He was very calm, his face quite devoid of expression as he nodded to Bolitho and then snapped to the lieutenant, “Wait outside, Calvert.”

The lieutenant fidgeted with his coat and muttered, “The letters, sir, I thought . . .”

“God, man, are you deaf as well as stupid!” He leaned on the table and shouted, “I said get out!”

As the door banged shut behind the wretched Calvert, Bolitho waited for Broughton’s rage to expand. It was just as if he had kept it contained to the last possible second. Until his return on board to receive the full brunt of it.

Surprisingly, his voice was almost normal as he continued, “By God, I’m glad you got back aboard punctually.” He gestured to an open envelope on the table. “Sailing orders at last. That donkey Calvert brought them from London.”

Bolitho waited, allowing Broughton time to calm down. He said quietly, “Had you wished it, sir, I could have obtained a flag-lieutenant from the squadron . . .”

Broughton eyed him coldly. “Oh, to damnation with him! Some favour I received years ago has to be repaid. I promised to take that fool off his father’s hands and away from London.” He broke off and peered up at the skylight, his head on one side as if listening.

Then he said, “You have heard the news, no doubt.” His chest was moving with sudden anger again. “These miserable, treacherous scum have the impudence to mutiny, eh? The whole fleet at the Nore aflame with, with . . .” he groped for the word and then added harshly, “so much for your damned humanity. Conceit is what I call it, if you believe for one single moment that their sort respect leniency!”

Bolitho said, “With all deference, sir, I think there is no connection between the Auriga and the trouble at the Nore.”

“Do you not?” His voice was steady again. Too steady. “I can assure you, Captain Bolitho, I have already had my fill of treachery at Spithead. To have my own flagship taken over by a lot of crawling, sanctimonious, lying bastards. The humiliation, the very shame of it clings to me like the stench of a sewer.”

There was a discreet tap at the door and Captain Giffard of the ship’s marines peered in and reported, “All ready, sir.” He withdrew hurriedly under Broughton’s stare.

Bolitho said, “May I ask what is happening, sir?”

“You may.” Broughton dragged his coat from the chair, his face shining damply with sweat. “Because of you I went against my better judgement. Because of you I allowed the Auriga’s mutineers to stay free and untried.” He swung round, his eyes blazing. “Because of you and your damned promises, promises which you had neither the authority nor the right to offer, I must leave them untouched, if only to uphold your authority as flag captain!” He was shouting now, and Bolitho could picture the other captains beyond the closed door sympathising with him, or grateful that a superior was being cut down to their level. Bolitho did not know any of them enough to decide which. He only knew he was both angry and bitter at the admiral’s sudden attack.