was freed for all time.'
Bolitho had already thought of that, but had hoped she had been spared the reminder.
He heard the oars being tossed and saw her eyes turn towards Allday who was standing beside the pitching barge, in which a youthful lieutenant was sitting, staring about him as if he had never been in charge of a boat before.
She called, 'This is not the first time, Allday. But take care of him for me!'
Allday tried to smile. 'We both got a lot to come back for, m'lady-leastways, I think I have!'
He watched them kiss, knowing what this parting was costing the man he served and loved beyond all others; then he climbed down into the barge and glared at the gaping lieutenant. 'It's customary for the officer to be ashore when the vice-admiral comes down, sir!' He saw Tojohns give a quick grin as the lieutenant jumped on to the pier and all but lost his cocked hat to the wind.
Allday said between his teeth, 'Bloody hopeless, that's what!'
Bolitho saw none of it. 'Go now. Do not wait. You will catch cold up here.'
She released him very slowly, so that their fingertips were just touching when their arms were outstretched.
He said, 'I have the locket.'
She answered as she always did. 'I will take it off for you when we lie together again, my dearest man.'
Then, with the old sword swaying against his hip, Bolitho went down the stairs and touched his hat to the lieutenant and coxswain.
'I am ready.' He sat beside Allday, his boat-cloak turned up over his ears, his hat beneath it on his lap.
'Bear off! Give way all!'
The oars rose and fell, and with the tiller hard over the smart barge turned quickly away from the slime- covered, treacherous stairs.
In his aching mind the oars seemed to beat a steady rhythm, up, down, up, down, rising and falling like wings as each pull carried him further away from the shore.
Back to the life he had come to expect since he had gone to sea at the age of twelve. It will be your birthday in three days. He could still hear her voice on the wind. Later on, in the seclusion of his cabin, he would remember every hour of their time together. Their walks, the happiness of silence and understanding, the sudden and demanding love and hunger for one another which had left them breathless, and sometimes shy.
He shifted round to watch the land drifting away, the anchored black and buff hulls of several men-of-war swaying heavily to their cables. My world. But try as he might, he could not accept that there was nothing else. Perhaps in the privations of the Golden Plover's jolly-boat there had been something to learn, even for him. The suffering which had brought a strange comradeship beyond rank and title, the loyalty which had kept Catherine and her maid safe in spite of the very real danger all around them.
Don't leave me.
The master, Samuel Bezant, cursing those who had betrayed him; Tasker the mate, who had been a part of the plot. He wondered if she ever allowed her mind to return to her Spanish comb, and how she had used it on the traitor Jeff Lincoln. She must have been planning what she must do to save Jenour from being discovered even as Lincoln had been pawing at her body. And Tyacke, his horribly scarred face so full of pleasure and pride that it should be his own ship which had finally found and saved them.
He glanced around, imagining her voice across the frothing choppy water, almost expecting to see her. But the walls were nearly out of sight in the spray that hung like mist on a low shore.
Don't leave me.
He stared ahead and saw each bargeman trying to avoid his gaze. Most of them at least would know him; but what of the others, and the small squadron assembling out there in the tropical heat and the fierce revolving storms that could tear the sticks out of any ship? They would have to learn. Like all those who had been left behind as a part of the price of admiralty.
Keen would be relieved to be sailing without any other consorts or responsibilities. It would give him time to train his people, to work them at sail and gun until they were a match for any ship which had been in commission far longer. It had been like seeing the old devil-may-care Keen again; it must have been a wonderful reunion for him with his girl with the moonlit eyes. The sailor and his mermaid.
He felt Allday stir. 'There she is, Sir Richard.' He displayed neither enthusiasm nor regret. She was his ship. This was his lot.
Bolitho shaded his eyes and saw Allday give him a quick, worried glance. Black Prince seemed to tower above the nearest 74. There were tiny figures working on the yards and in the topmasts' rigging; others moved along the gangways or waited in groups, no doubt being given more instructions by their lieutenants and warrant officers.
A ship to be proud of, but one without memory or tradition.
To settle his troubled thoughts Bolitho said quietly, 'I am glad you have found your lady. I hope that all is well for the future.'
It was pointless to remind Allday that he was free to quit the sea whenever he chose. He had earned it as much as many, and more than most. And now with the recurring pains in his chest from the Spanish sword thrust, he ought to be given a chance to enjoy something of his life. But it was no use. He had tried before. Allday only got angry, or hurt, which was much worse in so big a man in every other way.
Allday replied, 'She's a fine little craft, Sir Richard. Can't imagine what she ever saw in poor Jonas Polin!' He chuckled, 'God rest his soul!' Neither saw the curious stares from some of the bargemen. A coxswain chatting with his flag officer was not an everyday sight in the King's navy. Allday added, 'We has an understanding, so to speak. I must keep my place, but she'll entertain no other.' He frowned. 'Well, summat like that.' He glanced at Bolitho uncertainly. In a few moments there would be too much to do, too many faces for his admiral to recognise and acknowledge. Not many of the former, he thought.
He said, 'If anything was to happen, Sir Richard.' He spoke so quietly that his voice was almost drowned by the creak of oars and the surge of tide.
Bolitho laid his hand on the big man's sleeve. 'Speak no more of it, old friend. It is the same for us both.' He tried to smile. 'The good die young, so there's an end to it, eh?'
When he looked again Bolitho saw the jib-boom sweeping past as Tojohns steered the barge as close around the bows as he dared. The fierce-eyed figurehead loomed overhead: Edward, Prince of Wales and son of Edward III, in chain mail and black armour with a splash of colour, the fleur de lys and English lions on the surcoat. Menacing enough to strike at the heart of any enemy, as it had on that terrible morning when they had shattered the French ship that had reduced Herrick's Benbow to a broken hulk.
Bolitho had the usual tense dryness in his throat as he saw the side-party waiting by the entry port, the blue and white of officers, the scarlet of the marines.
It often amused him when he thought of it at other times. Who would ever guess that he too might be nervous and unsure? It did not amuse him now.
'Bowman!'
Bolitho took out his hat and wedged it on to his head. Remembering her face, when he had rid himself of his queue in favour of the more modern haircut which Allday, who had the longest pigtail he had ever seen, had referred to as 'a custom of the younger wardroom bloods!' But Kate had not chided him for it, nor laughed at his apprehension at being older than she.
Allday hissed, 'Ready to come about, Sir Richard?' The ship stood high above them, the barge dipping and pitching as if to cast off the bowman's attempt to hold on to the chains.
Their eyes met. 'Ready, it is.' Bolitho moved the sword clear of his leg and reached out for the hand-ropes. It would only need one wrong step. And then, all at once or so it seemed, he was through the entry port and on to the comparative shelter of the gun deck.
The squeal of calls, the slap and bang of bayonetted muskets and the flash of the marine officer's sword: it never failed to overwhelm him. And here was Keen hurrying to greet him, his youthful features all smiles.
'Welcome aboard, Sir Richard!'
They gripped hands and Bolitho said with a wry smile, 'I am sorry you didn't get your broad-pendant, Val. Fate was against it this time.'
Keen grinned. 'It is unimportant, Sir Richard. Like poor Stephen Jenour, I am not eager for that moment!'
