Jenour said, 'Relentless is in sight abeam, Sir Richard. She is on perfect station, it seems.'
Somewhere far ahead of Black Prince's tapering jib-boom lay the islands. They would still be in shadow, but daylight, when it came, would be swift.
'How is Captain Keen?'
'He was about early, Sir Richard. I could sleep very little too.'
Bolitho gave a quick smile. 'At least you do not have to stand watches with the others, Stephen. Maybe I do not work you hard enough.'
He let his mind drift with the spray against the stern windows, the hollow boom of the tiller-head as the rudder took the strain of sea and wind.
There is nothing more I can do. I am in a dark room. I cannot even rely on circumstances, for I do not know them.
Suppose the enemy attacked Antigua? What would Herrick do? Face another hopeless battle like the last? Or would he order a withdrawal until help arrived? He would fight. To punish himself, or to cast scorn on those who had wanted him guilty.
He thought of Adam's anger and sense of betrayal, and tried to picture how it had been between him and his old friend. Something else was troubling Adam; maybe he would share it, given the chance.
Jenour said, 'That was a hail from the masthead, Sir Richard.' His face was both troubled and excited.
Bolitho saw Allday's polishing cloth pause on the keen old blade. He had not heard it either.
'Be easy, Stephen. We shall know soon enough.'
Jenour watched him, fascinated, envious of the way he could contain his inner feelings, especially when so much depended on today. Or tomorrow. But he knew it would be today.
The sentry bawled, 'Midshipman-of-the-watch, sah!'
Midshipman M'Innes entered timidly and peered around the semi-dark cabin. 'Captain Keen's respects, Sir Richard, and… and…'
Bolitho prompted gently, 'We are all agog, Mr M'Innes, so please share it with us.'
The youth flushed under his sunburn. 'A sail is reported to the west'rd. The lookout says she may be a frigate.'
Bolitho smiled, but his mind was like ice. A frigate. She would be able to see Black Prince, if not the others, set against the brightening horizon. A friend then? She must be Tybalt. He tried to quell his rising hope. Even with a frigate it would take days to search amongst these islands.
'My compliments to the Captain. I shall come directly.'
He picked up his empty coffee cup and stared at it. 'Little boys and old men. Good ones and felons.'
Allday grinned. 'Nothing changes, Sir Richard.' He picked up the sword and thrust it into its fine leather scabbard. It must have worn out many of those in its lifetime, he thought. But only the one sword.
'Not yet, old friend.' Bolitho looked towards his flag lieutenant, and there was something like pain in his grey eyes. 'Are you prepared, Stephen?'
Jenour said steadily, although he did not fully understand, 'I'm ready, Sir Richard.'
'Come, let us go up.' He touched his arm impetuously. 'They are not always the same thing!'
Allday watched them leave and sat down in Bolitho's chair. The wound was aching badly. A sure sign. He laughed harshly. Nerves? An old Jack like you! Blast your eyes for a fool!
Ozzard had entered silently. 'What is it, John?'
'Do something for me. Fetch my jacket an' cutlass from my mess, will you?'
Ozzard reacted predictably. 'I'm not your servant!'
Allday felt the tension draining away. It always did when you knew. 'I'll be needed in a minute or two, Tom.' He saw Ozzard's sudden anxiety and added kindly, 'We're going to fight today. So be off with you, eh, matey?' He seized one thin arm as Ozzard began to hurry away. 'I shall speak my piece, then close the hatches.' He felt fear through the little man's sleeve. 'If the worst happens…' He let the words sink in. 'I want no more o' that madness we had in our old Hyperion. Like it or not, we're mates. We stand together.' He watched the gratitude in Ozzard's eyes and added roughly, 'Fetch me a wet too, eh?'
Unaware of the private drama in the great cabin, Bolitho stood beside Keen and Jenour at the quarterdeck rail, his arms folded as he watched the sea opening itself on either beam in the first feeble sunlight. He saw Relentless directly abeam, perhaps a mile away until daylight made signals readily visible. Beyond her he thought he saw Valkyrie's pale pyramid of sails, and wondered if Flippance had also sighted the far-off ship.
Bolitho glanced at the many figures moving along the upper gun deck and in the rigging overhead. The work never ceased. Splicing and repairing, tarring-down and caulking, and always the guns which dominated their daily lives. On the crowded messdecks the seamen who lived with them saw the guns when they were piped from their hammocks, with a touch of a starter for the last ones out, at their messdeck tables, where they took their too-often crude meals and drank their daily tots, or beer if any was still drinkable. The guns separated them like silent guardians. When they were off watch and repaired their clothing, 'a bit of jewing' as the sailors termed it, or made models and yarned of ships and places they had seen, so too, the guns were always with them.
And as a result of all the drills and the demanding discipline, the guns would wait for the ports to open, and be run out, and would turn those same messdecks into a smoke-filled hell.
'A glass, if you please.' He took it from Midshipman M'Innes and trained it abeam. The nearest 74 was sharper now, and he could even see tiny figures moving along the gangways, covering the hammocks which had been packed down hard in the nettings for another day.
Midshipman Houston stood with, but apart from, his signals party, his telescope raised, his face almost disdainful. He was probably thinking of his hoped-for promotion to lieutenant: the first rung on the ladder.
'She's Tybalt, sir!'
As men chatted and discussed what it might mean, Bolitho levelled the glass again and wanted to cover his injured eye with his hand, but the telescope was too heavy. And those around him might see, and suspect.
How grey it looked beyond the flapping jib, but that would soon change. He found the frigate's pale topsails and saw the tiny, bright flags, the only true colour against the horizon, suddenly dip and vanish.
'Another signal, Mr Houston!' Keen's voice was unusually sharp.
'Aye, sir!' His voice was sulky, like the time he had been ordered aloft for bearing down on the seaman Owen.
Jenour read it first. 'Signal, Sir Richard. Enemy ships bearing north-west!'
Bolitho was aware of the sudden silence around him. Tybalt must have been searching for him and had run down on the enemy formation without knowing what it was. They were lucky to be alive.
'Acknowledge. Tell Tybalt to take station to windward.' He ignored the bright flags soaring aloft to break from the yards, the other bunting strewn around the midshipman and signals party like fallen standards on a battlefield.
Jenour was waiting with his book. 'General-Prepare for battle.'
Then as the flags soared up again and were acknowledged by the other two ships, Bolitho said, 'Then another, Stephen. Form line of battle ahead of the Flag.'
Keen understood. Bolitho was saving the flagship's massive artillery until he could estimate the enemy's strength and intentions.
Bolitho turned and saw Allday carrying his coat and hat across the old sword like an offering.
He slipped his arms into the coat, and knew the sailing-master was watching as he took his hat also. Remembering their last fight together, when he had worn Bolitho's hat into battle.
He raised his arms and allowed Allday to fasten the sword into place. Allday was wearing his best jacket, the one with the special gilt buttons he had given him. Their eyes met and Bolitho said quietly, 'So, old friend. It will be warm work today.'
Keen saw the exchange, but was thinking of Zenoria. He would never go home if he was maimed or disfigured. Never.
When he looked again he was surprised by the intensity of Bolitho's gaze. It was as if he had read his innermost thoughts.
Bolitho smiled. 'Are you ready?' He waited, as if to share his strength with him. 'Very well, Captain Keen.' He was still smiling, excluding all those nearby. 'You may beat to quarters!'
In the confusion of shortening sail yet again to allow the other ships to form line ahead, the sudden rattle of
