Caribbee(100)

‘Tomorrow I will see the bastard – and must take his orders. How is that to be borne, my friend?’





Chapter 12




It was a morning like any other. But before the day was out Kydd knew two things would have occurred: L’Aurore would have met the enemy in battle – and he would have come face to face with Tyrell.

Tense and uneasy, he left his cabin to make his way to the captains’ conference in Hannibal for orders in the taking of Marie-Galante.

The watch was securing for sea but at Kydd’s appearance on deck furtive glances and a sudden need to occupy themselves left no doubt as to what they were thinking. Kydd’s face burned.

‘My barge,’ he snapped at Curzon, whose studied blankness was just as revealing.

His boat’s crew were paragons of behaviour but over his shoulder Kydd saw faces at L’Aurore’s gun-ports, others at the rails and more in the tops, watching.

He forced down his emotions. This was an operation against the enemy and he had to keep cool. His duty was to his men and no personal antagonisms must be allowed to deflect him.

Yet as they approached Hannibal his resolve wavered. Would Tyrell be waiting to greet each captain, and there in front of everybody expect him to shake his hand?

He couldn’t do it, nor look him in the eye.

Telling the boat to hang back, he allowed Lydiard of Anson to board while he wrestled with his feelings. Then there was no more time.

The pipes pealed as he mounted the side and stepped aboard, but Tyrell was not on deck. Trying not to let his relief show, Kydd followed the first lieutenant to be introduced to the waiting captains, who stood together by the main-mast. But as he approached, the talking died away and they turned to face him warily.

‘A good day, gentlemen,’ he said, with a brittle lightness.

There were muttered acknowledgements and then they turned back to their conversations. Kydd flushed with anger at the intolerable behaviour but then it dawned on him that they were probably hiding their embarrassment.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bowden standing some yards away; the young man smiled awkwardly at his old captain.

The first lieutenant cleared his throat. ‘Er, gentlemen? Captain Tyrell will welcome you in the great cabin now.’

They began to file into the space, Kydd standing aside until they were all before him, then following. At the last minute he hesitated at the door and the marine sentry’s eye swivelled to him in apprehension. There was no more delaying the moment so he stepped inside.

‘Come in, then!’ Tyrell was at the head of the table, getting his papers in order. He looked up sharply. ‘Sit down. We’ve no time to waste.’

Kydd took the last chair, which was on Tyrell’s right-hand side. He found himself so close he could feel the man’s animal ferocity radiating, but Tyrell ignored him.

Kydd held rigid and forced himself to an icy cold.

‘Right. The assault on Marie-Galante.’ Tyrell sat forward aggressively, glaring around the table. Apart from bloodshot eyes, he seemed untouched by the night before and had once more the tight, dangerous air of a ravening leopard.

‘As senior, I’m in command. Therefore you’ll obey my orders without question. Is that clear?’ he rapped.

He seemed oblivious to the hostile atmosphere building. ‘Now listen. My strategy is simple. If we secure the capital of this miserable island the rest will fall. That’s Gron’ Borg. It’s defended by a fort that commands the harbour so we can’t go in and take it from the front. But I have a plan.’

He looked about him, as if inviting argument, then snapped, ‘And it’s this. Red Party will land to the north of Gron’ Borg, Blue Party to the south. And then?’

‘They advance from both sides?’ Lydiard drawled.

‘No!’ Tyrell barked triumphantly. ‘They head inland, both. When in the damned forest and out of sight, they turn inward, meet, and come in on the town and the fort from the land side. Clear?’

‘While the fort is being engaged from seaward?’ prompted a captain lower down the table.

‘Of course!’ Tyrell bristled.

‘Who shall command the landing parties?’ another asked. If there was to be any glory and distinction it would be for those facing the enemy. The rest would be mere spectators offshore.

‘Why, the hero of Curaçao for one!’ Tyrell turned and gave a beaming smile.

Kydd jerked back and stared. Was this a clumsy attempt to make up for his blunder of the night before?

‘Um, thank you, Mr Tyrell.’ His voice sounded thick and unnatural.

‘Mr Kydd will be leading the Blue Party and …’

He waited for their full attention. ‘… and I will lead the Red Party.’