thought Roche and the others must hear it. Bolitho said, 'But I will not.'
He turned his back and waited, the pistols pointing at the clouds.
If Roche decided to go through with it he would be dead in about three minutes.
The second cleared his throat. There was no other sound now, even the sparrows were silent.
'Fifteen paces. Begin!'
Bolitho fixed his eyes on a straight elm tree and walked carefully towards it, counting each step like the beat of his heart.
Adam would have been doing it at this very moment. If by any chance Roche had failed to kill him with the first ball the second would have finished him. Those extra paces, after being narrowly missed by a professional duellist, or maybe wounded, would have destroyed any remaining confidence.
'Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen!'
Bolitho's shoes squeaked on the grass as he turned and dropped his right arm. He saw Roche's shirt outlined above the smooth barrel and then realized that his arms were at his sides, his pistols pointing to the ground.
Roche called hoarsely, 'I cannot shoot you, sir! Please!'
His second turned to stare at him, more used to hearing a victim pleading before Roche had cut him down.
Bolitho kept his aim steady although the pistol felt like a cannon ball.
He said, 'If you finish me, Mr Roche, do you imagine that whoever paid you to kill my nephew will stand by you? At best you will be transported for life. But my guess is that there are many who would use their influence to see you dance on a gibbet like the common felon you are!'
The pistol was getting so heavy Bolitho wondered how he was keeping it so steady.
He called, 'On the other hand, when I kill you, there will be an end to it, for your patron will hardly be likely to admit that he was party to this!'
The second called shakily, I must insist, gentlemen!' A handkerchief appeared above his head. 'When I drop this, you will fire!'
Bolitho nodded. 'I am ready!'
Roche's shape narrowed as he turned his ri t side towards Bolitho, the pistol coming up firmly to point directly at him.
It had not worked. How long now? he wondered. Three seconds?
The handkerchief moved, and then Roche threw himself on his knees, his pistols hurled away into the grass.
'Please! Please have -mercy!'
Bolitho walked slowly towards him, each step agonizing as his wound tore at the thick dressing. But the pain was more like a spur than a handicap. He did not take his eyes from the kneeling, whimpering lieutenant until he was standing less than a yard away.
Roche stopped pleading and babbling and stared at the black muzzle, afraid even to blink.
Bolitho said coldly, 'I have seen better men than you'll ever be die for less reason than you. My nephew, whom you chose to mock, to humiliate without cause, has done things which your sort do not even bother to read about. You sicken me, and I can think of no valid reason to let you live a moment longer!'
His finger tightened on the trigger and then he heard Clinton say gently, `If you like, sir, I'll put the pieces in their case.' He took the pistol from Bolitho's hand and added, 'Mr Roche's courage today will be all over Portsmouth by noon. By tomorrow, who can say where the tale will be told and heard,' he swung on the terrified Roche, `with relish, damn your bloody eyes!'
Bolitho nodded to the second and then turned towards the waiting carriage.
Clinton strode beside him, his breath like steam in the cold air.
`Scum, sir! I had my heart in my teeth, all the same.'
Bolitho looked down at the blood on his breeches. It was like wet paint in the dull light.
'Yes, Major. Scum. But the really terrible thing was, I wanted to kill him. But for you?' He shook his head… 'Now I'll never know.'
Clinton grinned with relief. 'Neither will he, sir!'
14. Belinda
Edmund Loveys, Benbow's surgeon, straightened his narrow shoulders and regarded Bolitho with as much defiance as his profession allowed.
'You have all but ruined my work, sir.' He reached down and dabbed a swab against the raw wound, barely able to conceal his malice. 'It's a wonder to me you didn't get gangrene started on the ride south from London, and never mind the duel.'
Bolitho lay back on the bench seat beneath the stern windows and stared up at the salt-stained glass.
As his mind regained some of its control he began to see the madness of his actions. He had ridden from London without a word to the Admiralty, where even now they might be convening a meeting to discuss strategy. By challenging Roche to open combat he had gone against his word ord to Beauchamp, but even that seemed unimportant.
He said, `I apologize. It was necessary.'
Loveys pouted. 'I have heard little else, sir. It is all over the port about your meet with Lieutenant Roche.'
Bolitho sat up slowly. It would be. There were no secrets for long in the fleet.
He looked at his thigh, the livid scars which showed around the thick dressing which Loveys was about to secure once more. It was strange, he thought vaguely, but as a young lieutenant he had never thought of a captain, let alone a flag officer, as a mere mortal. Now, here he sat, as naked as the day he was born, with just a blanket across his shoulders, and that was because of the cold and not modesty.
Herrick had been to see him more often than necessary, and he guessed that he was trying to keep up his spirits. With Benbow almost ready for sea again, her holds, magazines and water casks filled to full capacity, Herrick had a lot to do. New men were still being gathered and sworn in, a lieutenant named Oughton had arrived to replace Pascoe, all these details which were mainly Herrick's concern were part of his plan to keep Bolitho from brooding.
He wondered how Pascoe was settling in aboard the Relentless. The frigate would be standing out into the North Sea by now, another separate world into which Pascoe would soon be as one. It was a pity he had not been able to see him before he had sailed. He had even missed the frigate when she had weighed and spread her canvas in the dawn air. While he had been making plans to bluff Roche or die because of a gesture.
Loveys said, `Try to rest it, sir. You'll have a limp otherwise. If nothing worse.'
'I see. Thank you.'
Bolitho groaned as he lurched to his feet. Ozzard was ready with some steaming coffee, but had learned not to show any concern as Bolitho took his first steps towards his table. His wound felt like fire, as if he had indeed been shot during a duel.
He wondered what Allday was doing. He should have arrived in Portsmouth with the borrowed carriage by now. He recalled his stricken, pleading face and knew he needed him here, if only to reassure him, to prove he was still alive.
Herrick entered the cabin and regarded Bolitho's nakedness without expression.
'I'd like to move' out to Spithead tomorrow, sir, as soon as we've completed provisioning. The wind's fair, and I'd not wish to wait in harbour.'
'Inform the port admiral, Thomas. I'll not be sorry to return to the squadron. There's nothing for me here.' He relented instantly and said, 'Forgive me, I was thinking only of myself.' He shrugged. 'Again.'
Herrick smiled. 'I understand. I have never known such happiness as that shared with Dulcie… But I'll not save it by staying here. This is a new year, perhaps with peace as part of its promise. To all accounts, the enemy is massing along the Channel ports again, but at least your action against Ropars and the Ajax delayed, if not prevented, a full scale attack from the Baltic. Even those ungrateful dolts at the Admiralty must see that.'
Bolitho sipped his coffee and marvelled how their friendship had endured everything.
