Heart of Oak

13. Ships That Pass

Commodore Arthur Carrick waited for his servant to close the cabin door behind him and gestured to a chair.

"Be seated, Bolitho. I regret leaving you to cool your heels, but now I am all attention."

Almost an hour had passed since Adam had boarded the flagship, although he had seen no other visitor arrive or leave before him.

The same flag lieutenant had met him at the entry port, and had explained that the commodore was eager to see him but was extremely busy. That, despite the signal for Onward's captain to repair on board, which had been hoisted even before the anchor had hit the bottom.

Nothing had changed aboard Tenacious, although some awnings had finally been spread to protect the upper deck from the sun. Here in the great cabin the quarter windows were open, and there was a slight breeze from the harbour.

He sat in silence as Carrick unfastened the folder, which Adam had checked with care before climbing down into the gig. The guardboat had signalled Onward to a different anchorage this time, convenient for the shore, but a longer pull for the gig's crew. Even the urbane flag lieutenant had been unable to hide his surprise when Adam had requested that his men be allowed aboard the flagship, rather than left sitting tired and parched in the sun.

"If you say so, sir. "But it had been done. He had seen Jago's expression, and was glad.

The servant had padded in again and was speaking softly to his master.

The commodore was outwardly relaxed, even casual, his lean, bony features composed. Only the hard blue-grey eyes gave a hint of the man within.

Even the matter of the gig's crew had occasioned a cool jibe.

"Hope they appreciate it, Bolitho. Most Jacks would only take advantage, from my experience!"

He must have sensed a corresponding chill in Adam, and changed the subject.

"Now, in your own time, Bolitho, tell me what happened during your passage to Aboubakr. I will give full attention to your report, but I need to hear it from you in person. I have already gleaned some of the sorry detailsЦ even here on the Rock, we are not without news of the real world. "He smiled.

"As they say in our home county, bad news rides a fast horse!"

Then he swivelled round on his chair as if watching for passing vessels or inquisitive harbour craft, and waited.

Adam found himself listening to his own voice, flat and unemotional. The reports from the lookout. The midshipman, almost fainting with pain, managing to describe what he and the seaman had seen and interpreted. And the grim outcome, no heroics, no flags, except the ensign dipping in salute after the smoke had cleared.

Carrick spoke at last.

"Nautilus owes her survival to your prompt action. Your gun crews had good fortune."

Adam recognized the challenge, and felt the iron-cold eyes on him as he pulled a packet from his coat. He could still hear Lieutenant Squire's voice when he had handed it to him: "A prayer would have helped, but I couldn't think of one fast enough!"

He put it on the table.

"Part of the schooner, sir. Fell on our foc'sle deck. We were as close as that."

Carrick unwrapped the charred wood and held it to the sunlight.

"Indeed. "He nodded. "Too close for comfort."

The servant had returned, and placed a pair of goblets discreetly near the papers and Adam's rough map.

Carrick was saying, "Some local resistance, or a full-scale rebellion… I can understand why the French authorities will be concerned, and, it is to be hoped, grateful for your initiative.

There I trust it will end, at least while I still command the Strait Squadron. "He saw Adam's expression and laughed. "Rear Admiral Aylmer is still unwell, although I am informed that he expects a complete recovery, damn his eyes! "The laugh became a cold smile. "You did not hear that, Bolitho. So, now let us drink to you and your fine ship."

They touched glasses, although Adam had not seen them filled. If he slept when he went back to Onward, he thought, he might never wake up.

"When we last met, Bolitho, you reported that one of your company had been murdered. "He studied his goblet. "Some petty dispute, maybe? I take it there were no developments."

He did not seem to expect an answer. "No matter. If I shouldered the blame for every soul who's gone aloft under my command, I would be as sick as my admiral!"

He stood up. Abruptly, like most of his gestures and words.

"I will read your full report, and discuss it with the governor.

The next move will be…" He frowned as the flag lieutenant appeared at the door. "What is it now?"

"You have a meeting withЦ"

Carrick waved him into silence. "Slipped me mind, dammit!"

He turned toward Adam just as easily.

"We will meet again soon. You will be informed. "He held out his hand. "Now, I am certain you have a great deal to do."

It was a dismissal, and Adam was glad of it. Carrick called after him, "Your boat's crew should be well rested by now for their pull back to Onward, don't you think?"

He strode from the cabin, the flag lieutenant hard put to keep up with him.

"I sometimes wonder why I worry myself sick, when…"

He broke off. It was not the lieutenant's fault.

Two seamen seemed to be waiting for them. One of them, a bosun's call hanging around his neck, blurted, "Cap'n Bolitho, sir? You won't remember me, but…"

Adam reached out impetuously and gripped his arm.

"Logan. Spike Logan. You were with me in Unrivalled. Maintop."

The man and his companion were both grinning and nodding, and some others were loitering nearby, listening.

They walked on toward the entry port, where the side-party was waiting. The flag lieutenant spoke at last, in an undertone, touching his hat.

"Now you know why, sir."

Adam climbed down the side and stepped into the gig, which was already in position, as if it had never moved. He looked around at the crew, sitting smartly upright, arms folded, as if the flagship, towering over them like a cliff, did not exist.

His eyes met Jago's and he smiled, surprised that it came so easily.

"No squalls, Luke. "He sat down facing the stroke oarsman.

"Not yet, anyway."

Jago tilted his hat slightly against the reflected glare.

"After what we done? "He said no more. There was a faint smell of rum on his breath.

Then, "Shove off, forrard! "He could see faces watching from the high poop with the gilded gingerbread he remembered so well from their arrival here. The flagship's officers. What the hell do they care? "Out oars!"

He counted the seconds, standing with his fingers just touching the tiller bar, as if unconcerned. He contained a grin. If only they knew. "Give way together!"

He waited until he could see Onward's masts, almost delicate against a big two-decker nearby, and eased the tiller until they had moved into line. Then he sat down and watched the stroke, the captain's gold epaulette near enough to touch.

He tasted the grog on his lips. It was good to have mates.

He looked away. Even in a flagship.

Lieutenant James Squire walked aft from the companion ladder, his eyes still dazzled by the sun and the vivid panorama of the harbour. He had visited Gibraltar several times in different ships, but he never grew tired of its life and colour.

Within minutes, or so it seemed, of dropping anchor and the captain's departure in response to the usual impatient signal, Onward had been hemmed in by boats ready to sell, buy or steal anything available. The master-at-arms and a full squad of marines had their work cut out to keep the decks clear of invaders, however friendly they might appear.

He had heard the boatswain telling some of the youngsters, "If you gets to step ashore, keep yer "ands on yer money belt, or it'll go. They can take a tattoo off a man's skin and "e wouldn't feel it! "From what he had heard, old Josh Guthrie would be one of the first ashore. He could take care of himself.

Morgan the cabin servant stood facing him by an open gunport. Even that was guarded by a spread of netting.

"Do you wish to see the captain, sir? "Self-possessed as always, but sweating slightly. "He is very hard-pressed just now, only returned aboard a moment ago."

Squire said patiently, "It's my watch. received him on board, remember?"

Morgan let out a sign. "My apologies, sir. We are busy, too."

Squire stared through the open doors, and beyond the sentry who was peering past the companion ladder, as if he expected to see some intruder trying to reach the lower deck without being seized.

"Guardboat just brought some mail. Mostly official, had to be signed for. "He looked again at the cabin. "So I must…"

The purser and one of his assistants were there, unrolling a mass of documents, and Prior the clerk, with a ledger almost as big as himself, was edging his way toward the captain. Even the surgeon was present. But it was nothing serious; he was laughing at something the coxswain, Jago, was telling him.

The captain had seen him.

"Mail, James? I saw the guardboat pulling away. I wondered.

Squire carried the canvas bag into the cabin. wondered, too. We always do. And hope.

They walked aft together. The stern windows were open and the shutters drawn, the wind warm but refreshing. There was haze closer inshore, and dust from the town. Everything else was dwarfed by the Rock.

"I had to sign for these, sir."

But the captain had not heard him. Adam was not listening.

A heavy sealed envelope, the contents probably written or dictated weeks ago. am directed by my lords commissioners of Admiralty… And one bearing the familiar anchor and crossed swords, put aboard a courier in Plymouth. The admiral's seal was still bright in the filtered sunlight.

He put them on the bench seat and picked up an envelope uncluttered by seals or official sanctions.

As if the cabin was suddenly empty, the view astern from these windows quite still.

She was here, with him. Like coming alive, all tiredness gone. He touched it again. So many miles, days, weeks.

Always waiting.

Vicary the purser said, "If you could just glance at these, sir.

They will require your approval before I take them ashore."

Adam laid the letter on the bench seat and reached for the knife Morgan had placed where he could see it.

"A moment. "He slit open the heavy envelope and glanced across each separate section. He could still recall his first command, and the introduction to documents like these; it had been like reading a foreign language. It seemed a long time ago.

He looked at the date, and the perfect script. Official, enclosing a shorter letter, its contents very much to the point.

He remembered the face behind the writing, one of the admiral's aides at Plymouth.

More voices. Vincent was here now; he had been occupied with a supply lighter when Adam had returned from Tenacious.

"I'm a bit adrift, sir. "He hesitated. "Is something wrong?"

Adam folded the letter.

"Midshipman Huxley. Where is he, d "you know?"

"Lowering the jolly-boat, sirЦ I've watched him do it before. I thought.

"I want to see him immediately. This concerns his father."

Vincent lowered his voice. "The court martial, sir?"

"Not guilty. "He wanted to hit out, smash something. Prevent this from happening. "They were too late. He was found dead in his quarters. Hanged himself."

Vincent said, "I'll fetch him. I have always found him easy enough to talk to. "He faltered. "It's no use, is it, sir?"

Adam picked up the other letter. Her letter. Later…

'Thank you, Mark. But he is one of my officers. "He turned and faced the others. "If you will excuse me, the first lieutenant can deal with the issue of signatures."

They filed out of the cabin and Vincent closed the door as they left. The surgeon had been the last to leave.

"If you need me? "He knew, or guessed.

Morgan had been waiting by his pantry, sensing the change in atmosphere, wanting to do something. This was his place.

But he gathered up the empty glasses and headed for the screen. He would be ready when called. And the captain would know it.

Adam stood by the open stern window and saw another boat pulling slowly beneath the counter, some one holding up shawls or bright clothing, undeterred by shouts from the deck.

It was hot, and he was still wearing the dress uniform coat in which he had boarded the flagship.

He made to unfasten it, but something stopped him.

The slight tap on the grating.

"Mr. Midshipman Huxley, sir!"

"Enter!"

He was the Captain.

The two midshipmen sat side by side on the forecastle deck watching the lights on the shore; occasionally one moved, like a star fallen on the water. Overhead, if they looked, the converging pattern of shrouds and stays reached to the sky, yards and spars completely still, resting, like the ship.

There had been music, the lively sound of a violin, laughter and what sounded like feet stamping in a jig, but even that had gone silent. It would soon be time to pipe down; some of the hands were already in their hammocks.

Down by the entry port there was still a lantern burning, an intrusion in the darkness. The glint of metal and a moving shadow showed the duty watch was alert, waiting for one of the boats, or the Officer-of-the-Guard on his endless patrol around and between the anchored men-of-war.

David Napier glanced over his shoulder as a solitary figure walked past: one of the anchor watch doing his rounds, although he would hardly be able to see the cable where it reached down into the black water. They might have been completely alone, sitting where they were in the eyes of the ship. Even the figurehead was invisible, reaching out to another unknown horizon.

Soon they would have to return to the midshipmen's berth.

Nothing had been said, and the silence made it worse, if that were possible. They all knew. The whole ship seemed to know.

Once, he had said, "Would it be better if I left you in peace, Simon?"

No words, but he had felt a hand on his arm and known he was shaking his head.

And then, quite suddenly, Simon Huxley had started to talk.

"I knew what had happened. When the Captain sent for me, I knew. I kept going over it, again and again, but I was thinking too much about my own future.

It had been dark, but not enough to hide the tears on his face.

He had shaken off any attempt to restrain or comfort him. Like a flood-gate giving way.

"When I saw him, that last time, in Plymouth, and every one was trying to make things seem better, I should have known.

My father had already condemned himself, no matter what any court martial might decide!"

Huxley had got up suddenly and leaned out across the water, and Napier had stood with him, hardly daring to hold him, afraid of what he would do. But in a calmer voice he said, "Two of his men were drowned within sight of land, and he blamed himself. Even when he was told that the court would find him not guilty, he said, it won't bring them back to life."

They had sat down again, sharing the stillness.

Then Napier had asked, as if he had no control over it, "What did the Captain say?"

Huxley had said nothing, reliving it for a moment. Then he whispered, "He treated me like a man, a friend. I knew he cared. It wasn't just words. "He had been unable to continue.

Some one shouted, and another said, "About bloody time!"

A boat was pulling out of the darkness, the oars trailing living serpents of phosphorescence.

Napier took his friend's arm gently. "Shall we go below, Simon? "and felt him nod.

"I'm ready."

That was all. But enough.

Hugh Morgan was still in his pantry when the last boat came alongside. Here, down aft, you could not hear much of it, but there would be some curses and flying fists if they carried their high spirits down on to the messdeck. The ship's corporal would have to deal with it. Rowlatt, the master-at-arms, was still ashore, "on special duty', they said. He had heard that Rowlatt had a woman in the town. He grinned. She must be blind, or desperate.

He raied his glass and sipped it, savouring it. The good stuff.

… It had been a long day.

He glanced at the open letter laid on his counter. Long and rambling, from his brother in Cardiff. Older than himself, he was a glass-blower, as their father had been; it was a marvel he had any lungs left after all this time. Six children, too; but they would be children no more. He could always picture Cardiff in his thoughts… Be like another world to me today.

It would seem strange to walk those old streets again. But maybe…

He heard a faint shout, then a crack, likely a starter across some one's rump. Otherwise the ship was quiet, the candleflames unmoving. The pantry door was just ajar; he could see the small pool of light over the desk. The captain was still sitting there, a pen grasped in his hand. Like the last time he had crept across the cabin to close the quarter gallery windows. Not much air, but it was better than enduring the insects that tapped against the glass or flickered in the faint glow from astern.

Tomorrow, perhaps, he might go ashore. He had been to Gibraltar a good many times. Different ships and shipmates.

He had a friend who worked in the big chandlery, if he was still there. But you had to know your way around, like any seaport.

He smiled, sipping the rum. Even the "gateway to the Mediterranean'.

Women, too, at a price. He gave them a wide berth.

Otherwise you could find she had left you with something you would regret, long after you had forgotten her face. And she yours.

In a minute, he would make some excuse and disturb the captain, perhaps persuade him to climb into his cot. It was hard to recall the last time the man had been properly asleep.

What drove him? He had known other captains who would have left the work to others, and complained about it afterwards.

He thought of the visit to the flagship; there was always plenty of gossip. How the captain had been kept waiting to see the commodore, after what he had done, and risked, to save the Frenchie from being turned into a giant coffin.

He should be used to it. Morgan had served three captains, and could take the rough with the smooth. This was different.

Like today. Perhaps today most of all.

Something which his brother in Cardiff would never understand, as long as his lungs allowed him to live.

The young midshipman standing in the great cabin, which had been suddenly emptied of visitors. The captain with the letter, which was still lying on his desk. Then his voice, inaudible to Morgan. And the youth, one of my officers, watching him fixedly, even trying to smile later at something the captain had said, with tears running down his face.

They had walked together to the gallery windows, and he had seen the captain pointing out something, his hand on the midshipman's shoulder, like brothers meeting and coming to know one another again.

He tensed. The pantry door moved very slightly. The screen door must have been opened, although there had been no sound, no shout or stamping of boots.

"Still awake, Luke? "Jago was fully dressed, alert. "What is it?"

So it was serious.

"Signal for the Cap'n. "He held up some paper. "Mr.

Monteith asked me to bring itЦ he's a bit busy with a defaulter. "He grinned, but it did not reach his eyes. "Bloody drunk, more like!"

"Can't it wait? "Morgan pushed a glass toward him, and filled it to the brim.

Jago shrugged. "The ink's still wet. Must be important."

They both turned as the pantry door was pulled aside.

"It's impossible to find any peace, even here!"

Then he smiled. Afterwards, Morgan thought it was like seeing a great weight being lifted from him.

"Finish your drinks, please. "He took the signal and opened it unhurriedly. "And pour one for me."

Jago watched him narrowly. So many times.

"Trouble, Cap'n?"

Adam crumpled the signal. He could see the unfinished letter on his desk.

My dearest Lowenna. I dream of you, always…

"I shall need the gig tomorrow, Luke. Flagship at four bells.

Forenoon."

He lifted his glass. It was still only a dream.

Lieutenant Mark Vincent walked along Onward''s larboard gangway, his mind ranging over his list of duties. It was a bright morning, surprisingly free of haze even along the shore, the buildings unusually clear in the sunlight. A steady northeasterly had made all the difference.

He licked his lips, tasting the strong coffee which had been his only breakfast. A wise decision, he thought.

The cook must have broken open a new cask of salted pork for their first day in port. Some people never seemed to heed a warning. A line-up for the "seat of ease "in the forecastle had resulted, or more drastic measures for those unable to wait.

Pumps and brooms had been busy at first light.

He glanced at the empty boat-tier. The boatswain needed no reminder: all the boats were in the water. Clinker-built craft, especially new ones, opened out very quickly if left high and dry.

He stopped and stared toward the main anchorage, and behind him the accompanying footsteps halted also: Midshipman Walker, ready to run with a message, or scribble something on his slate. The youngest member of his mess, and in fact the whole ship, Walker had changed more than any one. He seemed far more self-assured, serious, and more to the point, he had not been seen crouched over a bucket, spewing up his guts. Not even after the pork. Maybe the encounter with the schooner had left its mark. There was always a first time.

He saw Midshipman Deacon with some of his signals team standing by the flag locker, pointing to something and grinning. He held a telescope, although he would be hard put to see the flagship with other vessels anchored across his line of sight, among them a smart-looking brig, undoubtedly a courier, which had anchored very late, when the lights had been showing ashore and the water was like black silk. Skilled or reckless, her commander had taken a calculated risk.

Once again, Vincent asked himself, what would I have done, if…? There was always if.

The captain's gig would be hooked on and ready; Jago had already gone down to keep an eye on that. A man you might never really know, unless he chose. But if you were in a tight corner, he would always be there.

Vincent ran a finger around his neckcloth. The air was warmer, despite the north-easterly wind. The captain would be speculating about his summons to the flagship. New orders? Running more errands for their invisible superiors? Not like last time, I hope.

He took his mind from it and returned to his list. Some defaulters. Nothing very serious, mostly too much to drink. A few hours "extra work would be enough, without any one thinking the first lieutenant was going soft.

Walker said loudly, "Boat heading this way, sir!"

Vincent turned. "Are you sure?"

Deacon had also seen it and was training his telescope, without undue excitement. It was not difficult to see him as a lieutenant, when opportunity and luck came his way.

Pulling smartly. Not a casual visitor this time. He walked to the ladder.

"Boat ahoy?"

The reply came back just as smartly. "Merlin!"

Midshipman Walker called, "The brig that came in last night, sir! It's her captain!"

Vincent swore under his breath. "Man the side. "Some one had handed him a telescope. Now, of all times. He adjusted it and saw the boat leap into view, the crew pulling strongly, bowman standing and lifting the boathook.

He settled on the solitary passenger, and tensed. A young face, very young. But in command.

"Shall I pass the word to the captain, sir?"

"He's about to leave the ship. I'll deal with it."

At the entry port, the side-party was already in position, boatswain's mates moistening their calls on their tongues, eyes on the approaching boat.

Vincent saw that Onward'?, gig had been moved to clear the way.

He was calm again, under control. He should get used to it.

What did they say about promotion? Not what you know, but who you know…

The oars were tossed, and the calls trilled in salute.

"I apologize for appearing without any warning. My ship is under orders to sail, but I knew you were lying here…" He looked around. He was even younger than Vincent had thought.

Vincent said, "I am the senior here, sir. My captain is about to leave the ship."

"I know. The flagship. I have just been aboard Tenacious myself."

"Francis Troubridge! Of all people! Here, let me look at you! "They all stared as the captain strode amongst them and seized the visitor by his shoulders, and the two bright epaulettes they bore. "Commander Troubridge, by God! And rightly so! Well deserved, if people don't know the real truth!"

They both laughed.

"This is Mark Vincent, my right hand. "Then, more quietly, "So many things I want to know, to ask you. "He took his arm and together they walked inboard, as if they were completely alone.

Jago had appeared on deck, and stood near Vincent, watching impassively.

"Vice-Admiral Bethune's flag lieutenant, sir, in Athena. Afore we was given Onward."

And it was all over just as quickly.

Another rough hug, then stepping apart and saluting one another. Friends. Equals.

Vincent watched with the others, and heard the captain call, "I shall tell her, when I see her!"

Then the boat was pulling away, with Commander Francis Troubridge waving his hat like a midshipman, as if he could not restrain himself.

Jago said, "We'd best do the same, Cap'n."

He had seen most things, could take them head on if need be.

Ships that pass. Something his father used to go on about, when he was sober enough to make sense.

"I'm ready, when you are. "Adam was looking in the direction of the boat, but it was already hidden by the lateen sails of a Gibraltarian trader.

He thought of the last time they had all been together, in Bethune's London house, captain, coxswain, flag lieutenant, and the vice-admiral's servant, Tolan.

The navy was like that. The family. It meant something, Jago thought. A hand on the shoulder.

Vincent was saying, "His first command, sir? "But some one called out, interrupting him, as the gig was warped alongside again.

Adam saw Morgan hurrying toward the entry port with the old sword in his hands. There would be some peace in the great cabin for a while. Morgan deserved it… He recalled Vincent's words. Admiration or resentment? He climbed down into the gig, the salutes ringing in his ears.

"This will not take long."

Jago turned to look at him. How does he know? He said, "Do ‘em good, Cap'n. Work off some o "that pork!"

As they pulled away from Onward's side and out of her shadow, Adam looked toward the anchored brig, her paintwork like glass in the sunlight. There were tiny figures aloft on her yards, and he guessed the capstan was already manned.

Troubridge was cutting it fine, and under the eyes of the flagship, too. His brief visit had been important enough to him to delay sailing.

To both of us.

His first command. Like Firefly. He thought of that last walk on the waterfront, those same reminders. shall tell her, when I see her. But who would see her first? He climbed swiftly up and around Tenacious'?, tumblehome, and found the side-party waiting.

The flag lieutenant hovered as the salutes were carried out, and then guided him aft with an urgency very unlike his previous visit. As if there was not a minute to spare.

"The commodore is waiting to see you, sir. I shall take you straight to him."

Adam had already seen a midshipman standing by the flagship's belfry. He was speaking with some seamen, and obviously in no hurry to strike the four bells of the time arranged for this meeting.

He could hear Carrick's voice long before he reached the lobby. The Royal Marine sentry was staring straight in front of him, face impassive. Maybe it was often like this.

"I don't give a saint's damn what he says! Get him here, now!"

A lieutenant hurried past without even sparing them a glance. Carrick was standing in the centre of the cabin, feet astride and with his fine coat unbuttoned, breathing hard, as if he had been running.

"So here you are, Bolitho. Not quite what we expected, eh?"

He gestured to the flag lieutenant. "Get something to drink, for God's sake, Flags. That fool of a servant is ashore, damn his eyes!"

"I believe you sent him, sir."

It was not a wise thing to say, but Carrick apparently did not hear him.

"After all the care and preparation! TreacheryЦ remember what I said, Bolitho? There's no other word for it!"

He walked to the side of the cabin, still breathing raggedly, while the flag lieutenant found and placed a full glass on the table. He had already seen Adam shake his head. This was not the time.

Carrick slammed down the empty glass.

"If I hadn't sent you to accompany the Frenchman to… to Aboubakr…" He stumbled over the name. "The trick would have succeeded, and Nautilus would be lying in charred fragments, like that piece you showed me! The best bloody thing that could have happened, if you ask me!"

The flag lieutenant waited while Carrick strode to the stern windows and leaned out over the quarter, and said patiently, "The French government is concerned about the uprising, and is eager to strengthen its alliance with the present ruler."

Carrick swung round, his face shining in the filtered sunlight. "They're going to give Nautilus to him, for God's sake! A token of trust and solidarity! Like the Algiers fiasco."

He jabbed a finger. "You were there, BolithoЦ you saw the scum who tried to use a just campaign to cover their own crimes! There'll be others this time, you mark my words! "He glared at the door. "Say that again!"

A voice called, "Merlin has just weighed, sir."

He breathed out very slowly. "Good. Her commander's a friend of yours, I gather?"

"My last ship, sir. "Adam watched him compose himself, as if it were a physical effort requiring all his strength.

"Well, he's under my command now. "The anger was still simmering. "While am still making decisions here!"

He pointed to a litter of papers scattered across the table.

"I have ships undergoing or awaiting repairs. Captains running damned errands for those who think they know what is needed. "He changed tack just as sharply. "I was told that Onward is taking on supplies?"

Adam felt the flag lieutenant's eyes on him.

"The usual replenishments, sir. Fresh water too, of course.

My purser is dealing with our immediate requirements."

Carrick was not listening.

Instead, he asked, "How soon can you weigh and put to sea?"

Another challenge, and Adam felt an overwhelming desire to hit back, reciprocate measure for measure, despite the consequences.

"Now, if so ordered, sir."

It was so quiet he thought he could hear Carrick's breathing.

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "That was bravely said. I might hold you to it. "He loosened his coat. "But two more days should suffice."

For a moment longer Adam thought he had gone too far, that the meeting was over before it was begun.

Commodore Carrick had turned toward the screen, his voice expressionless.

"I shall want you to patrol that same coastline again. To be ready to act against interference or intimidation, as you see fit.

You have proved your skill better than most. I have sent word to CapitaineЦ "He snapped his fingers. "Marchand. I think he owes us something, eh?"

Adam thought he saw the flag lieutenant raise his brows.

And Troubridge was already on his way to that same hostile rendezvous.

Carrick stared at the papers on his table.

"When diplomacy fails, the cannon usually speaks. That must not happen. You will receive your orders with all despatch. "He thrust out his hand. "Be ready."

They walked from the great cabin, this time together.

There was no sign of the brig Merlin; the north-easterly breeze was steady, and holding. Troubridge was on his way.

He had been warned: the rest was up to him.

The iron-hard eyes were watching him, perhaps reading his thoughts.

"The next time we meet, Bolitho…" He did not finish it, saying instead, "I envy him. So be it! "Then he turned and walked away.

Adam made his own way to the entry port, where Jago and his crew would be waiting. Once back aboard Onward he would go around the messes, informally, like those other times, asking Vincent to accompany him.

He thought of his uncle, how it must have been.

The people come first.