Broughton said, “Make a general signal. Shorten sail and re-form correct stations.” He eyed Bolitho bleakly. “Auriga can handle the Frog now.”

As the signal was passed and repeated up and down the line Bolitho could almost sense the frustration around him. Four powerful ships, yet because of Broughton’s inflexible rules as impotent as merchantmen.

A dull bang echoed across the water and Bolitho saw a puff of brown smoke drifting towards the French ship. Brice had fired a ranging shot, although it was not possible to see where it fell.

Every glass came up as Keverne said hoarsely, “The Frog’s wearing ship! By God, look at him!”

The French captain had mistimed it badly. Bolitho could almost pity him as he put his ship round in an effort to cross the Auriga’s bows. He could see her bared bilge, the sun dancing on her straining sails as the yards swung still further until she was heeling right over in her own spray. A solid thunder of gunfire echoed and re-echoed across the tossing water, and Bolitho imagined Brice’s first broadside smashing into the exposed bilge as he used his advantage of wind and position to follow her round.

Somebody in the Euryalus’s foretop raised a cheer, but otherwise there was complete silence as seamen and marines watched the frigates overlapping, clawing closer and closer to each other, the smoke already whipped free in the wind.

Another ripple of flashes, this time from the Frenchman, but the Auriga’s masts and yards remained intact, whereas the enemy’s canvas was pitted with holes, her main topsail tearing itself to ribbons after the first barrage.

Keverne whispered, “A good prize, I’m thinking. We can do with another frigate anyway.”

It was hard to distinguish what was happening now. The two ships could only be half a cable apart, and getting nearer each minute. More cannon fire, and then the enemy’s mizzen top-gallant pitched down into the rolling smoke, the ripped canvas and rigging following it into the bedlam below.

Broughton said, “She’ll strike soon.”

“The wind’s droppin’, sir.” Partridge kept his voice hushed, as if fearful of breaking the concentration.

Broughton replied. “It does not matter now.” He was smiling.

A new silence had fallen, and across the last three miles which separated the Zeus from the two frigates they could see that the gunfire had ceased and both ships lay locked together. It was over.

Broughton said softly, “Well, well, Bolitho. What do you have to say about that?”

Some marines on the forecastle removed their shakos and began to cheer, the cry taken up aboard the Tanais directly ahead.

Bolitho brushed past the admiral and snatched a telescope from its rack as the cheering began to falter and die almost as soon as it was begun. He felt his skin chill as he watched the flag fluttering down from the Auriga’s peak like a wounded bird, to be replaced instantly by another. The same flag which still lifted jauntily above the tattered sails of her adversary. The tricolour of France.