Probably more so than Herrick's. He had been searching for something different in Farquhar, when Herrick's real value was so obvious that neither of them had seen it.
The woman turned and smiled shyly. 'I came over in the boat to say goodbye, Commodore.' She slipped her hand through Pascoe's arm. 'We have been getting along very well.'
Bolitho nodded. 'I’m certain of it.' He saw through her cheerful tone and added, 'As soon as I have met with Buzzards captain I will order the squadron, or what is left of it, to weigh.'
She understood and walked with him to the poop ladder. 'I will leave you now. I am glad you are recovered. I know something of medicine, as fever killed my late husband. It is always hotter in these climates aboard ship than on the shore. In Sicily it has been quite cool until these last weeks.' She faced him sadly. 'If your men had left you in Malta, or worse, taken you ashore where you anchored, I fear you would have perished. '
A boat was waiting at the chains, and Bolitho saw the Osiris's froglike first lieutenant peering impatiently from the entry port.
He said quietly, 'I have one piece of advice, Mrs. Boswell.' He guided her across the sun-warmed deck, oblivious to watching eyes and his own strange appearance. 'If you feel something for Thomas Herrick, I beg you to speak it.' He felt her tense as if to pull away from his hand.
But instead she.asked, 'Is it so obvious?'
'There is nothing wrong in that. ' He looked away towards the green slopes of land. 'My own love was too short, and I begrudge every second of it which was wasted. Also,' he forced a smile, 'I know that if you say naught, Thomas will remain as tongue-tied as a nun in a room full of sailors!'
'I shall remember.'
She looked at Pascoe. 'Take care of yourselves. I have the strangest feeling that something great is about to happen.' She shivered. 'I am not sure I like it.'
Bolitho watched her being lowered into the boat by boatswain's chair, and then strode aft to watch Buzzard's topsails edging slowly, so painfully slowly, around the north- ern headland.
Pascoe said, 'A nice lady, sir. A bit like Aunt Nancy.' 'Aye.' Bolitho thought of his sister in Falmouth, and her pompous husband. He had always been very close to Nancy, who, though younger than he, had always tried to 'mother' him.
Pascoe continued, 'They say that Nelson is coming to the Mediterranean; sir?'
'I’m thankful that somebody at last believes there is a real threat here. The battle, and battle there will be, may be decisive. Which is why we have work to do before that day dawns.'
He saw Pascoe's face and smiled. 'What's the matter, Adam? Don’t you want Nelson to come? He is the best we have', and -the youngest. That alone should please you!' Pascoe dropped his gaze and smiled. 'One of the foretopmen said it for me. We’ve got our own Nelson already.'
'I never heard such nonsense!' Bolitho made for the ladder, adding, 'You're getting as bad as that cox'n of mine!'
That night as Bolitho sat in Osiris's unfamiliar cabin, writing his report on his conclusions, he listened to the creak and mutter of the hull around him. The wind was rising slightly, and had already veered more to the north- west. The sloop Harebell, which had set sail just before darkness, would be making heavy going, tacking back and forth, back and forth, merely to stay in the same place.
He thought of Javal' s swarthy face as he had come aboard, surprised at seeing the broad pendant above Osiris, relieved to discover that Farquhar was not yet the commodore.
He had explained bluntly that after failing to discover the ships at the pre-arranged rendezvous, and hearing from a fisherman that they were at anchor in Syracuse, he had made a second patrol of the MessinaStrait, and with the wind backing, had gone farther north in search of news. He had explained, 'I make no excuses, sir. I’m used to in- dependence, but I don’tabuse it. I put into Naples and visited the British Minister there. I had to come back with some- thing.' His hard face had eased slightly. 'Had I known that you were off on your own, er, expedition, sir, I’d have sailed right into Valletta and brought you out, Knights or not!'
Javal knew his weak spot. As an ex-frigate captain, Bolitho had acted rashly by going to see Yves Gorse, but in keeping with his old calling. Perhaps Javal had used the point to dilute his own guilt.
Javal had explained, 'sir William Hamilton may be old, sir, but he has a vast knowledge of affairs, and the communications to inform him.'
Bolitho signed his report and stared at the opposite bulkhead. His tarnished sword looked out of place against the ornate panelling.
Javal had delivered only one piece of news. To be more precise, he had brought a name.
Sir William had been informed through his chain of associates and spies that the one man who could determine the next weeks and months was known to be making for Toulon. That man would not be prepared to waste time on empty gestures.
His name was Bonaparte.
14. Run to Earth
Any hopes of a quick passage to Corfu, or of Javal' s lookouts sighting Lysander far ahead of the depleted squadron, were dashed within days of weighing anchor. The wind veered violently to the north, and as all hands worked feverishly to shorten sail, even Osiris's master expressed his surprise at the intensity and speed of the change. Swooping down from the Adriatic, the wind transformed the gentle blue swell into a waste of steep, savage crests, while above the staggering mastheads the sky became one unbroken cloud bank.
Day after day, the two ships of the line used their bulk and strength to ride out the storm, while behind shuttered gun ports their companies fought their own battles against the sickening motion, and waited for the call, * All hands! Hands aloft and reef tops 'Is!' Then to a more perilous contest against the wind, clinging to dizzily swaying yards and fighting each murderous foot of canvas.
Buzzard, unable to withstand such a battering, had been made to run ahead of the storm, so that to the
