a small knife which he had fished from one of his pockets. He looked very old in the dusty sunlight. Little Penn was squatting on a gun truck, having his wrist bandaged, and dabbing at his nose which had started to bleed when a charge had exploded prematurely nearby.
Bolitho watched them with something like love. Mudge and Penn. Age and innocence.
There was Keen, speaking with Soames, and looking very strained. But a man now.
Feet crunched on the debris, and he saw Noddall approaching him cautiously, a jug of wine clasped against his chest.
'I am afraid I can't yet find the glasses, sir.' He kept his eyes fixed on Bolitho's face, and had probably had them shut as he had groped past some of the horror below.
Bolitho held the jug to his lips and said, 'But this is some of my best wine.'
Noddall dabbed his eyes and smiled nervously. 'Aye, sir. All of it. The rest was destroyed by the battle.'
Bolitho let the wine fill his mouth, savouring it. Needing it. They had come a long way since that shop in St. James's Street, he thought.
And in a few weeks they would be ready again. The missing faces would still be remembered, but without the pain which even now was getting stronger. Terror would emerge as bravado, and courage be recalled as duty. He smiled bitterly, remembering the words from so long ago. In the King's name.
He heard Penn say in his squeaky voice, 'I was a bit frightened, Mr. Mudge.' An awkward pause. 'Just a bit.'
Old Mudge looked across the deck and held Bolitho's gaze. 'Frightened, boy? Gawd, 'e'll never make a cap'n, will 'e, sir?'
Bolitho smiled, sharing the moment with Mudge alone. For he knew, better than most, that the truth of battle was not for children.
Then he looked along his command again, at the gleaming shoulder of the proud figurehead below the bowsprit.
Undine was the real victor, he thought, and he was suddenly grateful to have her to himself.
Epilogue
Lieutenant Thomas Herrick stepped into the stern cabin and tucked his hat beneath his arm.
'You sent for me, sir?
Bolitho was standing by the open windows, his hands on a sill, watching the weed on the sea-bed and tiny, bright fish darting around the motionless rudder.
It was afternoon, and along the shoreline of Pendang Bay the trees and green fronds waved and shone in a dozen hues to a steady breeze. Good sailing weather, he thought absently, but not for Undiae. Not just yet.
He turned and gestured to a chair. 'Sit down, Thomas.' He saw Herrick's gaze resting on the opened despatches
which had been brought aboard that day. A brig from Madras.
Orders and news.
'Another Indiaman will be arriving shortly, Thomas. This despatch is from the Admiral Commanding the Inshore Squadron. He is sending fresh hands to replace some of those we lost in battle.'
How easily said. Lost in battle. He glanced slowly around the cabin, knowing that Herrick was watching him, sharing his memories.
There was little to show of the mauling the ship had suffered under Le Chaumareys' guns. Fresh paint covered the repaired timbers, and the smell of tar and wood-shavings lingered throughout the hull. A month and two days since they had gone alongside Argus, but despite the back-breaking work, and the rewards of seeing the ship looking her old self again, the pictures of the fight hung in Bolitho's mind as if it were yesterday.
And how they had worked. Perhaps, like himself, the rest of the company had needed it, if only to hold the memories at bay a little longer.
Small moments stood out when you least expected them.
Midshipman Penn crouching down as a gun recoiled inboard, wreathed in smoke, while its crew dashed forward again with sponge and rammer. A man had been hurled to the deck in a wave of flying splinters. Had lain there staring unwinkingly at jthe sky. Penn had reached out to touch him and had tried to ump away as the man had reached out to seize his wrist. He must have died at that very instant. Bolitho did not remember seeing the incident at the time, but it had lurked in wait within his mind. And Armitage leading his squad of boarders after Davy had fallen under those plunging blades. The clumsy, awkward midshipman, blind with terror, yet gathering his few reserves of strength only to find they were not enough.
And after the battle, the smells and the sounds, not least the surgeon fighting-drunk and being dragged bodily to his sickbay by three of his men.
When the wild cheering had given way to the realisation of victory, they had faced up to their own immediate situation. Wounded to be tended, the dead to be buried, and the work begun without delay.
Looking back, it was surprising they had reached Pendang Bay at all, Bolitho thought. Fore and main lower yards badly sprung, the mainmast itself so splintered and pitted that it was only quick work on stays and rigging which kept it upright, the tasks had seemed unending. More than a dozen holes below the waterline had kept the hands working at the pumps through every watch, as with the battered Argus in tow they had crawled painfully towards the land and safety. The captured frigate had already sailed under jury-rig for a yard in India where she would be quickly refitted and included in the Company's own private fleet.
Herrick asked, 'Any further instructions, sir?'
Bolitho reached for a bottle of wine. 'It is confirmed that Pendang Bay will be exchanged for another station now held by the Dutch East India Company.' He looked up, seeing the astonishment in Herrick's eyes. 'Now that we have established the settlement, the Dutch are more than willing to make the exchange, apparently.'
He recalled with sudden clarity Rear Admiral Conway's face when the first despatch had been opened. Brought from Madras by Raymond himself.
He had said hoarsely, 'So it was all for nothing?'
Raymond had looked away. 'No, sir. The other settlement in the north is far more suitable to our requirements. Sir Montagu Strang has explained. You will see that your part in all this is highly thought of.'
Later, when Raymond had left the room, Conway had said,
'Highly thought of. But a new governor will be appointed.' Bolitho, had replied, 'I am sorry, sir. It is a bitter victory.' 'Bitter?' Surprisingly, he had laughed. 'This sort of work is
more for shopkeepers than sailors, Bolitho. Remember that well.' He pushed a goblet across the table and realised that Herrick
was still awaiting an answer.
'Once our replacements have been signed on, we will maintain a local patrol until ordered otherwise.' He smiled gravely. 'I am temporarily the senior officer in these waters. Not too surprising, since Undine is the only King's ship!'
Herrick grinned. 'And well earned, sir. When I realised how you had put yourself inside the French captain's mind, I '
Bolitho looked away. 'If the wind had dropped, Thomas, you might think differently.'
'Lady Luck, sir?' The grin was broader.
There was a tap at the door and Penn stepped into the cabin. 'Mr. Davy's respects, sir. The Indiaman has just weighed. He said you wished to be told, sir.'
'Thank you.'
Bolitho waited for the door to close, his heart suddenly heavy. Even Penn had not helped. Keen now stood above as acting lieutenant, and Soames had replaced Davy. The same story. One dies, another profits.
Herrick said quietly, 'The Indiaman's sailing for Madras, sir. Our wounded will get better treatment there.'
Bolitho picked up his hat. 'We'll see her off.'
The sun across the quarterdeck was harsh enough, but in the steady offshore wind felt less severe as with Herrick he stood by the nettings to watch the deep-hulled Indiaman spreading her topsails, her paintwork and
