With All Despatch

block, its sheaves sticky with blood and hair. The man's forehead and skull had been crushed. Only the features were unmarked.

'I did not try to run away. But as you see, my vessel is short-handed, some of my men are working another. It took twice as long to bring her round and heave-to.' He nodded several times. 'I shall be certain to mention all this in my complaint to the proper authority!'

Bolitho gripped his sword to his leg again. It was bad luck. The ball must have severed some rigging and allowed the block to fall and kill the man. It happened often enough in any ship, but this could not have occurred at a worse time.

He said, 'We shall return to Telemachus, Mr Paice.'

Even a bloody hand-to-hand fight would have been better than this, he thought. Lady Luck, as Thomas always called it, had been against them from the beginning. He glanced at Paice and was surprised to see his face was stiffly controlled, his anger apparently gone.

Even when they clambered down to the jolly-boat nobody aboard the brig called out or abused them in any way. Delaval was not going to spoil his victory by putting a foot out of place.

Bolitho did not wait for the boat to be hoisted inboard before going below to the cabin.

He half-listened to the usual bustle and noise of a vessel getting under way once more, the creak of the rudder below the transom, a goblet clattering from the table as the cutter heeled over to the wind. Allday was outside the door, having made certain the boat was safely secured. Poor Allday; he would hate to see him disgraced. He bit his lip. There would be others who would be less displeased when he was sent back to Falmouth.

Paice ducked through the door, his coat still black with spray. It was his command but he waited for Bolitho to ask him to be seated. He looked tired and strained, a different person.

Bolitho did not waste time. 'I am sorry. You were right, I was mistaken. I shall see that no blame is attached to you. I ordered the chase-' He lifted his hand heavily as if his sleeve was filled with lead shot. 'No, hear me out. I told you to fire into her. It is enough. Perhaps I still thought-'

Paice waited and then said, 'No, sir, you were not mistaken. If anyone is to blame it's me for thinking, even for a moment, that Delaval would be stupid enough to be caught so easily.'

Bolitho looked across the small cabin with its leaping shadows made by the spiralling lanterns.

'Then tell me, what has changed your mind?'

Paice said calmly, 'Delaval knew we were out there, sir. And he needed us to know that he had outwitted us.'

'You mean it was all a lie?'

'Not all of it.' Paice clenched his fists several times, as if they were detached from the apparent calm he was displaying. 'That dead man was never killed by a falling block, sir. That's why the bastard wanted me to see his face.'

'You knew him?'

'He was my informant. The one who told me about the run.'

'And there's nothing we can do about it.'

Paice gave a deep sigh. 'Delaval is a Channel Islander by birth. It's rumoured he had to leave Jersey because of his cruelty when he commanded a privateer there.'

Bolitho tried to shut out the picture of the vicious mark Tuke had branded on Viola's naked shoulder when he had held her captive. But the picture would not fade, and he could still hear Tuke's sneers as they had circled around each other on Narval's bloodied deck, their swords seeking an opening.

He heard himself say quietly, 'I knew another like that.'

Paice watched him for several seconds. 'Probably tortured him after they had discovered he was informing on the smugglers. Then murdered him. Or maybe he was trading information to others. Either way they've done for him, and we can't prove a thing.' He took a long, deep breath which seemed to come from his shoes.

'So you see, sir, you were right. Loyal Chieftain acted as a decoy for something else, but Delaval couldn't resist putting his own touch to it for my benefit. But one day-' He did not continue. He had no need.

Paice groped his way bent double to the door. 'Do you wish to rendezvous with Wakeful, sir?'

Bolitho stared at him. 'Wakeful? That's it, by God! Only Wakeful knew I was transferring back to your ship!'

Paice rubbed his chin fiercely even though he was still bent over in the doorway.

'Surely you don't think-'

Bolitho felt the shivers again up his spine.

'I don't know Delaval, but I do understand men like him. He showed no interest in me, not even curiosity-it was you he wanted to humiliate and impress-do you not see that?'

Paice nodded grimly. 'I'm afraid I do, sir.'

Bolitho said, 'Let us take a glass together before you change tack.' He reached over and impetuously touched the big lieutenant's arm.

'The battle's not lost after all. But I fear for the casualties when the fight is over!'

Allday heard the change in Bolitho's voice, could almost see his shoulders lifting again.

He gave a slow grin as Bolitho added, 'So let's be about it, eh?'

4. Divided Loyalties

THE HOUSE which Commodore Ralph Hoblyn occupied and used as his personal headquarters was an elegant, square building of red brick with a pale, stone portico.

Bolitho reined in his horse and looked at the house for a full minute. It was not an old building, he decided, and the cobbled driveway which led between some pillared gates was well kept, with no trace of weeds to spoil it. And yet it had an air of neglect, or a place which had too many occupiers to care. Behind him he heard the other horse stamping its hooves on the roadway and could almost feel Young Matthew's excitement as he shared the pride and privilege of accompanying Bolitho on this warm, airless evening.

Bolitho recalled the angry waves and the brig's sail being ripped apart by it. It could have been another ocean entirely. There was a smell of flowers in the air, mixed as ever with that of the sea which was never far away.

The house was less than a mile from the dockyard at Sheerness where the two cutters had returned that morning.

A lieutenant had brought the invitation to Bolitho. It had been more like a royal command, he thought grimly.

He saw the glint of steel and the scarlet coats of two marines as they stepped across the gateway, attracted possibly by the sound of horses.

He had seen several pickets on the way here. It was as if the navy and not the local felons and smugglers were under siege. His mouth tightened. He would try to change that-always provided Commodore Hoblyn did not order him to leave.

He tried to recall all he could about the man. A few years older than himself, Hoblyn had also been a frigate captain during the American Rebellion. He had fought his ship Leonidas at the decisive battle of the Chesapeake, where Admiral Graves had failed to bring de Grasse to a satisfactory embrace.

Hoblyn had engaged a French frigate and a privateer single-handed. He had forced the Frenchman to strike, but as he had closed with the privateer his own ship had exploded in flames. Hoblyn had continued to fight, and even boarded and seized the privateer before his ship had foundered.

It had been said that the sight of Hoblyn leading his boarders had been enough to strike terror into the enemy. His uniform had been ablaze, one arm burning like a tree in a forest fire.

Bolitho had met him only once since the war. He had been on his way to the Admiralty to seek employment. He had not even looked like the same man. His arm in a sling, his collar turned up to conceal some of the terrible burns on his neck, he had seemed a ghost from a battlefield. As far as Bolitho knew he had never obtained any employment. Until now.