The Only Victor

16. The Squadron

HIS BRITANNIC Majesty's Ship Black Prince seemed to hesitate for a moment before plunging her massive one thousand eight hundred tons into the next procession of troughs.

Aft in his spacious day cabin, Bolitho looked up from his final cup of coffee before starting the new day, and was surprised how easily the big second-rate took even the heaviest sea.

It was eight o'clock in the morning, and he could vaguely hear the muffled movements of the forenoon watchkeepers as they relieved the men on deck. Unlike Hyperion or any other two-decker, there was a sense of protected remoteness in Black Prince. Bolitho's quarters with their own private sternwalk were sandwiched between the wardroom beneath his feet and Keen's own domain directly above.

He shivered and looked at the leaping patterns of salt spray on the stern windows, frozen there like the ramblings of some insane artist. The day cabin was finely painted and moulded with carved panels, the stern bench seat and chairs finished with dark green leather. Catherine could have chosen it herself, he thought. But now it was bloomed with damp, and he could picture without effort the discomfort and as yet unfamiliarity endured by the flagship's company of eight hundred souls, including one hundred Royal Marines. Bolitho had once been a flag captain in a big first-rate, the Euryalus, renamed after being taken as a prize from the French. Twelve years ago. At the worst time for England 's embattled shores, when the fleet had mutinied at the Nore and Spithead. If ever Napoleon had missed his chance, it had been then. They could be thankful a hundred times over that he was a land-creature and not a sailor.

Allday entered the cabin and regarded Bolitho impassively. "First day o' February, Sir Richard." He did not sound very enthusiastic about it. "Like ice on deck."

"How are things, Allday?" My eyes and ears.

Allday shrugged his broad shoulders and winced. He felt his wound more in cold weather.

"Things? I think most o' the people are in irons about the new ship." He glanced around the magnificent cabin with neither dislike nor contentment. "You can't find nothing when you needs it. All different from Hyperion." His eyes gleamed momentarily and he added, "I'll say one thing, Sir Richard, she's a good sailer for a big 'un.

A few months' drill and who knows what Cap'n Keen will make her do."

Bolitho understood. It was often so in a brand new vessel.

Everything to be learned from the beginning again. Black Prince was no frigate, and with her towering hull and three lines of ports for her total firepower of ninety-four guns and two carronades, she would need firm handling.

"I heard a pipe just now." Bolitho saw Ozzard pause beside the beautiful wine cooler and cabinet which he had found waiting on board when he had hoisted his flag at the fore. Catherine had made no mention of it. A gift like the previous one which now lay on the bottom with his old flagship. She had taken great care; the mahogany cabinet was perfectly matched, and on the top was an inlaid shield-the Bolitho coat of arms.

Ozzard wiped some of the damp bloom from it with his cloth and nodded approvingly. He had no need for words.

Allday watched him warily. "It was a pipe to witness punishment in the forenoon watch, Sir Richard."

Bolitho eyed him steadily. Keen would hate that, even when there was no other obvious solution. Bolitho had known too many captains who had flogged first and sought explanations only when it was too late.

There were voices at the outer screen door and Bolitho heard the marine sentry tap the deck with his musket. Keen, reporting at his usual time after he had checked the log, seen the new watch take over, and discussed the day's work with his first lieutenant.

He entered the cabin and said, "Fresh nor'westerly, Sir Richard." He nodded to Allday. "But the decks are dry. She takes it well." He looked strained, and there were shadows beneath his eyes. "I am assured we will make contact with the squadron by noon if the weather holds."

Bolitho noticed that Allday and Ozzard had quietly departed.

"Be seated, Val. Is something wrong?" He forced a smile. "Is there ever a time in a sailor's life when there is not?"

Keen stared through the spray-dappled glass. "There are several familiar faces in the company." He shot him a quick glance. "I thought you should know before you have cause to meet them."

Bolitho watched the sea, silent beyond the thick windows, leaping and breaking, so dark it was almost black. There were always old faces. The navy was like that. A family, or a prison. With faces went memories. It could not be otherwise.

He answered. "That was thoughtful of you, Val. I have deliberately kept out of your way since I stepped aboard." He saw a big roller break astern and felt the responding shudder of the tiller-head one deck below. He had been at sea for four days. But for Catherine, it might have seemed that he had never left it.

He asked, "How has my nephew settled down? With his H.E.I.C. experience he should soon prove ready for a lieutenant's examination, eh?"

Keen frowned. "I have to speak my mind, Sir Richard. I think I know you too well to do otherwise."

"I would expect nothing but honesty, Val. Despite demands on our authority, we are friends. Nothing can change that." He paused, seeing the uncertainty on Keen's handsome features. "Besides which, you command here, not I."

Keen said, "I am obliged to order another flogging. A seaman named Fittock, who was allegedly insolent to Mr Midshipman Vincent. The lieutenant of his division is young, perhaps too much so in experience if not in years, and maybe…"

"And maybe, Val, he thought better than to dispute Midshipman Vincent's testimony. The viceadmiral's nephew might do him harm."

Keen shrugged. "It is not easy. A new ship, a larger proportion of landsmen than I would wish, and a certain listlessness amongst the people-any kind of weakness would be seen as something to exploit."

"In other words, Vincent provoked the seaman?"

"I believe so. Fittock is a skilled hand. It's foolish to berate such a man in front of pressed landsmen."

Bolitho thought of Hyperion's captain before Keen had taken his place. He had been driven mad, and had tried to shoot his first lieutenant. He thought also of the sick and overworked commodore, Arthur Warren, at Good Hope, and of the wretched Varian, now awaiting a court-martial which might easily end with his own sword pointing towards him on the table, and death. Captains all; but all so different.

He suggested, "It could be inexperience, or a need to impress."

Keen said softly, "But you don't think so."

"It seems unlikely Either way there is little we can do. If I admonish Vincent-" He saw the unspoken protest on Keen's face and added, "You are his captain. But if I took a hand, they would see it as interference, a lack of trust, perhaps, in you. On the other hand if you quash the sentence the end result would be the same. The people might believe that no junior officer, Vincent or any other, is worth the cut of his coat."

Keen sighed. "Some would say it was a small thing, Sir Richard, but this ship is not yet of one company and does not have the loyalty which will unite the people, given time."

Bolitho smiled grimly. "Aye, that's so. Time is also in short supply."

Keen prepared to leave. "I have spoken with my first lieutenant about it. Mr Cazalet is already my right arm." He gave a rueful grin. "But doubtless he will soon be promoted out of my ship for a command of his own."

"A moment, Val. I merely wanted you to know that Catherine intends to call upon Zenoria. They were very close to one another and their suffering was much the same. So take heart-who would have believed that I might find Catherine again?"

Keen was silent, his eyes faraway. He was remembering how she had spoken to him, her sincerity about Zenoria matched only by the passion in her words.

Then he said, "Shall you visit RearAdmiral Herrick before Benbow quits the station?" When Bolitho did not answer immediately he added, "I know there was bitterness between us… but no man should learn of his wife's death in such a fashion." He hesitated. "I beg your pardon, Sir Richard. That was a thoughtless and indiscreet thing to say."

Bolitho touched his sleeve. "Indiscretion is not unknown to me." He became grave. "But yes, I hope to see him when we meet with the squadron."

There was a knock at the outer screen door and the marine sentry bawled, "Midshipman-of-the-Watch, sir! "

Bolitho winced. "God, you would think we were three fields away from the fellow! "

Ozzard had appeared in the other cabin, and opened the door to admit the midshipman.

Keen said quietly, "Someone else whose life you changed, I think, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho looked at the pale-faced youth who was staring back at him, his eyes shining with a barely-contained recognition.

Bolitho said, "I am glad you are in this ship, Mr Segrave." He seemed older than when he had helped the cruelly disfigured Lieutenant Tyacke to steer the blazing Albacora into the moored supply ships at Good Hope.

"I-I wrote to you, Sir Richard, to thank you for your sponsorship. My uncle the Admiral was full of admiration! " It sounded as if he was about to add for once.

Segrave turned to Keen. "Mr Cazalet's respects, sir, and the masthead has just sighted a sail to the nor'-east."

"My compliments to the first lieutenant. I shall come up presently."

As the door closed Keen said, "I heard all about that lad, and the bullying he received in his other ship. Your Mr Tyacke has become a bit of a hero in his eyes, I think." He smiled, so that the strain seemed to fall away. "Next to you, of course, Sir Richard! "

It was good to see him smile again. Perhaps his lovely Zenoria came to him in his dreams and tormented him, as Catherine had done and would do again if they were too long separated.

"Lieutenant Tyacke is a remarkable man. When you meet him there is only pity. Afterwards you can only find admiration, pride, even, at knowing him."

They went on deck together and walked out on to the broad quarterdeck, where at their approach the watchkeepers and the hands who were working there adopted stances and attitudes as if they were mimers.

Bolitho looked up at the dull sky, the tall masts and rigging dark against it. Under topsails and courses the Black Prince was leaning only slightly to leeward, her sails quivering to the wind's wet pressure.

"Deck there! " After Truculent, the lookout sounded a mile distant. "Frigate, zur! "

Keen turned up his collar as the wind probed the rawness of his skin. "Not a Frog, then. He'd be about and running by now if it was! "

Bolitho tried not to touch his left eye. Many were watching him, some seeing him for the first time. A new ship, a well-known flagofficer; it would be easy to lose their confidence before he had found it.

A tall, dark-haired midshipman whose generally aloof behaviour to the other "young gentlemen" was obvious even on the busy quarterdeck snapped, "Aloft, Mr Gough. Take a glass, lively now! " A minute midshipman scampered to the shrouds and was soon lost from view amongst the dark crisscross of rigging. Bolitho smiled to himself. The tall youth was named Bosanquet, the senior member of the gunroom, and next to go for promotion. It was not hard to see him as a lieutenant, or even a captain for that matter.

"Deck there! " Several of the seamen exchanged grins at the midshipman's squeaky cry from the crosstrees. "She's made her number! "

Cazalet, the first lieutenant, a tough-looking man with dark, bushy eyebrows, raised his speaking-trumpet. "We are all in suspense, Mr Gough! "

The boy squeaked again, although even from that dizzy height he sounded crushed. "Number Five-Four-Six, sir! "

Bosanquet already had his book open. "Zest sir, forty-four, Captain Charles Varian! "

Jenour had appeared at his side like a shadow. "You will need to change the captain's name." He darted a glance at Bolitho. "He is no longer in command."

Keen said. "Make our reply, if you please."

Bolitho turned away. Some of the watching faces probably saw him as Varian's executioner, and might judge him accordingly.

He saw the boatswain, whose name was already slotted into his mind as Ben Gilpin, with a small working party supervising the rigging of a grating on the lee side of the deck. Ready for the ritual of punishment. It would seem so much worse for those who had never been to sea in a King's ship before. And for many of the others, it could only brutalise them further.

Bolitho stiffened as he saw Felicity's son standing nearby, watching with fixed attention. Bolitho touched his eye and did not see Jenour glance across at him. He saw only Vincent's face. For one so young he had an expression of cruel anticipation.

Keen called, "Alter course two points, Mr Cazalet, we will wait for Zest to run down on us! "

Jenour stood apart from the bustling seamen as they manned the braces for retrimming the great yards to hold the wind, immersed in his private thoughts. All of his family were in or connected with the medical profession, and he had mentioned the foreign-sounding doctor Rudolf Braks to his uncle just before leaving to join the flagship.

His uncle, a quiet and much respected physician, had responded instantly.

"Of course-the man who attended Lord Nelson and visits the King because of his failing sight. If he can do nothing to help your admiral, then there is nobody who can."

The words still hung in his mind like part of a guilty secret.

He heard the first lieutenant ask, "Pipe the hands aft to witness punishment, sir?" Then Keen's equally taut reply. "Attend to it, Mr Cazalet, but I want loyalty, not fear! "

Bolitho walked towards the poop and knew Allday was following him. He had sensed the unusual bitterness in Keen's words. Had he perhaps been remembering how he had saved Zenoria from a savage whipping aboard the convict transport, when he had rescued her and helped to confirm her innocence? But not before she had taken one stroke across her naked back from shoulder to hip, something which she would never lose. Was that, too, keeping them apart?

He entered the stern cabin and threw himself onto the bench.

A new ship. No experience, unblooded, a stranger to the line of battle. Bolitho clenched his fist as he heard the staccato roll of the Royal Marines' drums. He could barely hear the crack of the lash across the seaman's body, but he felt it as if it were happening to himself.

He thought of Herrick, how he would be; what he was going through. Bolitho had heard from Admiral Godschale that it had been Anemone, Adam's command, which had carried the news of Dulcie's death. A double twist, he thought. It would have been better if it had been a total stranger.

He tried to think about the squadron he was taking from Herrick. Five ships of the line and only two frigates. There were never enough.

Allday walked across the cabin, his eyes watchful. "Punishment's over, Sir Richard."

Bolitho barely heard. He was thinking of Vincent again, of his sister's reproachful coldness towards Catherine.

He said distantly, "Never hold out your hand too often, old friend." As he turned away he added, "You can get badly bitten."

"Watch your stroke! " Allday leaned forward, one hand on the tiller bar, as if he were riding across the choppy water instead of steering the Black Prince's barge. Even with all his experience it was going to be a difficult crossing from one flagship to the other. He knew better than to use some of his stronger language in front of his admiral, but later he would have no such qualms. In their turn, the bargemen put all their weight on the painted looms, conscious more of Allday's threatening gaze, perhaps, than their passenger.

Bolitho turned and looked back at his new flagship. It was the first time he had seen her properly in her own element. The light was dull and grey but even so the powerful three-decker seemed to shine like polished glass, her black and buff hull and the chequered pattern of gunports making a splash of welcome colour against the miserable North Sea afternoon. Beyond her, and turning away almost guiltily, the Zest was standing off to resume her proper station.

Bolitho felt Jenour watching him as the green-painted barge lifted and plunged over the water in sickening swoops.

Keen had done well, he thought. He must have been pulled around the ship before and after he had first taken her to sea. He had checked the trim of the great hull, and had ordered some of the ballast to be moved, and many of the stores shifted to different holds to give the ship the right lift at the stem. He saw the figurehead reaching out with his sword from beneath the beakhead. It was one of the most lifelike he'd yet seen, carved and painted more to impress than frighten. The son of Edward III, complete with chain mail, fleur-de-lis and English lions. From the black-crowned helmet to the figure's unflinching stare, it could have been a living being.

The carver had been one of the most famous of his breed, old Aaron Mallow of Sheerness. Sadly, Black Prince's figurehead had been his last; he had died shortly after the ship had been launched for fitting-out.

Bolitho looked instead at Benbow, once his own flagship, when Herrick had been his captain. A seventy-four like Hyperion but much heavier, for she had been built much later when there were still the oak forests to provide for her. Now the forests of Kent and Sussex, Hampshire and the West Country were left bare, raped by the mounting demands of a war which never lessened in its ferocity.

He saw the scarlet of the marines, the dull glint of metal in the fading light, and felt a pang of anxiety Herrick was his oldest friend. Had been until… He thought suddenly of what Keen had told him about the man who had been flogged. Stripped and seized up to the grating by wrists and knees, he had taken a dozen lashes without a protest, only the usual sound of the air being beaten from his lungs with each blow of the cat.

It was while he was being cut down that an unknown voice had yelled out from the silent onlookers, "We'll make it even for you, Jim! "

Needless to say, the ship's corporal and the master-at-arms had been unable to discover the culprit. In a way, Bolitho was glad, but he had shared Keen's uneasiness that anyone should show defiance in front of his captain and the armed marines.

And so the unknown seaman named Jim Fittock had become something of a martyr because of Felicity's son Miles Vincent. Bolitho tightened his jaw. It must not happen again.

The other flagship loomed over him, and he sensed Allday's seething exasperation as the bowman had to make several attempts to hook on to the main chains.

As he clambered up the salt-caked side he was thankful for the dull light. To trip and fall like the other time would not rouse any confidence either.

The quarterdeck seemed quiet and sheltered after the blustery crossing in an open boat, so that the sudden din of drums and fifes, a Royal Marines captain shouting orders to the guard plus the dwindling echo of the calls which had piped him aboard took him by surprise.

In those few moments he saw several familiar faces, suitably expressionless for the occasion, with the flag captain Hector Gossage standing like a rock in front of his officers. He saw the new flag lieutenant who had replaced De Broux, the one with the damned Frenchie name as Herrick had put it. The newcomer was plump and his face was empty of animation or intelligence.

Then he saw Herrick and felt a cold hand around his heart.

Herrick's hair, once brown and only touched with grey like frost, was almost colourless, and his bronzed features seemed suddenly lined. He could recall their brief meeting in the Admiralty corridor, the two visiting captains gaping at them as Bolitho had called after Herrick, his voice shaking with anger and with hurt. It did not seem possible a man could change so much in so short a time.

Herrick said, "You are welcome, Sir Richard." He shook hands, his palm hard and firm as Bolitho had always remembered. "You will remember Captain Gossage, of course?"

Bolitho nodded, but did not take his eyes from Herrick. "My heart is full for you, Thomas."

Herrick gave what might have been a shrug, perhaps to cover his innermost feelings. He said in a vague tone, "Dismiss the hands, Captain Gossage. Keep station on Black Prince, but call me if the weather goes against us." He gestured aft. "Join me, Sir Richard. We can talk a while." Bolitho ducked beneath the poop and studied his friend as Herrick led the way into the shadows between decks. Had he always been so stooped? He did not recall so. As if he were carrying the pain of his loss like a burden on his back.

In the great cabin where Bolitho had so often paced and fretted over the next action or the enemy's intentions, he looked around as if to see something of himself still lingering here. But there was nothing. It could have been the great cabin of almost any ship of the line, he thought.

A servant he did not recognise brought a chair for him, and Herrick asked in an almost matter-of-fact voice, "A drink perhaps?"

He did not wait for answer. "Bring the brandy Murray Then he faced Bolitho and said, "I received word you were coming. I am relieved so that Benbow can have some repairs carried out. We almost lost the rudder in a gale… but I expect you were in England at the time. It was bad-the sea took a master's mate and two seamen, poor devils. No chance of finding 'em."

Bolitho tried not to interrupt. Herrick was coming around to what he wanted to say. He had always been like that. But brandy, that was something else. Wine, yes, ginger beer more likely; he must have been drinking heavily since Adam had brought him the news.

Herrick said, "I got your letter. It was good of you." He nodded to the servant and then snapped, "Leave it, man, I can manage! " That, too, was not like the old Herrick, the champion of the common seaman more than anyone he had known. Bolitho watched the hand shaking as he slopped two huge measures of brandy into the goblets, some of it spilling unheeded on to the black and white chequered deck covering. "Good stuff this. My patrols took it off a smuggler." Then he turned and stared at him, his eyes still as clear and blue as Bolitho remembered. It was like seeing someone familiar peering out of another's body.

"God damn it, I wasn't with her when she needed me most! " The words were torn out of him. "I'd warned her about working amongst those bloody prisoners-I'd hang the lot of them if I had my way! " He walked to a bulkhead where Bolitho had once hung his swords. Herrick's fighting hanger dangled from it, swaying unevenly to the pitch of the ship as she fought to keep station on Black Prince. But Herrick was touching the finely finished, silver-mounted telescope, the one which Dulcie had bought for him from the best instrument maker in London 's Strand; Bolitho doubted if he knew what he was doing. He probably touched it for comfort rather than to be reminded.

Bolitho said, "I could not get to the house in time. Otherwise I would…"

Herrick tilted the goblet until it was empty. "Lady Bolitho told me all about those damned Dons who worked around the house. She would have sent them packing! " He looked at Bolitho and asked abruptly, "Was it all taken care of?"

"Yes. Your sister was there. A lot of Dulcie's friends too."

Herrick said in a small voice, "I wasn't even there to see her buried. Alone…" The one word echoed around the cabin until he said, "Your lady tried her best…"

Bolitho said quietly, "Dulcie was not alone. Catherine stayed with her, attended to her every need until she was mercifully released from her suffering. It took courage, for there was no little danger to her."

Herrick walked to the table and lifted the brandy, then waved it vaguely towards the sea.

"Just her? With my Dulcie! "

"Aye. She'd not even allow your housekeeper in close contact."

Herrick rubbed his eyes as if they were hurting him. "I suppose you think that gives you the opportunity to redeem her in my opinion."

Bolitho kept his voice level. "I am not here to score points from your grief. I am well reminded when you came to me with terrible news. I grieve for you, Thomas, for I know what it is to lose love-just as I understand how it feels to discover it."

Herrick sat down heavily and refilled his goblet, his features set in tight concentration, as if every thought was an effort.

Then he said in a thick voice, "So you've got your woman, and I've lost everything. Dulcie gave me strength, she made me feel somebody A long, long step from the son of a poor clerk to rearadmiral, eh?" When Bolitho said nothing he leaned over the table and shouted, "But you wouldn't understand! I saw it in young Adam when he came aboard-it's all there in him too, like they speak of it in the news-sheets. The Bolitho charm-isn't that so?"

"I shall leave now, Thomas." His despair was so destructive it was too terrible to watch. Later Herrick would regret his outburst, his words so bitter that it had sounded like something he had been nursing all down the years. A warmth gone sour; envy where there had once been the strongest bond of true friendship. "Use your time in England to think and relive the good things you found together-and when next we meet-"

Herrick lurched to his feet and almost fell. For an instant his eyes seemed to clear again and he blurted out, "Your injury? Is it improved now?" Somehow through the mist of distress and loss he must have recalled when Bolitho had almost fallen on this same vessel.

Then he said, "Lady Catherine's husband is dead, I hear?" It was a challenge, like an accusation. "Convenient-"

"Not so, Thomas. One day you might understand." Bolitho turned and recovered his hat and cloak as the door opened a few inches, and Captain Gossage peered in at them.

"I was about to inform the rearadmiral that the wind is rising, Sir Richard." His glance moved quickly to Herrick who was slumped down again in his chair, his eyes trying to focus, but without success.

Gossage said swiftly, with what he thought was discretion, "I will call the guard, Sir Richard, and have you seen over the side."

Bolitho looked gravely at his friend and answered, "No, call my barge." He hesitated by the screen door and lowered his voice, so that the marine sentry should not hear.

"Then attend your admiral. There sits a brave man, but badly wounded now-no less than by the enemy's fire." He nodded curtly. "I bid you good-day, Captain Gossage."

He found Jenour waiting for him on deck and saw a messenger running from Gossage to recall the barge to the chains.

Jenour had rarely seen him look so grim, so sad at the same time. But he was not so inexperienced in Bolitho's ways to ask what had occurred during his visit, or mention the glaring fact that RearAdmiral Herrick was not on deck to show the proper respect at Bolitho's departure.

Instead he said brightly, "I heard the sailing-master confide that yonder lies the Dutch coast-but we are losing it fast in another squall." He fell silent as Bolitho looked at him for the first time.

Bolitho touched his eye with his fingers, and felt it sting like a cruel reminder. Then he asked, "Is the barge alongside, Stephen?"

As Jenour left him he thought he heard him murmur, "Dear God, I would that it were Cornwall."

The captain of marines yelled, "Guard of Honour, present arms! "

The rest was lost as Bolitho swung himself out and down to the pitching barge, as if the sea had reclaimed him.

Lieutenant Stephen Jenour tucked his hat beneath his arm and entered Bolitho's day cabin. Outside on the open deck the air was still very cold, but a lull in the blustery wind had smoothed out the North Sea 's short, steep waves and remained with them. The presence of some watery sunlight gave an illusion of warmth in the crowded messes, and here in the great cabin.

Bolitho was leaning over a chart, his hands spread across it as if to encompass the squadron's limits. He looked tired, Jenour thought, but calmer than the moment he had left his friend aboard Benbow. He could only guess at what had come between them but knew it had affected Bolitho deeply.

Beyond the tall stern windows he could see two of the squadron's seventy-fours, the Glorious and the old Sunderland. The latter was so elderly that many aboard Black Prince had thought her either hulked or sunk in battle. There were few campaigns she had missed; she would be, Jenour thought, about the same age as Hyperion.

With Benbow returned to England there were five ships of the line awaiting Black Prince's signals, and two others, the Tenacious and the Valkyrie, were undergoing repairs in England. Jenour had thought it strange that RearAdmiral Herrick had detached two of his depleted strength without waiting to hear Bolitho's views on the subject. But he had kept his thoughts to himself. He had learned to recognise most, if not all of Bolitho's moods and sensitivities, and knew that he was occasionally only partly in his flagship, while the rest of the time he was in spirit with Catherine in England.

He realised that Bolitho had raised his eyes from the chart, and was watching him patiently. Jenour flushed, something he still did far too often-much to his own annoyance.

"The captains are assembled on board, Sir Richard. Only Zest's commander is absent and on his patrol area."

Bolitho nodded. Two weeks since he had parted from Herrick, with too much time to think back over their exchange. Now, for the first time, because of the improved weather conditions, he had drawn the bulk of his squadron together in the hard glare which made the sea look like beaten silver. It was the first time, also, that his captains had managed to reach the flagship.

"What about our courier brig?"

Jenour flushed still further. How could Bolitho have known that the brig had been reported by Glorious's masthead lookout? He had been here in his quarters since a dawn stroll, not on his private sternwalk, but on the quarterdeck in full view of everyone.

Bolitho saw his confusion and smiled. "I heard the signal being repeated on deck, Stephen. A sternwalk has its uses-the sound carries quite well." He added wryly, "Even the things that people say, when they are being somewhat indiscreet! "

He tried not to hope that the little brig, named Mistral, was bringing a letter from Catherine. It was too soon, and anyway she would be very busy. He laid out each careful excuse to hold his disappointment at bay.

He said, "Signal her commander to report on board when the time comes."

He thought of the captains who were waiting to meet him. Not one of them a friend; but all were experienced. That would suffice. After Thomas Herrick… his mind thrust it away feeling the same hurt and sense of betrayal. There had been a time when, as a captain himself, he had fretted about meeting a new ship's company Now he knew from experience that usually they were far more worried than he.

All through the past hour or so, calls had shrilled at the entry port as the various captains had been piped aboard. Each one of them might be thinking more about the rumours of scandal than what lay ahead.

He said, "Please ask Captain Keen to bring them here." He had not noticed the sudden edge to his voice. "He was quite surprised to see his old Nicator as one of the squadron… he commanded her six or seven years back. We were at Copenhagen together." His grey eyes became distant. "I lost some good friends that day."

Jenour waited, and saw the sudden despair depart from his face like a cloud across the sea.

Bolitho smiled. "He said to me once that Nicator was so rotten there were many times he believed only a thin sheet of copper stood between himself and eternity. Heaven knows what the old ship is like now! "

Jenour paused by the door, hating to break into these confidences. "Are we so short of ships, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho walked to the quarter galley and watched the uneasy water, the way some circling gulls appeared to change colour as they dipped and drifted through the sunlight.

"I fear so, Stephen. That is why those Danish ships are so important. It might all come to nothing, but I think not. I did not imagine Poland 's death, nor did I invent the near destruction of Truculent. They knew we were there." He remembered how Sir Charles Inskip had scoffed at him because of his suspicions about French intentions. But that had been before the desperate battle; he had not scoffed since.

He became impatient with his memories and said, "Tell Ozzard to fetch some wine for our guests."

Jenour closed the door, and saw Ozzard and another servant already preparing goblets and standing them inside the fiddles in case a sudden squall came down on the ship.

Bolitho walked to the wine-cooler and touched the inlay with his fingers. Herrick would be at his home. Remembering how it had been; expecting to see his Dulcie and feel the warmth of her obvious adoration for him. Herrick was probably blaming him too for Benbow's being relieved; as if it had happened because Bolitho wanted the squadron for himself. How little he knew-but it was always easy to find a bitter reason if you wanted it enough.

The door opened and Keen ushered the others inside so that they could introduce themselves to Bolitho on arrival.

He had a mixed impression of experience, competence and curiosity. All were post-captains except the last one to arrive. Ozzard bustled amongst them with his tray, but their eyes were on the captain of the frigate Anemone as he reported to their viceadmiral. More like a younger brother than a nephew.

Bolitho clasped Adam's hand but could no longer restrain himself, and put his arm around his shoulder and hugged him.

The dark hair which matched his own; even the restless energy of a young colt when he had first joined Hyperion as a skinny midshipman of fourteen years. It was all still there. Bolitho held him at arm's length and studied him feature by feature. But Adam was a man now, a captain of his own frigate; what he had always dreamed about. He was twenty-six years old. Another twist of Fate? Bolitho had been the same age when he had been given command of his first frigate.

Adam said quietly, "It is good to see you, Uncle. We barely had an hour together after Truculent's return to port."

His words seemed to linger in the air like the memory of a threat. But for Anemone's sudden appearance, the three French vessels would surely have overwhelmed Poland 's ship by sheer weight of artillery.

Bolitho thought grimly, And I would be dead. He knew he would never allow himself to be taken prisoner again.

Keen had got the others seated and they were watching the reunion, each man fitting it into his own image of the Bolitho they knew, or had only heard about. There was no sort of resentment on their faces; Bolitho guessed that Adam was far too junior to present any kind of threat to their own status in the squadron.

Bolitho said, "We will talk far longer this time. I am proud to have you under my flag."

All at once the midshipman with the cheeky grin was back again. Adam said, "From what I hear and read, it is barely safe to leave you on your own, Uncle! "

Bolitho composed himself and faced Keen and the other captains. There was so much he wanted to tell Adam, needed to tell him, so that there would never be any doubts, no secrets to plague them when they were alone.

Adam looked so right in his dress coat; but more like a youth playing the part of a hero than the man who held the destiny of a thirty-eight-gun frigate and some one hundred and eighty souls in his hands. He thought of Herrick's distress, his scathing comments about the Bolitho charm. Maybe he had been right? It was easy to picture Adam's face now in one of the portraits at the house in Falmouth.

"I wanted to meet you as soon as possible, for I have discovered in the past that circumstances often prevent us from taking our time over such matters." There were several smiles. "I am sorry that we are short of two in our numbers-" He hesitated as he realised what he had said. It was as if Herrick was right here, watching resenting the implication; blaming him for sending the two ships into port without waiting. He said, "This is not a time for loosening our grip on the reins. There are many who saw Trafalgar as a victory which would end all danger at a single stroke. I have seen and heard it for myself, in the fleet and on the streets of London. I can assure you, gentlemen, it is a foolish and misinformed captain who believes this is a time for relaxation. We need every ship we can get, and the men who care enough to fight them when the time comes, as come it must. The French will exploit their gains on land and have proved that few troops can withstand them. And who knows what leaders they will put to sea once they have the ships again to use against us? The French navy was weakened by the very force which brought Napoleon to power. During the blood-letting of the Terror, loyal officers were beheaded in the same blind savagery as the so-called aristocrats! But new faces will appear, and when they do we must be ready." He felt suddenly drained, and saw Adam watching him with concern.

He asked, "Have you any questions?"

Captain John Crowfoot of the Glorious, a tall, stooping fig-ure with the solemn looks of a village clergyman, asked, "Will the Danes offer their fleet to the enemy, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho smiled. He even sounded like one. "I think not. But under extreme pressure they might yield. No Dane wants the French army on his soil. Napoleon's armies have a habit of staying put after they have invaded, no matter on what pretext."

Bolitho saw Keen lean forward to look at the next captain to speak. It was Captain George Huxley who commanded Nicator, Keen's old ship. He was probably wondering what kind of man could be expected to hold the rotting seventy-four together.

Huxley was stocky and level-eyed, giving an immediate impression of unwavering self-confidence. A hard man, Bolitho thought.

Huxley insisted, "We must have more frigates, Sir Richard. Without them we are blind and ignorant of affairs. A squadron, nay, a fleet could pass us in the night, to seaward or yonder along the Dutch coast, and we might never know."

Bolitho saw one of them glance round as if he expected to see the Dutch coastline, even though it was more than thirty miles abeam.

He said, "I share that sentiment, Captain Huxley. I have but two under my command. That of my nephew, and the Zest, whose captain I am yet to meet."

He thought of Keen's remark: "Captain Fordyce has the reputation of a martinet, sir. He is an admiral's son, as you will know, but his methods are hardly mine." It was rare for Keen to speak out on the subject of a fellow captain. Their Lordships probably thought that Zest needed a firmer hand after Varian's example.

There were more questions on repairs and supplies, on patrol areas and shortages. Some of the questions were directed at Bolitho's proposed signals and fighting instructions, because of their brevity rather than their context.

Bolitho looked at them thoughtfully. They do not know me. Yet.

He replied, "Too much time is lost, wasted by unnecessary exchanges in the midst of a sea-fight. And time, as you know from experience, is a luxury we may not always have." He let each word sink in before he added, "I had correspondence with Lord Nelson, but like most of you, I never had the good fortune to meet him." He let his gaze rest on Adam. "My nephew is the exception. He met him more than once-a privilege we can never share. Gone for ever he may be, but his example is still ours to be seized and used." He had all their attention, and he saw Adam touch his cheek surreptitiously with the back of his hand.

"Nelson once said that in his opinion no captain could do very wrong if he laid his ship alongside that of an enemy." He saw Crowfoot of the Glorious nod vigorously, and knew that by the door Jenour was staring at him as if afraid he might miss something.

Bolitho ended simply, "In answer to some of your questions-I don't think Our Nel's words can ever be improved on."

It was another two hours before they all departed, feeling better for the plentiful supply of wine, and each man preparing his own version of the meeting for his wardroom and company.

As Ozzard remarked ruefully, "They certainly made a hole in the cheese Lady Catherine sent aboard! "

Bolitho found some time to speak with the youngest captain in his squadron, Mistral's Commander Philip Merrye, whom Allday later described contemptuously, "'Nother one of those twelve-year-old cap'ns! "

Then under a gentler north-westerly than they had known, the five sail of the line took station on their flagship and brought in another reef for the coming night. Each captain and lieutenant was very aware of the man whose flag floated from Black Prince's foremast, and the need not to lose contact with him in the gathering darkness.

Keen had been going to ask Bolitho to sup with him, but when the brig's commander had produced a letter for him he had decided otherwise.

It was to be a private moment, shared by nobody but the ship around him, and with Catherine. This was a man none of his captains would recognise, as he bent over his table and carefully opened her letter. He knew he would read it many times; and he found he was touching the locket beneath his shirt as he straightened the

letter under a deckhead lantern.

Darling Richard, dearest of men, so short a while since we were parted and yet already a lifetime. Bolitho stared around the cabin and spoke her name aloud. "Soon, my love, soon…" And in the sea's murmur, he thought he heard her laugh.