He thinks I need to leave the land, Bolitho thought.

He said, "A small enough squadron it will be too, Val. Four sail of the line, Barracouta and the little brig Rapid."

Keen grinned. "There is also Supreme, sir."

Bolitho smiled ruefully. "Tops'l cutter. She hardly ranks with her name, eh?"

He considered the three other seventy-fours. One familiar face amongst them. Captain Francis Inch was in command. Bolitho swung round, his voice almost pleading as he asked, "What has become of us, Val? We happy few, remember?"

Keen said, "I think of it often." Bolitho's mood disturbed him. He had heard the reason, or some of it, the rest he could guess. Bolitho's beautiful wife was concerned about his career, although to most sailors a vice-admiral, with or without a knighthood, was about level with the Almighty.

She wanted him to leave Falmouth, to purchase a fine residence in London where his name would be noted and acted upon.

Leave Falmouth? Keen had been at their wedding there, and knew the Bolitho house below Pendennis Castle better than most. Bolithos had always lived there; it was as much a part of them as the sea itself.

Bolitho was looking across at his one frigate Barracouta. Lapish, her young captain, had less than three years' seniority, not even posted. The sight of the anchored frigate, her yards and decks alive with working seamen, jabbed at another memory. The first time he had spoken sharply to Belinda. She had been talking about Nelson. Practically everyone did in London, but not of his courage and his victories, but about his outrageous and unacceptable behaviour with that woman.

Belinda had said, "You rank the same as Nelson, but he has a fleet whereas you are being given a squadron!"

Bolitho had said, "A fleet is not built on favours!"