Master and Commander - 2. Chapter 2

April 11, 1794

“Mr. Humphreys, what brings you here?” Granger asked. Humphreys looked at him nervously. There was concern in his blue eyes, even though his demeanor, his ramrod straight back and his perfectly combed black hair, certainly didn't reveal it.

“I came aboard hoping you'd appoint me to your ship sir,” he said formally.

“It would be an honor to welcome you aboard,” Granger said. Seeing the relief on Humphreys’ face, the gratitude in his eyes, was priceless. “You'll be the senior. And which one are you?” Granger said, turning to the midshipman next to him.

“I'm George Lennox, sir,” the youth said. Granger had taken this boy on board as a favor to the Duke of Richmond, as he was his nephew. Only 13 years old, his voice hadn't started changing yet although he was already taller than a typical boy his age. He had blond hair, a darker shade than Granger's, with green eyes, pale green eyes. He was a handsome lad.

“Then you must be Charles Fitzwilliam?” Granger asked the other young gentleman. He had a long face with a petulant mouth, his mousy brown hair merely accentuating his soft features. Another handsome lad, this one was the son of Lord Fitzwilliam, one of the Whig leaders in Parliament.

“I am called Viscount Milton,” he said arrogantly. Granger stared at him hard. “Sir,” he added.

“I am aware of your title, Mr. Fitzwilliam, but I desire that you use your family name. Humor me,” Granger said, an order, not a request.

“Yes sir,” he said, abashed. Granger glared at him, waiting for him to correct himself. “Aye aye sir, I mean, sir,” he said nervously.

“You are dismissed. A word with you Mr. Humphreys.” The others shuffled out. Once they were gone, Granger continued. “You are most welcome Mr. Humphreys, but you were one of the senior midshipmen aboard Victory. I would have expected you to be promoted to Lieutenant. I know that was Lord Hood's intention.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir,” Humphreys said. “I would have been but I failed my examination.”

Granger gestured him to sit down. “What did they trip you up on? Something obscure, like rhumb lines?”

“I had served under the senior captain sir. I'm not his favorite person.” Politics, once again, damages a promising career. “I was offered a passage back to Victory, where I could resume my duties. But I really didn't want to go back there, so I decided to take a chance and see if you'd allow me to serve on your ship sir.”

“You assumed that since I'd seen you in action, and knew about your stellar qualities, that I'd take you on board willingly?” Granger teased.

“No sir, but, begging your pardon sir, your conduct as Lord Hood's flag lieutenant was quite honorable. I wanted to serve under you sir.” Granger would have ticked this off to him sucking up, but he could see Humphreys was sincere.

“Well it's good to have you aboard. You'll have your hands full with your berth mates,” Granger said.

“I'll explain things to them quickly enough, sir,” he said with a grin. Then Granger stood up, dismissing Humphreys, and headed back up on deck. He found Calvert there, supervising the last minute details of their departure.

Granger paced the deck, feeling the strong steady wind blowing, sensing the movement of the ship in these relatively calm seas. This would be the first time he sailed, actually sailed, in his very first command. He felt the excitement welling up inside. This had been his dream, his goal, and now it was to be a reality.

“We will weigh anchor, Mr. Calvert,” Granger ordered. “All hands to make sail.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said crisply, then began rattling out commands. The peel of the bosun's whistle brought the men pouring up from below. It was a little awkward while men found their stations for this, their first effort at making sail. Some were aloft to set sail; some were in the waist to trim the braces, while the others manned the capstan. Granger grabbed his speaking trumpet.

“Weigh anchor Mr. Carmody!” He yelled toward the bow.

“Aye aye sir!” Carmody replied. The drummer and piper began to beat out shanties to give the men rhythm to push to, and the capstan began to slowly crank around as the Intrepid was pulled up to a point directly over her anchor.

“Anchor's hove short!” Carmody called.

“Loose tops'ls!” Granger called, and saw the men on the yards begin to release the clews holding the sails, watched the sails billow and crack as they caught the wind. The Intrepid strained against her anchor as the sails pushed her forward. And then she was free.

“Anchor's aweigh sir!” yelled Carmody.

“Trim the braces Mr. Calvert,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said. The men in the waist pulled on the braces, slanting the sails to catch the winds. The ship heeled over and began to move now, slicing through the water with an ease Granger had never seen on any other ship. The Intrepid was like a race horse, a thoroughbred, designed to run.

“Helm, two points to larboard,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” the helmsman replied.

“Mr. Calvert, get the mains on her.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert replied. Then the largest sails in her repertoire, her main sails, billowed out. She began to move ahead that much faster. It was exhilarating. “The Royals sir?” Calvert asked, grinning.

“Get the royals on as well Mr. Calvert. Let's see what she can do.” Granger said, grinning back.

He watched as Calvert expertly had the men set and trim the royals, the top most sails on the ship. She was heeling over a bit now, but it was glorious, like a yachting expedition. “She flies sir,” Calvert said, his grin and glee infectious.

“Walk with me Mr. Calvert,” Granger said. The two officers fell in step, pacing the quarterdeck in the time honored fashion of the Royal Navy. Striding together until they reached the end of the deck, turning inward to face each other briefly, then pacing to the opposite end and repeating the maneuver. “I'm inviting the officers to sup with me this evening, to tell them of our destination, but I wanted to brief you first.”

“Thank you sir,” Calvert said.

“We're bound for India as one of the convoy escorts,” Granger said, just as they reached the end of their turn. Granger caught Calvert's expression, one of conflicting emotions similar to those he'd experienced when Chatham had told him of their destination. “We're to be the small ship to fight off the little privateers that have been hounding the Indiamen.”

“But the convoy sailed two weeks ago,” Calvert observed.

“Which means we have some catching up to do. We'll try to join them in St. Helena, but if that fails, we'll meet them at the Cape.”

“We'll have a lot of time to snap the crew into shape sir,” Calvert said enthusiastically. “Our men are experienced seamen, so sail drill is good. Gunnery may be another matter.”

“Well once they've mastered the basics, we'll work on marksmanship,” Granger said.

“Sir?” Calvert asked. Marksmanship was something not usually emphasized in the navy. Speed, rate of fire was what was important. A British ship could usually fire twice as fast as her French foes, and it was that advantage that decided battles.

“You served on a line of battleship before, did you not?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir. I was third on the Caesar before this, and prior to that I was posted on Berwick and Bellerophon.” Berwick, the sodomy ship, Granger thought to himself.

“Well smaller ships are a bit different. We're more likely to have to fire accurately. I've brought some extra powder so we can have live fire practices,” Granger said. Most of the time gun practice was done without real powder and shot. The Admiralty refused to expend precious resources on powder for practice.

“An expensive affair, sir,” Calvert said.

“I'm betting it will be worth it,” Granger said. “By the way, it seems we have a mutual friend in London.”

“Indeed sir?” Calvert said.

Granger waited until they turned and his eyes were locked on Calvert's. “Arthur Teasdale.” He watched Calvert's eyes, watched the alarm in them, the surprise. That told Granger more than anything about Arthur's brief encounter with Calvert, and told him that but for the coach moving abruptly, Calvert would have fucked him. “I'll go below now. Once we clear Ramsgate, take us down channel on the starboard tack.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said nervously.

Granger wandered back down to his cabin and sorted through his papers, the mail that he hadn't had a chance to read before they'd set sail. He flipped through it and realized that much of it was for the other officers and crew. He picked out his letters and called Winkler to take the rest to Calvert. He could deliver it. Then, and only then, could Granger relax and open his own mail. The first one he opened with a smile. It was from John Travers, the love of Granger's life, the man who was commanding a frigate in the Mediterranean. He felt the sadness overwhelm him, the sadness of knowing that it would be at least a year, probably more, before they could be together again. Granger pushed that aside and slit open his letter.

Dear George,

I'm writing this before we sail to join Lord Hood off Corsica. With Toulon gone, and Minorca a Spanish possession, the thought is that Corsica will fill the need for a naval base in the Central Mediterranean.

The Aurore has been refitted and manned, although with an inexperienced crew that will require time and effort to mold together. She retains all her trappings, and it is hard not to visualize her as the ship you commanded in Toulon. I look around the cabin, the ship, and she reminds me of you, which makes me love her that much more.

I've got a good core of officers. James Robey has been assigned as First Lieutenant. I know that will have meaning for you, but I hope you know where my heart is, where it will always be.

John

Granger felt the emotions surging within him, and felt like a man in a cage. He wanted to go somewhere and walk all by himself. It was at times like this that he missed the massive stern gallery on the Commerce de Marseilles, the long outdoor balcony that he could pace in complete solitude.

Robey had been Travers’ lover before he and Granger had gotten together. Well, maybe not his lover, per se, but they'd blown each other. He knew that their feelings for each other ran deep, knew that they'd have been together long before Granger met Travers if it weren't for the vagaries of the navy in separating them. But now they were together, close friends and former lovers, on the same ship. Granger knew that Travers loved Robey, and knew that Robey's feelings for Travers were stronger still. It was inevitable that they would be together, inevitable that they would fall in love all over again, and inevitable that Granger would lose Travers to Robey. He felt a tear fall down his cheek and cursed his own weakness. But he couldn't stop them, not this time. This time his heart was breaking, this time his whole body was being ripped apart from the inside out, the internal pain both real and incurable. He gave in and allowed the tears to flow for just a few minutes, and then he stood up, brushed off his uniform, wiped his eyes, and strolled out into his day cabin.

“Pass the word for my coxswain,” he ordered. Jeffers came in quickly and saluted.

“You wanted to see me sir?” Jeffers asked.

“I have need of your services, if you are willing,” Granger said.

“I'm always willing where you are concerned sir,” Jeffers said, following him into his sleeping cabin. They didn't have time for much, just a brief encounter. Granger dropped to his knees in front of Jeffers, pulled down his trousers, and took his cock into his mouth, getting him hard. Then Granger stood up, dropped his own pants, slathered some lube on his hole, and bent over on his bed. Jeffers stepped up, pushed his long cock gently into Granger, and then proceeded to really fuck him. He sensed Granger's mood, his emotional desperation, and slammed away at him, raw, violent sex, and it was just what Granger needed. Granger reached orgasm first, blasting his load into his hand, while Jeffers kept going, plunging in and out of Granger’s ass until he had satisfied himself as well. For Granger, the added penetrations after he came were like a tourniquet for his bleeding heart, helping to focus his feelings on the here and now. He turned to face Jeffers, who took his hand and licked his load off his fingers and his palm in such a sensual way it surprised Granger. Then Jeffers leaned in to kiss him, the taste of Granger's own load still on his breath.

“Thank you Jeffers,” Granger said.

“Anytime sir,” Jeffers said, and strode confidently out of the cabin. Granger sighed. He'd have to work to put Travers and Robey out of his mind. If he thought about them, it would be poison for his soul.

Granger watched as his officers (his officers!) found their seats around his table. Lefavre had been laboring all day to make a veritable feast. He saw the men study the food with disdain, French fare with rich sauces. Granger had seen this before when he and Travers had dined for the first time together aboard Aurore. Travers had been just as skeptical until he'd taken his first bite.

“Mr. Lennox, pass that ragout around, won't you?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” the youth said shyly.

“What is this sir?” Calvert asked, pointing to another dish.

“That is chicken with a cream based sauce, I believe,” Granger said. They looked dubious until that first taste, and then they were hooked. Food vanished from his table at an alarming rate, and he was glad that Lefavre knew the appetites of young naval officers well enough to make a lot. He'd make sure to save a plate for Carslake, who took the watch while they dined.

“This food is superb sir,” Calvert observed. Everyone else agreed with him, of course. Granger stared hard at Lennox, who was technically the junior.

“Mr. Lennox, as the junior officer present, it is your duty to toast His Majesty,” Granger said firmly. Lennox blanched at his omission and stood up.

“Gentlemen, the King!” he said, raising his glass. They all tried not to laugh at his voice, which had cracked most obviously on the syllable, “men”. They all stood up and drank the health of their sovereign.

“I thought this dinner would be a good chance to tell you of our mission,” Granger said. Now he had their full attention. “We are being sent to escort the East India convoy. It has already left, but we are to meet them at St. Helena.”

“We'll be gone for over a year sir?” asked Fitzwilliam.

“That's probable,” Granger said. He could see Fitzwilliam's mind working, trying to figure out how to get off this ship that was dragging him away from the life of ease and comfort he'd known. He didn't realize that his father must certainly have known of their destination, and was most likely sending him off to let him grow up a bit before returning to court. His immaturity and petulance would be his undoing otherwise.

“John Company ships are well armed sir,” Carmody observed logically. “What do they hope we'll accomplish that they can't?”

“They're well armed, but they're cumbersome,” Granger said. “We're to be the quick, fast saber to chase away the small craft that sometimes hound them. My understanding is that the biggest risk of those attacks will come when we are near Ile de France and the Seychelles.” Both were French possessions in the Indian Ocean.

Granger studied the men, waiting for more questions and comments. “This long voyage will give us a chance to drill our men into a crack crew. We'll have two hours of gun drill and two hours of sail drill tomorrow, and every day after that until I am satisfied.” It was an ambitious schedule. The men would be exhausted.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said.

“I also want to take this opportunity to explain some of my philosophies so you may know and act on them,” Granger said. They stared at him, waiting. The new men would wonder if he was a tyrant, a martinet, or if he was one of those Captains who catered to his crew at the expense of his officers. They would find he was neither. “First of all, cleanliness is an absolute requirement. When I came on board today, I noticed the manger where the sheep are kept was dirty. That's the last time I want to see that.” They nodded.

“And cleanliness is not just for the ship, it is for the men as well. Sunday will be bath day, where every member of the crew will take a bath under the wash deck pump. If they want to bathe more often, we'll offer them an opportunity on Wednesday as well, but we'll make that voluntary.” They stared at him, amazed.

“There are those who view bathing as dangerous for one's health,” Dr. Jackson observed. Granger glared at him. “Of course, those men usually don't believe the blood circulates either.” That got a chuckle. “I have to add my approval, begging your pardon sir, from a medical perspective. Having the men clean will be good for them, especially in these tropical climates.”

“I'm glad you agree,” Granger said, “because I expect my officers to set the example. You'll see me on deck daily, or at least every other day. I will not require you to conform to the same schedule as I do, but I do expect you to conform to the requirements I set for the crew.” He looked around, making sure each of them acknowledged his orders. “The midshipmen and ship's boys can bathe separately.” Nothing sparked sodomy more than having young boys prancing around naked.

“The other thing is discipline. I'll tolerate no deviation from discipline on this ship, but I won't flog men without a valid reason either. I'd much rather have a man do a turn on the pumps, or clean out the bilges, than flog him senseless. It will be up to you help me find that balance.”

“No flogging sir?” Carmody asked. “The men will run amok.” It was not surprising that Carmody raised this issue. He was the one Granger was most worried about.

“I did not say 'no flogging' Mr. Carmody. I said I want to keep it to a minimum. So if you want to flog someone, you’d better have a damned good reason. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” Carmody said, not a little abashed.

After that, the party broke up. As Calvert made to leave, Granger stopped him.

“Be so good as to send Mr. Carslake down, won't you?”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. A few minutes later found Carslake wandering sheepishly into the cabin.

“You sent for me sir?”

“Yes Mr. Carslake. Thank you for keeping watch for the others. Perhaps you'd honor me by helping yourself to a plate?” Granger said. A nod to Winkler brought a fresh plate and silverware, along with a glass of wine.

“That's most kind of you sir,” he said as he dug in.

“We're off to India. Have you ever been there?” Granger asked.

“Been there twice sir,” he said in between mouthfuls.

“Excellent. We're to meet up with the East India convoy around St. Helena or Cape Town.”

“Well sir, you'll need to follow the trade winds, begging your pardon sir, until you’re halfway to Brazil, then you swing south and hope for a westerly wind. That's the best way to avoid the doldrums,” Carslake said.

“The doldrums?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir. South of the equator there's an area where it's often dead as a doornail. No wind, no current, nothin' sir. Many a ship's company's been driven mad when they were becalmed there.”

“Well,” observed Granger, “we will have to make sure we have adequate stores before we enter that zone.”

“That's a wise precaution sir,” he said.

“Well Mr. Carslake,” Granger went on, entirely changing his tone, “you've been on a French frigate, a French first rate, and now on a French corvette. Which did you like better? The first rate?”

“Not hardly sir. The Commerce was put together with a bunch of strings. I'm partial to this ship.”

“Indeed? Why?” Granger couldn't imagine why someone would prefer any ship to the beautiful Aurore.

“She's got more speed and packs a big punch, and she's comfortable enough in a sea. The Frogs built her strong, but for the rotten planks we replaced. She's a tough little ship sir. If you had to engage a frigate, not that I'd recommend it, we'd at least have a fighting chance.”

“I think you overestimate the strength of her scantlings Mr. Carslake, but I appreciate your confidence. In any event, matching broadsides with frigates isn't in my orders,” Granger said. After that, the conversation degenerated into small talk, and a summary of Granger's philosophies. Carslake had served with him before, though, and knew how Granger operated. Finally, Granger was able to end the dinner and headed up onto the deck to check on their progress. Carmody had the watch.

“This must be familiar to you,” Granger said to him as they headed down channel.

“Not really sir,” Carmody said. “This time the Captain is on deck and not below, drunk.”

Granger laughed at that. “With all the wine at dinner, it's almost a possibility.” Granger knew that intoxication while he was in command was simply not an option. “The wind is freshening. Get the royals in, if you please.”

“Aye aye sir,” Carmody said, and piped the watch aloft. Granger wanted to make sure they didn't have to take in the royals in the middle of the night. At least not until his crew was familiar with the ship.

April 13, 1794

“Secure the guns Mr. Calvert,” Granger ordered. The sweating men who heard him sighed with relief, but quietly to avoid the appearance of insubordination. Calvert turned to order that the guns be secured, and then turned back to Granger.

“Some improvement sir,” Calvert offered.

“Improvement yes, but not good enough,” Granger said. “But as over half our crew are former merchantmen, it's not surprising that they're raw when it comes to gunnery. We'll practice again tomorrow.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said.

“I will take my bath now Mr. Calvert. The men can follow afterward. Please rig the wash deck pump.” Granger went below to shed his clothes and put on his bathrobe, all with Winkler's help. Then he snuck into his sleeping cabin to masturbate quickly. The last thing he wanted was to sport an erection while bathing in front of the ship's company.

Granger walked up on deck to find the wash deck pump rigged, with a group of grinning seamen ready to spray him down. Then, much to his surprise, he found Calvert and Jackson there in their robes as well.

“With your permission sir, we thought we'd join you,” Calvert said. Having his first lieutenant and the surgeon join him would send a strong signal to the men that this was a good thing to do, but standing around naked with those two was going to tax his control to the extreme. Granger thanked his lucky stars he'd had the sense to jack off first.

“Very well,” he said. He took off his robe and handed it to Winkler and grabbed the soap. The men sprayed them down with frigid water, sure to shrivel anything. Granger took a sideways look at Calvert's body as he soaped his own. He was truly exceptional. His body was much more muscular than Granger had guessed, but in a subtle kind of way. Perhaps that was because he was thin, not skinny. The extra weight made him look well-built, not wiry, and soft in a strong kind of way. He had just the slightest hint of love handles at his waist, and strong, defined pectoral muscles with nipples that were almost too small, but in being so small they were in fact perfect. Granger noticed that he had very little hair on his body, not even on his arms and legs, but he had a big thick pubic bush of chestnut hair to match the hair on his head. His bush was big, but not big enough to hide his shriveled dick, which must be quite large when he was erect. Calvert turned around, and Granger felt himself swallow uncontrollably at the sight of his ass. Thin and muscular, just like his frame, it bubbled out just slightly, with a big dimple in each cheek.

Granger tore his eyes away from Calvert, no mean feat, to take in the doctor. He was short and slight, without much muscle tone. Somehow, that made him incredibly cute, with skin that looked soft and supple and an ass that looked like two big bubbles. Granger found himself dreaming of fucking the good doctor, and how good those soft globes would feel as he slammed his pelvis against them, and realized that he was slowly getting aroused. He finished soaping and then let the freezing water shrivel him up again as he rinsed off.

Granger took his time dressing, taking pains to look good, to put on his best uniform. It was Sunday, so it was important to look better than normal. He went up on deck to find the men bathing. This was actually a good practice, Granger thought. Not only did it keep them clean, but it was a great way to evaluate morale. The men were laughing and joking, slapping each other playfully, all in high spirits. That was a good sign.

Aft, near the taffrail, they were rigging a separate area for the ship's boys and midshipmen to take their baths. Granger saw Carmody lurking around. “Mr. Carmody, have you taken your shower?” he asked good naturedly.

“Not yet sir,” he said, and not in a happy way.

“Then I will personally relieve you so you can,” Granger said.

“Aye aye sir,” Carmody said, and went down to don his own robe. Granger had planned to ignore the midshipman until he overheard the conversation behind him.

“I'm not taking a shower,” Fitzwilliam said defiantly to Carslake. Granger turned and his eyes met Carslake's, then focused on the lad.

“You have just committed an act of insubordination, Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Granger said. “Pass the word for the bosun.”

“I'm sorry sir,” Fitzwilliam stammered. It did nothing to assuage Granger's anger. Fitzwilliam had to be broken. He had to realize that in this society, in the navy, he wasn't at the apex of power.

“You will indeed be sorry Mr. Fitzwilliam. I will not tolerate such behavior in my ship,” Granger said, the anger in his voice palpable. “You will kiss the gunner's daughter.”

“You sent for me sir?” the bosun asked. He was a big man named Farrel, a good boatswain.

“Mr. Fitzwilliam will kiss the gunner's daughter. Ten lashes from your starter may teach him to obey orders, but just in case that isn't enough, he'll be tied to the shrouds for six hours,” Granger ordered. This was harsh punishment, and he could tell by the look on Carslake's face that he was surprised after Granger's big talk about flogging. But Granger had thought this through. Fitzwilliam had to be broken to navy discipline, had to shed his arrogance, so this punishment would actually do him good. Plus it would send a signal that Granger would accept no insubordination from anyone, not even from the son of one of the most powerful men in Parliament.

Granger turned to Fitzwilliam. “We will see if this changes your attitude. If not, we will do it again, and again, and again, until you learn to respect the rules and customs of His Majesty's navy.”

They led Fitzwilliam to the aft-most 12-pounder and stripped his pants down, exposing his cute little ass. He was turned slightly and Granger could see his dick, small due to his fear, sheltered in the small patch of brown pubic hair on his groin. Farrel bent him over the gun and one of his mates held Fitzwilliam's hands, pulling them forward, pulling him across the gun so his face was near the muzzle.

Farrel pulled his arm back and smacked the boy's ass with his starter. Fitzwilliam screamed out briefly, and then bit back the pain. There was a big red welt where the starter had hit him. Nine more times Farrel swung, but after the first time, Fitzwilliam made no sound. Granger found himself impressed with Fitzwilliam for the first time, at his ability to endure physical pain without crying out. Granger was suddenly aware of Carmody next to him, watching the midshipman and licking his lips. His robe was tenting from his throbbing erection as he stood watching Fitzwilliam's ass take its beating. Farrel must have seen Carmody watching, because after the last stroke he ran his starter down Fitzwilliam's crack in what was almost a seductive way. Carmody's face scrunched up and he bent over double, feigning some sort of ailment while he ejaculated into his robe.

Granger took a moment to notice that Farrel had been merciful. He'd probably eased up on the boy, and he'd spread his strokes around so as not to break his skin. They pulled Fitzwilliam up and helped him put his trousers over his sore butt, then they took him to the mizzen shrouds and tied him up there, facing the ocean. “No one is to give him food, only water,” Granger ordered. He would be just fine for six hours, and maybe, just maybe he would learn his lesson. As for Carmody, well, that was an entirely different challenge.

For the rest of the day, business went on as usual, with everyone ignoring the midshipman strung up in the shrouds. Granger went up on deck at dusk, two hours before Fitzwilliam was to be released. He made a point to be on deck before dusk and at dawn, the most dangerous times of day for a ship at sea. “Lookouts, what do you see?” Granger bellowed at the tops through his speaking trumpet.

“Nothin' sir!” they each called out in turn as they made their last scan. Carmody came up to relieve Calvert then, and Granger headed below with Calvert behind him.

“The boy needed to be taught a lesson sir,” Calvert said daringly. It was not consonant with the duties of a first lieutenant to approve or disapprove the actions of his Captain. But Granger knew that Calvert was trying to be supportive, and he took it accordingly.

“Join me for a glass?” he asked, motioning Calvert into his cabin. “I am less concerned about Fitzwilliam than I am with Mr. Carmody. Fitzwilliam will learn soon enough, perhaps after this, or perhaps after his next punishment.”

“What was the problem with Carmody, if you don't mind my asking sir?”

“He came up to watch Fitzwilliam's punishment. He was in his bathrobe and his cock was hard as a rock. When it was over he ejaculated into his robe.”

Calvert stared at him, horrified. “Did the men see?”

“I'm not sure,” Granger said honestly.

“Buggery is a capital crime sir,” Calvert said. Granger had a feeling they weren't talking about just Carmody.

“It is, Mr. Calvert. But it is not one I relish dealing with, and certainly not an offense that I would go looking for. In any case, this wasn't buggery. I fear that Mr. Carmody's passion lies with young boys.”

“Yes sir,” Calvert said.

“You'll need to keep an eye on him, especially when he is around the ship's boys and midshipmen,” Granger said. “Have you encountered buggery in the fleet?”

Granger saw Calvert's expression and immediately regretted his question. He did what he could with his eyes to soften it, trying to make amends in a non-verbal way. “I was on the Berwick,” Calvert said.

“I encountered a midshipman from Berwick on my last voyage. Man named Bentley,” Granger said matter-of-factly.

“He joined Berwick right after I left,” Calvert said. “I should probably go up on deck and do a final check.”

“I didn't mean to raise an unpleasant topic,” Granger said sincerely.

“You didn't know sir,” Calvert said. “You're a bit of an enigma, begging your pardon sir.”

“An enigma? Me?” Granger asked back, laughing.

“Yes sir. On the one hand, you have a reputation as one of the most anti-buggery officers in the fleet, after that affair on Victory last year. On the other hand, you're friends with Arthur Teasdale, a known sodomite.” Calvert looked at him with those eyes and stood up to leave.

“My actions on Victory were nothing more than any other officer would and should have done,” Granger said. “A young midshipman on my staff was being tortured and I stepped in to save him. That the crime was buggery was irrelevant.”

“May I ask you a hypothetical question?” Calvert asked. Granger nodded. “If you'd caught that midshipman engaged in buggery, only it was voluntary, would you have turned them in?”

Granger thought about that question carefully. To say “yes” was the standard answer expected of all King's officers, but it was dishonest. To say “no” was the honest answer, but flew in the face of the Articles of War. Should he give the right answer, or the honest one?

“No,” Granger said simply. He liked Calvert, and they needed to trust each other. He'd asked Calvert to open up to him, but to do that, he needed to open up to Calvert first. They just looked at each other until it got uncomfortable. “I'm going up on deck and have Fitzwilliam freed,” he said.

“Yes sir. Thank you for the wine,” Calvert said as he preceded him out of his cabin.

Granger walked up on deck. The sky was overcast and the seas moderate, so it was pitch black and noisy. The clouds blocked out the stars and the moon that would normally have provided some illumination, while the crashing waves made a loud racket. Granger waited at the rail for his eyes to adjust, then headed to the shroud. As he got closer he noticed that there were two shapes instead of the one he'd expected. He squinted his eyes, trying to be sure, as he moved closer.