For My Country’s Freedom

6. Cross of St. George

Bolitho put his arm around her shoulders and said, "This is far enough, Kate. The path is barely safe even in such clear moonlight."

They stood side by side on the rough track from Pendennis Point and looked out across the sea. It shone like melting silver, so brightly that the stars seemed faint and insignificant by comparison.

They had walked and ridden every day since their return from London, savouring every moment, sharing every hour, not speaking of the future.

The hillsides were covered now with bluebells and brilliant, contrasting yellow gorse.

How much longer? Three days perhaps. At the most.

As if reading his thoughts, she said quietly, "Tomorrow your Indomitable will come."

"Aye. I hope James Tyacke is settling down to the change."

She turned lightly and he felt her looking at him, her hair shining as she pulled out the combs and let it fall across her shoulders.

"Will we settle down, darling Richard?" She shook her head, angry with herself. "Forgive me. It is not easy for either of us. But I shall miss you so." She paused, unable to speak of what was uppermost in both their minds. "There may be farewells, but we will never be parted!"

Tiny lights blinked on the water, like fallen stars, lost in the great full moon.

Bolitho said, "Fishermen at their pots." He tried to smile. "Or revenue officers after another kind of catch."

"You know what we promised one another?" She had been wearing a shawl but it had slipped down her arms, to leave her shoulders bare in the moonlight.

"Not to waste a minute, Kate. But that was then. This is now. I never want to be parted from you again. Once this matter is settled…"

She touched his mouth with her fingers, so cool in the night air. "I am so proud of you, and you cannot even understand why. You are the only man who can do it. You have the experience and the success, and you will give heart to all those under your command. Have their lordships given you all that you wanted?"

He caressed her shoulders, their smoothness and their strength exciting him as always.

"All that they have is more likely. Apart from Indomitable and Valkyrie I shall have six other frigates, as soon as Anemone has completed her refit at Plymouth. And there are three brigs as well. Not a fleet, but a flying squadron to be reckoned with." Thank God Larne was ordered back to the anti-slavery patrols. It would have been torture for Tyacke to see her in company day after day.

His thoughts turned to George Avery. He was not staying at the house but had gone over to the inn at Fallowfield, where All-day would be fretting about everything as sailing time drew relentlessly closer. It might help Allday to have somebody with him to whom he could talk about the ship and the destination, just as it might help the flag-lieutenant to accept that his sister was dead. That he could have done nothing to save her.

She said suddenly, "Richard, are you troubled about your daughter?"

Bolitho caught his shoe on some loose stones and felt her arm instantly supporting him. "There are no secrets from you, Kate." He hesitated. "She will be nine years old in two months’ time. But I do not know her, nor she me. Her mother has made her into a doll, not like a real child at all."

It was always there. Guilt, a sense of responsibility. It was nothing of which she could be jealous.

He said, as though reading her thoughts, "I love only you."

Catherine faced him. "I shall always remember what you gave up because of me." She shook her head as he began to protest. "No, hear me, Richard. Because of our love you have been abused and taken for granted, when all England should honour the bravest and the gentlest of her commanders." She relented. "The man who forgot to tell his lover he had been made an admiral!"

"I shall never be allowed to forget that!" He turned her towards the deeper shadows of the hillside. "They will have a search party out looking for us. We had best get back to the house."

She put her arm around his waist. "Home." One word. It was enough.

The austere stone buildings did not soften against the perfect sky. There was a light in the adjoining cottage. Ferguson, Bolitho’s steward, was still awake, doing his books or planning something to please his old friend Allday before he left.

An old dog slumbered in the yard. It was quite deaf, and was no longer much use as a guard dog. But like the crippled and injured men who worked on the estate, the harvest of the war at sea, it belonged here.

Strange not to see leaping flames in the great fireplace. Summer was almost here. Catherine tightened her grip on his arm. But they would not share it together. She glanced at the rug by the empty grate.

Where two young people, believing they had lost everything

dear to them, had found one another and had loved, and might still be damned for it.

She had sensed Richard’s unease when he had mentioned Adam’s Anemone, which was still lying at Plymouth. It was a heavy secret to carry.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw the sea beyond the windows shining in the moonlight. The enemy. She could feel the portraits watching from the stairwell. They had all left here, never to return. She thought of the painting Richard wanted done of her, and she had wondered briefly if he would also like one of his brother Hugh, but this was not the time to ask him. Her man was sailing to confront the Americans, and she sensed that in the present hostile atmosphere neither country would back down. There was too much at stake. He would not wish to be reminded of his brother’s treachery. Had Hugh known of Adam’s existence, perhaps things might have been different. But fate, having determined the course of lives, could not be unwritten.

Together they walked to the broad opened windows and listened to the silence. Once they heard an owl, and Bolitho remarked, "The mice will have to take care tonight."

Tomorrow the ship would come. He would be inextricably involved in its affairs, and haunted by the inevitability of their parting.

She said, "Dear Bryan has left some wine for us!"

He took her in his arms and felt the tension in her body. "He knows."

"Knows what?"

"That I want you, dearest Kate. Need you."

She let him kiss her, on the mouth, the throat, and then on her bare shoulder, watching his hands in the strange light moving over her gown until she could wait no longer.

Then she stood quite naked like a silver statue, her fine breasts uplifted, her arms stretched out to hold him away.

"Undress, Richard." Then she lay in the moon’s path before drawing him down beside her. When he reached for her she exclaimed, "They call me a whore, dearest of men…"

"I will kill anyone who…"

She knelt beside him, tracing each scar on his body, even the deep wound in his forehead.

She kissed him, not with tenderness, but with a fierce abandon he had rarely experienced. Again he tried to embrace her, but she denied him. "I am here to torment you, Richard. You are mine, completely, for this night!"

Bolitho felt her fingers touch and then grip him, and all the while she was kissing him, her tongue exploring his body as he had so often explored hers.

She broke away and he felt her breasts move over his skin, prolonging every sensation.

Then all at once she was above him, her legs straddling him while she gazed into his face. "I have teased you enough. I shall give you your reward." He moved to possess her, but she pretended to resist, her nakedness framed against the moonlight, until with a cry she felt him enter her.

As dawn laid its first brush-strokes across the sky they still slept entwined on the bed. The wine stood nearby, untouched, and the owl was long silent. She opened her eyes and turned to study his profile, youthful now in sleep.

She ran her fingers over his body, not wishing to wake him, not wanting to stop. She touched herself and smiled secretly. Whore, lover, mistress. I am all of these things if you desire me.

She caressed him again and waited, her heart beating, for him to respond.

It was as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud. The next instant he was holding her down like a captive.

"You are shameless, Kate!" Then he kissed her passionately, stifling her gasp as he took her without restraint.

Down in the yard Ferguson looked up at the opened windows. The curtains were fluttering out over the sills, blown by some inshore breeze.

So many years since the press-gang had taken him; he thought of it even now. Especially when the press still trod the streets looking for men. He thought, too, of the Battle of the Saintes where he had lost his arm, and Bolitho’s coxswain had been killed trying to protect his captain’s back. Somehow, since then, the little crew had grown around them. Allday also a pressed man, had become Bolitho’s coxswain, and he too would soon be off to sea again.

He heard Lady Catherine’s quick laugh. Or were they tears? It troubled him greatly. More than he could remember.

John Allday glanced around the parlour of the Old Hyperion and said, "So Indomitable anchors tomorrow."

Lieutenant George Avery watched him thoughtfully. This was a different Allday from the one he had seen in the smoke of battle, or holding Sir Richard Bolitho in his arms when he had been struck down by splinters. Not even the same big gentle man he had watched going to his wedding, here in Fallowfield on the Helford River.

He was obviously still uneasy about his new existence, and Avery could sympathise with him. It was strangely peaceful. He could hear Allday’s wife Unis speaking with some ploughman in the adjoining room, and the thump of her brother John’s wooden leg as he put up another cask of beer.

A friendly place, and he was glad he had stayed here after hearing about Ethel’s death. He had slept and eaten better than he could remember, and Unis had been very kind to him.

He said, "So the Coastguard say." Again he watched the conflicting emotions in Allday’s weathered face. Needing to go. Wanting to stay. He was not even concerned about sitting at the

same table as an officer any more. Any more than I am. It was Bolitho’s doing, his example. My little crew. Allday put out a lighted taper and laid his pipe aside, trying to explain it.

"It’s all so different, y’see, sir? People talk about their farms and the sales of stock an’ grain." He shook his shaggy head. "I thought I’d get used to it. Resign meself to the land." He stared hard at the perfect model he had given Unis of the old Hyperion, in which her first husband had been killed. "But not yet, see?"

Avery heard the pony and trap being brought into the yard, ready to take him to Falmouth where he might be needed at any time now. He thought of Tyacke’s outburst, and wondered how he would behave when next they met.

Allday was saying, "Then we get all the old Jacks in here, too. Not a whole man amongst ’em. But the way they talks you’d think every captain was a bloody saint, and each day afloat was a pleasure trip!" Then he grinned. "Not what they really thought, I’ll wager!"

Unis entered the parlour, and exclaimed, "No, don’t get up, Mr Avery!"

Avery remained standing. She was a pretty little woman, natural and uncomplicated like the countryside, the wild flowers and the bees. She had probably never had an officer stand up for her before in her life. Or anyone else, for that matter.

He said, "I must be leaving, Mrs Allday." Even that sounded strange, he thought. He saw their quick exchange of glances. The big, shambling sailor and the wife he had never expected to find. The look told it all. Sudden anxiety, courage too, and full knowledge of what it would mean.

She said, "You go with Mr Avery, John. Give my best wishes to Lady Catherine." She looked level-eyed at Avery. "A beautiful lady, that one. She’s been good to me."

Allday said hesitantly, "Well, if you don’t need me, Unis-"

She folded her arms and pretended to glare at him. "You know

you’re anxious to see Sir Richard, so be off with you. You just come back to me tonight." Then she kissed him, standing on tiptoe to reach his face. "Like a bear with a sore head, you are, John Allday!"

Avery said impulsively, "I’ve been so happy here." He spoke with such sincerity that she wiped her eyes surreptitiously with her fingers.

She said, "You’ll always be welcome. Until you get settled down, like."

"Yes. Thank you, Mrs Allday."

He saw her hand on his sleeve and heard her say, "You don’t say much, and I’ve no right to pry, but you’ve carried a deal of worry these past years, I can tell." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "And sad though it is, it isn’t the loss of your sister I’m speaking of!"

He took the work-worn hand and kissed it. It smelt of fruit and flour.

She stood beside her brother and watched Allday hoist the lieutenant’s chests into the trap.

As the pony clattered across the yard, out of the inn’s shadow and into the bright April sunlight, she said wretchedly, "Oh, John, why must it be?"

Her brother, also called John, wondered if she were speaking to him.

He said quietly, "You told him yet?"

She shook her head. "It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be right." She laid her hand across her apron. "He’ll have enough to worry about, fighting them Yankees. I won’t have him fretting over me at the same time." She smiled. "Sides, I don’t know for sure, do I? Bit late in life to have a babe of my own."

Her brother put his arm around her. "You’ll be brave, lass."

Unis shaded her eyes, but the trap had vanished beyond the hedgerow where some swifts were performing like darts.

She said suddenly, "My God, John, I’ll miss him so."

He saw her sudden determination and was proud of her.

"But I’ll not let on, or make a big show of it." She thought of the grave-faced lieutenant with the tawny eyes. Allday had told her that Avery had read her letters for him. She had been deeply touched, especially now that she knew the lieutenant better. There was a woman behind his sadness; she was certain of it. Perhaps when he read her letters to Allday he was pretending they had been written to him.

Someone called from the inn and she tidied her hair before going to serve him.

"I’ll go, lass. You stay an’ dream a while."

She smiled. It was like the sun breaking through cloud. "No, I’ll deal with him! You chop some wood." She glanced again at the empty road. "It’ll blow cold off the river tonight."

Then she squared her shoulders and marched through the door.

The man uppermost in her thoughts sat in the back of the trap, one leg swinging above the narrow road while he watched the passing countryside. He had known leaving would be hard. Some dogs were rounding up sheep in one field and he thought of his time as a sheep-minder, when Phalarope had put a press-gang ashore on Pendower and caught several men who were trying to keep their distance. Including me. Nobody had realised that the frigate’s young captain was a local man, born and raised in Falmouth before being packed off to sea like all the other Bolithos. A lot of water since then. Young Adam a successful frigate captain himself now… He sighed, remembering how his own son had quit the navy and gone to settle in the promised land of America. It still hurt him. It always would, the way his son had turned away from him, instead of continuing as Adam’s coxswain.

And now Richard Bolitho was a full admiral. An I’m an admiral’s coxswain, as I promised him. Flag at the main. Time, he

thought, troubled by its swift passage; where did it all go?

Avery was also watching the scenery. But he was thinking of Unis Allday’s words. A deal of worry. How did she know?

Two farm workers plodding in the opposite direction waved and yelled, "Yew give them buggers a quiltin’!"

Avery raised his hat to them, remembering Bolitho’s bitter words when they had joined the unhappy Valkyrie at Plymouth.

What did men like these care who they were going to fight? Dutch, French or Dons, it was all the same to them. So long as their bellies were full and they did not have to go to sea or follow the drum, what did it signify to them? He gave a wry smile. I am becoming cynical, like Sir Richard. To take his mind off it, he twisted round and looked at his companion. "You’ve a fine wife, Allday I envy you."

Allday’s eyes crinkled. "Then we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we, sir?"

Avery smiled easily. He would never have believed it possible for this kind of relationship to exist within the rigid strictures of the navy.

Allday asked, "You sorry to leave, sir?"

Avery thought about it and remembered his sister’s last, desperate embrace. If only I had known.

He shook his head. "No. There’s nobody to leave."

Allday studied him. Most people would think Lieutenant Avery had all that a man could need. Aide to England’s most famous sailor, with all the chances of rank and prize-money denied to others. But, in fact, he had nothing.

He was both surprised and saddened by his discovery, and said awkwardly, "Perhaps you would have the goodness to write a letter for me once we weighs anchor, sir?"

Avery’s clear eyes settled on him. It was like seeing a man reaching for a lifeline.

"It would be an honour." He almost added, old friend.

Catherine Somervell was crossing the yard with a sheaf of flowers over one arm when they arrived. She shaded her eyes and watched as they climbed from the trap. "Why, Mr Avery-and John Allday! I was not expecting two such important visitors!" She held out her hand and Avery took it; not like Sillitoe, she thought, nor like the Prince Regent either. He kissed it and she sensed his hesitancy; he was still uncertain about something, perhaps herself and her relationship with Bolitho. It was possible that she would never know.

She greeted Allday with affection. "Why, John Allday, I swear you have filled out a little! Good food and affection do wonders for a man, body and soul."

Allday said uneasily, "I have to get back, m’lady But tomorrow…"

She said, "Ah, yes, tomorrow. We shall have to make the best of it."

From an upstairs window Bolitho watched them. His Kate walking between the two uniforms. She looked so at ease with them, so right. He thought of her in the night: the eager desperation of one for the other. Love, passion, and the unspoken dread of parting.

A shaft of sunlight pierced through the leaves in the light offshore breeze, and he put his hand to his eye as if it had been stung. Holding one hand over it he looked again, and after a few seconds his vision seemed to clear and sharpen. It must be the effect of the drops the doctor had given him. Beneath the windows, she turned between two of the most important men in his life. She was as tall as Avery, and perhaps a little taller than All-day.

She must have felt his eyes upon her. She looked up, searching his face, perhaps sensing what had just happened.

She held up the flowers and blew him a kiss.

But all he heard was her voice on the wind. Don’t leave me.

Captain James Tyacke stood by the quarterdeck rail and watched the throng of bustling figures, which to any ignorant landsman would seem like chaos. He laid one sunburned hand on the rail and was surprised to see it so still even though his whole body seemed to be trembling with an excitement he had rarely known.

It was not recklessness. Not exactly, but he had had to discover what his ship and his unknown company could do.

Shortly after Indomitable had hoisted anchor and successfully beat clear of the Sound, the wind had risen slightly, and by the time she had been laid on her new south-westerly course down-Channel spray was bursting over the beak-head, soaking even the upper yards where dazed and uncertain figures were being pushed and dragged from one task to the next.

Lieutenant Scarlett had ventured, "We are thirty hands short, sir."

Tyacke had given him a brief glance. "In a sea-fight we could lose that many in minutes."

"I-I know, sir."

Tyacke had retorted sharply, "I know you know, but most of these people do not. So get the hands aloft and make all plain sail!"

As the wind and quarter-sea had mounted, the Indomitable, big though she was, had seemed to bound from trough to trough like the lion she followed, spray and spindrift pouring from the bulging canvas like tropical rain. Tyacke had glanced at the sailing-master, his slate-grey hair flapping in the wind, his arms folded as he watched his helmsmen and master’s mates. He had felt his captain’s scrutiny and looked up, his eyes gleaming as he had called, "She can do it, sir!"

Tyacke had seen Scarlett and Daubeny the second lieutenant clinging to the stays and staring at him. He said, "Stun’s’ls, Mr Scarlett!"

Like giant ears the studding-sails were eventually run out from their yards, men slithering and clutching wildly for handholds.

Now, as he looked up at the squared yards and furled sails, at the gulls circling noisily around the ship hoping for scraps, he was amazed by what he had done, what they had all managed to do, one way or the other. Every spar had held, although he had seen the great main-yard bending like an archer’s bow under the tremendous pressure of wind. Here and there cordage had parted, snapping above the din like musket shots, but that was not uncommon with new ropes and halliards. The stretched and seasoned rigging had taken all the strain with no complaint save the clatter and bang of flapping canvas.

Tyacke walked to the taffrail and back again. That was it, why Indomitable was so different from any other ship. It was her power through the water even in half a gale. The noise, frightening to the untrained landmen, had been exhilarating; with each great plunge into sunburst clouds of spray it had been staggering, a sound he could liken to a great gale through a forest, menacing and then rising to a wild shriek of triumph. Isaac York the master had claimed they had logged some fifteen knots, when under those conditions most vessels would have been tempted to shorten sail-or, if undermanned, to lie-to under reefed topsails until it was all over.

As they had closed with the land Tyacke had touched the first lieutenant’s arm, and was certain he had started with alarm.

"Shorten sail, if you please, Mr Scarlett."

He saw the other man’s confusion, thinking perhaps he had misunderstood the order. Tyacke had pointed at the larboard battery of twenty-four-pounders. "You decide. If we fight, and I should fall, you will command here. Can you do it?"

Scarlett had stared at him. There had been a lot of coastal shipping moving in and out of the harbour, and the distance between the two headlands, Pendennis Point and St Anthony,

had probably looked no wider than a farm gate.

But with York close by, Scarlett had not hesitated.

On the starboard tack with all sails clewed up except topsails and jib, Indomitable must have made an impressive entrance.

But now, safely at anchor, he might well ask himself why he had done it. Even if Scarlett had collided with another vessel or put the ship aground, the responsibility would lie with her captain. As it should.

Scarlett was here again. "All secure, sir."

"Very well, sway out the barge and put my cox’n in charge." He almost smiled. "I have no doubt that Allday will bring the barge back himself."

He saw no understanding on Scarlett’s face. Like these others, the legend had passed him by. He would be part of it soon enough. He heard a yelp of pain and saw a man hurrying forward, holding his shoulder where a boatswain’s mate had obviously struck him with his starter. Nearby, the junior lieutenant Philip Protheroe stood watching the land. He had ignored the incident.

Tyacke said, "Remind that young man of what I said when I took command. An officer must be obeyed. He must also set an example." Unwittingly his hand had gone to his disfigured face. "Even if you have been badly used, it does not give you the right to abuse others who cannot answer back."

Scarlett said, "I understand, sir."

He said curtly, "I am glad to know it!"

He watched the new green-painted barge being hoisted and swayed over the starboard gangway, and then lowered slowly into the water alongside, and beckoned to the gun captain who had been chosen for his coxswain. He was a short, completely square man with a puggy face and a chin so blue it must defy every razor.

"You! Over here!"

The man bounded over and knuckled his forehead.

"Aye, sir!"

"Your name is Fairbrother, right? Bit of a mouthful in times of haste!"

The man stared at him. "’Tis the only one I got, sir."

Tyacke said, "First name?"

"Well, Eli, sir."

"Right then, Eli, take the barge to the stairs. Wait until they arrive, however long it takes." From the corner of his eye he saw a boatswain’s chair being lowered from the main-yard. For Lady Catherine Somervell, he had no doubt in his mind. He sensed the curiosity around him. Some of these men had not been with a woman for over a year, perhaps longer.

What would they have thought had they seen that same Catherine Somervell being hauled aboard Larne, wet through in her seaman’s shirt? He knew he himself would never forget.

He looked around the harbour; he had not been in Falmouth for many years. It had not changed. The brooding castle on one headland and the big St Mawes battery on the opposite one. It would take a bold captain to try to cut out a sheltering merchantman here, he thought.

Tyacke beckoned to the harassed first lieutenant again. "I want all the boats in the water. Send the purser ashore in one." He did not miss Scarlett’s sudden interest. "As many fresh vegetables as he can find, fruit too if he can get it. It’s possible, with the Dons being so friendly nowadays!" Scarlett did not miss the sarcasm. "And I want Captain du Cann to have his marines in a guard-boat, with a picket or two on the nearest land in case some poor wretch tries to run."

He spoke without emotion, and yet Scarlett sensed that his new captain felt a certain sympathy for those who were so tempted.

"Boat approaching, sir!"

That was Lieutenant John Daubeny officer-of-the-watch.

Tyacke called to a midshipman, his mind groping for his name.

"Over here, lad." He took a telescope from the rack and rested it on the youth’s shoulder. It came to him: his name was Essex, the one appointed to take over the duties of purser’s clerk.

The boat and contents swam into focus.

He quickly recognised the round shoulders of Yovell, Sir Richard’s faithful servant. The boat also contained chests and packing-cases, and the beautifully carved wine-cooler which Catherine had given to Bolitho to replace her original gift, now lying on the seabed with Hyperion.

Scarlett was saying as though almost to himself, "It will be strange, not being a private ship any more."

Tyacke closed the glass with a snap. "Thank you, Mr Essex. You are exactly the right height."

The youth was nervous but pleased. Tyacke saw him drop his eyes rather than look at him.

He said heavily, "Strange for me also, Mr Scarlett."

He watched the boat come alongside, Hockenhull, the squat boatswain, leaping down with some of his men to unload it.

Tyacke glanced up to the top of the mainmast. An admiral’s flag. How do I feel? But it would not come to him. Neither pride nor uncertainty. It was something already decided, like a storm at sea, or a first broadside. Only fate would determine the outcome.

"Sir! Sir! The barge is bearing off!"

Tyacke gazed along the upper deck. All the confusion had gone now. This was a ship-of-war.

"Not so loud, Mr Essex," he said. "You’ll awaken the sheep."

Some of the seamen nearby grinned. Tyacke turned aside. It was another small beginning.

"Clear lower deck, Mr Scarlett. Man the side, if you please."

Boatswain’s mates and sideboys in ill-fitting white gloves assembled, followed by the tramp of boots as the guard of honour fell in by the entry port, their lieutenant, David Merrick, looking like an actor in an unfamiliar role. Then the officers,

warrant officers, and Captain du Cann standing in his perfectly tailored scarlet coat with several marines and a squad of young fifers and drummers.

Tyacke saw a midshipman below the massive mainmast with its surrounding girdle of boarding-pikes. The flag was expertly folded over the youth’s shoulder, done by more experienced fingers than his own, Tyacke thought. He lifted a glass again and sensed Midshipman Essex’s eagerness to assist him. But he would share none of it this time.

She was dressed in deep green as he had somehow known she would be, with a broad straw hat tied under her chin with a matching ribbon. Beside her, Bolitho sat with his sword between his legs, one hand lying close to but not touching hers.

The flag-lieutenant was with them, and at the tiller he saw Allday’s powerful figure, Tyacke’s own coxswain beside him.

"Stand by with the boatswain’s chair!"

One small fifer moistened his lips, and a drummer boy gripped his sticks exactly as he had been taught at the barracks.

The sideboys had gone down the side, ready to assist the lady passenger into the chair. There would be many eyes watching her today. The rumours, the gossip, the slander and the indisputable courage after the loss of the Golden Plover.

Tyacke heard the distant bellow, "Oars-up!" Allday seemed very calm, as always. Like twin lines of bones the dripping oars rose, and steadied even as the bowman hooked on to the main-chains.

The tackle squeaked, and two seamen swung the chair above the gangway.

"Belay that!" Tyacke knew Scarlett was watching him, his face full of questions, but he no longer cared.

She was looking up at him, her hair breaking from beneath her hat while she rested one hand on Sir Richard’s shoulder. She was laughing, then she took off her shoes and handed them to

Avery before reaching out for the guide-ropes and staring straight up at the gilded entry port. Allday was looking anxious, Avery too, but she waited for the right moment before stepping out on to the thick, wooden stairs which curved into the ship’s tumble-home, spaced apart for a seaman but hardly for a lady.

Tyacke held his breath until he saw her head and Sir Richard’s cocked hat appear above the top stair.

"Royal Marines, present arms!" The flash of bayonets and the usual cloud of pipeclay rising from the slings, the shrill of boatswain’s calls, ear-splitting at close quarters.

Bolitho raised his hat to the quarterdeck, his eyes resting only briefly on the White Ensign curling from its staff, then he turned to face forward. Then he said, "A moment, if you please!"

In the silence he held out his hand to support her, so that Avery could kneel and replace Catherine’s shoes. He saw the smudge of tar on her foot and a bad snare in her stocking.

As she straightened up their eyes met, and Tyacke saw what passed between them. The love. But above all, the triumph.

Then the fifes and drums broke into Heart of Oak. Only then did Bolitho look up at the mainmast as the flag was run smartly to the truck, where it broke immediately to the wind.

Somehow he knew that Catherine was near to tears. With all society against them, they had achieved this, and they were together.

He stared at the flag until his eyes watered, or was that his own emotion?

His flag. The cross of St George.

There was cheering too, but not because of the flag or the honour of the occasion. It was because of her. The sailor’s woman who had come amongst them to show that she at least cared, for them and for her man.

The din subsided and Catherine curtsied to Tyacke before saying, "You look very well, James Tyacke." Then as he reached out

to take her hand, she lifted her face and kissed him on the cheek. "You are so welcome here." Then she looked over the rail at the silent, watching sailors and marines. "They will not let you down." She could have been speaking to either of them, Tyacke thought. Or to the ship, Indomitable.