Cross of Fire (40 page)

Coxon looked over to the worn Cervantes. ‘But I knew he could not leave his man. He travelled half the world before for one of them. All for a porcelain cup. I have played him, Christopher. We will head for Juan de Nova off of Madagascar and wait for Devlin there. I have told him so in the letter. That is where we will have our day with him. It is the longer plan. I had hoped the pirate would tell all but when Devlin returns to Bourbon for his man we have won.’ He clasped Manvell’s shoulders proudly. Proud of himself. Proud of the lessons he was imparting.

‘
If
he returns for him,’ Manvell said. ‘This is all supposition is it not?’

Coxon marvelled at the lack of instinct that some men seemed to possess. To him it was akin to fashioning a rope, tying it around the object of your desire and then waiting to feel a tug. Somewhere between childhood and manhood some men plainly let go the rope and fell to paper and laws – lost faith in the feelings which kept them from briers and nettles as children.

‘Christopher, we know that Devlin was at Sierra Leone before us. Had the same information. He drops his man at Bourbon. Somewhere is his treasure. A Porto priest in a French church. The
Virgin of the Cape
carrying Porto gold. It is not supposition. It is a clock winding down.

‘He will be on my footsteps instead of us seeking him. You will return to your father-in-law a rich man. Rich in service also. A captaincy shall be my recommendation. You will see it just so.’ He gave as much as he thought he could deliver.

‘There is much here that I cannot share, but hold that I have only the
Standar
d
’s
concerns before me. Devlin may have already returned to Bourbon. He has the letter and we are only days away from glory.’

Manvell reached into his coat. Coxon’s hands dropped as Manvell pulled out the folded paper.

Coxon did not see just the black seal and ribbon on the swan white packet but also a grey tombstone heaved into place, Devlin’s name in Coxon’s script plain on its face.

‘You mean this letter, John?’ Manvell said.

Chapter Thirty-One

Manvell was on the floor, his hand to his mouth where the blow had struck. The letter lay beside him.

‘You
fool!
’ Coxon stood over him. ‘You bloody fool!’ He kicked Manvell down as he tried to rise.

‘
Ponce
!
Punk
! Do you know what you’ve
done
?’

Manvell pushed himself up to sit.

He saw Coxon then. Stocky and strong with fists and solid feet and hating as he panted over him.

The man who had fought the French and the Spanish and then had to swallow them both as allies. The man sent to hunt for pirates.

‘I have protected my ship.’ Manvell wiped his lip. No blood. His strong jaw or Coxon holding back, as if smiting a child.

‘You want to bring a pirate frigate upon us. Alone. When we could have two men-of-war to go against them. As per our orders. Go for Roberts. He who has taken hundreds of ships. Not your bloody valet!’

‘
Coward
!’ Coxon spat. ‘You have lost everything!’ He stood back.

There was pressure in his chest and arms, a need to vent more violence but he held it back. The tempering of a good man of strength. His head went light and the room brightened and he let Manvell climb to his feet.

‘Do you think the pirates would not know of three warships on the ocean?’ Coxon stomped the room.

‘They would scatter like rats from a light. But one ship? One ship is a dare. A slight. A challenge. And me upon it. And Kennedy. That would be the game they live for. Draw them. Your obtuseness I’m sure will get you a fine place on the Board and a good country seat. Is your ambition, sir, just to the fattening of your arse?’

Manvell brushed himself down.

‘I bow to your superior knowledge of pirates, Captain. But this has gone beyond. You have not acted as the
Standard
. With Ogle and Herdman we were to hunt, to protect. You have confided in pirates and slave-traders. You condone torture of prisoners. Your men lust for gold not duty. Even Howard says you have become one of them.’

He watched Coxon go to his desk and push upon it with white knuckles, his head hung.

‘You have disobeyed orders, Manvell,’ he said, turned away. ‘I will charge you with that.’

‘I will contest,’ Manvell said calmly. ‘My objection will be based on my log entry and my concern for the
Standard
and her prisoner.’ He rubbed his side where Coxon’s shoe had delved.

‘I shall not mention the assault upon my person. Spirited as it was.’

‘So we say to the men that we are not for the gold? That because of my First’s insistence we are coursing back. Will that go well? Shall I make my speech before breakfast?’ He swung back from the desk. ‘I will take you from them. For your own safety.’

He went for the door, pulled the powerful marine through it.

‘Take Lieutenant Manvell. Confine him to his quarters. He is under my arrest pending inquiry. Restrain him in irons if he protests. He is to be denied parole.’

Manvell shook his head incredulously.

‘On what charge?’

‘On
my
charge!’ Coxon shouted him down and then calmed himself.

‘Do not make me say it now, Manvell. You should concentrate on your defence. For the time when we return to England. Do not wish to let the
Standard
know now.’

The marine shouldered his musket and grappled Manvell into his ham fists.

Manvell held fast.

‘It is my prerogative, Captain, to ask to have a man to mediate.’ He stiffened but did not struggle. ‘I ask for Lieutenant Howard.’

‘No,’ Coxon said. ‘Thomas . . . Mister Howard will now be my First.’ He let the marine hear him, eyed him just so.

‘You have cost the men their gold. It will be for your own protection.’

Manvell smirked.

‘You want to say “mutiny” don’t you, John? In front of this man? I have seen how you work the common man.’

The marine’s fists clamped harder.

Coxon crossed his arms. He had no need to say the word. The touchpaper lit.

‘I
am
the common. You have forgotten that. Take him away,’ he tossed his head to the door. ‘I will inform the
Standard
at supper.’

The marine had to dance Manvell from the room and his beef felt the steel of the body held fast in his arms.

‘You cannot silence me, John!’ Manvell yelled, hoped for more of the ship to hear as he was dragged through the coach. ‘What I have done is for the good of the ship!’

‘I’ll make sure to tell the men’s wives how well you cost them their share. For the good of the ship. That will feed their children well!’

He slammed the door, fumbled with the weak brass latch with fingers that seemed engorged. He put his hands to his stomach to settle the rising sickness and looked down at the unsent letter. The pirate’s name glared up at him.

‘
Oh, John. What will you do now?
’

He left it on the floor and went for a drink to steady his shaking arms. He needed to think. An empty chair at supper. That would be a conversation not conducive to their meal. Possibly the worst words to share between officers and words that he had never had to say before. Not in thirty years. He sank a full glass of rum.

No matter. Manvell had disobeyed his orders, sound orders. A letter to Devlin, a simple hook now slipped. So what next?

He splashed rum in his glass again and drank before his mouth had dried from the last – but paused and turned with the drink still at his lips as he noticed his window latches rattle.

They banged and pulled and pushed to be open and then stilled as the ghost that yanked at them let go and moved on.

Coxon walked to the casements and looked down at the water below that lay as flat as glass; and then, as if caught out by his observation, the sea bashfully went back to making undulating waves and a creamy wake.

A knock at the door turned him back round. He bid the steward in to light the stern lanterns. He did not know his name.

‘Did you spy that wind, man?’ Coxon asked.

‘No, Cap’n?’ the man opened the windows and tended to his tallow and candles on poles. ‘Although it is about, Cap’n. North I reckons. This be a large ocean for winds. That’s why no civil man lives here.’

Coxon passed the man his rum to finish.

‘How’s the ship? The humour?’

The steward gulped the rum.

‘The whole is much enamoured for the gold, Cap’n. All of ’em hard for pirates, thanks to you, Cap’n.’ He gave back the glass with a wink. ‘You just say the word and we’ll walk that pirate round the deck. He’ll talk then, Cap’n, so he will.’

Coxon put down the glass.

‘Much obliged. It may come to that, sailor.’ He picked up the bottle and drank straight. Gave it over for the steward to do the same.

‘The men are not afraid of pirates I take it?’

The bottle went high.

‘No, Cap’n. Ain’t you got one of Roberts’s dogs aiding us? And you Devlin’s master before.’ The bottle came back gratefully.

Coxon tipped it in salute.

‘I have an empty chair at my table, my man. If not for the impropriety it would suggest I should have you fill it. My officers could learn some appreciation from you.’

The steward blushed and gathered his things. ‘If that be all, Cap’n.’

Both men marked their stations, the bottle corked. Coxon dismissed him and waited for the door to close before uncorking the bottle again.

Howard, he thought, as he drank.

I have lost Manvell. Him I thought the best. I must keep Thomas Howard to my side. Too late to go back to Bourbon? Deliver the note? Perhaps wait a degree north, along the latitude? Catch Devlin in a net. But he could long be gone from Bourbon. Manvell has cost all.

Coxon’s only hope was that Devlin would learn from the priest that it was he who took Dandon. That Devlin would also then hunt for him. Two needles looking for each other in a bottle of hay.

He drank away the worst of his thoughts and, in truth, the rum did ease, as it was made to. The rum eased him, and the sailor who had lit his lamps.

Speak to Thomas Howard at supper over tortoise liver, gravy and bread. He corked the bottle again. There was no answer there. The answer was in the youth. The answer always in youth. He picked up the letter.

Thomas Howard would hold the faith.