He held his breath and waited for Frobisher to lift again. And there it was. How could he not have seen it?
He screwed his eye closer and saw the image strengthen. Catching the light from somewhere. A sail, touched with yellow gold, standing up from the hard horizon; like a feather, he thought.
He looked at his companion. 'I see her.' He smiled. 'My thanks.'
On the quarterdeck, every face was raised as Singleton's voice echoed down from the mainmast.
'Deck there! Sail, fine on the larboard bow!'
Tyacke exclaimed, 'Well, I'll be damned!'
Kellett said, 'Shall I inform the admiral, sir?'
Tyacke looked at him. 'When we know a bit more.' As Kellett hurried away, he added, 'He won't need telling.'
It was another hour before the masthead could recognise the newcomer. Tyacke watched Bolitho's face keenly as he told him.
'Tireless, James? Not Huntress after all?' He smiled, but the mood seemed to elude him. 'Well, she may have news for us, although from that direction I doubt it.'
When admiral and flag lieutenant joined the others on the quarterdeck, Tyacke noticed that Bolitho was dressed in a clean shirt and breeches. He looked rested and alert now, even though there had been a light burning in his cabin throughout the night watches.
Avery said, 'May Tireless not have seen Huntress, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho did not answer, trying to gauge the depth of his feelings. He could feel nothing but a sense of inevitability, of destiny. As if his reluctance to return to Malta had been justified. He saw Allday watching him; even Yovell was here on this bright morning.
Singleton yelled down, 'Tireless has hoisted a signal, sir!'
Lieutenant Pennington murmured, 'We are all agog, sir.' Nobody laughed.
Singleton must have been very aware of the signal and its importance, even though he would not understand it. But his voice did not break or quiver.
'From Tireless. Enemy in Sight!'
Bolitho looked at Tyacke, ignoring or detached from the babble of disbelief and astonishment which separated them.
'So now we know. James. The trap is sprung. All else was delusion.'
He turned away, one hand on his shirt, and Tyacke thought he murmured, 'Don't leave me.'
Then he smiled, as if he had heard her voice.
18. Final Embrace
Bolitho pressed his face against the thick glass of the quarter-gallery, and watched the little schooner's distorted shape as she clawed her way across the wind.
When he turned he saw the stains of salt water on the deck covering, where Tireless's captain had stood after a hasty pull to the flagship.
So young, so earnest, perhaps not able to grasp the magnitude of these events. He had almost pleaded, 'I can stay in company, Sir Richard. We're no match for close action, but surely we could do something?'
Bolitho had said, 'You have done enough. The signal, for instance.'
Penrose had forced a smile. 'I heard it said that you used the same ruse to deceive a more powerful enemy, so that he should believe you had sighted friendly ships.'
How could Penrose have known? It was beyond trickery now.
Bolitho had said, 'They will not run. They dare not. There is too much at stake.' He had taken his hand. 'Go to Malta with all haste. Tell the senior officer. I shall rely on it.'
Tyacke was standing by the table now, Avery by the fine wine cooler, his hand touching it as if to reassure himself. Beyond the screen there was utter silence except for the muffled sounds of sea and rigging. A ship holding her breath.
Tyacke said, 'Shall I remain on this course, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho walked to the table and lifted a corner of the chart. His unfinished letter still lay there; it had been hidden by the chart. Lieutenant Penrose could have picked it up, put it inside his spray-dappled coat before returning to his little command. And, sooner or later, she would have read it… He recalled what Tyacke had asked him; he had not questioned or even doubted him. So much trust. It was like a betrayal, and he was suddenly angry.
Those fools in London, what do they know or even care, until all at once it is too late! All they can think about is grand receptions, peerages and self- congratulation! Men have died because of their arrogance and complacency! And will go on dying!'
Avery had stepped away from the cooler, his eyes very bright in the filtered sunshine. He had never seen Bolitho reveal his anger before, even though, many times, he had guessed it was there.
Bolitho said, 'Huntress was taken, a vital link in the chain of an overstretched squadron! What did their lordships expect? Perhaps that the tyrant would remain passive, indifferent? This is not merely a man, but a colossus, one who has cowed and conquered every force that stood against him, from Egypt to the snows of Russia, from the Indian Ocean to the Spanish Main. What in hell's name did they expect?'
He calmed himself with an effort. 'There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of men who owed their power and influence to Napoleon. Without him to direct them, they are nothing.' He thought of Penrose again, and his signal. 'Oh, they will come, and we shall be ready for them.' He plucked his shirt from his body. 'But the trap is sprung. The maybes and the if onlys have no place here.'
He looked at Tyacke, his eyes very clear. 'You thought, perhaps, that nobody but a fool would challenge a ship of the line?'
Tyacke glanced at the chart, and saw the letter beneath it.
'Frobisher will dish them up, Sir Richard, you have my word on it!'
Yovell had appeared silently, and ventured, 'Then it will be war, Sir Richard?'
Bolitho said, 'We shall soon know.'
They all looked at the open skylight as the lookout's voice pealed, 'Deck there! Sail to the nor'east!'
Bolitho turned to Avery. 'Take a glass, George. I need your experience today.'
Avery snatched up his hat. 'Could it be Huntress. Sir Richard?'
Another voice reached down to the great cabin. It was Midshipman Singleton this time.
'Deck there! Another sail to the nor'east!'
Bolitho pushed the lock of hair from his forehead. 'I think not, George.' Then he smiled, and Avery was very conscious of the warmth in it. 'And fetch down Mr. Singleton, or he'll have no lungs left!'
The door closed and Tyacke waited, blue eyes watching every movement, every changing mood, like reflections on the sea's face.
Bolitho nodded slowly. 'Yes, James, the two we saw in Algiers. Privateers, renegades, pirates, who can say? They will fight. They cannot afford to fail.'
Tyacke glanced around the cabin, imagining it stripped of all things personal, precious to this unbreakable man. A place of war.
'I would like to speak with the people, Sir Richard.'
Bolitho touched his arm as he walked to the opposite side. 'Good. It is their right.'
Tyacke understood. What you would do in my place. What so many would not.
Their eyes met, and Bolitho said quietly, 'Ten minutes, then? It will be enough, I think.'
Tyacke closed the door behind him, and Yovell, too, prepared to leave.
Bolitho said. 'Wait a moment, Daniel. Bring me a pen. Then you may put this letter in the strongbox.'
Yovell went to the desk where he kept his pens. Pipes shrilled, and he was surprised that he was unafraid.
'All hands! Clear the lower deck and lay aft!'
He looked toward the tall figure by the table, remembering. It is their right. Then he pulled open a drawer, his mind clear. He would fetch his Bible; it had never failed to comfort him. He placed a fresh pen on the table and saw Bolitho press the letter between his hands. His profile was composed, as if he was able to detach himself and his
