The crash of the first gun echoed and re-echoed across Ma.s.sachusetts Bay like a thunder-clap while the smoke billowed over the quiet water as if unable to rise. Gulls and other sea-birds rose screaming from their perches and from the sea itself, as gun by gun the ship and the sh.o.r.e battery exchanged salutes.

Bolitho thought of the days which had followed their mauling by the unknown ship. The anger and humiliation had given way to a feverish determination to 'put the score right', as Allday had described it. There had been more damage to rigging than to the hull, and everyone from Keen to the ship's boys had seemed unflagging in their efforts to complete the repairs before the ship anch.o.r.ed at Boston.

A new topgallant mast had been set up, fresh rigging and sails hauled aloft even in the teeth of a strong north-easterly wind. Paint, tar and sweat had achieved wonders.

The mood had been infectious, and Bolitho had even ordered the four wooden Quakers to be removed from his quarters and replaced by the eighteen-pounders. It might mean less room, but it marked a new determination that he would never lower his guard again.

He saw an American guard-boat riding above her own reflection, the oars motionless as she waited to guide the British man-of-war to the allotted place.

Bolitho shaded his eyes to watch the sh.o.r.e. White houses, several churches, the glitter of sunlight on carriages and windows along the waterfront. Perhaps there were many there who were watching the slow-moving ship and remembering the bitter times of revolution and war, brother against brother, hate against hate.

'Ready, sir!'

Keen replied, 'Hands wear ship!'

Quantock responded like a pistol-spring. 'Lee braces there! Wear ship!'

Bolitho glanced at the main-topsail. It had barely enough air to move its belly. Another minute or so and they would have lost the wind altogether.

'Tops'l sheets!' Quantock was leaning over the quarterdeck rail, his speaking-trumpet weaving from side to side as he watched his men high above. 'Tops'l clew-lines!'

Keen said, 'Helm alee.'

Achates turned gently into the dying breeze, the white ripple beneath her stem almost gone as the way went off her. turned gently into the dying breeze, the white ripple beneath her stem almost gone as the way went off her.

'Let go!'

Keen crossed to the opposite side of the deck before the great anchor had hit the sea-bed.

'Awnings and winds'ls, Mr Quantock. Lively now. There are a thousand gla.s.ses on us today.'

Bolitho bit his lip. Keen was on edge. He more than anyone aboard was still brooding over the short encounter with the mystery ship.

Two men had died that day. One drowned, the other crushed under an avalanche of broken rigging and canvas. But it went deeper than that with Keen. A sailor's life was full of hazards. More men died of falls from rigging and yards, or were permanently injured in their fight against sea and wind, than under an enemy's broadside.

Keen felt it badly. In spite of his experience and undoubted skill in battle, he felt himself to be lacking in judgement. Or perhaps it was because he was Bolitho's flag-captain which made it seem so much worse.

Bolitho had been a flag-captain more than once himself and could guess what Keen must be enduring. Once he had been grateful when his admiral had left him alone to consider his mistakes and to put them to rights. He would certainly allow Keen the same opportunity.

Achates swung easily to her cable, while on deck and gangways the hands worked like demons to sway out the boats and spread awnings in an attempt to hold the glare at bay. swung easily to her cable, while on deck and gangways the hands worked like demons to sway out the boats and spread awnings in an attempt to hold the glare at bay.

Bolitho saw Knocker, the master, dismiss the helmsmen and rub his long chin as he examined some calculations on the midshipman of the watch's slate by the compa.s.s.

He should feel pleased with himself, Bolitho thought. In spite of everything Achates Achates had sailed from Hampshire to Ma.s.sachusetts Bay in the record time of sixteen days. For a two-decker, repairing her wounds under way, that was no small achievement. He thought of voicing his congratulations to the unsmiling sailing-master but when he looked again he had vanished into the chart room. had sailed from Hampshire to Ma.s.sachusetts Bay in the record time of sixteen days. For a two-decker, repairing her wounds under way, that was no small achievement. He thought of voicing his congratulations to the unsmiling sailing-master but when he looked again he had vanished into the chart room.

Bolitho walked to the nettings and watched the boats which were already pulling slowly around the new arrival. Tanned faces, bright gowns, curious stares. Boston had seen every kind of vessel drop anchor, but not many King's ships since 'the troubles'.

He heard a step on deck and saw his nephew with a great wad of papers under one arm.

'I see you are taking your duties seriously, Adam.'

The black-haired lieutenant smiled. 'Aye, sir. I would never wish to rise higher than my present station if this if this

is the reward!'

Bolitho matched his mood. They had still barely mentioned the one gesture which had drawn them even closer together. But it was there. Like a bond, something unbreakable.

In the evenings, as the ship had continued on her pa.s.sage to Boston, Adam had made a point of visiting him in his quarters when Bolitho had known that the conviviality of the wardroom would have been far more in keeping for any young officer. But as day followed day Bolitho had thought of Belinda, had wondered how she was faring as her time approached. Adam had sensed his anxiety and had wanted to share it or, better still, dispel it altogether.

Bolitho knew that had he been in Keen's position the work and demands of the ship would have kept him from his private worries, but alone for long periods of time, or with only Allday or his clerk to talk to, he had too much leisure to brood on his concern for Belinda.

Now, with the ship at anchor, her work done for the present, it was at last his turn to act, to repay the confidence Sheaffe had allowed him.

Lieutenant Mountsteven, who was the officer of the watch, touched his hat and said, 'Boat approaching, sir."

Keen nodded and looked at Bolitho. 'Visitors, sir.'

Bolitho knew it was his polite way of asking him to leave.

'I'll be in my cabin if you require me.'

Bolitho turned aft and heard the marines hurrying to the entry port, the bark of commands as Achates Achates prepared to receive a greeting from the land. prepared to receive a greeting from the land.

Ozzard was tidying up the great cabin, although it always appeared perfect to Bolitho. He glanced at the tethered shape of one of the eighteen-pounders and was glad he had ordered its replacement. It would act as a reminder. The task he had been given was not going to be easy. He tried to stifle the bitterness. If it was a routine task, a more important officer would have been sent in his place. But if anything went wrong, they would, as always, require a scapegoat in the halls of admiralty.

He heard the calls trilling at the entry port and pictured the visitors being received with customary formality.

He walked to the open stern windows and saw a boat idling beneath Achates' Achates' great shadow, the pa.s.sengers pointing and peering at the ship's gilded stern and counter. great shadow, the pa.s.sengers pointing and peering at the ship's gilded stern and counter.

It was unnerving to realize his brother had once sailed from here, had walked the streets among people like these. He had known nothing of Adam's existence then. Now Adam was here in his place. He felt a twinge of uneasiness. Perhaps he had been wrong after all to bring him, career or not.

The door opened and Adam stood watching him, a heavily sealed envelope in his hand.

He said, 'We are invited to a reception this evening, Uncle.' He held out the envelope. 'I have just been told that the President of the United States has sent one of his own senior advisers to meet you.'

Bolitho smiled wryly. 'In that case the whole world will know what we are about, Adam. If they were expecting us it was hardly surprising we suffered that encounter just eight days out from England.'

Adam nodded. 'We seemed to have caused quite a stir.' His face broke into a grin. 'Perhaps they want to pay their taxes to King George after all!'

Bolitho shook his head. 'If you talk like that ash.o.r.e, Adam, we are far more likely to start another war!'

Later, as he lay back in a chair and Allday shaved him with extra care, he tried to measure the extent of his responsibility.

The frigate Sparrowhawk Sparrowhawk would be on her way here shortly. Captain Duncan was less of a diplomat than he was. He would make his report to San Felipe's governor before continuing his way to Boston for orders, but would leave little doubt as to what the eventual outcome would be. would be on her way here shortly. Captain Duncan was less of a diplomat than he was. He would make his report to San Felipe's governor before continuing his way to Boston for orders, but would leave little doubt as to what the eventual outcome would be.

It seemed inhuman and senseless to hand the island back to the French, no matter what Sheaffe had said. It was not a question of strategy or diplomacy, it was a matter of people. The island had defended itself more than once against enemy a.s.saults, and had sent its own vessels to seek out prizes and hara.s.s ships and islands alike in the King's name.

In London and Paris it would seem different. Now, as Allday's razor moved steadily around his throat, it took on the complexity of a Chinese puzzle.

The evening air was mercifully cooler after the oven-heat in an anch.o.r.ed ship, and as Bolitho climbed down into the barge he felt strangely excited. Like someone stepping into the unknown.

Allday growled, 'Give way, all.' Then with measured strokes the green-hulled boat pulled away from the main-chains and turned in a shallow arc towards the sh.o.r.e.

The first lieutenant had been left in charge of the ship, a bitter pill in such a pleasant looking town, Bolitho thought. He glanced at Keen who was joining him at the reception and wondered if he was feeling less strained. He had been kept busier than anyone since the anchor had been dropped, for quite apart from the ship's affairs there had been a steady stream of visitors, each of whom had been received as befitted his station. The captains of the American frigates and some of their subordinates, the officer of the guard, and an extremely pleasant young man who was the son of their host this evening.

The barge pulled strongly beneath the tapering jib-boom and Bolitho could not resist the temptation to look for some sign of the damage sustained in their short encounter. He saw nothing, a compliment to the carpenter and his crew.

He glanced at the handsome figurehead. It was pure white, with one arm outstretched, the other holding a short sword. Achates, faithful friend and armour-bearer of Aeneas.

Beneath the paint the carved wood was smooth and well-worn. It had seen more horizons than any of the ship's company and had weathered every kind of storm.

The barge swept past a lordly Indiaman which was busily loading cargo, despite the lateness of the hour. An officer hurried to her taffrail and doffed his hat as the vice-admiral's boat swept past the stern.

It was ironic that it had been a Company dispute over tea which had fanned the fires of revolution, Bolitho thought. Now, whereas men-of-war were restricted to the necessary areas of their respective flags, the powerful traders came and went as they pleased.

Allday rapped out another order and the bowman rose from his thwart, boat-hook ready to snap down on to a mooring chain.

There were plenty of townspeople thronging the jetty, and many of them had seemingly been here all day to watch the anch.o.r.ed Achates. Achates. The watermen of Boston must be making a fortune from their curious pa.s.sengers. The watermen of Boston must be making a fortune from their curious pa.s.sengers.

Keen, Captain Dewar of the Royal Marines, two lieutenants and Adam Bolitho were to be the guests of an influential Boston merchant named Jonathan Chase, while some of the ship's other officers had been invited elsewhere. Keen had warned them to guard their tongues and to listen for any mention of their encounter with the strange ship which would show that the news had preceded their arrival.

Bolitho glanced at some of the young women on the jetty. A few of the trusted seamen and marines would also be allowed ash.o.r.e, and from the look of these smiling girls the British sailors would be hard put to hold their tongues.

But everything must appear normal and relaxed, with all the old animosities put aside if not actually forgotten.

The bargemen tossed their oars, and Allday removed his hat and watched to make sure Bolitho did not slip on the stone stairs.

Bolitho smiled at him. 'Good crew, Allday.'

Even Allday had admitted that the new barge was a credit to the ship. In their checkered shirts and tarred hats, each man with a pigtail exactly the same length, they could not have been better chosen.

Their host's son, Timothy, was waiting beside two elegant carriages.

As Bolitho approached and some of the onlookers pressed forward for a glimpse of the newcomers, Timothy Chase extended his hand.

'You are welcome welcome here, Admiral. My mother says it is a sign for the future.' here, Admiral. My mother says it is a sign for the future.'

Captain Dewar climbed swiftly from the barge and the sight of his bright tunic brought a cry from the crowd.

'Watch out, boys, the redcoats are comin' back!'

But there was no hostility and more than a few guffaws from the onlookers.

The journey to the Chase residence pa.s.sed all too quickly for Bolitho, with his host's son pointing out landmarks and fine houses as the carriage rattled along the road from the harbour.

He was obviously very proud of the town where he had been born and brought up. At a guess he was about the same age as Adam, although less reserved as he described each important house and its occupants.

'Boston houses, taken collectively, make a better appearance than those of any other town in New England, sir."

Most of them were built of wood, Bolitho noticed, but some had facades which had been cut and shaped to represent stone.

Bolitho smiled to himself. His host had done well. But he knew from his secret instructions that Chase had made his original wealth from privateering against the British during the revolution.

Boston had been a privateering lair, as had many smaller harbours as far north as Portland.

The two carriages left the road and rolled up a long driveway towards a beautifully proportioned house of three storeys. Like many of the others it was white with tall green shutters by each window, some of which were already brightly lit and welcoming.

Bolitho said quietly, 'Well, Adam, what d'you think?'

Keeping his features equally composed, his nephew answered, 'I could very easily get used to luxury, sir.'

It was not hard to picture their host as he had once been on the deck of a privateer. He had a loud, thick voice which must have found its edge when shouting orders in a storm or above the crash of cannon fire. Jonathan Chase was square and heavily built, with iron-grey hair and skin like tooled leather.

'Well, Admiral, this is indeed a pleasure.' He grasped Bolitho's hand and eyed him curiously. 'An honour too, to have such a gallant sailor in my home.'

Bolitho warmed to him. 'It was good of you to offer your house for this meeting.'

Chase grinned. 'When Thomas Jefferson suggests suggests a thing you don't argue too much, my friend! He may have been president for only a year, but he's learned already that power is heady medicine!' It seemed to amuse him. a thing you don't argue too much, my friend! He may have been president for only a year, but he's learned already that power is heady medicine!' It seemed to amuse him.

Negro footmen whisked away the hats of the guests and Bolitho followed Chase into a great hall filled with people. Chase nodded towards a tray which was loaded with gla.s.ses.

'I hope the wine is to your taste, Admiral. It's French.'

Bolitho smiled gravely. 'Is it, indeed."

Faces swam round him, and as Chase introduced his friends and a.s.sociates Bolitho became very aware of the man's presence and authority.

Keen had been immediately partnered by two very attractive ladies, and Captain Dewar was being led out on to a terrace by another who was clinging to his arm as if she intended to share him with n.o.body.

Chase lowered his gla.s.s and studied Adam for several seconds.

'Your aide, Admiral, what is he, son, or little brother?"

'Nephew.'

Chase beamed. You and I will creep away presently and split a bottle of excellent brandy.' He tapped the side of his nose. 'We can have a talk before our government man arrives.'

He gestured suddenly. 'Nephew, eh. Should have guessed.' He raised his voice. 'Over here, Robina. Someone I'd like you to meet.'

The girl named Robina was a beautiful creature. Slim, graceful, and with a sparkle in her eyes which would turn any man's head.

Chase boomed, 'My niece, Admiral.'

She slipped her arm through Adam's and said, 'I'll show you the gardens, Lieutenant.' She tossed her head at her uncle. 'They'll 'They'll want to yarn about old times!' want to yarn about old times!'

Bolitho smiled. Adam was obviously entranced and allowed himself to be led away without a word.