A Flag of Truce by David Donachie Page B

forthwith, where, I am informed, they are due to face punishment.’
    ‘What kind of punishment?’
    Hotham looked at Pearce as if he was a fool, and in truth it was a dammed silly remark. There were options on punishment, but the way the admiral had said it, it could only be a flogging. He suppressed the temptation to enquire the nature of the offence; it made little difference to those who would suffer.
    ‘However, should you accept to serve under Lieutenant Digby aboard the prize taken by HMS
Weazel
, now HMS
Faron
, I will release them into your charge to serve aboard that vessel for the duration of the commission.’
    The wording of that was interesting; Hotham could not bring himself to say, as he no doubt would to any other officer, that Pearce, as theofficer in command, had taken the prize. Yet it was the truth; he had only been part of it, knowledge of which lessened what was no doubt intended as a slight. As to the options he had, they were zero; he could not abandon his friends to an unknown number of strokes from the cat or deny them the chance to get away from the harsh regime they were presently under.
    ‘And the duty, sir?’
    ‘I do not think it is my place to inform you of that. I would not dream of interfering with the prerogatives of a Master and Commander. Ask Mr Digby.’
    ‘And the date for the court martial?’
    ‘Yet to be decided, but not before your return, which I anticipate will be not more than one calendar month.’ Pearce looked at the scribbling secretary to ensure he was writing that down, and Hotham added, ‘By that time, matters should have settled here in Toulon and officers can be spared from other duties to see to the matter. Now go with my secretary and make a deposition, which the person who volunteers to defend Captain Barclay can read.’

    ‘You are Gherson, are you not?’
    The man was standing well away from the three others with whom he had been fetched aboard, and he looked, Ralph Barclay thought, angry enough tospit. The reason was simple, though Ralph Barclay had no knowledge of it; he had not been taken out of the Pelican like the others, he had been fetched out of a roaring River Thames, having been chucked off London Bridge by a pair of ruffians hired to pay him back for his sins, both carnal and fiscal. The City Alderman who had engaged those brutes had been his employer; the man’s wife, a much younger creature, often left alone while her husband was out on his pleasures or his duties, had succumbed to the Gherson charm and become his lover. She had also opened her household account to him, and when that was added to the money which he stole in his capacity as the Alderman’s bookkeeper, young Gherson had enjoyed a comfortable existence, dressing well and eating and drinking his fill.
    It had ended that night, as, stripped of everything but his shirt, he had hit the freezing water of the Thames, which was like a tidal race as it came through the arches of the bridge, sure he was going to drown. That he had landed right by a naval cutter was pure chance, and with men of strength aboard they had hauled him in and fetched him aboard their frigate. In telling his tale to the clerk the quartet had just left, he had been informed that his case against the man before him was specious; his impressment, as a body saved from certain death by being fished out of the river, was legal.
    ‘Answer me, fellow.’ The soft voice, so unusual, made Gherson look up at his old captain. There was no affection in the look of either man, but there was curiosity. ‘I spoke with Mr Taberly when I came to fetch you. He tells me you write with a clear hand and you know your numbers.’
    ‘What if I do?’ Gherson demanded, clearly suspecting a trap.
    Ralph Barclay had to hold himself back from cuffing the insolent sod; he would not take that kind of tone from any rating. ‘Tell me, Gherson, what is your opinion of John Pearce?’
    ‘Why do you want to know?’
    ‘Sir!’
    Gherson lost