“Bosun’s Mate! Pipe those waisters to be ready to add their weight to the braces!”

Squire swung round, still waiting for the voice, even though he knew he was mistaken.

The bosun’s mate in question was newly rated, and had been one of Onward’s best topmen and a fine seaman until his promotion. He replaced Fowler, a man Squire had known for years; they had been on the lower deck together. A bully and a petty tyrant, he had become a real enemy.

I wanted him dead. Him or me.

Now Fowler was missing, having gone ashore in Plymouth, and they had marked him in the muster book as RUN. Deserted. But nobody really knew. Maybe he was dead; maybe someone else had had a score to settle. But until Squire knew for certain, he would remain a threat.

He gestured to the new midshipman, who responded instantly.

“My respects to the first lieutenant, and tell him we are all secured here.” He raised his voice as Radcliffe turned to run toward the gangway. “Easy does it! I think we’ve earned our pay today!”

He waited until Radcliffe had dropped out of sight. It was always too easy to take it out of those who could not answer back. He should have known that better than most. He watched some of his seamen mopping the stained deck and dismantling their tackle. Dull, necessary routine, but it gave him time to calm himself. It was over.

Someone had called his name and he tugged his hat lower over his eyes, peering into the rain. They were under way, the flagship lying across the quarter with only her flags moving, her decks deserted. He stared ahead again, the blue-grey water reaching away on either bow, the jib-boom pointing the way, like the naked figurehead of the youth with outstretched trident and dolphin beneath it.

He looked toward the land; a church or slender tower was visible despite the downpour. People might still be there, watching the solitary frigate as she headed for the open sea. There would be mixed feelings among the civilians. Pride, perhaps sadness, but certainly not envy. It was still too soon after the long years of war, the fear of invasion and, not least, the hated press gangs.