BEYOND THE REEF

4. REVENGE

THE HOUSE, which was of medium size and owned by the Admiralty, was situated just outside the dockyard gates. It had a permanent staff, but was entirely without any kind of personality; it was merely a place where senior officers and Admiralty officials could stay temporarily while conducting their business with the dockyard or the port admiral.

It was not yet dawn but already Bolitho could hear the comings and goings of carts and waggons, and during the long night he heard the occasional tramp of feet and the clink of weapons as the press-gangs returned from yet another search of outlying villages for men who were without any official protection.

The last time, when he had been awakened from a troubled sleep, he had heard a woman's voice, high-pitched and pleading, although he could not make out the words. She had been calling out long after the gates had clanged shut, her man taken from her side to help fill the depleted ranks in the fleet. Her pleas would fall on deaf ears, especially with the war about to expand still further. Fit men, sometimes any men would suffice. Even those with the written protection, fishermen, sailors of the HEIC, prime hands whom the navy needed more than any, kept out of sight at night when the press were about. It was useless to try and right a wrong if you awoke with a bruised head in some man-of-war already standing out into the Western Approaches.

Very gently he lifted Catherine's head from his bare shoulder and eased it on to a pillow. As he did so he felt her long, tumbled hair slide from his skin, their bodies still warm from their embrace.

But it had been a night without passion or intimacy, a night when they had shared an even deeper love, knowing their need and support of one another. With great care he climbed from the bed and walked quietly through to the adjoining room. The fire was dead in the grate but already he could hear a servant, or perhaps the loyal Ozzard, re-laying another downstairs.

This room, like the house, felt damp and unlived-in, but it was still a haven compared to the alternative: a local inn, prying eyes and questioning glances. Everyone would know about the court martial. This was a naval port, the greatest in the world, but gossip flourished here like a village.

He stared from a window and after some hesitation thrust it open, admitting the cold air of dawn, the strong tang of the sea, freshly-cut timber, tar and oakum, the stuff of any Royal dockyard.

It was today. He stared hard at the dark shadows of the buildings beyond the wall. Allday and Ozzard would have prepared his best dress coat with its gleaming epaulettes, each with a pair of silver stars to display his rank.

He would not feel the familiar weight of the old family sword against his thigh; he would wear, instead, the lavishly decorated presentation sword given to him by the people of Falmouth in recognition of his service in the Mediterranean and at the Battle of the Nile. For here he was authority, the vice-admiral again; not "Equality Dick" as his sailors had so often called him, not even the hero who brought admiring grins from the ale-houses and coffee establishments because of his liaison with a beautiful woman. It made him feel like a stranger to himself. He could not forget Herrick's bitterness at Southwark, when he had gone to plead and reason with him. Don't throw away all you've achieved for yourself because of me. He was what his father would have wished, a flag officer like all the others in those portraits which lined the stairway and gallery in the old grey house in Cornwall.

He heard a girl laugh somewhere, probably Catherine's new maid servant, Sophie, a small, dark creature whom Catherine had said was half-Spanish. She had taken her as a favour to an old friend in London; at a guess the girl was about fifteen. It had happened quite suddenly, and Catherine had not yet had time to relate the full story. She had been concerned only for him, and what might be the outcome of today.

There had been a letter sent from London by post-boy, from Lord Godschale. The packet which was to carry them to the Cape had left the Pool of London and was making her way down-Channel to Falmouth, where she would await Bolitho's arrival. A strange change of plans, Bolitho had thought, more secrecy, in case there should be fresh scandal about Catherine's going with him. Godschale had cleared his own yardarm by suggesting that Catherine pay her own fare and expenses for the voyage.

She had given her bubbling laugh when he had told her. "That man is quite impossible, Richard! But he has a roving eye and a reputation to support, I am given to understand!"

They had also discussed Zenoria. She had left in the Bolitho carriage the previous evening with Jenour and Yovell for protection and company. She had seemed eager to go, and when Bolitho had said, "She will be able to say goodbye to Val at Falmouth," he had not sounded very convincing, even to himself.

The only good news had also been from London, from the heron-like Sir Piers Blachford. Elizabeth's injury was neither permanent nor serious, now that she was under proper care. Bolitho had not told Catherine that Belinda had sent word that he himself was expected to pay all the necessary costs: she had probably guessed anyway.

He waited for the first hint of daylight, then covered his uninjured eye with his hand and stared for so long that the eye pricked painfully and began to water. But there was no mist, no failing vision this time; perhaps the three months ashore, with occasional trips to Portsmouth and London had worked in his favour.

Without turning he knew she had entered the room, her naked feet soundless on the carpet. She came up behind him and put a coat around his bare shoulders.

"What are you doing? Trying to catch a cold, or worse?"

He put his arm around her body and felt her warmth through the plain white gown, the one with the gold cord around her throat which if released could bare her shoulders or her whole being.

She shivered as he ran his fingers over her hip. "Oh, dear Richard-soon now, and all this will be over."

"I have been poor company of late."

Catherine turned in his arm and looked at him, only her eyes shining in the faint light.

"So many thoughts, so many worries. They strike at you from every side."

She had read Herrick's letter aloud to him, and he had been moved that she had shown more regret than anger. In it, Herrick had thanked her for staying with his wife to the end. A letter between total strangers. He ran his hand under her long hair and kissed her lightly on the neck.

She covered his hand with hers. "Much more of that, Richard, and I will forget the importance and the formality of this day."

She looked out at the paling sky and the last weak star. "I love everything we do, all that we have found in one another." He tried to turn her towards him but felt her strong supple body resist him; she would not, could not face him. "When you are away from me, Richard, I touch myself where you have touched me, and I dream it is you. The climax is matched only by the disappointment when I know it is… just another fantasy."

Then she did turn, and embraced him so that their faces were almost level, her breath mingling warmly with his, her body pressing against him.

"So when you come back to me, be the navigator and explorer once more. Seek out every mood and every part of me until we are joined again." She kissed him very gently on the cheek. "… and again." She stood against the light, so that he saw her body through her pale gown. "Now go and prepare yourself. I will further shock the servants by preparing some breakfast for my man!"

Bolitho stared after her, then sighed as the drums began to rattle to beat up the marines at their barracks.

A glance; a word; a promise. They could not dissolve the immediate problems. He straightened his back and touched the crudely mended wound in his left thigh, a legacy of eight years ago, and his mind lingered on what she had told him. Dissolve, no; but once again she had made him feel restored. He was ready.

John Cotgrave, the Judge Advocate, stood up and faced the seated officers in the great cabin.

"I am ready, Sir James."

Hamett-Parker grunted. "Proceed."

Cotgrave said, "Captain Hector Gossage has stated that he wishes to complete his evidence, and the surgeon has assured me that he will be able." He glanced briefly at Herrick's set features. "However, with the Court's indulgence, I would suggest that Captain Gossage's appearance be made later, when he has been examined again."

Hamett-Parker asked, "Well sir, how is this to be managed, Mr Cotgrave?" He sounded irritated by the sudden change of tack.

"May I suggest, Sir James, that the last witness for today be called first? I do not intend to summon Captain Keen of this ship; it would merely be to corroborate this important witness's testimony."

Bolitho saw the quick exchange of glances. Gossage would be the final witness, so any previous evidence of an indifferent nature, or testimony which might be in Herrick's favour, would be forgotten. Gossage was hostile-a broken man, but one whose ability to hate was clearly unimpaired.

The officer of the Court next in seniority, Vice-Admiral Cuthbert Nevill, asked mildly, "It is all rather unusual, surely?"

Hamett-Parker did not even turn. "The case itself is more so, what?"

Cotgrave faced the assembled visitors. "The next witness is an officer well known to all of us and to every loyal Englishman. At no time was he consulted on the strategy used to defend the convoy, and only arrived…" He hesitated and allowed his words to sink in "… in this very ship at the scene of the battle, when all was lost. The convoy of twenty ships sunk or captured, the remaining escort, Egret of 60 guns, also destroyed, and overwhelmed by a superior enemy force as we have heard described here."

Bolitho heard the shuffle of feet and the creak of chairs as the assembled visitors peered around the great cabin. It would be hard for landsmen to visualise this powerful three-decker cleared for action, from these same stern windows to the foremost divisions of guns. Harder still to see death here, or imagine the roar and crash of artillery, the screams of the wounded. The captains present would see it differently, however, and be reminded, if they needed a reminder, that the final responsibility was theirs, or lay with the man who flew his flag above all of them.

Cotgrave continued, "I would ask Sir Richard Bolitho, Vice-Admiral of the Red, to come aft."

Bolitho stood up, his mind suddenly like ice, recalling Catherine's words when they had lain awake in the night. Remember, Richard, you are not to blame. And this morning when he had looked from the window over the darkness of the dockyard. Just a man. Was it only this morning?

"Now, Sir Richard, if you would care to be seated?"

Bolitho replied, "I prefer to stand, thank you."

Hamett-Parker asked, "Are you not satisfied with the way this Court is being conducted, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho gave a short bow. This man is an enemy. "Black Prince is my flagship, Sir James. Had I not been called to give this testimony, something which my own flag captain is well able to offer, I might have been a member of this Court. A more useful and profitable role, surely?"

The vice-admiral named Nevill muttered, "Quite agree."

Cotgrave said, "Let us continue, Sir Richard, for all our sakes."

"I am ready."

"For the benefit of the Court, Sir Richard, tell us what happened when the brig Larne arrived off Copenhagen with the news of the convoy's predicament. Not too fast for my clerks, if you please, and for the gentlemen from the newspapers."

Bolitho said, "I was summoned to Admiral Gambier's flagship Prince of Wales, where, after discussing the 'predicament' as you choose to call it, and hearing of it from Commander Tyacke, I pleaded to be allowed to go to RearAdmiral Herrick's assistance."

"It was night-time, was it not?" Cotgrave singled out a sheet of notes. "I am given to understand that when the dangers of navigating the Narrows in the dark were pointed out you stated that you had done it before, under Nelson?"

"That is true."

Cotgrave smiled gently. "Very forceful. You were guided through eventually by the brig Larne and followed by Nicator, an elderly 74 from your own squadron?"

Bolitho said, "We might have been in time."

"In the event, you were not." He continued smoothly, "Now please describe the scene when daylight found you on that particular morning." He wagged a finger like some church schoolmaster and added, "May I remind you, Sir Richard, there are landsmen present-we have not all shared your own wealth of experience, of which we have heard much over the years."

There was absolute silence in the cabin, so that even the slight patter of rain against the tall stern windows seemed an interruption.

"I had had the ship's sailmaker create a false Danish flag. It was my intention to lure the largest enemy ship, the San Mateo, into close range, to make her captain believe Black Prince was a Danish prize." He hesitated over the enemy's name, and guessed it was not lost on many present. "For we, too, were outnumbered. But for the ruse I fear we might have shared Benbow's fate."

"By this time, the Benbow had become a dismasted onlooker, I believe?"

Bolitho saw Herrick lean forward as if to interrupt and answered, "Hardly that. Benbow's guns were still firing, and even though her steering had carried away and her masts were gone, she did not strike."

Cotgrave looked at the intent faces of the Court. "After you had forced the enemy to submit, and the prize crews of the surviving ships were ordered to lay down their arms, you then boarded the Benbow. Tell us what you found."

Bolitho looked steadily at Herrick. "There were more dead than alive in view, and the afterguard, helmsmen, gun crews had all been cut down by chainshot and canister at close range. She was so badly damaged that it was all we could do to rig temporary steering, and eventually take her in tow."

Hamett-Parker commented without feeling, "It seems likely she will remain a hulk until her final disposal."

Cotgrave nodded gravely. "Of course, Sir Richard, you and the accused have been friends for years. I imagine he was more than relieved to see your ships and most of all, yourself."

Bolitho turned towards the rain-dappled windows, a shaft of watery sunlight glinting on the Nile medal, which he always wore with pride.

"It was a scene from hell. We had little time to speak with one another, and the rearadmiral's wound required immediate attention."

He looked once again at Herrick, recalling that morning, the bitterness in his voice. It will be another triumph for you. Like an accusation.

"In that case, Sir James?" Cotgrave started as Herrick rose to his feet and gripped the chairback for support.

Hamett-Parker snapped, "You have a question?" He seemed surprised.

Herrick nodded, his eyes still on Bolitho. "I do, Sir James."

"Very well." To Bolitho he said, "Remember, Sir Richard, you are still under oath."

Herrick said quietly, "It is not a point of evidence." He was speaking to the court, to everyone here, and to those who would never come back to speak of anything. His eyes, his whole being was directed at Bolitho.

"I am ready."

"I want to make something clear. I would like to know, had you been in my position that day, would you have acted as I did?"

Cotgrave said hastily, "I hardly think-"

Hamett-Parker waved his challenge aside. "I see no wrong in it. Please answer, Sir Richard-we are all attention!"

Bolitho faced the officers but could feel the intensity of Herrick's eyes. "There are several ways to defend a convoy, Sir James, even if the escort is insufficient, as it surely was that day. Sometimes you can signal the vessels in the convoy to draw together to add their own artillery in the defence of all. It is a well-known tactic of the Honourable East India Company. Likewise you can order the ships to disperse, leaving the slower ones to be sacrificed."

They all stared at Herrick as he said calmly, "It is not what I asked."

Cotgrave bit his lip. "That is so, Sir Richard. You must answer."

Hamett-Parker snapped, "Even if the reply might damage the circumstances of a friend. You are a man of honour, sir. We are waiting!"

He tried to read Herrick's mind, divine the intention behind this. What are you doing? What are you making me do? There was something else there too. It was almost amusement, a mocking challenge. Another triumph for you, Richard!

Bolitho replied quietly, "I would not."

Hamett-Parker pressed his fingertips together and put his head on one side like a bird of prey.

"I believe that some here present may not have heard, Sir Richard."

Bolitho looked at him coldly. "I said: I would not!"

Herrick sat down and said, "Thank you. A man of honour."

Bolitho stared at him. Herrick had forced him into answering the one question which would surely condemn him. It had been deliberate, brutal in its intensity.

Hamett-Parker nodded very slowly. "If there is nothing further, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho said, "I can only say that the accused is a gallant and loyal officer. I have served alongside him many times and know all his qualities. He has saved my life, and he has given his to the service of his country."

Cotgrave cleared his throat. "Some might suggest that you are biased, Sir Richard."

Bolitho turned on him angrily. "And why not? In God's name, what are true friends for?"

Hamett-Parker interrupted, "We will adjourn until after refreshment, gentlemen." He looked at Bolitho. "By which time Captain Gossage will be present to continue with his assessment of the rearadmiral's intentions on that day."

Bolitho waited for the great cabin to empty, and sat alone, his head in his hands. Where was the vice-admiral now?

Keen joined him and said quietly, "I was at the door, Sir Richard-I heard everything. They will demand the most severe punishment of all."

He was shocked to see Bolitho's face when he looked up at him: the tears in his eyes.

"He has just executed himself, Val. And for what?"

For a long, long moment the question seemed to hang in the air like an epitaph.

Lady Catherine Somervell stood beside a window, one hand toying absently with a curtain. The roofs of the nearest dockyard sheds were wet with rain, but already there was a promise of sunshine, and of some warmth. She saw and cared for none of it.

She was thinking of Black Prince, out there somewhere unseen behind the tall buildings. The court martial would have recommenced, and this afternoon Richard would try to defend his friend, even if he could only offer help through personal evidence.

She looked over her shoulder at her new maid Sophie. In the filtered sunshine, with her dark hair hanging down to her eyes as she smoothed out one of her mistress's gowns ready for packing, she could have been fully Spanish. Her mother had married a trader of that country who had vanished shortly after the Revolution in France; he had never been seen alive again. There had been three children, and Sophie was the youngest. She had gone to work for a tailor in Whitechapel, and within a year had proved herself a quick learner and an excellent seamstress, but her mother had become ill and had asked Catherine to take her into service. She had known she was dying and used her earlier friendship with Catherine as the only escape for her remaining child: London was no place for a girl like Sophie to be left to fend for herself. If Sophie grieved for her mother, she did not show it. Perhaps, Catherine thought, when she knew her better, she might share the rest of the story.

"I wonder if they will fire another gun when the court martial is finally over." She wished she had asked Richard before he had left this morning. But she had not wanted to distract him, to offer him hope when there might be none.

Sophie paused. "Don't know, me lady."

Catherine smiled at her. Sophie's voice had the accent of the streets, an aspect of London Catherine had known at her age, and earlier. It helped in some way, a reminder.

Catherine thought of the dawn when she had awakened with something like panic when she had found him gone. She turned the beautiful ring on her finger, which Bolitho had put on her left hand after Keen's wedding at Zennor, and tried to take some reassurance from it. But what of the next time they were parted, when Bolitho was once more at sea with his men and his ships, a target for every enemy sharpshooter as poor Nelson had been?

She shook her head, as if he had just spoken to her. There was the long passage to the Cape and back. It might be uncomfortable, but she would enjoy every second they could still be together.

When Richard returned this evening or later perhaps, whatever the outcome, she would make him forget. She must. Then she turned the ring again to the shaft of sun which had at last penetrated the low clouds over the Solent, and watched the play of light across its diamonds and rubies. She could recall the exact moment, when all the others had left the church for the wedding celebrations. Richard taking her hand. In the eyes of God we are married, dearest Kate. It was something she would never forget.

There was a rap at the door and one of the resident servants entered the room and gave a clumsy curtsy.

"There be a gennelman downstairs, m'lady. He begs an audience with you."

Catherine waited and then replied, "I can sometimes read your thoughts, my girl, but I need a little help now."

The girl gave her a cow-like stare, and eventually produced a small envelope from an apron pocket.

Catherine smiled. The Admiralty house did not apparently run to a silver tray for such purposes.

She tore it open and walked to the window again. It was not a note, there was only an engraved card inside. She looked at it for several seconds until a face seemed to form there. Sillitoe. Sir Paul Sillitoe, whom she had met at Admiral Godschale's reception by the river.

She was still uncertain whether he was a friend or another potential danger to Richard. But he had shown her kindness in his strange, withdrawn manner.

"I shall come down."

The hall was empty, and the door still partly ajar; she saw a smart phaeton with a pair of matching greys outside in the road. Sillitoe was standing in the small drawing-room, feet apart, hands behind him.

As she appeared he took her proffered hand and touched it with his lips.

"Lady Catherine, you honour me too much, when I have given you so little warning of my arrival." He waited until she had seated herself and said, "I have urgent business in London, but I thought I must see you before you depart for the Cape of Good Hope." He grimaced. "An unfortunate name, I think."

"Is anything wrong, Sir Paul? Are we not to go after all?"

"Wrong?" He was watching her now, his hooded eyes full of curiosity. "Why should there be?" He walked past her and hesitated by the chair; and for an instant she expected him to touch her, place a hand on her shoulder, and she could feel her body stiffen in readiness.

"I was merely thinking that you might find the prospect of a longish voyage, hemmed in by foul-mouthed sailors, unpleasant. It is not what I would choose for you."

"I am used to ships." She glanced at him, her eyes flashing. "Sailors too."

"It was merely a thought, one which disturbed me more than I would admit to anyone else. I experienced a moment of delusion, wherein I imagined your staying behind, with me to guide you around the town, and offer you-if only temporarily-my companionship."

"Is that what you really came to tell me?" She was astonished at the calmness in her voice, and equally by the man's cool impudence and declaration. "For if so it is better that you go at once. Sir Richard has enough on his mind without suffering the added burden of unfaithfulness. I should say, how dare you, Sir Paul, but then I already know how men like you dare."

"Ah, yes, Sir Richard." He looked away. "How I envy him-"

He seemed to be searching for words without losing her attention and tolerance. "I wanted to know, Lady Catherine-I believe he calls you Kate?"

"Yes-and only he does."

Sillitoe sighed. "As I was saying before I was again distracted by your lovely presence-I will always be available as a friend, more if you should ever need that. That is what I came to say." He moved towards her as she made to rise from the chair. "No, please stay, Lady Catherine. I must lose some miles before dark." He took her hand, forcefully as she did not offer it, and held it, his eyes locked with hers. "I knew your late husband, the Viscount Somervell. He was a fool. He deserved what he got." Then he kissed her hand and released it. "Bon voyage, Lady Catherine." He swept his hat from a chair. "Think of me sometimes."

It was growing dark in the street outside, and long after the phaeton had clattered away, Catherine still sat in the damp, empty room looking at the door.

Like the words she had spoken to Richard this morning. They strike at you from every side. Sillitoe's visit had put another edge to them.

She stood up, startled, as a dull bang echoed across the harbour. They did fire a gun, after all.

She stared at herself in a mirror with something like defiance. Richard would have to be told about the visit. There were others who would be only too willing. But not all of it. Another duel, as Belinda had once flung in her face? She shook her head very slowly and saw the confidence returning to her reflection.

Only death would ever come between them.

Admiral Sir James Hamett-Parker settled himself once more in his chair and glanced briefly at his companions. He was still savouring the taste of fine cheese and the liberal glasses of port, finer than any he had lately enjoyed. It seemed to sustain him in this time of confrontation with his final duty, unpleasant though it would be. His mind lingered on it. But necessary.

He realised that the Judge Advocate was watching him patiently. The stage was set. He glanced at the accused, but the stocky rearadmiral's face gave nothing away.

The men from the London and Portsmouth newspapers were present; the marine officer was behind Herrick's chair, as if he had never moved throughout the whole trial.

He said, "Mr Cotgrave, I would like to be assured that Captain Hector Gossage is indeed fit to give his evidence."

Cotgrave regarded him impassively. "The surgeon is here, Sir James."

A surgeon from Haslar Hospital bobbed to the table. "I have presently examined Captain Gossage and am confident there has been an improvement, Sir James. He begs me to apologise for his behaviour before this Court, and I agree that he had been given too much to reduce his pain, and was not himself."

Hamett-Parker gave a rare smile. It reminded Bolitho, who was watching every move with growing despair, of a fox about to pounce on a rabbit.

Hamett-Parker nodded. "Then we shall proceed."

Captain Gossage walked from the rear of the visitors and barely needed the support of each row of chairs as he passed. He did not even seem to notice the curious stares which came from every side. Pity, understanding from his fellow captains, impatience too from those eager to see it finished one way or the other.

He bowed slightly to the officers of the Court and sat down gingerly in the same chair as before.

Bolitho watched as he shook his head to the offer of help from a hospital orderly.

The Judge Advocate asked, "Are you comfortable, Captain Gossage?"

Gossage moved painfully to hold the stump of his severed arm clear of the chair. "I am, sir." Then he faced the admiral. "I can only ask the Court's pardon for yesterday's behaviour, Sir James. I barely knew what I was doing."

The vice-admiral named Nevill nodded. "Only time can mend what you have suffered." Some of the other officers beside him murmured in agreement.

Hamett-Parker said, "Then we will continue?"

Bolitho heard the sharpness in his tone. A man who obviously hated anyone else to offer an opinion.

A messenger came up the aisle between the chairs and placed some books on a table within Gossage's reach.

He said, "My ship's log and signal book, Sir James. Each portion of the engagement is recorded until we came to close-action." His face was like stone. "When there was nobody left on the quarterdeck to attend to it. Even the admiral's flag lieutenant had fallen by then." He pouted, as Bolitho had seen him do in the past. "And I had been carried below to the orlop."

Bolitho saw his remaining hand clutch his chair, reliving the nightmare, the agony, the sounds of hell itself.

Cotgrave said gently, "In your own words, Captain Gossage. The details of the log are already recorded."

Gossage leaned back and closed his eyes. "I am able, thank you." There was a bluntness in his tone. For these moments anyway, he was no longer a cripple; he was the flag captain again.

"After making contact with the brig Larne, and knowing the approximate position and bearing of the enemy, we decided to make all sail possible."

Cotgrave prompted, "We decided?"

Gossage nodded and winced. "As flag captain I was always consulted, naturally, and you will already know that the same wind which brought Sir Richard Bolitho's ships to our eventual relief, was opposing us and our convoy."

Cotgrave darted a glance at his clerks; their quills were dashing back and forth across their papers. "And then, on the day when the enemy made its appearance, what was happening?"

Gossage replied, "There was a mist, and the convoy had become scattered overnight. But we had made good progress, and I knew that Larne was fast enough to pass word to the admiral."

"Were you as surprised as Larne's commander that it should be passed to Admiral Gambier, rather than to Sir Richard, the accused's friend?"

Gossage considered it. "Admiral Gambier was in overall command. I can see no other alternative."

Cotgrave turned over another paper. "Was there any discussion as to whether the convoy should scatter or disperse at this point?"

Gossage dabbed his face with his handkerchief; the pain was making him sweat badly.

"Yes, we discussed it. We had no frigate, the wind was against us; if the convoy had been broken up I believe it would have been destroyed piecemeal. Most of them were slow, deep-laden-an ill-matched collection if ever I saw one." He did not conceal his bitterness. "Even the poor old Egret, our remaining escort, was a floating relic."

Hamett-Parker snapped, "You cannot say that!"

Cotgrave gave a mild grin. "I am afraid he can, Sir James. Egret was a hulk even before the war began. She was refitted for less demanding duties."

Gossage repeated, "She was a relic."

Bolitho watched Herrick's expression. He was staring at Gossage as if he could not believe what he had heard.

"And then?"

Gossage frowned. "RearAdmiral Herrick ordered a gun to be fired to hasten the convoy into a manageable line again, to keep station on one another. Then he insisted that I should order the signal to be spelled out, word by word, so that each master would know and understand the nearness of danger."

"And what of your superior's demeanour at that time?"

Gossage glanced at Herrick, his features completely empty of expression. "He was calm enough. There was no other alternative but to stand together and fight." He lifted his chin slightly. "The Benbow has never run away. Nor would she."

Bolitho watched Herrick's face working with sudden emotion. Once he shook his head, but when asked if he wished to put a question to his past captain he wiped his eyes and remained silent.

Bolitho felt the tension rising around him like steam. Gossage's simple, almost resigned words had changed everything. He was the man of the moment, the only man who had known what had really happened. Bolitho's own description of what he had found when he had boarded the shattered flagship had acted like an introduction. Gossage had ended it.

Cotgrave folded his papers and cleared his throat. "I believe it is time for the Court to adjourn, Sir James."

Bolitho looked over and saw Hamett-Parker staring at him, like that first time. There was no hint of justice being done. If anything, there was only fury.

"Remove the accused!"

Then the Court filed out.

Keen entered and found a seat beside him. "I still cannot understand! I am not deceived, am I, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho was glad he was with him. "You were not, Val. Gossage made no prior statement, he was too ill at the time. Perhaps this is his way."

Keen still watched him with surprise. "But he owes RearAdmiral Herrick nothing, Sir Richard!"

"Have you never heard of revenge, Val?"

Someone whispered hoarsely, "They're coming back."

Gossage was standing in the shadows, drinking from a goblet which someone had brought for him. He looked tired and sick, yet unable to leave.

Hamett-Parker said flatly, "Marshal, do your duty."

The Royal Marine officer picked up Herrick's sword and after a small hesitation, laid it down again. It brought a great roar of gasps and excitement from the craning visitors. "The sword's hilt was toward Herrick's chair."

"Bring in the accused."

The footsteps halted abruptly beside Bolitho's seat, and when he glanced round he saw Herrick, as white as a sheet, staring at the table as if he had been stricken by some terrible disease.

Cotgrave said, "RearAdmiral Herrick, you are discharged. The charges brought against you are dropped. They cannot be recommitted."

Herrick stared round until he saw Gossage, then he said tonelessly, "Damn you to hell, Gossage. God rot you."

Gossage raised the goblet in salute and leaning on the orderly's arm, allowed himself to be guided to another door.

Keen said, "I must see the members of the Court to their boats, Sir Richard." He turned anxiously. "Wait for me, please."

But Allday was here, massive and frowning, his hat beneath his arm.

Bolitho touched Keen's sleeve and shook his head.

To Allday he said, "Take me ashore, old friend. It's all over." He looked back at Herrick and saw some officers around him, their faces beaming with congratulations.

He could not see Herrick's expression. He was still holding the sword in his hands like a man who had been cheated, and betrayed.