Within hours of full daylight the brig's topsails appeared again, tipping the horizon, but taking care to stand off well to windward. Either her master had managed to send word ashore by boat during the night, or he was eager to learn more about Bolitho's ships.
Bolitho made certain that their attendant spy had plenty to hold his attention. Pascoe's signal party hoisted several meaningless flags, which were acknowledged with equal vigour by Nicator and Buzzard. Then, when Bolitho made a genuine signal, to call the other captains aboard for a discussion of their position, he played his other card. With sails aback, Osiris came round into the wind, displaying her broadside to the distant vessel, and her impressive new height above water.
When Javal arrived in his gig he exclaimed admiringly, "I thought I was seeing things, sir. Or that St. Vincent had arrived in his flagship. From my gig she looks every inch a first-rate!"
Probyn was less enthusiastic. "A novel idea, I agree. But we can"t shoot with painted canvas!"
Once more in the great cabin Bolitho looked at his captains. Javal seemed strained after his long fight against the sea and wind, but otherwise unworried. Farquhar, tight- lipped and pale, but neither a hair nor a gilt button out of place. Probyn was as untidy and as brooding as ever. He looked heavy-eyed, and his cheeks were redder than one would expect from wind alone. Drinking more than usual. It was strange, but Bolitho found he had forgotten how Probyn had used to drink when they had been lieutenants together. More than once he had stood a watch or a duty for him, when the first lieutenant had drawled, 'see to it, Dick. Poor old George is in his cups again."
He waited until each of them had a glass of Farquhar's claret in his hand, then said calmly, "Tomorrow, gentlemen, we will make our play. I hope to pick up Mr. Veitch and his party tonight. What he tells me may alter our tactics, but cannot postpone an attack."
Probyn kept his eyes on his lap. "What if he doesn"t come back?
"It will keep us in the dark."
He thought of Veitch out there on Corfu. The villagers, if he was unlucky enough to stumble on them, might take them as Frenchmen. He was not sure if that was good or bad. Veitch had shown himself to be a quick-thinking and intelligent man. Bolitho would make certain his name went forward for early promotion if he survived another night on the island. He had toyed with the idea of telling him beforehand, but had decided against it. Such a promise could make an ambitious man too careful, an eager one too reckless.
"We have shown ourselves as preparing to attack. The enemy will still not know our full strength, but as they may now believe we have a three-decker supporting us, they must decide on their own plan of defence. Or attack." Probyn slammed his empty glass on the table and looked meaningly at the cabin servant.
Then he asked Why not wait, sir? Watch and wait, until we get more support." He looked from the comers of his eyes at Farquhar. "If Lysander had been here, then I might have said otherwise."
Bolitho watched Probyn emptying another glass of claret. "We do not know enough to wait. At any day, the enemy might try to sail out of Corfu, and if their numbers are what I believe, we could not hope to contain them." He saw Probyn was unconvinced, and added, "Besides which, the French fleet may even now be steering in this direction to escort their precious supply ships elsewhere." He tapped the chart with his glass. "Caught on a lee shore, or worse, bottled up on the eastern side of the island, what chance would we have then?"
He kept his gaze on Probyn, willing him to accept, if not condone, the reasoning. For Captain George Probyn's part could be the most important of all. Tomorrow, hours not days now, and his Nicator might be the sole survivor.
He said quietiy, "Osiris will force the southern channel at dawn. The supply ships will be anchored anywhere from fifteen to twenty miles up the coast, and once amongst them it will be a busy time for us all." He saw Javal's hard face break into a smile. "The French, I believe, see themselves in a strong position. They will know we are coming, and move what guns they have ashore to command our approach."
Javal nodded. "Aye, it makes sense. A three-decker would be seen as the real threat."
Bolitho thought of Grubb and wished he was here. Osiris's sailing master seemed capable enough, but lacked Grubb's knowledge and philosophy on the weather's habits. He had been a mate in an Indiaman before joining a King's ship, and his early service had been spent weighing the value of a fast passage against goods lost by poor navigation.
If so much depended on what his ships could do tomorrow, the wind was almost equal in importance.*
He shut it behind him and said to Probyn, "You will leave us at dusk. Steer to the north"rd. When the time is ready you will enter the top channel, I am hoping. unopposed. The defenders should think the real menace is from us in the south. If "lady luck"," he hesitated, seeing Herrick's blue eyes crinkling to his favourite talisman "blesses us, and the wind holds, we will hit the enemy hard, and where it will do our cause most good."
They all stood up, knowing it was over. Bolitho added, "God be with you."
They filed out in silence, then Bolitho heard Farquhar shouting for someone to recall the captains" boats.
Allday entered the cabin by the other door and asked, "Can"t I get you a uniform coat from somewhere, sir?" He sounded more worried by Bolitho's appearance than the prospect of battle.
Bolitho walked to the quarter windows and saw Probyn's barge pulling strongly away. He thought of this ship, Osiris, the men who would work her up that channel. Would fight and, if need be, die. It was not a happy ship. He frowned. Nicator. Judge of the Dead. He felt suddenly chilled.
He answered, "No matter, Allday. Tomorrow they may look aft, as you insist they do in action." He saw him nod. "I want them to see me. More like one of themselves than as one more oppressive uniform. This ship has no warmth about her. She carries all the marks of discipline and efficiency, but… " He shrugged.
Allday said, "They’ll fight well enough, sir. You’ll see." But Bolitho could not shake off his feeling of foreboding. "If anything should happen." He did not turn from the windows but heard Allday tense. "I have made provision for you in Falmouth. You will always have a home there, and want for nothing. "
Allday could not restrain himself. He strode aft to the gallery and exclaimed, "I’ll hear none of it, sir! Nothing will happen, nothing can."
Bolitho turned and looked at him. "You will prevent it?"
Allday stared at him wretchedly. "If I can."
"I know." He sighed. "Perhaps, like Thomas Herrick, I am here too soon after that other time."
Allday insisted, "The surgeon was right, sir. Your wound is not properly healed yet, your health more set back by the fever than you’ll allow for." He added meaningly, "Cap"n Farquhar's surgeon is no butcher. He's a proper doctor. Cap"n Farquhar took good care of that!"
Bolitho smiled gravely. He would. "Ask Mr. Pascoe to lay aft. I have some signals to prepare."
Alone again, he sat down at the table and stared unseeingly at his chart. He thought of Catherine Pareja, and wondered what she was doing now in London.
Twice a widow, yet with more life in her than most young girls just free of their mother's arms. Never once had she mentioned marriage. Not even a hint. Something seemed to hold it back. An unspoken agreement.