'In the event, you were not.' He continued smoothly, 'Now please describe the scene when daylight found you on that particular morning.' He wagged a finger like some church schoolmaster and added, 'May I remind you, Sir Richard, there are landsmen present-we have not all shared your own wealth of experience, of which we have heard much over the years.'
There was absolute silence in the cabin, so that even the slight patter of rain against the tall stern windows seemed an interruption.
'I had had the ship's sailmaker create a false Danish flag. It was my intention to lure the largest enemy ship, the San Mateo, into close range, to make her captain believe Black Prince was a Danish prize.' He hesitated over the enemy's name, and guessed it was not lost on many present. 'For we, too, were outnumbered. But for the ruse I fear we might have shared Benbow's fate.'
'By this time, the Benbow had become a dismasted onlooker, I believe?'
Bolitho saw Herrick lean forward as if to interrupt and answered, 'Hardly that. Benbow's guns were still firing, and even though her steering had carried away and her masts were gone, she did not strike.'
Cotgrave looked at the intent faces of the Court. 'After you had forced the enemy to submit, and the prize crews of the surviving ships were ordered to lay down their arms, you then boarded the Benbow. Tell us what you found.'
Bolitho looked steadily at Herrick. 'There were more dead than alive in view, and the afterguard, helmsmen, gun crews had all been cut down by chainshot and canister at close range. She was so badly damaged that it was all we could do to rig temporary steering, and eventually take her in tow.'
Hamett-Parker commented without feeling, 'It seems likely she will remain a hulk until her final disposal.'
Cotgrave nodded gravely. 'Of course, Sir Richard, you and the accused have been friends for years. I imagine he was more than relieved to see your ships and most of all, yourself.'
Bolitho turned towards the rain-dappled windows, a shaft of watery sunlight glinting on the Nile medal, which he always wore with pride.
'It was a scene from hell. We had little time to speak with one another, and the rearadmiral's wound required immediate attention.'
He looked once again at Herrick, recalling that morning, the bitterness in his voice. It will be another triumph for you. Like an accusation.
'In that case, Sir James?' Cotgrave started as Herrick rose to his feet and gripped the chairback for support.
Hamett-Parker snapped, 'You have a question?' He seemed surprised.
Herrick nodded, his eyes still on Bolitho. 'I do, Sir James.'
'Very well.' To Bolitho he said, 'Remember, Sir Richard, you are still under oath.'
Herrick said quietly, 'It is not a point of evidence.' He was speaking to the court, to everyone here, and to those who would never come back to speak of anything. His eyes, his whole being was directed at Bolitho.
'I am ready.'
'I want to make something clear. I would like to know, had you been in my position that day, would you have acted as I did?'
Cotgrave said hastily, 'I hardly think-'
Hamett-Parker waved his challenge aside. 'I see no wrong in it. Please answer, Sir Richard-we are all attention!'
Bolitho faced the officers but could feel the intensity of Herrick's eyes. 'There are several ways to defend a convoy, Sir James, even if the escort is insufficient, as it surely was that day. Sometimes you can signal the vessels in the convoy to draw together to add their own artillery in the defence of all. It is a well-known tactic of the Honourable East India Company. Likewise you can order the ships to disperse, leaving the slower ones to be sacrificed.'
They all stared at Herrick as he said calmly, 'It is not what I asked.'
Cotgrave bit his lip. 'That is so, Sir Richard. You must answer.'
Hamett-Parker snapped, 'Even if the reply might damage the circumstances of a friend. You are a man of honour, sir. We are waiting!'
He tried to read Herrick's mind, divine the intention behind this. What are you doing? What are you making me do? There was something else there too. It was almost amusement, a mocking challenge. Another triumph for you, Richard!
Bolitho replied quietly, 'I would not.'
Hamett-Parker pressed his fingertips together and put his head on one side like a bird of prey.
'I believe that some here present may not have heard, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho looked at him coldly. 'I said: I would not!'
Herrick sat down and said, 'Thank you. A man of honour.'
Bolitho stared at him. Herrick had forced him into answering the one question which would surely condemn him. It had been deliberate, brutal in its intensity.
Hamett-Parker nodded very slowly. 'If there is nothing further, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho said, 'I can only say that the accused is a gallant and loyal officer. I have served alongside him many times and know all his qualities. He has saved my life, and he has given his to the service of his country.'
Cotgrave cleared his throat. 'Some might suggest that you are biased, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho turned on him angrily. 'And why not? In God's name, what are true friends for?'
Hamett-Parker interrupted, 'We will adjourn until after refreshment, gentlemen.' He looked at Bolitho. 'By which time Captain Gossage will be present to continue with his assessment of the rearadmiral's intentions on that day.'
Bolitho waited for the great cabin to empty, and sat alone, his head in his hands. Where was the vice-admiral now?
Keen joined him and said quietly, 'I was at the door, Sir Richard-I heard everything. They will demand the most severe punishment of all.'
He was shocked to see Bolitho's face when he looked up at him: the tears in his eyes.
'He has just executed himself, Val. And for what?'
For a long, long moment the question seemed to hang in the air like an epitaph.
Lady Catherine Somervell stood beside a window, one hand toying absently with a curtain. The roofs of the nearest dockyard sheds were wet with rain, but already there was a promise of sunshine, and of some warmth. She saw and cared for none of it.
She was thinking of Black Prince, out there somewhere unseen behind the tall buildings. The court martial would have recommenced, and this afternoon Richard would try to defend his friend, even if he could only offer help through personal evidence.
She looked over her shoulder at her new maid Sophie. In the filtered sunshine, with her dark hair hanging down to her eyes as she smoothed out one of her mistress's gowns ready for packing, she could have been fully Spanish. Her mother had married a trader of that country who had vanished shortly after the Revolution in France; he had never been seen alive again. There had been three children, and Sophie was the youngest. She had gone to work for a tailor in Whitechapel, and within a year had proved herself a quick learner and an excellent seamstress, but her mother had become ill and had asked Catherine to take her into service. She had known she was dying and used her earlier friendship with Catherine as the only escape for her remaining child: London was no place for a girl like Sophie to be left to fend for herself. If Sophie grieved for her mother, she did not show it. Perhaps, Catherine thought, when she knew her better, she might share the rest of the story.
'I wonder if they will fire another gun when the court martial is finally over.' She wished she had asked Richard before he had left this morning. But she had not wanted to distract him, to offer him hope when there might be none.
Sophie paused. 'Don't know, me lady.'
Catherine smiled at her. Sophie's voice had the accent of the streets, an aspect of London Catherine had known at her age, and earlier. It helped in some way, a reminder.
Catherine thought of the dawn when she had awakened with something like panic when she had found him gone. She turned the beautiful ring on her finger, which Bolitho had put on her left hand after Keen's wedding at Zennor, and tried to take some reassurance from it. But what of the next time they were parted, when Bolitho was
