Honour This Day

Herrick eyed him stubbornly. 'Or we can stay here and wait. No one can blame us. We shall certainly be damned if we miss the enemy when they break through to Toulon.'

'I would blame myself, Thomas. My head tells me one thing, instinct directs me otherwise.'

Herrick cocked his head to listen to the pumps. 'Is it that bad?'

'She will stand more of it.'

'I sent Absolute into harbour because she was too rotten.'

Bolitho retorted, 'I could use her too, rotten or not.'

Herrick stood up and walked to the stern windows. 'I should leave. I mean no disrespect, but my barge will have a hard pull as it is.'

Bolitho faced him. 'Listen to me, Thomas. I don't care what you think about my private life, for private it is not apparently. I need your support, for fight we shall.' He clapped his hand to his heart. 'I know it.'

Herrick watched him as if seeking a trap. 'As your second-in-command I will be ready if we are called to battle. But I still believe you are misguided.'

Bolitho said despairingly, 'You are not listening, man! I am not commanding you, I am asking for your help!' He saw Herrick's astonishment as he exclaimed, 'In God's name, Thomas, must I plead? I am going blind, or did that piece of gossip rouse no interest amongst you?'

Herrick gasped, 'I had no idea -'

Bolitho looked away and shrugged. 'I will trouble you to keep it to yourself.' He swung round, his voice harsh. 'But if I fall, you must lead these men, you will make them perform miracles if need be – are you listening now?'

There was a tap at the door, and Bolitho shouted, 'Yes?' His anguish tore the word from his throat.

Keen entered and glanced between them. 'Signal from Phaedra, sir, repeated by Tybalt.'

Herrick asked quickly, 'What of La Mouette?

Keen was looking only at Bolitho. He guessed what had happened, and wanted to share it with him.

He answered abruptly, 'She is down.'

Bolitho met his gaze, grateful for the interruption. He had almost broken that time.

'News, Val?'

'There is an enemy squadron on the move, Sir Richard. Heading west.'

Herrick asked, 'How many?'

Still Keen avoided his eyes. 'Phaedra has not yet reported. She is damaged after a stern-chase.' He took a step towards him, then let his arms fall to his sides. 'They are Spanish, Sir Richard. Sail of the line, that we do know.'

Bolitho ran his fingers through his hair and asked, 'How many ships does Nelson have?'

Keen looked at him, and then his eyes cleared with understanding.

'It was last reported as two dozen of the line, Sir Richard. The French and their Spanish ally are said to have over thirty, which will include some of the largest first-rates afloat.'

Bolitho listened to the moan of the wind. Divide and conquer. How well Villeneuve had planned it. And now with this new formation of ships, discovered only accidentally by Phaedra, Nelson's fleet would be overwhelmed and hopelessly outnumbered.

He said simply, 'If they slip through the Strait we may never catch them in time.' He looked at Keen. 'Signal Phaedra to close on the Flag.' He caught his arm as he made to leave. 'When that brave little ship draws close enough, spell out well done.''

When Keen left Herrick said with sudden determination, 'I am ready. Tell me what to do."

Bolitho stared through the stained windows. 'Minimum signals, Thomas. As we discussed.'

'But your eyesight?' Herrick sounded wretched.

'Oh no, not any more, Thomas. Little Phaedra has lifted my blindness. But hear me. If my flag comes down, Benbow will take the van.'

Herrick nodded. 'Understood.'

Bolitho said, 'So hold back your conscience, my friend, and together we may yet win the day!'

He turned to look at the breaking wave-crests, and did not move until he heard the door shut.

Bolitho put his signature to his final letter and stared at it for several minutes.

The swell was as steep as before, but the wind had lessened, so that the hull seemed to rise and fall with a kind of ponderous majesty. He glanced at the quarter windows as a pale shaft of sunlight penetrated the sea-mist and showed up the salt stains on the glass like ice-rime. He hoped the sun would break through completely before the day ended. The air was heavy with damp; hammocks, clothing, everything.

He reread the last of the letter which Phaedra would carry to the fleet. He tried to picture Nelson eventually reading it, understanding as a sailor, better than any other, what Bolitho's ships and men were trying to do.

He had finished with, 'And I thank you, my lord, for offering my nephew, who is most dear to me, the same inspiration you have given to the whole fleet.'

He pushed it aside for Yovell to seal and turned the other letter over in his fingers, while he imagined Catherine's dark eyes as she read the words, his declaration of love which now can never die. There would be many letters going in Phaedra. What would Herrick say to his Dulcie, he wondered? Their parting yesterday had left a bad taste. Once, such a thing would have seemed impossible. Maybe people did change, and he was the one who was mistaken.

Keen would have written to his Zenona. It was a great comfort that she would be with Catherine. He stood up, suddenly chilled to the marrow despite the damp, humid air. Nothing must happen to Val. Not after what they had shared. The pain and the joy, the fulfilment of a dream which had been snatched from Keen and had left him like half a man. Until Zenona. The girl with the moonlit eyes; another whose love had been forged from suffering.

Keen looked in. 'Phaedra's captain is come aboard, Sir Richard.'

Bolitho faced the door as Dunstan almost bounded into the cabin.

A young man of tireless energy, and certainly one of the scruffiest captains Bolitho had ever laid eyes on.

'It was good of you to come.' Bolitho held out his hand. 'I believe it was intended we should pass the despatches over by line and tackle.'

Dunstan beamed and looked around the cabin. 'I thought, damn the sea, Sir Richard. I'll go myself.'

Bolitho gestured to the letters. 'I place these in your hands. There is one for Lord Nelson. When you have run him to ground I would wish you to present it to him personally.' He gave a quick smile. 'It seems I am fated not to meet him in person!'

Dunstan took the letter and stared at it as if he expected it to look different from all the others.

Bolitho said, 'I am told that you had some casualties.'

'Aye, Sir Richard. Two killed, another pair cut down by splinters.'

For just a moment Bolitho saw the young man behind the guise of captain. The memory and the risks, the moment of truth when death sings in the air.

Dunstan added, 'I am only sorry I could not linger to estimate the full array of Spanish vessels.' He shrugged. 'But that damn frigate was at my coat-tails, and the mist hid many of the enemy.'

Bolitho did not press him. Keen would have laid all of his findings and calculations alongside his own on Hyperion's charts.

Dunstan said, 'It struck me that war is an odd game, Sir Richard. It was just a small fight by today's standard, but how strange the contestants.'

Bolitho smiled. 'I know. A captured British frigate fighting under Spanish colours against a French prize beneath our own flag!'

Dunstan looked at him squarely. 'I would ask that you send another to seek out Lord Nelson. My place is here with you.'