Cross of Fire by Mark Keating Page A

things to bring love closer. I am in two families now. The duke has mellowed to me, and I am blessed to say that Alice is expecting again. Although I am considerably nervous on my part as twins do fairly run in the duke’s family. I’m sure I believe we will be successful this time.’
    The table was quiet, forks were laid down.
    It is difficult to commiserate and congratulate in the same voice even though all men share at least some of the same paths. The only relief is the hope that the path when you meet it will be just that. A path. A short tread through the dark, and not a road.
    Coxon kenned Manvell shy of what he had said: the man had come to terms with his loss and now did not want to embarrass others. Coxon locked only two words away for when the time came to measure him.
    Manvell had said ‘daughter’ not ‘child’. There was a terrible shared day there. And he had said the name ‘Alice’ to strangers as if they all recalled her. As if anyone could not know her. Coxon had only ever spoken of his first ship in the same voice. He almost felt envy at the tone of it.
    ‘Then we will make the duke proud of his son-in-law,’ he said. ‘And your father will have your portrait above the hearth of his tavern.’
    The bell outside rang once and Coxon glanced at the clock. Eight-and-a-half hours since they had set sail. The Lizard and even Brest at their stern. Lonely water now to the Verdes. Eleven days he planned to Cape Coast Castle, the trade winds at their back. Worthless to consider the pirate before then. But Manvell had not forgotten the noon address.
    ‘Captain?’
    Coxon sniffed himself out of his thoughts. ‘Yes, Mister Manvell?’
    ‘This pirate, this . . . Devlin, you mentioned, whom we are to chastise. You indicated that you knew him.’
    Coxon played his fingers on his full belly. ‘Has Mister Howard not told you of our experiences together?’
    Manvell explained that Howard had only come into company the day before and that he was confident that neither of them trucked in gossip.
    ‘Very well,’ Coxon said. ‘For some years this man was my steward.’ Elaboration on those years was not tasteful to Coxon and his embarrassment well known. But they needed to know about the pirate.
    ‘I would like to say that he is a drunken, misanthrope idiot. But that would give you the impression that all you will have to do is walk into a tavern and lift his head up from a table.’ He watched them all shift in their seats, study him judiciously. The tradition of Aesop was his duty.
    ‘What I can tell you will be meaningless against what he may show you. And if you give him the opportunity to “show” you . . . it will be too late.’
    Howe scoffed into his glass. ‘You make him terrible, Captain! I’ll wager he doesn’t even wear shoes!’
    ‘He will be wearing your shoes if you continue to appraise him so, Doctor. Make no mistake, Devlin is intelligent and bold. He has not survived so long by mere luck and nor is he a great warrior. If he were in this room now you would not see a remarkable man,’ he pointed to the door, to the deck. ‘You would see one of them . The men we trust to follow us, who rely on our instruction to bring them home. And I guarantee that a similar discourse is flowing below. Only they will show a little more respect, some of them even awe. And you may live longer if you gain the same.’
    Manvell was intrigued.
    ‘You sound as if you admire him, sir.’
    Coxon leant on the arm of his chair, pitched forward so that Manvell could see nothing else but his face and taste the meal on his breath.
    ‘And so I should. If I did not admire a man who has bested me twice, that would make me a fool who any boot-wipe can lick. And I take pride in the knowledge, gentlemen, that the one time I was not there to break him he triumphed over the royal houses and governments of two countries, sirs!’ Coxon fell back. He had said too much. He looked at his glass. Wine proved always the