The Admirals' Game by David Donachie

merchants, that ice was far from a necessary commodity. Hotham raised his glass, and Barclay did likewise, with the admiral now grinning, a most unusual thing, given he was a man addicted to sangfroid.
    â€˜I have the good fortune, Captain Barclay, to be the conduit of some good news.’
    â€˜Indeed, sir?’
    â€˜And it is you who will be in receipt of it.’
    Pearce is dead, he thought. He knew the bastard had been sent into action on those pontoons, just as he suspected Hotham had a hand in engineering it. With him gone so many of the matters presently bearing down on him would be resolved.
    â€˜You will not know that Captain Frost of
Leander
has asked to be relieved, due to ill health?’
    There was a terrible temptation then to indulge in levity, and ask if Frost had been stung by some insect, given he spent his entire life collecting specimens, butterflies and bugs, often at the neglect of his duties.
    â€˜No, sir.’
    â€˜Then you will also not know that it is my intention to recommend to Lord Hood that you should replace him.’
    â€˜Sir, I…’ Ralph Barclay could not speak; a 74-gun ship of the line. This was elevation indeed; in fact, he would be leapfrogging several officers with a better claim to the commission than he, men ahead of him on the captain’s list. There would be much gnashing of teeth when the news got out and, no doubt, written complaints.
    â€˜Drink your wine, sir,’ Hotham exclaimed, ‘and let us toast your future. I will have your orders drawn up shortly and once Lord Hood has confirmed my choice, you may shift your dunnage.’
    The glass was near to the Barclay lips as he asked, ‘You are sure he will agree, sir?’
    â€˜I am.’
    â€˜Then, sir, it is my duty not only to toast my good fortune, but to wish you joy of your continued employment of your flag.’
    â€˜Have no worries on that score, Barclay,’ Hotham replied, his eyes narrowing. ‘I have enough support in London to deal with any threats to my position.’
    Both glasses were drained, and refilled, with Ralph Barclay imagining himself in a cabin nearly as spaciousas the one in which he was sitting. That brought on the worry of furnishing such an area, until he recalled that the port of Toulon was full of Provençal refugees, especially the wealthy citizens of Marseilles, who had been forced to run from the terror of the Revolution when General Carteaux and his ragtag Army had taken the city. They were now selling everything they possessed, furniture and paintings included, at knock-down prices, just to pay for the food they needed to keep them alive.
    There was another thing to please him: for the first time in his life he could probably consider his credit to be sound. True, his prizes had not yet been bought in or valued and the amounts to be paid settled – that task still lay with his prize agents, Ommaney and Druce. How their tune would have changed from the start of the year when he had first got his frigate; the two sleek and overfed partners had treated him with short shrift when he tried to get them to advance him some credit. Now, should he turn up at their chambers in the Strand, they would fetch out the best claret and treat him with the consideration due to a man lining their greedy pockets.
    Ralph Barclay checked himself then; he had allowed his mind to wander and Hotham’s next words brought him down with a bump.
    â€˜There are, of course, other things to consider, Captain Barclay.’
    â€˜Sir?’
    â€˜I sent Lord Hood the papers on your court martial two weeks ago, but he is yet to confirm the findings.’John Pearce’s name hung like Banquo’s ghost over the table, but Ralph Barclay was damned if he was going to be the one to mention it. As it turned out Hotham was equally reluctant, though; as he referred to him in the abstract, he did so in a low tone. ‘There is also a rumour that a certain party