Command a King's Ship (33 page)

Maurin shrugged. “I obey orders. But soon I will be going 'ome again. To Toulon. I 'ave not seen my family for . . .” He smiled sadly. “Too long.”

Bolitho glanced across the lieutenant's shoulder and studied the grim fortress which was slipping past the port beam. It was still difficult to see the extent of its buildings. A high wall, undulating with the edge of the clifftop. The spaced windows were little more thin black slits, like mournful eyes, while above on the weather- worn battlements, he could see the muzzles of several large guns, just visible through their individual embrasures.

Maurin said, “A foul place, is it not? But they are not like us. They live like crabs in the rocks.” He sounded contemptuous.

Bolitho saw several small boats bobbing at anchor, and a schooner similar to the one they had captured moored to a stone pier.

Maurin did not try to stop him looking at everything, to pre- vent his interest in the many figures which moved about the pier and up the sloping track to the fortress gates. Bolitho decided he was being brought by the main channel by careful design. So that he should see the growing strength of Muljadi's private army. And it was impressive. To think that a pirate, an alien to the Indies, could muster this force, and instil such discipline, was enough to impress anyone. Even a pompous fool like Major Jardine.

He turned as the boat's crew began to shorten sail, and saw the anchored frigate lying directly across the bows. Close to in a con- fined space she seemed even larger. Far bigger than
Undine.
Even his last command would have been reckless to match her deadly broadside of eighteen-pounders.

He remarked, “A fine ship.”

Maurin nodded. “The best. We 'ave been together for so long we even think alike!”

Bolitho saw the activity around the entry port, the gleam of sunlight on fixed bayonets where a guard awaited his arrival. A very carefully staged performance, he thought. He noticed that boarding nets were furled along the gangways where they could be spread without delay. Fear of a cutting-out attack? More likely he was taking no chances with his new “ally.” It was the only promis- ing thing Bolitho had seen so far.

A small fishing dory drifted abeam, and he saw some natives standing in it shaking their fists at him and baring their teeth like wild beasts.

Maurin said simply, “They probably think you are a prisoner, eh?” It seemed to depress him.

Bolitho pushed him from his thoughts as the boat swung heavily towards the frigate's main chains. Capitaine Paul Le Chaumareys, a man about whom many tales had been told. Battles won, convoys harried and settlements destroyed. His record in the war had been formidable, just as Conway had described. But as an individual he was a mystery, mostly because he had spent much of his service far away from his own beloved France.

He ran his eyes the full length of the ship's side.
Argus
, the hundred-eyed messenger of Hera. Very appropriate for a man as elusive as Le Chaumareys, he thought. Sturdily built, and showing the scars and blemishes of hard service, she was a ship he would have been proud to command. She lacked
Undine
's grace, but had a heavier toughness which could not be ignored.

The boat had made fast to the chains, and the crew stood grouped by the mast as Bolitho climbed up to the gunwale. No- body attempted to assist him. Then, a young seaman jumped down from the chains and held out his hand.

“M'sieu!”
He grinned broadly.
“A votre service!”

Bolitho seized his wrist and levered himself towards the entry port. The French seaman could have been one of his own.

He removed his hat to the broad quarterdeck, and waited while the calls shrilled a salute and a guard presented muskets. Not crisply like Bellairs's marines would have done, but with a familiar jauntiness. Of long practice. Like the upper deck itself, he thought. Not dirty, but not gleaming and in perfect order either. Well used. Ready for anything.

“Ah,
Capitaine!
” Le Chaumareys stepped forward to greet him, his eyes fixed on Bolitho's face.

He was quite unlike anyone he had expected. Older. A good deal so. Perhaps in his middle forties. And one of the largest men he had ever met. Taller than six feet, with shoulders so broad that his bared head seemed tiny by comparison, especially as he wore his hair very short, like a convict.

“I welcome you to my ship.” He waved his hand around the deck. “To my world, as it has been for so long.” He smiled, the effect lighting up his face in an instant. “So come below to the cabin.” He nodded to Maurin. “I will call for you when it is time.”

Bolitho followed him to the cabin hatch, seeing the eyes watching from both deck and gangways, the way they studied his every move, as if to discover something.

Le Chaumareys said casually, “I hope Maurin took good care of you?”

“Very, thank you. His English is excellent.”

“Yes. One of the reasons I chose him for my ship. He is mar- ried to an Englishwoman,” he chuckled. “You, of course, are
not
married. So why not a French bride for you, eh?”

He threw open the door and watched Bolitho's reactions. The cabin was large and well furnished, and like the rest of the ship, vaguely untidy. Lived in.

But Bolitho's attention was immediately drawn to a table which was laden with food.

Le Chaumareys remarked, “Much of it is locally obtained.” He jabbed a large joint with his finger. “Like this. It is very much the same as smoked ham. You must eat your fill, while you can, eh?” He chuckled, the sound rising from what Bolitho now saw to be a large belly.

He replied, “I am here to present—”

The other captain wagged a finger. “You are aboard a French ship,
m'sieu.
First we drink.”

He shouted a brief command and a servant hurried from the adjoining cabin with a tall crystal jug of wine. It was extremely good, as cool as spring water. Bolitho glanced from the jug to the table. Genuine? Or was it one more trick to show they were supe- rior, even in their supplies and comforts?

A chair was brought for him, and when he was seated Le Chaumareys seemed to relax.

He said, “I have heard of you, Bolitho. You had a fine record in the war for one so junior.” His eyes did not flicker as he added, “It was difficult for you. The unfortunate affair of your brother.”

Bolitho watched him calmly. Le Chaumareys was a man he could understand. Like a duellist. Relaxed one moment, making a thrust the next.

He said, “Thank you for your concern.”

The small head bobbed back and forth. “You should have been in these waters during the war. Independence, an ability to work beyond the reach of some admiral, eh? I think it would have fitted you well.”

Bolitho felt the servant refilling his glass. “I have come to speak with Muljadi.”

He tightened his grip on the glass. It had come out just like that, as if the words had been lying in his mind for months instead of seconds.

Le Chaumareys stared at him with amazement. “Are you in- sane? He would have you screaming for death in a moment, and I could not help you. No,
m'sieu,
it would be a lunatic thing even to think of.”

Bolitho said, “Then I will return to my ship.”

“But what of your Admiral Conway? His despatches? Is there nothing from him for me?”

“It would be pointless now.” Bolitho watched him warily. “Be- sides which, you are not here as a French captain, but as a subordinate to Muljadi's authority.”

Le Chaumareys took a deep swallow from his glass, his eyes slitted against the reflected sunlight from the windows.

He said abruptly, “Listen to me. Curb your impatience. As I have had to do, when I was your age, eh?” He looked around the cabin. “I have my instructions. I obey them, as you must yours. But I have served France well, and I am near finished in the Indies. Perhaps I made my services too valuable to be allowed home ear- lier, but that is as may be. I
know
these seas like my own face. During the war I had to live off the islands for food and shelter, for repairs, and to glean intelligence about your patrols and convoys. When I was told to continue in these same waters I resented it, but I suppose I was flattered also. I am still needed, eh? Not like many who fought so bravely and are now without bread.” He looked at Bolitho sharply and added, “As in your country, too, no doubt?”

Bolitho replied, “Yes. It is much the same.”

Le Chaumareys smiled. “Well then, my impetuous friend, we must not fight again! We are too much the same. Needed one minute, expendable the next!”

Bolitho said coldly, “Many have died because of your actions. But for our arrival at Pendang Bay all the garrison would have been killed, and you must know it. A Spanish frigate was destroyed to delay our arrival, to allow this
Prince
Muljadi to give his piracy some sort of repute, to make him an ally of France, and a constant threat to peace.”

Le Chaumareys's eyes widened. “Well said. But I had no part in
Nervion
's destruction.” He held up one large fist. “Of course I
heard
about it. I hear many things I do not like. That is why I brought the Spanish commandant here to parley for his garrison's safety. He was still the representative of his own King. He could agree to terms which but for your intervention would have given Muljadi certain rights in Pendang Bay.” He became very grave. “I did not know an attack would be launched the very moment I had left the bay! You have my word, as a French officer!”

“And I accept it.”

Bolitho tried to remain calm, but could feel the blood tingling in his veins like ice water. It was exactly as he had imagined. A set, calculated plan which had begun perhaps in Europe, in Paris and London, even Madrid, and which had almost worked. But for his decision to take
Undine
and the
Nervion
's few survivors to their destination, and Puigserver's arrival in Pendang Bay, the matter would be settled, and Le Chaumareys probably on his way home at last, his work done, and done well.

He heard himself say, “I have come to take the commandant back to his own kind. Don Luis Puigserver, the King of Spain's representative, will be expecting his return.” He hardened his tone. “Is Colonel Pastor still alive? Or is his death another thing you know of but did not approve?”

Le Chaumareys stood up and moved heavily to the quarter window.

“He is here. A prisoner of Muljadi's. In that ruin on the hill. He will never allow you to take him, dead or alive. His presence can still give legality to his demands. Can show that England is unable to honour her word and protect the rights and citizens of Spain. A hard story to believe? But time and distance can make truth a mockery.”

“Then why would Muljadi fear to see
me?
” Bolitho watched him as he moved away from the window, his face lined and grim. “I'd have thought he would have been eager to throw his power in my face.”

Le Chaumareys walked across the cabin, the deck creaking under his corpulent frame. He halted by Bolitho's chair and looked directly into his eyes.

“It is I who fear for
you,
Bolitho. Out here, in my
Argus
, I am Muljadi's arm, his reach. To him I am not merely a sea captain, but a symbol, a man who can spring his plans into reality. But beyond these timbers I cannot answer for your security, and that is the truth.” He hesitated, his eyes still on Bolitho's face. “But I see I am wasting time. You are determined, no?”

Bolitho smiled gravely. “Yes.”

Le Chaumareys added, “I have met many Englishmen in war and peace. Some I liked, many I hated. Few did I respect.” He held out his hand. “You I admire.” He smiled sadly. “A fool, but a brave one.
That
I can admire.”

He rang a bell and then gestured to the table. “And you eat nothing.”

Bolitho reached for his hat. “If what you say is true, then it would be wasted, eh?” He smiled, despite his tumbling thoughts. “And if not. I will have to content myself with salt pork in the future.”

A tall, lank-haired officer entered the cabin, and Le Chau- mareys spoke to him swiftly in French. Then he picked up his own hat and said, “My senior lieutenant, Bolitho. I have changed my mind. I am coming with you.” He shrugged. “Curiosity, or to prove my original beliefs, I know not which. But without me you are a dead man.”

When they reached the quarterdeck Bolitho saw there was a boat already alongside, and that the gangways were filled with si- lent spectators. Having a good look, he thought grimly. A one-way journey, if he had miscalculated.

Le Chaumareys held his arm. “Listen to me. I am older, and, I expect, wiser than you. I can have you taken back to your ship. You will suffer no disgrace. In a year all this will be forgotten. Leave politics to those who daily dirty their hands without re- morse.”