Catch the Wind Part One It was dark, warm and dark. Someone was speaking. It was a voice he should know. Jonathan rolled over and blinding pain shot through his head and down through is body. There didn't seem to be an inch of him that didn't ache. Someone was moaning, a weak, sorry sound. Was it his own voice? "Shh, you are all right now, but you must lie quietly." Was it a dream? He was back in the Indy's infirmary with sunstroke after spending too long atop the mast! He'd heard that voice before, whispering in the dark. "You are in safe hands now Jonathan." Perhaps this was hell? Was this his punishment? To spend the rest of his days in hell with...Jonathan opened his eyes. Peter Crittenden! "Ohhhhh." "Awake at last!" Peter Crittenden smiled. "Thank God for that!" "Where am I?" Even to his own ears, Jonathan's words were slurred. "In my cot." "Ohhhh," Dear God, it WAS a nightmare! He'd never get into Peter's bed! He and Peter were not that close! And where were his clothes? Jonathan gasped as he realised he was naked beneath the covers. Why couldn't he remember what had happened? Perhaps I was drunk, Jonathan wondered. Whatever would Archie say when he found him here? But wait, Archie wasn't here and Peter didn't have a cot on the Indy. He shared the middies berth with the rest of them. But the Indy was taken...taken by... "Mutiny!" Jonathan gasped out. "Yes, but you are safe now. You are on the Nightingale. You are quite the hero of the hour too!" Peter said poised on the edge of the hanging cot, patting his knee in what Jonathan supposed was meant to be a reassuring gesture. "It was your quick thinking with that bloodied uniform that saved us from being blown out of the water. Captain Bell had our guns loaded and ready as a precaution. As soon as the Indy opened her gun ports, we opened ours and gave her a broadside." Details of the last few hours aboard the Indy came back in a torrent. Tears filled Jonathan 's eyes. The smaller frigate must have been the Nightingale, Peter Crittneden's new posting. "What happened?" "The Indy sank. But we managed to pick up a few survivors. Surgeon's mate Pike and Ned Grayson are fine. They told us what happened." Peter's eyes clouded for a moment. "Charlie Witherspoon is in a bad way. By rights he should be dead by now, but he is holding on. He's badly burnt. Our surgeon doubts he will make it to Portsmouth." Jonathan closed his eyes as tears slid down his cheeks. Peter continued. "That lad who was with you, Fowler, He's fine. A few splinter cuts, but nothing too serious." Fowler? Did they think Fowler was with them? Surely Pike or Grayson would have said that he was working for the mutineers. "He had a firm hold on you, I must say. Wouldn't let go of you until I personally assured him that I would see to you myself." Peter cocked an eyebrow at Jonathan. "The lad has a touch of hero worship if you ask me. He said you had saved his life three times! " "Well I guess he saved mine that time. He must have pulled me out of the water." Jonathan looked around the small space, and then back to Crittenden who was seated one knee crossed over the other. He looked every bit a Lieutenant now. "Why am I in your cot?" Peter grinned again. "Nothing sinister Jonathan. The infirmary is too full. Lionel Thockmorton is up here too." "Lionel is alive?" "Very much so! He was one of the lucky ones. They had brought him up to the quarterdeck as part of their ruse. Most of the men who were in the hold drowned. Mr Bowles, the Carpenter, the sailmaker, Peck the Purser, the list is quite long." "What about Jack Kerrison?" Jonathan held his breath, waiting for the answer, dreading what he might hear but knowing he had to ask. "Don't worry about him. He's locked up with the rest of the mutineers. He won't give you anymore trouble." What? Kerrison was with the mutineers? How had that happened? "No! You've made a mistake!" Jonathan tried to sit, but the pain in his head was too great. "Kerrison was one of US! He was trying to get us free. I ordered him to join them." "Jonathan, are you sure? You have taken a nasty blow to the head; several blows in fact according to Pike. Are you sure of this?" "Yes, of course I am sure. It was my order!" Jonathan pulled his hand from beneath the sheet and rubbed his face. He noticed his arm was bandaged. Splinters. "Ask Pike. He'll tell you. He was there when it was decided." Peter pursed his lips. "Pike did say something like that at first. But then he said no more. You see Ned Grayson gave a statement too and he named Kerrison as one of the men who...assaulted him." Chapter Two Jonathan's stomach turned over. "No! NO!" For a moment he thought he would be sick. "NO, Ned was very confused when they brought him back. Kerrison gave him a message to give to me...he passed it on. But now he must be confused about it." Jonathan took a deep breath, and tried to stop his rising panic. How could they think such a thing of Jack? He had to clear Kerrison's name. But how much should he disclose? "Peter, Sir," he amended, remembering Crittenden was now his superior. "I think that Neddy was raped. He didn't say anything, but that's what Pike and I thought. So you see...something like that...it could confuse him..." "Jonathan, Ned Grayson accused Jack Kerrison of being one of the men who assaulted him. Pike was there when he made the statement to Captain Bell. You have been unconscious for almost a day. Regardless of what the assault entailed, Jack Kerrison participated." "No, Jack WOULDN'T do that. He wouldn't! Ned is mistaken!" Peter took a deep breath considering Jonathan's words. "How well do you know Jack Kerrison, Jonathan? How can you make such a statement?" He would have to tell, have to disclose the depths of his relationship with Jack if he was to stand any chance of making Peter believe him. But he and Peter had parted on bad terms, there had been little love lost between them. Jonathan had been the victor in the battle for Archie's affections. What reason would Peter have to want to help him now? Jonathan reached out and took Peter Crittenden's hand. "Peter, I know I did you a great wrong in the past. But I need your word that you won't breath a word of what I am about to tell you." Peter narrowed his green eyes. "I'm not sure if I can give you that Jonathan. If what you are to say has bearing on this, then it is my duty to report it to the Captain." "Jack Kerrison is my lover! That's how I know he could never do such a thing." It was said and Jonathan watched the realisation slowly filter through Peter's eyes. "Oh, I see." A series of expressions passed over Peter's face; surprise, amusement, concern. "My God, Jonathan...will you never cease to surprise me?" He put one small finger into his mouth and played it along his teeth for a moment. "Dear God!" He shook his head slightly as he thought. Minutes passed. "I'll have to tell the Captain." Peter said finally. "It's possible that Grayson has it wrong. Such a traumatic event might well have unhinged the boy's memory. We have to find out." "But you can't tell the Captain! He'll hang us!" Jonathan beseeched. Peter bit his lip. "Perhaps not. If I speak to him in confidence he might at least agree to interview Kerrison and find out his side of the story." "I want to see him Peter! I MUST see him!" "Who? Captain Bell?" "No! Well yes, him also, but I want to see Jack!" Jonathan felt hot tears prick at his eyes again. "Please Peter? Is there any way you might be able to arrange it?" Peter Crittenden raised an eyebrow and frowned. "I'll see what I can do, but I won't promise anything. You're lucky that I am now the senior Lieutenant. Lieutenant Hodge was washed overboard during those storms and I was the only other aboard. The captain has come to rely on me somewhat." Peter grinned at his small boast, but Jonathan couldn't join in his mirth. "Rest now. I'll speak with the Captain and let you know what happens. Chapter Three Peter Crittenden had not long gone when Lionel Thockmorton poked his head around the partition. "I'm glad to see you with us again, Jonathan. You had us all deeply worried. How are you feeling?" "Terrible," It was an honest reply. Jonathan had never felt so miserable in his life. But the feeling went far deeper than mere physical discomfit. He HAD to do something to save Jack Kerrison. "Lionel you have to help me!" "Why of course Jonathan...do you need the chamber pot or...er...something?" Lionel looked quite flustered. "No...I need you to help me save Jack Kerrison." "Jack Kerrison? Good Lord, Jonathan. Are you in your right mind! Why would you want to save him? He was one of the ringleaders!" "No he wasn't Lionel." Jonathan interrupted. "He was under my orders to join the mutineers in the hope of setting us free." Lionel shook his head. "Jonathan I fear you are mistaken. Do you have any idea what he suggested to that murderous rabble? He advised them to spare me for once they reached America they could hold me for ransom." Lionel held out one long delicate hand, his voice rising to a crescendo. "He suggested they cut of my finger, bearing this ring and send it home to my family as proof! That man deserves to hang!" "Oh Lionel, it was all a ploy to make the mutineers think he was one of them. Jack wouldn't do a thing like that." "Well if it was a ploy then he should be treading the boards in Drury Lane!" Lionel replied with a huff. "Please Lionel, it's all a terrible mistake. I should never have ordered him to do it." Jonathan covered his eyes with his arm. "Jonathan, I am not insensitive to you plight although I may not approve of your...liaison with Mr Kerrison. However it seems to me that you took up with him very quickly after your break with Mr Kennedy. You must ask yourself now how well you really know HIM? It's possible that he has deceived you completely." "No Lionel, I would trust Jack with my life! I DO know him!" Lionel shifted uneasily a look of faint pity in his eyes. "Jonathan I would LIKE to help you, but there is little I can do. I can only tell what I knew at the time. I'm sorry." "It's all right Lionel, I understand." Jonathan felt his heart sink further into despair. "Leave me know, I don't feel at all well." Jonathan waited until the partition has been pulled closed before giving in to his tears. What was he going to do? This whole situation was his doing, his fault. Perhaps he should speak with Grayson and remind him of the message that Kerrison had given him. Maybe that would make the young midshipman remember the truth. But maybe Ned Grayson didn't WANT to remember what had happened. Maybe it was too painful to hunt out the details. Pike could attest to Grayson's state of mind. Pike was a friend of Jack Kerrison's. Perhaps if they both spoke in favour of Kerrison they could clear the mate's name. But that would mean discrediting Ned Grayson if the young midshipman refused to change his story. How would that effect the boy after his ordeal? Jonathan rolled to face the bulkhead. Nothing had changed. He was still in hell! Chapter Four "Jonathan, are you well enough to get up?" Peter Crittenden pulled the partition back, his face serious. "Captain Bell would like to see you. There is something you should hear." It was several hours later, the afternoon watch, Jonathan had ascertained by listening to the sounds that filtered down from the main deck. It was comforting to hear the regular chime of the ships bell again and the orderly progress of the daily chores on deck. Jonathan had tried to tell himself that all would be well, that this sorry mess would be sorted out. His heart said otherwise. With assistance from Crittenden, Jonathan dressed in borrowed clothes courtesy of the Nightingale's midshipmen. His own were ruined or lost when the Indy sunk. Gone, everything gone. Jack Kerrison was all he had left. "You need a shave." Peter said frowning slightly. "Wait there and I'll get someone." Jonathan was grateful that he didn't have to do it himself. His head spun even as he sat on the stool trying not to sway as a seaman shaved him. His wounds were was freshly bandaged and Peter Crittenden carefully tied back Jonathan's hair, still crusted here and there with dried blood from the gash that had reopened during the escape. "We can wash it out when you feel a little better." Peter exclaimed. When he was ready Peter looked him up and down and nodded. "That should do, although you look very pale."   The Captain's cabin was small, much smaller than that on the Indy. Captain Bell was younger than Jonathan had expected. He was a big man whose presence seemed to fill the small cabin. His uniform was immaculate and the large hands he held in front of him were clean and smooth, the nails meticulously trimmed. Jonathan wished he had asked Peter a few questions about the man that now sat at the desk before the casement windows. "Have a seat Mr Riley. The surgeon has said you should stay off your feet for a few days." Jonathan did as directed and watched in amazement as Peter perched his slim form on the very edge of the Captain's desk, a gesture that Jonathan felt must surely earn him a reprimand but Bell seemed untroubled. "I have arranged this interview with Mr Kerrison because I owe you a personal debt of thanks. It was your courage and fast thinking that saved the Nightingale from being either destroyed or taken by the mutineers. What is said within this cabin will go now further. Do you understand?" "Yes Sir." This was all very irregular. What had Peter Crittenden said to Captain Bell? There was an atmosphere of informality in the cabin that unsettled Jonathan almost as much as it gave him hope. Before Jonathan could think any further the marine sentry announced the arrival of the prisoner. A red coated marine with a bayoneted musket ushered in a scruffy, ragged figure. Kerrison. His hands and feet were chained together, the links clinking as he walked. Jack Kerrison's eyes slowly met Jonathan's. The ghost of a smile glimmered in the hazel depths for a moment before it disappeared. "You can leave us for the moment corporal. Wait outside please." Bell ordered. The marine left. Jonathan waited, his heart beating loudly. There would be no witnesses to whatever was about to happen. "Repeat what you told me earlier, Mr Kerrison, regarding Mr Grayson." Jack Kerrison slowly raised his eyes and looked about him desperately before looking back to Jonathan. There was a sad resignation in his eyes now, no mirth, no laughter, no playful teasing. "I did it Mr Riley, just like Mr Grayson said. I was one of them, one of the bastards who raped him." The words were wrong...all wrong...Jonathan shook his head slightly causing it to ache and pound. Nothing made sense. "No, Jack no! I know you, I know you'd never do something like that. You are kind and gentle and..." "Mr Riley, Sir, I'd be careful of what yer saying Sir." Kerrison said quickly, his voice desperate. "Yer words might be misunderstood if yer know what I mean." "I don't care Jack! Your life is at stake. I know you better than anyone else. I know what is in your heart and what is in your soul and I don't care who knows it!" Jonathan looked over to the Captain who sat with his face neutral. The big man did not seem horrified at the suggestion that their friendship was something more than was seemly. Perhaps he, like Captain Pellew was happy to turn a blind eye to such matters provided discretion was assured. "I'm guilty Mr Riley...guilty! I deserve whatever punishment lays in store for me." He looked at Jonathan, imploringly; his eyes proclaiming the undeniable truth. "Why, Jack?" Jonathan asked, his voice sounding like a sob. "It was a test, a test to see if I was with them. If I hadn't gone along with it they would have doubted me, probably locked me up again or killed me. Or worse..." Kerrison leaned towards Jonathan as if wanting to go to him. "They might have brought you out next. Miller knew things, or thought he did. Things about you and me. I couldn't take the risk that he might hurt you. I would have done anything to stop that!" "Oh no...please Jack, say it isn't so?" The room was tilting around him and Jonathan gripped the edge of the chair with is hands, his knuckles turning white as he tried to hold on to reason. "I knew it was wrong, but I was trying to save the bloody ship! Trying to save all of you, and if I was dead then there would have been no one left to do it." Kerrison shuffled in his chains, his hands clasped together. "Did you have a plan Mr Kerrison?" Captain Bell's calm voice broke the tension. "A plan to release the prisoners and retake the ship?" "No. I was waiting for the right moment. Miller and the others were watching me constantly. They had me on the quarterdeck most days sailing the ship. They needed me there. I had no time to be slipping below on my own. "I tried to keep as many of them alive as I could. The food and water was getting scarce and they wanted to get rid of anyone they didn't need....I got them to send the surgeon's stuff to Pike for Mr Moseby. I stopped them from killing Mr Thockmorton. I told them he was the son of a Lord and they could get good money for him. And Mr Grayson...they were going to throw him overboard after they were done with him just to watch him drown, but I asked them to keep him for me. I saved his life too." No one spoke as the words hung in the air. "Perhaps Ned Grayson would rather that you hadn't, Mr Kerrison." Peter Crittenden said softly. "Some men choose death before dishonour." "Well I wouldn't! Not when I had someone relying on me to keep them safe...someone I cared about and who meant more to me than anything else." Kerrison eyes flashed to life again. "I'd do it again Jonathan," he said eyes flashing. "If it meant saving you then I'd do it again and damned the price whatever it may be! It was worth it, because you are safe." "But what about you Jack?" Jonathan asked. "Don't you realise what will happen to you? Didn't you even think about it at the time?" "It doesn't matter what happens to me. I told yer once that I would do anything for you and I meant it. You are what matters most to me. I knew what my fate would be the moment I stepped out that door. But it was the only chance we had." Jonathan placed his head in his hands suddenly lost in a world that had changed around him. Why hadn't he realised? He would never have asked or expected Jack Kerrison to do such a thing for him. Yet Jack had been willing to sacrifice his life, his very soul in an attempt to keep him safe. Would he have done the same for Jack? Jonathan was numbed by the thought. It was impossible to know how he'd react in such a situation. He'd risked servere punishment twice now for others who meant far less to him than Jack Kerrison. He'd die for Jack, that much was certain. But kill for him, commit a vile act that allowed for no redemption? It was a question that Jonathan could not readily answer. What had made Jack Kerrison feel so compelled to do the unthinkable? Was love that powerful? "I'll speak for you Jack," Jonathan declared, his mind suddenly clearing. "I was the one who ordered you to join the mutineers and do anything to get us free, so I will take the responsibility for your actions." Kerrison shook his head, violently, "No, don't do that. It won't do no good and you will only get dragged into it. Yer safe and free...that's all I wanted. It's finished now." Jonathan looked at Bell in desperation. "Please Sir, is there anything you can do? You can't keep Jack locked up." "I'm sorry Mr Riley but my hands are tied. If I were to separate Mr Kerrison from the others now they would only become suspicious. When we reach Portsmouth it is likely that they will all be locked up together again. For Mr Kerrison's sake it would be best if he were treated the same as the others. Corporal?" The marine returned and Jack Kerrison was led away. "Don't worry Jack, I'll speak out for you." Jonathan called after him. "Mr Riley, I must counsel you not to pursue your defense of Jack Kerrison," the Captain said slowly when they were once more alone. "Even if details of your...friendship...with him are not exposed, you will still run the risk of leaving yourself open to charges. If it were thought that Kerrison had in any way made you privy to any of the mutineer's plans, then you too would be guilty. Do you understand what I am saying?" Jonathan felt weak. Should he have reported some of Kerrison's veiled warnings? Was there enough substance in them to warrant action? If he admitted that Kerrison had spoken to him then Bell might feel it his duty to lock Jonathan up as well. He'd never be able to speak out in Kerrison's defense if he was charged with Mutiny as well. And then there was still the growing worry over exactly WHAT Peter Crittenden had said about their relationship although it now seemed unlikely that the Captain was in any way concerned about that. "Jonathan," Captain Bell leaned across the desk a little, his voice suddenly gentle. "I know this is hard to accept, but Jack Kerrison is guilty. The reasons for his actions do not matter. Even if he should be absolved for his part in the mutiny, there is still the matter of Mr Grayson's assault. He is guilty and it is very likely that he will hang for what he has done. I don't mean to be cruel by telling you this but it is better that you accept it now rather than live in false hope." "Thanks you sir, but there is always hope...I refuse to believe otherwise. If there was no hope then I would not be sitting here today. I would have died aboard the Indy." Bell's full lips quirked a little at that and he nodded in acknowledgment. "Brave sentiments Mr Riley. Let us hope they are enough. Mr C, take Mr Riley back to his berth. I fear this has been wearying for him." Chapter Five "Let me go on deck for a moment Peter. I need some fresh air." Jonathan's head was pounding and the air felt stifling below deck. He'd broken out in a cold sweat. Above there was a brisk wind blowing, carrying a cooling breath of spray. The waves were choppy and white. Jonathan leaned on the bulwark, eyes closed, trying to think. "I'll speak to Neddy. Once he realises that Kerrison really saved him, then he might change his mind." Peter said nothing as he stood beside Jonathan peering out at the gray water. "What would YOU have done Peter? In that situation?" Jonathan asked, suddenly needing to understand Kerrison's motives. "Me?" Peter shrugged his small shoulders. "I have no idea and I hope I never find out." He turned to look at Jonathan. "Who knows what any of us would do in a situation like that. Each one of us is different...we have different strengths and weaknesses. We face things differently." His green eyes narrowed and he dropped his voice. "I used to wonder about Archie, about how he could have let that man Simpson do those things to him for so long, why he never fought back or reported what was happening. I would have killed myself rather than let it go on. "Yet Archie survived and it made him the man he is today." Peter shot a crooked smile at Jonathan. "One whom we BOTH appreciate I might add. Perhaps Archie's way was the best? Who is to judge what is right or wrong? I honestly don't know anymore." Peter looked out to the sea, his eyes suddenly distant. "We should understand that far better than most men, Jonathan. I will never accept that what I feel, what I ENJOY is wrong and yet it contravenes all regulations aboard ship, all laws, both earthly and divine. I suspect you feel the same way." Jonathan looked at Peter, still small and slim despite being almost four years older. I'm taller than Peter now and bigger he suddenly realised. He remembered other things too. Peter fumbling with a loaded pistol trying to kill himself one night after Harry Stratford's death, Peter's eyes full of hurt when he realised that he had lost Archie. Yet Peter had grown in a way that Jonathan envied. There was a quiet courage about him and an acceptance of life and of loss. He had survived losing love not once but twice and he seemed the stronger for it! "May I stop by the infirmary and see Charlie please?" Jonathan asked suddenly remembering there was another who was currently fighting his own battle for survival. "He's in a bad way Jonathan. It's not a pleasant sight." "It doesn't matter. It's something I have to do." Chapter Six Peter was not exaggerating. Jonathan gasped when he saw Charlie Witherspoon, half his hair burnt away, his left side swaddled in linen. To Jonathan's surprise Pike was there too, dosing beside the hammock on a stool. "Good to see you on yer feet Mr Riley." Pike said opening his eyes and stretching. "I wasn't sure you were going to make it out of that fuckin' fire!" Jonathan tried to smile. He was used to the mate's lack of manners now. "I was afraid you might come back for me if I didn't follow you Mr Pike! How are YOU by the way?" The mate's forehead was creased with a long cut that had been roughly stitched. "Splinters got me," Pike said scratching at it. "But I'm fine otherwise." "Thank you for all you did Mr Pike. Charlie is lucky you could swim." Pike snorted. "I couldn't bloody swim! But I figured I was better off taking my chances in the sea than on a fuckin' burning deck! Besides...it was the only way to put the flames out on this poor little bugger." He patted the bunk beside him where Witherspoon lay unconscious, his chest barely moving. "Do you think he'll make it?" Jonathan asked quietly. Pike shrugged. "Don't know...he's been through as lot. His left hand was blown to pieces. The surgeon took off what was left of it. His ear was cut away by a splinter. His left side is pretty horrible under those bandages... the skin just fell away. By all rights he should be dead twice over. But he won't give up...he's strong. Brave bastard too. Even before I gave him the laudanum he hardly made a sound." Jonathan bent down close to Charlie's remaining ear. The smell of burnt flesh was strong. He held his breath as he spoke. "Charlie, we are safe now, and we are going home. Rest and get well and we will have a drink together in Portsmouth. Neddy, you and I. I promise you, all right?" Witherspoon lay like a living corpse. There was no reply. "Mr Pike? May I ask you to speak up for Jack Kerrison? I am aware that you know the extent of his...guilt, but I would ask it of you all the same." Pike raised an eyebrow. "Yer sticking by him then? Despite what he did?" "Yes, you see I ordered him to do anything he had to in order to set us free. I am sure you remember that. I am the one responsible. The guilt is mine." Pike snorted again and scratched under his arm. "Are you going to tell that to your Mr Grayson then? Tell him that is was your fault Kerrison fucked him?" Jonathan had to look away. He hadn't thought of how Ned would react to such an admission. And if he defended Kerrison despite his guilt? Jonathan siding with Kerrison would be far more traumatic for Grayson than having his memory called to question. But perhaps if he could speak with Ned, make him understand what had happened and why? Jonathan rubbed his head wearily. There were too many threads to this, too many angles to consider, to many unknowns. "How is Ben Fowler?" Jonathan asked suddenly. It was one more mystery that played on Jonathan's mind, but he could not ask Pike why neither he nor Grayson had condemned the boy whilst Peter Crittenden was in earshot. Pike's eyes flickered a moment. "He's fine but for some splinters. He was the one who dragged you out of the water. It was young Mr Grayson who said he was a hero for doing that. That's what he told Mr Crittenden here," He nodded towards Peter who waited quietly by the partition. Jonathan frowned. Had it simply been assumed that Fowler was with them because they were all in the water together and both Pike and Grayson had remained silent for their own reasons? He looked at Pike and saw the surgeon's mate was waiting for his reaction. "I'm glad he is well then Pike. The lad has been through a lot." "Aye, he has at that." Pike smiled and nodded in approval. "Go rest Mr Riley." A big dirty hand came up and patted Jonathan's shoulder. "Yer did a real good job and yer should be proud of yerself!" Jonathan took no pleasure in the compliment. Chapter Seven Once again it was Peter who helped Jonathan back into the swinging cot in his small cabin. Jonathan left the shirt and drawers on this time. He soon realised it was too late for such modesty. "Who beat you?" Peter asked casually as he hung the blue coat on a peg. "Beat me?" Jonathan was confused for a moment. "The surgeon said your, er, posterior is green and yellow from bruises and that you had been beaten hard enough to break the skin." Peter's voice took on a gentler tone. "Was it the mutineers, Jonathan? Did they...did they do anything else?" "Oh...No. It wasn't them. I was caned by the bosun." "Caned? It looked to me to be rather more servere than a simple caning." "I was caned twice within a couple of days...that is all." Damn Peter. What was he doing looking in the first place? The surgeon and now Peter... A new fear manifested itself...had they seen his tattoo? But if Crittenden wondered at anything else he did not voice his curiosity. "I will have Hobbs bring your supper here, don't try to get up to eat tonight." Peter smiled and tucked Jonathan's shoes into his sea chest. "Get some rest, I'll see you in the morning." "But where are you sleeping? I hope I haven't been the cause of you returning to a hammock?" "Not at all. The Captain has made sure I have a comfortable berth for the night. Don't worry yourself." Peter grinned, winked and sashayed out of the cabin leaving Jonathan staring after him, mouth wide. Was that what was behind the unusual familiarity that seemed to exist between Captain Bell and Peter Crittenden? Jonathan frowned...it would at least account for Bell's apparent sympathy for his circumstances. If the Captain was like minded then he could probably understand Jonathan's compulsion to help Kerrison. It was a small concession, but a welcomed one. Jonathan almost smiled when he thought of Peter Crittenden's smug smile now. Trust Peter. He was like a cat; always landing on his feet. Well maybe he deserved it after what had happened with Archie. Jonathan sighed. What would Archie make of all this? One thing was certain in Jonathan's mind...Archie would never be a party to what the mutineers had done to Ned Grayson. But what would he do instead? Would HE find a way out of it somehow? Would he choose death when he had not done so before? Jonathan felt a rising nausea as he tried to imagine the circumstances. But for all his revulsion at Kerrison's actions Jonathan could not find it in his heart to hate the man. By rights he should leave Kerrison to his fate, but he loved Jack, as much now as he had before. Nothing had changed that. Jonathan felt as if his heart was being torn apart as he tried to make sense of the facts. It was impossible to know what had really taken place. Kerrison knew and Jonathan wished for a moment that he could sit with Jack and hear the story, alone. Ned knew too and somewhere in his garbled recollection might be some key that would help Jonathan understand. There had to be more to Kerrison's message, Jonathan was certain. Perhaps that alone could save the Mate, if Ned would testify that Kerrison was helping them? Jonathan's head began to pound again and when supper was brought he found he had no appetite. He left the food untouched. Capter Eight Two weeks to reach Portsmouth. That was Peter's estimation the following morning as he helped Jonathan dress once more. "Captain Bell says you are to take it easy Jonathan. He would rather you stay in bed." Jonathan resisted the temptation to speculate as to why that might be, but suspected it had something to do with keeping Peter out of his own cabin for a long as possible. "He's allowed Lionel to assume the role of acting Lieutenant since as we are short. Hislop our senior Middy is next to useless. The boy can barely tell the aft from forward." "I need to see Neddy. Where is he?" Jonathan asked as they made their way from the gunroom. "In the middy's berth. The Captain wondered about giving him some duties but he's...well, see for yourself Jonathan. Maybe you can get him to come around. I'll take you there." "He's over there." Hislop, pointed to a corner of the darkened midshipman's berth where a solitary figure sat curled on the deck. "He's been sitting there since he came aboard. Won't speak, just pets that damned, er, pardon Sir, that kitten! I've stopped Golding from teasing him, but he's not in his right mind if you ask me." "Thank you Mr Hislop, I am sure your medical knowledge is second to none. You may accompany me to the main deck and spend the rest of the watch up the cross trees." Hislop scowled. Peter bent close to Jonathan. "Good luck," he whispered before leaving with Hislop in tow. What to do, what to say? Taking a deep breath, Jonathan crossed the deck and looked down at Grayson. The boy looked ragged. His uniform was disheveled and still showed traces of blood and dirt from their imprisonment. His fair hair was in tangles and knots. Why hadn't anyone seen to him? "Hello Neddy." For a moment Jonathan thought the boy had not heard him, for Grayson seemed intent in stroking a small tabby kitten that was asleep in his lap. With some difficulty Jonathan lowered himself to the floor. His head still disliked sudden movement. "Neddy? What have you there?" Slowly the cornflower blue eyes rose to meet Jonathan's gaze. "I thought you might be dead." Grayson gave a small smile. "No one has told me anything...I thought you had died, you and Charlie." "I'm all right Neddy. See. Just a bump on my head. It's nothing." Grayson's attention went back to the kitten and Jonathan rubbed his head wondering what to do next. "Charlie's in the infirmary. Would you like to go and see him? I could help you get cleaned up a bit and we could go together." "Charlie's dead...I saw him." "No he's not dead. He's down in the infirmary. He's very ill and they have him dosed with laudanum." "I don't want to see him. He looked dead." Grayson looked up again. His eyes had an unnatural sheen to them. "I'm glad you're not dead Jonathan. You were in the water, going under...I watched you. Fowler pulled you out. He jumped back in and dragged you up even though he couldn't swim. He was very brave. He shouted at me to help, so I did. It was the right thing to do." "Is that why you didn't turn Fowler in?" Ned sucked on his bottom lip. It made him look like a chastened child. "I wronged him," he whispered leaning towards Jonathan. Suddenly his eyes opened wide. "Did you turn him in Jonathan? Have they locked him up?" "No I didn't tell, Neddy. I didn't say a word. He fine." Grayson looked relieved. "It was my fault. They flogged him because of what I said. But he was innocent." And Jack Kerrison will be found guilty because of what you say, Jonathan thought. Kerrison who was not so innocent! "That's why I was punished, you see, because I had done wrong." Ned whispered, his voice even softer. He looked around him, fear in his eyes. "I deserved it. That's what they said, Miller and those other men. They said I had it coming." "No Neddy, no. You didn't deserve what they did. It was wrong, very wrong." Dear God...this wasn't going as he had imagined it would. "I'm sorry Neddy. I should have tried to stop them..." "Captain Bell said not to speak of it; that it would do no good. I didn't tell him, I swear I didn't, but he knew...he knew what they did to me." Tears filled Ned's blue eyes and ran down his pale cheeks. "Do you think he could tell just by looking at me Jonathan? Do I look..." Ned's voice broke into a sob. "Do I look wicked or dirty now? Will everyone be able to tell?" "Oh no, Neddy...no.... No one can tell. You look just the same." Not a scratch, hardly a bruise remained on Grayson from his ordeal. His scars were on the inside now. "They hurt me so much." Jonathan could barely make out the whispered words that Grayson forced out between sobs. The kitten woke suddenly and sprang for it's nest. "I thought it would never end." "It's over now Neddy." Somehow Grayson was in his arms, curled like a child in his lap, sobbing onto his shoulder where they sat on the floor. Jonathan stroked the tangled hair, pale as moonlight, as the boy cried out his hurt and pain. This was Kerrison's legacy. A debt left for Jonathan to somehow try and repay. But was there anything that would ever compensate for what Ned Grayson had endured? Jonathan looked at crying boy in his arms and felt his resolve break. He couldn't do it. He could never ask Ned Grayson to speak up in defense of Jack Kerrison. It would be too cruel. All hopes of Jack's salvation were slipping away like the tears that now flowed down Jonathan's own face. Tears for Ned, tears for Jack, tears for himself. Two weeks before they reached Portsmouth. Two weeks in which to pray for a miracle. Two weeks to spend in purgatory before knocking on the gates of hell. Chapter Nine With great care Jonathan helped Ned Grayson clean himself up. He arranged for fresh water so that Ned could wash. There was more bruising on the boy's body as Ned undressed and stood naked and trembling, trying so hard to wash away all traces of what had happened. The marks left no doubt as to what had been done to him. Which of those marks had been left by Kerrison? Jonathan looked away angrily and riffled through the two midshipman's trunks until his found some suitable clothing. "That's enough now." He forcibly took the flannel from Grayson's hand and wrapped a blanket around him. "Dry yourself and then put these on." Finally he combed the tangles out of the soft fine hair and tied it back so that Grayson once more looked the picture of a young gentleman. But there was something lost from Ned's demeanor. His eyes had a timorous quality to them now, an uncertainty that had no place in a young officer's bearing. When Jonathan finally convinced the boy to go on deck with him, Grayson stuck close to his side, casting anxious looks about as if expecting something fearful to happen. There were glances and whispers from the ratings. Scuttlebutt had already spread through the ship. Caring for Ned Grayson became a daily ritual that Jonathan performed like a penance. Each day he made sure that Ned ate and washed and came on deck for fresh air and exercise. He encouraged the boy to participate in shipboard duties too, even if it was only to climb the rigging and check the sails. In his spare time Jonathan prepared his defense for Jack Kerrison. He spent hours in the gunroom, unseen by Ned Grayson, working on the statement that he would submit at Jack Kerrison's court martial. He chose each word with care, knowing that they alone may have the power to save the man he loved. Sometimes after dark, Jonathan would walk the main deck trying as always to think of something that would help Jack's cause. It was on one such excursion that he came across Ben Fowler sitting by the bulwark. The boy looked up, a worried expression on his face when he realised it was Jonathan who loomed above him. "Mr Riley, Sir," he murmured, tugging at his forelock. Two of his fingers where bandaged and there were several half healed cuts on his face and arms. "I believe I owe you a debt of thanks Fowler. I understand it was you who pulled me from the water." "Oh no sir...it's I who owe you. You saved me life again and again and I'll not forget it, ever sir. I'll not. I'll do anything for yer Mr Riley. I'm yer man now Sir." Fowler groveled at Jonathan's feet, head hanging, shoulders drawn. He's afraid of me, afraid that I will have him arrested and put with the other mutineers. The knowledge made Jonathan uneasy. He bent down and touched Fowler's shoulder, indicating for him to stand. "Get up Fowler. Such conduct is unbecoming. Come this way where we may speak further in private." Jonathan led the way to a quiet place on the fore deck. "Tell me something Fowler. Tell me what you know of the incident involving Mr Grayson on Christmas Day? What happened to him?" Fowler swallowed, visibly shaken by the question. He licked thin lips nervously. "I didn't stay for it like, Mr Riley, Sir. Mr Miller, he says to me that it was revenge and that I should do it too. But I told him no...it was a bad thing and I'd have no part of it." Fowler dropped his eyes for a moment and looked up again. "I said to Mr Miller, that it didn't matter, see...yer know...what had happened to me...that I didn't want them to do that to Mr Grayson..." Fowler twisted his hands together. "Somethin' like that is bad, real bad yer see, Sir. I know it. But he w'dn't listen to me, so I ran away and went up on deck." "And was Mr Kerrison there? Was he a part of it too?" Fowler stared at Jonathan for a moment before answering. "Mr Kerrison's is yer friend, isn't he Mr Riley? He weren't there...he came up on deck with me before they started. He wouldn't do a thing like that, not him. He's a good man. He's always been real good and careful with me." Fowler was lying. Jonathan was almost certain of it. Lying because he thought that was what Jonathan wanted to hear. Lying because Kerrison was his friend and perhaps his lover, too. "And would you testify to that Fowler?" "Oh yes Sir, if'n yer want me too." Fowler said without pause. "It would mean having to admit that you were one of them. They would charge you with mutiny too." Fowler smiled and nodded. "I'd do it for you Mr Riley and for Mr Kerrison cause I owe him too. And then when Mr Kerrison was free, he could speak out for me perhaps and tell 'em how I saved you and they'd let me go?" The boy didn't realise. He didn't understand the severity of the charges or the likely outcome. "Fowler," Jonathan began softly. "It's unlikely that you would be pardoned. You would be found guilty of Mutiny and would probably hang." "Hang?" Fowler looked shocked. "Yer mean they'll hang 'em?" Jonathan nodded. "Mr Kerrison too?" "Not if I can prevent it Fowler." Did Ben Fowler know that Kerrison had been working towards freeing the Officers? It seemed doubtful as the boy was rather guileless. Jonathan decided to say no more for the moment. "I'll let you know if I want you to make a statement Fowler. For the moment it might be best to remain silent." The boy looked relieved at that and Jonathan let him go. Another problem, what to do about Ben Fowler. If Fowler was asked to make a statement he would denounce himself very quickly. But did he deserve to hang with the others? What part had he played in the mutiny? Going by the letter of the law, Fowler was as guilty as the men who had killed the Captain. Yet Jonathan knew it unlikely that he had committed any murder since he was with him the whole time they were on deck and Fowler had shown a reluctance to used force. Perhaps the boy had been punished enough? He'd been innocent of any crime, yet had been flogged and treated harshly. He'd lost two toes, something that would make his work as a top man even more risky from now on. Why should he worry about Fowler's fate? He owed the boy nothing, having already saved him several times. Yet something compelled Jonathan to try. Was it the fact the here WAS someone whom he could be certain of saving when he held no such surety for Jack Kerrison? Jonathan took one last look at Fowler and knew he would have to make a decision soon. Time was running out. Chapter Ten "Jonathan you really should try and eat something. You are looking very drawn." Peter Crittenden frowned across the table at Jonathan's untouched plate. They were sitting in the gunroom, Peter having invited Jonathan to supper that evening. For the last week Jonathan had been messing with the other middies and stringing his hammock in their berth at night. He was well enough in body if not in soul and he had no excuse to keep Peter from his cabin any longer. Besides, Ned Grayson seemed to take comfort in his presence and Jonathan suspected that the Nightingale's midshipmen were not above cruel taunts. But the constant worrying about Jack Kerrison while at the same time caring for Ned Grayson had finally taken their toll on Jonathan. "Two days! We will be in Portsmouth in two days and I have no idea what I am going to do." Jonathan put his head in his hand, weary almost to the point of exhaustion. Sleep eluded him at night, as he fretted over his inability to broach the matter of Kerrison's fate with the one person who could save him; Ned Grayson. "Jonathan, you have done all that you can." Peter said gently. "No I HAVEN'T!" His anger surprised Jonathan almost as much as it surprised Peter. "Is there anything I can do Jonathan?" There was one thing he could ensure, one person he could save if Peter was willing to help. "Yes, Ben Fowler!" Peter's eyes widened. "Who?" "Ben Fowler. The lad who saved me. He was with the mutineers. He's been cruelly punished for something he did not do. He's a good lad by all reports. If he is asked to make a statement he will most certainly incriminate himself. Is there some way you could keep him from being brought to anyone's attention and questioned?" The plea obviously was not what Peter was expecting. Peter tilted his head a little and played with the cutlery. "I had thought you would ask to see Jack Kerrison." "I'm not a fool Sir," Jonathan snapped. "I know that would never be allowed." Tears threatened Jonathan's eyes and he dashed a hand across them angrily. "I'll see Jack when all of this is over and he is released. We'll have a drink together and laugh about everything." Peter drained his wineglass. There was pity in his eyes when he looked back at Jonathan. "I'll have a word to Robert about Fowler. I am sure we will manage something." It was Robert now...smug bastard, Jonathan thought to himself. Peter was probably gloating inside, rejoicing at his misfortune. He had the Captain while Jonathan was left with nothing. It was what he deserved for stealing Archie like that. "I'm sure you will...you and Robert!" he spat out. "Jonathan," Peter's eyes held only compassion as he waited for Jonathan to regain himself. "Come with me, I have something for you." By lantern light Crittenden led the way to a small storeroom down in the hold. A sentry, a corporal of marines stood outside, his bayonet glistening in the light of a second lantern. "You have until the next turn of the glass Jonathan. Take this lantern but don't even think about burning down the ship. Corporal Ferguson has a bucket of sand ready!" "Does the Captain know about this?" Jonathan asked, too surprised to wonder at how it had been arranged. "Oh yes, don't worry." Peter said, eyes glinting green in the dim light. "And Ferguson here is a friend." He grinned at the marine who winked in reply. "Now go, you are wasting precious time." The store room door was opened and there was Jack Kerrison, still in chains, seated on the floor. Jonathan fell to his knees as the door clicked shut behind them. "Oh Jack!" He buried his face in Jack's chest, gripped him tightly, afraid for the moment that this was just another dream. But the chest beneath his face was warm and hard and it smelt of stale sweat and unwashed skin. The face that bent to meet him own was rough with stubble. The hands that came up to hold him were manacled and the chains were cold. "They shouldn't have done this." Kerrison muttered, even as he kissed Jonathan's lips. "They shouldn't have let you see me. Yer got to forget me. Yer know that, don't yer." "No, no," Jonathan murmured while he kissed Kerrison and clung to him, with a growing fervor. He slid his hands under Kerrison's shirt and felt the gritty skin, the bones more prominent now. His legs tangled with Kerrison's where they scrambled together on the floor, Jonathan trying to get closer, Kerrison pulling away. "No, not like this. Stop it." Kerrison took a firm hold of Jonathan's shoulder and pushed him away, holding him at arms length. "I don't want to always remember the last time like this...on a dirty deck in a store room with me in chains and you half out of your mind with grief." He turned away and retreated against the bulkhead leaving Jonathan feeling destitute. "I'd rather remember what it was like in yer Mother's house at Havant. That was real good, special. That's how it should be." "All right Jack." Jonathan edged closer again. He desperately needed to feel Kerrison's arms around him, but was afraid of another rebuff. "May I sit next to you? I have missed you so much." Kerrison held out one arm, the chain clanking as a terrible reminder of things Jonathan wanted to forget. "Sure yer can, come here." Jonathan settled into the warm embrace knowing it was all he may ever have again. Tears threatened his eyes and he made no attempt to hide them. "None of this now...come on." Kerrison rested his head on Jonathan's and let one hand come up to play with his hair, twirling it through his fingers. They sat like that, not speaking, neither knowing what to say for there were no words to express what they both knew was inevitable. Jonathan felt Jack's tears splash onto his face and mingle with his own. They flowed down Jonathan's cheek salty and untamed like the sea. The sea had brought them together and the sea would tear them apart. "Ben Fowler's safe and at liberty. I will try to make sure he remains so." Jonathan whispered between sniffs. "Ben? I thought he had drowned. Thank God for that at least." "He said that you weren't a part of what happened to Grayson. He said you were up on the main deck with him at the time." Although he suspected it was not true, Jonathan still clung to the flimsy hope that Fowler had told the truth. Kerrison laughed sadly. "That's just the sort of thing he'd say too. He's sweet on me, yer see." Kerrison shook his head slightly, the chains clanking as he moved. "Poor little bugger, he couldn't stay for something like that. He ran off sniveling long before they even brought Mr Grayson in. Miller gave him a hard time afterwards though. Poor bastard. He a good lad, you'll not regret saving him." Regret...Jonathan had so much to regret and he knew he would have even more after today. There were so many questions that he wanted answers too and yet somehow he could not ask them. For would the answers make any difference? They could not change what had happened nor could they change what was to come. Answers would only bring more pain for both of them. In a perfect world men spoke of honour and righteousness, of fairness and of good versus evil. But life was seldom fair, honour was a hollow commodity when trying to bargain for another's life and the line between good and evil was often very thin. Ultimately all that a man could truly hold on to was the ability to love. To love without question, to love without condition, to love even when you didn't understand. Perhaps that was the truest test of love? "I will never love anyone as I love you Jack." As if to mark the import of the moment the ship's bell sounded from afar, faint and muffled. The store room door opened. "It's time," Peter Crittenden looked down at the two figures on the floor. "Peter, wait, do you have a knife?" Jonathan knelt, hands held out, almost begging. "Jonathan...this is not the answer!" Peter's worried face peered at him in the lantern light. "No, no...not for me...for my hair. Just a curl, cut off a curl." It was Ferguson who removed his bayonet and cut off a long jagged strand of Jonathan's red gold hair that curled up into a ringlet as it came loose. Jonathan knelt back beside Kerrison and wrapped the hair around the mate's finger. It was a gesture reminiscent of something he had done long ago in Gibraltar. Then it had been meaningless, this time it was sacred. "I'm yours Mr Kerrison. Forever and always." Jonathan closed the mate's fingers over the trailing strands and kissed his hand. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me Mr Riley. In my whole life I had never thought to meet anyone like you. I'll never forget you, never." One final kiss, some parting whispered words of love and Jonathan left, never looking back. He stood in the hold, wiping tears from his face as Ferguson took Kerrison back to the prison he shared with the others. "I suppose you think I deserve this after what I did with Archie?" Jonathan's words were bitter. Peter's eyes were darkened now, his voice strangely subdued. "No one deserves a broken heart Jonathan. No one." Chapter Eleven Portsmouth, bleak and cold as it always was in the first weeks of January. Mid winter! Ashore the roofs were covered in snow. Ice and rime ringed the shore. The coldness crept into Jonathan's heart. Jonathan watched in silence as the mutineers were taken away to be imprisoned aboard Admiral Littlejohn's ship, the Betelgeuse. Kerrison kept his eyes guarded as he was hustled through the entry port as if he feared that on seeing Jonathan, he might somehow betray himself or lose his courage. After his departure the Nightingale felt empty. Charlie Witherspoon too had been taken ashore. The young midshipman still clung stubbornly to life as he was rowed to the Portsmouth naval hospital dosed with laudanum so that he was spared the pain of the journey. As news of the Indefatigable's fate spread through the port the returning Officers and crew learnt that they had been given up for lost after the troop transports returned alone. Jonathan immediately set about writing a letter to his mother. She would be distraught imagining him lost at sea. As he was almost finished Peter Crittenden came looking for him in the middies berth. "Jonathan, Captain Bell would like to see." Could it be news of Kerrison's fate already? Earlier, Jonathan's statement along with those of the other survivors had been delivered to the Admiral of the port by Captain Bell. He'd spent nearly an hour on board the Betelgeuse before returning to the Nightingale and arranging for the prisoners to be moved. Jonathan held his breath as he hurried to the Captain's cabin. "Stay if you please, Mr C, you might be of assistance." The Captain's face looked worried as he indicated for Jonathan to sit down. "Mr Riley, I am afraid I am the bearer of bad news. I have been asked to inform you that in your absence your mother has passed away. She died two weeks ago of laudanum poisoning. It seems she was deeply grieved by your reported loss at sea and took to her bed..." Jonathan didn't hear the rest of the Captain's word as once again his world crashed down around him. "No, no..." he couldn't stop the sobs that rose from his chest, couldn't stop the tears the flowed down his face. "No," he said again shaking his head from side to side. Someone placed a glass in his hand and he tipped it back, swallowing it in one gulp. Brandy. It burned down his throat reminding him of Archie and happier times. How had it all gone so wrong? How had he lost everything? "I have arranged for word to be sent to your uncle informing him of your safe return and requesting that he contact you regarding your father's estate. When you are feeling composed, I suggest you write to him yourself. Unfortunately you must remain in Portsmouth until after the court martial." Bell paused slightly. "I am deeply sorry for you loss Mr Riley." Sorry, sorry, they were all so damned sorry. Peter must have known even as he led him silently to the cabin. Jonathan sat staring into nothing as the brandy hit his empty stomach and burned through his blood bringing with it a welcomed numbness. He knew he would have to move, have to quit the Captain's cabin, but couldn't seem to muster the energy. "Come with me Jonathan, let's have a drink in the gun room." Peter's small hand took his elbow and all but pulled him out of the chair and guided him to the door. Jonathan let himself be led not knowing what else to do. Lionel was in the gun room, three glasses already spread on the table and a bottle of brandy opened. He'd known too! They had all known and now they all looked at him with pity in their eyes, pity and sorrow. Jonathan tipped back the glass without care. Memories of his mother's tearful goodbye came back to haunt him. At least she would never see how far her son had fallen. Chapter Twelve In the following days as they awaited the coming courts martial, several small occurrences helped to Jonathan's spirits and give him hope that perhaps miracles did happen. Against all odds Ben Fowler remained at liberty. The young seaman had been named among the list of the dead from the Indefatigable that Captain Bell had submitted. By mutual consent the boy was not mentioned by either Pike, Grayson or Jonathan as being with them when they were rescued. Peter Crittenden had arranged to have Fowler entered on the Nightingales books as one Ben Flower a second class ships boy of fifteen. So far the ruse was working. Fowler it seems had already endeared himself to the Nightingales crew and they welcomed him into their numbers. The second surprise happened the day before the court martial. Jonathan was summoned to the gun room and found Peter and Lionel smiling conspiratorially. "Open those, Mr Riley, if you please." On the table where several brown paper packages. "Clothes?" Jonathan asked as he found first a shirt and then a set of hose. "Yes, we thought you had best look the part of the triumphant hero is you are to stand any chance of defending Jack Kerrison tomorrow." Peter Crittenden said casually, seating himself on the edge of the table and crossing his legs. "Peter assured me we had the size right, although I would NOT like to speculate as to how he could be so certain." Lionel said with a grin as he pushed yet another parcel towards Jonathan. That one proved to be a new pair of breeches. Jonathan couldn't help break into a small smile at Lionel's attempted humour. "It's a generous gesture, but I don't know when or if I will be able to repay you both. I have no idea as to the state of my finances." "Jonathan the clothes are a gift. We don't expect you to repay us." Lionel nodded to confirm Peter's words. A fine gift at that! Jonathan fingered the soft cotton of the shirt and ran his hand over the new blue midshipman's coat. A vest and new shoes; how had they afforded these things? Lionel came from a wealthy family, but Peter Crittenden? Not once in all the time they had shared the midshipman's berth had Jonathan ever heard Peter mention his home or family. He'd spoken of shore leaves spent at Harry Stratford's family home or other's where he had simply lived in Portsmouth until recalled. Jonathan had always imagined him to be an orphan. "Are you sure YOU could afford this Peter?" Jonathan asked carefully. Peter had been more than kind to him already. "Don't look so worried Jonathan," Peter said with a smile. "I have an obscenely large allowance that accumulates whilst I am at sea and very little to spend it on. I'll hardly notice this." Peter indicated another set of parcels on the floor. "They are for Ned. We thought he might like to have something that fits properly when his father comes for him." "Has his father arrived from London?" Ned Grayson had spent every day since their arrival in Portsmouth waiting by the bulwark for some news of his family. Captain Bell had assured Jonathan that word had been sent, both by himself and the Admiral, yet no one had come. One night whilst they were alone in the midshipman's berth, Ned had asked Jonathan if it was likely that his parents had been told the details of what had happened and if that was why they did not come. "Are they ashamed of me Jonathan? Will they no longer want me as their son?" Jonathan had dried the boy's tears and assured him that it was unlikely. Yet in the back of his mind he wondered the same thing. "His father arrived yesterday, or so I have been told. He has been spending some time with the Admiral, discussing things." Peter confessed. "Seems he has influence in the right places." "But why didn't he send word or come to see Neddy?" Jonathan asked in amazement. Peter shrugged his small shoulders. "I have no idea, however he will here later today and will accompany Ned to the court martial tomorrow. Be a dear and try to get Neddy looking...presentable. It's going to be hard enough on him giving evidence without everyone staring at him as well." Despite Jonathan's best efforts, Ned Grayson seemed to take no interest in himself. "I do what I can for him Peter, but he just doesn't seem to care anymore. If I didn't dress his hair every morning no one would do it!" Peter cocked a speculative eyebrow at Jonathan. "Nor does it appear he returns the favour, Jonathan. Your own hair has seen better days. Sit down here and I will brush it for you. Perhaps someone should be taking better care of you." "Peter, you really don't have to..." "Peter is right Jonathan...you have been looking rather...scruffy lately." Lionel wandered to the door, hat in hand. "I'll leave you to it then." Before Jonathan could protest, Lionel departed, leaving them alone. "Come on Jonathan, sit, that's an order." Peter didn't wait to see if Jonathan obeyed but went into his cabin returning with a hair brush. He sat on the bench behind Jonathan and quickly set about pulling loose his hair and untangling the knots from his curls. Jonathan felt uncomfortable. He remembered how Peter and Harry Stratford had always brushed each other's hair this way; side by side on a sea chest. Behind him Peter leaned a little closer, his hands never ceasing their steady movement. Was it just his imagination or could he feel Peter's breath against his neck where his hair was pulled to the side? Had Peter somehow imagined that Jonathan might be inclined to show his gratefulness for the gift of the clothes? Was he expecting him to... "Peter, please do not take offense, but I think you might have the wrong idea..." "Jonathan," Peter's voice held a hint of amusement. "Surely you don't think I am trying to seduce you? I am merely doing this as a favour from one friend to another. Nothing more. Your virtue is safe with me." He gave Jonathan's hair a small tug. "Besides, you are simply not my type!" "I'm sorry," The humour of the situation was lost to Jonathan. "You are?" Peter asked, his voice playful. "Er no...I'm not sorry that you don't fancy me...er...what I mean is I am sorry that I doubted you motives." "No offense taken." Peter's voice was serious again. "It's best to be wary Jonathan. The world is full of men who would take advantage of your youth. You should never be too careful." Jonathan allowed himself to relax and enjoy the gentle brushing. It felt good. He suddenly thought of Kerrison and how he used to play with his hair. Jonathan found himself on the verge of tears. "I am sure Ned will be grateful for the clothes Peter." Jonathan said quickly, trying to think about something else. "He probably wont even notice them Jonathan. It's my guess that he has only one thing on his mind and that is seeing those men hang for what they did to him. He'll have no rest until that happens." "And Jack Kerrison? Does he deserve to hang?" Jonathan asked, his voice nearly breaking. "In Ned's eyes he does," was Peter's soft reply. Chapter Thirteen They were all tried together. The sixteen surviving mutineers including Miller Pickford, Mangles and Jack Kerrison were arrayed in the great cabin of the Betelgeuse before a board of seven Post Captains and Admiral Littlejohn. The charges were heard and each man was called forth to give his defense. Outside in the Admiral's dining cabin, Jonathan waited along with Thockmorton, Pike and Grayson for their turn to be called as witnesses. Captain Bell would also be called as a witness, but his rank afforded him a seat inside where he could watch the proceedings. Those outside would have to rely on relayed accounts. Jonathan tried to be patient; fretting about what was happening behind the closed door would do no good. Ned Grayson sat vacant eyed with his father, a finely dressed gentleman who scrutinized all those around him with a faint air of contempt. He had barely spoken to Ned when he came aboard the Nightingale yesterday. Rather he had looked his son up and down as if searching for something, some outward sign or mark that could be used to cast aspersion on his good name. Jonathan took an immediate dislike to the man and was quietly thankful that he had followed Peter's advice and ensured that Ned was immaculately presented. Captain Bell had vacated his cabin while Edward Grayson senior, his lawyer and his son discussed things that Jonathan could only guess at. When Ned had returned to the Midshipman's berth later that evening, he had been white faced and silent, not speaking even when Jonathan asked if he would be dining ashore with his father. It soon became obvious that he would not and once more Jonathan was forced to listen as Ned Grayson tearfully sobbed himself to sleep that night. Edward Grayson senior must know what happened to his son, Jonathan surmised as they all waited in silence, staring at each other across the mahogany dining table. The look of contempt on his face, the air of detachment, the way he cast sideways glances at his son, spoke of thinly disguised disgust. But who had revealed the extent of Ned's assault to his father? Jonathan doubted it was Captain Bell if the captain had advised Ned himself not to mention it. Had one of the other mutineers given evidence against those who had taken part? It was possible, for there was little honour among men like that. The thought left Jonathan feeling cold. If that was the case then his defense of Jack Kerrison stood little chance. "Do not fidget Edward." Edward Grayson senior spoke sharply to his son. Ned jumped under his father's harsh words. Jonathan looked away and his eyes wandered around the opulent cabin, so much finer than anything aboard the Indy or the Nightingale. It seemed incongruous that the furniture and the fine wood paneling would all neatly fold away during preparation for battle. In the corners, covered with tapestry cloths stood two twenty four pound guns, an obscene reminder of the deadly nature of life in their wooden world. The door of the great cabin opened and a young Lieutenant hurried out on some important assignment. Lionel leapt to his feet and intercepted the man. They spoke quietly together for a moment before the Lieutenant continued on his way. Lionel returned to his seat next to Jonathan. "They are being charged under Articles Nineteen and Twenty. The charge is mutiny, just mutiny. Not murder, nor anything else." "ALL of them?" Jonathan asked in disbelief. "Yes," Lionel confirmed. "It's not surprising really given that we four are the only surviving witnesses. They would lack witnesses if they tried them under Article Twenty Eight. We didn't see WHO killed the captain or any of the Officers. In fact we really didn't see anything except who led us to our imprisonment and who brought us food and water. None of us could give evidence to say who committed the murders. At least the charge of mutiny can not be denied." "Yes but what about...?" Jonathan left his words unfinished as both he and Lionel Thockmorton became aware of Ned Grayson watching them, listening. Beside him, his father's steely gaze fixed on Jonathan as if warning him that to say no more. "I think that matter has been seen to already Mr Riley," Lionel whispered, his eyes hooded. Slowly the reasons for not pressing charges under Article Twenty Two, striking an officer, became clear. Unconsciously Jonathan scratched at the healing scar on his head as he remembered that both he and Ned had been the victims of assault by various members of the crew and as such would have been called to give evidence against the men responsible. Was Ned's father afraid of what his son might say before the board? Was he worried that the family name and honour might be stained if the true extent of what happened to his son become public knowledge? Had Edward Grayson somehow used his influence and had all charges of striking dropped? Or was this the general way of a mutiny court martial? Jonathan suddenly wished he had asked more about the procedures. He'd never really had time for Naval Law with all it's intricacies and differences. "Don't worry Jonathan. This might be for the best if you follow me." Lionel's words might be veiled but their meaning was clear. If Jonathan could convince the board that Kerrison had been acting on his orders then he still might have a chance of receiving a pardon. Yes it might be for the best for Jack Kerrison if no mention of assault was made but Jonathan wondered if the same could be said for Ned Grayson. Across the cabin Ned Grayson sat, desolation slowly filling his eyes as he realised that he would never have the chance to confront his assailants. Chapter Fourteen For two days the Board heard the statements of the sixteen men accused of mutiny. It was a long, slow process, each man's words being carefully recorded in flowing script by the secretary. The prosecutor questioned each prisoner who was then allowed to present his defense. For Jonathan it was a time spent sitting and waiting, relieved only by the occasional scrap of news the filtered from the court or the update each evening that Peter Crittenden supplied, courtesy no doubt of Captain Bell. Daily he watched Jack Kerrison and the other mutineers as they were led to the great cabin each morning and then back to the hold when the days proceedings had finished. They shared nothing but a quick glance; no touch, no words of encouragement, nothing that would jeopardize Jonathan's plea for Kerrison's innocence. Finally it came time for the witnesses to give evidence and in turn be questioned by the prisoners or their appointed counsel. One by one they were called into the great cabin to face the assembled board. Captain Bell was the first to give his version of events and was then asked to wait in the dining hall with Jonathan and the others. Lionel Thockmorton was called in next. "The written testimony that has been prepared should be sufficient, Edward." Grayson senior advised his son. However if the Prosecutor or Judge Advocate sees fit to question you further, you will allow Mr Moody to speak on your behalf. Any answers you make will be directed to him and HE will relay them to the court. Do you understand Edward?" Ned looked at his father with lifeless eyes and nodded. "Yes Sir, I understand," he murmured. Moody, the lawyer, spoke up. "It is unlikely that any of the prisoners will choose to question your evidence. None of them have counsel and few seem to be men of any intelligence whatsoever." The implied sneer was thick in his voice. "However SHOULD one of them question you, keep your eyes straight ahead, do not flinch and allow no tremor to enter your voice. Give me your answer and I will recount it to the court. At no time are you to look at or make any direct contact with the prisoners. Is that clear?" "Yes," Ned said again, breathless and clearly afraid of erring in front of his father, the solicitor or the court. "Mr Midshipman Jonathan Riley!" Jonathan looked up as his name was called by the Marine at the door. He passed Lionel on his way out. The young aristocrat offered a valiant smile that did not quite reach to his eyes. Jonathan took a deep breath and entered the cabin. With a shaking voice he took the oath, his gaze wandering from one captain to the next, coming at last to rest on Admiral Littlejohn. What sort of men where these? Harsh disciplinarians with little compassion and even less morality, or men or conscience who sought the truth? "Mr Riley," The judge advocate caught Jonathan's attention and commenced his questions. "Will you relate to this court the events that took place aboard the Indefatigable on the 22nd December 1801?" And so it began. Jonathan did his best to remember the smallest details, the position on board of the Officers and crew, the duties they were performing. When it came time to speak of Pip Moseby, Jonathan felt his throat constrict. "Mr Moseby was seriously injured and it was then that I ordered Mr Kerrison to appear to side with the mutineers in order to firstly obtain medical supplies and then to instigate our release." A murmur like wind over the water passed through the court. "You have explained this in your written testimony of support for Mr Kerrison. For the moment however Mr Riley, you will continue with the facts." It was not easy. As he spoke of Pip's death, a single tear watered from the corner of his eye. But Jonathan had little time to dwell on his sorrow for he soon faced another dilemma. What should he say about the assault on Ned Grayson? He snuffled suddenly and wiped at his eyes buying himself precious minutes while his mind whirled through the possible paths. It was unlikely that either Lionel or Captain Bell would have made mention of the assault as neither were witness to the happening. From what Jonathan could tell, it seemed unlikely that Ned's prepared statement would contain details. That just left himself and Pike to bring it to the court's attention. If Jonathan himself remained silent and could somehow direct Pike to do the same, then the court might never hear the damning accusation. But did they know already? Had the mutineers themselves informed on one another? The absence of any formal charges of assault gave Jonathan hope. Perhaps the court was happy to over look the matter? And if it did come to light and Jonathan was called to answer why he had made no mention? Well he could use his concussion as an excuse, weak though it might be. So he bluffed his way through the rest of his testimony, playing up his confusion and vagueness. With a sense of relief he finished. "And when I awoke I was aboard the Nightingale." The quill of the court's clerk scratched away noisily recording the final words. "Mr Riley, did Mr Kerrison make any attempt to release you after he joined the mutineers." Jonathan's heart sank. It was so simple, why hadn't he seen the trap. Jonathan held his breath, trying desperately to think of some small thing Jack had done. "Please answer the question Mr Riley." "No." There was no other answer. "Are there any questions from the prisoners?" Jonathan looked up, hoping the Kerrison would speak now and question Jonathan further about the orders he had given, but the mate remained silent. "That is all Mr Riley. You may wait outside." "But may I speak for Mr Kerrison?" Jonathan almost shouted. "Please?" It was the Admiral who spoke, President of the Court, his voice silencing the murmur that rose from those present. "In due course Mr Riley. Now is not the time." Chapter Fifteen Why had he not realised that it would come down to this? Jonathan cursed his own na�ve hope. It was a basic principle of naval law that during a mutiny a man could only be seen as either loyal to the captain or against him. There was no in between, no neutrality. And the test of loyalty was the active resistance against those who mutinied. A man who did nothing was equally as guilty as one who rose against his captain. Kerrison had known. He'd know from the first and had tried to tell Jonathan at their final meeting. But Kerrison was always so much wiser than Jonathan, wise and foolish at the same time, a risk taker even when he knew the risks were great. It was one of his qualities that Jonathan loved. He seated himself next to Pike whilst Ned Grayson, his father and the lawyer Moody took their turn behind the great cabin doors. "I didn't mention the assault on Neddy. I...thought it for the best." Jonathan was no longer as certain of his actions. In the end they would most likely have very little bearing on the outcome. "Hmmm, I agree with yer. The poor mite doesn't need mention of that following him around. He should put it from his mind. Best thing for it." Pike picked his nose unselfconsciously. "What about Kerrison? Any hope?" The question was so open, so blatant that it took Jonathan a moment to recover. "I don't know," was all he could answer. In due course Pike, the final witness was called to give evidence and Jonathan was left to wait and worry again. Lionel Thockmorton sauntered over and perched himself beside Jonathan. "Did Kerrison question you?" Jonathan shook his head. "That's strange! Of all the men in there, Jack Kerrison is the only one skilled enough with words to stand his own defense with a chance of winning. He should have questioned you!" "Perhaps I should have found him a lawyer, somehow?" Jonathan cursed his foolishness again. If only he had known what to expect. If only someone had advised him. "You should have told me Lionel," He blurted out. "Someone should have told me!" "Jonathan, I..." But Lionel's word were cut off as Pike stormed out of the door and threw himself down into a chair. "Fucking bastards! Making me sound like I was guilty too!" He swung towards Jonathan and Lionel. "Do you know what that prick of a prosecutor asked me? He asked why I tended Seaton and the others, the bastard! I told him I was doing me job, just like Mr Hepplewhite had shown me and that I had no idea if them lads were innocent or guilty and I didn't have time to find out." Pike kicked the leg of the table and folded his arms across his massive chest. Lionel raised his eyebrows at Jonathan and rolled his eyes in a gesture more common with Drury Lane than an Admiral's dining cabin. "Did they ask you about Jack Kerrison?" Jonathan ventured quietly. Pike shook his head. "No and I didn't get to mention that part either." His small pale eyes snapped up and he fixed Jonathan with a piercing look." Do yer think they did that on purpose? Made me cross so as I would forget about Jack Kerrison?" Jonathan bit his lip; he really had no idea. Chapter Sixteen They were all ushered back in for the final words before the board would adjourn to deliberate. The prosecutor summed up his case for each prisoner, words that became to dirge in Jonathan ears. "Mr Riley, you wanted to plead for Mr Kerrison?" The judge advocates voice brought Jonathan back to attention. His mouth went dry as he stood, suddenly aware that once again every eye was on him. Two seats away, Ned Grayson sat forward, the movement highlighting the fact he was listening. Nervously Jonathan cleared his throat. "Sir's, if you find Jack Kerrison guilty of the charge of mutiny then you must find me guilty as well. Kerrison ingratiated himself among the mutineers in a desperate attempt to release those of us who were imprisoned. His actions whilst at liberty were the result of MY orders alone." Jonathan heard Ned's chair creak but could not look to see the effect his words were having on the young midshipman. "'Do whatever you must to win their trust and when able, release us so that we may retake the ship.' That was my order to Mr Kerrison, an order that he followed. I have no doubt that given time he would have succeeded in gaining our freedom. "If you find him guilty then I will stand beside him and share whatever punishment you deem fit. But I implore you to look upon Jack Kerrison's actions as those of a man following orders to the last, never giving in and striving to do the near impossible." Jonathan searched the eyes of the men arrayed before him, hoping for some small sign that his plea had cracked their hardened exterior. "A fine speech, Mr Riley," Admiral Litteljohn began, "Although a surprising one. I wonder if your fellow crewmen will support your statement?" "Sir, Mr Pike was also privy to the orders I gave Mr Kerrison." Jonathan swallowed, wondering how far Pike would support him. He chanced a glance at the surgeon's mate who was scratching his arm pit. "Mr Pike, will you confirm my orders." Did they detect the wobble of uncertainty in his voice? "Well, Mr Pike? What do you say to Mr Riley's testimony?" Pike heaved himself out of the chair and glared at the assembled captains. "Mr Riley's acceptance of responsibility for Mr Kerrison's actions is a rare thing among Officers, I think, Sirs. It's rare for a man to take responsibility for failure when the finger points to another. I was there and I heard what was said. I advised against it as I thought it was hopeless. But young Mr Moseby, may God rest his soul, was in a bad way and I had nothing to treat his wounds with. And the other two young Gentlemen, well they were just boys and they were frightened. We didn't know what was to become of us. It was a brave but foolhardy order that Mr Riley gave, him being a bit addled by the blow to the head at the time. But Mr Kerrison, he didn't question it and he did like Mr Riley said." Pike shrugged, and looked a little surprised when he realised the court was hushed waiting for his next words. "If Jack Kerrison had succeeded, you'd be raising your glasses to his bravery and Mr Riley's leadership. But he failed." Pike looked around with a sneer. "Perhaps you should hang them both. What's one more if you are out for blood?" The court erupted in a babble of voices causing the Admiral Littlejohn to raise his voice loudly in an attempt to restore order. Jonathan put his head in his hands not sure whether to curse Pike or to praise him. That he had deliberately chosen to antagonize the court by his final words was indisputable. But did he hope sway the court's decision by forcing them to disprove his observations? Perhaps Pike was far smarter than he appeared. Order was restored and Admiral Littlejohn called upon Ned Grayson. "Mr Grayson, do you also recall Mr Riley's orders to Jack Kerrison?" Grayson stood, pulling away sharply as Moody tried to lay a restraining hand on his arm. With eyes brittle and cold he stared around the room at the prisoners, the assembled Captains and finally at his own father. "I don't remember anything," he said loudly. "I don't remember anything at all." Once more the din of raised voices burst forth as Ned seated himself. His father bent close and spoke, his manner sharp even though the words did not carry far enough for Jonathan to hear. Had Ned damned Jack by his refusal to answer? Jonathan bite at his lip, worrying it with his teeth until it stung. Everything was slipping away, slowly, agonizingly. Jonathan suddenly felt very much alone. "The room shall be cleared while the court deliberates." The prisoners were led away and Jonathan was bustled into the dinning cabin with the rest of witnesses and spectators. He sought a quiet corner and leaned against one of the guns. Across the cabin he caught Ned Grayson's eye, but the young midshipman looked away and Jonathan felt the sting of well deserved guilt. Did Ned now see Jonathan as just one more person who had betrayed him? This is all my fault, Jonathan lamented. Everything; Kerrison's involvement, Ned's rape. Perhaps even the whole mutiny itself was somehow his fault. Suddenly he wished that Peter Crittenden was there. But Peter was back aboard the Nightingale standing watch, not required to be present at the proceedings. "Well you certainly took a foolish chance with that speech Jonathan! One should NEVER accept any sort of blame, especially during a court martial!" Lionel held out a wine glass to Jonathan. "As for Pike's contribution! With a friend like that on your side, you don't need the French! What DID he think he was trying to achieve?" "I ought to go thank him," Jonathan replied vaguely, his eyes catching sight of Ned Grayson again. Edward Grayson senior was surrounded by a group of Captains, two commodores and one Admiral of the Blue. Several other well dressed civilians also hovered close by. Peers of the Realm, Jonathan surmised. "He's man of some importance and wealth, Jonathan." Lionel explained when he noticed Jonathan's gaze, happy to air his knowledge. "He owns a bank and has shares in various shipping companies, foundries and such. He really is very wealthy." Lionel bent closer. "This is HIS wine they are serving. If it had been left to the Admiral we'd be sitting here dying of thirst!" Buying their silence. Jonathan stared at the wine glass in his hand but made no move to drink from it. He stared at Edward Grayson and wondered which was his greatest concern; his son or his good name? At his father's elbow Ned Grayson stood, small and alone, despite the crowd eddying around him. Poor Neddy, what would become of him after this? Jonathan knew that he would have to find a moment to speak with Ned about his plea for Jack Kerrison but simply could not face the boy yet. Perhaps later, when the outcome was known. Later when he could think clearly again. "How long will this take Lionel?" Thockmorton shrugged and sipped at his wine. "I have no idea. It is the first and hopefully the last Court martial I shall ever have to attend!" Jonathan caught sight of Pike and wandered over. The surgeon's mate was quite alone, in fact everyone in the room seemed to be affording him a wide berth. "I must thank you for your support Mr Pike. Your words were truly...eloquent!" Jonathan offered Pike his hand and the mate shook it with his own big sweaty paw. "Yer a brave little bugger, Mr Riley, if somewhat foolish at times. But I wish yer well in whatever yer do. I truly do Sir." "And I you Mr Pike. Will you look for another ship after this?" "Mr Dawson, the surgeon on the Nightingale has said he'll take me on." Pike grinned showing his missing teeth. "He told me he was right impressed with how I did for Mr Witherspoon!" "Well good luck to you Mr Pike. I am sure you will continue to be an asset to your calling." Despite Pike's rough manners and outward appearance he did seem to have a genuine concern for his patients. Jonathan gave a wry smile as he remembered his first impressions of Pike. Appearances could be so deceiving. The door to the great cabin opened again and the Marine sentry announced that the court was resuming. "That was fuckin' quick. I only had time for two glasses of that frog wine!" With his heart thumping wildly Jonathan pushed his way back into the cabin determined not to miss the final proceedings. A hush descended on the assembly as the prisoners were led in for the last time. "It is the decision of this court that the charges have been proved against the said Samuel Miller, George Mangles, Thomas Pickford..." Jonathan listened to the growing list of names, ticking off each one silently, hoping against hope for the impossible, 13, 14 and still no Jack Kerrison. Had these men heard his plea? Had God answered his prayers? "...Joshua Whitby and Jack Kerrison and we adjudge them and each of them to suffer Death by hanging by the neck on board His Majesty's Ship of War the Betelgeuse at two bells in the afternoon watch on this 20th Day of January 1802..." There was no recommendation for the King's Mercy. Chapter Seventeen Across the crowded cabin their eyes met; blue and hazel, disbelief and resignation. Then Jonathan could only watch as the condemned men were led away. Kerrison was gone. Jonathan stood stunned. It was Captain Bell who came to his side, speaking quietly and urgently. "Mr Riley, the court has requested that you along with Mr Grayson and Mr Thockmorton be present on the bridge of the Betelgeuse to witness the punishment. I suggest you return to the Nightingale now and fortify yourself for what is to come. You may take my gig. Oh and have Lieutenant C accompany you when you return. Tell him it is by my order." "Come along Jonathan, we don't have time to spare." Lionel was beside him now propelling him out of the cabin and onto the deck. Pike was there too muttering and cursing, something about being snubbed because he was not a gentleman. And Ned Grayson. Ned, who sat opposite in the gig, eyes fixed on nothing. Jonathan wondered if his own countenance was the same. Aboard the Nightingale, Peter Crittenden took charge, a thing that seemed to come naturally to him. He arranged for food and drink to be brought to the gunroom and had a servant brush their coats and hats. As Jonathan picked at the fresh bread and cheese in front of him, he listened to the muffled voices of Peter and Lionel outside the doorway. "I had not thought it to happen so quickly! They must not want anything to impinge upon their decision." "It will be better to have it done with. For everyone concerned." Across the gunroom table Ned Grayson sat in what Jonathan imagined to be a mirror image of himself. The boy made no move to eat, simply crumbled the bread into tiny pieces that soon littered the plate and the table. His eyes looked vague and glassy. Once more Jonathan was left to face Ned Grayson and once more his words dried up in his throat. But it had to be said and said now, no matter how hard it might be. "Neddy, I'm sorry." Sorry...the word did not even begin to express all that Jonathan felt. Slowly the blue eyes rose and looked at Jonathan. "It wasn't your fault." Ned's voice wavered. "Yes it was." Jonathan insisted. But Ned Grayson just shook his fair head and went back to crumbling the bread. Where was Ned's father? Why wasn't he with him, caring for him? Surely the man wasn't going to leave him here after this was all over. All over....it was all over. Jonathan's mind swung back to the awful finality that he was about to face. It can't be true...surely he would wake and find that this was just a terrible dream. But the ship's bell struck eight times and Jonathan heard the change of the noon watch and he knew that his time had finally run out. They assembled on the huge quarter deck of the Betelgeuse along with the ship's Officers and other invited guests. Jonathan and Ned Grayson were directed to stand with a gaggle of midshipmen ranging in age from ten to thirty. A ship this size could have up to twenty, Jonathan remembered. The Lieutenants aligned themselves in order of importance as did the Captains and the Admirals and other important personages. Aboard the other ships at anchor a similar scene would be taking place as the Officers and crews were assembled to witness the hanging. Finally the first eight prisoners were led on deck, each one pausing to salute the quarterdeck. Eight men, four to each yard, would be hoisted to their deaths and left to hang for one hour before being cut down and the final eight brought up to repeat the procedure. Jonathan felt an illogical sense of relief when he saw that Kerrison was not in the first group. The prisoners were led to the forecastle where a noose was placed around each man's neck. Each rope was looped up over the yard arm and down again to the waist where four columns of seamen held the ends. One at a time the prisoners were helped out onto the catheads and balanced there for a moment as the parson said a final prayer and each man was allowed to speak their last words. Then on the firing signal the crewmen on deck hauled on the rope and the condemned man was run to the yard, the rope lifting him high into the air, snapping his neck as he took flight. The first, the second, the third, Jonathan stood mesmerized as the yard began to resemble a tree laden with over ripe fruit. And then they waited. One hour, the time that it was deemed for a condemned man to hang. One long slow hour the bodies swung, whilst Jonathan watched and tried not think about Kerrison in that place. Behind them, someone was boasting of his win at whist. An admiral no doubt, or perhaps a captain, their seniority making them immune to the rigors of protocol. A midshipman had developed a case of the hiccups and was firmly told to be silent or suffer a caning. One hour to hang and a further hour to lower the bodies to the deck and reset the ropes for the next bizarre performance. Then, all too quickly, the last eight men were brought on deck and there was Jack Kerrison, head held high his eyes searching the assembled faces until he saw Jonathan. In a loud clear voice that carried to the quarterdeck Jack Kerrison raised his fists and shouted. "I'll be waiting for you Mr Riley!" "The nerve of that man! How dare he threaten an Officer of the King!" Those watching saw Kerrison's words and gesture as threatening. "Silence that man!" Yet for Jonathan, Kerrison's words held a different meaning. For at the moment when Kerrison held his fists in the air, his sleeve slipped far enough back to reveal a glint of pale red hair plaited around his wrist. Their eyes met and Jonathan smiled, his final benediction before the marine guards hauled Kerrison away and he lost sight of those hazel eyes forever. Once more the prisoners climbed the catheads one at a time, each becoming more timid as the growing number of bodied above them could no longer be ignored. One man screamed and jumped, taking his own life rather than wait for his execution. His twitching body was hauled up to dangle with the others. The marine guards, more cautious now kept a close watch on the final two men. Kerrison and Miller. Miller died, silent and meek. He had no final words. Jonathan wondered if he had felt any remorse in the end. Finally Jack Kerrison climbed the cathead, noose around his neck and turned to face the assembly. His cheeky, sing-song declaration rang out, defiant to the last. "Some things are worth the risk." Jonathan could not tear his eyes away as he watched Kerrison's body be pulled into the air. Was it just his imagination or could he hear the snap of bones as his neck broke? He was gone. Gone, like the warmth of summer or the stars at dawn. His absence would make the world a different place. One hour they must stand and watch. One hour as Kerrison's body would slowly grow cold and stiff just as Pip Moseby's's had. One hour. Someone was sobbing, it might have been Ned, but Jonathan could not take his eyes from the hanging corpses. His hands began to tingle, his feet felt numb. He swayed. So many dead men! Their bodies twisting and turning as they dangled from the yard. "Midshipmen of today have no fortitude, by God! They are little better than sniveling lily boys!" The rebuke almost went unnoticed by Jonathan as he stared ahead, trying so hard to stay at attention despite the dizziness that threatened to engulf him. "No staying power. Lord knows how they will ever lead men into battle when they look ready to puke at a simple hanging!" The speaker was dressed in an ornate Captain's uniform, heavily braided. He was a florid man, in middle age and he made no attempt to hide his disgust as he stepped in front of Jonathan blocking his view of the yard and it's deathly burden. It was Peter Crittenden who suddenly appeared at his side and answered the intruder. Peter, small and slender, who looked up at the large man and replied in a low even voice. "I know all midshipman look alike, Captain Crane, but surely you recognise to whom you are speaking? This is Mr Riley whose cunning and bravery brought these men to justice. He saved the life of his crew mates and the lives of all those aboard the Nightingale. However he suffered a head wound during the mutiny and it still gives him trouble. He is not long out of his sick bed. I do not think it is for the likes of us to question his courage." The words could have earned Peter a stinging rebuke, yet they stopped the captain in his wake. "YOU are the one? Well let me shake your hand." A big sweaty hand was extended and Jonathan had no recourse but to take it. "It's young men like yourself who are the future of this Navy, Sir! You should be proud if your work here today!" The captain indicted the swinging corpses and Jonathan's stomach turned over. "Thank you, Sir," he managed to reply. Chapter Eighteen "Mr Riley has been excused on the grounds of his still fragile health. Accompany him back to the Nightingale if you please Mr C." Captain Bell's interruption was welcomed and he distracted Crane before he could continue. A firm hand gripped his elbow and Peter quickly shepherded Jonathan down to the main deck and over to the entry port where he leaned him against the bulwark. "Steady, now, you'll be all right." Peter Crittenden whispered as he hailed Captain Bell's gig that was standing off with the others. Somehow Jonathan managed to get himself over the side and into the gig before his legs gave way. He leaned heavily against Peter who was seated beside him. "Bear up Jonathan, only a little longer." The heartfelt concern in Peter's voice was almost enough to break Jonathan's resolve. They rounded the bow and the macabre shadows of what hung above fell like a judgment on Jonathan's shoulder's. He shivered and kept his eyes averted. "A little faster if you please lads." Peter's order brought an increase in the stroke rate as the boat crew bent their backs. The battens on the Nightingale barely registered beneath his fingers. The deck seemed insubstantial beneath his feet. Jonathan allowed himself to be led into the welcoming darkness below decks. The hazy half light of the gun room provided a sanctuary for his unshed tears. It was over. It was lost and Jack Kerrison was gone forever. Jonathan waited, poised in readiness for grief to strike yet he remained strangely detached, hovering on the edge of a precipice, waiting for the long slow fall. Peter slid a glass of something in front of him, his cure for all ills. "Drink that. It will help." But there was not enough liquor in all of England to wipe away the memory of what he had witnessed this day. How long he sat like that, Jonathan did not know, but Lionel Thockmorton finally arrived and whispered to Peter in hushed tones. Then Pike the surgeon's mate made a noisy entrance, cursing and swearing. The hanging must be over. The officers and crew dismissed from their gristly vigil, ready to resume their lives. But there was nothing left for Jonathan. They were speaking to him, saying things and Jonathan tried to concentrate on their words. "Jonathan are you well?" Peter's voice, uncharacteristically strained. "Perhaps a little brandy might help?" Lionel, clucking like a mother hen. And Pike the ever practical, "Here, a dose of this will fix yer. Laudanum! Works wonders it does." "Why you bastard!" Jonathan leapt across the table, his chair crashing to the deck. His hands sought purchase around Pike's throat before arms seized him and pulled him away. "Go, GO! You Fool!" Peter was shouting at Pike whilst his hands clung desperately to Jonathan's arms. "What did I do?" Pike's bewildered face started at Jonathan from the far side of the cabin. "I was only trying to help." "His mother died of laudanum poisoning." Lionel hissed, as he ushered Pike to the door. "Well no one fuckin' told me!" Pike declared angrily as he departed. Great wracking sobs came unbidden followed by a torrent of tears. "You go too Lionel. I'll see to him. Go on." Peter took charge once again. "I'll take care of that other matter then, shall I?" "Yes, I'll be fine here. Tell the Captain where I am." Even as Peter's words broke through Jonathan's grief he felt the gentle hands turn him and embrace him. "Come now, come with me." As he had done once before, Peter led Jonathan to his own small cabin, helped him shed his coat and shoes, then bundled him into the swinging cot. He left and returned with a bottle of something but no glasses. "Drink" The words allowed no refusal. Jonathan closed his eyes and tipped the bottle back, happy to feel the liquor burn down his throat. Anything would be welcome if it would ease the terrible pain that threatened to consume him. The cot swung and something settled in beside him. Warm arms encircled him, a hand stroked his head. Jonathan took one more long drink then turned into the welcoming comfort of Peter Crittenden's embrace. "I wish Archie was here," Jonathan sobbed. "So do I," was Peter's genuine reply. Chapter Nineteen He was dreaming. Dreaming of a sandy beach and salty spray and a long tanned body stretched out beside him, against him, around him, inside him. Jonathan woke with a start, his heart aching, a sob half formed in his throat. Jack Kerrison was dead. Never more would Jonathan hold him in his arms or kiss his lips or look into his laughing hazel eyes as he listened to gentle teasing. But there was a warmth against his back and for a moment Jonathan allowed himself to bask in the luxury of deception and imagine it was Jack Kerrison asleep behind him. Jack, who at any moment might wake and enfold him in a loving embrace. The minutes stretched out and Jonathan was forced to face the truth. Face it and accept it; a burden to be carried for the rest of his life. The dream was gone forever. Perhaps his mother had the right answer? Perhaps he too should try her poison of choice and end all of this suffering and pain? For in death there would be peace, a refuge from the memories that haunted him. The good, the bad, all jumbled together, with Kerrison the common thread binding them, weaving them together like the rope that had taken Jack's life; a rope that even now threatened to choke the life from Jonathan. And if he died? Jonathan paused as a deeper realisation asserted itself. Kerrison had no family and few friends. If Jonathan was gone too then who would remember Jack? If he died all the memories of what they had shared together would vanish forever. Perhaps that was why he had to go on? Live, so that he at least would remember the extraordinary man who had touched his life and loved him so much. Jack Kerrison had sacrificed everything so that Jonathan might have a chance at life. That sacrifice must not be in vain. New tears washed down Jonathan's face. He would go on. It seemed impossible now but he would manage somehow despite the aching loss that would be his burden. He would manage just as Peter Crittenden had managed after Harry's death. Peter, who lay warm against his back and who had offered him friendship in his darkest hour. Carefully so as not to wake his sleeping companion, Jonathan turned to study the face of the only man who could truly sympathise with his loss. Long dark lashes graced the closed eyes, hiding their vivid green. Hair, so dark that even the sun could not lighten it, lay neatly tied with a small black ribbon. Tanned skin like dark honey, contrasted sharply with the white if his fine linen shirt. Small red lips, parted slightly to allow a glimpse of neat white teeth. And above one dark eyebrow a faint scar marred the otherwise perfect features. Jonathan's doing, when they had fought over Archie Kennedy in what now seemed another lifetime. There was something fragile about Peter Crittenden, something almost feminine in the slim frame, the slight shoulders, the delicate hands. Yet he radiated strength, a force of bearing that demanded respect. He was a survivor. And in that moment Jonathan knew he would survive too. He would honour Jack's sacrifice and the memory of their love by going on and doing his best despite the pain of loss that he felt. Jonathan closed his eyes and sighed. All too soon he would have to face again the endless routine of watches, navigation classes and drills on deck. Or perhaps he would be put ashore, without a ship or the chance of income. With peace declared the future was anyone's guess. It would not be easy but Jonathan knew he had friends to help. Friends like Peter and Lionel and even Surgeon's Mate Pike. Friend's who would be there through the good times and the bad. But for the moment he would lie here a little longer and enjoy the simple comfort that Peter had offered. "Godspeed Jack," was Jonathan's final prayer before falling back to sleep. The End Catch The Wind By Donovan In the chilly hours and minutes Of uncertainty I want to be In the warm hold of your lovin' mind. To feel you all around me And to take your hand Along the sand, Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind. When sundown pales the sky want to hide a while Behind your smile, And everywhere I'd look, your eyes I'd find. For me to love you now Would be the sweetest thing, T'would make me sing, Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind. When rain has hung the leaves with tears I want you near to kill my fears, To help me to leave all my blues behind. For standin' in your heart Is where I want to be And long to be, Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind. Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind. The End