With All Despatch

15. No Hiding Place

QUEELY and his first lieutenant watched Bolitho with silent fascination as he swallowed his fourth mug of scalding coffee. He could feel it warming him like an inner fire and knew someone, probably Allday, had laced it heavily with rum.

They had been unable to do anything for the small fishing boat which had given them the chance to escape, and despite protests from the Dutch skipper it had been cast adrift; it seemed unlikely it would remain afloat for much longer.

Queely waited, choosing the moment. "What now, sir?" He watched Bolitho's eyes regaining their brightness. It was like seeing someone come alive again. When Wakeful's seamen had hauled them aboard they had been too numbed by cold and exhaustion even to speak.

As he had drunk his coffee, Bolitho had tried to outline all that had happened. He had ended by saying, "But for you and your Wakeful, we would all be dead." He had placed the silver-mounted sword on the cabin table. "I suspect this poor man had already died when he heard that his King had been executed."

Queely had shaken his head. "We knew nothing of that, sir." His jaw had lifted and he had regarded Bolitho with his dark, hawklike face. "I would still have come looking for you no matter what the risk, even if I had."

Bolitho leaned back against the side and felt the cutter rolling steeply in a cross-swell as she prepared to change tack. The motion seemed easier, but the wind sounded just as strong. Perhaps his mind was still too exhausted to notice the true difference.

He replied, "Now? We shall lay a course for Flushing. It is our only chance to catch Tanner with the treasure."

Lieutenant Kempthorne made his excuses and went on deck to take charge of the hands. Bolitho and Queely leaned on the table, the chart spread between them beneath the madly swinging lanterns. Bolitho glanced at the serious-faced lieutenant. Even in his seagoing uniform he managed to make Bolitho feel like a vagrant. His clothing stank of fish and bilge, and his hands were cut and bleeding from handling the icy sheets in the boat which they had abandoned astern.

Queely said, "If, as you say, Tanner has loaded the treasure into this vessel, La Revanche, would he not make haste to get under way immediately? If so, we can never catch him, despite this soldier's wind."

Bolitho peered at the chart, his grey eyes thoughtful. "I doubt that. It would all take time, which is why I believe he was the one to cause our delay at the rendezvous. Any suspicious act might arouse the Dutch authorities, and that is the last thing he would want."

A voice seemed to cry out in his mind. Suppose Brennier's aide had been mistaken? Or that he had heard them speaking of another vessel altogether?

Queely took his silence for doubt. "She'll likely be armed, sir. If we had some support-"

Bolitho glanced at him and smiled sadly. "But we do not have any. Armed? I think that unlikely, except for a minimum protection. Which was why Delaval and his Loyal Chieftain laid offshore whenever he was making a run. The Dutch were searching vessels in the river. Any heavily armed ship would draw them like bees to honey."

"Very well, sir." He gave a rueful grin. "It is little enough, but I too am anxious to see what so much treasure looks like!" He pulled on his heavy coat and turned in the doorway to the companion ladder. "I thank God we found you, sir. I had all but given up hope."

Bolitho sat down wearily and massaged his eyes. The cabin was tiny and, as usual, littered with the officers' effects. But after the fishing boat's squalor it seemed like a ship of the line.

Just hours later, Bolitho was roused from his sleep. Allday found him sprawled across the chart, his head resting on one arm.

"What is it?"

Allday stood balancing a steaming basin. "The cook managed to boil some water." He gave a broad grin. "I thought to meself a good shave an' a rub-down'll make the Cap'n feel his old self again."

Bolitho slipped out of his coat and peeled off his shirt. As Allday shaved him with practised ease, legs braced, one ear attuned to every sound as the cutter rolled and plunged about them, he marvelled that the big man could always adjust, no matter what ship he was in.

Allday was saying, "Y'see, Cap'n, 'tis always the same with you at times like this. You feel better-that makes it better for the rest of us."

Bolitho stared up at him, the realisation of Allday's simple philosophy driving away the last cobwebs of sleep.

He said quietly, "Today, you mean?" He saw him nod: the old instinct he had always trusted. Why had he not known it himself? "We'll fight?"

"Aye, Cap'n." He sounded almost buoyant. "Had to come, as I sees it."

Bolitho dried his face and was amazed that Allday could shave him so closely with the deck all alive beneath him. He had rarely even nicked him with his formidable razor.

Allday wiped down his shoulders and back with a hot cloth and then handed him a comb. "That's more like it, Cap'n."

Bolitho saw the freshly laundered shirt on the bunk. "How did you-"

"Compliments of Mr Kempthorne, Cap'n. I-mentioned it, like."

Bolitho dressed unhurriedly. A glance at his watch told him all he had to know for the present. Queely and his company were doing what they could and needed no encouragement or criticism. He wondered what had become of the four Dutchmen, and where they would end up. Probably on the next ship bound for Holland, even at the risk of being greeted by the Customs.

The shirt made him feel clean and refreshed, just as Allday had promised. He thought of all those other times, under the blazing sun, the decks strewn with dead and dying, the brain cringing to the crash and recoil of cannon fire. Like Stockdale before him, Allday had always been there. But with that something extra. He always seemed to understand, to know when the waiting was over, and smooth words were not enough.

Queely came down from the deck and peered in at him.

"Dawn coming up, sir. Wind's holding steady, and the snow's eased to almost nothing." He noticed the clean shirt and smiled. 'Oh, you honour us, sir!"

As his feet clattered up the ladder again Bolitho said, "There is still something missing, Allday. Fight we may, but-" He shrugged. "He might have outfoxed us again."

Allday stared into the distance. "When I heard that silky voice of his-" He grinned, but no humour touched his eyes. "I wanted to cut him down there and then."

Bolitho half-drew his sword then let it fall smoothly into its scabbard again. "We make a fine pair. I wanted that too."

He picked up his boat-cloak. It was filthy also. But it would be like ice on deck. He must not fail, would not let the fever burst in and consume him like the last time.

Some of his old despair lingered on. He said, "Hear me, old friend. If I should fall today-"

Allday regarded him impassively. "I'll not see it, Cap'n, 'cause I shall already have dropped!"

The understanding was there. As strong as ever.

Bolitho touched his arm. "So let's be about it, eh?"

Bolitho felt his body angle to the tilting deck as the wind forced Wakeful on to her lee bulwark. It was colder than he had expected, and he regretted taking shelter in the cabin's comparative warmth.

Queely touched his hat and shouted above the noise, "Wind's veered still further, sir! Nor'-West by North or the like, by my reckoning!"

Bolitho stared up at the masthead and thought he could see the long pendant streaming towards the larboard bow, curling, then cracking like a huge whip. He even imagined he could hear it above the wild chorus of creaking rigging, the slap and boom of canvas.

Wakeful was steering south-south-west, close-hauled on the starboard tack, her sails very pale against the dull sky. Dawn was here and yet reluctant to show itself.

Bolitho felt his eyes growing accustomed to the poor light and recognised several of the figures who were working close at hand. Even the "hard men" of Queely's command looked chilled and pinched, but for the most part their feet were bare, although Bolitho could feel the bitter cold through his shoes. Like most sailors, they thought shoes too expensive to waste merely for their own comfort.

Queely said, "According to the master, we should be well past Walcheren Island and Flushing by now. If the weather clears we will soon sight the coast of France."

Bolitho nodded but said nothing. France. Once there, Tanner would make his trade. A share of the treasure and probably a sure protection from the French Convention to enable him to continue his smuggling on a grand scale. He tried not to think of the old admiral, Brennier. Tanner's mark of trust, then humiliation before the mob, and the last steps up to the guillotine. Any other leading patriot would think again before he considered lending support to a counter-revolution with Brennier dead.

Bolitho watched the sky giving itself colour. The driving wind had swept the snow away; he could see no clouds, just a hostile grey emptiness, with the faintest hint of misty blue towards the horizon.

Queely was speaking to his first lieutenant. Bolitho saw Kempthorne bobbing his head to his commander's instructions. Despite his uniform and his surroundings he still managed to look out of place.

Queely walked up the slanting deck and said, "He's going aloft with the big signals glass in a moment, sir." He saw Bolitho's expression and gave a quick smile. "I know, sir. He'd be happier as a horse-coper than a sea-officer, but he tries!"

He forgot Kempthorne and added, "We shall draw near to the French coast again, sir. If Tanner intends to change allegiance and steal the King's ransom, he may stand inshore as soon as it's light enough." He was thinking about that last time, the French luggers, the boat blowing up, and the dead girl they had returned to the sea.

Bolitho said, "We shall take him anyway. I'll brook no interference from French patrol vessels!"

Queely studied him curiously. "Strange how a man of influence like Tanner could change loyalties."

"I have always seen him as an enemy." Bolitho glanced away. "This time he'll have no hope of escaping justice because of his damned toadies in high places!"

Kempthorne was hauling his lanky frame up the weather shrouds, his coat flapping in the wind as it pressed his body against the ratlines. Bolitho watched, conscious that he could now see the masthead sharply etched against the sky, the vibrating shrouds, even a solitary lookout who was shifting his perch as the lieutenant clawed his way up beside him.

Queely remarked unfeelingly, "Just the thing to clear your head on a day like this!"

He looked at Bolitho's profile and asked abruptly, "Do you regard this as a day of reckoning, sir?" He sounded surprised, but without the doubt he had once shown.

Bolitho replied, "I believe so." He shivered and pulled his boat-cloak more tightly about his body. Suppose he was mistaken, and Tanner's ship still lay at Flushing, or had never been there at all?

He added in a hard tone, "It is a premonition one has from time to time." He saw Allday lounging beside the companionway, his arms folded. There was nothing careless or disinterested in his eyes, Bolitho thought.

"As I see it, Tanner has nowhere else to run. Greed and deceit have made escape impossible."

He thought again of Tanner's own words. No hiding place. Even then he had lied, must have laughed as Brennier and his companions played directly into his hands.

"Deck there!"

Queely peered up. "Where away?"

Kempthorne called lamely, "Nothing yet, sir!"

Several of the seamen nearby nudged one another as Queely snorted, "Damned nincompoop!"

Bolitho took a telescope from the rack and wiped the lens carefully with his handkerchief. As he lifted it and waited for the deck to rear upright again, he saw the sea tumbling away across the larboard bow, reaching further and still further, individual banks of crested rollers and darker troughs forming into patterns in the growing daylight. A grey, blustery morning. He thought of Falmouth and wondered how young Matthew had enjoyed his Christmas. Probably had had the household enthralled with his tales of smuggling and sudden death. Bolitho was glad he was back where he belonged. The land needed boys who would grow into men like his father had been. He glanced at Allday. Let others do the fighting so that they could build, raise animals, and make England safe again.

"Deck there!"

Queely scowled.

Kempthorne's voice cracked with excitement. "Sail on the lee bow, sir!"

Queely's dark eyes flashed in the poor light. "By God, I'd never have believed it!"

"Easy now. Let us hold on to caution, eh?" But his face made a lie of his words. It was the ship. It must be. No other would risk running so close to the French coast.

Queely yelled impatiently, "What is she?" His foot tapped on the wet planking. "I'm waiting, man!"

Kempthorne called hoarsely, "A-a brigantine, I think, sir!"

Bolitho said, "It must be difficult to see, even from that height."

Queely turned. "You think I'm too hard on him, sir?" He shrugged. "It may save his life and a few others before long!"

Bolitho moved to the narrow poop and clung to a dripping swivel gun. A brigantine. It seemed likely. They and schooners were most favoured in the Trade, and Tanner had probably selected this one as soon as Marcuard had taken him into his confidence. He thought of the grand house in Whitehall, the servants, the quiet luxury of day-to-day life in the capital. This was a far cry from Marcuard's careful planning, but Bolitho had no doubts as to where the blame would be laid if Tanner and the treasure disappeared.

The master said to nobody in particular, "A spot o' sunshine afore the glass is turned."

Queely glared at him, but knew him well enough to say nothing.

Kempthorne, his voice almost gone from shouting above the wind and sea, called, "Brigantine she is, sir! Holding same tack!"

Bolitho grasped his sword beneath his cloak. It felt like a piece of ice.

"I suggest you prepare, Mr Queely."

Queely watched him, his features more hawklike than ever. "The people know what to do, sir. If we are wrong, they might lose confidence."

"Not in you. You can blame it all on the mad captain from Falmouth!"

Surprisingly they were both able to laugh.

Then Queely shouted, "Pipe all hands! Clear for action!"

It was still strange for Bolitho to see the preparations for battle completed without drums, the rising urgency of a ship beating to quarters. Here, it was almost by word of mouth, with only the watch below summoned by the squeal of calls.

"Cast off the breechings!"

The master let out a sigh. "Told you."

A shaft of watery sunlight plunged down through the spray and sea-mist, giving the water depth and colour, personality to the faces and figures working around the guns.

From his dizzy perch Lieutenant Francis Kempthorne wrapped one arm around a stay until he felt it was being torn from his body. As the sturdy hull lifted and dipped beneath him, the mast itself reached out and across the surging crests far below, and he saw the mainsail's shadow on the water, as if it were rising to snatch him down. The motion was sickening although the lookout at his side seemed indifferent to it.

He gulped and tried again, counting the seconds while he levelled the heavy telescope, not even daring to think what Queely would say if he dropped it. The bows lifted streaming from a jagged breaker and Kempthorne held his breath. The brigantine must have risen at exactly the same moment. He saw her fore-course and topsail, the big driver braced hard round as she steered on the same tack as her pursuer.

Just for those few seconds he saw her name across the counter, the gilt paint suddenly sharp and bright in the feeble glare.

He shouted, " La Revanche , sir!" He was almost sobbing with relief, as if it would have been his fault had she been another vessel entirely.

The lookout watched him and shook his head. Kempthorne was popular with most of the hands, and never took it out of offenders like some. The seaman had been in the navy for twelve years but could still not fathom the minds of officers.

Kempthorne was glad, pleased that he had sighted the other vessel. Yet within hours he might be dead.

Of course there might easily be prize money if things went well…

Down on the streaming deck Queely stared at Bolitho and exclaimed, "We've found her, sir!" His eyes flashed with excitement, Kempthorne's part in it already forgotten.

Bolitho levelled his glass, but from the deck the sea still appeared empty.

"And now, we'll take him!"

Kempthorne shouted, "She's shaken out another reef, sir! Making more sail!"

Queely strode to the compass box and back to Bolitho's side. "They're wasting their time," he said confidently. "We've got the bugger by the heels." He cupped his hands. "Be ready to run out the stuns'ls if she opens the range!"

Bolitho trained his glass again. Now in the growing light he could see the brigantine's forecourse and topsail, her driver filled to full capacity and making the vessel's two masts lean over towards the cruising white horses.

Even in this short interval, since Kempthorne had read her name, the distance between them had fallen away considerably. It was true what they said about topsail cutters. They could outrun almost anything.

"Run up the Colours, if you please." Queely looked at Bolitho. "He may not have recognised us, sir."

Bolitho nodded. "I agree. Let's see what he does next. Have the four Dutchmen brought on deck."

The Dutchmen stood swaying below the mast, staring from Bolitho to the brigantine, wondering what was about to happen to them.

Bolitho lowered the glass. If he could see the other vessel's poop, then they, and most likely Tanner himself, would be able to recognise his erstwhile partners. He would know then that this was not some casual encounter, a time when he might risk turning towards the French coast to avoid capture. He would know it was Bolitho. It was personal. It was now.

"Fire a gun, Mr Queely!"

The six-pounder recoiled on its tackles, the thin whiff of smoke gone before the crew had time to check the motion with handspikes.

Queely watched the ball splash into the broken crests some half-a-cable from the brigantine's quarter.

He said, "She does not seem to be pierced for any large artillery." He glanced admiringly at Bolitho. "You reasoned to perfection, sir."

A man yelled, "Somethin's 'appenin' on 'er deck, sir!"

Bolitho raised his glass in unison with Queely, and tensed as he saw the little scene right aft by her taffrail. He did not recognise the others, but in the centre of the small group he saw Brennier's white hair blowing in the wind, his arms pinioned so that he was forced to face the cutter as she continued to overhaul La Revanche.

Queely said savagely, "What is his game? Why does he play for time? We'll be up to him in a moment-if he kills that old man it will be the worse for him!"

Bolitho said, "Rig four halters to the mainyard." He saw Queely look at him with surprise. "Tanner will understand. A life for a life. So too will his men."

Queely yelled, "Come down, Mr Kempthorne! You are needed here!" He beckoned to his boatswain and passed Bolitho's instructions. Within minutes, or so it seemed, four ropes, each with a noose at one end, flew out from the mainyard like creeper, as if they were enjoying a macabre dance.

Bolitho said, "Keep him to lee'rd of you. Run down on his quarter." He was thinking aloud. But all the time, Queely's question intruded. Why does he play for time? The game must surely be played out.

The truth touched his heart like steel. He wants me dead. Even in the face of defeat he sees only that.

He raised the glass again. Brennier's face loomed into the small silent picture, his eyes wide as if he was choking.

Bolitho said, "I intend to board. Prepare the jolly-boat." He silenced Queely's protest by adding, "If you try to drive alongside in this wind, you'll likely dismast Wakeful. We'd lose Tanner, the treasure, everything."

Queely shouted to the boat-handling party, then said stubbornly, "If they fire on you before you board, what then? We have no other boat. Why not risk the damage, I say, and damn the consequences!" He shrugged; he had seen the fight lost before it had begun. "Mr Kempthorne! Full boarding party!" He turned his back on the men by the tiller. "And if-"

Bolitho touched his elbow. "If? Then you may act as you please. Disable her, but make certain they understand they will go down with the ship if they resist further!"

He watched the jollyboat rising and dipping like a snared shark as the seamen warped it slowly aft to the quarter.

He took a last glance at the brigantine's poop as Wakeful bore down on her. The figures had gone. The threat of instant retribution which they had seen in the four halters run up to the yard might have carried the moment. The sight of Wakeful's carronades and run-out six-pounders would demonstrate that there was no quarter this time, no room to bargain.

Allday dropped into the boat and watched the oarsmen as they fended off the cutter's hull, and prepared to fight their way over the water which surged between the two vessels.

Bolitho clambered down with Kempthorne and as the bowman shoved off, and the oars fell noisily into their rowlock, Allday shouted, "Give way all!"

Kempthorne stared at La Revanche, his eyes filled with wonder. "They're shortening sail, sir!"

Bolitho replied grimly, "Don't drop your guard, my lad, not for a second."

Faces appeared along the brigantine's bulwark, and Bolitho raised his borrowed speaking trumpet and shouted, "Do not resist! In the King's name, I order you to surrender!"

He could ignore the sweating oarsmen, Allday crouching over his tiller bar, Kempthorne and the other boarders jammed like herrings into the sternsheets and amongst the boat's crew.

At any second they might open fire. It only needed one. Bolitho wanted to look round for Wakeful and gauge her position, how long it might take Queely to attack if the worst happened.

Allday said between his teeth, "One of 'em's got a musket, Cap'n."

Bolitho shouted again, his heart pumping against his ribs as his whole body tensed for a shot.

"Stand by to receive boarders!"

Allday breathed out slowly as the raised musket disappeared. "Bowman! Grapnel!"

They smashed hard into the brigantine's side, lifted over her wale and almost capsized as another trough yawned beneath the keel.

Bolitho seized a handrope and hauled himself up to the entry port, with Kempthorne and some of the seamen scrabbling up beside him. Allday stared helplessly while the boat plunged down into another trough, leaving him and the rest of the crew momentarily cut off from the boarding party. Bolitho flung himself over the bulwark and in the next few seconds saw the scene like a badly executed painting. Men gaping at him when they should have been attacking or yelling defiance; Brennier beside the wheel, his hands apparently tied behind him, a sailor with a cutlass held close to his throat.

And in the centre stood Tanner, his handsome features very calm as he faced Bolitho across the open deck.

The jolly-boat ground alongside again and broken oars spilled out into the sea. But Allday was here, with three more armed men, their eyes wild, ready to fight-no, wanting to kill now that the moment had arrived.

Tanner said, "You are making another mistake, Bolitho!"

Bolitho glanced at Brennier and nodded. He was safe now. The man who was guarding him jammed his cutlass into the deck and stood away.

Bolitho said, "Well, Sir James, you once invited me to enter your world." He gestured toward the horizon. "This is mine. On the high seas you will find no bribed judges or lying witnesses to save your skin. If you or one of your men raises his hand against us, I will see him dead-here, today-be certain of that." He was astonished that he could speak so calmly. "Mr Kempthorne, attend the admiral."

As the lieutenant made to cross the deck, Tanner moved. "I shall see you in hell, Bolitho!"

He must have had a pistol, a long-barrelled, duellist's weapon, concealed beneath his coat. Too late Bolitho saw his arm swing up and take aim. He heard shouts, a grunt of fury from Allday, then even as a shadow passed across his vision came the sharp crack of the shot. Lieutenant Kempthorne swung round and stared at Bolitho, his eyes wide with disbelief. The ball had penetrated his throat directly below his chin, and as he fell forwards the blood welled from his mouth and he was dead.

In the immediate silence the sea's sounds intruded like an audience, and only the man at the wheel seemed able to move, his eyes on the compass and the straining driver. What he was trained to do, no matter what.

He wants me dead.

There was a faint splash as Tanner flung the pistol over the side. He watched Bolitho's expression and said softly, "Next time."

Bolitho walked towards him, men falling back to let him through. It was then that he saw Wakeful, creeping along the side, near enough to fire directly at individual targets, but still keeping her distance to avoid collision.

Somebody shouted, "Th' chests is in the 'old, sir!"

But the others ignored him. It no longer seemed to matter.

Allday tightened his grip on the cutlass. Remembering the silky voice from the hidden carriage, when Tanner had ordered him to kill the sailor from the press gang. He could feel the flood in his veins like thunder, and knew that if any one so much as moved towards Bolitho he would hack him down.

Bolitho faced Tanner and said, "The next time is now, Jack- isn't that what they call you?"

"You'd kill an unarmed man, Captain? I think not. Your sense of honour-"

"Has just died with young Kempthorne." He had his sword in his hand faster than he had ever known before. He saw Tanner gasp as if he expected the point to tear into him instantly; when Bolitho hesitated, he recovered himself and jeered, "Like your brother after all!"

Bolitho stood back slightly, the point of his sword just inches above the deck.

"You did not disappoint me, Sir James." He watched the arrogance give way to something else. "You insulted my family. Perhaps on land, in 'your world,' you might still go free despite your obscene crimes!"

He was suddenly sick of it. The sword moved like lightning, and when it returned to the deck there was blood running from

Tanner's cheek. The blade had cut it almost to the bone.

Quietly Bolitho said, "Defend yourself, man. Or die."

Gasping with pain Tanner dragged out his sword, his face screwed up with shock and fear.

They circled one another, figures hurrying away, Wakeful's men standing to their weapons, one near the wheel with a swivel gun trained on the brigantine's crew.

Allday watched, shocked by Bolitho's consuming anger, the glint in his eyes which even he had never seen before.

Clash-clash-clash. The blades touched and feinted apart, then Bolitho's cut across Tanner's shirt, so that he screamed as blood ran down his breeches.

"For pity's sake!" Tanner was peering at him like a wounded beast. "I surrender! I'll tell everything!"

"You lie, damn you!" The blade hissed out once more, and a cut opened on Tanner's neck like something alive.

Vaguely Bolitho heard Queely's voice, echoing across the water through his trumpet.

"Sail to the Nor'-West, sir!"

Bolitho lowered his sword. "At last."

Allday said, "They might be Frogs!" Bolitho wiped his forehead with his arm. It was like the blind man. Exactly the same.

He had wanted to kill Tanner. But now he was nothing. Whatever happened he could not survive.

He said wearily, "They'll not interfere with two English ships."

Again, it was like a stark picture. Brennier's faded eyes, his hoarse voice as he called with astonishment, "But, Capitaine, our countries are at war!"

It was the missing part of the pattern which fate, or his own instinct, had tried to warn him about. At war, and they had not known. No wonder Tanner had been prepared to wait, to play for time. He had known the French ship was on her way. She was probably the same vessel which had stood between Wakeful and Holland such a short while ago.

But he did not see the sudden triumph and hatred in Tanner's eyes as he came out of his trance of fear and lunged forward with his sword. Bolitho ducked and made to parry it aside, but his foot went from under him and he knew he had slipped in poor Kempthorne's blood.

He heard Tanner scream, "Die then!" He sounded crazed with pain and the lust to kill.

Bolitho rolled over, and kicked out at Tanner's leg, taking him off balance so that he reeled back against the bulwark.

Bolitho was on his feet again, and heard Allday roar, "Let me, Cap'n."

The blades parried almost gently, and then Tanner lunged forward once again. Bolitho took the weight on his hilt, swung Tanner round, using the force of his attack to propel him towards the side, just as his father had taught him and his brother so long ago in Falmouth.

Bolitho flicked the guard aside and thrust. When he withdrew the blade, Tanner was still on his feet, shaking his head dazedly from side to side as if he could not understand how it could happen.

His knees hit the deck, and he slumped and lay staring blindly at the sails.

Allday gathered him up and rolled him over the bulwark.

Bolitho joined him at the side and watched the body drifting slowly towards the bows. He leaned against Allday's massive shoulder and gasped. "So it's not over."

Then he looked up, his eyes clearing like clouds from the sea. "Was he dead?"

Allday shrugged and gave a slow grin of relief and pride. For both of them.

"Didn't ask, Cap'n."

Bolitho turned towards the white-haired admiral. "I must leave you, m'sieu. My prize crew will take care of you." He looked away towards Kempthorne's sprawled body. He had intended to make him prize master of La Revanche, give him a small authority which might drive away all his uncertainties. He almost smiled. Prize master, as he had once been. The first step to command.

Brennier was unable to grasp it. "But how will you fight?" He peered at Wakeful's tall mainsail. "Tanner was expecting something bigger to come after us!"

Bolitho walked to the entry port and looked down at the pitching jolly-boat. To the master's mate who had accompanied the boarding party he said, "Put the men you can trust to work and make sail at once. Those you can't put in irons."

The master's mate watched him curiously. "Beg pardon, sir, but after wot you just done I don't reckon we'll get much bother." Then he stared across at his own ship. He knew he would probably not see her again. "I'll bury Mr Kempthorne proper, sir. Never you fear."

Allday called, "Boat's ready, Cap'n!"

Bolitho turned and looked at their watching faces. Would he have killed Tanner but for that last attack? Now he would never know.

To the admiral he said, "Our countries are at war, m'sieu, but I hope we shall always be friends."

The old man who had tried to save his King bowed his head. He had lost everything but the ransom in the hold, his King and now his country. And yet Bolitho thought afterwards that he had never seen such dignity and pride in any man.

"Give way all!"

Allday swung the tiller bar and peered at the men along Wakeful's side ready to take the bowline.

Then he looked at the set of Bolitho's shoulders. So it's not over, he had said back there. He sighed. Nor would it be, until-

Allday saw the stroke oarsman watching him anxiously and shook himself from his black mood. Poor bugger'd never been in a sea-fight before. Was likely wondering if he would ever see home again.

He glanced at Bolitho and grinned despite his apprehensions.

Our Dick. Hatless, bloody, the old coat looking as if he had borrowed it from a beggar.

His grin broadened, so that the stroke oarsman felt the touch of confidence again.

But you'd know Bolitho was a captain anywhere. And that was all that counted now.