Honour This Day

Keen watched as Bolitho slipped the fan into his coat-pocket.

Bolitho reached for his hat. 'A small thing, I know, Val. But it is all I have of hers.'

Allday followed them from the cabin, then he paused, the old sword over one arm as he stared back at the place he knew so well. Why should this time be any different? The odds were bad, but that was nothing new, and the enemy were Dons. Allday felt he wanted to spit. Even the Frogs were better fighters than them. He took a last glance round, then touched his chest where the Spanish blade had thrust into him.

The cabin was deserted. He turned away, angry with the thought. For it looked as if it would remain empty forever.

On deck Bolitho walked to the centre of the quarterdeck rail and took a telescope from the senior midshipman. He looked at htm more closely, then at the other officers and master's mates near the wheel. Everyone appeared to be dressed in his best clothing.

Bolitho smiled at the midshipman. 'That was nicely done, Mr Furmval.'

He raised the glass and found Tybalt's sails almost immediately. He moved it still further and saw the dark flaws on the horizon, like the rippling edge of some distant tidal wave.

Bolitho returned the glass and looked up at the sky. The pendant was still pointing towards the larboard bow. The wind held steady, but not too strong. He recalled something his father had said. A good wind for a fight. But out here that could easily change, if the mood took it.

Keen stood watching him, his fair hair ruffling beneath the brim of his hat, even though it had been cut in the modern fashion. Bolitho gripped the rail with both hands. Like Adam's.

He felt the old wood, hot in the sunshine. So dented and pitted with the years, yet worn smooth by all the hands which had rested here.

He watched Major Adams with his lieutenant, Veales, standing below the quarterdeck. The major was frowning with concentration as he pulled on a fresh pair of white gloves.

Bolitho said, 'It is time.' He saw Keen nod, the lieutenants glance at one another, probably wondering who might still be here when the smoke cleared.

Keen said, 'The wind is firm, Sir Richard. They'll be up to us before noon.'

Penhahgon remarked indifferently, 'Fine day for it anyway.'

Bolitho drew Keen to one side. 'I have to say something, Val. We must clear for action directly; after that we shall be divided by our duties. You have come to mean a great deal to me, and I think you must know it.'

Keen answered quietly, 'I understand what you are trying to say, Sir Richard. But it will not happen.'

Bolitho gripped his arm tightly. 'Val, Val, how can we know? It will be a hard fight, maybe the worst we have endured.' He gestured towards the ships astern. 'All these men following like helpless animals, trusting the Flag to carry them through, no matter what hell awaits them.'

Keen replied earnestly, They will be looking to you.'

Bolitho gave a quick smile. 'It makes it less easy to bear. And you, Val, what must you be thinking as the Dons draw to an embrace? That but for me you would be at home with your lovely Zenona.'

Keen waited while Allday stepped up with the sword.

Then he said simply, 'If I never lived beyond this day I have still known true happiness. Nothing can take that away.'

Allday clipped on the old sword and loosened it in its scabbard.

He said gruffly, 'Amen to that, I says, Cap'n.'

Bolitho looked at both of them. 'Very well. Have the marines beat to quarters.' He touched his pocket and felt the fan inside. Her presence. 'You may clear for action, Captain Keen!'

They faced each other, and Keen formally touched his hat.

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. 'So be it.'

The stark rattle of drums, the rush of feet from every hatch and along both gangways made further speech impossible. Bolitho watched the gun crews throwing themselves around their charges, topmen swarming aloft to rig the slings and nets, ready to whip or splice their repairs even in the carnage of a broadside.

Jenour appeared on deck, his hat tugged well down on his forehead, the beautiful sword slapping against his hip. He looked stern, and somehow older.

As the ship fell silent once more, Parns strode aft and faced up to the captain. He wore a pair of fine hessian boots.

'Cleared for action, sir. Galley fire doused. Pumps manned.'

Keen did not take out his watch but said, 'Nine minutes, Mr Parns. The best yet.'

Bolitho smiled. Whether it was true or not, those who had heard Keen's praise would pass it on to each deck. It was little enough. But it all helped.

Keen came aft. 'Ready, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho saw him hesitate and asked, 'What is it, Val?'

'I was wondering, Sir Richard. Could we have the fifers strike up' Like we did in Tempest''¹'

Bolitho looked at the sea, the memory linking them once again. 'Aye, make it so.'

And as the old Hyperion leaned over to the same starboard tack, and while the edge of the horizon broke into more silhouettes and mastheads, the Royal Marine fifers struck up a lively march. Accompanied by the drums from the poop, and the seamen's bare feet stamping on the sanded planking, they strode up and down as if they were on parade at their barracks.

Bolitho met Keen's glance and nodded. Portsmouth Lass. It was even the same tune.

Bolitho raised his telescope and slowly examined the Spanish line from end to end. The two rearmost ships were well out of formation, and Bolitho suspected that the very end vessel was standing away so that the other one could complete some repairs as Olympus had done.

He shifted his gaze to the solitary frigate. It was easy to see why La Mouette's captain had been deceived. It took much more than a foreign ensign to disguise an English-built frigate.

He knew that Consort had been launched on the Medway, near Hernck's home. Would he be thinking of that now, he wondered⁵

Twelve sail-of-the-lme. The flagship in the van had already been identified by Parns, who had met with her before. She was the ninety-gun San Mateo, flagship of Almirante Don Alberto Casares, who had commanded the Spanish squadrons at Havana.

Casares would know all about Hyperion's part in the attack on Puerto Cabello. Some of these very ships had probably been intended to escort the treasure galleons to Spain.

Bolitho watched the Intrepido. At least the two squadrons had something in common, two frigates between them.

He heard Parris saying to the signals midshipmen, 'It will be a while yet.'

Bolitho glanced at the two youths, who could barely drag their eyes from the enemy. How much worse for anyone who had never faced a line of battle, he thought. It could take hours to draw together. At the Saintes it had taken all day. First the few mastheads topping the horizon, then they had risen and grown until the sea's face had seemed to be covered.

A lieutenant who had written home after the Saintes had described the French fleet as 'rising above the horizon, like the armoured knights at Agincourt '. It had been a fair description.

Bolitho walked forward to the rail and looked along the maindeck. The men were ready; the gun captains had selected the best-fashioned balls and grape for the first, double-shotted broadside. This time they would need to fight both sides of the ship at once, so there would be no extra hands to spare. They had to break through the line – after that, it was every ship for herself.

The Royal Marines were in the fighting tops, the best marksmen Major Adams could find, with some others to man the vicious swivels. The bulk of the marines lined the poop, not yet standing to the packed hammock nettings to mark down their targets, but waiting in gently swaying ranks, Sergeant Embree and his corporals talking to each other without appearing to move their mouths.

Penhahgon and his master's mates were near the wheel, with two extra hands at the helm in case of casualties.

Apart from the sea noises and the occasional slap of the great driver sail above the poop, it seemed quiet after