correct?'
The lieutenant was still staring after him as Bolitho and Keen climbed into the cooler air of the upper deck. After the sealed messes it tasted like wine.
Keen said, uncertainly, 'Will you sup with me tonight, sir? Before they pull the ship apart and clear for action?'
Bolitho looked at him calmly, still moved by the warmth of those simple men who had nothing but his word to hold onto.
'I would relish that, Val.'
Keen removed his hat and pushed his fingers through his fair hair. Bolitho half-smiled. The midshipman again, or perhaps the lieutenant in the GreatSouthSea.
'What you said in your instructions to Nicator's captain. It makes one realise, but not accept, how narrow that margin is. Now when I think I have everything I ever wanted…' He did not go on. He did not need to. It was as if Allday had just repeated what he had said before. 'An' then you dies…'
Keen could have been speaking for both of them.
At the very first hint of life in the sky Black Prince seemed to come slowly into her own. Like men from forgotten sea-fights and long-lost wrecks, her seamen and marines emerged from the darkness of gundeck, orlop or hold, quitting that last pretence of privacy and peace which is the need of all men before a battle.
Bolitho stood on the quarterdeck's weather side and listened to the awakening thud of bare feet and the clink of weapons around and below him. Keen had done his work well: not a pipe given, no beat of drum to inflame the heart and mind of some poor soul who might imagine it was his last memory on earth.
It was as if the great ship herself was coming alive, her company of eight hundred sailors and sea-soldiers merely incidental.
Bolitho watched the sky, his eye at ease in the darkness. First light was not far off, but for the present it was only anticipation, a sense of uneasiness like the sea's deceptive smile before a raging gale.
He tried to imagine the ship as the enemy would gauge her. A fine big three-decker with her rightful Danish ensign flying directly beneath the English one, to announce her true state to the world. But it needed more than that. Bolitho had used many ruses in his time, especially when employed as a frigate captain, and had been caught out by almost as many triggered against himself. In a war which had lasted so long and killed so many men on all sides and of all beliefs, even the normal could not be accepted at face-value.
If the day went against them, the price would be doubly high. Keen had already passed his orders to the boatswain-no chain-slings could be rigged to yards and spars to prevent them from falling to the deck, to cripple the ship or crush the men at the guns. It would put an edge to their spirits when the time came. There had been no protest from the boatswain about keeping all the boats stacked in their tiers. Bolitho had expected none. For despite the real danger from flying splinters, some like sawtoothed daggers if tiered boats were caught in an attack, most sailors preferred to see them there. The last lifeline.
Keen came up to him. Like all the officers who would be on the upper deck he had discarded his telltale captain's coat. Too many clues. Too many easy targets.
Keen stared at the sky. 'It's going to be another clear day.'
Bolitho nodded. 'I had hoped for rain-cloud at least with this nor'-easterly.' He looked towards the empty blanket beyond the bows. 'We shall have the sun at our backs. They must sight us first. I think we should shorten sail, Val.'
Keen was peering around for a midshipman. 'Mr Rooke! Tell the first lieutenant to pipe the hands aloft, to take in t'gan's'ls and royals! '
Bolitho smiled in spite of his dry tension. Two minds working together. If they were sighted first, any enemy would be suspicious of a prize-ship being driven under full sail when there was nothing to fear.
Keen looked at the vague shapes of men rushing aloft up the shrouds, to take in and fist the heavy canvas to the yards.
He said, 'Major Bourchier knows what to do. He will have marines on the forecastle, aft here, and up in the maintop, just as he would if he were controlling a prize with her original company still aboard.'
There was nothing more they could do.
Cazalet called, 'Sailmaker, sir! '
Fudge and one of his mates came through the shadows and held out the makeshift Danish flag between them.
Bolitho said, 'True to your word. A fine job.' He beckoned to Jenour. 'Help Fudge to run up our new flag-his should be the honour! '
It would have been something to see it, he thought. But even in the raw darkness, with the spray occasionally pattering over the decks like rain, it was a moment to remember. Men crowding inboard from the guns to peer at the strange flapping ensign as it mounted up to the gaff beneath the ship's true colours.
Someone called out, 'Yew musta used all yer best gear fer that 'un, Fudge! '
The old sailmaker was still staring at the faint, curling shape against the black sky. Over his shoulder he said dourly, 'Got enough to sew you up in after this day's over, mate.'
Keen smiled. 'I've put one of our master's mates in the masthead, sir. Taverner-used to be with Duncan. Eyes like a hawk, mind like a knife. I'll see him made sailing-master even if it does mean losing him! '
Bolitho licked his dry lips. Coffee, wine, even the brackish water from the casks would help just now.
He shut it from his mind. 'We shall soon know.'
Keen said, 'RearAdmiral Herrick could have taken another course, sir. He may have turned the convoy towards England where he could expect to meet with the patrolling squadron.'
Bolitho imagined he could see Herrick's round, honest features. Turn the convoy? Never. It would be like running away.
Tojohns, the captain's coxswain, was kneeling on the deck to secure Keen's curved hanger, the lightweight fighting sword he always carried in battle. As he had when Hyperion had gone down under him.
Bolitho touched the hilt of the old family sword at his hip and shivered. It was like ice. He felt Allday watching him, caught the heady scent of rum as he released a great sigh.
Keen was busy again with his master and lieutenants and Bolitho asked, 'Well, old friend, what say you about this?'
For just a few seconds the darkness was gone, the night torn apart by one great, searing explosion which laid bare the whole ship, the men caught at their guns like statues, the rigging and shrouds sharpened by the glare like the bars of a furnace. Just as suddenly the light vanished, as if snuffed out by a giant's hand. Then, it seemed an eternity later, came the volcanic roar of the explosion, and with it a hot wind which seemed to sear the canvas and throw every sail aback.
Voices called out in every direction as the silence, like the darkness, hemmed them in once more.
Allday said harshly, 'One o' the vessels carryin' powder an' shot, I've no doubt! '
Bolitho tried to imagine if any one had known, be it only for a split second, that his life was ending in such a terrible way. No last cry, no handshake with an old friend to hold back the scream or the tears. Nothing.
Keen was shouting, 'Mr Cazalet, send midshipmen to each gundeck to tell the lieutenants what has happened! '
Bolitho looked away. Keen had managed to remember even that, as his ship sailed blindly on… into what?
Keen was heard to say, 'God, they must have felt that like a reef on the lower gundeck! '
A small figure emerged from somewhere, groping past the helmsmen and officers, the men at the braces, as if he did not belong here at all.
Allday growled, 'What th' hell are you doin' on deck?'
Bolitho turned. 'Ozzard! What is it? You know your place is below. You were never a Jack Tar like poor Allday here! ' But the old joke fell flat as he realised that Ozzard was quivering like a leaf.
'C-can't, s-sir! In the dark… down there. Like last time…' He stood trembling, oblivious to the silent men around him. 'Not again. I c-can't do it! '
Bolitho said, 'Of course. I should have thought.' He glanced at Allday. 'Find him a place close to hand.' He knew the words were not reaching the terrified little man. 'Near to us, eh?' He watched their shadows merge with the greater darkness and felt it like an old wound. Hyperion again.
Allday returned. 'Snug as a bug, Sir Richard. He'll be all right after what you just said.' If only you knew the
