Bolitho forgot Draffen and the tensions in the great cabin and turned towards Keverne.

“Make the signal.” And as the flags darted up the halliards and broke impatiently to the wind he added sharply, “Be ready, Mr Partridge.”

“Zeus has acknowledged, sir!”

The leading ship was in fact already swinging importantly on her new course, her topsails and driver flapping for a few more moments until brought under control. Tanais followed, one curved side glowing in the dying sunlight as she laboured too readily in response to canvas and rudder.

Keverne raised his speaking trumpet, his lithe figure poised against the rail as if to test the agility of the great ship beneath him.

“Braces there!” He pointed into the purple shadows below the mainmast trunk. “Mr Collins, take that man’s name! He’s stumbling about like a whore at a wedding!”

Unknown voices mumbled out of the gloom, while from aft the wheel creaked obediently, Partridge’s white hair changing to yellow as he squinted at the lighted compass bowl.

“Heave! Lively with it!”

The men leaned back, angling their bodies to take the strain of the ship’s massive yards, while the marines clumped noisily and in perfect time on the mizzen brace. The hull tilted still further, the sails shivering and booming to the change of pressure.

Bolitho leaned over the rail, searching along the length of his command, his ears interpreting the varying groans from shrouds and rigging, the action automatic yet ever watchful.

“Lay her on the larboard tack, Mr Partridge.” He looked aloft, watching as Broughton’s flag and the masthead pendant licked out lazily and then pointed almost directly across the starboard bow.

“East by south, sir!” Partridge rolled to the other side of the compass as Bolitho came aft to stare down at the swaying card.

“Steady as you go.” He felt the ship responding, saw the huge, dark rectangles of canvas stiffening to the wind as she settled obediently on her new tack.

The light was going fast now. As it always did hereabouts. One minute a bright and seemingly everlasting sunset, and then nothing but the cream of spray beneath the counter, an occasional whitecap as the wind explored the edge of a deep trough in the sea’s face.

He heard Keverne bark, “The weather forebrace! In God’s name take in that slack, man! Mr Weigall, your people must do better than this!”

Voices echoed above the thrumming din of rigging and canvas, and he imagined the third lieutenant cursing Keverne’s uncanny eyesight, or shrewd guesswork, as the case may be.

Draffen had been watching in silence, and as the hands mustered once again at their various divisions he murmured, “I hope I will be aboard when you get a chance to show her real paces under sail.” He sounded as if he was enjoying himself.

Bolitho smiled. “There’ll be no such opportunity at night, sir. We may well have to reef tops’ls as it is. There is always a risk of collision when moving in close company.”