“Yes?”

“Well, sir, if we wait until reinforcements arrive, as Sir George Beauchamp desired in his original plan, we could stand a better chance of success surely? Or if the brig which brought the news eventually returns with new orders countermanding our present commitment, then we shall be obliged to do nothing.”

Duncan exploded, “Do nothing, man! What are you saying?”

Bolitho smiled. “I take your point, Browne.”

Like Herrick and Allday, he was trying to shield him. If he attacked and failed, his head would be on the block. If he held back, nobody could blame him, but Beauchamp’s trust would be dishonoured for ever.

He said quietly, “If there is to be peace, it must be decided on fair and equal terms and not under the threat of invasion. If later there is to be war, we must ensure now that our people are not outman?uvred from the moment the treaty is torn in shreds. I don’t see that I have any choice.”

Duncan and Neale nodded firmly in agreement, but Emes merely brushed a loose thread from his sleeve, his face expressionless.

In the silence, Bolitho was conscious of Smith’s pen scraping on paper, and of his own heart against his ribs.

He added, “I have seen too many ships lost, too many lives tossed away, to ignore something which may be important, even vital, to our future. I suggest you return to your duties, gentlemen, and I shall endeavour to do mine.”

As the three captains left the cabin, Bolitho said, “Thank you for trying to protect me, Oliver. But there was never any choice. Even without this new information, I should have been forced to act. At least I know where. The how always takes a mite longer, eh?”

Browne smiled, touched at Bolitho’s confidence in him, the familiar use of his name.

When Bolitho spoke again his voice was preoccupied, even distant.

“And something troubles me…” He thought of Emes, withdrawn and resentful, of his nephew, Adam, so pleased with the realization of a dream, and of the girl in Falmouth.