deck to show the proper respect at Bolitho's departure.
Instead he said brightly, 'I heard the sailing-master confide that yonder lies the Dutch coast-but we are losing it fast in another squall.' He fell silent as Bolitho looked at him for the first time.
Bolitho touched his eye with his fingers, and felt it sting like a cruel reminder. Then he asked, 'Is the barge alongside, Stephen?'
As Jenour left him he thought he heard him murmur, 'Dear God, I would that it were Cornwall.'
The captain of marines yelled, 'Guard of Honour, present arms! '
The rest was lost as Bolitho swung himself out and down to the pitching barge, as if the sea had reclaimed him.
Lieutenant Stephen Jenour tucked his hat beneath his arm and entered Bolitho's day cabin. Outside on the open deck the air was still very cold, but a lull in the blustery wind had smoothed out the North Sea 's short, steep waves and remained with them. The presence of some watery sunlight gave an illusion of warmth in the crowded messes, and here in the great cabin.
Bolitho was leaning over a chart, his hands spread across it as if to encompass the squadron's limits. He looked tired, Jenour thought, but calmer than the moment he had left his friend aboard Benbow. He could only guess at what had come between them but knew it had affected Bolitho deeply.
Beyond the tall stern windows he could see two of the squadron's seventy-fours, the Glorious and the old Sunderland. The latter was so elderly that many aboard Black Prince had thought her either hulked or sunk in battle. There were few campaigns she had missed; she would be, Jenour thought, about the same age as Hyperion.
With Benbow returned to England there were five ships of the line awaiting Black Prince's signals, and two others, the Tenacious and the Valkyrie, were undergoing repairs in England. Jenour had thought it strange that RearAdmiral Herrick had detached two of his depleted strength without waiting to hear Bolitho's views on the subject. But he had kept his thoughts to himself. He had learned to recognise most, if not all of Bolitho's moods and sensitivities, and knew that he was occasionally only partly in his flagship, while the rest of the time he was in spirit with Catherine in England.
He realised that Bolitho had raised his eyes from the chart, and was watching him patiently. Jenour flushed, something he still did far too often-much to his own annoyance.
'The captains are assembled on board, Sir Richard. Only Zest's commander is absent and on his patrol area.'
Bolitho nodded. Two weeks since he had parted from Herrick, with too much time to think back over their exchange. Now, for the first time, because of the improved weather conditions, he had drawn the bulk of his squadron together in the hard glare which made the sea look like beaten silver. It was the first time, also, that his captains had managed to reach the flagship.
'What about our courier brig?'
Jenour flushed still further. How could Bolitho have known that the brig had been reported by Glorious's masthead lookout? He had been here in his quarters since a dawn stroll, not on his private sternwalk, but on the quarterdeck in full view of everyone.
Bolitho saw his confusion and smiled. 'I heard the signal being repeated on deck, Stephen. A sternwalk has its uses-the sound carries quite well.' He added wryly, 'Even the things that people say, when they are being somewhat indiscreet! '
He tried not to hope that the little brig, named Mistral, was bringing a letter from Catherine. It was too soon, and anyway she would be very busy. He laid out each careful excuse to hold his disappointment at bay.
He said, 'Signal her commander to report on board when the time comes.'
He thought of the captains who were waiting to meet him. Not one of them a friend; but all were experienced. That would suffice. After Thomas Herrick… his mind thrust it away feeling the same hurt and sense of betrayal. There had been a time when, as a captain himself, he had fretted about meeting a new ship's company Now he knew from experience that usually they were far more worried than he.
All through the past hour or so, calls had shrilled at the entry port as the various captains had been piped aboard. Each one of them might be thinking more about the rumours of scandal than what lay ahead.
He said, 'Please ask Captain Keen to bring them here.' He had not noticed the sudden edge to his voice. 'He was quite surprised to see his old Nicator as one of the squadron… he commanded her six or seven years back. We were at Copenhagen together.' His grey eyes became distant. 'I lost some good friends that day.'
Jenour waited, and saw the sudden despair depart from his face like a cloud across the sea.
Bolitho smiled. 'He said to me once that Nicator was so rotten there were many times he believed only a thin sheet of copper stood between himself and eternity. Heaven knows what the old ship is like now! '
Jenour paused by the door, hating to break into these confidences. 'Are we so short of ships, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho walked to the quarter galley and watched the uneasy water, the way some circling gulls appeared to change colour as they dipped and drifted through the sunlight.
'I fear so, Stephen. That is why those Danish ships are so important. It might all come to nothing, but I think not. I did not imagine Poland 's death, nor did I invent the near destruction of Truculent. They knew we were there.' He remembered how Sir Charles Inskip had scoffed at him because of his suspicions about French intentions. But that had been before the desperate battle; he had not scoffed since.
He became impatient with his memories and said, 'Tell Ozzard to fetch some wine for our guests.'
Jenour closed the door, and saw Ozzard and another servant already preparing goblets and standing them inside the fiddles in case a sudden squall came down on the ship.
Bolitho walked to the wine-cooler and touched the inlay with his fingers. Herrick would be at his home. Remembering how it had been; expecting to see his Dulcie and feel the warmth of her obvious adoration for him. Herrick was probably blaming him too for Benbow's being relieved; as if it had happened because Bolitho wanted the squadron for himself. How little he knew-but it was always easy to find a bitter reason if you wanted it enough.
The door opened and Keen ushered the others inside so that they could introduce themselves to Bolitho on arrival.
He had a mixed impression of experience, competence and curiosity. All were post-captains except the last one to arrive. Ozzard bustled amongst them with his tray, but their eyes were on the captain of the frigate Anemone as he reported to their viceadmiral. More like a younger brother than a nephew.
Bolitho clasped Adam's hand but could no longer restrain himself, and put his arm around his shoulder and hugged him.
The dark hair which matched his own; even the restless energy of a young colt when he had first joined Hyperion as a skinny midshipman of fourteen years. It was all still there. Bolitho held him at arm's length and studied him feature by feature. But Adam was a man now, a captain of his own frigate; what he had always dreamed about. He was twenty-six years old. Another twist of Fate? Bolitho had been the same age when he had been given command of his first frigate.
Adam said quietly, 'It is good to see you, Uncle. We barely had an hour together after Truculent's return to port.'
His words seemed to linger in the air like the memory of a threat. But for Anemone's sudden appearance, the three French vessels would surely have overwhelmed Poland 's ship by sheer weight of artillery.
Bolitho thought grimly, And I would be dead. He knew he would never allow himself to be taken prisoner again.
Keen had got the others seated and they were watching the reunion, each man fitting it into his own image of the Bolitho they knew, or had only heard about. There was no sort of resentment on their faces; Bolitho guessed that Adam was far too junior to present any kind of threat to their own status in the squadron.
Bolitho said, 'We will talk far longer this time. I am proud to have you under my flag.'
All at once the midshipman with the cheeky grin was back again. Adam said, 'From what I hear and read, it is barely safe to leave you on your own, Uncle! '
Bolitho composed himself and faced Keen and the other captains. There was so much he wanted to tell Adam, needed to tell him, so that there would never be any doubts, no secrets to plague them when they were alone.
Adam looked so right in his dress coat; but more like a youth playing the part of a hero than the man who held the destiny of a thirty-eight-gun frigate and some one hundred and eighty souls in his hands. He thought of Herrick's
