When he looked again, the midshipman had gone.
Jenour said, "He'll do well enough, Sir Richard."
"You knew then, Stephen?"
"I guessed. Allday put the rest together. His life must have been hell. He should never have been put to sea."
Bolitho smiled. "It changes all of us. Even you."
Then he felt his heart leap as the cry came from forward.
"Anchor's hove short, sir! "
Calls trilled, and a man grunted as a rope's end hurried him after the others to halliards and braces.
Lieutenant Williams reported, "Standing by, sir! "
"Loose heads'ls." Poland sounded calm, remote. Bolitho wondered what did move him, why he disliked Varian, what he hoped for beyond promotion?
He looked up at the yards where the strung-out, foreshortened bodies of the topmen tensed to release their charges to the wind. On deck, others stood by the braces, ready to transform their anchored ship into a flying thoroughbred. What awaited most of them when Truculent reached England? Would they be cooped up aboard while they awaited new orders, or sent to other ships to strengthen the ranks of landmen and newly-pressed hands ignorant of the sea and of the navy? The fiddle was scraping out a livelier tune and the capstan was turning even more quickly, as if to hasten their departure.
Bolitho said, "It will be summer in England, Stephen. How quickly the months go past."
Jenour turned, his profile in dark shadow, as if, like Tyacke, he had only half a face. "A year for victory, Sir Richard."
Bolitho touched his arm. The hopes of youth knew no bounds. "I am past believing in miracles! "
"Anchor's aweigh, sir! "
Bolitho gripped the nettings. The ship seemed to rear away as the anchor was hauled up and secured at the cathead. Even that seemed to symbolise the difference he had felt here. When they anchored once more in England, in another hemisphere, they would drop the one on the opposite side.
Truculent came about, canvas banging in confusion, shadowy figures dashing everywhere to bring her under control. Hull, the sailing master, shouted, "Steady there! Hold her! "
Bolitho watched him and his helmsmen as they clung on the double spokes, their eyes gleaming in the disappearing sun. He thought of Simcox, who would have been like Hull one day. He had wanted it more than anything. But not enough to leave his friend when his life was threatened.
He said, "Fate is fate."
Jenour looked at him. "Sir?"
"Thoughts, Stephen. Just thoughts."
The topsails hardened to the wind and the deck seemed to hold steady as Truculent pointed her bows towards the headland and the empty, coppery wastes beyond.
"West-sou'-west, sir! Full an' bye! "
Poland 's mouth was set in a tight line. "Bring her up a point. As close as she'll bear." He waited for the first lieutenant to come aft again. "Get the courses and royals on her as soon as we are clear, Mr Williams." He glanced quickly at Bolitho's figure by the nettings. "No mistakes."
Bolitho remained on deck until the land and the sheltering ships were lost in the swift darkness. He waited until the world had shrunk to the leaping spray and trailing phosphorescence, when the sky was so dark there was no margin between it and the ocean. Only then did he go below, where Ozzard was bustling about preparing a late meal.
Bolitho walked to the stern windows, which were smeared with salt and dappled in spray and thought of his years as a frigate captain. Leaving port had always been exciting, a kind of rare freedom. It was a pity that Poland did not see it like that. Or perhaps he was merely counting the days until he could rid himself of his responsibility-looking after a viceadmiral.
He glanced up as feet thudded across the deck, and voices echoed through the wind and the din of sails and rigging. It never changed, he thought, even after all the years. He still felt he should be up there, making decisions, taking charge of the ship and using her skills to the full. He gave a grim smile. No, he would never get used to it.
In the adjoining sleeping-cabin, he sat down by his open chest and stared at himself in the attached looking-glass.
Everyone imagined him to be younger than he really was. But what would she think as the years passed? He thought suddenly of the young officers who were probably sitting down to enjoy their first meal out of harbour, sharing their table with Jenour and probably trying to pry out the truth of the man he served. It might make a change from all the plentiful rumours, he thought. He stared at his reflection, his eyes pitiless, as if he were inspecting one of his own subordinates.
He was forty-nine years old. The rest was flattery This was the bitter truth. Catherine was a lovely passionate woman, one whom any man would fight and die for, if indeed he was a man. She would turn every head, be it at Court or in a street. There were some who might chance their hand now that they knew something of their. love, their affair as many would term it.
Bolitho pushed the white lock of hair from his forehead, hating it; knowing he was being stupid, with no more sense than a heartsick midshipman.
I am jealous, and I do not want to lose her love. Because it is my life. Without her, I am nothing.
He saw Allday looking in. He said, "Shall Ozzard pour the wine, Sir Richard?" He saw the expression on Bolitho's face and thought he knew why he was troubled. Leaving her had been bad. Returning might be harder for him, with all his doubts.
"I am not hungry." He heard the sea roar alongside the hull like something wilful, and knew that the ship was ploughing into the ocean, away from the land's last protection.
If only they could move faster, and cut away the leagues.
Allday said, "You've done a lot, Sir Richard. Not spared yourself a moment since we made our landfall. You'll feel your old self tomorrow, you'll see."
Bolitho watched his face in the glass. I never give him any peace.
Allday tried again. "It's a nice plate o' pork in proper bread-crumbs, just as you like it. Not get anything as good after a few weeks of this lot! "
Bolitho turned on the chair and said, "I want you to cut my hair tomorrow." When Allday said nothing, he added angrily, "I suppose you think that's idiotic! "
Allday replied diplomatically, "Well, Sir Richard, I sees that most o' the wardroom bloods affects the newer fashion these days." He shook his pigtail and added reproachfully, "Don't see it signifies meself."
"Can you do it?"
A slow grin spread across Allday's weathered face. "Course I will, Sir Richard."
Then the true importance of the request hit him like a block. "Can I say me piece, Sir Richard?"
"Have I ever prevented you?"
Allday shrugged. "Well, not hardly ever. That is, not often."
"Go on, you damned rascal! "
Allday let out his breath. That was more like it. The old gleam in those sea-grey eyes. The friend, not just the admiral.
"I saw what you done for Mr Tyacke-"
Bolitho snapped, "What anyone would have done! "
Allday stood firm. "No, they wouldn't lift a finger, an' you knows it, beggin' your pardon."
They glared at each other like antagonists until Bolitho said, "Well, spit it out."
Allday continued, "I just think it's right an' proper that you gets some o' the cream for yourself, an' that's no error neither! " He grimaced and put his hand to his chest and saw Bolitho's instant concern. "See, Sir Richard, you're doing it this minute! Thinking o' me, of anyone but yourself."
Ozzard made a polite clatter with some crockery in the great cabin and Allday concluded firmly, "That lady would worship you even if you looked like poor Mr Tyacke."
Bolitho stood up and brushed past him. "Perhaps I shall eat after all." He looked from him to Ozzard. "It seems I shall get no rest otherwise." As Ozzard bent to pour some wine Bolitho added, "Open the General's brandy directly." To Allday he said, "Baird was right about you. We could indeed use a few thousand more like you! "