Read Online A Ship for The King by Richard Woodman - Free Book Online Page B

following forenoon the sight of the approaching boats had reminded Faulkner of the conversation and the influence of great men. When he had first entered Mainwaring’s service he had half expected great men to reflect something of the goodness that Sir Henry had manifested towards himself, and although he had long since lost that naivety, there remained some sense of disappointment that they did not. On the one hand it reduced their high social standing in respect of himself, but on the other it seemed to increase their unworthiness to enjoy any such superiority. Indeed, if he were truthful, he found the very notion of a king engaged in fondling another man, let alone enjoying any form of congress, profoundly disturbing. Was not a king God’s anointed? And was not sodomy forbidden by biblical proscription? Faulkner was no expert on such theological matters, but the notion made him distinctly uncomfortable and in a moment of rare self-doubt, he wished himself clear of all such muddles, spiritual, intellectual or physical. Indeed, he wished himself back on the deck of the little Swallow , with the Scilly Isles astern and the broad bosom of the Atlantic ahead, the horizon sharp under the spritsail yard and the world full only of the potent evil of Sallee Rovers.
    But now the tweeting of the boatswain’s call and the shouted orders as the Prince Royal ’s people prepared to receive the approaching boats took over his attention and for half an hour Faulkner’s mind was attentive to the formalities of seeing the crowd of courtiers aboard and conducted to their allotted accommodation. And that is how he came face-to-face with the young girl with the dark and luminous eyes and felt such a violent twist in his bowels the like of which he had never previously experienced.
    He had returned to the deck from seeing three gentlemen into a cabin under the poop, the smallness of which sent them into paroxysms of confusion and complaint from which he extricated himself only with some difficulty. ‘I assure you gentlemen,’ he had explained, ‘this is accommodation superior to anything enjoyed by the ship’s officers and I am sure that you will find us as attentive to your needs as our duties will allow . . .’
    â€˜I do hope so,’ one mincing wag said, rolling his eyes in Faulkner’s direction as he withdrew. ‘I don’t know which I prefer,’ he heard another say, ‘those hearty tars or their petty officers . . .’
    The clean air of the deck washed over him as he watched one of the canvas chairs descend on deck on its yard-arm whip. A seaman reached up a hand and steadied it as it was lowered to the deck. Catching Faulkner’s eye, the first lieutenant, Edward Slessor, beckoned him and then turned to its occupant.
    â€˜Milady,’ he said, ‘Mr Faulkner will show you to your apartment . . .’
    Faulkner stepped forward, made a perfunctory bow and looked up into the luminous eyes that had momentarily transfixed him earlier when the King had dined on board.
    â€˜Milady,’ he said, holding out his hand and steadying her as she took it and stepped out of the chair. He was aware that his heart had begun pounding and that he was uncertain whether he was blushing like a loon or had gone as white as a corpse. He felt her fingers through her glove, tiny, delicate, and he was unsure whether to withdraw his hand now his assistance was no longer required, or to remain leading her towards the door under the poop and the great cabin, which had been partitioned and hung with velvet drapes to accommodate the ladies. In the end he led her, only half looking at her as he said in as steady a voice as he could muster – and with a second, awkward crabwise bow made between one step and another – ‘Lieutenant Faulkner at your service, ma’am . . .’
    It was the first time he had referred to himself by rank and he drew