He bowed stiffly and turned away from the table, walking between the ranks of chairs with his hand to his side as if he expected to feel the old torment. He did not even see the expressions, sympathy, understanding, and perhaps shame: he saw only the door, which was already being opened by a white-gloved marine. His own marines and seamen had died that day, a debt no sword of honour could ever repay.

There were a few people in the outer lobby. Beyond them, he saw the falling snow, so clean after what he had attempted to describe.

One, a civilian, stepped forward and held out his hand. His face seemed vaguely familiar, yet Adam knew they had never met.

The man hesitated. “I am so sorry, Captain Bolitho. I should not detain you further after what you have just experienced.” He glanced across the room where a woman sat, gazing at them intently. “My wife, sir.”

Adam wanted to leave. Very soon the others would be milling around him, congratulating him, praising him for what he had done, when earlier they would have watched him facing the point of the sword with equal interest. But something held him. As if someone had spoken aloud.

“If I can be of service, sir?”

The man was well over sixty years old, but there was an erectness, a pride in his bearing as he explained, “My name is Hudson, Charles Hudson. You see…” He fell silent as Adam stared at him, his composure gone.

He said, “Richard Hudson, my first lieutenant in Anemone.” He tried to clear his mind. Hudson, who had slashed down the ensign with his hanger while he himself lay wounded and unable to move. Again, it was like being an onlooker, hearing others speak. I ordered you to fight the ship! Each despairing gasp wrenching at his wound like a branding iron. And all the while Anemone was dying beneath them, even as the enemy surged alongside. And Hudson ’s last words before Adam was lowered into a boat. If we ever meet again…