Bolitho heard the glass close with its customary snap and turned to touch his hat as Broughton walked towards him.

He said formally, “Wind still from the nor’ west, sir, but freshening.” He saw Broughton’s eyes move slowly along the sweating lines of seamen at the guns. “The new course is sou’ west by west.”

Broughton gave a grunt. “Good. Your gun crews appear to be adequate.”

That was one thing Bolitho had learned. Broughton usually opened the day with some such comment. Like a spur, or a calculated insult.

He replied calmly, “Clear for action in ten minutes or less, sir, and then three broadsides every two minutes.”

Broughton studied him thoughtfully. “That is your standard, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have heard of some of your standards.” Broughton placed his hands on his hips and peered up at the maintop where some marines were exercising with a swivel gun. “I hope our people will remember when the times comes.”

Bolitho waited. There would be more.

The admiral said absently, “When I dined with your brother-in-law at Falmouth he was telling me something of your family background.” He turned and looked hard at Bolitho. “I knew of your brother’s, er, misfortune, of course.” He let it sink in before adding, “How he deserted from the Navy.” He paused, his head slightly on one side.

Bolitho faced him coldly. “He died in America, sir.” It was strange how easily the lie came now. But the resentment was as strong as ever, and he had a sudden mad desire to say something to shock Broughton from his safe, all-powerful pillar. What would he say, for instance, if he knew that Hugh had been killed in action, right there, where he was now standing? At least Broughton’s probing remarks had allowed him to think of Hugh’s death without so much remorse and despair. As his eye moved briefly across Broughton’s shoulder to the broad, orderly quarter-deck, the great double wheel with its attentive helmsman and master’s mate, it was hard to see it as the bloody shambles on that day Hugh had died. Using his own body as a shield to save his son Adam, who was still completely ignorant of his father’s presence, as men had screamed and died in the din of battle.

Broughton said, “And all over a duel, I believe? Could never understand the stupid attitude of people who made duelling a crime. Do you pride yourself as a swordsman, by any chance?”

Bolitho forced a smile, “My sword has often been a comfort in battle, sir.” He could not see where this line of talk was leading.

The admiral showed his teeth. They were very small and even. “A duel is for gentlemen.” He shook his head. “But as there seem to be so many in Parliament today who are neither swordsmen nor gentlemen, I suppose we must expect this sort of obstruction.” He glanced towards the poop. “I will take a walk for half an hour.”