"He might have a plan." Bolitho studied them, and wished Adam were present. "His government did not send their most experienced captain in their greatest frigate merely to show the flag. In his place I know what I would do. I would provoke an argument. It is nothing new in war, or in peace either, for that matter."
Trevenen was unconvinced. "Suppose Baratte has more men-of-war than we know of?"
"I'm sure he has. But the main force sailing from India will be heavily escorted. There will even be some of John Company's ships taking part. My guess is that Baratte will deploy his strength in their direction." He looked at Dawes. "Remember, your ship was once his, and I am his most hated enemy. Both good reasons for engaging us, eh?"
He heard the sentry murmuring outside the screen door and saw Ozzard scurry over to open it.
Bolitho's heart sank. It was Minchin, the surgeon. He said, "If you will excuse me, gentlemen. Take some wine before we eat." He spoke so easily that neither of the captains would have recognised his anxiety.
Minchin waited for the door to close. "I'd not disturb you, Sir Richard, but…"
"Is it Rear-Admiral Herrick?"
The surgeon ran his fingers through his untidy grey hair.
"I'm troubled about him. He's in great pain. I'm only a ship's surgeon butchers they call the likes of us…"
Bolitho touched his arm. "Have you forgotten Hyperion so soon? But for you, many more would have died that day, "
Minchin shook his head. "Some would have been better off if they had."
They walked to the lower companionway and Bolitho saw Allday sitting on an upturned water cask working on one of his carvings. He glanced across, his eyes full of understanding, as if he had spoken aloud.
Deeper into Valkyrie's great hull to the orlop deck below the waterline. Here all sounds of sea and wind were muted, with only the timbers murmuring like voices in the depths of the ocean itself. Here were stores, cordage, tar and paint, the canvas lockers and the hanging magazine. The very stuff of the ship herself.
They entered the sickbay, spacious and well-lit in contrast to most of those Bolitho had seen. The surgeon's mate closed a book he had been reading and glided past.
Herrick was staring at the door as they entered, as if he had known they were coming.
Bolitho leaned over the cot. "How are you, Thomas?"
He was afraid that Herrick might forget what they had shared, that he might turn against him again.
Herrick studied him, his eyes very blue in the fixed lanterns. "It plagues me, Richard, but I have had a lot of time to think. About you, about us." He tried to smile but his face was stiff with agony. He said, "You look tired, Richard…" He made as if to reach out, then suddenly screwed his eyes tightly shut and said quietly, "I'll lose my hand, won't I?"
Bolitho saw the surgeon nod. It was almost curt, as if he had already decided. He looked at Minchin. "Well?"
The surgeon sat down on a chest. "It has to be done, sir." He faltered. To the elbow."
Herrick gasped. "Oh, my God! "
"Are you certain?" Bolitho glanced at the surgeon's reddened features.
Minchin nodded. "As soon as possible, sir. Otherwise…" He did not need to continue.
Bolitho put his hand gently on Herrick's shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?"
Herrick opened his eyes and said, "I have failed you."
Bolitho tried to smile. "No, Thomas. Think of yourself. Try to hold on."
Herrick stared up at him. He had been washed and shaved and to a stranger would appear quite normal. He peered at the blood-stained bandages on his broken hand.
"Send the telescope to my sister… if I can't fight it, Richard."
Bolitho looked back from the door. "You will fight it. And win, too."
The walk to the cabin seemed endless. To Allday he said, "I have a favour to ask, old friend."
Allday nodded his shaggy head, and rolled up the leather cloth in which he carried his knives and the sail maker twine he used for rigging his ship models.
"Never fear, Sir Richard, I'll stay with him." He watched the pain in Bolitho's eyes. "I'll tell you if anything happens."
"Thank you." He touched his powerful arm but was unable to say more.
Allday watched him approach the door, where the sentry was already as stiff as a rammer in spite of the heavy motion.
Once through the door, face to face with his assembled captains, he would show nothing of his private despair. Allday was certain of it. What did they know? All they wanted was glory and someone to lead and protect them.
Ozzard came through the door and Allday said roughly, "You got some brandy, Tom? The best stuff?"
Ozzard studied him. Not for himself then. This was different.
"I'll fetch it for you, John."
"I'll have a wet me self afterwards."
Afterwards. The finality of the word seemed to linger long after Allday had gone below.
Captain Adam Bolitho glanced at his reflection in the cabin mirror and frowned as he tugged his waistcoat into place and adjusted the sword at his hip. Anemone was plunging badly in the quarter-sea, and the cabin's heavy humidity warned of rain quite soon. Not rain as over the fields and villages of Cornwall, but heavy, mind-dulling deluges which could often pass away from a ship before any worthwhile drinking water had been saved. But he could leave that to his first lieutenant.
Adam Bolitho hated the ritual of a flogging, although to most sailors it was something that could never be permanently avoided. Perhaps this one had been the result of the endless patrols, sighting nothing unless it was a courier-brig or some trader trying to stay friendly. with both sides in a war he did not understand. Boredom, disappointment after losing their prizes to the enemy when before they had cheered, a close company at least until the news had been passed to them by a naval cutter on the anti-slavery patroclass="underline" Anemone's people were restless and surly. Sail and gun drills could no longer contain their frustration, and their eager expectation of close combat with the real enemy had given way to a sullen resentment.
The man in question had struck a petty officer after an argument about a change of duties. At other times Adam would have demanded an enquiry into the incident, but in this case the petty officer was an experienced and unusually patient seaman. Adam had known the reverse many times, when authority was abused even by officers, and the resulting discipline was unjust although administered in the name of duty.
The sailor was a land man one of those pressed off Portsmouth Point who, despite several threats, had remained a rebel, a lower-deck lawyer as Adam had heard his uncle describe such men.
There was a tap at the door and the first lieutenant looked into the cabin, his expression vaguely surprised, as if he had almost forgotten what his captain looked like in full uniform.
"Yes, Aubrey, what is it?" He regretted his curtness immediately. "Are you ready?"
Martin said uncertainly, "I believe this was my fault, sir. As the senior aboard I should have foreseen it. Nipped it in the bud."
As if to mock his words they heard the trill of calls, the sudden scamper of bare feet.
"All hands! All hands lay aft to witness punishment! "
Adam answered, "In a way I can understand how they feel, but empathy is a luxury in which no captain should indulge for long. We are always at risk, Aubrey, even with those we think we know. I have heard of it many times. When the ship is a tinderbox for whatever reason, even understanding can be mistaken for weakness."
Martin nodded, and guessed the captain had learned much of what he said from Richard Bolitho.
He asked, "Any further orders, sir?"
Adam looked away. He was showing that same weakness even by discussing it. He said, "Both watches at six bells this afternoon. We will alter course again, the next leg of our patrol." He tried to smile but the effort was too much. "In two days, maybe three, we should sight the commodore's convoy. There will be plenty to do for all of us then! " He was conscious that he had not mentioned Keen by name. Was that all part of his guilt?