The officer at the window turned very slowly, so that the light played across his face for a few moments before becoming once more a dark silhouette. For the second time in twenty-four hours Bolitho’s reserve almost broke. It took all his strength to keep him from crying out in disbelief, but when the other man spoke he knew that this too was no fantasy. “Welcome aboard the Andiron. Richard! When my second lieutenant brought me this sword I knew it had to be you!”

Bolitho stared at his brother, feeling the years dropping away, his brain reeling with a thousand memories. Hugh Bolitho, the son about whom his father had spoken so bitterly, yet with so much anxiety. Now commanding an enemy privateer! It was the culmination of every worst possible belief.

His brother said slowly, “It had to happen of course. But I hoped it might be otherwise. At some other place perhaps.”

Bolitho heard himself say, “Do you know what you have done? What this will do to . . . ?” He faltered, even unable to accept that they were both sons of the same man. He added quietly, “So you were in command when we fought your ship last month?”

Hugh Bolitho seemed to relax slightly, as if he considered the worst was now over. “Yes. And that was a real surprise, I can tell you! We were just closing for the kill when I caught sight of you through my glass!” His face crinkled as he relived the moment. “So I hauled off. You were lucky that day, my lad!”

Bolitho tried to hide the pain in his eyes and said shortly, “Are you saying that my being there made a difference?”

“Did you think you had won the day, Richard?” For a moment longer Hugh Bolitho studied his brother with something like amusement. “Believe me, in spite of your chain shot I could still have taken the Phalarope!” He shrugged and walked to the table and stared at the sword. “I was taken off guard. I had no idea you were returning to the Indies.”

Bolitho watched his brother closely, noting the grey streaks in his dark hair, the lines of strain about his mouth. He was only four years older than himself, but there could have been ten years between them.

He said, “Well, I am your prisoner now. What do you intend to do with me?”

The other man did not answer directly but picked up the sword and held it against the sun. “So he gave it to you!” He shook his head, the gesture both familiar and painful. “Poor Father. I imagine he believes the worst of me?”

“Are you surprised?”

Hugh Bolitho placed the sword on the table and thrust his hands deeply into his plain blue coat. “I neither asked for nor expected this encounter, Richard. You may think as you please, but you know as well as I do that events out here are moving too quickly for a display of sentiment.” He watched his brother narrowly. “When I saw you standing on your deck with that wretched crew of yours going to pieces around you, I could not bring myself to close the combat.” He waved one hand vaguely. “Just like the old days, Richard. I could never find it easy to take what you thought was yours.”