Honour This Day

14. For Or Against

It was early morning on a fine June day when Bolitho rehoisted his flag above Hyperion, and prepared his squadron to leave the Rock.

During Firefly's speedy passage to Gibraltar, Bolitho and Keen had had much to discuss. If Keen had been unsettled at being made flag captain of a squadron he knew nothing about he barely showed it, while for Bolitho it was the return of a friend; like being made whole again.

At the commodore's request he had visited Haven at the place where he was being confined ashore. He had expected him to be in a state of shock, or at least ready to offer something in the way of a defence for shooting Parris down in cold blood.

A garrison doctor had told Bolitho that Haven either did not remember, or did not care about what had happened.

He had risen as Bolitho had entered his small room and had said, The ship is ready, Sir Richard. I took steps to ensure that old or not, Hyperion will match her artillery against any Frenchman when called to!'

Bolitho had said, 'You are relieved. I am sending you to England.'

Haven had stared at him. 'Relieved? Has my promotion been announced?'

Upon returning to the ship Bolitho had been handed a letter addressed to Haven, which had just been brought by a mail schooner from Spithead. Under the circumstances Bolitho decided to open it; he might at least be able to spare someone in England the bitter truth about Haven, until the facts were released at his inevitable court-martial.

Afterwards, Bolitho was not certain he should have read it. The letter was from Haven's wife. It stated in an almost matter-of-fact fashion that she had left him to live with a wealthy mill-owner who was making uniforms for the military, where she and her child would be well cared for.

It seemed that the mill-owner was the father of the child, so it was certainly not Parris's. When Haven eventually came to his senses, if he ever did, that would be the hardest cross to bear.

The first lieutenant must be born lucky, Bolitho thought. The pistol ball had lifted too much in the short range of the cabin, and had embedded itself in his shoulder and chipped the bone. He must have suffered terrible agony as Minchin had sought to probe it out. But the shot had been intended for his heart.

Keen had asked Bolitho, 'Do you wish to keep him aboard? The wound will take weeks to heal, and I fear it was roughly treated.' He had probably been remembering how a great splinter had speared into his groin; rather than allow him to face the torture of a drunken surgeon, it had been Allday who had cut the jagged wood away.

'He is an experienced officer. I have hopes for his promotion. God knows we can use some skilled juniors for command.'

Keen had agreed. 'It will certainly put the other lieutenants on their mettle!'

And so with mixed feelings the squadron sailed and headed east into the Mediterranean, the sea which had seen so many battles, and where Bolitho had almost died.

With Hyperion in the van, Bolitho's flag at the fore, and the other third-rates following astern, heeling steeply to a lively north-westerly, their departure probably roused as much speculation as their arrival. Bolitho watched the Rock's famous silhouette until it was lost in haze. The strange cloud of steam rising against an otherwise clear sky was a permanent feature when the wind cooled the overheated stones, so that from a distance it appeared like a smouldering volcano.

Most of Hyperion's company had grown used to one another since the ship had commissioned, and Keen was almost the only stranger amongst them.

As day followed day, and each ship exercised her people at sail or gun drill, Bolitho was thankful for the fates which had brought Keen back to him.

Unlike Haven, he did know Bolitho's ways and standards, had served him both as a midshipman and lieutenant before eventually becoming his flag captain. The ship's company seemed to sense the bond between their captain and admiral, and the older hands would note and appreciate that if Keen did not know something about his ship he was not too proud to ask. It never occurred to Bolitho that Keen had perhaps learned it from him.

It had been sad to part with Firefly, but she had bustled on to deliver more despatches to admirals and captains who were eagerly awaiting the latest news of the French. Amongst Firefly's mountain of despatches there would doubtless be a few like the one which Haven had still not read. War was as cruel in the home as it was on the high seas, he thought.

When he met with Adam again his promotion would have been confirmed. It seemed strange to consider it. He could imagine what they would think and say at Falmouth when the latest Captain Bolitho came home. Unless Adam eventually met and married the girl of his choice, he would be the last captain to arrive at the house in Cornwall.

He often thought of Catherine and their farewell. They had shared their passion and love equally, and she had insisted that she accompany him all the way to Portsmouth to board the little Firefly. Keen had said his own goodbyes earlier when he had gone to Portsmouth with Adam in another carriage.

With the horses stamping and steaming in the sunshine Catherine had clung to him, searching his face, touching it with tenderness and then dismay when Allday had told them the boat was waiting at the sally port.

He had asked her to wait by the carriage but she had followed him to the wooden stairs where so many sea-officers had left the land. There had been a small crowd watching the ships and the officers being pulled out to them.

Bolitho had noticed that there were very few of the age for service. It would be a fool who risked the press gang's net if he had no stomach for the fight.

The people had raised a cheer, and some of them recognised Bolitho, as well they might.

One had shouted, 'Good luck, Equality Dick, an' to yer lady as well!'

He had faced her and he had seen tears for the first time.

She had whispered, 'They included mel'

As the boat had pulled clear of the stairs Bolitho had looked back, but she had vanished. And yet as they had bumped over a choppy Solent where Firefly tugged at her cable, he had sensed that she was still there. Watching him to the last second. He had written to ask her just that, and to tell her what her love meant to him.

He remembered what Belinda had said about their infatuation. Allday had described Catherine as a sailor's woman, an'that's no error. When he said it, it sounded the greatest compliment of all.

While the frigate Tybalt and the sloop-of-war Phaedra chased and questioned any coaster or trader foolish enough to be caught under their guns, Bolitho and Keen studied the scanty reports, as day by day they sailed deeper into the Mediterranean.

It was said that Nelson was still in the Atlantic and had joined up with his friend and second-m-command Vice-Admiral Collmgwood. Nelson had probably decided that the enemy were trying to divide the British squadrons by ruses and quick dashes from safe harbours. Only when that was achieved would Napoleon launch his invasion across the Channel.

As Yovell had mildly suggested, 'If that is so, Sir Richard, then you are the senior officer in the Mediterranean.'

Bolitho had barely considered it. But if true, it meant one thing to him. When the enemy came his way he would need to ask no one what he must do. It made the weight of command seem more appealing.

One forenoon as he took his walk on the quarterdeck he saw Lieutenant Parns moving along a gangway, his arm strapped to his side, his steps unsteady while he gauged the rise and fall of the hull. He appeared to have withdrawn more into himself since Haven's attack with intent to murder him. Keen had said that he was well content to have him as his senior, but had not known him before so could not make a comparison.

Parns moved slowly to the lee side of the quarterdeck and clung to a stay to watch some seabirds swooping and diving alongside.

Bolitho walked across from the weather side. 'How do you feel»'

Parns tried to straighten his back but winced and apologised. 'It is slow progress, Sir Richard.' He stared up at the bulging sails, the tiny figures working amongst and high above them. Til feel a mite better when I know I can climb up there again.'

Bolitho studied his strong, gipsy profile. A ladies' man? An enigma'

Parns saw his scrutiny and said awkwardly, 'May I thank you for allowing me to remain aboard, Sir Richard. I am less than useless at the moment.'

'Captain Keen made the final decision.'

Parns nodded, his eyes lost in memory. 'He makes this old ship come alive.' He hesitated, as if measuring the confidence. 'I was sorry to hear of your trouble in London, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho looked at the blue water and tensed as his damaged eye misted slightly in the moist air.

'Nelson has a saying, I believe.' It was like quoting one of Adam's favourites. 'The boldest measures are usually the safest.'

Parns stood back as Keen appeared below the poop-deck, but added, 'I wish you much joy, Sir Richard. Both of you."

Keen joined him by the nettings. 'We shall sight Malta tomorrow in the forenoon watch.' He glanced over at the master's powerful figure. 'Mr Penhahgon assures me.'

Bolitho smiled. 'I was speaking with the first lieutenant. A strange fellow.'

Keen laughed. 'It is wrong, I know, to jest on it, but I have met captains I would have dearly liked to shoot. But never the other way about!'

Down by the boat-tier Allday turned as he heard their laughter. Keen's old coxswain had been killed aboard their last ship, Argonaute. Allday had selected a new man for him, but secretly wished it was his son.

Keen's coxswain was named Tojohns, and he had been captain of the foretop. He glanced aft with him and said, 'A new ship since he stepped aboard.' He studied Allday curiously. 'You've known him a long while then?'

Allday smiled. 'A year or two. He'll do me, an' he's good for Sir Richard, that's the thing.'

Allday thought about their parting at Portsmouth Point. The people cheering and waving their hats, the women smiling fit to burst. It had to work this time. He frowned as the other coxswain broke into his thoughts.

Tojohns asked, 'Why did you pick me?'

Allday gave a lazy grin. Tojohns was a fine seaman and knew how to put himself about in a fight. He was not in the least like old Hogg, Keen's original coxswain. Chalk and cheese. What they said about me and Stockdale.

Allday said,' 'Cause you talk too much¹'

Tojohns laughed but fell silent as a passing midshipman glanced sharply at him. It was hard to accept his new role. He would no longer have to be up there at the shrill of every call, fighting wild canvas with his foretopmen. Like Allday he was apart from all that. Somebody, for the first time.

'Mind you.' Allday watched him gravely. 'Whatever you sees down aft, you keep it to yerself, right, matey?'

Tojohns nodded. Down aft. Yes, he was somebody.

Six bells chimed out from Hyperion's forecastle and Captain Valentine Keen touched his hat to Bolitho, barely able to suppress a smile.

'The master was right about our arrival here, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho raised his telescope to scan the familiar walls and batteries of Valletta. 'Only just.'

It had been a lengthy passage from Gibraltar, over eight days to log the weary twelve hundred miles. It had given Keen time to impress his methods on the whole ship, but had filled Bolitho with misgivings at the forthcoming meeting with Hernck.

He said slowly, 'Only three ships-of-the-hne, Val.' He had recognised Hernck's flagship Benbow almost as soon as the masthead lookouts. Once his own flagship, and like Hyperion, full of memories. Keen would be remembering her for very different reasons. Here he had faced a court of enquiry presided over by Herrick. It could have ruined him, but for Bolitho's intervention. Past history? It seemed unlikely he would ever forget.

Bolitho said, 'I can make out the frigate yonder, anchored beyond Benbow.' He had been afraid that she would have been sent elsewhere. She was named La Mouette, a French prize taken off Toulon while Bolitho had been at Antigua. She was a small vessel of only twenty-six guns, but beggars could not be choosers. Any frigate was welcome at this stage of the war against the new cat-and-mouse methods used by the French.

Keen said, 'But it raises our line of battle to eight.' He smiled. 'We have managed with far less in the past.'

Jenour stood slightly apart, supervising the signals midshipmen with their bright flags strewn about in apparent disorder.

Bolitho crossed to the opposite side to watch as the next astern, Thynne's Obdurate, took in more sail and tacked slowly after her admiral.

He pictured Herrick in Benbow, watching perhaps as the five major ships of Bolitho's squadron moved ponderously on a converging tack in readiness to anchor. It was very hot, and Bolitho had seen the sunlight flash on many telescopes amongst the anchored ships. Would Herrick be regretting this meeting, he wondered? Or thinking how their friendship had been born out of battle and a near mutiny in that other war against the American rebels?

He said, 'Very well, Mr Jenour, you may signal now.'

He glanced at Keen's profile. 'We shall just beat eight bells, Val, and so save Mr Penhaligon's reputation!'

'All acknowledged, sir!'

As the signal was briskly hauled to the deck, the ships faced up to the feeble breeze and dropped anchor.

Bolitho said, 'I have to go aft. I shall require my barge directly."

Keen faced him. 'You'll not wait for the rear-admiral to come aboard, Sir Richard?'

Keen must have guessed that he was going to visit Benbow mainly to avoid having to greet Herrick with all the usual formalities. Their last meeting had been across the court's table. When next they met it would have to be as man-to-man. For both their sakes.

'Old friends do not need to rest on tradition, Val.' Bolitho hoped it sounded more convincing than it felt.

He tried to push it from his mind. Herrick had been here a long time; he might well have news of the enemy. Intelligence was everything. Without the little scraps of information gathered by the patrols and casual encounters they were helpless.

He heard Allday calling hoarsely to his barge crew, the creak of tackles as the boat, soon followed by others, was swayed up and over the gangway.

A few local craft were already approaching the ships, their hulls crammed with cheap wares to tempt the sailors to part with their money. Like Portsmouth and any other seaport, there would be women too for the land-starved men if the captains turned a blind eye. It must be hard for any man to accept, Bolitho thought. The officers came and went as duty permitted, but only trusted hands and those of the press-gangs were ever allowed to set foot ashore. Month in and year out, it was a marvel there had not been more outbreaks of rebellion in the fleet.

He thought of Catherine as he had left her. Keen would be thinking the same about Zenoria. It would be ten thousand times worse if they could not meet until the war had ended, or they had been thrown on the beach as rejected cripples, like the one-legged man.

He went to his cabin and collected some letters which had been brought on board Firefly at the last moment. For Herrick. He gave a grim smile. Like bearing gifts.

Ozzard pattered round him, his eyes everywhere, to make sure that Bolitho had forgotten nothing.

It made Bolitho think of Catherine's face when he had presented her with the fan Ozzard had cleaned.

She had said, 'Keep it. It is all I have to give you. Have it by you. Then I shall be near when you need me.'

He sighed and walked out past the sentry and Keen's open cabin door, where fresh white paint disguised where Haven's pistol had been fired. Haven was lucky that Parris was still alive.

Or was he? His career was wrecked, and there would be nothing waiting for him when he eventually reached his home.

He walked into the bright sunlight and saw the Royal Marines assembled at the entry port, boatswain's mates with their silver calls, Keen and Jenour ready to pay their respects.

Major Adams of the Royal Marines raised his sword and barked:

'Guard ready, sir!'

Keen looked at Bolitho. 'Barge alongside, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho raised his hat to the quarterdeck and saw bare-backed seamen working aloft on the mizzen yard peering down at him, their feet dangling m space.

One ship. One company.

Bolitho hurried down to the barge. The memories would have to wait.

Rear-Admiral Thomas Herrick stood with his hands grasped behind his back and watched the other ships anchoring, while the wind fell away to leave their sails almost empty. Gunsmoke from exchanged salutes drifted towards the shore, and Herrick tensed as he saw the green barge being lowered alongside Hyperion almost as soon as the Jack was hoisted forward.

Captain Hector Gossage remarked, 'It seems that the vice-admiral is coming to us immediately, sir.'

Herrick grunted. There were so many new faces in his command, and his flag captain had only been with him for a few months. His predecessor, Dewar, had gone home m ill health and Herrick still missed him.

Herrick said, 'Prepare to receive him. Full guard. You know what to do.'

He wanted to be left alone, to think. When he had received his new orders from Sir Owen Godschale at the Admiralty, Herrick had thought of little else. The last time he had met Bolitho had been here in the Mediterranean when Benbow had been under heavy attack from Jobert's squadron. Re-united in battle, friends meeting against the heartless terms of war. But afterwards, when Bolitho had sailed for England, Herrick had thought a great deal about the court of enquiry, how Bolitho had cursed them after he had heard of Inch's death. Hernck still believed that Bolitho's hurt and anger had been directed at him, not the anonymous court.

He thought of Godschale's personal letter, which had accompanied the changed orders. Hernck had already learned of the liaison between Bolitho and the woman he had known as Catherine Pareja. He had always felt ill-at-ease with her, out of his depth. A proud, uninhibited woman. In his eyes she lacked modesty, humility. He thought of his dear, loving Dulcie at their new house in Kent. Not a bit like her at all.

How brave Dulcie had been when she had been told finally that she could not bear him any children. She had said softly, 'If only we had met earlier, Thomas. Maybe we would have had a fine son to follow you into the navy.'

He thought of Bolitho's life in Falmouth, the same old grey house where he had been entertained when Bolitho had commanded Phalarope, and he had risen to become his first lieutenant. It seemed like a century ago.

Hernck had always been stocky, but he had filled out comfortably since he had married Dulcie, and had risen to the unbelievable height of rear-admiral as well. He had been out here so long that his round, honest face was almost the colour of mahogany, which made his bright blue eyes and the streaks of grey in his hair seem all the more noticeable.

What could Richard Bolitho be thinking of He had a lovely wife and daughter he could be proud of. Any serving officer could envy his record, fights won at cost to himself, but never failing to hold his men's values close to his heart. His sailors had called him Equality Dick, a nickname taken up by the popular newsheets ashore. But some of those were telling a very different story now. Of the vice-admiral who cared more for a lady than his own reputation.

Godschale had skirted round it very well in his letter.

'I know you are both old friends, but you may find it difficult now to serve under him when you were expecting quite rightly to be relieved.'

By saying nothing, Godschale had said everything. A warning or a threat? You could take it either way.

He heard the marines falling in at the entry port, their officer snapping out commands as he inspected the guard.

Captain Gossage rejoined him and watched the array of anchored ships.

He said, 'They look fine enough, sir.'

Hernck nodded. His own ships needed to be relieved, if only for a quick overhaul and complete restoring. He had only been able to release one vessel at a time for watering or to gather new victuals, and the sudden change of orders to place him under Bolitho's flag had left everyone surprised or resentful.

Gossage was saying, 'I served with Edmund Haven a few years ago, sir.'

'Haven?' Hernck pulled his mind back. 'Bolitho's flag captain.'

Gossage nodded. 'A dull fellow, I thought. Only got Hyperion because she was little more than a hulk.'

Hernck dug his chin into his neckcloth. 'I'd not let Sir Richard hear you say that. It is not a view he would share.'

The officer-of-the-watch called, 'The barge is casting off, sir!'

'Very well. Man the side.'

In her last letter Dulcie had said little about Belinda. They had been in touch, but it seemed likely that any confidences would be kept secret. He smiled sadly. Even from him.

Hernck thought too of the girl Bolitho had once loved and married – Cheney Seton. Hernck had been at the marriage. It had been his terrible mission to carry the news of her tragic death to Bolitho at sea. He had known that Belinda was not another like her. But Bolitho had seemed settled, especially after he had been presented with a daughter. Hernck tried to keep things straight. It had nothing to do with the cruel fact that Dulcie was beyond the age to give him children. Even as he arranged his thoughts he recognised the he. Could almost hear the comparison. Why them and not us?

And now there was Catherine. Rumours were always blown up out of all proportion. Like Nelson's much-vaunted affair. Later, Nelson would regret it. When he laid down his sword for the last time, there would be many old enemies eager to forget his triumphs and his worth. Hernck came of a poor family and knew how hard it was to rise above any superior's dislike, let alone outright hostility. Bolitho had saved him from it, had given him the chance he would otherwise never have had. There was no denying that. And yet -

Gossage straightened his hat. 'Barge approaching, sir!'

A voice yelled, 'Clear the upper deck¹'

It would not look right to have the gundeck and forecastle crowded with idlers when Bolitho came aboard. But they were there all the same, despite some tempting smells from the galley funnel.

Hernck gripped his sword and pressed it to his side. Old friends. None closer. How could it happen like this?

The calls shrilled and the Royal Marine fliers struck into Heart of Oak, while the guard slapped their muskets to the present in a small cloud of pipeclay.

Bolitho stood framed against the sea's silky blue and doffed his hat.

He had not changed, Hernck thought. And as far as he could see, he had no grey hairs, although he was a year older than Hernck himself.

Bolitho nodded to the Royal Marines and said, 'Smart guard, Major.' Then he strode across to Herrick and thrust out his hand.

Herri ck seized it, knowing how important this moment was, perhaps to Bolitho as well.

'Welcome, Sir Richard!'

Bolitho smiled, his teeth white against his sunburned skin.

'It is good to see you, Thomas. Though I fear you must hate this change of plans.'

Together they walked aft to the great cabin while the guard was dismissed, and Allday cast off the barge to idle comfortably within Benbow's tat shadow.

In the cabin it seemed cool after the quarterdeck, and Hernck watched as Bolitho seated himself by the stern windows, saw his eyes moving around while he recalled it as it had once been. His own flagship. There had been other changes too. That last battle had made certain of that.

The servant brought some wine and Bolitho said, 'It seems that Our Nel is still in the Atlantic.'

Herrick swallowed his wine without noticing it. 'So they say. I have heard that he may return to England and haul down his flag, as it looks unlikely that the French will venture out in strength. Not this year anyway.'

'Is that what you think'' Bolitho examined the glass. Herrick was on edge. More than he had expected. 'It is possible, of course, that the enemy may slip through the Strait again and run for Toulon.'

Hernck frowned. 'If so, we shall have 'em. Caught between us and the main fleet.'

'But suppose Villeneuve intends to break out from another direction? By the time their lordships got word to us, he would be beating up the Channel, while we remain kicking our heels in ignorance.'

Hernck stirred uneasily. 'I am keeping up my patrols -'

'I knew you would. I see you are short of a ship?'

Herrick was startled. 'Absolute, yes. I sent her to Gibraltar. She's so rotten, I wonder she remains afloat.' He seemed to stiffen. 'It was my responsibility. I did not know then that you were assuming total command.'

Bolitho smiled. 'Easy, Thomas. It was not meant as a criticism. I might have done the same.'

Herrick looked at the deck. Might. He said, 'I shall be pleased to hear of your intentions.'

'Presently, Thomas. Perhaps we might sup together?'

Hernck looked up and saw the grey eyes watching him. Pleading with him?

He replied, 'I'd relish that.' He faltered. 'You could bring Captain Haven if you wish, although I understand -'

Bolitho stared at him. Of course. He would not have heard yet.

'Haven is under arrest, Thomas. In due course I expect he will stand trial for attempting to murder his first lieutenant.' He almost smiled at Hernck's astonishment. It probably sounded completely insane. He added, 'Haven imagined that the lieutenant was having an affair with his wife. There was a child. He was wrong, as it turned out. But the damage was done.'

Herrick refilled his glass and spilled some wine on the table without heeding it.

'I have to speak out, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho watched him gravely. 'No rank or title 'twixt us, Thomas – unless you need a barricade for your purpose?'

Hernck exclaimed, 'This woman. What can she mean to you except -'

Bolitho said quietly, 'You and I are friends, Thomas. Let us remain as such.' He looked past him and pictured Catherine in the shadows. He said, 'I am in love with her. Is that so hard to understand'' He tried to keep the bitterness from his tone. 'How would you feel, Thomas, if some stranger referred to your Dulcic as this woman, eh?'

Hernck gripped the arms of his chair. 'God damn it, Richard, why do you twist the truth? You know, you must know what everyone is saying, that you are besotted by her, have thrown your wife and child to the winds so that you can lose yourself, and to hell with all who care for you!'

Bolitho thought briefly of the grand house in London. 'I've thrown nobody to the winds. I have found someone I can love. Reason does not come into it.' He stood up and crossed to the windows. 'You must know I do not act lightly in such matters." He swung round. 'Are you judging me too? Who are you -Christ?'

They faced each other like enemies. Then Bolitho said, 'I need her, and I pray that she may always need me. Now let that be an end to it, man!'

Hernck took several deep breaths and refilled both glasses.

'I shall never agree ' He fixed Bolitho with the bright blue eyes he had always remembered. 'But I'll not let it put my duty at risk.'

Bolitho sat down again 'Duty, Thomas? Don't speak to me of that. I've had a bellyful of late.' He made up his mind. 'This combined squadron is our responsibility. I am not usurping your leadership and that you must know. I don't share their lordships' attitude on the French, that is if they indeed have one. Pierre Villeneuve is a man of great intelligence, he is not one to go by the book of fighting instructions. He needs to be cautious on the one hand, for if he fails in his ultimate mission to clear the Channel for invasion, then he must die at the guillotine.'

Hernck muttered, 'Barbarians¹'

Bolitho smiled. 'We must explore every possibility and keep our ships together except for the patrols. When the time comes, it will be a hard sail to find and support Nelson and brave Colling-wood.' He put down his glass very slowly. 'You see, I do not believe that the French will wait until next year. They have run the course.' He looked through the sun's glare towards the anchored ships. 'So have we.'

Herrick felt safer on familiar ground. 'Who do you have as flag captain?'

Bolitho watched him and said dryly, 'Captain Keen. There is none better. Now that you are promoted beyond my reach, Thomas.'

Herrick did not hide his dismay. 'So we are all drawn together?'

Bolitho nodded. 'Remember Lieutenant Browne – how he called us We Happy Few?'

Herrick frowned. 'I don't need reminding.'

'Well, think on it, Thomas, my friend, there are even fewer of us now!'

Bolitho stood up and reached for his hat. 'I must return to Hyperion. Perhaps later -' He left it unsaid. Then he placed the packet of letters for Herrick on the table.

'From England, Thomas. There will be more news, I expect.' Their eyes met and Bolitho ended quietly, 'I wanted you to hear it from me, as a friend, rather than assault your ears with more gossip from the sewers.'

Herrick protested, 'I did not mean to hurt you. It is for you that I care.'

Bolitho shrugged. 'We will fight the war together, Thomas. It seems that will have to suffice.'

They stood side-by-side at the entry port while Allday manoeuvred the barge alongside once again. Allday had never been caught out before and would be fuming about it.

Like everyone else he must have expected him to remain longer with his oldest friend.

Bolitho walked towards the entry port as the marine guard presented their muskets to the salute, the bayonets shining like ice in the glare.

He caught his shoe in a ring-bolt, and would have fallen but for a lieutenant who thrust out his arm to save him.

'Thank you, sir!'

He saw Herrick standing at him with sudden anxiety, the major of marines swaying beside the guard with his sword still rigid in his gloved hand.

Herrick exclaimed, 'Are you well, Sir Richard?'

Bolitho looked at the nearest ship and gritted his teeth as the mist partly covered his eye. A close thing. He had been so gripped with emotion and disappointment at this visit that he had allowed his guard to fall. As in a sword-fight, it only took a second.

He replied, 'Well enough, thank you.'

They looked at one another. 'It shall not happen again.'

Some seamen had climbed into the shrouds and began to cheer as the barge pulled strongly from the shadow and into the sunlight. Allday swung the tiller bar and glanced quickly at Bolitho's squared shoulders, the familiar ribbon which drew his hair back above the collar. Allday could remember it no other way.

He listened to the cheers, carried on by another of the seventy-fours close by.

Fools, he thought savagely. What the hell did they know? They had seen nothing, knew even less.

But he had watched, and had felt it even from the barge. Two friends with nothing to say, nothing to span the gap which had yawned between them like a moat around a fortress.

He saw the stroke oarsman watching Bolitho instead of his loom and glared at him until he paled under his stare.

Allday swore that he would never take anyone at face value again. For or against me, that'll be my measure of a man.

Bolitho twisted round suddenly and shaded his eyes to look at him.

'It's all right, Allday.' He saw his words sink in. 'So be easy.'

Allday forgot his watching bargemen and grinned awkwardly. Bolitho had read his thoughts even with his back turned.

Allday said, 'I was rememberin', Sir Richard.'

'I know that. But at the moment I am too full to speak on it.'

The barge glided to the main chains and Bolitho glanced up at the waiting side-party.

He hesitated. 'I sometimes think we may hope for too much, old friend.'

Then he was gone, and the shrill of calls announced his arrival on deck.

Allday shook his head and muttered, 'I never seen him like this afore.'

'What's that, Cox'n?'

Allday swung round, his eyes blazing. 'And youl Watch your stroke in future, or I'll have the hide off ye!'

He forgot the bargemen and stared hard at the towering tumblehome of the ship's side. Close to, you could see the gouged scars of battle beneath the smart buff and black paintwork.

Like us, he thought, suddenly troubled. Waiting for the last fight. When it came, you would need all the friends you could find.