Now, there's somethin' I never thought to hear! Lewrie admitted, all but cringing. He darted a quick glance to Ben Rodgers, who looked as if he had been butted in the belly by an underhanded boxer: mouth open, eyes ready to roll and on the verge of sucking air in a frantic "Eeepp!"
"But sir-" Lewrie began to protest.
"Said it'd strike you all as onerous," Charlton snapped, cutting him off, "but what other choices are there, Commander Lewrie? Pray, do place before us another."
"Well, sir, I…" Lewrie was flummoxed, trying desperately to come up with something-anything!-other than that.
"Novel, I must say, sir," Commander Fillebrowne cooed softly, with the sound of grudging admiration in his voice-as if he was yet unconvinced, but could not deny the logic of it. "May I infer, sir, that Major Simpson will issue them Letters of Marque?"
"We discussed that, Commander Fillebrowne," Captain Charlton admitted, still fretting. He was still most uneasy with his decision and writhing in his chair in that former roast-pig agony for another moment as he turned to Fillebrowne. "Maritime law is rather touchy 'pon the subject of privateers, however. Did Austria issue a pirate band Letters of Marque and Reprisal, they would have to declare them Austrian subjects, to begin with. Would have to allow them to work from Trieste, since the home port must be stated. And they would have to sail under the national colours of the nation which issued the documents. And, I rather doubt any Balkan pirates could be stood here, do you, sir?"
Charlton took a sip of wine and almost had himself a chuckle of sardonic amusement in contemplating the sight of illiterate, seagoing peasants and cutthroats in placid Trieste 's beer cellars.
"And, given the long-standing hostility 'twixt Austrians and the various minorities down south, I equally doubt the pirates would enjoy the association, either, so… no, sir. There will be no letters from the Austrians."
"Not from us, then, surely, sir!" Lewrie carped.
"Nor from us, Commander Lewrie," Charlton told him. "I haven't that authority in the first instance, and as I said, this arrangement… should it even be possible to make such an alliance… would be of a temporary, ad hoc nature. Sub rosa, so to speak. Not the sort of thing one wishes bruited about. A rather loose, informal arrangement."
For a man who'd been writhing just a second before, Charlton had gone rather calm, Lewrie thought. Now that his decision to co-opt piratical bands was out in the open, and had not immediately been shouted down, Charlton seemed to have firmed the decision in his mind, and it was not going to be a topic for discussion.
"War on the 'cheap,' " Lewrie muttered.
"You said, sir?" Charlton queried most petulantly.
"Something one of my old captains said, sir," Lewrie answered, chin up. "When we were trying to talk Red Indians into alliance with the Crown back in '82. Came up again in the Far East, with South Sea pirates, 'tween the wars. War on the 'cheap,' he called it, sir. And no good ever came from either."
"S'pose you'd be preferring the Uscocchi, sir?" Fillebrowne said, breezing on as if there'd been no objections.
"I would, indeed, Commander Fillebrowne," Charlton mused, patting his unruly hair back in place. "Splendid fighters on land, since they're Croat. And deuced good seamen, too, as the Austrian officers at our welcoming supper told us. Catholic, don't ye know. Fiercely devoted to their religion."
"Holy war, sir?" Lewrie posed. "There's a Pandora's Box we-"
"Devoted to a religion, sir, that is at least European!" Captain Charlton shot back, glaring him to silence once more. Or at the least trying to. "And I tell you, Commander Lewrie, I begin to tire of your particular sense of humour, forever drolly mocking and-"
"I'm not japing, sir. Not this time," Lewrie assured him with a dead-level and dead-sober gaze. "I've seen war on the 'cheap,' and it's a blood-red horror, sir. Fought by… well, sirs, one can't call massacre and ambush fighting, exactly. Rape, pillaging, torching and leveling, and once it's begun, there's no calling it back, sir. Blood calls for blood, revenge… Corsican vendetta, Scottish feud, and there is no European, civilised control over it once it's got rolling, sir."
"War waged by, as you just admitted, Commander Lewrie, savages! Red Indian tribes in the Americas? South Sea islanders and heathens in tattoos and breechclouts?" Charlton boomed, his blood up. "What the heathens do 'mongst themselves, once armed with European weapons, isn't our concern, I tell you! What they can do with them 'gainst our enemies is. What feuds and grievances the Balkan inhabitants suffer are already centuries old, sir, and will still be brewing long after we're gone. To co-opt, as you put it, a band of coastal pirates of whatever persuasion-temporarily-will make no difference. Whether they are at each others' throats with Roman short-sword and spear, or flintlock muskets and bayonets-with bloody cannon!-is moot. As odd as they are, the Slavs of the Balkans are Europeans, Commander Lewrie. Cut off from the finer things of life, admittedly, but still Europeans. They're not your painted Indians."
Are they not, sir? Was on Lewrie's tongue, but he thought it'd be a bit beyond insubordinate to say it. No one had dealt with Balkan peoples yet, other than the odd brush with them off Brae and Bar, so he wasn't so sure that Charlton was completely wrong, or that he was so completely right, either. He screwed his face up, almost biting at a cheek in purse-lipped frustration, and kept silent, reddening.
"Catholic, Russian Orthodox or Greek Orthodox, those are European religions of a sort, sir," Charlton rushed on, as if he'd already wrestled the main points of the logic behind his decision to the ground. "Not as rational, I'll grant you, none of 'em, as the Church of England, nor Protestantism. Yet each has redeeming features of Christianity at bottom. The Dalmatian peoples do not have the Inquisition, as civilised Spain does, after all! As hand-to-mouth as they live, according to the accounts you brought of the few you encountered, they might even be of a placid, bucolic nature. Rustic, poverty-stricken peasants, toiling 'pon a few miserable, rocky acres or less, like so many Irish tenant crofters. Closer to the soil, closer to God, perhaps? Denied the luxuries of civilisation, may they not be closer to that Frog Rousseau's depiction of 'noble savages'? But, sir! Christians! Europeans. Capable of-"
"Turks're out, I take it, sir?" Rodgers interrupted, posing such a ludicrous notion that Charlton looked fit to lean over and bite him.
"Right out, Captain Rodgers!" Charlton barked. "As I was about to say, the Dalmatian peoples are, at bottom, European stock. Capable of civilised doings, of forming firm pacts, of disciplining themselves and their behaviour. Look at the many units in the Austrian or Hungarian armies, for God's sake! Capable of following orders, of knowing a right from a wrong, and acting upon that knowledge with… with…! Well, if not from a gentlemanly sense of honour and propriety, then with the innate sense of honour and propriety which centuries of Christian dogma's drummed into them. It's not as if we're allying ourselves, even temporarily or expeditiously, with Gibraltar Apes! Nor with any of those swart kings of Dahomey, who sell their own kin to slave-dealers… or satanic beasts, after all!"
"God forbid, sir." Fillebrowne all but shivered. "It's quite like what that Scotsman, Burns, said in one of his poems, sir. That a 'man's a man, for a' that'? No matter his land of birth."
"Exactly, Fillebrowne!" Charlton smiled thankfully, relieved that at least one of his officers sounded supportive. "Exactly. No matter where one goes, people are people, when you get right down to it, with the same way of thinking, of deciding right from wrong. I'd take issue with your Burns, or anyone else, though, who professes that a day-labourer from the stews might be the equal of a proper gentleman… mean t'say, isn't that why we fought the Colonies? Are now embroiled in war with France, hey? Birth, class, privilege and education, and a sound religious upbringing by sober, dependable parents, make the difference-for European, Christian folk, at least. Just look at us!"
Oh, aye, look at us! Lewrie felt like groaning aloud; one a toad-eatin' swindler-to-be, one a feckless womaniser with a hollow leg, and me… an adulterous bastard! Fine lot we are, for examples!
"Wouldn't that make the French, or the Rebels, decent folk, then… at bottom, sir?" Lewrie couldn't help asking. "Sensible, peaceful Christians, sprung of European stock?"
"But deluded, sir, by rabble-rousing, leveling Jacobinist cant," Charlton growled. "No different from us, I will allow Just dead-wrong in their thinking. And now intent on spreading their creed of the Common Man being the equal of a king, by force of arms. Using guns to settle the question which would be more suited to an intellectual wrangle than a war. And most hypocritically using their pious cant to justify taking territory they've always coveted, by conquest!"
Charlton was huffing hard, in high dudgeon and colour, his wind wheezing in and out through constricted nostrils like a forge-bellows.
"Now, sir…" he demanded, "do you have any other pertinent comments to make, or care to share with us, Commander Lewrie?"
"Uhm…"
"So you are settled in your mind that we should approach Balkan pirates and attempt to form a temporary arrangement?" Charlton pressed. "Well, not completely settled, sir. After all…" Lewrie sighed. "Fillebrowne?" Charlton snapped, wheeling on him. "It's a most unusual, and as you said yourself, sir," Fillebrowne trimmed, coughing into his fist, "a most onerous proposition. But one I feel is absolutely necessary. And you would not have proposed it had you not given it much difficult consideration, sir. I am at your total disposal. Game for anything you deem worthy, sir. At your orders."
Havin' it both ways, Lewrie thought furiously; objectin' so meek and mild, but goin' along, in spite of yer… reservations! Damme, he's askin', not orderin'! Nows the time to scotch it! "Captain Rodgers, sir?" Charlton gruffed.
"Well, sir… Lewrie an' me," Ben wheedled, "we've had dealin's with pirates, an' like Lewrie said, sir… no good ever came of it. In the Bahamas… once we set one pack atop th' rest? Have t'arm 'em, I'd expect? Give 'em an advantage o'er th' others, sir? An what they'll do to each other with decent numbers o' modern arms after, well…"
"The only reason the Balkans haven't thrown off their Turkish masters, sir, is lack of arms," Charlton purred. "That, and the utter brutality of Turkish repression. Even were there not a revolt brewing, I'm told the Turks roam their territories and slaughter a village or a region just to keep 'em cowed! Chosen by sheer caprice, sir! To show them what'd happen should they even think of rising up. I'd expect they would turn on their oppressors first, Captain Rodgers, not each other. Serbs, Croats, whoever… they've seen the Ottoman Empire weaken. Seen the Barbary States, the Mamelukes of Egypt, strike out on their own… that Pasha of Scutari as the closest-to-home example. The Greek people in the Morea… good God, sir! Founders of Western civilisation, of all we hold dear-politics, poetry, logic, debate. Ground under the heel of brutal, un-Christian conquerors. Do we light a powder-train in the Balkans, Captain Rodgers, perhaps it may be a train which leads to the long-buried powder-keg of rebellion. They may throw off the Turks and drive them out, make of themselves what they will afterwards. And sirs, mark me well," Charlton cautioned, close to a sly smile of pleasure, "once free of the Turks, might they recall and be thankful to England? Resulting in British control of the Adriatic and the Aegean Seas? Of the profitable Eastern trade, hah?"
"Well, there's that, sir…" Rodgers admitted, glancing down in a sheepish, confounded way. "Might be a fine thing, that."
Lord, Ben! Lewrie all but cried aloud. Peyton Boudreau at Nassau had the right of it, you always were a slender reed. God knows, back then I talked you into enough shit. You always espoused the loudest argument… or the last'un you heard! Do be a man, for once, though. Stand up on yer own hind legs, an'…!
"We could try, sir," Ben Rodgers allowed. "Feel 'em out down south. Contact several bands. It may be they'd have no part of it, or none'd prove usable. Then, if nothing comes of it…" He tailed off with a helpless shrug. And, Lewrie noted, Captain Charlton gave him a glad, rewarding nod of approval.
"Very well, then," Charlton sniffed. "Lewrie, we know what you think of this."
Not 'til I've had a real rant, you don't, Lewrie left unspoken. A real rant, though… say what I really wish to say, and I'd be clapped in irons.
He looked round, to Commander Fillebrowne, who wore a smug look on his face, as if he'd herded Lewrie to the edge of a cliff and would most happily goad him to leap, and bedamned. To Rodgers, who was most pointedly sipping wine and staring off into the nether-regions, unable to meet his gaze. Then to Charlton, who was… waiting. Smirking?
"I don't like pirates much, sir," Lewrie began to respond, slowly and cautiously. "Never have. They don't play by civilised rules, sir, even the 'well-schooled' ones. The Rackhams, Bonnets, Teaches and Morgans… English gentlemen all, sir, yet…" He shrugged.
Charlton's firm expression faltered, whether to Lewrie s jibe or to an innate loathing for his own plan, some deep-down caution.
No, he ain't smirkin', Lewrie decided; at bottom, he knows what a horror we might start, and no way t'end it. Bothers him as much as me. No wonder he didn't just scribble us some orders and have done. He's a decent man, caught on the prongs of a shitten cleft stick. God help him… us!
"Needs must, I s'pose, though, sir," Lewrie grunted, deep from his gut, and tossed off another shrug to express reluctant acceptance. "Do you order it so, then we'll do the best we're able."
"I never considered anything less from you, Commander Lewrie," Charlton softly replied, relenting from his grim glower, and tossing him a bone of approbation. Though there was still a hesitancy to him, as if he'd relish being argued out of his decision. It was rare, but not completely unheard-of, for a quorum of captains to weight their options and come to a mutually agreed decision, when very far from higher authorities. He could have been as dictatorial, as domineering and irrationally unreasonable as the last post-captain who had had command over Lewrie-Howard Braxton of the ill-starred Cockerel frigate. For not being such a toplofty tyrant, Lewrie felt at least a slight bit of gratitude towards Charlton.
"Very well, sirs," Charlton said, after topping up their wine as reward for their agreement. "Here is what we'll do. For the nonce, we will sail more independent of each other.. in three groups as Commander Lewrie posed. Though perhaps not the same pairings, however…" Toss me a bone, aye, Alan begrudged; good doggie! "I will take Lionheart down to the Straits of Otranto again," Charlton schemed aloud. "Should French warships come from Toulon with succour for this Bonaparte by sea or take advantage of his gains, our best-armed and strongest ship should be placed to counter them. Even alone, I believe I could. Now, Commander Fillebrowne…" "Aye, sir?" Fillebrowne perked up.
"Yours will be the roving brief, sir," Charlton outlined. "A cruise nearer to Venice, high up the Adriatic to the west. Especially those harbours of the Papal States which are now in thrall to Bonaparte. Look into them, within your abilities… and the diplomatic niceties… for French ships. And look for warships that might be taken into service by the French Navy… what state of readiness for sea, d'ye see, sir. As far suth'rd a cruise as Rimini, Pescara and Ancona would do admirably well. And this inlet Lewrie mentioned, Lake Comacchio."
"Of course, sir!" Fillebrowne replied, all bright-eyed eager. To sail free and independent of senior officers' eyes was every junior captain's dream of perfect freedom.
"Captain Rodgers, you and Commander Lewrie will repeat your previous voyage… a slow jog down the Balkan coasts. Seeking merchantmen, it goes without saying. But enquiring of local authorities as to the whereabouts of-and most covertly, the suitability of-any pirate bands amenable to working with us."
"Aye aye, sir." Rodgers nodded heavily.
"Major Simpson said that he could supply us with an officer of his squadron," Charlton continued, "should we have decided to espouse such allies as we… erm, discussed. Someone with local knowledge of the coast, conversant in the various dialects, and-hhmmph!-which freebooters have the strength, the suitability, the ah… civility, rather"-Charlton all but winced-"useful to our cause."
"Aye, sir," Rodgers repeated, his moon face a dark-complexioned blank, as if giving Charlton no more than heavy-lidded, rote obedience.
Or he's took by "barrel-fever" by now, Lewrie thought, seeing as how we're on our fourth bottle of wine 'twixt the four of us. And nought but Ben's been sippin' steady.
"Well, that should do it, I think, sirs." Charlton beamed, with a cock of his head towards a calendar hanging in his chart-space beyond. "We'll meet up here at Trieste again in, say, three weeks? First week of August at the latest, depending on what occurs on your various duties and how depleted you are for prize-crews. You run into anything dangerous, and you scoot back here for shelter. Or come south to me, in the straits. Or, should I need saving, sirs"-Charlton posed, hands out in a helpless expression-"should the Frogs come in strength, then you'll see me first. Flying afore 'em, with stuns'ls aloft and alow! Captain Rodgers, you'll have your Austrian liaison aboard soon. Once I've sent word to Major Simpson, ashore. Uhm…"
Charlton had been acting very relieved, almost joyful at times, since they'd acceded to his plans-though, now and then, a touch rueful and hesitant. Now he almost blushed.
"Before you sail, you'd best take aboard a small cargo of arms and such, sirs… the both of you," Charlton added. "Do you succeed in discovering suitable temporary allies, then why not, uhm…?"
"Aye aye, sir," Rodgers agreed once more, even more heavily.
"Off ashore, sir?" Lewrie asked Rodgers, once they were on deck and queuing up for their gigs to arrive, in strict order of seniority. "S'pose you're about due for a tear. Even among what poor amusements Trieste has to offer. Not a patch on Venice, after all…"
"Thought I might," Rodgers allowed. Almost snippish, though.
Truculence? Lewrie wondered. A guilty conscience? Or pissed as a newt? Damn' standoffish, I must say!
"And you, sir?" Rodgers queried.
"Seen it, sir." Lewrie chuckled. "Hellish boresome. Letters to write, that sort of last-minute thing. Cargo to load," he drawled with a sarcastic note. "For our noble 'Christian' friends, don't ye know."
That officer lined up and ready to assist their search, a cargo of arms all but crated and ready to stow below… Lewrie was now wondering just how really debatable the scheme had been before they'd been called aboard Lionheart to discuss it.
And Charlton's parting shot! A last admonition, nothing written, a verbal order tossed off as if it were a matter that had slipped his mind. Make certain you only engage Christian pirates, sirs!" And it had been a wonder to watch him not twitch in embarrassment for uttering such a statement!
Christian pirates, my God! Lewrie groaned; sort of like merging "Army" and "Intelligence"! Find 'em, most-like, by followin' the smell o' incense burnin' in their censers… whilst they're at prayers!
"Quite th' change th' years've made of us, Lewrie," Rodgers said of a sudden, in a very soft, conspiratorial voice. "You, turned into an upright family man. An' me… a coward."
"You, sir? A coward?" Lewrie hooted. "Hardly!" But thinking that he was, in a way, just the same. "Oh, stop yer gob, sir!" Rodgers spat. "You know what I mean." "Well, sir"-Lewrie frowned at the vehemence of Rodgers s bile-"I didn't think he was that dead-set for it, straightaway. Thought did we argue him out of it… two-to-two. Can't count on Fillebrowne…"
"Nothin' we could've said'd change his mind, Lewrie. Nor made a tinker's damn worth o' diff'rence. And you should've seen it," Rodgers accused. " 'Stead o' goin' off half-cocked… like ya always do." "Sir?" Lewrie huffed, cocking his head in perplexity. "There's some, Commander Lewrie, as've piled up enough 'tin' to weather rocky times, an' some as've not," Rodgers grumbled from a side of his mouth, half turned away to watch the approach of his gig. "I don't understand, Ben."
"Captain Rodgers, sir!" Rodgers snapped so harshly that Lewrie felt like flinching back from him. "Excuse me, sir, but-"
"Estate, prize-money… farm income," Rodgers pushed on. "An' Navy career bedamned, should things go cross-patch. Think we're all so fortunate, sir, t'risk our careers so easy? Think we've all yer tidy shore livin' t'fall back on?"
"I never thought… I don't see…!"
"Course ya don't, Lewrie!" Rodgers muttered. "You never do. Never see anything but your way… an' how t'get it. An' thinking I'm t'shout 'amen' whenever ya leave off prosin'. Course it's a hellish idea, t'get mixed up with local pirates… d'ye think I like it a whit more'n you? I do not! But we said our piece, then he gave us orders. Whether we care for 'em or no. But ya never know when t'leave be an' when t'quit wheedlin'. Just too bloody clever by half. But not clever enough t see th' end result o bein' so sly-boots. Not for yerself, or any ya drag down with ya."
Rodgers lifted his hat briefly to air his scalp, to resettle it further down over his eyes, still gazing towards the clutch of boats.
"You asked me did I recall Charleston," Rodgers began again, as he turned back to face Lewrie. "An' did I still resent all th' shit I was dumped into, 'cause o' yer actions. Well, I did and I do, Lewrie. You always talked me into folly… Charleston, and both times at Walker's Cay, when we were after 'Calico Jack' Finney. Resent things now, too. Resent ya peerin' at me, all promptin' an' shiny-eyed t'support ya an' damnin' me do I not."
"Sir, I never…!"
Well, aye… maybe I did. Alan winced with chagrin. And took a half step back from Rodgers s hissing fury. "Ben?" He pled once more.
"That's 'sir,' t'ya, Lewrie," Rodgers warned. "Caution ya, now. I'm half-seas-over. Cherry-merry. But not'z cherry-merry'z I intend t'be by midnight. It'll be 'sir' t'day… an' most-like 'sir' t'me tomorrow, too, 'cause I plan t'have a devlish thick head. An' do ya know why that'll be, Lewrie?"
"No, sir," Alan replied warily, feeling betrayed after all the times they'd served together, after how close he'd thought they'd been.
" 'Cause I'm scared o' puttin' mine arse on th' choppin'-block as easy as you. Scared o' rowin' Captain Charlton with objections that'd make a poor report on me when Pylades pays off an' it's time to get a new commission, 'cause I'm not blessed with yer shore livin' t'count on should I get beached on half-pay. Scared t say what I really did mean t'say 'bout this half-arsed scheme o' his. An' maybe I'll be 'in th' barrel' 'cause I don't much care for m'self for not sayin' it, at th' moment, either! But then… I never have to, do I? You'll always leap up an' say it first, won't ya? Tie me to yer words, link me with yer objections, expect me t'back ya… an' there I am, tarred with that same old brush. Now an' again, Lewrie… it gets old, d'ye see?"
"I…"• Lewrie opened his stunned mouth to respond.
"I get tired o' bein' led into folly… get tired o' followin' yer lead, Lewrie," Rodgers said with a weary, embittered sigh. "Even if ya are right most o' th' time, God help us. Tired o' bein' used, whenever ya think yer th' onliest one that knows best. Knew we were t serve t'gether again, I'd hopes you'd've mellowed, learned some caution, but…" He shook his round head in long-pent despair. "An' do ya know how hard it is t'deal with a man such'z yerself, Lewrie? How hard it is t'play gun-dog to ya, an' do yer biddin' when ya whistle or snap yer fingers?"
"I never knew you felt this way, sir," Alan grunted. "I thought we worked well together, that-"
"Aye, we do, Lewrie, that's th' rub," Rodgers whispered, hands up to scrub his face into some bit of sobriety. He swelled up, bloated on too much sweet wine, perhaps too much bitterness. And let out a hearty belch at last.
At least he turned his head for that, Lewrie thought inanely.
"So…?" he enquired.
"Ah, devil take it," Rodgers sighed, looking as if there was one more ripe eructation where that one had come from, still to be freed. "You tread wary round me a day'r two… it'll be Alan and Ben by dawn o' th' second, I'd expect. A takin' o' th' moment, and nothin' permanent. No real lastin' spite, d'ye see, but… by God, sir! Sometimes ya make me so…!"
"Furious?" Lewrie asked. "Aye. Never bored, though, are you?" he added with a hopeful grin.
"Aye, furious," Rodgers echoed, all but swaying as Lieutenant Nicholson came over to tell him that his gig was at last thumping against the hull, just below the starboard entry-port. "Exasperatin', that's what ya are, Commander Lewrie. Exasperatin' as the very Devil. But never borin'. Damn yer eyes."
"May I take that as a vote of confidence, then, sir?" Lewrie asked with a wider smile as he walked with Rodgers to the entry-port.
"Not really!" Ben drawled rather archly. "You let me take th' lead, and try t'stifle yerself, when ya feel a fit o' cleverness comin' on. I'm not certain my career could take too many more o' yer brighter moments."
"I stand admonished, sir," Lewrie soberly told him. "Really!"
"Ya bloody do not!" Rodgers scoffed. "An' ya never will."
But he offered his hand and they shook, before stepping back to doff hats to each other; friends first-formally courteous naval officers second.
"Thankee, sir," Lewrie said, just as he turned to go.
"For what… a hidin'?" Rodgers peered close at him.
"For still being a friend, exasperated or no, sir," Lewrie said.
"What do ya think friends are for?" Rodgers sighed, then gave him a wink as he turned to doff his hat to the side-party's salute, and make his way, arse-out, down the battens and man-ropes to his gig.