All through the past hour or so, calls had shrilled at the entry port as the various captains had been piped aboard. Each one of them might be thinking more about the rumours of scandal than what lay ahead.
He said, "Please ask Captain Keen to bring them here." He had not noticed the sudden edge to his voice. "He was quite surprised to see his old Nicator as one of the squadron… he commanded her six or seven years back. We were at Copenhagen together." His grey eyes became distant. "I lost some good friends that day."
Jenour waited, and saw the sudden despair depart from his face like a cloud across the sea.
Bolitho smiled. "He said to me once that Nicator was so rotten there were many times he believed only a thin sheet of copper stood between himself and eternity. Heaven knows what the old ship is like now! "
Jenour paused by the door, hating to break into these confidences. "Are we so short of ships, Sir Richard?"
Bolitho walked to the quarter galley and watched the uneasy water, the way some circling gulls appeared to change colour as they dipped and drifted through the sunlight.
"I fear so, Stephen. That is why those Danish ships are so important. It might all come to nothing, but I think not. I did not imagine Poland 's death, nor did I invent the near destruction of Truculent. They knew we were there." He remembered how Sir Charles Inskip had scoffed at him because of his suspicions about French intentions. But that had been before the desperate battle; he had not scoffed since.
He became impatient with his memories and said, "Tell Ozzard to fetch some wine for our guests."
Jenour closed the door, and saw Ozzard and another servant already preparing goblets and standing them inside the fiddles in case a sudden squall came down on the ship.
Bolitho walked to the wine-cooler and touched the inlay with his fingers. Herrick would be at his home. Remembering how it had been; expecting to see his Dulcie and feel the warmth of her obvious adoration for him. Herrick was probably blaming him too for Benbow's being relieved; as if it had happened because Bolitho wanted the squadron for himself. How little he knew-but it was always easy to find a bitter reason if you wanted it enough.
The door opened and Keen ushered the others inside so that they could introduce themselves to Bolitho on arrival.
He had a mixed impression of experience, competence and curiosity. All were post-captains except the last one to arrive. Ozzard bustled amongst them with his tray, but their eyes were on the captain of the frigate Anemone as he reported to their viceadmiral. More like a younger brother than a nephew.
Bolitho clasped Adam's hand but could no longer restrain himself, and put his arm around his shoulder and hugged him.
The dark hair which matched his own; even the restless energy of a young colt when he had first joined Hyperion as a skinny midshipman of fourteen years. It was all still there. Bolitho held him at arm's length and studied him feature by feature. But Adam was a man now, a captain of his own frigate; what he had always dreamed about. He was twenty-six years old. Another twist of Fate? Bolitho had been the same age when he had been given command of his first frigate.
Adam said quietly, "It is good to see you, Uncle. We barely had an hour together after Truculent's return to port."
His words seemed to linger in the air like the memory of a threat. But for Anemone's sudden appearance, the three French vessels would surely have overwhelmed Poland 's ship by sheer weight of artillery.
Bolitho thought grimly, And I would be dead. He knew he would never allow himself to be taken prisoner again.
Keen had got the others seated and they were watching the reunion, each man fitting it into his own image of the Bolitho they knew, or had only heard about. There was no sort of resentment on their faces; Bolitho guessed that Adam was far too junior to present any kind of threat to their own status in the squadron.
Bolitho said, "We will talk far longer this time. I am proud to have you under my flag."
All at once the midshipman with the cheeky grin was back again. Adam said, "From what I hear and read, it is barely safe to leave you on your own, Uncle! "
Bolitho composed himself and faced Keen and the other captains. There was so much he wanted to tell Adam, needed to tell him, so that there would never be any doubts, no secrets to plague them when they were alone.
Adam looked so right in his dress coat; but more like a youth playing the part of a hero than the man who held the destiny of a thirty-eight-gun frigate and some one hundred and eighty souls in his hands. He thought of Herrick's distress, his scathing comments about the Bolitho charm. Maybe he had been right? It was easy to picture Adam's face now in one of the portraits at the house in Falmouth.
"I wanted to meet you as soon as possible, for I have discovered in the past that circumstances often prevent us from taking our time over such matters." There were several smiles. "I am sorry that we are short of two in our numbers-" He hesitated as he realised what he had said. It was as if Herrick was right here, watching resenting the implication; blaming him for sending the two ships into port without waiting. He said, "This is not a time for loosening our grip on the reins. There are many who saw Trafalgar as a victory which would end all danger at a single stroke. I have seen and heard it for myself, in the fleet and on the streets of London. I can assure you, gentlemen, it is a foolish and misinformed captain who believes this is a time for relaxation. We need every ship we can get, and the men who care enough to fight them when the time comes, as come it must. The French will exploit their gains on land and have proved that few troops can withstand them. And who knows what leaders they will put to sea once they have the ships again to use against us? The French navy was weakened by the very force which brought Napoleon to power. During the blood-letting of the Terror, loyal officers were beheaded in the same blind savagery as the so-called aristocrats! But new faces will appear, and when they do we must be ready." He felt suddenly drained, and saw Adam watching him with concern.
He asked, "Have you any questions?"
Captain John Crowfoot of the Glorious, a tall, stooping fig-ure with the solemn looks of a village clergyman, asked, "Will the Danes offer their fleet to the enemy, Sir Richard?"
Bolitho smiled. He even sounded like one. "I think not. But under extreme pressure they might yield. No Dane wants the French army on his soil. Napoleon's armies have a habit of staying put after they have invaded, no matter on what pretext."
Bolitho saw Keen lean forward to look at the next captain to speak. It was Captain George Huxley who commanded Nicator, Keen's old ship. He was probably wondering what kind of man could be expected to hold the rotting seventy-four together.
Huxley was stocky and level-eyed, giving an immediate impression of unwavering self-confidence. A hard man, Bolitho thought.
Huxley insisted, "We must have more frigates, Sir Richard. Without them we are blind and ignorant of affairs. A squadron, nay, a fleet could pass us in the night, to seaward or yonder along the Dutch coast, and we might never know."
Bolitho saw one of them glance round as if he expected to see the Dutch coastline, even though it was more than thirty miles abeam.
He said, "I share that sentiment, Captain Huxley. I have but two under my command. That of my nephew, and the Zest, whose captain I am yet to meet."
He thought of Keen's remark: "Captain Fordyce has the reputation of a martinet, sir. He is an admiral's son, as you will know, but his methods are hardly mine." It was rare for Keen to speak out on the subject of a fellow captain. Their Lordships probably thought that Zest needed a firmer hand after Varian's example.
There were more questions on repairs and supplies, on patrol areas and shortages. Some of the questions were directed at Bolitho's proposed signals and fighting instructions, because of their brevity rather than their context.