Command a King's Ship (20 page)

“Signal our intention to
Rosalind,
and then wear ship, if you please.” He waited until the anchor party had assembled above the cathead. Then he added, “Tell Davy to keep our people together once we are ashore. I want no plague raging through
Undine
.”

“D'you think there is fever here, sir?”

For just a moment there was fear in Herrick's eyes. Like most seamen he could accept blood and broadside, as well as the harsh discipline which guided his daily life. But the unknown, the terror of plague which could render a whole ship useless, turn her into a floating tomb, was entirely different.

“That we will discover directly.”

“
Rosalind
's acknowledged, sir!”

Keen seemed his usual carefree self. Even Armitage was watching the land with something like expectancy.

“Wear ship!”

“Man the lee braces!”

Bolitho saw the helm going over, and moved to Conway's side to avoid the rush of seamen across the quarterdeck as the frigate turned slowly into the wind.

“Will you wait for Don Puigserver, sir?”

Conway looked at him, a nerve jumping in his throat, as the anchor plunged into the clear water in a mighty cascade of spray.

“I suppose so.” He peered towards the brig which was already swinging easily to her cable. “I wish you to accompany me.”

“An honour, sir.”

“You think so?” Conway removed the gold-laced hat and ran his palm over his grey hair. He smiled bitterly. “We shall see.”

Noddall came on deck with Bolitho's sword, but quailed as Allday rasped, “Here, give me that!”

He hurried to Bolitho's side and carefully buckled the scabbard into place, muttering, “The very idea!”

Then he straightened his back and stared at the boats which were being swayed up and over the nettings.

“A long way we've come together, Captain.” He turned to watch the brig's boats being lowered into the water. “It's not a happy place, I'm thinking.”

Bolitho did not hear him. He watched the marines clambering out and down into the swaying boats, their coats very red, their boots slipping and clattering as they always did. Captain Bellairs was studying each and every one of them, especially the young corporal who carried the sheathed Union Flag which would soon be planted on foreign soil.

Like many sea officers, Bolitho had often thought about such moments, but the mental picture had always been grander and vaster. Endless lines of men, bands playing, cheering people, and the anchored ships looking splendid and secure at the sea's edge.

Now he understood differently. It was only a beginning. Small, but no less impressive because of that.

Conway said, “Well, we had best begin. I see the Don is al- ready on his way.”

The brig's boats were indeed moving inshore, one bearing the Spanish flag, the others that of the Company.

Bolitho was thankful Viola Raymond was remaining aboard the
Rosalind
.

Conway followed him into the gig, and with the armed and crowded boats fanning out on either beam they started towards the nearest beach.

Bolitho could smell the jungle long before they were within hail of the people by the frothing surf, like incense, heady and overpowering. He gripped his sword-hilt tighter and tried to com- pose himself. It was a moment he must always try to remember.

He glanced quickly at Conway for some sign or reaction. He looked remote and sadly stern.

The new governor of Teluk Pendang had arrived.

Lieutenant Thomas Herrick walked a few paces across the quar- terdeck, his movements restless as he watched Bellairs's marines and some seamen below the nearest palisade. It was just past noon, with the sun blazing down on the anchored ships with savage in- tensity. Most of the unemployed hands were sheltering by the guns beneath the gangways, but Herrick felt unable to leave the deck, even though his head was swimming, his shirt plastered against his body like a wet rag.

Tugging at her cable, the
Undine
had swung her stern towards the long, pale beach, and with the visibility sharp and clear, it was easier to see the extent of Conway's new command. Larger than he had first imagined, it had obviously been planned and constructed by a military engineer. Even the unfinished timber pier looked neat and strong, but like the rest of the place, was in a state of bad neglect.

As he had paced the quarterdeck, or peered across the taffrail, Herrick had seen Bolitho and some of the landing party moving along the wooden ramparts, or exploring the ground between the two separate palisades which guarded the approaches to the fort and its surrounding buildings. The boats lay like dead fish on the beach, exactly where they had ground ashore some four hours ear- lier. He had watched some marines hauling the swivel guns towards the fort, others, harried by the massive Sergeant Coaker, had manned the ramparts, or could now be seen patrolling near the pier. The handful of Spanish soldiers had withdrawn into the fort, and of the enemy, or whatever the garrison had been firing at, there was not a sign.

He turned as a heavy step fell on the tinder-dry planking and saw Soames shading his eyes with one hand, and munching a bis- cuit with the other.

“Any sign yet, sir?” Soames eyed the distant settlement without enthusiasm. “What a place to end your years, eh?”

Herrick was worried. Something should have happened by now. There were supposed to be some three hundred Spanish sol- diers and followers in the settlement, and God alone knew how many local natives. From what he had seen there were hardly any. The same old thought crossed his mind. Plague perhaps? Or something even more terrible.

He replied, “They appear to be examining the inner defences. I am not surprised the Dons wish to be rid of it.” He shuddered. “From here it looks as if the damned jungle is pushing the whole lot back into the sea.”

Soames shrugged and pointed his half-eaten biscuit at the gun deck. “Shall I dismiss the gun crews? There seems to be little here to excite action.”

“No. There are only five of them manned. Change 'em round and send the others below for a spell.”

He was glad when Soames walked away. He needed to concen- trate, to decide what to do if he was suddenly required to act without Bolitho at his elbow. It had been different the last time. A sort of wild recklessness had come over him, prompted as ever by the need to dash to Bolitho's aid in the only way he knew.

But here were no yelling savages, no darting canoes which a few bursts of canister could scatter. Silence, and depressing immobility.

Midshipman Penn called in his shrill voice, “One of the boats is being launched, sir!”

Herrick felt his heart lift as the distant figure thrust
Undine
's green-painted gig into the shallows. He saw Bolitho's tall figure striding down the beach, pausing to say something to Davy before swinging his legs over the gunwale.

At last. Soon they would know what was happening. Only four hours, but to Herrick it felt an age.

“Muster the side party. Stand by to receive the captain!”

Bolitho looked strained and thoughtful as he climbed up through the entry port, his coat covered with sandy dust, his face damp with sweat. He glanced at the motionless side party but did not seem to see them.

He said, “Have the surgeon and his mates sent ashore to report to Mr. Davy. When the other boats arrive I want powder and shot, food and fresh fruit sent over, too.” He peered towards the an- chored brig and at another boat which was pulling quickly towards her. “I have sent word for
Rosalind
to assist in every way she can.” He looked at Herrick's round face and smiled for the first time. “Easy, Thomas. It is not the end, though it was nearly so. Come to my cabin when you have dealt with my orders. Allday has a list of things required.”

When Herrick finally joined Bolitho in the sterncabin he found him stripped to the waist and drinking a large tankard of lemon juice.

“Sit down, Thomas.”

Herrick sat, aware that although Bolitho sounded controlled and level, there was something else, something familiar which told him his mind was busy along another tack.

“When the war ended there was a garrison of about three hundred here.” It was as if he was drawing a picture, just as it had been painted for him. “The commandant, the King of Spain's trusted controller, was Colonel Don José Pastor, a dedicated sol- dier to all accounts, and one well used to building such settlements. He gained some trust from the natives, and by barter and other inducements, as well as the usual Spanish use of force, he was able to create a strong defence line, as well as clear much of the sur- rounding land. There is even a road of sorts, although that now is overgrown. A wilderness.”

Herrick ventured, “Fever?”

“That, of course, but no more than you might expect in such a place.” He studied Herrick for several seconds, his eyes very grey in the reflected light. “The settlement has been under almost con- stant attack for over a year. At first they thought it was only the work of marauding tribesmen, Dyak pirates maybe who were be- coming worried by the spread of Spanish influence in their midst. Colonel Pastor had set up a Catholic mission above the settlement. The monks were found terribly mutilated and headless.” He did not see Herrick's expression of horror. “Then others died when the fresh-water pools were poisoned. The garrison had to fall back upon its own little stream within the walls. But for it, the fight would have ended long ago. Think of it, Thomas, if you had been an officer here. Trying to hold up morale, fighting an unseen en- emy, while day by day your strength is dwindling. Each dawn you would be watching the horizon, praying for a ship, any vessel which could bring relief. Only one came in the whole of that time, but would not land its people for fear of the plague. She merely dropped despatches and left. God knows I can understand that. They are like living skeletons over yonder.” He looked round as a boat pulled clear of the hull. “Let us hope our surgeon will find others to help and think less of himself.”

Herrick asked quietly, “What will Admiral Conway do, sir?”

Bolitho closed his eyes, remembering the small gathering in the room at the top of the wooden fort, hearing Puigserver's emo- tional voice as he had translated the report of the settlement's one remaining officer, Captain Vega.

The attacks had gone on and on, and when once an armed picket had been ambushed, the fort's defenders had nearly been driven mad by the screams and pitiful cries as their comrades had been tortured to death within sight of the walls.

Bolitho said, “To the west of us is a small cluster of islands. The Benua Group.”

Herrick nodded, unable to understand. “Yes. We passed them a day back.”

“They lie astride the strait between Borneo and the islands of Sumatra and Java.” His tone hardened. “This self-styled prince, Muljadi, has his stronghold there. The Dutch built a fortress in one of the isles many years ago, but abandoned it when disease killed most of the garrison.” He looked through the stern windows, his eyes grave. “Not like Conway's new domain, Thomas. It is built of stone.”

Herrick attempted to shift Bolitho from his mood of passive despair. “But a few ships and men would soon destroy this damned Muljadi, surely?”

“Once, perhaps.” Bolitho drained the glass and stared at it. “This morning there was a final attempt to overthrow the defences here. I expect the attacker saw
Undine
pass through the strait yes- terday and knew they must make haste. Now they are gone into the jungle. Captain Vega of the garrison says they will head west to the marsh district, where they will be taken by sea to Muljadi's strong- hold.” He gave a great sigh. “Of all the men at the settlement, there are but fifty survivors. Poisoned darts, musket balls, for they have our weapons, too, and fever have wrought a terrible price from them. There was even a mutiny, when Vega's men fought with their own native soldiers, most of them too crazed with drink and de- spair to know what they were about.”

Herrick stared at him. “What of Colonel Pastor, sir? Is he also killed?”

Bolitho sat down and massaged the white scar above his ribs. “I am coming to that part. Weeks back, a ship
did
finally arrive. Not to bring help, or to offer relief to people from their own part of the world. She was the
Argus
, Thomas.” He swung round, the weariness falling away like a cloak. “Of forty-four guns, under the hand of Capitaine
Le Chaumareys. He landed himself and met with Colonel Don Pastor. He brought a message from Muljadi.
Personally
.” He gripped the desk with both hands. “And required him to lower the flag, to relinquish all claims on the settlement in the name of Spain.”

“My God.”

“Indeed. Apparently the colonel told of help which would soon arrive, but Le Chaumareys laughed at him. Said there would be no relief, no ships coming to his aid.”

“Then the French do have a hand in this, sir?”