Storm tide, p.43
Storm Tide,
p.43
Rob burst from it, flinging aside the clerk. Before the man could look in the room, Rob slammed the door shut and locked it.
‘What has become of Baron Dartmouth?’ said the clerk. ‘I heard a shot.’
‘It must have come from outside,’ said Rob. It was not a convincing lie. Rob was covered in powder burns and blood, but he pushed past the clerk towards the outer door before the man could stop him. It would be assumed that Hugo Lyall was the last person to see Baron Dartmouth alive, and that would keep Rob safe for a time. Keeping his head down, he hurried out of the Palace of Westminster as quickly as he dared.
He did not breathe easily until he was safely away from Parliament and among the greenery of St James’s Park. He slowed his pace along the gravelled walkway, trying not to draw attention.
Phoebe had been waiting for him. She ran to his side, taking in his injuries in an instant.
‘You are bleeding,’ she said.
‘It is nothing.’
‘And what is that?’ She peered into the rolled-up map. ‘The sword has broken. Oh, Rob.’
‘Blades can be reforged, stronger than before.’ He tapped the sword he wore at his waist. ‘For now, I have my own weapon. The one I earned.’
It was not bravado. The horror he had felt at seeing the broken sword had subsided. Christopher was dead, and he was alive. Against that, what did gold and steel matter?
Phoebe took strength from his calm.
‘You have blood on your new shirt,’ she reproached him.
Rob laughed, grateful for the release of the tension.
‘I was not made to strut about in pretty uniforms. I always get them dirty.’
‘Then you will keep me busy, laundering them.’
Rob cupped her chin in his hand and looked her in the eyes.
‘You will not need to do that. It does not become an officer’s wife to sully her hands with menial jobs.’
Phoebe went still. Disbelief mingled on her face with a hope that would have been too painful to bear, if Rob did not know he could fulfil it.
‘An officer’s wife?’
‘Yes.’
It was not a new or idle thought. He had pondered it all the way back from Jamaica. He would have done this sooner, but he knew he had to wait until he had confronted Christopher. Now, nothing stood in his way.
He dropped to one knee.
‘Marry me, Phoebe.’
For a long time, she said nothing. Rob’s heart seemed to stop. Had he misjudged her? Had he deluded himself?
‘Can it be possible?’ she breathed.
‘My grandfather used to say, a man’s destiny is what he writes for himself. And a woman’s, too. If you want it, it is possible.’
Phoebe pulled Rob to his feet and threw her arms around him.
‘Yes!’ she exclaimed. ‘Robert Courtney, I will be your wife forever.’
Their lips met – the sweetest kiss he had ever tasted. They stood in the park, pressed together, oblivious to the ladies and gentlemen who stared as they walked by. In the touch of her body against his, Rob could feel his future coming into being.
‘Mr Courtney, sir?’
The sound of his name broke the moment. Rob pulled away from Phoebe, his hand instinctively moving to his sword. Had he been identified? Had Christopher’s clerk sent men to catch him? To murder a peer of the realm in the Palace of Westminster was to strike a blow at the very heart of the British establishment. No one would believe Rob if he claimed self-defence.
But it was not the Bow Street Runners or a company of Horse Guards. It was a young midshipman, barely thirteen, with a pimply face, wearing a coat that was at least two sizes too big for his scrawny frame.
‘Mr Courtney?’ he said again, looking uncertainly at Rob’s battle-stained appearance.
‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘I did not. I was on my way to your lodgings. I recognised you by your . . . ah . . . lady.’
That was likely enough. There were not many naval officers squiring a black woman around St James’s Park. Rob supposed he would have to get used to being singled out. How much worse would it be for Phoebe?
He realised the midshipman was waiting.
‘Well? What is it?’
The midshipman pressed an oilskin packet into his hands.
‘Your orders, sir. From the Admiralty.’
The wax seal on the packet was still warm. Rob split it open and read the orders. The Lords of the Admiralty recognised Rob’s outstanding seamanship and courage, his heroism in capturing the Rapace and saving the convoy transporting supplies to the West Indies. In recognition of these endeavours, they required and directed Robert Courtney Esq to repair with all dispatch to the sloop-of-war Viper, and to take upon himself the charge of Master and Commander.
‘They are giving me my own ship,’ he said, hardly daring to believe it.
He read on. He was to join the Channel fleet, operating inshore on the French coast, gaining intelligence. It would be dangerous work – but that was not what made him pause.
‘They want me to go to France,’ he told Phoebe.
‘You will go,’ she said.
It was not a question. Still, Rob hesitated. An echo of something Bracewell had said ran through his minds, cruel words that cut all the more deeply for being true.
This whole war is paid for with sugar. Every button on your uniform, every grain of gunpowder, every stitch of canvas on every ship.
‘How can I in good conscience defend an empire that is built on slavery?’
Phoebe nodded. For her, slavery was not an abstraction. It was years of her life, unnumbered and unspeakable atrocities that had been inflicted on her. Yet her voice was calm when she spoke.
‘Britain is more than this. That is why Bracewell and your uncle turned against their own country. There are good men here, men who are fighting for justice, and they are already turning the tide. In England you and I can stand freely, and love and choose to marry. If it happens in England today, one day soon it will happen in the colonies. You must fight for that day, and against the nations which want to enslave men and women forever.’
Her words calmed Rob. Yet he was still unsure.
‘I would be away at sea for months at a time. It would be a dangerous life. I would not be a good husband to you, or a good father to our children.’
‘You would not be a good husband or father if you stayed on land, like a lion trapped in his den.’ She stroked his face. ‘I have watched you, Robert. The only time I have seen you truly happy is at sea with your men.’
‘The only time I have been truly happy is waking in your arms,’ said Rob, squeezing her waist. ‘Also, you have only ever seen me on land when I was being chased by rebels or attacked by Frenchmen. Life is not always like that.’
Phoebe gave him a wry smile. ‘I think for you, life is like that more often than for other men.’
The midshipman coughed. He had retreated to a discreet distance, but he was waiting awkwardly.
‘Shall I take a reply to the Admiralty?’
Rob touched the hilt of his sword again, feeling its strength and power. Phoebe was right. This was the life he was born to lead.
‘Tell their Lordships I will make for Portsmouth directly.’
The midshipman nodded and scampered away. Rob reread the commission, joy dawning on his face. His own ship.
‘I will have to get used to calling you Captain Courtney,’ said Phoebe.
‘It has a good ring,’ Rob admitted.
‘Scipio and Angus are in Portsmouth already,’ she said. ‘They guessed where the Admiralty would send you.’
‘As usual, I am the last to learn my own future,’ Rob said in mock exasperation. ‘I suppose they have already signed aboard the Viper?’
Phoebe lowered her eyes. ‘You had better join them before they sow a mutiny.’
‘I had,’ Rob agreed. ‘But I cannot leave without getting married.’
‘You promised the Admiralty you would go straight to Portsmouth,’ she reminded him.
‘The Admiralty can wait a little longer.’ He slid his hand around her waist and squeezed gently. ‘And we will need time for a honeymoon.’
‘This is not the best start to your command,’ she teased him. ‘You have been a captain five minutes and you are already disobeying orders.’
‘It is the best possible start.’
He linked his arm in hers, and together they walked through the park and up the hill towards the bustle of Piccadilly. They attracted glances from the passers-by, but not as many as Rob had expected. Black people in London were a common sight. Thousands of them lived in the city, men and women who went about their lives just as any other. Who was to say who they should fall in love with?
That, after all, was freedom.
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About the Author
Wilbur Smith is a global phenomenon: a distinguished author with a large and established readership built up over fifty-five years of writing, with sales of over 130 million novels worldwide. Born in Central Africa in 1933, Wilbur became a full-time writer in 1964 following the success of When the Lion Feeds, and has since published over forty global bestsellers, including the Courtney Series, the Ballantyne Series, the Egyptian Series, the Hector Cross Series and many successful standalone novels, all meticulously researched on his numerous expeditions worldwide. His books have now been translated into twenty-six languages. The establishment of the Wilbur & Niso Smith Foundation in 2015 cemented Wilbur’s passion for empowering writers, promoting literacy and advancing adventure writing as a genre. The foundation’s flagship programme is the Wilbur Smith Adventure Writing Prize. For all the latest information on Wilbur, visit: www.wilbursmithbooks.com or facebook.com/WilburSmith.
Tom Harper is the author of thirteen thrillers and historical adventures including The Orpheus Descent, Black River and Lost Temple. Research for his novels has taken him all over the world, from the high Arctic to the heart of the Amazon jungle. He lives with his family in York. For more information about Tom’s books, visit www.tom-harper.co.uk.
Also by Wilbur Smith
Non-Fiction
On Leopard Rock:
A Life of Adventures
The Courtney Series
When the Lion Feeds
The Sound of Thunder
A Sparrow Falls
The Burning Shore
Power of the Sword
Rage
A Time to Die
Golden Fox
Birds of Prey
Monsoon
Blue Horizon
The Triumph of the Sun
Assegai
Golden Lion
War Cry
The Tiger’s Prey
Courtney’s War
King of Kings
Ghost Fire
The Ballantyne Series
A Falcon Flies
Men of Men
The Angels Weep
The Leopard Hunts in Darkness
The Triumph of the Sun
King of Kings
Call of the Raven
The Egyptian Series
River God
The Seventh Scroll
Warlock
The Quest
Desert God
Pharaoh
The New Kingdom
Hector Cross
Those in Peril
Vicious Circle
Predator
Standalones
The Dark of the Sun
Shout at the Devil
Gold Mine
The Diamond Hunters
The Sunbird
Eagle in the Sky
The Eye of the Tiger
Cry Wolf
Hungry as the Sea
Wild Justice
Elephant Song
First published in the UK in 2022 by Zaffre
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ZAFFRE
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Copyright © Wilbur Smith, 2022
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The moral right of Wilbur Smith to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-83877-558-2
Hardback ISBN: 978-1-83877-557-5
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Wilbur Smith, Storm Tide
