Honour This Day

Blachford remarked, 'But it may end in another blockade?'

Keen shook his head. 'I think not, Sir Piers. There is too much at stake here.'

Bolitho nodded. 'Not least, Villeneuve's honour.'

He walked to the stern windows and wondered how long it would take Dunstan to work his sloop-of-war back to the squadron.

So Nelson had quit the land to rejoin his Victory'} He must feel it too. Bolitho ran his palms over the worn sill of the stern windows and watched the sea rise and fall beneath the counter. Two old ships. He thought of the sally port where he had released his hold on Catherine that last time. Nelson would have used those same stairs. One day they would meet. It was inevitable. Dear Inch had met him, and Adam was on speaking terms. He smiled to himself. Our Net.

There were whispers at the screen door, then Keen said, 'Phaedra is in sight, Sir Richard.'

'Good. We'll send her on her way before dusk with any luck.'

Bolitho threw off his gold-laced coat and sat at the table. 'I shall write my orders, Mr Yovell. Tell your clerk to prepare copies for every captain.'

He stared at the sun glinting across the fresh ink.

Upon receipt of these orders you are to proceed with all despatch – Right or wrong, it was a time for action.

Hernck sat squarely in Hyperion's stern cabin and grasped a tankard of ginger-beer with both hands.

'It feels strange.' He dropped his eyes. 'Why should that be?'

Bolitho walked about the cabin, remembering his own feelings when the lookouts had sighted Benbow and her two consorts in the dawn light.

He could understand Hernck's feelings. Two men drawn together like passing ships on an ocean. Now he was here, and not even the coolness Bolitho had seen between him and Keen as the latter had greeted his arrival on board could dispel a sense of relief.

Bolitho said, 'I have decided to head west now that we are joined, Thomas.'

Hernck looked up, but his eyes seemed drawn to the elegant wine cabinet in the corner of the cabin. He probably saw Catherine's hand here too.

'I am not certain it is wise.' He pouted, and then shrugged. 'But if we are called to support Nelson, then the closer we are to the Strait the better, I suppose.' He did not sound very certain. 'At least we can face the enemy if he comes our way in the narrows.'

Bolitho listened to the tramp of feet as the afterguard manned the mizzen braces for changing tack again. Eight ships-of-the-hne, a frigate and a small sloop-of-war. It was no fleet, but he was as proud of them as a man could be.

Only one was missing, the little prize frigate La Mouette which Hernck had sent further north to scout for any coastal shipping from which she might glean some information.

Hernck said, 'If the Frogs decide not to venture out, we shall remain in ignorance of their next plan of attack. What then?' He waved Ozzard aside as he made to bring the tray and some claret. 'No, I would relish some more ginger-beer.'

Bolitho turned away. Was it really that, or had Hernck become so rigid in his bias against Catherine that he would take nothing from her cabinet' He tried to dismiss the thought as unworthy, petty, but it still persisted.

He said, 'We'll move in separate formations, Thomas. If the weather remains our ally, we shall stand two miles or more apart. It will give our mastheads a better scan of the horizons. If the enemy is chased our way, we should have good warning of it, eh?' He made to smile. 'It is never wise to stand in the path of a charging bull!'

Hernck said abruptly, 'When we return home, what will you do?' He moved his shoes on the deck. 'Share your life with another⁵'

Bolitho braced his legs as the ship heeled slightly to an extra thrust in her canvas.

He replied, 'I share nothing. Catherine is my life.'

'Dulcie said -' The blue eyes lifted and watched him stubbornly. 'She believes you will regret it.'

Bolitho glanced at the wine cabinet, the folded fan lying on top of it.

'You can go with the stream, Thomas, or fight against it.'

'Our friendship means a lot to me.' Hernck frowned as Ozzard padded in with a fresh tankard. 'But it gives me the right to speak my mind. I can never accept this -' he licked his lips, 'this lady.'

Bolitho faced him sadly. 'Then you have made your decision, Thomas.' He sat down and waited for Ozzard to refill his glass. 'Or have you had it made by others?' He watched Herrick's angry reaction and added, 'Perhaps the enemy will decide our future.' He raised the glass. 'I give you a sentiment, Thomas. May the best man win!'

Herrick stood up. 'How can you jest about it!'

The door opened and Keen peered in. 'The rear-admiral's barge is standing by, Sir Richard.' He did not glance at Herrick. 'The sea is getting up, and I thought -'

Herrick looked round for his hat. Then he waited for Keen to withdraw and said flatly, 'When we meet again -'

Bolitho held out his hand. 'For friendship?'

Herrick grasped it, his palm as hard as it had ever been.

He said, 'Aye. Nothing can break that.'

Bolitho listened to the calls as Herrick was piped over the side for the lively pull to his flagship.

Allday lingered in the other doorway, his rag moving up and down on the old sword.

Bolitho said wearily, 'They say love is blind, old friend. It seems to me that only those who have never known it are blind.'

Allday smiled and replaced the sword on its rack.

If it took war and the risk of a bloody fight to make Bolitho's eyes shine again, then so be it.

He said, 'I knew a lass once -'

Bolitho smiled, and recalled his thoughts when he had written his orders.

A time for action. It was like an epitaph.

16. Articles Of War

The twenty-six gun frigate La Mouette was completely shrouded in a heavy sea-mist. The lookouts could barely see more than a few yards on either beam, and from the deck the upper shrouds and limp sails were invisible.

There was a slow, moist breeze, but the mist kept pace with the ship to add a sense of being motionless.

Occasionally the disembodied voice of a leadsman floated aft, but the water was deep enough, although if the mist suddenly lifted the ship might be close inshore, or completely alone on an empty sea.

Aft by the quarterdeck rail the first lieutenant, John Wright, stared at the dripping maincourse until his eyes smarted. It was eerie, like thrusting into something solid. He could picture the jib-boom feeling the way like a blind man's stick. There was nothing beyond the pale patch of the figurehead, a fierce-looking seagull with its beak wide in anger.

Around and behind him the other watchkeepers stood about like statues. The helmsman, the sailing master close by. The midshipman of the watch, a boatswain's mate, their faces shining with moisture, as if they had been standing in a rainfall.

Nobody spoke. But that was nothing new, Wright thought. He longed for the chance of a command for himself. Anything. It had meant the next step on the ladder just being first lieutenant. He had not bargained for a captain like Bruce Sinclair. The captain was young, probably twenty-seven or so, Wright decided. A man with fine cheekbones, his chin always high, like a haughty pose, someone who was always quick to seek out slackness and inefficiency in his command.

A visiting admiral had once praised Sinclair for the smartness of his ship. Nobody ever walked on the upper deck, orders were carried out at the double, and any midshipman or petty officer who failed to report a man for not