moments earlier they had been ready and willing to fight,
'It will take Despatch a hundred years, Mr Savill. She will be as helpless as Rapid if we cry in our aprons and do nought.'
Savill seemed to relax. 'You can rely on me, sir.'
Inch looked at him. 'I never doubted it. Now, have the guns loaded, but do not run out until I order it.' He turned away as the gun crews leaped from their various stances to seize their rammers and handspikes.
Despatch was continuing to drift. The enemy must be wondering what was happening. Some ruse or trap to make the French commander think again. Inch frowned. Not for long.
'We will engage to larboard, Mr Savill.' He narrowed his eyes as he stared across the packed hammocks. He could see the other ships now without a glass. The three of them were advancing in echelon, their masts and sails overlapping to create one monster leviathan.
The rearmost ship was the one which was firing on the brig. Rapid was trying to haul off, but the last waterspout from a falling ball showed how close it had been.
Inch's coxswain hurried towards him, his captain's hanger in his hands.
Inch looked at the curved fighting sword. 'No, the other one.' He thought of Bolitho in his best uniform while the ship had rocked to the thunder of broadsides. Bolitho had known that he stood out as the captain, a sure target at any time. But he had also known it was necessary that his own people should see him until the end. When was that? It seemed a lifetime ago.
He allowed his coxswain to buckle on his best sword, the one he had bought before getting married to his dear Hannah.
Just thinking her name was like a cry from the heart. He forced the door closed on her and shouted, 'We'll take 'em down with us, eh, lads!'
They cheered, as he had known they would.
Here they come. He watched the oncoming sails, writhing and altering their outline as each captain reduced his canvas and prepared to fight. The leading ship made a splendid, terrible sight as she suddenly opened her ports and the black snouts showed themselves deck by deck.
Inch watched in silence. It was as if his heart had already stopped. He was unable to move or drag his eyes from the enemy. She was a ninety-gun ship at least. She had a bright figurehead beneath her beak-head and when Inch raised his telescope he saw that it was fashioned in the likeness of a springing beast, a leopard, with both its front paws reaching out in anger. It was Jobert. It had to be.
'Open the ports, Mr Savill. Then run out to larboard.' There was still time. Time to run. Inch hardened his heart. 'Have the boats cast adrift, Mr Savill.'
It was always a bad moment when the boats were cut free to drift on a sea anchor until recovered by the victors. Being left aboard on their tier doubled the risk of flying splinters when the enemy's iron pounded across the decks. But to any sailor boats represented safety, a chance to survive. Inch began to pace between the quarterdeck guns, his chin in his neckcloth, the bright sword slapping against his thigh. Except, for his men, there would be no survival.
Bolitho felt the sun across his shoulders, magnified by the thick glass, as Argonaute swung heavily to her cable. He could hear the watch on deck shouting as they hoisted one of the boats inboard. He put down his pen and looked moodily through the windows towards the shore and at the cluster of shipping which lay between it and the flagship.
It would soon be time to leave for Herrick's ship. Bolitho thought of yesterday's meeting, more so of the parting. It had grieved him, and he felt trapped, with few courses left to attempt.
He watched the craft. Huddled together, as if the great harbour was no longer a haven and they wanted to put to sea. The expected convoy had been sighted at first light. Bolitho had heard the warning gun while he had toyed restlessly with his breakfast. The harbour would be crammed with ships.
He could not finish the letter to Belinda before he had to leave. Boots tramped across the damp planking and he guessed the marines were preparing to see him over the side. Keen's gig had already left. Bolitho had spoken with him only briefly. They had shaken hands. It had reminded Bolitho of a highwayman he had seen doing just that with his executioner before the trap had dropped beneath his kicking legs.
Why had he told Belinda? Because she deserved to know? Or was it merely that he had to confide in her because he needed her? Was that it?
He sighed and stood up, the pen left beside the letter.
The ship was swaying quite steeply, and he wondered if the wind would be gone before he sailed. If he sailed.
He stared at himself in the mirror, much as Herrick had looked at him. His right eye felt almost normal, or perhaps he had become used to it. The left, he sighed again, it was no worse, but the least strain and he felt it, his balance still unsure. Even now, in harbour, he had to consider every move.
He heard Ozzard in the next cabin brushing his best coat, and thought of Keen in his as he had left the ship. He was youthful and mature all in one. No wonder they loved each other. He thought of the girl with the brown, misty eyes. How far had the packet reached, he wondered?
There was a light tap on the door, and as the sentry said nothing Bolitho knew it was Allday.
He too was in his best blue jacket with the gilt buttons which he prized. His nankeen trousers looked newly cleaned and his buckled shoes would do credit to a post-captain.
Allday watched him grimly. 'Barge is alongside, sir.'
'I'm coming. I want to be on time, not early.'
Allday nodded and tried to smile. 'Keep 'em guessin', eh, sir?'
'Something like that.' He saw Allday glance at the unfinished letter. 'For the next courier.'
Allday sounded distant. 'I heard that the convoy will unload today an' tomorrow. Then it'll sail for England again, or some of it will.'
Bolitho looked at him. 'What else have you heard?' Allday was a better source of information than any signal and usually far more accurate.
Allday said, 'Two of 'em are carryin' gold, from the Sultan o' Turkey, whoever he might be when 'e's at 'ome.'
For whatever reason or purpose, the Sultan's wealth would be more than welcome in England. It sounded like Nelson's hand behind it. He had received several favours from the Sultan after their victory at the Nile.
Ozzard entered and held out the coat for him.
Bolitho looked at the mirror. A changed man again. To any outsider he would seem to be and to have everything. Rank, authority, a beautiful wife. Everything.
He touched the gold Nile medal which hung about his neck. Is this what a hero looks like? Hardly as he felt, he decided.
'Let us go.' Bolitho touched Allday's sleeve then drew him aside. 'I have not forgotten about your son.'
Allday met his gaze, his eyes steady but sad. 'I 'ave, sir. He wants to quit the service, an' good riddance, I say.'
Ozzard had gone on ahead and Bolitho heard Captain Bouteiller calling his marines to attention. But he said, 'You don't mean that, Allday.'
Allday stuck out his jaw. 'Don't you fret about 'im, sir. It's you I'm fair bothered for. After all you done for King an' country, an' now you're goin' across to Benbow to smash all of it!'
Bolitho said, 'Don't be ridiculous, man. You don't know what the hell you're saying!'
Allday took a slow breath; his chest wound bothered him sometimes when he became excited or angry.
'Yes, I do, sir, an' you knows it.'
As they walked towards the screen door Allday added fiercely,
'I've said me piece. One more thing, sir. I'll be right there with you.
Bolitho swung round, shocked by the distress in his voice. 'I know that, old friend. Your loyalty means more to me than-' He did not finish. If anything, Allday's simple acceptance had decided him. As Allday had known all the time.
Bolitho barely noticed the swift pull to Benbow. Through the entry port, more salutes, formal greetings and then aft to the great cabin.
