value of compromise, another word for surrender, with Napoleon's army at the frontier.'
Bolitho glanced down at the gold lace on his sleeve. He was back.
Bolitho stood on the weather side of Truculent's quarterdeck and strained his eyes through the first grey light of morning. Around him the ship reeled and plunged to a lively quarter-sea, spray and sometimes great surges of water dashing over the decks or breaking through the rigging where spluttering, cursing seamen fought to
keep everything taut and free.
Captain Poland lurched up the slippery planking towards him, a tarpaulin coat flapping about him and running with water.
He shouted above the din, 'We should sight the narrows when daylight finds us, Sir Richard! ' His eyes were red-rimmed with strain and lack of sleep, and his normally cool composure was less evident.
It had been a long, hard passage from Dover for him, Bolitho thought. No empty expanse of ocean with kind skies and prevailing winds, and TableMountain as a mark of achievement at the end of it. Truculent had thrashed through the Channel and then north-east across the North Sea towards the coast of Denmark. They had sighted very little except for an English schooner and a small frigate which exchanged recognition signals before vanishing into a violent rain squall. It needed constant care with the navigation, especially when they altered course through the Skagerrak, then finally south, so closehauled that the lee gunports had been awash for most of the time. It was not merely cold; it was bitter, and Bolitho was constantly reminded of the last great battle against the Danes at Copenhagen, with Nelson's flag shifted to the Elephant, a smaller seventy-four than his proper flagship, so that he could pass through the narrows close inshore and so avoid the enemy batteries until the final embrace.
Bolitho thought too of Browne's apt quotation for his own captains: We Happy Few. To think of it now only saddened him. So many had gone, returning only in memory at times like this while Truculent completed that very same passage. Captain Keverne of Indomitable, Rowley Peel and his fine frigate Relentless, Veitch in the little Lookout, and so many others. More were to fall from Browne's 'Few' in the following months and years. Firm friends like dear Francis Inch, and the courageous John Neale who had once been a midshipman in Bolitho's Phalarope, only to die a captain when they had been taken prisoner by the French after the loss of his frigate Styx. Bolitho and Allday had done all they could to save him and ease his agony; but he had joined all the others where nothing further could hurt him.
Bolitho shivered inside his boat-cloak and said, 'A difficult passage, Captain.' He saw the red-rimmed eyes watching him guardedly probably seeking out some sort of criticism in his remark. Then he pictured Catherine as he had last seen her. She would be wondering while she waited. It might be longer than he had promised. By the time Truculent's anchor splashed down it would have taken them a full week to reach their goal. He added, 'I'm going below. Call me if you sight anything useful.'
Poland let out a sigh as Bolitho disappeared down the companion hatch. He called sharply, 'Mr Williams! Change the lookouts, if you please. When they sight land I want to know about it! '
The first lieutenant touched his dripping hat. No matter how worried the captain was he usually managed to find time for a little stab of sharp encouragement.
Below the quarterdeck it seemed suddenly quiet after the beat and bluster of the biting wind and spray. Bolitho made his way aft, past the sentry and into the cabin. Everything was damp and cold, and the bench seats below the stern windows were bloomed with moisture as if they had been left out on deck.
Sir Charles Inskip was sitting at the table, his head resting on one hand while his secretary, a Mr Patrick Agnew, turned over papers for him to examine by the light of a lantern which he held above them.
Inskip looked up as Bolitho seated himself, and waited for Allday to appear with his razor and hot water from the galley.
'Will this ship never be still?'
Bolitho stretched his arms to relieve the ache of clinging to one handhold or another, while trying to keep away from the watchkeepers bustling around him.
He said, 'Look at the chart. We are entering the narrows where I made my mark yesterday. We should sight Helsingor presently-'
'Hmmm. We are being met by a Danish escort at that point-' Inskip did not sound too certain. 'After that, we are in their hands.' He glanced at his reedy secretary. 'Not for too long I trust, Mr Agnew?'
They both looked up as a shout probed thinly through the sealed skylight before being lost in the wind.
'What was that?' Inskip turned as usual to Bolitho. 'Did you hear?'
Bolitho smiled. 'Land.'
Allday padded through the door of the sleeping cabin and wedged his steaming bowl on a chair before stropping his deadly-looking razor.
Inskip was calling for his servant and searching for a heavy coat. 'We had better go on deck.'
Allday tucked a cloth around Bolitho's neck and could almost have winked. Poland would make damn certain that it was the right landfall before he reported as much to his admiral.
Bolitho closed his eyes while Allday prepared to shave him. Like the first strong coffee of each new day, it was a moment to think and contemplate.
Allday poised the razor and waited for the deck to steady again. He was still unused to seeing Bolitho's hair cut in the modern fashion. What her ladyship apparently admired. He smiled to himself as he remembered her pleasure when he had fumbled with the package he had brought home to Falmouth. He heard himself muttering, 'Sorry about the smell of baccy, m'lady. 'Twas all I had fit to carry it in without him seeing it, so to speak! '
He had been astonished by her reaction, the poignant pleasure in those dark eyes, which Allday knew had said it all.
He had saved most of Bolitho's queue after his sudden insistence on having it cut off. After seeing her face he was glad.
Captain Poland entered the cabin just as Allday stood back and folded his razor.
'We are in sight of Helsingor, Sir Richard.' He waited, a puddle forming around his boots.
'I shall come up directly, Captain.' He smiled at him. 'Well done.'
The door closed and Bolitho allowed Allday to help him into his coat. Simple words of praise, yet Poland still frowned. When invited through the gates of Heaven he would likely seek out a reason before entering, he thought. Another hail floated down.
Bolitho looked up at the salt-stained skylight. 'That poor wretch must be frozen to the masthead! '
'Shouldn't wonder.' Allday grimaced. Not many captains would care about a lowly seaman, never mind a viceadmiral.
The door banged open and Inskip and his secretary rushed into the cabin. It was all confusion as they tore open their chests and called for the servant, while trying to find what they needed to wear.
Inskip gasped, 'A ship, Sir Richard! It will be the Danish escort.'
Bolitho heard the sullen rumble of gun trucks as some of the main armament was freed from the breechings and loaded. Poland again. Just in case.
'Then we had best attend to our business.' He gave a wry smile. 'Whatever it proves to be! '
'A moment, Sir Richard.' Allday plucked a shred of spun-yarn from Bolitho's fine coat. What little Ozzard would have seen to. Then he stood back and nodded with approval. The bright gold lace, the Nile medal which he always wore with such pride, and the old sword. Like one of the portraits, he thought. No wonder she loved him like she did. How could you not?
He said roughly, 'None better, Sir Richard, an' that's no error! '
Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'Then we are well matched, old friend.' He stepped aside as Inskip's servant dashed past with a crumpled shirt.
'So let us be about it, eh?'
12. Storm Warning
SIR CHARLES INSKIP peered gloomily from a narrow window and shivered as a sudden squall rattled the thick glass.
'This is hardly the treatment I had been expecting! '
