The lieutenant swallowed hard. “I am proud to have been with you, sir. My father served under your uncle, Sir Richard Bolitho. Because of what he told me, I always wanted to enter the navy.”

Despite the tension and unreality of the moment, Adam was strangely moved.

“Never lose it. Love, loyalty, call it what you will. It will sustain you.” He hesitated. “It must.”

They both looked at the door as it opened carefully, and the Royal Marine captain in charge of the guard peered in at them.

He said, “They are waiting, Captain Bolitho.” He seemed about to add something, encouragement, hope, who could tell. But the moment passed. He banged his heels together smartly and marched out into the corridor.

When he glanced back, Adam saw the lieutenant staring after him. Trying to fix the moment in his mind, perhaps to tell his father.

He almost smiled. He had forgotten to ask him his name.

The great room was full to capacity, although who they were and what they sought here was beyond understanding. But then, he thought, there was always a good crowd for a public hanging, too.

Adam was very aware of the distance, the click of the marine captain’s heels behind him. Once he slipped. There was still powdered chalk on the polished floor, another reminder of the Christmas ball.

As he came around the last line of seated spectators to face the officers of the board, he saw his borrowed sword on the table; its hilt was toward him. He was shocked, not because he knew the verdict was a just one, but because he felt nothing. Nothing. As if he, like all these others, was a mere onlooker.

The president of the court, a rear-admiral, regarded him gravely.

“Captain Adam Bolitho, the verdict of this Court is that you are honourably acquitted.” He smiled briefly. “You may be seated.”

Adam shook his head. “No, sir. I prefer not.”

“Very well.” The rear-admiral opened his brief.