Alava said, “Thank you for your humanity, Captain. When your soldiers arrived I feared they would slaughter all of my people here.”

Bolitho smiled grimly. Giffard would certainly take exception to hearing his marines called soldiers.

He said, “At daylight we will see what can be done to restore the defences here.” He walked to an open window and looked across the dark, swirling currents below the fortress. “I will be expecting other ships soon. Also a vessel which will need to be beached so that repairs can be made to her hull.” He paused and then swung round from the window so that even Allday started. “You may know her, Colonel. The Navarra?”

Just for a fraction of a moment he saw a spark of alarm in the old man’s eyes. Then the hands twitched again, dismissing it.

“No, Captain.”

Bolitho turned back to the window. He was lying, and that was as good as proof Witrand had indeed been intended for this desolate place. Probably the brig was the vessel which had been waiting to make the transfer at sea.

But there would be time for that later. Time to allow the commandant to reconsider, to decide where his own safety lay now his defences had fallen.

He nodded to Bickford. “Escort him to the other room and have the officers kept apart.”

As the commandant hobbled through a door, Sawle entered on the opposite side, his shirt sodden and torn, and carrying his coat casually over one arm.

“You did the task very well.” Bolitho watched the new light in the lieutenant’s eyes. A kind of contained wildness, a confidence born of a single dangerous act. He had been more afraid of showing fear than of fear itself, and now that he had survived he would expect his reward and more.

Sawle said, “Thank you, sir.” He did not attempt to hide the new arrogance which his triumph had roused in him. “It was easy.”

You only think it was easy, my friend, now the danger is past. Aloud Bolitho said, “Report to Mr Bickford and he will give you your orders.”

Allday watched him leave and murmured, “Weasel!”

Bolitho looked past him. “Go and take care of Mr Lucey.” He sat down suddenly in the commandant’s great chair. It was just as if his legs had given way under him. He added, “See if you can find something to drink. I am like a kiln.”

Alone, he stared round the gloomy, barren room. Perhaps one day, because of a bad wound or disability, he would be given a task like Alava’s. An outpost with the grand name of governor-ship where he would spend the days trying to hide his bitterness, and the ache for a ship from home, from his subordinates.

He realised his eyelids had started to droop and that Giffard had entered the room without his hearing.

Giffard said, “My men found Mr Calvert, sir.” He looked uneasy. “He was wandering around lost, and near out of his mind to all accounts.”