Bolitho tugged his hat more firmly over his forehead to give himself time to think. If half of it was true then Varian was a menace to everyone who depended on him. He thought of Zest's being off-station at Good Hope; the terrible end of the little schooner Miranda while her executioner sped to safety.
A coward then?
"Deck there! " Bolitho saw Jenour shading his eyes to peer up at the foremast crosstrees. "Sail on the weather bow! "
Poland stared from the masthead to Bolitho. "I am sorry, Sir Richard. I spoke too soon! " He was probably seeing his only command already slipping away from his grasp.
Inskip swallowed hard. "You're both wrong, dammit! " He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. "I'll wager Zest makes that damned Frenchie show a clean pair of heels! "
"Deck there! " The foremast lookout's voice was suddenly loud as wind spilled from the topsails. "She's a French frigate, sir! "
Bolitho saw faces turn to look towards him, not at their captain this time. So Zest was not waiting for them. Instead, the trap was about to be sprung. Bolitho looked at Inskip's flushed face and kept his voice calm. "No, Sir Charles, I fear we were both right." He swung on Poland. "Clear for action, if you please! "
"Deck there! " Someone by the wheel gave a groan as the lookout yelled, "Second sail astern of t'other, sir! "
"The corvette has run up her colours, sir! "
Poland licked his lips. Two ships closing on a converging tack, another still hounding them from astern. To starboard was the full power of the wind, on the opposite beam and still out of sight was the Danish coast. In those fleeting seconds he could see it all. Jaws closing around his ship. Be run ashore in a hopeless stern-chase, or stand and be destroyed by overwhelming odds. He looked at his first lieutenant, his eyes dull. "Beat to quarters, Mr Williams, and clear for action at your convenience."
The marine fifers ran to the stations, adjusting their drums until they received a curt nod from the Royal Marines sergeant.
Bolitho saw Allday striding across the deck, his cutlass wedged carelessly through his belt. Jenour too, fingering his beautiful sword, his face suddenly determined as the drums commenced their urgent rattle to arms.
Inskip gasped, "Maybe Zest will be here yet?" Nobody spoke, and his voice was almost drowned by the rush of bare feet, the stamp of marines across the poop and the thud and clatter of screens being torn down to clear the ship of obstructions. "Why such a show of force?" He was almost pleading.
Bolitho watched Truculent's big ensigns mounting to gaff and masthead. A challenge accepted.
He said, "They knew, Sir Charles. One of His Majesty's most important emissaries and a senior officer for good measure! Exactly the excuse the French have been looking for. If we are taken, Napoleon will have all he needs to discredit the Danes for their secret discussions with us, and so weaken Sweden's and Russia's resolution to stand against him! Good God, man, even a child should see that! "
Inskip did not rise to Bolitho's angry contempt. He stared around at the gun crews, the bustle with tackles and handspikes as each weapon was prepared to fight.
Then he peered overhead at the nets which were being rigged across the decks from gangway to gangway to protect these same crews from falling spars and debris. Even the boats were being swayed out and made ready to lower and cast adrift for the victors to recover.
Boats represented survival to most sailors, and Bolitho saw some of them turn from their work to watch, and the grim response from the scarlet squads of marines who fingered their Brown Bess muskets and fixed bayonets. If so ordered, they would shoot down anyone who created a panic or provoked any sort of disorder.
It was always a bad moment, Bolitho thought. Survival perhaps; but the peril of razor-sharp splinters hurled from tiered boats once battle was joined was far more dangerous.
Williams touched his hat, his eyes wild. "Cleared for action, sir! "
Poland looked at him coldly and then said, "That was smartly done, Mr Williams." He looked past him and at the lines of watching gun crews, men who moments before had been thinking only of getting another tot to reward them for their efforts. "Do not load or run out as yet." He turned and faced Bolitho. "We are ready Sir Richard." His pale eyes were opaque, like a man already dead.
Inskip touched Bolitho's sleeve. "Shall you fight them?" He sounded incredulous.
Bolitho did not answer. "You may hoist my flag at the fore, Captain Poland. I think there are no more secrets left to keep."
Inskip's shoulders seemed to droop. It was perhaps the clearest reply of all.
As the next hour dragged remorselessly past, the sky grew clearer, the clouds breaking up as if to give every light to the scene. But the sun held no warmth, and spray when it flew over the tightly-packed hammock nettings felt like fragments of ice.
Bolitho took the big telescope from the senior midshipman and walked to the mizzen shrouds. Without haste he climbed into the ratlines and steadied himself while he waited for his mind to clear. He could see the leading French frigate quite easily still holding on to her original converging tack, every sail spread and bulging from the wind. She was big, forty guns or more at a guess, with her Tricolour standing out like bright metal. The other vessel was slightly smaller, but well equal to Truculent. Very deliberately he raised the heavy glass and watched the picture sharpen. How near she looked now; he could imagine the sounds of voices and the creak of gun-tackles as the crews waited impatiently for the order to run out. Around and behind his back he could sense a silence, and knew that all eyes were on him as he studied the enemy Measuring their chances against his confidence. Seeing death in any uncertainty The French were taking their time despite the great press of canvas. If there was to be any chance… he slammed the glass shut with sudden anger. I must never think like that, or we are already lost.
He returned to the deck and handed the telescope to the midshipman.
"Thank you, Mr Fellowes." He did not see the pleased surprise in the youth's eyes at the easy familiarity of his name. He crossed to Poland 's side where Inskip and his secretary, the lugubrious Agnew, waited anxiously for his assessment.
Bolitho avoided the others and said, "Captain Poland, make more sail if you please." He glanced up at the braced yards and lofty sails framed by the washed-out blue sky. "The wind has eased somewhat-you will not tear the sticks out of her, I think."
He expected a protest, even an argument, but before Poland turned away to pass his orders to the first lieutenant, Bolitho thought he saw something like relief on his set features. Calls trilled and once again hands clambered aloft with the agility of monkeys. From the quarterdeck Bolitho saw the great mainyard bending like a bow to the following wind, heard the crack and rattle of canvas as the remaining royals were freed to lend their thrust to the ship.
Poland came back breathing hard. "Sir?"
Bolitho looked at him searchingly. Not a man who would crack, no matter what he might think of the coming fight and its likely conclusion. "The French will adopt their usual tactics today. The leading ship will continue to close until she can reach us with her fire." He saw Poland's bleak eyes following his arm as he pointed over towards the enemy, as if he could already see the lurid flash of cannon fire. "It is my belief that their senior officer will be confident, perhaps too much so."
Inskip muttered, "So would I be, in his shoes! "
Bolitho ignored him. "He will try to cripple Truculent, doubtless with chain-shot or langridge, while his consort attempts to rake our stern. A divided attack is commonly used in this way He watched his words hitting home. "It must not happen." He saw Poland flinch as a line snapped somewhere high above the deck. Like a pistol shot. "If they are allowed to board us we'll be done for." He nodded beyond the stern. "And there is always our little scavenger waiting to lend her weight to the fight."