Broughton pursed his lips. “Signal the Auriga to intercept.”

“Aye, sir.”

Bolitho beckoned to the signal midshipman and could almost feel Broughton’s impatience at his back. Only the previous day he had sent the other frigate, Coquette, on ahead at full speed to reach Gibraltar with his despatches, and to make sure there was no change in plans for his squadron. With Auriga to windward and the little sloop Restless sweeping downwind in the hopes of snatching a French or Spanish fisherman for information, it had left his resources very strained.

The boy reported, “Auriga has acknowledged, sir.”

Bolitho could picture the scene on the frigate’s deck as the distant flags had been studied, probably from some swaying yard far above the sea, by another midshipman like Tothill.

He could well imagine Brice’s feelings at this moment too. A chance to further his position with the admiral and before the whole squadron would not be taken lightly. And heaven help any poor wretch who displeased him at such a time.

He took the big glass and climbed up beside the midshipman in the weather shrouds, and trained it towards the horizon. The frigate leapt into view, her topsails already filling as she went about and dashed towards the newcomer. He could imagine the sounds of spray cascading over her bowsprit, the scream of blocks and rigging as more, and more canvas thundered out from her yards to contain and hold the wind for her own power.

It was easy to forget men like Brice at such times, he thought vaguely. Auriga was a beautiful little ship, a living, vital thing as she heeled to the wind and buried her lee gunports in foam.

He returned to the deck and said, “Permission to give chase, sir?”

For another small moment he shared a common understanding and excitement with Broughton. Saw his jaw tighten, the gleam in his eyes.

“Yes.” He stood aside as Bolitho raised his hand to Keverne. Then he added, “All ships will, however, retain their stations. See to it.”

As the signal soared up the yards and broke to the wind Bolitho saw the other ships hoist their acknowledgements as one. Every captain must have been waiting for this. Praying for something to break the monotony and the uncertain watchfulness which had dogged them since Falmouth.

Overhead the growing spread of canvas cracked and boomed, the great yards bending like bows until they looked as if they would tear free from the masts. The hull tilted still further, so that men hastening about the upper deck seemed to be leaning at strange and unreal angles, while more, and still more, canvas bellied out to the wind.

On the lower gundeck the ports would be completely submerged, and Bolitho could hear the pumps already clanking as the hull took the strain and accepted it.

But they were overhauling the nearest seventy-four, and through the straining criss-cross of rigging and shrouds he could see the officers on the Tanais’s quarterdeck peering astern at the flagship as she begin to creep up on them.