wooden stump clicking against halliards and spars.
Keen dropped his voice. 'Three to one, sir. The odds are formidable.'
Bolitho handed his glass to a boatswain's-mate. 'Do you suggest we run?'
Keen said, 'I'll run from nothing, sir. But I cannot answer for the ship's state if we are called on to fight.'
Bolitho watched the frigate's outline alter again as she changed tack until she was pointing directly towards him.
He said quietly, 'It's another war, Val, not some petty quarrel. With half the fleet still laid up, England has never been less prepared. If our people are expected to endure a long, bitter conflict they will need victories, not leaders who turn and run away because the odds are formidable.'
He turned and studied Keen's concern. 'We've no choice, Val. The frigates will be round us like hounds after a stag. That would give the seventy-four time to close the range and finish the fight. If we are to be beaten, I'd prefer it to be facing the enemy, not being chased until the wind has gone out of us.'
Bolitho faced Tyrrell as he was lowered carefully to the deck.
'Damn near cut myself in half.' Tyrrell glanced at them questioningly, then added, 'She's the same one right enough. Must have gone south when she quit Boston. Rear-admiral's flag at the mizzen.'
Bolitho said, 'Then she's the Argonaute, a new third-rate. I know her admiral from times past. Contre-Amiral Jobert. One of the few of the old Royalist navy to escape the Terror. A good officer.'
He knew that the others nearby were listening to him despite their efforts to conceal the fact. Trying to discover what was about to happen. What would become of them.
He said lightly, 'I shall go aft and have a bite to eat, then we can clear for action.'
Bolitho strode beneath the poop and knew his casual comment about food would spread through the messes like wildfire. He could almost hear it. Nothing to worry about, lads. The admiral's having his grub.
He barely saw the sentry who flung open the screen door for him and he did not stop until he reached the stern windows. When he leaned over the sill he could just discern the frigate's topsails. An hour or more yet to wait. Maybe nothing would happen. Why must they fight if only to die? Who would blame him for standing away from the odds which were bearing down on him?
He felt his chest and the urgent hammering of his heart. Was it fear? Is this what it is like? That one action too many. God alone knew it had happened often enough to far better men.
Bolitho wiped his face with his shirt cuff and turned blindly into the cabin again.
Fear of losing something so precious he could think of nothing else beyond it.
He had been hoping too hard and too much. A weakness when so many were depending on him.
What were hopes anyway? In the roar of a broadside they counted for very little.
Ozzard entered the cabin with a tray. He said, 'Fresh chicken, sir.'
Bolitho watched him as he laid the tray carefully on the table. So the ship's purser had had hopes too. He would not have sacrificed one of the ship's own stock of chickens otherwise.
Ozzard watched him patiently. 'A glass of something, sir?'
Bolitho smiled. Poor little Ozzard. Trusting and loyal. It never seemed to occur to him that before evening he might be dead.
He said, 'Yes, Ozzard. Some of your special hock.'
As he hurried away Bolitho buried his face in his hands.
The French admiral had obviously not heard about the outbreak of war. Otherwise he would certainly have changed his formation, ready to attack from three bearings at once. Achates could fire on and possibly cripple the leading frigate before her captain realized what was happening, and then thrust on to attack the seventy-four. Still bad odds, but some improvement.
He recalled his own fury and disbelief when the Spanish two-decker had attacked Achates and destroyed Sparrowhawk, how they had all cursed her for her cowardice and deception.
Could he now bring himself to act in the same fashion?
Honour. The word seemed to echo around the cabin like a taunt.
He looked at the old family sword on its rack and remembered how his father had handed it to him instead of to Hugh. Hugh was the elder son and should have had it. But his disgrace, the shame which had followed Bolitho like an evil spirit even as far as San Felipe, which had broken their father's heart, had put the sword into his trust.
Bolitho said, 'Then so be it!' The choice had never been his, and his mistake had been to believe otherwise.
When Ozzard returned with a bottle from his cool store in the bilges he found Bolitho as he would have expected, calm and outwardly untroubled.
Things could not be so bad after all.
17
Fair Warning
Bolitho stepped over some trailing lines and walked to the weather-side of the quarterdeck. The French frigate was much nearer but had shortened sail as if uncertain what to do next. He estimated that she was about half a mile from Achates' starboard quarter.
He heard men crawling about the deck behind him, as if the best part of the ship's company had suddenly become cripples.
It was essential that the ship should be cleared for action without all the obvious bustle and movement which the French lookouts would immediately recognize.
Keen was saying to the boatswain, 'You shall send your people aloft to rig chain-slings only when we begin to engage.'
Big Harry Rooke rumbled something in reply and Keen rapped, 'They've no choice, man. One stupid move now and we'll be feeding the fish before dusk!'
He turned and saw Bolitho watching him.
'Mr Quantock is sorely ashamed of his record, sir. Twenty minutes to clear for action!' His attempt to joke seemed to steady him and he added, 'What are your orders for this memorable day, sir?'
Bolitho pointed. 'In a moment we will alter course three points to lee'rd. It is my guess that the frigate will close the range to take station on our quarter again. But he'll be much nearer.'
If only his heart would settle. The tension might so easily reveal itself in his voice.
Keen looked past him at the frigate's shortened pyramid of canvas. 'She's new, like the third-rate. Probably to impress the Americans.' He did not conceal the bitterness. 'Whereas our masters thought fit to send the oldest sixty-four still in service!'
Bolitho walked to the rail and glanced along the gun-deck and the black eighteen-pounders. Their crews were stripped for battle and were concealed beneath the gangways or huddled against their guns with their tools and weapons.
'It will have to be quickly done, Val. The French seventy-four is well astern of us now. But it will take time. They'll be ready for us after we show our intentions.'
Keen nodded, his mind working on the next manoeuvre and the one after it. 'The third French vessel is smaller. Mr Mountsteven thinks she is a twenty-six-gun frigate. As I recall, she will be the Diane, a real veteran by comparison.'
Knocker turned the half-hour glass by the binnacle and said, 'Ready, sir.'
'Pass the word to the lower gun-deck.'
Keen looked round as Allday appeared from the poop. He was carrying Bolitho's old sword and his features were stiff as if to conceal the pain of his wound.
Bolitho held up his arms so that he could clip the sword into place.
Allday muttered, 'You should not be wearin' them epaulettes today, sir.' He shrugged and gave a brief grin. 'But I've sailed with you often enough to know better'n to argue, I suppose.'
Bolitho looked at the Frenchman's sails. He saw sunlight lance from a levelled telescope in her foretop. At any second they might see something suspicious and beat to quarters.
