Kydd(97)

Cantlow’s eyes fell. They rose again obstinately. “I have a witness, sir.”

A ripple of disquiet spread through the men. Kydd sensed their presence behind him and was comforted — Bowyer had been right: if you were innocent you had nothing to fear.

“Oh?”

“Able Seaman Jeakes, sir.”

“Pass the word for Jeakes.”

A gangling black man pushed his way diffidently forward, his old canvas hat passing from hand to hand nervously.

“What can you say about this, Jeakes?”

The eyes in the dark features flashed white in anxiety.

“Take your time, Jeakes. We want to know the truth,” Caldwell said kindly, glancing at Cantlow’s stubborn face.

“Well, sir, it’s like this ’ere, sir. I wuz shinnin’ down from the maintop ’n’ I sees Mr. Cantlow and Kydd, sir.”

“You mean, you could see them from the main shrouds to the poop deck?”

“Well, see, we was sailin’ full ’n’ bye on the starb’d tack, sir. I could see down at ’em, like.”

“What did you see?”

“Mr. Cantlow, sir, he was quiltin’ the very ’ell outa Kydd, sir. Layin’ into ’im wiv a will, he wuz, sir.”

“I see,” said Caldwell, looking sharply at Cantlow. “And then?”

“Well, sir, he stops, sir.”

“Yes?”

Jeakes looked over his shoulder at the silent mass of men. If he told Julian Stockwin the whole story and it went ill for Kydd, they would take it out on him. But if he lied Cantlow might get another witness and he would find himself next to Kydd. “He stops, sir,” he said unhappily.

“Speak up!” the Master-at-Arms said angrily.

“And then ’e ’as a go at Kydd again, sir,” he added.

“Get on with it!” the Master-at-Arms spluttered.

“And Kydd grabs ’is rattan.” The stirring among the men stopped.

“’N’ then ’e breaks it, like!” The words fell into a heavy silence.

“Sir — in front of the men, sir! It’s intolerable!” Cantlow said, incensed.

“Be silent!” the Captain said. There was the rub — Kydd might have been provoked, he might have been an innocent outraged, but he had been seen in front of others to have held his superior in contempt.

“Do you not feel that Kydd may have acted hastily? Remember, he has only been in the King’s Service a short while.”

“No, sir, it was a deliberate act of contempt,” Cantlow said stubbornly.

“Then consider the consequences of your position, sir. You are perhaps bringing down punishment on one of the most promising seamen I have ever seen for what, I am sorry to say, seems like personal vengeance. I ask you again, can you not conceive — ”

Cantlow missed the significance of the emphasized “I” and broke in sullenly, “It’s a matter of discipline — sir!”

Tyrell leaned over. “No choice, sir, in front of witnesses. Kydd’s guilty, and if — ”

“I know my duty, Mr. Tyrell,” Caldwell said testily.

He looked over Kydd’s shoulder, avoiding his eye. “Articles of War,” he ordered.

Kydd went cold.

The words of the relevant article rang out. It was a nightmare.

“Seize him up!”

It couldn’t be happening — his world spun around him. The boatswain’s mates stepped forward and waited. Kydd started and realized that they were waiting for him to strip. He slowly tore off his shirt, still smeared with the gray of powder smoke.

He let it fall and turned to look back at Caldwell, but the mild blue eyes were looking out to seaward.

“Twelve lashes,” the Captain said, distantly.

The boatswain’s mates seized hold of Kydd and dragged him to the grating. One held his arms spreadeagled while the other passed spun yarn around his thumbs.

His head twisted to the other side — Cantlow stood relaxed and, as Kydd looked at him, his head lifted and a slight smile appeared.

Out of sight the drum thundered away — and stopped. He knew what this meant and braced himself.

He heard the deadly hissing and the blow fell.

It was of shocking force and he felt as if his torso had been plunged into ice. Then came the pain. So murderous was it that it forced a desperate intake of breath before the scream, which Kydd forced to a hoarse grunt.

The sound of the drums floated into his consciousness, which began to retreat.

Again the drums ceased. He writhed at his bonds as the blows slammed him into the grating and the intolerable slash of pain cleaved deep inside. It was inhuman — he bit his lips and tasted the warm blood trickling down.

The agony continued. One part of him begged for release, anything that would halt the torture, but by far the larger part was of consuming fury, a blind rage — not so much at Cantlow and the injustice of it all, but in the betrayal by his adopted world.