favour, to grasp rewards for himself, even at the expense of losing his ship and every man aboard.
He said to Herrick, 'The admiral wishes all his senior officers to take wine with him. We had better make sure we are on time.'
They walked in silence along a narrow, cobbled lane where the houses on either side seemed to reach towards each other as if to touch.
Herrick said, 'How long will it be before the enemy launch an attack on the port, sir?'
'Who can say! But Cobban has his scouts around the town, and no doubt Sir Edmund intends to keep up his coastal patrols to watch the road from the north.'
He tried to keep his tone casual, but he could not put the feeling of disappointment to the back of his mind. Pomfret seemed to put a blight on everything. This curfew for instance. The townspeople had greeted the ships and soldiers like their own, had thrown flowers to the grinning redcoats, as if to show that they believed in what they had helped to start and would share the cost, no matter how hard it became.
And aboard the Hyperion the wild excitement had soonbeen pushed aside as Pomfret ordered the squadron to disembark troops and stores with a minimum of delay. Just one word from him would have made all the difference. Hyperion's raiding party had lost fifteen killed and missing, with another ten badly wounded. Viewed against what would have happened had they failed to sink the Saphir it was a negligible amount. But in the ship's tight community it was still very personal and deeply felt.
Pomfret had shifted his flag ashore almost immediately, and as the two officers walked across a deeply shadowed square it became obvious that the admiral had chosen his new headquarters with no little care. It was the house of a rich wine merchant, a pleasant, wide-fronted building, with a pillared entrance and surrounded by a high wall. Cross-belted marines snapped to attention at the gates, and nervous-looking servants waited at the tall double doors to take the hats and cloaks as various officers arrived from ships and garrison alike.
Herrick watched gravely as Bolitho eased his bandaged arm more comfortably inside his dress-coat, noting the deep lines around his mouth, the dampness of sweat below the rebellious lock of hair.
He said at length, `You should have sent me, sir. You're not fit yet. Not by a long shot!'
Bolitho grimaced. 'And miss the chance of seeing this fine house? Certainly not!'
Herrick looked at the hanging tapestries, the rich glitter of perfectly matched chandeliers.
'Sir Edmund seems to find luxury adequate, sir.'
There was no hiding the bitterness in his tone, and Bolitho wondered if Herrick hated Pomfret for what he had once been in the past or for what he imagined he was doing now to his captain.
He smiled briefly. 'You will fall over that tongue of yours one day, Thomas!'
A bewigged footman threw open a door and as a British petty officer muttered in his ear called loudly, 'Captaine de vaisseau, M'sieu Boli…' He faltered, unable to complete it. The petty officer glared at him threateningly and then bellowed in a voice more suited to addressing foretopmen, 'Cap'n Richard Bolitho! Of 'Is Britannic Majesty's Ship Hyperionl'
Bolitho smiled and stepped into a long, panelled room. It seemed to be full of officers, both military and naval, and the buzz of noisy conversation died as every face turned towards him. Bellamy of the Chanticleer was the first to start clapping, and while Bolitho stood momentarily confused and off guard the clapping became cheering until the noise filled the building and spread to the quiet gardens outside where the sentries craned their heads to listen to the thunderous applause.
Bolitho walked awkwardly between the shouting, grinning faces, only half aware of what was being said and vaguely conscious of Herrick striding at his side, his body used to shield his wounded arm from any over- enthusiastic officer in the swaying mass of blue and scarlet.
Pomfret waited. at the far end of the room, resplendent in full dress, his head cocked on one side, his lips compressed in what might be either amusement or irritation. He waited until a footman had placed a goblet in Bolitho's hand then held up his arm for silence.
He said, 'We have already drunk the loyal toast, gentlemen. I will now give you another. Let us drink to victory, and death to the French!'
Bolitho sipped at the wine, his mind dazed by the noise and the excitement around him. The toast was common enough, but not under these particular circumstances, he thought. But as he glanced quickly around the room he saw with surprise there was not a single French officer or leading citizen present.
Pomfret said, 'That was quite a greeting, Bolitho! A hero's welcome, if I may say so.' His face was blotchy with heat and his eyes seemed very bright.
Bolitho said quietly, 'Did none of the French leaders come, sir?'
Pomfret eyed him calmly. 'I did not ask any!'
The wound throbbed in time to Bolitho's sudden anger. 'But, sir, this is a common venture! They are equal in their desire to overthrow the Revolutionary Government!'
'Equal?' Pomfret regarded him blankly. 'In the eyes of the Almighty maybe. But in mine they are Frenchmen, and not to be trusted! I told you before, I do not care for compromise. I am in command here, and I will brook no interference from these damn peasants!'
He turned and saw Herrick for the first time. 'Ah, your able lieutenant. I trust that he has accepted there will be no prize-money from this venture? With Saphir and Fairfax sunk it may be some time before we catch another sizable ship, eh?'
Herrick flushed. 'I've heard no complaints, sir. Saving life is more important than money in my opinion!'
Pomfret smiled coldly. 'I was not-aware that I asked for an opinion, Mr. Herrick.' He turned his back as Colonel Cobban thrust his heavy frame through the throng of officers. 'Ah, Sir Torquil! Are all your men in position now?'
The soldier grunted and took a goblet from a silver tray. 'Earthworks thrown up. Guns in place.' He showed his teeth. 'We can sit here forever if needed!'
Bolitho asked, 'Is that wise, sir? It seems unlikely that-we will be forced to stay here long. As soon as reinforcements arrive we shall be thrusting further inland if this landing is to be of any use.'
Cobban turned slowly, his eyes suddenly hostile. 'May I ask what the hell it is to do with you, sir?'
Bolitho could almost taste the brandy on:Cobban's breath. He must have been drinking steadily since he had got ashore. He said stubbornly, 'It is a lot to do with mel And I see no reason for your attitude.'
Pomfret interrupted, 'Be at ease, Sir Torquil! Captain Bolitho is the one who took the port in the first place. He is naturally keen to see that his efforts are not wasted.' He was smiling gently.
Cobban looked blearily from one to the other. Then he said harshly, 'I am a soldier, I do not care to be questioned by his sort.'
There was a sudden silence, then Bolitho said calmly, 'That is a great pity, Colonel. It is also a pity that when you purchased your commission you did not purchase thee manners to go with it!'
The flush mounted Cobban's face like blood. When he spoke he sounded as if he was being strangled by his high collar. 'You impertinent upstart! How dare you speak to me like that?'
Pomfret said coolly, `That is enough, gentlemen! Quite enough!' He turned his pale eyes on Bolitho and added, 'I know that fighting duels is common enough in your family, Captain, but I will have none of it under my flag!'
Cobban muttered angrily, 'If you say so, Sir Edmund. But if I had my way…'
Bolitho said, 'You will find me ready enough, Colonel, if you give me occasion!' His head was hammering like an anvil and he could feel the wine churning in his stomach like a fever. But he no longer cared. Pomfret's quiet malice and Cobban's crude stupidity had driven him beyond caution. He saw Herrick's face, anxious and wary, and then looked down with surprise as Pomfret laid one hand on his arm.
Pomfret said, 'Your wound is no doubt troubling you. I will overlook this outburst.' Then he sighed as if it was of no importance. 'You will be sailing tomorrow, Bolitho, back to Cozar.' He glanced idly around the big room, his eyes distant. 'You can take my despatches to the garrison, and upon your return bring Miss Seton back to St. Clar.' He became almost jovial. 'We will show these people that we are here to stay. I think I might even give a reception of some kind, eh?'
Cobban had recovered himself only slightly. 'The wedding, Sir Edmund? Will you have it here?'
Pomfret nodded, his eyes still on Bolitho's unsmiling face. 'Yes. I think that would show a sort of confidence in the future.' He smiled, 'A final touch, very well timed.'
Bolitho swayed. Pomfret was laughing at him. It was too obvious. And Hyperion was being ordered to sea yet again. It seemed as if the ship would never be allowed time to rest. Time to recover and heal her wounds.
