to get where he is, and I admire his tenacity.'
'Yes.'
Bolitho thought of the letters he had written for the despatch bag. To Farquhar's widowed mother, to others who would know before long that a husband or father would never come home.
Herrick hesitated and then said, 'Mr. Grubb fears that the adverse winds will not blowout for days, sir. Maybe weeks. We're snug enough here, and I was wondering if you'd wish the other business to be dealt with now. '
They looked at each other.
Bolitho replied, 'You were right to remind me:' Perhaps he had only been putting it off, avoiding a confrontation. 'I’ll have Captain Probyn aboard tomorrow, unless there's a full gale again.'
Herrick seemed relieved. 'I read his account, sir. Straight-forward grounding in a badly charted channel. When I reached Nicator, I saw she was on a bar. Not badly, but enough for us to need a kedge-anchor.'
Bolitho stood up and walked to the wine cabinet. Over and over again he had thought about Herrick's sudden and vital arrival at the scene of battle. With the aid of Lysander's log, the master's lengthy explanation and what he had managed to drag from Herrick himself, he had built up a picture of the ship's movements after leaving Syracuse.
Driven by that strange loyalty, Herrick had sailed not direct to Corfu, but much further south and to the coast of Africa. East and still further east, the lookouts scanning every mile for a ship, or better still, a fleet. When he recalled Herrick's early despair, his apparent inability to contain the work of flag captain, it was all the more incredible.
All those long, empty miles, until finally they had sighted the walls of Alexandria and the Bay of Aboukir which guided them to the mouth of the great Nile itself.
When he had praised Herrick for his stubborn determination, his inbuilt belief in Bolitho's conclusions, Herrick had said, 'You convinced me, sir. And when I told the people that, they seemed content to go where I wanted.' He had shown some embarrassment when Leroux had said, 'Captain Herrick made a speech to all hands which I think must have reached you, sir, wherever you were at the time!'
With no sign of a French fleet, Herrick had decided to make for Corfu. Confident that the supply ships would be there, and imagining the squadron still at anchor in Syracuse, he had sailed into the attack. From north to south, he had explained, was better for surprise, and left the wider channel as an escape route.
But he had run down on Nicator. Two ships meeting as if by plan, timed to the hour of attack.
The same storm which had scattered Bolitho's depleted squadron had sent the faster Lysander as far as the Nile and back across the sea to Corfu.
Bolitho refilled their goblets and returned to the table. 'Unless there has been a great change, Thomas, we can only believe that the French will soon move to attack. The corvette which escaped from Corfu may have returned there, but far more likely she will have headed for France.' He glanced at the streaked windows and listened to the moan of wind through the shrouds and furled sails… 'she may have a hard fight, but we must accept that she will get to a port before anyone else.'
Herrick nodded slowly. 'True. So the French admiral may decide to come out at last. If he knows that his heavy artillery is on the sea bed, he’ll anticipate a running battle. It makes good sense.'
Bolitho said, 'We are badly placed here. With these prevailing winds we need to be much further west again. Where we can be of use to our fleet when it comes.'
'If it comes.' Herrick sighed. 'But we’ve done what we can so far.'
'Yes.' He thought of the sea-burials which attended each day after the battle. 'And they’ll not find us wanting.' There was a tap at the door and Midshipman Saxby said anxiously, 'Mr. Glasson sends his respects, sir, and could you come on deck.'
Bolitho looked at Herrick and gave a quick wink. With two lieutenants short, the vacancies had gone to the senior midshipmen. Glasson, more sharp-faced and seemingly sourer than ever, was making the most of it. He rarely held a watch without calling Herrick or Veitch to attend one of his tantrums over duty or apparent incompetence of some seaman or other.
Herrick stood up. 'I’ll come up.' In a quieter tone he said, 'I’ll put this little prig over my knee in view of the whole ship's company if he tries my patience much more!' Bolitho smiled gravely. 'Our wardroom gets younger every day, Thomas.'
'Or we get older.' Herrick shook his head. 'These youngsters! If I’d called down to my captain when I was commissioned lieutenant, I’d have been tom into small pieces unless the ship had been actually falling apart!'
Faintly above the wind and ship noises Bolitho heard the hail, 'Boat ahoy?' and the reply from somewhere near Lysander's quarter, 'Nicator!'
Herrick looked at him questioningly. 'Mr. Glasson is not troubling me for a trivial cause this time!' He reached for his hat. 'Captain Probyn is coming aboard without waiting for your summons.'
'so it seems.' He listened to the marines clattering towards the entry port. 'Bring him aft, Thomas. And we shall see.'
Captain George Probyn loomed into the cabin, his coat and breeches blotchy with spray from the hard pull to the ship. His face was even redder than before, and as he stared belligerently around the cabin he said, 'I trust you will see me, sir?'
'I do see you.' Bolitho gestured to a chair. 'Well?' Probyn sank into the chair and glared at him. 'I’ll not mince words, sir. I’ve been. hearing things. About my ship, and what happened off Corfu. I’ll not stand by and have my good name slandered, bandied about by rogues not fit to wear the King's coat!' He pointed at the papers on the table. 'I made a full and proper report. It will stand any scrutiny, a damned court of enquiry if need be!'
Bolitho said quietly, 'some claret for the captain, Ozzard. ' He added, 'Or brandy, perhaps?'
Probyn nodded. 'Brandy. Better for a man in these damned waters.' He almost snatched the goblet from Ozzard and downed the drink in one huge swallow. 'If I may, sir?' He thrust the glass to Ozzard for refilling.
Despite the persistent wind -which swept across the little bay and sent countless white-horses amongst the
