Alexander Kent - Honour This Day

Imrie would be confident but not reckless. Price had believed he could do it, although for different reasons. Had he succeeded, it was unlikely that even a tiny fishing dory could slip through the Dons' defences afterwards.

Allday muttered, 'We have to put round t'other side, Sir Richard.' He sounded irritated, and Bolitho knew that he was still brooding over his newly-discovered and as quickly lost son.

Jenour stood up and swayed in the barge. 'The water-lighters are alongside, Sir Richard. Shall I signal them to stand away for you?'

Bolitho tugged his coat. 'Sit down, you impatient young upstart.' He knew the young lieutenant was smiling at his rebuke. 'We need fresh water, and Hyperion does have two sides to her!'

They pulled around the bows and past the out-thrust trident. Bolitho glanced up at the figurehead's fierce stare. Many a man must have seen that lancing through the gunsmoke and felt a last fear before he was cut down in battle.

He found Haven agitated and probably worried that Bolitho would berate him.

'I am sorry about the lighters, sir! I was not expecting you!'

Bolitho crossed the deck and looked down. Again, it was to test his eye, to prepare it for the cool shadows between decks.

'No matter.' He knew Haven was watching Imrie with suspicion and said, 'Commander Imrie is my guest.' He rested his hands on the sun-baked woodwork and regarded the nearest lighter. They were huge, flat-bottomed craft, their open hulls lined with great casks of water. One line of casks had already been hoisted up and lowered inboard on tackles; and Bolitho saw Parris, the first lieutenant, one foot resting negligently on a hatch coaming, watching Sheargold the beaky-faced purser check each cask before it was sent below. He was about to turn away and then said, 'The lighter is still on even keel, yet all the casks are on the outboard side."

Haven observed him warily, as if he thought Bolitho had been too long in the sun.

'They are so constructed, sir. Nothing will tilt them.'

Bolitho straightened his back and looked at Imrie.

'There you have it, Imrie. A platform for your mortars!' He ignored their combined astonishment.

'Now, I must meet the Inspector General!'

In the bars of bright forenoon sunlight, The Right Honourable the Viscount Somervell lounged against a leather-backed chair and listened without interruption. He was dressed in very pale green with brocade and stitching which would put any prince to shame. Close-to and in the brilliant glare Somervell looked younger, mid-thirties, her age or perhaps less.

Bolitho tried not to think beyond the outline of his plan, but Catherine seemed to linger in the great cabin like a shadow, as if she too was making comparisons.

Bolitho walked to the stern windows and looked out at some passing fishing boats. The anchorage was still flat and calm, but the mist was drifting seawards, and the pendant above an anchored brig was lifting occasionally to a lifeless breeze.

He said, 'Captain Price -' He paused, expecting Somervell to interrupt, or to voice some scathing comment. He did not. '- made a practice of patrolling that section of the Main where he was eventually forced to abandon Consort. He took careful note of everything he saw, and searched or destroyed some twenty enemy vessels in the process. Given time -'

This was SomervelPs cue. 'It ran out for him.' He leaned forward in his chair, his pale eyes unblinking despite the harsh glare. 'And you have actually discussed some of this secret matter with, er, a Commander Imrie?' He spoke the man's name indifferently, as a landowner might speak of a lowly farm labourer. 'That is surely an extra risk?'

Bolitho replied, 'Imrie is an intelligent officer, shrewd too.

When I spoke to my other commanders earlier I had the impression that they were convinced I intended to try and cut out the Consort, or Intrepido as she has been renamed.'

Somervell pressed his fingertips together. 'You have done your work well, Sir Richard!'

Bolitho continued, 'Imne would guess immediately that I had something else in mind. He knew that his Thor is too heavy and slow for a cutting-out expedition.'

'I am relieved to know that you have told him no more at present.'

Bolitho lowered his eyes to the chart, unnerved that Somervell could get under his skin so easily.

'Every year, Spanish treasure convoys set sail from the Mam with each ship carrying a King's ransom. Between them, the church and the army have raped the continent, and now the King of Spain needs gold all the more. His French masters are making certain of their share.'

Somervell stood up and walked casually to the chart. Everything he did looked bored and unhurried, but his reputation as a swordsman made a lie of that.

He said, 'When I first came out here at His Majesty's direction – He dabbed his mouth with a silk handkerchief and Bolitho thought it was to hide a small smile, 'I considered that the capture of such treasure might be just another dream. I know that Nelson has had some luck, but that was at sea where the chance of finding such booty is even more difficult.'

He traced the lines with one finger. ' La Guaira is well defended. It is where they will have taken the Consort?

'With respect, my lord, I doubt that. La Guaira is the gateway to the capital, Caracas, but it is not suitable to refit a man-of-war, and it seems likely she will have been damaged after driving ashore.' Before Somervell could disagree he touched the coast away from La Guaira. 'Here, my lord, Puerto Cabello, seventy miles to the west'rd. It would be a far more likely destination.'

'Hmm.' Somervell leaned over the chart and Bolitho noticed a livid scar below his ear. A close call, he thought grimly.

Somervell continued, 'It is rather near to your intended operation. I am really not convinced.' He stood up and walked around the cabin as if pacing out a rectangle. 'Price saw vessels at anchor, and I have had reports that treasure-ships are using La Guaira. The place is well defended, with at least three fortresses, and as Consort discovered to her cost, some other batteries, probably horse-artillery, for good measure.' He shook his head. 'I don't like it. If we still had the frigate it might, and I only say might, be different. Should you attack, and the Dons repulse you, we shall toss away every chance of surprise. The King of Spain would lose a fleet, rather than surrender his gold. I am not convinced.'

Bolitho watched him and felt strangely calm. In his mind the hazy plan had become suddenly real, like a shoreline hardening through a dawn mist. War at sea was always a risk. It took more than skill and plain courage, it took what his friend Thomas Herrick would describe as the work of Lady Luck. Friend? Was he still that after what had happened?

'I am prepared to take that chance, my lord.'

'Well, maybe I am not!' Somervell swung round, his eyes cold. 'There is more than glory at stake here!'

'I never doubted it, my lord.'

They faced one another, each testing the other's intentions.

Somervell said suddenly, 'When I first came to this damned place I imagined that some well-tried and gallant captain would be sent to seek out and capture one of the galleons.' He almost spat out the word. 'I was informed that a squadron would eventually come and seal off the escape routes which these Spanish ladies take on their passage to the Canaries and their home ports.' He held out one hand as if about to bow. 'Instead, you are sent, like a vanguard, to give the matter weight, to carry it through no matter what. So if we fail, the enemy victory will seem all the greater – what do you say about that?'