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Bolitho walked forward to the rail, deep in thought. "Have Harebell and the prize acknowledged?"

Gilchrist followed him, his shoes tapping. "Aye, sir."

"Then tell me! I’m not a damned magician!" He calmed himself. "Execute the signal."

He looked at Grubb's reddened face, "Lay her on the starboard tack."

Men rushed to the braces, the afterguard's boots keeping perfect time as they hauled the mizzen yards round, letting the sails empty and then billow out again, tilting the ship on an opposite tack.

Bolitho raised his glass; his legs straddled as the deck dipped under him. He found he could shut out the bellowed orders, the flap and thunder of sails overhead, and hold on to the small, silent world in the lens.

He saw a darker shadow pass across the leading ship's foresail. She was edging slightly away, feeling a new strength as she allowed the wind to move a few points further abaft.her beam.

"Course sou" -east, sir!"

Gilchrist snapped, "Mr. Luce, what of the others?" Luce was equally sharp in his reply, well aware of the tension between his superiors. "Harebell and prize on station astern, sir."

Bolitho pursed his lips and watched his two enemies. They were getting larger every minute, and he could see the bright tricolours at their peaks, the flash of sunlight on raised telescopes or weapons. They would have seen the commodore's broad pendant. A valuable capture. A suitable ending to this impudent gesture.

Herrick was beside him. "They"re both falling off a few points. Our change of course has aided them. They could take the wind-gage from us if we overreach them."

"Which is why we must make certain they don’t." He pointed his arm at the other ships. "I have given them more wind, as you say, Thomas. If we continue on this tack we will be abeam of the leading Frenchman in a half-hour… His consort may then try to rake our disengaged side."

"However." He saw Major Leroux turn slightly and smile at him. "What they will not be able to do is steer upwind with us so near. They would be in irons."

Herrick was unimpressed. "I know. But now, they don’thave to worry about that, sir."

Bolitho looked at him. "Consult with the master and your first lieutenant. In ten minutes I intend that we shall wear ship." He saw an unspoken protest on Herrick's face but continued, "We will then lay her on the same tack as earlier and steer nor"-east.

He watched the slow understanding moving over his features like sunlight through departing cloud.

Herrick said slowly, "By God, we’ll either collide with one of "em or-"

"Or we shall pass between them. They cannot luff without risking damage to spars and canvas. If they turn and run downwind we will rake their sterns. If they stay as they are, we will engage from either battery as we sail through." He held on to Herrick's stare. "After that, your guess is as good as mine!"

He added, "Now attend to it. I’m going to speak with the people."

He strode to the quarterdeck rail and waited until most of the seamen were peering aft towards him. He saw Lieutenant Veitch, arms relaxed, standing with his back to the enemy, his hanger already unsheathed and glinting. Near him, two midshipmen and a gunner's mate. All part of the pattern. The red-coated marine at each hatch, ready to stop any terrified man from fleeing below. And along either side, half hidden by the gangways which joined forecastle to quarterdeck, were the men who would see the enemy through the ports. Would keep their heads no matter what. Or go under.

Bolitho said, "Up yonder, lads, are two fine French gentlemen." He saw the stiff grins of the older men, the nervous twisting of heads of the others, turning as if they expected to see the enemy right here on board. "For most of you this is the first time. While you serve your country it will not be the last. A few days ago you did well. A prize taken, another ship sunk by these eighteen-pounders."

He pictured two similar lines of men on the deck below, waiting in almost complete darkness for the ports to open and run out the massive thirty-two pounders. They would be trying to hear what he was saying, the word being carried by ship's boys and midshipmen, and probably distorted along the way.

"But this is no brig, lads. Nor a newly-built shore battery." He saw the words reaching them. "Two ships of the line, and fine vessels they are."

He heard Grubb whisper, "Anytime now, sir."

Bolitho looked along the crowded deck, well sanded to save the men from slipping in battle. "But they have a fault, nonetheless. They are crewed by Frenchmen, not Englishmen!"

He turned aft, seeing the men waving and cheering, the grins on the faces of the midshipmen, as if they were going on a Royal cruise. He felt sickened with himself. Angry that he could make it sound so simple.

He said sharply, "Pass the order to load, if you please.

Then run out the larboard guns. "He saw a flash of doubt and added, "Yes, the larboard ones. They must be made to think w

"I’m here, sir."

He raised his arms and allowed Allday to buckle on his sword. Allday was no better. He was doing this deliberately. Letting the seamen and marines see how calm they were.

He looked at him and said softly, "We are a fine pair." Allday gave a secret smile. "At least we are a pair again, sir." He stared towards the enemy, his eyes calm. "It’ll not be easy." He watched the ship with professional interest. 'still, I don’tsuppose they"re looking forward to it either!"

"Run out!"

The pipe was repeated to the deck below, and hesitantly at first, as if testing the quality of the air, the Lysander's larboard guns trundled into the sunlight like black teeth. "Frenchies are running out, too, sir."

"Good."

Bolitho pulled out his watch and flicked open the guard. It was warm from resting against his thigh. He snapped it shut. Within a short time it could be as cold as its owner.

A dull bang echoed across the choppy strip of water, and seconds later a thin spout of spray burst up alongside. It brought a baying growl of anger from Lysander's gun crews, but Bolitho heard Veitch yell, "Be ready! Starboard guns prepare to run out." He squinted at the quarterdeck and saw Herrick nod. "Both sides will engage independently!"

A youth at one of the nine-pounders whispered something, and Mariot, the old gun captain, replied, "E means separate, see?" He saw Bolitho's brief smile and added, "Wern ready for th" buggers, sir." He moved inboard from his gun, paying out the trigger line as he went. "Just like we done in th" old Scylla!"

Pascoe called, "The enemy are shortening sail"

Bolitho nodded, watching the leading Frenchman" s topgallant sails vanishing as if by magic. Preparing to meet Lysander's challenge. If they continued on this converging course either of the French captains would be well placed for the first broadsides.

He looked at Herrick. Beyond him, Gilchrist was poised by the rail, his speaking trumpet already raised.

Bolitho said, "Very well. This is the time, Captain Herrick." He held his gaze. "Put up your helm, and let's be amongst them!"

Gilchrist yelled, "Braces there!" He was weaving from side to side, his voice like metal as he urged the seamen to greater efforts. "Heave! Heave!"

Bolitho gripped the poop ladder and felt the ship shuddering, every stay and shroud humming with strain as the great yards started to creak -round. He heard the helmsmen panting with exertion as they threw their weight on the spokes, hauling the wheel over and further still.