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ponderous and evasive manner. They had their orders, and nothing this captain could tell him would not keep until later.
    He stopped at the top of the ladder and turned sharply. “Sir Charles has been unwell. Can this matter not wait?”
    Captain Rook took a deep breath, and Bolitho caught the heavy smell of brandy before he replied softly, “Then you do not know? You have not been in contact with the fleet?”
    Bolitho snapped, “For God’s sake stop beating around the bush, man! I have a ship to provision, sick men to be got ashore, and two hundred other things to do today. Surely you cannot have forgotten what it is like to command a ship?” He reached out and touched his arm. “Forgive me. That was unfair.” He had seen the sudden hurt in the man’s eyes and was ashamed at his own impatience. His nerves must be more damaged than he had imagined, he thought bitterly.
    Captain Rook dropped his eyes. “ Mutiny, sir.” His single hand moved up his coat and unbuttoned it carefully to reveal a heavy, red-sealed envelope.
    Bolitho stared at the busy hand, his mind still ringing with that one terrible word. Mutiny, he had said, but where? The castle looked as usual, the flag shining like coloured metal at the top of its lofty staff. The garrison would have little cause to mutiny anyway. They were mostly local volunteers or militia and knew they were far better off defending their own homes than plodding through mud or desert in some far-off campaign.
    Rook said slowly, “The fleet at Spithead. It broke out last month and the ships were seized by their people until certain demands were met.” He shrugged awkwardly. “It is finished now. Lord Howe confronted the ringleaders and the Channel Fleet is at sea again.” He looked hard at Bolitho. “It is well your squadron was in ignorance. It might have gone badly with you otherwise.”
    Bolitho looked past him and saw Keverne and several of his officers watching from the opposite side of the deck. They would sense something was wrong. But when they really knew . . . He deliberately turned away from them.
    â€œI have often expected some isolated outbreak.” He could not hide the anger in his voice. “Some politicians and sea officers imagine that common sailors are little better than vermin and have treated them accordingly.” He stared hard at Rook. “But for the fleet to mutiny as one man! That is a terrible thing!”
    Rook seemed vaguely relieved that he had at last unburdened himself. Or maybe he had been half expecting to find the Euryalus in the hands of mutineers demanding heaven knew what.
    He said, “Many fear that the worst is yet to come. There has been trouble at the Nore too, though we do not hear the full truth down here. I have patrols everywhere in case other troublemakers come this way. Some of the ringleaders are said to be Irish, and the Admiralty may expect this to be a diversion for another attempt to invade there.” He sighed worriedly. “To live and see this thing is beyond me, and that’s a fact!”
    Mutiny. Bolitho looked over to where the admiral was in close conversation with his secretary. This was a bad ending to his career. Bolitho had known the full meaning, the hot, unreasoning fury which mutiny could bring in its wake. But that was in isolated ships, where conditions or climate, privation or downright brutality of an individual captain were normally the root causes. For a whole fleet to explode against the discipline and authority of its officers, and therefore King and Parliament as well, was another matter entirely. It took organisation and extreme skill as well as some driving force at the head of it to have any hope of success. And it had succeeded, there was no doubt of that.
    He said, “I will speak with Sir Charles at once.” He took the envelope from Rook’s hand. “This is a bitter homecoming.”
    Rook made as if to join