Of the Dutch defenders he had written, "They will fight on, or they will surrender very soon. There will be no half measures, on either side." Of the fireship he had said, "Brave men are always missed and then too often forgotten. At least others will not die in vain." Bolitho could almost hear him saying it, as he had on the shore when he had begged for his assistance. Baird had finished his letter by describing his opponent, the Dutch general Jansens, as a good soldier, and one not given to senseless destruction. Did that mean that he would capitulate rather than see Cape Town brought down in ruins?
Bolitho clutched his arms across his chest as a cold shiver ran through him, despite the scorching air in the cabin.
Warren had gone, but it felt as if he was still here, watching him, hating him for what he was doing with his ship.
Allday asked, "All right, Sir Richard?"
Bolitho crossed to the windows and stood in the sunshine until the heat burned the chill out of his body For an instant he had imagined it was a warning of the old fever. The one which had all but killed him. He smiled sadly When Catherine had climbed into his bed without him knowing or remembering a thing about it. Her care, and the warmth of her nakedness, had helped to save him.
Maybe Warrenwas watching? After all, they had buried him nearby, weighed with shot, down in the depths where even the sharks would not venture. Maguire had used one of the longboats, and the oarsmen had continued to pull until a leadsman had reported "no bottom" on his line.
The marine sentry shouted from beyond the screen, "Officero'-the-Watch, sir! "
The lieutenant seemed to be walking on tiptoe as he entered the presence of the viceadmiral. Bolitho wondered how much more they knew about him now since his arrival among them.
The lieutenant said, "Truculent's boat has cast off, Sir Richard."
"Very well, Mr Latham. Please offer Lieutenant Tyacke all respects when he is come aboard the flagship. He was in command, remember."
The lieutenant almost bowed himself out, his face astonished more by Bolitho's remembering his name than at his instruction.
Ozzard appeared as if spirited by a genie's lamp.
"A fresh shirt, Sir Richard?"
Bolitho shaded his eyes to watch the boat pulling slowly towards Themis's side, pinned down in the hazy glare as if it could scarcely make the crossing.
"I think not, Ozzard." He thought of the schooner's tiny cabin, where a clean shirt and ample drinking water were both luxuries.
Tyacke would be feeling badly enough as it was. The interview he was about to have with the tall lieutenant was suddenly important. It was not merely something to replace his loss, or to offer him compensation for his terrible wound. It mattered; but until now Bolitho had not really known how much.
He said quietly, "Will you leave me, please?" He watched Yovell gather up his papers, his round features completely absorbed with his inner thoughts. A direct contrast to Allday, and yet… Neither would change even at the gates of Heaven.
To Jenour he added, "I would like to dine with Mr Tyacke this evening, and for you to join us." He saw Jenour's obvious pleasure and said, "But for this moment it is better without an audience."
Jenour withdrew and saw a marine guard presenting arms to the man in question as he climbed aboard and raised his hat to the quarterdeck. Half a man, Jenour thought, and now with his dreadful scars turned away he could see what he had once been: perhaps what Bolitho was hoping to restore.
Allday stood his ground as Tyacke walked aft and ducked beneath the poop.
Tyacke halted and said coldly, "All waiting, are they?" He was very much on the defensive. But Allday knew men better than most, sailors more than any. Tyacke was ashamed. Because of his disfigurement; and because he had lost his ship.
He replied, "Be easy with him, sir." He saw the sudden surprise in Tyacke's eyes and added, "He still feels the loss of his old ship very badly. Like one o' the family, personal."
Tyacke nodded, but said nothing. Allday's casual confidence had unnerved him, scattered all his carefully prepared thoughts, and what he had been about to say.
Allday walked away and stooped thoughtfully over the pin of brandy which had been sent over by the redcoats. It was strange when you thought about it. Bolitho and Tyacke were very much alike. Had things been different for them they might even have changed roles.
He heard Ozzard right behind him. "You can keep your eyes off that little cask, Mister Allday! " He stood, arms folded, his watery eyes severe. "I know you when you get your hooks on some brandy."
The guns ashore fired a long, unbroken salvo, like thunder echoing around those sombre, alien hills.
Allday put his hand on the little man's shoulder. "Listen to 'em, matey. Don't even know what they're fighting about! "
Ozzard smiled wryly. "Not like us, eh? Heart of Oak! "
He began to roll the brandy towards the poop's deeper shadow and Allday gave a sigh. A nice "wet" of brandy would have made a change.
They both made a point of not looking towards the great cabin where Warren had died, and another was about to be given a chance to live.
Tyacke waited while the sentry called out his name, his eyes averted from the lieutenant's face.
He pushed open the door and saw Bolitho by the open stern windows. The cabin was otherwise empty His eyes moved quickly around it, recalling the few times he had been there. As before, he noticed its total lack of personality Impossible to judge its previous occupant, although he had lived here for such a long time. Perhaps Warren had had nothing to offer it? He tried not to think of all the clutter, the sense of belonging in Miranda's tiny, cramped quarters. It was gone. He had to remember that.
"Please sit down." Bolitho gestured to a small table with some wine and two glasses. "It is good of you to come."
Tyacke straightened his borrowed coat, giving himself time to gather his wits.
"I must apologise for my rig, Sir Richard. Truculent's wardroom had a collection for me, you see?"
Bolitho nodded. "I do see. All your things rest on the seabed. Like many of my most valued possessions." He moved to the table and poured two glasses of the hock Ozzard had discovered somewhere. "I am unused to this vessel, Mr Tyacke." He paused with the bottle in mid-air, his eyes towards the windows as the air quivered to the distant cannon fire. "I suppose that is the span between us and the military Sailors are like turtles, in a way We carry our homes around with us. They become personal to us; in some ways too much so. Whereas the poor soldier sees only the land in front of him." He smiled suddenly over the rim of his glass. "And to think I was lecturing my flag lieutenant on the folly of sentiment! "
He sat down opposite Tyacke and stretched out his legs. "Now tell me about the men who were with you. That marine, for instance-has he repented of being a volunteer?"
Tyacke found himself describing the long and difficult process of beating back and forth against the wind to get closer to the merchantmen. Of Buller's insolence, and his superb marksmanship. Of the deserter Swayne, and the midshipman who had somehow found courage when he needed it most. Shadowy figures became real as he told of their courage and their fear.
Bolitho refilled the glasses and doubted if either of them had noticed what they were drinking.
"You gave that boy courage-you know that, don't you?"
Tyacke answered simply, "But for him I wouldn't be here."
Bolitho eyed him gravely. "That was then. This is now. I would wish you to sup with me this evening. No talk of war-we shall let it take us where it fancies. I have enough burdens of my own. It would ease the load if I knew I was to achieve something personal before I leave this place."
Tyacke thought he had misheard. Sup with the viceadmiral? This was not a lowly schooner, and Sir Richard Bolitho was no longer a tolerant passenger.