They think I am going to be killed.
Like the sight of the old sword in his enemy’s grasp, the thought made a chill of fury run through him. As their blades clashed and parried, and each man circled round to find an advantage, Bolitho could feel the strength going from his arm.
In one corner of his eye something moved very slowly, and for an instant he imagined that another of the French ships was going to take Odin from the other beam as first intended.
His breath seemed to stop. She was no ship of the line. She could only be Phalarope. As Odin had lain against her powerful adversary, and Herrick’s ships had closed with their French counterparts, Phalarope had fought her way through the line to support him.
He gasped as Remond drove the knuckle-bow into his shoulder and punched him away. Perhaps for that second’s hesitation Remond had seen Bolitho’s surprise as defeat.
Bolitho fell back against the hammock nettings, his sword clattering across the deck. He saw Remond’s dark eyes, merciless and unwinking, he seemed to be staring straight along the edge of the blade to its very point which was aimed at his heart.
The deafening roar of carronades was terrifying and broke the spellbound watchers into confusion. Phalarope had crossed the French flagship’s stern and was firing through the windows and along the lower gun-deck from transom to bows.
The ship felt as if it were falling apart, and Bolitho saw splinters and fragments of grape bursting up through the deck itself or ricocheting over the sea like disturbed hornets. One such fragment hit Remond before he could make that final thrust.
He realized that Allday was helping to get him to his feet, that Remond had fallen on his side, a hole the size of a fist punched through his stomach. Behind him a British seaman came out of his daze, and seeing the dying admiral, lifted his cutlass to end it.
Allday saw Bolitho’s face and said to the man, “Easy, mate! Enough’s enough.” Almost gently he prised the old sword from Remond’s fingers and added, “It don’t serve two masters, mounseer.” But Remond’s stare had become fixed and without understanding.
Bolitho gripped the sword in both hands and turned it over very slowly. Around him his men were cheering and hugging each other, while Allday stood grim-faced and watchful until the last Frenchman had thrown down his weapons.
Bolitho looked at Stirling who was staring at him and shivering uncontrollably.
“We won, Mr Stirling.”
The boy nodded, his eyes too misty to record this great moment for his mother.
A young lieutenant, whose face was vaguely familiar, pushed through the cheering seamen and marines.
He saw Bolitho and touched his hat.
“Thank God you are safe, sir!”
Bolitho studied him gravely. “Thank you, but is that what you came to say?”
The lieutenant stared around at the dead and wounded, the scars and bloody patterns of battle.
“I have to tell you, sir, that the enemy have struck to us. All but one, which is running for the Loire with Nicator in full pursuit.”
Bolitho looked away. A complete victory. More than even Beauchamp could have expected.
He swung towards the lieutenant. He must think me mad.
“What ship?”
“Phalarope, sir. I am Fearn, acting-first lieutenant.”
Bolitho stared at him. “Acting-first lieutenant?” He saw the man recoil but could only think of his nephew. “Is Lieutenant Pascoe…?” He could not say the word.
The lieutenant breathed out noisily, glad he was not in the wrong after all.
“Oh no, sir! Lieutenant Adam Pascoe is in temporary command!” He looked down at the deck as if the realization he had survived was only just reaching him. “I fear Captain Emes fell as we broke through the French line.”
Bolitho gripped his hand. “Return to your ship and give my thanks to the people.”
He followed the lieutenant along the gangway until he saw a boat hooked alongside.
Phalarope was lying hove to close by, her sails punctured, but every carronade still run out and ready to fire.
He remembered what he had said to Herrick after the Saintes, when he had spoken of others’ ships.
Bolitho had replied then, “Not like this one. Not like the Phalarope.”
There would be no need to tell Adam that. For like Emes before him, he would have discovered it for himself.
He saw Allday rolling up the captured French flag which had outlived its admiral.
Bolitho took it and handed it to the lieutenant.
“My compliments to your commanding officer, Mr Fearn. Give him this.” He looked at his old sword and added quietly, “We can all honour this day.”
Epilogue
RICHARD BOLITHO studied his reflection in a wall mirror with the same scrutiny he would offer a junior officer who had applied for promotion.
He said over his shoulder, “It was good of you to stay with me, Thomas.” He turned and looked fondly at Herrick who was sitting on the edge of a chair, a half-empty goblet clutched in one hand. “Although in your present state of nerves I fear we will be of little use to one another!”
It was still difficult to believe he was home in Falmouth. After all that had happened, the squadron’s slow return to Plymouth, the work involved in caring for the battle-scarred ships, the goodbyes, and the memories of those who would never set foot in England again.
How quiet the house was, so still he could hear the birds beyond the windows which were closed against the first October chill, so very quiet, like a ship before a fight or after a storm.
Herrick shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked down at his new uniform.
“Acting-commodore, they said!” He sounded incredulous. “But I’d lose even that when peace was signed!”
Bolitho smiled at Herrick’s discomfort. Whatever the Admiralty’s official attitude was to be about the French invasion fleet’s destruction, their lordships had shown honest sense where Herrick was concerned.
Bolitho said quietly, “It has the right ring to it. Thomas Herrick, Rear-Admiral of the Red. I’m truly proud of you, and for you.”
Herrick stuck out his jaw, “And what about you? Nothing for what you achieved?” He held up his hand. “You can’t shut me up any more! We’re equal now, you said so yourself, so I’ll say my piece and there’s an end to it!”
“Yes, Thomas.”
Herrick nodded, satisfied. “Right then. It’s all over the West Country, everyone knows that peace is everything but signed, that fighting has ceased, and all because the French are the ones eager for an armistice! And why, do I ask?”
“Tell me, Thomas.”
Bolitho looked at himself in the mirror again. He felt worried and unsettled now that the moment had arrived. Within the hour he would be married to Belinda. What he had wanted more than anything, what he had clung to even in the worst moments in France and at sea.
But suppose she had inwardly changed her mind. She would still marry him, he had no doubt about that, but it would be on his terms and not hers. Herrick’s anger at the Admiralty’s attitude on his future seemed unimportant.
Herrick said, “It is because of what you did, make no mistake on that! Without those damned invasion vessels the French can only make a noise. They could no more invade England than, than…” He groped for some suitable insult. He ended by saying, “I think it’s petty and unfair. I’m promoted, when God’s teeth I’d rather remain a
