There was a tap at the door. It was Ashton. “Mr Meheux’s respects, sir.” His eyes wandered to the greasy plates. “He would like to take in another reef. The wind is rising from the nor’ west.”

Bolitho nodded and picked up his hat. The moment of peace was to be laid aside again.

“I will go up directly.” He walked to the door adding, “When I return, I will not think it amiss if the rest of that meat has vanished.” He smiled as he closed the door behind him. It was the same frugal food as was served to the ship’s company. But seated in the undreamed-of splendour of his captain’s cabin, Ashton would think it a banquet, although what Trute would say was hard to imagine.

* * *

The morning watch still had an hour to run when Bolitho strode on to the quarterdeck. Although he had been up and about several times during the night, he felt remarkably fresh, and his shoulder was sore rather than painful. He paused to peer at the swinging compass card. North-east, as it had remained since his last inspection before dawn.

The sky was very clear, with a washed-out look, and in a fresh north-westerly wind the sea stretched in an endless display of small white-horses from horizon to horizon.

As he had sat toying with his breakfast and lingering over his last supply of good coffee he had waited for the call from a lookout or the scamper of feet as someone came to bring a message that Coquette had been sighted. But as daylight strengthened and the deck above his head had echoed to the sluice of water and swabs, with all the usual chatter between the seamen, he had known there was no ship to see.

Now, as he walked towards the quarterdeck rail, his face impassive to shield his sudden uncertainty, he knew too that he must dissuade Broughton from continuing the chase.

For over seventeen hours since Broughton had sent Coquette in hot pursuit of the captured frigate the squadron had pressed on with every sail set to maximum advantage.

During the night when they had altered course to this present tack there had been several breath-stopping moments as Valorous had surged out of the gloom like a phantom ship bent on smashing into Euryalus’s stern.

He had examined his chart while he had finished the coffee in the private world beyond his cabin bulkhead. They were now some sixty miles due south of Ibiza and still pushing further and further into the Mediterranean. Ironically, Broughton’s determination to recapture the Auriga had taken them back across the same waters as before, and the ships were now less than eighty miles north by east from Djafou.

Keverne gauged it was time to speak. “Good morning, sir.” He smiled. “Again.”

Bolitho looked past him and saw the Impulsive’s bulging top-gallants far out on the lee quarter, pale yellow in the sunlight. Broughton had decreed that she should play a lone role on the squadron’s flank. She was faster than the others, and without a frigate at his disposal, and only the little Restless away on the horizon, Broughton had little choice in his deployment.