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odds were that his friends and fellow captains were away in their ships, scattered over the globe in the vast oceanic arena that was now modern war.
    “You knew Commodore Popham well,” prompted Bowden.
    “As far as any man can penetrate his character,” Kydd replied. “A vastly intelligent fellow—you remember Fulton and his submarine boats, his inventing of the telegraph code we used at Trafalgar, the catamaran torpedoes, his raising of the Sea Fencibles—he’s a fellow of the Royal Society and knows more about conjunct operations than any man alive.”
    “Conjunct?”
    “Where the navy and army join to effect some blow against the enemy that neither may achieve on their own. He was with the Duke of York in Flanders, and that successful destruction of the sluice gates at Ostend in ’ninety-eight? It was his plan, not to mention his transport of Indian soldiers across the Red Sea to take the French in the rear when we were hard-pressed in Alexandria.”
    “Then why …?” began Bowden, carefully.
    “I can’t answer that. I’ve got along with him well enough but I can see how his superior ways could upset some of the blue-bloods. He’s a genius for making enemies—and friends, for that matter.”
    “So the charge is leaving station, sir.”
    “A very severe one, young fellow. If the Admiralty thinks you to be in one place, and makes plans to use your fleet in that belief, then finds too late you’re off somewhere else, can you blame them for feeling peeved?”
    “Our talk in the gun-room was that he had secret intelligence he was acting upon. Did you believe him, sir, or should I not be asking this of you?”
    “No, you should not, but I’ll tell you, as it has to come out in the trial. He told me at the time, without any evidence about him, that he was in thick with the prime minister and others and that they’d together devised a plan of attack on South America and that this was interrupted by Trafalgar. This means that the whole thing against Buenos Aires could have been an official move, not his own idea.”
    “Ah. I see that the only way he can prove this is to call the prime minister as witness, but he’s—”
    “Quite. Pitt dying is a big blow to his story. That is, if it wasn’t all a bit of a stretcher from the beginning.”
    “Sir, can I ask you a personal question, as bears on the trial?”
    “You can—but I’m not bound to answer it.”
    “Sir, can you tell me why you fell in with his proposal to quit station?”
    “I … I judged it more in keeping with a naval officer’s duty to do something in a rush of events than sit idle waiting for orders. I conceived that there was an opportunity of strategical significance that, if missed, would be a betrayal of the higher cause.”
    “Sir, there were those in
L’Aurore
who observed you close to him, even as his special confederate in the whole matter. I hope you will excuse my plain speaking, but they might be forgiven for wondering why you are not standing next to him at the trial.”
    “Do
you
think I should be?” Kydd asked.
    “No, sir,” Bowden said. “You showed loyalty to your superior as so you should. And, besides,” he added, with a twist of a smile, “were you not following orders, as you must?”
    “You’ll go far in the service, young whipper-snapper.”
    “Then may I know what position you’ll take in court?” Bowden persisted.
    “Position? There’s only one possible, as you should know.”
    “Oh?”
    “I tell the whole truth.” Kydd paused, then said with a slow smile, “That is, I answer every question put to me, neither more nor less than the matter being asked. If certain questions are not put, then …”
    “And if they require to know whether you believe Commodore Popham was right to—”
    “That is a matter of opinion, not evidence, and has no place in a court-martial,” Kydd barked.
    He had thought hard about his position and this was the only one he could square with his conscience. On the