‘S-sir. These same officers are present and wait without. They beg to be heard on the matter.’
Cochrane slowly rose from his desk, his face tight. ‘This stinks of contumacy and I won’t have it! You have overstepped yourself, sir, and you shall hear of it from higher powers than myself.’
‘May they come in, sir?’
‘You try my patience too far, Mr Griffith,’ he rapped.
The lieutenant remained standing, stiff-faced, but made no attempt to take back his words.
‘Very well,’ the admiral said at length. ‘Tell ’em to enter.’ He stood in a grim quarterdeck brace, waiting.
The officers of Hannibal filed in, taking position in a line before the admiral.
‘Now, sir, you will tell me what this is about,’ Cochrane snapped, jabbing a finger at Bowden.
‘Sir,’ Bowden began, his throat tight, ‘Lieutenant Griffith is of a mind with us all that Captain Tyrell is, er, has a condition of humours that we believe does tend to, um, have its effect on his judgement to the detriment of his authority.’
‘You’re trying to tell me he’s mad, is that it?’ The pugnacious tone intimidated.
‘Not for me to say, sir.’
The admiral wheeled on Griffith. ‘Then what does your surgeon think? Hey?’
‘He claims as how he’s not qualified in this matter, sir.’
‘Then you’re wanting me to send for a head-doctor from Bermuda? This is as good as condemning the man, and I won’t do it, do you hear?’
‘Sir, if—’
‘Be silent, Lieutenant!’
Cochrane was clearly in a quandary. If he took measures against Tyrell it would bring down a storm of opposition from other captains, some senior and influential. If, on the other hand, he ignored the warnings and a cataclysm took place, it could easily rebound on his own head.
Bowden watched tensely while Cochrane paced up and down. It had gone too far: whatever was ultimately decided, it was inevitable that his career would be irretrievably affected.
‘You’re all guilty of contumacious association, you know that, don’t you? I can put you under open arrest this instant – but I’ll not. For the sake of appearances and the good of the Service, I’ll allow you to retract this nonsense and return aboard to your duties, no stain to attach to your characters, and we’ll hear no more of it.’
Griffith did not look at the others but replied calmly, ‘Sir, for the sake of our conscience we cannot do this.’
‘Then you leave me no other alternative …’
Bowden waited for the blow to fall – but there were voices, a disturbance outside.
Cochrane looked up in irritation. There was a hurried knock and his flag-lieutenant appeared. ‘Sorry to disturb, sir, but there’s news. Captain Kydd, L’Aurore frigate, begs for an immediate meeting.’
Kydd did not return until well into the afternoon and immediately announced that the ship was under sailing orders. ‘You’ve started a pretty moil, Nicholas.’ He chuckled. ‘Our admiral is mounting an immediate assault on Marie-Galante.’
‘Ah. Delay would have been fatal, of course,’ Renzi said with relief. ‘When?’
‘We sail tomorrow, land at first light the day after, and if this is to be anything like Curaçao, the island will be ours by midday.’
‘With what forces?’
‘That we have at hand. Frigates in the main, being for the same reason that they can close with the shore. One ship-of-the-line to lie off.’
‘And who will be leading this armament, pray?’ Renzi asked delicately.
‘Well, er, the senior captain of our little band claims the honour and will not be denied. The captain of the battleship, that is.’
‘It’s not …’
‘Captain Tyrell will lead the expedition, yes.’
‘There’s talk of unrest in Hannibal.’
‘At the first whiff o’ powder-smoke they’ll be away like good ’uns, you mark my words,’ Kydd said positively. ‘We’ve other things to think on. The plantocracy hereabouts have word of something in the wind concerning a stroke against the French and want to honour us with a gathering tonight afore we go.’
‘Dear fellow, would you be offended overmuch if I declined? My greatest ambition in life at this time is to sleep for a week, and this hour does seem the perfect time to begin.’
‘It would do your soul good, old trout,’ Kydd teased, but Renzi would not be diverted.
The warm tropical dusk promised much. St John’s society had gleefully turned out at very short notice to honour the sons of Neptune with the flimsy excuse that it was in fact in remembrance of the nearby battle of the Saintes in 1782, even if the anniversary was some months ahead.