Pelham-Martin nodded slowly. 'That is a masterpiece of self-deception, Bolitho.' He waved one hand towards the windows and through the salt-stained glass Bolitho could see the next ship astern throwing the spray across her bows, yet giving the impression of ponderous indestructibility.
The commodore added calmly, 'These ships will prevent any such foolishness.' He seemed to become impatient and dragged a chart from beneath some leatherbound books. 'We are here,' he stabbed the chart with one pink finger, 'and I have placed the two frigates, Spartan and Abdiel, on the southern approaches to warn of any attempt by the enemy to cross into this area from Spanish waters.' The finger moved towards the rambling coastline above the Gironde. 'Here I have deployed my third frigate, Ithuriel, in the exact area to see and report any French attempt to leave Bordeaux for the north.'
Bolitho looked up. 'And the sloops, sir?' Again a quick shake of the head from Captain Winstanley, but Bolitho's anger at Pelham-Martin's easy dismissal of his ideas had thrust caution at one side.
'Sloops?' Pelham-Martin nodded gravely. 'You have indeed read your reports, Bolitho.' The smile vanished. 'I have despatched them to Vigo for, er, extra stores.'
Bolitho looked away. It was incredible. Vigo, on the north-west coast of Spain, was over four hundred miles away. Further from the Gironde Estuary than Plymouth itself!
The commodore's hands. began to tap a slow tattoo on the edge of the table. Like two smooth, pink crabs. He asked quietly, 'You seem to disapprove?'
Bolitho kept his tone level. 'The frigate Ithuriel is all alone so close inshore, sir. And the other two frigates are too far to the south'rd to assist her if she is attacked.'
Pelham-Martin eyed him for several seconds. 'Ithuriel's captain has my orders, my orders, d'you understand, to close the squadron the moment he sights any sign of activity.' The smile came back slightly. 'I understood that you had been a frigate captain, Bolitho? Surely you do not deny the Ithuriel's captain the chance to prove his worth?'
Bolitho said flatly, 'I think he would stand no chance at all, sir.'
Winstanley shifted on his chair. 'What Captain Bolitho means is…'
Pelham-Martin lifted one hand. 'I know what he means, Winstanley! Not for him the business of blockade, dear me, no! He wants to drive headlong ashore and seize some wretched ship for prize money, no doubt!'
'No, sir,' Bolitho gripped the arms of his chair. He had made a bad start. Worrying about Inch and Stepkyne, his near fall into the sea from his barge under the eyes of the squadron had pared away his normal reserve when dealing with senior officers., 'But I do believe that unless we know exactly what we are blockading we can never take steps to deal with whatever ruse the French will employ.'
The commodore stared at him. 'My orders are to patrol this area. That is what I am doing. Really, Bolitho, I do not know what you were told aboard Vice-Admiral Cavendish's flagship, but I can assure you we are well aware of the task entrusted to us here.'
'I did not go aboard the flagship, sir.' Bolitho saw a quick flash of surprise in the other man's eyes before the shutter dropped again. He added quietly, 'My orders were sent across to me.' It was a lie, but only half a lie.
But the effect of it was instantaneous and more than surprising. Pelham-Martin dragged a gold watch from his straining waistcoat and said, 'Please me by going on deck, Winstanley. Just make sure that all my despatches were sent across to the Vectis before she left the squadron, eh?' As soon as the door closed behind the other captain he continued evenly, 'I am sorry if I seemed unwilling to listen to your appraisal of our situation here, Bolitho.' He smiled and lifted a decanter from the silver casket. 'Some brandy, eh? Took it from a French coaster a week ago.' He did not wait for a reply but poured it liberally into some glasses which had been concealed below the table. 'The fact is, I do not always see eye to eye with Sir Manley, you know.' He watched Bolitho above the rim of his glass. 'It is a family matter, a deeply rooted dispute of some standing now.' He wagged the glass. 'Not unknown in your family too, I believe?'
Bolitho felt the brandy burning his lips. It seemed as if his brother's memory, his disgrace to the family name would never be allowed to die. And now Pelham-Martin was using it as a comparison with some stupid feud caused by his own brother's cowardice, or whatever it had been which had caused him to surrender without first warning the ships coming to relieve and sustain his soldiers.
The commodore nodded gravely. 'Of course, my brother did not actually desert his country, but the end result is the same. He was trying to save his men from useless slaughter.' He sighed deeply. 'But history only judges results and not intentions.'
Bolitho said flatly, 'I am sure that neither the viceadmiral nor you would jeopardise efficiency over this matter, sir.'
'Quite so.' Pelham-Martin was smiling again. `But as his junior I have to be doubly careful, you understand? His tone hardened. 'And that is why I obey my orders, and nothing more.' He paused before adding, 'And so will you!'
The interview was over, but as Bolitho rose to his feet Pelham-Martin said easily, 'In any case, this tiresome duty will give you ample opportunity to drill your people into shape.' He shook his head. 'The sail handling was, to say the 'least, very poor indeed.'
Bolitho stepped from the cabin and breathed out very slowly. So this was how it was to be. Outwardly everything perfect, but as far as initiative and closing with the enemy were concerned, their hands were to be well tied.
On the quarterdeck Winstanley greeted him with a relieved smile. 'Sorry about the warning, Bolitho. Should have told you earlier. The commodore likes to get officers in their cups before he starts his interviews. A nasty little habit which has cost more than one of 'em a quick passage home.' He grinned. 'Not me of course. He needs a good old salthorse to run his ship.' He gripped Bolitho's arm. 'Just as he'll need you before we're done, my friend!'
Bolitho smiled. 'I am afraid I needed no drink to irritate him.'
Winstanley followed him to the quarterdeck rail and together they stared across at the Hyperion as she swayed heavily on the steep offshore swell.
He said, 'I agree with everything you said about the frigates. I have told him my views repeatedly, yet he still believes the real threat is from the south.' He shook his head. 'But if he is indeed wrong then he will have more than an enraged admiral to contend with.' He added grimly, 'And so will we!'
The wind had eased slightly during the interview and Bolitho had little difficulty in boarding his barge. On the way back to his ship he thought back over every word Pelham-Martin had uttered, and over those he had not spoken.
As he climbed through the entry port he found Inch waiting for him and realised with a start that while he had been contemplating the commodore's strategy the small drama of Inch's clash with Stepkyne had faded from his mind.
He said curtly, 'Get the barge inboard and prepare to wear ship, Mr. Inch.' He unclipped his swordbelt and handed it to Petch, his servant. Then he dropped his voice and added, 'I would suggest that you go around the upperdeck yourself while you have time.' He held Inch's eyes with his own. 'Better to be sure now than sorry later.'
Inch nodded, his face so full of gratitude that Bolitho felt ashamed for him, and for himself. He had fully intended to give Inch the greatest reprimand he could muster, and in his heart he knew that it was probably doing him a disservice by not doing it. But after the commodore's attitude to his superior and the danger it could entail for all of them, he could not bring himself to break Inch's last strand of self-confidence.
Even as the barge swung dizzily above the larboard gangway Gascoigne called, 'Flag to Hyperion! Take station astern of column!'
'Acknowledge!' Bolitho clasped his hands behind him. Astern of column, he thought bitterly. Vectis had already slipped away into the drizzle and mist, and now there were just three ships, and they too distant from the enemy to do much good. Somewhere, far beyond the flagship was one solitary frigate. He could pity her captain.
The pipes shrilled and men swarmed to their stations, as if each one was fully aware of the flagship's nearness, more so perhaps of their own captain's displeasure.
But in spite of the clumsiness and expected confusion amongst some of the hands the manoeuvre was completed without further incident. The Hyperion went about, and showing her copper in a steep swell tacked round to take station astern of the other seventy-four, Hermes, so that to an onlooker, had there been one, there was nothing to show that a new sentinel had arrived, nor that one was already making full sail for England and a momentary rest from blockade.
