Finlay the fourth lieutenant ventured hesitantly, There she lies, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho shaded his eyes. Valkyrie was big, right enough. From a distance she looked almost as large as Hyperion had been, and she had been a two-decked seventy-four.
Finlay was shifting nervously on his seat. 'Watch her, Cox'n! You have the current under your coat-tails! '
The man at the tiller nodded, his eyes measuring the boat's speed through the water.
Bolitho saw the scarlet coats of the marines already in position and had the impression they had been there for a long time. Sunlight flashed on several telescopes, and even at this distance he thought he heard the trill of calls. It had taken him years to get used to these moments, steeling himself for the first encounter. He had always tried to put it in proper perspective, telling himself that they would be more worried about him than he should be about them.
Another boat was leaving the frigate from the opposite side, moving fast, two armed marines in the stern.
Avery said quietly, There's a body in that cutter, sir.'
Bolitho had already seen it. Covered in a piece of canvas, one arm outflung as if the man was asleep.
Bolitho asked, 'What has happened?' When Finlay remained silent he snapped, 'That was a question, Mr. Finlay! '
The lieutenant stared ahead of the boat and answered unhappily, 'A defaulter, Sir Richard.' He swallowed hard. 'He died under punishment this forenoon.'
Bolitho saw the stroke oarsman watching him for just a few seconds before he stared fixedly aft again. He had been looking at him, trying to find something. As if he were pleading.
Bolitho pulled down his hat more tightly as the breeze dashed spray over the gunwale.
'What had he done?'
Finlay had gone pale, as if he was revealing something improper which might rebound on him.
'He he swore at a midshipman, Sir Richard.'
'And?'
'Three dozen lashes, Sir Richard.' He was biting his lip so hard it was a wonder it did not bleed.
Bolitho was aware that his flag lieutenant was listening, learning, trying perhaps to understand why someone so well-placed in the navy should care about a common seaman. Men were flogged every day: one more would make no difference. There were always the hard men who could withstand three dozen and many more and live to boast about the scars left by the infamous cat. The discipline of the lower deck was often worse when one of their own was caught stealing from a shipmate's meagre possessions. It was something that happened and everyone knew about it, and that crude justice separated them from the wardroom and warrant officers as surely as the after guard and the ship's marines.
Bolitho looked at the frigate, closer now, her mastheads towering to the sky and the Red Ensign streaming above her taffrail, the Union Flag in the bows. He studied Valkyrie's impressive figurehead: a maiden in horned helmet and breastplate, one of Odin's faithful attendants, one hand raised as if to beckon a dead hero to Valhalla. He was surprised that the beautifully carved figure was decorated only with dull yellow dockyard paint. That was strange. Most captains would pay out of their own pockets to adorn their ships' figureheads and the 'gingerbread' around the stern, as Adam had paid for the seductive nymph on Anemone, all gold apart from her eyes. Apart from anything else the gesture showed that the ship had a successful captain, who was not unwilling to spend some of his own prize money. A small thing in its way: but there was more to Trevenen than he had thought.
He still did not know why his father had disliked the Trevenen family, and his grandfather had apparently loathed them. Land, property, or some other conflict it could be anything.
He looked at the main battery of guns as the gig swept beneath the tapering jib-boom. They were powerful eighteen-pounders, whereas many of the older frigates still mounted twelve-pounders, as his own had done.
He had heard that the new American navy had gone even further, and their larger frigates carried twenty-four- pounders. Less manoeuvrable perhaps, but with a broadside like that they could dismast any enemy before she could get within range.
The gig turned in a tight arc and Bolitho saw the figures at the entry port, the neatly packed hammocks in the nettings, the fresh black and buff paint, which made the hull reflect the current alongside as if it were glass.
'Boat ahoy! ' The age-old challenge echoed across the water, although the telescopes would have revealed much earlier that their expected flag officer had arrived.
The lieutenant raised a speaking trumpet and replied, 'Flag, Valkyrie?
Bolitho thought of Allday. He would have used just one hand to make his voice carry.
Avery saw Bolitho's fingers adjusting the gleaming presentation sword. It was a steep climb up the frigate's side, slippery too. No officer, let alone an admiral, would want to pitch headlong into the water after tripping over his sword.
Bolitho was also thinking as much. Allday had always been there to offer his hand if need be: he was even more protective now that he knew about the damaged eye, and carried the secret like some special award, shared only with the trusted few.
With oars tossed again the gig hooked on to the main chains and Bolitho reached out to the guide-ropes, waited for the boat to rise on the swell, and then climbed quickly up the ship's tumble home He thought of Catherine, the many walks they had enjoyed, the rides across country at full gallop. It had worked wonders. As he stepped into the entry port he was not even breathless.
Then, as the Royal Marines presented arms, a cloud of pipe clay lifting above their glinting bayonets, and the calls twittered and shrilled, a small band of boy drummers and fifers struck up Heart of Oak. After the quietness of the gig it was deafening.
Bolitho doffed his hat to the quarterdeck and the ensign, while from the foremast truck his own flag broke out into the wind.
He saw Captain Aaron Trevenen stepping forward from his officers, his lined face grave and unsmiling as he said, 'Welcome aboard, Sir Richard. You honour me by hoisting your flag above my command, no matter how temporarily.'
Bolitho was equally formal. 'A fine ship, Captain Trevenen.' He heard Avery coming aboard behind him, probably wondering how Valkyrie would suit him after a ponderous ship-of-the-line.
He glanced around at the crowded figures on the gangways and clinging in the shrouds, the mass of blue and white on the quarterdeck where the lieutenants and warrant officers waited in respectful silence.
Trevenen said, 'Your quarters are ready, Sir Richard. If there is anything you need, I shall do my best to provide it.' His deepset eyes flickered across Bolitho's frocked coat and the Nile medal around his neck. The presentation sword was not missed, either.
'Perhaps you would wish to meet my officers at your convenience?'
Bolitho looked at him calmly. 'It is a long passage to Cape Town, Captain Trevenen. I hope I shall meet every man-Jack before that.' He spoke without raising his voice, but he saw the deepset eyes spark as if he had shouted an insult.
The captain removed his hat and called, 'A cheer for Sir Richard Bolitho! Huzza! Huzza! '
The watching sailors and petty officers responded loudly. But there was no life in it, no warmth, and as the cheers died away he was reminded of the gig's crew.
It was then that he saw Allday for the first time. He was standing beside a long eighteen-pounder, somehow managing to look apart from everyone else in his smart gilt-buttoned coat.
Across the frigate's wide deck their eyes met and held. Only then did Allday give a barely perceptible shake of the head.
It was all he needed.
7. Confrontations
Bolitho was standing in the cabin's quarter gallery, shading his eyes from the reflected glare while he studied the impressive slab of the Rock of Gibraltar. Valkyrie had made a fast passage despite her size, only five days, and could have done it faster but for the need to stay in company with the captured French frigate, now renamed Laertes. He could just make her out through a lazy haze that floated above the busy anchorage like an artist's
