Seaflower Read Free Page B

fixed on the shore. Renzi tapped him on the shoulder and he looked around
to see down
     
    the
massive length of a 74-gun ship-of-the-line. They passed around the stern, with
its old-fashioned open gallery, and Kydd looked up. In faded gold there was a
big heraldic ribbon. The name Trajan was elegantly lettered inside.
     
    Bitterness
welled up and choked him. Kydd gripped a rope at the edge of the foredeck and
stared back at his homeland, unwilling to let the fast-receding land disappear.
The seas lengthened as Trajan met the first Atlantic rollers coming up the
Channel, sending men staggering. The two-decker was soon clawing to windward as
close as she would lie, two other vessels astern and one ahead. The land
finally turned to a misty anonymity and vanished, and the lump in Kydd's throat
deepened.
    'I
must declare myself truly gulled,' Renzi said, appearing at Kydd's elbow
shaking out the chinckles in a light line for coiling. Kydd was supposed to be
at work on the fo'c'sle, but no one felt inclined to make a point about it. The
Artemises were sadly ill-used, was the general opinion, and they were left
alone to their misery.
    Kydd
glanced at him. 'Gulled? Not th' word I'd choose f'r it m'self,' he muttered.
    Renzi
paused. 'Is the loss of the flying Artemis so much on the public mind that we
are all to be kept out of the way? Or is the Fleet so in need of seamen that
they press even the shipwrecked mariner? No! What we have is a political act, a
move to shield the reputation of one who should be brought to account. Instead,
and with the exercise of interest at the highest level, Rowley has been excused
of blame, your evidence is suppressed — it is only a deposition — and we ... we are an embarrassment ...' His voice trailed off for Kydd's
thickening anger was apparent on his face.
    'We're
shipped out t' the Caribbee to save Rowley's hide!' His face white with anger,
Kydd said harshly, 'T' the West Indies, fever ...'
    'I
fear so. But, dear fellow, it is also the Spanish Main, treasure, the richest
islands in the world — and glory, too, as we mercilessly seize the sugar
islands from the French!' Renzi winced inwardly at the last, but Kydd had to
see some purpose in this twist of fate.
    'In
this old scow!' Kydd's scornful words were heartfelt. After the trim beauty of
Artemis, the elderly Trajan was all that Renzi knew he despised. A
ship-of-the-line, she was lumbering and massive, her timbers old and decaying —
and she had big-ship discipline: Master-at-Arms and corporals, trumpeter,
boatswain's mates. And his previous rate as acting petty officer had not been
accepted in Trajan', she had her full complement and no need of him. He was now
no more than an able seaman, even if a topman, and he had to sling his hammock
with the rest instead of in the cosy privacy of a screened-off petty officer's
berth.
    Renzi
said nothing. Kydd's words were powerful and true, and could not be denied. He
had every reason to feel aggrieved. Howe's great victory had released forces
for the ongoing island invasions in the Caribbean, and Trajan was on her way to assist in these — what better way
to be rid of an embarrassment? His gaze lost itself in the tumbling waste of
seas stretching to infinity ahead. He tried to swallow his bitterness and went
below.
     
    The
noon meal was a cheerless affair — no grog this close to home, small beer only
on offer. Boiled with dandelion and herbs, it had a bitterness that was
intended to hide rankness, but at least it was better than water from the cask,
which quickly grew stale and flat, then stagnant. After weeks at sea the beer
would give out and they would revert to rum, which was much preferred, but for
now Kydd's pot contained a thin brew that did nothing for his mood.
    Kydd
pulled forward his meal — the square wooden plate he remembered only too well
from his first ship as a pressed man: no pewter and crockery here. He glowered
at the mush of peas and odd-tasting pork. There was soft tommy