Jenour followed him from the snug shelter of the senior officers' waiting room.
He knew that Keen cared for Bolitho as much as he did himself. Would he leave Black Prince in exchange for some obscure position in Cape Town as captain in command of all local patrols? It would mean a broad-pendant, and the real possibility of promotion to rear admiral after that, if everything went well. But it would also mean leaving his bride behind so soon after their marriage, as well as severing his close links with the man who was even now standing at the top of the dripping stairs, peering across the tossing array of whitecaps.
I am fortunate that the choice is not mine. Not yet, in any case…
Bolitho pulled his boat-cloak around his body and watched the green-painted barge pulling lustily across the choppy water, the oars rising and falling as one, the bargemen very smart in their checkered shirts and tarred hats. Keen's coxswain would be in charge today, and Bolitho was suddenly uneasy, knowing that Allday would not be there.
He thought of Catherine's happiness at the prospect of their journey, when before, when he had told her about Cape Town, there had been only anger and despair. 'Is there nobody else they can send, Richard? Must it always be you?'
When Godschale's acceptance of his request that she accompany him had been delivered to Falmouth, she had thrown her arms about him like a child. Together. The word which had become a symbol to both of them.
Ever since Keen's wedding they seemed to have spent days on the terrible winter roads: London, Falmouth and London again.
He thought of their last night at a small secluded inn Allday had recommended; as, seated in the waiting room before Jenour had arrived, he had stared into the fire, remembering it. The need of one for the other, until they had lain by the fire in the inn's private room, unwilling to waste the night in sleep.
The bargemen tossed their oars and sat stiffly facing aft while the bows were made fast to the stairs. The first lieutenant stepped lightly on to the wet stairs and raised his hat, his eyes everywhere, puzzled as he realised there was no chest or luggage to be stowed aboard.
'Good day, Mr Sedgemore.' Bolitho gave a brief smile. 'As you see, mine is a short visit this time.'
He and Jenour settled themselves in the sternsheets and the barge cast off, shipping water over the stem as they quit the shelter of the wall.
'Repairs going well, Mr Sedgemore?'
The lieutenant swallowed hard. He was unused to casual conversation with a vice-admiral.
'Aye, Sir Richard. It will be a month or so yet, I'm told.'
Bolitho watched the passing dockyard boats, and a yawl towing a new mast for some ship undergoing refit. If Napoleon did invade Spain, the naval blockade would have to be tighter than ever until they could put an army ashore to meet the French in open battle. He thought sadly of Herrick. Even his poor, battered Benbow might be sent back into the fray.
He heard the distant crack of a musket, and saw figures running on to Black Prince's forecastle; he guessed that a marine had just fired on a would-be deserter.
Sedgemore said between his teeth, 'I think they got him.'
Bolitho looked at him calmly. 'Would it not be more useful to put your pickets on the foreshore and catch them if they swim there? A corpse is little use for anything, I'd have thought.' It was mildly said, but Jenour saw the first lieutenant wince as if he had been hit in the face.
The next few moments put all else from his mind. The climb up the slippery side, the trill of calls and the stamp and crash of the Royal Marines' guard of honour. Then Keen, his handsome features full of welcome as he stepped forward to greet him.
They shook hands, and Keen guided him aft to the great cabin.
'Well, Val?' Bolitho sat down and looked at his friend. 'You will not be hampered by me again just yet.'
He watched Keen pouring claret, noting the lines around his mouth. Strain of command. The many, many difficulties of completing a refit and putting right the wounds of battle. Making up a depleted company, storing, taking on powder and shot, preparing new watch-bills to eke out the experienced hands among the volunteers and pressed men. Bolitho had known all these challenges even in his first command, a small sloop-of-war.
'It is good to see you.' Keen offered him a goblet. 'Your visit sounds something of a mystery.' He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.
'And how is Zenoria? Missing you, no doubt?'
Keen turned away and fumbled with his keys. 'There was a despatch delivered on board this morning, sir. It came by post-horse from the Admiralty.' He opened a drawer and took it out. 'I forgot, in the excitement of your arrival.'
Bolitho took it and glanced at the seal. Something was wrong. Catherine had hinted as much.
He said, 'I am ordered to Cape Town, Val, to ensure there is no further complacency. We need more local patrols than ever now that the anti-slavery bill has been passed in Parliament. Slavers, pirates, privateers-they will all need seeking out.'
Keen stared at him as if he had not heard properly.
Bolitho added quietly, 'They require an experienced post-captain to command there. He will have the broad- pendant of commodore for his pains. I will return to Black Prince eventually, but if you accept this appointment, you will not.'
'I, sir?' Keen put down his goblet without seeing it. 'Quit Black Prince?' He looked up, his eyes full of dismay. 'And leave you, sir?'
Bolitho smiled. 'This war is coming to a crisis, Val. We must put an army into Europe. We shall need our best leaders when that time comes. You are an obvious choice-you've earned it ten times over, and the fleet will need flag officers like you now that Our Nel is dead.'
He recalled the general he had met just before they had managed to retake Cape Town. Despite all the triumphs at sea, they will be as nought until the English foot-soldier plants his boots on the enemy's own shores.
Keen walked to the spray-streaked stern windows and stared down at the distorted waves beneath the counter.
'When might this be, sir?' He sounded dazed by the sudden turn of events. Trapped.
'Soon. Black Prince, I am assured, will be in dockyard hands for some while yet.'
Keen turned. 'Advise me, sir.'
Bolitho took a knife and slit open the thick envelope. 'I know what it means to be parted from a lover. But it is the lot of every sea officer. It is also his duty to seize any opportunity for advancement, to which he is truly suited, and from which his country may benefit.'
Keen looked away. 'I would like to accept, sir.' He did not even hesitate.
Bolitho read quickly through the neat lettering and said gravely, 'You have a further duty while you hold command here, Val.' He tossed the letter on to the table. 'There has been a court of enquiry at the Governor's house here in Portsmouth. Their lordships have decided that RearAdmiral Herrick must stand trial at a court martial on the prescribed date.'
Keen picked up the letter. 'Misconduct and neglect of duty…' He did not continue. 'My God, sir.'
'Read on. The court martial will be held here in Black Prince, your command and my flagship.'
Keen nodded, understanding at last. 'Then I am eager for the Cape, sir.' He finished with sudden bitterness, 'I will not be needed here.'
Bolitho took his hat from the cabin servant. Then he said, 'When you are ready, Val, please tell me… tell us. It is what true friends are for.'
Keen seemed to search his face for something.
'That I shall never forget.'
'I am depending on it.' He hesitated, hearing the marine guard stamping into line at the entry port. 'Your pain is mine, as mine has too often been yours.'
Ebenezer Julyan, the sailing-master, was loitering by the wheel, and Bolitho guessed he had been waiting purposely to see him. As though it were yesterday, he recalled Julyan's grin of pleasure as they had sailed to meet the towering San Mateo, when Bolitho had given him his own gold-laced hat to wear to make the enemy believe that Black Prince was a Danish prize.
He called, 'Did you give that hat to your boy, Mr Julyan?'
