The French flagship’s sails were still drawing and quivering in the wind, and as she idled clear she began to move slowly towards the Euryalus’s bows. The smoke was rising thickly from her main hatch, and Bolitho felt himself shaking uncontrollably as the first tip of flame licked above the coaming like a forked tongue.

All resistance had ceased on Euryalus’s deck, and the French boarders left behind by their ship watched in silence, their hands in the air, as Le Glorieux continued to draw away.

Broughton said hoarsely, “They’re finished!” There was neither pride nor satisfaction in his voice. Like the others, he sounded completely crushed by the ferocity of the battle.

Tothill limped to the rail. “Zeus is signalling, sir.”

When Bolitho looked down at him he saw the midshipman was grinning even though uncontrollable tears were cutting sharp lines through the grime on his face.

He asked quietly, “Well, Mr Tothill?”

“Two of the enemy have struck to us, sir. One has sunk, and the rest are breaking off the action.”

Bolitho sighed and watched with silent relief as the enemy flagship began to drift more swiftly downwind. As the smoke of battle faded reluctantly away he saw the other ships scattered across the sea’s face, scarred and blackened from conflict. Of Impulsive there was no sign, and he saw the sloop Restless, which must have arrived unseen in the battle, drifting above her shadow, her boats in the water searching for survivors.

He felt a sudden heat on his cheek, and when he turned saw the French three-decker’s sails and rigging ablaze like torches. The lower gunports were also glowing bright red, and before a man could speak the air was torn apart with one deafening explosion.

The smoke surrounded the destruction, changing to steam as with a jubilant roar the sea surged into the shattered hull, dragging it down in a welter of bubbles and terrible sounds. Guns crashed from their tackles, and men trapped below in total darkness ran in madness until caught by either sea or fire.

When the smoke finally cleared there was only a great, slow-moving whirlpool, around which the flotsam and human fragments joined in one last horrible dance. Then there was nothing.

Broughton cleared his throat. “A victory.” He watched the wounded being carried or dragged below. Then he looked at Calvert and added, “But the bill is greater.”

Bolitho said dully, “We will commence repairs, sir. The wind has eased slightly . . .” He paused and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, trying to think. “Valorous looks in a bad way. I think Tanais can take her in tow.”

He heard distant cheering and saw the men on the Zeus’s battered forecastle waving and yelling as they edged past. They could still cheer after all that. He turned to watch as some of his own company scrambled into the shrouds to return the cheers.

He said quietly, “With men like these, Sir Lucius, you never need fear again.”