He began again. "Are you feeling returned to fair health?"

"Well enough, Sir Marcus."

Drew relaxed again. He was in command. He had seen the sudden anxiety which even Bolitho's impassive gravity could not contain.

Drew continued, "You will know this tale of old, Bolitho. Too many captains, and not yet enough vessels to receive them. There are fleet transports and supply vessels, of course, but-"

Bolitho's eyes flashed. "I am a frigate captain, Sir Marcus-"

The admiral raised one hand so that the frilled lace spilled over his cuff.

He corrected, "Were a frigate captain, Bolitho." He saw the pain cross his face, the deeper lines which seemed to sharpen his cheekbones. The fever might still lurk there. He said smoothly, "And a fine one to all accounts."

Bolitho leaned forward, one hand grasping the hilt of his old sword so tightly that the knuckles were as white as bones.

"I am recovered, Sir Marcus. In God's name, I thought when I was admitted-"

Drew stood up and crossed to the window again. He had no sense of command or victory now. If anything he felt ashamed.

He said, "We need men, Bolitho. Seamen, those who can reef and steer, fight if need be."

He turned briefly and saw Bolitho staring down at the old sword. Another part of the story, he thought. It had been in the family for generations. Had been intended for Bolitho's brother. His disgrace and treachery had killed their father as surely as any pistol ball.

"You are being appointed to the Nore. As captain-in-charge of some small craft." He waved his hand vaguely. "We have had many deserters from the Nore-they see smuggling as a more profitable profession. Some have even decamped to the Honourable East India Company, although I-"