But Bolitho heard only the words of his old friend. His oak.
Somewhere in the past he could recall a signal he had once made. It seemed very apt for this moment, for this special man.
"I will be honoured, " he said.
Epilogue
Richard Bolitho gripped the tasselled strap as the carriage swayed and shuddered into some deep ruts like a small boat in a choppy sea. He felt drained, and every bone in his body was aching from this endless journey. In his tired mind it all seemed to overlay in vague, blurred pictures, from the moment he had stepped ashore at Portsmouth to be whisked immediately to London to make his report.
All the while he had been yearning to get away, to begin the long, long drive from that world to his own West Country. Surrey, Hampshire, Dorset, Devon. He could not remember how many times they had stopped to change horses, how many inns they had visited. Even when he had broken the journey to spend a night in one of the coaching inns the images seemed confused. People who had stared at him, wondering what business was taking him westward but too nervous or polite to ask. The smells of meat puddings and mulled ale, saucy-eyed servant girls, jovial landlords who lived off the coaching trade with far more success than the highwaymen.
Opposite him Allday sprawled across his seat, his bronzed face rested and untroubled in sleep. Like most sailors he could sleep anywhere, if an opportunity offered itself.
It was hard to accept that he was in England after all that happened. Baratte was dead, and even Tyacke, who had searched the whole area in his Lame, had found no living soul to survive the terrible explosion.
Under jury-rig and nursing their injuries and damage, the ships, including the two French prizes, had crawled back to Cape Town. There, to his astonishment, Bolitho had found fresh orders requiring him to hand over his command to Commodore Keen and return home. They had passed Keen's convoy on passage but not close enough to communicate. Bolitho's flag at the fore would tell Keen all he needed to know. The way ahead was clear, and the first military landings on the islands adjoining the main objective, Mauritius, could go ahead.
Bolitho wiped the window with his sleeve. They had made an early start, as they had on most mornings when the road had been a good one. Bare, black trees, wet from overnight mist or rain, the rolling fields and hills beyond. He shivered, and not only with excitement. It was November and the air was bitter.
He thought of the good-byes and the unexpected partings. Lieutenant Urquhart had been left in charge of Valkyrie, supervising the repairs until a new captain was appointed. That was the strangest thing of all, Bolitho thought. Trevenen had vanished on the final night before making their landfall at Good Hope. A twist of fate? Or had he been unable to face the consequences of what he had done when Bolitho had been wounded? He had left no letter, no declaration. The ship had been searched from cable tier to orlop: it had been just as if he had been spirited away.
Or it might have been murder. Either way, the part played by Hamett-Parker in getting Trevenen such an important command might be reopened because of it.
Farewells. Tyacke, grave and strangely sad, able to forget his disfigurement while they had shaken hands: friends or brothers, they were both.
And Adam, whose Anemone had seen the worst of the fighting and had suffered the most casualties. Adam had spoken of them with pride and with a deep sense of loss. Two of his lieutenants had been killed. His voice had been full of unashamed emotion when he had described how they had grappled with the Chacal, which had been flying Baratte's own flag, and one of his midshipmen, called Dunwoody, had fallen.
"I had recommended him for early promotion. He will be greatly missed."
Bolitho had felt his pain. It was often like that when a battle was permitted to have personality, faces and names: when the cost was so high, and so personal.
Bolitho had been glad to leave. He had been offered passage in a rakish little sixth-rate of twenty-six guns named Argyll. Her young captain was very aware of the importance of his passenger and the despatches he carried, and doubtless wondered why an officer of such seniority did not wait for a more comfortable vessel.
There had also been a letter at Cape Town from Catherine. On the speedy journey from the Cape he had re-read it many times. He had experienced a powerful jealousy and apprehension when she had written of her visit to Sillitoe; even fear for her personal safety and reputation.
I had to do it, for our sakes, yours and mine. I could never allow what has happened in my past to hurt you more than many have done already. You can always trust me, dearest of men, and there was nobody else I myself could trust, for whatever reason, to keep my secrets. There were times when I questioned my actions, but I need not have doubted. In some ways I believe that Sir Paul Sillitoe was surprised at his own sense of decency.
At London Herrick left him to have further treatment for his amputation. So different from that other Herrick. Still gruff and afraid of showing his innermost feelings, he had said, "They might offer me something else, Richard." His bright blue eyes had dropped to his empty sleeve. "I'd have given a lot more that day if need be, just to regain your respect."
"And friendship, Thomas."
"Aye. I'll never forget that. Not again." He had given a slow grin. "I'll put things right. Somehow."
Bolitho eased his position on the seat and pulled his boat-cloak closer around his body. The change from the Indian Ocean to an English winter had been harsher than he had expected. Getting older? He thought of his face in the looking glass when Allday had shaved him only this morning at an inn in St. Austell. His hair was still black except for the hated lock over the scar above his right eye where the cutlass had hacked him down all those years ago.
How would she see him? Might she have regretted her decision to stay with him?
He thought of Yovell and Ozzard, who were travelling at a more leisurely pace in a second carriage with all their belongings. He glanced at the slumbering figure opposite. The 'little crew' had diminished still further when the carriage had stopped overnight in Dorset. Avery, his companion through so much, would be staying in Dorchester with his married sister. It had been a strangely awkward parting, and Bolitho guessed that his flag lieutenant was considering the promotion which he had offered him. It was not certain if he could be tempted to remain with a vice-admiral who might be unemployed for some time.
Bolitho felt the carriage pause on the crest of a hill, the horses panting and stamping their feet.
All those weeks at sea, re-living past ships and lost faces, then days on the road. He dropped the window and looked at the nearest field, the slate wall heavy with moss and damp. There was a hint of ice at the side of the road but there was hard sunshine too, and no sign of snow.
He knew that Allday had awakened and was on the edge of his seat, watching him. Big and powerful he might be, but when required he could
move like a cat.
He faced him, remembering the despair in his voice when he had prevented him from pushing the surgeon's mate Lovelace aside.
"Hear that, old friend?"
A slow understanding crossed Allday's weathered features and he nodded.
Bolitho said quietly, "Church bells. Falmouth! "
Everything else seemed so distant here. Mauritius would be in English hands by now, with relief and gratitude on the part of the Honourable East India Company. Baratte's privateers and pirates like Simon Hannay would have nowhere now to hide and seek shelter from the English frigates.
He himself was so eager to get home, and yet his doubts rendered him uncertain. He touched his eye, unaware of Allday's sudden apprehension, recalling Portsmouth Point where he had been pulled ashore from the little Argyll. In the stern sheets he had turned and looked back at the frigate as she rode at anchor, her passengers and responsibilities gone.