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    The midshipman of the watch, who seconds earlier had been drowsing by the nettings, congratulating himself on being spared Mr. Grubb's formidable instruction in the intricacies of navigation, fled to the lee shrouds and began to climb rapidly towards the maintop. .
    Fitz-Clarence surveyed his progress, hands on hips, his elegant head thrown back as if he expected the midshipman to slip and fall. The lieutenant seemed to like striking poses. He was very smart, even dapper, and what he lacked in height he obviously tried to replace with a constant show of authority.
    Herrick stood by his elbow, hands behind him. Bolitho noticed that the hands were clasping and unclasping, making a lie of his outward calm.
    Eventually the boy's shrill voice floated down to them. 'From Harebell, sir! Buzz ard in sight to the nor'-east!'
    Bolitho thrust his hands into his pockets, his fingers gripping his watch to steady his sudden anxiety.'
    Captain Javal was retracing his course to rejoin the squadron. He must have sighted something either too powerful to deal with or to warn his commodore that the enemy were even now giving chase.
    He saw Herrick hurry to the ladder, and seconds later he joined him at the rail.
    Bolitho said, 'Signal the squadron to close on the flagship. We will shorten sail directly to make their task easier.'
    Herrick stared astern, his gaze very clear in the reflected glare. He said with surprising bitterness, 'Osiris is already gaining, sir. Captain Farquhar must have eyes like a cat.'
    Bolitho watched him in silence. Reading Herrick's mind as if he had shouted it aloud. He knew that if Farquhar was here as flag captain there would have been no hesitation. No need for the commodore to suggest the obvious.
    Herrick touched his hat and returned to the ladder. But Gilchrist was already on the quarterdeck, his speaking trumpet in his ha nd as he snapped, 'Bosun's mate! , Pipe all hands to shorten sail! Take the name of the last man aloft! '
    He turned to look at Herrick, adding, 'Council of war, sir ?' It sounded like a challenge.
    Herrick nodded. 'Aye, Mr. Gilchrist.' He hesitated. 'Captains repair on board.'
    Bolitho looked away, realising that he had been willing Herrick to speak out. To silence Gilchrist's arrogance once and for all.
    The hands came hurrying from their work above and below in answer to the shrill of calls, barely glancing round as they ran to their stations for shortening sail. Bolitho saw Pascoe buttoning his coat as he followed his own men to the quarterdeck, touching his hat to Gilchrist, who responded with, 'Take a firm hand of your people, Mr. Pascoe.'
    Pascoe looked at him questioningly, his eyes flashing in the sunlight. Then he nodded. 'I will, sir.'
    'By heaven you will indeed! ' Gilchrist's voice made several seamen pause to stare. 'I'll have no favourites in my ship ! '
    Pascoe glanced briefly at Bolitho on the poop and then turned on his heel, his seamen closing around him like a protective barrier. Bolitho looked at Herrick. But he was on the weather side, withdrawn from all of them.
    He relaxed very slowly. Gilchrist had made his play openly but too soon. He had displayed to his commodore that he would expect to be upheld by him even against his own nephew. Gilchrist was a remarkable man. There was a lot more to him than Herrick recognised or understood. No mere lieutenant would dare to speak as he had done at such short acquaintance. No amount of personal influence could save a lieutenant from a flag officer, even a mere commodore, should the latter choose to use his authority to his own ends. He had never sailed with Gilchrist before, nor had he even met him. But Lysander's first lieutenant knew a great deal about him, nonetheless. Knew enough to understand that Bolitho would never use personal ties to show favouritism. But for what purpose ?
    He walked to the opposite side of the deck, feeling the sudden heat on his face as the great maincourse was brailed up to the yard, allowing