Honour This Day

Twenty-five years old, and like most third-rates she had tasted the fire of battle many times. Bolitho had seen her at Toulon and in the West Indies, seeking French landings in Ireland, or standing in the blazing line at the Nile. Redoubtable and Capricious completed the squadron, the latter being commanded by Captain William Merrye, whose grandfather had once been an infamous smuggler; or so the story had it. Seventy-fours were the backbone of the fleet, any fleet. Bolitho glanced up at his flag at the fore. It looked right and proper there.

Then the drawn-out ceremony of gun-salutes to the Rock, repeated and acknowledged until the anchorage was partly hidden by smoke, the echoes sighing across to Algeciras like an added insult.

Bolitho saw the guardboat with its huge flag and motionless oars. Marking where they should drop anchor. He thought suddenly of the Spanish boat at La Guaira, smashed apart under the schooner's stem.

'Anchor!'

They must make a fine, if familiar, sight to the people on the shore, Bolitho thought.

Leviathans turning into the gentle wind, with all canvas clewed up but for topsails and jibs.

Tops'l clew lines! Start that man! Lively there!'

'Helm a-lee!'

Bolitho clenched his fists as Parris's arm fell. 'Let go!'

The great anchor threw up a pale waterspout, while high overhead the topsails vanished against their yards as if to a single hand.

Bolitho looked quickly at the other ships, swinging now to their cables, each captain determined to hold a perfect bearing on his vice-admiral.

Boats were already being swayed out, the excitement of seeing the great harbour after weeks at sea contained and suppressed by leather-lunged boatswain's mates and petty officers.

'Gig approaching, sir!'

Bolitho saw the small boat rising and dipping smartly across the slight swell. Their first encounter.

'I shall go aft, Mr Jenour.' He spoke formally in front of Haven. 'As soon as -'

He turned as the quartermaster yelled the age-old challenge.

'Boat ahoy?'

The answer came back from the gig. 'Firefly!'

Jenour said, 'Someone's captain coming to see us already, Sir Richard.' Then he saw Bolitho's eyes, his look of relief and something more.

Bolitho said, 'I shall greet Firefly's captain myself.'

The young commander almost bounded up Hyperion's tumblehome. Those who did not know stared with astonishment as their admiral threw his arms about the youthful officer who at first glance could have been his brother.

Bolitho held him and shook his shoulders gently. 'Adam. Of all people.'

Commander Adam Bolitho of the brig Firefly grinned with delight, his teeth very white in his sunburned face. AH he could say was, 'Well, Uncle!'

Bolitho stood in the centre of his cabin, while Yovell and Jenour sorted through a bag of despatches and letters which Adam had brought from the shore.

Adam said, 'It was amazing bad luck, Uncle. The Frogs put to sea under Admiral Villeneuve, and Our Nel went looking for them. But while the little admiral was searching around Malta and Alexandria, Villeneuve slipped through the Strait and into the Atlantic. In God's name, Uncle, had your orders been sent earlier you might have met up with 'em! Thank the high heavens you did not!'

Bolitho smiled quietly. Adam spoke with the ease and confidence of a seasoned old campaigner, and he was twenty-four years old; twenty-five in two months' time.

Adam said, 'This old ship, Uncle. Look at us now, eh?'

Bolitho nodded as Yovell placed an official Admiralty envelope before him. Adam had joined Hyperion as his first ship, a thin, pale youth, but with all the determination and wildness of a young colt.

Indeed, he thought. Look at us now.

So the French had put to sea at last. Past Gibraltar and across the Atlantic with Nelson eventually in hot pursuit. Villeneuve had apparently sailed westward, though for what purpose nobody seemed quite sure. Bolitho read swiftly, aware of Adam watching him. Wanting to talk with him more than anything, but needing to know what was happening; it might affect them all.

Bolitho handed the letter to Yovell and said, 'So the French are on the move. Is it a trick or are they out to divide our forces?'

Adam was right. Had he been ordered to leave Antigua earlier they might well have met up with the enemy. Five third-rates against one of the finest fleets in the world. The outcome would have been in no doubt. But at least they might have delayed Villeneuve until Nelson caught up with them. He smiled. Our Nel indeed.

Bolitho took the next letter, already opened by Jenour, who had barely taken his eyes off the young commander since he had stepped aboard. A part of the Bolitho story he did not yet share.

Bolitho said softly, 'Hell's teeth. I am to relieve Thomas Her-rick at Malta.' He examined his feelings. He should be happy to see the man who was his best friend. After the court of enquiry into Valentine Keen's behaviour, when only Bolitho's word had prevented a court-martial, he was not so certain. Deep in his heart Bolitho knew Herrick had been in the right. Would I have twisted the rules in his place? The question had never been answered.

Adam eyed him gravely. 'But first you sail for England, Uncle.' He forced a grin. 'With me.'

Bolitho took the envelope from him and slit it open. It was strange that of all his people who were dear to him, only Adam had ever met the famous Nelson, had carried more despatches from him in his brig Firefly than anybody.

The new squadron would rest and take on victuals at Gibraltar. Nelson had written in his strange sloping hand, 'Doubtless the care and attention of English Harbour will have left much to complain on!' Was there anything he did not know about?

Bolitho was to be released from his command for a brief visit to their Lordships of Admiralty. The letter ended with the barb Nelson so enjoyed. 'There you may discover how well they fight their wars with words and paper instead of ordnance and good steel…'

It was true that the squadron could do with fresh victualling and some spare spars. The blockade was likely to be a lengthy one. The French must return to port, if only to await reinforcements from their Spanish ally. One of which would likely be the Intrepido.

Bolitho glanced at the pile of charts on a nearby table. The vastness of a great ocean which could hide or swallow a fleet with ease. Thank God Catherine had written her letter from England, otherwise he would have been fretting that she had been taken by the enemy.

He looked at Adam and saw the sudden apprehension in his eyes.

Bolitho said to the others, 'Please leave us a while.' He touched Jenour's arm. 'Delve through the rest of the pile, Stephen. I am afraid I have come to rely too much on you.'

The door closed behind them and Adam said quietly, 'That was kindly done, Uncle. The flag lieutenant is another one caught in your spell.'

Bolitho asked,'What is wrong?'

Adam stood up and crossed to the stern windows. How like his father, Bolitho thought. Hugh would have been proud of him this day, to see him in command of his own ship.

'I know you hate deceit, Uncle.'

'So?'

'I once fought a stupid duel over yonder.'

'I've not forgotten, Adam.'

He shifted his feet on the checkered canvas deck. 'Is it true what they're saying?'

'I expect so. Some of it anyway.'

Adam turned, his hair shining in the sunlight. 'Is it what you want?'

Bolitho nodded. 'I will see that no harm is done to you, Adam. You have been hurt enough, if not by your family