and Adam had given him the news.
Argonaute was lying comfortably on the larboard tack under topsails and jib, her decks damp from the night air, her seamen moving about in the half-light, clearing up loose lines and holystoning the poop under the supervision of their petty officers. There was a sickly smell from the galley funnel, and all hands would soon be dismissed for their breakfast.
Bolitho saw the officer-of-the-watch glance at him startled, then move hastily to the lee side. The helmsmen too straightened their backs when moments before they had been clinging to the big double wheel, tired after their watch, thinking only of breakfast, poor though it might be.
One or two of the seamen looked up at him from the main deck. They had seen very little of Bolitho since the injury, and later the smoke of battle had hidden him better than any disguise.
He shaded his eye and stared towards the land. Purple and deep blue above a steely horizon. There were clouds about, rimmed with pink and gold from the sunrise. The sea was calmer and the deck much steadier.
He walked a few paces inboard, his hands grasped firmly behind him. When he sought out individual figures he felt his heart quicken. He could recognize all but those in shadow between the guns.
He called to the lieutenant in charge of the watch.
'Good morning, Mr Machan.' The officer touched his hat and hurried towards him.
'A fine day, Sir Richard.' He sounded confused and pleased.
Bolitho studied him. Detail by detail. He could see him better than he had dared hope and recalled how he had once mistaken Sheaffe for another officer entirely.
He realized that Machan was visibly wilting under his stare.
Bolitho said, 'Is Helicon in sight from the masthead?'
They had seen Inch's ship and her consort just as night had closed in, but daylight would bring them all together again except for Barracouta in her odd disguise, and they would be reduced again as soon as the flagship left for Malta.
It was madness, but Bolitho knew that the orders left nothing to chance or conjecture. If Keen was required to face a court of inquiry he must go in his own ship. To be sent as a passenger in some courier brig would be as good as condemning him and holding the door wide to a court martial.
He found he was pacing again, and that Machan had returned to his place at the lee nettings. The news would spread, first through the lower deck, then to every ship in the squadron. The admiral was up and about again.
Bolitho allowed his mind to grapple with Belinda's letter. He was still not sure what he had expected. Her letter was not brief, but lacked any personal contact. She had written of the estate, of Ferguson's plans for extending the market garden, of the old exciseman whose wife was having another baby.
It had been a strange experience, but he had not wanted Yovell or Ozzard to read it to him. Instead he had asked for the girl to be brought aft and to do it. Belinda's voice had become hers, but the letter had been light and evasive, no mention of London or the coolness of their parting.
Bolitho paused as a shaft of sunlight lanced through the shrouds, then took the letter from his pocket. He held it to the light, careful to hide what he was doing from the officer-of-the-watch and his midshipman.
He could just make out some of the words. Yesterday it would have been impossible.
It ended, 'From your loving wife, Belinda.'
He recalled the sound of her name on Zenoria's lips, how it had moved him and made him vaguely uneasy because of it.
The girl had handed him the letter and had said, 'She is a fine lady, sir.'
Bolitho sensed her despair and her envy. Keen had told her about Pullen.
Bolitho had said, 'Sit closer.' When she had joined him he had taken her hands, remembering how he had removed his coat with the proud epaulettes the first time he had met her.
He had said, 'I shall keep my word, have no doubt of that.' He had sensed her disbelief as she had replied, 'How can you help me now, sir? They will be waiting.' He had heard her frightened determination. 'They'll not take me alive. Never!'
He had pressed her hands between his. 'What I tell you must be our secret. If you tell my captain, he will be an accomplice and there must be no more blame.'
She had hesitated. 'I trust you, sir. Whatever you say.'
Bolitho put the letter back in his pocket. He was still not sure how to deal with the matter. But her spirits must be held high. Otherwise, she might throw herself overboard or do some other injury to herself rather than face arrest and custody again.
The masthead lookout yelled, 'Deck there, sail in sight to the sou'-east!'
Bolitho could picture Inch's ship, her sails like pink shells in the frail sunshine as she headed towards Argonaute.
He thought of the girl again. She would soon hear of the other ship's arrival. Another turn of the screw, hastening her passage to Malta and heartless authority.
Keen came on deck, hatless and without a coat. He stared at Bolitho and made to explain.
Bolitho smiled. 'Easy, Val. I could not sleep. I needed to walk.'
Keen grinned with relief. 'Just to see you on deck again is like a tonic, sir!'
He became serious. 'I do not wish to burden you further, but-'
Bolitho interrupted. 'I have a plan.' 'But, sir,-'
Bolitho held up his hand. 'I know what you will say, that you will insist that the responsibility is yours. You are wrong. My flag flies over this squadron, and while it does I will pilot the affairs of my officers and in particular those of my own captain.' His voice sounded bitter as he added, 'Ever since my brother deserted to the American Navy there have been those who have been eager to bring discredit on my family. My father suffered because of it, and more than once I have been a ready target for their malice and plotting. Adam too, but then you know that. So I shall not have you brought down merely because it might hurt me.'
'You really think that someone intends you harm, sir?'
'I have no doubts at all. But nobody will expect me to release you from responsibility and take it on myself.' No wonder Pullen, the carrion crow, had seemed so confident.
The realization chilled him, angered him with the same intensity as when he had almost ordered the last broadside on the French two-decker.
He heard himself say, 'Let me deal with it my own way, Val. Then we can go after the real enemy, if it is not already too late!'
Keen watched him and saw the emotions, like the lines on a chart. Perhaps Bolitho's injury had affected his reasoning more than he realized. Keen had heard about the attacks on Bolitho's family, the way it had been used in the past to prevent promotion or stem recognition which had been bravely earned.
But surely, in the middle of a campaign, nobody would be mad enough to exploit such deep-rooted malevolence?
Keen said, 'Just so long as Zenoria is safe, sir.'
'She is merely being used, Val. I'm certain of that.' He turned as the midshipman called, 'Rapid's signalling, sir!'
Bolitho watched the flags breaking from the yard and heard Keen say, 'You can see the signal, sir!'
Bolitho tried to conceal his excitement. 'Well enough.' He turned towards the poop. The other bandage would come off and to hell with Tuson's gloomy predictions. When Inch came aboard he would find his admiral again, not some faltering cripple. He strode beneath the poop and only once lost his balance as the ship dipped into a long trough.
The scarlet-coated sentry made to open the door for him but Bolitho said, 'No need, Collins. I can manage.'
The marine gaped after him, astonished that Bolitho had even remembered his name.
Yovell looked up startled from the desk, his spectacles awry as he saw Bolitho stride through the door.
'I want to prepare some instructions for Captain Inch of the Helicon, Mr Yovell. After that I will receive that gentleman on board before we part company again.' He watched Yovell opening drawers and searching for a new pen.
'And after that I shall want Midshipman Hickling to lay aft, if you please.'
Yovell nodded. 'I understand, Sir Richard.'
