Houston met Bolitho’s gaze and said hesitantly, “I meant no offence to you, Sir Richard.”

“I am glad to know it.” Bolitho turned aside. Houston was a fool. Worse, he might become the weak link in their slender chain.

He thought of Inch’s words which brought Houston’s response. I shall write to Belinda tomorrow. But the thought remained motionless in his mind, like a cloud.

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Bolitho faced him and, ignoring the others, gripped his arm with sudden force.

“Say no more on the matter. Tomorrow, next week maybe, we could join our lost friends, or be whimpering as our parts drop in Tuson’s wings and limbs tubs.” He tightened his grip still more.

“It is something you could never have foreseen.” Then he smiled and released his hold. “In truth, Val, I damned well envy you.” He turned away before Keen could speak.

Two days later, as a lordly East Indiaman dropped anchor in the bay, Bolitho’s squadron weighed and put to sea in watery sunlight. Throughout the squadron every purser was worrying over fresh water and rations, and each captain considered the need to be sparing with cordage and canvas as they sailed farther and farther from the land.

A thousand miles ahead of the squadron the little brig Firefly lay hove-to under the flagship’s lee.

Adam Bolitho stood on the broad quarterdeck and glanced across at the other ships and then up at the vice-admiral’s flag at the fore. Like his uncle, and yet it was all so different. Several other visitors were aboard, and the flagship’s own captain had barely paused to offer him a nod.

The solitary epaulette counted for very little here, he thought.

But the challenge and the thrill of making his first rendezvous in his own command still held him. Even sighting the Rock in all its majesty had seemed exciting and personal. And now he was here in the old Victory, ignored perhaps, but here.

He shaded his eyes to look across at his small command. She was young and alive, the way he felt.

He owed it all to his uncle, although he would be the first to deny it. Adam sighed. It was his uncle’s birthday tomorrow, although without someone to remind him he would let it pass unnoticed. He would more likely be thinking of the day after, two 68

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years exactly since he had married Belinda at Falmouth. They had been a hard two years, much of them spent at sea, as was the way of the Bolitho men. Now there was little Elizabeth, but something was missing.

The flag-lieutenant joined him on the quarterdeck and eyed him curiously.

“The secretary is completing the despatches you are to carry.

It will not take long.”

“Thank you.”

“In the meantime Lord Nelson would be pleased to receive you. Please follow me.”

Adam walked aft, his mind awhirl. He was twenty-three years old and with Firefly had thought he had everything.

A voice announced, “Commander Adam Bolitho, my lord.” In fact it was just beginning.

5 darkness at N oon

BOLITHO paced slowly along Argonaute’s handsome stern gallery, his neckcloth untied, his shirt open to his waist. October it might be, but the air was hot, with little more than a light breeze to fill the sails.

He liked the stern gallery, a luxury he had never enjoyed in an English-built ship. Beyond the tall windows of his day cabin, or above on the poop, was the ship and all the responsibility she represented. Here on this narrow catwalk there was complete privacy, no eyes to watch him, to study his confidence or lack of it.

Even the sounds were more muffled here, masked by the surge of water below the counter, the creak of the rudder-head as the helmsmen held the two-decker on course.

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a drum, the agonizing pause, and the crack of the lash on a man’s naked back.

One more note in the punishment book, and little comment from the ship’s company. Discipline was discipline, less harsh in many ways than that meted out by the lower deck if they found someone stealing from their own kind.

Crack.

Bolitho thought of the girl, and wondered why he had not told Adam about her when Firefly had joined the labouring squadron just long enough to pass some despatches and collect letters for home. For Firefly was returning to England, Nelson’s link with a far-off Admiralty.

Adam had said wistfully, “I have only just come here, Uncle.” He had brightened when Bolitho had given him a letter for Belinda. “But I shall be back soon with any luck.” Bolitho walked to the end of the gallery and rested his hand on the gilded shoulder of a life-sized mermaid, the twin of the one at the opposite side. He smiled. Well, almost. This one had been decapitated by a ball from Achates on that murderous day in May. Adam and Hallowes, who now commanded Supreme, had boarded this ship with a small handful of men, each knowing it was a last chance with the possibility of survival too unlikely to consider. Adam had told him about this mermaid and how he had clung to her before the last mad dash.

The old woodcarver at Plymouth who had fashioned a new head must have a sense of humour, he thought. He had given the mermaid a sardonic grin, as if she was enjoying a secret.

He had asked Adam of his impressions of Nelson and had seen him putting them together in his mind.

“He was not at all as I expected. He seemed restless, and in some pain from his arm. And although I am taller than his lordship, he seemed to fill the cabin. I cannot explain it. And his contempt for authority is astounding. The name of Admiral 70

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Sheaffe was mentioned and Nelson laughed. He said that Sheaffe’s oceans were made of paper and fine intentions, that he had forgotten that it took men to win wars.”

“You liked him, despite his outspokenness to a subordinate?” Adam had seemed uncertain. “I am not sure, Uncle. Once I thought him vain, even shallow, and the next instant I was struck by his total grasp of the war out here.” He had grinned shyly. “I know now that I would follow him to hell and back if he required it of me. But I cannot say why. It is just something I know.” It was much as others had said. Hated by most of his superiors, but loved by the men he led, the majority of whom had never laid eyes on him. Bolitho wished he had been there.

Adam had said, “He asked of you, Uncle, and wished you well.” Now Firefly was gone, speeding to Gibraltar and then on to Spithead.

Without effort Bolitho could see Portsmouth as he had left it. Cold and wet, but so strong in his life.

He began pacing again. Nelson had left him in no doubt as to a suitable watering-place for his ships. Sardinia, and a small group of islands at the eastern end of the Straits of Bonifacio.

The Madalena Islands as they were named lay less than two hundred miles from Toulon. Trust “Our Nel” to know such things.

No wonder he could thumb his nose at men like Sheaffe. Until his luck ran out.

Pipes trilled like distant birds. Without seeing it Bolitho knew the hands were being dismissed, the flogged man cut down, the gratings unrigged and swabbed clean. Justice had been done.

Bolitho thought of his instructions. It made him smile to himself. As a captain you received orders. A flag-officer had to discover his own solutions.

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they might try again for Egypt and the Nile. It had been a very close thing the last time. If they succeeded in a new attempt, Bonaparte would look further to India. It would be like opening a vast sack of booty, to say nothing of a tactical advantage. Bolitho thought it just as likely that the French fleet would head for the Strait of Gibraltar and force their way to Biscay and double the size of their squadrons there.

If he had read Nelson’s mind correctly, no matter what Adam thought, Nelson would want the lion’s share of the fight for himself.

The sea seemed empty without half his ships. He had sent Inch with Despatch in company with Lapish’s frigate as scout and go-between. Icarus, her sails filling and then emptying in the weak breeze, followed astern, her gunports open as the sour-faced Captain Houston drilled his crews. The cutter was like a pale shark’s fin far to windward, and Rapid was visible only from the masthead as she led her big consorts like beasts on a line.

Far to starboard the horizon looked deep purple. Corsica. He leaned on the rail and looked at the water as it bubbled from the rudder. In these light airs it would take longer than he had hoped to find anchorage and take on fresh water. The nearness of land would do wonders for the seamen and marines, he thought.

A door opened onto the gallery and Allday said apologetically, “Cap’n Keen’s respects, sir, an’ Rapid has sighted a sail to the east’rd. Masthead reports it’s just in sight.” Bolitho nodded. “I’ll wait down here.” It was strange, he had heard nothing. Like his new chair, the gallery was private and personal.

He grinned at his reflection in the windows. Must be getting old.

Keen came down a few minutes later.

“A schooner, sir. Genoese according to Mr Paget—he went aloft with a glass.”

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Bolitho walked into the cabin and crossed to his chart.

“So long as she’s not Spanish. The Dons may not be in the war, not yet at least, but they are still an enemy and will tell the French everything they can about us.” Keen suggested, “She’ll be a trader hereabouts, sir. I’d like to speak with her myself when we’re up to her.” Bolitho thought of Rapid ’s commander, Quarrell. A good officer, but, like Lapish, he lacked experience.

“Yes, you go. The trader may know something.” He said with sudden anger, “Like groping in the dark. I wonder what he’s up to?”

Keen watched him. Jobert was rarely mentioned by name but he was always on Bolitho’s mind.

Bolitho was saying, “These islands, there are quite a few hiding places amongst them. It will be well to keep a sharp lookout until we know they are secure.” He tapped the chart with some dividers. “On this hill for a beginning. A good man could see for miles from there.”

Keen waited, knowing there was more to come.

Bolitho rubbed his chin. “I’d like to see for myself. Once you have investigated this schooner, signal Supreme to close on the flag. I intend to board her and go on ahead.” He saw Keen’s uneasiness and added, “Don’t worry, Val, I have no intention of becoming a prisoner-of-war a second time!” Keen should have been used to Bolitho’s unorthodox meth-ods but he always seemed to have something new up his sleeve.

It would certainly keep the cutter’s little company jumping with their admiral dropped amongst them.

Bolitho pulled his shirt away from his damp skin.

“How are things, Val?”

Keen replied, “She is well, sir. If only there was a way to reassure her.” He shrugged, the gesture one of helplessness. “We do not even know ourselves—”

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There was a rap at the door and after a small hesitation Midshipman Sheaffe looked into the cabin.

“Mr Paget’s respects, sir. The schooner is hove-to.” Bolitho said, “We shall be up to her before dusk. We don’t want to lose her.”

Keen smiled in spite of his thoughts. What Bolitho really meant was he needed to get started now that he had decided on something.

Bolitho saw Sheaffe’s eyes watching, perhaps comparing them, and wondered what he would say if he knew what Nelson had said of his father. Sheaffe was very like his father in one way.

Keen said that he had made no friends and in fact avoided any close contact. Not an easy thing in an overcrowded ship of the line.

Bolitho said, “Mr Sheaffe will come with me. Good experience.”

“Thank you, Sir Richard.” Either Sheaffe did not care what he was being told to do or he had been listening at the screen door.

Allday protested as soon as the others had gone, “You can’t go without me, sir!”

“Don’t be such an old woman, Allday.” He smiled. “I may go ashore, and I’ll not have you undoing all the good the surgeon did by dragging you up a mountain.” He saw the stubborn light in Allday’s eyes and added, “Besides, I think my, er, second cox’n should be given the chance, eh?”

Allday nodded slowly but said mistrustfully, “If you says so, sir.”

Bolitho had been right about timing. It was nearly dusk by the time they had the shabby schooner lying under their lee, and when Keen returned he had little to offer. “The master says he sighted a frigate four days ago, sir, could have been a Frenchie.

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“In that?” Bolitho shook his head. Not only men-of-war had their problems.

But a solitary frigate must be assumed to be an enemy. Nelson had only two, otherwise there was just Barracouta. Spanish then?

Unlikely to be sailing without company in these disputed waters.

He marked the place on the chart which Keen had gleaned from the trader. Out of Toulon, or trying to get back into that port?

He made up his mind. “I’ll go over to Supreme before night closes in. See to it, will you, Val.” Keen could manage very well without him, and Inch would be well able to take care of the rest of the squadron if anything happened.

He heard the calls shrilling and the clatter of tackles above the boat tier.

He felt sorry for Allday, but there was no point in overtax-ing his strength. The savage wound had healed, but it had not gone away.

He waited while Ozzard fussed about with his seagoing coat and the hat with the tarnished lace.

In his heart Bolitho knew he needed to be alone, away from those he trusted, even loved.

“Barge alongside, Sir Richard.”

A last glance around the cabin. It seemed to be watching him.

Waiting maybe for its old master to return.

Bolitho allowed Allday to clip the old sword to his belt.

Never in a thousand years, he thought. Then he loosened the blade in its scabbard and thought of those other times.

Aloud he said, “I’ll see him dead first.” At the entry port where the side party had assembled Bolitho took Keen aside and said quietly, “I shall see you at our rendezvous.” He glanced at the sky. “We are in for a blow, so make sure that Icarus stays in close company.” Keen opened his mouth to speak and changed his mind. The COLOURS A LOF T!

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breeze barely pushed the reefed topsails against the shrouds as the ship lay hove-to, and apart from a few arrowhead clouds the sky was as before.

Old Fallowfield, the sailing-master, was nearby and walked towards his helmsman. Even he was impressed. He glared at a midshipman who was watching the vice-admiral open-mouthed and growled, “Wait till you can fathom out the weather like that, Mr Penton, but I see no chance o’ you learnin’ nothin’!” Keen touched his hat. “Aye, sir. I’ll send Rapid after you if need be.”

Bolitho glanced up to his flag. “This would be a private ship but for my presence, Val. Use my quarters while I am away. They would have been yours.”

He tugged down his hat and clambered over the side as the boatswain’s mates trilled their salute.

It was good that Keen should also have some freedom while there was an opportunity. What he did with it was his affair.

As the early light filtered across the nearest island Bolitho walked up the cutter’s tilting deck, his shirt rippling from his body in the wind. It was difficult to find somewhere to stand, he thought, as Supreme’s deck seemed filled with busy figures and snaking halliards. The topsail cutter was only seventy feet in length but carried a company of sixty. Bolitho had once served temporarily in one as a midshipman. That vessel had been commanded by his brother Hugh. Even so it was hard to believe that all these busy seamen could eventually find enough space below Supreme’s flush deck to eat and sleep.

The squall Bolitho had predicted had swept down after dark, and he felt sorry for the heavier ships he had left astern. Supreme on the other hand flew with the wind; her enormous boomed mainsail, jib and foresail bulging under the pressure, she seemed to skip across the waves.

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A cutter had proportionally more agility and sailpower than any other man-of-war and could manage to sail as much as five points into the wind.

He saw Hallowes shouting to his first lieutenant, a round red-faced man who looked old enough to be his father, which he probably was. Lieutenant Okes had been promoted from the lower deck and had last trod the planks as a master’s mate. It was just as well Hallowes had more than proved his skill and courage as a fighting officer when they had seized Argonaute. But Supreme required a knowledge of seamanship which could only come from long experience.

The rising wind and sea had kept the hands fully occupied, too busy to worry about the presence of their admiral amongst them. But now, as the wind backed slightly and the sturdy hull thrust closer into sheltered waters, many of the men paused to stare. Bolitho, with his hair plastered down by spray, his shirt open from the throat and grubby from the cutter’s lively motion, was not most people’s idea of a flag-officer.

Bolitho watched as some seamen bustled past Midshipman Sheaffe, who was clinging desperately to a backstay. His face was pale green and he had been sick several times. Lieutenant Stayt was below, not sick, but out of sorts at being a passenger and always in somebody’s way.

Hallowes crossed to Bolitho and said, “With your permission, I shall round the next headland and feel inshore, sir!” He had to shout above the din of canvas and rigging. He looked very young and was obviously enjoying his freedom in spite of Bolitho. Two leadsmen were already up forward loosening their lines in readiness. The chart was a poor one, but hinted at shallows and some spurs of rock, although to the naked eye in the blue-grey light the sea looked deceptively welcoming.

Bolitho took a telescope and waited for the Supreme to complete the next leg of her tack before he steadied it on the land.

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Dark, lush green, with purple beyond. That must be the mountain, as it was described. More like a tall, bald hill, he thought as it swam into the dappled lens.

Bolitho stepped back as more seamen lurched past with a tangle of halliards and blocks, oblivious to everything but the boatswain’s yell.

The long boom, which extended well beyond the counter, swung above the helmsmen at the tiller and filled out on the opposite tack. Spray dashed over the deck and Bolitho wiped his face with his sleeve. He felt alive again, the demands of land and flagship momentarily put aside.

He looked at Supreme’s armament, twelve tiny cannon and two swivels. But she could give a good account of herself in anything but a ship-to-ship action.

The headland fell back in a towering curtain of spray.

Hallowes saw Okes watching him and shouted, “All hands!

Shorten sail! Leadsmen in the chains, lively now!” Hallowes waited until some of the way had gone from his command and said, “Is it your intention to land here, Sir Richard?” Bolitho hid a smile. Hallowes obviously still thought it incredible that he should wish to go ashore when others would do anything which was required.

“While your watering party is employed, I shall take a glass to that hilltop.” It was a long walk and a climb too. But now he had told Hallowes, he felt better. He would have to do it to avoid a loss of face. It was as well Allday was in the flagship. He would not be strong enough for a long time, he thought sadly. If ever.

He saw Bankart in his blue jacket below the great, single mast and wondered what he really felt about his father.

“Look, sir.” Hallowes leaned on the bulwark and pointed at the sea alongside.

As the bow wave receded Bolitho saw the seabed rising and falling beneath the keel, as if it were breathing. Scores, no, 78

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thousands of fish scurried this way and that, and every so often a line of solid rock showed menacingly through the pale sand.

“By th’ mark five!” The leadsman’s chant was somehow reassuring. The boats were already made ready for hoisting out over the sides, a gig and a jolly-boat. Hallowes was sensibly going to replenish his own water supply before he rejoined the squadron.

He heard Sheaffe taking deep breaths. The worst was over.

“A pleasant landfall, Mr Sheaffe?”

The midshipman straightened his shoulderbelt and dirk and said, “Indeed, sir. Am I to come ashore with you, sir?” Bolitho grinned. “It will do us both good.” Stayt came on deck. Unlike Bolitho, he wore his uniform coat and hat and doubtless had his fine pistol close to hand.

“Stand by to come about! Hands wear ship!” Feet pounded on the wet planking, and as the sails were checked and fisted into shape the anchor plummeted down into clear water.

Hallowes put his hands behind him and Bolitho saw that the fingers were tightly entwined. He was nervous, but that did no harm at all.

“Sway out the boats!”

Hallowes said, “I’ll send a good lookout up to that ridge, sir.

With a glass he’ll be able to see across the next headland, according to the chart.” He smiled self-consciously. “And Mr Okes, of course.”

Stayt beckoned to Bankart. “The gig!” His voice was sharp, and Bolitho knew that had Allday been here he would have reacted just as curtly. But Bankart had to learn.

Bolitho waited for the others to clamber down amongst the oarsmen. Lieutenant Okes was taking the jolly-boat, his weath-erbeaten face like some old figurehead, Bolitho thought. The Navy could do with a lot more Okeses just now.

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Supreme’s only midshipman, a spotty youth named Duncannon, piped, “Give way, all!”

Bolitho clutched his sword between his knees and thought of Cornwall, of how he and his brother and sometimes his sisters had played amongst the coves and caves near Falmouth. He sighed.

A thousand years ago.

What would Belinda think when she received his letter? He had tried not to dwell on it, to keep his mind free of personal encumbrances.

Sheaffe said, “The jolly-boat’s ashore, sir.” Bolitho saw Okes wading through the shallows, his white-stockinged legs like huge inverted flasks. There was a broad-shouldered seaman already leaving the others, naked but for some tattered trousers and wide-brimmed hat. One of Hallowes’ best men, and as bronzed as any native. With a telescope carelessly jammed under one arm he was striding towards the trees and the hills beyond.

The gig grounded and Bolitho climbed outboard and then trod on firm sand as the seamen hauled the keel up the beach.

The trees looked almost tropical and their bushy tops moved in the sea breeze as if in a dance.

The gig’s crew were already returning to the cutter to fetch some water casks.

Bolitho touched his forehead and then, as if to test his reaction, he felt beneath his dangling lock of hair and along the deep scar which had almost killed him. That had been a watering party too. It always made him feel uneasy.

It was a strange thing that the lock of hair was now tinged with white. The rest of his hair was as black as before. What was it? Vanity, or the anxiety about the difference in his and Belinda’s ages which made him worry about it?

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their way up the first slope. Once sheltered by the scrub and over-hanging fronds it seemed moist and very warm. No birds sang or screamed out a warning. It was almost drowsy.

Stayt said, “You could shelter two squadrons hereabouts, sir.” He was already breathing hard for one so young. “Nelson was right.”

Did that innocent remark have a sharper edge? Was Stayt implying that if Nelson had not suggested Sardinia, nobody else would?

It was not long before they saw the glitter of a stream with a chattering waterfall at its head. Okes was already there, his booming voice calling for axes to cut a passage for his casks which would be hauled to the boats on crude sledges.

When they walked into bright sunlight again Bolitho shaded his eyes to look back at the anchored cutter. She looked like a graceful toy, her great sails folded like wings. Bolitho raised his glass and saw the bare-backed sailor settling himself on top of the adjoining hill, his long telescope propped on some loose stones. He should see the whole coastline from there.

Bolitho felt his shirt dragging at his skin. He was wet through but felt elated, and pictured himself swimming in that clear, invit-ing water.

He thought of Keen and whether he had been alone with the girl. Bolitho knew he trusted him, but it was more important that others should know it.

The climb to the top took longer than Bolitho had imagined but he was secretly pleased that he had managed it. The others looked weary and wet with sweat. Only Bankart seemed fresh. As Allday used to be. The thought stabbed Bolitho like a marline spike.

Bolitho looked down at the cutter again, her deck alive with tiny antlike figures, while the boats moved slowly between her and the beach like water beetles.

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He moved his glass to the lookout and saw the sunlight flash from the man’s glass. He had sensibly put some dried branches on his back to protect himself from the rising glare, and his hat was pulled across the telescope as an extra shield.

It felt good to be here. Bolitho wished he was completely alone. Stayt would soon protest if he even suggested it. He sat down on the hot ground and unfolded his small map. Where was Jobert now, he wondered? What was the overall intention of the French fleet?

He heard the others resting, the sound of a water flask being shaken. What would he not give for some of Ozzard’s clear hock which he always managed to keep cool in the bilges?

Bolitho slipped one hand inside his shirt and touched his skin. It was only too easy to picture her in his arms. Her hands on him, whispering to him, arching with pleasure when he entered her. He folded the map with sudden despair. Of whom was he really thinking?

Stayt said, “Look at the birds, there are enough of them now!” A vast flock of gulls swept round and down as if held together by thread. There must be a thousand of them. As they dived down and past the anchored Supreme Bolitho saw swift darting movements in the water and remembered the fish he had seen.

The gulls had timed it perfectly, and even at this distance Bolitho could hear them mewing and shrieking as they plunged to the attack.

Work on the cutter’s deck had stopped as the seamen paused to watch as gull after gull rose flapping wildly, a shining fish gripped in its beak.

Stayt said, “We’ve a good lookout, sir. Never took his eyes off the proper bearing even for that. I’ve never seen birds act like—”

Bolitho said abruptly, “The lookout?” He snatched his glass and opened it quickly. As he swung it across the bright water and 82

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darting seabirds his eyes stung with sweat. For some reason the old wound was throbbing. What was the matter with him?

Bolitho relaxed very slowly; the bronzed lookout was still in position. He said, “Put a ball into the rocks below the crest. The bloody man’s asleep.”

Stayt scowled and gestured angrily to one of the seamen.

“Did you hear that, man?”

The seaman grinned. “Aye, sir. I’ll wake Jake up, right ’nough.” He dropped on one knee and raised the musket to his shoulder. It might startle the boats’ crews, but a sleeping lookout was a real danger.

The crack of the musket sent the birds wheeling and flapping away while here and there a fish dropped once more into the sea.

Bolitho closed his telescope and stood up, his face impassive even though he thought his heart was bursting. The lookout had not moved although the telescope still glinted as before.

“That man is not asleep.” He tried to keep his voice level. “I fear we are in some peril.” He felt them stir, their eyes swivelling from the drifting musket smoke to his face.

Stayt exclaimed, “Here, sir?” He sounded stunned.

Bolitho snapped, “Mr Sheaffe, you are the youngest, run back to the beach. Warn Lieutenant Hallowes.” The midshipman was watching his mouth, his lips forming the words as if he could not believe what was happening.

“You, Bankart, go with him.” He forced a smile. “As fast as you like.”

As the other two blundered downhill and into the trees Bolitho said, “See to your weapons.” He cursed himself for not bringing a pistol. He stared around at the nodding fronds. But who would suspect danger in a place like this?

He walked deliberately down the slope, straining his ears in every direction, but only the rustle of the trees mocked him, as if a hidden army was on the move.

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They reached the trees and Bolitho said, “We’ll circle around the hill.” He saw the doubt in Stayt’s dark eyes, the way that the two armed seamen had suddenly hunched together.

Bolitho said, “They must have seen us after the musket shot.

But we’re out of sight now. They’ll think we’re following the others.”

Stayt hissed, “Who are they, sir?” Bolitho drew his sword and gripped it firmly. How many times— He realized what Stayt had asked. “Must be French.” They seemed to outguess everything they did, where they went, what the ships were doing. It was unlikely that anyone knew he had moved to the cutter, but Supreme was one of his strength; even the wind on a lee shore was the same as that which had nearly done for Barracouta.

Stayt had drawn his hanger and together they moved slowly towards the hillside, avoiding patches of sunlight, anything which might betray them. He wondered if Sheaffe had reached the beach yet. Unlikely, even running at full tilt.

He gritted his teeth to prevent him from despairing aloud.

Why didn’t I think? I should have realized it was just the kind of trap Jobert might think of. The secret was out now, that musket shot would have made sure of that.

“Look!” Stayt dropped on his knees. There were two men, taking their time, their weapons sheathed as they strolled down through the trees. Sailors obviously, and as they drew nearer Bolitho heard that they were speaking French.

They must have left a larger party to go back to the hill for the lookout’s telescope. Bolitho could remember the seaman exactly, the glass under one arm, a good reliable hand. Now another carried it, and there was dried blood on the case.

“At them!”

Bolitho bounded over the bushes and charged onto the man with the telescope. He stared with utter astonishment and then 84

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made to draw his cutlass. He was hampered by the telescope.

Bolitho slashed him across the face and as he toppled sideways drove the blade beneath his armpit. At no time did the man cry out. The other dropped to his knees and reached out imploringly.

The lookout must have been popular for one of the seamen swung his musket and smashed him in the skull. The musket rose again but Stayt snapped curtly, “Enough, you fool, he’ll not move again.” The man with the musket picked up the telescope and followed Bolitho down the slope. But for their detour they would have been ambushed and the alarm given before they reached the beach.

He heard the dull bang of a cannon. Supreme had at last realized what was happening and had fired a recall.

There was a sudden fusillade of shots and wild shouts, then the brief clash of steel.

Bolitho broke into a run and burst through the last bushes and onto the beach. In seconds he saw it all. The grounded jolly-boat, the gig caught halfway between the beach and the anchored cutter. Lieutenant Okes stood by the water’s edge, a pistol in either hand. One he had just fired, the other he trained on a zigzagging figure which with several others was running towards his handful of seamen. Bolitho found time to notice that Okes stood quite still despite the yells and occasional musket balls, more like a wildfowler than a sea officer. The pistol cracked and the running man tore into the sand like a plough and lay still.

That seemed to deter the others, especially as Bolitho and his three companions charged towards them. Stayt fired twice, his silver pistol must have two barrels, and each shot found its mark.

Okes mopped his face with his sleeve. “Lor’ bless you, sir, I thought the buggers ’ad done for you, beggin’ yer pardon!” Bolitho saw Bankart by the boat and Okes said as he reloaded a pistol. “We’d ’ave bin caught in th’ open but for that lad.” Bolitho looked past him. “Where’s Mr Sheaffe?” COLOURS A LOF T!

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Okes dragged out his other pistol. “I thought ’e was with you, sir?”

Bolitho beckoned to Bankart. “Where’s the midshipman?” Bankart said, “He fell, sir. Back there. There was a hole, he rolled down some sort of cliff.”

Bolitho stared at him. “Cliff? There are none here!” The others were clambering into the boats; there had been no casualties except for the lookout. Four corpses lay in attitudes of abandon, their blood already soaked into the sand.

Stayt tossed his hanger into the air and caught it by the blade before sliding it into its scabbard.

It was a neat trick for the blade had an edge like a razor. But Bolitho was in no mood for games.

“Can’t leave him.”

Stayt said, “I’ll go.” He eyed Bankart coldly. “Show me where it was, damn you.”

They reached the top of the beach and then saw Sheaffe stagger into the sunlight. His face was cut and bleeding but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

“Into the boats.” Bolitho put his hand on Sheaffe’s shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

“I fell.” Sheaffe dabbed his lip. “I hit two tree stumps.” He grimaced. “Knocked the wind out of me, sir.” His eyes cleared as he saw Bankart. “Where were you?”

Bankart faced him stubbornly. “I brought the message, like I was ordered.”

Bolitho walked towards the gig. There was more to it than that, but he was grateful they had survived.

He climbed into the boat and stared across at Supreme. She was already shortening her cable, and her sails were flapping in disorder as Hallowes made ready to leave.

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were doing. But for the seabirds and the lookout apparently ignoring the spectacle, they might have been attacked when the French had had time to land more men. So where were they?

Another four-pounder banged out from the cutter and Stayt said harshly, “They’re aweigh!”

Hallowes, anchored where he was, had seen what the lookout would have reported had he been alive to cry out.

As if a piece of the headland itself was tearing adrift, Bolitho saw a ship coming around the point, her jib flapping as she tacked sharply to avoid the reefs.

She was a frigate.

Bolitho said, “Pull, lads! With all your might!” They needed no urging.

If they had not realized the lookout was dead, this frigate would have sailed right across the bay and raked Supreme into a bloody shambles.

Then the gig ground alongside and men clambered wildly aboard to throw themselves into the business of setting more sail.

The two boats drifted away. Bolitho saw Hallowes, strained and anxious. It was a pity about the boats. They might need them.

He clung to a stay and watched the frigate taking up her courses to hold on the present bearing.

Whatever Hallowes did, he could never beat clear of the land in time.

Bolitho said, “Get your leadsmen to work! Mr Okes, do you know these waters well?”

Okes had somehow lost his hat. “Aye, a fair bit, sir.” He turned as the leadsman began his chant. “The Frenchie won’t dare come after us or he’ll be in worse trouble.”

“I agree.” The frigate’s captain would realize he had lost the bonus of surprise and would lie off and maybe attempt a cutting-out action with her boats at nightfall. That was half a day away.

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Hallowes nodded, suddenly unable to think clearly.

Okes remarked, “The Frenchie’s changed tack a piece, sir.” The frigate was nearly a mile away with the next headland already reaching out to hide her. It would take her captain most of the day to claw offshore, to beat back again and attack at leisure. But first he intended to try to cripple his small quarry.

Bolitho watched the forward division of guns shoot out their long orange tongues and saw the iron making ripples across the sea’s face like streaks of light.

It was a poorly aimed attempt. The second one was not.

The sea boiled and shot skywards alongside and Bolitho heard the balls slamming into the lower hull, a terrible scream as someone was cut down by splinters.

Hallowes was staring at the chaos, torn rigging and punctured sails, with blood already trickling down the larboard scuppers.

“Anchor, damn you!” Bolitho shook his arm. “You command here! So do it!”

Two balls hit the cutter together. One ploughed a black fur-row across the deck and killed a man on the opposite side. The other smashed on to the mackerel-tail-shaped stern and blasted several buckets of sand and planking to fragments.

It was like being punched in the face. Bolitho fell on his side, dazed by the explosion and feeling the ache from his old wound probe through him from the fall. Men were crying out and he felt the deck shiver as something smashed down from aloft.

He clawed at his face and felt droplets of blood. An unknown voice shouted, “ ’Ere, sir! I’ll give ’e a ’and!” Bolitho gasped, “Anchor, now!” His voice suddenly loud as the firing stopped.

He stumbled over an inert body and clung to some dangling ropes.

“Here, sir—” The voice broke off as Bolitho dragged his hands from his face and stared round him.

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Except that he could see nothing. It was noon when the frigate had fired, but he was standing in darkness, hands touching him, voices all round him in wild confusion.

“I’m here, sir.” It was Stayt.

Bolitho covered his eyes as the pain increased. “I’m blind. Oh, dear God, I can’t see!”

He groped out and found Stayt’s arm. “Get me below. Don’t let them see me like this.” He gasped as the pain mounted. I were better killed.

6 S upreme

CAPTAIN Valentine Keen clung to the weather netting, his eyes raw from staring into sea and wind. Even his palms felt torn from gripping the tarred nettings to keep his balance.

All night long the gale had lashed the sea into a fury of leaping crests and great torrents of water which had boiled over the gangways and hurled men from their feet like flotsam. Now, as silver-grey streaked the sky, the motion was easier; dawn had come to mock their puny efforts.

There had been no point in trying to keep station on Icarus.

Like the little brig Rapid, she had been out of sight throughout the onslaught. Argonaute had laid into the wind, hove-to under a reefed maintopsail for most of the time. If the ships had attempted to remain under sail they would have been scattered miles apart before dawn.

The first lieutenant staggered towards him. “I can get her under way again, sir.”

Keen glanced at the sailing-master in his sodden tarpaulin coat. Old Fallowfield said nothing, but it looked like a shrug.

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too. We’ll need good eyes today if we are to re-form the squadron.” Paget had done well, he thought, and his voice had kept the men at it from nightfall until now.

“All hands! All hands aloft to make sail!” The yells of the petty officers and here and there the slap of a rope’s end drove the battered, weary men back to the braces and yards.

Keen tugged at his neckcloth. Like the rest of him, it was sodden from spray and perhaps rain. The ship had responded better than he had expected. She was, as claimed, an excellent sailer.

He was vaguely pleased with his own efforts. He had controlled his ship throughout and the men and discipline which drove her. The deck trembled as the fore-topsail and jib were set and, flapping wetly, brought the helm under control again. Tuson would be busy. Keen had seen several hands injured. Worse, one seaman had been swept overboard, a terrible death for anyone, to watch the wind driving your ship away, your friends unable to help while you drown alone.

“Steady she goes, sir! Nor’-east by east!” The sky was already clearing; it might even be a fine day after the night’s fury. It was a strange sea, Keen thought.

“Take over the watch, Mr Paget.” Keen rubbed his sore eyes.

“As soon as the galley fire is alight, send the hands to breakfast by divisions. Tell the purser to break out a tot per man. They’ve earned it.”

Paget grinned. “That’ll rouse them, sir!” He turned away, obviously pleased to be left in charge with a big sea still running.

Keen decided to mention him in his report; he needed a good first lieutenant, but the fleet needed those who could command.

Keen walked beneath the poop, his figure swaying in the darkness. He had not realized he was so tired and under so much strain. A scarlet coat loomed through the shadows and he saw Captain Bouteiller of the ship’s Royal Marines waiting for him.

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“Morning, Major.” Keen never really understood the marines although he admired them. Even the term “major” for the officer-in-charge seemed odd.

Bouteiller said, “I thought I should tell you myself, sir.” He had a clipped way of speaking, like a piece of equipment. “The, er, passenger wishes to speak with you.” Keen nodded. “I see. When was this?” The marine considered it. “Two hours back, sir. You were very busy at the time.”

It was too dark to see his face, not that Bouteiller would give anything away. What was he thinking?

“Very well. Thank you.”

Keen groped his way to the small door and could almost hear the sentry holding his breath. For once guard duty would have been most welcome, he thought. Every other man and boy, even the after-guard, had been on deck fighting their natural enemy.

A lantern, shuttered low, swung from the deckhead and he saw the girl lying on the cot, one leg hanging over the side and swaying with the ship, as if it was the only part of her alive. Keen closed the door. Tuson would definitely not approve, he thought.

Very gently he took her ankle and raised her leg towards the cot. She was still wearing her shirt and breeches, and as a beam of light swung across her face Keen thought she looked incredi-bly young.

Then her eyes were wide open and she stared at him with terror, her fingers gripping the shirt to her throat.

Keen did not move and waited. The fear, like a stormcloud, was slowly departing.

He said, “I am sorry. I only just heard you were asking for me. You were asleep. I would have gone—” She pulled herself into a sitting position and peered at him.

Then she reached out and touched his coat and shirt.

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Even the simple formality tore at Keen’s heart.

He replied, “The storm has passed over.” He watched her fingers on his lapels and wanted to seize them, to press them to his lips. Instead he said, “Were you frightened?”

“Not as much as the other thing.” Ozzard had told him how he had found her cowering, hands pressed to her ears, while a seaman had been flogged for insubordination.

She said, “Such a big ship and yet there were times I thought she would break apart.” She played with a lapel, her lashes lowered. “I thought you might be worried for me. I wanted to tell you I was safe.”

Keen said, “Thank you.” Once during the storm he had imagined her beside him in the gale, her hair streaming, her teeth white while she had laughed, had ridden the storm with the ship.

“Yes, I was worried. You are not used to this life.” Despite his guard he pictured the convict ship, what she would be like in a storm. He knew at once the girl had read the same thought.

She said, “I still cannot believe I am safe.” She looked up, her eyes bright and dark in turns as the lantern pivoted round. “Am I safe?”

He saw his hands take hers and hold them. She did not protest or pull away, nor did she take her eyes from his face. “Tell me, please.”

Keen said, “I had hoped to put you ashore at Gibraltar as you know. Now it seems I must wait. I sent word with the courier brig, the one commanded by Sir Richard’s nephew. Letters will be sent as soon as mine reaches the City. Maybe you will have to remain aboard until my ship is ordered to Malta. Part of our work here is to protect the convoys. In Malta I have friends too.” He found he was pressing her hands in time with his words. “One thing I do know, Zenoria,” he let his voice linger over her name,

“you will not be put aboard any convict vessel. I shall see to that.” 92

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She asked quietly, “All this, you do it for me? You do not know me, sir, only what others have told you. You have seen me stripped and beaten like some whore.” Her chin lifted. “But I am not.” He said, “I know that.”

She looked past him into the leaping shadows. “Would you care if we were somewhere else? In London maybe, or where your wife might see us?”

Keen shook his head. “I have never married. Once I—” She responded by holding his fingers in hers. “But you loved somebody?”

Keen nodded. “Aye. She died. It was a long time ago.” He looked up. “I cannot explain it, but it is real. Call it Fate, God’s will, call it luck if you wish, but it is there, and it is not imagination. Some might say that everything is against me—” He tightened his grip as she made to speak. “No, it must be said.

I am so much older than you. I am a King’s officer and my duty lies with my ship until this damned war is won.” He raised her hands to his mouth, just as he had seen himself in his thoughts of her. “Do not laugh at me but hear me. I love you, Zenoria.” He expected her to pull away or to interrupt but she sat completely still, her eyes wide. He continued, “It is like a great weight hoisted from my mind.” He said it again, slowly, “I love you, Zenoria.”

He made to rise, but she threw her arms round his neck and whispered, “Do not look at me.” Her voice was in his ear. “I am dreaming. It cannot be happening. We are both bewitched.” Very gently he prised her away and studied her face, the two bright lines of tears on her cheeks.

Then, still holding her, he kissed each cheek, tasting the salt, feeling his elation, the swift, impossible happiness.

He said, “Do not speak. Try to sleep now.” He stood back, her hands still in his. “It is not a dream, and I mean what I said.” COLOURS A LOF T!

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His mind rushed on. “You can come aft for breakfast later on. I shall send Ozzard.”

He was speaking quickly, and he knew it was to prevent her from stopping it here and now.

He reached the door but her arms were still outstretched as if she was holding on to him.

Outside the little cabin there were two sentries and a marine corporal who was relieving the guard, hissing out his orders in a fierce whisper.

Keen nodded to them and said, “Good morning, Corporal Wenmouth, I think we have ridden out the storm, eh?” He strode aft and did not see the astonishment on their faces.

Keen entered the stern cabin and stared around at the shadows and at the tossing water beyond the windows.

He was tingling, almost helpless with an excitement he had never known before. He threw his hat on to the bench seat and said aloud, “I love you, Zenoria.” With a start he realized that Ozzard was watching him from the other screen door, his paws folded over his apron.

Ozzard asked politely, “Breakfast, sir?” Keen smiled. “Not yet. I am expecting, er, company for that in an hour or so.”

“I see, sir.” Ozzard made to leave. “Oh, I see, sir!” Others might be less pleased, but Keen did not care.

“Is everything satisfactory, Miss?” Ozzard hovered by the table, seizing a dish as it slid dangerously towards the edge.

She turned and looked up at him.

“It was lovely.”

From across the table Keen watched her profile as she spoke with Ozzard. She was beautiful, with her hair loose now across her shoulders; even the midshipman’s shirt could not disguise it.

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She turned and saw him watching her. “What is it?” He smiled. “You. I could admire you all day and find something new every minute.”

She looked at her empty plate. “That is nonsense, sir, and you know it!” But she looked flushed. Perhaps even pleased.

Then she said quickly, “Tell me about your Sir Richard. Have you known him long?”

Keen listened to her voice. So alien here in a man’s world.

Yet so right.

“I have served under him several times. I was with him when he nearly died of fever.”

She studied his features as if to remember them. “Was that when you lost your love?”

He stared at her. “Yes. I did not say so—”

“It was written on your face.” She nodded to Ozzard as he removed the plate, then said, “War, fighting, you have seen so much. Why must you do it?”

Keen glanced round the cabin. “It’s what I am. I have been at sea since I was a boy. It is what I am trained to do.”

“And do you never miss your home?” Her eyes were misty again but she seemed quite controlled.

“Sometimes. When I am on land I want to get back to my ship. At sea I think of fields and cattle. My brothers both farm in Hampshire. Sometimes I envy them.” He hesitated; he had never spoken like this to anyone.

She said, “Now I can tell you not to be afraid. Your words are safe with me.”

Overhead, feet slapped across the wet planking, and near the skylight a man laughed, another snapped a reprimand.

She said, “You love these men, don’t you? Where you lead, they will follow.”

He reached across the table, the one where he had sat with the other captains. “Give me your hand.” COLOURS A LOF T!

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She offered it; they could barely reach one another.

He said, “One day we will walk ashore together. Somewhere, somehow, but we shall.”

She pushed some hair from her eyes and laughed, but her eyes were sad.

“Like this? I would be some companion for one of the King’s officers.” She squeezed his hand and whispered. “The King’s finest officer.”

Keen said, “I boarded a Genoese trader the other day.” She looked surprised at his change of subject.

Keen added, “I bought a gown for you. I will have my servant bring it to you.” He felt unsure and clumsy. “You may not like it, or it might not fit, but—” She said softly, “You are a sweet man, Captain. Even to think of it when you have all this to do. And I will like it.” Keen ended lamely, “I have two sisters, you see—” He broke off, confused as the sentry beyond the screen doors shouted.

“Surgeon, sir!”

Keen released her hand. It felt like being cast adrift. Guilty.

He called, “Enter!” Then said, “I do not wish this to end—” Tuson entered and eyed them impassively. His hands looked red, as if he had been scrubbing them.

“Some breakfast?” Keen waved him to a chair.

The surgeon gave a wry smile. “No, sir. But I’d relish some strong coffee.”

He looked at the girl. “How are you today?” She dropped her eyes. “I am well, sir.” Tuson took a cup from Ozzard. “More than can be said for your companion, young Millie.”

Millie was the Jamaican maidservant. She seemed to have no other name.

Tuson added, “I think she’d risk fever on the Rock rather than go through another storm like last night.” 96

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Keen looked up at the skylight as the masthead lookout shouted to the deck.

Tuson said, “Sounds like another ship.” But he was watching the girl, her small hands gripped into fists, the quick movements of her breasts. Keen must have said something. She looked different.

She said to Keen, “Is it friend or foe?” Keen restrained himself from getting up and opening the skylight. They would come to him when he was needed. Another lesson Bolitho had taught him well.

He replied, “Both of our ships were sighted an hour ago.” He watched her mouth. “While you were asleep.” She held his gaze. “I did not go back to sleep.” Tuson pricked up his ears, but masked his curiosity.

The sentry called, “First lieutenant, sir!” Paget entered, his coat black with spray. “The masthead has sighted a sail to the sou’-west.” His eyes stayed firmly away from the girl at the table. This made his interest all the more obvious.

Keen said, “South-west?” Without looking at the chart he could picture the other vessels. Icarus was almost three miles abeam, and Rapid far ahead, little more than a shadow against the murky horizon.

Paget added, “I went aloft myself, sir. She’s a Frenchie, I’ll stake my life on it.”

Keen eyed him thoughtfully. He was learning more about Paget every day.

Paget waited and dropped his shot with great skill. “She’s rigged like us, sir. Sail o’ the line, no doubt about it.” Keen was on his feet, unaware that the others were watching him, Paget with pride at what he had discovered without being ordered, Tuson with interest as he studied Keen as he had Bolitho on many occasions. Weight of command, a captain’s ability, determination, it was all there. Only in the girl’s eyes was there COLOURS A LOF T!

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tenderness, anxiety too for this other side to Keen’s character.

“She will know what we are about.” Keen paused by the stern windows and pictured the other vessel. “She is following us.

Reporting our movements to another ship maybe.” Paget said stubbornly, “She’s made no signals, sir. I’ve put Mr Chaytor aloft with a glass. He’ll tell me if he sees any hoists.” Keen walked reluctantly to the chart and wished suddenly Bolitho was here. The French were using one of their heavy ships, even though frigates had been reported. Argonaute could come about and give chase. It might be hopeless, it would certainly take a long time with a southerly wind across the starboard quarter.

He said, “Make a signal to Icarus to remain on station.” In his mind he saw not the ship but the sour face of her captain. “Then signal Rapid to close on the flag.” Paget hesitated by the door. “Shall we chase her, sir? We might catch her if the wind backs a mite further. I reckon this ship’d outfly anything!”

Keen smiled grimly, warmed by Paget’s enthusiasm.

“Make the signals, then call all hands and set the t’gan’s’ls, after that the royals too.”

Paget glanced quickly at the lively crests astern, blurred and unreal through the salt-caked glass. It was blowing hard to set more canvas just yet. But his captain seemed to hold no doubts.

The door closed and moments later the shrill calls and the stam-pede of feet made the ship stir herself yet again.

Tuson asked, “She’ll run, won’t she, sir?” Keen brought his mind back to the cabin. “I’ve no doubt.” He smiled. “I’m a poor host. What did you come to see me about?”

Tuson stood up and swayed to the slope of the deck.

“News of last night’s injuries, sir. Ten in all. Broken bones mostly. It could have been far worse.”

“Not for the wretch who went outboard. But thank you. They 98

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are in good hands. I think you know how I appreciate your presence amongst us.”

Tuson walked to the door. In his plain dark coat with his white hair hanging neatly over his collar he looked more like a cleric than a ship’s surgeon.

He never drank. Keen had seen his eyes on some of the others when they had been filling their glasses. Something terrible must have happened in his past.

The door closed and he said quietly, “A good man.” They faced each other across the table.

She spoke first. “I will leave.” She looked at her bare feet, small against the checkered canvas. “I saw you just now. The man.

The one who cried out aboard that ship after the whip had cut my back. The one who comforted me, and now who insists he loves me.” She walked round the table, her slim figure angled to the deck. “What will become of us?” He waited until she had walked up to him and said, “I will make you love me.”

He shut his mind to a cry from the masthead. That must be Chaytor, the second lieutenant.

“She’s making more sail, sir!” So the French ship was in pur-suit, did not want to lose them.

She reached up and laid her palm on his cheek. When he made to hold her she said quickly, “No. Not like this.” She held her hand to his face for several seconds, her eyes never leaving his. Then she said, “I shall go now.” She sounded reassured, satisfied by what she had discovered. “If Ozzard can take me?” Keen nodded, his mouth quite dry.

“Do not forget.”

She turned by the door and looked at him. “That would be impossible.”

Ozzard opened the door and she was gone.

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of them. Then he paused by the new, high-backed chair and smiled at it. What would he have done?

Then he went on deck and saw Paget and the officer-of-the-watch studying the braced yards and the set of every sail. The great main-yard was bending like some huge bow. Even the master glanced at him with some apprehension.

A midshipman called, “Rapid ’s acknowledged, sir!” He saw Keen and fell into a confused silence.

Keen gripped his hands together beneath his coat-tails and felt suddenly chilled.

Lieutenant Chaytor yelled, “She’s set more sail, sir!” Keen looked at Paget. “Shorten sail, if you please. Take in the main course.” He saw something like relief on their faces.

Keen watched Icarus responding, her sails being fisted to the yards as she followed the flagship’s example.

Minutes dragged past. Perhaps he was wrong. Suppose the French captain wanted to close and fight? Two to one, but it could happen. He let out his breath very slowly as the masthead called,

“She’s shortening sail, sir.”

Keen walked to the foot of the mizzen and touched the boarding pikes which were racked around its fat trunk.

That Frenchman wants me to turn and go after him. He’s goad-ing me. It is what he expects of me! The realization was still a shock.

He said, “As soon as Rapid is close enough, tell her to make all sail and find Supreme. Quarrell will have noted the first landfall on his chart.”

Paget watched him guardedly, aware of Keen’s sharpness, his change of mood.

“Tell him that our admiral must know we are being followed but not pursued. There is no time to write him separate orders.” The same chill swept through him. The French captain expected him to begin a chase. It would divide their force even further.

The realization made him feel pale. He added, “Tell Rapid to 100

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make haste. As soon as Quarrell understands, we shall set all plain sail.” He glanced at the masts and added, “Even if we tear the sticks from her.”

Later, in the stern cabin again, Keen heard Paget repeating his orders, his voice booming through a speaking-trumpet.

Rapid would live up to her name. He felt suddenly anxious and when he looked at Bolitho’s chair it was with the thought it might remain empty for ever.

Bolitho sat on the side of a low bunk in Supreme’s tiny cabin. It was stiflingly hot between decks and he knew it must be evening.

Someone squeezed through the door and said, “Getting dark, sir.” Bolitho reached out and seized his arm. It was Hallowes; he sounded beaten and subdued, so much so that he had not noticed what he had said, Bolitho thought despairingly.

He touched the damp bandage across his eyes. Perhaps it will always be dark for me? Why the sudden fear? He should have expected something like it to happen. God knew, he had seen enough good men struck down. But like this?

He said, “Tell me what you’re doing!” There was a bite in his tone, and he knew it was to crush his own self-pity.

During the afternoon Hallowes had tried to recover one of the boats. A strong swimmer had volunteered to go out for it. It was maddening for Hallowes to see both of his boats drifting in the distance, out of reach and unconcerned.

It was strange but men who could swim well were rare in the Navy. This one had got only twenty yards when a solitary musket shot from the shore had killed him. There had been a great groan from the watching seamen as their messmate threw up his arms and vanished, a pink cloud rising above him.

The French sailors who had been landed earlier must be still there, watching the cutter and waiting for their own ship to recover them.

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Hallowes said tightly, “I’ve had all the guns loaded with grape and canister, sir. We’ll give a good account of ourselves when those devils come at us.”

Bolitho released his hold and sank back against the curved hull. The sobs and cries had all but finished. Seven men had been killed in that brief mauling. One, the diminutive midshipman named Duncannon, had died lying across Bolitho’s lap. He had felt the boy sobbing quietly, his tears mixing with his blood.

Bolitho said, “Help me on deck. Where’s my flag-lieutenant?”

“Here, sir.” Stayt had been with him and he had not known.

The realization made him suddenly angry. They had all depended on him; now they were losing heart so fast they would have no fight in them despite what Hallowes thought.

He said, “Put more swimmers over the side. If we can get the boats we might kedge Supreme closer to the headland. There are rocks there. We’d be safer from that damned frigate.”

“Aye, sir.” Hallowes sounded doubtful. “I’ll see to it right away.”

He hurried away and Stayt murmured, “Ready, sir?” Bolitho stood up carefully to avoid the deckhead. Every time he moved the pain in his eyes returned, stinging like fire, pricking them into torment.

He held Stayt’s arm and felt the man’s pistol bump against him.

The frigate had left them alone, prepared to wait until nightfall. They were in no hurry. It would have been different if they had known they had the English admiral almost in their hands.

Bolitho winced as his eyes stung with emotion. A useless, helpless admiral.

On deck it felt clammy although a steady breeze slapped wavelets along the hull like catspaws.

Stayt whispered, “He’s had them all keep down, sir. Behind the bulwarks. They all seem to be armed.”

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smell the land, could picture it in his mind. What a place to die, he thought, like the young midshipman, the hill lookout, all the others he had not even known.

He heard Okes’ resonant voice and Sheaffe answering.

“Where’s my cox’n?”

Bankart was right behind him. “Present, sir.” If only Allday were here. Bolitho held his bandaged eyes in his palms. No, Allday had done and suffered enough.

Hallowes said in a hushed voice, “The swimmers are here, sir.” Sheaffe sounded very near. “I’m going, Sir Richard. I learned when I was a child.”

Bolitho held out his hand, “Here, take my hand.” He said, “I was taught early too.” Somehow he had known it would be Sheaffe.

“Listen to me. When you reach the boat, either of them, no matter, I want you to stay there. Drop a stream anchor if you will, it’s shallow enough. Who is with you?” The seaman’s name was Moore. He had a soft Kentish dialect.

Like Thomas Herrick, Bolitho thought desperately.

“Keep together.”

Sheaffe asked, “But why must we stay out there?” Bolitho wanted to tear the bandages from his face. It was a nightmare, and he felt the urge to scream as the pain probed his eyes again.

“What can you see?” Bolitho moved towards the bulwark and grated his knee against a gun truck.

Stayt touched his left shoulder. “The headland’s that way, sir.

Then as you turn slowly right there’s the bluff on the other side of the bay, where the frigate first appeared.”

“Yes, yes.” Bolitho gripped a belaying-pin rack. He could see it, he remembered it. Just those last moments before he had been cut down.

“The French will come around the headland.” He moved his face. “What say you, Mr Okes?”

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Okes replied, “Most like, sir. They’ll be closer to their bloody—

beg pardon, sir—to their friends ashore.”

“My thought exactly.” He touched the midshipman’s bare back. The flesh felt icy, like a corpse.

“Off you go. Take care, both of you.” As they moved away Bolitho said, “No heroics. When you see boats on the move, yell out.” He heard them splash down the side and he half expected a shot to follow.

“Is it very dark?” He felt so helpless. Like a child in the night.

“Aye, sir. No moon as yet.”

“When they reach the first boat,” he had almost said if, “be ready. We shall see nothing, but if Sheaffe can see the French coming we shall open fire.”

Hallowes asked, “Shoot blind, sir?” He stammered, “I’m sorry, sir. That was stupid of me.”

Bolitho reached out again and touched his coat. “No. But that is exactly what we shall do.”

Stayt said in a low voice, “The Frogs will follow the coastline and expect to get between us and the beach. Once alongside they could overwhelm us.”

“It’s what I would do.” Bolitho gripped his sword and let it fall into its scabbard again. Even that seemed to mock his helplessness. How could he tell Belinda? He could not face being a prisoner-of-war again. He would die first.

Hallowes asked, “If they board us—” Bolitho said quietly, “Fire the ship.” He felt his words rip into the young lieutenant like canister. He added, “There is no easy way, Lieutenant. The enemy must not take your Supreme as a prize.” He pulled him closer so that the others were excluded.

“Strike if you must to save the people. But sink the ship.” He let his words sink in.

When Hallowes spoke again his voice was changed. Firm, determined. “I’ll not let you down, sir.” 104

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Bolitho turned away to hide his agony. “I knew that when I recommended your appointment.”

Oh, Belinda, the foolish things I said and wrote. Now it is all too late.

He thought of Keen and knew he would command the squadron in his own way. He would fly an admiral’s flag one day.

Bolitho gasped. So God help him!

A man murmured, “I ’eard somethin’!” Another said, “An oar in a boat.”

Hallowes said, “They’ve got one of the boats, sir.” Bolitho thought of Sheaffe’s unsmiling features. His father would be proud of him. Or would he? Did he even envy his son as he did leaders like Nelson.

Bolitho rested his head in his hands. He’ll not have to envy me any more.

The cry came across the water and seemed to hang above the gently swaying deck like an echo.

“Sheaffe’s seen ’em!”

There was a single shot, and someone jeered, “Couldn’t hit a bloody barn door!”

Stayt said, “By God, that fool with the musket has marked down their position well enough, sir.” He sounded excited, ready to kill, as Keen had described him aboard the convict ship.

“They’re still coming.” Stayt must be crouching down, eyes level with the bulwark to seek out the dark shapes on the water.

“Three boats at least, sir.”

Voices murmured along the deck and Okes rumbled, “Not a bloody squeak out of any mother’s son, right?” Bolitho heard the metallic clink of a swivel gun being depressed, and here and there a handspike squeak as a four-pounder was made snug against the side, each little muzzle pointing blindly into the darkness.

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Bolitho said, “Bankart, come here.” He felt the young seaman beside him. As Allday would have been.

“I shall use you as my eyes.” To Stayt he added, “Go forrard and take charge of the foc’s’le. Be ready to cut the cable if need be.” He heard Stayt move away and felt suddenly lost without him.

He thought of the girl Keen had brought to the flagship, the look in his eyes whenever he mentioned her name. If Argonaute was called on to fight, she might still be aboard.

The pain pricked his eyes again as, like an additional torment, another memory came to him.

Called on to fight. Cheney had been aboard his ship when the decks had thundered to the roar of broadsides. Cheney.

“Ready, lads!” Hallowes was drawing his sword, his face hidden in the darkness as was his despair.

“As you bear!”

Bolitho leaned forward; he had heard the splash of oars.

“Fire!”

The night exploded.

7 S urrender or die

THE WHIPLASH bangs of Supreme’s four-pounders were deafening.

Hemmed in by the land, the explosions echoed from every side, as if two ships were engaged in battle.

Bolitho gripped Bankart’s arm. “Tell me!” Bankart winced as the packed charges of grape and canister smashed into the leading boat like an iron flail. It was just possible to see the leaping feathers of white spray, the sudden glare of an exploding lantern before the darkness shut down again.

Hallowes yelled, “Easy lads! Sponge out and reload!” 106

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Bolitho cocked his head and heard someone screaming, others shouting and thrashing in the water. It had been a lucky broadside, and must have completely destroyed one of the boats.

A solitary voice was shouting commands, and Bankart whispered, “Th’ boats is splittin’ up, sir.” Okes growled, “Pity they don’t try to rescue their mates. We’d

’ave got them too in the next broadside!” He meant it.

“All loaded, sir!”

“Fire!” Gun by gun the shots crashed out and men retched and coughed as the smoke funnelled inboard.

Bolitho clutched his bandage. He had seen some flashes through it. Not much. Like lightning through a curtain. It was something.

A few musket shots whined overhead and one hit the hull.

Half dazzled by the guns, the officers and lookouts were now finding it hard to locate the enemy’s boats.

Bolitho said, “What do you see?”

Bankart replied, “One o’ th’ boats is ’ead on, sir. Comin’

straight for us, starboard bow.”

Bolitho grasped his fingers around his sword until the pain steadied him. Around him he heard men whispering to one another, the hiss of steel as cutlasses were drawn, boarding pikes handed to the gun crews.

“Fire as you bear!”

Again and again the four-pounders blasted the night apart, the grape ripping across the water like lethal hail. But none found a mark.

Bankart said excitedly, “I saw th’ Frogs’ boat in the flashes, sir!”

Bolitho twisted his head. Where were the others?

“Repel boarders!”

Hallowes cheered like a madman, like the time when he and Adam had boarded the Argonaute.

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“At ’em, Supremes!”

Bolitho heard the thud of grapnels, screams rising seemingly at his feet, the rasp of steel and several shots, from friends or enemies he could not tell.

A man cannoned into him and Bankart dragged at Bolitho’s arm.

“Back, sir! That one’s done for!”

A voice yelled, “Port quarter, lads!” Bolitho gritted his teeth as more shots clanged around him.

As he had expected, he heard a boat crash into the stern, the yells and curses of boarders and defenders alike as they came to grips with blades, axes and pikes—there was not time to reload. He was pushed aside and two figures fought one another with Bolitho pressed against the bulwark. At any second he expected to feel the slashing agony of a blade or the thrust of one into his body.

A man screamed almost in his face; he could feel his terror, his pain, before a sickening thud silenced him. How often had Allday protected him like that, had driven his cutlass into a man’s head like an axe into a log.

He exclaimed, “Thank you, Bankart!” Stayt said between gasps, “It’s me, sir. Thought you looked surrounded, so to speak.” A pistol exploded at waist-height and Stayt said savagely, “Take that, you bugger.”

“They’re falling back!”

Someone raised a cracked cheer, and Bolitho heard men tumbling into a boat, others hurling themselves into the water to escape the maddened English seamen.

Okes bellowed, “Stand aside, you booby! Let me at that swivel!”

Bolitho heard the thrash of oars; he knew that if he could see he would be looking down on one of the French boats right alongside.

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The swivel gun gave a tremendous crack. For a split second beforehand Bolitho thought he heard someone scream, pleading perhaps as he realized what Okes intended.

Stayt said quietly, “There can’t be a man left alive there.” Bolitho could barely hear him, his ears still cringing from the last explosion.

A whistle shrilled and he heard Hallowes shout, “Cease firing!” Then, with a break in his voice, “Well done, my Supremes!” Stayt said, “We’ve lost a few. Not too many though.”

“Silence on deck!”

The sudden quiet was almost worse. Bolitho heard some of the wounded gasping and sobbing. How would they manage without a surgeon?

Then he heard the distant splash of oars—so there had been another boat, maybe several. But for Sheaffe’s warning they would have swamped the cutter’s defences no matter what it cost them.

Unable to contain themselves the seamen cheered and cheered again. Bolitho felt the pain returning and wanted to lay his head in his hands. But somehow he knew Stayt was watching him.

“Get Lieutenant Hallowes for me.” He fought back the need to cry out and asked between gasps, “Where’s Bankart?” Over his shoulder Stayt said casually, “Gone somewhere, sir.” It was all he said.

Hallowes arrived and knelt beside Bolitho. “I am here, sir.

Bolitho felt for his shoulder. “That was bravely done.” Hallowes said huskily, “But for my men—” Bolitho shook him gently. “Because they respect you. You led, they responded in the only way they know.” Hallowes did not speak for several seconds and Bolitho could guess why. In victory and defeat he had known emotion more than many. Hallowes was just discovering the pride as well as the pain of command.

Hallowes said, “They’ll be back.”

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“Not tonight. Too costly. Thanks to Sheaffe.” Hallowes sounded as if he was grinning. “Your idea, sir, with respect.”

Bolitho shook his shoulder. He seemed to need a physical contact. Without it he felt completely cut off, a burden.

“Call him alongside. We may need that boat.” He heard the insane bellow of Supreme’s copper foghorn and wondered what Sheaffe and his companion had thought as the fight had exploded on board the cutter.

Stayt came back and helped Bolitho to seat himself with his back against a small companion-way. Everyone was talking, friends seeking out friends, others sitting in silence, remembering a messmate who had been killed or badly wounded.

Bolitho knew they would not survive in daylight when the frigate came for them. After their bloody repulse, the French would be out for revenge and give no quarter.

He felt the other officers standing or squatting near him.

Hallowes was in command. What would he do?

Hallowes asked, “What would you advise, sir?” Bolitho held his eyes again, hating the spectacle he must present to these men.

“We must try to break out.”

Hallowes sounded relieved. “I was going to suggest that, sir.

Strangely enough, in that brief angry fight during which he had not even been a spectator, Bolitho had lost all sense of direction. The headland, the bluff at the end of the bay, even the rocks seemed all jumbled together.

“Mr Okes?”

Okes belched and Bolitho smelled rum. He had been having a well-earned wet as Allday would call it.

The thought touched off Stayt’s words. What had happened to Bankart? He was close by now; he had heard him several times.

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Allday and tried to shut it from his mind, like something foul and unclean.

Okes rambled on, unperturbed by his murderous attack with the swivel. “With the Cap’n’s permission, I’ll send the boat for t’other one. We could warp Supreme clear. I think the wind ’as backed, not greatly, but this beauty don’t need that much.” Hallowes said, “See to it, Mr Okes. And thank you.” Okes strode off and Bolitho pictured his thick legs in their white stockings when he had shot down the running Frenchman.

He said, “That man is worth a pot of gold.” Stayt said, “The others have gone, sir.” Bolitho laid back and tried to ignore the pain, to think of something which might distract him. But it was hopeless. If anything it was getting worse and Stayt knew it.

The flag-lieutenant said quietly, “We could parley with the French, sir. Their surgeon might be able to help.” Bolitho shook his head vehemently until Stayt said, “I felt I should speak out, sir. I’ll not mention it again.” He stood up and leaned over the bulwark to stare at the blacker mass of land.

It was spoiled now. The smell of blood and gunpowder was too strong.

He considered Bolitho’s driving, almost fanatical determination. If only he could sleep and escape from his pain.

A voice called, “The two boats are comin’, sir!” Bolitho stirred and exclaimed, “Your hand, get me up!” Stayt sighed. Perhaps the strength which was holding Bolitho together was what they all clung to.

They would soon know.

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the cutter’s deck as, with barely a word of command, the seamen went to their stations. Below the long bowsprit the two boats were already in position with extra hands to throw their weight on the oars if the cutter looked about to go aground.

Leadsmen whispered together on the forecastle, and behind his back Bolitho heard Okes rumbling to the helmsmen at the tiller bar while Hallowes attended to the shaken-out sails. Bolitho heard someone cursing that a French ball had ripped a hole through the topsail big enough for two men.

He tried to remain calm as he felt figures brush past him as if he barely existed.

A petty officer called in a hushed voice, “Anchor’s hove short, sir!”

Bolitho shivered as a warm breeze rattled the loose rigging and made the deck tilt, as if Supreme was eager to get away.

Hallowes had told him that the nearest beach was about half a cable away. The French were bound to have left men there. They would soon know what Hallowes was trying to do.

Okes said, “Stand by!”

Hallowes called, “Ready! Two more men on the larboard braces!”

“Anchor’s aweigh, sir.”

Bolitho craned forward and tried to put a picture to every new sound. The anchor being winched home and made fast to its cathead, loose or severed lines being flung aside to leave the deck clear, almost the whole company was now employed either in the boats or in the business of making sail when required.

If they had to fight, they would be lucky if they could loose off a single gun in time.

Okes hissed, “Helm down, boy!” The tiller creaked, and Bolitho heard a sail slap impatiently as the wind plucked at it.

A man cried out with shrill urgency, but his voice was muffled, far away, and Bolitho knew he was one of the badly wounded 112

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who had been carried below to die. The cry rose to a higher pitch, and Bolitho heard a seaman hauling on a halliard nearby utter a terrible curse, urging this unknown sailor to die and get it over with. The cry stopped, as if the man had heard the curse. For him at least it was over.

“Let ’er pay off!” Okes raised his voice as the cutter gathered way, and the oars of the two boats ahead of her thrashed the sea like wings. The lines would be lifting from the water as the gig and jolly-boat took the strain of the two. They had steerage way, not much, but Okes sounded breathless, confident, “Good. Warmly done, lads!”

Hallowes said, “We have to use whatever passage we can, sir.” Bolitho had not heard him approach.

Hallowes continued, “I’ve a party by the anchor to let go if we get into trouble.” He seemed to chuckle. “More trouble, that is.” Stayt asked, “How long?”

Hallowes said, “As long as it takes!” Bolitho pictured him looking everywhere as his command edged painfully ahead at a walking pace. The pumps thudded and creaked and Bolitho guessed that Supreme had been badly damaged and was taking a lot of water.

The leadsman called, “By th’ mark five!” Bolitho recalled when he had been about twelve and in his first ship. Like little Duncannon, he thought. Too young to die.

But he remembered watching the leadsmen sounding their way through a sea mist off Land’s End, while the upper yards and wet sails of the big eighty-gun Manxman had been out of sight from the deck. Skilled seamen, like those who were sounding now, their hard fingers feeling the marks on their lines or guessing the depths in between.

“Deep six!”

That was plenty of water for the cutter even with her bilges filling from several shot holes.

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The French would know now, Bolitho thought, not that they could do much about it. The clank of pumps and the occasional cry from the leadsman would mark their slow and precarious passage better than anything.

Stayt waited for Hallowes to go aft and said, “She may be small, sir, but in these waters she feels like a leviathan.” There was a splash alongside and Bolitho knew it was the dead seaman being dropped overboard. No prayer, no ceremony to mark his brief passing. But if they lived through this he would be remembered, even by the ones who had cursed his reluctance to die.

Bolitho cupped his bandaged eyes in his fingers and shook as more pain tested his resistance. It came in waves, slashing down his defences like a bear’s paw.

How could he go on like this? What would he do?

“By th’ mark seven!” The other leadsman called, “Sandy bottom!”

They had primed their leads with tallow which would pick up tiny fragments from the seabed. Anything helped when you were feeling your way.

Bolitho dragged his hands down to his sides. Like a blind man.

Hallowes was speaking with Okes again. “I think we might recover the boats and make sail, eh, Mr Okes?” Okes answered but Bolitho could not hear. But he sounded doubtful. Thank God Hallowes was not stupid enough to ignore Okes’ skill.

He said, “Very well.” The deck leaned slightly and he added brightly, “The wind is backing, by God! Luck is with us for a change!”

After an hour, which felt like an eternity, the gig fell back and there was a quick change of crew. The returning hands were utterly exhausted and fell to the deck like dead men. Even Okes’s promise of rum did not move them.

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Next it was the jolly-boat and Bolitho heard Sheaffe speaking to the Supreme’s only master’s mate.

The midshipman came aft and said, “I have reported back, sir.”

It sounded so formal, so empty of what the youngster had done, that Bolitho forgot about his own pain and despair.

“That was a fine piece of work, Mr Sheaffe. But for you we would have been swamped by the enemy.” He heard Sheaffe dragging on his shirt, his teeth chattering. It was not the night air, it was the sudden realization, the shock of what he had carried out.

“Go and rest. You’ll be needed again before long.” Sheaffe hesitated and then sat on the deck near Bolitho.

He said, “If this does not disturb you, sir?” Bolitho looked towards his voice. “Your company is welcome, believe me.” He leaned against the companion-way and tried not to anticipate the next wave of pain.

Sheaffe had his knees drawn up to his chin and was instantly asleep.

Bankart crouched down and whispered, “I’ve brought you some wine, sir.” He waited for Bolitho’s fingers to grip the goblet. “Mr Okes sent it.”

Bolitho sipped it. Strong, rich Madeira. He drank it slowly, let it run through him, restore him. He could not remember when he had last eaten; perhaps that was why the wine seemed so potent. He touched his face below the bandage. Several cuts and some dried blood. He needed a shave badly. He tried to smile.

Allday would soon see to that. Big and powerful like an oak, yet he was as gentle as a child when need be. Both Bolitho and Keen had good reason to remember it.

“What is it like to discover your father, Bankart?” The question seemed to shock him. “Well, it’s fine, sir, it really is, like. My mother’d never tell me, y’see, sir. I always knew

’e were in the Navy, sir.”

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“That was why you volunteered?”

There was a long pause. “I suppose it were, sir.” Bankart poured him another goblet of wine, and when Sheaffe was roused to take charge of the jolly-boat again and take up the tow Bolitho barely stirred.

Okes left his helmsmen and walked over to the companion-way. He was satisfied with what he saw.

Hallowes asked, “Is he asleep at last?” Okes fumbled with a red handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.

“Aye, sir. So ’e should, arter what I put in ’is Madeira!” Bolitho felt a hand on his arm and twisted round with sudden fear as his senses returned.

Stayt said, “First light, sir.”

Bolitho touched his bandage and tried not to show his pain.

“How do I look?”

Stayt sounded as if he was smiling. “I’ve seen you somewhat better, sir.” He took Bolitho’s hand. “I’ve got a bowl of warm water and a towel of sorts.”

Bolitho nodded, grateful and ashamed as he dabbed his mouth and face with the wet towel. Such a simple thing and it was unlikely that Stayt realized how it had moved him.

“Tell me what’s happening?”

Stayt thought about it. “I reckon we’re about a mile from where we set out, sir.” He sounded neither bitter nor even surprised. “We’re in some shallows at the moment—” He broke off as the leadsman called, “By th’ mark three!” Bolitho forgot his pain and dragged himself to his feet. Three fathoms of water and a mile from their last anchorage. He felt the wind on his cheek and heard the splash of boats as his head rose above the bulwark. One of the coxswains was calling out the time for the stroke. The oarsmen must be worn out, he thought.

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“Is it really light?”

Stayt said, “I can see that bluff, sir, and just make out the horizon. Sky’s a bit angry. Could be in for a blow, I’m thinking.” Hallowes was calling, “Rouse the hands! I’m going to make sail.”

Okes replied, “No choice, sir. Them boats are useless now.” The deck lifted on a swell and Bolitho felt a catch in his throat. The open sea was waiting for them.

The cranking pumps, the tattered sails, nothing would stop them once they found sea room. Room to bustle in.

Stayt was watching him and saw him give a small smile.

Hallowes said, “Recall the boats. Be ready to shake out the mains’l! Get the topmen to report on damage now that they can see it!” He was speaking quickly, sharply.

Bolitho had known such moments many times. Covering doubts and uncertainties, to show confidence when there was little.

A call shrilled and someone gave a mocking cheer as the lines to the boats were slacked off and the oarsmen slumped over their looms.

“By th’ mark five!”

Hallowes rubbed his hands. “We’ll show ’em!” Who, Bolitho wondered?

Men charged past him hauling on tackles as first one boat and then the other was hoisted into position on the tier.

The cutter seemed to stir herself and Bolitho wished he could watch as men swarmed to their stations. Somewhere overhead a sail cracked out noisily in the damp air.

“Shallows ahead! Fine on the starboard bow!”

“Hell’s teeth!” Hallowes yelled. “Stand by to let go the anchor!” Okes said in a harsh whisper, “Belay that, sir! We’ll swing round an’ strike if we does!”

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a point! Steady as she goes!” He must have cupped his hands, Bolitho thought as his voice boomed along the deck, “Set the jib, Thomas!”

“Here we go again.” Stayt sounded dangerously cool. “Shallows, the lookout said. I can see breakers, for Christ’s sake.” He added, “Forgive me, sir. I am not used to this.” Bolitho lifted his chin as if to see some light beneath his bandage. There was only darkness.

“Nor I.”

Okes barked, “Now, lee helm!”

Bolitho heard several shouts and a clatter of rigging as, with a fierce jerk, Supreme surged into a bar. Gear torn loose in the one-sided fight rolled about the deck and a four-pounder reared up on its trucks as if it had come to life. The grinding, shaking motion continued for what seemed like an age, with Okes coax-ing his helmsmen or throwing an occasional instruction to his petty officers.

The shaking stopped and after a while a voice called, “Pumps are still holding it, sir!”

Stayt said between his teeth, “A damned miracle. There were rocks an arm’s length abeam but we hit only sand!”

“Deep six!” The leadsman must have been nearly hurled from his precarious perch, Bolitho thought. But they were through.

“Loose tops’l!”

Once in open water nothing could catch the cutter even with her damaged hull.

Men were calling to one another, the fear and the danger forgotten or put aside for this moment in their lives.

Stayt said, “Our surgeon will know what to do, sir. As soon as we sight—”

He broke off and gasped, “It can’t be!” The lookout called, “Sail, sir! Fine on th’ weather bow!” Bolitho heard Stayt murmur. “It’s the frigate, sir.” 118

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Bolitho was almost glad he could not see their stricken faces.

The French captain had not been so overconfident that he had waited around the headland. While Hallowes’ men had toiled at their oars, the Frenchman had spent his night clawing to windward and towards the bluff where he had first appeared. Now he held the wind-gage and was sweeping down on them, with only his braced topsails visible against the dawn horizon.

Bolitho did not need Stayt to describe it. He could see the hopelessness of it as if he were seeing it through Hallowes’ eyes.

Another mile and they could have lifted their coat-tails and run from the frigate’s guns. But they were still on a lee shore despite the change of wind, and the two vessels were converging on some invisible rendezvous. No escape this time.

Hallowes shouted, “Run up the Colours, Thomas! Have the guns loaded and run out!”

As men ran to obey Bolitho was conscious of the other silence.

No yells or threats, certainly not a cheer. Men facing certain death could still work well, but their minds would be elsewhere, seeking refuge with a memory, which moments ago had been a hope.

“Bankart!”

“Present, sir!”

“Go below and fetch my coat and hat.” Filthy and bloody, but he was still their admiral and would be damned if they should see him already beaten.

Crash—crash—crash. The frigate was already firing some of her forward guns. Balls hurled waterspouts into the air or rico-cheted across the sea in short, fierce spurts.

Bolitho heard Okes murmur, “Will you fight, sir?”

“Would you have me strike?” Hallowes sounded calm, or was he beyond that?

More shots made the air quiver and Bolitho heard a ball crash down close by, the water tumbling across the weather shrouds like lead shot.

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“Bring her up a point, Mr Okes!” Hallowes was drawing his sword. Bolitho touched his own and wondered what would become of it. He would fling it into the sea if he was given time and life to do so.

Another series of bangs made Stayt swear under his breath and a ball slapped through a sail and parted a stay like a piece of cotton.

“On the uproll!”

Stayt said fiercely, “He’s no chance, sir! Most of his pop-guns won’t even bear yet!”

Bolitho said, “It is his way. There is nothing else now.”

“Fire!”

The air cringed as the four-pounders recoiled inboard on their tackles, their explosions almost blanketed as the frigate fired yet again.

The deck jumped and wood splinters flew over the cowering gun crews.

Then a second salvo tore overhead and a man fell kicking and screaming into the sea alongside. Supreme was moving so fast despite her torn canvas that the man was soon lost far astern.

“How is it now?”

Stayt said tonelessly, “Lighter, sir.” He winced as more balls slammed close alongside and one hit the bows with a terrible jerk.

Torn rigging drifted down from aloft and trailed from the spars like shabby banners.

The gun crews did not look up but sponged out, rammed home fresh charges and tamped down their shot, because it was what they were trained to do, if necessary until death itself.

More shots struck the hull, and Bolitho said, “She can’t take much more.”

“Sail to lee’rd, sir!”

Men gaped at each other, not understanding, unable to judge anything in the ear-shattering din of cannon fire.

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Stayt shouted, “It’s Rapid, sir!” He almost shook Bolitho’s arm. “She’s catching the sun right now, sir! She’s hoisted a signal! By God, the squadron must be here!” Another explosion rocked the deck and men screamed as splinters scythed them down. It must have been a full broadside for someone yelled with disbelief, “The Frenchie’s goin’ about!

The bastards are runnin’ for it! You showed ’em, Cap’n!” But Stayt said bitterly, “Hallowes is down, sir.” He took Bolitho’s arm. “That last bloody broadside.”

“Take me to him.”

The seamen had been cheering at this impossible interven-tion but now fell silent as their blind admiral was led aft to where Hallowes was being held by Okes and the master’s mate.

Bolitho murmured, “How bad is it?”

Stayt swallowed hard. “Both his legs, sir.” Bolitho was guided to Hallowes’ side.

Hallowes said in a strong voice, “I didn’t strike! Given the chance—” He broke off and cried out, “Help me!” Then mercifully he died.

Bolitho had been holding his hand and felt it die. He lowered it to the deck and said, “Given the chance. That was the measure of this man’s courage.” He was helped to his feet and turned to where he knew Okes was waiting.

“Supreme is yours, Mr Okes. You’ve more than earned her, and I’ll see that your appointment is confirmed if it is the last order I give.”

“Rapid is heaving-to, sir.” That was Stayt.

But that was all part of something else. It did not seem to belong. Here there was only this moment and the pain.

“Take good care of her.”

“I—I will, sir. It’s just that I didn’t want, didn’t expect—” Bolitho tried to smile. “It is your moment now, Mr Okes.

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they were all watching him. He said, “Never fear, Mr Okes, Supreme has a fine new commander, and she will fight again.” Okes stared after him as Stayt and Sheaffe guided the bandaged admiral to the bulwark.

Then he said brokenly, “Aye, sir, an’ please God, so will you.” 8 the F ire still burns

AS Argonaute’s anchor cable took the strain men were already hoisting out boats while others were mustered into a landing party. Icarus had dropped anchor too, and even without a telescope Keen could see the busy activity on her upper deck and gangway.

The island looked so peaceful, he thought. It would be sunset in an hour and he needed to get a landing force of Royal Marines ashore with another detachment from Houston’s ship in case any French were still present.

He removed his hat and rubbed his forehead. Could so much have happened in a single day?

He looked across at the anchored brig Rapid, with the listing and scarred cutter lashed alongside.

Why had he sent Rapid to find Bolitho? Instinct, a sense of danger? It had almost been too late. Perhaps it was too late. He thought of her young commander as he had described the scene, the frigate turning away when one more broadside would have finished what she had begun. Quarrell had said simply in his Isle of Man dialect, “I knew I couldn’t fight the Frenchie, sir, so I hoisted Enemy in sight as Sir Richard once did, and the enemy took the trick as fact and made off. But for it, Supreme and my own command would have been on the bottom!” His voice hardened. “I would not have hauled down my colours with the admiral 122

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out there watching us, no more than poor John Hallowes did.” Keen recalled the shock when he had seen Bolitho being hoisted up the side on a boatswain’s chair, something he would always refuse even in bad weather. The whole ship had held her breath, or so it seemed. Keen had wanted to run across, to take hold of him, but some last warning had told him that for Bolitho the moment of return had almost broken him.

It fell to Allday who had stepped past the marines and watching officers to take Bolitho’s elbow and say in an almost untroubled voice, “Welcome aboard, sir. We was a mite worried, but now you’re back, so there’s an end to it.” As they had walked past, Keen had seen Allday’s face and had known his demeanour was a lie.

All day they had continued to the watering place, with the squadron’s surgeons aboard Supreme doing what they could.

Keen gripped the nettings and stared at the streaks of coral-coloured cloud. Calm, storm, gale and bright sunlight. It changed like the pages in a book.

Paget joined him and touched his hat. “Shall we rig awnings, sir?”

“No. We will begin to take on water tomorrow at first light.

I want, no, I need to be out of this place quickly. I intend to join the squadron without delay. My bones tell me that things are moving fast.”

Paget eyed him doubtfully but chose his words with care.

Nearly everyone knew how the captain felt about Bolitho.

He said, “It may be serious, sir. If he is blind—” Keen swung on him angrily. “Damn you, how would you know?” He relented just as swiftly. “That was unforgivable. I am tired but so is everyone else.” He nodded. “I know it must be faced. As soon as Supreme is ready I will send her south to Malta.

Her wounded can be cared for. I shall make my report for the admiral there. He will be concerned about his convoys, no doubt.” COLOURS A LOF T!

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He glanced at Paget’s impassive face. He is wondering if I am going to put her aboard for Malta.

But Paget said, “It is a bitter blow.” Keen turned away. “Call me when the Royals are ready to leave.” He hurried aft past the immobile sentry.

It was like a group painting. Stayt, still in his stained coat, sitting on the stern bench with a goblet between his fingers.

Ozzard slowly polishing the table which did not need it, and Allday standing quite motionless as he stared at the old sword which he had returned to its rack. Yovell was slumped by Bolitho’s charts.

Keen glanced at the sleeping compartment and thought of the girl in there with Tuson. The surgeon had asked for her to assist him; he did not explain why.

When Keen had gone to her she had exclaimed, “Of course!

I had no idea what had happened!” No tears, not a trace of hesitation. She had been in there for most of the day.

Keen asked, “Anything?”

Stayt made to rise but Keen waved him down. The flag-lieutenant replied wearily, “I think the bandage is replaced, sir.

There were splinters as well as sand.” He sighed. “I fear the worst.” Keen took a glass from Ozzard and swallowed it quickly. It could have been brandy or beer, he was too concerned to notice.

It would be up to him to decide what to do. The other captains would obey, but would they trust him? It might take an age before Supreme reached Malta or they joined with the other ships of the squadron. How could Bolitho remain here? Suffering and fretting, destroying himself with each agonizing day.

To send him to Malta would mean losing another ship. It was brutal, but a fact which Bolitho would have been the first to emphasize.

The sentry called, “Officer-of-th’-Watch, sir!” Even his voice was hushed.

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The lieutenant hovered in the doorway. “First lieutenant’s respects, sir. I am to inform you that the boats are ready. Signal from Icarus, sir, asking permission to proceed.” At any other time Keen would have smiled. Captain Houston was always trying to be a jump ahead of the flagship.

But not this time. “Signal Icarus to await orders!” He saw the lieutenant flinch and tried again. “I am sorry, Mr Phipps. My compliments to the first lieutenant and I shall come up in a moment.” The youthful lieutenant had been a midshipman in Keen’s Achates. Keen eyed him sadly. “Yes, it is true about Lieutenant Hallowes. He died bravely, I’m assured. I know you were his friend.”

The ex-midshipman withdrew. He was still too young to shrug off grief and it showed.

“Boys, all boys.” Keen realized he had spoken aloud. He said,

“I shall return as soon as the boats are gone. Come for me if you hear anything.” He glanced at Allday’s broad shoulders. “Anything at all.”

Stayt stood up and walked to the door. “The same for me.” Allday turned slowly and looked at his companions.

“I should have been there with him, y’see.” Yovell took off his glasses. “There was nothing you could have done, man.”

Allday was not hearing him. “By ’is side. Like always. I must speak with my lad about it.”

Ozzard said nothing but polished all the harder.

Allday said, “He should have let me kill that bloody moun-seer up there on deck when I had the chance.” He spoke so quietly it was all the more fearful to watch him.

Yovell suggested, “Have a tot of rum.” Allday shook his head. “When it’s over. When I know. Then I’ll drink a bloody keg of it.”

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Bolitho lay very still in the cot, his arms at his sides. He was not relaxed and every muscle in his body seemed to be stretched taut.

How long was it? Everything merged and overlapped in his mind. The cutter, the sounds from the wounded, then being half carried into a boat and a voice he thought he recognized saying,

“Attention in the boat there!”

What a sight he must have been. Then more hands, some gentle, others less so, as he was hoisted into a boatswain’s chair and hauled up the ship’s side like a piece of cargo.

Tuson had spoken only to identify himself and had got to work with his examination. They had cut away his clothes, and someone had dabbed and cleaned his face and throat before apply-ing something to the scars which stung like nettles.

Tuson had left the dressing until last. Feet had moved round the cot, and Bolitho had felt the edge of his scissors clipping carefully at the bandage.

He had asked, “What time is it?”

The surgeon had answered severely, “Please desist from talking, sir.”

Then Tuson had said, “Hold that mirror. That’s right. I want you to reflect the sunlight from the open port when I say so.” It was only then that Bolitho had realized that the girl was there helping Tuson.

He had made to protest but she had touched his face, her hand surprisingly cool.

“Easy, sir. You’re not the first man I’ve seen.” The bandage had come away and Bolitho had almost cried out as Tuson’s strong fingers had probed around his eyes and rolled up the lids. It was agonizing and he heard the girl exclaim,

“You’re hurting him!”

“He’s already hurt! Now, girl, the mirror!” 126

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Bolitho had felt the sweat running down his chest and thighs, like a fever as the pain scraped into his very sockets. It had been a blurred, jumbled nightmare, punctuated by sharp, raw probes from some instrument.

The girl had stood beside the cot with the mirror, and another held his head firmly like a vice as the torture continued. Bolitho had tried to blink, but could not feel his eyelids move. But there was light, red and pink, and shadows which he knew were people.

Tuson had said, “Enough.” The light faded as the mirror was removed. Then a new bandage had been carefully tied; it had been soft and damp, and after the probing and the pain it was almost soothing.

That must have been several hours ago. Twice more the bandage had been removed and changed, with more agonizing manipulation and some oily liquid which had at first made his eyes sting worse than before. Then the pain had eased.

When he had asked Tuson about the liquid Tuson had said offhandedly, “Something I picked up in the Indies, sir. Useful at times like these, really.”

Bolitho listened to the girl’s voice. It made him think of Falmouth, and the thought made his eyes smart all the more.

She said, “I don’t know how you can work in this light, sir.” Tuson replied, “It’s far better than I’m used to.” He rested his hand on Bolitho’s arm. “You must rest.” A sheet was pulled over his nakedness and Tuson added, “I see that you have gained a few honourable scars for King and Country, sir.” To the girl he said, “You’d better go and get some food inside you.”

“I’ll come if you need me, sir.”

Bolitho raised an arm over the cot and turned his head towards the door.

She came to him and took his hand in hers. “Sir?” COLOURS A LOF T!

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Bolitho barely recognized his own voice. “I just want to thank you—”

She squeezed his hand. “After what you’ve done for me? ” She seemed to run from the cabin and Tuson said heavily,

“Fine girl.”

Bolitho lay back in the cot and pictured the deckhead as he had seen it each morning.

“Well?”

“I can’t say, sir, and that’s the truth. Both eyes are scarred, but there is little I can decide until the ruptures heal or—” Bolitho persisted, “Will I see?”

Tuson walked round the cot. He must be looking through an open gunport, Bolitho thought, for his voice was muffled.

Tuson said, “The left eye is the worst. Sand and metal par-ticles. Your cheek was cut by a sliver of metal—a bit higher and there’d be no eye for us to worry about.”

“I see.” Bolitho felt his body relax. It was easier somehow when you knew the worst, the inevitable truth. He thinks I’m done for.

Bolitho said, “I must speak with my flag-captain at once.” Tuson did not move. “He is busy, sir. It can wait.”

“Don’t you dare to tell me what can and cannot wait!” Tuson rested his hand on his arm again. “That is my duty, sir.”

Bolitho covered the surgeon’s hand with his own. “Yes. My apologies.”

“None needed. All men are different. I once took off a seaman’s leg and he didn’t even whimper. Then he thanked me for saving his life. Another damned me to hell for sewing up his head after a fall from aloft. I have seen and heard everything, from quarterdeck to the lowliest mess.” He yawned. “Why do we do it? Why do you do it, Sir Richard? You have given so much for your country. You must realize the consequences of staying at sea 128

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year in and year out? There is an inevitability about it which cannot be ignored or silenced.”

“Death?”

Tuson replied, “There can be worse things than death.” He added, “I shall leave you now, it seems your captain is here anyway.”

Keen sat down beside the cot and asked, “How is it, sir?” Bolitho tried to push his despair into the darkness. It was important, maybe vital, how he replied.

“I saw some light, Val. The pain is less, and as soon as I have had a shave I shall be more of a man again.” Keen said, “Thank God.”

Bolitho found his arm. “And thank you, Val, for saving us.” He clenched his other hand into a fist to contain his emotion.

“Tell me what you are doing.”

When Tuson returned he found them both in deep conversation. He said sternly, “This must cease, gentlemen!” Bolitho held up his hand. “A moment more, you impatient sawbones!”

To Keen he said, “Finish watering then, and we shall make haste to gather the squadron. Jobert had tried to scatter our strength, destroy our ability to follow his movements. Like you, I feel it is near the time for his next move. Send Yovell to me.” He heard Tuson tutting. “And I’ll have my own report sent with Supreme. ”

Almost to himself he said, “I was with Hallowes when he died. Both legs gone. He had promise, that one.” Bolitho laid his head on the pillow and tried to move his eyelids beneath the bandage. He could hear Keen and the surgeon whispering outside the door and suddenly wanted to get out of the cot, to go on deck and make as if he was the same as before.

Keen was saying, “But in truth, will he recover?”

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hopeless, but with him I am not so sure.” He shook his head.

“He’s like a ship in a storm, suddenly bent on its own destruction. It seems as if nothing can stop him.” Keen saw Allday carrying a bowl of hot water and a razor.

He had heard what Tuson had said to Bolitho about terrible odds against survival. He touched his side and felt the wound beneath his shirt. First one, then the other. Now Hallowes was gone.

He hesitated by the little cabin with its scarlet-coated sentry.

Then he tapped on the door and stepped inside as she called on him to enter.

She was sitting on the big chest, the gown he had bought from the Genoese trader spilled across her lap, filling the place with light. She looked at him and said quietly, “It is lovely. So good of you. You are a kind man.”

She laid it carefully across the cot and stood up. She had been crying, for Bolitho, for them, he could not tell.

She said, “You have done so much, and I have nothing to give you.”

She turned away abruptly and when she faced him again he saw that her shirt was unbuttoned to her waist. Very deliberately she took his hand, her eyes fixed on his with a kind of defiance, then she pulled it inside her shirt and pressed it to her breast.

Keen did not move and felt the rounded skin beneath his hand burning into him, consuming him.

Then she did lower her eyes and said in a small voice, “That is my heart. Now I have something to give. It is yours for as long as you will it.”

Then with equal gravity she withdrew his hand and closed the shirt.

Someone was shouting on the poop, and feet clattered on a ladder. But for just a few more seconds they stood motionless together.

Then she said, “Go now. They must not see us like this.” 130

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He stooped and kissed her lightly on the forehead and then left the cabin.

For a long while afterwards the girl stood watching the closed door, her hand touching her breast as he had done.

Then she said softly, “Indeed I do love thee too.” In two days the ships had completed taking on fresh water and with a brisk southerly wind to speed their passage they soon left the islands astern.

Keen had watched as Supreme, her shot holes crudely patched, her pumps still cranking, had cleared the anchorage and headed for open water. At the head of that same beach several of her company had been buried, including Lieutenant Hallowes. It was a sad parting, Keen had thought.

On the fifth day, with Rapid in the lead, they entered the Golfe du Lion.

Keen was walking the quarterdeck, his chin sunk in his neckcloth and deep in thought when the masthead sighted a sail. It was soon identified as Barracouta— the squadron would be one again.

But today was also special for Bolitho, and down in the cabin he was seated in his high-backed chair, breathing deeply as Ozzard opened one of the stern windows and his assistant Twigg put a cup of coffee in his hand.

Bolitho listened to the sea and the creak of the rudderhead.

The ship was alive around him. He heard Allday speaking with Yovell, Ozzard bustling about. They were so bright. Did they think they could deceive him?

He heard Tuson enter the cabin, the soft, bare-footed step of the girl who was with him.

Tuson put down his case and said, “Plenty of light today.” Bolitho nodded. “We have sighted a ship, I believe?” Tuson grunted. “Barracouta, sir.” COLOURS A LOF T!

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Bolitho tried not to show his dismay. Keen had not come to tell him. Even he thought it was over. He gripped the arms of the chair and said, “Then Captain Inch will not be far away.” He listened to his voice, his empty words. But he would play their game too. Not give in to his true thoughts.

“Now then.” Tuson moved the bandage slightly and began to unwind it. “Keep your eyes shut until they have been bathed.” He was breathing hard, concentrating so that it was almost physical.

The bandage went and Bolitho was aware of the complete silence around him. A warm pad dabbed at his eyelids, and for an instant a jab of pain shot through him.

Tuson saw him recoil and said, “In a moment I’ll tell you—” Bolitho held out his hand. “Are you here? Zenoria?” He felt her grasp his hand between hers.

He said, “I want you to be the first one I see, not these ugly characters!”

She laughed, but he recognized the anxiety.

Tuson said flatly, “In your own time, sir.” Bolitho touched his left eye then his right with his fingers.

He could feel himself holding her hands so hard he must be hurting her. He gritted his teeth together. He tried again, but was suddenly afraid.

Tuson said, “Now, sir, if you please.” Bolitho gasped aloud as the eyelids opened. It was as if they had been stitched down and were tearing themselves apart. Vague, distorted lights beamed past him from the stern windows, shadows too, but there was light.

Tuson was ready, another soft pad forcing moisture into each eye. They stung once more but Bolitho saw the pale oval of the girl’s face, the checkered floor covering, something shining. He craned his head around, not caring how he looked, straining with desperation as he tried to focus on something familiar.

Then he turned back to the girl, who was kneeling by his 132

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chair. Her eyes, which he remembered so well, were shining up at him and her lips were parted in a smile, encouraging him.

Tuson seemed to be behind the chair. He put one hand over Bolitho’s left eye.

Bolitho said, “Not too clear yet.”

“There will be discomfort, but the liquid I am using will clear it eventually. Now look at the girl, sir.” Bolitho could sense the others watching, not daring to move.

He felt his lips cracking into a smile. “That is a pleasure indeed.” He saw her flinch under his one-eyed stare but she said, “Bless you, sir.”

Bolitho whispered, “My captain is a lucky man.” Tuson placed a hand over his right eye and said remorselessly,

“Now the left.”

Bolitho blinked rapidly and saw Allday’s gilt buttons, the two swords at his back.

He whispered, “Allday, old friend, I—” He wiped his face as if there was a cobweb across it. Something like a shadow was covering Allday.

Bolitho turned despairingly to the girl again. The eyes, the mouth, and then the shadow moved over her so that she seemed to draw away although he held her hands and knew she had not moved.

Tuson snapped, “Bandage.” He stooped over Bolitho and peered at his eyes. “Early days, sir.” He had tested the right eye first to give him hope. Tuson had known that the other one was the most badly damaged.

The disappointment left Bolitho spent, unprotesting as the bandage brought back the darkness.

A door opened and he heard Keen ask, “Well?” Tuson replied, “Better than I dared to hope, sir.” Bolitho said, “Blind in one lamp, not too fine in the other, Val.”

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The girl said, “I’d better go, sir.” Bolitho held out his hand. “No. Stay with me.” Keen said, “The squadron is in sight, sir.” He sounded defeated. “I shall report to you on the hour.” Bolitho held the girl’s hand like a lifeline. He leaned back in the chair and said, “If the weather allows, Val, I want all captains to repair on board tomorrow. But first signal Barracouta to convey Inch’s report on board directly.” He had expected Keen or certainly Tuson to protest; their silence brought home the reality more firmly than any words.

Doors opened and closed and then Bolitho asked, “Are we alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bolitho reached out and touched her hair. He must speak with his captains. They needed leadership, not despair. Jobert would use every weakness like a weapon.

He felt her move and said softly, “Don’t cry, my girl, you have given too many tears already.” He continued to stroke her hair, soothing himself and unable to see the pity in her eyes.

Then he said, “You must help me. Then when I meet my little band tomorrow they will find their vice-admiral, not some helpless cripple, eh?”

Later, when a boat brought Inch’s report to the flagship and Keen carried it aft to the great cabin, he found Bolitho sitting as before, but with the girl asleep against his legs.

Keen said, “I am glad she kept you company, sir.” Bolitho touched her hair again but she did not stir. “You understand, don’t you, Val? I needed her presence, her voice. I have become too used to the ways of men, the demands of strategy.” Keen let him talk and all the while Bolitho’s hand stroked the girl’s long hair as she lay curled up at his side.

Bolitho continued in the same empty voice, “When your day comes to hoist your own flag, let nothing distract you. I was 134

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reluctant to let go of the personal contact when I became an admiral. I longed to be a part of whichever ship flew my flag, used to think of individual faces and names, the people, d’you see?

Because I could not stay apart I now blame myself for those who died, with Supreme all but lost.”

“You must not think like that, sir.” Bolitho said, “So when your tune is piped, Val, forget the faces, the pain you may cause them!” He was shouting and the girl opened her eyes and stared up at him, then questioningly at Keen.

“But I cannot! ” He lowered his head, the anger gone from him. “And it is tearing me apart.”

Bolitho took the girl’s hand. “Go now. But please visit me again.”

He held her hand to his lips. “Brave Zenoria.” The door closed and Bolitho heard Allday escort her to her cabin.

Keen waited, feeling useless because he could not help.

Bolitho said, “Open the report, Val. There’s work to be done.” He touched the bandage and added briskly, “So let’s be about it.” The following morning, while the ships lay hove-to in their various angles, the captains boarded Argonaute as ordered.

In his cabin Bolitho sat facing a mirror and tried to compose his thoughts, as he had throughout the night. He could not accept what had happened, but he had told himself a thousand times he would not submit to it.

He listened to the shrill of calls as the last captain was piped aboard.

Bolitho smiled bitterly. It was more like being an actor than a sea officer. Should he have done this? Bravado or necessity? He felt different in some way, and it was not solely because of a clean, new shirt and a careful wash under Allday’s supervision.

“Ready, sir?” Tuson always seemed to be there.

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Bolitho pressed his hands onto his knees and answered, “Aye.” The bandage was removed from his right eye, the now familiar pad with its sweet-smelling ointment did its work, and Tuson said, “With respect, Sir Richard, you are a better patient than you were. ”

Bolitho opened his eyes and stared at his cloudy reflection in the mirror. The small scars on his face were less noticeable because of his sunburned skin, but the eye glared back at him, angry and red-rimmed. It did not look like the one he could feel in his head.

He looked beyond the mirror, at Ozzard carefully brushing his uniform coat with its gleaming epaulettes. His best coat. It had to be a perfect performance. Allday craned forward to make certain he had not missed a single stray hair with his razor, and Yovell was busy with some papers at the table. The scene was almost set. He raised his eyes and saw the girl looking down over his shoulder.

She smiled gently, like a conspirator, which she was. She moved a comb over Bolitho’s hair, loosening it across his forehead so that it partly covered the other bandage on his left eye. She had already arranged his queue and tied a ribbon which even Allday admitted was better than anything he could do.

Bolitho heard faint voices and the stamp of feet. The captains’ meeting would be in the wardroom beneath his cabin. He had to leave his quarters free; for escape if things went wrong.

He said, “Thank you, Zenoria, you have done your best with poor material.”

Their glances met in the mirror. She did not reply, but he saw the pleasure on her face. With her hair tied back again she had a look of determination in her brown eyes.

Bolitho tried to think of Inch’s report, rambling as usual, for he loved to write lengthy descriptions of everything no matter how trivial. But each report contained something useful. This one 136

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had an item which was more than that. A key perhaps, or was it one more sly trap?

Tuson insisted, “Don’t overtax the eye, sir, and most certainly keep the other one covered. If you get proper treatment soon—” Bolitho looked at him. The eye felt as if there was something in it. Tuson told him that would pass, given time.

Bolitho said, “Your care has been excellent.” Tuson would not be deterred. “Unless you avoid the other demands of this squadron, I cannot answer for the consequences.” The door opened and Keen stood watching him, his hat beneath his arm. Bolitho noticed that he too was wearing his best dress coat. The second principal player, he thought.

“They are assembled, sir.”

Bolitho glimpsed him in the mirror and saw the quick exchange of glances with the girl who dressed like a boy. He saw too how her hand moved to her breast, and the look of understanding on Keen’s face.

Bolitho touched his bandage. He was glad for them, no matter what difficulties lay ahead. He was not jealous, only conscious of a sense of envy.

He stood up and adjusted to the roll of the deck. The ships lay-to in a hot southerly breeze from Africa. It would be good to get this done and be under way again.

He slipped his arms into the coat and held one up as Allday clipped on the old sword.

Allday muttered, “You watch yourself, sir.” Bolitho touched his thick arm and smiled, “I have work to do. I believe I have the makings of a plan.” He added quietly,

“But thank you, old friend.” He glanced at their faces, trying not to blink as his eye pricked painfully. “And all of you.” Keen felt a chill at his spine. He knew that look, that voice.

Something neither pain nor a bandage could disguise.

The fire still burns.

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9 A ttack

BOLITHO sat restlessly by his table and watched Keen’s fingers busy with his dividers as he completed some more calculations on the chart.

Several times Bolitho had leaned forward to examine his progress and had felt the same rising sense of despair. It was like being half blind; as for reading the chart, it was out of the question.

He thought of his little squadron, so recently met in the Golfe du Lion and now drawing farther apart with each turn of the glass. Helicon and Despatch had spread all the canvas they could muster and headed for the islands to take on fresh water. Bolitho frowned and immediately felt a painful response in his left eye.

When they returned they would stay together as long as possible and wait no longer for Jobert to choose the next move.

Inch’s report had been excellent. He had ordered Barracouta to stop and search any coastal vessels he could find, and from one he had discovered that two large French men-of-war had been seen in Spanish waters, just beyond the frontier and less than two hundred miles south-west of Toulon. No wonder few French ships had been sighted by Nelson’s blockading squadron around the great port. This small fragment of news had been like a glimmer of light.

At the captains’ conference Bolitho had first sensed doubt if not disbelief, but although he had been unable to see their faces clearly he had felt his words gaining their attention.

Spain was still an ally of France whether she liked it or not.

On the face of it you could almost feel sympathy for her, for Bonaparte had offered her few alternatives. He had demanded six million francs a month as a subsidy plus other important assistance. To avoid the outrageous ultimatum, Spain had the choice 138

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of declaring war on England once again. France had made it clear that a final option was that she would make war on Spain if neither alternative was met.

It seemed unlikely, if Inch’s report was true, that Jobert would have used Spanish waters without instruction from a much higher authority in Paris. A further move to involve the Dons in the conflict.

Bolitho felt uneasy when he recalled the conference. It had seemed like an eternity before the captains had returned to their ships. How did they see him now? Undeterred by his injury? Or had they seen through his pathetic attempt to convince them of his ability to lead?

Lieutenant Stayt stepped through the screen door.

“Captain Lapish is ready for his orders, sir.”

“Very well.” Keen glanced at Bolitho and laid down the dividers. He knew how loath Bolitho was to release his only frigate. But if a fight was coming each ship needed to be self-sufficient for as long as possible. You could ration gunpowder. You could not survive without water.

As the flag-lieutenant withdrew Keen said, “Lapish knows what to do. I spoke with him when he came aboard.” He gave a wry smile. “He is more than eager to make amends, I feel.” When Lapish entered Bolitho said, “Return to this station as soon as you can.” He saw him nod, but his eyes were smarting from so much use and he could see little of the young captain’s expression.

“You know what to do?”

Lapish said, as if repeating a lesson, “I am to transform my ship into a two-decker before I resume blockade duty, sir.” There was no doubt in his voice, but Bolitho guessed he probably thought his admiral was not only half blind but unhinged as well.

Bolitho smiled, “Aye. Use all your spare canvas and hammock cloths. It has been done before. Lashed to the gangways and COLOURS A LOF T!

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painted buff with black squares for gunports, no one could tell the difference from a third rate at any distance.” He added forcefully, “If they come sniffing too close, either board or sink them.”

Bolitho knew that the lithe frigate would be able to catch up with the two seventy-fours, complete her watering and still return to the French coast ahead of them. Once on station she would be seen as one of his squadron. It would leave Bolitho with a full muster, and Lapish would be able to discard his crude disguise and run down on him should he sight any enemy movements.

Lookouts, friends or enemies, usually saw what they expected to see. That would leave Rapid in a role of paramount importance, his only feeler.

After Lapish had been seen into his gig by Keen, Argonaute made sail and, with Icarus in company, altered course to the south-west. The two ships sailed in line abreast and thus extended the range of their masthead lookouts. Rapid was so far ahead that she was barely visible even from the fighting-tops.