Command a King`s Ship

18. In the King's Name

'Alter course two points.'

Bolitho tried to pace along the littered deck, but was unable to overcome his anxiety. It was an hour since they had edged into the eastern channel, under minimum canvas and with two leadsmen in the chains they had felt their way towards the sea.

An hour of answering demands and listening to reports. Ten killed, fifteen wounded, half of them seriously. Considering what they had done, it was a small enough bill, but as he watched the familiar bundles awaiting burial, or heard occasional cries from the main hatch, he found little comfort in it.

If only Allday would come on deck and tell him about Herrick. He had already questioned the surviving seaman. It had been the little man called Lincoln, the one with the permanent grin made by a grotesque scar.

Bolitho had watched him reliving it as he had stammered out his description, oblivious to his captain and officers crowding around him, and seemingly only half aware he was actually alive.

It had been much as Bolitho had imagined. Herrick had decided to destroy the battery, drive his schooner aground regardless of risk and the inevitability of death. At the last moment, with the fuse lit and the vessel being fired on from a hillside, Herrick had been struck by a falling block from the mainmast. The little seaman had said in a whisper, 'Then up comes Mister Pigsliver, as cool as you please. Take to th' boat, he shouts. I've an old score to settle, though 'e didn't say wot 'e meant like. By then there was only three 'ands left. So me an' Jethro lowers Mr. 'Errick into the dory, but t'other bloke, the little sailmaker named Potter, 'e decides to stay with the Don.' He had given a great shudder. 'So off we goes. Then the schooner blows up like the gates of 'ell, an' poor Jethro was lost overboard. I just kept paddlin', and prayin' that Mr. 'Errick would stir to 'is senses an' tell me wot to do.' He had paused, sobbing soundlessly. 'Then I looks up, an' there she is, large as life, th' old Undine. I shakes Mr. 'Errick and calls to 'im, look alive, sir, the ship's a' comin' for us, an' 'e-well'e just looks at me an' says, an' wot did you expect?'

Bolitho had said quietly, 'Thank you, Lincoln, I shall see you do not go unrewarded.'

The little man had added, 'An' you'll not forget to mention a piece about Mister Pigsliver, sir? I-I mean, 'e may be a Don, sir, but, but…' Then he had broken down completely.

Now, as he moved restlessly past the six-pounders where the gun captains-knelt in the sunlight, checking their equipment, testing the tackles, their bodies stained with smoke and dried blood, Bolitho said to himself, 'No, I will not forget.'

'Deck there!'

He looked up, his eyes smarting in the glare.

'Open water ahead, sir!'

Shoes scrapedby the cabin hatch and he swung round.

'Allday, where the devil have you been?'

But it was not Allday.

Bolitho strode across the deck and held out both hands. 'Thomas 1' He gripped Herrick's hands in his, oblivious to the watching faces on every side. 'IT don't know what to sayl'

Herrick smiled sadly. 'I am the same, sir.'

'You should remain below until '

'Deck there! Ship to the east'rdt'

Herrick withdrew his hands and replied quietly, 'I am the first lieutenant, sir.' He looked slowly around the quarterdeck, at the protruding splinters and the flapping edges of torn hammocks where musket balls had ripped home. 'My place is here.'

Davy crossed the deck,and touched his hat. 'Beat to quarters again, sir?'

'Yes.'

Davy looked at Herrick and smiled. 'It seems you had no better luck in holding on to the schooner than I.' He added, 'I am relieved you are here, and that's the truth.'

Herrick touched the fresh bandage on his head and winced. 'If it had not been sworn otherwise, I would have said that Don Puigserver struck me down himself. He was that eager to finish what we had begun.'

He fell silent as the drums rattled out their tattoo and the lolling figures by guns and braces stirred themselves into life.

Bolitho was watching the last shoulder of land sliding away, the expanse of blue water and lively wavecrests growing and spreading to reveal an endless, dazzling horizon.

To larboard, her hull and spars black against the glare, lay the Argus. She appeared to be moving very slowly, her yards well braced to hold her on a converging tack.

Herrick muttered, 'Four miles, I'd say.'

'About that.'

Bolitho studied the. other ship, unable to look away. She reminded him of a wild cat, the way she edged across the busy, white-capped waves. Stealthy, purposeful. Lethal.

He imagined he could hear the squeak of trucks as her smooth sides became barbed by gun muzzles. Le Chaumareys was taking his time. Waiting for Bolitho to make the first move.

He looked away at last, feeling the tension returning, but heavier than before. Perhaps Le Chaumareys had planned it this way, distrusting his ally Muljadi, guessing that Bolitho might bring off a stalemate, if not a victory, if he chose his own method of attack.

The Undine's company had fought hard. He looked searchingly at the shot holes and punctured sails, heard the hammers as Pryke, the portly carpenter, and his mates got busy on repairs in the lower hull, and knew it was asking much of them to fight yet again, and to win against this great, black-hulled veteran of the French navy.

Then he glanced at those nearest him. He needed every bit of skill and experience they possessed, not least their courage.

'Well, Mr. Mudge, what of the wind now?'

'It'll get up, sir.' Mudge took out his handkerchief and blew his great nose violently. 'Might back a bit.' He gestured up at the masthead pendant. It was stiff, like a spear. 'I'd suggest, beggin' yer pardon, sir, that you fights under topsails only.'

Bolitho turned to Herrick. 'What do you say?'

Herrick was watching the other ship, his eyes like slits. 'Get to grips, sir. He'll pound us to pieces with those long guns otherwise.'

The deck lifted across the first true roller, and spray drifted high above the nettings.

'Let's be about it then.' Bolitho licked his parched lips. 'Get the forecourse off her.' He dropped his voice. 'And have those corpses buried directly. It does no good to see where some of us will end this morning.'

Herrick watched him calmly. 'I can think of better reasons for dying.' He glanced at the motionless seamen by the guns. 'But no better place for it.'

Bolitho walked to the rail and watched the Argus for several minutes. Le Chaumareys had a good position. He had probably considered it very carefully. He was over there now, watching him, expecting him to act. To try and take the wind-gage, or to alter course and attempt to cross his stern and cripple him with one good broadside as he passed.

The French frigate dipped to the swell, showing her copper for several seconds. The wind was tight across her exposed side, but Le Chaumareys was holding back, keeping on Undine's larboard bow, barely making headway.

Bolitho bit his lip, his eyes running in the sun's fierce stare. His men would find it hard to shoot well into the blinding sunlight.

When he looked at the gun deck again he saw that corpses were gone.

Herrick came aft and said, 'All done.'

He saw Bolitho's intent features and asked quietly, 'Is something wrong, sir?'

'I think I am starting to understand Le Chaumareys." He could feel his heart beginning to pound again, the familiar chill at his neck and spine. 'I think he wants us to have the windgage.'

'But, sir…' Herrick's blue eyes darted to the Argus and back again. 'Is the sun in our eyes of greater value to him?' Understanding spread across his round face. 'It might well be. He can stand off and use his heavy artillery to better result.'

Bolitho turned, his eyes flashing. 'Well, it's not to be, Mr. Herrick! Get the t'gallants on her directly!' He added, 'I am sorry, Mr. Mudge, but if we lose the sticks out of her to your damned wind it may be better than losing them the other way!'

Herrick was already raising his speaking trumpet. 'Hands aloft! Loose t'ga'n's'ls!'When he looked at Bolitho again there was little to show what he had so recently endured. 'By God, sir, what we miss in weight we can show that bastard in agility today!'

Bolitho grinned at him, his lips painful. 'Alter course two

points to starboard. We'll run for his bows.'

Allday folded his arms and watched Bolitho's shoulders, and then glanced up at the flag as it rippled in the freshening wind.

'And that is all the running you'll be doing, I'm thinking.'

'East nor'-east, sir!' Carwithen had one hand resting on the polished spokes as the helmsmen concentrated on the compass and the set of the sails overhead. 'Steady as she goes!'

Mudge rubbed his hands on his coat. 'She's movin' well, sir.'

Bolitho lowered his telescope and nodded thoughtfully. The extra power of the topgallants was laying Undine firmly in line across the other ship's path. Argus had not set any additional sail. Yet. He winced as the sunlight lanced down from the lens. Le Chaumareys still held the best position. He could alter course to lee'rd and present his broadside as Undine tried to pass him. Equally, he could allow her to cross his bows, and while she lost time in changing tack, he could take the windgage, sun's glare or not, and attack him from the other side.

Herrick said hoarsely, 'He's holding the same course. He may have let her fall off a point, but there's nothing in it.' He breathed out slowly. 'She makes a fair sight, God rot her!'

Bolitho smiled tightly. Argus had barely changed her bearing, but that was because Undine had altered course to starboard. She was much closer now, a bare two miles, so that he could see her red and yellow figurehead, the purposeful movement of figures about her sloping quarterdeck.

There was a sudden bang, and seconds later a thin waterspout rose lazily amongst the tossing wavecrests, slightly ahead of Undine's path, and half a cable short. Ranging shot, or merely to unnerve Undine's own gun crew. Another of Le Chaumareys' little ruses.

Herrick muttered fervently, 'If I know the Frogs, he'll try and dismast us with chain-shot and langridge. Another prize for his bloody ally!P

'You don't know this Frenchman, Mr. Herrick.' Bolitho recalled Le Chaumareys' face when he had spoken of home, his France which he had been denied for so long. 'My guess is he'll want a complete victory.'

The word made him feel uneasy. He could even picture Undine dismasted and wallowing amongst her own dead and dying before her final plunge. Like the one he himself had just destroyed. Like Nervion, and so many he had watched crumble and perish.

The stage was set. Two ships, with not even a seabird to watch their manoeuvres, their dedicated efforts to outwit each other.

'There, sir! He's setting his t'gallants!' Carwithen's voice jarred him from his thoughts.

Herrick exclaimed, 'He intends to outreach us after all.'

Bolitho watched intently as the Argus's upper yards filled with freshly-set, bulging canvas. He could see the instant effect it had around her raked stem as she bit into the waves and thrust forward with sudden haste.

From his position behind the rail it looked to Bolitho as if the other ship's jib-boom was actually touching his own, although she was still over a mile away. Smoke wreathed above her hull, and he held his breath as the bright tongues of fire licked from her exposed ports.

The sea boiled and shot skywards as the heavy balls ploughed into the wind-ruffled water, or ricocheted away far abeam. One ball smashed hard down alongside, the shock transmitting itself to the very mastheads.

'Trying to rattle our wits!'

Herrick was grinning, but Bolitho saw the anxiety behind his eyes.

Le Chaumareys had not seemed the kind of man who wasted gestures on the wind. He was preparing his gun crews, showing them the range, probably telling them right now in his resonant voice exactly what he expected of them.

'By God, the devil's shortening sail again!'

Bolitho saw the topgallants vanishing along the Argus's yards, and leaned across the rail.

'Stand by, the larboard battery!'

Perhaps he had found Le Chaumareys' one real weakness. That he needed to win and to survive. Bolitho knew that the two did not always walk hand in hand.

'Alter course three points to larboard!'

He heard the rush of feet, the confused shouts as his orders were relayed to the waiting seamen.

Mudge asked, 'Is that wise, sir?

Bolitho waited as the helm went down, and then turned to watch the bowsprit swinging slowly and then more quickly to larboard, the other frigate suddenly enmeshed in the criss-cross of rigging and shrouds.

'Hold her so!'

He waited impatiently while Herrick bellowed -through his-trumpet, and the hands on the braces hauled feverishly to retrim the yards.

'Nor'-east by north, sir!' The helmsman sounded breathless.

With the wind sweeping tightly across the larboard quarter, Undine swept straight down towards the other ship, as if to cut her in halves. More flashes darted from the Frenchman's side, and Bolitho clenched his fists as metal shrieked overhead, parting rigging, slapping through sails and hurling spray in profusion on either beam.

'Now we shall see!'

Bolitho craned forward, gripping the rail, his eyes stinging painfully in the hazy glare. Another rippling line of flashes, the sounds of the broadside rolling across the water like the thunder of mighty drums. He felt the hull stagger violently, and saw some of the seamen below the quarterdeck exchanging quick, desperate glances.

Argus was still holding her course and speed, lying across

Undine's path and growing in size with every agonising minute. More shots, and a savage jerk below his feet told Bolitho

Undine was being hit again. But Argus's broadsides were more ragged now, and fewer balls were falling near their target. Herrick said fiercely, 'He'll have to do something!'

Bolitho did not reply, but stared fixedly through his telescope at the cluster of figures on Argus's quarterdeck. He could see Le Chaumareys' powerful bulk, his small cropped head bobbing as he shouted commands to his subordinates. He would be missing his first lieutenant, Bolitho thought quickly. As he would have missed Herrick, but for their unlikely reunion.

He called, 'The wind, Mr. Mudge?' He dared not look at him.

'Backed a point, sir! From the pendant, I'd say it was near sou'-westerly!'

Herrick shouted, 'Argus is standing away, sir!'

Somebody gave an isolated cheer, but Bolitho snapped, – 'Keep the people quiet!' He added quickly, 'Stand by to alter course hard to larboard! I'll want her as close to the wind as you can lay her, Mr. Mudge!'

He watched, barely able to move, as Argus's yards edged round, her outline shortening as she stood off, making a triangle between the two converging ships. She loosed another slow broadside, and Bolitho heard a scream from aloft, then saw a marine fall headlong on to the nets, blood gushing from his mouth and splashing on the gun crew immediately below him.

Le Chaumareys had mistaken Bolitho's headlong charge as an act of empty bravery. He had waited for the right moment before swinging clear to present his full broadside, to cripple

Undine completely as she attempted to cross the bows.

Bolitho held up his hand, praying that those flashing guns would give him time to act.

'Larboard battery! Fire as you bear!'

Relieved, eager to hit back, the gun crews pounced on their weapons.

'Stand by!'

Davy watched as Soames hurried to the leading gun.

'Fire!'

Bolitho felt the hull quiver, and drew breath again as the smoke billowed away from the hull towards the enemy.

'Stand by to alter course!' He held Herrick's gaze. 'No, we are not going to embrace him just yet!' He felt the insane grin on his lips. 'We'll cross his stern. He has left the door open!'

A heavy ball smashed through the larboard bulwark, upending a twelve-pounder and painting the planking and gratings in bright, spreading scarlet.

Screams and curses were drowned as Soames bellowed, 'Stop your vents! Sponge out!' He glared wildly through the smoke. 'You, Manners! Take that handspike and move yourself, damn you!'

The man in question was gaping at his legs which had been spattered with blood and fragments from the neighbouring crew.

Bolitho dropped his hand. 'Now! Helm a'lee!'

To the mounting wind, and the sudden change of direction, Undine swayed over and down, the gun 'crews firing off another uneven salvo before Argus was plucked from their open ports.

Bolitho yelled, 'Mr. Davy! Starboard battery!'

Men dashed from the still-smoking guns and threw themselves to assist the opposite side. Overhead, spars and blocks strained and bucked in protest, and more than one seaman fell headlong as the ship came thundering up close to the wind, her yards almost foreand aft.

The fore topgallant sail split suddenly and violently, the fragments like streamers in the wind, but Bolitho ignored it. He was watching Argus's black shape sliding out and away from the starboard bow while his own ship turned steeply towards her poop. Shots crashed into hull and rigging alike, and Bolitho watched sickened as two seamen were pulped into offal and broken weapons. against the opposite side.

Davy's voice was almost a scream. 'Starboard battery! As you bear!'

The order to fire was lost in the first crash from the forward guns, followed instantly along the deck as the Argus loomed up and over the nettings like a black cliff.

'Sponge out! Reload! Run out!'

The crews had no trouble in running out, for the ship was heeling so steeply to the wind that each gun squealed down the. deck like an enraged hog on the rampage.

Bolitho cupped his hands. 'Hold your fire!' He gestured to the men by the carronades on the forecastle. Several corpses lay near them, and he guessed Le Chaumareys' marksmen had realised his intention.

A musket ball clanged against a six-pounder, and one of the helmsmen fell kicking and spluttering, his chin shot away by the ricochet.

Bolitho shouted above the din, 'Let her fall off a point, Mr. Mudge, you know what I expect today!'

Shadows danced across the decks as pieces of broken rigging, blocks, a musket and other fragments bounced on the nets above.

And here was the Argus, plunging heavily to starboard, trying to follow Undine round, but losing the chance as the English frigate swept across her stern.

'Fire!'

A carronade banged loudly, biting fragments from Argus's stern- and smashing her small quarter-gallery to fragments. Gun by gun the twelve-pounders followed its example, the balls slamming into the stern, or scything through the gaping windows to create death and confusion within.

Men were cheering, despite threats and blows from their petty officers, and above the great writhing wall of smoke Bolitho saw the French frigate's masts moving slowly away and beyond the starboard quarter. But it was no time to falter now.

'We will wear ship, Mr. Herrick! Lay her on the starboard tack!'

'Aye, sir!' Herrick wiped his streaming face. Above the stains on his cheeks and mouth his bandage shone in the filtered sunlight like a turban. 'It's lively work today, sir!'

'Man the braces! Stand by to wear ship!'

A man screamed as he was dragged from a gun, bleeding badly. As Whitmarsh's mates lifted him he struggled and kicked to free himself, more terrified of what waited below than of dying on deck.

Sails thundering, and spilling wind from countless shotholes, Undine changed tack yet again, turning her bowsprit away from the islands and towards the sun.

The sea looked much wilder now, with short wavecrests crumbling to the wind, or throwing sheets of spray above the gangways with hardly a break.

Bolitho wiped his eyes and tried to restrain from coughing.

Like his eyes, his lungs were raw with powder smoke, the stench of battle. He watched the other ship as she swam above the leaping spindrift. Willingly or not, Le Chaumareys had the wind-gage, and his ship now stood off Undine's starboard bow, a bare cable's length away. If Undine continued to overhaul her, both ships would run parallel, a musket shot apart. Argus would get her revenge at such a murderous range.

He glanced quickly at Mudge. He, too, was watching the sea and the masthead pendant, but was it for the same reason?

But to ask him now, to show that he was in need of a miracle and had nothing to replace one, would take the fight out of his men no less than an instant defeat. He saw them at their guns, panting and gasping, tarred hands gripping tackles and rammers, sponges and handspikes. Their naked bodies were streaked with sweat which cut through the powder grime like the marks of a fine lash. Their eyes shone through their blackened faces as if trapped.

The marines were reloading their muskets, and Bellairs was strolling with his sergeant by the taffrail. At the helm another had taken the dead man's place, and Carwithen's coarse face was working on a plug of tobacco, his eyes cold, without expression. There were fewer men on the gun deck, although Bolitho had not seen many fall. Yet they had gone, had died or been maimed without a word from him to give reason for their sacrifice.

He reached out to steady himself as the deck tilted more steeply. When he peered over the riddled hammocks he saw the sea's face forming into short, steep ranks, ranging towards the two ships as if to push them away.

He yelled, 'Mr. Davy! Are yon ready?'

Davy nodded dully. 'Every gun loaded with chain-shot, sir!'

'Good.' Bolitho looked at Herrick. 'I hope to God that the master knows his weather!' In a sharper tone he added, 'Get the forecourse on her!'

With the great foresail set and drawing, Undine began to overhaul the other ship at a remarkable pace.

Bolitho flinched as more balls crashed alongside from Argus's stern-chasers, one of them hurling the quarter-boat into spinning pieces.

A last challenge. That was what it had to look like. Gun to gun. No quarter until Undine was a sinking wreck.

He said, 'We will alter course when I give the word.'

He waited, aching in ever muscle, his mind jumping to each gunshot from the Frenchman's poop. Undine's jib-boom seemed to be prodding her larboard quarter like a lance. A few stabs of fire above her shattered stern showed where marksmen had taken fresh positions, and Bolitho saw two of his marines drop like red fruit from the foretop, their cries lost to the mounting wind.

Mudge said worriedly, 'We may lose our sticks when we comes round, sir!'

Bolitho ignored him.

'Ready lads!'

He watched the sea rising and breaking against Argus's opposite quarter, the mounting pressure against her yards.

'Now!'

He gripped the rail as the helm went over and the bows started to pull towards the-enemy. He saw Argus trimming her yards, the hull tilting steeply as she followed Undine's turn.

Sunlight flashed on her quarterdeck, and then her side exploded in a line, of great flashes, the air rent apart with the savagery of her broadside.

Bolitho almost fell as the massive weight of iron crashed into the hull or screamed and tore through the rigging overhead. He was choked by swirling smoke, his mind reeling from the combined noises of screams and yells, of musket fire from all angles.

Somehow he dragged himself up the angled deck and peered towards the Argus. Smoke was drifting from her last broadside so fast that Undine seemed to be moving abeam to meet her. The illusion told him Mudge had been right, and as he watched Argus's sails bellying out towards him, he also saw her gunports awash as the wind thrust her over. Thank God for the

wind.

'Fire!' He had to repeat the order to make himself heard.

'Fire!'

Undine's disengaged gunports were also awash, and her runout battery was pointing almost towards the sky as each captain jerked his lanyard.

Even above the roar of cannon fire and the wail of the wind Bolitho heard the chain-shot whimpering through the air and ripping into Argus's fully exposed topsails and braced yards. He heard, too, the immediate clatter of severed rigging, the louder explosions of bursting stays and shrouds as foremast and maintopmast swayed together like great trees before booming and splintering into the smoke.

Bolitho waved his sword above his head. 'Hold her steady, Mr. Mudge! She'll be alongside directly!'

He ran to the gangway, and then stopped dead as the wind sucked the smoke downwind and away from the two drifting hulls. Dead and wounded lay everywhere, and as the marines ran to their places for boarding Bolitho saw Shellabeer mangled beneath a gun, and Pryke, the carpenter, pinned across a hatch coaming by a broken length of gangway, his blood linking with all the rest around him. And Fowlar, could that thing really be him?

But there was no more time to regret or to think. Argus was here, alongside, and as Soames led his men across the bows Bolitho shook his sword and yelled hoarsely, 'Over you go, lads!'

The French seamen were struggling to free themselves from the great tangle of spars and rigging, the broken cordage lying in heaps like giant serpents.

But the steel was ready enough. Bolitho crossed swords with a petty officer and then slipped in some blood, the breath driven from his body as the Frenchman pitched headlong across him. He felt the man jerk and kick, saw the awful agony in his eyes as Carwithen pulled him away, a boarding axe locked into his collar bone.

On every hand men were fighting and yelling, the pikes and bayonets waving above the more desperate work of sword and cutlass.

Davy was heading for the quarterdeck ladder, shouting to the men at his back, when a rally of French seamen left him momentarily isolated and alone. Bolitho watched his contorted face above the thrusting shoulders, saw his mouth shaping unheard screams as they cut him down, their weapons not still even after he had dropped from sight.

Midshipman Armitage stood shaking on the gangway, his skin like chalk as he shouted, 'Follow me!' Then he, too, was dead, pushed aside and trodden underfoot as the two opposing groups surged together again.

Bolitho saw it all as he fought his way aft towards the main quarterdeck ladder. Saw it, and recorded it in his mind. But without sequence, like a nightmare. As if he were a mere onlooker.

He reached the ladder and saw the French lieutenant facing him, the one named Maurin, who had an English wife. The rest seemed to fade into a swirling, embattled fog as the two swords reached out and circled each other.

Bolitho said harshly, 'Strike, Maurin! You have done enough l'

The Frenchman shook his head. 'It is not possible, m'sieu!'

Then he lunged forward, taking Bolitho's sword on the hilt, and deftly turning it towards the sea. Bolitho let himself fall back to the next step, seeing the desperation on Maurin's face, knowing, without understanding why, that this man alone stood between victory and senseless slaughter.

'Le Chaumareys is deadl' Bolitho tested the next step with his left foot. 'Am I not right?' He had to shout at the top of his voice as more of Undine's men burst yelling on to the gun deck and attacked the French crew from behind. They must have climbed through the shattered stern, Bolitho realised dully. Again it was more of a reaction than anything. He added coldly, 'So for God's sake strike!'

Maurin hesitated, the uncertainty plain on his face, and then made up his mind. He sidestepped and raised his hilt almost level with his eyes before lunging towards Bolitho's chest.

Bolitho watched him with something like despair. Maurin had been too long in the one ship, had forgotten the need for change. It was easy. Too sickeningly easy.

Bolitho took his weight on his foot, parried the blade as it darted towards him, and struck. The lieutenant's weight was more than enough, and Bolitho almost had the sword wrenched from his grip as Maurin fell gasping to the deck below.

A pigtailed seaman raised his boarding pike, but Bolitho shouted, 'Touch him, and I'll kill you myself!'

He saw Herrick walking between the French seamen who were throwing their weapons on to the bloodied deck, the fight over. Their strength going at the sight of Maurin's last gesture.

He thrust the sword into its scabbard and walked heavily up the last few steps. He knew Allday was behind him, and Herrick took his place at his side as together they stood in silence looking at Le Chaumareys' body where it lay beside the abandoned wheel. He looked strangely peaceful, and amidst so much carnage and horror, almost unmarked. There was a dark stain below his shoulder, and a small trickle of blood from a corner of his mouth. Probably one of Bellairs' sharpshooters, Bolitho thought vaguely.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Well, we did meet, Captain. Just as you said we would.'

Lieutenant Soames knelt to unfasten Le Chaumareys' sword, but Bolitho said, 'Leave it. His was a bad cause, but he fought with honour.' He turned away, suddenly sick of the watching dead, their pathetic stillness. 'And cover him with his flag. His proper flag. He was no pirate!'

He saw Davy's body being carried to the gangway, and added, 'A moment longer and he would have seen Argus taken. Enough prize-money even for his debts perhaps.'

As they climbed across the trapped water between the drifting hulls Bolitho turned, startled, as some of the seamen gathered to cheer him. He looked at Herrick, but he shrugged and gave a sad smile.

'I know how you feel, sir, but they are glad to be alive. It is their way of thanking you.'

Bolitho touched his arm. 'Survival? I suppose it is a fair cause for battle.' He forced a smile. 'And for winning.'

Herrick picked up his hat and handed it to him. 'I'll set the people to work, sir. The pumps sound too busy for my liking.'

Bolitho nodded and walked slowly towards the stern, his shoes catching at splinters and broken cordage. By the taffrail he paused and looked wearily along his command, at the broken planking and stained decks, the figures which were picking their way amidst the debris, more like survivors than victors.

Then he leaned back and loosened his neckcloth, and shook open his best dress coat which was torn and slashed in a dozen places.

Above his head the flag was flapping more easily, the sudden squall having passed on as quickly as it had arrived to save them from Argus's great guns. But for it…

He looked round, suddenly anxious, but saw Mudge in his place near the helm, cutting at a piece of cheese with a small knife which he had fished from one of his pockets. He looked very old in the dusty sunlight. Little Penn was squatting on a gun truck, having his wrist bandaged, and dabbing at his nose which had started to bleed when a charge had exploded prematurely nearby.

Bolitho watched them with something like love. Mudge and Penn. Age and innocence.

There was Keen, speaking with Soames, and looking very strained. But a man now.

Feet crunched on the debris, and he saw Noddall approaching him cautiously, a jug of wine clasped against his chest.

'I am afraid I can't yet find the glasses, sir.' He kept his eyes fixed on Bolitho's face, and had probably had them shut as he had groped past some of the horror below.

Bolitho held the jug to his lips and said, 'But this is some of my best wine.'

Noddall dabbed his eyes and smiled nervously. 'Aye, sir. All of it. The rest was destroyed by the battle.'

Bolitho let the wine fill his mouth, savouring it. Needing it. They had come a long way since that shop in St. James's Street, he thought.

And in a few weeks they would be ready again. The missing faces would still be remembered, but without the pain which even now was getting stronger. Terror would emerge as bravado, and courage be recalled as duty. He smiled bitterly, remembering the words from so long ago. In the King's name.

He heard Penn say in his squeaky voice, 'I was a bit frightened, Mr. Mudge.' An awkward pause. 'Just a bit.'

Old Mudge looked across the deck and held Bolitho's gaze. 'Frightened, boy? Gawd, 'e'll never make a cap'n, will 'e, sir?'

Bolitho smiled, sharing the moment with Mudge alone. For he knew, better than most, that the truth of battle was not for children.

Then he looked along his command again, at the gleaming shoulder of the proud figurehead below the bowsprit.

Undine was the real victor, he thought, and he was suddenly grateful to have her to himself.