The Darkening Sea

18. The Most Dangerous Frenchman

Lieutenant George Avery peered around the confines of his small, hutch-like cabin. Soon now, the cabin would be torn down and the various screens that partitioned many parts of the hull to offer a small privacy would follow to be stowed in the frigate's hold. Sea-chests, clothing, souvenirs, portraits of loved ones, all would be gathered into Valkyrie'?" belly. This was a ship of war, and it would be cleared from bow to stern so that every gun could work unhindered

until the fight was won. The alternative was rarely considered.

Avery dressed with care, knowing that Bolitho would expect it. His stomach had shied away from the thought of food, and the smell of grease from the galley funnel had been enough to make him retch. He looked at his face in the small mirror propped on his chest. He had shaved and put on a clean shirt and stockings. He watched the face smile back at him. The last rites. He never doubted that there would be a battle: Bolitho had convinced him.

Avery had known other sea officers who had this gift, if it could be called that, but none like him. Avery, still unsure of himself with the vice-admiral, had thought he had gone too far when he had spoken of Nelson. If anything, Bolitho had seemed amused by his sincerity, as if he himself thought it absurd that he should be compared to his hero.

He tugged out his watch, all that had survived from his father's possessions after Copenhagen, and held it beside the lantern. He would call the admiral. How quiet the ship was,

and there was no light when he walked past the companion ladder that led to the quarterdeck.

He heard Trevenen's harsh voice berating somebody up there. A man who had been unable to sleep like most of his crew. Avery smiled wryly. Like me.

The ship's corporal was speaking with the marine sentry; both of them looked grim, Avery thought. The sentry would be receiving his orders. If battle was joined, he would prevent any man from running below to hide, on pain of death.

The screen door opened and Allday came out carrying a jug of used shaving water.

Avery stared at him. "Is Sir Richard about so soon?"

Allday eyed him curiously and replied, "We thought you was goin' to lie abed till after the fight, sir! "

Avery shook his head. The humour was more unnerving than the grim preparations all around him.

It was very bright in the cabin, with several lanterns swinging from their brackets, and shutters across the stern windows to make it unusually private. He glanced at an eighteen-pounder, still tethered by its breeching rope and covered with canvas to make the cabin seem less war-like. Even this place would not be spared.

Bolitho came out of the sleeping compartment, pulling on a clean shirt while Ozzard trotted impatiently behind him to make adjustments to his belt.

"Good morning, Mr. Avery." Bolitho sat down to look at his chart while Ozzard struggled to arrange his stock. "Wind's steady enough, but not much strength in it." He moved away to look in his desk and Avery saw him tuck a letter into his waistcoat. One of hers. To have with him, like the locket which would be resting against his skin.

Bolitho said, "We will clear for action presently. I am told that the people have been fed, watch by watch." He seemed to think that amusing too. Perhaps he had had to overrule Trevenen once again. The captain might have wanted to feed his company after the battle: less food to waste, fewer mouths to fill.

He jabbed at the chart. "We shall continue to steer north'rd. If the wind holds we should be on a converging tack with the enemy. If so, he will have to remain very much close-hauled, while we shall have the wind-gage. For a while."

Yovell yawned hugely and continued to write in his folio. He looked so out of place here, Avery thought. An educated man who apparently preferred the dangers of the sea and the risk of sudden death to the easier life more appropriate to someone of his profession ashore.

Allday came back into the cabin and strode to the bulkhead where Bolitho's swords were usually displayed. Avery noted that the beautiful presentation blade from the people of Falmouth had already gone below. He watched Allday pull out the other blade, the old one he had seen in the portraits at Falmouth.

Bolitho looked fresh and calm, and gave no sign of doubt or anxiety. Avery tried to take comfort from the fact.

Heavy feet sounded across the deck. The captain.

Bolitho merely glanced up and commented, "I have yet to convince that one."

The footsteps faded and then moved on to the ladder. Trevenen looked surprised when he entered the cabin. Perhaps he had expected to find them all in a desperate conference, Avery thought coldly, or finding courage in a bottle of cognac?

"Galley fire is doused, Sir Richard. Both watches standing-to."

His eyes were sunken, and his normally aggressive confidence was lacking. Bolitho looked away. It was a bad sign.

"You may beat to quarters, Captain Trevenen, then clear for action. In ten minutes, do you propose?"

Trevenen retorted angrily, "In eight, Sir Richard! "

Bolitho nodded slowly. "This will be quite a day for many of your people. Do not drive them too far. They are not the enemy." He let his words sink in, then added softly, "Not yet."

Trevenen turned by the door. "May I speak, Sir Richard?"

"Of course."

"I think we are making a mistake. We lack the ships for any running battle…"

Bolitho met his gaze steadily. "We will not run, Captain, while my flag flies from the foremast truck."

After Trevenen left he looked at the closed door, feeling the other man's defiance and anger hanging in the air.

He said to Avery, "If anything happens…" He lifted one hand to silence Avery's protests. "Do what I asked you to do."

Calls shrilled through the ship, and from overhead came the insistent rattle of drums.

"All hands! All hands! Beat to quarters an' clear for action! "

The decks seemed to tremble as the seamen and marines ran to their stations. Screens were already being pulled down. There was not much more time.

Avery watched as Allday fastened the old sword around his admiral's waist, and saw Ozzard carrying the dress uniform coat with the gleaming epaulettes, not the faded sea-going coat Bolitho usually wore. It made a chill fasten to his spine like ice. The same uniform that had drawn the French marksmen's fire to Nelson. To provoke Baratte even at such a terrible risk, or was it to show the people he was amongst them, to give all that he had for them?

Yovell had picked up his satchel, and said, "I shall be giving a hand on the orlop, Sir Richard." He offered a shy smile. "Death to the French! "

Allday muttered, "An' that's no error! "

Ozzard spoke nervously as the crash and scrape of furniture being taken below moved swiftly towards the cabin.

"Shall you need me, Sir Richard?"

"Go below. Keep Rear-Admiral Herrick company if you wish." But Ozzard had already gone.

Bolitho adjusted his coat and said, "Well, old friend, it gets no easier, does it?"

Allday grinned. "I sometimes wonders what it's all for."

Bolitho heard men running above and beneath him. "I expect they do also." He looked at Avery and said firmly, "So they must be told, eh?"

Then the three of them left the cabin, while another party of men hurried past to remove the last obstacles.

Lieutenant Urquhart called, "Cleared for action, sir! "

Trevenen glanced at his watch. "Nine minutes. I expected better, Mr. Urquhart! "

Allday saw Bolitho's face. It was easy to read his thoughts.

Trevenen never praised anyone, even in the face of danger. The only thing he could inspire was fear.

It was dark and remarkably cool on deck after the heat of the day preceding. But dawn came quickly out here, and sunset would arrive with haste to cover the pain and disperse the fury of battle.

Bolitho glanced around. The master and his mates were near the wheel where extra men stood by the spokes. Chain-slings had been rigged to hold the great yards in place if all the rigging was shot away. And nets, although Bolitho could not yet see them, to protect the gun-crews from falling spars and blocks. It was something he knew so well, had known all his life from the age of twelve when he had first gone to sea in the forbidding and unfamiliar world of the old eighty-gun Manxman.

Herrick would be down there in the comparative safety of the orlop deck below the waterline: fretting over his lost arm and his helplessness, but most of all, remembering.

He moved towards the tightly-packed hammock nettings and almost slipped on a stretch of spray-soaked planking.

He said, "This part of the deck is not sanded, Captain." He kept his tone level but was inwardly angry at somebody's carelessness. A man or men could slip and fall in the heat of a sea-fight. Just one gun left unfired could make all the difference.

Trevenen's answer was even more surprising. "None of the deck is sanded, Sir Richard. If the enemy fails to appear, we would have used good sand to no effect."

Then do it now, if you please. I am sure that in an ocean of this vastness we could find some more sand! "

He heard a lieutenant passing the order and the immediate response of the ship's boys, who scuttled amongst the guns like terriers.

Allday had heard the sharp exchange and was glad Trevenen had felt the edge of Bolitho's tongue. He stared up at the rigging and said, "I can see the masthead pendant, Sir Richard."

Bolitho peered up at the dark sky, and imagined he could see the long red and white pendant curling out from the truck.

"As soon as the sun is up, they will see us."

Avery glanced at the shadows around him. Listening, trying to gauge their own chances of seeing another sunset.

It was uncanny not to see or know the enemy's strength. Bolitho said, Tell your signals party to be ready, Mr. Avery. As soon as it is light enough, make Take stations as ordered and tell Larne to Close on Flag."

Avery could now see the white patches on the collars of his two signals midshipmen, but some of the flags already strewn by the halliards were still colourless in the lingering gloom.

Bolitho spoke as though almost disinterested. "I feel certain that they will already have made it ready, Mr. Avery, but the next signal will be Prepare for battle."

He heard Trevenen ask, "Suppose the enemy is not there, Sir Richard?" And Avery could feel the presence of the man he served like a force.

Bolitho answered coldly, Then I have failed, and by tomorrow Baratte will have found Commodore Keen's convoy. The rest you can imagine for yourself."

Trevenen muttered thickly, "Nobody can blame ValkyrieV

"You and I both know where the blame will lie, Captain! So let us all be patient a moment longer! "

Angry with himself for being so easily drawn, Bolitho said, "I see the masthead."

He strained his eyes upwards through the taut rigging, the web of ratlines glistening in the darkness from moisture and spray alike. Men he had not seen earlier stood out against the pale hammock nettings, or crouching like athletes as they waited to run and seize hold of braces and halliards when the next order came.

Bolitho looked over the weather quarter: there was light, a mere hint of it. It would soon lift above the invisible horizon to lay them bare for all to see.

Trevenen rasped, "What is that masthead lookout about, Mr. Urquhart? Does he stand watch asleep?"

Urquhart was about to raise his speaking trumpet when Bolitho said, "You go aloft, Mr. Avery. You are my eyes this morning."

Avery lingered, his mind hanging on to the remark, and wondering if Bolitho had intended him to draw another meaning from it.

Bolitho smiled. "No head for heights?"

Avery was strangely moved. "Good enough, sir." He took a signals telescope from the rack and swung himself out on the shrouds while two seamen opened the protective net for him. Bolitho could see the

sailors' eyes now very white in the gloom as they watched the flag lieutenant swarm up the ratlines, his sword slapping against his thigh.

Avery climbed steadily, feeling the shrouds vibrating beneath his shoes, the very strength of the ship as she opened up beneath him. The black guns, each with its crew, barebacked and waiting to load and run out, were clearly visible. He climbed out and around the mizzen-top where some marines stared at him with surprise and interest as they tended a swivel gun on the thick barricade.

He stopped and looked down again, at the yellow shoulder of the figurehead and the flapping jib and staysails, pure white against the undulating water below. He turned slightly and was in time to see the sun's rim rise slowly from the sea itself, saw it spill over the horizon and reach out in either direction to sharpen its edge with pale gold. He unslung the telescope and entwined his leg around a stay. You are my eyes this morning. The words still lingered like something written.

For an instant he felt stiffness in his shoulder, the wound which had struck him down on that terrible day. He had often probed it with his fingers, but had never actually seen it until he had used a looking-glass. The French surgeon had probably made it worse, but the wound had left a deep gouge in his body, as if someone had done it with a huge spoon. He was ashamed of it. It made him feel unclean.

He peered at the mainmast as the lookout yelled, "Deck there! Ships on the lee bow! "

Below on the quarterdeck Bolitho thrust his hands under his coat to contain and hide his impatience.

Trevenen bawled, "What are they, man?"

There was no hesitation this time. "Ship-of-the-line, sir! And smaller ones! "

Trevenen's nostrils seemed to flare. "Even my ship cannot match guns with a liner, Sir Richard! "

Bolitho watched him and heard the triumph in his voice, as if he were addressing the whole ship. Baratte had saved this unknown card for today. Trevenen was right about one thing: a frigate could not survive close action against a ship used to the line of battle and built to withstand its massive broadsides.

He thought of Adam and the other frigate, Baratte's own flagship when he had been taken prisoner. It was over before it had begun.

He looked around: at the guns, their crews staring aft to discover what was happening, the scarlet-coated marines with their muskets by the protective nettings. Even they could do nothing if the ship's company refused to fight or, as they would see it, to be killed for nothing.

There were footsteps across the deck and Bolitho saw Avery walking unhurriedly towards him.

"I did not order you down, Mr. Avery! " Something on the lieutenant's face steadied him. "What is it?"

Avery glanced briefly at Trevenen, but barely saw him. "She's no ship-of-the-line, sir. She is the U. S. S. Unity, exactly as your nephew described her, spar by spar."

He had heard Trevenen's words as he had climbed to the deck, the relief in his tone as the bright sunlight which was opening up the ocean all around them had shown him a possibility of escape.

All that had changed. Trevenen seemed unable to close his jaws, and was staring at him as if he were an apparition from hell.

"I did not wish to call out from up there, sir." He pointed although the eastern horizon was still curtained by sun-filled haze. "There are several small vessels with her, ahead and astern, merchantmen by the cut of them."

Bolitho said quietly, "A convoy then?"

Avery looked at the captain, but it was as if he had been turned to stone.

"Far up to the nor'east there are other sails they are clearly visible from the mizzen topmast. You were right, sir. They are Baratte's frigates, I feel certain of it."

Bolitho reached out and touched his shoulder. "So now we know how the game is set. The American ships will do nothing but sail between us and our own two frigates. Divide and weaken us while the "convoy" is allowed to proceed in peace."

He turned to Trevenen. "Well, Captain, here is the ship you doubted. The most powerful frigate in the world."

"We must discontinue, Sir Richard. Before it is too late! "

"It was already too late when Baratte was released from prison." He moved to the chart, feeling men step aside to let him pass. "Hoist the signal, Prepare for Battle."

"Already bent on, sir."

Bolitho heard the halliards sing through the blocks as the flags broke out to the breeze.

"Signal Lame to repeat the signal if neither Anemone nor Laertes is yet in sight. They know what to do."

Trevenen stared at him angrily. "They cannot engage without support, Sir Richard! " He looked around as if to convince those nearest to him.

"At last we agree, Captain." Bolitho took a telescope and scanned the brightening horizon. The enemy were only a few pale flaws like tiny leaves drifting on glass. "We shall pass through the convoy. Continue on the same tack. In the meantime, have the boats put overboard." He was going to add, for the victors, but refrained. Most of the officers and all the older hands would know what the order implied. It was to protect the men on deck from flying splinters if shots smashed through a boat tier; but to the land men and other new men it was the last chance to escape or be saved if the worst happened.

Lieutenant Urquhart called, "I can see the Yankee, sir! "

Avery said, "Lame has acknowledged, sir."

Bolitho said, The ships are close-hauled as tight as they'll come. Unity'?" captain will not wish to fall off down wind and seem to be running away."

He considered Captain Nathan Beer. Strong, determined and a veteran of frigate warfare. His ship was so well-armed that she could probably outshoot a seventy-four. No wonder the lookout had been confused.

He would hold to his course, steadily converging with Valkyrie.

Avery asked, "Will they not attempt to prevent us, sir?" There was no anxiety in his voice. It was merely a technical detail, a part of the inevitable.

Bolitho felt his skin becoming damp with sweat under his heavy coat.

"Captain Beer will have little choice but to warn us off. He is no fool Baratte's unwilling and unofficial ally perhaps, but too concerned with his duty to tolerate interference."

Trevenen said, "I must note this in my log, Sir Richard."

"Please do, Captain. But I intend to break through the convoy at its weakest part while we still have the wind on our side." He saw some of the seamen staring astern as the ship's boats drifted away, held together by loose lines so that they would not smash into one another.

Trevenen said, "The weakest part, Sir Richard?"

"Astern of the Unity, directlyV

He saw no understanding on Trevenen's heavy features, and said curtly, "I shall wish to speak with the gunner and your lieutenants." He raised his glass again. Perhaps Baratte had even foreseen this move. Surely he would not expect the English ships to retreat?

The white marks on the horizon seemed as before, but the embrace would begin within two hours. He heard himself say, "Plenty of time before we load and run out."

He studied Trevenen as the captain snapped out his orders. Unwilling to see his ship badly mauled and perhaps his own future in ruins? Or was he as Avery had described, a coward?

"Will you have the people lay aft, Captain? You will wish to speak with them before…"

Trevenen shook his fist violently, "They will have to learn, Sir Richard, learn and obey! "

"I see. Then have them piped aft, Mr. Urquhart. I will demand much of them this day. I owe them an explanation at least."

The calls shrilled and the hands came stampeding aft. Those from forward who had seen and heard nothing of the exchanges on the quarterdeck peered almost fearfully at the larboard gangway as if expecting to see a grating rigged for a flogging, even in the face of an enemy they did not know.

They looked first to Trevenen and then, when it was apparent that he was not to speak to them, they fixed their attention on the vice-admiral who had taken their lives into his hands, and could just as easily dispose of them.

There was silence but for the sea and shipboard noises, and even those seemed muted.

Bolitho rested his palms on the quarterdeck rail and looked over and amongst them.

"Valkyries, I thought I should tell you something of what we are about on this fine morning. My Cox'n remarked just before we cleared for action that he sometimes wonders what it is all for." He saw several heads turn towards Allday's powerful figure. "Many of you were taken from your homes and villages and some from honest merchant ships, against your will, to face a life which has never been an easy one. But we must never give in to tyranny no matter how difficult it is to see any value in our sacrifice, even though it be in the name of King and country." He had all their attention now. Some of the warrant officers and older seamen were probably thinking that had such comments been made on the mess deck or in a barrack room they would be branded as treasonable.

" England must seem far away to many of you." He looked at them steadily, wanting them to understand, needing them to do so. "Because I stand here with my two bright stars and a flag at the masthead it does not mean that I feel this any less. I miss my home and the woman I love. But without us, our dear ones, our homes and our countryside will be as nothing if the enemy is allowed to win! "

Avery saw his hands holding the rail until the tanned skin was pale from the force of his grip. Whatever happened, he knew he would never forget this moment. He thought of Stephen Jenour, and understood now more than ever why he had loved this man.

Bolitho said quietly, so that many men further forward pressed into their companions to hear his words:

This ship that blocks our way is not at war with us, but any flag which is raised to help an enemy is our enemy too! When we fight, do not think of causes and the justice of things, which is the way of my Cox'n." He guessed Allday was grinning behind him, and saw several of the assembled sailors smile at his words. "Think of one another, and the ship around us! Will you do that for me, lads?"

He turned away, his hat in the air as the cheering swept across the ship as loudly as any rainfall.

Allday saw the pain in his eyes, the emotion at what he had just done, but when he reached Trevenen his voice was without mercy.

"Do you see, Captain? Leadership is all they ask, not bloody backs simply to satisfy you! "

He turned again, and looked out at the cheering seamen until in groups they went back to their stations and the guns.

Lieutenant Urquhart, his eyes blazing with excitement, said, "They'll follow you now, Sir Richard! "

Bolitho said nothing. Urquhart did not understand. None of them did. He had betrayed these same men as he had Jenour when he had forced him to take a command.

When he spoke once more he was surprised at the normality of his own voice.

"Very well, Captain, you may load, but do not run out." Trevenen touched his hat, his eyes red-rimmed with strain and despair. "And have other flags bent on, Mr. Avery. The Colours must be kept flying, no matter what! " Then he spoke again, although whether to himself or to Avery the flag lieutenant was never certain.

"To think that Captain Beere once knew my brother. I sometimes think I never knew him at all."

Bolitho stood loosely near the wheel and looked around at the lieutenants and senior warrant officers he had sent for. Young faces, tense expressions, and pathetic determination. The warrant officers, the professionals, had all seen action in one ship or another, but apart from Urquhart and of course Avery, the lieutenants had not.

He recalled all the wild, reckless times he had sailed into battle: sometimes with the drums and fifes playing a lively jig to ease the strain of waiting. But not so on this morning.

The breeze had freshened very slightly, enough to harden each sail, but not so that it could break the great undulating expanse of ocean. A few gulls and other seabirds circled the top-gallant masts, undisturbed by the sullen purpose of the ship below them.

If he turned his gaze very slightly Bolitho could see the other ships, brigs and brigantines for the most part, with the Unity sailing amongst them like a fortress.

He said, "We will remain on this converging tack. Unity's captain will believe we intend to pass through his charges ahead of him. If we can get close enough without taking a few of Unity's broadsides I intend that we should alter course at the last moment and pass astern of her. It will be a hard thing to do. It is the only course of action open to us if we are not to leave our ships unaided. All officers will ensure that top men and all spare hands are ready to make more sail immediately. We have the wind across the quarter when we turn we will have it astern of us." He smiled. "A soldier's wind! "

He glanced along the crowded deck where men crouched by the guns or waited by each mast with their midshipmen and petty officers.

Every gun was loaded, but he had not ordered any of them to be double-shot ted Some of the new hands might lose their nerve, and there was every chance of a gun exploding and killing all the men around it if improperly handled. Worse, it could start a fire right inside the ship.

When he had explained to Trevenen what he intended, to keep all gun ports closed and then engage with the weapons which now faced only an empty sea, he had exclaimed, "They will see we are cleared for action, Sir Richard! They will guess your plan of action! "

"If we run out a single gun, Captain Beer will feel justified in firing into us at extreme range. Valkyrie could be dismasted before a single gun could bear. Beer's neutrality is one-sided. To gather this rabble of American vessels under the pretence of escorting them through the scene of a possible battle tells me everything. It is typical of Baratte. He must win this fight."

Urquhart asked, "Is this in breach of our rights, Sir Richard?"

"That will be for others to decide."

He wanted to rub his eye to clear it but controlled the impulse. "Good luck, gentlemen. Keep the gun crews out of sight until ordered. When you run out it will be an all-time record! "

Surprisingly, some of them grinned. Bolitho turned to Trevenen. "Do you wish to add anything, Captain? They will be looking to you today."

But Trevenen did not answer, or maybe he had not even heard. He was staring at the advancing, uneven line of vessels. To a seabird it might resemble a giant arrowhead.

To Avery Bolitho said, "Two more good lookouts aloft. I must see when, or if, our ships are about to engage."

He turned as Allday commented grimly, "Now there's an ugly sight if ever I saw one! "

Unity's gun ports had opened as one. They had been well-drilled: it looked as if a single hand had done it.

Then the guns, squealing up to show themselves in the frail sunshine like jagged teeth. It would need a lot of men to move them up the deck, which was sloping slightly away from the wind.

In his heart Beer probably wanted to avoid a fight, no matter how one-sided it might now appear. Such an incident as this would have serious repercussions, no matter which flag flew at the end of the day.

It would surprise the American captain to see all of Valkyrie's ports tightly sealed. It would merely appear that they intended to pass through the ships, to defy the accepted rights of neutral vessels but nothing more.

Bolitho heard Urquhart say quietly, "How long, d'you reckon?" And Avery's calm response.

"Half an hour if it works, almost immediately if it doesn't."

It was strange how the wardroom had shunned him because of rumour and the cruel half-truths told about Jolie's surrender and capture. That, too, had all changed.

Bolitho tore his eyes from the ships and the threatening sight and size of the big American frigate, and watched Bob Fasken the gunner as he strolled along the deck, pausing to speak to each crew with no more fuss than a countryman walking with his dog.

Bolitho took a telescope. "Over here, Mr. Harris! " He rested the glass on the midshipman's shoulder and thought he could feel him trembling. A mere boy. As we all were once.

He held his breath as the glass dragged the frigate into full perspective, the huge ensigns curling from gaff and masthead, the red stripes and circle of bright stars very clearly visible.

He saw the towering figure on the quarterdeck near one of the smaller guns there. Probably nine-pounders, he thought. He saw the man take a telescope and train it towards Valkyrie, moving it slowly until he could almost feel the American staring directly at him.

Captain Nathan Beer raised his cocked hat in a mock salute, and held it in the air until Bolitho acknowledged it with his own.

He smiled and looked at Urquhart. "Re-set the courses and t'gallants, Mr. Urquhart! "

It was what they would do if they intended to overreach the Unity before altering course to cross ahead of her.

There was a sharp bang, and a second later a waterspout shot from the sea before the ball richochetted across the surface like a flying fish.

A seaman said derisively, "I could do better'n that! "

Bolitho said, "As before. Steer due north! "

"Due north she be, sir! "

There was a puff of smoke from the most forward gun, followed by the whine of a massive ball tearing overhead.

Urquhart called, "Stand fast, lads! The next one is ours! "

Men crouched at the guns or behind anything they believed might protect them.

Bolitho could see Unity'?" tapering jib-boom reaching out as if to impale Valkyrie's figurehead. It was a delusion: there were still seven or eight cables between them.

The second gun fired and this time it smashed into the lower hull with the force of a rock. Several men cried out; others stared at the masts as if they expected to see them fall.

Trevenen seemed to come out of his trance. "Get all spare men on the pumps! The prisoners too they'll soon see that they are in the most danger! "

Bolitho called sharply, "Alter course, Captain! "

But Trevenen was staring at the other ship, his eyes wild.

Only two things could happen. Unity would have to fall off down wind to avoid collision if she maintained her present course and speed. Beer would not allow that, as it would expose his stern to attack. If he shortened sail, it would still be too late.

It was now or never.

"Alter course, now, three points to starboard! "

The breaking of the suspense seemed to make the waiting seamen fly to their stations even as the big double wheel went over.

"Braces, there! More men on the weather braces, Mr. Jones! "

Above the deck each sail strained and cracked to its yard, and as more were set to build her into a great pyramid of canvas, Bolitho watched as the American appeared to forge across the bows.

"Steady she goes, sir! Nor'east by north! "

"Open the ports! Run out! "

With almost every sail set and hard-filled Valkyrie seemed to be charging towards the other ship. The bowsprit passed like a marker across Unity's mainmast, and still further until Bolitho saw the same quarterdeck as they steered for the American's high poop and glittering scrollwork.

Then the whole of the Unity's side seemed to explode in long angry flames, the gunsmoke fanning through the rigging like fog.

The weight of iron smashed into Valkyrie's bows and forecastle, up-ending some of the guns but causing few casualties, as most of the gun crews had been ordered to the larboard side ready to engage. Had she not altered course so quickly, more of the twenty-four pound balls would have found their mark.

But it was bad enough. Men ran dazed and bleeding, while others lay where they had been smashed down. Blood, corpses, pieces of men were scattered like gruel, while petty officers and lieutenants tried to restore order. Some shots had been aimed high, and already seamen were swarming aloft to repair the dangling tangles of severed rigging.

And there was Unity's high stern, the windows of her cabin shining brightly above Valkyrie's larboard bow like an ornate cliff.

Dyer the second lieutenant yelled, "Ready, lads! Fire as you bear! " Then he clapped his hands to his face and fell, and his place was taken by a terrified midshipman. The Americans were shooting from the taffrail, and great splinters rose like quills on the quarterdeck as the unseen marksmen saw the admiral's epaulettes.

Unity's maindeck guns were already being run out again, but if Beer could come around with the English frigate he would have to use his starboard guns. There would be no mercy from those great guns next time.

The jib-boom was already passing the American's stern. Bolitho could see the gilded lettering of her name on the counter, could almost hear Adam's voice describing it despite Trevenen's contemptuous doubt.

The great carronade, laid and prepared by the gunner himself, lurched back on its slide, and for what must have been only a split second Bolitho thought it had misfired. And then he saw the Unity's stern seem to open like a jagged cave. The carronade's great ball would explode within, releasing a hail of grape-shot to scythe throughout the full length of the ship.

"As you bear! Fire! "

Gun by gun down the Valkyrie's side each eighteen-pounder hurled itself inboard on its tackles. Not even a blind man could miss at this range. Almost every carefully supervised shot would rip through the other vessel's hull, which, like their own, would be cleared and open from stern to bow.

"Stop your vents! Sponge out! Load! Run out! "

Despite the fear and the pitiful screams of badly wounded men, the many hours of gun-drill and discipline held them all together.

A white-faced midshipman came to a halt, his feet slipping in blood as he saw Avery by the rail.

"Pardon, sir! " He winced as a ball slapped into the driver overhead. "The lookouts have sighted our ships! They are engaging the enemy! "

Avery said, "I shall tell the admiral. Thank you, Mr. Warren. Walk, if you please! "

Urquhart yelled, "The Yankee is not under command, sir! " His voice was cracking with disbelief.

"But she's still fighting! " Even as Avery spoke another ball smashed through some hammock nettings and tossed three marines aside like bloody bundles. One of Unity's nine-pounders, probably packed with grape and cannister shot.

The sailing master was down and one of his mates staggered to his place, his white trousers splashed with the master's own blood.

He called shakily, "Steady as she goes, sir! "

But Avery could see nothing but Allday, who was holding Bolitho against his own body as if to protect him.

Avery ran over to them. "What is it?"

He saw Allday's face twisted in anguish. "Splinters, sir! Send for the surgeon! "

They carried Bolitho gently to the foot of the mizzen mast.

He said hoarsely, "Splinters… in my face! " He gripped Avery's arm with terrible force. 7 can't see! "

He lowered his face into his hands. His eyes were tightly closed. Avery touched his cheek and could feel some of them, like tiny fish bones protruding from the skin.

The hull shook again to the roar of a full broadside, although few of Valkyrie's guns would still bear on their opponent. Avery barely noticed it. He looked up and saw Trevenen peering at them through the smoke.

"Is it bad?"

"He can't see, sir! "

Bolitho tried to get up but Allday held him firmly. "Get closer, Captain! Don't give him time…" He broke off, gasping with pain as he tried to open his eyes.

Trevenen snapped, "Sir Richard is wounded! Mr. Urquhart, stand by to disengage. That's an order! "

Avery stared at him. "You'd ran?"

Trevenen's confidence was flooding back.

"I command here! I said it would fail! Now Sir Richard has only himself to blame! "

A figure in a bloodied apron hurried across the deck. It was not Minchin but his assistant, Lovelace.

Trevenen shouted, "Take Sir Richard below. He has no place here! "

"Who says so, damn you! "

Avery stared as another figure came through the companion hatch, teeth bared against the pain of his severed arm. From a distance it might appear that Herrick was grinning. He stared slowly around at the litter of battle, the dead and dying, and lastly at the corpses of the marines, lying in disorder like the ones who had fought to the end aboard his old flagship.

His eyes took in the American frigate, which was drifting further and further downwind, while some of the small vessels she had been escorting headed away as if Unity contained something evil.

Then he said, The Yankee will not trouble us again, not this time in any case. We will rejoin our ships without further delay." He closed his eyes tightly as if to control the pain.

Trevenen was staring at him, wild with disbelief.

"What are you saying? I am in command…" He got no further.

Herrick took a pace towards him. "You command nothing. You are relieved, and I'll send you to hell for your bloody treachery! Now get off this deck! "

Trevenen hesitated as if to protest, then, almost blindly, he turned and walked to the companion hatch. He had to push and thrust his way through his men, the same men who had once been afraid even to meet his eyes. Now they watched him in silence, without fear, only contempt.

Herrick ignored him. "You, Urquhart or whatever your bloody name is can you sail this ship?"

The first lieutenant nodded like a puppet, his face blanched but determined after what he had witnessed.

"I can, sir."

Then do it. We shall rejoin our ships. They will be hard put just now! "

One of the surgeon's loblolly boys came to support Herrick but he shook him away angrily and tugged his dress coat more firmly around his shoulders. "See to the others, damn you! "

Bolitho lay stiffly across Allday's knees, and almost cried out as Lovelace's strong fingers prised open his eye and applied a soft dressing and some stinging ointment, while the other battle raged on in the distance as if it were not real.

What he had always dreaded had happened. With neither warning nor mercy, as it had happened to the men who were even now being dragged below to the hell of Minchin's surgery. How could he go to Catherine now? How could he even consider it?

Lovelace said, "Hold him firmly, Allday." Then he carefully turned Bolitho's face towards the strengthening sunlight and stared into his eye with fierce concentration. He said, "Look up, Sir Richard."

Bolitho opened his eye and felt Allday tense as he stared past him. For an instant there was only mist and drifting flecks of blood. Then things stood out in separate, unmatched images. Herrick in his shining rear-admiral's epaulettes, gripping the rail with his hand while he peered at something beyond the torn and bloodied hammock nettings. The boy-midshipman on whose shoulder he had steadied the telescope, staring down at him, sobbing noiselessly as the guns fell silent. Further still, to the severed rigging and punctured sails, a marine in the maintop waving his hat in the air. To whom, he wondered vaguely.

He hardly dared to say it. "I can see again." He did not resist as Lovelace lifted the lid of his left eye. For an instant Bolitho saw surprise, even shock on his face, but he said calmly, "I do not think this one will change, Sir Richard."

"Help me up."

Bolitho stood between them while Lovelace removed tiny splinters from around his eyes. Each one was so small that it could barely be seen in the smoky sunshine. But just one would have been enough.

Lovelace smiled gravely. "There were paint-flecks as well, Sir Richard." He looked away as somebody screamed out in agony. "I must go, sir. I am needed." He looked at Bolitho, and Avery thought that it was as if he were searching for something. "And yes, I will be glad to accept your offer! "

Urquhart yelled, "Baratte's Chacal has struck to Anemone, sir! " He was wild with excitement.

Bolitho strode to the quarterdeck rail with Allday's shadow covering him like a cloak.

"What of LaertesT He took a telescope and winced as the sunlight lanced into his eyes.

Before they blurred again he saw Anemone almost alongside the French frigate, her foremast shot away and lying across Baratte's deck like a crude bridge. Two cables away, Laertes had grappled with the renegade's ship Le Corsair. It would be a double blow to Baratte that his ship should be taken by Adam. He saw it all until the brightness forced him to lower the glass. Anemone'?" sails were in tatters, her rigging like tangled creeper, but he thought he heard cheering. Adam was safe. No other captain could have fought his ship like that.

He felt Herrick beside him and knew Allday was grinning despite the death and destruction which lay around them.

Herrick said quietly, They didn't need us after all. But if the Yankee had really had his say there's no telling what might have happened."

Urquhart called, "No signals yet, sir."

Bolitho nodded. "The most dangerous Frenchman afloat, and they did it. And I saw none of it."

Herrick swayed and looked at the spots of blood which were falling from his bandaged stump.

"And he wanted to parade us together as his prisoners, eh? God rot him! "

Avery asked, "What orders, Sir Richard?"

"We must assist the others with their prizes. After that…" He swung round and asked, "No signals, Mr. Urquhart? No wonder Captain Hannay gave up the fight. Baratte was playing another old trick! " They stared at him as if the fear for his sight had deranged him. Bolitho shouted, "Where is that brig?"

"Standing well away to lee'rd, sir! "

Herrick stood steadily as a warrant officer tried to retie the reddening bandage, but suddenly the pain was too much. He gasped, "We did it, Richard, like those other times…"

Then he fainted.

"Take good care of him." Bolitho laid Herrick's coat over him as some seamen carried him on to a grating. "But for him

Then he said, "Baratte was directing the fight from the brig but flew his flag from Chacal. Just in case Unity could not frighten us off."

Avery said quietly, "If Captain Trevenen had had his way…" He shrugged. It already seemed like history. Only the grim reminders were real.

Bolitho said, "Make all sail, Mr. Urquhart." He glanced down at the sailing master's corpse as if he might still respond. But his face was stiff, `?,:/' frozen at the moment of impact. "Baratte shall not get away this time."

Allday watched him grimly as he touched his eyelid. "You had me fair troubled, Sir Richard."

Bolitho turned to look at him, his eyes very clear. "I know, old friend." He fingered the locket through his smoke-stained shirt. "Now Commodore Keen's convoy will be safe. It is up to the military from this point." He seemed to see it in his mind. Too many men, too many ships. The price was always unbearable.

The depression lifted slightly. "I expect I shall be unemployed for a while."

A voice called, "The brig has set more sail, sir! "

Bolitho clenched his hands. "Too late. Tell the master gunner to lay aft."

Bob Fasken appeared below the rail and knuckled his forehead. "I'm ready, Sir Richard." His eyes seemed to ask, how did you know?

Bolitho stared past him as the brig seemed to drift into Valkyrie's mesh of rigging.

Tire when you are ready, Mr. Fasken." He smiled briefly. "Your crews did well this day."

It seemed to take an eternity to overhaul the enemy brig. Corpses were dropped overboard, and the protesting wounded vanished from the darkly stained decks.

Trucks squealed as one of the big eighteen-pounder bow-chasers was manhandled into position. The gunner watching with his arms folded. Handspikes were used to train the gun round, and some of the unemployed men stood on the gangway to watch, a few still searching for friends, a familiar face, which would never be seen again.

The bow-chaser banged out and the smoke was cleared away even as the crew were sponging out and reloading.

Bolitho saw the shot fall short of the brig's counter, and heard some of the seamen laying bets with one another, when only moments earlier they had been staring death in the face.

"Ready, sir! "

"Fire! "

This time Bolitho thought he saw the actual fall of shot. A dark blur, then wood splinters and rigging flying from the brig's hull to drift along her side.

Urquhart said in a whisper, "He must strike, damn him! "

Avery pointed. "Look, sir! He's running up his flag! "

Bolitho lowered the telescope. Like an answer to Urquhart's remark. He would never surrender.

"Fire! "

It was another hit, and men could be seen running like mad creatures as spars and rigging smashed down amongst them.

Fasken shaded his eyes to peer aft. When no order was given he took the trigger-line from the gun-captain and balanced himself in a crouching position inboard of the black breech, something which he had probably not done since he had been part of a gun crew.

Bolitho felt the deck rise and then settle, saw the trigger line go taut and then jerk to Fasken's strong pull.

For a moment longer it seemed that the gunner had missed. Then there was a mingled gasp of surprise and horror as the forepart of the brig exploded into a great tower of fire. Driven gleefully by the wind, the sails and tarred rigging were consumed in minutes, the fires reaching out along the hull and spitting through the open ports like tongues of bright sparks.

The explosion, when it came, was like a single clap of thunder. Perhaps a magazine had been ignited, or maybe the brig was carrying extra powder for Baratte's privateers.

As the sound rolled away the vessel's death pall was smeared across the sky like a black stain.

Bolitho watched the sea's face easing away the violent disturbances. For what, he wondered? So that Baratte could further prove he was a better man than his father and loyal to his country's cause? A vanity, then?

He heard himself say, "Rejoin the others, Mr. Urquhart. Then tell the purser to break out the rum." He looked at the men who had once been too cowed even to speak. "They are all heroes today."

Avery ventured, "After this, Sir Richard?"

"Home, if there is still justice in the world." He let his mind linger on it.

The mood changed just as swiftly. "Besides, we have a wedding to attend! " He slapped Allday's shoulder. "Keep this one up to his word! "

Surprisingly, Allday did not respond as he had expected.

He said quietly, "Would you really do that, Sir Richard?"

The men in the other ships were all cheering now, the fear and pain held at bay. Until the next time.

But Bolitho heard only the words of his old friend. His oak.

Somewhere in the past he could recall a signal he had once made. It seemed very apt for this moment, for this special man.

"I will be honoured, " he said.

Epilogue

Richard Bolitho gripped the tasselled strap as the carriage swayed and shuddered into some deep ruts like a small boat in a choppy sea. He felt drained, and every bone in his body was aching from this endless journey. In his tired mind it all seemed to overlay in vague, blurred pictures, from the moment he had stepped ashore at Portsmouth to be whisked immediately to London to make his report.

All the while he had been yearning to get away, to begin the long, long drive from that world to his own West Country. Surrey, Hampshire, Dorset, Devon. He could not remember how many times they had stopped to change horses, how many inns they had visited. Even when he had broken the journey to spend a night in one of the coaching inns the images seemed confused. People who had stared at him, wondering what business was taking him westward but too nervous or polite to ask. The smells of meat puddings and mulled ale, saucy-eyed servant girls, jovial landlords who lived off the coaching trade with far more success than the highwaymen.

Opposite him Allday sprawled across his seat, his bronzed face rested and untroubled in sleep. Like most sailors he could sleep anywhere, if an opportunity offered itself.

It was hard to accept that he was in England after all that happened. Baratte was dead, and even Tyacke, who had searched the whole area in his Lame, had found no living soul to survive the terrible explosion.

Under jury-rig and nursing their injuries and damage, the ships, including the two French prizes, had crawled back to Cape Town. There, to his astonishment, Bolitho had found fresh orders requiring him to hand over his command to Commodore Keen and return home. They had passed Keen's convoy on passage but not close enough to communicate. Bolitho's flag at the fore would tell Keen all he needed to know. The way ahead was clear, and the first military landings on the islands adjoining the main objective, Mauritius, could go ahead.

Bolitho wiped the window with his sleeve. They had made an early start, as they had on most mornings when the road had been a good one. Bare, black trees, wet from overnight mist or rain, the rolling fields and hills beyond. He shivered, and not only with excitement. It was November and the air was bitter.

He thought of the good-byes and the unexpected partings. Lieutenant Urquhart had been left in charge of Valkyrie, supervising the repairs until a new captain was appointed. That was the strangest thing of all, Bolitho thought. Trevenen had vanished on the final night before making their landfall at Good Hope. A twist of fate? Or had he been unable to face the consequences of what he had done when Bolitho had been wounded? He had left no letter, no declaration. The ship had been searched from cable tier to orlop: it had been just as if he had been spirited away.

Or it might have been murder. Either way, the part played by Hamett-Parker in getting Trevenen such an important command might be reopened because of it.

Farewells. Tyacke, grave and strangely sad, able to forget his disfigurement while they had shaken hands: friends or brothers, they were both.

And Adam, whose Anemone had seen the worst of the fighting and had suffered the most casualties. Adam had spoken of them with pride and with a deep sense of loss. Two of his lieutenants had been killed. His voice had been full of unashamed emotion when he had described how they had grappled with the Chacal, which had been flying Baratte's own flag, and one of his midshipmen, called Dunwoody, had fallen.

"I had recommended him for early promotion. He will be greatly missed."

Bolitho had felt his pain. It was often like that when a battle was permitted to have personality, faces and names: when the cost was so high, and so personal.

Bolitho had been glad to leave. He had been offered passage in a rakish little sixth-rate of twenty-six guns named Argyll. Her young captain was very aware of the importance of his passenger and the despatches he carried, and doubtless wondered why an officer of such seniority did not wait for a more comfortable vessel.

There had also been a letter at Cape Town from Catherine. On the speedy journey from the Cape he had re-read it many times. He had experienced a powerful jealousy and apprehension when she had written of her visit to Sillitoe; even fear for her personal safety and reputation.

I had to do it, for our sakes, yours and mine. I could never allow what has happened in my past to hurt you more than many have done already. You can always trust me, dearest of men, and there was nobody else I myself could trust, for whatever reason, to keep my secrets. There were times when I questioned my actions, but I need not have doubted. In some ways I believe that Sir Paul Sillitoe was surprised at his own sense of decency.

At London Herrick left him to have further treatment for his amputation. So different from that other Herrick. Still gruff and afraid of showing his innermost feelings, he had said, "They might offer me something else, Richard." His bright blue eyes had dropped to his empty sleeve. "I'd have given a lot more that day if need be, just to regain your respect."

"And friendship, Thomas."

"Aye. I'll never forget that. Not again." He had given a slow grin. "I'll put things right. Somehow."

Bolitho eased his position on the seat and pulled his boat-cloak closer around his body. The change from the Indian Ocean to an English winter had been harsher than he had expected. Getting older? He thought of his face in the looking glass when Allday had shaved him only this morning at an inn in St. Austell. His hair was still black except for the hated lock over the scar above his right eye where the cutlass had hacked him down all those years ago.

How would she see him? Might she have regretted her decision to stay with him?

He thought of Yovell and Ozzard, who were travelling at a more leisurely pace in a second carriage with all their belongings. He glanced at the slumbering figure opposite. The 'little crew' had diminished still further when the carriage had stopped overnight in Dorset. Avery, his companion through so much, would be staying in Dorchester with his married sister. It had been a strangely awkward parting, and Bolitho guessed that his flag lieutenant was considering the promotion which he had offered him. It was not certain if he could be tempted to remain with a vice-admiral who might be unemployed for some time.

Bolitho felt the carriage pause on the crest of a hill, the horses panting and stamping their feet.

All those weeks at sea, re-living past ships and lost faces, then days on the road. He dropped the window and looked at the nearest field, the slate wall heavy with moss and damp. There was a hint of ice at the side of the road but there was hard sunshine too, and no sign of snow.

He knew that Allday had awakened and was on the edge of his seat, watching him. Big and powerful he might be, but when required he could

move like a cat.

He faced him, remembering the despair in his voice when he had prevented him from pushing the surgeon's mate Lovelace aside.

"Hear that, old friend?"

A slow understanding crossed Allday's weathered features and he nodded.

Bolitho said quietly, "Church bells. Falmouth! "

Everything else seemed so distant here. Mauritius would be in English hands by now, with relief and gratitude on the part of the Honourable East India Company. Baratte's privateers and pirates like Simon Hannay would have nowhere now to hide and seek shelter from the English frigates.

He himself was so eager to get home, and yet his doubts rendered him uncertain. He touched his eye, unaware of Allday's sudden apprehension, recalling Portsmouth Point where he had been pulled ashore from the little Argyll. In the stern sheets he had turned and looked back at the frigate as she rode at anchor, her passengers and responsibilities gone.

It had been a clear morning like this one, with the frigate bright and sharp against the Isle of Wight and the cruising ranks of cats' paws.

Then he had covered his uninjured eye with his hand, the eye he had feared had been blinded by splinters, and had looked again.

The ship had appeared to be covered with mist and the sea much darker.

Allday leaned towards him. "Beggin' your pardon, Sir Richard, I think I'll not be wed after all! "

Bolitho stared at him. "How so?"

Allday gave his lazy grin. "Because I think mebbe you've too many worries to be left alone! "

Bolitho looked at his hands. "I don't know what I shall do, old friend." He felt a new elation running through him. "But wed you shall be! " He thrust his head out of the window and called, "Guard! Sound your horn when you see Carrick Roads! "

The horses roused themselves and the brake went down as the carriage rolled on to the sloping road.

At the echoing blast of the horn, clouds of rooks rose squawking from the fields and a few gulls flapped angrily overhead.

Some farm workers repairing one of the low walls turned to stare at the unfamiliar carriage with its coach work caked in dried mud, until one of them pointed and called out something to his companions.

A Bolitho is back. A Bolitho is back. As men of Falmouth had been saying for generations.

Bolitho leaned out of the window, heedless of the sting in his injured eye, all else forgotten while the cold air drove away his fatigue.

Then he saw her: the fine mare Tamara which he had given her coming along the last mile of the coach-road at a gallop. Bolitho called, "Stop the carriage! "

Catherine wheeled the horse around until her face was almost touching his as he leaned from the window.

She was breathless, her hair broken free and whipping in the breeze as the fur-lined hood of her cloak fell away.

He was on the road, and felt her waist in his grasp as she dropped easily from the stirrup.

"I knew, Richard! I knew you were coming to me! "

He tasted the tears on her cold skin, felt the welcome and the longing in her arms while they clung to one another, oblivious to the coachman and guard. To everything but this moment.

A Bolitho is back.

John Allday and Unis Polin were married in the tiny parish church at Fallowfield just a week before Christmas 1810.

Ozzard had proclaimed many times that it was a good thing, if only to stop Allday from getting on everybody's nerves with his anxiety and constant worrying.

The day was fine, clear and bright, and many who came to wish the couple well were able to walk in the pale sunshine to the church, well wrapped up against the sharp south-westerly from Falmouth Bay.

The little church had never known such a gathering, and the young preacher was obviously more nervous than the couple he was about to marry. It was not merely the number of people, for Allday was a popular man and always welcomed whenever he returned from sea, but their variety, from England's naval hero and Falmouth's favourite son and his lovely lady, to the people who lived and worked in the port and on the farms. There were few sailors present, but most of the estate workers, local coast guards and excise men farmers, coachmen and probably a poacher or two filled the place to overflowing.

Fallowfield lay on Lewis Roxby's estate, and although he did not attend the wedding he arranged to have a huge barn decorated with garlands and flags so Allday and his bride could entertain all and sundry with room to spare.

Roxby also provided enough geese and beef out of his own pocket to, as Allday described it, "Feed the whole of the Iron Duke's army! "

Bolitho had felt the eyes upon himself and Catherine as the packed pews had roared out another hymn. Unis Polin had been given away by her brother, proud and straight-backed, striding along the aisle with hardly a limp despite his wooden leg. Allday, supported by Bryan Ferguson, was outwardly composed, and very smart in a new jacket which Bolitho had made certain he had had fitted in good time. He wore gilt

buttons, with a white silk neckerchief to mark this very special occasion.

There would be a few women in Falmouth who might still have hoped Allday would choose differently.

There had been one other sea-officer present. Lieutenant George Avery had come from Dorset as promised to witness the marriage, and to remember how Allday's courage and strength, and his total independence had helped to change his own life. Like James Tyacke when Val Keen had married his Zenoria, Avery had slipped into the church even as the small organ had creaked into life. Withdrawn, even remote as he struggled with his own doubts and loyalties, Avery was still very much aware that he was one of them. The Few.

Once during a lull in the service Bolitho had seen Catherine brush her fingers against her eyes. She had been looking at Avery, his features hidden in the shadow of a pillar.

"What is it?"

She had shaken her head. "For a second only, I thought of Stephen Jenour."

There had been humour too, when the preacher had asked the all-important question, "Do you, John Allday, take this woman…" His words had almost been drowned by Allday's loud, "Aye, Reverend, an' that's…"

There had been a ripple of laughter and a frown of disapproval from the preacher. Bolitho had guessed that but for his bronzed face Allday would have been seen to blush.

And then it was done, and Allday with his smiling bride were towed in style in a carriage, not by seamen and marines, but by the men employed on the Bolitho estate. Many of them had been thrown on the beach after being disabled or crippled in one of Bolitho's own ships. There could have been no escort more fitting, and Allday's face was a pleasure to see.

Bolitho had used Ferguson 's little trap for the journey to the church. He had wanted it to be a day for Allday, one he would always remember. Their day. Young Matthew and the Bolitho carriage had been put at the disposal of the bride and groom.

Catherine had said quietly, "It is so typical, Richard, and you do not even notice. To step down, to avoid the bows and the curtsies… nobody else would do it."

They went to the barn to share in a toast to the bride and her man of the sea.

Bolitho thought now of the cheerful simplicity of the wedding, and wondered if Catherine resented that they could never be married.

As was so often the case she seemed to read his thoughts, just as she had known he was coming into Falmouth in that unfamiliar carriage.

She pulled off her glove and laid her hand on his cuff so that the rubies and diamonds he had given her in the church after Keen's marriage flashed in the filtered sunlight. "This is my wedding ring, Richard. I am your woman, no matter who or what may try to come between us. And you are mine. It will always be so."

Bolitho saw the men preparing to serve the food and drink, a group of fiddlers waiting to strike up for the dancing. It was time to leave. His presence here was like that of a senior officer visiting a wardroom: they were polite, friendly, curious, but unable to be themselves until after the great man had gone.

It was a moment he knew he would remember, and he could feel Catherine watching as he said his farewell to Allday and his wife. But Catherine knew that he was speaking only to his coxswain, the man she had grown to know and respect, even to love for his care and his qualities of courage and loyalty, which he had given her man for over twenty years.

"Good-bye, old friend. Don't be a stranger from now on."

Allday gripped his hand, his eyes suddenly troubled. "But you'll be needing me soon, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho nodded slowly. All those lost faces. Battles and ships he would never be allowed to forget. He had tried not to become too closely involved, to guard against the pain of loss when in his heart he knew there was no such defence. Like the midshipman Dunwoody, whom Adam had wanted to help, and who had died with all the others.

"I shall always do that, old friend. Be certain of it." The handclasp broke. It was done.

Outside in the keen air Catherine said, "Now we are alone." She allowed him to help her into the little trap. Then she shook the reins and waved to some people who were still walking down from the church.

She said, "I am so happy, Richard. When you left, the parting almost broke my heart. An eternity, and yet I had expected far worse. Now you are with me. I am yours, and soon it will be Christmas. I remember you once told me when you shared Christmas with me that it was the first you had had ashore since you were a midshipman. And the New Year -we can face that together too. The country still at war, the King insane… nothing makes any reason or sense but ourselves."

He put his arm around her and felt his longing for her, as in the dreams he had shared with her even though they had been apart.

She threw back her head and allowed her long dark hair to be free. When she looked towards the sea beyond Rosemullion Point she said softly, "All our friends are out there somewhere. Val, poor Adam, James Tyacke and the rest, and others who will never come back." She looked at him, her eyes flashing, "But we can remember them! "

The mood changed, and she pulled at the reins to turn the pony on to a narrow side-track.

She said, "I have visited Unis Polin several times. She is a good woman, right for him. He needs love as much as we do."

Bolitho held her arm. "You are all mystery, Kate! "

She tossed her head but did not look at him. "But for this icy wind I would take you to our private cove. And I would give you mystery which would shock you! "

They turned a corner where the small inn stood, strangely deserted, and Bolitho guessed that most of the local folk were celebrating in Roxby's barn.

The Stag's Head would be waiting for Allday from now on.

He stared at the inn sign moving very gently in the breeze. Except that it was no longer called the Stag's Head. It was a perfect painting of a ship-of-the-line in half a gale, her gun ports almost awash, and he knew Catherine must have arranged it. The inn's name had become The Old Hyperion.

She said, "I heard John Allday speak of your old ship so often. She was, after all, a very special one for some of us. She brought you to me at Antigua when I thought I had lost you." All the time she was watching his face. Through her, Unis met her previous husband, and because of her Allday discovered the love of his life."

Bolitho watched the swaying sign, as if the old ship were really alive.

He said, "The ship that refused to die, they used to say."

She nodded, satisfied. "Now she never will." She handed him the reins and nestled against him. "Now take us home, please. Where we belong."