Command a King's Ship by Alexander Kent Page B

conspirators.
    â€œNow be off with you while I change into a better coat.” He grimaced. “To show our Spanish friends some respect, eh?”
    A little over an hour later, gliding above her own reflection, Undine moved slowly towards the anchorage in the roads. In the bright sunlight the island of Teneriffe seemed to abound with colour, and Bolitho heard several of the watching sea- men gasping with awe. The hills were no longer hidden in shadow, but danced on the glare with every shade and hue. And everything was brighter and larger, at least it appeared so to the new hands. Shimmering white buildings, brilliant blue sea, with beaches and surf to make a man catch his breath and stare.
    Allday stood aft by the cabin hatch and remarked, “I’ll bet some Don’d like to rake us as we come by!”
    Bolitho ran his eye quickly along his ship, trying to see her as those ashore would. She looked very smart, and gave little hint of the sweat and effort which had gone to make her so. The best ensign fluttered from the gaff, the scarlet matching that of the marines’ swaying lines athwart the quarterdeck. On the larboard gangway Tapril, the gunner, was having a last hurried discussion with his mates in readiness to begin a salute to the Spanish flag which flew so proudly above the headland battery.
    Old Mudge was beside the wheel, hands hidden in the folds of his watchcoat. He seemed to retain the same clothing no matter what the weather might do, hot or cold, rain or fine. He kept a variety of instruments and personal items in his capacious pockets, and Bolitho guessed that sometime, long past, he had been made to rush on deck and stay there with half of his things still scattered around his cabin.
    He growled to the helmsmen and they edged the wheel over a few spokes, the main topsail filling and then drooping again as the ship idled beneath the land’s protection.
    Herrick trained his glass on the land and then said, “Passing the point now, sir!”
    â€œVery well.” Bolitho waved his hand to Tapril. “Begin salute.”
    And as the English frigate continued slowly towards her an- chorage the frail morning air shook and trembled to the regular crash of cannon fire. Gun for gun the Spanish replied, the smoke hanging almost motionless above the shallowing water.
    Bolitho gripped his hands together behind him, feeling the sweat exploring his spine under his heavy dress coat and making one of his new shirts cling like a wet towel.
    It was strange to stand so impassively as the slow barrage went on around him. Like some trick or dream. At any moment, he half-expected to see the bulwark blast apart, or a ball to come screaming amongst the rigid marines and cut them to a bloody gruel.
    The last shot hammered his ears, and as the drifting smoke moved away from the decks he saw another frigate anchored at the head of the roads. Spanish, larger than Undine, her colours and pendants very bright against the green shore beyond. Her captain, too, had probably been remembering, he thought.
    He glanced up at the masthead pendant as it whipped half- heartedly in the breeze. Soon now. More orders. A new piece to fit into the puzzle.
    Mudge blew his great nose loudly, a thing he always did before carrying out some part of his duties.
    â€œReady, sir.”
    â€œVery well. Man the braces. Hands wear ship, if you please.”
    Bare feet padded across the newly-scrubbed decks in a steady rush to obey his repeated order, and Bolitho slowly breathed out as each man reached his station without mishap.
    â€œTops’l sheets!”
    The flag above the battery dipped in the glare and then re- turned to its proper place. Some small boats were shoving off from the land, and Bolitho saw that many were loaded with fruit and other items for barter. With all their bread ruined in the first storm, and few fresh fruits to rival those in the boats, Triphook, the purser, would be busy indeed.
    â€œTops’l