Herrick straightened his back and looked at him. "J agree, sir. According to our calculations we are standing into the channel between Spain and the island of Ibiza. Mr. Grubb assures me that CapeSan Antonio is some twenty-five miles off the larboard beam."
Bolitho leaned across the chart and studied the scattered bearings and soundings along the Spanish coastline. Two days since Herrick had sailed into the bay to rescue them before ordering Inch's Harebell in hot pursuit of the remaining brig. Either the brig was faster than she had appeared, or Inch had lost his sense of direction. The latter was more than likely, he decided.
Herrick said bluntly, "I can discover no reason why we have not met with the squadron, sir." His eyes remained steady as he added, "Captain Farquhar knew very well that we might need support.
Bolitho walked to the stern windows and watched the Spanish ship's foresail billowing in the uncertain wind. She was a strange catch. Filled to the deck seams with powder and shot, with fodder for horses and mules, and enough tents to shelter an army, she remained a mystery. She was named Segura, and once clear of the land he had sent for her master, a squat, furtive looking man who had been openly dumbfounded by Bolitho producing a letter which Javal's men had brought from the captured schooner.
The Spanish master had insisted in halting English that he did not know his ultimate destination. Indeed, there was nothing in his quarters to prove otherwise, and unless he had hurled his orders overboard at the first sign of danger, he was as much in the dark as his captors.
He did not seem like a clever liar, He had admitted that he had been told to take his cargo to a rendezvous in the Gulf of Valencia where he could expect an escort and maybe other merchant vessels under charter for the military. He had pleaded that he was a poor sailor who had no wish to become involved in war. The Spanish commandant who had been in charge of loading his vessel had given him instructions which
would place him under French control. There were many vessels, the master had said, which the French were using throughout the Mediterranean to support their newly-founded outposts.
Should he ignore this unexpected catch? If some sort of rendezvous did lie ahead, it would be better to re-form the squadron before making a new intrusion into enemy waters.
But Farquhar was not here. There was little variation in wind, nothing in fact which should have prevented the other ships from making contact.
He said slowly, "Perhaps Captain Farquhar was involved with the enemy." "Perhaps." Herrick sounded doubtful. "But the fact remains, sir, Harebell has not returned, with or without a prize, and we are alone. Very much so."
Bolitho nodded. "True. I think we will maintain the present course. Farquhar may decide for reasons of his own to rejoin us closer to our final destination. " He ran his fingers over the chart and the area marked Golfe du Lion. "The French are stirring up an ants" nest, Thomas. They have more in mind than invading England, I think." He moved his hand to the shores of Africa. "I am certain it will be here."
He thought suddenly of the vivid flash above the ramparts as Leroux's men had fired a glowing ball into the Spanish powder store. In this short while how his men had changed. They had rarely hesitated, and he had been moved by their efforts even when the attack had seemed hopeless.
The news must have reached higher authority by now. Even as far ahead as France. If the squadron was feeling its way, so, too, the enemy must be wondering at its intentions. He walked aft yet again and stared at the prize ship.
Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence was in command, no doubt relishing his unexpected promotion.
Herrick said, "If Harebell doesn"t return within a day, I fear we must assume her lost." He rubbed his chin. "And that’ll mean we will be without "eyes"." He added with sudden bitterness; "Damn that Javal! I’ll wager he's away after some fat capture to line his pockets!"
Bolitho watched him thoughtfully. "That is as may he. Or perhaps the whole squadron is destroyed?" He touched his arm and smiled. "That was a joke, Thomas. But do not imagine I am untroubled."
He turned as a tap came at the screen door. It was Pascoe, a stranger almost in his proper uniform.
"You sent for me, sir?"
"Yes. " Bolitho gestured to a chair. "Have you had any more time to think about your ordeal?" He saw the youth's dark eyes go distant and added, "It could be important, Adam."
Pascoe stretched his legs. "I had the impression that the Spaniards are so willing to aid their ally that they will do anything but fight. They were using galley slaves, felons, anyone who could lift and carry to build defences and prepare ways of loading all manner of vessels."
Bolitho looked at them and smiled. "With the Earl of St. Vincent's ships watching Cadiz and the Biscay ports, I think it unlikely that all this is for England 's benefit." He nodded firmly. "This is what I intend. On to Toulon and the smaller French ports close by where, with luck, we shall meet with our other ships. Then south-east to Sicily where we can water our vessels and make discreet enquiries." His smile broadened as he watched Herrick's doubt. "I know, Thomas, the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies is at peace with France. It does not follow it is at war with us, eh?"
He looked at the open skylight as he heard the lookout's hail, "Deck there! Sail on the larboard bow!"
Herrick stood up. "If you will excuse me, sir." He gave a shy grin. "Though I fancy you still find it hard not to run on deck with the rest of us!"
Bolitho waited for him to leave and then said, "And you, Adam, how are all the aches and pains?"
Pascoe grinned. "I never knew a body had room for so many bruises."
Feet padded overhead, and Bolitho could picture the midshipman of the watch being chased to the shrouds with the biggest telescope available. Harebell was obviously alone. No matter. One.more prize might have helped their esteem with the admiral, it would not have been worth risking their only sloop.
Pascoe" asked quietly, "I would wish to ask something, sir?"
Bolitho faced him, seeing the determination, a touch of anxiety. "You’ve earned the right to ask as you will." Pascoe did not return his smile. "The lady, Uncle.
Catherine Pareja. The one YQU-" He faltered. "You knew in London."
"Well?" He waited. "What of her?"
"I was wondering. Did you take her home, I mean, to your house in Falmouth?"
Bolitho shook his head slowly. Seeing her face. Feeling her warmth, her need of him. "No, Adam. Not to Falmouth., Pascoe licked his lips. "I did not mean to pry. "
"It is all right." Bolitho crossed the cheque red deck and gripped his shoulder. "It is important to you, I can see that. But my feelings mean a lot to me, too."
Pascoe tossed the hair from his eyes. "Of course." He smiled. "I understand." He hesitated again. "I liked her. Which was why I-" Bolitho eyed him gravely. "Which is why you crossed swords. For my name."
"Yes."
Bolitho walked to his desk and took out the broken sword. "Take this. It was a comfort to me when everyone else thought you were dead." He saw him holding it as if it was red-hot. "But save it for the enemy, not for those who try to hurt you with words."