Bolitho waited impatiently for Trute to finish tying his neck-cloth and then stood up. The wash and change of clothing had wiped away the dragging tiredness, and the familiar faces and voices around had done much to restore him.

Nevertheless, Keverne’s news, or lack of it, was very worrying. Unless something was achieved quickly they would be in serious trouble. Word of their presence would soon reach Spain or France, and even now there might be a powerful force on its way to seek them out.

Allday entered the cabin carrying Bolitho’s sword. He shot a glare at Trute and said, “I’ve oiled the scabbard, Captain.” He raised the tarnished hilt a few inches and let it snap down again. “Like new, she is.”

Bolitho smiled as he slipped the belt around his waist. Allday was frowning as he readjusted the clasp, and he knew that but for Keverne’s presence he would probably be grumbling that it was the second time he had done so in a month. He would make heavy suggestions that he should eat more, for like most sailors Allday placed much value in eating and drinking to the full whenever possible.

Overhead a bell chimed the hour and Bolitho walked to the door. “I am sorry I have not been able to assist you in your promotion, Mr Keverne. But I have no doubt as to an opportunity very soon.”

Keverne smiled gravely. “Thank you, sir. For your concern.”

Bolitho walked quickly down the companion ladder to the middle deck, thinking of Keverne’s reserve, the permanent defence against showing his inner feelings. He might make a good captain one day, he thought. Especially if he could keep his temper in hand.

The marine sentries stamped to attention and a corporal opened the double doors for him.

He heard Broughton’s voice long before he had reached the stern cabin and braced himself accordingly.

“God damn your eyes, Calvert! This is appalling! You had best go to one of the midshipmen and discover how to spell!”

Bolitho entered the cabin and saw Broughton in black silhouette against the tall windows. He threw a screwed-up ball of paper at the flag-lieutenant who was sitting at the opposite side of the desk to his clerk, shouting violently, “My clerk can do twice as much in half the time!”

Bolitho looked away, embarrassed for Calvert and with himself for being here to see his humiliation. Calvert was quivering with both nervousness and resentment, while the clerk was smiling at him with obvious relish.

Broughton saw Bolitho and snapped, “Ah, here you are. Good. I will not be long.” He snatched up another sheet of paper from beneath Calvert’s fingers and turned it to the windows, his eyes darting along the scrawling writing at great speed. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and he looked extremely angry.

He glared at Calvert again. “My God, why were you born such a fool?”

Calvert half rose, his shoes scraping on the deck covering. “I did not ask to be born, sir!” he sounded almost ready to burst into tears.