He had seen it many times. The same stretch of ocean, with one ship all but becalmed, and another with every stitch of canvas filled to the brim.
Poland glanced at Bolitho, his features expressionless. But his fingers were opening and closing at his sides, betraying his agitation.
'Shall I clear for action, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho raised a telescope and levelled it across the quarter. A strange bearing. Perhaps not one of the local squadron after all.
'We will bide our time, Captain Poland. I have no doubt you can be ready to run out in ten minutes, if need be?'
Poland flushed. 'I-that is, Sir Richard-' He nodded firmly. 'Indeed, in less! '
Bolitho moved the glass carefully, but could only make out the mastheads of the newcomer; saw the bearing alter slightly as they drew into line to swoop down on Truculent.
Lieutenant Williams called from the mainmast crosstrees, 'Frigate, sir! '
Bolitho watched tiny specks of colour rising to break the other ship's silhouette as she hoisted a signal.
Williams called down the recognition and Poland could barely prevent himself from tearing the signals book from the midshipman's fingers. 'Well! '
The boy stammered, 'She's the Zest, sir, forty-four. Captain Varian.'
Poland muttered, 'Oh yes, I know who he is. Make our number-lively now! '
Bolitho lowered the glass and watched. Two faces. The midshipman's confused, perhaps frightened. One moment he had been watching the first hump of land as it eased up from the sea-mist, and the next he had probably seen it all vanish, the prospect of an unexpected enemy, death even, suddenly laid before him.
The other was Poland 's. Whoever Varian was he was no friend, and was doubtless much senior, to command a forty-four.
Lieutenant Munro was in the shrouds, his legs wrapped around the ratlines, heedless of the fresh tar on his white breeches, and even thoughts of breakfast forgotten.
'Signal, sir! Captain repair on board! '
Bolitho saw the crestfallen look on Poland 's face. After his remarkable passage from England without loss or injury to any man aboard, it was like a slap in the face.
'Mr Jenour, lay aft if you please.' Bolitho saw the flag lieutenant's mouth quiver as though in anticipation. 'I believe you have my flag in your care?'
Jenour could not contain a grin this time. 'Aye, aye, sir! ' He almost ran from the quarterdeck.
Bolitho watched the other frigate's great pyramid of sails lifting and plunging over the sparkling water. Maybe it was childish, but he did not care.
'Captain Poland, for convenience's sake, yours is no longer a private ship.' He saw doubt alter to understanding on Poland 's tense features. 'So please make to Zest, and spell it out with care, The privilege is yours.'
Poland turned as Bolitho's flag broke at the foremast truck, and then gestured urgently to the signals party as bunting spilled across the deck in feverish confusion.
Jenour joined Munro as he clambered back to the deck.
'That is what you wanted to know. There is the real man. He'd not stand by and see any of his people slighted! ' Not even Poland, he almost added.
Bolitho saw sunlight reflecting from several telescopes on the other frigate. Zest's captain would not know anything about Bolitho's mission, nor would anyone else.
He tightened his jaw and said gently, 'Well, they know now.'
2. Remember Nelson
'MAY I ASSURE YOU, Sir Richard, that no disrespect was intended…'
Bolitho walked to the cabin stern windows, half listening to the clatter of blocks and the surge of water alongside as Truculent rolled, hove-to in the swell. This would need to be quick. As predicted by Poland 's sailing- master, the wind would soon return. He could not see the other frigate, and guessed that she was standing slightly downwind of her smaller consort.
He turned and sat on the bench seat, gesturing to a chair. 'Some coffee, Captain Varian?' He heard Ozzard's quiet footsteps and guessed that the little man was already preparing it. It gave Bolitho time to study his visitor.
Captain Charles Varian was a direct contrast to Poland. Very tall and broad-shouldered, self-confident: probably the landsman's idea of a frigate captain.
Varian said, 'I was eager for news, Sir Richard. And seeing this ship, well-' He spread his big hands and gave what was intended as a disarming smile.
Bolitho watched him steadily. 'It did not occur to you that a ship from the Channel Squadron might not have time to waste in idle gossip? You could have closed to hailing distance, surely.'
Ozzard pattered in with his coffee pot and peered unseeingly at the stranger.
Varian nodded. 'I was not thinking. And you, Sir Richard -of all people, to be out here when you must be needed elsewhere…' The smile remained, but his eyes were strangely opaque. Not a man to cross, Bolitho decided. By a subordinate, anyway.
'You will need to return to your command directly Captain. But first I would appreciate your assessment of the situation here.' He sipped the hot coffee. What was the matter with him? He was on edge, as he had been since… After all, he had done it himself as a young commander. So many leagues from home, and then the sight of a friendly ship.
He continued, 'I have come with new orders.'
Varian's inscrutable expression sharpened immediately.
He said, 'You will know, Sir Richard, that most of the force intended for retaking Cape Town from the Dutch is already here. They are anchored to the north-west, near SaldanhaBay Sir David Baird commands the army and Commodore Popham the escorting squadron and transports. I have been told that the landings will begin very shortly.' He hesitated, suddenly uncertain under Bolitho's level gaze.
'You are with the supporting squadron.' It was a statement, and Varian shrugged while he moved his cup across the table.
'That is so, Sir Richard. I am still awaiting some additional vessels to rendezvous as planned.' When Bolitho said nothing he hastened on, 'I had been patrolling in the vicinity of Good Hope and then your topsails were sighted. I thought a straggler had finally arrived.'
Bolitho asked quietly, 'What of your senior officer-Commodore Warren? I am surprised that he would release his biggest fifth-rate at a time when he might need your full support.'
He had a vague picture of Commodore Warren in his mind, like a faded portrait. He had known him briefly during the ill-fated attempt by the French Royalists to land and retake Toulon from the Revolutionary army Bolitho had been a captain then like Varian, and his ship had been Hyperion. He had not seen Warren since. But the navy was a family and he had heard of him serving on various stations in the West Indies and the Spanish Main.
Varian said abruptly, 'The Commodore is unwell, Sir Richard. In my opinion he should never have been given-'
Bolitho said, 'As the senior captain you have assumed over-all charge of the supporting squadron; is that it?'
'I have made a full report, Sir Richard.'
'Which I shall read in due course.' Bolitho moved his hand consciously away from his eyelid and added, 'It is my intention to hasten the attack on Cape Town. Time is of the essence. Which is why this fast passage was of the utmost importance.' He saw the shot go home but continued, 'So we will return to the squadron in company. I intend to see Commodore Warren without delay.'
He stood up and walked to the quarter windows to watch the crests beginning to ruffle like crisp lace in the wind. The ship was rising to it. Eager to move again.
Varian tried to recompose himself. 'The other vessels, Sir Richard?'
