Bolitho felt the sense of helplessness returning, the contest of desires pulling at him like claws. He wanted to throw the words back in Broughton’s face, yet could not endure the prospect of Furneaux in control of the squadron’s small resources.
He heard himself say tightly, “It is my duty to advise you, sir, as well as obey orders.”
Draffen beamed. “There you are, gentlemen! We are agreed at last!”
Bolitho looked at him bitterly. “What do you intend?”
“With Sir Lucius’s permission I will make use of the sloop again. I have no doubt my agent will be expecting some sort of news from me, so the rest should be made easier for us.” He looked shrewdly at Bolitho’s grave features. “As you have said yourself, the squadron is better fitted for fighting in open waters than exposing itself to unnecessary risk inshore. I will need no more than two days, and by that time we should be ready for a final and conclusive assault.” He smiled, and Bolitho saw a new light in his eyes. For a few seconds his expression was one of complete cruelty. “A flag of truce to the garrison, an explanation of what will assuredly happen if Messadi’s men take the fortress, to the defenders and their womenfolk…” He said no more.
Broughton muttered, “For God’s sake, Sir Hugo, it won’t come to that surely?”
“Of course not, Sir Lucius.” Draffen was openly cheerful again.
Broughton seemed suddenly eager to finish the conference. “Signal the Restless, Bolitho. Coquette can take over watch on the bay.”
As he left the cabin Draffen followed him, his voice almost gentle as he murmured, “Do not take it so seriously, Captain. I have never doubted your qualities as a sea officer. So you must trust my ability in these matters, eh?”
Bolitho paused and looked at him. “If you mean I am no match for your politics, Sir Hugo, then you are right I want no part of them, ever!”
Draffen’s face hardened. “Do not overreach yourself, my friend. You may attain high command in the Navy one day, provided…” The word hung in the air.
“Provided I hold my tongue?”
Draffen swung towards him angrily. “You, of all people, can hardly afford the re-telling of your past if you wish to better yourself! Do not forget, I knew your brother. There are some in high places who might reconsider any officer’s chances of advancement once they were reminded of some flaw in his family background, so watch your manners, Captain!”
Bolitho felt suddenly very calm. As if his body was suspended in the air. “Thank you for reminding me, Sir Hugo.” He was amazed at the sound of his voice. Like a complete stranger’s. “At least we will be able to dispense with all pretence from this moment onward.” He turned and walked quickly towards the companion ladder.
He found Keverne pacing back and forth on the quarterdeck, his face deep in thought.
“Signal Valorous to relay the admiral’s order to Restless. She is to up anchor and close with the flagship immediately. She will then take Sir Hugo Draffen aboard and act under his instructions.” He ignored Keverne’s curious stare. “You may then secure all guns and have our people fed. Well?”
Keverne asked, “Shall we withdraw, sir?”
“Attend to the signal, Mr Keverne.” He looked dully at the distant hills. “While I do some thinking.”
He turned as Lieutenant Sawle appeared below the quarterdeck accompanied by Witrand.
“Where are you taking the prisoner, Mr Sawle?”
The lieutenant stared at him blankly. “He is to be transferred to the sloop, sir.” He seemed confused. “Lieutenant Calvert says it is at the admiral’s bidding.”
“Come here.” Bolitho watched the Frenchman climbing lightly up the ladder, forgetting for the moment his earlier contempt and anger at Draffen’s threat.
“I will say farewell, Capitaine.” Witrand stretched and sniffed the warm sea air. “I doubt we will meet again.”
“I did not know of this, Witrand.”
“That I will believe, Capitaine.” Witrand eyed him curiously. “It seems that I may be expected to aid your cause. A joke, eh?”
Bolitho thought of Broughton’s growing desperation. He might have agreed with Draffen to allow Witrand’s transfer to the sloop in the hopes he would give away some secret about his own mission.
He replied quietly, “A joke. Perhaps.”
He shaded his eyes to watch the Valorous as she hoisted Broughton’s signal to her yards. Somewhere, hidden around the beaked headland the anchored sloop would see it and come hurrying to do his bidding. Witrand would probably stay aboard her and later be conveyed with despatches to Gibraltar.
Bolitho held out his hand. “Goodbye, m’sieu. And thank you for what you did on my behalf.”
The Frenchman’s grasp was firm. “I ’ope that one day we will meet again, Capitaine.” He shrugged. “But…”
He broke off as Sawle and two armed seamen appeared on the quarterdeck. He added quickly, “If anything should ’appen to me. There is a letter. For my wife in Bordeaux!” He dropped his voice. “I would be grateful!”
Bolitho nodded. “Of course.” He watched Witrand being escorted to the entry port to await a boat. “Take care.”
Witrand tossed him a casual wave. “You also, Capitaine!”
An hour later Bolitho was still pacing up and down the weather side oblivious to the searing heat which had turned his shirt into a sodden rag, or the blinding glare thrown back from the sea.
Draffen had been transferred to the sloop and had already disappeared around the out-thrust curve of the coastline, yet he had hardly been aware of anything but Witrand’s simple request.
Lieutenant Weigall was officer of the watch and was content to keep well clear of his captain. Alone with his deafness, he stayed on the lee side, his prizefighter’s face set in its usual frown as he surveyed the men working along the upper deck.
By the poop Allday watched Bolitho’s anguish and wondered why he could think of nothing to help him. He had refused to leave the deck for a meal, and had turned on him with something like blind anger when he had tried to coax him below for a brief respite from the heat.
“Deck there!” The lookout’s voice was like a croak. The seaman was probably parched dry with thirst, “Sail on th’ weather bow!”
Allday glanced at Bolitho expectantly but he was still pacing, his face grave and expressionless. A quick look towards Weigall told him that he had heard nothing at all.
Already flags were soaring aloft on the Tanais’s yards, and Allday strode quickly to a dozing midshipman and prodded him sharply in the ribs.
“Stir yourself, Mr Sandoe!” He saw the boy staring at him with fright. “There’s work to be done!”
Then he crossed to the other side and waited until Bolitho had completed another turn along the deck.
“Captain?”
Bolitho paused and swayed wearily on the tilting deck. He saw Allday’s face swimming before him, and realised that he was smiling.
Allday said firmly, “Sail on th’ weather bow, Captain.”
“What?”
He looked aloft as the voice pealed down. “One ship, sir!”
Weigall had at last realised something was happening and was moving about the deck like a caged animal.
Far above the deck the small figure of the midshipman could be seen moving up to join the lookout. Moments later his voice floated down to all the upturned faces.
“She’s a bomb vessel, sir!”
When Allday looked at Bolitho again he was stunned to see his eyes were blurred with emotion.
Bolitho said quietly, “Thank God.” He reached out and seized
Allday’s thick forearm. “Then there’s still time.” He turned away to hide his face and added, “Call the master. Tell him to lay off a course for the squadron to intercept and then,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “then we shall see.”
Later, as the Euryalus swung heavily across the wind and started on a new tack towards the small sliver of sail, Bolitho stood very still at the quarterdeck rail, while every other officer stayed at a respectful distance on the opposite side, their voices murmuring with busy speculation.