The small marine fifers raised their instruments, the boatswain's mates moistened their silver calls on their tongues.

Keen stepped forward, proud, nervous, apprehensive; it was all and none of these things.

Bolitho's cocked hat appeared above the scrubbed grating and as the calls shrilled and twittered Captain Dewar roared, 'Royal Marines! Present arms!’

On the last command, as the pipe-clay hovered in a pale cloud above the slapped musket-slings, the fifers broke into Heart of Oak.

Bolitho removed his hat to the quarterdeck and then smiled at Keen.

Together they turned to watch as the Union Flag broke smartly from the foremast.

Bolitho gripped Keen's hand. 'They do you credit.'

Keen answered, 'And you us, sir.'

Bolitho looked at the stiff faces of the marine guard, the nervous watchfulness of some midshipmen. In time he would know most of them, and they him. He was back, and the green swathe of coastline was only part of a memory.

* * *

Bolitho tugged his shirt away from his skin and then put his signature to yet another letter which Yovell, his plump clerk, had prepared for him.

He glanced around the spacious stern cabin. It was larger than he had expected in a ship of some thirteen hundred tons.

Ozzard, his little servant, poured some fresh coffee and bustled away to the adjoining pantry. If he was sorry to be leaving the security of the Bolitho house in Falmouth he did not show it. He was an odd bird, who had once been a lawyer's clerk before he had chosen the uncertain life in a King's ship. Some said he had done so to avoid the gallows, but he was worth his weight in gold to Bolitho.

He looked at Keen who was standing by the open stern windows. His good looks and elegant manner revealed nothing of the competent sea officer he really was.

'Well, Val, what do you make of it?'