Alexander Kent - The Only Victor

In the allotted span of six weeks, sixteen sail of the line, frigates, sloops and many smaller vessels were despatched to English ports, and the country's fear that the blockade of enemy ports would collapse due to lack of ships was ended.

The various squadrons were returned to their normal stations and some were disbanded to await further instructions. Perhaps, after the glory of Trafalgar, the second battle of Copenhagen was slow to catch the imagination of a public hungry for victories. But the results, and the severe setback to Napoleon's last hope of breaking the line of wooden-walls which stretched from the Channel ports to Biscay and from Gibraltar to the shores of Italy, were real enough.

The New Year arrived, and with it some of the victors came home.

For late January it was deceptively mild and peaceful in the little Cornish village of Zennor. Some said it was an omen for such a special occasion, for this part of the county was not noted for its placid weather. Zennor lay on the north shore of the peninsula, as different from Falmouth and its pastoral landscape of low hills silver estuaries and lovely bays as could be imagined. Here was a savage coastline of cliffs and serried lines of jagged black rocks like broken teeth, where the sea boiled and thundered in constant unrest. In normal times, a bleak, uncompromising shore where many a fine ship had made its last and fatal landfall.

Zennor was a small place, owing its existence mainly to the land, as only the foolhardy sought to live from fishing, and there were many stones in the church to confirm as much.

Despite the chill, damp air, not a villager missed this particular day, when one of their own, the daughter of a respected local man who had been wrongly executed for speaking out on the freedoms of farm workers and others, was to be married.

The village had never seen such an occasion. At first glance there were more expensive carriages and horses than residents. The blue and white of sea officers rubbed shoulders with a few Royal Marines and some of the local garrison, while the gowns of the ladies were of a quality and style rarely seen in this proud but humble place.

The little twelfth-century church, more accustomed to farming festivals and local weddings, was packed. Even with extra chairs and stools brought from the dairy some of the congregation had to remain outside in the timeless churchyard-as much a part of their heritage as the sea and the rolling fields which surrounded the village.

A young lieutenant bowed to Catherine as she entered the church on the arm of Captain Adam Bolitho. "If you will follow me, my lady! "

An organ was playing in the background when she reached her allotted place; she had noticed several heads leaning forward to watch her pass, then moving together for a quiet remark, or more gossip perhaps.

Strangely it no longer mattered. She glanced across the church and thought she recognised some of Bolitho's captains. It must have been difficult for a few of them to reach this remote village, she thought. From Falmouth it was some forty miles, first north and through Truro on the main coaching road, then westward where with each passing mile the roads became narrower and more rutted. She smiled to herself. Nancy 's husband, "The King of Cornwall," had performed magnificently living up to his name by obtaining the full co-operation of the local squire, willingly or otherwise. He had offered his spacious house, not only for many of the guests to stay overnight, but had also joined with Roxby in providing such a spread of food and drink there that it would be talked about for years to come.

She said quietly, "I am so glad it is a fine day for them." She watched Adam's profile and remembered what Bolitho had told her, that he seemed troubled by something. "Look at poor Val! He would rather face another battle than stand and be still like this! "

Keen was standing by the small altar, with his brother beside him. Like his two sisters in the church, the other man was fair; and it appeared odd, in this gathering, for him not to be wearing uniform, but Catherine knew he was a distinguished barrister in London.

Adam said, "I shall have to leave soon after the wedding, Catherine." He glanced at her, and she felt her heart leap at the resemblance as it always did. So like Richard; or perhaps all the Bolithos were cast in the same mold.

"So soon?" She laid her hand on his sleeve. The young hero who said that he had all he had ever dreamed of; but for a few moments he had looked quite lost, like the boy he had once been.

He smiled at her-Bolitho's smile. "It is the burden of every frigate captain, I'm told. Turn your back and the admiral will poach your best men for some other captain. You find only the sweepings of the press if you stay away too long."

It was not the reason, and she knew that he realised she understood as much. He said suddenly, "I want to tell you, Catherine." He gripped her hand. "You of all people-I know you-care."

She returned the pressure on his hand. "When you are ready, you will share it perhaps."

There were more whispers by the altar. She sat silently studying the ancient ceiling of Cornish barrel vaulting, recalling the famous legend of this place. It was said that a mermaid had once sat in the back of the church and lost her heart to a chorister here. Then one day she had lured him out to the little stream which ran through the village and down into the sea at Pendour Cove. They were never seen again; but even now it was claimed by many that you could hear the lovers singing together when the sea was calm… like today.

She smiled wistfully as Keen turned and gazed up the aisle, a brave, distinguished figure in the cool winter light reflecting against these old stone walls. Theirs was a role reversed, surely? Zenoria had been his mermaid, and he had plucked her from the sea to make her his own.

She saw Tojohns, Keen's coxswain, proudly dressed in his best jacket and breeches, wave a signal from the door. It was almost time. Beyond him she had seen Allday's familiar figure. Did he feel a little neglected, she wondered? Or was he, like herself, trying not to think of that other marriage that could never be? She touchedher finger where Somervell's ring had been. They must not waste a day or an hour, whenever they were together. All those years which had been denied them could never be lived again.

There was a sound of distant cheering, and someone ringing a cow bell. Then carriage wheels on the rough track, and she felt a burning pride as the cheers grew louder, not for the bride this time but for her man. The hero whom even a stranger could recognise and make his own.

She wished they could be alone afterwards, escape back to Falmouth after the wedding, but it was impossible. Forty miles on these roads in the darkness was a sure way of ending everything.

Catherine turned and watched their shadows in the bright sunlight of the ancient doorway, and put her hand to her breast.

"What a lovely creature she is, Adam." She turned to speak further and then made herself face the aisle, as Bolitho with Zenoria on his arm moved slowly into the body of the church.

It was no imagination. Perhaps another woman might have been mistaken; and Catherine found herself wishing it were so.

But she had seen the look on Adam's face before, on Bolitho's in those difficult, reckless days. Adam was in love all right, with the girl who was about to marry Valentine Keen.

Richard Bolitho looked down at the girl and said, "A promise kept. I said I would give you away. It is a coming-together of so many hopes! "

What had she been thinking on the endless journey by coach, and now along the aisle's weathered stones where so many generations had trod? There seemed only happiness.

He saw familiar faces and smiles, his sister Nancy already dabbing at her eyes as he had known she would. Ferguson and his wife Grace, people from the estate side by side with officers high and low. Even the port admiral from Plymouth had made an appearance, and was sharing a pew with Midshipman Segrave-a suddenly older and more confident young man who would be standing for lieutenant when he returned to the ship.