Bolitho nodded. “Thank you, sir. I will do that.” All at once he wanted to get away. There was so much to attend to. Stores and cordage to be checked, food and provisions for the long voyage. Above all, there was the Phalarope, waiting for him, ready to judge or condemn him.

The admiral picked up the canvas envelope and weighed it in his hands. “I will not advise you, Bolitho. You are young, but have more than proved yourself. Just remember this. There are bad men and good aboard your ship. Be firm, but not too hard. Do not regard lack of knowledge as insubordination, like your predecessor.” There was a bite to his tone. “If you have difficulty in remembering all this, try and recall what you were like when you came to serve me as midshipman.” He was no longer smiling. “You can give the ship back her rightful place by returning her pride. But if you fail, even I cannot help you.”

“I would not expect you to, sir.” Bolitho’s eyes were hard grey, like the sea beyond the harbour.

“I know. That is why I held the command for you.” There was a murmur of voices beyond the door and Bolitho knew the audience was nearly over. The admiral added, “I have a nephew aboard the Phalarope, he is one of your young gentlemen. His name is Charles Farquhar, and he might yet make a good officer. But do him no favours for my sake, Bolitho.” He sighed and handed over the envelope. “The ship is ready to sail, so take advantage of this southerly wind.” He held Bolitho’s hand and studied his face intently. “We may not meet again, Bolitho, for I fear my days are numbered.” He waved down the other man’s protest. “I have a responsibility, and I have certain rewards for my duty. But youth I cannot have.”

Bolitho hitched up his sword and tucked his hat under his arm once more. “Then I will take my leave, sir.” There was nothing more he could say.

Almost blindly he walked through the door and past the little group of whispering officers awaiting their admiral’s pleasure.

One officer stood apart, a captain of about his own age. There the similarity ended. He had pale, protruding eyes and a small, petulant mouth. He was tapping his fingers on his sword and staring at the door, and Bolitho guessed him to be the man who had been taken from the Phalarope. But he seemed unworried, merely irritated. He probably had influence at Court, or in Parliament, Bolitho thought grimly. Even so, he would need more than that to face Sir Henry.

As he crossed to the stairway the other captain met his stare. The pale eyes were empty of expression yet vaguely hostile. Then he looked away, and Bolitho reached the foot of the stairs where a marine orderly waited with his cloak.

Outside the inn the wind howled in his face and the rain dashed across his skin like ice rime. But as he walked slowly towards the Sally Port he noticed neither.