The Flag Captain

today.”

He made himself walk slowly back and forth on the weather side, hating the slow pace of the squadron as he tried to picture what the other ship was doing.

“Deck there! Zeus is signalling, sir! Enemy in sight!” His voice was shrill with excitement. “A frigate, steering due east!”

Keverne rubbed his hands. “Running for Vigo, I shouldn’t wonder.”

He looked unusually tense, and Bolitho guessed he was probably picturing what might have been with himself commanding Auriga instead of Brice.

He replied, “There’s a good chance we can head her off, Mr Keverne.”

Brice had the wind almost under his coat-tails and was fairly flying across the path of his slow and ponderous consorts. The Frenchman could either try to outpace him or go about and lose valuable time trying to beat out to sea again. If he chose the latter course, one of the ships in the line might even get an opportunity…

He jerked round as Broughton rapped, “God damn the Valorous!” He threw his telescope to a seaman. “Now she’s falling back.”

The signal soared aloft immediately to Euryalus’s yards. Make more sail. But even as the acknowledgement broke from the two-decker Bolitho saw her fore topgallant sail disintegrate like ashes as it tore itself to fragments in the wind.

Bolitho said, “Shall I signal Zeus to chase independently, sir? She’s got a good lead.” He knew the answer already, saw Broughton’s mouth tightening as he added, “The Frenchman might still slip away from Auriga.”

“No.” One word, with nothing to show disappointment or anger.

Bolitho looked away. The Frenchman would be surprised that there was no change in the squadron’s line of advance. He was somewhere right ahead of the column, hidden by Zeus’s tall pyramid of sails, and moving very fast. But Auriga had crossed over now, and he could see her speeding downwind, every sail set and drawing its full as she tore towards the enemy. As she lifted and smashed down across the serried lines of whitecaps he could see the sunlight playing on her bared copper, and her sleek hull which shone in the glare like glass.

Zeus edged slightly out of line and Bolitho held his breath as he watched the French frigate sway momentarily into view. About five miles away. It did not seem possible that they had converged on her so quickly.

Auriga would be about three miles distant, and she had already overreached the other frigate. Bolitho tried to clear his mind, to think what he would do in the enemy’s place. Go about, or try to continue towards the land hidden below that mocking horizon? There was certainly no chance of beating the Auriga on her present course. Yet, if he made a dash for it he was almost sure to run into the arms of a British patrol along the Portuguese coast. Vigo was the last safe refuge, unless he was prepared to turn and fight.

Broughton said, “Make a general signal. Shorten sail and

re-form correct stations.” He eyed Bolitho bleakly. “Auriga can handle the Frog now.”

As the signal was passed and repeated up and down the line Bolitho could almost sense the frustration around him. Four powerful ships, yet because of Broughton’s inflexible rules as impotent as merchantmen.

A dull bang echoed across the water and Bolitho saw a puff of brown smoke drifting towards the French ship. Brice had fired a ranging shot, although it was not possible to see where it fell.

Every glass came up as Keverne said hoarsely, “The Frog’s wearing ship! By God, look at him!”

The French captain had mistimed it badly. Bolitho could almost pity him as he put his ship round in an effort to cross the Auriga’s bows. He could see her bared bilge, the sun dancing on her straining sails as the yards swung still further until she was heeling right over in her own spray. A solid thunder of gunfire echoed and re-echoed across the tossing water, and Bolitho imagined Brice’s first broadside smashing into the exposed bilge as he used his advantage of wind and position to follow her round.

Somebody in the Euryalus’s foretop raised a cheer, but otherwise there was complete silence as seamen and marines watched the frigates overlapping, clawing closer and closer to each other, the smoke already whipped free in the wind.

Another ripple of flashes, this time from the Frenchman, but the Auriga’s masts and yards remained intact, whereas the enemy’s canvas was pitted with holes, her main topsail tearing itself to ribbons after the first barrage.

Keverne whispered, “A good prize, I’m thinking. We can do with another frigate anyway.”

It was hard to distinguish what was happening now. The two ships could only be half a cable apart, and getting nearer each minute. More cannon fire, and then the enemy’s mizzen top-

gallant pitched down into the rolling smoke, the ripped canvas and rigging following it into the bedlam below.

Broughton said, “She’ll strike soon.”

“The wind’s droppin’, sir.” Partridge kept his voice hushed, as if fearful of breaking the concentration.

Broughton replied. “It does not matter now.” He was smiling.

A new silence had fallen, and across the last three miles which separated the Zeus from the two frigates they could see that the gunfire had ceased and both ships lay locked together. It was over.

Broughton said softly, “Well, well, Bolitho. What do you have to say about that? ”

Some marines on the forecastle removed their shakos and began to cheer, the cry taken up aboard the Tanais directly ahead.

Bolitho brushed past the admiral and snatched a telescope from its rack as the cheering began to falter and die almost as soon as it was begun. He felt his skin chill as he watched the flag fluttering down from the Auriga’s peak like a wounded bird, to be replaced instantly by another. The same flag which still lifted jauntily above the tattered sails of her adversary. The tricolour of France.

Keverne gasped, “By God, those bastards have struck to the Frogs! They never even tried to fight ’em!” He sounded stunned with disbelief.

The Auriga was already drifting clear of the Frenchman, and there was fresh activity on her deck and yards as she swung slowly downwind and away from the helpless squadron. Through the glass Bolitho could see her marines, their red coats making a patch of colour as they were disarmed and herded below by a French boarding party. Not that a boarding party was necessary, he thought bitterly. The whole of the ship’s company, which seconds before had been fighting so well, had surrendered. Gone

over to the enemy. He replaced the glass, unable to hold it because his hand was shaking with both anger and despair.

Without effort he could see the delegates gathered in the little inn at Veryan Bay. Allday and his hidden pistol. The man called Gates. And John Taylor, crucified and maimed because he had tried to help.

Partridge said in a small voice, “No chance of catchin’ ’em now. They’ll be in Vigo afore dusk.” He looked away, his shoulders slumped. “To see it ’appen like that!”

Broughton was still staring at the two frigates, which were already pulling away and spreading more sail.

“You may signal Restless to take station to windward!” He sounded remote, like a stranger. “Then make a general signal to resume original course! He looked at Bolitho. “So there’s an end to your talk of loyalty.” His tone was like a whip.

Bolitho shook his head. “You told me you must understand a captain as much as the ship he commands. I believe you, sir.” He moved his gaze towards the distant Auriga. She seemed to have grown smaller under the alien flag. “Just as I believe that while men like Brice are permitted their authority, such things as we have witnessed today may continue.”

Broughton stepped back, as if Bolitho had uttered some terrible obscenity. Then he said, “Captain Brice may have fallen in battle.” He walked aft. “For his sake, I trust that is the case.” Then he vanished into the gloom below the poop.

Lieutenant Meheux said loudly, “Well, there was nothing we could do to stop it. Now, if I could have got my