Bolitho swallowed and tasted the brandy like fire on his tongue. The other captains? It took physical effort to remember. Hazy faces swept across his blurred mind. Herrick returning from his brief audience with the commodore. Inch, torn between sorrow and concern, and many others which seemed lost in the overall confusion of his thoughts.
Inch added, "There is to be another conference, sir." "Yes. Thank you. Please tell Captain Herrick to take some coffee while he is waiting."
The door closed again and he heard Allday mutter savagely, "And a fat lot of good a conference will do!"
He asked, "Has the commodore been roused yet?"
Allday nodded. "Aye, Captain. Petch is dealing with him now." He could not keep the bitterness from his tone. "Shall I ask Captain Herrick to explain things to him?" He wiped Bolitho's face with a damp towel. "If you'll pardon the liberty, I think it's wrong that you should have to deal with this meeting."
Bolitho stood up and allowed Allday to strip the crumpled shirt from his back.
"You are right. That is a liberty. Now kindly finish what you are about and leave me in peace."
Petch came out of the sleeping cabin, Pelham-Martin's dress coat across one arm.
Allday took the coat and held it up to the reflected sunlight. The dried bloodstain looked black in the bright glare, and as he poked a finger throw the small splinter hole he said, "Not much bigger'n the point of a rapier." He threw the coat to Petch with obvious disgust.
Bolitho tightened his neckcloth and felt the clean shirt cool against his skin. His mind recorded all these facts, yet, he felt no part of them. The tiny splinter hole, PelhamMartin's clear intention of remaining an invalid, even the need for some sort of strategy, all seemed beyond his reach and as remote as the horizon.
The sudden prospect of meeting with the other captains only succeeded in unnerving him again. The watching eyes, the condolences and sympathy.
He snapped. "Tell Captain Herrick to come aft." As Allday made for the door he added sharply, "And I will have another decanter at once."
He dropped his eyes, unable to watch Allday's anxiety. The man's concern and deep desire to help were almost more painful than contempt. Allday might have cared less for him had he seen him sobbing against the open window. Had he known of his sudden impulse to hurl himself after the empty decanter and scatter the reflected stars beneath the ship's dark counter.
Herrick stepped into the cabin, his hat beneath his arm, his round face set in a grave smile.
"This is an intrusion, but I thought it best to see you before the others."
Bolitho pushed a chair towards him. "Thank you, Thomas. Yours is never an intrusion."
Petch enetered the cabin and placed a full decanter on the desk.
Bolitho looked at his friend. "A glass before we begin, eh?" He tried to smile but his mouth felt frozen.
"Aye, I could relish one." Herrick watched Bolitho's hand as the decanter shook against the glasses.
Then he said quietly, "Before we meet the commodore again there are things which I should tell you." He sipped at the glass. "The news I brought from England is not good. Our blockade is stretched almost beyond safety limits. Several times in recent months the French have broken out of their harbours, even from Toulon where they were met and repulsed by Vice-Admiral Hotham's squadron." He sighed. "The war is gaining in pace, and some of our superiors seem left astern by the speed of the enemy's thinking." His eyes followed the decanter as Bolitho poured another full glass. "Lord Howe has given up the Channel Fleet to Viscount Bridport, so we may be assured of some improvement there."
Bolitho held the glass up to the light. "And what of us, Thomas? When do all our reinforcements arrive? In time to hear of Lequiller's final victory, no doubt?"
Herrick watched him gravely. "There are no more ships. Mine is the only one to be spared for the squadron."
Bolitho stared at him and then shook his head. "I imagine that our commodore was interested in this piece of news?"
He drank some more brandy and leaned back in the chair as it explored his stomach like a hot iron.
Herrick replied, "I got no impression from him at all." He placed his glass on the desk but held his hand above as Bolitho made to refill it. "He must be made to act. I have spoken_ with Fitzmaurice and young Farquhar, and I have heard what you believe of Lequiller's intentions. They make good sense, but time is against us. Unless we can call the French to action we are useless here and would be better employed with the fleet."
"So you have been discussing it with them, eh?"
Herrick looked at the desk. "I have."
"And what else did you discover?"
"That any success this squadron has achieved has been at your doing." Herrick rose to his feet, his features suddenly stern. "I have been with you in- action many times and have sailed by your side in worse conditions than many think exist. You know well enough what our friendship means to me, and that I would die for you here and now if I believed it would help. Because of this, and what we have seen and done together, I feel I have earned the right…"
He hesitated as Bolitho asked flatly, "What right is that?"
"The right to speak my mind, even at the risk of destroying that friendship!"
Bolitho looked away. "Well?"
"In all the years I have never seen you like this." He gestured to the decanter. "Always you have been the one to help and understand others, no matter at what cost to your own feelings. Your loss has been a terrible one. She meant much to me also, as I think you know. There is not a man aboard this ship who knew her who does not share your pain at this moment." He added harshly, "But viewed against what you believe and have taught others to accept in the past, it is a personal thing. And one which cannot, must not influence your deeds when you are most needed by all of us."
Bolitho looked at him coldly. "Have you finished?"
"Not quite. Often you told me that responsibility and authority are privileges, not the rights of every man for the taking. When we served in frigates there was a world of difference, with little at risk but our own lives. Here, our few ships might decide greater events which we cannot even begin to understand." He looked hard at the sleeping-cabin door. "And when we require an example, what do we have? A man so filled with self-deception and ignorance that he can see no further than his own skin." He turned and faced Bolitho again, his eyes troubled but stubborn. "So we will be looking to you. As the captain of the Hyperion, and a man who has never put self-advancement before honour and duty." He took a deep breath. "As the man chosen by Cheney Seton for her husband!"
In the muffled distance Bolitho heard the squeal of pipes, the sounds of boats alongside. The whole cabin seemed to be swimming in mist, and the words of anger and scathing retort would not come.
As he stood beside the desk Herrick stepped forward and seized his hands. "Believe me, Richard, I know what you are suffering." He studied his features with sudden determination. "1 know!"
Bolitho looked at him and gave a small shudder: "Thank you, Thomas. I do not know of anything which could ever break our friendship. And speaking your mind to me is not one of them, I am sure of that."
Herrick nodded but did not release his grip. He said, "I have been a sea officer long enough to learn that it is not the Pelham-Martins of our life who really matter. You, and those like you, who have found the time to think and plan for others will finally decide the rights and wrongs of our cause. And one day, perhaps in our lifetime, we will see a better Service because of that example. One which men will take as a calling, and not an enforced and heartless existence which can be determined by the whim of mere individuals." He smiled briefly. "Tyrants and influential nincompoops have a way of fading in the smoke of real danger."