Alexander Kent - Honour This Day

Bolitho shrugged. 'I think it can be done.' It came to him like a cry in the night. Somervell needed it to succeed more than anyone. Because of disfavour at court or because he was in some sort of trouble which a share of the prize money would readily take care of

He said flatly, 'There is no time left, my lord. If we wait until reinforcements arrive from England, and I must stress that I am only expecting three more liners, the whole world will be after us. A victory may help our finances, but I can assure you that it will more than damage the Franco-Spanish alliance.'

Somervell sat down and carefully arranged his coat to give his thoughts time to settle.

He said irritably, 'The secret will out anyway.'

Bolitho watched him pout his lips and tried not to imagine them touching her neck, her breast.

Then Somervell smiled; it made him appear momentarily vulnerable. Then I agree. It shall be done as you describe. I am empowered to get you any assistance you need.' The smile vanished. 'But I cannot help you if -'

Bolitho nodded, satisfied. 'Yes, my lord, that word if can mean so much to a sea-officer.'

He heard someone hailing a boat, the clatter of oars nearby and guessed that Somervell had planned his departure, like his visit, to the minute.

Bolitho said, 'I shall tell Captain Haven at once.'

Somervell was only half-listening but he said, 'As little as possible. When two men share a secret, it is no longer a secret.' He looked at the screen door as Ozzard entered carrying his hat with elaborate care.

Somervell said quietly, 'I am glad we met. Though for the life of me I cannot imagine why you insisted on taking this mission.' He eyed him quizzically. 'A death-wish perhaps? You must surely have no need for more glory.' Then he turned on his heel and strode from the cabin.

At the entry port he glanced indifferently at the rigid marines and waiting side-party, then at Imrie's lanky shape by a poop ladder.

'I would imagine that the Lady Belinda is displeased about your zest for duty so soon after your recent victory?" He smiled wryly, then walked to the entry port without another glance.

Bolitho watched the smart launch being pulled away from Hyperion's shadow and pondered what they had discussed; more, what they had left unsaid.

The reference to Belinda, for instance. What had Somervell expected to incite? Or was it merely something he could not restrain when neither of them had once mentioned Catherine?

Bolitho looked at the nearest anchored brig, the Upholder. Very like Adam's command, he thought.

Haven moved nearer and touched his hat. 'Any orders, Sir Richard?'

Bolitho pulled out his watch and snapped open the guard. Exactly noon, yet it felt like no time since he had left to visit Thor.

'Thank you, Captain Haven.' Their eyes met, and Bolitho could feel the other man's reserve, a wariness which was almost physical. 'I shall require all our captains on board at the close of the afternoon watch. Bring them aft to my quarters.'

Haven swallowed. 'The rest of our vessels are still at sea, sir.'

Bolitho glanced round, but the guard was dismissed, and only a few idlers and the master's mate of the watch were nearby.

He said, 'I intend to up-anchor within the week, as soon as there is wind enough to fill our canvas. We shall sail southwest to the Main and stand off La Guaira. '

Haven had ruddy, sunburned cheeks which matched his hair, but they seemed to pale. 'That's six hundred miles, sir! In this ship, without support, I'm not certain -'

Bolitho lowered his face and said, 'Have you no stomach for it, man? Or are you seeking an early retirement?' He hated himself, knowing that Haven could not hit back.

He added simply, 'I need you, and so does this ship. It has to be enough.' He turned away, despairing at what he saw in Haven's eyes.

He noticed Imrie and called, 'Come with me, I wish to pick your brains.'

Bolitho winced as a shaft of sunlight lanced down through the mizzen shrouds. For just those few seconds his eye was completely blind, and it was all he could do not to cry out.

A death-wish, Somervell had said. Bolitho groped into the poop's shadows and felt the bitterness coursing through him. Too many had died because of him, and even his friends were damaged by his touch.

Imrie ducked his head beneath the poop and walked beside him into the gloom between decks.

'I have been thinking, Sir Richard, and I've a few ideas -'

He had not seen the dismay on his admiral's face, nor could he guess how his simple remarks were like a lifeline for him.

Bolitho said, 'Then we shall quench our thirst while I listen.'

Haven watched them leave the quarterdeck and called for the signals midshipman. He told the boy the nature and time of the signal for the other captains to repair on board, then turned as the first lieutenant hurried towards him.

Before the lieutenant could speak Haven rasped, 'Do I have to perform your duties too, damn you?' He strode away adding, 'By God, if you cannot do better, I'll see you cast ashore for good!'

Parris stared after him, only his tightly bunched fists giving a hint of his anger and resentment.

'And God damn you too!' He saw the midshipman staring owhshly at him and wondered if he had spoken aloud. He grinned wearily. 'It's a fine life, Mr Mirrielees, provided you hold your tongue!'

At eight bells that afternoon, the signal was run up to the yard. It was begun.

Bolitho stood in the centre of the deserted boatshed and allowed his eyes to grow accustomed to its shapes and shadows. It was a great, ramshackle building, lit by just a few guttering lanterns which swayed on long chains to reduce the risk of fire, and which gave the impression that the place was moving like a ship.

It was evening outside, but unlike the previous ones the darkness was alive with sounds, the creak and slap of palm fronds, the uneasy ripple of wavelets beneath the crude slipway upon which the water-lighter had been prepared for its passage south. The boatshed had been a hive of activity, with shipwrights and sailors working against time to rig extra bilge pumps and fit iron crutches along the bulwarks so that it could be manhandled by long sweeps when required.

Bolitho felt the loose sand in his shoes from his walk along the foreshore while he went over his plans for the hundredth time. Jenour had kept him close company, but had respected his need to be alone, at least with his thoughts.

Bolitho listened to the lap of water, the gentle moan of wind through the weather-worn roof. They had prayed for wind; now it might rise and turn against them. If the lighter was swamped before it could reach the rendezvous he must decide what to do. He would either have to send Thor inshore unsupported, or call off the attack. He thought of Somervell’s eyes, of the doubt he had seen there. No, he would not back down from the attack; it was pointless to consider alternatives.

He glanced around at the black, inert shadows. Skeletons of old boats, frames of others yet to be completed. The smells of paint, tar and cordage It was strange that it never failed to excite him even after all the years at sea.

Bolitho could recall the sheds at Falmouth, where he and his brother, Hugh, and sometimes his sisters had explored all the secret places, and had imagined themselves to be pirates and princesses in distress. He felt a stab m his heart as he pictured his child, Elizabeth. How she had plucked at his epaulettes and buttons when he had first seen her, had picked her up so awkwardly.

Instead of drawing him and Belinda closer, the child had done the opposite. One of their disputes had been over Belinda's announcement that she wanted her daughter to have a governess and a proper nurse to care for her. That, and the proposed move to London, had sparked it off.