Honour This Day

'Lady Jane's hove-to, Sir Richard. She's putting down a boat.'

Someone chuckled, 'Gawd, her captain looks about twelve years old¹'

Bolitho watched the small boat rising and dipping over the smooth-sided swell.

He had been in his cabin when the hail had come from the masthead about Tybalt's signal He had been composing fresh orders for Hernck and his captains. Divide the squadron. Delay no longer.

Bolitho glanced at the nearest gangway, the bare-backed seamen clinging to the nettings to watch as the boat pulled nearer Was it wrong to curse boredom when the alternative could be sudden death'

'Heave-to, if you please¹'

Parns raised his speaking trumpet. 'Main tops'l braces!' Even he seemed to have forgotten his wound.

Hyperion came slowly into the wind, while Bolitho kept his gaze on the approaching boat.

Suppose it was just one more despatch, which in the end meant nothing' He swung away to hide the anger he felt for himself. In God's name, he should be used to that by now.

Lady Jane's captain, a pink-cheeked lieutenant named Edwardes, clambered through the entry port and stared around like someone trapped.

Keen stepped forward. 'Come aft, sir. My admiral will speak with you.'

But Bolitho stared at the second figure who was being hauled unceremoniously on deck, accompanied by grins and nudges from the seamen.

Bolitho exclaimed, 'So you could not stay away!'

Sir Piers Blachford waved a warning hand as a sailor made to drop his case of instruments on the deck. Then he said simply, 'I had reached Gibraltar. There I was told that the French are massed at Cadiz with their Spanish allies. I could not see my way to joining the fleet, so I decided to return here in the schooner.' He smiled gently. 'I have the blessing of authority behind me, Sir Richard.'

Keen smiled wryly. 'You are more likely to get sunburn or dry rot if you stay with us, Sir Piers!' But his eyes were on Bolitho, seeing the change in him. It never failed to move him, just to watch his expression, the sudden glint in his dark grey eyes.

In the cabin Bolitho slit open the weighted canvas envelope himself. The shipboard sounds seemed to be muffled, as if Hyperion too was holding her breath.

The others stood around like unrehearsed players. Keen, feet astride, his fair hair and handsome features picked out in a bar of sunlight. Yovell by the table, a pen still gripped in his hand. Sir Piers Blachford, sitting down because of his height, but unusually subdued, as if he knew this was a moment he must share and remember. Jenour by the table, close enough for Bolitho to hear his rapid breathing. And Lieutenant Edwardes who had carried the despatches under all sail from the Rock, gulping gratefully from a tankard which Ozzard had put into his hand.

And of course, Allday. Was it by chance, or had he taken his stance by the rack with its two swords to mark the moment?

Bolitho said quietly, 'Last month Lord Nelson hauled down his flag and returned home after failing to bring the French to battle.' He glanced at Blachford. 'The French fleet is at Cadiz, so too the Spanish squadrons. Vice-Admiral Collingwood is blockading the enemy in Cadiz.'

Jenour whispered, 'And Lord Nelson?'

Bolitho looked at him. 'Nelson has rejoined Victory, and is now doubtless with the fleet.'

For a long moment nobody spoke. Then Keen asked, 'They will break out? They must.'

Bolitho gripped his hands behind him. 'I agree. Villeneuve is ready. He has no choice. Which way will he head? North to Biscay, or back here, Toulon perhaps?' He studied their intent faces. 'We shall be ready. We are ordered to prepare to join Lord Nelson, to blockade or to fight; only Villeneuve knows which.'

He felt every muscle relax, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He looked at the pink-cheeked lieutenant. 'So you are on your way?'

'Aye, Sir Richard.' He waved vaguely. 'First to Malta, and then…'

Bolitho watched the sparkle in his eyes; he was planning how he would relate to his friends, how he had carried the word to the rest of the fleet.

'I wish you Godspeed.'

Keen left to see the young man over the side and Bolitho said, 'Make a signal to Tybalt, repeated to Phaedra. Captain to close the Flag and repair on board without delay."

Jenour wrote in his book and said, 'Immediately, Sir Richard.' He almost ran from the cabin.

Bolitho looked at Blachford. 'I shall send Phaedra to recall the rest of the squadron. When Herrick joins me, I intend to move to the west. If there is to be a fight, then we shall share it.' He smiled and added, 'You will be more than welcome here if that happens.'

Keen came back and asked, 'Will you send Phaedra, Sir Richard?'

'Yes.'

Bolitho thought, Val's mind matches my own. He is thinking it a pity it could not be Adam going to tell Herrick the news.

Blachford remarked, 'But it may end in another blockade?'

Keen shook his head. 'I think not, Sir Piers. There is too much at stake here.'

Bolitho nodded. 'Not least, Villeneuve's honour.'

He walked to the stern windows and wondered how long it would take Dunstan to work his sloop-of-war back to the squadron.

So Nelson had quit the land to rejoin his Victory'} He must feel it too. Bolitho ran his palms over the worn sill of the stern windows and watched the sea rise and fall beneath the counter. Two old ships. He thought of the sally port where he had released his hold on Catherine that last time. Nelson would have used those same stairs. One day they would meet. It was inevitable. Dear Inch had met him, and Adam was on speaking terms. He smiled to himself. Our Net.

There were whispers at the screen door, then Keen said, 'Phaedra is in sight, Sir Richard.'

'Good. We'll send her on her way before dusk with any luck.'

Bolitho threw off his gold-laced coat and sat at the table. 'I shall write my orders, Mr Yovell. Tell your clerk to prepare copies for every captain.'

He stared at the sun glinting across the fresh ink.

Upon receipt of these orders you are to proceed with all despatch – Right or wrong, it was a time for action.

Hernck sat squarely in Hyperion's stern cabin and grasped a tankard of ginger-beer with both hands.

'It feels strange.' He dropped his eyes. 'Why should that be?'

Bolitho walked about the cabin, remembering his own feelings when the lookouts had sighted Benbow and her two consorts in the dawn light.

He could understand Hernck's feelings. Two men drawn together like passing ships on an ocean. Now he was here, and not even the coolness Bolitho had seen between him and Keen as the latter had greeted his arrival on board could dispel a sense of relief.

Bolitho said, 'I have decided to head west now that we are joined, Thomas.'

Hernck looked up, but his eyes seemed drawn to the elegant wine cabinet in the corner of the cabin. He probably saw Catherine's hand here too.

'I am not certain it is wise.' He pouted, and then shrugged. 'But if we are called to support Nelson, then the closer we are to the Strait the better, I suppose.' He did not sound very certain. 'At least we can face the enemy if he comes our way in the narrows.'

Bolitho listened to the tramp of feet as the afterguard manned the mizzen braces for changing tack again. Eight ships-of-the-hne, a frigate and a small sloop-of-war. It was no fleet, but he was as proud of them as a man could be.

Only one was missing, the little prize frigate La Mouette which Hernck had sent further north to scout for any coastal shipping from which she might glean some information.