Then, in this dockyard, Bolitho had been returning to an empty house, with nothing to believe in and nobody to care for. Now he had everything to sustain him: his lovely Catherine and a love he would never have believed possible.
Avery watched him curiously. "Sir?"
Bolitho looked at him. "Memories. I left an old ship here. But she came back to me. Until that day in October six days before Trafalgar. Some say we tilted the scales for Nelson… only Fate can be certain. I often think of it, and the fact that only my nephew ever met Nelson himself. I'm glad. It is something he'll never forget."
He thought suddenly of what Catherine had told him, how she had felt like a traitor. Only she had noticed it at first. Now others must never see it, or know that it must have been inevitable. The girl with the moonlit eyes, and the young captain. Perhaps that, too, was Fate.
He turned away. His new flag lieutenant probably thought him mad. He was very likely regretting his decision to leave the tired old Canopus at Chatham. They walked on, and some dockyard labourers who were hoisting a spar by tackle up the foremast of a frigate waved, and one shouted, "Good luck, Sir Richard! You burn them buggers! "
Bolitho raised his cocked hat and called, "You give us the ships, my lads! We'll do the rest! " They all laughed and nudged one another as if it was one huge jest.
But Avery saw Bolitho's face as he turned away from them. His eyes were bitter like his voice. "It is quite all right if you don't have to go out and do it! "
"I expect they meant well, Sir Richard."
Bolitho said coldly, "Is that what you think? Then I am sorry for you." Then he took Avery's arm and exclaimed, "That was unforgivable of me! It is not how I want it to be."
They reached the main jetty and Bolitho stood looking at the moored ships, the endless bustle of small harbour craft. His nerves were on edge. I need you, Kate. In her uncanny fashion she might hear his unspoken words. He could feel the sun burning into his back, her locket clinging to the damp skin beneath his shirt, one of the new ones she had bought for him. It helped to calm him in some way, and when he recalled how he had only owned one un darned pair of stockings as a youthful lieutenant, he almost smiled. Bless you, Kate… you heard me.
Avery said quietly, "Boat's coming, Sir Richard." He seemed afraid to disturb his thoughts. He was not shy or so easy to read as Jenour had been: he was withdrawn, biding his time.
Bolitho faced the water as a smart gig appeared around a moored hulk and veered sharply towards the jetty, her oars rising and falling like white bones. He touched his eye and Avery said immediately, "Is there something I can do, Sir Richard?"
He said, "Something in my eye, I think." The lie came easily enough. But how long before Avery, like Jenour, realised the truth? "Who is in the boat?"
Avery seemed satisfied. "A lieutenant, sir."
It was strange not to have Allday beside him at this moment, critically measuring up the boat's crew and anything else that took his attention. He was not in the gig either.
Avery commented, "Smart boat, Sir Richard."
The bowman was already standing with his boat hook poised: the lieutenant was beside the coxswain, gauging the moment.
"Oars, up! ' The boat's crew tossed their oars, each blade in perfect line with the next. It said a lot for their training, when Valkyrie had been commissioned for so short a time.
The gig glided alongside the weed-covered stairs and the bowman hooked on to a mooring ring.
The lieutenant scrambled ashore, his hat already in his hand as he snapped stiffly to attention with a flourish.
Tinlay, Sir Richard, fourth lieutenant! "
Bolitho saw the young officer's eyes flicker between them, from the famous vice-admiral to the lieutenant with the twist of gold cord at his shoulder to mark him as Bolitho's aide.
"Very well, Mr. Finlay. You have an impressive crew." He saw the lieutenant blink, as if he were unused to praise.
"Thank you, Sir Richard! "
Avery climbed down into the stern sheets and looked up to watch his new master as he turned, shading his eye to look at the land, the green hump of Mount Edgcumbe, the tiny cottages huddled together in the sunshine.
Bolitho knew the two lieutenants were observing him. Only the gig's crew remained motionless on their thwarts, although the nearness of dry land was usually enough to relax even the tightness of any discipline.
Good-bye, my dearest Kate. Though distance separates us, you are always with me.
Then, holding the presentation sword against his hip, he climbed down into the boat.
The lieutenant jumped down and called, "Cast off! Bear off forrard! " And as the stream carried them clear he added, "Out oars! Give way all! "
There was a breeze on the water and Bolitho could feel it stinging his eyes, as if to mock his formality. He glanced at the oarsmen, well turned out in their checkered shirts and tarred hats. There was something different, something wrong. Their eyes were fixed on the stroke oar, their bodies pushing the looms, then leaning back as the blades bit into the water as one. He tried to put it from his mind. A new ship, a different captain to most of them, a future as yet unknown; it was to be expected. He turned to watch a passing guard boat, oars tossed and an officer standing in the stern sheets his hat raised in salute as he saw the flag officer in the gig. They would probably all know by now, he thought. He glanced at the seamen again. Not hostile, not indifferent. Cowed. It was the only description.
So Trevenen had not changed. On matters of discipline and performance he had been described as a fanatic.
Finlay the fourth lieutenant ventured hesitantly, There she lies, Sir Richard."
Bolitho shaded his eyes. Valkyrie was big, right enough. From a distance she looked almost as large as Hyperion had been, and she had been a two-decked seventy-four.
Finlay was shifting nervously on his seat. "Watch her, Cox'n! You have the current under your coat-tails! "
The man at the tiller nodded, his eyes measuring the boat's speed through the water.
Bolitho saw the scarlet coats of the marines already in position and had the impression they had been there for a long time. Sunlight flashed on several telescopes, and even at this distance he thought he heard the trill of calls. It had taken him years to get used to these moments, steeling himself for the first encounter. He had always tried to put it in proper perspective, telling himself that they would be more worried about him than he should be about them.
Another boat was leaving the frigate from the opposite side, moving fast, two armed marines in the stern.
Avery said quietly, There's a body in that cutter, sir."
Bolitho had already seen it. Covered in a piece of canvas, one arm outflung as if the man was asleep.
Bolitho asked, "What has happened?" When Finlay remained silent he snapped, "That was a question, Mr. Finlay! "
The lieutenant stared ahead of the boat and answered unhappily, "A defaulter, Sir Richard." He swallowed hard. "He died under punishment this forenoon."
Bolitho saw the stroke oarsman watching him for just a few seconds before he stared fixedly aft again. He had been looking at him, trying to find something. As if he were pleading.
Bolitho pulled down his hat more tightly as the breeze dashed spray over the gunwale.
"What had he done?"
Finlay had gone pale, as if he was revealing something improper which might rebound on him.
"He he swore at a midshipman, Sir Richard."
"And?"
"Three dozen lashes, Sir Richard." He was biting his lip so hard it was a wonder it did not bleed.
Bolitho was aware that his flag lieutenant was listening, learning, trying perhaps to understand why someone so well-placed in the navy should care about a common seaman. Men were flogged every day: one more would make no difference. There were always the hard men who could withstand three dozen and many more and live to boast about the scars left by the infamous cat. The discipline of the lower deck was often worse when one of their own was caught stealing from a shipmate's meagre possessions. It was something that happened and everyone knew about it, and that crude justice separated them from the wardroom and warrant officers as surely as the after guard and the ship's marines.