looked along his command yet again, sobered by the thought that she might not be his for much longer. At the Nile, his own captain had fallen, and so many others on that bloody day. Could Kellett fight the ship if that happened? He shook himself angrily. It was not that. He had faced and accepted death many times. It was the navy's way, perhaps the only way. To make men confront and accept what was, in truth, unacceptable.
It was Marion. The new belief, the hope that a hand had reached out for him. Something he had sometimes dreamed about, but too often dreaded. He thought of Portsmouth, gazing at the nearest gun's crew. When all this had begun, when she had come to find him. With such quiet warmth, and such pride.
He thought of Bolitho's unfinished letter, hidden by the chart in the great cabin. Marion could never have realised what strength he had found in her.
He heard Allday's voice from the poop, and turned in readiness. He saw Bolitho, apparently quite calm, and Allday walking with him. As a friend, an equal. He smiled. No wonder it was so hard for people to understand, let alone share.
He touched his hat. 'I would like to alter course, Sir Richard. Those two beauties will try to harry us, to use haste to avoid being dismasted.' He waited while Bolitho took the big signals telescope from Midshipman Singleton, saw the way he held his head at an angle to obtain the best image. It was not possible to believe that he was blind in one eye.
They'm running up their colours, sir!'
Tyacke levelled his glass on the leading frigate. Had he really clung to a last doubt, a hope? He could see the Tricolour standing out to the wind. More than a gesture; it meant that this was war again, even if the rest of the world was ignorant of it. Napoleon had escaped from what had been, at best, a token captivity. He recalled Bolitho's rare anger, his despair for the men he had led, who, in his eyes, had been betrayed by complacency. Tyacke glanced at him now, and saw the bitterness on his features as he returned the glass to Singleton.
Then he looked directly at his flag captain. 'So it is war once more, James.' There was a cold edge to his voice. 'So much for the Bourbon Restoration.' He looked around at the silent gun crews and the waiting seamen, and the marines, faces shadowed beneath their leather hats. Very quietly, he said, 'Too much blood, too many good men.'
Then he smiled, his teeth very white in his tanned face, and only those close enough could see the pain and the anger which lay there.
'So cast the boats adrift, Captain Tyacke, and let us give these scum a lesson, teach them that now, as before, we are here, and ready!'
Somebody gave a wild cheer, and it was carried along the deck to the forecastle and the men crouching at the carronades, although they could not have heard a single word.
It was infectious. A madness, and yet so much more.
Tyacke touched his hat with equal formality. 'I am yours to command, Sir Richard.'
Allday watched the cluster of boats drift haphazardly away from the counter. There was no cheering now, nor would there be until the flag came down. Theirs or ours, the rules never changed.
He touched his chest as the pain moved through him like a warning. Then he grinned. One more time. And they were still together.
Bolitho stood beside Tyacke and watched the oncoming ships. The range was closing, and, at a guess, stood at about three miles. An hour and a half had passed since Frobisher had cleared for action; it felt like an eternity.
The two frigates were almost in line ahead, their sails overlapping, as if they were joined. It was the usual illusion; they were perhaps a mile apart, and pointing directly towards Frobisher's larboard bow. The wind had not varied by a degree; it was still north-westerly, light but steady enough. The frigates were close-hauled on the starboard tack, probably as near to the wind as they could manage.
'Shall I run out. Sir Richard?'
Bolitho glanced at him, at his burned profile, and the steady blue eye.
'i think they intend to tackle us separately. They'd never risk a fight broadside-to-broadside, not against our armament. If I were in command, I would change tack at the last possible moment. The leader could then lie athwart our hawse and be able to rake us as he passes, and we'd not be able to bring a single gun to bear.'
Tyacke nodded slowly, seeing it. 'If we try to follow him round, which we can do with the wind in our favour, the other one will go for our stern, and pour a broadside through us while we are engaged. I think we should run out now, and try to cripple one of them with our heavy battery.' He looked at Bolitho. 'What do you suggest? You're a frigate captain, and always will be. I'd welcome your experience!'
Bolitho smiled. That was bravely said. It is just a feeling.' He could not keep the excitement out of his voice. 'Those two captains are desperate, to engage us, to cripple us, above all to provoke close action. The wind is in our favour, but they can match our strength with their agility. I think that the unexpected will win the day. We can come about into the wind, be taken aback in all probability, but we can give each a broadside before either captain can stand away. What say you, James?'
Tyacke was staring at the two oncoming frigates, as if they were being drawn towards Frobisher by an invisible force, like a line on a chart.
'I'll pass the word.'
He looked down as Bolitho touched his sleeve. 'When we turn, run out the upper guns, James. Keep the lower gundeck sealed. It will give them something to ponder over.'
Tyacke smiled. 'It might just work, by God! Trick for trick!'
Bolitho saw Avery watching him, brushing threads of cordage from his breeches after his hasty descent to the deck.
'I'll send him, if I may, James. Captains and admirals should sometimes keep their distance.'
He saw Tyacke's smile open into a grin. Because of the unlikely plan of action, or because he had not been too proud to ask for advice? But he was already calling to Kellett and the other lieutenants to outline what he required of them.
Avery listened to Bolitho without comment, his expression thoughtful, curious.
Bolitho repeated, 'No double-shotting, no grape. I want every shot to find its target. Tell the lieutenant on the lower gundeck to keep firing, no matter what!' His grey eyes moved towards the waiting gun crews. 'Otherwise it will be bloody work up here.'
Avery looked at the other ships. Was it only his imagination, or were they much closer?
'And Napoleon. Sir Richard? Where will he be, at this moment?'
Bolitho heard the crash of a solitary gun, but could see no telltale fall of shot. A signal, one ship to the other? A misfire, perhaps?
He answered, 'He could be anywhere.' He added quietly, 'He may have gone to his home in Corsica, but a few miles from Elba. Can you imagine a more reckless place to imprison such a man? But my guess is France, where his real strength lies, where people will rise up and follow him yet again.'
'You admire him, don't you, Sir Richard?'
'Admire! That is too strong a word. He is the enemy.' Then he gripped his arm, the mood changing again. 'But if I were a Frenchman, i would be there to welcome him.'
He watched Avery move away, and said, Take young Singleton, for the experience.' He shaded his eye to look at the masthead. 'I shall need no signals today.'
Avery hesitated, and saw some of the seamen running to the braces and halliards, Tyacke consulting the sailing master and his mates by the compass. In a moment the ship would alter course to larboard, into the wind, into the enemy. He looked at the distant pyramids of sails. Half an hour, at the most. He beckoned to the midshipman and together they hurried to the companion ladder.
After the brightness of the upper deck, the lower hull seemed like a musty vault.
When they reached the lower gundeck, Avery had to stand for several seconds to accustom his eyes to the gloom, and the sudden sense of danger. A little, feeble light filtered through the tiny observation ports on either bow, and from lanterns protected behind thick glass. The guns were manned and loaded, and he could see the eyes of some of the seamen glinting as they turned to watch him. Was that why Bolitho had told him to take Singleton with him? Because he was known to these men, young or not, and because as flag lieutenant he himself would be, and would remain, a stranger?
Objects were taking shape on either side, the great black humps of the breeches, the powerful thirty-two pounders, fourteen on either side. Tiny pinpricks of light, like malevolent eyes, flickered in each match tub, slow
