Bolitho snapped, “I have told you before that one of these days you will open your mouth too wide. You are not so old and wise that you can avoid my displeasure!”

Allday smiled. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

It was hopeless. “We will be going ashore together. Do you know the Drake’s Head?”

Allday became serious. “Aye. Veryan Bay. ’Tis owned by an old yaw-sighted villain. One eye points forrard, t’other almost abeam, but his wits are as sharp as a midshipman’s hunger.”

“Good. That is where we are going.”

Allday frowned as Trute re-entered and laid a brace of pistols on the table beside a curved hanger.

He asked mildly. “A duel, Captain?”

“Call away the barge. Then give my compliments to Mr Keverne and tell him I am ready to leave, as soon as I have written his orders.”

Bolitho made a further visit to see the admiral, but there was little change. He appeared to be resting quietly, his wizened face more relaxed in sleep.

On deck he found Keverne waiting for him.

“Barge alongside, sir.” Keverne looked aloft at the listless flag. “The wind has died for some while, I think.”

Bolitho grunted. It was just as if Keverne was trying to warn him. That once he left the ship he was alone and without much hope of assistance. He cursed his own uncertainty. Keverne did not know, and anyway, what else could be done? To wait until the new admiral arrived was merely hiding from the responsibility he had accepted as his own. He said abruptly, “Look after her.” Then he lowered himself down to the waiting boat.

When they reached the jetty he climbed the steps and paused to look back. Framed against the blue water and clear sky the ship seemed indestructible, permanent. An illusion, he thought grimly. No vessel was stronger than those who served her.

Allday watched critically as the acting coxswain manoeuvred the barge clear of the stones for the return journey. Then he asked, “What now, Captain?”

“To the house. I have things to do, and we will require two horses.”

He reached up and felt the locket beneath his shirt. The one she had given him containing a lock of that perfect chestnut hair. He would leave it at the house. Whatever happened this night, he was not going to have someone else pawing over the locket.

He added slowly, “A fine day. It is hard to think of war, and other things.”

Allday said, “Aye, Captain. A tankard and a woman’s voice would not come amiss right at present.”

Bolitho was suddenly impatient. “Well, come along, Allday. When the oven’s hot it is time to bake. No sense in wasting time in dreams.”

Allday followed him readily, his mouth set in a smile. Like the wind across the sea, all the signs were there. Whatever the captain was planning, that which was troubling him enough to make him provoke his own anger, would go hard with someone before another dawn.