Bolitho looked at the frigate, closer now, her mastheads towering to the sky and the Red Ensign streaming above her taffrail, the Union Flag in the bows. He studied Valkyrie's impressive figurehead: a maiden in horned helmet and breastplate, one of Odin's faithful attendants, one hand raised as if to beckon a dead hero to Valhalla. He was surprised that the beautifully carved figure was decorated only with dull yellow dockyard paint. That was strange. Most captains would pay out of their own pockets to adorn their ships' figureheads and the 'gingerbread' around the stern, as Adam had paid for the seductive nymph on Anemone, all gold apart from her eyes. Apart from anything else the gesture showed that the ship had a successful captain, who was not unwilling to spend some of his own prize money. A small thing in its way: but there was more to Trevenen than he had thought.
He still did not know why his father had disliked the Trevenen family, and his grandfather had apparently loathed them. Land, property, or some other conflict it could be anything.
He looked at the main battery of guns as the gig swept beneath the tapering jib-boom. They were powerful eighteen-pounders, whereas many of the older frigates still mounted twelve-pounders, as his own had done.
He had heard that the new American navy had gone even further, and their larger frigates carried twenty-four-pounders. Less manoeuvrable perhaps, but with a broadside like that they could dismast any enemy before she could get within range.
The gig turned in a tight arc and Bolitho saw the figures at the entry port, the neatly packed hammocks in the nettings, the fresh black and buff paint, which made the hull reflect the current alongside as if it were glass.
"Boat ahoy! " The age-old challenge echoed across the water, although the telescopes would have revealed much earlier that their expected flag officer had arrived.
The lieutenant raised a speaking trumpet and replied, "Flag, Valkyrie?
Bolitho thought of Allday. He would have used just one hand to make his voice carry.
Avery saw Bolitho's fingers adjusting the gleaming presentation sword. It was a steep climb up the frigate's side, slippery too. No officer, let alone an admiral, would want to pitch headlong into the water after tripping over his sword.
Bolitho was also thinking as much. Allday had always been there to offer his hand if need be: he was even more protective now that he knew about the damaged eye, and carried the secret like some special award, shared only with the trusted few.
With oars tossed again the gig hooked on to the main chains and Bolitho reached out to the guide-ropes, waited for the boat to rise on the swell, and then climbed quickly up the ship's tumble home He thought of Catherine, the many walks they had enjoyed, the rides across country at full gallop. It had worked wonders. As he stepped into the entry port he was not even breathless.
Then, as the Royal Marines presented arms, a cloud of pipe clay lifting above their glinting bayonets, and the calls twittered and shrilled, a small band of boy drummers and fifers struck up Heart of Oak. After the quietness of the gig it was deafening.
Bolitho doffed his hat to the quarterdeck and the ensign, while from the foremast truck his own flag broke out into the wind.
He saw Captain Aaron Trevenen stepping forward from his officers, his lined face grave and unsmiling as he said, "Welcome aboard, Sir Richard. You honour me by hoisting your flag above my command, no matter how temporarily."
Bolitho was equally formal. "A fine ship, Captain Trevenen." He heard Avery coming aboard behind him, probably wondering how Valkyrie would suit him after a ponderous ship-of-the-line.
He glanced around at the crowded figures on the gangways and clinging in the shrouds, the mass of blue and white on the quarterdeck where the lieutenants and warrant officers waited in respectful silence.
Trevenen said, "Your quarters are ready, Sir Richard. If there is anything you need, I shall do my best to provide it." His deepset eyes flickered across Bolitho's frocked coat and the Nile medal around his neck. The presentation sword was not missed, either.
"Perhaps you would wish to meet my officers at your convenience?"
Bolitho looked at him calmly. "It is a long passage to Cape Town, Captain Trevenen. I hope I shall meet every man-Jack before that." He spoke without raising his voice, but he saw the deepset eyes spark as if he had shouted an insult.
The captain removed his hat and called, "A cheer for Sir Richard Bolitho! Huzza! Huzza! "
The watching sailors and petty officers responded loudly. But there was no life in it, no warmth, and as the cheers died away he was reminded of the gig's crew.
It was then that he saw Allday for the first time. He was standing beside a long eighteen-pounder, somehow managing to look apart from everyone else in his smart gilt-buttoned coat.
Across the frigate's wide deck their eyes met and held. Only then did Allday give a barely perceptible shake of the head.
It was all he needed.
7. Confrontations
Bolitho was standing in the cabin's quarter gallery, shading his eyes from the reflected glare while he studied the impressive slab of the Rock of Gibraltar. Valkyrie had made a fast passage despite her size, only five days, and could have done it faster but for the need to stay in company with the captured French frigate, now renamed Laertes. He could just make her out through a lazy haze that floated above the busy anchorage like an artist's impression of gunsmoke. If he had been right about Baratte, would he already know of his old ship's departure from England under her new name? It seemed quite likely, he thought. Their lordships would probably have retained her original name but there was already a Triton on the Navy List, so that had settled it.
Bare feet moved about the deck above, and occasionally an authoritative voice called out an order which was always obeyed instantly. It was uncanny after the frigates he had known. Everything was done at the double and in silence. Failure to respond immediately, or walking rather than running to the call even of a lowly midshipman invited a starting at the hands of any boatswain's mate or petty officer on duty.
They had been at Gibraltar swinging to their anchor for seven days, the new hands staring longingly at the Rock's grim outline or at the passing throng of colourful traders, who were never allowed to venture alongside. The water casks had been refilled, the mail bags had gone ashore. He could not order Captain Trevenen to delay any further.
Bolitho knew him no better than when he had greeted him on board, and he wondered what his flag lieutenant thought of him. Even on the matter of discipline when Bolitho had mentioned the seaman who had died under the lash, he had not been able to read the man.
Trevenen had answered almost indifferently, "I reported his death in my despatches to the Admiralty." He had allowed a small hint of triumph into his voice. "I am the senior officer of this squadron, and was authorised to act accordingly. You were not here, Sir Richard, and in any case it was hardly a major crisis."
"A man's life, for instance?"
It had been a strange experience to meet Hyperion's old surgeon, still as defiantly independent, and obviously ill at ease under Trevenen's command. Bolitho had avoided mentioning the flogging, but had said, "I thought you might have quit the sea after we lost Hyperion."
"I pondered on it, Sir Richard. But they don't want me at home." Minchin had waved one powerful hand around the deck. "Besides, the rum's better in a King's ship! "