Bolitho snapped, “By whose order?”

“I beg pardon, sir,” Rook looked uncomfortable. “By order of Vice-Admiral Sir Lucius Broughton.” He turned as more boats grappled alongside and the gangway suddenly came alive with grimfaced marines, their muskets and fixed bayonets trained on the crowded main deck.

Bolitho crossed over to the lieutenants. “Rest assured, I will see that you are not abused.” He looked at Rook. “I am making you responsible.”

The one-armed officer wiped his forehead worriedly. “As you say, sir.”

Bolitho walked back to the quarterdeck rail and looked along the crowded mass of silent seamen.

“I gave you my word. Keep your peace and obey orders. I shall go across and meet the admiral without delay.”

He saw Taylor make as if to come aft and then stop when a marine jerked a bayonet in his direction.

Bolitho called, “I have not forgotten, Taylor.”

Then he turned and made his way to the port. A boat was coming from the Euryalus. No doubt for him, and an explanation.

He glanced back at the silent, watching men. They were dreading what would happen next. No, they were terrified, he could almost smell their fear, and wanted to reassure them.

He thought suddenly of Brice who had caused it all, and of the clerk Gates who had used the captain’s cruelty for his own ends. Now Gates was free somewhere, and Brice might just as easily escape without dishonour. He tightened his jaw and waited impatiently for the boat to get alongside.

We shall see, he thought coldly.

* * *

Bolitho raised his hat to the quarterdeck and asked quietly, “Well, Mr Keverne? I think I need an explanation, and quickly.”

Keverne replied just as quietly, “I could not help it sir. Vice-Admiral Broughton arrived during the last dog watch yesterday. He came overland by way of Truro.” He shrugged helplessly, his face worried. “I had to tell him of your sealed orders, and he required me to open them.”

Bolitho paused by the poop and looked down at the larboard battery of twelve-pounders, still run out and pointing at the Auriga. Most of their crews, however, were looking aft at him, their expressions torn between surprise and anxiety. As well they might, he thought bitterly.

But it was not Keverne’s fault, and that was something. For a while he had been tortured with the idea that Keverne might have given his secret orders willingly, to ingratiate himself with the new admiral.

He asked, “How is Sir Charles?”

Keverne shook his head. “No better, sir.”

The second lieutenant crossed the deck and touched his hat, “The vice-admiral is waiting to see you, sir.” He fidgeted with his sword hilt. “With respect, sir, he seems somewhat impatient.”

Bolitho forced a slow smile. “Very well, Mr Meheux, it is a day for urgency.”

But he did not feel like smiling. He could not blame the admiral for demanding to know of his whereabouts. After all, flag officers were not accustomed to making excuses for their own lateness, or explaining their reasons to subordinates. But to have the frigate put under the guns of his own flagship was unthinkable.