Dipping their flag, not to him, but to His Majesty King George the Third. Perhaps they did not know that His Majesty was shut away, insane. Maybe it no longer counted for anything. He wanted to dab his eye, but knew Avery would see and become anxious.
He said, "Begin the salute, if you please."
Halcyon's gunner took charge himself, striding to each crew in turn. As the first shot banged out and the gun recoiled inboard on its tackles, he was already moving on to the next, repeating the couplet slowly and deliberately to time each shot.
If I wasn't a gunner I wouldn't be here. "Number two gun, fire!"
Between shots, Bolitho said, "Now is the time for eyes and ears, George." To Christie he called, "There is a guard boat yonder. Captain! Anchor when it suits you."
Then he looked at the men who were running to their stations for shortening sail, and murmured, "Well done."
Allday heard and understood that, too. He was speaking to the ship.
Captain Christie lowered his telescope and said. They're sending a boat, sir."
Bolitho walked across the quarterdeck, feeling the impact of the heat as Halcyon swung listlessly to her anchor. Close inshore now, he could see the old fortifications. You could lose an army trying to work around the town from inland, and a fleet would fare little better against the many guns facing the bay.
Allday was watching the approaching boat with obvious suspicion. It was double-banked, with two men to every oar, more like a galley than a longboat.
"Man the side!"
Avery murmured, "It is not difficult to imagine what the marines are thinking about, sir."
Christie said, "There's an officer of some kind, sir." He took another quick glance with his telescope and exclaimed, "A white man, by God!"
Bolitho watched the oncoming galley, graceful, yet somehow sinister.
He said, "If things go wrong, Captain Christie, you will cut your cable and put to sea. Fight your way out if you must, but do I!" He saw the immediate opposition in Christie's face. "That is an order. You must get word to Malta."
He moved nearer to the side and saw the oars backing smartly, holding the galley and then turning it towards the frigate's side. No barge crew could do it better.
The boatswain's mates moistened their calls on their tongues and glanced expectantly at the entry port.
Pipe!"
The squeal of calls died away just as suddenly, and Bolitho stepped forward to meet their visitor.
A white man certainly, perhaps with a mixture of other blood. His uniform was remarkably plain, its only decoration being a pair of tarnished epaulettes.
He doffed his cocked hat and gave a slight bow to the assembled officers.
"Your visit is without invitation, but nevertheless I am commanded to offer you welcome."
He spoke flawless English, with an inflection Bolitho had heard before.
He said, "I am……"
The man bowed again, and smiled faintly. 'i know of you, sir. Bo-lye-tho, His Majesty's admiral of fame and reputation."
"And whom have I the honour of addressing, sir?"
'i am Captain Martinez, adviser," again the small smile, 'and friend to Mehmet Pasha, the Governor and Commander-in-Chief in Algiers."
"Would you care to come to my quarters, Captain Martinez?"
Martinez held up his hat to shade his eyes from the sun.
His hair was sleek, and as dark as Bolitho's own, his skin tanned to the colour of leather; there were deep crows' feet around the eyes. He could have been any age from forty to sixty.
He glanced at the guns, their crews standing by with sponges and worms to clean out the barrels after the salute.
That will not be possible. I have orders to escort you to the citadel myself." He made an elegant gesture. "You will find the craft quite comfortable." His dark eyes flitted around the upper deck. "An improvement, I would think?"
Captain Christie said sharply, "I must protest, Sir Richard. Once you were in the citadel, we would be powerless to assist you!"
Bolitho shook his head. "I am ready. Captain Martinez. My aide will accompany me."
Martinez frowned as Allday joined Avery by the entry port. "And who is this?"
Bolitho said simply, "He is always with me. I trust that will suffice?" "Yes."
Bolitho touched his hat to the side party: Christie and his lieutenants, so many faces staring at him, anxious and without understanding. Men he did not even know.
Martinez ushered them to the stern of the galley. It was ornate, with gilded carvings, and long shades to provide privacy for the passengers.
Bolitho heard him giving orders to the boat's crew: a different voice again, fluent and without hesitation.
Avery whispered, " Martinez is no Turk, sir. Spanish, more likely." He frowned. "But there's something else……"
Bolitho nodded. "It is my belief that he learned his English in America, a long time ago."
Avery looked relieved. "I agree, sir."
Allday loosened the cutlass at his side. "I'd not trust one of 'em!"
Bolitho raised one of the blinds and was surprised to see Halcyon lying half a cable away, so fast were the oars rising and dipping.
He recalled Christie's concern, and hoped he would remember to keep his men working as normally as possible. A thousand pairs of eyes were probably watching the ship at this very moment. The first sign of preparation for action would destroy everything. He touched the locket again.
It was suddenly cool and almost dark, and he realised that the galley had entered something like a cave, a seaward entrance to the citadel here, where there were no tides. It made the place almost impregnable.
They were alongside a stone-flagged jetty, and he saw more uniforms, soldiers this time, observing them in silence, fingering their weapons as if unsure.
Most of the muskets were French, but there were a few British ones among them. Demand probably out paced supply, hence the seizure of the chartered Galicia, which had been carrying powder and shot, and perhaps an unlawful cargo of weapons. It was common enough; army quartermasters were like pursers, not averse to some private profit if it was offered without risk to themselves.
He considered Martinez, his role here, and where he had originated. A survivor of the American Revolution, perhaps? Or a mercenary who had changed sides once too often.
He was striding ahead of them now, full of energy and purpose. Bolitho found he could almost smile. A man you would not turn your back on.
He heard Allday breathing heavily on the steps; Martinez probably reminded him of the day when a Spanish sword had cut him down. He was paying for it now.
"Easy, old friend. We can rest a while……"
Allday turned towards him, his brow furrowed with pain.
"I'll keep with you, Cap……" He shook himself, angry because he had almost called him Cap'n, as in those other, reckless days.
Doors opened to receive them and Bolitho saw rich rugs hanging from the walls. There was incense too, and the smell of sandalwood.
Martinez paused and held up his hands. "We must proceed alone, Admiral Bolitho." He glanced disdainfully at Allday. "He can rest here." He moved his dark eyes to Avery. "There will be refreshment. Companionship, if you wish." He smiled again. "It is permitted."
Bolitho snapped, "Women? But I thought the Dey was opposed to such behaviour."
The glance was almost pitying. "Captives, Admiral Bolitho."
Bolitho's eyes moved quickly to an open, unguarded window. Avery did not even blink. He understood.
Instead he said, "We shall be here, Sir Richard."
Bolitho said, "I never doubted it."
More doors closed behind him and he saw Mehmet Pasha seated at the opposite end of the room. Another surprise; he had expected him to be rotund and soft, someone used to the spoils and rewards of his rank.
But the man he saw was neat and slight, with bright, intelligent eyes and a cruel mouth. The face of a warrior, or a tyrant.
Martinez said. "Mehmet Pasha speaks no English." It seemed to amuse him. "So you will have to trust me."