Bolitho smiled. 'Think before you plunge beyond your depth. If the commodore recovers his health and denounces our action, there will be only one verdict. Even if he does not, it will be seen as disloyalty amounting to mutiny, especially as there is an excellent chance of failure at the end of this effort.'
Fitzmaurice studied him grimly. 'It is a serious and disturbing supposition. I would rather face one hundred broadsides than your decision.'
Bolitho walked away from the desk and paused by the cabin bulkhead below his sword.
'Consider your alternatives carefully. If you remain here at anchor until the commodore recovers sufficiently to change his plans, you might be criticised, but you cannot be harmed for obeying his last order… Whereas,' the word hung in the air, '… if you join with me now, you could suffer disgrace and worse within the next few weeks.'
Farquhar said calmly, 'Then you have already decided?' He crossed -to his side and looked up at the old sword. 'That brings back a memory or two!' Then he said, 'There is no doubt in my mind.' He looked at the others. 'I am for going on with the hunt!'
Bolitho turned and studied him gravely. Farquhar, out of all those present had perhaps the most to lose. It was strange to consider that he had been a midshipman while Herrick had be his first lieutenant. Now he was a postcaptain, with enough youth and ambition to gain whatever heights and honours which might lie before him. Herrick's reaction to his words had been instant and predictable. He saw nothing but immediate loyalty, and had never paused to consider the dreadful consequences of his ready conspiracy. Fitzmaurice would fall in with the rest, while young Lambe was too junior to be seriously implicated., no matter what happened later.
He gripped his hands behind his back and tried to clear the dragging mists from his mind. Was he merely recording their reactions, or had he in fact planned this from the very beginning?
He heard himself ask, 'The French captain, is he ashore under guard?'
Farquhar shook his head, his eyes still on Bolitho's face. 'No. I have him and the rest of his officers aboard Spartan. His name is Poulain and, I suspect, a very hard man.'
Bolitho took down the sword and turned it over in his hands. So many voyages, so many battles against his country's enemies. It appeared in nearly every portrait in the old house in Falmouth. Captains and admirals, gone now like their ships and their conflicts. There might have been a son to wear it one day. But perhaps it was better as it was. If this sword was to be smeared by disgrace, it was best forgotten, as he would eventually be.
He said, 'Bring Captain Poulain aboard Hyperion with his remaining officers.' He paused, seeing the concern on Herrick's face. 'I will also want ten of his seamen.'
Herrick said hoarsely, 'Then we are agreed?'
'It seems so.' Bolitho nodded slowly. 'I hope you will not live to regret your agreement.'
Farquhar picked up his hat and studied it calmly. 'At least we know one thing. Lequiller has no frigates now that we have seized the Thetis. So what we lack in strength we might make up with agility.' Then he smiled, a brief, humourless movement of his lips. 'Poulain will be as curious as I am when he hears of this summons. He seems concerned more for his son, who is a lieutenant under his command, than for the loss of his ship. Lequiller musthave instilled a great confidence in victory in his subordinates!' He clapped the hat on his head, adding, ' I would not take so kindly at losing my ship, no matter what the intention!'
Fitzmaurice watched him leave and then asked, 'When will you see the commodore?' He was almost whispering, and Bolitho could find something like compassion for him. Fitzmaurice had no influence outside his rank and personal achievements. It would be little comfort to him to know he was not alone at the moment of decision.
'Presently. Now, if you care to remain here I will go on deck. I must have a word with Allday about a small matter which will not wait.' He returned the sword to its rack and walked towards the door.
As it closed behind him Lambe said fiercely, 'My God, how can he be so calm when his own head, is at stake?'
Herrick said, 'Many is the time I have asked that question.' He thought of Bolitho's eyes and the pain held behind them as he had spoken his thoughts aloud. 'I still do not know the answer.'
Less than an hour later, as two bells chimed out from the forecastle, Bolitho walked slowly on to the quarterdeck and rested momentarily against the rail. The sun was shining brightly and throwing dark shadows from the shrouds and yards, and across the bay he could see the little wavelets cruising towards the anchored ships with the promise of a fresh wind in spite of the growing heat.
The ship seemed strangely quiet, but he was conscious of the watching seamen on the gangways and others. working aloft who were staring down, their hands stilled as they waited for the drama to commence.
In the centre of the main deck the selected French prisoners stood surrounded by a scarlet rectangle of marines, their faces curious and apprehensive as they too watched the solitary figure by the quarterdeck rail.
Captain Dawson crossed the deck and touched his hat, his florid features grim and vaguely anxious.
'Ready, sir.'
'Very well.'
Bolitho faced the mounting breeze and took a deep breath. He heard boots clumping behind him and turned to see Farquhar and a marine escort, and with them the French captain. He was old for his rank, but gave an immediate impression of competence and assured selfcontrol. He seemed, above all, a hard man, as Farquhar had described.
'Do you speak English, Captain?' Bolitho faced him, his voice calm, but very conscious of the dryness in his throat and the countless watching eyes.
'When I choose.' Captain Poulain watched him with equal gravity. 'But I 'ave nothing to add to what I told your young officer 'ere.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Ah yes. The young officer who took your ship from you. Yes, I understand.'
Poulain's eyes flashed angrily. 'I will say nothing morel I know my rights and the code of honour which you 'old so dear to your decadent soulsl'
Bolitho saw Dawson biting his Up, but continued calmly. 'I would prefer not to discuss matters of honour, m'sieu. I understand that when the Spartan made passage between the reefs at Pascua they discovered the remains of the Dutch schooner Fauna? Destroyed, I believe, by your guns while she tried to escape.'
Poulain regarded him coldly. 'It is war. There was no time for sentiment.'
'But she was unarmed and contained some helpless fishermen and their families.' Bolitho clenched his fingers behind him, willing himself to continue without any sign of emotion. 'I repeat, there is little point in discussing matters of honour.'
'Then I would wish to be taken ashore.' Poulain's mouth lifted slightly in a smile. 'No doubt I will be exchanged for some of the many prisoners my country 'as taken, yes?'
Bolitho nodded. 'No doubt, Captain. But first there is one small, detail which I require explained.' He fixed his eyes on the other man. 'I wish to know your destination after you had completed your repairs, and by this I mean, where does your Vice-Admiral Lequiller intend to make his attack?'
For one brief instant he saw the Frenchman's eyes light up with surprise. Then the shutter closed and his expression became controlled as before.
'I know nothing. If I did, I would not tell you.'
'We both realise that you are lying of course.' Bolitho could feel the sweat pouring down his back and chest, his shirt clinging to his skin as he added, 'Lequiller sailed from the Gironde with orders. He executed the first part of those orders at Las Mercedes and when he seized the San Leandro. Now all I wish to know is the final part. Nothing more.'
'Then you are a fooll'
Bolitho heard Inch's quick intake of breath and saw one of the marines plucking angrily at his bayonet.
He moved to the opposite side of the quarterdeck. The sun was burning his shoulders so that he felt faint and sickened from the brandy in his empty stomach, but he made himself walk slowly, conscious of the silence and the men gathered along the deck of the Spartan nearby.
'Mr. Tomlin, clear the larboard gangway!' He did not need to raise his voice, and even the men in question fell back towards the forecastle as if fearful of breaking the silence.
Without turning his head he continued, 'Now, Captain Poulain, I am going to shoot one of your men. Execute him, if you would prefer the term?' He hardened his voice. 'Perhaps you will recall those prisoners who were hanged aboard your admiral's flagship? It may help you to arrive at a decision.'
Two red-coated marines marched slowly along the larboard gangway, their tunics gleaming like blood in the
