The Only Victor by Alexander Kent Read Free Book Online Page A

view it will take years before the tyranny of France and her jackals is finally routed!”
    He realised that Warren and the silent servant were both staring at him and that he had raised his voice.
    He forced a smile. “Now I must ask you to forgive me. It is just that I have seen so many fine ships lost, brave men dying for the wrong reasons, some cursing those who despatched them in the first place. While I direct what is to be done here, those who forget the hard lessons of war will answer to me.” He picked up his hat. “Just as one day I will answer to God, I have no doubt.”
    â€œA moment, Sir Richard!” Warren seized his own hat from the black servant and followed him into the shadows of the halfdeck.
    Before they reached the entry port he said in his halting tones, “I am honoured, Sir Richard.” His voice was suddenly firmer than Bolitho had heard before. “I am unused to this sort of work, but I will do all I can. So shall my people!”
    Jenour saw Bolitho’s grave smile as he walked out into the strange sunlight. It gave him a twinge of excitement, like those other times, when up to now he had been expecting a dull and undemanding role for the man he had always looked up to, even before he had laid eyes on him.
    When he had told his parents in Southampton that he intended one day to personally serve Bolitho in some capacity, they had chuckled at his innocence. The chuckles had gone now. There was only the concern which was the legacy of all those with young sons away at war.
    Commodore Warren walked off to seek his commander; his cut-down Themis did not warrant a flag captain apparently. Bolitho took his flag lieutenant aside.
    â€œWe are coming aboard, Stephen.” He saw no surprise on Jenour’s open features. “For the present at least. Fetch the others from Truculent . . . I fear that Mr Yovell will be writing throughout the night. And find a good signals midshipman aboard this ship—it does not look well to employ strangers. Tomorrow I want all captains on board at eight bells, so warn them before nightfall. Send the guardboat if you will.”
    Jenour could barely keep up with him. Bolitho seemed tireless, as if his mind were breaking out of a self-made prison.
    Bolitho added, “The enemy know we are about—they have all day to watch us. I intend to discover what is happening around the Cape where the other anchorage lies. I feel the remedy may be there, rather than a hundred-mile struggle from Saldanha Bay. I do not know these captains here, and there is little time to do so. As you are aware, Stephen, in my despatch to the army I requested that the attack be delayed.”
    Jenour watched the eyes, lighter grey now as he turned towards the open sea. Like the ocean itself, he thought.
    He said, “But you do not believe that the general will agree?”
    Bolitho clapped him on the arm like a boyish conspirator. “We will act independently.” His face was suddenly introspective. “As this is a day for remembering Nelson, let us use his own words. The boldest measures are usually the safest!”
    That night Bolitho sat by the stern windows of the cabin—which had once been used by no less than a governor-general, who had fled on board to escape the plague which had broken out amongst the islands he controlled—and watched the ships’ riding lights with no inclination to sleep.
    The air was heavy and humid, and as a guardboat pulled slowly amongst the anchored squadron, he thought instead of Cornwall, of the bitter wind on the night when she had come to him. Just over a month ago, no more; and now he was here in the shadow of Africa, and they were separated again at the whim of others.
    Did they need his skills so much that they could overlook his contempt for them? Or, like Nelson, would they prefer a dead hero to a living reminder of their own failings?
    The deck quivered as the anchor cable took the sudden