their prey. It would be a near thing. “We will take the cutter to collect whoever is on the shore,” he said, a note of urgency in his voice. “Beechum and Sykes will accompany with a half dozen fit seamen in addition to the boat’s crew. Arm them with muskets. Bring a few litters in the case there are any injured. Mr. Beechum, you will captain the cutter; I will go ashore.”

The marines filed over the side with their muskets; the launch cast off, pulling hard for the land. The leading horsemen were on the track, slowed by the uneven terrain, perhaps a mile away. Charles could see their blue jackets with yellow frogging and the vermilion plumes on their caps. Forward, the woman was easily visible. She had stopped gesturing to watch as Cassandra approached. He recognized her as Constance. Augustus came with Charles’ pistols and had armed himself with his cutlass. Charles took the guns and stuck them in his belt, then pulled on the hilt of his sword to test that it was free. The cutter began to fill. Charles went down last.

“Shove off,” Beechum ordered. “All ahead, pull. Quickly, please.” The cutter rapidly picked up speed as the oarsmen strained. No one needed reminding that time was precious. The view from the sea’s surface was not as good as the vantage from his quarterdeck. Charles saw that the launch had landed and the marines debarked. He could not see the enemy horsemen. Constance stood by the water’s edge alternately watching the nearing cutter and staring apprehensively southward down the track.

“Hurry,” she called. “For God’s sake hurry.”

Charles distinctly heard the crackle of musket fire just as the cutter grounded on the gravelly beach. He made his way forward and jumped into the surf with the others of the landing party. The stone and sand underfoot made progress difficult. Immediately, he heard a pounding of hoofs to the left. Four horsemen, lances leveled, galloped toward them at incredible speed. It happened too quickly. A seaman who had gained dry ground cocked his musket, only to be ridden down and impaled before he could raise it to his shoulder. Charles snatched at the grip of a pistol, jerked the hammer back, aimed, and fired at another charging toward him. The mount stumbled, collapsing forward, shot in the neck. Someone smashed the butt of his musket into the rider’s head. Two muskets went off, a horse reared, neighing in terror as the lancer fell to the side, his foot trapped in the stirrup. The panicked steed bolted, dragging its burden along the ground. The forth rider flashed through. Another seaman fell in agony, a lance through his chest.

Charles stumbled onto the dry ground. The two remaining cavalrymen wheeled their mounts thirty yards beyond and drew sabers. “Whose muskets are still loaded?” he snapped. Three men raised their weapons. “Shoulder them; wait; steady. Aim, Goddamnit.” The riders charged. Charles pulled his second pistol. “Fire!”

One Frenchman fell, the second came on, his sword high. Charles sighted along the hand gun’s barrel at the man’s chest and prayed it didn’t misfire. The pistol kicked in a puff of smoke, the rider jerked back, the horse raced past. He took a deep breath and looked at the carnage around him—six or eight dead in the small level space; a horse thrashing feebly half in the water, tinting the surf red.

“Come, hurry, come!” Constance pulled on his arm, her eyes wild. “This way; he’s injured.”

Charles tried to take stock. He could see the marines forming into a line on the track a hundred yards away. The second troop of cavalry could not be long in coming. He could already hear the growing rumble of onrushing hooves. “Sykes,” he shouted. The boy turned toward him. “Run as fast as you can down to Lieutenant Ayres and tell him to clear out. I’m ordering him back to the ship now. Run!” Sykes ran, his coattails flying.

“You three—Jenkins, Wilson, Giles. Collect the stretchers and follow me. Hurry up about it.” Charles looked at Constance. “Where are they?”

She scrambled toward a pile of boulders. Charles followed. Behind the stones he saw Jones lying on the ground, his head propped on a bundle of cloth. The front of his shirt was brown with dried blood, flies swarming over it. “Is he dead?” he asked.

Constance shook her head. “Shot. Lost blood,” she managed.

“Where’s the other, er, Mrs. Jones?”

“Euthellia is killed. They were waiting.”

“Who is, they?” Charles began, then forgot the question. His seamen arrived with the litter. “Hurry,” he ordered. “Get him into the boat.” To Constance: “Go.” He heard the thunder of horses, growing rapidly more urgent, then musket fire. He hoped Ayres was firing at them from the launch. “All of you, into the cutter,” he shouted. Jones’s litter was on board, Constance being pulled in. He saw an unending line of cavalry on the track pounding toward him, the noise deafening. “Shove off!” he screamed.

“Come, Cap’n,” Augustus’s voice said from beside him. Charles looked around. Everyone was in the cutter except for themselves. Beechum yelled something at him. The craft bobbed five yards off shore, oars extended. Augustus pulled; Charles ran. Thigh-deep in the surf, a horse and rider splashed after them, saber pointed forward like a spear. A bang came from the boat as Beechum’s pistol fired. Waist-deep in the sea, a milling, shouting melee of cavalry, two pushing their mounts into the surf. Charles stumbled on something on the seabed and fell, the water closing over his head. Powerful arms grabbed him around the middle, thrusting him upward, out of the water into a clutch of outstretched hands, which dragged him over the cutter’s stern boards.

“Away all!” Beechum screeched.

“Wait!” Charles snapped. He brought himself to his knees and reached out to grab Augustus’s jacket to keep him afloat. “Malvern, give me a hand. “ The two men took firm hold. “Away all!” he shouted at the boat’s crew and heaved Augustus bodily on board. Still on his knees, Charles looked back. To his surprise, they were well off the shore, a half-cable or more. The mass of French milled aimlessly in the space he had so recently occupied. To starboard he saw Winchester’s launch making steadily back to the ship. At least most of the red coats seemed to be present.

Charles climbed up Cassandra's side first, immensely pleased to be back in own world. “Rig a whip to sway Jones on board,” he said to Bevan. “He’s in a bad way. Have him taken directly below decks to the surgeon.” He pulled off his sodden jacket. “I am going to my cabin to change. Have Lieutenant Ayres call on me as he is available. After that I will see the second Mrs. Jones. You may start south as soon as the boats are secured; we will look into Koessir again as we pass. You needn’t be secret about it; a few miles out should do.” Before Bevan could answer, he turned and left.

In his cabin, Charles threw his sodden coat across a chair, then leaned against the bulkhead to collect himself. He was still on edge, almost giddy from the flurry of excitement on shore. After a moment he unbuckled his sword belt and hung it on its peg. He was pulling off his shirt when Augustus entered the cabin in his own dripping clothing.

“Do you require help, Cap’n?” he asked.

“No,” Charles said with a grin. “Go find yourself some dry clothes. You’ve done more than enough for a day’s work.”

Augustus smiled. “It wasn’t nothing.”

“I owe my life, or at least my freedom, to you. You may be assured I will report as much to Miss Viola.” Augustus had no answer for this. He put Charles’ coat on a hanger to dry and then departed.

“Lieutenant Ayres for you, sir,” the sentry announced after knocking at the door and sticking his head inside.

Charles had already donned fresh breeches and was buttoning up a dry shirt. “Have him come in.”

“Are you whole?” Ayres said.

“Yes, thanks to you and your efforts. How many did you lose?”

“I had to leave eight behind. Some wounded, some dead; I don’t know how many of which.”

“I appreciate all that your men have done,” Charles said. “It was a devilish close thing. I’ll authorize an extra measure of spirits with their supper.”

“I’m sure they will appreciate it after what they’ve been through, sir. French cavalry have a way of focusing one’s attentions.”

“Missus Jones, sir,” the sentry announced.

“Invite her in as you leave, will you?” Charles said, stuffing his shirt tails into his pants. “Again, my sincere thanks for your efforts.”

Constance entered as Ayres departed. She looked around her. “Where are my things?” were her first words.

“I had them stored below,” Charles said. “I’ll send someone for them. Please be seated. May I offer you some refreshment?”

Her hair was disheveled; her face pinched and stained, the black dress filthy. “Tea would be lovely,” she said. “Why are you in my cabin?”

“It’s not your cabin anymore,” Charles said. “I’ll arrange someplace else for you. Mr. Jones will remain with the surgeon for the time being. Please sit.” He’d dismissed Augustus; how was he going to arrange tea? “Pass the word for Midshipman Hitch,” he shouted at the door. Constance seated herself at the table. “Tell me what happened,” Charles said, sitting opposite her.

Constance wiped a hand across her forehead and attempted to pull her fingers through the tangles of her hair without success. “I need to bathe.”

“Soon,” Charles said. “I promise. What did Mr. Jones learn?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t present at these discussions. From Zafarana we traveled to Cairo and then Alexandria. Adolphus has acquaintances there. He does not confide in anyone what he uncovers. I know he was concerned though, I could see it.”

Hitch arrived. “A pot of tea, if you please,” Charles ordered. “Also a cup and saucer, sugar, you know what to do.”

“Me, sir?” Hitch protested. “No, I don’t know. Tea just comes ready to drink.”

Charles sighed. “The fixings are in my larder. The cook will know how to prepare it.”

“I like Ceylonese tea,” Constance said. “From Ceylon.”

“How interesting,” Charles said. He had no idea what kind of tea he had, he rarely drank the stuff. “Hurry, if you please,” he said to Hitch. “So you don’t know anything about French intentions to go down the sea?” he said as soon as the boy had left.