COLOURS ALOFT!

10. RETRIBUTION

WITHOUT changing tack or altering course one degree Argonaute swept past the drifting French two-decker, her hull jerking violently to each resounding bang. So conscious were the gun captains of this moment that each pair of cannon sounded like a single explosion.

Bolitho swayed and almost slipped as the deck tilted into another offshore roller. He felt his nostrils flare in the acrid smoke, his ears quake to the thunder of gunfire. The attack was begun by the carronade, but at a range of almost a cable it was more of a gesture than any danger to the enemy.

Keen wiped his face as the last division of guns recoiled inboard on their tackles and men scampered to sponge out and reload. The Frenchman had been badly mauled, and smoking scars along her tumblehome marked the accuracy of the carefully aimed attack. A few guns fired in return, and one ball smashed into Argonautes lower hull like a mailed fist.

Some of the crews were calling to each other, racing to beat their time, to be the first to run out and be ready to fire again.

Keen watched narrowly as the Frenchman set her forecourse and then her maintopsail. She was under command, but almost beam-on to sea and wind as she fought to bear up to her attacker.

He shouted, "Ready! On the uproll, Mr Paget!" He glanced at Bolitho, just a fraction of a second, but he saw him as he always remembered. Straight-backed, facing the enemy yet now unable to see them. "Full broadside!" This might be the only time. He caught a vague glimpse of the Spanish corvette, now well astern, a helpless and astonished spectator.

More shots hammered alongside and somewhere a man screamed out in agony.

Keen held out his hanger, his eyes watering again as the sunlight warmed his face. "Now!"

As the whistles shrilled and Argonaute s topgallant masts began to tilt once more, the whole broadside thundered out with such violence it was like hitting a rock.

Smoke and charred wads drifted everywhere, but not before Keen had seen the broadside tear across the lessening gap, the wave-crests breaking to the force and the weight of iron.

He saw the enemy ship shiver, then sway over as the full onslaught smashed into her. Wood and rigging flew in all directions, and the labouring hull was masked by falling fragments and leaping talons of spray.

"Stop your vents! Sponge out! Load!" Paget's voice echoed above the wind and the squeal of tackles like a clarion call.

Allday said in a sudden pause, "We hit 'em, sir! Even her canvas is shot through!" He sounded tense, slightly wild, like men usually are when battle is joined.

Bolitho held the quarterdeck rail, afraid he might lose his balance again. He thought he had heard the broadside strike home even at this range.

He said tersely, "Close the distance, Captain Keen!"

Lieutenant Stayt lowered his telescope and looked at him. He had seen Keen's quick glance as his mind had registered Bolitho's sharp formality.

"Alter course to starboard, Mr Fallowfield!" Keen broke off as several balls crashed into the hull, and some hammocks burst from the forward nettings in a wild tangle, like exultant corpses.

Keen shouted, "That was chain-shot!" He looked at the sailing-master. "Close as you can!"

Men ran to the braces while along the upper deck's eighteen-pounders others worked like demons with handspikes and tackles, training, and holding the enemy firmly in their ports.

"Fire!"

The broadside thundered out again, and Bolitho heard someone cheering, like a demented soul in Hell, he thought.

Allday exclaimed, "Her mizzen's gone! She's tryin' to come about, to save her stern from the Smasher!"

Bolitho seized a glass and pressed it to his right eye. All the jokes about Nelson at Copenhagen were not so funny now. He saw the hazy outline of the French ship, shortening as Argonaute turned towards her, the bowsprit pointing directly at her poop.

The other captain had not regained control completely when the second broadside struck and raked his ship from bow to stern. Instead of continuing to turn, she was falling downwind, her afterpart shrouded in fallen spars and canvas, while here and there along her battered side a few guns fired independently, and on her gangway tiny stabbing flashes showed that her marksmen were fighting back.

"Steady as you go!"

Keen crouched down to peer through the pall of smoke and straining rigging. The wind had risen; he had to hold the gage or lose all the advantage his attack had gained. He saw the water-lighter tilting over, spilling men and casks into the sea, the hull so pitted with holes it was a wonder it had taken so long. On the opposite, disengaged side, another harbour craft, a big yawl, had cast off, and was probably trying to beat away from her big consort before she shared the lighter's fate.

Keen made up his mind. "Mr Fallowfield, lay her on the starboard tack!" The Frenchman was still beam-on to the wind, her progress further hampered by the trailing wreckage of spars and rigging alongside. The shattered lighter was sinking rapidly and he realized that she was still made fast by the bow to the two-decker. Either they had not had time to cast off, or the men so ordered had been scythed down by the last murderous broadside. But Keen had been in enough fights to know how quickly the balance could alter. The French captain had kept his mind above the disaster which had caught him unprepared, and had found time to order his gun crews to load with chain-shot. A well-aimed fusillade could bring down a vital spar-victory and defeat were measured by such delicate distinctions.

Orders were yelled and men hauled at the braces yet again. Bolitho felt a shot fan past him, heard a crack and something like a fierce intake of breath as the musket ball hurled a marine from the nettings, the side of his skull blasted away. His companions left their stations as the after-guard was piped to the mizzen braces, while the ship tilted steeply and began to plough over to the opposite tack.

Keen joined Bolitho and shouted above the noise of gunfire and bellowed orders, "They see you, sir! Put on my coat!"

Bolitho clung to a stay and shook his head. "I want them to see me!" More shots hissed past him and smacked into hammocks on the opposite side or cracked against the planking. Bolitho could feel the anger rising inside him, driving away reason and caution had there been any. Keen did not understand. Bolitho was afraid to release his grip and move about as any sane man would. His bright epaulettes marked him down as a prime target; better that than lose his balance again while his men fought for their very lives around him.

Crash-crash-crash, the French ship returned fire yet again.

Bolitho raised the telescope and jammed it to his eye. It was heavy, difficult to hold steady with one hand. He saw the French ship suddenly stark and huge, towering over the Argonaute s starboard bow. Keen's sharp change of tack had pared away the distance. The French captain had no chance now to break off the action, to turn and fight or even to run.

He saw the enemy's helpless stern rising still higher, isolated from the rest of the ship by the great gap in her silhouette left by the fallen mizzen.

Keen said fiercely, "We shall pass barely a boat's length away, sir!

A masthead lookout waited for a pause in the firing and yelled hoarsely, "Ships to larboard, sir!"

Keen shouted, "Send an officer aloft!" He ducked and coughed as a ball slammed through the nettings and hurled blasted hammocks everywhere. But for the alteration of course there would have been a solid rank of marines there.

A ship's boy, a mere child, who was running almost doubled over with fresh shot to a quarterdeck nine-pounder, was caught even as he reached the gun. The horrified crew of the nine-pounder were drenched in blood as the ball cut the boy neatly in half so that the legs appeared to run on after the torso had fallen to the deck.

"Steady she goes, sir! Nor'-east by east!"

"As you bear!"

Keen waved to the forecastle although he doubted if the car-ronade crew needed encouragement this time. Every gun had extra hands to work it, men taken from the disengaged weapons on the larboard side.

More shot whined overhead, and several sails danced as holes appeared and broken rigging clattered across the nets and gangways.

Captain Bouteiller yelled, "Get those bloody sharpshooters, Orde!"

A swivel banged loudly and Bolitho recalled Okes firing into the French longboat. He felt the deck quiver by his feet and knew that a ball had almost taken him. He did not move. He wanted them to see him, to know who had done this.

A voice filtered through the noise. "They're Spaniards, sir!"

Bolitho heard Keen shouting orders. Spaniards. Some local vessels coming to drive the attacker from their waters.

"Fire!"

The ship jerked violently as the carronade fired almost point-blank into the enemy's stern.

It was a direct hit, and the whole ornate stern appeared to fall inboard as the massive ball exploded within the poop, its packed charge of grape bursting amongst the crowded gun crews and turning the confined deck into a slaughterhouse.

As Argonaute continued to edge remorselessly around the enemy's broken stern, the murderous broadside swept across and into her. The lower gun deck had somehow found time to load with double shot, as if each officer knew it was their last chance before Argonaute was carried either past or into their enemy by the freshening wind.

Keen watched, chilled by what he saw, as the enemy's main-topmast was carried away and one of the muzzles on the enemy's lower gun deck exploded in a sheet of fire. Some terrified seaman had forgotten to sponge out before a fresh charge was rammed home, or maybe the gun was old and had outworn those who crewed it.

Keen shouted, "The Dons'll be up to us in an hour, sir, despite the wind! Shall we discontinue the action?"

More shots roared from Argonautes lower battery, the long thirty-two-pounders wreaking terrible havoc on the other vessel, which now appeared to be out of control with either her helm shot away or none left to take charge aft.

Bolitho did not speak and Keen swung round on him, fearful that a marksman had found him.

But Bolitho was staring towards the other ship, his head on one side as if to force a clearer view.

Keen persisted, "She'll not fight again for a long, long while, sir!"

"Has she struck?"

Keen stared at him. He barely recognized Bolitho's voice. Curt, with all pity honed out of it.

No, sir.

Bolitho blinked as a ball from the enemy cut through the shrouds and a man screamed shrilly like a woman in agony.

"She must never fight. Continue the action." He caught Keen's arm as he made to hurry away. "If we leave her she'll anchor. I want her destroyed. Totally."

Keen nodded, his mind reeling to the crash and roar of cannon fire, the excited chatter from the marines as they fired their long muskets, reloaded with almost parade-ground precision, and then sought out fresh targets on the enemy's decks.

He stared sickened as blood ran down the enemy's side; he could imagine the horror between decks.

Paget stared up at him, his eyes very clear in his smoke-grimed face.

Keen jerked his head and seconds later the broadside thundered out, measured and deliberate, with barely a gun firing back in reply. Keen watched through his telescope and saw the Frenchman's foremast begin to dip through the smoke.

He gestured to Stayt, who snatched up a speaking-trumpet and then climbed nimbly into the mizzen shrouds.

"Abandonez!" But only musket shots answered him.

Argonautes sails filled and gathered the wind as Fallowfield guided her clear of the drifting, dismasted hulk.

Keen glanced quickly at Bolitho but there was no change in his expression.

Keen raised his hanger, then thought of the girl who was sheltering in the hold far below his feet and the corpses that lolled by the guns. Someone had mercifully thrown some torn canvas over the ship's boy who had been halved by the enemy's iron.

It was no longer a battle. The enemy was like a helpless beast, waiting for the fatal blow to fall.

He saw the nearest gun captain watching him, his trigger-line already taut.

"Prepare to fire!" He heard his order being piped to the lower gun deck and braced himself for the broadside. A voice shouted, "White flag, sir!"

Keen looked at Bolitho, half expecting him to order the broadside to be unleashed.

Bolitho felt his glance and turned towards him. He could see only a misty outline, the blue and white of Keen's clothing, the fairness of his hair. His eye stung with smoke and strain, but he managed to keep his voice level as he said, "Order them to abandon ship. Then sink her."

Paget called, "There's a lot of smoke, sir. I think she may have taken fire."

Bolitho waited for the deck to settle then walked across to the quarterdeck rail. He heard faint shouts from the other vessel, smelt the breath of charred rigging which at any moment might turn the beaten ship into an inferno.

He said quietly, "War is not a game, Val, nor is it a test of honour for friend or foe." His tone hardened. "Think of Supreme. There was no mercy for poor Hallowes, and I will offer none to the enemy." He turned and walked to the opposite side, his foot slipping on blood where the marine had fallen when the ball had missed Bolitho by mere inches.

Paget yelled, "No, it's the yawl which has taken afire, sir."

Keen raised his glass and saw the smaller vessel drifting clear of the two-decker. To his astonishment he could see men leaping overboard, making no attempt to quench the flames. A stray ball from Argonautes last broadside perhaps, or maybe some burning canvas had dropped from the two-decker's broken spars like a torch to a fuse.

Bolitho must have heard the busy speculation on the quarterdeck and said sharply, "Get the ship under way, if you please! That yawl must have been loading powder aboard the Frenchman!"

Calls twittered and men rushed yet again to their stations while others spread out on the yards above the pockmarked sails as their ship slowly turned towards the welcoming horizon.

The explosion was like a volcano erupting, catching men in their various attitudes of shock or dismay, and shaking the hull as if to carry vengeance even to Argonaute.

The two-decker's hidden side took the full blast of the explosion, and even as the water began to descend again like a ragged curtain she started to heel over. The explosion, which had completely obliterated the yawl without leaving even a floating spar to mark her passing, must have stove in the two-decker's bilge like a reef.

Keen watched, his mind refusing to contain the swiftness and the horror of the explosion. Much nearer and Argonaute might have shared the same fate.

Bolitho crossed the quarterdeck and paused to face the silent group of young officers there.

"That will save us the trouble, gentlemen."

He turned to see Allday was marking his line of retreat. The smoke had played havoc with his eye and he could barely see their faces. But their shock was plain enough, as he had meant it to be.

As he made his way aft several of the smoke-blackened seamen raised a cheer: one, more daring than the rest, touched Bolitho's back as he passed.

Keen's men, his men. He wished those at home who took such people for granted could see them now. They did not care about the cause or the reason, and none had come to this place of his own free will. They fought like lions, for each other, for the ship around them. It was their world. It was enough.

He thought of the disbelief in Keen's voice when he had ordered him to continue the action. For those few moments he had felt something more than anger, more than the hurt which had been done to him by the shot which had all but blinded him. It had been hate. Something white hot and without mercy which had almost made him order another broadside. The enemy had already been defeated before some half-crazed soul had raised a white flag on a boat-hook. He considered it warily, almost fearfully. Hate. It was beyond his reckoning, as alien as cowardice, like another person.

The deck tilted and, with the wind filling her newly spread main course, Argonaute stood away from the dying ship and the great spread of flotsam and floundering survivors. They at least would be picked up by the Spaniards.

Keen had watched his face, had seen the effect of his callous remark on his youthful lieutenants and midshipmen.

Keen had seen Bolitho in almost every situation and if he loved any man he would look no further. But at moments like this he felt as if he knew him not at all.

Tuson wiped his fingers individually on a small towel and regarded Bolitho sternly.

"Much more of this, Sir Richard, and I cannot answer for your sight."

He expected a sharp retort but was more shocked to see that Bolitho did not seem to notice. He had moved to the stern windows and sat staring at the glittering water astern, listless, the life drained out of him.

The ship echoed and quivered to the bang of hammers, the squeal of tackles as fresh cordage was run up to the yards to replace that lost or damaged in the swift battle.

There was almost a carefree atmosphere throughout the ship. It was their victory. Five men had been killed and two more had been badly wounded. Tuson had described the rest as mere knocks and scrapes. The fierceness of their attack had cut down their losses more than Bolitho had believed possible. He had heard what Tuson had said; there was no point in arguing or disputing it.

Through the thick glass he could see the misty outline of Icarus, her topsail almost white in the noon sun. Rapid was on station ahead and, apart from the repairs and the five burials, there was little to show for the destruction of a French third-rate. Keen had noted that her name was Calliope before the terrible Smasher had reduced her stern to boxwood.

Tuson was saying, "If you want my advice, sir-"

Bolitho looked towards him. "You are a good man. But what advice? When I try to walk I lose my footing like a drunken sailor, and I can scarcely tell one man from another. What advice?"

"You won a battle despite these things, sir."

Bolitho gestured vaguely towards the screen. "They won it, man."

"You could request another flag-officer-" Tuson persisted stubbornly as Bolitho turned on him, "so that you could obtain better treatment."

"I do not command in the Mediterranean, and I'll not ask favours even of Nelson. The French will come out, I know it," he touched his chest. "Here, I feel it."

"And the girl? What of her?"

Bolitho leaned back and felt the sun deceptively hot through the glass against his shirt.

"I shall make arrangements."

Tuson gave the nearest thing to a smile. "You do not wish to involve me, is that it, sir?"

There was a tap at the door and Keen stepped into the cabin. In the three days since the battle he had barely been off his feet, but, like his company, the swift victory had removed the strain, the earlier uncertainty.

Keen did not look at the surgeon in case he should discover bad news.

He asked, "Are you well, sir?"

Bolitho gestured to a chair. "No worse, anyway."

Keen watched him, the way Bolitho tapped one foot on the canvas deck covering.

"Rapid has signalled a vessel to the sou'-west, sir. Small one closing under all sail." 1 see.

Keen tried to conceal his concern. Bolitho sounded uninterested. All the fire and determination he had shown when they had dished up the Frenchman seemed to have vanished.

The marine sentry shouted, "Midshipman-o-th'-Watch, sir!"

Keen sighed and walked to the screen door. He looked at the small untidy figure and asked, "Well, Mr Hickling, don't keep me in suspense."

The boy screwed up his face as he tried to remember his message, word for word.

"Mr Paget's respects, sir." His eyes moved past Keen to the other cabin, to Bolitho framed against the glittering seascape. Hickling was only just thirteen, but had been on the lower gun deck throughout the engagement and had seen one man cut down by splinters. And yet he seemed unchanged, Keen thought.

Midshipman Hickling continued, "The sail is reported as the brig Firefly, sir."

Bolitho lurched to his feet and exclaimed, "Are they sure?"

Hickling watched his admiral curiously and without awe. He was even too young for that.

"Mr Paget says that Rapid is quite certain of it, Sir Richard."

Bolitho touched the midshipman's shoulders. "Good news."

Hickling stared at his hand, not daring to move as Bolitho added, "Your lieutenant spoke highly of your behaviour under fire.

Well done."

The midshipman hurried away and Keen said quietly, "That was good of you, sir. Not many would care."

He watched Bolitho return to the bench seat, noticed the way he took deliberate steps, as if feeling the ship's movement, looking for a trap.

Bolitho knew Keen was watching him, feeling for him. How can I share it? How can I tell him that I am beside myself with worry? Hate, revenge, callousness, they should play no part in my life, and yetHe said, "I care because I have not forgotten, Val. When I was his age, you too, remember it? Kicked and bullied, neither respected nor trusted, when one kind word could make all that difference?" He shook his head. "I hope I never forget while I breathe."

The surgeon walked past with his bag. "Good day, gentlemen." He looked at Keen. "I trust, sir, now that young Mr Bolitho is drawing near, we may get an ally in this trying situation."

Bolitho frowned. "Bloody man!"

Keen closed the door. "He makes good sense."

The sudden shock made Bolitho start. Adam did not know. What would he think?

Keen said gently as if he had read his thoughts, "Your nephew is already proud of you. So am I."

Bolitho did not reply and was still staring astern when Keen left to go on deck.

Keen nodded to his officers and studied the clear sky. Bright but cool. He walked to the rail and glanced down at the main deck, the marketplace as Bolitho called it. The sailmaker and his crew were busy with their needles and palms, repairing, preserving. The boatswain and the carpenter were conferring on their stocks of timber, and there was a heady smell of tar in the air.

But Keen was thinking of the aftermath to the battle. Holding her in his arms, the relief, the unbelievable happiness which each gave to the other, like something pure and bright being lifted from a blacksmith's furnace.

She had buried her face in his chest while he had held her so closely that he had felt the remains of the scar on her back through the shirt.

The last terrible explosion had bellowed against the hold like a thunderbolt, Ozzard had told him. The girl had held his hand and that of Millie the maid. She had more courage than any of them, Ozzard had insisted.

Keen saw Allday by the restacked boats on their tier. He looked angry, his face inches from the second coxswain's. It looked bad. Like the surgeon, Keen was beginning to regret Bankart's presence in the ship.

"Deck there! Sail, fine on th' larboard bow!"

Keen glanced at Paget and nodded. Firefly s arrival could not have been better timed. Young Hickling had no idea how welcome his news had been.

News from home, perhaps a letter for the admiral. There would be no time yet for anything from London about Zenoria. But at least things were being done, war or no war. He thought of her in his arms, how right it had felt, and how he longed for her.

Paget watched him and turned away satisfied.

The captain looked happy. To any first lieutenant that was more than enough.

Bolitho stood up yet again as familiar sounds thudded overhead and voices murmured near the skylight. The hands had been piped to the braces and the flagship was preparing to heave-to and receive the brig's commander.

How he wanted to be there at the entry port when Adam came aboard. But that was Keen's privilege, one captain greeting another.

Bolitho heard the side party being mustered, some marines falling in to do Adam his rightful honours.

It was not just tradition which kept him away, and Bolitho knew it. He was afraid of what his nephew would say and think when he met him.

Allday moved from the sleeping cabin and held out his coat for him. Bolitho was so preoccupied that for once he did not sense Allday's grim mood.

There might be a letter from Belinda, and sheHe raised his head as Paget's voice echoed along the deck.

Argonautes helm went over and, with her sails flapping noisily, she swung heavily into the wind, swaying steeply for a while until the remaining sails were reset.

For a brief moment he had seen the brig through the streaming windows, her ensign making a dab of colour, like metal in the wind.

He wondered if Firefly's arrival had been noted by some unseen fishing boat, her purpose already known by a spy at Gibraltar or a traitor in London?

He heard a boat passing close by, the bark of an order as the coxswain steered her towards the chains. Command. Adam had earned it twice over.

Allday watched him dully. He could not bear to see him so helpless and unsure. He had tried to shield him when they had engaged the Frenchman, fearful for Bolitho's safety as he had stood there, unwilling or unable to move away.

Bolitho said, "It's good to have him back if only for a moment, eh, Allday? Inch will rejoin us in a day or so, then we will go and seek out Jobert together!"

Allday took down the old sword. He hated Jobert, what he had made Bolitho become.

Pipes trilled and the marines slapped their muskets. Bolitho saw it clearly, as he had a thousand times, for others and for himself.

It seemed to take an age before Yovell opened the outer screen door and Bolitho walked to greet him, careful to stay where he could reach support from a table or chair, desperate not to show it.

But there were two visitors, not one.

He grasped Adam's hands and knew that he already had the news.

"How is it, Uncle?" He did not try to hide his anxiety.

"Well enough." He shied away from it. "You are failing in your duty, sir, who is our visitor?"

Adam said, "Mr Pullen." He sounded uncomfortable. "From the Admiralty."

The man had a bony handshake. "On passage for Malta, Sir Richard." He sounded as if he was smiling. "Eventually."

"Well, be seated. Allday, fetch Ozzard." He knew Adam was staring at him, measuring his hurt as Keen had done.

"And what brings you here, Mr, er, Pullen?"

The man arranged himself in a chair. He was all in black. Like a carrion crow, Bolitho thought. He turned to keep the light behind him, knowing they would see the bandage and nothing more.

"I have certain affairs to manage in Malta, Sir Richard. Admiral Sir Hayward Sheaffe has given me instructions." Bolitho forced a smile. "Secret, eh?"

"Certainly, Sir Richard." As Ozzard hurried to him with a tray he said, "Some watered wine will suffice, thank you."

Adam said, "I wish to speak with you, Uncle."

Bolitho sensed something in his tone. "Will it not keep?"

The man called Pullen took an envelope from his coat and laid it on the table. Bolitho stared at it, feeling trapped, stripped of his pretence. "May I ask the same of you, Mr Pullen?"

The man shrugged. "I would imagine that you have many things on your hands, Sir Richard. You have been in battle, although to glance around you you would scarce believe it."

Bolitho controlled a sudden irritation. "We destroyed a French seventy-four." That was all he said.

"Excellent. Sir Hayward will be pleased." He regarded the glass of watered wine. "I'd not trouble you, Sir Richard, it is after all a nuisance but a necessity none the less. I am required to serve notice on your flag-captain to attend a court of inquiry in Malta with all despatch."

No wonder Adam had tried to warn him. Bolitho said calmly, "To what purpose?"

Pullen seemed satisfied. "Two bothersome reasons, I understand, Sir Richard. He behaved somewhat foolishly by ignoring a government warrant and then removing a woman," his voice lingered on the word as if it were obscene, "from custody. I feel he can explain his reasons no matter how misguided, but I must point out-"

"Who had made this accusation?"

Pullen sighed. "It was a written report, Sir Richard. As I said, it should not concern or trouble you. A nuisance, nothing more."

Bolitho said quietly, "You are impertinent, sir. That woman was being abused, flogged! Captain Keen was doing his duty!"

"That is in the past, Sir Richard."

Bolitho stared at him and replied, "This is a battleground, Mr Pullen, not a safe and secure office. Here, I command. I could have you seized up and flogged to within an inch of your life and none would question my order." He heard the man's quick intake of breath. "It would be months before anyone acted on it, and I would like to know if you might call that a nuisance!"

Pullen swallowed hard. "I meant no offence, Sir Richard."

"Well, it was taken! Do you imagine that I'll stand by and permit a gallant officer to have his name smeared by this-this absurdity?"

Pullen leaned forward, his confidence returning. "Then it is not true, any of it?"

"I do not have to answer that."

Pullen stood up and placed his glass, still full, on the table.

"Not to me, sir. But you will see in your orders that you are also required to attend with your captain."

Bolitho stared at him. "Leave this station? Do you know what you are saying? Have you no conception of what the enemy intends to do?"

Pullen said, "It is out of my hands, Sir Richard." He gave a brief bow. "If I may, I would like to withdraw while you decide."

For a long moment Bolitho stood stock still beneath the skylight. It was like a bad dream. Like his failing sight. It must soon clear away.

Adam said bitterly, "He explained nothing, Uncle. You did not tell me about this woman." He hesitated. "We must see that there is no gossip."

Bolitho took his arm. "She is aboard this ship, Adam." He turned him slowly to face him. "If that wretch made it sound coarse and indecent, he has done more harm than I imagined. She is a fine, brave girl, wrongly charged, falsely transported, and we shall prove it."

The door opened and Keen walked slowly aft, his hat dangling from one hand.

Keen said, "But in the meantime she will be sent in irons to another transport." He looked at Adam. "You see, I love her. I love her more than life itself."

Adam glanced from one to the other, instantly aware of the strength of Keen's sincerity, of his uncle's compassion.

Adam said, "Pullen plays cards."

They both stared at him, at his dark features which had become so grim.

"I could accuse him of cheating and call him out-"

Bolitho crossed to his side and grasped his shoulders.

"Enough of that. We are in enough trouble. Keep your steel covered." He squeezed his shoulders. "Bless you."

Adam said wretchedly, "I have a letter from Lady Belinda." He held it out. "I think I know why you did not read Pullen's brief, Uncle." He sounded shocked, stunned by the realization.

Bolitho asked, "Do you have to leave immediately?"

"Aye." Adam looked down and his unruly hair fell across his forehead. "I heard about John Hallowes, Uncle. He was my friend."

"I know." They walked together to the screen. "I shall have to quit the squadron when I am most needed, Adam, over this tragic affair. I will place Inch in command until we return." He looked at Keen. "Have no fear. I shall not desert that girl."

Adam followed Keen to the quarterdeck and saw Pullen waiting by the entry port. Who was behind these accusations, he wondered? The fact that they were true seemed less important.

He touched his hat to the side party and then looked at Keen.

He said, "You have my loyalty, sir." He touched his sword. "This too when and if you need it." Then he followed Pullen into the boat.

Keen waited only until the gig was under oars and then crossed to his first lieutenant.

"We shall make sail as soon as a letter has been sent over to Firefly from the admiral."

It was obvious that Pullen had wanted to remain on board as an observer until they reached Malta where he would change his role to that of jailer. Now he would be there waiting for them, his determination sharpened by Bolitho's hostility.

"I'm sorry about all this, sir." Paget flinched under Keen's stare but stood his ground. "We all are. It's not fair."

Keen dropped his eyes. "Thank you. I once believed it was enough to fight a war. Apparently there are those who think we are better used fighting each other."

A boat carried a hastily penned letter across to the brig and by the time dusk had closed in, Firefly had already dipped below the horizon.

Keen walked the quarterdeck and watched the red sunset. Firefly had brought only bad news after all.