Relentless Pursuit

10. Code Of Conduct

"CAPTAIN'S comin', sir!"

Denis O'Beirne straightened his hack and wiped his hands on a piece of rag. A seaman lay on the sickbay table, his naked limbs like wax in the spiralling lantern light. He could have been dead, but a faint heartbeat and the flickering eyelids said otherwise.

"Move him presently." O'Beirne looked at the bandaged stump and sighed inwardly. Another onearmed survivor to end up on a waterfront somewhere. But at least he was alive. He seemed to realise what his assistant had said and turned to see Captain Bolitho in the doorway, his body at a steep angle as Unrivalled leaned her shoulder into the sea, the wind strong and steady across her quarter.

"You wanted me?" I Ic glanced around the sickbay with its bottles and swabs, its smell of suffering and death. Above all, the stronger aroma of rum. The navy's cure, to kill pain, to offer hope even when there was none. He hated this place and all like it. It was stupid, but he had long since given up fighting it.

O'Beirne took it in with practised eyes. Strain, anger perhaps.

"There is someone asking to speak with you, sir. One of Paradox's men, her boatswain." He paused briefly to examine his hands. "He has not long, I fear."

Some last spark of resistance or disbelief; a dying declaration was not unknown among sailors. What would I say?

"Very well." He regarded the surgeon more closely. Outwardly he showed no sign of exhaustion, although he had been working here or aboard the prize, Intrepido, since the brief action had ceased. Seven Sisters also carried a surgeon. O'Beirne's comment, of a sort, said it all.

Adam followed his large figure into the darker interior of the orlop, which seemed to be full of wounded or injured men. Some lay still, recovering or quietly dying, it was impossible to tell. Others were propped up against the ship's timbers, their eyes moving, following the swaying lanterns, or just staring into the shadows. Stunned by the realisation that they had survived, and as yet only half-aware of the injuries O'Beirne's small, strong fingers had explored and dealt with. And here too was the stench of rum.

Three had died, and had been buried after dark, their second night at sea after leaving the anchorage, with the wrecked and burned-out Paradox a lingering reminder; each corpse was double-shotted to carry it swiftly into the depths. There were always sharks following patiently, but sailors believed the dead were safer at night.

O'Beirne murmured, "His name is Polglaze. It was grapeshot. There was nothing more I could do."

Adam gripped his arm, sensing his sadness, so rare in a manof-war, where a surgeon often had to face sights far worse than in the height of battle.

He knelt beside the dying man who, like the others, was propped against one of the frigate's massive frames; he could hear his breathing, the rattle in his throat. He was bleeding to death.

Adam felt the steeper roll of the hull. The wind had found them, too late for this man and others like him.

"You came, zur." The eyes settled on his face, reflecting the light from the nearby lantern, and fixed on the tarnished gold lace and gilt buttons. Something he understood. Not a young man, but powerfully built, or had been. When he reached out to take Adam's hand it was unable to grasp him.

Adam said, "Polglaze. A fine Cornish name, am I right?"

The man struggled to sit up and perhaps lean forward, but the pain halted him like another piece of grape.

His grip strengthened almost imperceptibly. "St Keverne, Cap'n."

"You can't get much further south than that. A wild coast when it wants to be, eh?" I Ic wanted to leave. He was not helping. This man who had been born not so far from Penzance was beyond aid now.

But the boatswain named Polglaze might even have smiled as he muttered, " Fes a wild shore right enough. The Manacles claimed more'n a few vessels when I were a lad there!"

O'Beirne said softly, "I think that's time enough."

Adam half-turned, wondering which one of them he meant.

He felt the man's hard hand tighten around his, as if all his remaining strength was there, and the need which was keeping him alive.

He said quietly, "I'll be here. Be certain of it."

He listened to the uneven breathing. Wanting it to stop, to end his suffering. He had done enough; this hard, rough hand said it all. The countless leagues sailed, ropes fought and handled, sea, wind, and now this.

He could hear Tyacke's words. Bitter, scathing. And, for what?

Polglaze said suddenly, "I wanted to tell you about Paradox, Cap'n. How it was, what they did. A fine little craft she was."

Adam tried not to swallow or move. Did he know what had happened in the end? The rising pall of smoke.

"It was all planned, see, the boats was put down, and some of our best men sent aboard." His voice seemed stronger. Reliving it. "Our Mr Hastilow was ready, too. He'd done it often enough, see.

He broke into a fit of coughing. A hand came from the shadows with a cloth to dab his mouth. There was blood on it when it withdrew.

Polglaze groaned and then said, "We was too far off, an' the wind too hard on 'em. I thought mebbee we should have waited 'til the others came. An' then the lieutenant orders a change of tack. I dunno why, exactly."

Adam recalled Cristie's surprise. The wrong bearing. And the schooner's ragged sailors, their obvious hostility. But as a company they were as one. Polglaze could not even remember the lieutenant's name. He had replaced the luckless Finlay, but he was not one of them. Now he never would.

Polglaze gave a great sigh. "An' then we struck. Nobody's fault, we was just obeyin' orders." He sighed again, but the grip was just as strong. "We never carried a senior officer afore, see?"

Adam bowed his head to hear other, unformed words. Turnbull must have ordered the change of tack, and the new lieutenant would obey; he did not know that coast like the others.

Polglaze was looking at him intently. "The winter'll be lettin' go in Cornwall now, I reckon?" His head fell forward and he was dead.

O'Beirne stooped to prise the fingers from Adam's hand.

"Yes, it will." Adam stood, his hair brushing a deckhead beam, the cool timber quietening him, sustaining him, although his mind was still blurred with anger and with sorrow.

He said, "Thank you for fetching me. It was something he needed to tell me, to share, in his own fashion." He knew O'Beirne's men were lurking in the shadows, ready to carry the dead boatswain to the sailmaker. For his last voyage, as one captain had described it.

And one day perhaps, in the tiny village of St Keverne, where the land looked out over those treacherous rocks, the Manacles, if there was still anyone who cared, the man named Polglaze would be remembered, he hoped for his courage and his loyalty.

He turned to leave, to face Galbraith's unspoken questions.

But he paused and looked down again.

You were murdered.

O'Beirne watched him go. I Ic had not caught what the captain had just murmured, but he had seen the dark eyes in the lantern's glow, and believed he knew him well enough to guess.

He recalled the sights which had confronted him upon his visit to the slaver Intrepido. Spanish, but she could have been under any flag. Only a brig, yet she had carried over six hundred slaves crammed into her holds, packed so tightly that they could barely breathe. In a hold filled with women, like Albatroz, one had already died and others were in a terrible state, corpse and dying chained together amongst the ordure.

He signalled to his men. Sailors like the dead boatswain endured much on this godforsaken coast. They obeyed orders. He thought of Adam Bolitho's face. Sometimes it was not enough.

At nightfall, that same captain read the familiar lines from his prayer hook, and they buried his fellow Cornishman with full honours.

The last voyage.

Leigh Galbraith walked to the entry port, wincing as he left the shadow of one of the awnings. Freetown was unchanged, except that it seemed even hotter, as if all the air had been sucked out of that wide harbour, up as far as the majestic Lion Mountain.

Even the excitement of their return had dimmed. He shaded his eyes and looked across at the two anchored prizes, Intrepido and Albatroz, abandoned now but for a few red uniforms, under guard to await developments. Galbraith recalled the wild cheering from some of the ships when they had come to their anchorage, the slaves being ferried ashore, laughing, sobbing, and confused. They were free. But how they would manage to return to their villages or settlements was difficult to understand, and, far worse, some would doubtless be trapped and returned to one of the barracoons along that same hostile coast to await the next ship, and another buyer.

Unrivalled had been at anchor for two days, and only the purser's crew and two working parties had been allowed ashore. To await orders. He heard the bell chime from forward. And that was today.

The brig Kittiwake had taken on stores and had departed almost immediately. Commodore Turnbull was with the Crown Agent. Galbraith had sensed the disappointment and resentment amongst Unrivalled's people. Two slavers as prizes. There would have been none but for their action, anchored or not.

A courier brig had arrived, but no mail had been delivered to them. Galbraith was not expecting any, but hope was always contagious.

Adam Bolitho's friend, and his uncle's last flag captain, James Tyacke, was still at sea. In case the missing slaver attempted to return to the inlet, which seemed unlikely, or to continue with another endless patrol.

I hate this place. He wiped his face and tried to dismiss it. Better here than on half-pay in some place full of others rejected by the one life they knew. Needed. Slavery was evil. Weighed against that, their presence here was necessary, if colonies were to survive against peacetime conditions. It still did not make sense…

He had heard some of the older hands talking about it. A few had boasted of their liaisons with women like those they had freed only days ago. Campbell, it would he him, insisted there was nothing to touch them. Nice bit o' black velvet to get you goin"

Midshipman Cousens called, "Boat shoving off from the jetty now, sir!"

Always alert, perhaps thinking of his hoped-for promotion.

"My respects to the captain. Would you tell him?" He beckoned to a boatswain's mate. "Pipe for the guard, Creagh, then man the side."

He relented; his voice had been sharper than he intended. It was affecting him more than he had believed. Maybe it was only the heat. And all for just another official visit, this time the Crown Agent.

He thought of the captain's expression, the last time they had been here. RearAdmiral Herrick had been his uncle's oldest friend; he had heard that several times, but when Bolitho had returned on hoard it was as if they had met as strangers.

The Royal Marines were already falling in by the entry port, Sergeant Everett checking the dressing, watching for any flaw in the pattern. There was none. Guard of honour or shooting down an enemy, it seemed to be one and the same to this elite corps. The seamen often joked about it; it made no difference. Captain Luxmore was also present, his face almost matching his tunic. Galbraith turned to watch for the boat. An ornate affair, almost a barge, it belonged to the governor, and was manned by seamen "borrowed" for His Excellency's convenience.

He refrained from using a telescope; the rearadmiral would know. He half-smiled. They always seemed to know such things.

He heard the captain's step on the companion ladder and said, "Clear all idlers off the upper deck, Mr Cousens." He turned and touched his hat. "Right on time, sir."

Adam glanced along the main deck. Galbraith had done well. Everything was in its place. Ready for sea.

Herrick would miss nothing. He had once been Richard Bolitho's first lieutenant, a lifetime ago. He wondered if he still remembered.

Galbraith said, "I spoke with the purser, sir. There is ginger beer in the cabin." He did not think it was the time to mention Tregillis's list of complaints after he had returned with his crew from the stores.

"Drinking water, they call it? I'd not wash a horse in it! And the salt beef! Three years in the cask-that fellow Sullivan could carve a fleet of models from it. It's like iron!"

But a purser was rarely content.

Adam watched the approaching boat. Another senior officer. Think of it like that. He had noticed that Cousens's signals party had already bent on a flag for Herrick, and were ready to run it to the mizzen truck as he came aboard. Herrick would decline it; he was coming as an agent of the government, not in the capacity his rank implied. A matter of courtesy then.

He saw the bowman toss his oar and replace it with his boathook. The barge was still turning, and the man almost lost his balance.

Jago was looking on. It was not hard to guess what he was thinking.

He could see Herrick's cocked hat now; he was wearing his best uniform. Then he thought of Unrivalled, how she must appear to Herrick, not just another frigate, surely, but as a singular ship. Perhaps I misjudged him. Thought of my own pain rather than his.

The boatswain's mates moistened their silver calls on their tongues, and Captain Luxmore brought his sword to the carry.

"Pipe!" As the calls shrilled in salute and the marine guard brought their muskets to the present, Herrick's head and shoulders appeared in the entry port.

Adam removed his hat and stepped forward. He heard a gasp of alarm and saw Herrick lose his grip on the guide-rope. He knew Herrick never made any allowance for having only one hand, but this time he had misjudged it. The guard of honour, the hard glare from the harbour, an error of timing. Or was it emotion? Could it be that?

Jago was there in a second, before even the boatswain's mates could move, seizing Herrick by the wrist, yet still managing to remove his own hat, while even the disciplined marines gaped with astonishment.

Herrick stepped on to the planking and doffed his hat. Then he looked for Jago and said, "That was nearly a very short visit. I thank you for your alertness." Then he glanced up. In the sudden confusion Cousens's assistant, Midshipman Fielding, had misunderstood his instructions. Lazily, defiantly even, the rearadmiral's flag had broken from the mizzen.

Ilerrick nodded, as if he had heard someone speak, and looked directly at Unrivalled's captain.

The full uniform gave him a stature which had been lacking at their last meeting. There were lines about his mouth but his eyes were as blue and clear as that young lieutenant of years past.

Adam said, "You are welcome here, sir."

He saw Herrick wince as he shook his hand. The empty sleeve was a constant reminder.

They walked aft beneath the poop, and Adam was aware for the first time that the same eager and anxious aide had come aboard with him. The marine sentry, snapped to attention, the screen doors were open wide, and young Napier was waiting, wearing his best jacket. And shoes.

Herrick hesitated and looked closely at the Royal Marine. "I know you! Lucas, isn't it?"

The man's eyes barely blinked beneath his leather hat.

"Yessir. Th' old Benbow, sir!"

"You were younger then. We all were."

It would be all over the marines' messdeck, the barracks as they called it, within the hour. No, Herrick had not forgotten.

They walked into the great cabin, Adam sensing that Herrick was moving almost uncertainly, as if unprepared for this moment. So many ships, so many situations; he must have seen it all on his way up the ladder of promotion from his humble beginnings.

Napier said anxiously, "This is the best chair, sir."

The blue, clear eyes turned to him. "And you look after the captain, do you?"

Napier considered it, frowning slightly. "We take care of each other, sir, that is…"

"Well said."

But he went to the wide bench seat beneath the stern windows, and gazed out at the anchored shipping and tangle of masts and rigging. His eyes were far away; he was somewhere else.

Adam said, "We have some ginger beer, sir. From the army mess.

Herrick grimaced. "It would be." He looked past him towards the sleeping cabin. "I would relish a drink, however."

Adam nodded to Napier, and saw him frown once more as his shoes clicked noisily across the deck.

Herrick said, "I have read your reports with great care. The seizure of the two slavers was commendable, and a useful example of what can be achieved with the will behind it. This ship performed well, although I cannot judge if her exact position at the time was the most suitable." He looked up calmly. "For I was not there." Then he smiled. "That was an observation, not necessarily a criticism," and repeated, "I was not there."

Adam heard the shoes returning and said, "I was obeying orders."

Herrick glanced at the silver tray and the two goblets. "From the very beginning we are told, orders will be carried out at all times without question. Obey. Do your duty." He took the proferred goblet of cognac and studied it gravely. "But as we move up the ladder, we discover that there is more to it than obeying orders. There is the responsibility, the conscience, if you like. You will know that better than many, I suspect." He swallowed some of the spirit and closed his eyes. "This takes me back." He changed tack again, as if he had momentarily lost control of his thoughts. "My aide will give you all the relevant details, or as much as you and I are intended to know, but I want this to remain between us."

"You have my word on it, sir."

"You see, I have always done my duty, or tried to. I never allowed myself to question the minds of those who dictated the orders. You make friends and you make enemies. A friend is everything, but he can break your heart." He did not explain. He did not need to.

"I never wanted to quit the sea, the navy, even after this…" He looked down at the empty sleeve with more than a suggestion of hatred. "In the end I was offered an appointment with the revenue service at Plymouth. Someone blocked the way-I'll not mention his name, but his word was accepted, and I was given this role of Crown Agent. At best a dead end, at worst a scapegoat." He shrugged. "I accept that. I have no choice. Not anymore.

Adam looked quickly at his own goblet, surprised that it was empty; he remembered nothing of it. Herrick was speaking of Valentine Keen. It explained so much. A missing link.

Herrick continued, "So personal matters can intrude, even with the wary and the righteous." Ile waited until Napier had refilled the goblets and the pantry door was closed.

He said quietly, "Commodore Turnbull made full use of his time after Paradox was disabled-er, wrecked. He is a lucky man."

Adam waited, but there was no hint of suspicion, whatever he might voice in his private report to the Admiralty and the Foreign Office.

Herrick shifted his position and reached for his drink.

"I am all but finished here. I have seen and made enough reports to carpet Portsmouth Point. Some will be acted upon, others will be `considered.' The fleet was cut down to a dangerous level when the last French flag was lowered. As Our Nel, and-" he hesitated "-Sir Richard proclaimed many times to deaf ears, the main need will always be for frigates. There have never been enough. Nothing has changed."

Adam watched his hand smoothing the goblet as if to seek a reason for breaking his own severe code of loyalty.

Then Herrick did look at him, his eyes very direct, calm. As if he had come to a decision, any previous doubts dispelled.

"There is to be another offensive in the Mediterranean. Very shortly. Frigates are few enough, experienced captains hard to find. You will know what I am saying, where the last offensive failed." He almost smiled. "You were there."

"Lord Rhodes?"

Herrick shook his head. "You may discount that." He leaned forward on the bench, the sun across his shoulders and epaulettes. "Unrivalled will be leaving for England in a day or so, after Captain Tyacke returns here." He gazed at him impassively. "You were asked for by name. More, I cannot say."

Adam stared around the cabin, scarcely able to believe what he had heard. England, the Mediterranean again, and there could be no doubt in his mind that Algiers was the destination. It was like turning back the calendar to last year, when men in this ship had paid dearly for Rhodes ' arrogance and stupidity.

Herrick said quietly, "Slavery does not begin or end here. I fear you will be ordered back to Freetown when you are available for duty. Small, fast vessels, and their lordships will have to provide them." He smiled again. "Eventually. I shall be leaving too, in the courier, for Spithead. We shall say our farewells today." tic doubled his hand into a fist and added, "Take heed. Lord Rhodes is still powerful, and he makes a had enemy." He dragged out his watch and opened the guard with some difficulty; his wrist seemed to be troubling him after his near accident at the entry port.

Adam waited, and imagined the aide loitering and bobbing beyond the screen door. He was leaving Freetown, and returning to something familiar, which he had trained himself to accept. But he had known Thomas Herrick long enough to be sure he had not come out to the ship merely to wish him well. Perhaps Unrivalled was the only venue where he felt safe. At liberty to speak.

Herrick said, "You're like him in many ways, you know. Headstrong, reckless… he was often like that." He stood up and looked for his hat.

Then he turned and stood beneath the scaled skylight, his face suddenly determined.

"In your report you wrote of the barque Osiris. We lost her this time, but in the end we shall meet up with her again. And there'll be others like her, while the pickings get richer." He looked slowly around the cabin, like someone who did not expect to see it again.

"I wronged Lady Somervell. I have tried to make good my ignorance, but I wronged her nonetheless. She was very dear to your uncle, and now I can understand why." He added with sudden bitterness, "Now that it's too late!"

Adam faced him by the desk. "Tell me."

"Osiris is a slaver, and she wears Spanish colours." He glanced at the screen door where a marine he had once known stood at yet another post. "But she plies her trade for a company in the City of London. Baron Sillitoe is the force behind it." He clenched his fist again. "His father built his empire on slaves, did you know that?"

There were shouts from on deck; another boat was coming alongside.

Adam could hardly believe what he had heard. Sillitoe, feared, respected, influential, a confidante of the Prince Regent, and his Inspector-General until recently. And Catherine had nobody else to protect her when she most needed it.

He said, "Thank you for telling me, sir. I will never forget."

Herrick examined his hat, as if he was glad he had unburdened himself.

"I wanted to tell you when we first met in this damnable hole!" He smiled, and it made him look incredibly sad. "Duty, remember?"

They left the cabin together, Napier wearing an expression of surprise, Herrick's lieutenant of relief.

As they passed the wardroom Herrick stopped, and saw Yovell stepping aside to lose himself in shadows.

He did not offer his hand, but said, "So you could not leave it either, eh? I wish you well."

Yovell watched them walk forward, towards the sunshine beyond the poop. The grey-haired rearadmiral, with one shoulder stooped against the constant pain, and Unrivalled's captain, like a young colt, Richard Bolitho had often said. So unlike one another, but the bond was there.

"God mind you," he said quietly. "But keep up your bright swords. " He shook his head. The coxswain was right, he was getting past it.

Herrick stood by the entry port as the governor's gilded barge was manoeuvred alongside. He saw Partridge with some of his seamen trying to conceal a boatswain's chair, in case he was unable to make the descent unaided.

He shook his head. "But thank you." He turned and looked up once more at the listless flag at the mizzen, then at the waiting officers and midshipmen, the scarlet-coated marines. No detail escaped him.

He held out his hand and said, "Short and sweet, how every flag officer's visit should be. Take good care, Adam. I shall think of you. And heed what I said. There are many enemies in our work. Not least is envy!"

He doffed his hat abruptly to the quarterdeck and walked to the entry port, where Jago was standing, vigilant but apparently unconcerned.

Galbraith watched the barge pulling away from Unrivalled's shadow and into the relentless glare.

Adam said, "Fall out guard and side party, Mr Galbraith." Their eyes met and he smiled. "Leigh."

Galbraith glanced again at the slow-moving barge. Herrick did not look back. Perhaps he dared not.

Adam said, "Come aft presently. We are to receive orders today."

When Commodore Turnbull has discovered their content.

He followed Galbraith's gaze and added, "There goes a part of the old navy, Leigh." He touched his arm and walked aft again. "None better!"

Captain James Tyacke pushed his servant to one side and finished tying his neckcloth himself.

"Don't fuss, Roberts! I have to see the commodore, not the Almighty!"

He looked into his hanging mirror and then at Adam, who was sitting in one of the cabin chairs with a glass in his hand. "Good of you to come aboard at such short notice, Adam." He seemed to hesitate over the name, as if he were not yet used to such informality. "I met up with Seven Sisters on passage here and spoke to her captain." He looked at him in the mirror again. "About this and that."

Adam smiled. He had watched Kestrel enter harbour, working her way slowly and expertly under minimum sail to where the guardboat loitered to mark her point to anchor.

He said, "I've received orders. To return to Plymouth." He heard the words drop into the silence; he had not yet accepted it, nor did he know his true feelings.

Tyacke nodded, buttoning his waistcoat. "So I heard. You know the navy-I expect the whole west coast knows about it by now!" He turned and regarded him thoughtfully. "I expect you'll be ordered to return here. One step at a time."

Adam noticed that Tyacke no longer betrayed any discomfort or self-consciousness. The devil with half a face, the slavers had called him when he had come to this station, and had welcomed its solitude. He had said more than once of Sir Richard Bolitho, he gave me back my self-respect, and whatever dignity I still possess. People still stared at the melted skin, his legacy from the Nile, young midshipmen dropped their eyes; others showed pity, the one thing Tyacke despised.

Adam had told him about Osiris, and what he had learned about her. Tyacke was like steel, and would never indulge in gossip, especially if it concerned, no matter how remotely, the reputation of Catherine, Lady Somervell.

While Adam sipped some wine Tyacke had shaved himself, waving his harassed servant aside with the razor. "If I can't shave my own face, I'm ready to go over the side!"

A difficult captain to serve, but he had the feeling that they thrived on it.

"All a long time ago, Adam. When it was fair and respectable to grow rich on slavery. Now, as controls grow even stronger, the price goes up, but it's still the same market." The eyes held his steadily. "I heard about Sillitoe's father-he made his fortune out of it. He's long dead, but the profits live on." He walked to the stern windows and back, his burned face in shadow, so that it was possible to glimpse the man who had been cut down that day, and had lost the girl he loved because of it. Now she wanted him back, and Tyacke had seen her, in the house she had shared with her late husband and the two children of her marriage.

All Tyacke had said was, "Never go back. Ships, places, people, they're never the same as you chose to remember."

Adam said, "What about you, James?"

"I'm content on this station. Probably the only one who is!" It seemed to amuse him. "But the work wants doing, and it needs men who care enough to do it without thinking all the while of prize-money and slave bounty." Then he took Adam's hand and said, "You're still finding your way, and the navy is going to he hard put to find good captains at the rate things are moving… I wish you luck, Adam. We both share the memory of the finest man who ever lived." I Iis eyes hardened. "And I'll not stand by and allow others to defame his lady!"

He held out his arms and allowed the servant to help him into his coat.

"Take care, Adam, and watch your hack." He shouted, "Enter:'"

The screen door opened instantly; it was Fairhrother, the captain's coxswain.

"Unrivalled's gig is alongside, sir."

"Very well, Eli, we shall he up in a moment."

Adam grinned. The story had gone around the squadron when Tyacke had chosen his new coxswain. "Fairhrother? What sort of a name would that be in half a gale, man?" So it was left at Eli. Adam wondered how John Allday had got along with him, in the flagship together.

Raven, the first lieutenant, was waiting with the side party. He shook hands too, as if they were old friends. As it should he, in frigates.

Adam looked over to his own ship, and another prize which Kestrel had brought in with her. A small schooner or, as Tvacke had described the capture, "Just a rabbit sneaking out when it believed all the foxes had gone elsewhere." The rabbit had carried a hundred slaves nevertheless.

As the gig pulled slowly amongst the anchored shipping, Adam sat with one hand on the sun-heated thwart, and tried to assemble the events and his reactions into some sensible pattern.

The orders were precise but suitably vague. Four months since they had left Penzance, with a long commission the only likely outcome.

They would be home in the spring. Like the words of Paradox's dying boatswain… But he recalled Tyacke's flat statement. Never go back… they re never the same as you chose to remember.

Jago saw his sun-browned hand grip the edge of the thwart and wondered what was going through his mind. The captain, who had everything. He watched a boat pulling across the channel, and scowled.

Back to some other squadron with another admiral who probably didn't recognise his backside from his elbow. Officers.

Adam was aware of the scrutiny, but was glad of it. Something honest, even if you were never quite sure what he might come out with.

What might be waiting this time? He allowed his mind to explore it. Falmouth, perhaps. The empty house. More memories.

Perhaps there would be a letter waiting for him. He touched the locket beneath his damp shirt.

He said, "What d'you think about our returning to Plymouth?" As Tyacke had remarked, the news was all over the station.

Jago kept his eyes on the water ahead of the gig's raked stem.

"So long as I've got 'baccy in my pouch, an' a wet when I needs one," he gave the smallest hint of a grin, "an' a few coins to jangle in the right direction, then I'm not too bothered, sir!"

Adam saw the stroke oarsman contain a smile. We are all deluding ourselves.

"Bows!"

He glanced up at the ship's curved tumblehome, the faces at the entry port.

Lieutenant Varlo met him with the side party, and he recalled that Galbraith was ashore to offer support to the purser.

He looked at the masthead. A fair breeze, but the air was like an opened oven. Would it last?

Varlo said, "Some mail came aboard, sir." His face was full of questions. "Official, for the most part."

Adam walked aft, seeing their expressions, hope, expectation, anxiety. The sailor's lot.

He strode into his cabin and tossed his hat on to the chair Napier had offered to Herrick. The chair. He smiled a little. Sparse, for the captain who had everything.

He heard a quiet cough and saw Yovell waiting by the pantry door.

"Well, I expect you know all about it, but…" He stopped, his troubled mind suddenly alert. "What is it?"

Galbraith would leave everything in order, and Varlo had said nothing. He asked again, "Something troubles you. Tell me."

It was unusual to find Yovell so hesitant, unsure of himself.

– There was a letter, sir. Some people might say it was not important, that it was not our concern…"

Adam sat down, slowly, to give Yovell time to compose himself.

He said, "If it concerns you, or anyone in my ship, then it matters. To me."

Yovell removed his spectacles and polished them on his coat.

"The letter was for your servant. The boy, Napier, sir. From his mother. He asked me to read it."

Adam said, "But he reads well…"

"He was too distressed to read anything after that, sir."

"She's getting married again."

Yovell cleared his throat. "Is married again, sir. They are going to America -her husband has work offered there."

It was not uncommon. Boys signed on for the fleet or some particular ship, but always with a link to sustain them. Then a new marriage, and the new husband or "friend" would consider the youth in question to be so much inconvenience, a burden.

Adam was on his feet without knowing it. It had been right here when Herrick had asked him the question, and Napier, in his own serious fashion, had replied without hesitation, "We take care of each other, sir." And the same boy, with a jagged teak splinter spearing his leg, concerned only with helping his captain.

Yovell went to the door and brought Napier right aft to the stern windows. He saw Napier's chin go up, with defiance, or a determination not to give in; he might even regard Yovell's behaviour as some sort of betrayal. It only made him appear younger. Defenceless.

Adam said, "We'll not talk on this, David. But I know. We weigh anchor during the morning watch, so I shall want to be up and about early."

He saw the boy nod, not understanding.

"Unrivalled will be in Plymouth in June, earlier with fair winds. Think of that."

Napier stared at the deck; he had even forgotten to remove the offending shoes.

"I know, sir."

Adam did not look at Yovell. He dared not, but put his hands on Napier's slight shoulders and said, "After that, my lad, you are coming home. With me." He swung away and added abruptly, "Some cognac for myself and Mr Yovell. I have some letters to dictate."

The boy paused by the pantry and looked back. It was enough.

Yovell said gently, "We have no letters, sir."

It was a day he would never forget.