Bolitho stood up and walked to the wine cabinet. Over and over again he had thought about Herrick's sudden and vital arrival at the scene of battle. With the aid of Lysander's log, the master's lengthy explanation and what he had managed to drag from Herrick himself, he had built up a picture of the ship's movements after leaving Syracuse.
Driven by that strange loyalty, Herrick had sailed not direct to Corfu, but much further south and to the coast of Africa. East and still further east, the lookouts scanning every mile for a ship, or better still, a fleet. When he recalled Herrick's early despair, his apparent inability to contain the work of flag captain, it was all the more incredible.
All those long, empty miles, until finally they had sighted the walls of Alexandria and the Bay of Aboukir which guided them to the mouth of the great Nile itself.
When he had praised Herrick for his stubborn determination, his inbuilt belief in Bolitho's conclusions, Herrick had said, "You convinced me, sir. And when I told the people that, they seemed content to go where I wanted." He had shown some embarrassment when Leroux had said, "Captain Herrick made a speech to all hands which I think must have reached you, sir, wherever you were at the time!"
With no sign of a French fleet, Herrick had decided to make for Corfu. Confident that the supply ships would be there, and imagining the squadron still at anchor in Syracuse, he had sailed into the attack. From north to south, he had explained, was better for surprise, and left the wider channel as an escape route.
But he had run down on Nicator. Two ships meeting as if by plan, timed to the hour of attack.
The same storm which had scattered Bolitho's depleted squadron had sent the faster Lysander as far as the Nile and back across the sea to Corfu.
Bolitho refilled their goblets and returned to the table. "Unless there has been a great change, Thomas, we can only believe that the French will soon move to attack. The corvette which escaped from Corfu may have returned there, but far more likely she will have headed for France." He glanced at the streaked windows and listened to the moan of wind through the shrouds and furled sails… 'she may have a hard fight, but we must accept that she will get to a port before anyone else."
Herrick nodded slowly. "True. So the French admiral may decide to come out at last. If he knows that his heavy artillery is on the sea bed, he’ll anticipate a running battle. It makes good sense."
Bolitho said, "We are badly placed here. With these prevailing winds we need to be much further west again. Where we can be of use to our fleet when it comes."
"If it comes." Herrick sighed. "But we’ve done what we can so far."
"Yes." He thought of the sea-burials which attended each day after the battle. "And they’ll not find us wanting." There was a tap at the door and Midshipman Saxby said anxiously, "Mr. Glasson sends his respects, sir, and could you come on deck."
Bolitho looked at Herrick and gave a quick wink. With two lieutenants short, the vacancies had gone to the senior midshipmen. Glasson, more sharp-faced and seemingly sourer than ever, was making the most of it. He rarely held a watch without calling Herrick or Veitch to attend one of his tantrums over duty or apparent incompetence of some seaman or other.
Herrick stood up. "I’ll come up." In a quieter tone he said, "I’ll put this little prig over my knee in view of the whole ship's company if he tries my patience much more!" Bolitho smiled gravely. "Our wardroom gets younger every day, Thomas."
"Or we get older." Herrick shook his head. "These youngsters! If I’d called down to my captain when I was commissioned lieutenant, I’d have been tom into small pieces unless the ship had been actually falling apart!"
Faintly above the wind and ship noises Bolitho heard the hail, "Boat ahoy?" and the reply from somewhere near Lysander's quarter, "Nicator!"
Herrick looked at him questioningly. "Mr. Glasson is not troubling me for a trivial cause this time!" He reached for his hat. "Captain Probyn is coming aboard without waiting for your summons."
'so it seems." He listened to the marines clattering towards the entry port. "Bring him aft, Thomas. And we shall see."
Captain George Probyn loomed into the cabin, his coat and breeches blotchy with spray from the hard pull to the ship. His face was even redder than before, and as he stared belligerently around the cabin he said, "I trust you will see me, sir?"
"I do see you." Bolitho gestured to a chair. "Well?" Probyn sank into the chair and glared at him. "I’ll not mince words, sir. I’ve been. hearing things. About my ship, and what happened off Corfu. I’ll not stand by and have my good name slandered, bandied about by rogues not fit to wear the King's coat!" He pointed at the papers on the table. "I made a full and proper report. It will stand any scrutiny, a damned court of enquiry if need be!"
Bolitho said quietly, 'some claret for the captain, Ozzard. " He added, "Or brandy, perhaps?"
Probyn nodded. "Brandy. Better for a man in these damned waters." He almost snatched the goblet from Ozzard and downed the drink in one huge swallow. "If I may, sir?" He thrust the glass to Ozzard for refilling.
Despite the persistent wind -which swept across the little bay and sent countless white-horses amongst the anchored ships, the air in the sealed cabin was warm and humid. Bolitho had put on his coat to receive Probyn, but was wishing that he was still in his shirt. He watched the brandy moving into Probyn" s eyes and voice, blurring and distorting as he repeated, almost word for word, how his sailing master and the officer of the watch, a-young booby if ever I saw one, the leadsman in the chains, I had him seized up and flogged double quick, I can tell you, and several others had made the grounding inevitable.
Bolitho waited until there was a pause while Ozzard filled the goblet again. The servant's eyes Were lowered, but he could not hide his interest. His experience as a lawyer's clerk was probably too much for his normal reserve.
Then Bolitho said calmly, 'so you were not actually there when it happened?"
"There?" The red-rimmed eyes fixed on him with obvious effort. "Of course I was there!" "I’ll trouble you to keep a civil tongue in your head,
Captain." Bolitho kept his tone level, even gentle, but saw a warning show itself on Probyn's reddened*features.
"Yes. Yes, I apologise. It's been troubling me, thinking you might blame me in some way for what-"
"Well, Captain, where were you in Nicator when she struck?"
"Let me see now." He pouted heavily. "Must be exact, eh? Like we used to be in the old Trojan when we were lieutenants together."
Bolitho remained very still, watching the emotions and blurred memories on Probyn's heavy features.
He said, "That was a long time ago. "
Probyn leaned forward, his sleeve knocking over the empty goblet. "Not so long, surely? It's like a dog watch ago to me. She was a fine old ship."
"Trojan?" Bolitho nodded to Ozzard who brought a full goblet for the captain. 'she was hard and demanding, as I remember. A good school for those who wanted to learn, but hell on earth for the laggard. Captain Pears was never a one to tolerate fools."
Probyn looked at him, his eyes glazed. "Of course, I was that bit senior to you. Knew a bit more, so to speak. Saw through their little game. "
"Game?"
Probyn tapped the side of his nose. "Y'see? You didn"t even suspect. The first lieutenant was always on at me. The captain's lickspittle. And that other lieutenant, the one who got killed, he was a crawler."