"Shall I clear for action, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho raised a telescope and levelled it across the quarter. A strange bearing. Perhaps not one of the local squadron after all.

"We will bide our time, Captain Poland. I have no doubt you can be ready to run out in ten minutes, if need be?"

Poland flushed. "I-that is, Sir Richard-" He nodded firmly. "Indeed, in less! "

Bolitho moved the glass carefully, but could only make out the mastheads of the newcomer; saw the bearing alter slightly as they drew into line to swoop down on Truculent.

Lieutenant Williams called from the mainmast crosstrees, "Frigate, sir! "

Bolitho watched tiny specks of colour rising to break the other ship's silhouette as she hoisted a signal.

Williams called down the recognition and Poland could barely prevent himself from tearing the signals book from the midshipman's fingers. "Well! "

The boy stammered, "She's the Zest, sir, forty-four. Captain Varian."

Poland muttered, "Oh yes, I know who he is. Make our number-lively now! "

Bolitho lowered the glass and watched. Two faces. The midshipman's confused, perhaps frightened. One moment he had been watching the first hump of land as it eased up from the sea-mist, and the next he had probably seen it all vanish, the prospect of an unexpected enemy, death even, suddenly laid before him.

The other was Poland 's. Whoever Varian was he was no friend, and was doubtless much senior, to command a forty-four.

Lieutenant Munro was in the shrouds, his legs wrapped around the ratlines, heedless of the fresh tar on his white breeches, and even thoughts of breakfast forgotten.

"Signal, sir! Captain repair on board! "

Bolitho saw the crestfallen look on Poland 's face. After his remarkable passage from England without loss or injury to any man aboard, it was like a slap in the face.

"Mr Jenour, lay aft if you please." Bolitho saw the flag lieutenant's mouth quiver as though in anticipation. "I believe you have my flag in your care?"