FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

13. RETURN TO COZAR

The barge crew tossed their oars and sat motionless on the thwarts as the boat slid neatly alongside the jetty where it was instantly made fast to the great rusting iron rings.

Bolitho gathered his cloak around him and stepped carefully on to the worn steps, then he stood for a few moments looking back at the crowded harbour. It was evening, and in the purple twilight the anchored ships looked at peace, even gay, with their twinkling lanterns and glowing gunports, the latter thrown open to clear the heat and humidity of the day. The flagship Tenacious anchored in the centre of the stream had strings of coloured lanterns along her poop, and as he stood on the old jetty Bolitho could hear some of her people singing one of the sad songs beloved by sailors the world over.

Now, looking round, it was hard to believe so much had happened, that at dawn this very day the Hyperion had sailed past the burning Saphir to take command of the port. He eased his arm painfully beneath his cloak and felt the stab of agony lance through him like fire. Without effort he could relive the sickening minutes as Rowlstone had cut the coat sleeve and shirt from the gaping wound, the blood pouring afresh as he had pulled the remnants of cloth from the deep slash left by the French lieutenant's blade. Tentatively he moved each finger in turn, gritting his teeth against the immediate pain, but thanking God that the surgeon had not found it necessary to amputate his arm.

Herrick climbed up from the boat and stood beside him. He said, 'It's difficult to grasp that we're in France, sir. The ships look as if they belong here.'

It was true. Within hours of Pomfret's squadron arriving in the inlet the transports had been unloaded, and gratefully the soldiers had formed up in the bright sunlight before marching through the town inland to the hills and to positions abreast the coast road. In addition to Colonel Cobban's infantry and a small detachment of light artillery there had been a thousand Spanish troops and a full squadron of their cavalry. The latter had looked resplendent and proud in their pale yellow tunics. On perfect horses they had cantered through the narrow streets, watched with fascinated awe by crowds of townspeople and cheered by the many children along the route.

But now the town was like a dead place, for as soon as the landing force had cleared the streets Pomfret had ordered a curfew. The narrow lanes, the bridge across the river and most of the main buildings were guarded by some of the two hundred and fifty marines landed by Pomfret's ships, and foot patrols moved constantly about the town to enforce his orders.

The boom across the entrance had not been replaced, but half a dozen guardboats rowed back and forth in regular sweeps, with the gutted hulk of the Saphir close by to remind them of the price of negligence and over-confidence.

Bolitho said, 'Carry on back to the ship, Allday. I will signal for the barge when I require it.'

Aiday stood in the boat and touched his hat. 'Aye, aye, Captain.'

He sounded worried, and Bolitho added quietly, 'I do not think that this visit will-be prolonged.'

It was strange how Allday fretted about him, he thought. Had he been present aboard the flagship when he had reported to Pomfret he might have been even more disturbed.

The admiral's reception had been cool, to say the least. He had listened in silence to Bolitho's account of the raid and the events leading up to it, his face completely expressionless.

Then he had said shortly, 'You take too much upon yourself! You knew my orders, yet you decided to act entirely on your own.' He had begun to pace the cabin. 'The French might have been trying to play a double game. All this socalled ardour for their dead king could be a mere tactic to delay our own operations!'

Bolitho had remembered Charlois, his desperate determination to warn him.

'Charlois gave his life, sir. I acted as I thought fit to prevent what might have been a military disaster and a great loss of life

Pomfret had regarded him searchingly. 'And you entered harbour first, Bolitho. Before me and the squadron. Very convenient!'

Bolitho had replied, 'I could not contact you in time, sir. I had to do what I did.'

There is a point when tenacity becomes stupidity!' Pomfret had not proceeded further with the matter for at that moment Captain Dash had entered to announce that the soldiers were ready to disembark.

Bolitho had been too weary, too sick with pain and effort to care about Pomfret's anger. Looking back, it seemed as if the admiral actually suspected he had planned and carried out his attack on the Saphir merely to gain favour, to grasp rewards for himself, even at the expense of losing his ship and every man aboard.

He said to Herrick, 'The admiral wishes all his senior officers to take wine with him. We had better make sure we are on time.'

They walked in silence along a narrow, cobbled lane where the houses on either side seemed to reach towards each other as if to touch.

Herrick said, 'How long will it be before the enemy launch an attack on the port, sir?'

'Who can say! But Cobban has his scouts around the town, and no doubt Sir Edmund intends to keep up his coastal patrols to watch the road from the north.'

He tried to keep his tone casual, but he could not put the feeling of disappointment to the back of his mind. Pomfret seemed to put a blight on everything. This curfew for instance. The townspeople had greeted the ships and soldiers like their own, had thrown flowers to the grinning redcoats, as if to show that they believed in what they had helped to start and would share the cost, no matter how hard it became.

And aboard the Hyperion the wild excitement had soonbeen pushed aside as Pomfret ordered the squadron to disembark troops and stores with a minimum of delay. Just one word from him would have made all the difference. Hyperion's raiding party had lost fifteen killed and missing, with another ten badly wounded. Viewed against what would have happened had they failed to sink the Saphir it was a negligible amount. But in the ship's tight community it was still very personal and deeply felt.

Pomfret had shifted his flag ashore almost immediately, and as the two officers walked across a deeply shadowed square it became obvious that the admiral had chosen his new headquarters with no little care. It was the house of a rich wine merchant, a pleasant, wide-fronted building, with a pillared entrance and surrounded by a high wall. Cross-belted marines snapped to attention at the gates, and nervous-looking servants waited at the tall double doors to take the hats and cloaks as various officers arrived from ships and garrison alike.

Herrick watched gravely as Bolitho eased his bandaged arm more comfortably inside his dress-coat, noting the deep lines around his mouth, the dampness of sweat below the rebellious lock of hair.

He said at length, `You should have sent me, sir. You're not fit yet. Not by a long shot!'

Bolitho grimaced. 'And miss the chance of seeing this fine house? Certainly not!'

Herrick looked at the hanging tapestries, the rich glitter of perfectly matched chandeliers.

'Sir Edmund seems to find luxury adequate, sir.'

There was no hiding the bitterness in his tone, and Bolitho wondered if Herrick hated Pomfret for what he had once been in the past or for what he imagined he was doing now to his captain.

He smiled briefly. 'You will fall over that tongue of yours one day, Thomas!'

A bewigged footman threw open a door and as a British petty officer muttered in his ear called loudly, 'Captaine de vaisseau, M'sieu Boli…' He faltered, unable to complete it. The petty officer glared at him threateningly and then bellowed in a voice more suited to addressing foretopmen, 'Cap'n Richard Bolitho! Of 'Is Britannic Majesty's Ship Hyperionl'

Bolitho smiled and stepped into a long, panelled room. It seemed to be full of officers, both military and naval, and the buzz of noisy conversation died as every face turned towards him. Bellamy of the Chanticleer was the first to start clapping, and while Bolitho stood momentarily confused and off guard the clapping became cheering until the noise filled the building and spread to the quiet gardens outside where the sentries craned their heads to listen to the thunderous applause.

Bolitho walked awkwardly between the shouting, grinning faces, only half aware of what was being said and vaguely conscious of Herrick striding at his side, his body used to shield his wounded arm from any over-enthusiastic officer in the swaying mass of blue and scarlet.

Pomfret waited. at the far end of the room, resplendent in full dress, his head cocked on one side, his lips compressed in what might be either amusement or irritation. He waited until a footman had placed a goblet in Bolitho's hand then held up his arm for silence.

He said, 'We have already drunk the loyal toast, gentlemen. I will now give you another. Let us drink to victory, and death to the French!'

Bolitho sipped at the wine, his mind dazed by the noise and the excitement around him. The toast was common enough, but not under these particular circumstances, he thought. But as he glanced quickly around the room he saw with surprise there was not a single French officer or leading citizen present.

Pomfret said, 'That was quite a greeting, Bolitho! A hero's welcome, if I may say so.' His face was blotchy with heat and his eyes seemed very bright.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Did none of the French leaders come, sir?'

Pomfret eyed him calmly. 'I did not ask any!'

The wound throbbed in time to Bolitho's sudden anger. 'But, sir, this is a common venture! They are equal in their desire to overthrow the Revolutionary Government!'

'Equal?' Pomfret regarded him blankly. 'In the eyes of the Almighty maybe. But in mine they are Frenchmen, and not to be trusted! I told you before, I do not care for compromise. I am in command here, and I will brook no interference from these damn peasants!'

He turned and saw Herrick for the first time. 'Ah, your able lieutenant. I trust that he has accepted there will be no prize-money from this venture? With Saphir and Fairfax sunk it may be some time before we catch another sizable ship, eh?'

Herrick flushed. 'I've heard no complaints, sir. Saving life is more important than money in my opinion!'

Pomfret smiled coldly. 'I was not-aware that I asked for an opinion, Mr. Herrick.' He turned his back as Colonel Cobban thrust his heavy frame through the throng of officers. 'Ah, Sir Torquil! Are all your men in position now?'

The soldier grunted and took a goblet from a silver tray. 'Earthworks thrown up. Guns in place.' He showed his teeth. 'We can sit here forever if needed!'

Bolitho asked, 'Is that wise, sir? It seems unlikely that-we will be forced to stay here long. As soon as reinforcements arrive we shall be thrusting further inland if this landing is to be of any use.'

Cobban turned slowly, his eyes suddenly hostile. 'May I ask what the hell it is to do with you, sir?'

Bolitho could almost taste the brandy on:Cobban's breath. He must have been drinking steadily since he had got ashore. He said stubbornly, 'It is a lot to do with mel And I see no reason for your attitude.'

Pomfret interrupted, 'Be at ease, Sir Torquil! Captain Bolitho is the one who took the port in the first place. He is naturally keen to see that his efforts are not wasted.' He was smiling gently.

Cobban looked blearily from one to the other. Then he said harshly, 'I am a soldier, I do not care to be questioned by his sort.'

There was a sudden silence, then Bolitho said calmly, 'That is a great pity, Colonel. It is also a pity that when you purchased your commission you did not purchase thee manners to go with it!'

The flush mounted Cobban's face like blood. When he spoke he sounded as if he was being strangled by his high collar. 'You impertinent upstart! How dare you speak to me like that?'

Pomfret said coolly, `That is enough, gentlemen! Quite enough!' He turned his pale eyes on Bolitho and added, 'I know that fighting duels is common enough in your family, Captain, but I will have none of it under my flag!'

Cobban muttered angrily, 'If you say so, Sir Edmund. But if I had my way…'

Bolitho said, 'You will find me ready enough, Colonel, if you give me occasion!' His head was hammering like an anvil and he could feel the wine churning in his stomach like a fever. But he no longer cared. Pomfret's quiet malice and Cobban's crude stupidity had driven him beyond caution. He saw Herrick's face, anxious and wary, and then looked down with surprise as Pomfret laid one hand on his arm.

Pomfret said, 'Your wound is no doubt troubling you. I will overlook this outburst.' Then he sighed as if it was of no importance. 'You will be sailing tomorrow, Bolitho, back to Cozar.' He glanced idly around the big room, his eyes distant. 'You can take my despatches to the garrison, and upon your return bring Miss Seton back to St. Clar.' He became almost jovial. 'We will show these people that we are here to stay. I think I might even give a reception of some kind, eh?'

Cobban had recovered himself only slightly. 'The wedding, Sir Edmund? Will you have it here?'

Pomfret nodded, his eyes still on Bolitho's unsmiling face. 'Yes. I think that would show a sort of confidence in the future.' He smiled, 'A final touch, very well timed.'

Bolitho swayed. Pomfret was laughing at him. It was too obvious. And Hyperion was being ordered to sea yet again. It seemed as if the ship would never be allowed time to rest. Time to recover and heal her wounds.

He said flatly, 'A frigate would be faster, sir.'

Pomfret replied, 'I want you to go, Bolitho. It will give you time to recover yourself. And in the meantime we will try to run this war to your personal satisfaction!'

Bolitho said, 'Is that all, sir?'

The admiral seemed to consider the question. For the present.'

A footman held out another tray of goblets but Pomfret waved him away, adding, 'Now, if you will excuse me, Bolitho?' Then he turned on his heel and walked towards the curved staircase.

Cobban said, 'I'll not forget what you said, Captain! You'll be sorry, be sure of that!'

Bolitho glanced at Herrick. 'Shall we return to the ship? Without a glance at Cobban he walked towards the door.

Herrick swallowed his drink and followed him. His mind was still reeling from the controlled exchange of insults. He wanted to shout aloud to the assembled officers, to tell them what Bolitho had done for them, and exactly what each man owed to him.

He caught up with him by the door and saw that he was breathing deeply and staring up at the fresh stars, his face relaxed and strangely sad.

Herrick muttered, "The admiral refused another glass, sir. I can't understand it. He had a great appetite for wine aboard the Phalarope!'

Bolitho did not even hear him. He was thinking of the girl. This time it would be more difficult than ever to carry her as a passenger. When Hyperion dropped anchor here again Cheney Seton would become a bride.

He hitched up his sword and said absently, 'We will take a drink with M'sieu Labouret and the others before we leave. I have a bad taste in my mouth at present.' Without another word he strode through the gates and down towards the harbour.

`Let got'. Herrick's voice echoed across the sheltered water, and as he lowered his speaking trumpet the Hyperion's anchor splashed down, the ripples moving lazily away in widening circles towards the surrounding cliffs. The forenoon watch had hardly begun, yet after the light airs of the open sea the enclosed harbour already felt like an oven.

Bolitho watched in silence as his ship tugged gently at her cable and the usual business of lowering boats and spreading deck awnings got under way. Cozar had not changed, he thought. The only other ship at anchor below the gaunt cliffs was the frigate Harvester, and he could see without usingg his glass that Leach, her captain, had almost completed his repairs.

He walked slowly to the nettings and looked up towards the hill fortress. Beyond the harbour mouth the sea mist which had floated out to greet their slow approach hung across the entrance, blotting out the horizon and curling around the grey stonework of the fortress and battery like a fog. He shivered and moved his bandaged arm away from his ribs. They had sighted the island early the previous day, but because of the poor breeze had been forced to lie to for the night, with the distant fortress rising from its protective mist like some enchanted castle.

Herrick touched his hat and said formally, 'Boats lowered, sir.' He glanced towards the sloping hillside beyond the fortress. 'It looks as if there are plenty more soldiers to carry to St. Clar.'

Bolitho nodded. The sun-scorched hillside was covered with lines of small tents, and occasionally he caught sight of a redcoated figure and the gleam of sunlight on a bayonet. But it was very quiet, as if like the island the heat and the dust had beaten the heart out of the isolated garrison.

Herrick said, 'I passed the word to Mr. Seton, sir. He is ready to go across.' He was watching Bolitho worriedly. 'Is that all right?'

'Yes.' Bolitho saw the retrieved jolly boat pulling clear from the ship's black shadow, two midshipmen sitting together in the sternsheets. It was right that Seton should see his sister alone before the upheaval of getting under way again, The boy had made a remarkable recovery, and if anything seemed to have gained in stature since the struggle aboard the burning Fairfax. The ball which had cut him down had burned a savage crease across his shoulder, but apart from shock and loss of blood he had escaped anything serious. An inch or so lower and… Bolitho bit his lip as he watched the oarsmen picking up the stroke and heading for the pier.

Had he really been considering Seton's feelings when he had allowed him to visit his sister? Or was it just one more attempt to postpone the inevitable meeting?

He asked quietly, `How is Mr. Fowler?'

Herrick shook his head. 'The surgeon is worried about him. His face is a terrible sight. If it were me, I'd rather be deadl'

Bolitho replied, half to himself, `That is easy to say, Thomas. There have been times before or during a fight that I have prayed for death rather than mutilation. But when Rowlstone cut the sleeve from my arm I was praying just as fervently to stay alive.'

Herrick watched him and asked, 'How is the wound, sir?'

Bolitho shrugged. 'I would rather be without it.' He did not., feel like talking, even with Herrick. On the short voyage to Cozar he had stayed aloof and remote from his officers, con-, tenting himself with an occasional walk on the poop, but staying mostly in the privacy of his cabin. He was being unrealistic and stupid, he knew that. The fever had hardly left him when he had been up and in action again. That fact, and the throbbing ache of his wounded arm was the real reason for his depression. Or so he told himself.

He tried to regain interest in the coming offensive from St. Clar but could find little to excite his usual zeal and eagerness for action. And there was no room for personal bitterness, not for a captain of a ship of the line. He must thrust all his misgivings aside and put right the wrongs which Pomfret's indifference had laid upon his ship.

Once during a night watch when he had been driven from his cot by the tormenting agony in his arm, he had walked out to the darkened quarterdeck and had overheard Rooke speaking with Gossett.

Rooke had said angrily, 'Whatever we do is wrong! When we go for the enemy alone we are blamed! Yet when we succeed, someone else always seizes the credit!'

The master had replied gruffly, 'Sometimes it goes hard when old scores are evened at the expense of others, Mr. Rooke. I think the admiral is doing his task well enough. But I cannot forgive him for his manner to our captain.'

Rooke's response had been sharp. 'It's damned unfair that the whole ship should be punished because of their dislike for one another!'

Gossett had said firmly, 'With all respect, Mr. Rooke, it seems to me that the captain has treated you more than fairly.'

'What the devil are you implying? I should have been first lieutenant, it was my right!'

'We both know we don't mean that.'., Gossett had sounded very calm. 'Given a better chance under Cap'n Turner you would have been ready enough, that is true.' He had lowered his voice. 'But Cap'n Bolitho said nothing to you about the gambling, did he? Not once did he threaten to take action against you for stripping poor Mr. Quarme of his savings, or driving Dalby to thieving from his own kind!'.

Rooke had remained silent as Gossett had finished, 'You can log me if you have a mind for saying this, but I think our cap'n has treated you more than well. Your needs exceed your purse, so you do the one thing, apart from fighting, which you do so excellently!'

As Bolitho watched the little jolly boat make fast to the pier he wondered why he had not confronted Rooke with this new knowledge. Maybe it was because of his own heated exchange with Cobban. Even as he had spoken he had seen himself with new eyes. He was just like his brother after all. Given the opportunity he would have fought a senseless duel, not perhaps over cards or dice, but for reasons no less trivial. It was an unnerving discovery, and more so because Pomfret had seen it, too.

Herrick said, 'No sign of the convicts, sir. I suppose they're working at the other end of the island.'

Bolitho nodded. The Justice had sailed back to England. As far as her master was concerned the convicts could all rot in this place.

He said suddenly, 'Call away the barge. I am going ashore directly.' He could no longer contain his restlessness.

Herrick studied him anxiously. 'Look, sir, it is none of my business, but when you were under the fever I did hear some rumours.' He dropped his eyes under Bolitho's steady gaze. 'You know without my saying that I'd do anything for you. That goes beyond question. I'd die here and now for you if needed.' He looked up, his blue eyes defiant. 'I think that gives me the right to speak up.'

Bolitho asked, 'And what is it you wish to tell me?'

'Just this. Sir Edmund Pomfret is a powerful man to oppose, sir. He must have great influence to ride above losing his first command and all the other trouble he has caused. He has risen to flag rank in spite of all these things. He would be quick to use his influence and authority against you if he thought for one minute you were interested in his lady, sir!'

Bolitho's voice was very calm. 'Is that all?'

Herrick nodded. 'Aye, sir. I couldn't stand by and see such a thing happen without saying my piece.'

Bolitho clenched his fingers and felt the pain shoot up his arm like a knife. 'Now you may call my barge, Mr. Herrick.' He turned away, his face controlled, but inside his mind was boiling like a whirlpool. It was no comfort to realise that Herrick was right. No compensation to weigh what his words must have cost him.

He added coldly, 'You need have no fears on my behalf. But in future I would be pleased if you would refrain from trying to live my life for me!'

He saw Gimlett lounging by the poop ladder and called' sharply, 'Lay out my shoregoing uniform!' He turned beside the abandoned wheel and looked -back at Herrick's troubled features. 'So let that be the end of the matter!'

Twenty minutes later Bolitho strode to the entry port, his wounded arm strapped against his side and covered by his heavy dress coat. Herrick was waiting with the other officers, and Bolitho was momentarily tempted to take him aside, to kill this stupid rift which had been of his own making. Angry with himself, angrier still that Herrick had seen through his pitiful defences he snapped, 'Carry on!' Then he lifted his hat to the quarterdeck and climbed down to the waiting barge.

The pipes shrilled and died as the boat idled clear of the ship's protective shadow, and when he looked astern he saw that Herrick was watching him, his sturdy figure suddenly small against the Hyperion's towering side.

Allday said softly, 'Is the arm well, Captain? Then he saw Bolitho's rigid shoulders and pursed his lips. There would be more squalls ahead for someone, he thought. As he steered the barge towards the distant pier he watched cautiously for some sign, some small change in Bolitho's grim expression. He could not recall having seen him like this before, and any sort of change did not fit into Allday's placid acceptance of things. There was a strange tenseness about Bolitho. A nervous expectancy which was completely alien to him.

Allday sighed and shook his head doubtfully. Like Herrick, all he wanted was to protect Bolitho, no matter from whence, or from what the danger came. But he could not shield him from himself, and the enormity of this discovery was very worrying.

To his surprise and annoyance Bolitho was greeted at the pier by a very young officer in the red tunic and facings of the infantry.

He touched his hat in reply as the-boy saluted smartly and said, 'Ensign Cowper, sir, of the 91st Foot.' He swallowed hard beneath Bolitho's unsmiling gaze and added awkwardly, 'I have brought a horse, sir. I-I thought it would make the journey easier.'

Bolitho nodded. 'That was thoughtful.' He had wanted to make the journey to the fortress on foot. To give him time to think. To clear his mind and plan what he was going to say.

The ensign saw his indecision and said helpfully, 'If you cannot ride I will lead the beast by the reins, sir.'

Bolitho studied him coldly and replied, 'A sea officer I may be, Mr. Cowper, but I am also a Cornishman. Horses are not unknown in my country!' With all the dignity he could muster he heaved himself into the saddle of the dozing animal, watched with both admiration and awe by his barge crew and the ensign's orderly.

They trotted slowly up the dirt road, each jolt of the hooves causing fresh agony in Bolitho's bandaged arm. He forced himself to take an interest in the surrounding scenery, if only to take his mind off himself and his discomfort. The road was deserted but for a listless sentry, with nothing left to mark the havoc wrought by the carronade or the jubilant onslaught of Ashby's marines.

As they turned the bend in the road he saw the fortress, and spread away across the bleached hillside the neat rows of military tents.

He said, 'I suppose that you are eager to join the rest of your people in St. Clar?'

The young ensign twisted easily in his saddle and looked at him with surprise. 'I do not quite know what is to happen yet, sir.'

Bolitho stared at the fortress. 'Well, I hope your commanding officer is better informed.'

Cowper grinned, unabashed by the sarcasm. 'But, sir, I am the commanding officer!'

Bolitho reined the horse to a halt and faced the ensign across the road. 'You are what?'

Cowper's grin vanished and he shifted uncomfortably under Bolitho's fierce stare. `Well, that is to say, sir. I am the only officer here.'

Bolitho pointed at the tents. 'And you command all these men on your own? For God's sake, what are you saying?

The boy spread his hands. 'Well, actually, sir, there are, only twenty men and a sergeant. The tents are there just in case some French frigate comes spying for information.' He sighed. 'I command an empty camp so to speak!'

Bolitho felt the horse swaying beneath him as he grappled with Cowper's crazy explanation. 'No reinforcements for St. Clar? Nothing at all?'

'None, sir. I received word from Lord Hood two days back. A brig came here from Toulon.' He flicked the reins as Bolitho nudged his horse forward. again. 'My orders are to stand guard here untill further notice. Also to increase and extend the existing camp as much as possible.' He hurried on as if fearful of what Bolitho would say. 'We cut up every piece of canvas we could find. Old sails, matting, anything. My chaps just march about relighting camp-fires and keeping an eye on the convicts.' His slim shoulders dropped slightly. 'It's all very upsetting, sir.'

Bolitho looked at him with sudden compassion. Just a boy. He could not have been commissioned long enough to have seen active service, yet he was given a task which would have made others, years senior to him, grey before their time.

He said, 'So the war goes badly at Toulon?'

Cowper nodded. 'It seems so. Lord Hood had two regiments with him there, but they cannot do much more than contain the town and hold the forts around it. It appears that many of the French who were thought to be loyal to the Royalist cause have deserted to the other side.'

'And there will be no men to spare for St. Clar.' Bolitho spoke his thoughts aloud. 'But no doubt the matter is in hand.'

Cowper sounded doubtful. 'It is to be hoped so, sir.'

In silence they trotted across the wooden bridge above the steep ditch with its cruel-looking stakes, and on through the open gates of the fortress. A solitary soldier paced the ramparts beside the battery and another ran to take the horses. Apart from them the only other living person to be seen was a half-naked man tied to the wheel of a gun-carriage, his skin raw from the probing sun, his mouth open and twitching piteously in the glare.

Cowper said unhappily, 'A defaulter, sir. My sergeant says that it is the only way to punish him.' He turned away. 'I suppose that discipline must be enforced by such means.'

Bolitho said, 'Field punishment is all very well when you have an army at your back, Mr. Cowper. I suggest you tell your sergeant that even a bad soldier will be more use than a dead one if you are attacked!'

Cowper nodded firmly. 'Thank you, sir. I will tell him.'

Once inside the round tower the air was cool, even icy after the furnace heat of the compound, and as Bolitho followed the ensign up the narrow stone stairs he remembered that other time, when this small space had been filled with musketsmoke and the screams and curses of dying men.

The quarters, occupied over the years by one commandant after another, were grim and characterless. The main room which overlooked the headland was curved to the shape of the tower, and its narrow, deepcut windows shone like brightly painted pictures of another world. There were a few rush carpets, and here and there he saw some of the plain but well-shaped furniture made by the Hyperion's carpenters. They were the only real signs of human habitation worth considering.

A small studded door opened to one side and the girl, followed by her brother and Midshipman Piper, entered the room.

Cowper said, 'Captain Bolitho is here to see you, ma'am.' He looked meaningly at the midshipmen. `If you will accompany me I will show you the rest of the, er, fortress.'

Seton said, 'I am sorry I-I was n -not at the pier t-to meet you, s-sir.'

Bolitho replied vaguely, 'I was not expecting you.'

He watched the girl as she walked to one of the windows. She was wearing a loose white dress, and her rich chestnut hair hung across her shoulders untied and unchecked.

As the others left the room she said quietly, 'You are welcome, Captain.' Her eyes dropped to his empty sleeve. 'I heard from my brother what happened. It must have been horrible.'

Bolitho felt strained. 'He did well, Miss Seton. His own wound was bad enough, even for a seasoned man.'

She did not seem to hear. 'When I -saw him with his bandaged arm I think I nearly hated you. He's such a boy. He was never meant for this sort of life.' Her eyes flashed in the sunlight and seemed to match the green water below the headland. 'I suppose that is quite natural. But as I listened to him I came to realise that he is changed. Oh how he is changed!' She looked directly into Bolitho's face. 'And all he can talk about is you, did you know that?'

Bolitho did not know what to say. All his carefully rehearsed words had flown as soon as she had entered the room. He said clumsily, 'That, too, is natural. When I was his age I thought much the same of my captain.'

She smiled for the first time. 'I am glad that you at least have not changed, Captain. Sometimes in the cool of an evening I walk along the rampart and think back to that voyage from Gibraltar.' Her eyes were distant. 'I can even smell the ship and hear the thunder of those terrible guns.'

'And now I have come to take you to St. Clar.' The words seemed to stick in his throat. `But I imagine you were expecting a ship?'

'A ship, yes.' She nodded, the movement of her hair and neck bringing a fresh ache to Bolitho's heart. `But not your ship, Captain.' She stared up at him, her hands clenched. 'Were you ordered to come for me?'

'Aye. It was your, I mean, Sir Edmund's wish.'

She looked away. 'I am sorry it had to be you. I thought we would never meet again, you and I.'

'I know.' He could no longer hide his bitterness. 'I expect that I will be there too when you become Lady Pomfret!'

She stepped back, her face flushing beneath her tan. 'Do you despise me then, Captain? Does your pride never allow you to make a mistake or do anything to spoil your sense of duty?' She held up her hand. 'Do not answer! It is plain on your face what you think!'

Bolitho said quietly, 'I could never despise you. What you do is your choice. I am one of Sir Edmund's officers. -I could have been anyone.'

She ran her hand across her face to brush away a loose hair, the gesture both familiar and painful. 'Well, let me tell you something, Captain. When my mother died in the uprising in Jamaica things were bad enough. But shortly afterwards. there was a great storm when many ships were lost. Among them were two owned by my father. The rioters had destroyed most of our crops and all the buildings. My father needed those two ships to reach England with our last full cargo, you understand? He needed them!'

Bolitho watched her anger and despair with growing helplessness. 'I heard of that storm.'

'It ruined my father! And with my mother gone his health gave way completely. Sir Edmund came to Jamaica with his ship to crush the rising. He did not have to help us, but he never hesitated. He paid our passage back to Fngland and covered my father's debts. We could never repay him, because my father's mind became as sick as his body.' She gestured helplessly. 'We were even allowed to use his town house as our own, and Sir Edmund paid for Rupert's education and encouraged him to go to sea in a King's ship, your ship, Captain.'

'I am sorry.' Bolitho wanted to reach out and touch her, but his limbs felt like stone.

She stared at him searchingly. 'Look at me, Captain. I am twenty-six years old. With Rupert at sea I am completely alone now. I know Sir Edmund does not love me, but he needs me as a wife. I owe him that at least!'

Bolitho said, 'The years pass, and then suddenly you feel that something has escaped you…' He broke off as she took a step towards him, her face both shocked and hurt.

'I told you, Captain, I am twenty-six already. That does not mean I have to throw my body to the first man who asks! Sir Edmund needs me and that is enough, it has to be.'

Bolitho looked at the floor. 'I was speaking of myself, not of you!' He did not dare to face her until he had finished. Then he would leave. 'I am ten years older than you, and up to our first meeting I never regretted anything. My home is in Cornwall, even the land itself was just an interval in time. Somewhere to have roots, but not to stay.' He waited for a sudden outburst but she remained silent. 'I cannot offer you the fine living of London and Sir Edmund's way of life, but I can offer you… '

His voice trailed away as she asked quietly, 'What can you offer me, Captain?'

He raised his head and saw her standing very erect, her face in shadow. Only the quick rise and fall of her breasts showed either emotion or anger.

He kept his voice level. 'I can offer you my love. I do not expect it to be returned in the same way, but if you will give me the chance, just the chance, I will try and make you happy and give you the peace you rightly deserve.' He was aware of the great silence around the room, the indistinct sounds of lapping water beyond the windows. Above all the painful beating of his heart.

Then she said, 'I must have time to think.' She walked quickly to a window, hiding her face from him. 'Do you really know what you are doing, Captain? What it could meant

'I only know what you mean to me. Whatever you decide, nothing can or will ever change that.' He saw her shoulders quiver and added quietly, 'I would tell Sir Edmund if you decided. '

She shook her head. 'No. I must decide.' Then almost distantly she added, 'Sir Edmund can be a hard man. It might go badly for you.'

Bolitho's heart gave a quick leap. Then you think, I mean, you really believe you might…?'

She turned and then laid her hands on his shoulders, her eyes shining so that they seemed to fill her face. 'Was there ever any doubt? But as he made to hold her with his sound arm she stepped away, her hands held up to his chest. `Please! Not now! Just leave me alone to think.'

Bolitho stepped backwards towards the door, his mind awhirl with a hundred churning thoughts and ideas. 'But you will marry me? Just tell me once, before I go!'

Her lip trembled and he saw a tear splash down across her breast. 'Yes, Richard.' She was smiling in spite of the tears. 'You are all the man my brother worships, and more besides. Yes, I will marry you gladly!'

Later, when the barge carried him back to the Hyperion, Bolitho could feel nothing but numbness. The officer of the watch made a formal report as he climbed to the quarterdeck, but he neither heard what he said nor did he remember his own reply.

Herrick was standing dejectedly beside the poop ladder, a telescope beneath his arm. Bolitho crossed the deck in quick strides and said, 'I owe you an apology, Thomas.' He waved aside the unspoken protests. 'My attitude was inexcusable, my words nothing more than ridiculous!'

Herrick was watching him anxiously. 'Is your wound troubling you, sir?'

Bolitho stared at.him. 'Wound? Of course not!'

Herrick said awkwardly, 'Well, I am sorry too, sir. I could not bear to see you in trouble, not of your own making.' He gave a great sigh. 'But now we can get to sea, and after the wedding all will be well again. And that is as it should bel' He grinned with sudden relief.

Bolitho eyed him cheerfully, undecided whether or not to play with him further. He said, 'The wedding is postponed, Thomas.'

'Postponed, sir?' Herrick looked dazed. 'I do not understand.'

Bolitho massaged his bandaged arm with his fingers. 'I think Falmouth will be a more suitable place, don't you? And you can give the bride away, if you would do that for me?'

Herrick was almost speechless. 'You didn't? You couldn't possibly have!' His mouth was opening and shutting in confusion. 'Not Miss Seton, sir? The admiral's lady?'

Bolitho grinned. 'The very same, Thomas!'

He walked below the poop, and before the cabin door slammed shut Herrick heard him whistling. Something Bolitho had never done before at any time.

Herrick grasped the teak rail. 'Well I'll be damned!' He shook himself like a dog. 'Well, I'll be double-damned!'