Honour This Day

have known.'

Bolitho sipped the wine; it was remarkably cool. 'Known what?'

Imne said, 'I'd heard you tested your captains with a question or two -'

Bolitho smiled. 'It worked this time.' He remembered some of the others he had met in Antigua. He had felt something akin to hostility, if not actual dislike. Because of Price, perhaps? After all, they had known him, had worked in company with his frigate. They might think that he had killed himself deliberately because Bolitho had refused to intervene. Bolitho could think of several occasions when he had felt much the same.

Imne stared through the skylight at the empty sky.

'If I could lie near a good target, sir, I'd put down such a barrage, the enemy'd think Hell had dropped amongst them. The Dons have never faced -' He faltered and added apologetically, 'I mean, that is, if we were against the Spaniards at any time -'

Bolitho eyed him steadily. Imne had worked it out all by himself. Why else would his vice-admiral bother to call on him? Price's exploits and disaster on the Spanish Mam linked with Tfcor's obvious advantages in the shallows where Consort had run aground had formed their own picture in his mind.

Bolitho said, 'That is well thought, Commander Imne. I will trust you to keep your suppositions to yourself.' It was odd that none of the others, not even Haven, had once questioned their motives for being here.

Bolitho rubbed his left eyelid and then withdrew his hand quickly. 'I have studied the reports, and have re-read the notes my aide took down when I spoke to Captain Price.'

Imne had a long face with a craggy jaw and looked as if he could be a formidable opponent in any circumstances. But his features softened as he listened to Bolitho. Perhaps because he had referred to the dead man by his full rank. It offered some small dignity, a far cry from the lonely grave below the East Battery.

Bolitho said, 'The approaches are too well protected for what I must keep in mind. Any well-sited artillery can destroy a slow-moving vessel with ease, and with heated shot the effect would be disastrous.'

Imne rubbed his chin, his eyes far away. As Bolitho had noticed, they were unmatched, one dark and the other pale blue.

He said, 'If we are both thinking of the same patch of coast, Sir Richard, and of course we can't be sure of that.'

Jenour watched, fascinated. These two officers, each a veteran in his own field, yet able to discuss something he still could not grasp, and chuckle over it like two conspiring schoolboys. It was unbelievable.

Bolitho nodded. 'But if-'

'Even Thor might have to lay-off too far to use the mortars, Sir Richard.' He scanned his face as if expecting an argument or disappointment. 'We don't draw much less than Consort did.'

A boat thudded alongside and Bolitho heard Allday barking at someone for interrupting their conference.

Then his face appeared in the skylight. He said, 'Beggin' your pardon, Sir Richard. Message from Hyperion. The Inspector General is come aboard.'

Bolitho concealed a tremor of excitement. Somervell had given in to curiosity at last. Or was he imagining that also? That there was already some kind of contest between them?

Bolitho stood up and winced as his head struck one of the beams.

Imne exclaimed, 'God damn it, Sir Richard, I should have warned you!'

Bolitho reached for his hat. 'It acted as a reminder. It was less painful than the memory.'

On deck, the side-party had assembled and Bolitho saw Hyperion's jolly-boat already pulling back to the ship. Allday clambered fuming down to the waiting barge. He had sent that pink-faced midshipman off with a flea in his ear. Young puppy. He glared at the bargemen. 'Stand by in the boat, damn you!'

Bolitho made a decision. 'Tell your senior to take over, Imne. I wish you to accompany me directly.'

Imne's jaw dropped open. 'But, Sir Richard -'

Bolitho saw his first lieutenant watching them. 'He is just aching to take command, albeit for a day – it is every first lieutenant's dream!' He was amazed at his own good humour. It was like a dam holding all the worries here and at home back and out of view.

He stooped over as if to examine one of the snout-nosed twenty-four pounder carronades. It gave him time to massage his eye again, to drive off the mist which the sharp sunlight had thrown at him as if to crack his confidence.

Imne whispered to Jenour, 'What a man, eh? I think I'd follow him to hell and back!'

Jenour watched Bolitho's shoulders. 'Aye, sir.' It was only a guess, but he saw more than anyone of Bolitho apart from Allday and the cabin staff. It was strange that they never mentioned it. But Jenour's uncle was a physician in Southampton. He had spoken of something like this. Jenour had seen Bolitho caught off balance, like the moment when the Viscount's beautiful wife had reached out to aid him, and other times at sea before that.

But nothing was ever said about it. He had to be mistaken.

All the way across the anchorage Bolitho pondered over his mission. If he had frigates, even one at his disposal, he could plan around the one, formidable obstacle.

La Guaira, the Spanish port on the Main and gateway to the capital Caracas, was impregnable. That was only because nobody had ever attempted it before. He could feel Imrie's curiosity and was glad he had visited the Thor before discussing the venture with Haven and the others.

Imrie would be confident but not reckless. Price had believed he could do it, although for different reasons. Had he succeeded, it was unlikely that even a tiny fishing dory could slip through the Dons' defences afterwards.

Allday muttered, 'We have to put round t'other side, Sir Richard.' He sounded irritated, and Bolitho knew that he was still brooding over his newly-discovered and as quickly lost son.

Jenour stood up and swayed in the barge. 'The water-lighters are alongside, Sir Richard. Shall I signal them to stand away for you?'

Bolitho tugged his coat. 'Sit down, you impatient young upstart.' He knew the young lieutenant was smiling at his rebuke. 'We need fresh water, and Hyperion does have two sides to her!'

They pulled around the bows and past the out-thrust trident. Bolitho glanced up at the figurehead's fierce stare. Many a man must have seen that lancing through the gunsmoke and felt a last fear before he was cut down in battle.

He found Haven agitated and probably worried that Bolitho would berate him.

'I am sorry about the lighters, sir! I was not expecting you!'

Bolitho crossed the deck and looked down. Again, it was to test his eye, to prepare it for the cool shadows between decks.

'No matter.' He knew Haven was watching Imrie with suspicion and said, 'Commander Imrie is my guest.' He rested his hands on the sun-baked woodwork and regarded the nearest lighter. They were huge, flat-bottomed craft, their open hulls lined with great casks of water. One line of casks had already been hoisted up and lowered inboard on tackles; and Bolitho saw Parris, the first lieutenant, one foot resting negligently on a hatch coaming, watching Sheargold the beaky-faced purser check each cask before it was sent below. He was about to turn away and then said, 'The lighter is still on even keel, yet all the casks are on the outboard side.'

Haven observed him warily, as if he thought Bolitho had been too long in the sun.

'They are so constructed, sir. Nothing will tilt them.'

Bolitho straightened his back and looked at Imrie.

'There you have it, Imrie. A platform for your mortars!' He ignored their combined astonishment.

'Now, I must meet the Inspector General!'

In the bars of bright forenoon sunlight, The Right Honourable the Viscount Somervell lounged against a leather-backed chair and listened without interruption. He was dressed in very pale green with brocade and stitching which would put any prince to shame. Close-to and in the brilliant glare Somervell looked younger, mid- thirties, her age or perhaps less.

Bolitho tried not to think beyond the outline of his plan, but Catherine seemed to linger in the great cabin like a shadow, as if she too was making comparisons.