Honour This Day

but survival and the usual dream of prize-money had left them in high spirits. Now it was changing again. It was a wonder they didn't rush the poop and take all the bullion for themselves. There was precious little Bolitho and his two lieutenants could do to prevent it.

The lookout yelled down, 'Two frigates, sir! Dons by the cut o' them!'

Bolitho controlled his breathing as some of the others looked at him. Somehow he had known Haven would not make the rendezvous. It was an additional mockery to recall he himself had given him the honourable way out.

Parris said flatly, 'Well, they say the sea is two miles deep under our keel. The Dons'll not get their paws on the gold again, unless they can swim that far down!' Nobody laughed.

Bolitho looked at Parris. The decision is mine. Signal Thor to take them and their Spanish prisoners on board? But with only half their boats available it would take time. Scuttle the great ship and all her wealth, and run, hoping Thor could outsail the frigates, at least until nightfall?

A victory gone sour.

Jenour moved closer. 'Laker just died, sir.'

Bolitho turned towards him, his eyes flashing. 'And for what -is that what you're asking? Must we all die now because of your vice-admiral's arrogance?'

Jenour, surprisingly, stood his ground. 'Then let's fight, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho let his arms fall to his sides. 'In God's name, Stephen, you mean it- don't you?' He smiled gravely, his anger spent. 'But I'll have no more dying.' He looked at the horizon. Is this how he would be remembered? He said, 'Signal Thor to heave-to. Then muster the prisoners on deck.'

The lookout yelled, 'Deck there! Two Spanish frigates an' another sail astern o' them!'

Parns muttered, 'Christ Almighty.' He attempted to smile. 'So, Mr Firebrand, will you still stand and fight the Dons?'

Jenour shrugged, then gripped his beautiful sword. It said more than any words.

Allday watched the officers and tried to fathom out what had gone wrong. It was not just failure which bothered Bolitho, that was as plain as a pikestaff. It was the old Hyperion. She had not come for him. Allday ground his teeth together. If ever he reached port again he would settle that bloody Haven once and for all, and swing for him to boot.

Bolitho must have felt it all the while in his blood. Why he had left the old sword behind. He must have known. Allday felt a chill run down his spine. I should have guessed. God alone knew it had happened to others.

They all stared up as the foremast lookout, forgotten until now, yelled down, 'Sail to the nor'-east, sir!'

Bolitho gripped his fingers together behind him. The newcomer must have run down on them while every eye was on the other strange sails.

He said, 'Get aloft, Stephen! Take a glass!'

Jenour paused just a few seconds as if to fix the importance and the urgency of the moment. Then he was gone, and was soon swarming hand over hand up the foremast shrouds to join the lookout on his precarious perch in the crosstrees.

It felt like an eternity. Other hands had climbed up to the tops or merely clung to the ratlines to stare at the eye-searing horizon.' Bolitho felt a lump in his throat. It was not Hyperion. Her masts and yards would be clearly visible by now.

Jenour yelled down, his voice almost lost amongst the clatter of blocks and the slap of canvas.

'She's English, sir! Making her number!'

Parns climbed on to one of the poop ladders and levelled his own glass on the pursuers.

'They're fanning out, Sir Richard. They must have seen her too.' He added savagely, 'Not that it matters now, God damn them!'

Jenour called again, 'She's Phaedra, sloop-of-war!'

Bolitho felt Parns turning to watch him. Their missing sloop-of-war had caught up with them at last, only to be a spectator at the end.

Jenour shouted, faltered, then tried again, his voice barely audible. But this time it was not only because of the shipboard sounds.

'Phaedra has hoisted a signal, sir! Enemy tn sight!'

Bolitho looked at the deck, at the blackened stain where a Spanish sailor had died.

The signal would be being read and repeated to all the other ships. He could picture his old Hyperion, her men running to quarters, clearing for action again to the beat of the drums.

Parns exclaimed with quiet disbelief, The Dons are standing away, Sir Richard.' He wiped his face, and perhaps his eyes. 'God damn it, old lady, don't cut it so fine next time!'

But as the Spanish topsails melted into the sea-mist, and the smart sloop-of-war bore down on the treasure- ship and her sole escort, it soon became obvious that she was quite alone.

The ill-assorted trio rolled in the swell, hove-to as Phaedra's youthful commander was pulled across in his gig. He almost bounded up the high tumblehome, and doffed his hat to Bolitho, barely able to stop himself from grinning.

'There are no others?' Bolitho stared at the young man. 'What of the signal?'

The commander recovered his composure very slightly. 'My name is Dunstan, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho nodded. 'And how did you recognise me?'

The grin came back like a burst of sunlight.

'I had the honour to serve in Euryalus with you, Sir Richard.' He looked at the others with exclusive pride. 'As a midshipman. I recalled how you had used that deception yourself to confuse the enemy.' His voice trailed away. 'Although I was not sure it might work for me.'

Bolitho gripped his hand and held it for several seconds.

'Now I know we shall win.' He turned away and only Allday saw the emotion in his eyes.

Allday glanced across at the eighteen-gun Phaedra.

Perhaps after this Bolitho would accept what he had done for others. But he doubted it.

8. A Bitter Departure

The Right Honourable the Viscount Somervell looked up from the pile of ledgers and eyed Bolitho curiously.

'So you accepted Captain Haven's explanation, what?'

Bolitho stood beside a window, his shoulder resting against the cool wall. The air was heavy and humid although the wind which had stayed with them all the way to English Harbour remained quite firm. The small breakers near the harbour were no longer white, but in the sun's glare sighed over the sand like molten bronze.

He could see the great ship clearly from here. After the tumultuous welcome when they had sailed into harbour, the serious work of unloading her rich cargo had begun immediately. Lighters and boats plied back and forth, and Bolitho had never seen so many redcoats as the army guarded the booty every yard of the way, until, as Somervell had explained, it would be transferred and divided amongst several smaller vessels as an extra precaution.

Bolitho half-turned and glanced at him. Somervell had already forgotten his question about Haven. It was only yesterday morning that they had dropped anchor, and for the first time since he had met Somervell, Bolitho had noticed that he still wore the same clothes as when he had come out to the Cmdad de Sevilla. It was as if he could not bear leaving these detailed ledgers even to sleep.

They had met Hyperion and two of the bngs only a day out of Antigua. Bolitho had decided to send for Haven rather than shift to his flagship, where there must have been speculation enough already.