'He frets for his lady, Stephen. And yet the sailor in him craves the solution to his problem of command here.' He glanced at the vice-admiral's flag barely moving at the foremast truck. 'Sometimes I wonder…'
He looked round as Sedgemore called, 'Pipe the hands, sir?'
Keen acknowledged him curtly, but not before noting the first lieutenant's complete indifference. As one who hungered for promotion, and had already shown his ability under fire, it was surprising he had not become aware of the need to care for the people he might soon have to lead in battle.
The calls shrilled and twittered from deck to deck. 'All hands! All hands lay aft to witness punishment!'
As he walked aft to his quarters Bolitho understood the unpleasantness and necessity as if he were Keen. Holding his ship together, administering punishment with the same equality and fairness as he would reward and promote a promising seaman. He found Yovell waiting with a sheaf of papers requiring his signature but said wearily, 'Later, my friend. I am at low ebb, and am poor company at the moment.'
As the portly secretary left the cabin, Allday entered.
'What about me, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho smiled. 'Damn your impertinence! But yes-take a seat and join me in a wet.'
Allday grinned, partly reassured. It would all come right in the end. But this time it would take a bit longer.
'That would suit me well, Sir Richard.'
The first crack of the lash penetrated the cabin.
Allday pondered. A beautiful woman, his own flag at the fore, a title from the King. The lash cracked down again. But some things never changed. Ozzard padded into view with his tray: a tall glass of hock and a tankard of rum, as usual.
When Bolitho leaned over to take the glass Ozzard saw the locket hanging around his neck. He had studied it several times when the vice-admiral had been having a wash or a shave. Her lovely shoulders and the suggestion of her breasts, just as he had seen her that day in the barquentine's cabin. He heard the lash crack down again, but felt only contempt. The man being punished had asked for it, had drawn a knife on a messmate. In a month he would be boasting about the scars left by the cat across his back.
My wounds will never heal.
Towards the close of the afternoon watch, with the reddest sun most of them had ever seen dipping over the island, Black Prince glided slowly towards the anchorage.
Keen watched as Bolitho took a glass and trained it on the shore and the other ships resting at anchor, their spars and rigging already glowing like copper in the failing light. He was relieved to see that Bolitho appeared outwardly restored, with no hint of anxiety in the face he had come to know so well.
Bolitho studied the nearest men-of-war, all 74s, and none of them strangers to him. They were part of his squadron, but likely expecting another to command them. Back from the dead.
He said, 'I shall pay my respects to Lord Sutcliffe, Val, as soon as we are anchored.' He turned, surprised as the first crash of a gun-salute echoed and rebounded across the quiet harbour.
'They have fired first, Sir Richard! That will not please Admiral the Lord Sutcliffe.'
Keen dropped his hand and the first gun of Black Prince's upper battery fired out in reply, the pale smoke hanging low on the water like something solid.
'Take in the courses! Extra topmen aloft, Mr Sedgemore!' Keen strode to the compass and watched the sudden bustle of activity which had entirely replaced the torpor during their slow approach.
Bolitho recognised the 74 drawing nearer: the old Glorious, which like most of the others had been with him at Copenhagen, when he had received the news of Herrick's convoy and its obvious danger. Her captain, John Crowfoot, was no older than Keen, but he was so grey and stooped that he looked more like a country parson than a highly experienced naval officer.
The guard-boat was already here, her flag hanging limp but still bright enough for Keen to mark down their proposed anchorage, where the flagship would have sufficient room to swing around her cable without fear of fouling any of the other vessels moored there.
The last shot echoed away across the water, thirteen guns in all. Keen was quick to order the gunner to cease firing and commented, 'It would seem that Lord Sutcliffe is not here, sir. The salute was to you, as the senior officer.'
Bolitho waited, outwardly calm, but unable to control the old excitement at any landfall.
'Stand by to come about! Ready aft!' The merest pause, then, 'Helm a'lee!' Very slowly and heavily Black Prince came into the remaining breath of wind, her topsails already vanishing as the order was shouted along the upper deck, 'Let go!'
The anchor fell with a mighty splash into the clear, coppery water, spray bursting over the beak-head like hail.
Keen called, 'Awnings and winds'ls, Mr Sedgemore! All eyes are on us, it seems!'
At least it might ease the heat and discomfort between decks. He had learned that early in life as Bolitho's very junior lieutenant.
Bolitho handed the telescope to a minute midshipman. 'Take it, Mr Thornborough, and inform your lieutenant if you sight something that might be of interest.' He saw the boy's eyes widen at the casual confidence, as if God had just descended to speak to him. He was one of the twelve-year-olds, but it was never too soon to learn that the men who wore the bright epaulettes were human, too.
'Listen!' Keen swung round, his teeth very white in his tanned face. The old Glorious has manned her yards!' He could not conceal his emotion as the great wave of cheering broke from the nearest 74. Men were standing in her shrouds and on her yards; the gangways too were lined with waving and cheering sailors and marines. 'The news preceded us after all, Sir Richard! They know you are among them-listen to them!'
Bolitho glanced at some of the seamen below the quarterdeck, who were staring from the anchored Glorious and her consorts to the man whose flag flew at the foremast. A man they knew by rumour and reputation, but nothing more.
Bolitho walked to the nettings and then waved his new hat back and forth above his head, to the obvious delight of the Glorious's company.
Keen watched in silence, sharing the gesture. How could he ever doubt the men he had known and led, or his own ability to inspire them? One of the other ships had taken up the onslaught of cheering. Keen saw Bolitho's profile and was satisfied. He understood now anyway. Until the next time.
Sedgemore came aft and touched his hat. 'Ship secured, sir!'
Keen said, 'Prepare the sheet-anchor, if you please.' He saw no comprehension there and added sharply, 'Remember, Mr Sedgemore, we lie on a lee-shore, and we are in a season of storms.'
Midshipman Thornborough, his young face enraptured by all the noise of their reception, called, 'Barge approaching, Mr Daubeny!'
Bolitho replaced his hat and stood aside as the marines stamped to the entry port for their first visitor. It would soon be dark; sunset came here like a curtain. But when the shore lights were brighter he might be able to recognise that same house where he had dined beside her, their hands almost brushing one another on the table while she had exchanged polite smiles with her husband, Viscount Somervell, at the opposite end.
The side-party was in position, boatswain's mates moistening their silver calls on their tongues while the Royal Marines gripped their bayonetted muskets in readiness.
Keen lowered his glass and said quietly, 'It's RearAdmiral Herrick, Sir Richard.' He was suddenly drained of the excitement he had felt at their arrival. 'I will be honest, sir. It will cost me dear to make him welcome.'
Bolitho stared at the approaching barge, the oars like bare bones in the deepening shadows.
'Never fear, Val, it is doubtless costing him a great deal more.'
The barge vanished from view and then, after what seemed like an eternity, Herrick's head and shoulders appeared in the entry port. While the guard presented arms and the calls paid their tribute, he doffed his hat, and stood motionless as if he and Bolitho were quite alone.
In those seconds Bolitho saw that Herrick's hair appeared to have gone completely grey, and that he held his body stiffly, as if his wound still troubled him.
Bolitho stepped forward and reached out with both hands. 'You are welcome here, Thomas.'
Herrick grasped his hands and stared at him, his blue eyes catching the last of the sunshine.
'So it was true… you are alive.' Then he lowered his head and said, loudly enough for Keen and Jenour to hear,