Bunce sat at the head of the table and intoned deeply without looking up, 'It is not His doing, Mr Probyn. He has no time for the Godless.'

Sparke said unfeelingly, 'This bloody food is swill. I shall get a new cook at the first chance I can. That rogue should be dancing on a halter instead of poisoning us.'

The deck tilted steeply, and hands reached out to seize plates and glasses until the ship rolled upright again.

Bunce took out a watch and looked at it.

Bolitho asked quietly, 'The fog, Mr Bunce. Will it come?'

Thorndike, the surgeon, heard him and laughed. He made a braying sound.

'Really, Erasmus! Fog, when she pitches about in this wind!'

Bunce ignored him and replied, 'Tomorrow. We will have to lie to. There is too great a depth to anchor.' He shook his massive head. 'Time lost. More knots to recover.'

He had spoken enough and stood up from the table. As he passed Probyn's chair he said in his deep voice, 'We will have time to see who is nervous then, I'm thinking.'

Probyn snapped his fingers for some wine and exclaimed angrily, 'He is becoming mad in his old age!' He tried to laugh, but nothing happened.

Captain D'Esterre eyed him calmly. 'At least he seems to have our Lord on his side. What do you have, exactly?'

In the cabin above, Captain Pears sat at his large table, a napkin tucked into his neckcloth. He caught the gust of laughter from the wardroom and said to Cairns, 'They seem happier at sea, eh?'

Cairns nodded. 'So it would appear, sir.' He watched Pears' bowed head and waited for his conclusions or ideas.

Pears said, 'Alone or in company the schooner is a menace to us. If only we had been given a brig or a sloop to chase off these wolves. As it is…' He shrugged.

'May I suggest something, sir?'

Pears cut a small piece of cheese for himself and examined it doubtfully.