But the gamble and the skill had prevailed, and the battle had raged for most of the day. Ships had exploded and burned, men had fought to the death. He thought of the smartly handled frigate he had watched only this morning, shining in the early sunlight, and of Lord Exmouth's words.

I want you in the van. The same ship. He glanced again at the slim figure by the window, the black hair, the fine, sensitive features. The same captain.

Adam could feel the scrutiny. He was used to it. The frigate captain: dashing, uncaring, not tied to the fleet's apron strings. He knew well enough what they thought. Imagined.

He opened the window slightly and looked down at a squad of Royal Marines paraded in the square below. New recruits from the local barracks, very stiff and aware of their scarlet uniforms. A sergeant, rocking back slightly on his heels, was saying, "You obey orders without question, seel When the time comes you will be sent to a ship of the line, or a frigate maybe, like the one that came in this morning." He had turned slightly to display the three bright chevrons on his sleeve. "But remember this, it's not the Colonel, or even the adjutant, who will decide." He lifted his elbow a fraction. "It will be me, see?"

Adam closed the window, the cold air still on his lips.

He thought of Corporal Bloxham, who was now a sergeant, a crack shot even with his "Bess', as he had affectionately called his musket that day. When he had fired one shot and had saved his captain's life, and that of the boy who had lain helpless, his leg pinioned by the splinter. Another face he had come to know so well.

The flag lieutenant said quickly, "I think the visitor is leaving, sir." They faced each other, and he added, "It has been an honour to meet you, sir."

Adam heard voices, doors slamming, some one half-running, perhaps to summon a carriage for the departing visitor.