and equipment, obviously without seeing them.
Adam waited beneath the cabin skylight, glad that somebody had closed it. Deighton was almost beside himself, unable to control his disbelief even in front of Adam and the hovering Lieutenant Dyer, an unwilling spectator. Anyone working on deck would otherwise have heard him.
Deighton swung round, one hand jabbing the air to emphasise each word. 'And are you telling me, Captain, that just because of some scrap of information which Alfriston's captain……' He snapped his fingers and Dyer offered helpfully, 'Borradaile, sir!'
Deighton ignored him. 'You are telling me that I should contact Rear-Admiral Cochrane's ships, and the transports, and suggest that he delay the attack! Hell's teeth, man, do you know what you're asking me to do?'
Adam felt his impatience changing to anger, but knew that any outburst now would be like a match in a powder magazine. He said, 'Alfriston stopped a Portuguese trader, sir. One known to Commander Borradaile. In exchange for information, the trader……'
Deighton shouted, 'Smuggler, you mean!'
'Smuggler, sir. One who has proved very useful in the past.'
He waited while Deighton peered at his chart again. There is an American commodore named Barney. He has a flotilla of small vessels in the bay. It seems he is sheltering at the mouth of the Patuxent, perhaps because of information about us, or perhaps merely as a precaution.' His voice hardened. 'Where our ships and four thousand troops are to be conveyed and landed, the day after tomorrow.'
Deighton snapped. The admiral must be well aware of that!'
Adam glanced at Dyer and wished he was somewhere else. When Valkyrie was next committed to action Dyer would remember today, and the men he served.
'And there is this battery.' He did not move or indicate on the chart what Borradaile had told him. Deighton had already challenged that, too. 'Old or new, we don't know, but the Americans have been working on it these past weeks. It is not an easy approach at any time, but with a battery sited and ready, perhaps with heated shot……'
Deighton sat down heavily as if the deck had given out beneath him.
'I know about heated shot, Captain, and I also know that a slow-moving force of vessels entering a confined passage is no match for a shore battery.'
Adam said to Dyer, 'Wait for me in my cabin.'
The lieutenant left without a word. Only then did Deighton realise he had gone.
'You are leaving me no sea room, Captain. The responsibility is mine.'
Adam thought of Dyer in his cabin. Had he guessed that he had been sent there to prevent him from describing how the new commodore had seemed snared by his own vital but damning authority?
The whole fleet will be expecting results.' Deighton was on the move again, his hands clasped beneath his coat-tails, his head bowed under the weight of his decisions.
Adam watched him, and found no comfort in the contempt he felt. He recalled Keen's words. Not like us. Not like you.
Individual faces stood out in memory. His coxswain, Starr, who had been hanged by the Americans for setting charges to destroy Anemone when otherwise she might have been saved, to serve under the Stars and Stripes. John Allday's son, who had fallen in the battle with the USS Unity. And the young midshipman, Lovie, their only casualty when they had destroyed the American prize and her would-be rescuer. Wiped away, like chalk from a slate.
Washington was the impossible, the unobtainable trophy. In war, what did motives matter any more? Glory or revenge, it made little difference to the men who fought and died.
He said suddenly, 'I have a suggestion, sir.' It was like hearing someone else, a stranger: calm, impersonal.
He saw Deighton turn to stare at him, as though he were offering him a lifeline. 'Destroy the battery before the attack begins.' He watched the surprise change to disbelief, then to something like disappointment.
'No time. And besides, what chance have we?'
'Boat action, sir.' It was like a rising madness, and although he knew he should guard against it, he felt himself being carried by it.
Deighton nodded, very slowly. 'And you would lead this venture, I presume? Another laurel for the family garland? For your uncle?'
Adam said. That is unworthy, sir.'
Surprisingly. Deighton laughed. 'Well, let us assume if it were at all possible, and lead it you would by God, where would you begin?'
He considered it, unnerved that it should seem so straightforward, something already written in orders. You are commanded to proceed. Like the great paintings of famous sea fights; there was never any pain or blood.
'I would transfer to Alfriston immediately.' He saw the caution in Deighton's eyes. 'Which would leave you with the full company of frigates.' He saw Deighton nod, although he thought he had not known that he had done so. 'I would require forty marines, and a hand-picked party of seamen.'
Deighton swallowed. 'Thirty marines.'
Adam felt his fingers tingling. Part of the madness.
He asked quietly, 'You agree, sir?'
Deighton stared around the cabin, as if he had suddenly become a stranger there.
'I shall put your suggestion in writing.'
Their eyes met. 'And I shall sign it, sir.' That way, there could be no recriminations. 'Willingly.' He picked up his hat. 'I will attend to the transfer, and signal Alfriston to lie downwind in readiness.'
He left the cabin, breathing deeply. The sun had shifted, but the normal day- to-day work was going on as before. As if nothing had happened. As if he had not committed himself, and others, to disaster. Suppose he was wrong? Should he have remained silent, and so forced Deighton to make a decision?
A scarlet-coated marine stepped out smartly.
Adam looked at him: a round, sunburned face, familiar, but at a distance, observing some rule of his own making.
He said, 'Corporal Forster?'
The corporal glanced around, suddenly unsure of himself. Some other marines were watching from the starboard gangway.
'Beggin' yer pardon, sir. It's not for me to say, but I was wonderin'…'
Adam said, 'Tell me.'
'Well, sir, before you asks my officer, I'd like to put me name down for the raid.'
Adam looked away. It was only a vague idea, and yet they all knew about it.
And I almost left them.
The corporal added nervously, 'I'm a fine shot, sir.'
Adam touched his sleeve and did not see the other marines nudge one another.
'That you are, Forster. Give your name to the first lieutenant.' He tried to summon a smile, some kind of reassurance. 'I'll see you a sergeant yet!'
He strode on, his mind busy with details, then paused to glance round as signal flags dashed up to the yard.
There was no time to write a letter to Catherine. Perhaps Deighton had deliberately kept hers from him.
He felt the breeze across his face and saw the sailing master watching him, as if reading his thoughts.
And if I fall, there will be no letter. Only peace.
Alfristoris chart room was small, even by a brig's standards; she had begun her life in the merchant service, and space was at a premium aboard her.
It had been a red, angry sunset, the horizon fading eventually to a hard line. But the wind was steady, and Borradaile had insisted that the weather would not 'go sour', as he had put it. Adam could feel the man close by him now, his patched elbows on the chart, a large magnifying glass gripped in one bony hand.
The brig seemed to be moving beneath him, an illusion, but she felt heavier in the water with her extra seamen and thirty of Valkyrie's marines packed between decks. Even at the last minute, before he had been pulled across to
