St. Vincent - 22. Chapter 22

January 12, 1797

Don Jacobo Stuart strode confidently onto the quarterdeck, the spring in his step apparent to all. He was in a good mood, knowing that today would be the day he’d be released from captivity and would once again be able to set foot on his native soil. He noted that the Belvidera’s crew was at their stations in the curious way that they greeted every dawn. To Stuart, that seemed like a major annoyance, since rare it was at sea to encounter a hostile ship, and rarer still to encounter that ship as dawn broke. “Good morning,” he said with affable respect to Granger. He liked this young captain, who was handsome, with golden blond hair and bright blue eyes, and who exhibited the culture and manners one would expect of an aristocrat.

“Good morning, Capitan,” Granger replied in a similarly friendly tone. But whereas Stuart’s emotions were genuine, Granger’s were faked. He used his friendliness as a veneer to hide the nervousness he felt.

“Your ship is ready, but there is an air of tension,” Stuart observed.

Granger smiled at that comment. “I fear the men remember their last visit here, and are unsure what to expect.”

“I understand. You have nothing to fear from my countrymen,” Stuart replied loftily.

“It is not your countrymen who make me apprehensive,” Granger replied evenly. “It is your ally.” Stuart nodded sadly.

Dawn was upon them now, and as the sun began to wipe away the night, Granger found he was much closer inshore than he had planned to be. He was well within range of the batteries of Roses. “Mr. Gatling! Have that white flag hoisted up the main mast over our colors!” Granger had to check himself to make sure he kept his tone and cadence calm, so as to not give away the nervousness that churned in his stomach.

“Aye aye sir,” Gatling said, and responded quickly.

“Mr. Clifton, a shot from the bowchaser to announce our presence,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. A more tangible acknowledgement of that order came just a few moments later as the forward bowchaser fired, shortly after the white flag rose up the main mast above their own flag.

Granger heard the trumpets blaring in the fort, so close in were they. “I fear we have awakened your soldiers,” he said to Stuart.

“It is just as well,” Stuart replied, smiling. “They have little enough to do anyway.” They weren’t two combatants talking about their respective countries; they were two naval officers internally sneering at their land-bound contemporaries.

“Sir,” Gatling said. “The fort has not responded.” One would have expected the fort to fly a flag of truce as well. That they did not meant that their request for parley had not been accepted, and that shots could be raining down on them at any moment.

“They are trying to figure out what you are up to, and what to do about it,” Stuart interpreted. “You have undoubtedly interrupted the sleep of the governor and his minions.”

Granger laughed at that, because it was funny, and to hide his apprehension. No good would come of immediately fleeing. “Heave to, Mr. Clifton. We will wait for a response.”

“Sir, we are in range of their guns,” Clifton admonished, and then looked nervous for having questioned Granger’s orders.

“Let us be confident,” Granger said encouragingly. “I think they are just confused, not belligerent. But if you see the signs of smoke from a furnace, we will withdraw at once.” Granger was willing to risk a few cannon balls about their ears, but he was not willing to be the recipient of heated shot unless it was inevitable.

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton said, and then gave the orders to heave to. Granger could understand his concern, but he didn’t want to show any weakness to the Spaniards in the fort, or in front of the Spaniards on his ship. He ordered Winkler to bring up some food and drink for the officers, including the Spaniards, on the quarterdeck, while they waited for the Spanish to figure out what to do.

Granger stood on his quarterdeck with his prisoners and his officers, chatting away as if he were at court, while inside, beneath the façade, he seethed with anxiety. The ship’s bell chimed and he saw Villiers jump a little, so on edge was he. It had been 45 minutes, and still they had received no sign of a deputation, or of anything to acknowledge and accept their presence. Just as Granger began to think that he’d have to haul off and land the Spaniards elsewhere, a shot rang out from the fort. All eyes turned toward the fort, and saw, with a sense of relief, the white flag rising up the staff over Spanish colors.

“It would seem your countrymen have decided that they want you back, Don Jacobo,” Granger joked.

“A wise choice on their part,” he joked back.

“Boat’s rounding the point, sir!” came the shout from the masthead. Now all the eyes turned to see this new boat, and to see whom it contained. Granger found himself smiling as he caught sight of Colonel Ventura in the stern. He instructed Clifton to plan the welcoming party accordingly. While they waited for the boat to arrive, Granger could not help thinking about the last time he’d been here, the last time he’d been with Ventura. He had to pull his thoughts back to the current situation, lest he have an erection when the young man came aboard. Granger kept his eyes inboard as he heard the boat hook on, and only looked up to see Ventura after he had hauled himself through the entry port.

He was just as Granger remembered, with his handsome face; his skin that was dark from either its own coloring, or from the sun; and his brown hair with those sexy lighter colored streaks. “Welcome aboard, Colonel,” Granger said, his enthusiasm at this greeting being genuine. “I cannot express what a pleasure it is to see you again.” This time, flowery continental speech served Granger’s purposes nicely.

“It is a most singular honor to have you visit us again, Sir George,” Ventura said, bowing.

“The honor is most assuredly mine,” Granger said, as he bowed as well. “Still, since our countries are now at war, you must be wondering at what has brought me to trespass upon His Most Catholic Majesty’s waters.”

“As soon as we ascertained it was your ship, we knew that you must have a good reason, but you should not consider it trespassing, Sir George.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Granger said. “This is Commodore Don Jacobo Stuart, of His Most Catholic Majesty’s ship Sabina. I have come here to return him and his officers under parole.”

Granger backed away and let the Spaniards talk amongst themselves. It only took Ventura a few minutes to grasp the situation. “Sir George,” Ventura began, “the governor has asked me to invite you and your ship to enter port. He has tasked me to bring this letter to you, guaranteeing that you will not be molested in port, or for 24 hours after your departure.”

Granger took the document and studied it, not to read it, but to give himself some time to think about the situation. He could either accept the invitation to enter port, or refuse it. He had good cause to take either course of action. Time was of the essence, and by merely letting Ventura take Stuart and his officers back with him, Granger could put Belvidera about and speed toward Elba. But to refuse would make it appear that he did not trust these Spaniards, and smacked, in Granger’s opinion, of cowardice. “I will accept His Excellency’s invitation with pleasure, although I fear I will need to leave on the morning tide.”

“Nothing could be easier than to accommodate you,” Ventura said. “I have taken the liberty of bringing the pilot on board with me.” He walked over to the side and shouted to the boat, and a burly looking man joined Ventura. Then the small boat cast off and set its lugsail, preceding Belvidera into the enemy port that seemed anything but hostile.

Belvidera nosed her way into the port under the expert guidance of the pilot. “Might I speak with you alone?” Ventura asked.

“But of course,” Granger said. “I will be below, Mr. Clifton.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. The others watched curiously as Granger lead Ventura below to his cabin. He knew what Ventura wanted, and he wanted it just as badly. He led the young man straight to his sleeping cabin.

“I have dreamed of this day,” Ventura said, and before Granger could answer, his smooth lips were on Granger’s. They had no time for more than a fast coupling, but the memories flooded back to both of them as Ventura entered Granger, and fucked him for what seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes. When they were done, Granger pulled up his trousers and could feel Ventura’s seed already leaking out of his ass. He paused to take a rag and wipe himself.

“You have filled me up,” Granger said with a smile.

“You have milked me dry,” Ventura said.

“Too dry for another round?”

Ventura grinned. “Never that dry. We will hope that time allows us that.” Then his tone changed. “I hope you do not think you are being led into a trap.”

“If I did, I would not have entered port.”

“The governor is anxious to have you visit. You are something of a hero in this town. It will do us good for the people to see you, and welcome you.”

“I am a hero?” Granger asked, amazed.

“You stood up to the French capitan when you were here last time. You stormed out of the cabin rather than hear him dishonor the king. That makes you popular.”

“If you say so,” Granger said dubiously. “I fail to see how honoring an enemy during wartime will revive the morale of your citizens.” And he wasn’t sure that raising their morale was in the best interest of his own country.

“You must remember, Capitan, that being this close to the border with France does not always endear our French allies to the populace. You will note that most of the fortifications face inland.”

“I understand,” Granger said. So these people of Roses were forced into an alliance with the French, whom they detested, and allowing his ship into port was a singular act of defiance. Granger decided that regardless of how this war progressed, it would not be a bad thing to have some goodwill here in this Spanish city so close to the French border.

Belvidera anchored where Ventura indicated, a spot much closer to the entrance of the harbor than before. It was as if they were trying to assure Granger that this time that he was not being led into a trap. To Granger’s mind, that should normally give him cause to worry even more, but in this situation, he decided to accept their gesture at face value.

Before he left, Granger pulled Clifton and Andrews aside. “If I do not return by noon tomorrow, you must assume I have been captured. You will leave port immediately and take the ship back to Elba, where you can apprise the Commodore of what happened.”

“Surely that won’t happen, sir...” Clifton began.

If Roberts were here, he would understand this situation, how this worked, and he would know that the ship was their priority. But Roberts wasn’t here, instead Granger had the inexperienced but very intelligent Clifton to deal with and he needed to explain things. After all, this was the first time he was leaving Belvidera in Clifton’s hands while he left to go to a potentially hostile shore. “I would hope that is the case, Mr. Clifton, but we must prepare for any contingency. Your duty is to the ship. I will leave orders to that effect.”

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton said, as a good naval officer should.

Granger turned his attention to Andrews, who had an almost amused expression on his face. “Mr. Andrews, I am not sure that you will have a chance to purchase stores ashore, but if you can, take advantage of the opportunity. Perhaps our wine merchant may deserve some more business?” Last time they were here, they smuggled a spy out of Roses by housing him in a wine cask. It would be good to buy some more wine from the man who had hidden him.

“Aye aye sir,” Andrews replied. “Will we be hosting the Commodore and his staff on the voyage back to the fleet?”

Granger kept his face as expressionless as stone so neither of them would see how much it would bother him to have Nelson raise his flag in a different ship. “I think we should plan on that contingency. If he does not, we will dine well on the voyage.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrews said.

They took Belvidera’s launch for the long trek to the jetty. Granger brought a squad of marines with him, more for show than for anything else, and had selected Brookstone and Villiers to accompany him. Those decisions he had made based on social rank, which meant leaving a slightly dejected looking Gatling behind. Granger didn’t want to admit that he might have left Gatling back there so he would have more freedom to engage in another encounter with Ventura. He forced that train of thought from his mind by engaging his officers in conversation. “So how do you like life as a lieutenant?” he asked Brookstone affably.

“I like it quite well, sir,” he said, smiling at Granger. His red hair seemed at odds with his perfectly turned out blue uniform, although Granger couldn’t decide exactly why that was. It was so red, it almost seemed festive.

“I am glad that you do. You have had a rare opportunity to command a battery in action. That responsibility usually only falls to more senior lieutenants.”

“I have learned so much, sir,” he said earnestly. “Do you think I will be allowed to, er...” Granger smiled benevolently at him. It was not normally consonant with the dignity of an officer to inquire if his promotion was to be permanent or not, but Brookstone’s anxieties had broken through his veneer. Villiers caught it too and started to snicker, until a withering look from Brookstone put the fear of God into him.

“I think Mr. Brookstone is a fine lieutenant, sir,” Villiers said awkwardly, trying to make amends with Brookstone. He was clumsy physically, and also verbally. Brookstone cringed and rolled his eyes, which made Granger actually burst out laughing.

“I am so glad you approve, Mr. Villiers,” he said. Villiers blushed, Brookstone laughed with Granger, and the men at oars who had heard were grinning uncontrollably. “To answer your question, Mr. Brookstone, that is my desire. We will have to hope that Sir John is amenable.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said. He was such a likeable young man.

“Of course, there is still the examination that you will have to pass.”

“Yes, sir,” Brookstone said, with dread. It was a nerve-wracking affair, being grilled by a group of senior captains. Granger’s own path through that treacherous exam had been smoothed by a letter of recommendation from the Prince of Wales himself. Brookstone’s own connections should hold him in similar good stead.

Their conversation was cut short as they drew closer to the jetty. Granger was distracted by the masses of people there, a veritable mob. They were waving in a friendly way, but Granger distrusted English mobs, and he was certainly no more confident of Spanish crowds. He was very glad that he’d brought the marines along, if for nothing else than crowd control. Their red uniforms seemed to excite as much attention as Granger and his officers. They tied up to the dock and the marines were out of the boats first, bucking the usual naval custom of having the senior officer disembark first. Their loud sergeant cleared a space for the others to land. As they were taking up their positions, a group of Spanish dragoons arrived to help. Granger watched with interest as his marines and the dragoons worked together to maintain control, and was impressed that despite the disadvantage of different languages, they seemed to do so seamlessly.

Ornate carriages arrived as soon as they were done disembarking. Ventura led Granger and Stuart into the first one, which was open. It seemed as if the whole town had turned out to cheer them on. Granger pretended that most of this was for Stuart, for the return of the heroic warrior, but he was fairly sure that Don Jacobo wouldn’t have roused such enthusiasm without red-coated marines as part of his entourage. Ventura tactfully handed Granger some copper coins to toss to the cheering throngs of people, and another handful to Don Jacobo as well. Granger cursed himself for having forgotten such a simple thing as bringing coins along on an excursion like this, and made a mental note to repay Ventura even as he tossed the copper pieces to the onlookers.

Their arrival at the Governor’s House was treated with all the ceremony and fanfare Granger had come to expect of the Spanish. Ventura led Granger and Stuart up to the governor, who sat in a large chair that was much like a throne. He rose to receive them. It was the same ceremony that Granger had experienced at his first arrival last year, but this time it seemed to have more significance. The governor had been most dismissive of him then, whereas this time he was positively effusive.

“Capitan, we welcome you to our city,” he said formally.

“I must thank you for your hospitality, Your Excellency,” Granger said, bowing politely. “Please allow me to introduce Don Jacobo Stuart.”

“I have heard of your exploits, Don Jacobo,” the governor said politely. “We are honored to receive you as well.”

“Your Excellency is too kind,” Stuart said, bowing as Granger had just done. Granger enjoyed watching these two men try to maintain a non-committal posture as to who was deferring to whom. The Governor, by his status, outranked Stuart, but Stuart was connected at court, and had royal blood (even though it was Stuart blood) in his veins.

There was a huge banquet in their honor, and Granger indulged his young appetite, trying various Spanish dishes. He enjoyed the wine even more. Brookstone and Villiers ate more than he did, if that were possible, but he was proud to note that they kept their alcohol consumption to a moderate level. As the afternoon wore on, and the time for the traditional siesta approached, Ventura approached Granger with barely concealed lust in his eyes.

“It is time for the siesta. I have arranged rooms where you and your officers may rest.”

“Thank you for your courtesy,” Granger said politely.

“If you two will follow these men,” he said to Brookstone and Villiers, “I will lead the Capitan to his quarters.” Granger watched as his officers allowed themselves to be led off, separated from their Captain. Villiers was visibly nervous, while Brookstone stoically maintained his calm, unruffled demeanor.

Ventura led Granger off to an apartment in the Governor’s home. There they coupled again, taking more time than they had just that morning. When they were spent, they lay there, intertwined with one another, savoring this bond that had caused enemies to become lovers.

“I have wanted to talk to you about your last visit here, to explain,” Ventura said nervously. “I did not know that those ships were so close to here.”

“Yet you knew there were ships on their way?” Granger asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Spanish ships do not always make such haste,” he joked. “I tried to make amends.”

He had given Granger a young pilot to guide them out of the harbor, under the guise that the young man was escaping from entanglements ashore. “You did, and he is doing quite well. He is in the service of Lord Frederick Cavendish.” Granger forced himself not to cringe at the thought of Cavendish, and how much he missed him.

“I am glad to hear that, and I am glad that you bear me no malice.”

“You are far too handsome to be angry with,” Granger said as he stroked Ventura’s naked back. He felt the return of his libido and allowed his hand to move lower, to caress Ventura’s ass.

“A fact I am most happy about,” Ventura said, as he kissed Granger, a kiss which led to another passionate coupling. After that round of amazing sex, they both got cleaned up and dressed for yet another reception, another feast, and Granger was finally able to return to the ship.

At dawn the next morning, Belvidera left the harbor unmolested, and found not a single sail waiting for her outside the port.