The sun was rising as if from the ocean itself, the lines of low rollers curling away like molten copper. Truculent was already steaming, despite the lingering chill of night. She would look like a ghost-ship when the heat really enfolded her and every sail dried out in its intensity.
Bolitho pitied the officers on watch in their hats and heavy coats. Poland obviously believed that there was never a proper moment to relax any show of authority no matter how uncomfortable. He wondered what they thought of his own casual rig. There would be time enough for pomp and tradition when he made contact with the, fleet, which was allegedly assembled off the coast. For all they had seen on passage they could have been the only ship afloat.
Immersed in his thoughts, he began to walk slowly up and down, a measured distance between the wheel and the taffrail. Sailors working on the ever-necessary repairs and maintenance, splicing, replacing frayed cordage, painting and washing down, glanced up as his shadow passed over them. Each man looked quickly away
if their eyes chanced to meet.
Mr Hull, the frigate's taciturn sailing-master, was watching three midshipmen who were taking turns to prepare a chart. Beside him, as officer-of-the-watch, the second lieutenant was trying not to yawn, with his captain in such an uncertain mood. There was a smell of cooking from the galley and the lieutenant's stomach contracted painfully. It was still a long wait before the watch changed and he could be relieved.
Hull asked quietly, 'What d'ye reckon 'e thinks about, Mr Munro?' He gestured shortly towards the tall figure in the white shirt, whose dark hair, tied to the nape of his neck, lifted in the light breeze as he strode unhurriedly up and down.
Munro lowered his voice. 'I know not, Mr Hull. But if half of what I hear about him is true, then he has plenty to choose from! ' Like the others, Munro had seen little of the viceadmiral, except for one meal together, and once when he and the captain had summoned the lieutenants and senior warrant officers to explain the purpose of his mission.
Two strong forces of ships had been ordered to the Cape of Good Hope with soldiers and marines for the sole purpose of landing and laying siege to Cape Town, with the intention of retaking it from the Dutch, Napoleon's unwilling ally.
Then, and only then, would the shipping routes around the Cape be safe from marauding men-of-war and French privateers. There was also a dockyard which, once repossessed, would be vastly improved and expanded, so that never again would English ships be forced to fend for themselves, or waste valuable months beating back and forth seeking other suitable anchorages.
Even Captain Poland had seemed surprised at Bolitho's open confidence with subordinates he did not know, especially when most flagofficers would have considered it none of their business. Munro glanced at the flag lieutenant and recalled how Jenour had described that last battle, when Hyperion had led the squadron and broken through the enemy's line, until both sides had been broadside to broadside.
You could have heard a pin fall, he thought, as Jenour had described the death of the old two-decker, the ship which Bolitho had twice made into a legend.
Jenour had looked down at the wardroom table and had said, 'Her stern was rising all the time, but at her foremast the admiral's flag was still close-up. He had ordered them to leave it there. A lot of good men went with her. They could have no better company Then he had raised his head and Munro had been shocked to see.' the tears in his eyes. 'Then I heard him say, just as if he was speaking to the ship, There'll be none better than you, old lady. And then she was gone.'
Munro had never been so moved before by anything; neither had his friend the first lieutenant.
Poland 's voice cut through his thoughts like a dirk.
'Mr Munro! I would trouble you to cast an eye over those idle roughknots who are supposed to be working on the second cutter-they seem more intent on gaping at the horizon than using their skills! Maybe they should not be blamed if the officer-of-the-watch is day-dreaming, what?'
Mr Hull bared his teeth in an unfeeling grin.
'Got eyes everywhere, 'e 'as! ' He swung on the midshipmen to cover Munro's embarrassment. 'An' wot d'you think you're a-doin' of? Gawd, you'll never make lieutenants, nary a one o' ye! '
Bolitho heard all of it, but his mind was elsewhere. He often thought of Catherine's despairing anger. How much of what she said was true? He knew he had made enemies down the years, and many had tried to hurt and damage him because of his dead brother, Hugh, who had gone over to the other side during the American
Revolution. Later they had used young Adam for the same purpose, so it was likely that the enemies were truly there, and not merely in his mind.
Did they really need him to come to the Cape so urgently; or was it true that Nelson's victory over the Combined Fleet had changed strategy out of all recognition? France and Spain had lost many ships, destroyed or taken as prizes. But England 's fleet had been badly battered, and the essential blockading squadrons outside enemy ports were stretched to the limit. Napoleon would never give up his vision of a mighty empire. He would need more ships, like the ones which were building at Toulon and along the Channel coast, vessels of which Nelson had spoken many times in his written duels with the Admiralty But until then, Napoleon might look elsewhere – perhaps to France's old ally, America?
Bolitho plucked at the front of his shirt, one of the elegant selection Catherine had bought for him in London while he had been with Their Lordships.
He had always hated the capital, its false society its privileged citizens who damned the war because of its inconvenience to them, without a thought for the men who daily gave their lives to protect their liberty Like-He thrust Belinda from his mind, and felt the locket which Catherine had given him. Small, silver, with a perfect, miniature of her inside, her dark eyes, the throat bared as he had known and loved it. In a compartment at the back was a compressed lock of her hair. That was new, but he could only guess how long she had owned the locket, or who had given it to her. Certainly not her first husband, a soldier of fortune who had died in a brawl in Spain. Perhaps it had been a gift from her second, Luis Pareja, who had died trying to help defend a merchantman taken by Bolitho and then attacked by Barbary pirates.
Luis had been twice her age, but in his own way he had loved her. He had been a Spanish merchant, and the miniature had all the delicacy and finesse he would have appreciated.
So she had come into Bolitho's life; and then, after a brief affair, she had gone. Misunderstanding, a misguided attempt to preserve his reputation-Bolitho had often cursed himself for allowing it to happen. For letting their tangled lives come between them.
And then, just two years ago when Hyperion had sailed into EnglishHarbour, they had found one another again. Bolitho leaving behind a marriage which had soured, and Catherine married, for the third time, to the Viscount Somervell, a treacherous and decadent man who, on learning of her renewed passion for Bolitho, had attempted to have her dishonoured and thrown into a debtor's prison, from which Bolitho had saved her.
He heard her voice now as clearly as if she were standing here on this rapidly drying deck. 'Keep this around your neck, darling Richard. I shall take it off again only when you are lying by my side as my lover.'
He felt the engraving on the back of the locket. Like the small wisp of hair, it was new, something she had caused to be done in London while he had been at the Admiralty.
So simply said, as if she were speaking to him even as he recalled it.
May Fate always guide you. May love always protect you.
He walked to the nettings, and shaded his eyes to watch some gulls. It made him tremble merely to think of her, how they had loved in Antigua and in Cornwall for so short a time together.
He moved his head slightly, holding his breath. The sun was strong but not yet high enough to-He hesitated, then looked hard at the horizon's glittering line.
Nothing happened. The mist did not edge out like some evil disease to mock his left eye. Nothing.
Allday was looking aft and saw Bolitho's expression, and felt like praying. It was like seeing the face of a man on the scaffold when given a last-minute reprieve.
'Deck there! ' Every face looked up. 'Sail on the starboard quarter! '
Poland called sharply, 'Mr Williams, I'd be obliged if you would take a glass aloft! '
The first lieutenant seized a telescope from the midshipman on watch and hurried to the main shrouds. He looked surprised: Bolitho guessed it was at his captain's unusual courtesy, rather than the task.
Truculent 's sails were barely filling, and yet the stranger's topgallants seemed to be speeding down on a converging tack at a tremendous rate.
