Beneath the aurora nd-12 Page 23

  They had gone through much since, much that should have brought them closer, but Drinkwater felt a constraint between them; they no longer enjoyed that intimacy of communication which had marked their relationship in London. Something between them had diminished and failed to withstand the manifold pressures of life at sea. Perhaps it was merely the distance imposed by the isolation of his rank, and yet Drinkwater felt it was something more subtle. And with the thought, Drinkwater realized he felt an intuitive dislike of Templeton.

  The dull boom of a gun, followed by another, echoed across the water. It was the agreed signal that Frey was ready to weigh, though it made Templeton start with a jerk.

  'That is all for now, Mr Templeton.' Drinkwater watched the clerk shuffle unhappily forward, blowing his nose, bearing his own weight of guilt and grief.

  Drinkwater threw his cloak about his shoulders, clamped his damaged hat upon his head and went on deck. He could not dismiss the unease he felt about Templeton, aware of his own part in the clerk's transformation. Something had altered the man himself, and Drinkwater felt an instinctive wariness towards him. It was a conviction that was to grow stronger in the following days.

  The two ships stood down the fiord in line ahead, the symmetry of their sail-plans wrecked by battle. Andromeda's jib-boom was shortened from her impact with the Odin, and both frigates bore an odd assortment of topsails on a variegated jumble of jury-rigged spars.

  Already the high bluff with its fort and the burnt-out wrecks of the two American privateers had faded in the distance. They seemed now to have no existence except in the memory, though Drinkwater wondered how the Danish garrison were coping with the influx of wounded and the encumbrance of numerous Yankee privateersmen. He wondered, too, whether Dahlgaard had survived his wounds, or whether death had claimed him as well as so many others.

  On either hand the mountains and forests merged into a dusky monotone, and the waters of the fiord, though stirred by the breeze, were the colour of lead. Even the pale strakes of their gun decks, yellow on Andromeda and buff on Odin, were leached of any hue; nor were the white ensigns more than fluttering grey shapes at the peaks of the twin spankers, for Drinkwater had forbidden Odin to fly her colours superior to those of Denmark while they remained in Norwegian waters.

  'I dislike gloating, Mr Frey. You may play that fanfare when in a British roadstead, but not before.'

  They could judge him superstitious if they liked, but he had tempted fate enough and they had yet many leagues to make good before crowing a triumph.

  The shadow of the narrows engulfed them. In the twilight, they moved through an ethereal world; the cliffs seemed insubstantial, dim, almost as though seen in a fog, except that beyond them lay the distant horizon hard against a sky pale with the washed-out afterglow of sunset.

  Then, as they cleared the strait and left the Vikkenfiord behind them, as the grey and forbidding coast began to fall back on either side and the vast ocean opened about them, they saw the last rays of the setting sun strike the mountain summits astern. It was, Drinkwater recalled, how they had first spied them. For a moment it seemed as though the very sky had caught fire, for the jagged, snow-encrusted peaks flashed against the coming night, then vanished, as the western rim of the world threw its shadow into the firmament.

  Drinkwater turned from contemplating this marvel and swallowed hard. Birkbeck came towards him.

  'Course set sou'west by south, sir. Should take us clear of Utsira before dawn.'

  'I hope so, Mr Birkbeck, I hope so.'

  "Tis a damnable coast, sir, but we've been lucky with the fog. Just the one day.'

  Yes. We've been lucky.'

  They stood for a moment, then Birkbeck said, 'I hope you don't mind my saying, sir, but Pardoe would never have done what you did.'

  Drinkwater stared blankly at the master. Then he frowned. 'What's that?'

  'He'd have drawn off after the first encounter...' Seeing the bleak look on Drinkwater's face, Birkbeck faltered.

  'Perhaps he would have been the wiser man, Mr Birkbeck,' Drinkwater replied coldly. Had it all been worth it? So many dead: Quilhampton, Mosse, that Marine corporal — Wilson, the boatswain's mate Greer and so many, many more: Dahlgaard, his sister's son, and the Americans. He was reminded of the fact that he still had American prisoners, though he had returned the Yankee privateer commander to the fort under Frey's flag of truce.

  Birkbeck looked nonplussed, then said, 'Beg pardon, sir, I meant no offence ...'

  'There was none taken.'

  'Well, I'll...'

  'Go below, Mr Birkbeck. You have done your utmost and I shall remember your services. Is there anything in my gift that I might oblige you with?'

  Even in the gloom, Drinkwater could see Birkbeck brighten. 'I should like a dockyard post, sir, if it ain't asking too much.'

  'I will see what I can do. Now, do you go below and I will keep the deck until midnight.'

  'There's no need ...'

  'Yes there is. I have much to think about.'

  Time seemed of no account as the ship, even under her patchwork sail-plan, leaned to the breeze and seemed to take wing for the horizon. The northerly wind was light but steady, and bitterly cold, fogging their exhalations and laying a thin white rime on the hemp ropes as the night progressed.

  Drinkwater paced the windward quarterdeck, no longer unsteady on his legs, but with the ease of long practice and the nervous energy of the sleepless. The sky was studded with stars, the great northern constellations of Ursa Major and Cassiopeia, Cygnus, Lyra, Perseus, Auriga and, portentously, Andromeda, rolled about Polaris, beneath which lay the terrestrial pole. Across the heavens blazed the great swathe of the Milky Way. Such was the cold that their twinkling seemed to the watching Drinkwater to be of greater vigour than was customary.

  About four bells in the first watch he became aware of the faint luminosity to the northward that marked an auroral glow. It was so faint that he thought at first he had imagined it, but then he became aware that it was pulsing, a grey and pallid light that came and then faded. Slowly it grew more intense and concentrated, turning in colour from a deathly pallor to a lucent green, appearing not as a nebulous glow but as a defined series of rays that seemed to diffuse from a distant, invisible and mysterious polar source.

  For some fifteen or twenty minutes this display persisted and then the rays subsided and consolidated into a low, green arc. This in turn began to undulate and extend vertically towards the zenith so that it hung like some gigantic and diaphanous veil, stirred by a monstrous cosmic wind which blew noiselessly through the very heavens themselves. To men whose lives were spent in thrall to the winds of the oceans, this silence possessed an immense and horrible power before which they felt puny and insubstantial.

  The sight overwhelmed the watch on deck; they stared open-mouthed, gaping at the northern sky, their faces illuminated by the unearthly light, while the frigate Andromeda and her prize stood south-east beneath the aurora.

  CHAPTER 17

  The Return

  December 1813-January 1814

  'So, you bring home a prize at last, Captain Drinkwater.'

  Barrow peeled off his spectacles and waved Drinkwater to a chair. A fire of sea-coal blazed cheerily in the grate of the Second Secretary's capacious office, but failed to take the chill out of the air. Outside the Admiralty, thick snow lay in Whitehall, churned into a filthy slush by the wheels of passing carriages. Icicles hung from every drainpipe and rime froze on the upper lips of the downcast pedestrians trudging miserably along.

  Drinkwater sat stiffly, feeling the piercing cold in his aching shoulder, and placed his battered hat on the table in front of him.

  'Is that a shot hole?' Barrow asked inquisitively, leaning forward and poking at the cocked hat.

  'A musket ball,' Drinkwater said flatly, finding the Second Secretary's curiosity distasteful. 'I fear my prize is equally knocked about,' he added lest his true sentiments be too obvious.

  'I hear the Ma
ster Shipwright at Chatham is much impressed with the Odin; a new ship in fact. There seems little doubt she will be purchased into the Service. I don't need to tell you we need heavy frigates as cruisers on the North American station.'

  Drinkwater nodded. 'Quite.'

  'You do not seem very pleased, Captain.'

  'She has already been purchased at a price, Mr Barrow.'

  'Ah, yes. I recollect your losses. Some friends among them, no doubt?'

  'Yes. And their widows yet to face.'

  'I see.'

  Drinkwater forbore to enlarge. He was filled with a sense of anticlimax and a yet more unpleasant duty to attend to than confronting Catriona Quilhampton, or Tom Huke's dependent womenfolk.

  'Coming from Norway,' Barrow continued, 'you will not feel the cold as we do! The Thames is frozen, don't you know. It has become such a curiosity that there is a frost fair upon it in the Pool.'

  'I saw something of it as I came across London Bridge.'

  'Indeed. Well, Captain, the First Lord desired that I send for you and present the compliments of the Board to you. Whatever the cost it is better than losing Canada; imagine that in burnt farmsteads and settlements, the depredations of Indians and the augmentation of American power.' Barrow smiled and replaced his spectacles. One hand played subconsciously with a pile of papers awaiting his attention. The profit and loss account of the Admiralty was, it seemed, firmly in credit and John Barrow, fascinated by a hole in a sea-officer's hat, was satisfied.

  'You will not have heard all the news, I fancy, though it is run somewhat stale by now.' Barrow's high good humour was so buoyant that it threatened to become infectious.

  'News, Mr Barrow? No, I have heard nothing.'

  'Dear me, Captain, we must put that right at once. Boney was trounced at Leipzig in mid-October,' Barrow explained. 'Schwarzenburg's Austrians refused battle with the Emperor, but attacked his marshals in detail and forced the French to concentrate on Leipzig. With Blucher attacking from the north, Schwarzenburg pushed up from the south, leaving Bernadotte to advance from the east. He dallied, as usual, waiting to see which way the wind would blow, but Bonaparte sent a flag of truce to discuss terms. The delay allowed the Russians to reinforce the Allies and the attack was resumed next day with the odds two to one in the Allies' favour. At the height of the battle the Saxons and Wurttembergers deserted Boney and, with the game up, he began to withdraw across the River Elster. He might have got away, but the single bridge was prematurely blown up, and in the ensuing chaos the French losses were gargantuan — over two hundred and fifty guns alone! Since then thousands of men have straggled, conscripts have deserted in droves and the French garrisons in Germany are isolated. The 26,000 men at Dresden have surrendered and typhus is said to be raging in the camps of the Grand Army!'

  Drinkwater suppressed a shudder at the mention of that fearful disease, but was unable to restrain his interest. 'And what is the news from Spain?'

  'Wellington is across the Pyrenees,' Barrow declared, his eyes shining, 'he deceived Soult by crossing an "impassable" but shallow channel of the River Bidassoa. He entered France and forced the Nivelle in November, a month after Leipzig! I tell you, Captain, it is now only a matter of time.'

  'And what of Marshal Murat?'

  Barrow barked a short, derisive laugh. 'King Joachim has retired to Naples to raise troops, but is, in fact, in contact with the Austrians.' Barrow paused and smiled. 'So you see, Captain, we have not entirely lost the services of a Secret Department in your absence.'

  There was a sleek complacency in Barrow's patronizing which irritated Drinkwater after the rigours of his short but violent voyage. Nor had the Second Secretary yet finished the catalogue of Allied triumphs.

  'And you will be interested to know that King Joachim', Barrow pronounced the title with sonorous irony, 'has not only concluded a treaty with Vienna, but also one with His Majesty's government, as recently as last week.'

  'I see. Colonel Bardolini would have been pleased.'

  'Bardolini?' Barrow frowned. 'Oh, yes, I recollect; the Nea­politan envoy. Well, at all events, Captain Drinkwater, the Board are most gratified with the success of your cruise, and not displeased that you have enjoyed a measure of personal success.'

  'That is very civil of the Board, Mr Barrow.' Drinkwater bestirred himself; much had happened in his absence. 'Please be so kind as to convey my thanks to Lord Melville and their Lordships.'

  Barrow inclined his head. 'Of course.'

  Drinkwater rose and reached for his hat. The inferred message in Barrow's complimentary speech was less subtle than Barrow imagined. Drinkwater was not to expect a knight­hood for taking the Odin; moreover, the Admiralty Board considered he should be satisfied with his prize-money. The gold was indeed a droit of Admiralty, having originated in Britain in the first place, as payment for wheat sent to Wellington's army in Spain two years earlier.

  Drinkwater cleared his throat. 'I should like to ask for a dockyard post for Birkbeck, my sailing master, Mr Barrow, and a step for Mr Frey,' he said.

  Barrow frowned. 'He is getting his percentage for carrying the specie as you requested in your report.'

  'He is an excellent officer, Mr Barrow, a competent surveyor and first-rate water-colourist. Please don't forget', he added, with an edge to his voice, 'that several officers have died upon this service.'

  Barrow opened his mouth, saw the harshness in the eyes of the sea-officer before him and cleared his throat. 'Frey, d'you say?' He made a note of the name. 'Then perhaps I might find something for him.'

  'I should be obliged.' Drinkwater was satisfied, unaware of the effect his expression had had on Barrow. His time at the Admiralty had not been entirely wasted. He would not other­wise have known of Barrow's predilection for exploration. 'Good-day to you.'

  'Good-day.' Drinkwater had reached the door when Barrow called after him, 'Oh, by the way, what happened to that clerk Templeton? I did not see his name among the dead or wounded.'

  'He is well,' Drinkwater replied, adding evasively, 'he has taken furlough.'

  'He has lodgings off the Strand, if I recall aright. Lived there with his mother in some decayed style, I believe.'

  'Indeed.'

  Drinkwater did not wish to pursue the matter and was in the act of passing through the door when Barrow went on, 'You may tell him there is still a place for him in the copy room. We still need a good cipher clerk — though not so often now.'

  'I will tell him,' replied Drinkwater, 'though I am not certain he wishes to return to the copy room.'

  'Very well. That is his affair. Good-day to you, Captain.' 'Good-day.'

  Drinkwater walked down Whitehall towards the Abbey. He was deeply depressed, for Templeton was no guest of his, but had been held at the house in Lord North Street against his will under the close guard of Mr Frey.

  The fate of Mr Templeton had been the last strand in the splice. And, ironically, he had been the means by which the rope's end had come unravelled in the first place, with his news of Bardolini's arrival at Harwich. And, Drinkwater thought savagely, pursuing his nautical metaphor, the last strand had been the most difficult to tuck.

  He had attended to all the incidental details of the affair. He had buried Quilhampton as he had buried Huke, along with all the dead that had not been unceremoniously hurled overboard during the action fought with the Odin, sending their weighted bodies to the deep bed of the Vikkenfiord as he read the burial service, culminating with the psalm, 'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills: from whence cometh my help ...'

  The cold and distant mountain summits had mocked him in his grief.

  And he had dutifully written to Mosse's father, and to Huke's sister and asked permission to wait upon her and her mother; he had discharged into the hands of the military the American prisoners who had been Malaburn's confederates. They, in due process, would be returned to Dartmoor gaol.

  And still there was Templeton.

  The vague unease which Drinkwater had felt towa
rds his confidential clerk had, he now knew, been founded on half-realized facts and circumstantial evidence that the preoccupations of those desperate days in the Vikkenfiord had driven from his immediate consideration.

  When, however, the light northerly winds persisted and promised them a cold but steady southward passage, Drinkwater had had more leisure to mull over the events of recent weeks. The high pressure of the polar regions extended the length of the North Sea, bringing to England a bitter, snow-girt Christmas and to London the novelty of a frozen Thames.

  Ice settled, too, about Drinkwater's heart.

  He had wondered who had murdered Bardolini, attributing the crime to one of the many spies Napoleon maintained in London, as he had suggested to Castlereagh's under-secretary, but the cunning and co-ordination of Malaburn's actions, the appearance, compliance and ready impressment of those Americans, the sabotaged gun breeching, the certainties inherent in Malaburn's conduct in that last, fatal encounter, all argued something more sinister, more organized. He became obsessed with the notion of a conspiracy.

  Drinkwater could not evade the question of what he would have done had Banks not so peremptorily shot Malaburn. With Huke dead, Malaburn had overplayed his hand, but with Huke still alive, Drinkwater did not truly know what he might have done.

  These events, isolated in themselves, were but elements in the desolation of the last weeks. Their linkage was circumstantial, no more part of a conspiracy, in fact, than Herr Liepmann's report of a quantity of arms arriving at Hamburg. And yet, for so fatalistic a man as Nathaniel Drinkwater, the train of isolated occurrences wanted only a catalyst to link them as certainly as Bardolini's intelligence had led Andromeda to the American privateers anchored in the Vikkenfiord.

  Two days south from Utsira, Mr Birkbeck had placed the catalyst in his hand.

  'I'm afraid I opened it, sir. I had no idea what it was, but I think you should see it.'