Tyacke was staring at his big sea-chest. Bolitho wondered if the gown was still hidden there, the one he had offered to Catherine after their rescue, to cover her nakedness from the staring sailors.

"I’d like that, sir. I’ve had no cause to trust a port admiral." He looked up, momentarily confused. "That was a stupid thing to say. I beg your pardon, sir!"

"I was once a frigate captain." How strange that it should still hurt, after all these years. Once a frigate captain. "I can recall only too well the constant poaching of good men, and their replacement with gallows-bait."

Tyacke poured some more brandy and waited.

Bolitho said, "I have no right to ask you, but…" He broke off as something heavy fell on to the deck above, followed instantly by Ozanne’s furious outburst, and laughter for good measure.

Laughter in a King’s ship was too often a rare sound. How can I ask him?

Tyacke was an unmoving silhouette against the thick glass.

"But you will, sir." He leaned forward, so that his face hovered in the sunshine. "Rank has no part in this."

Bolitho said, "No, none. We have done too much together. And when you took us from the sea I was already far too deeply in your debt." He thought of her in the tossing longboat, her sailor’s garb plastered to her body while they had fought the ocean and the nearness of death together.

He heard himself say quietly, "I want you to take promotion…" He hesitated. It was slipping away. "And be my flag-captain. There is none other I want." Need, need. Tell him… The words seemed to fill the cabin. "That is what I came to ask."

Tyacke stared at him. "There is no one I would rather serve, sir. But…" He appeared to shake his head. "Aye, that one word but says it all. Without your trust in me I would have given in to self-pity. But without the freedom of this vessel-without Larne- I find it too hard a choice."