He said, “You’ll find me ready enough, Onslow! Just you keep out of my way!”

Pochin muttered, “Watch out! ’E’s comin’ back!”

Packwood stood at the top of the steps, his face sweating profusely from a hasty tankard of rum. “Right, my babies! Stand by to take on some more casks!” He swung his rattan casually. “After this trip you can go to your sty and get cleaned up. The admiral is coming to see you all this evening!”

Pook nudged his friend. “That Allday! Is he safe?”

Onslow ran his fingers around the loom of his oar. “The men like him. It must be handled carefully. It needs thinking about.” He watched Allday’s naked back rippling in the sunlight. “But handled it must be!”

* * *

Punctual to the minute, Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Napier stepped through the Phalarope’s entry port and removed his hat to receive his due respects. As the shrill pipes faded into silence and the marine guard presented arms the frigate’s small drummer, accompanied by two reedy fifes, broke into a frail but jaunty march, and with a final glance around the upper-deck Bolitho stepped forward to meet his admiral.

Sir Robert nodded curtly to the assembled officers, and as the marines banged their muskets to the deck he carried out a brief but searching inspection of the guard, followed at a discreet distance by Rennie and Captain Cope of the Cassius.

Bolitho tried to gauge the admiral’s mood or his real reason for his visit from the man’s profile, but Sir Robert’s pinched face remained sphinx-like and unchanging, even when he fired the occasional question or comment to Rennie about the bearing of the marines.

At the end of the double line of men he paused to survey the main deck. “You keep a smart ship, Bolitho.” There was nothing in his dry tone to suggest either praise or suspicion.

“Thank you, sir.” Bolitho wished that he was alone aboard the flagship in the great stern cabin. There he could face and deal with anything Sir Robert chose to say. These circumstances kept every comment on a formal and controlled level which made his nerves raw with uncertainty.

Whatever the admiral really thought of the ship, Bolitho was certainly satisfied with her appearance. Long before a frantic messenger had reported a flurry of activity aboard the flagship and the smartly crewed barge had pulled swiftly towards the Phalarope’s side, Bolitho had been round his ship to make absolutely sure that Sir Robert would find no fault with her at least.

The ship’s company had manned the side, every eye on the small, gold-laced figure in the stern of the barge, and now as the admiral stood in silent contemplation there was an atmosphere of nervous expectancy which defied even the fifes and drum on the quarterdeck.

The admiral said, “You may dismiss the hands, Bolitho.”

At the prearranged signal the men poured from the main deck, and with a clash of weapons the marines wheeled and followed suit.