Signal-Close Action!

13. Pursuit

BOLITHO crouched over the Segura 's flaking companion hatch and scribbled on a small piece of paper. He was aware of the strengthening light, a hint of warmth after the first dawn air, but forced his mind to concentrate. Every so often he had to pause and gather his strength for fear that the fever was returning.

Once, when he half rose to peer above the larboard bulwark he saw the French corvette's yards and sails edging round, her slender jib boom displaying her intention to run " down her quarry on a simple converging tack.

Not much more than a mile separated the smart man-of-war and the badly-used Segura.

Bolitho folded the paper carefully and moved to Veitch" s side. "Take this with you." He slipped it into the lieutenant's pocket. "It tells all I know." Suspect was more the word. 'so, if I fall, you must get this message to higher authority as best you can."

Plowman called hoarsely, "The Frenchie's shortenin" sail. sir. "

Veitch nodded. "He’ll be up to us very soon now," Bolitho ran his eye along the deck. It was tilting even less now, and with the light airs barely able to fill each sail, his plan was decided. If there had ever been any choice, he thought grimly..

Allday came aft. "Fuse set and ready, sir. Should give us a quarter-hour. "

Bolitho trained a telescope on the corvette. "Too long. Cut it as close as you dare. Five minutes."

He heard them gasp but watched the French ship drawing nearer, her sails braced round to retain the wind, showing her bilge in the strengthening sunlight as she heeled jauntily on her new tack.

Plowman remarked, "Look at "er copper. She's not long out of port!"

Bolitho felt a shiver of excitement. One of de Brueys's vessels perhaps? Part of a scattered line of scouts which in turn would lead the admiral's mighty fleet into open seas and to Egypt. He thought of all the information, Certain and hearsay, and knew it represented far more than the solitary corvette which was blocking their path to safety, Like a great colossus, de Brueys's fleet of transports and ships of the line would stride via Malta,* using it as a stepping-stone, before setting down again on the Egyptian shore. And thence to India, and all the trade and possessions which England had so nearly lost in that other war.

He said, "Get the hands into the boat, if you please. "

He waited, expecting further argument from Veitch or Plowman.

The lieutenant merely said, "I’ll not cast off without you, sir. And that's my last word on it."

Bolitho smiled. "You"d disobey your commodore, Mr. Veitch? In time of war it could hang you!"

They both laughed, and Veitch answered, "A risk I’ll take, sir. "

The seamen were already scrambling over the lee bulwark, and Bolitho hoped that nobody aboard the French ship had noticed anything unusual. After all, there was little point in trying to outpace a man-of-war as lively as a corvette. And to attempt an escape in a longboat, with the Mediterranean and not dry land across the bows, was a measure of madness.

Allday came aft again, breathing heavily. "Fuse ready, sir." He squinted at the other vessel. Three guns had been run out. Small six-pounders, they would be enough for the elderly Segura, even without her lethal cargo. He added, "There's just us left." He gestured to the wheel. "And this mad Swede."

Larssen grinned, his face as devoid of fear as a child's. "Aye, so I am, sir!"

There was a sharp crack, and as they turned to see a puff of smoke from the corvette's side, a single ball ripped through the fore-rigging and threw up a thin waterspout, away on the starboard quarter.

Bolitho gave a quiet smile. 'signal received and understood." He nodded to Allday. "Get forrard, and start shouting at your invisible crew. "

He knew that the French captain must be watching Segura and probably himself. He darted a quick glance at the longboat, as the bows and then the rest of it slewed awkwardly away from the lee side, every inch of it filled with men and oars, and the jumble of mast and canvas which Veitch was preparing to raise.

Bolitho took the spokes and said, "Hoist the flag, Larssen." The Swede grinned, and moments later the American colours broke once again from the gaff.

It brought an instant response in another sharp explosion, and this time the six-pound ball smashed into Segura's hull, shaking her violently like a great hammer.

Bolitho had not expected the corvette to be fooled. But it all took time, and from one corner of his eye he saw Veitch waving his hat back and forth to show that he was ready.

There was a thump from forward, and he watched Allday jump clear with an axe as the tanned jib sail came crashing down around him in a flailing heap. It seemed to satisfy the Frenchman, for her captain was already bringing her round to run almost parallel, keeping Segura to leeward, while her men shortened sail yet again in readiness to drive alongside. Sailors were clambering into the shrouds with grapnels, and there was a glint of metal as a boarding party ran smartly towards the forecastle for the first contact.

Bolitho felt the wheel bucking in his hands, as deprived of her jib, Segura idled heavily, her sails in trembling agitation. "Light the fuse!"

He heard Allday dash below, and then handed the wheel back to the Swede. He saw a seaman on the corvette's main yard pointing and gesticulating, and guessed he had seen the longboat and was trying to yell his information to the poop above the din of sails and blocks, of shouting men, eager for a fight, even a one-sided one.

Bolitho made himself remain beside the wheel. If he ran too soon, the Frenchman would still be able to sheer away. He thought of the hissing fuse below decks, and hoped Allday had not been too exhausted to estimate the proper length.

"Fuse burning!"

Allday was covered in wisps of hay, as if he had just fought his way out of it farmyard stack. He had probably taken the fuse clear of the stored fodder in the other hold to avoid a premature explosion.

'stand by the boat's stern rope!" He waited until Allday was at the bulwark with his axe. "You, too, Larssen, move smartly now!" He saw a shadow by his feet and then looked up at the American flag. He grimaced and said, "I’ve dirtied that flag enough for one day, I’ll cut it down." But when he groped for his sword he realised that in all the excitement and his return from feverish oblivion he had forgotten to bring it on deck.

A musket barked across the fast-narrowing strip of water, and he heard the ball smack into the opposite bulwark. The French boarders were all yelling now, baying like enraged hounds at the thought of their enemy trying to escape.

Allday saw Bolitho's expression and thrust his axe into the seaman's hand. "Hold this! I’m going for the sword!" Bolitho yelled, "Leave it!"

Another ball zipped past him, and then a whole fusilade of shots which threw splinters from the deck like darts and ricocheted in every direction.

Bolitho heard Larssen cry out, and saw him sag to his knees, his eyes tightly closed as he tried to stem the, blood which ran freely from his thigh.

Bolitho controlled his racing thoughts, tried not to see the fuse in his mind. Five minutes. It must have been burning that long already.

He dragged the seaman against the bulwark and heard Allday panting across the deck to join him.

He gasped, "Hold him! We’ll jump together!"

Then they were up on the bulwark, the wood still misty from the night air, and as Allday cut the boat's long line the three of them fell like untidy bundles into the water, the severed rope wrapped around them.

Down and down, the sunlight fading through a pink mist, which Bolitho's reeling mind told him must be Larssen's blood, and all the while he could feel the rope dragging like a snare, and knew Veitch's crew were pulling at their oars like madmen. Despite all which was happening, he found he was thinking of the two men who had deserted at Malta. They would never know how fortunate their crime was at this moment. Had they remained aboard, it was doubtful if there would have been room for them in the one remaining boat, nor space to pull an oar.

He saw the water brightening over his head, and as he broke surface, shaking hair from his eyes and gasping for breath, he caught sight of the longboat, its sail hoisted, and several figures waving and maybe cheering towards him.

Larssen had fainted, and it was all he and Allday could do to hold his face above water, and at the same time cling to the boat's sternrope which was being hauled hand-over-hand against the pressure of oars, sail and the drag of undertow around their legs.

Allday gasped, "By God, I’d not want to do this very often!"

Bolitho turned his head to speak and then felt his ears cringe as a deafening explosion tore the morning apart. He felt the shock-wave surge against his legs and chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and twisting the three of them round in the trailing rope like helpless puppets.

Fragments of wood and cordage, huge yellow-coloured bundles of hay rained around them. A whole section of timber plunged straight down beside Allday, only to shoot up again like a jagged battering-ram, missing him by inches.

Allday croaked, "Jesus! That was a near thing!"

Bolitho managed to pivot himself, treading water as the deluge of shattered pieces subsided, and peered back at the two ships. In fact, there was only one, Segura having vanished completely, leaving a great widening circle of froth and bubbles, flotsam and scattered fodder, which would never feed French cavalry now.

It was as if the Segura had bled to death even as she plunged to the bottom, for the froth which continued to swirl around in confusion was tinged with red. Every cask of wine must have burst apart with the gunpowder.

The corvette was in a bad way. At first glance he had imagined that she had escaped the worst of the explosion, but as she swung unsteadily across the disturbed water he saw the weak sunlight play over a deep rent in her hull where her copper had been slit open like the belly of a shark. Her rigging and sails were in shreds, swaying like creeper as the hull tilted more steeply, hiding the hole in the side as the sea surged into her. Why she had not caught fire was a miracle, but Bolitho knew her captain would be hard put to save his surviving men, let alone prevent his command from following Segura.

A shadow loomed above him, and he felt hands under his armpits, others reaching down to lift the inert Swede to safety.

Veitch watched him, grinning, as he was hauled unceremoniously inboard with Allday.

"You see, sir, I waited!"

Bolitho lay back and stared at the sky. "It was close." Allday was wringing out his shirt across the gunwale. "I gave the fuse ten minutes, sir. Otherwise…" He said no more.

Bolitho turned to look at him, his chest heaving painfully. He saw the weals across Allday's back where the mounted trooper had used his whip. They were still very red, and would never vanish completely. He felt strangely sad about that. Allday had served at sea for most of his life and had avoided the lash throughout that time. In the Navy it was no mean feat. And now, because of his courage and unwavering loyalty, he would wear those stripes to the end of his days.

Impetuously, he reached out and touched Allday's shoulder.

"It was well done. And I am sorry about these."

Allday twisted round on the thwart and looked at him. 'still a long way to go to catch up with you, sir." He grinned, the tiredness, or some of it, fading. "I reckon you’ve got more scars than a eat's got lives!"

Bolitho smiled, sharing the moment only with Allday. "But none more honourable, my friend."

Veitch cleared his throat. "Where now, sir?"

Bolitho struggled against the gun wale, watching the listless sail, and then turning to study the corvette. Someone fired a musket, and a seaman in the boat stood up to jeer.

Bolitho said quietly, "Easy, lads. I know how you feel. But it was not fired at us that time. The corvette's people are trying to rush the boats."

He looked at Veitch, seeing the slow understanding. A few officers, a terrified crew. It had happened to Bolitho, it was something which Veitch might never experience, if he was lucky.

'she's gain"!"

The little corvette was beginning to turn turtle, her decks bared as she tilted towards the silent watchers. White feathers of spray showed where fragments from the explosion were falling from her masts, and a six-pounder cannon tore loose from the upended side and charged. through the other bulwark, taking a handful of struggling figures with it.

Across the blue water they could hear the faint cries and screams, the jubilant roar of inrushing water. The masts hit the surface almost together, smashing amongst some swimmers and cutting the one successfully launched boat in halves.

Plowman said roughly, "Nuthin" we can do for "em, sir." Bolitho did not answer. The master's mate was right of course. The boat would be swamped, or at best his men would be taken prisoner by the overwhelming number of French survivors. To know it was one thing. To merely accept it was another.

He heard Midshipman Breen sniffing loudly, and when he glanced along the boat he saw he was perched on a cask, the Swedish seaman, Larssen, cradled against his lap.

Plowman climbed across the other men and asked, "What is it?"

The boy stared aft at Bolitho and murmured, "He's dead, sir. "

Allday said, "Poor fellow." He sighed. "Put him over, lads. "

But the midshipman clung to the man's body, his eyes still on Bolitho. "B-but, sir, couldn"t, shouldn"t we say something for him?" His freckled face was streaming with tears, and in the boat he alone seemed totally unaware of the sinking ship nearby, of anything but the man who just died beside him.

Bolitho nodded slowly. "You do it, Mr. Breen."

He turned to watch Veitch, hearing Breen's high-pitched, wavering words as he stumbled through a prayer he had learned, probably from his mother. Nearby, he noticed that one of the seamen, a tough, experienced gun captain, had removed his neckerchief which he had been wearing over his head in readiness for the sun.

He said quietly, "It is a hard lesson, Mr. Veitch."

"Aye." The lieutenant touched his arm, but gently, as if afraid of disturbing Breen's words. "There she goes!"

The corvette was slipping beneath the water, and already some of the survivors still afloat were swimming purposefully towards Segura's longboat.

There was a splash, and Bolitho saw Larssen" s face, very pale and misty below the surface as his body drifted clear of the side.

"Out oars! Stand by!"

A man in the bow yelled, "God damn them! Here comes another!"

Out of the land's shadow and morning mist, a small rectangle of pale canvas showed itself with sudden brightness in the sunlight. Some of the Frenchmen who were clinging to pieces of wreckage and broken spars raised a cheer, while in the longboat there was no sound at all. Bolitho snatched the brass telescope from the bottom boards and trained it on the other vessel. She might stop to pick up survivors. A wind might rise in time to save them.

He felt his mouth go dry. Then he said, "Rest easy, lads!

She's the Harebell!"

With what wind remained held firmly under his coat tails, Inch brought the sloop steadily towards them, his boats already swayed out ready for launching.

The corvette had practically gone now, and only her stem section, complete with its tricolour, was still visible.

Bolitho watched Harebell turning into the wind, the boats dropping alongside as she idled close to the nearest cluster of swimmers. A jolly boat was speeding towards them now, and a young lieutenant stood up to hail, his face red with anger.

"God damn you for a coward, M'sieie Leaving your people to drown while you have a boat!"

The boat surged closer, and Allday cupped his hands, barely able to restrain his huge grin.

"Is that the way you always greet your commodore? Attention in that boat, I say!"

While hands reached out to draw the two hulls together, and Bolitho clambered across to join the blushing lieutenant, he said calmly, "A few moments ago, I had a ship, too, Mr. McLean." He patted his arm. "But I can understand how it looked. "

By the time they had reached the sloop's side, Bolitho could see what excitement his appearance had caused. The embarrassed Lieutenant McLean had already explained that Harebell was on her way to Gibraltar with despatches for the admiral. Commander Inch, it appeared, was making a longer passage than he should have done, just in case he might have sighted the Segura. McLean left Bolitho in no doubt that it was just a brave gesture, and that hope had long since been given up.

Bolitho hauled himself up the side and was greeted by a beaming Inch, whose voice was completely drowned by cheering sailors. He wrung Bolitho's hand, his long horse-face shining with pleasure and relief, while others pushed forward to pound their returned commodore on the shoulders.

Veitch said harshly,"The commodore was near dead with fever. I fear he’ll die of bruises in a minute, sir!"

Inch led Bolitho aft, bobbing with excitement. Bolitho realised with surprise that there was a woman in the small cabin, and she, too, seemed as overcome as Inch.

Inch said, "This is Mrs. Boswell, sir. On passage for England. I am to take her to Gibraltar with me."

Bolitho nodded to her. "I must apologise for all this, Ma"am." He looked meaningly at Inch. "We will return to Syracuse with all speed."

"Yes, of course I understand." She dabbed at her eyes. Bolitho asked, "Well, Commander Inch, tell me every- thing. Is all the squadron still at anchor then?"

Some of Inch's pleasure seemed to fade. "All but Lysander and Buzzard, sir. Javal is away on his own mission, but Lysander had gone, I am told, to Corfu."

Bolitho sat down and plucked at his frilled Spanish shirt. 'so Captain Farquhar intends to use his own initiative, eh?"

Inch looked uncomfortable, even wretched. "No, sir. Captain Herrick has been given Lysander. Sir Charles Farquhar, as he now is, commands the squadron in Syracuse. He intends to wait there." He wavered under Bolitho's grim stare. "Until a fleet comes under the flag of Sir Horatio Nelson. "

Bolitho stood up, ducking beneath the beams, until he had reached the open stem windows.

Herrick had gone. Alone. The rest was as clear as the water below the transom.

He heard the woman say, "He is a good man, I met him before he sailed."

Bolitho turned towards her. "He is, Ma"am."

Inch said, "When we heard the explosion we thought some great vessel had blown up."

'segura's cargo. We had to rejoin the squadron. That corvette thought otherwise."

He recalled the midshipman's face, the Swede's cheerful acceptance of orders he sometimes did not even understand. Allday's scarred back.

He added harshly, 'so rejoin it we will, and as fast as you can manage!"

The Harebell s first lieutenant appeared in the doorway, his eyes avoiding Bolitho as he reported, "We have picked up thirty Frenchmen, sir. The captain was not one of them." He said as an afterthought, "The master says that the wind is a piece stronger and has backed further to the sou"-west." Inch nodded, his long face set in a frown. To Bolitho he said, "I believe you have met Mr. McLean, my senior, sir?"

Bolitho smiled gravely. "Indeed. I had met him before when he came aboard Lysander with you on one occasion. It seems that the Navy is unchanged. Whereas lieutenants never remember their superiors, even commodores can recognise their lieutenants!"

Inch glared at the lieutenant. "Call all hands and make sail.

It will be hard work, but I want Harebell at her anchor by mid-afternoon! "

Bolitho sat down again, his limbs suddenly weak.

Inch said, "I will go on deck, if I may." He hesitated. "I am indeed glad to be the one to find you, sir. Captain Herrick would have been pleased if-" He hurried from the cabin.

The woman said quietly, "We spoke for a long time. I found Captain Herrick's story, his life, quite fascinating."

Bolitho studied her for the first time. She was a pleasant looking woman, probably in her early thirties, She had a nice skin, and dark brown eyes to match her hair. It was all there in the way she had spoken of Herrick. Love denied. Love still to offer, perhaps.

He replied, "I intend to find him, Ma"am. When I have spoken with Captain Farquhar I hope to know a great deal more than I do now!"

He had spoken with unusual sharpness, and she said, "I think that Captain Farquhar is a man with great ambition." He smiled, liking her and her quick appreciation. 'superior ambition does not necessarily breed superior ability, Ma"am. I should have known that earlier. Much earlier. I pray to God I’ve not learned the lesson too late."

Her hand moved to her neck. "For Captain Herrick?" "For Thomas, and a whole lot more, Ma"am."

Allday peered through the door. "Could you get him to lay down, Ma"am? He's done enough for a regiment today." She nodded. "I will." As Allday withdrew she asked, "Is he one of your contemporaries?"

Bolitho lay back in the chair and shook his head, feeling the strain fading with his strength.

"No. He is my coxswain, and a good friend. But as a contemporary I fear he would soon be my superior. And that would be too much."

She watched his eyelids droop, his head loll to the sloop's easy motion.

Bolitho was not quite as she had expected from what Herrick had told her. He seemed younger, for one who had carried so many, and who had experienced so much. Sensitive, too, something he obviously regarded as a flaw, and tried to hide with sternness.

She smiled. She was quite wrong. He was exactly as Herrick had described.

Farquhar stood quite still by the cabin screen, watching while Bolitho read carefully through the admiral's despatches.

Bolitho sat on the bench seat, the papers spread on the deck between his feet while he leaned above them, his elbows resting on his knees. On the seat beside him was a piece of fresh bread and a crock of butter which Manning had sent aboard that morning. Bolitho hat. eaten almost a whole loaf, liberally smeared with butter, and had washed it down with, to Farquhar's estimation, seven cups of coffee.

Bolitho looked up, his eyes searching. "And you were going to remain here, were you?" He tapped "the scattered papers, "Did this mean nothing to you?"

Farquhar faced him calmly. "If my assessment of the situation was different from yours, sir, then-"

Bolitho stood up, his eyes blazing. "Don’t make speeches to me, Captain Farquhar! You read these despatches, the findings in the report on the artillery we captured, yet you saw nothing!" He stooped and snatched up two sheets of paper and thrust them on the table in a single movement. "Read it! These cannon are forty-five pounders. The military tested one, although to them it was probably unnecessary." He tapped the table in time to his words. "It can fire a forty-five-pound ball over five thousand yards. If you rate that unimportant, then you must be a fool! How far does the biggest gun in the fleet fire?" He strode to the quarter windows, his voice bitter. "Let me refresh your memory. A thirty-two-pounder can reach three thousand yards. With luck, and a good gun captain."

Farquhar retorted angrily, "I do not see what that has to do with us, sir."

"No, that is quite obvious." He turned to face him. "The French people expect a great victory. After their bloody revolution they may well demand such matters. And so to conquer Egypt, and reach far beyond, their fleet must first command the sea. Once safely beneath the protection of artillery such as these great cannon, the French could anchor an armada, several armadas, and know that there was not an English ship which could not be pounded to boxwood before she could grapple with them!"

Farquhar bit his lip. "Coastal batteries."

"At last, Captain." Bolitho looked at him coldly. "The pieces begin to fit for you also."

There was a tap at the door and the sentry bawled, "Officer of the watch, sir!"

Farquhar said, "Pass him in." He was probably relieved at the interruption.

The lieutenant stood just inside the door. "We have just sighted Buzzard, sir. Coming from the north."

"Thank you, Mr. Guthrie."

Bolitho sat down and massaged his eyes. "Get my clerk. I will dictate a despatch for Inch to carry to Gibraltar." He could not hide his anger. 'somewhat different from yours. " Farquhar was expressionless. "I will send for my clerk, sir.

I am afraid yours is still in Lysander."

"He will suffice for the present." He walked to the door. "I will get mine back when I recover my flagship."

Farquhar stared after him. "But I have had your broad pendant hoisted aboard Osiris, sir!"

'so I see." He smiled gravely. "Yours or mine? Were you that sure I was dead?"

He walked to the companion without waiting for an answer.

He found Mrs. Boswell on the poop talking with Pascoe. Seeing his nephew had brought home to him how desperately he needed to find Herrick, how much they needed each other.

If he understood Herrick too well, it was his own fault.

Probably more so than Herrick's. He had been searching for something different in Farquhar, when Herrick's real value was so obvious that neither of them had seen it.

The woman turned and smiled shyly. "I came over in the boat to say goodbye, Commodore." She slipped her hand through Pascoe's arm. "We have been getting along very well."

Bolitho nodded. "I’m certain of it." He saw through her cheerful tone and added, "As soon as I have met with Buzzards captain I will order the squadron, or what is left of it, to weigh."

She understood and walked with him to the poop ladder. "I will leave you now. I am glad you are recovered. I know something of medicine, as fever killed my late husband. It is always hotter in these climates aboard ship than on the shore. In Sicily it has been quite cool until these last weeks." She faced him sadly. "If your men had left you in Malta, or worse, taken you ashore where you anchored, I fear you would have perished. "

A boat was waiting at the chains, and Bolitho saw the Osiris's froglike first lieutenant peering impatiently from the entry port.

He said quietly, "I have one piece of advice, Mrs. Boswell." He guided her across the sun-warmed deck, oblivious to watching eyes and his own strange appearance. "If you feel something for Thomas Herrick, I beg you to speak it." He felt her tense as if to pull away from his hand.

But instead she.asked, "Is it so obvious?"

"There is nothing wrong in that. " He looked away towards the green slopes of land. "My own love was too short, and I begrudge every second of it which was wasted. Also," he forced a smile, "I know that if you say naught, Thomas will remain as tongue-tied as a nun in a room full of sailors!"

"I shall remember."

She looked at Pascoe. "Take care of yourselves. I have the strangest feeling that something great is about to happen." She shivered. "I am not sure I like it."

Bolitho watched her being lowered into the boat by boatswain's chair, and then strode aft to watch Buzzard's topsails edging slowly, so painfully slowly, around the north- ern headland.

Pascoe said, "A nice lady, sir. A bit like Aunt Nancy." "Aye." Bolitho thought of his sister in Falmouth, and her pompous husband. He had always been very close to Nancy, who, though younger than he, had always tried to "mother" him.

Pascoe continued, "They say that Nelson is coming to the Mediterranean; sir?"

"I’m thankful that somebody at last believes there is a real threat here. The battle, and battle there will be, may be decisive. Which is why we have work to do before that day dawns."

He saw Pascoe's face and smiled. "What's the matter, Adam? Don’t you want Nelson to come? He is the best we have", and -the youngest. That alone should please you!" Pascoe dropped his gaze and smiled. "One of the foretopmen said it for me. We’ve got our own Nelson already."

"I never heard such nonsense!" Bolitho made for the ladder, adding, "You"re getting as bad as that cox"n of mine!"

That night as Bolitho sat in Osiris's unfamiliar cabin, writing his report on his conclusions, he listened to the creak and mutter of the hull around him. The wind was rising slightly, and had already veered more to the north-west. The sloop Harebell, which had set sail just before darkness, would be making heavy going, tacking back and forth, back and forth, merely to stay in the same place.

He thought of Javal" s swarthy face as he had come aboard, surprised at seeing the broad pendant above Osiris, relieved to discover that Farquhar was not yet the commodore.

He had explained bluntly that after failing to discover the ships at the pre-arranged rendezvous, and hearing from a fisherman that they were at anchor in Syracuse, he had made a second patrol of the MessinaStrait, and with the wind backing, had gone farther north in search of news. He had explained, "I make no excuses, sir. I’m used to in- dependence, but I don’tabuse it. I put into Naples and visited the British Minister there. I had to come back with some- thing." His hard face had eased slightly. "Had I known that you were off on your own, er, expedition, sir, I’d have sailed right into Valletta and brought you out, Knights or not!"

Javal knew his weak spot. As an ex-frigate captain, Bolitho had acted rashly by going to see Yves Gorse, but in keeping with his old calling. Perhaps Javal had used the point to dilute his own guilt.

Javal had explained, 'sir William Hamilton may be old, sir, but he has a vast knowledge of affairs, and the communications to inform him."

Bolitho signed his report and stared at the opposite bulkhead. His tarnished sword looked out of place against the ornate panelling.

Javal had delivered only one piece of news. To be more precise, he had brought a name.

Sir William had been informed through his chain of associates and spies that the one man who could determine the next weeks and months was known to be making for Toulon. That man would not be prepared to waste time on empty gestures.

His name was Bonaparte.