Tyacke.
He allowed his mind to stray again to the attack. Suppose it had been solely to kill him? He found that he could accept it, but the motive was something else. No single man could make so much difference. Nelson had been the only one to win an overwhelming victory by inspiration alone after he himself had fallen, mortally wounded.
Avery said abruptly, “I meant to tell you, Sir Richard.” He glanced round, caught off-guard by the tramp of boots as the Royal Marines prepared to receive their visitor with full honours. “It can wait.”
Bolitho sat on the corner of the table. “I think it will not. It has been tearing you to pieces. Good or bad, a confidence often helps to share the load.”
Avery shrugged. “I was at a reception in London.” He tried to smile. “I was like a fish out of water.” The smile would not come. “Your… Lady Bolitho was there. We did not speak, of course. She would not know me.”
So that was it. Unwilling to mention it because it might disturb me. He found himself speculating on the reason for Avery’s attendance.
“I would not be too certain of that, but thank you for telling me. It took courage, I think.” He picked up his hat as he heard hurrying footsteps beyond the screen door. “Especially as your admiral’s mood has been far from pleasant of late!”
It was the first lieutenant, very stiff and uneasy in his new role.
“The captain’s respects, Sir Richard.” His eyes moved swiftly around the spacious cabin, seeing it quite differently from either of them, Avery imagined.
Bolitho smiled. “Speak, Mr Daubeny. We are all agog.”
The lieutenant grinned nervously. “Rear-Admiral Keen’s barge has cast off, sir.”
“We will come up directly.”
As the door closed Bolitho asked, “Then there was no attempt to involve you in scandal?”
“I would not have stood for it, Sir Richard.”
In spite of the deep lines on his face and the streaks of grey in his dark hair, he looked and sounded very vulnerable, like a much younger man.
Ozzard opened the door and they walked past him.
At the foot of the companion ladder, Bolitho paused and glanced at his flag lieutenant again with sudden intuition. Or a man who was suddenly in love, and did not know what to do about it.
When he crossed the damp quarterdeck he saw Tyacke waiting for him.
“A very smart turn-out, Captain Tyacke.”
The harsh, scarred face did not smile.
“I shall pass the word to the side party, Sir Richard.”
Avery listened, missing nothing, thinking of the reception, the daring gowns, the arrogance. What did they know of men like these? Tyacke, with his melted face, and the courage to endure the stares, the pity and the revulsion. Or Sir Richard, who had knelt on this bloodied deck to hold the dying hand of an American captain.
How could they know?
The boatswain’s mates moistened their silver calls on their lips, side-boys waited to fend off the smart green barge, the twin lines of scarlet marines swayed slightly on the harbour current.
It is my life. There is nothing more I want.
“Royal Marines! Present…!” The rest was lost in the din.
Again, they were of one company.
After the long day, and the comings and goings of officers and local officials paying their respects to the admiral, and the degrees of ceremony and respect that applied to each one of them, Indomitable seemed quiet, and at peace. All hands had been piped down for the night, and only the watch keepers and the scarlet coated sentries moved on the upper decks.
Right aft in his cabin, Bolitho watched the stars, which seemed to reflect and mingle with the glittering lights of the town. Here and there a small lantern moved on the dark water: a guard-boat or some messenger, or even a fisherman.
The day had been tiring. Adam and Valentine Keen had arrived together, and he had been aware of the momentary uneasiness when they had been reunited with Tyacke and Avery. Keen had brought his new flag lieutenant as well, the Honourable Lawford de Courcey, a slim young man with hair almost as fair as his admiral’s. Highly recommended, Keen had said, and intelligent and eager. Ambitious, too, from the little he had said; the scion of an influential family, but not a naval one. Keen had seemed pleased about it, but Bolitho had wondered if the appointment had been arranged by one of the many friends of Keen’s father.
Adam had greeted him warmly, although reserved in front of the others, and Bolitho had sensed the depression he was trying to conceal. Keen, on the other hand, had been very concerned with the war, and what they might expect when the weather moderated. For the destruction of the Royal Herald he could offer no explanation. Most of the active American ships were in harbour, their presence carefully monitored by a chain of brigs and other, smaller commandeered vessels. Each of the latter might offer a fine chance of promotion to any young lieutenant if fortune smiled on him: such a chance had once come to Bolitho. He touched his eye, and frowned. It seemed an eternity ago.
He had walked around Indomitable with Tyacke, as much to be seen as to inspect the full extent of the overhaul. In her struggle with Unity, Tyacke’s command had lost seventy officers, seamen and marines killed or wounded, a quarter of her company. Replacements had been found, taken from homeward-bound ships, and a surprising number of volunteers, Nova Scotians who had earned their living from the sea before marauding warships and privateers had denied them even that.
They would settle into Indomitable ’s ways; but not until they were at sea, as close-knit as her original company used to be, would they know their true value.
Bolitho had seen the startled, curious eyes, those who had never met the man whose flag flew above all of them at the mainmast truck. And some of the older hands who had knuckled their foreheads, or raised a tarred fist in greeting to show that they knew the admiral, had shared the battle and its cost with him, until the enemy’s flag had been dragged down through the smoke.
His total command had been christened the Leeward Squadron by Bethune, and Their Lordships had been more generous than he had dared to hope, giving him eight frigates and as many brigs. That did not include the heavily- armed Valkyrie, and Indomitable. In addition there were schooners, some brigantines, and two bomb vessels, the request for which the Admiralty had not even questioned. A strong, fast-moving squadron, and it would be joined by the old 74-gun ship of the line Redoubtable, which had been ordered to Antigua. With suitable intelligence gathered by the smaller patrol vessels on their endless stop-and search missions, they should be a match for any new enemy tactics. The larger and better-armed American frigates had already proved their superiority, until Unity had met up with this ship. And even then… But there was still something missing. He paced back and forth across the black and white squares of the canvas deck covering, his hair almost touching the massive beams. Royal Herald had been destroyed, so a ship or ships had avoided the patrols, and perhaps slipped out of harbour, taking advantage of the foul weather. It was pointless to brush it aside, or regard it as a coincidence. And if it had been a deliberate ambush gone wrong, what steps must he take? Very soon now, the Americans would have to launch a new attack. Tyacke had been convinced that it would be a military operation, straight into Canada. Once again, all the reports suggested that any such attack could be contained. The British soldiers were from seasoned regiments, but Bolitho knew from bitter experience in that other American war that often too much reliance was placed upon local militia and volunteers, or on Indian scouts unused to the ways of the hard-line infantryman.
Speed was essential to the Americans. Napoleon was in retreat, and each day of the campaign he was being deserted by friends and erstwhile allies. Surely his defeat was inevitable, perhaps even sooner than strategists in London dared to hope. And when that happened… Bolitho heard again the confidence in Bethune’s voice as he had explained how a French defeat would release many more ships to join the American conflict. But until that time… He stopped pacing and strode to the quarter gallery, and stared down at the black, swirling current.
It must have been right there in Bethune’s gracious rooms at the Admiralty, and yet neither of them had seen or considered it. He looked at the reflected lights until his eye watered. The carefully worded despatches, the lists of ships and squadrons that daily protected the vital lifelines to Wellington ’s armies. Ships that fed his victorious regiments, and made even the smallest advance possible. Even Sillitoe had missed it, perhaps because it had not fitted into his intricate plans and the estimates with which he advised the Prince Regent. Arrogance, over- confidence: it would not be the first time that careful strategy had been undone by those in power who had seen
