Master and Commander - 14. Chapter 14

August 1794

Granger scanned the harbor with his glass, taking in the sight of this strange, foreign land that was the heart of British power in India: Madras. The anchorage was crowded with ships of all kinds. Several Indiamen were berthed in one part of the harbor, while dhows and other strange Eastern craft intermingled with them. In an entirely different part of the harbor, two 74s swung gently at anchor, a rear admiral's flag flying from the foremost one. Granger scanned for more ships of war, but it appeared that these two ships of the line were all that were here. Intrepid herded the last few Indiamen into harbor and noticed with a smile that the ones who had anchored already had their boats swung out, no doubt to run and spread all the latest news and gossip they'd brought from England.

“Mr. Humphreys, there's a rear admiral's flag flying from Centurion. Thirteen guns, if you please,” Granger said in a firm but friendly tone. He'd heard Implacable hammer out her salute earlier, as she'd led the slow Indiamen into harbor. He felt a presence next to him and turned to see Calvert standing there. “You should be in your cot.”

“I've never been to India,” Calvert said. The strain was visible on his face. “I just wanted to come up and see it for a bit sir.” Granger smiled at him indulgently, hiding his concern. Calvert was getting stronger, but he was still a long way from being well.

“You will be no good to any of us if you stand here and look at India and it impairs your wound from healing,” Granger said, sounding like his nanny. At that point, the salute began to fire, interrupting their conversation.

“I'm sorry. I'm just tired of being cooped up,” Calvert said. Granger felt something rubbing against his leg and leaned down to pet Ranger. Evidently even he was curious about this new land too.

“Mr. Lennox,” Granger called.”

“Sir?” asked the young man enthusiastically. His own wound was all but healed, and he seemed to be getting along just fine with his somewhat less agile left arm.

“Would you arrange for a chair to be brought up for Mr. Calvert?”

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said, and dashed below to grab a chair from the wardroom. He returned quickly, both because he was an obedient officer, and because he was one of Calvert's biggest fans. The young midshipman had bonded with him, perhaps since they were both wounded, or perhaps because he just recognized Calvert's sterling qualities. He arranged the chair for Calvert and smiled shyly.

“Thank you Mr. Lennox,” Calvert said.

“Flag to Implacable. Captain to repair on board,” Fitzwilliam said.

Granger looked at Calvert and grinned. “Think I'll be next?”

“A betting man would think so sir,” he said.

“Mr. Humphreys, anchor near the flagship. I'll be below primping for our admiral. Advise me if I'm needed.”

“Aye aye sir,” Humphreys said. Granger went below and Winkler helped him put his appearance in order. He looked in the mirror and studied the image that looked back at him. The sun had lightened his blond hair and darkened his skin, and somehow both of those things accentuated his blue eyes.

A knock at the door interrupted Granger's self-inspection. “Enter!” he called. It was Fitzwilliam.

“Signal from Flag sir. Captain to repair on board forthwith!”

“Thank you Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Granger said as he breezed past him and up onto the deck. “I'll need my gig Mr. Humphreys.”

“Yes sir, it's ready and waiting for you,” he said smiling, happy at having anticipated his captain's needs.

“Thank you. I'll be on board the flagship if I am needed. You have the ship,” Granger said. Normally Calvert would be in charge, but with his wound, it wasn't feasible, so Humphreys would have to take over. Granger studied the two ships of the line as he approached them. Centurion and Illustrious, both 74s just like Implacable. There was nothing about their external appearance that made them unique, that made them stand out, but together, those three ships of the line gave the admiral a strong backbone to command the Indian Ocean. The gig hooked on to Centurion's main chains and Jeffers waved off the Bosun's chair. Granger leaped for the chains and scrambled up the side.

They greeted him with the honors due a commander, of course. A lieutenant was waiting for him. “Welcome aboard sir. I'm Lieutenant Pascoe. The admiral is waiting for you. This way if you please,” he said, and led the way below.

“Which admiral?” Granger asked.

“Rear Admiral James Wilcox sir,” Pascoe said. Granger felt his throat catch, his defenses rising to full readiness. Ever since he'd been a midshipman, he'd been hounded by the numerous Wilcoxes in the navy, who'd taken on his family with the tenacity of Scotsmen in a blood feud. If it were any other venue, they'd be no match for his father, but they were well ensconced in the navy, with many friends and relatives.

Granger entered the cabin and noted the sparse furnishings. Most admirals, most captains Granger had encountered were much more profligate when decorating their cabins. Maybe Wilcox hadn't been lucky in the matter of prize money. In the middle of the cabin was a stand with a huge bible lying open. Granger focused on the men in the cabin. First on Fellowes, who looked nervous. Then on Wilcox, a short, ruddy man who had that look of someone who had been drinking even if he hadn't. The heat here must make that even worse. Finally, there was another captain; one Granger had not met before, an older man, clearly one of some seniority.

“Welcome Commander,” the admiral said tersely. “You have not been introduced to Captain Flagg?”

“No sir,” Granger said, and nodded respectfully to the captain.

“Well now you have. Sir Evelyn was just familiarizing me with your operations against Port Louis. A nice piece of work,” he said. His pleasant manner along with Fellowes' worried expression made Granger more nervous than he'd ever dream of showing.

“Thank you sir,” Granger said, the only thing he could say.

“And then you aided in the capture of this French frigate?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” Granger said.

“And then you and Sir Evelyn managed to lose Rattlesnake?” he asked, with a bite in his voice that said he was leading up to this, his main point.

“Yes sir,” Granger said. There was clearly no point in arguing with this man.

“How do you explain the loss of Rattlesnake?” the admiral demanded, clearly trying to provoke a response.

“Rattlesnake was dispatched to investigate a strange sail and we lost contact sir,” Granger said.

“Well what happened to her?” he asked, almost yelling.

“I don't know sir,” Granger said honestly.

“Don't you think you should? Don't you think it is incumbent on a King's officer to aide and assist another King's ship in distress?” He was yelling now.

“Yes sir,” Granger said.

“Then explain yourself sir!” he shrieked.

“There was no indication that Rattlesnake was in distress sir,” Granger said coolly.

Wilcox glared at him then, and Granger knew that he was only trying to dream up things to make Granger's life more difficult. Bertie was the one who had started this feud in the first place, with a stupid duel with one of the admiral's relatives. Granger wondered how he was handling him out here. “Well Commander, since you have so much confidence in Captain Bergland and his ship, you can go track him down. You leave at once.”

“Begging your pardon sir, but I have been commanded to appear ashore, by the new Lieutenant Governor. Should I tell him that you have countermanded that order?” Granger asked politely, bluffing the Admiral.

“Ah yes, presumably that is your brother. By all means, delay the King's business so you can enjoy your family reunion,” the admiral said sarcastically.

“Thank you sir,” Granger said. “We also need stores and water sir.”

“Those are your problems, not mine,” he said, irritated. “When you are eventually ready for sea, let me know. We'll hope that Rattlesnake doesn't need your help in the meantime.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, and then realizing he had been dismissed, he turned and strolled out of the cabin. Nothing the admiral said really bothered Granger. There was no way Wilcox could blame him for the loss, if she was lost, of Rattlesnake. That burden rested on Fellowes' shoulders.

Jeffers managed the gig nicely, maneuvering among all the traffic in the harbor and putting her right up against the dock. The sheer number of people, the crowding and teeming masses, was mind-boggling to Granger, which was saying something since he'd spent much of his life in London.

“Will you want us to wait for you sir?” Jeffers asked.

“No Jeffers. I'll signal if I need you,” Granger said. There was no need to leave the gig's crew here in the midst of all this temptation. Alcohol, women, and God only knew what else was here, just waiting for the poor sailorman to come ashore. Granger climbed out of his gig and was immediately approached by a man in a red coat with the insignia of a lieutenant, but this was like no soldier Granger had seen before. He wore the red coat of a British soldier, but he was almost as dark as the negroes Granger had seen, with a turban of sorts on his head instead of the normal hat.

“Welcome,” he said. “I am Lieutenant Bhapi, and you are Commander Granger?” His English was smooth, although heavily accented.

“I am. It's a pleasure to meet you Lieutenant,” Granger said.

“The pleasure is mine sir,” he said, flashing his smile. “If you will follow me, there is a carriage waiting to take you to see your brother.”

“Thank you,” Granger said, returning the smile, and followed him through the docks. The people parted for him like the seas parting for Moses, giving Granger his first idea of British power in India, and of Bertie's influence. Granger climbed into an open carriage just as grand as anything the Earl of Bridgemont might own. They traveled through this city of thousands, with their strange clothing and strange stares as they looked at the carriage and its occupants, and their strange tongue that was unintelligible to Granger. The intense heat seemed to faze them not at all, Granger thought ruefully. His own shirt was already damp with perspiration, and he used his handkerchief to dab the sweat from his brow. The carriage pulled up to a set of gates that were guarded by more Indian soldiers in red coats, and then passed through and drove up to a large building.

The building was more reminiscent of Greek structures than British. It was white, with large Corinthian columns splayed across the front, creating a huge veranda that must be useful for parties. They pulled up to the front and were met by footmen, more Indians but this time in blue coats, Bridgemont blue, Granger noted with a smile. One of the footmen led him through massive double doors into a main hall.

“Georgie!” he heard, and turned to find himself gripped in a bear hug. “How absolutely marvelous to see you!”

“It's good to see you too Bertie,” Granger said. “I've brought good news.”

“Indeed?” he asked, his eyebrow raised. Bertie always had a charm, a playfulness about him that was incredibly disarming, and very dangerous.

Granger reached into his pocket and pulled out the letters he'd brought with him, the letters promoting Bertie to Lieutenant Governor. Bertie glanced over them and then got a big smile. “We must have a drink and celebrate this news, and your arrival. Come.” He led Granger into a large room. There were fans on the ceiling revolving slowly, circulating the air. Granger noticed that they were linked to pulleys and a rope of sorts. Somewhere at the end of that rope someone was busy turning the rope that turned the pulleys that turned the fans. An ingenious idea and one that might be some help in airing out the sick bay aboard Intrepid.

“You've certainly done well here,” Granger said.

“Yes, things were moving along swimmingly until your admiral showed up and started creating problems,” Bertie said scornfully.

“He bears us all ill will,” Granger said. “I am ordered to sea again as soon as possible.”

“But you just got here!” Bertie objected.

“Evidently that duel you fought has etched itself into the brains of the entire Wilcox family,” Granger observed. “He's not the first one I've encountered, and probably won't be the last.”

“So this is all my fault eh?” Bertie said playfully.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Granger said, smiling at him. He'd always had a hard time being mad at Bertie.

“But you will forgive me as always?” Bertie asked.

“Of course, as always,” Granger said, smiling.

“So you must tell me all the news from home. You have a wife now, and a massive estate I hear?”

“I do,” Granger said, and told Bertie all about Brentwood, and Caroline, and his son.

“I miss London sometimes,” Bertie said finally, “but this is my home now.”

“I'm glad I got to see you, and to see India,” Granger said. “I have something for you.”

“You mean you didn't just bring me mail?” Bertie asked.

“That’s right,” Granger said, and pulled out the signet ring. Bertie took it and rolled it around in his hands, staring at it, knowing what it meant.

“He gave you this?” Bertie asked.

“He told me that he was proud of you, and I think he suspected this was the best way to show you he was sincere,” Granger said gently. A tear fell down Bertie's cheek, a significant event for any Granger.

“It certainly worked,” Bertie said. “Half the pleasure comes from knowing how frosted Freddie will feel when he learns I've got it.”

Granger laughed with him. “I suspect that is true. He always considered it part of his birthright.”

“Speaking of pride, I've been hearing of all your exploits on the voyage here. John Company is ready to canonize you,” Bertie said. Granger had never seen that expression in Bertie's eyes. He tried hard to place it, and finally realized what it was: respect.

“St. George of the Intrepid,” Granger teased. “Perhaps they could do something more productive than that, like getting rid of Wilcox.”

“That, my dear George, is already in the works. I suspect the next boat out will bring his recall,” Bertie said.

“Indeed?”

“He has been an abysmal failure here. His ships sit in port while the French maraud us. John Company has to fund its own navy. They'll buy that French ship you captured and add her to their fleet,” Bertie said.

“Is that why there are only ships of the line here?” Granger asked.

Bertie nodded. “The Company supplies its own small craft. Anything from frigates on down. But they don't fancy ships of the line, so the government sends a few out here just in case the French get too audacious.” He paused. “Plus he's been interfering in trading that doesn't concern him.”

“Really?” Granger asked. What was Wilcox involved in?

“It's all rather complicated, and I really don't want to spend our time together boring you with it all. In any event, don't worry about your admiral,” Bertie said dismissively, which told Granger there was a lot more to it than he was letting on.

“As long as I sail with the October convoy back to Britain, I can endure much over the next few months,” Granger said.

“You may decide to stay out here and join me,” Bertie said playfully, then grinned mischievously at Granger's consternation. “Don't worry George. I would love to have you here, nothing would give me greater pleasure, but I know you'd never go for it, and I'm not one to stand in your way.”

“Thank you. I'm flattered that you want me here, but my home is in London,” Granger said, relieved.

“Or at Brentwood. Everyone out here was buzzing about that, wondering how you managed to wiggle that out of Heathford. I said you did it with your dick.”

Granger smiled at his brother and his crudeness. “You are absolutely correct.” They sat there for hours, drinking wine and port, chatting away about home and family. They laughed together until Granger suddenly became aware of the darkness. “It is getting late.”

“It is already late,” Bertie said. “Stay here tonight. I'll take you to meet the Governor in the morning. He's hosting a reception tomorrow night and I'm sure he'll want you there. Then, after that, we'll let you scurry back to your ship and sail off to make your admiral happy.”

Granger nodded. “I'll have to send a message to my ship, and have fresh clothes sent over. I lost all my good shirts in action.”

“Well we'll just have to fix that problem right now, and notify your ship.” He rang a bell and a servant arrived immediately. “I'll need the tailor here now. And I need a messenger sent to Captain Granger's ship.”

“Yes sahib,” the servant said, and rushed off to do Bertie's bidding.

“It's ten o'clock at night Bertie. The tailor is awake?” Granger asked.

“For me, he is awake. For you, he is awake. For your admiral, I suspect he would enjoy his sleep,” Bertie said. The tailor arrived and measured Granger carefully, then left them alone. They drank more wine, until they were drunk, and two servants had to carry Granger up to his allotted bedroom.

Granger was awakened the next morning by a familiar face. “Sir, you'll need to get up now. Your shirts are ready to try on, and you're supposed to get ready to meet the governor.”

“And just how did you manage to get yourself here Winkler?” Granger asked. “And please talk more softly.” His head was pounding from the beginnings of his hangover.

“I came back with the messenger and brought your clothes. I'm having them washed in fresh water, and then they'll be ready for us to take aboard tonight,” Winkler said. Clothes washed in salt water seemed to be perpetually damp. It was only after a fresh water wash that they dried out.

“Good thinking,” Granger said as he heaved himself up into a sitting position.

“I've arranged a bath for you as well sir,” Winkler said. Granger looked up at him and smiled.

“You have this all planned out to try and eradicate any bad humors I may have,” Granger said in an accusatory tone.

“Your happiness is my primary concern sir, after my own of course. Your good mood is a positive on both those accounts.” Winkler was so cute when he was cheeky.

The bath was marvelous, a huge tub filled with warm water. He submerged himself in it, relishing the fresh water and how it took away the dirt, grime, and salt, which had permeated his skin. Then he tried on the shirts, four of them, all beautifully crafted. He complimented the tailor profusely, which made him happy, but not as happy as the guineas Granger gave him. If he was to meet the Governor, that would necessitate wearing his best dress uniform, which Winkler had spruced up. Granger grimaced as he put on the stockings and breeches, then the shirt, waistcoat, and blue uniform jacket with its heavy gold lace. Each layer made him hotter. He found himself longing for cold, rainy London. Finally he was ready, ready to descend the stairs, eat, and face the new day.

“You look good enough to meet a governor!” Bertie said cheerfully as he walked into the dining room. Granger had become so used to seeing Bertie in his red Guards uniform that seeing him in civilian dress was rather unsettling.

“Why thank you,” Granger said, making an exaggerated bow, which he regretted immediately as his headache began to pound. “Is there anything I need to know before you introduce me?”

“Lord Hobart, well, he's a nice enough bloke. His father's the Earl of Buckinghamshire. He's been looking forward to hearing all the court gossip, because he knows you attend His Majesty and frequent Carlton House when you're home, so have some good stories ready to tell,” Bertie said.

“I'll do my best. Shall I leave out the spat Mother and Lady Jersey seem to be having?” Granger said.

“Oh no. Tell him everything. He'll love it. Besides, if Lady Jersey is angry at Mother, it will only make Mother more popular in the King's eye,” Bertie joked. They finished breakfast and climbed back into Bertie's carriage for the brief ride to Government House. It was more opulent and lavish than Bertie's house, which was as it should be, but the décor and furnishings of the rooms made Granger think he was in a palace. Bertie led him through the public rooms to a door toward the back of the house. He knocked twice then entered, leading Granger into the room.

Seated behind a large desk was a slim, elegant man. He was in his mid-30s, with an imperious nose that he seemed to be looking down, looking down through hooded eyes that flickered rather than blinked. When he saw Bertie his whole expression changed: he smiled a genuinely friendly smile. “Albert, what brings you here? I thought you'd get enough of my company at the reception tonight.”

“I've come to present my brother, my lord. Commander George Granger.”

Granger bowed politely. “Welcome Commander. I have been looking forward to meeting you. You certainly have saved me some headaches.”

“Indeed my lord?” Granger asked, as it seemed he was meant to.

“You roasted those Frogs in Port Louis, and then dished up a frigate which John Company will buy. I'd call that a definite success,” he said. There was a charm and a magnetism about him that was compelling.

“Thank you my lord,” Granger said. “I'm glad I was able to ease your discomfort.”

“If you really want to ease my discomfort, you'll take your admiral out to sea with you,” he said. Was that a twinkle in Hobart's eye? He was flirting!

“I fear it is I who am going back to sea, hopefully tomorrow my lord,” Granger said.

“Well that's a damned shame. You'll have to join me and fill me in on what's been going on in London,” he said. “Bertie, you mind leaving your brother here with me for the afternoon?”

“No my lord,” Bertie said, but looked worried. “I have some affairs to attend to anyway. George, I'll see you at the reception.”

“Until then,” Granger said. Why did Bertie look so worried? But he left Granger there and closed the door behind him.

“It's so far from London that sometimes one feels completely isolated. The opportunity to spend time with someone from that world is almost intoxicating,” Hobart said as he moved closer to Granger.

“That must be very hard, my lord,” Granger said, letting the double entendre stand there.

“Very very hard,” he said. “Probably similar to being cooped up on a ship for months at a time. That would be very very hard as well, I should think.” He moved a bit closer to Granger, so they were only a foot apart at most.

“It is my lord. It is very hard,” Granger said, and in truth his member was getting very hard.

“Sometimes hard is good,” he said. Granger felt Hobart's hand brush across his thigh and felt a jolt of electricity fly up his spine. It had been so long since he'd had any sexual attention, since his brief tryst with Fitzwilliam. Calvert was too frail for anything but getting his dick sucked, which Granger did most happily, but that left him rather high and dry.

He moved his body slightly to the side so Hobart's hand was now grazing his groin. He was fully erect now, his breeches barely able to contain him. “Yes my lord,” Granger said. He felt Hobart's hand move against his dick and pushed slightly against it. Then Hobart got bolder and brushed the palm of his hand purposefully across Granger's dick, cupping him. Granger let out a soft moan, then moved his own hand to Hobart's groin, finding him just as hard as Granger.

Hobart tore himself away from Granger and headed toward the door, locking it firmly, and then walked back to Granger. Everything about him was fluid and sexy, while still maintaining that elegant grace that seemed to define him. Granger stood there, frozen, in awe of this man who matched him in social rank yet so far outranked him substantively. Hobart ran his hand through Granger's freshly washed hair and pulled him closer, closer still, until their lips met. The kiss was intoxicating, passionate on Granger's part, with all the impetuousness of youth, while more controlled and drawn out on Hobart's part, the kiss of someone who was going to set the pace.

Just that contact, their lips, their tongues, inflamed Granger. He didn't know if it was because he was horny, or because he was genuinely attracted to Hobart, but he rather thought it was both. He felt Hobart's hand move below his waistband and onto his hard dick, skin against skin, and moaned into Hobart's mouth. Hobart broke off their kiss and smiled. “Perhaps I can help you out with your discomfort as well?” He dropped to his knees and took out Granger's dick, then absorbed it into his mouth with one smooth movement. Granger moaned, remembering not to be too loud, and just enjoyed Hobart's oral efforts. It didn't take long before he felt his orgasm rising, so he moved his hands to Hobart's face to pull him off, but Hobart was having none of it. Then Granger exploded, ejaculating for what seemed like hours, while Hobart swallowed it all like a pro.

He stood up then and put his hand on Granger's cheek, feeling his panting breath on his wrist. Then Granger dropped to his knees and reciprocated. He went slowly; now that he had cum himself he had the patience to enjoy Hobart's body. He had a nice dick, about six inches long, but very thick. The thickness reminded him of Travers, but he fought that memory down and just enjoyed the man in front of him. He knew he was making this last for a long time, if only because his jaw was so sore it seemed as if he could go on no longer, but he was finally rewarded with Hobart's copious load.

“That was truly gratifying,” Hobart said.

“My thoughts exactly, my lord,” Granger said, putting on his most flirtatious smile.

“So we have about four hours until this reception. Have you ever taken a bath in a tub filled with oils?”

“No my lord,” Granger said.

“I think you will enjoy it,” he said. “Follow me.” Hobart led him to a room upstairs and locked the door. They stripped off their clothes, with Granger getting a view of Hobart's naked body for the first time. He had hair on his chest and abdomen, not too much, but just enough to be attractive. His body wasn't overly muscular, like Calvert or Travers; rather it was stringy, sinewy. The whole package was incredibly sexy. “I pale in comparison to your beauty,” Hobart said.

“Nonsense, my lord. I was just thinking that you are one of the sexiest men I've encountered,” Granger said as he sunk into the cool liquid. It was oily, and his whole body felt slick. Hobart moved over to him and embraced him, their bodies sliding together, against each other, both so slippery it was all they could do to maintain their grip. Then their lips met and Hobart sat down, pulling Granger down on top of him. Granger sat down gently, feeling Hobart's fat cock sliding against his ass, then along his crack. He reached back and grabbed it, lining it up with his hole, then sitting down, taking it inside of him.

They both moaned at the same time, and then Hobart held Granger on his lap, kissing and caressing him in such a loving way, all the while moving in and out of Granger in a slow, steady rhythm that just fired up Granger's entire body. He was overcome with lust, until he could take it no more. He seized control of the moment, raising and lowering himself on Hobart until his second orgasm erupted, blasting into the oil. Hobart pushed him back gently after Granger came, and began thrusting into him at the pace designed to bring himself to orgasm as well. After Hobart came, they just stretched out languorously, enjoying the feel of the slick oil, and talked of court, and politics, and London.

Granger felt like a debutante as he descended the stairs at the Governor's Mansion, having spent the afternoon getting thoroughly fucked and the early evening primping for the party. Tonight was a very formal reception, one calling for powdered hair, something Granger normally didn't mind, but in this heat, working the flour dredger through his hair had been especially difficult. Still, the end result, his white hair contrasting with his tanned skin and dark blue uniform, was quite handsome.

“I was wondering where you'd gone off to,” Bertie said affectionately as soon as he saw Granger. “Did his lordship show you his oil bath?”

Granger stared hard at Bertie, wondering if he'd whored himself out to Hobart to advance his career, and if that's why he was so nervous. It was really cute the way he was concerned about his little brother, Granger thought. “He did, and it was truly splendid. I'm assuming you've experienced it too?”

“I have,” Bertie said. The lack of emotion on his face when he said that told Granger more than he'd ever get out of Bertie directly. “Did he join you?”

“Do you always delineate your bathing companions?” Granger teased, for once able to out-play the ever-playful Bertie.

“No, there are usually too many to list, and I grow bored trying to recall them,” he said with feigned obliviousness. “Let us circulate.”

Bertie took him through the crowd, introducing him to generals and colonels, to the powers-that-be of the Honorable East India Company here in Madras, and to the other naval officers. “Where is Wilcox?” Granger asked.

“He was unable to attend,” Bertie said with a smile.

“Unable to attend, or uninvited?” Granger asked.

“I am not sure which it was,” Bertie said nonchalantly. But Captain Flagg was there, as was Captain Howard of the Illustrious.

“I hear you're shipping out tomorrow Granger,” Howard said. He was in his forties, a bluff, direct sort. This party must be agony for him.

“Yes sir. I've been ordered to go find Rattlesnake, then be back here in time to escort the convoy back to England in October.”

“We should be with you, or at least Illustrious should, in case you need back up,” Howard said indignantly.

“We are needed here to prevent French incursions Captain Howard,” Flagg said, irritated.

“Sitting around at anchor doesn't prevent French incursions Captain. It merely makes the men lazy and disorderly,” Howard replied indignantly. “You are lucky to be rid of this place Granger.”

“Your comments border on insubordination, Captain Howard,” Flagg said severely.

“Well just because you've got your lips on Wilcox's ass doesn't mean I have to have mine there also,” Howard replied. Granger saw Flagg's color rise, and saw the anger building. This was the kind of event which could end up in a serious reprimand, or worse yet, a duel.

“Gentlemen, perhaps all this good food and drink has made us forget ourselves. My personal theory is that if we indulge in even more drinking, those feelings will pass,” Granger said with his cheeky grin, trying desperately to charm them out of a very tense situation.

“That's true Commander. The last thing we'd want is another duel. The last one has cost you the enmity of your admiral,” Flagg said imperiously.

Granger fought his own temper now. “And I will repay that enmity when I am back in London, at court and at Carlton House, sir.” Granger chided himself for the arrogance in his tone.

“Take me with you,” Howard said. Flagg glared at both of them and stalked off. “I'm sorry Granger, but this assignment is a cancer to my ship. The men fight, floggings are a weekly event, and the only reason is that they're bored. I begged the admiral to let me go to sea, but he adamantly refuses.”

“I understand your frustration sir,” Granger said.

“That 8000 pounds the company voted to your ship for your action at Port Louis won't make him any happier either. It was the reward for an action before you joined the admiral's flag, so he won't get his piece of the action,” Howard said jokingly. The Governor had presented the award tonight, a gift from the Honorable East India Company, 1000 pounds for each schooner destroyed.

“Perhaps I can still fatten his purse a bit, sir” Granger said. “I'll be out cruising about in the Indian Ocean taking prizes, while you sit here enjoying these parties.” He saw Howard's expression flash to anger then break into a big smile when he realized Granger was teasing him.

“Why hasn't your father, I mean his lordship, run these Wilcoxes out of the navy yet?” he asked jokingly.

“He's working on it sir. One Wilcox at a time,” Granger said, and they both laughed.