Or might it be seen differently by those in office? That Poland had found favour with the same man who had flouted authority, left his wife for another and tossed honour to the winds. But it was not any other time, and Bolitho said sharply, "So let us be about it, eh?"

On the quarterdeck Bolitho saw Jenour, his flag lieutenant, standing with the ship's officers, and marvelled at the change he had seen in him since his flag had been hoisted above Hyperion. A keen, likeable young man-the first in his family to enter the navy-Bolitho had once doubted if he would survive the campaign, and the battles they would have to share together. He had even heard it said that some of the "hard men" of the old ship's company had taken bets on how long Jenour would live.

But survive he had-more than that, he had come through it a man, a veteran.

It had been Jenour's beautiful sword, a gift from his father, which had been parried aside and jerked from his grip as he had run to Bolitho's aid, before Allday could bound forward and deliver the fatal stroke. Jenour had learned from that experience, and many others. Bolitho had noticed that since Hyperion's last fight, whenever the young man wore his sword, it carried a strong lanyard for his wrist as well as its decorative knot.

It was interesting, too, to see the respect with which Truculent 's officers treated Jenour, although most of them were older and by far more senior. The thirtysix-gun frigate had been on constant patrol and convoy duty since Poland had taken command. But there was not a member of her wardroom who had ever been in a major fleet action.

Bolitho nodded to the officers and walked to the larboard gangway which, like the one on the opposite side, joined the quarterdeck with the forecastle. Beneath it the vessel's main armament was already being checked and inspected by the gunner and one of his mates. Poland was certainly thorough, Bolitho thought. He was by