The deck tilted, and the lantern swung giddily until the rudder took command again.
Allday stood with the razor upraised. He had seen the shaft of light pass over Bolitho's injured eye and his attempt to shield it. Like the time when Bryan Ferguson had caught him trying to lift a cask full of ale. and the agony of his old wound had knocked him witless.
Always the pain… "Done. Sir Richard." He watched him get to his feet, his body adjusting to the deck and the lively movement. How it had always been, and they were still together. Instead of comfort, it brought him a momentary sadness.
Bolitho faced him, vaguely silhouetted now against the grey light.
"I know, old friend. I want that, too."
Allday watched him return to the sleeping compartment, and then shook his head.
He could not ask Lieutenant Avery to write about that, either. He would save it and tell Unis himself. When it was all over.
"South-east by east, sir! Steady as she goes!"
Bolitho remained on the larboard side of the quarterdeck, watching the land spread away on either bow, almost colourless in a shimmering haze. The wind had dropped and had backed slightly to the north-west, and it had taken them longer to reach their destination than Christie and his sailing master had predicted.
Bolitho tried to ignore the heat across his shoulders, the stabbing reflections from the sea. A grim, inhospitable place, he thought, with deep water close inshore, so that any strange vessel would have to anchor within easy range of the guns of which Major-General Valancy had spoken.
He took a glass from the midshipman of the watch and levelled it with great care on the nearest land. Rough and broken; he could imagine the dust between his teeth, the heat rising from the ground itself.
The ship had probably been under observation since daylight: a man-of-war, unexpected, and more to the point, unaccompanied. It was a risk, but curiosity might overcome the use of direct action.
He touched the locket beneath his damp shirt. If not… He looked at the men working on deck, some pausing to peer at the land, then at the officers on the quarterdeck as if to gauge their chances. He recalled Allday's words. What most of the Jacks will be thinking. He was rarely wrong.
He returned the telescope to the midshipman and caught him staring at him. It would be something worthy of a letter home.
Christie joined him by the rail, his hat tugged down over his eyes to protect them from the blinding glare.
"When we reach the outer anchorage, Sir Richard, what then?"
Bolitho replied, "We shall fire a salute to the citadel, if we can see it. Then you may anchor."
Christie nodded doubtfully. "The wind troubles me, sir. If it veers we shall be on a lee shore." Unexpectedly, he chuckled. "It might make a speedy departure difficult!"
Bolitho smiled at him. and did not see a master's mate nudge his companion by the wheel.
The next move will be theirs."
Christie touched his hat and moved away. "Have the gunner lay aft."
Another madness, some would think. To fire a salute to a lot of murdering heathen.
Avery said, "Your flag, sir." He glanced meaningly at the mainmast truck. "Is it wise?"
"They must see us for what we are, George. If they fire on my flag without provocation, they will know the consequences.
I am relying," he smiled again and touched his arm, 'depending on their curiosity!"
He thought of Djafou, the harshness of the land, the cruelty of their enemy. Napoleon was beaten; if the allies did not stand together now, there would be another conflict. It could begin here.
The main topsail filled and boomed and the hull tilted over very slightly. Men scampered to braces and halliards, cupping the wind while it held.
Avery said. "Perhaps the major-general was misinformed about the guns, sir. Over six hundred, did he say?"
Bolitho turned to the midshipman. "Give my flag lieutenant your glass." To Avery he said, "You will see it was no exaggeration." He watched Avery's profile as he trained the big signals telescope; the haze had cleared a little, and he would be able to recognise the telltale stone walls of old fortifications, and newer ones along the high ground.
It would take an army to prepare such de fences An army of slaves.
Avery said, "A lot of shipping, sir. One of them must be the vessel they seized, Galicia."
Bolitho turned away. Avery missed nothing, but rarely seemed to write anything down. It was a great pity about the fair Susanna, like his uncle's offer of security and a prosperous future. He had given up both. For me. For us.
Ozzard appeared on the gangway and, after a quick, incurious glance at the land, threw something over the side. He was giving up nothing. This was all he had.
Bolitho saw Halcyon's gunner speaking to his selected gun captains. One of them glanced aft, and his expression was as clear as if a voice had shouted it.
A proper salute? For them bastards!
But whoever was watching their slow approach would be waiting for it, the one gesture of peaceful intent when Halcyon's guns would be empty. When she would be at the mercy of those hidden batteries.
"Hand me the glass." He was surprised by a sudden edge in his voice. "Mr. Simpson, is it not?" He saw the midshipman's alarm give way to astonishment that he should know his name. "I shall require your shoulder also!"
It was the worst part. Tricks born out of experience.
Deceit… If he was wrong, this youth could be dead within the hour, and yet he was grinning at one of his companions, the midshipman who had called the loyal toast in the wardroom.
He eased the draw of the glass very slowly and saw the outline of the citadel harden into something solid, like a mist clearing away. As marked and described on the chart, and the information on the chart was about all they knew of this place.
And there it was. A tiny patch of scarlet floating above it as if detached. The flag. He measured the distance with his eye. Half an hour, perhaps less if this breeze continued to favour them.
Christie was there again. "The salute, Sir Richard?"
Bolitho kept his eye on the land. "Seventeen guns, if you please."
Christie said nothing. He did not need to. Seventeen guns: an admiral's salute. He would probably be wishing it was a full broadside instead.
Avery watched him, and thought of Catherine; she must have seen him like this when they had been together in the open boat after shipwreck. Jenour had been his flag lieutenant then, and afterwards, Bolitho had given him a command of his own, when all Jenour had really wanted was to remain with his admiral.
Am I so like poor Jenour? I watch his moods, I share his excitement, and often his pain in the aftermath of victory. And now, we are sailing towards an unknown force, a power of evil. He half-smiled. How his father, the clergyman, would have described it.
And yet I feel no fear, nor would I be anywhere else.
He saw Allday standing by the companion way, his arms folded while he looked along the deck, recognising each move, understanding every sheet and halliard, the bones of a ship as he had once described them. Briefly their eyes met, and Allday gave a slight nod. Like that very first time, when Avery had known that he was accepted by others of Bolitho's 'little crew'.
He saw Bolitho return the big telescope and say something to the midshipman. He wondered what it had been. Words which had suddenly made the lively midshipman become so serious. So proud.
Bolitho turned and looked at him, his hand touching the hilt of the old sword.
"Soon now, George."
Someone yelped with alarm as a single shot crashed out from the land, the sound lingering long afterwards. Every glass was raised, but nobody moved, as if the whole ship were under a spell.
Then there was a yell. They'm dippin' their flag, sir!"
Bolitho gripped the old sword and stared at the land. His eye was painful, and he could not see the distant citadel. But in his mind it was very clear, like an image in a telescope.