Command a King's Ship Read Free Page A

his tone as Bolitho looked about to protest. “At least!”
    The admiral regarded Bolitho for several seconds. Craving to get back to his ship, uncertain of himself in these overwhelming surroundings. It was all there and more besides. As Bolitho had entered the room it had been like seeing his father all those long years ago. Tall, slim, with that black hair tied at the nape of his neck. The loose lock which hung above his right eye told another story. Once as he had raised his glass it had fallen aside to display a livid scar which ran high into the hairline. Winslade was glad about his choice. There was intelligence on Bolitho’s grave fea- tures, and compassion too, which even his service in seven years of war had not displaced. He could have picked from a hundred cap- tains, but he had wanted one who needed a ship and the sea and not merely the security such things represented. He also required a man who could think and act accordingly. Not one who would rest content on the weight of his broadsides. Bolitho’s record had shown plainly enough that he was rarely content to use written orders as a substitute for initiative. Several admirals had growled as much when Winslade had put his name forward for command. But he had got his way, for Winslade had the weight of Parliament behind him, which was another rarity.
    He sighed and picked up a small bell from the table.
    â€œYou go and arrange to move to the address I will give you. I have much to do, so you may as well enjoy yourself while you can.”
    He shook the bell and a servant entered with Bolitho’s cocked hat and sword. Winslade watched as the man buckled the sword deftly around his waist.
    â€œSame old blade, eh?” He touched it with his fingers. It was very smooth and worn, and a good deal lighter than more modern swords.
    Bolitho smiled. “Aye, sir. My father gave it to me after . . .”
    â€œI know. Forget about your brother, Bolitho.” He touched the hilt again. “Your family have brought too much honour for many generations to be brought down by one man.”
    He thrust out his hand. “Take care. I daresay there are quite a few tongues wagging about your visit here today.”
    Bolitho followed the servant into the corridor, his mind mov- ing restlessly from one aspect of his visit to another. Madras, another continent, and that sounded like a mere beginning to whatever it was he was supposed to do.
    Every mile sailed would have its separate challenge. He smiled quietly. And reward. He paused in the doorway and stared at the bustling people and carriages. Open sea instead of noise and dirt. A ship, a living, vital being instead of dull, pretentious buildings.
    A hand touched his arm, and he turned to see a young man in a shabby blue coat studying him anxiously.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    The man said quickly, “I’m Chatterton, Captain. I was once second lieutenant in the Warrior, seventy-four.” He hesitated, watching Bolitho’s grave face. “I heard you were commissioning, sir, I was wondering . . .”
    â€œI’m sorry, Mr. Chatterton. I have a full wardroom.”
    â€œYes, sir, I had guessed as much.” He swallowed. “I could sign as master’s mate perhaps?”
    Bolitho shook his head. “It is only seamen I lack, I’m afraid.”
    He saw the disappointment clouding the man’s face. The old Warrior had been in the thick of it. She was rarely absent from any battle, and men had spoken her name with pride. Now her second lieutenant was waiting like a beggar.
    He said quietly, “If I can help.” He thrust his hand into his pocket. “Tide you over awhile.”
    â€œThank you, no, sir.” He forced a grin. “Not yet anyway.” He pulled up his coat collar. As he walked away he called, “Good luck, Captain!”
    Bolitho watched him until he was out of sight. It might have been Herrick, he thought. Any of us.

    His