Seven bells chimed out from the forecastle, and Bolitho made. his way to the weather rail, seeking a handhold before the cutter began another one of her dizzy plunges. In half -an hour it would be noon, Christmas Day. But it meant a lot more than that to his brother, perhaps to them all. Maybe it had been a foolish gesture after all, a last desperate attempt to settle the score. They had sighted nothing, not even an over-zealous fisherman. Which was hardly surprising on this of all days, Bolitho thought bitterly.
He squinted through the rain, his stomach queasy as it rebelled against the liberal ration of rum which had been sent round the vessel. Trimming sails, reeling from one tack to another, left little chance for lighting the galley fire and getting something hot for all hands. Bolitho had decided he would never drink rum again if he could help it.
Gloag had been right about the weather too, as he always seemed to be. The rain was still falling steadily, cutting the face and hands like icy needles. But it had lessened in strength, and with the slight easing had come a strange mist which had joined sea to sky in one blurred grey curtain.
Bolitho thought of his mother, picturing the preparations for the Christmas fare. The usual visitors from surrounding _ farms and estates. Vyvyan's absence would be noticed. They would all be watching Harriet Bolitho, wondering, questioning.
He stiffened as he heard his brother coming on deck again. He had barely been absent for more than one half- hour at a time since leaving Falmouth.
Bolitho touched his salt-stained hat. `Wind's holding steady, sir. Still southerly.'
It had backed during the night and was pounding into the Avenger's great mainsail from almost hard abeam, thrusting her over until the lee scuppers were awash.
Gloag's untidy shape detached itself from the opposite side and muttered, `If it rises again or veers, sir, we'll 'ave to be thinkin' about changin' tack.' He pouted doubtfully, unwilling, to add to his commander's worries, but knowing his responsibility was for them all.
Bolitho watched the uncertainty and the stubbornness fighting one another on his brother's windreddened face. The cutter was about ten miles due south of the feared Lizard, and as Gloag had said, with a rising gale they could find themselves on a lee shore when they eventually went about, if they did not take care.
Hugh Bolitho crossed to the weather side and stared fixedly into the stinging rain.
Partly to himself he said, `Damn them. They've done for me this time.'
The deck lifted and slithered away again, men falling in sodden bundles, cursing despite fierce looks from their petty officers. Soon now. They were late already in responding to the admiral's summons. If Hugh Bolitho delayed much longer the wind might decide to play a last cruel trick on him and shift direction altogether.
He looked at his younger brother and gave a bleak smile. `You are thinking too hard again, Richard. It shows.'
Bolitho tried to shrug it off. `It was my suggestion to make this search. I merely thought
'Don't blame yourself. It is almost over. On the noon bell we'll bring her about. And it was a good idea of yours. Any other day the channel would be dense with shipping and it would have been like a
needle in a haystack. But Christmas Day?' He sighed. `If the fates had been kinder, and we could see, who knows?'
He added, `We had better see to our extra canvas, in case the weather worsens presently.' It was his duty to attend to the vessel's needs, but his voice showed that his thoughts were elsewhere, still seeking his enemy. `Get aloft to the yard and check the stuns'l booms, _and tell Mr Pyke we'll need to take in a reef shortly.' He peered up at the wind-hardened topsail, the angry jerking of shrouds and braces as his command met the challenge of-sea and tiller.
Dancer had also come on deck, looking pale and dishevelled.
`I'll go, sir.'
Hugh Bolitho gave a tired smile. `Still no head for heights, Richard?'
The brothers looked at each other, and Dancer, who knew only one of them, could sense they were closer than they had been for a long time.
As Dancer clambered into the weather shrouds, Bolitho said, `I'm glad you asked me to join Avenger.'
He looked away, embarrassed that it was so hard to speak like this.
– Hugh Bolitho nodded slowly. `Aboard the old Gorgon I expect they're envying you at ease beside a full table. If they only knew…
He looked up, showing his anxiety, as Dancer yelled, `Deck there! Sail on the weather bow.'
Even as his cry faded, eight bells chimed out from the forecastle. They had been following the other
vessel all this time without being able to see her. She could only be the Virago. Had to be. Another few minutes and Avenger would have come about, allowing her prey to slip away once and for all.
Pyke and Truscott, the gunner, came hurrying aft, their hair ragged with spray, their bodies so steeply angled to the deck they looked like drunken sailors with three sheets to the wind.
Pyke shouted, `I'll go aloft to be sure, sir!' His teeth were bared, as if this was too personal to be shared.
Hugh Bolitho handed his hat to a seaman and snapped, `No. I will go myself.'
They all watched in silence. If Dancer had not gone aloft they would have sailed to Plymouth in ignorance. Hugh Bolitho, his coat tails flapping around his white breeches like twin pendants, paused merely briefly beside the midshipman before continuing up and further still until his shape was blurred in mist and rain. When he reached the topsail yard he stopped, and with his arms wrapped around the madly vibrating mast peered ahead.
In two minutes he returned to the deck, his face expressionless as he said, `She's Virago. No doubt about it. Two masts, ketch-rigged, carrying a lot of canvas.' Only his eyes were alive, bright like little fires as he thought it out. `She has the wind-gage of course, but no matter.' He took a few paces to the compass and then eyed each sail in turn. `Set the jib, Mr Pyke, and then send the hands aloft and run out the booms from the yard. With stuns'ls she'll even outpace that sloop.' His eyes flashed as he added sharply, `Or someone will answer to me!'
Dancer was called down to the deck, and an experienced seaman sent aloft to take his place. As he arrived, breathless and soaked in rain and spray, he exclaimed, `A change of luck, sir!'
Hugh Bolitho tightened his jaw. `We need skill today, Mr Dancer, but I'll grant you I'll not send any luck away!'
Straining and pitching, her sails booming under the pressure, Avenger responded to their combined efforts. Like huge ears, the studding sails were run out on either beam, so that with the yards braced round she presented a tremendous pyramid of canvas before the wind.
It was a strange sensation, and sometimes frightening, Bolitho thought, as the cutter battered her way through crests and troughs alike, the spray bursting over the weather bulwark in solid sheets. There was still no sign of the Virago, and from what Dancer had described, there was little to see, even from the yards. Her hull was lost in sea mist, while like disembodied fins her sails towered above it, an easy task for the keen-eyed lookout.
Bolitho thought it unlikely that Vyvyan's sailing master was bothered at the possibility of a sea chase. Not at this stage. Vyvyan probably knew more about local ship movements even than the Admiralty, and would imagine Avenger snug in harbour, or tail between legs on her way back to face the admiral's wrath.
They were probably celebrating, somewhere up ahead. Christmas, victory over the King's authority, and a booty Bolitho could not even begin to imagine.
And why not? Vyvyan had won all the tricks. And now he was safely around the Lizard and would be well clear of the Scillies when he eventually broke into the vast desert of the Atlantic.
He heard Truscott ask, `What pieces will she be carryin', sir?'
Hugh Bolitho sounded preoccupied as he scanned the sails again, searching for some possible danger or weakness.
`Much as ourselves normally. My guess is that Sir Henry Vyvyan will have a few extra surprises however, so be vigilant, Mr Truscott. I want no haphazard shooting today.' His tone hardened. `This is not a mere fight. It is a matter of honour.'
Bolitho heard him. He sounded as if it was another duel. Something to be settled in the only way he knew. Perhaps this time, he was right.
Gloag called, `Rain's movin' off, sir!'
It was hard to tell the difference, Bolitho thought. There was more spray coming inboard than rain, and the pumps were going busily all the time, so that he guessed a good portion of sea-water had found its way below.
There was a different light, not anything like the sun, and yet the tossing wave crests were brighter, their deep
