sake, as well as yours.'
A marine rapped on the cabin door and Allday whirled round with a muffled oath. 'Get out, damn you! I gave word that the captain was to be left alone!'
The marine's face was wooden. 'Beg pardon, but I'm to inform the captain that there's a barge shovin' off from Impulsive.'
Allday strode across the cabin and slammed the door. 'I'll tell him!' Then he rubbed his hands on his thighs, his mind busy with what he must do.
A quick glance at the sealed door and the sleeping cabin told him that the commodore was still asleep. His lip curled angrily. Or drunk, more likely. Captain Herrick was coming aboard, and he was a friend. And as far as Allday could see it seemed as if Herrick was the only one who could help Bolitho now.
He set his jaw in a tight line. But not even Herrick would see Bolitho like this. Crumpled and unshaven, with his stomach more full of brandy than he was used to.
He said firmly, 'I am going to shave you, Captain. While I'm getting the water from the galley you can be starting on this coffee.' He hesitated before adding, 'It was packed by her when we left Plymouth.'
Then he hurried from the cabin before Bolitho could answer.
Bolitho lowered his feet to the deck and then thrust out a hand to steady himself as the nausea flooded through him. He felt dirty, and tired enough to collapse, but something in Allday's last words made him move across to the table.
He gritted his teeth as he poured some coffee into the cup. His hand was shaking so badly that it took two attempts, and he could feel the sweat running down his spine as if he had just emerged from a nightmare. But it was no nightmare, and it could not be broken, now or ever.
He thought of Allday's desperate attempts to rouse him from his anguish, of the glances thrown his way whenever he had shown himself on deck during the night. Some had been pitying and full of compassion, as if, like Allday, they shared his grief in some private fashion of their own. Others had watched him with curiosity and unveiled surprise. Did they imagine that because he was their captain he was beyond suffering and personal despair? That he was above such human feelings, just as he was beyond their world of common submission?
During the night he had moved restlessly about the upper deck, only half aware of what he was doing or the direction his feet had taken him. He had felt some small security from the night sky and the ship's high web of rigging above him, and while he had wandered aimlessly on her deserted decks he had sensed the ship all about him, as if she too was hushed by his torment and loss. It had been then he had returned to the empty cabin and had sat by the open window, drinking the neat brandy without tasting it, knowing of the letter on the desk, yet unable to find the courage to read it. Her last written word. So full of hope and confidence, not just for them, but for the future and for the men who shared his everyday life.
Allday padded into the cabin and laid his razor on the desk. 'Ready, Captain?' He watched as Bolitho moved wearily to his chair. 'Impulsive's captain'll be aboard shortly.'
Bolitho, nodded and leaned back in the chair, the absolute tiredness rendering him helpless as Allday rubbed his face with soap.
Feet moved overhead and he heard the steady sluice of water as the daily routine of swabbing down commenced. Normally he would have listened, finding strange content in the familiar. noises, and would have pictured the men who called to each other, even though they were hidden from view. He felt the razor moving swiftly across his cheek and knew Allday was watching him. Now it was all changed. It was just as if the closed cabin door was not only cutting him off from the ship, but from the world and everything in it.
The razor halted in midair and he hard Inch call from the doorway, 'Captain Herrick is come aboard, sir. The other captains will be arriving at eight bells.'
Bolitho swallowed and tasted the brandy like fire on his tongue. The other captains? It took physical effort to remember. Hazy faces swept across his blurred mind. Herrick returning from his brief audience with the commodore. Inch, torn between sorrow and concern, and many others which seemed lost in the overall confusion of his thoughts.
Inch added, 'There is to be another conference, sir.' 'Yes. Thank you. Please tell Captain Herrick to take some coffee while he is waiting.'
The door closed again and he heard Allday mutter savagely, 'And a fat lot of good a conference will do!'
He asked, 'Has the commodore been roused yet?'
Allday nodded. 'Aye, Captain. Petch is dealing with him now.' He could not keep the bitterness from his tone. 'Shall I ask Captain Herrick to explain things to him?' He wiped Bolitho's face with a damp towel. 'If you'll pardon the liberty, I think it's wrong that you should have to deal with this meeting.'
Bolitho stood up and allowed Allday to strip the crumpled shirt from his back.
'You are right. That is a liberty. Now kindly finish what you are about and leave me in peace.'
Petch came out of the sleeping cabin, Pelham-Martin's dress coat across one arm.
Allday took the coat and held it up to the reflected sunlight. The dried bloodstain looked black in the bright glare, and as he poked a finger throw the small splinter hole he said, 'Not much bigger'n the point of a rapier.' He threw the coat to Petch with obvious disgust.
Bolitho tightened his neckcloth and felt the clean shirt cool against his skin. His mind recorded all these facts, yet, he felt no part of them. The tiny splinter hole, PelhamMartin's clear intention of remaining an invalid, even the need for some sort of strategy, all seemed beyond his reach and as remote as the horizon.
The sudden prospect of meeting with the other captains only succeeded in unnerving him again. The watching eyes, the condolences and sympathy.
He snapped. 'Tell Captain Herrick to come aft.' As Allday made for the door he added sharply, 'And I will have another decanter at once.'
He dropped his eyes, unable to watch Allday's anxiety. The man's concern and deep desire to help were almost more painful than contempt. Allday might have cared less for him had he seen him sobbing against the open window. Had he known of his sudden impulse to hurl himself after the empty decanter and scatter the reflected stars beneath the ship's dark counter.
Herrick stepped into the cabin, his hat beneath his arm, his round face set in a grave smile.
'This is an intrusion, but I thought it best to see you before the others.'
Bolitho pushed a chair towards him. 'Thank you, Thomas. Yours is never an intrusion.'
Petch enetered the cabin and placed a full decanter on the desk.
Bolitho looked at his friend. 'A glass before we begin, eh?' He tried to smile but his mouth felt frozen.
'Aye, I could relish one.' Herrick watched Bolitho's hand as the decanter shook against the glasses.
Then he said quietly, 'Before we meet the commodore again there are things which I should tell you.' He sipped at the glass. 'The news I brought from England is not good. Our blockade is stretched almost beyond safety limits. Several times in recent months the French have broken out of their harbours, even from Toulon where they were met and repulsed by Vice-Admiral Hotham's squadron.' He sighed. 'The war is gaining in pace, and some of our superiors seem left astern by the speed of the enemy's thinking.' His eyes followed the decanter as Bolitho poured another full glass. 'Lord Howe has given up the Channel Fleet to Viscount Bridport, so we may be assured of some improvement there.'
Bolitho held the glass up to the light. 'And what of us, Thomas? When do all our reinforcements arrive? In time to hear of Lequiller's final victory, no doubt?'
Herrick watched him gravely. 'There are no more ships. Mine is the only one to be spared for the squadron.'
Bolitho stared at him and then shook his head. 'I imagine that our commodore was interested in this piece of news?'
He drank some more brandy and leaned back in the chair as it explored his stomach like a hot iron.
Herrick replied, 'I got no impression from him at all.' He placed his glass on the desk but held his hand above as Bolitho made to refill it. 'He must be made to act. I have spoken_ with Fitzmaurice and young Farquhar, and I have heard what you believe of Lequiller's intentions. They make good sense, but time is against us. Unless we can call the French to action we are useless here and would be better employed with the fleet.'
'So you have been discussing it with them, eh?'
Herrick looked at the desk. 'I have.'
'And what else did you discover?'
