“Tops’l clew lines!” Keverne’s voice was hoarse, as if he too felt the tension under the eyes of the distant town.

Very slowly the Euryalus glided purposefully to her anchorage, her shadow preceding her on the calm water.

“Helm a’lee!”

As the spokes squeaked over and the ship swung reluctantly into the wind the canvas was already vanishing along her yards, as if each sail was being controlled by a single force.

“Let go!”

There was a loud splash as the anchor dropped beneath the bow, and something like a sigh transmitted itself through the hull and shrouds as the massive cable took the strain and then steadied itself for the first time in months.

“Very well, Mr Keverne. You may call away the barge and then have the cutter and jolly boat swayed out.”

Bolitho turned away, knowing he could rely completely on Keverne. He was a good first lieutenant, although Bolitho knew less of him than he had of any previous officer. It was partly his own fault and because of the mounting work laid at his door due to the admiral’s illness. Perhaps it had been a good thing for them both, Bolitho thought. The added responsibility, his growing awareness of strategy and tactics, involving not just one but

several vessels in company, had given him less time to brood over his own personal loss. His involvement with the admiral’s affairs had on the other hand given Keverne more responsibility and would stand him in good stead when he had a chance of his own command.

Keverne was extremely competent, but for one failing. On several occasions during the commission he had shown himself given to short but violent fits of temper over which he appeared to have little control.

In his late twenties, tall and straight, he had swarthy, almost gypsy, good looks. With dark flashing eyes and extremely white teeth, he was a man ladies would be quick to appreciate, Bolitho thought.