Bolitho touched his shirtsleeve. 'Come on, man, you can speak with me, you should know that.'
Tuson shut his black bag. 'How would you like it, sir, if your nephew proved to be a coward?'
Bolitho heard the door close, the tap of a musket as the sentry changed his stance beyond the screen.
A coward. All the bitter memories surged through him as the word hung in his mind like a stain.
That moment when Midshipman Sheaffe had been left behind, probably injured. The times on Supremes deck when Bankart had been missing. There was not much Tuson did not glean from the men who came to him for aid.
He remembered Stayt's voice aboard the cutter; he had known even then.
How could he waste time on such things when so much was expected of him? He thought of his instructions to Lapish. Board them or sink them. The intruding hardness in his voice. Had blindness done that to him? But he recalled how he had hacked down the French seaman who had been carrying the lookout's telescope. Without a thought, with no hesitation. No, it was something inside him. Perhaps Belinda had seen it and feared for him because he was being destroyed by war with the same ruth-lessness as by a ball or a pike.
But he did care. About people. About Allday most of all. Tuson had laid his finger right on it. How would he have felt if Adam had been a coward?
That night, as Argonaute dipped and lifted in an untidy sea of tossing white horses, Bolitho lay in his cot and tried to sleep. When eventually he dozed off he thought of Belinda, or was it Cheney? Of Falmouth and of a sea battle which became a nightmare, for he saw himself dead.
The next day Rapid stopped a Portuguese fisherman but only after she had put a ball across her bows.
Eventually the news was passed to the flagship. The fisherman had passed Golfo de Rosas below the cape two days earlier. A large French man-of-war lay at anchor there.
Bolitho paced up and down his stern gallery, oblivious to the wind and the spray which soon soaked him to the skin.
The French ship would not sail towards Gibraltar. She might remain at anchor, or she could decide to head for Toulon.
Argonaute would stand between her and any such destination.
He sent for his flag-lieutenant.
'Signal to Icarus. Remain on station. Rapid will stay with her.'
Had he been able to he would have seen Stayt raise one eyebrow. Bolitho groped his way to the table and stared helplessly at the chart.
Then he faced Stayt and grinned. 'Argonaute will sail under her old colours tomorrow.'
'Suppose it is Jobert, sir? He'll surely recognize the ship.'
'It won't be. He will be with his squadron. When we know where that is-' He left the rest unsaid.
Minutes later the flags broke brightly from the yards and were acknowledged by Icarus and eventually by the little brig.
If the wind changed against them he would have to think again. But if not, and the master seemed confident it would remain southerly, they might stand a chance of closing with the enemy.
The very coastline which the enemy had seen as a refuge might soon become the jaws of a trap.
In his cabin Captain Valentine Keen took a few moments to ensure he had everything he needed for the next hours. Around and below him the ship seemed quiet except for the regular groan of timbers and the muffled sluice of water against the hull.
It is always like this, he thought. Uncertainty, doubt, but beneath it all a determination which was without fear. He saw his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. In a short while he would go on deck and give the word to clear for action. He felt the touch of ice at his spine. That too was normal. He checked himself as thoroughly as he would a subordinate. Clean shirt and breeches. Less chance of infection if the worst happened. He touched his side and felt the soreness of his wound. They said lightning never struck twice in the same place. He was still looking at his reflection and saw himself smile. He had put a letter to his mother in his strongbox. How many of those had he written, he wondered?
There was a light tap at the door. It was Stayt.
'Sir Richard has gone on deck, sir.' It sounded like a warning.
Keen nodded. 'Thank you.' Stayt vanished in the gloom. An odd bird, he thought.
It was almost time. He loosened his hanger in its scabbard, and made certain his watch was deep in his pocket in case he should fall.
He heard low voices outside the door and pulled it open before anyone could knock.
For a moment he could only see the pale oval of her face; she was covered from chin to toe in his boat-cloak which he had sent to her earlier.
It looked black outside, but he sensed figures moving about and heard the creak of the helm from the quarterdeck.
He led her into the cabin. Soon, like the rest of the ship, it would be stripped bare, ready to fight.
Perhaps the French ship would not be there, but he discarded the thought. The wind was fresh, and no captain would wish to fight it and end up on a lee shore.
He took her hands. 'You will be safe, my dear. Stay with Ozzard in the hold. He will take care of you. Where is your companion?'
'Millie has already gone down.' She was staring up at him, her eyes very dark in the shaded lantern.
Keen adjusted the boat-cloak and felt her shoulder tense as he touched it. He said, 'It will be cold below. This will help.'
He was conscious of the need to go, the seconds and the minutes. He said, 'Don't be afraid.'
She shook her head. 'I only fear for you. In case-'
He touched her mouth. 'No. We shall be together soon.'
A man coughed in the darkness. That would be Hogg, his coxswain.
He held her against him very gently and imagined he could feel her heart beating and remembered holding her breast in his hand.
He murmured, 'In truth, I do love you, Zenoria.'
She backed away and turned once to look at him. To remember, to reassure, he did not know.
He snatched up his hat and strode out towards the quarterdeck. He found Bolitho by the weather nettings, his body angled to the deck as Argonaute blundered her way on an uncomfortable larboard tack, as close-hauled as her yards would bear.
The quartermaster called, 'Nor'-west, sir! Full an' bye!'
Keen could see it in his mind. All night the ship had clawed and beaten her way into the wind, to pass the cape well abeam and then turn again towards the land and the small gulf where the Frenchman was said to be lying. All the back-breaking work of resetting sails and changing tack a dozen times would offer them an advantage once they made their final approach. They would hold the wind-gage; even if the enemy managed to elude them there was only one course of escape, and he would find Icarus and Rapid blocking his path.
Keen thought of the girl in his arms, the crude comment made by Icarus' captain. He had made an enemy there, he thought.
Bolitho turned and asked, 'How long?'
Keen watched the painful way he was holding his head and sensed his hurt like his own.
'I shall clear for action at dawn, sir.'
Bolitho clung to the nettings as the ship shuddered into a massive trough; it seemed to shake her from beak- head to taffrail. 'Will the people be fed?'
Keen smiled sadly. 'Yes, sir. The galley is ready.' He had nearly answered 'of course.' He had learned well under Bolitho.
Bolitho seemed to want to talk. 'Are the women below?'
Keen said, 'Yes, sir.' He thought of the Jamaican maid called Millie. He suspected she was having an unlawful liaison with Wenmouth, the ship's corporal, the very man chosen to protect her from harm.
He admitted, 'I hate the thought of her being down there when we fight.'
Bolitho touched his bandage. 'If we fight. But she is better here for the present, Val, than abandoned in some unknown harbour.' He tried to rouse his enthusiasm. 'You are lucky to have her so near.'
