He thrust the thought to the back of his mind as the flagship grew and towered above him. They did not have to like him, he decided. But trust him they must.

* * *

Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Napier did not rise from his desk but waved Bolitho towards a chair by the broad stern gallery. He was a small, irritable-looking man with stooping shoulders and sparse grey hair. He seemed bowed down by the weight of his dress coat, and his thin mouth was fixed in an expression of pernickety disapproval.

“I have been reading your reports, Bolitho.” His eyes flickered across the younger man’s face and then returned to the desk. “I am still not quite clear about your action with the Andiron.”

Bolitho tried to relax in the hard chair, but something in the admiral’s querulous tone sparked off a small warning.

Bolitho had been met at the flagship’s entry port with due ceremony and greeted courteously by the Cassius’s captain. The latter had appeared uneasy and worried, as well he might with a man like Sir Robert aboard, Bolitho thought dryly. The first sign that all was not well had been when he had been ushered into a cabin adjoining the admiral’s quarters and told to wait for an audience. His log and reports had been whisked away, and he had stayed fretting in the airless cabin for the best part of an hour.

He said carefully, “We made a good voyage, in spite of the engagement, sir. All repairs were carried out without loss of sailing time.”

The admiral eyed him coldly. “Is that a boast?”

“No, sir,” Bolitho replied patiently. “But I imagined that the need for frigates is still acute out here.”

The other man ruffled the documents with a wizened hand. “Mmm, quite so. But the Andiron, Bolitho? How did she manage to escape?”

Bolitho stared at him, caught off guard. “Escape, sir? She nearly laid us by the heels, as I have stated in my report.”

“I read that, dammit!” The eyes glowed dangerously. “Are you trying to tell me that she ran away?” He looked aft through a window to where the Phalarope swung at her anchor like a carved model. “I see little sign of combat or damage, Bolitho?”

“We were well supplied with spare spars and canvas, sir. The dockyard foresaw such an eventuality when they fitted her out.” The admiral’s tone was getting under his skin and he could feel his anger smouldering, ignoring the warning in the man’s eyes.

“I see. Captain Masterman lost Andiron after engaging two French frigates four months back, Bolitho. The French gave the captured ship to their new allies, the Americans.” The contempt was clear in his voice. “And you state that although your ship was disabled and outgunned she made off without attempting to press home her advantage?” There was anger in his voice. “Well, are you?”

“Exactly, sir.” Bolitho controlled his answer with an effort. “My men fought well. I think the enemy had had enough. If I had been able to give chase I would have done so.”