Bolitho said, "Easy, I'll have the surgeon attend you."
The lieutenant stared up at the empty blue sky, his eyes very wide as if he could not believe what had happened.
He gasped, "No, sir! Please, no-" He gasped again as the pain increased and blood ran from one corner of his mouth. "I-I want to stay where I can see…"
Allday stood up and said gruffly, "Done for, Sir Richard. He's shot through."
Someone was calling for assistance, another screaming with pain as more shot hammered into the side and through the rigging. But Bolitho felt unable to move. It was all happening again. Hyperion and her last battle, even to holding the hand of a dying seaman who had asked "Why me?" as death had claimed him. Almost defiantly he stooped down and took Munro's bloodied hand, and squeezed it until his eyes turned up to his. "Very well, Mr Munro. You stay with me."
Allday sighed deeply. Munro's eyes, which watched Bolitho so intently, were still and without understanding. Always the pain.
Hull, the sailing-master who had fought his own battle with wind and rudder throughout the fight, yelled hoarsely, "Corvette's takin' t'other frigate in tow, sir! "
Bolitho swung round and noticed that Jenour was still staring down at the dead lieutenant. Seeing himself perhaps? Or all of us?
"Why so?" He trained the glass, and wanted to cry out aloud as the roar of another disjointed broadside probed his brain like hot irons.
He found the two ships through the pall of drifting smoke and saw the boats in the water as a towline was passed across. There were flags on the corvette's yards, and when Bolitho turned the glass towards the attacking ship he saw a signal still flying above the flash of her armament. She showed no sign of disengaging, so why was the other ship under tow? His reeling mind would make no sense of it. It refused to answer, even to function.
He heard Williams' voice. "Ready to larboard! Easy, my lads! " It reminded him of Keen with his men in Hyperion, quietening them as will a rider with a nervous horse.
Bolitho saw the Frenchman's yards begin to move, while more sails appeared above and below the punctured rags as if by magic.
Jenour cried with disbelief, "He's going about! "
Bolitho cupped his hands. "Mr Williams! Rake his stern as he tacks! "
Allday sounded dazed. "He's breaking off the fight. But why? He's only got to hang on! "
There was a sudden stillness, broken only by the hoarse orders of the gun-captains and the thud of the pumps. From somewhere aloft, from lookout or marine in the fighting tops, nobody knew.
"Deck below! Sail on th' weather bow! "
The Frenchman was gathering way as she continued to turn until the pale sunlight lit up her shattered stern windows, where Williams' carronade had scored the first strike for the price of a midshipman's two guineas; and beneath, across her scarlet counter her name, L'Intrepide, was clear to see for the first time.
Bolitho said, "Aloft, Mr Lancer, as fast as you can. I want to know more of this newcomer! "
The lieutenant bobbed his head and dashed wild-eyed for the shrouds. He faltered only when Williams' guns fired again and then he was up and climbing through the smoke as if the devil was at his heels.
Allday exclaimed, "By God, the bugger's making more sail! "
Men stood back from their smoking guns, too stunned or crazed to know what was happening. Some of the wounded crawled about the torn decks, their cracked voices demanding answers when there were none to offer.
Bolitho shouted, "Stand to! She's run out her stern chasers! " As he had watched his powerful enemy standing away, he had seen two ports in her mauled stern open to reveal the unfired muzzles pointing straight at Truculent even as the range began to open.
Williams yelled, "Ready on deck! "
As if he was totally unaware of the danger and the battle beneath him, Lieutenant Lancer shouted down in the sudden silence, "She's making her number, sir! "
Allday whispered harshly, "Zest, by God-but too bloody late."
But he was wrong. Even Lancer, struggling with his telescope and signal book from his precarious perch aloft, sounded confused.
"She's Anemone, thirty-eight." His voice seemed to shake. "Captain Bolitho."
At that very moment L'Intrepide fired first one stern chaser then the other. A ball crashed into the quarterdeck and cut down two of the helmsmen, covering Hull with their blood before scything through the taffrail. The last ball struck the mizzen top and brought down a mass of broken woodwork and several blocks. It was a miracle that Lancer had not been hurled down to the deck.
Bolitho was more aware of falling than of feeling any pain. His mind was still grappling with Lancer's report, hanging on although it was getting harder every second.
Hands were holding him with both anxiety and tenderness. He heard Allday rasp, "Easy, Cap'n! " What he had called him in the past. "A block struck you-"
Another voice and misty face now, the surgeon. Have I been lying here that long?
More probing fingers at the back of his skull; sounds of relief as he said, "No real damage, Sir Richard. Near thing though. A block like that could crack your head like a nut! "
Men were cheering; some seemed to be sobbing. Bolitho allowed Jenour and Allday to get him to his feet amidst the fallen debris from the last parting shot.
The pain was coming now, and Bolitho felt sick. He touched his hair and felt where he had taken a glancing blow. He rubbed his eyes and saw the dead Munro watching him with an intense stare.
Williams was yelling, "She's an English frigate, lads! The day is won! "
Allday asked in a whisper, "Is something wrong, Sir Richard?"
Bolitho covered his left eye and waited for the fog of battle to leave his brain. Adam had come looking for him, and had saved them all.
He turned to Allday as his question seemed to penetrate. "There was a flash."
"Flash, Sir Richard? I'm not sure I understands."
"In my eye." He removed his hand and made himself look towards the distant French ships as they withdrew from their near-victory. "I can't see them properly." He turned and stared at him. "My eye! That blow… it must have done something."
Allday watched him wretchedly. Bolitho wanted him to tell him it would go away, that it would pass.
He said, "I'll get a wet for you, sir. For me too, I reckon." He reached out and almost gripped Bolitho's arm as he would a messmate, an equal, but he did not. Instead he said heavily "You stay put till I gets back, Sir Richard. There's help a'comin'. Captain Adam'll see us right, an' that's no error." He looked at Jenour. "Keep by his side. For all our sakes, see?" Then he groped his way past the dead and dying, the upended guns and bloodstained planking.
It was their world and there was no escape. All the rest was a dream.
He heard a man cry out in private torment.
Always the pain.
14. Honour Bound
"WELL NOW, that wasn't too demanding, was it?" Sir Piers Blachford turned up his sleeves and rinsed his long, bony fingers in a basin of warm water which a servant had brought to the spacious, elegant room. He gave a dry smile. "Not for a seasoned warrior like you, eh?"
Bolitho leaned back in the tall chair and tried to relax his whole body muscle by muscle. Outside the window the sky was already tinged with the gloom of evening, although it was only three in the afternoon. Rain pattered occasionally against the glass, and he could hear the splash of horses and carriage wheels in the street below.
He moved to touch his eye. It felt raw and inflamed after all the poking Blachford had given it. He had used some liquid too, which stung without mercy, so that he wanted to rub his eye until it bled.
Blachford glared at him severely. "Don't touch it! Not yet anyway." He wiped his hands on a towel and nodded to the servant. "Some coffee, I think."