“Certainly, Mr Calvert.” He sat back to watch as the lieutenant drew the old blade from the scabbard and held it in line with his chin. “Are you a swordsman like Sir Lucius?”

Calvert did not reply directly. He ran his fingers around the old and tarnished hilt and then said, “A beautiful balance, sir. Beautiful.” He looked at Bolitho guardedly. “I have an eye for it, sir.”

“Then see that you restrain your eye, Mr Calvert. It can cause you much trouble.”

Calvert replaced the blade and became his old self again. “Thank you, sir. For allowing me to hold it.”

Bolitho pushed the papers towards him and added slowly, “And try to be more definite in your affairs. Many officers would give their arms for your appointment, so make good use of it.”

Calvert withdrew, stammering and smiling.

Bolitho sighed and stood up as Allday entered the cabin, his eyes immediately falling on the sword, which he replaced on its rack against the bulkhead.

He said, “Mr Calvert was here then, Captain?”

Bolitho smiled at Allday’s curiosity. “He was. He seemed very interested in the sword.”

Allday eyed it thoughtfully. “And so he might. Yesterday I saw him showing off to some of the midshipmen. They lit a candle, and Drury, the youngest of ’em, held it in the air for Mr Calvert to strike at.”

Bolitho swung round. “That was a damned stupid thing to do.”

Allday shrugged. “Need have no worry, Captain. The flag-lieutenant’s blade parted the wick and flame without even touching the candle.” He cleared his throat noisily. “You’ll have to watch that one, Captain.”

Bolitho looked at him. “As you say, Allday. I will.”

* * *

Jed Partridge, the master, tugged at his battered hat as Bolitho strode from beneath the poop and reported, “Steady, sir. Sou’ east by east.”

“Very well.”

Bolitho nodded to the officer of the watch and then crossed to the weather side of the quarterdeck, filling his lungs with the cool evening air.

The squadron had weighed in the remorseless heat of a noon sun, but with an encouraging north-westerly breeze had soon formed into a tight column, each ship taking her prescribed station and keeping their interchange of signals to a minimum.

Many telescopes must have followed them from the Spanish coast, and there would be plenty of speculation as to their destination. It was unlikely that the enemy would give much weight to so small a force, but there was no sense in taking chances. Once clear of the land each captain would know that almost any ship he might meet would be an enemy. Even neutrals, and there were precious few of those, must be treated with suspicion and as possible informers of the squadron’s course and whereabouts.

But now it was evening, and in the Mediterranean it was a time which Bolitho always found full of fresh fascination. While the four ships-of-the-line rolled and plunged easily in a deep swell, with a steady and unwavering wind sweeping down across the larboard quarter, he could see the shadows lengthening on the gangways, the sea beyond the bows already vague in deeper purple. Yet astern the sky was salmon pink, the dying sunlight trailing down from the horizon and making the Valorous’s topsails shine like giant sea shells.