Man of War

16. No Drums… No Quarter

"Ship cleared for action, sir. All pumps manned, boats lowered and towing astern."

"Thank you, Mr. Stirling. That was smartly done." Adam unclenched each fist beneath his coat, aware for the first time of the force of his grip. The first lieutenant's tall figure was only a vague shape by the quarterdeck rail, his powerful voice formal, unperturbed, giving no hint of doubt or anxiety. Perhaps that was his strength.

Adam turned and stared into the darkness. What I need.

Despite the care and the supervision, every sound had seemed exaggerated while seamen and marines had crept between and above decks to prepare for battle if the need arose. Screens taken down to open the ship from bow to stern, unwanted mess deck clutter tossed overboard, each gun tackle checked and checked again, powder and shot laid in readiness. Touch, familiarity, the results of training, skill and some hard knocks along the way for old Jacks and new hands alike. Some one had dropped a handspike on the deck beside one of the long eighteen pounders Beyond the gently swaying hull nobody would hear it. But to the men on deck it sounded like a thunderclap.

Even the compass light, invisible from a few paces away, seemed to shine like a beacon, but reflected only in the eyes of the senior helmsman.

In his mind Adam could picture Athena'?" slow progress, her course to the southwest, the sea empty. Their solitary consort, the frigate Hostile, was holding well up to windward, ready to dash down in support of her flagship if another vessel, friend or enemy, showed herself when dawn eventually broke.

Hours yet; they were still only halfway through the middle watch. It was uncanny to sense the people around him. Faces he had come to know, some better than others, always held at a distance. A captain had little choice.

Hard to believe there were over four hundred souls scattered around and beneath his feet, and each in his own fashion measuring the distance from the land which, hour by hour, was reaching out on either bow. The old hands swore they could smell it; the experienced ones like Fraser the sailing master and Mudge the boatswain perceived the hazards like marks on a chart.

Adam heard boots on the damp planking, a whispered word from Lieutenant Kirkland of the Royal Marines to one of his sergeants. Half of Athena's marines had been sent over to the Villa de Bilbao as part of the attacking force. Kirkland was no doubt pondering what would happen if his superior, the debonair Captain Souter, failed to return from the proposed venture.

Adam took a few paces to the weather rail and back again. The slavers might already have quit San Jose; what would Bethune do then? And how, in such a crowded ship, could the vice-admiral manage to remain so distant? The optimism was no longer evident, and his manner was more abrupt, especially toward his young flag lieutenant.

He loosened his fingers, which had once more clenched into fists. It was a wild scheme, but all they had. He thought of their reunion with the prize ship and the frigate Audacity. A wild scheme, maybe, but so far time and weather had been on their side.

He wondered what Audacity's captain was thinking as he waited for the first light of dawn. And young David Napier in his new role.

What he wanted, or was it for my own satisfaction?

His fingers brushed against the gold lace on his sleeve. It was his best coat, from the same tailor in Plymouth who had helped transform an eager boy into a King's officer.

He paced slowly along the deck, his feet avoiding tackles and ring bolts without conscious effort.

There would be no line of battle. No heavy ship-to-ship encounter like those other times.

Something his uncle had told him. "They will want to see you,

Adam. Their captain. To know you're there with them when the iron begins to fly."

He touched the lace again and felt his jaw tighten. Pride or conceit? He could almost hear James Tyacke's voice. And for what?

He felt some one move past him and knew it was Jago.

"I never care for the waiting, Luke."

Jago watched him in the darkness. So he feels it too. The ship rising above them, the clatter of blocks and rigging, the occasional crack of canvas in a gust of wind over the quarter. Like sailing a ghost ship into nowhere. But Jago used his freedom to come and go as he pleased to keep note of such things: the lines on the chart, the quiet discussions between the sailing master and his mates, and the captain. It would probably all blow over. Jago was sickened by the way he had seen slaves treated. But it was a fact of life. It was not a sailor's concern, nothing to die for. Or was it?

He thought of young Napier, somewhere up ahead in the little Audacity. He had done well, to all accounts, and he had only been aboard for a dog watch. He smiled to himself. Mister Napier indeed!

Adam called, "Take over, Mr. Stirling. I am going below for a while."

He hesitated, and heard Stirling answer, "I'll know where you are, sir."

Adam turned on his heel.

"Come with me."

Jago followed him to the companion way. The same ship, but so different. He should be used to it. How many fights? Sometimes all the ships and the people seemed to overlap in his memory. The din and excitement of battle; and always the pain. There was never time for fear. He grinned. The bloody officers saw to that!

Adam walked past the guns, hearing the faint squeak of breeching ropes as the hull tilted to wind and sea, the water slapping beneath the sealed ports. Tiny, shuttered lanterns gave light to the lounging figures of the waiting crews. The air was close and humid between decks, and he saw that most of the men had already stripped off their shirts, their bodies shining faintly in the feeble lights like statuary.

Feet shuffled, and faces came into the glow as men realized their captain was on one of his unheralded rounds. Some wondered why he bothered, when his word was the law which meant life or death to any one he chose. And why he was wearing his dress uniform when it would mark him out to any sniper if the time came, as it had done for others, among them his famous uncle, and Nelson himself.

A voice called, "Think us'll fight, zur?"

Adam stopped. "Fellow Cornishman, eh?"

The man snowed his teeth in a broad grin. "Helston, zur, not too long a walk from your part o' God's county, zur! "

Jago leaned forward to listen, to share it in some way. Like that time at Algiers, when he had watched his face after the fight, and had seen through and beyond the thing they called courage.

Adam looked past the line of black breeches, the powder and shot. Gone were the mess tables which were normally fixed between each pair of guns. Everyday things, the hooks where a man could sling his hammock: overcrowded, and yet each man an individual.

Now there was no war, and the enemy was unfamiliar. But to the ordinary Jack, it made no difference when the guns were run out.

Jago thought of the men put ashore, unwanted in peace. He had seen plenty of them on pier and jetty, watching the ships, and 'swinging the lamp' with each mug of ale.

Did they remember, he wondered, how they had cursed the navy and the masters who walked the quarterdeck in their fine uniforms?

Adam said quietly, "I think we shall fight. The enemy flies no flag, nor does he uphold any cause except greed and tyranny over the helpless. So when the time comes, think well on that! "

The man from Helston called after them, "Us Cornish lads'll show 'em, Cap'n! "

There was a burst of cheering, joined by seamen at the guns on the opposite side, few of whom could have heard what their captain had said.

A midshipman dodged around the guns until he had caught Adam's eye.

"Beg pardon, sir, but Sir Graham sends his compliments, and would you join him aft?"

"Thank you, Mr. Manners. I'll come directly." A young, eager face. Uplifted, as if he had just been told something inspiring.

Jago walked with him to the main companion. Beyond the small lights, the ship was still in darkness. Waiting.

He realized that Bolitho had turned to face him, as if they were quite alone, the ship deserted.

"Is that all it takes, Luke? These men don't even know what we are doing here, or why some will die, as surely they will! "

Jago stood his ground, knowing it was important, for both of them.

"You spoke fair, Cap'n. Somebody's got to do it, an' if it wasn't us it would be some other poor Jack. That's the way it goes, an' nothing'll ever change it! "

He stared down as Adam grasped his arm, and for an instant thought he had at last gone too far.

But Adam let his hand fall to his side, and said, "So let's be about it, eh?" As if another voice had spoken.

The ship was ready. Choice did not come into it.

Lieutenant Francis Troubridge winced as his shin scraped against a cask propped by a hatch coaming to catch the unwary. He had heard the first lieutenant giving orders for every available barrel or bucket to be filled with sea water in case of fire. Even the empty boat tier had been lined with canvas, and more water pumped into it as a precaution.

He had mentioned it to Fetch, the gunner. Had it been light enough to see his weathered face, he might have discovered amusement there. Or pity. Old Fetch, who had been at sea all his life, since the age of nine it was rumoured, had been present at several major battles, and had been a gun captain in the Bellerophon at Trafalgar, in the thick of it.

Fetch would be down there in the main magazine now, slopping about in his old felt slippers, so as not to make a spark or two, as he often said. One spark would be enough; the whole ship could be blasted apart.

"Them buggers might 'ave furnaces goin' when we gets there." He had shaken his grey head. "Bated shot can be very nasty, sir."

Troubridge had already served in a ship of the line, the Superb, under the famous Captain Keats. He had never forgotten the first time they had cleared for action, the exhilaration, nerves tingling, as if he were being caught and carried on a tide race. Men running to their stations, commands barked from every side, the squeal of calls, but above all the urgent, insistent rattle of the drums beating to quarters.

Fetch and some of the others had experienced it many times, seen the faces of messmates and gun crews, seamen and marines, all welded into a single force, like a weapon. Troubridge had been only a midshipman in the Superb, but he had never forgotten the thrill and indescribable awe of that moment.

He reached the quarterdeck and strode aft to the poop.

This was so very different. Unreal. The ship thrusting into a sea without stars or horizon. Figures pushing past, voices hushed, breathing like old men, groping at cordage and cold metal, often urged on by hard hands and whispered threats.

"This way, sir." Bowles, the cabin servant, loomed from nowhere and plucked at his sleeve.

Troubridge groped his way into the cabin and peered around. Two twelve pounders shared this space where the captain's private quarters had been. The screens were gone; the place where they had talked together, shared a drink or spoken occasionally of home, was now just an extension of the hull. He thought of the portrait he had seen here, the living face he had seen when he and Bolitho had burst into that tawdry studio in London. The lovely body chained and helpless, awaiting her fate. He saw Bowles move toward him and guessed he had spoken her name aloud. Andromeda.

Would Bolitho be thinking of her at this very moment? Wondering, groping for hope, when all he had before him was duty and obedience?

Bowles said in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'm going down to the sick bay shortly, sir. Make me self useful, maybe. Anythin' I can fetch you afore I shove off?"

Troubridge shook his head. If he took a drink now, he might not be able to stop.

Aloud he said, "It's not like going into action at all, is it?"

Bowles seemed to relax. He had his measure. It always helped.

"I 'eard Mr. Fraser tellin' some one of a battle 'e was in a while back, with the Dons it was that time, when it took all day to close with the enemy. Imagine, all day, the Spanish tops' is crawling up an' over the sea like they was enjoyin' it! "

Another shape came out of the darkness. "Sir Graham, John! " He heard a gulp, and, "Sorry, sir, didn't see you 'ere! "

It helped to rally Troubridge more than the unseen speaker would ever know.

Bethune strode past, ducking beneath the deck head beams, his voice sharp, impatient.

"I've just sent for the captain."

Bowles said, "He's on the lower gun deck, Sir Graham. I sent word…"

Bethune said something under his breath as the deck swayed over, through an invisible trough. Troubridge heard glass clink against the admiral's buttons, and thought he could smell cognac.

He said, "The wind's holding, Sir Graham. At this rate we should make our landfall as estimated."

Bethune snapped, "When I want advice I shall ask for it, Flags! And when I want the captain I do not expect to have to go searching for him! "

Troubridge listened to spray pattering across the skylight. Perhaps the wind was getting up, or changing? That would throw all their careful plans into disarray.

He imagined the anchorage, as it was marked on the chart, as it was described by the sailing master and, of all people, George Crawford the surgeon, who had visited San Jose in his first ship. It was little enough, but sailors had survived on less.

Troubridge was calm again. It had given him time. This was a mood in which he had never seen Bethune before. A hardness which defied his normally easy nature.

Bethune was saying curtly, "I'm not sure about Audacity, and Captain Munro. It is asking rather a lot of him. Young, impetuous…" He turned as voices came from the quarterdeck.

Troubridge remembered the room at the Admiralty, the paintings of ships in battle. A time when Bethune had been young, and probably impetuous himself.

Bethune said, "Ah, Adam, just a word about a few points. In the chart room, I think."

Composed and apparently relaxed, another change.

Troubridge touched the curved hanger at his side.

He was suddenly reminded of Bethune's previous flag lieutenant. They had hardly spoken but for the formalities of handing over the appointment. Angry, resentful; looking back it was hard to determine. He had been too startled by his own unexpected advance up the ladder.

But the outgoing flag lieutenant had noticed the well-shaped and balanced hanger, which had been a gift from Troubridge's father when he had been commissioned, it seemed a lifetime ago. Long forgotten and dismissed from his mind, his parting remark now rang clearly in Troubridge's memory.

"You'll not need that while you serve Sir Graham Bethune, my young friend! I doubt you'll draw close enough to a real enemy! "

He hesitated, the muffled shipboard noises and occasional shadowy movements very stark and real. Something unknown and different was gnawing at him. He recognized it as fear.

The chart room seemed to be filled with people, under unshuttered lights almost blinding after the stuffy darkness. Eraser the sailing master and Harper, his senior mate, Vincent the signals midshipman, stiff-faced with concentration as he scribbled some notes, probably for the first lieutenant. Two boatswain's mates and Tarrant, the third lieutenant, who appeared to be cleaning a telescope.

They all faded away as Bethune leaned both hands on the table and stared at the uppermost chart. Fraser watched impassively. Nobody, not even an admiral, could fault his tidy calculations and clearly printed notes.

"Show me."

Eraser's big brass dividers touched the chart and the neat, converging lines of their course. The points of the dividers stopped above the nearest line of latitude. " San Jose, Sir Graham." His eyes flickered briefly to Bethune's profile, but gave nothing away. "Two hours if the wind holds."

Troubridge found that he was gripping the hanger and pressing it against his hip as if to steady himself. Two hours, the sailing master had said. The little frigate Audacity would begin her mock attack. He wanted to say something, to wipe his eyes in the stinging glare.

Two hours. On the chart the land still looked many miles distant.

Some one said, "Captain's coming, sir."

Troubridge realized for the first time that Bethune's personal servant was also present, in a corner by the chart rack, his eyes shaded by his hat, his mouth a tight line. A man who showed little emotion at any time. Efficient, discreet, probably closer to Bethune than any of them.

Shutters squeaked and then closed again. Troubridge saw the captain framed against the door and the after guard musket rack, now empty. He had known Bolitho for so short a time, only since Bethune had requested his appointment as his flag captain. Commanded would be nearer the truth.

There was never any doubt about it. He had heard one of the old clerks remark, "It's not what you know in Admiralty, it's who you know! " Troubridge looked at Bolitho now. A face he would always remember. Dark eyes, sometimes withdrawn, sometimes hostile, but without the arrogance he had seen and found in many. He recalled Bethune's comment about Audacity's young captain: 'impetuous'. Perhaps that, too, but not one to sacrifice the men he commanded, and led.

He started as Bethune remarked, "When you are with us, Flags, I want to clarify a few final points."

Some one chuckled, and Adam Bolitho smiled directly at him, and said, "Waiting is often the worst part, and that is all but over." He looked at the chart as if his mind was momentarily somewhere else. "I recall reading an account of the opening engagement at Trafalgar. A young lieutenant wrote of it to his parents: here began the din of war." They watched his hand as it touched the chart by Eraser's dividers. "So let us begin…"

Dugald Eraser thought afterwards it was something he would record in his log.

Even though most of Audacity's seamen and marines had been standing to throughout the night, or snatching brief moments to doze at their stations, the crash of her bow-chaser came as a shock. Some ran to the shrouds or climbed the gangways above the tethered guns as if expecting to see something; others, the more experienced hands, glanced at their companions as if to confirm what they already knew.

It was not just another exercise or drill; the plan outlined by the captain through his officers was real. It was now.

A few gulls, early scavengers which had glided down to meet the ship, wheeled angrily away, their screams following the echo of the first shot. They had doubtless flown out from the land. They were that close.

A gun captain pressed his hands on the breech of his twelve-pounder and muttered, "That's right, tell the whole bloody world what we're about! "

The air was warm, his shirt clinging to his skin, but the gun was like ice. He heard somebody laugh nearby and added, "Not much longer, my old beauty! "

On the quarterdeck with one hand loosely touching the rail, Audacity's captain watched the sky. The first hint of a new day; some one less experienced would scarcely have noticed it. In no time now they would see their heavy companion, and all caution would be tossed aside. The real game was about to begin.

He stared along the length of his ship, seeing the waiting gun crews, the sanded decks, the charges ready to be tamped home down each muzzle. Yet there was only darkness. He prided himself that he knew every scar and seam, the faces of the men who would lead, and others who would leap into a gap if those first men fell.

His first lieutenant was beside him; other figures were close by, messengers and boatswain's mates ready to pipe and carry every command to the point of need. Of strength; and it would all come from aft, from their captain.

He could hear the sailing master murmuring to one of his men. He would be missing his senior mate, Mowbray, who had been wounded in the schooner's capture. He was down in the sick bay and the surgeon had already told Munro of his attempts to quit his cot and go on deck where he belonged.

He looked up at the spiralling masthead and felt his lips go dry. He could see the maintop, the black web of shrouds and ratlines. His best lookouts were in their precarious perches, watching, waiting to be the first to sight the heavy barque.

He thought of the officer who was in charge of the Villa de Bilbao, Roger Pointer, who had been with Captain Adam Bolitho at the commodore's meeting. He wiped his face. It seemed so long ago, and yet…

"Deck there! "

Faces peered up, and Munro heard the first lieutenant say, "Peters is first again! A bet to be settled, I think! "

There were chuckles, too.

The lookout called, "Larboard bow, sir! "

That was all, but again Munro felt a shaft of pride. There were not many ships, large or small, where quarterdeck and forecastle maintained so close a liaison.

He felt a hand touch his elbow and said quietly, "I see it, Philip."

Like a pale ghost, a curling patch of mist, then stronger as a gust of wind lifted the big ensign up and clear of the gaff, and close to it the metal of a block caught the first ray of daylight.

Dawn. Almost…

"Another gun, Philip. Some may still be asleep! "

The gun captain was ready. The bang was louder, and the echo drawn out, as if feeling the land.

It would carry on the wind, and men would be running to identify the ship being chased into their sanctuary.

Pointer and his men would be on their own once Audacity was forced to withdraw. Renegades, pirates, or slavers, it made little difference when the iron began to fly.

Munro tried to empty his mind of everything but the picture of the final approach, and how it would look to San Jose 's defenders. How it must look. Audacity was fast and agile. But she was no ship of the line like Athena. He thought of the rendezvous, and his own responsibility. The big prize was strangely transformed, with the huge insignia of a crucifix which Athena's sail maker and crew had managed to make stitched to her great foresail. Even a good lookout saw only what he expected to see. It might help convince the eyes ashore that the ship being chased by a naval patrol was indeed one of their brotherhood.

But if not…

He half turned as a light exploded high in the air before drifting down like a falling star. A rocket or flare of some kind.

He wanted to clear his throat but stopped himself with effort. The light was gone just as suddenly. He saw the chart again in his mind, hidden behind that headland where the first invaders had thrown up their defenses.

"Sou' west by west, sir! "

One of the helmsmen reached up for a spoke, and Munro realized for the first time that he could see him.

"Very well. Loose t' gallants and have the guns loaded when you are ready, Philip."

The first lieutenant looked at him, his face still in deep shadow.

"Double-shot ted sir?"

Munro saw the new midshipman, Napier, hurry past, another ensign draped over his shoulder.

He had already been in a major attack, at Algiers. Some were saying it would be the last fleet battle for all time.

Munro looked across the larboard bow and saw the prize. How could any ship so large have remained invisible until now?

He called, "Watch your step, Mr. Napier. It will be warm work today! "

Napier paused, his dirk slapping against his thigh.

Two more shots crashed across the dark water, the flashes like orange tongues. The Villa de Bilbao was playing her part, firing back at her attacker.

He heard himself murmur, "And you do the same, Captain."

Some one was shouting his name and he turned to go.

Like hearing a voice, or feeling a hand on his shoulder. It made no sense. But he was not afraid.

But… He shook himself and hurried to the call, the new flag dragging at his shoulder.

In the first light, its red cross looked like blood.

Adam Bolitho climbed on to the tightly packed hammock nettings and waited for Midshipman Vincent to hand the big signals telescope up to him. Only two hours or so since they had gathered in the chart room and tried to seek out any possible flaws in today's attack. Now it was as if a vast curtain had been rolled aside, with only a dark purple line to divide sea from sky.

He half listened to the faint shouts of command, the clatter of blocks as men threw their weight on the braces to swing the yards still further and contain the wind.

With great care he held the telescope steady, his forearm resting on hammocks stowed with particular attention, creating a barrier to withstand a musket ball or deadly splinter. If you were lucky.

He waited for the ship to lean over on the new tack and saw the land spreading away on either bow, some still lost in haze or shadow, other areas keen and bright in the first sunlight. The sea, too, was shark-blue again, the depths varying in shade like fresh paint on a canvas.

He held his breath as he saw the two other ships, the barque with every sail set, changing colour even as he watched as the morning light found her and opened up her side. Almost in line and close astern, small and graceful by comparison, the frigate appeared to be touching her.

There were more flashes, the report almost lost in shipboard sounds and the hiss of spray along the weather side.

The glass moved again and he saw the low, craggy headland, and some tiny islets directly ahead, caught in Athena's mesh of rigging. There were soundings on the chart, although any experienced sailor would give that part of the bay a wide berth. But somebody had discovered this place, had taken all the risks. He blinked to clear his eye. And some had paid dearly for it, he thought.

He tried to contain his impatience while the hull plunged heavily in an offshore swell. Then he found it again: the old fortifications, and a lower stretch of land where a slipway and some storehouses were said to be located. People, too, some of whom would be waiting and watching from the headland, and the other end of the bay where the deep moorings lay.

He saw Audacity's low hull lengthening as she changed tack yet again, her gun ports a checkered line beneath her flapping canvas. He could almost hear the yards turning to refill the sails, see men scampering up the shrouds in response to more commands. All in his mind; he had heard those sounds so often that they were part of himself, his very life.

Something made him twist round to look behind him. He saw Bethune with Troubridge at his side, pointing at the land, stabbing the air with one finger to emphasize something. Perhaps his purpose was faltering, considering the aftermath if the slave ships were already gone, and the whole operation wasted. There would be enemies who would use it against him quickly enough.

He gripped the glass again. Bethune had changed since the discussion in the chart room, and was wearing a long, dark coat with a caped collar, as if he might have worn for riding in poor weather. He remembered that Tolan had been carrying it over his arm while they were examining the chart and comparing notes with the sailing master.

Beneath his own coat his body felt hot and clammy. He glanced down at his gold lace. A ready target for any marksman, they said. Was that what Bethune thought?

Somebody said, "Wind's easin' off, sir."

He heard Stirling 's blunt response. "It's the land. Look at the pendant, man! "

Adam trained the glass once more. The others were turning now across Athena's jib boom, sails rippling in confusion as they headed toward the final approach.

There was more gunfire, a different bearing this time. The masthead lookouts would be reporting any change of play as soon as they saw anything.

He turned his head slightly and heard more shots, heavier this time. If any fell near the Villa de Bilbao they would know that the ruse had failed. He felt his jaw tighten as what seemed tiny feathers of spray floated past Audacity's stern. Close to, they would be bursting columns as tall as the frigate's counter.

He touched his coat again and saw the shop in his mind, and the boy's surprise, his pleasure.

He shifted the glass very slightly on the hammocks, and could almost feel Vincent's irritation.

He forced himself to remain quite still, moving the glass only slightly when the hull dipped over toward the brightening water.

He remembered it suddenly, as if some one had spoken of it to remind him. When he had been a child, so young he could not put a date or time to it.

He had been lying in some long grass, and his mother had been with him. There had been a line of tall trees along the edge of a nearby farm where he had sometimes done little jobs to earn some money, or be allowed to ride in one of the wagons with their huge horses.

He had seen some small clouds rising and twisting above those same trees. Up and down, never getting any closer. Somebody had laughed at his anxious questions, and then his mother had said, "It's the time of year, Adam they are only insects. Thousands of them. You mustn't worry so much! "

He spoke over his shoulder. "Fetch the first lieutenant, Mr. Vincent."

He wanted to control the rasp in his voice. "Jump to it! "

Not insects this time. He lowered the telescope and dabbed his eye with his wrist. They were tiny balls of smoke. He could imagine the urgency, the crude bellows, the fuel in the ovens changing from red to white around the shot for those hidden guns.

"Take care, David." He had spoken aloud. "For God's sake, be careful! "

"You called for me, sir?"

Adam clambered down to the deck and saw Stirling 's eyes move briefly to the stains on his breeches.

"They're heating shot. They must have sighted us earlier than we thought."

Stirling almost shrugged. "Or been warned, sir."

Adam swung round as a seaman shouted, "Audacity's been hit! " He was shaking his fist in the air, as if he could see every detail.

Adam raised the heavy telescope again and watched as Audacity's fore topmast tilted toward her bows, and then, as the rigging snapped, gathered speed down and over the side like a broken wing.

At best it would slow her down. At worst… In his mind he could still see the clouds of insects above the line of trees.

He said, "We must signal Audacity to withdraw, Sir Graham. They're heating shot at this moment." He saw Bethune's face and knew it was pointless.

Bethune brushed something from his heavy riding coat.

"They would know at once what we are doing. The Villa de Bilbao would have no time to come about. No chance at all! "

Troubridge said something but Adam did not hear what it was, only Bethune's sharp reply. "When I say so and not before! "

Adam shaded his eyes and watched the Audacity, shortening once more as she tacked past an out thrust shoulder of rocks. There were more shots, but no sign of another hit or near miss. But once in the wider part of the channel she would be within range of the main battery. He did not trust himself to look at Bethune. It was his decision; his word would be upheld. It was his responsibility. He looked again at the frigate, smaller now as she sailed into the span of the channel. And it was my suggestion.

Bethune said, "You may load and run out, Captain Bolitho. Make a signal to Hostile. Prepare for battle."

The halliards squeaked again and the signal broke from the yard. As planned.

Adam walked to the quarterdeck rail, his hands clenched beneath his coat.

He heard the sullen bang of a heavier weapon and saw the land slowly falling back to reveal the bay and the anchorage, still partly covered in mist. Or smoke.

He watched Audacity's shape lengthening again, her graceful line marred by the missing topmast. Men would be up forward, hacking the mast and cordage away, and the sodden canvas, too, before it acted like a sea anchor and dragged the hull round and across those guns.

Captain Munro would know and maybe blame himself.

The guns fired together. It was already too late.