Free Honour Be Damned by David Donachie Page B

white of his body in sharp contrast to the bright red of his face and neck. Markham looked past him, observing that his men were bunched on one side of the deck, while the more numerous tars filled the other. More telling than that was the clear gap in between.
    ‘I came below to warn you that we are set for a busy day tomorrow. Mr Germain is keen to work up the crew, and I fear our exploits at Calvi so impressed him that he will certainly demand that we repeat our boarding exploits.’
    ‘It will be warm work, right enough.’
    Markham was close to Rannoch now, and able to whisper so that only he could hear. ‘Is everything as it should be?’
    Rannoch, when he replied, didn’t look him in the eye. TheHighlander hated officers as a breed, and never failed to exchange an insolent stare with one in order that they should be aware if it. Having observed this, Markham took as a mark of respect that the man normally treated him with some deference.
    He had, though, opined on more than one occasion, in a voice larded with irony, that this superior was such a poor specimen that he hardly rated the title. And Rannoch held on to certain habits so that mutual esteem was never sacrificed. For Markham to get an acknowledgement of his rank without there being present another officer, was like drawing teeth from a bad-tempered elephant.
    But the Highlander brought the same passion to the care of those he led, and that, to Markham, forgave a great deal. They’d clashed on first meeting. But shared danger, and the knowledge that his superior was intent on keeping his men alive rather than getting them killed in pursuit of personal glory, had softened that to something that was more akin to friendship.
    ‘Apart for the heat, which is no good to man nor beast in the article of slumber.’
    There had been some kind of dispute going on, of that Markham was certain. The whole mess deck reeked of it, a feeling of trouble so all pervasive as to be almost tangible. And no great wit was required to see where the lines were drawn.
    ‘Heat is not much good for short tempers, either.’
    That did make Rannoch look him in the eye. But there was no deference or regard there, just a blank stare that was designed to tell him that what was happening was none of his business. Markham knew he should withdraw, turn a blind eye, to leave whatever was going on to the men concerned. But he couldn’t help himself, seeing that his Lobsters were outnumbered by at least three to one, and that was without the presence of the watch on duty.
    ‘Captain Germain strikes me as a bit of a flogger. He is also keen to see how we all perform. So he’ll want to see all his men, Lobsters and tars, fit and well, ready for duty, as soon as he’s downed his breakfast.’
    ‘That is his right,’ said Rannoch formally.
    ‘Then let us not disappoint him. It would be a shame to start the opening day of his first independent cruise with some poor creature rigged to the grating.’
    Markham had taken one step up the companionway as he saidthis, which allowed him to look over Rannoch’s shoulder. His eyes flicked to the item each man was carrying, a chain here, a mess kid there, and one or two with half-knotted ropes; innocent enough if you didn’t anticipate trouble. His own men were very close to their muskets, and he had to hope they would get the message as he deliberately addressed the sailors.
    ‘But he’ll flog every man jack of you if he has to, even if the man who heads your division pleads your case. He has guests aboard and will not stand to be embarrassed.’
    That pleading part only made sense if you accepted his presence. He was telling the sailors that he had seen and understood what was happening; that any mark on one of his own men would lead to an enquiry, one in which he would be bound take the side of those he led. It wasn’t the commander who would see them flogged, but him. Some shoulders slumped, a release of tension that spread rapidly, and to