Bolitho studied the leader thoughtfully. His name was Tom. It was a beginning.

“Damn your eyes, the lot of you!” The man was flushed with sudden anger. “A batch of delegates, are you? More like a pack of old women!”

The anger calmed as suddenly as before, and Bolitho was reminded of Keverne.

He said harshly, “Right then, so be it.” He gestured to the old petty officer. “You will remain here with one lookout.” He glanced at Allday, his eyes hostile. “And you can keep this lackey as hostage. If we make the signal I want him dead. If there’s some sort of attack we will kill the pair of them and hang them beside our own precious lord and bloody master, right?”

The petty officer flinched but nodded in agreement.

Bolitho looked at Allday’s grim features and forced a smile. “You wanted a rest and a tankard. You have both.” Then he rested his hand briefly on his shoulder. He could almost feel the man’s tension and anger beneath it. “It will be all right.” He tried to give value to his words. “We are not fighting the enemy.”

“We shall see!” The man named Tom opened the door and made a mock bow. “Now walk in front of me and mind your manners. I’ll not pipe my eye if I have to cut you down here and now!”

Bolitho strode into the darkness without answering. The night was still before them, but there was a lot to do before dawn if there was to be any hope of success. As he hurried down the steep track his mind returned to the punishment book. It was surprising that men driven and provoked by such inhumanity had bothered to try to seek justice by channels they only barely understood. It was more surprising still that the mutiny had not broken out months earlier. The realisation helped to encourage him, although he knew it was little enough to sustain anything.

3

SALUTE THE FLAG

“BOAT AHOY!” The challenge seemed to come from nowhere.

A man in the bows cupped his hands and replied, “The delegates!”

Bolitho tensed on the thwart as the anchored frigate suddenly grew out of the darkness, the crossed yards and gently spiralling masts black against the stars. While the jolly boat manoeuvred alongside he noted the carefully spread boarding nets above the ship’s gangway, the dark clusters of figures crowding around the entry port. He could feel his heart racing, and wondered if his own apprehension was matched by the waiting mutineers’.

A hand thrust at his shoulder. “Up you go.”

As he swung himself up through the port, a lantern was unshuttered, the yellow beam playing across his epaulettes while the press of seamen pushed closer to see him.

A man said, “ ’E came then.”

Then Taylor’s voice, brittle and urgent. “Stand aside, mates. There’s work to be done.”

Bolitho stood in silence as the head delegate whispered further instructions to the watch on deck. The ship seemed under control, with no sign of argument or drunkenness as might be expected. Two of the guns were run out, and he guessed they were loaded with grape, just in case some suspicious patrol boat came too close for safety.