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  But it was better than having the squadron pounded to fragments in a senseless procession back and forth across the bay’s entrance.

  He turned, caught off guard as Tothill said, “Sir!”

  “What is it? Have they all acknowledged?”

  “Not that, sir.” The midshipman pointed across the starboard nettings. “ Coquette is off station and making more sail, sir.”

  As he raised his telescope Bolitho saw the telltale balls dashing to the frigate’s yards and breaking out in bright patches of colour.

  Tothill said, “Signal, sir. Strange sail bearing north-west. ”

  Bolitho lowered the glass and looked at Broughton. “Shall I order Coquette to give chase, sir?”

  Tothill’s voice cut across Broughton’s reply. “ Coquette is making another signal.” A pause, and Bolitho watched the muscle jerking in sharp, regular intervals in Broughton’s cheek. Then, “Strange sail has gone about, sir.”

  Broughton let his arms fall to his sides. “Probably an enemy frigate. Coquette would have been able to close with her had she been anything else.” He looked at Bolitho. “She’ll be screaming our presence to the world now.”

  “I suggest we recall the marines, sir.”

  Bolitho pushed away his earlier ideas about landing guns and all the tackle and boats it would have required. There was no time for that now, and they might be lucky to regain all their marines if an enemy squadron was nearby.

  “No.” Broughton’s eyes were like stones. “ I will not withdraw. I have my orders. So have you.” He gestured towards the line of barren hills. “Djafou must be taken before any enemy ships reach here! Must be, do you understand?” He was almost shouting, and several of the seamen by the guns were staring up at him.

  Draffen’s voice cut through the brief silence like a knife. Where he had been during the action Bolitho did not know, but now he looked very calm, his eyes cold and steady, like a hunter at the kill.

  “Let me make a suggestion, Sir Lucius.” As Broughton turned to him he added quietly, “For I think you will agree we have wasted quite enough time with conventional methods.”

  For a brief instant Bolitho expected the admiral to show some of his earlier defiance.

  But instead he replied, “I will agree to hear your suggestions, Sir Hugo.” He looked round as if seeking the companion ladder. “In my quarters, I think.”

  Bolitho said, “I will signal the squadron to steer due west, sir. With Restless and Coquette remaining on station at present.”

  He waited, seeing Broughton’s mind wrestling with his words.

  Then he replied, “Yes.” Nodding more firmly, “Yes, attend to it.”

  As they left the quarterdeck Keverne said softly, “We fared better than Tanais, sir. She lost twenty killed. We have seven dead and five with splinter wounds.”

  Bolitho was still looking towards the poop and wondering what Draffen could suggest at this late stage.

  “Damage?”

  “Sounded worse than it was, sir. The carpenter is below now.”

  “Good. Tell Mr Grubb to get his men to work on it as soon as he can.”

  He paused as the first corpse was carried through the main hatch and dropped loosely to await burial. In the space of a few minutes they had lost seven lives. About one a minute.

  Bolitho clasped his hands behind him and walked slowly towards the weather side, his face suddenly angry. Euryalus was the most modern device known to man’s ingenuity at making war. Yet an ancient fort and a few soldiers had made her as impotent as a royal barge.

  He snapped, “I am going to see the admiral, Mr Keverne.”

  “Sir?”

  “I too have some ideas which I will put to him directly!”

  Allday watched him pass and gave a slow smile. Bolitho was angry. It was about time the captain took charge, he thought, for all their sakes.

  13 SECOND CHANCE

  VICE-ADMIRAL Broughton looked up from his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

  “We had not quite finished, Bolitho.” He gestured towards Draffen, who was leaning against the cabin bulkhead. “Sir Hugo was just explaining something to me.”

  Bolitho stood firmly in the centre of the cabin which seemed vaguely empty without its more valuable fittings and furniture. These has been taken below the waterline for safety before the fruitless attack on the fortress. Nevertheless, Broughton was lucky to have been spared the usual disorder which would be found in a British built three-decker. Then, his quarters, like all the rest of the ship, would have been stripped bare, the normally hallowed cabins wreathed and stained in smoke from their own guns. But the nearest cannon were safely beyond the bulkhead, so that after the air of alertness and battle tension on the upper deck this cabin added to Bolitho’s sense of frustration and growing anger.

  He replied, “I would suggest we act quickly, sir.”

  Broughton raised one hand. “I am aware of the urgency.” He seemed to sense Bolitho’s anger and added coldly, “But speak your mind if you wish.”

  “You have seen the fortress, sir. The futility of trying to beat it into submission from the sea. Using ships against sited shore batteries and defences has never, in my experience, been of any use.”

  Broughton eyed him bleakly. “If you want me to admit that you advised me against such action in the early stages, then I will do so. However, as we have neither the facilities nor the strength for a combined attack, nor the time available to starve the garrison into submission, I do not see we have any alternative.”

  Bolitho breathed out slowly. “The only thing which has made Djafou a thorn in the side of every maritime nation using these waters is the fort, sir.”

  Draffen said shortly, “Well, Bolitho, that is surely rather obvious?”

  Bolitho looked at him. “I would have thought it obvious also to whoever devised this plan in the first place, Sir Hugo.” He turned back to the admiral. “Without it this bay is valueless, sir.” He waited, watching Broughton’s eyes. “And with it, this bay is still quite useless to us.”

  “What?” Broughton sat upright as if he had been struck. “You had better explain!”

  “If we succeed in taking the fortress we will still be hard put to hold the bay as a base, sir. Given time, the enemy, particularly the French army, would land artillery further along the coast and make the anchorage untenable for our ships. So we would be like the present defenders. Driven back inside that stone pile and able only to stop others from using the bay for shelter or whatever use they might see in it.”

  Broughton stood up and walked slowly to the quarter windows. “You have still made no mention of an alternative.” He sounded less abrupt.

  Bolitho said slowly, “Return to Gibraltar. Inform the Commander-in-Chief of the true facts, and I am sure he will give you the support and the ships for making another attempt to obtain a base.” He expected Broughton to turn on him, but when he said nothing continued firmly, “A base where we would be better placed to widen the scope of future fleet operations. Further east, where we still have friends who would be prepared to rise against their new oppressors, given enough help and encouragement.”

  Broughton said, “You say that Djafou is useless?” He appeared unable to get it out of his mind.

  “Yes, I do. I am certain that if the powers in Admiralty were properly aware of its conditions and facilities they would never have agreed to the first suggestion.”

  Draffen said sharply, “In case you did not know, Bolitho, it was agreed on my suggestion.”

  Bolitho studied him calmly. At last, after all the uncertainties and missing parts to the puzzle, something was coming out into the open.

  He said, “Then it would be better to admit you were wrong, sir.” He hardened his voice. “Before any more of our people are killed.”

  Broughton snapped, “Easy, Bolitho! I’ll have no petty argument under my flag, dammit!”

  “Then let me just say this, sir.” Bolitho kept his voice very ev
en, although inwardly he could feel nothing but anger and despair. “Unless you put the squadron in such a position where we have more sea room to fight, you may be caught on a lee shore. With the prevailing nor’ westerly, and no space to regain an advantage, you will be in real danger should an enemy arrive here. In open sea we can still give the enemy a bloody nose, no matter what the odds prove to be.”

  Broughton said, “Sir Hugo has already suggested a further plan.”

  Draffen pushed himself away from the bulkhead. He was smiling, but his eyes were very cold.

  “You have been too long on your feet, Bolitho. I am sorry I did not appreciate the fact earlier. This is my idea. It is only a framework, of course, but I am almost sure I can obtain the aid we now desperately need.”

  Broughton said in a weary tone, “Sir Hugo’s agent can be contacted somewhere along the coast, it seems.”

  “Exactly!” Draffen was relaxing very slowly. “I have had dealings with a powerful tribal leader. I have even met him on some occasions. Habib Messadi has much influence along these shores, and no love for the Spanish intruders!”

  Bolitho replied quietly, “But we will be intruders if the Spanish garrison is made to go. Where is the difference?”

  “Oh, in heaven’s name, Bolitho!” Broughton sounded angry. “Will nothing satisfy you?”

  Bolitho kept his eyes on Draffen. “This Messadi is, I presume, an outlaw of some kind, otherwise how could he exert such power on a coastline like this?”

  Draffen’s smile faded. “He is not the sort of man you would let loose in Westminster Abbey, I will allow you that.” He shrugged. “But to make this mission successful I would accept aid from Newgate or Bedlam if I thought it might help.”

  “ Well, Bolitho?” Broughton was looking from one to the other with obvious impatience.

  But Draffen spoke first. “As I said to you earlier, one day Djafou will be discarded by us for something better. Like the proposal you have just made to Sir Lucius. Messadi controlled Djafou for many years and has no love for the French or the Dons. Surely it would be better to keep him as an ally, some additional thorn to prod the enemy’s side?”

  Broughton snapped, “I agree.”

  Bolitho turned away. Without effort he could see the yelling figures swarming across the Navarra’s bloodied decks, the terror on the crew’s faces when the chebecks had been sighted. And now Broughton was about to take such people as allies, merely because he could not accept the prospect of returning empty-handed to Gibraltar.

  He said, “I am against it.”

  Broughton sat down heavily. “I have great respect for your past record, Bolitho. I know you to be a loyal officer, but I also realise you are often plagued by too much idealism. There is no officer in the squadron I would rather have as my flag captain.” His tone hardened. “But I will suffer no insubordination. And if necessary I will have you removed.”

  Bolitho felt the sense of helplessness returning, the contest of desires pulling at him like claws. He wanted to throw the words back in Broughton’s face, yet could not endure the prospect of Furneaux in control of the squadron’s small resources.

  He heard himself say tightly, “It is my duty to advise you, sir, as well as obey orders.”

  Draffen beamed. “There you are, gentlemen! We are agreed at last!”

  Bolitho looked at him bitterly. “What do you intend?”

  “With Sir Lucius’s permission I will make use of the sloop again. I have no doubt my agent will be expecting some sort of news from me, so the rest should be made easier for us.” He looked shrewdly at Bolitho’s grave features. “As you have said yourself, the squadron is better fitted for fighting in open waters than exposing itself to unnecessary risk inshore. I will need no more than two days, and by that time we should be ready for a final and conclusive assault.” He smiled, and Bolitho saw a new light in his eyes. For a few seconds his expression was one of complete cruelty. “A flag of truce to the garrison, an explanation of what will assuredly happen if Messadi’s men take the fortress, to the defenders and their womenfolk . . .” He said no more.

  Broughton muttered, “For God’s sake, Sir Hugo, it won’t come to that surely?”

  “Of course not, Sir Lucius.” Draffen was openly cheerful again.

  Broughton seemed suddenly eager to finish the conference. “Signal the Restless, Bolitho. Coquette can take over watch on the bay.”

  As he left the cabin Draffen followed him, his voice almost gentle as he murmured, “Do not take it so seriously, Captain. I have never doubted your qualities as a sea officer. So you must trust my ability in these matters, eh?”

  Bolitho paused and looked at him. “If you mean I am no match for your politics, Sir Hugo, then you are right I want no part of them, ever!”

  Draffen’s face hardened. “Do not overreach yourself, my friend. You may attain high command in the Navy one day, provided . . .” The word hung in the air.

  “Provided I hold my tongue?”

  Draffen swung towards him angrily. “You, of all people, can hardly afford the re-telling of your past if you wish to better yourself! Do not forget, I knew your brother. There are some in high places who might reconsider any officer’s chances of advancement once they were reminded of some flaw in his family background, so watch your manners, Captain!”

  Bolitho felt suddenly very calm. As if his body was suspended in the air. “Thank you for reminding me, Sir Hugo.” He was amazed at the sound of his voice. Like a complete stranger’s. “At least we will be able to dispense with all pretence from this moment onward.” He turned and walked quickly towards the companion ladder.

  He found Keverne pacing back and forth on the quarterdeck, his face deep in thought.

  “Signal Valorous to relay the admiral’s order to Restless. She is to up anchor and close with the flagship immediately. She will then take Sir Hugo Draffen aboard and act under his instructions.” He ignored Keverne’s curious stare. “You may then secure all guns and have our people fed. Well?”

  Keverne asked, “Shall we withdraw, sir?”

  “Attend to the signal, Mr Keverne.” He looked dully at the distant hills. “While I do some thinking.”

  He turned as Lieutenant Sawle appeared below the quarter-deck accompanied by Witrand.

  “Where are you taking the prisoner, Mr Sawle?”

  The lieutenant stared at him blankly. “He is to be transferred to the sloop, sir.” He seemed confused. “Lieutenant Calvert says it is at the admiral’s bidding.”

  “Come here.” Bolitho watched the Frenchman climbing lightly up the ladder, forgetting for the moment his earlier contempt and anger at Draffen’s threat.

  “I will say farewell, Capitaine.” Witrand stretched and sniffed the warm sea air. “I doubt we will meet again.”

  “I did not know of this, Witrand.”

  “That I will believe, Capitaine.” Witrand eyed him curiously. “It seems that I may be expected to aid your cause. A joke, eh?”

  Bolitho thought of Broughton’s growing desperation. He might have agreed with Draffen to allow Witrand’s transfer to the sloop in the hopes he would give away some secret about his own mission.

  He replied quietly, “A joke. Perhaps.”

  He shaded his eyes to watch the Valorous as she hoisted Broughton’s signal to her yards. Somewhere, hidden around the beaked headland the anchored sloop would see it and come hurrying to do his bidding. Witrand would probably stay aboard her and later be conveyed with despatches to Gibraltar.

  Bolitho held out his hand. “Goodbye, m’sieu. And thank you for what you did on my behalf.”

  The Frenchman’s grasp was firm. “I ’ope that one day we will meet again, Capitaine.” He shrugged. “But . . .”

  He broke off as Sawle and two armed seamen appeared on the quarterdeck. He added quickly, “If anything should ’appen to me. There is a letter. For my wife in Bordeaux!” He dropped his voice. “I would be grateful!”

  Bolitho nodded. “Of course.” He watc
hed Witrand being escorted to the entry port to await a boat. “Take care.”

  Witrand tossed him a casual wave. “You also, Capitaine!”

  An hour later Bolitho was still pacing up and down the weather side oblivious to the searing heat which had turned his shirt into a sodden rag, or the blinding glare thrown back from the sea.

  Draffen had been transferred to the sloop and had already disappeared around the out-thrust curve of the coastline, yet he had hardly been aware of anything but Witrand’s simple request.

  Lieutenant Weigall was officer of the watch and was content to keep well clear of his captain. Alone with his deafness, he stayed on the lee side, his prizefighter’s face set in its usual frown as he surveyed the men working along the upper deck.

  By the poop Allday watched Bolitho’s anguish and wondered why he could think of nothing to help him. He had refused to leave the deck for a meal, and had turned on him with something like blind anger when he had tried to coax him below for a brief respite from the heat.

  “Deck there!” The lookout’s voice was like a croak. The seaman was probably parched dry with thirst, “Sail on th’ weather bow!”

  Allday glanced at Bolitho expectantly but he was still pacing, his face grave and expressionless. A quick look towards Weigall told him that he had heard nothing at all.

  Already flags were soaring aloft on the Tanais’s yards, and Allday strode quickly to a dozing midshipman and prodded him sharply in the ribs.

  “Stir yourself, Mr Sandoe!” He saw the boy staring at him with fright. “There’s work to be done!”

  Then he crossed to the other side and waited until Bolitho had completed another turn along the deck.

  “Captain?”

  Bolitho paused and swayed wearily on the tilting deck. He saw Allday’s face swimming before him, and realised that he was smiling.

  Allday said firmly, “Sail on th’ weather bow, Captain.”

  “What?”