MAES 41: Release and Binding
Release and Binding
“The pillory? Do you tell me so? The pillory for a naval officer?”
“Yes, sir. It is quite a usual punishment in the City for fraudulent dealings and so forth. And of course he would be dismissed from the service.”
“God between us and evil,” said Stephen. He was moved beyond his usual calm and he did not recover even the appearance of it until he was walking up the steps of his club…
There was a silence, during which Stephen looked at the carpet and Sir Joseph contemplated his friend, whom he had never seen so perturbed.
-The Reverse of the Medal, pg. 235, Norton Press paperback
0~0
Stephen Maturin sat in the window of his room at the Grapes, awaiting Jack’s return from Arlington Street. Although he was better at hiding it, he was just as anxious as Jack for the results of the meeting. Having been exposed to the ways of seamen for so long, and having been educated in the ways of the ancients - who had found confidence in a particular outcome to be gross impiety - had made an effect on him, and although the rational part of his mind kept listing all the reasons Jack would certainly be reinstated - his victories, his new seat in Parliament, the force of public opinion - the irrational part could not help but feel worried.
Occasionally, he would abandon his seat at the window to rise and pace restlessly, trying to settle his uneasy thoughts. Inevitably, his mind returned to that dreadful day so long ago now, when he had first learned of the possibility of Jack’s being struck from the Navy List as punishment for a crime he had not committed.
He had left Lawrence hastily, stumbling through the streets to see Blaine, dazed as though drunk, scarcely noticing those he bumped into or the shoves he was given in return. His mind had been showing him, over and over, memories of Jack Aubrey, from the day he had first known him.
Jack approaching him on the streets of Port Mahon, hand outstretched in friendly, apologetic greeting. The poorly-disguised happiness in his voice as he told of his promotion.
The pallor in Jack’s face when Stephen had first seen him after his promotion to post rank, the exhaustion and debilitation from his recent wounds doing nothing to lessen the joy in his expression at this long-awaited event.
The pride in his voice when, as Commodore of the Mauritius campaign, he had told Stephen that he was proud of his service rank, and that if ever he made admiral he would paint Here Lives Admiral Aubrey on the door of Ashgrove.
These memories and others had flooded through his mind as he hurried on, still so distressed when he reached Sir Joseph’s house that he didn’t realize at first the existence of a plan that had been forming in another part of his mind altogether: the plan to help Jack become a privateer captain, in lieu of being a captain of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. The firm determination to do just that had only come as he’d told Sir Joseph of the scheme, and had been relieved when Blaine said it seemed a good idea.
He’d had his doubts, even then. He had heard Jack speak of privateers in a rather disobliging way, and it was only after talking with Tom Pullings on the way to the auction that the greater part of his fears had been eased. Jack objected to privateers mostly for their undisciplined behavior, yet Stephen knew that Jack himself would never be of that sort. Tom’s assurance that it would be “better than eating his heart out on shore” had confirmed Stephen’s own initial judgment.
So much of Jack’s character was made up of his naval character: who he was in relation to the Service, to the officers and ship’s company under his orders; to the world who paid attention to the doings of the Royal Navy and its captains. Losing that essential part of himself had very nearly destroyed Jack outright, and Stephen had sometimes wondered that it had not. Yet the strength of character which lived in Jack Aubrey, although it may have been born largely from the years Jack had spent as part of the Royal Navy, had proved greater than the sudden blow of this terrible misfortune. The life of the Royal Navy itself may well have given Jack the strength to withstand his abrupt and unjust removal from that world.
Stephen reflected on this as he waited for Jack, seated once again at the window. His friend had always been something of a conundrum to him, much as he himself was to Jack, or so he suspected. There had always been that part of each other’s characters that could not be understood; only observed and, often, admired. Stephen admired Jack greatly for his courage, for his strength both of body and spirit, for his continued cheerfulness in the face of nearly all trials…
The sound of chaise wheels stopping outside the inn pulled his head up sharply. He stood to stare down, and saw Jack alight, breaking into a run as soon as his feet touched the ground.
Stephen’s heart began to pound as he heard Jack thundering up the stairs. Was this hurry to tell him of his failure? Eagerness to share the good news?
The door had no sooner opened, Stephen had no sooner caught a glimpse of Jack’s beaming face, his eyes alight in a way Stephen had not seen for far, far too long, than the crushing weight that had overcome Stephen’s heart - even as it had Jack’s - disappeared. Gone as though it had never been.
Stumbling toward Jack, smiling, laughing weakly in his immense relief, he opened his arms. Jack seized him in an embrace, lifting him off his feet and actually spinning Stephen around twice before setting him back down, stepping back to show his papers.
“He did it as handsomely as the thing could be done, no humming and whoreing, no barking about the wrong bush, no God-damned morality: just shook my hand, said “Captain Aubrey, let me be the first to congratulate you” and showed me these.”
Far, far too long indeed, Stephen thought, smiling with the infection of purest joy that seemed to emanate from Jack, a near-palpable force. This man sitting across from him, this present Jack Aubrey had been absent from both their lives for too long. Looking at him, Stephen thought a casual observer would never guess that this almost glowing being had spent an interminable amount of time as something not far removed from an animated corpse in many essentials.
When Killick came in and received Jack’s orders, Stephen saw the same sense of instant release and perfect joyous triumph that had spread in himself come over even the steward’s habitually dour visage. Indeed, Killick’s words, “So it’s all right, sir?” seemed to sum up the entire state of affairs.
0~0
Sir Joseph Blaine awaited Stephen Maturin in some worry. He still had no idea of how best to express the concerns that had been steadily growing in him for some time now.
Sir Joseph knew, as did many others, the dangers that could come from an agent’s feeling too closely bound to one person. It was one of the reasons he himself had never married, in spite of ample opportunity - not to mention temptation.
From the day Stephen had first been even partially admitted into his confidence, Blaine had found him to be an excellent agent: trustworthy, capable, and intelligent enough to escape any trap designed for his capture. Or almost any trap, he amended, wincing as he recalled the sight of Stephen’s bandaged hands spread on a counterpane.
Perhaps that was part of it, he mused. Perhaps this attachment of Maturin’s was due in some part to the fact that the one and only time Stephen Maturin had been caught in his activities, it had been Jack Aubrey who had risked life and limb to extricate him. Had Aubrey not done so, Maturin would certainly have died. Instead, he had been rescued, and so allowed to continue with his life’s work.
Life’s work. His; Doctor Maturin’s; Jack Aubrey’s. Of the three, Blaine’s work occasioned the least chance for physical harm. Aubrey probably topped that list, martial man that he was. And whatever danger Aubrey found himself in, Maturin would be there beside him. Only fair, Blaine supposed, for when Maturin was in danger, Aubrey would surely follow him into it as well.
But frankly, it was the latter chance that worried Blaine most. Stephen might wind up on the wrong end of a cannonball or splinter at any moment when at sea, but from the point of view of the head of naval intelligence, that death was far less disastrous than Stephen dying at the hands of torturers, who might have gotten him to say who-knew-what before he gave up the ghost. Granted, he had not said anything during his earlier interrogation, when his body had been so broken - yet, there was another body whose breaking might force him to reveal anything his captors wanted.
That was what worried Blaine. If Jack Aubrey were to follow his friend into danger of that sort again, and if he were to be captured as well…if Stephen’s torturers were to realize by that very act what the two meant to each other, then it would be no great leap to suppose Aubrey would be taken and tortured in Stephen’s stead. And if that happened, what might Stephen do?
Would he eagerly tell all he knew to spare his friend pain? Would he reflect that even if he did talk, they would certainly both die anyway? Would he keep his mouth shut and watch in helpless rage as his dearest friend was subjected to the same treatment that had marked his own body for the rest of his life?
Blaine did not know, and not knowing could prove deadly, in his line of work.
Maturin’s line of work, too, he reminded himself. He’s certainly not the sort of fellow to be done brown by just any intelligence service. Ledward and Wray aside, he is not easily fooled. And I was fooled just as much by that pair. To think that any service worth its name would employ such a man as Wray!
He reflected on the Stephen Maturin he had first met, during the Peace. All those in Blaine’s line of work had known the Peace was unlikely to last, and they had used the break to build up their reserves. Stephen Maturin had been one of those reserves. He had come highly recommended, and though obviously untried at the time, even the possibility of what he might do had been so great that Blaine had begun testing him at once. He had passed every test, his advice had proved invaluable on continental affairs, and when he learned of the man’s history and family, he had not hesitated to support the plea for a free pardon that would cover Maturin’s past misdeeds. They had been small enough, in all conscience, and as Maturin himself often said, he had abhorred the actual violence.
When reading over the files regarding Maturin’s life - information obtained by yet another agent - Sir Joseph had seemed to get a sense of purposelessness from the man. Even on the matters of those causes he had fought for, his aims were moderate in comparison with those of his fellows. His actions had lacked violence, had lacked any of the dangerous idea of “my way, or no way at all,” which marked so many of his fellows; a point of view that, in Blaine’s opinion, made problems so much harder to deal with.
In spite of Blaine’s worry that Stephen Maturin might one day agree to make concessions in order to spare Jack Aubrey’s life, he could not deny the changes Aubrey had brought about in Maturin. Blaine had seen Maturin worry more visibly over Aubrey’s troubles than he did over a possible intelligence coup. He had never seen Stephen Maturin more distressed than the day he had told Blaine that Aubrey might be dismissed from the service. Blaine had been rather shocked to see him in such a state, truth be told.
The reasons behind Maturin’s affection for Aubrey didn’t really matter, Blaine decided. What mattered was the outcome: Aubrey made him vulnerable.
“It is the risk we take when we love,” Blaine murmured. And in Maturin’s case, the risk might not be so great as all that. In spite of all he had done, he had only been caught the once. He had withstood the interrogation, and he had not been caught since. Although it was now known in certain French circles that Maturin was indeed an agent, Blaine himself knew from Madame de La Feuillade’s affair that if Maturin ever did fall into enemy hands again, he would likely be killed instantly. Lucan would likely believe the chance of getting information out of him was so slight compared to what Maturin might do if he were to survive - by Aubrey’s interference or another’s - that he would shoot the doctor on sight.
And yet, Blaine considered, rubbing his eyes. And yet, shocked though I was to see him in such a state as that, when he told me of Aubrey’s possible trouble, I was also a little relieved. I had begun to believe nothing could shake him, that nothing could truly touch that well-protected heart. Being able to maintain such a façade is laudable, in our line, but I had often wondered if it was a façade, in his case. Now I know it is: now I know that beneath that seemingly impenetrable exterior, there is a heart that can feel true loyalty to another human being, a heart that can break for another’s sake, a heart that can hurt for another’s trouble. A heart that can love one capable of returning such love - all to the better, for I still find it hard to believe that his wife truly loves him. A life without love is no life at all, and between a life that will never give love and a life that will never receive love, there is perhaps not much to choose.
“Perhaps I should not say anything to him at all,” he mused aloud. “He would certainly be offended, and he must certainly realize the risks already. He would likely argue that Aubrey would be in danger of death even if they had never met, which is certainly true. And Aubrey certainly seems like the sort of fellow who would not deem his death a waste, were he to die in service to his friend. And the same can be said for Maturin, as well. No,” he chuckled. “He would say that in such a case, where both are likely to die no matter what is said or not said, he would die close-mouthed just to spite them, and Aubrey would agree with that decision. Yes, best not to say anything at all. The risk may be great, but the payoff - an invaluable agent who truly cares for a cause, because he knows what it is to truly love - is certainly worth such a risk.”