For My Country’s Freedom

had probably looked no wider than a farm gate.

But with York close by, Scarlett had not hesitated.

On the starboard tack with all sails clewed up except topsails and jib, Indomitable must have made an impressive entrance.

But now, safely at anchor, he might well ask himself why he had done it. Even if Scarlett had collided with another vessel or put the ship aground, the responsibility would lie with her captain. As it should.

Scarlett was here again. 'All secure, sir.'

'Very well, sway out the barge and put my cox’n in charge.' He almost smiled. 'I have no doubt that Allday will bring the barge back himself.'

He saw no understanding on Scarlett’s face. Like these others, the legend had passed him by. He would be part of it soon enough. He heard a yelp of pain and saw a man hurrying forward, holding his shoulder where a boatswain’s mate had obviously struck him with his starter. Nearby, the junior lieutenant Philip Protheroe stood watching the land. He had ignored the incident.

Tyacke said, 'Remind that young man of what I said when I took command. An officer must be obeyed. He must also set an example.' Unwittingly his hand had gone to his disfigured face. 'Even if you have been badly used, it does not give you the right to abuse others who cannot answer back.'

Scarlett said, 'I understand, sir.'

He said curtly, 'I am glad to know it!'

He watched the new green-painted barge being hoisted and swayed over the starboard gangway, and then lowered slowly into the water alongside, and beckoned to the gun captain who had been chosen for his coxswain. He was a short, completely square man with a puggy face and a chin so blue it must defy every razor.

'You! Over here!'

The man bounded over and knuckled his forehead.

'Aye, sir!'

'Your name is Fairbrother, right? Bit of a mouthful in times of haste!'

The man stared at him. '’Tis the only one I got, sir.'

Tyacke said, 'First name?'

'Well, Eli, sir.'

'Right then, Eli, take the barge to the stairs. Wait until they arrive, however long it takes.' From the corner of his eye he saw a boatswain’s chair being lowered from the main-yard. For Lady Catherine Somervell, he had no doubt in his mind. He sensed the curiosity around him. Some of these men had not been with a woman for over a year, perhaps longer.

What would they have thought had they seen that same Catherine Somervell being hauled aboard Larne, wet through in her seaman’s shirt? He knew he himself would never forget.

He looked around the harbour; he had not been in Falmouth for many years. It had not changed. The brooding castle on one headland and the big St Mawes battery on the opposite one. It would take a bold captain to try to cut out a sheltering merchantman here, he thought.

Tyacke beckoned to the harassed first lieutenant again. 'I want all the boats in the water. Send the purser ashore in one.' He did not miss Scarlett’s sudden interest. 'As many fresh vegetables as he can find, fruit too if he can get it. It’s possible, with the Dons being so friendly nowadays!' Scarlett did not miss the sarcasm. 'And I want Captain du Cann to have his marines in a guard-boat, with a picket or two on the nearest land in case some poor wretch tries to run.'

He spoke without emotion, and yet Scarlett sensed that his new captain felt a certain sympathy for those who were so tempted.

'Boat approaching, sir!'

That was Lieutenant John Daubeny officer-of-the-watch.

Tyacke called to a midshipman, his mind groping for his name.

'Over here, lad.' He took a telescope from the rack and rested it on the youth’s shoulder. It came to him: his name was Essex, the one appointed to take over the duties of purser’s clerk.

The boat and contents swam into focus.

He quickly recognised the round shoulders of Yovell, Sir Richard’s faithful servant. The boat also contained chests and packing-cases, and the beautifully carved wine-cooler which Catherine had given to Bolitho to replace her original gift, now lying on the seabed with Hyperion.

Scarlett was saying as though almost to himself, 'It will be strange, not being a private ship any more.'

Tyacke closed the glass with a snap. 'Thank you, Mr Essex. You are exactly the right height.'

The youth was nervous but pleased. Tyacke saw him drop his eyes rather than look at him.

He said heavily, 'Strange for me also, Mr Scarlett.'

He watched the boat come alongside, Hockenhull, the squat boatswain, leaping down with some of his men to unload it.

Tyacke glanced up to the top of the mainmast. An admiral’s flag. How do I feel? But it would not come to him. Neither pride nor uncertainty. It was something already decided, like a storm at sea, or a first broadside. Only fate would determine the outcome.

'Sir! Sir! The barge is bearing off!'

Tyacke gazed along the upper deck. All the confusion had gone now. This was a ship-of-war.

'Not so loud, Mr Essex,' he said. 'You’ll awaken the sheep.'

Some of the seamen nearby grinned. Tyacke turned aside. It was another small beginning.

'Clear lower deck, Mr Scarlett. Man the side, if you please.'

Boatswain’s mates and sideboys in ill-fitting white gloves assembled, followed by the tramp of boots as the guard of honour fell in by the entry port, their lieutenant, David Merrick, looking like an actor in an unfamiliar role. Then the officers,

warrant officers, and Captain du Cann standing in his perfectly tailored scarlet coat with several marines and a squad of young fifers and drummers.

Tyacke saw a midshipman below the massive mainmast with its surrounding girdle of boarding-pikes. The flag was expertly folded over the youth’s shoulder, done by more experienced fingers than his own, Tyacke thought. He lifted a glass again and sensed Midshipman Essex’s eagerness to assist him. But he would share none of it this time.

She was dressed in deep green as he had somehow known she would be, with a broad straw hat tied under her chin with a matching ribbon. Beside her, Bolitho sat with his sword between his legs, one hand lying close to but not touching hers.

The flag-lieutenant was with them, and at the tiller he saw Allday’s powerful figure, Tyacke’s own coxswain beside him.

'Stand by with the boatswain’s chair!'

One small fifer moistened his lips, and a drummer boy gripped his sticks exactly as he had been taught at the barracks.

The sideboys had gone down the side, ready to assist the lady passenger into the chair. There would be many eyes watching her today. The rumours, the gossip, the slander and the indisputable courage after the loss of the Golden Plover.

Tyacke heard the distant bellow, 'Oars-up!' Allday seemed very calm, as always. Like twin lines of bones the dripping oars rose, and steadied even as the bowman hooked on to the main- chains.

The tackle squeaked, and two seamen swung the chair above the gangway.

'Belay that!' Tyacke knew Scarlett was watching him, his face full of questions, but he no longer cared.

She was looking up at him, her hair breaking from beneath her hat while she rested one hand on Sir Richard’s shoulder. She was laughing, then she took off her shoes and handed them to

Avery before reaching out for the guide-ropes and staring straight up at the gilded entry port. Allday was looking anxious, Avery too, but she waited for the right moment before stepping out on to the thick, wooden stairs which curved into the ship’s tumble-home, spaced apart for a seaman but hardly for a lady.

Tyacke held his breath until he saw her head and Sir Richard’s cocked hat appear above the top stair.