With All Despatch

Allday tightened his grip on the cutlass. Remembering the silky voice from the hidden carriage, when Tanner had ordered him to kill the sailor from the press gang. He could feel the flood in his veins like thunder, and knew that if any one so much as moved towards Bolitho he would hack him down.

Bolitho faced Tanner and said, 'The next time is now, Jack- isn't that what they call you?'

'You'd kill an unarmed man, Captain? I think not. Your sense of honour-'

'Has just died with young Kempthorne.' He had his sword in his hand faster than he had ever known before. He saw Tanner gasp as if he expected the point to tear into him instantly; when Bolitho hesitated, he recovered himself and jeered, 'Like your brother after all!'

Bolitho stood back slightly, the point of his sword just inches above the deck.

'You did not disappoint me, Sir James.' He watched the arrogance give way to something else. 'You insulted my family. Perhaps on land, in 'your world,' you might still go free despite your obscene crimes!'

He was suddenly sick of it. The sword moved like lightning, and when it returned to the deck there was blood running from

Tanner's cheek. The blade had cut it almost to the bone.

Quietly Bolitho said, 'Defend yourself, man. Or die.'

Gasping with pain Tanner dragged out his sword, his face screwed up with shock and fear.

They circled one another, figures hurrying away, Wakeful's men standing to their weapons, one near the wheel with a swivel gun trained on the brigantine's crew.

Allday watched, shocked by Bolitho's consuming anger, the glint in his eyes which even he had never seen before.

Clash-clash-clash. The blades touched and feinted apart, then Bolitho's cut across Tanner's shirt, so that he screamed as blood ran down his breeches.

'For pity's sake!' Tanner was peering at him like a wounded beast. 'I surrender! I'll tell everything!'

'You lie, damn you!' The blade hissed out once more, and a cut opened on Tanner's neck like something alive.

Vaguely Bolitho heard Queely's voice, echoing across the water through his trumpet.

'Sail to the Nor'-West, sir!'

Bolitho lowered his sword. 'At last.'

Allday said, 'They might be Frogs!' Bolitho wiped his forehead with his arm. It was like the blind man. Exactly the same.

He had wanted to kill Tanner. But now he was nothing. Whatever happened he could not survive.

He said wearily, 'They'll not interfere with two English ships.'

Again, it was like a stark picture. Brennier's faded eyes, his hoarse voice as he called with astonishment, 'But, Capitaine, our countries are at war!'

It was the missing part of the pattern which fate, or his own instinct, had tried to warn him about. At war, and they had not known. No wonder Tanner had been prepared to wait, to play for time. He had known the French ship was on her way. She was probably the same vessel which had stood between Wakeful and Holland such a short while ago.

But he did not see the sudden triumph and hatred in Tanner's eyes as he came out of his trance of fear and lunged forward with his sword. Bolitho ducked and made to parry it aside, but his foot went from under him and he knew he had slipped in poor Kempthorne's blood.

He heard Tanner scream, 'Die then!' He sounded crazed with pain and the lust to kill.

Bolitho rolled over, and kicked out at Tanner's leg, taking him off balance so that he reeled back against the bulwark.

Bolitho was on his feet again, and heard Allday roar, 'Let me, Cap'n.'

The blades parried almost gently, and then Tanner lunged forward once again. Bolitho took the weight on his hilt, swung Tanner round, using the force of his attack to propel him towards the side, just as his father had taught him and his brother so long ago in Falmouth.

Bolitho flicked the guard aside and thrust. When he withdrew the blade, Tanner was still on his feet, shaking his head dazedly from side to side as if he could not understand how it could happen.

His knees hit the deck, and he slumped and lay staring blindly at the sails.

Allday gathered him up and rolled him over the bulwark.

Bolitho joined him at the side and watched the body drifting slowly towards the bows. He leaned against Allday's massive shoulder and gasped. 'So it's not over.'

Then he looked up, his eyes clearing like clouds from the sea. 'Was he dead?'

Allday shrugged and gave a slow grin of relief and pride. For both of them.

'Didn't ask, Cap'n.'

Bolitho turned towards the white-haired admiral. 'I must leave you, m'sieu. My prize crew will take care of you.' He looked away towards Kempthorne's sprawled body. He had intended to make him prize master of La Revanche, give him a small authority which might drive away all his uncertainties. He almost smiled. Prize master, as he had once been. The first step to command.

Brennier was unable to grasp it. 'But how will you fight?' He peered at Wakeful's tall mainsail. 'Tanner was expecting something bigger to come after us!'

Bolitho walked to the entry port and looked down at the pitching jolly-boat. To the master's mate who had accompanied the boarding party he said, 'Put the men you can trust to work and make sail at once. Those you can't put in irons.'

The master's mate watched him curiously. 'Beg pardon, sir, but after wot you just done I don't reckon we'll get much bother.' Then he stared across at his own ship. He knew he would probably not see her again. 'I'll bury Mr Kempthorne proper, sir. Never you fear.'

Allday called, 'Boat's ready, Cap'n!'

Bolitho turned and looked at their watching faces. Would he have killed Tanner but for that last attack? Now he would never know.

To the admiral he said, 'Our countries are at war, m'sieu, but I hope we shall always be friends.'

The old man who had tried to save his King bowed his head. He had lost everything but the ransom in the hold, his King and now his country. And yet Bolitho thought afterwards that he had never seen such dignity and pride in any man.

'Give way all!'

Allday swung the tiller bar and peered at the men along Wakeful's side ready to take the bowline.

Then he looked at the set of Bolitho's shoulders. So it's not over, he had said back there. He sighed. Nor would it be, until-

Allday saw the stroke oarsman watching him anxiously and shook himself from his black mood. Poor bugger'd never been in a sea-fight before. Was likely wondering if he would ever see home again.

He glanced at Bolitho and grinned despite his apprehensions.

Our Dick. Hatless, bloody, the old coat looking as if he had borrowed it from a beggar.

His grin broadened, so that the stroke oarsman felt the touch of confidence again.

But you'd know Bolitho was a captain anywhere. And that was all that counted now.

16. A Sailor's Lot

LUKE HAWKINS, Telemachus's boatswain, shook himself like a dog and waited for Paice to loom out of the wet darkness.

'I've sent four 'ands aloft, sir!' They both squinted towards the masthead but the upper yards were hidden by