Bolitho began to walk again, trying to picture Adam as he had last seen him. But he would be different now. Perhaps a stranger? He quickened his pace, suddenly aware of his concern.

It was two years since they had parted. The boy to join Herrick’s ship and he to take command and tend to the refitting of his prize, the Euryalus. He would be seventeen, perhaps already awaiting his chance to try for promotion to lieutenant. Would two more years have changed him much? he wondered. Would he still be forming his own mould, or taking after Hugh?

He realised with a start that the midshipman was blocking his path, his eyes gleaming white in the shadows.

“Beg pardon, sir, but the officer of the watch sends his respects, and, and,” he faltered under his captain’s gaze, “and could we take in a reef. The wind appears to be getting up, sir.”

Bolitho studied him impassively. He had not even noticed the change in the wind’s sound through the shrouds. He had been more worried by his own thoughts than he had realised.

He asked sharply, “How old are you, Mr Drury?”

The boy gulped. “Thirteen, sir.”

“I see. Well, Mr Drury, you have a long and very stormy passage ahead of you before you attain your own command.”

“Yessir.” He sounded fearful of what was coming next.

“And a young officer without fingers can find the handicap a real problem. So in future I do not wish to learn of your agility with a candle as a target for swordplay, do you understand?”

“No, sir, I—I mean, yes, sir!” He almost fell as he ran back to the officer of the watch, his mind no doubt buzzing with the captain’s unfaltering source of private information.

Keverne appeared on deck, dabbing his mouth with his handkerchief and already peering aloft at the booming canvas.

“Trouble, sir?”

“We will reef tops’ls directly, Mr Keverne.” He kept his tone formal. Whatever he felt or feared, it was right that he should display none of it, share none of it with those who depended on his judgement. He watched Keverne hurrying away, buttoning his coat and bellowing for a bosun’s mate.

But sometimes, like tonight, it was harder than he would have imagined.

7

“BROADSIDE!”

NOON the following day found the ships clawing slowly on a lar-board tack with the wind almost abeam, their yards braced hard round to take maximum advantage of it. Shortly after first light they had altered course again and were now heading east-northeast, pinned down on their broken reflections by a sun which made any physical effort a torture. It was like a furnace, and even the wind, steady as ever from the north-west, seemed without any kind of freshness or relief, and stung the faces and bodies of the seamen like hot sand.

Bolitho plucked his shirt away from his chest and moved into the shadow of the hammock nettings as Keverne and Partridge lowered their sextants and began to compare notes. This usual procedure was watched and copied by several of the midshipmen, although unlike their superiors they were not involved in the importance of the situation.