At the corner of the square Bolitho saw a small detachment of grimy marines. They were grouped around a fire and staring in silence at a large black pot which they had hung across it on a piece of curtain rail. With a start he realised that they were some of his own men, and as the marines turned to stare he saw a tall sergeant spring to attention, an upraised mug still grasped in one hand.
Bolitho nodded. 'Sergeant Best! I am glad to see that you are making yourselves comfortable!'
The marine grinned through the dirt on his face. 'Aye, Sir. Cap'n Ashby 'as put our lads right round the 'eadquarters.'
He gestured towards the house. 'The Frog gunners keep tryin' to lay a broadside on the place, but the church is in the way.' He broke off as a ball sliced through the top of the church and severed the gleaming weathervane so that it fell like a dying bird to the street below. He remarked with nothing more than professional interest, `Better that time, I think!'
Bolitho grunted and hurried on towards the gates. There were more marines inside the wall. Some were sleeping beside their piled muskets, others stood or squatted along the steps in front of the house, their faces lined with fatigue and strain.
But as Bolitho approached a corporal rasped, 'Hyperion's, 'shun!' And like drugged men rising from some kind of trance the dusty marines staggered to attention, their resentment changing to something like joy as they recognised their captain.
A man called, 'Good to see you, sir! When can we get away from here?'
Bolitho brushed past them. 'I thought you were having too easy a time! So I've come to find you some real work!' It was unnerving the way they laughed at his stupid remark. They were so trusting, so. completely reassured now that they had seen him, as if his very familiarity and their own sense of belonging to one unit made all the difference:
He found Captain Dash sitting behind Pomfret's big desk, his head resting in his hands.
Bolitho said to Inch, 'Wait in the passage and stop the men from straying away.' Then he closed the door behind him and walked over to the desk.
Dash rubbed his eyes and stared at him. My God, I thought I was still dreaming!' He made to struggle to his feet. 'I am very glad to see you.'
Bolitho squatted on the edge of the desk. 'I would have been here sooner, but…' He shrugged. That was all in the past now. He added, 'How bad is it?'
Dash brushed his hand across the big map, the movement both weary and dispirited. 'It is hopeless, Bolitho! The enemy is getting more reinforcements every day.' He drew one finger around the town. 'Our men are hemmed in tight. We have lost the hills and the road. The whole line is falling back. By tomorrow we might be fighting in the streets.' He tapped the southern headland. 'If they push us off there, we're done for. Once the French get their guns on that headland they can pound our ships to boxwood in a matter of hours. We won't even be able to escape if that happens!'
Bolitho watched him closely. Dash had changed in some way, but he could not yet put his finger on it.
He asked quietly, `What is the admiral doing?'
He saw Dash start and some of the colour drain from his face. Then he replied, `Sir Edmund is ill. I thought you knew that?'
– 'I did. Leach told me.' He watched the quick, nervous movements of Dash's hands. `What is the matter with him?'
Dash stood up and walked to a window. 'A brig brought despatches from Toulon. The whole thing is finished. Lord Hood has ordered us to evacuate the port and destroy any facilities and shipping as we go.' He ducked involuntarily as a nearby explosion brought down a pattern of white dust from the ceilingl He added savagely, 'Not that there'll be much left by then!'
'And Toulon?' Bolitho felt the muscles tightening in his stomach. He already guessed the answer.
Dash shrugged heavily. 'The same there. They are pulling out completely in the next few weeks.'
Bolitho stood up and clasped his hands behind him. 'What did the admiral say about it?'
'I thought he was going to have a fit!' Dash turned, his face in shadow. 'He ranted and raved, shouted insults at everybody, including me, and then retired to his room.'
'When was this?' Bolitho was certain he had not yet heard the worst.
'Two weeks ago.'
'Two weeks!' Bolitho stared at Dash with undisguised astonishment. 'What-in God's name have you been doing?
Dash flushed. 'You must see it from my side, Bolitho. I'm no aristocrat, as you know. I pulled myself from the lower deck by my fingernails. To tell the truth, I never expected to get this far,' his voice hardened, 'but now that I have, I intend to hold on to what I've gained!'
Bolitho said coldly, 'Like it or not, you are in charge here just as long as Pomfret is sick.' He banged the desk. 'You must act! You have no choice in the matter.'
Dash waved his arms around the room. 'I cannot take the responsibility! What would Sir Edmund think of me? What would they say in England?'
Bolitho studied him for several seconds. In battle, Dash would fear nothing. With his ship in fragments and outnumbered by the enemy he would fight to the bitter end. But this was quite beyond him.
Then he remembered the battered town, the men like Fowler who had made that first victory possible. He said cruelly, 'Do you really think your career, even your life is so important?' He saw Dash recoil as if he had hit him, but continued, `Think of these people who are depending on you, and then tell me you can still hesitate!'
Dash said tightly, 'I sent for you, I wanted you to know…’
'I know why you needed me, Captain Dash!' Bolitho faced him across the dust-covered map. 'You want me to reassure you, to tell you that what you are doing is right.'.He turned away, sickened by Dash's uncertainty and the cruelty of his own words.
'I’ll not deny that.' Dash was finding it difficult to control his breathing. I've always been one to obey orders. Duty has always been enough. That I could understand.' He stared down at the map. 'I'm lost in all this, Bolitho. In God's name help me!'
'Very well.' Bolitho wanted to ease the hurt he had done to the man, but there was no time. No time at all. 'I am going to see Pomfret. While I'm doing that you must call a meeting.' He tried to clear the bitterness from his mind. 'All the senior officers, here, within the hour, can you do that? And fetch Labouret, the mayor, too!'
Dash muttered, 'Are you sure, Bolitho? If anything goes wrong now…'
Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'You will get the blame. And it will be no consolation to you to know that I am equally charged, I know that, too!'
He walked to the door and then added quietly, 'But one thing is sure, Captain Dash. If you sit there and do nothing you will never be able to face yourself again. It would mean that the responsibility you worked a lifetime. to achieve was too great for you. That you were failing at the one time it all really mattered!'
Then he turned and pushed through the door. To Inch he snapped, 'Report to Captain Dash. He'll be wanting messengers. See to it at once.' Then he ran up the curving stairway to where a marine stood at attention by one of the doors.
Inside the room it was dark enough to be night, and as Bolitho groped his way towards some curtains he felt something roll under his shoe and clink against the wall. But his nose had already told him the nature of Pomfret's illness, and when he opened the curtains and stared round the room he felt a sudden nausea rising to this throat. Pomfret lay spreadeagled across the big bed, his mouth wide open, his breathing slow and painful. Around the bed and across the rich carpet were empty bottles, broken glasses and various items of clothing and furniture which looked as if they had been torn apart with the admiral's bare hands.
Bolitho tightened his jaw and leaned forward across the bed. Pomfret's face was unshaven and waxy with sweat. There was vomit on the sheets, and the whole room stank like some filthy hovel. He took his shoulder and shook it, no longer fearing the consequences or caring for Pomfret's anger. It was like shaking a corpse.