There was still no summons from the admiral. Just a brief message brought by a pink-faced midshipman to state that Bolitho’s report was required before sunset. The frigate was to complete reprovisioning and await further orders. Nothing more.

Nothing more until something even stranger had happened.

Halfway through the forenoon a boat had put off from the Cassius and within minutes a dapper lieutenant had reported himself to Bolitho. He had said, “Rear-Admiral Sir Robert sends his compliments, sir. He wishes to inform you that he will be willing to accept an invitation for dinner tonight aboard your ship. He will be bringing our captain as an additional guest.” The officer had watched the consternation on Bolitho’s features and had added helpfully, “Is there anything I can do to help, sir?”

Bolitho had been stunned by the wording of the message. It was unusual for flag officers to dine aboard their less impressive ships. It was unknown for them actually to word their own invitations.

Bolitho had thought of his dwindling provisions and the crude results produced from the galley.

The lieutenant from the Cassius had obviously been well briefed. “If I may make a suggestion, sir?”

Bolitho stared at him. “Anything you can say would be a great help at this moment.”

“My captain is sending some stores from his own pantry, sir. In addition there will be some quite drinkable wine arriving within the hour.” He had ticked off the items on his fingers, his face wrapped in thought. Bolitho had guessed that the young man was not unused to the strange behaviour of his admiral. “If I may suggest some lean pork, sir? It is in goodly supply in St John’s, and the cheese is newly arrived with Admiral Rodney’s ships from England.”

Bolitho had sent for Vibart and the purser, Evans, and explained what was due to happen. For once Vibart seemed too surprised to make any comment, and Bolitho had said curtly, “See to it, Mr Vibart. And tell my servant to clean out the cabin and lay a full table.” He had felt suddenly reckless. “Sir Robert Napier must not expect a flagship’s fare aboard a mere frigate!”

Now, looking back, he knew that the momentary recklessness was more likely to have been a result of too much sun on the open quarterdeck and the weakening pain of his wound.

Well, it could not be helped. It was more than obvious what the admiral intended. With Rodney back at the reins he would not wish to lambast Phalarope in public. He would not even risk an open argument aboard his own flagship. No, he would come to the Phalarope in person, like God coming down to smite a sinner, Bolitho thought bitterly. No success would wipe away his first displeasure or recompense his son’s death. If the Andiron lay under guard beneath the guns of his own flagship the admiral might have felt differently. But the privateer was now less than nothing. A mere pencilled mark on a chart.