The officer of the watch was admonishing a defaulter who had been brought aft by a bosun’s mate, his voice grating in a fierce whisper.

Bolitho moved away with Draffen falling in step beside him.

Draffen asked, “But there will be a final confrontation between the two major fleets, eventually?”

“I have no doubts, sir. But I still believe the more attacks we can make on the enemy’s communications, his bases and trade, the more likely we are of a lasting victory on land.” He smiled awkwardly. “As a sailor it hurts me to say it. But no victory can be complete until your own soldiers have hoisted a flag on the enemy’s battlements!”

Draffen smiled gravely. “Maybe you will have a chance to put your theory into action very shortly. It will largely depend on our meeting with one of my agents. I arranged for him to make a regular rendezvous. It is to be hoped he has found it possible.”

Bolitho pricked up his ears. That was the first he had heard of anything about a rendezvous. Broughton had given him the briefest of detail so far. The squadron was to patrol off Djafou, out of sight of land, while the Coquette explored inshore for further information. Normal tactics. Normal and frustratingly dull, he had thought. Now with the prospect of gaining other, more secret news of the enemy’s deployment, the whole face of the operation had changed.

Draffen said, “I find it slightly unnerving when I think of tomorrow. We might meet with an entire enemy fleet. Does that not upset you?”

Bolitho looked at him, but his face was in deep shadow. It was hard to tell if he was testing him again or merely making light of what was a very real possibility.

“I have lived with that prospect in fear, excitement or mere bewilderment on and off since I was twelve, sir.” Bolitho kept his voice equally grave. Then he grinned. “But so far I have never had any of my reactions taken into consideration, least of all by the enemy!”

Draffen chuckled. “I will go below and sleep easily now. I have taxed you too much as it is. But please keep me informed if anything unusual occurs.”

Bolitho stood aside. “I will, sir. You and my admiral.”

Draffen walked away laughing to himself. “We will talk further.” Then he was gone.

The midshipman of the watch hurried across the deck and reported to his lieutenant that the stern light had been lit. Through the mass of rigging Bolitho could see the Tanais’s own lantern shining like a firefly and playing across the ruffled water of her wake.

He heard the lieutenant say sharply, “It took you long enough, Mr Drury!” And then the boy’s mumbled reply.

It was not difficult to see Adam Pascoe’s shape standing there in the shadows instead of the luckless Drury.

Bolitho had tried not to worry about his young nephew, but meeting with Inch had again made the boy’s absence seem suddenly real and beyond his reach. There had been letters, of course, both from him and his captain, Bolitho’s best friend, Herrick. But, like the Euryalus, his ship, the old sixty-four Impulsive, had little concern for the warmth and hope brought by the mail boats, or hoarded in some harbour office on the offchance the ships might one day drop anchor.