Any hopes of a quick passage to Corfu, or of Javal" s lookouts sighting Lysander far ahead of the depleted squadron, were dashed within days of weighing anchor. The wind veered violently to the north, and as all hands worked feverishly to shorten sail, even Osiris's master expressed his surprise at the intensity and speed of the change. Swooping down from the Adriatic, the wind transformed the gentle blue swell into a waste of steep, savage crests, while above the staggering mastheads the sky became one unbroken cloud bank.
Day after day, the two ships of the line used their bulk and strength to ride out the storm, while behind shuttered gun ports their companies fought their own battles against the sickening motion, and waited for the call, * All hands! Hands aloft and reef tops "Is!" Then to a more perilous contest against the wind, clinging to dizzily swaying yards and fighting each murderous foot of canvas.
Buzzard, unable to withstand such a battering, had been made to run ahead of the storm, so that to the remaining ships it seemed as if the whole world was confined to this small arena of noise and drenching seas. For the visibility dropped. with the hours, and it was hard to tell spray from rain, or from which direction the wind would attack next.
For Bolitho, the endless days made him feel remote from Osiris's own struggle. The faces he met whenever he went on deck were unfamiliar, shouted opinions as yet carried no weight. He saw Farquhar in a different light as well. Several times he had given way to displays of anger which had made even the urbane Outhwaite quail, and once he had reprimanded a bosun's mate for not striking a man hard enough when he protested at being sent aloft in a full gale. The bosun's mate had tried to explain that the culprit was not a proper seaman, but a cooper's assistant. So many hands had been hurt in the storm that, like the officers, the bosun's mate was trying to gather as much extra muscle as he could.
Farquhar had shouted, "Don’t you dare argue! You’ve had to flog men! You know what it will feel like if you cross words with me again!"
The man had been driven aloft, and had fallen outboard without even a cry as he had lost his hold on the futtock shrouds.
Bolitho wondered how Herrick was managing to ride out the storm, and where he was during each sickening day.
Farquhar had said, "But for this bloody weather, I’d have caught up with Lysander!"
"I doubt it." Bolitho had reached beyond empty agreement. "Lysander is a faster ship. And she is well handled."
It was unfair on Farquhar, but he had shown such indifference to Herrick's possible fate that it was all he could do to restrain some more biting comment. Like a nagging con- science, a small voice seemed to repeat, It was your decision. You drove Herrick too hard, too soon. It was your fault.
And then, a week after leaving Syracuse, the gale eased and backed to the north-west, but as the sky cleared and the sea regained its deep blue, Bolitho knew it would take several more days to recover lost ground. To beat back through time and distance which they had surrendered to the storm.
Whenever he went on deck he was aware that the officers on duty were careful to avoid his eye, and stayed well clear of his lonely pacing on the poop. His chosen solitude gave him time to think, although without fresh information it was like re-ploughing old land with nothing to sow.
During the forenoon on the ninth day he was in the cabin, studying his chart and drinking a tankard of ginger beer, something which Farquhar had stored in some quantity for his personal use.
How Farquhar would laugh, if after all there was nothing in Corfu to sustain his theories. He would not show it, of course, but it would be there just the same. It would not merely prove Farquhar correct in his actions, but also that he was far more suited to hold this or some other command.
Sir Charles Farquhar. It was strange that he should be so irritated by the man's title. He was getting like Herrick perhaps. No, it went deeper than that. It was because Farquhar had not earned it, and now would never want for anything again. You only had to look at the Navy List to see* where the promotion went. He thought of Pascoe's words and smiled. The "Nelsons" of this world gained their rewards and even titles on the battlefield, or facing an enemy's broadside. Their precarious advancement was often admired but rarely envied by those more fortunate ashore.
Bolitho walked restlessly around the cabin, hearing the seamen working on deck and in the yards above it. Splicing and re-rigging. After a storm each job was doubly essential. He smiled again. Those more fortunate ashore. In his heart he knew he would fight with all his means to avoid a post at the Admiralty or in some busy naval port.
He returned to the chart and stared at it once more. Corfu, a long, spindly island which seemed about to lock itself snugly to the Greek mainland. A narrow approach from the south, about ten miles across for a ship under sail. From the north, much less. Inviting self-destruction if the French had shore batteries along the high ground. Although the island was separated from the mainland by what was to all intents a small, private sea, some twenty by ten miles in size, the two real hazards were the narrow channels north and south. Also, the one good anchorage was on the eastern shore, so any sort of surprise there was out of the question. Herrick would know it, too. He was stubborn and determined, but he was no fool, and never had been.
He thought suddenly of the young widow, Mrs. Boswell.
Strange he had never pictured Herrick being married. But she was exactly right for him. She would not stand by and let others step on his good nature. She would never have allowed hL."11 to admit that he could not sustain the posting of flag captain.
Bolitho straightened his back and marvelled that he could even consider such things. He had two ships, and might never find Lysander at all. But whatever happened, he was about to penetrate the enemy's defences in a sea area which was almost unknown to him beyond his charts and available hints on navigation.
There was a tap at the door and the sentry called cautiously "Midshipman of the watch, sir!"
It was the red-headed Breen.
"Well, Mr. Breen?" Bolitho smiled at him. It was the first time he had spoken with him since being rescued by Harebell.
"The captain sends his respects, sir. The lookout has reported a sail to the nor"-west. Too far off to recognise." "I see."
Bolitho glanced at the chart. Even allowing for their drift and loss of way during the storm, they could not be that far out in their calculations. Osiris's beakhead was pointing approximately north-east, and with luck they would sight the highest range of hills to the southernmost end of Corfu before
. nightfall. Buzzard had run with the storm, and although Javal would be quick to rejoin the squadron, and might appear even today, he would come from the south and not the north-west where this newcomer had shown herself.
He asked, "How d"you like being temporarily attached to Osiris's gunroom?"
The boy looked past him towards Nicator's tall outline some three cables astern.
"N-not much, sir. They treat me well enough, but…" Bolitho watched him gravely. Like the lieutenants, most of the midshipmen in this ship were of good family stock. Farquhar had evidently planned his wardroom and his midshipmen with great care. It was quite common for a captain to take a boy to sea as midshipman, the son of an old friend perhaps, or as some special favour. Farquhar appeared to have taken the custom right through his command.
Breen seemed to think he was expected to add something. "I keep thinking about the seaman, sir, Larssen. But I’m all right now. I-I’m sorry about the way I acted."
"Don’t be. A sword must bend. If it is made too hard it will snap when it is most needed."
He wondered why he was trying to save Breen from the inevitable. It came to all of them sooner or later. He recalled his own feelings after a sea fight when he had been a young lieutenant. The guns working so hard and the battle so fierce that there had been no time to treat the dead, even the wounded, with care or respect. The corpses had been pushed overboard from friend and enemy alike, and the wounded had added their cries to the thunder of battle. When the firing had ceased, and the ships had drifted apart, too damaged and hurt to claim victory or offer defeat, the sea had been covered with drifting corpses. Because the wind had dropped during the battle, as if cowed by its savagery, they were made to watch them for two whole days. It was something he often thought about and could never forget.
He said quietly, "Have some ginger beer."
Poor Breen, with his rough, scrubbed hands and grubby shirt, he was more a schoolboy than a King's officer. But who in his town or village had seen Malta? Had been in a sea fight? And how many would ever know the full extent of naval power as it really was, and the men and timbers which made it?
Farquhar appeared in the door and stared coldly at the boy
with a glass in his fist.
To Bolitho he said, "That sail has sheered off, sir." "Not Lysander?"
"Too small" Farquhar nodded curtly to Breen as he hurried away. "Brig, according to the masthead lookout. A good man. He's usually right."
Farquhar seemed much more controlled now that the storm had gone A waiting game perhaps. Standing aside to see what Bolitho would do. "
Bolitho walked to the open stem windows and leaned out above the small bubbling wash around the rudder. A good clear sky, and the horizon astern of Nicator" s fat hull was hard and empty. The brig would see more of these two ships than they would of her.
"Tell the lookouts to take extra care. Send telescopes aloft, too."
"You think the brig was French, sir?" Farquhar sounded curious. 'she can do us little harm."
"Maybe. In Falmouth my sister's husband owns a large farm and estate." He looked impassively at Farquhar. "He also has a dog. Whenever a poacher or vagrant comes near his land, the dog tracks him, but never attacks or barks." He smiled. "Until the stranger is within range of a fowling piece!"
Farquhar stared at the chart, as if he expected to see something there.
"Following us, sir?"
"It is possible. The French have many friends here. They would be willing and eager to pass information which might ease their lot once the tricolour has extended its "estates"." Farquhar said uneasily, "But supposing that is so, the
French cannot know our full strength."
"They will see we have no frigates. If I were a French admiral, that would be very valuable news indeed." He walked to the door, an idea emerging from the back of his mind. "Fetch your sailmaker, will you?"
On the quarterdeck, several hands paused to watch him before returning to their work with added vigour. They probably thought him unhinged by the fever. Bolitho allowed the light wind to cool him and smiled to himself. He was still wearing his Spanish shirt, and had declined any of Farquhar's spare clothing. His own was still aboard Lysander. He would get it when he found Herrick. And find him he would.
'sir?" The sailmaker was at his side, watching him with a mixture of caution and interest.
"How much spare canvas do you have? That which is useless for making new sails and the like?"
The man glanced nervously at Farquhar, who snapped, "Tell him, Parker!"
The sailmaker launched into a long list of stores and fragments, item by item, and Bolitho was impressed that he retained so much in his memory.
"Thank you, er, Parker." He moved to the starboard gang-way and stared along it towards the forecastle. "I want a strip of canvas sewn and lashed along the gangway nettings on either side of the ship. Hammock cloths, unwanted scraps which you may have been keeping for repairing awnings and winds"ls." He faced him calmly. "Can you do that?"
"Well, that is, sir, I expect I could manage if…" He looked at his captain for support.
Farquhar asked, "For what purpose, sir? I think if this fellow knew what you required, and I, too, for that matter, it would help him."
Bolitho smiled at them. "If we join fo"c'sle to quarterdeck in this manner, then paint the canvas the same as the hull, with black squares at regular intervals," he leaned over the rail to gesture at the eighteen-pounder gun ports, "we can transform Osiris into a three-decker, eh?"
Farquhar shook his head. "Damn me, sir, it would do the trick. At any sort of distance we"d look like a first-rate, and no mistake! The Frogs will begin to wonder just how many of us there are."
Bolitho nodded. "Inshore we may stand a chance. But we cannot afford a pitched battle in open waters until we have discovered the enemy's real strength. I doubt that the French will have many ships of the line here. De Brueys will save them for the fleet and for protecting his transports. But I must know."
"Deck there! Sail on the larboard quarter!"
Bolitho said, "Our will-o"-the wisp again. As soon as it is dusk we will begin the disguise. We can change tack during the night and maybe give our inquisitive friend the slip." Another hail made them look up. "Deck there! Sail on the lee bow!"
"Company?" Bolitho prodded the sailmaker with his fist. "Get your mates to work, Parker. You may be the first man in history to build a King's ship out of canvas scraps!"
He saw Pascoe hurrying up the weather shrouds to join the lookout who had made the last report. He was-hampered by a large telescope slung over his shoulder, but ran up the ratlines with the ease of a cat.
Moments later he shouted, 'she's the Buzzard, sir!" Farquhar muttered, "About time, too."
Bolitho said, "Make a signal to Buzzard. Take station ahead of the squadron. "
Farquhar replied, 'she’ll not be in signalling distance for quite a time, sir. She’ll have to claw every inch of the way against the wind."
'she cannot see the signal, Captain. But the other vessel will. Her master will know there is another, maybe several ships close by. It may give him something to chew on." Bolitho thrust his hands behind him, seeing the boatswain and some seamen already broaching the paint, while others dragged the canvas across the upper deck.
He began to pace slowly along the weather side, willing Buzzards topsails to show themselves to him above the horizon.
Three ships now instead of two. He thanked God for Javal's determination to find him. Weak they may be. But they were no longer blind as well.
While Osiris and her consort continued at a snail's pace to the north-east, and Javal worked the frigate through countless zigzags to join them, the small blur of canvas which betrayed their follower was rarely out of sight.
All afternoon, as the sailmaker and his mates sat cross- legged on every spare piece of deck, heads bent, needles and palms flashing in the sunlight, Bolitho prowled about the poop or visited the cabin in a state of near exhaustion.
In the last dog watch, when the lookout shouted, "Land ho!", he guessed that the pursuing brig would be satisfied that the squadron, large or small, was indeed making for Corfu.
Bolitho examined the purple shadow of land through the rigging and shrouds, and pictured the island in his mind. The brig's master had been too faithful to his orders. Now, with night dosing in more rapidly, he would have to bide his time and hold the information to himself. Under similar circumstances, Bolitho thought that he would have taken the risk of his admiral's displeasure and called off the chase long ago. He would have been more use to his admiral alongside the flagship than.riding out a long night off this dangerous coast. Curiosity had been the brig's weakness. It was not much, but it might be vital.
He returned to the cabin and found Farquhar waiting for him with Veitch and Plowman.
Farquhar said, "You wanted these two, I believe, sir." He sounded disdainful.
Bolitho waited as a servant hung another lantern above the chart.
"Now, Mr. Plowman. I need a good volunteer to spy out the land for me."
The master's mate looked at the chart and the marks which denoted cliffs and deep soundings along the western shore.
He gave a slow grin. "Aye, sir. I take your meanin"!" Farquhar asked sharply, "Are you sending men ashore at night, sir?"
Bolitho did not reply directly. He looked at Plowman. and asked simply, "Can you do it? If it was not important I would not ask."
"I’ve tackled worse. Once in West Africa… " He sighed. "But that's another story, sir."
"Good."
Bolitho studied him gravely. He was probably asking far too much. Sending Plowman and others to their deaths. He toyed with the idea of going himself but knew it would be pointless either way. Conceit, desperation, anxiety, none came into it. He would be needed here, and very soon.
To Farquhar he said, "They will want a cutter and a good stout crew." He turned to Veitch. "I’m putting you in charge of the landing party. Choose your men carefully. Men used to the countryside, who’ll not fall headlong down a cliff."
He saw the gravity on the lieutenant's face giving way to something else. Satisfaction. Pride perhaps at being offered such a demanding task without restriction. If Bolitho had. doubts they were in himself. Veitch had already proved his worth and his ability.
Plowman was still examining the chart. "This looks a likely place." He jabbed it with a thick finger. "An" there’ll be a good moon tonight. We can run under sail till we"re close in, then pull the "rest of the way."
Bolitho said, "You can take all night. But tomorrow, try to discover what is happening. The island is about five miles across at the point you have selected, Mr. Plowman. The hills rise to a thousand feet or more. From there you should see enough for our purposes."
Veitch said slowly, "It may be difficult to hide the cutter, sir. "
"Do what you can." He looked at each of them. "Otherwise, you will have to sink it where you land. I will send another to take you off later…:
Farquhar coughed… "There is a fact to be faced, sir. The whole party may be taken prisoner within minutes of getting ashore."
Bolitho nodded grimly. So even Farquhar was now accept- ing the reality of their situation. The enemy was fact, not shadows.
We will attack from the south"rd at dawn, the day after tomorrow. If Mr. Veitch can discover the whereabouts of shore batteries, and their strength, it will make our task less demanding." He smiled at their tense expressions. "Although I fear our arrival will not be welcome. "
Veitch breathed out noisily. "We’ll do our best, sir. Let us hope that the French have none of their new guns along the coast. "
"That I doubt." Bolitho pictured the great cannon smashing his little force into submission before they had even got to grips. "They are being saved for something more important to Bonaparte. "
Veitch and Plowman left the cabin to gather their men and weapons, and he said, "I would like to see my signals officer. Tomorrow we will head northwards under our new guise, but hold Buzzard well to windward. Javal may get a chance to catch that brig or any other spy, if he's in the right place. One more vessel under our flag would be welcome."
He suddenly saw himself at Spithead, awaiting the boat which would carry him out to the frigate. To Gibraltar, to Lysander, and all those countless hours and miles sailed since. To here. A small cross on the chart. He shivered, despite the heavy air. It was almost symbolic. And this was when he needed Herrick most. His loyalty and devotion. He wondered what Farquhar thought about it. Really thought. Dilthe see this as his chance to add fame to his new status? Or did he see it only as an end to all his hopes?
They made light of risk. They always did beforehand. But he was asking much of every single man. Far too much. When battle was joined, causes and grand ideals counted for very little. It was the speed you could fire and reload. The strength you held to withstand the awful sights and sounds.
He shook himself from the lingering depression.
"Well, Captain Farquhar." He saw him come out of his own thoughts. "We will do this together, or if one of us falls, the other will carryon with it. Either way, it must be done. " "Yes." Farquhar looked around the quiet cabin. "I can see that now."
Within hours of full daylight the brig's topsails appeared again, tipping the horizon, but taking care to stand off well to windward. Either her master had managed to send word ashore by boat during the night, or he was eager to learn more about Bolitho's ships.
Bolitho made certain that their attendant spy had plenty to hold his attention. Pascoe's signal party hoisted several meaningless flags, which were acknowledged with equal vigour by Nicator and Buzzard. Then, when Bolitho made a genuine signal, to call the other captains aboard for a discussion of their position, he played his other card. With sails aback, Osiris came round into the wind, displaying her broadside to the distant vessel, and her impressive new height above water.
When Javal arrived in his gig he exclaimed admiringly, "I thought I was seeing things, sir. Or that St. Vincent had arrived in his flagship. From my gig she looks every inch a first-rate!"
Probyn was less enthusiastic. "A novel idea, I agree. But we can"t shoot with painted canvas!"
Once more in the great cabin Bolitho looked at his captains. Javal seemed strained after his long fight against the sea and wind, but otherwise unworried. Farquhar, tight- lipped and pale, but neither a hair nor a gilt button out of place. Probyn was as untidy and as brooding as ever. He looked heavy-eyed, and his cheeks were redder than one would expect from wind alone. Drinking more than usual. It was strange, but Bolitho found he had forgotten how Probyn had used to drink when they had been lieutenants together. More than once he had stood a watch or a duty for him, when the first lieutenant had drawled, 'see to it, Dick. Poor old George is in his cups again."
He waited until each of them had a glass of Farquhar's claret in his hand, then said calmly, "Tomorrow, gentlemen, we will make our play. I hope to pick up Mr. Veitch and his party tonight. What he tells me may alter our tactics, but cannot postpone an attack."
Probyn kept his eyes on his lap. "What if he doesn"t come back?
"It will keep us in the dark."
He thought of Veitch out there on Corfu. The villagers, if he was unlucky enough to stumble on them, might take them as Frenchmen. He was not sure if that was good or bad. Veitch had shown himself to be a quick-thinking and intelligent man. Bolitho would make certain his name went forward for early promotion if he survived another night on the island. He had toyed with the idea of telling him beforehand, but had decided against it. Such a promise could make an ambitious man too careful, an eager one too reckless.
"We have shown ourselves as preparing to attack. The enemy will still not know our full strength, but as they may now believe we have a three-decker supporting us, they must decide on their own plan of defence. Or attack." Probyn slammed his empty glass on the table and looked meaningly at the cabin servant.
Then he asked Why not wait, sir? Watch and wait, until we get more support." He looked from the comers of his eyes at Farquhar. "If Lysander had been here, then I might have said otherwise."
Bolitho watched Probyn emptying another glass of claret. "We do not know enough to wait. At any day, the enemy might try to sail out of Corfu, and if their numbers are what I believe, we could not hope to contain them." He saw Probyn was unconvinced, and added, "Besides which, the French fleet may even now be steering in this direction to escort their precious supply ships elsewhere." He tapped the chart with his glass. "Caught on a lee shore, or worse, bottled up on the eastern side of the island, what chance would we have then?"
He kept his gaze on Probyn, willing him to accept, if not condone, the reasoning. For Captain George Probyn's part could be the most important of all. Tomorrow, hours not days now, and his Nicator might be the sole survivor.
He said quietiy, "Osiris will force the southern channel at dawn. The supply ships will be anchored anywhere from fifteen to twenty miles up the coast, and once amongst them it will be a busy time for us all." He saw Javal's hard face break into a smile. "The French, I believe, see themselves in a strong position. They will know we are coming, and move what guns they have ashore to command our approach."
Javal nodded. "Aye, it makes sense. A three-decker would be seen as the real threat."
Bolitho thought of Grubb and wished he was here. Osiris's sailing master seemed capable enough, but lacked Grubb's knowledge and philosophy on the weather's habits. He had been a mate in an Indiaman before joining a King's ship, and his early service had been spent weighing the value of a fast passage against goods lost by poor navigation.
If so much depended on what his ships could do tomorrow, the wind was almost equal in importance.*
He shut it behind him and said to Probyn, "You will leave us at dusk. Steer to the north"rd. When the time is ready you will enter the top channel, I am hoping. unopposed. The defenders should think the real menace is from us in the south. If "lady luck"," he hesitated, seeing Herrick's blue eyes crinkling to his favourite talisman "blesses us, and the wind holds, we will hit the enemy hard, and where it will do our cause most good."
They all stood up, knowing it was over. Bolitho added, "God be with you."
They filed out in silence, then Bolitho heard Farquhar shouting for someone to recall the captains" boats.
Allday entered the cabin by the other door and asked, "Can"t I get you a uniform coat from somewhere, sir?" He sounded more worried by Bolitho's appearance than the prospect of battle.
Bolitho walked to the quarter windows and saw Probyn's barge pulling strongly away. He thought of this ship, Osiris, the men who would work her up that channel. Would fight and, if need be, die. It was not a happy ship. He frowned. Nicator. Judge of the Dead. He felt suddenly chilled.
He answered, "No matter, Allday. Tomorrow they may look aft, as you insist they do in action." He saw him nod. "I want them to see me. More like one of themselves than as one more oppressive uniform. This ship has no warmth about her. She carries all the marks of discipline and efficiency, but… " He shrugged.
Allday said, "They’ll fight well enough, sir. You’ll see." But Bolitho could not shake off his feeling of foreboding. "If anything should happen." He did not turn from the windows but heard Allday tense. "I have made provision for you in Falmouth. You will always have a home there, and want for nothing. "
Allday could not restrain himself. He strode aft to the gallery and exclaimed, "I’ll hear none of it, sir! Nothing will happen, nothing can."
Bolitho turned and looked at him. "You will prevent it?"
Allday stared at him wretchedly. "If I can."
"I know." He sighed. "Perhaps, like Thomas Herrick, I am here too soon after that other time."
Allday insisted, "The surgeon was right, sir. Your wound is not properly healed yet, your health more set back by the fever than you’ll allow for." He added meaningly, "Cap"n Farquhar's surgeon is no butcher. He's a proper doctor. Cap"n Farquhar took good care of that!"
Bolitho smiled gravely. He would. "Ask Mr. Pascoe to lay aft. I have some signals to prepare."
Alone again, he sat down at the table and stared unseeingly at his chart. He thought of Catherine Pareja, and wondered what she was doing now in London.
Twice a widow, yet with more life in her than most young girls just free of their mother's arms. Never once had she mentioned marriage. Not even a hint. Something seemed to hold it back. An unspoken agreement.
He opened the front of his Spanish shirt and examined the tiny locket which hung around his neck. Kate had never even shown resentment for that. He opened it carefully and examined the small lock of chestnut-coloured hair. It caught the sunlight from the stem windows and shone as brightly as the day he had met her. An admiral's bride-to-be. Cheney Seton. The girl he had won and had married. He closed the
"Jacket and rebuttoned his shirt. It never changed. No wonder he had cried her name.
Pascoe entered the cabin, his hat beneath his arm, a signal-book in one hand.
Bolitho faced him, concealing his sudden despair as best he could.
"Now, Adam, let us see what other ideas we can invent, shall we?"
"Course nor"-east by north, sir! Full an" bye!"
Bolitho heard the master whispering with his helmsmen but hurried to the nettings, now packed with neatly stowed hammocks and starkly pale in the moonlight.
Farquhar joined him and reported, "Wind's steady, sir. We are about twenty miles south-west of the island. Buzzards to windward, you can just make out her tops"ls in the moon's path."
"No sign of a boat?"
"None. I sent the other cutter away under sail three hours back. If Veitch saw it he made no signal with either lantern or pistol-shot. "
"Very well. How long does the master think we can remain on this tack?"
"An hour more at the most, sir. Then I’ll have to recall my cutter, and by that time I’ll be ready to come about. Otherwise, we’ll be too close to lie-to, and if we continue round in another great circle we’ll be further away from the southern channel than I care for when dawn comes."
"I agree." Bolitho added reluctantly, "Another hour then." Farquhar asked, "Are you certain you did right by sending Nicator to the northern channel, sir? It will be a disaster if Probyn fails to engage in time."
"The channel is narrow, I know, but with favourable winds Nicator will be able to manage. "
"I was not referring to the channel or the danger, sir." Farquhar's face was in the moon's shadow, his epaulettes very bright against his coat. "I have to admit, I feel no faith in Nicator's captain."
"When he sees our dependence on his support, Captain Farquhar, he will do his duty."
He recalled Probyn's reddened features, his indirect manner. His caution. But what could he do? If things happened as he had predicted, Osiris would take the worst of it, and would need the most tenacity. He could not ask Javal to thrust his frail ship into the teeth of a bombardment, although his part in the attack was bad enough anyway. Without Lysander's support, the surprise would have to be left to Nicator. There was no other way. He wondered if Farquhar was cursing himself now for letting Herrick go unaided, for failing to act as a squadron against the enemy when he believed himself in overall command.
"Deck there! Light on th" weather bow!"
Bolitho ran to the larboard gangway and peered above the painted canvas.
He heard Farquhar snap, "The signal, by God! Mr. Outhwaite! Heave-to, if you please, and prepare to hoist boats inboard!"
The ship came alive, the hurrying seamen like phantoms in the eerie moonlight as they ran without hesitation to halliards and braces.
Someone raised a cheer as first one and then the second cutter bumped alongside, and men scrambled down to them to bear a hand.
Sailing and pulling at the oars, it must have.been an unnerving job for the crews, Bolitho thought.
He waited by the quarterdeck rail, gripping his hands behind rum to prevent his impatience from sending him down to the entry port with the others.
He saw a sturdy figure limping aft and recognised him instantly.
"Mr. Plowman! Come over here!"
The master's mate leaned against the hammock nettings and tried to regain his breath.
"Glad to be "ere, sir."
He waved his arm towards the invisible land, and Bolitho saw that his hand was wrapped in a stained bandage, the blood soaking through it like black oil.
"Ad to lie low, even when we saw t" other boat stand in" inshore. Place was alive with pickets. We run into one of "em. Bit of a fight." He examined his bandaged fist. "But we done for "em."
"And Mr. Veitch?" He waited for the inevitable.
But Plowman said, " "E's fine, sir. I left "im ashore. "E ordered me to find you an" report."
Even the cabin lanterns seemed too bright after the strange moonscape on deck, and Bolitho saw that Plowman was filthy from head to toe, his face and arms scarred from rock and gorse.
"Have a drink." Bolitho saw Farquhar and his first lieutenant, and behind them Pascoe, coming into the cabin. "Anything you like."
Plowman sighed gratefully. "Then I’d like a measure o" brandy, if I may dare ask, sir."
Bolitho smiled. "You deserve a cask." He waited in silence, watching Plowman's expression as he drank a complete goblet of Farquhar's brandy. "Now tell me the news." Plowman wiped his mouth with his wrist. "It ain"t good, sir." He shook his head. "We did like you said, and Mr. Veitch was fair amazed by what we saw. Just like you told us it would be, only more so."
Farquhar snapped, 'ships?"
"Aye, sir. Thirty or more. Well-laden, too. An" there's a ship o" the line at anchor offshore, a seventy-four. An" two or three smaller ships. A frigate, an" a pair o" corvettes, like the Frenchie we done for with Segura."
Farquhar said softly, "What a find! A small armada, no less!"
Plowman ignored him. "But that ain"t all, sir. They’ve hauled a pair o" them new guns to the "eadland." He leaned heavily across the chart and jabbed it with his thumb. "There. We thought for a bit they was unloadin" all the ships, but they just ferried these two beauties ashore. We met up with a shepherd at dawn. One of the lads won "is confidence like, speaks a bit of the language. The locals don’tcare for the Frogs. They’ve bled the island white. An" the women, too, by th" sound of it. Anyway, he said that the ships are preparin" to leave. Goin" to Crete or somewhere, to wait for more ships."
"De Brueys." Bolitho looked at him gravely. "Why did Lieutenant Veitch stay behind?" He had already guessed the answer.
"Mr. Veitch told me that "e thinks you’ll attack, sir. Said you"d not let the Nicator go in on" er own." He scowled. "But for this mangy fist I’d "ave stayed there with "im."
Bolitho said, "Your return is of greater value to me. And I thank you."
Veitch had seen it, right from the beginning. That without more ships they could not keep in contact with Nicator, nor could they reach her before dawn and the moment of attack.
Plowman added wearily as Bolitho refilled the glass, "Mr. Veitch said "e would try to "elp, sir. He got three volunteers with "im." He gave a sad grin. "All as mad as "im, if you’ll pardon the liberty, sir, so I can"t tell you no more."
His head lolled with fatigue, and Bolitho said quietly, "Tell Allday to help him to the sickbay and have his hand dressed. And see that both boat crews are rewarded in some way. "
He looked at their faces. Farquhar's set in a grim frown. Outhwaite's liquid eyes watching him with quiet fascination. And Pascoe, his black hair falling across one eye, as if he, too, had a scar to hide.
Bolitho asked, "Well, Captain Farquhar, what is your opinion on this?"
He shrugged. "But for Nicator s safety, I’d advise you to withdraw, sir. There is no sense in putting your honour before the loss of a squadron. We gambled on the French keeping all their precious artillery stowed in their holds, and relying on more "conventional" weapons." He glanced briefly at Plowman's sagging shoulder. He had fallen into an exhausted sleep. "But if fellows like Plowman here, and Lieutenant Veitch, are prepared to throw their lives down the hawse, I suppose I will do the same!"
He looked calmly at his first lieutenant. "Commodore's instructions, Mr. Outhwaite. One hot meal and a double ration oJ rum for all hands. After that, you may douse the galley fires, and then clear for action. Our people will sleep beside their guns tonight." He looked at Bolitho. "If sleep they can."
Farquhar nodded curtly. "Now, if you will excuse me, sir.
I have some letters to write."
Bolitho looked at Pascoe. "I wish you were in almost any other ship, Adam. In any place but here."
Pascoe regarded him searchingly. "I am content, sir."." Bolitho walked to the windows and stared at the silver glow across the water. Like rippling silk, the patterns changing endlessly. He thought of Farquhar writing his letters. To his mother? To the Admiralty?
He said, "In my steward's keeping at Falmouth, Adam, there is a letter. For you."
He felt Pascoe step beside him, and saw his reflection in the, thick glass. Like brothers in the strange glow.
"Don’t say anything." He reached out and put his arm round his shoulder. "The letter will tell you everything you must do. The rest you will decide for yourself."
"But, Uncle." Pascoe's voice sounded unsteady. "You must not speak like that!"
"It must be said." He turned and smiled at him. "As it was once said to me. And now," he forced the pain out of his thoughts, "we must help Mr. Plowman below."
But when they turned from the windows, Plowman had already gone.