The Passengers' Cabins

"S'alright, monsewer," Markham said gruffly. "And don't take no notice of Shriver, sir; he's scum from Falmouth, and a fathead. Not all the Webfoots are like him; most are pretty decent for Marines."

"Thank you, Markham. It will all blow over, I am sure." Smiling slightly Raoul added: "I used the apple you gave me. I hope they do not blame you for giving me something to pommel him with. Captain Padstowe took the knife ... which I used only to cut the surviving apple."

Markham sniffed.

"Should have stuffed it in his mouth, sir. 'S what you do with pigs."

"I was ..." Raoul smiled at the other man's joke. "I was not certain if the rest of the Marines, and the crew, agreed with him. I had the sense, at dinner, that the Marines who were here - did not like the idea of my sitting to eat with their officers. That may at least be solved for the rest of the voyage."

Markham shrugged.

"There's few of 'em, monsewer, but that's because they're ignorant swabs with no manners. And as for the lads at dinner... they hate standing service anyway. Nothing personal."

"I am sure they must - this is not why they joined the Marines, to stand behind chairs and pour wine." Raoul hesitated, and did not say: "They joined to kill Frenchmen," since Markham may well have joined the Navy for just such a purpose himself. If he had joined, and not been pressed. His lips twitched at the memory of the discussion with Dr Maturin. "I will hope to avoid all ignorant ... swabs?... for the rest of my time on the Terpsichore."

"So do I, sir," Markham said. "And the lad outside will help with that. I'll leave you to have your coffee, monsewer."

"Thank you, Markham; you make an excellent cup of coffee. The 'lad outside'? You mean the Marine." Raoul smiled wrily - the Marine was there as gaoler, not to protect him, though probably he would do so, in the unlikely event of someone trying to attack him.

"That's it, sir," Markham smiled, pleased with the compliment. "Won't be nobody that gets past him unwanted. I'll take my leave now. Is there anything else you'll be wanting?"

"Not at the moment," Raoul said. "Captain Padstowe has found me a book, and I will sit here and read, and wait until the Captain - your Captain, that is - can decide on my fate."

"Very good, monsewer," Markham said, and left Raoul to his coffee and book.

Back in his own cabin Padstowe was sitting amongst his papers again, writing up a report of his attack and last few weeks in Lisbon to present to Hogan when they eventually met again. His brain was only half on the job though as he worried about Crozier, Stephen and Raoul separately. This voyage was not turning out to be as restful as they'd hoped it would be.

Stephen ignored the Marine and did not knock, but flung the door to des Sablières' cabin open, and stood framed in the doorway. "Is it true?"

The Wrath of Achilles, Raoul thought and laid the book down. "I - yes. I'm terribly sorry," he said rising to his feet, as the cot swung.

Stephen swung the door shut. "What happened?" he said, quivering with rage.

The cot banged hard against Raoul's legs as he took a step backwards. "It will be all right," he said. "Please - sit down. It ... I shouldn't have gone down there."

"The hold. You went to the hold, to the horses." Stephen was furious with Raoul - to hit a Marine! But he knew that Raoul would never hit someone unprovoked, and the provocation must have been very great indeed, so he was furious with the unknown Marine. And he was furious with himself, for allowing this to happen.

"Yes, to the hold. I ... I did not know it would cause trouble. I had gone to see them yesterday. I thought ... I took two apples." Stephen had been here, he thought, with Lieutenant Leat. They had known.

"Then what- you threw one at his head?!" Stephen asked incredulously, remembering the Marine with a swollen cheek and the bits of apple on his collar. "For the love of God, Raoul!"

"I pushed it into his face," Raoul said, with a slight smile. "Flat handed. Captain Padstowe thinks I should have stuck it into his mouth, and roasted him... No. It was not quite like that. I am not a fool, Dr Maturin. Why would I attack a Marine?"

Stephen pulled his wig from his head and tugged at his hair in frustration. "I am assuming he provoked you," he said icily.

"He tried." Raoul pulled a face. "He wanted to provoke me. He ... He reminded me of Moreau, you know. Bigger, and probably more stupid, but as full of malice and spite. He said things..." He stopped and hesitated. "I was angry, but I did no more than tell him to shut up and go away."

"So why did you hit him with the apple?"

Raoul shrugged. "He did not go - he threw a punch at my head." His eyes gleamed. "I should have let him hit me, they will say. Then I could prove that it was self-defence! I just wanted him out of the way."

Stephen sang into the chair. "I believe you, Capitaine..." he said, all the anger draining out of him, leaving a black despair in its place. "What has Captain Bolitho said?"

Raoul sat down on the cot. "I have not seen him yet - but the Marine Sergeant, who - ah, interrupted us at that point, will report it. Captain Padstowe thinks ... He believes me too." He attempted a smile at Stephen, worried by the look on his face. "I think for once I failed to be charming enough. But the man was a brute and a bully. He wanted an excuse to hit a Frenchman - perhaps he is more scared of them in a real fight, when they are armed with more than an apple and a table knife."