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Several of her lieutenants had once served aboard as midshipmen, and most of her hard core of warrant officers, the backbone of any man-of-war, had been on the books for years.
    There was an air of confidence about her, a lively eagerness to get away from the land before she too suffered the fate of so many others. Keen’s own ship, Nicator, a seventy-four, which had distinguished herself at Copenhagen and later in the Bay of Biscay, was already laid up in ordinary. Unwanted, like her people who had fought so hard when the drums had beaten to quarters.
    The previous captain had served in Achates for seven years. It was strange that he had commanded the ship for so long a period and had left no trace of his own personality in his quarters. Maybe he had invested it in his ship’s company. They certainly seemed contented enough, although there had been the usual desertions during the overhaul here. Wives, sweethearts, children grown out of all recognition; Keen could hardly blame them for giving in to the temptation to run.
    Keen ran his finger round his neckcloth and watched one of the ship’s boats being swayed up and over the gangway and then lowered on to its tier. Every boat would have to be filled with water if this heat held to stop it from opening up.
    Keen examined his feelings. He was glad to be leaving, especially with Bolitho. He had served under him twice before in other ships. First as midshipman, then as third lieutenant. They had shared the pain of losing loved ones, and now that Bolitho had married, Keen was still alone.
    His thoughts wandered to his orders which Bolitho had sent to him.
    A strange mission. Unique in his experience.
    He glanced at the starboard line of black eighteen-pounders, run out as if for battle to allow the sailmaker and his crew maximum space on deck for stitching some canvas.
    Peace or war, a King’s ship must always be ready. Twice Keen had served under Bolitho between the wars and had known the folly of over-confidence where a signed peace was concerned.
    He heard feet on the companion ladder and saw Lieutenant Adam Pascoe climbing on deck.
    It never failed to surprise Keen. Pascoe could have been Bolitho’s young brother. The same black hair, although Pascoe’s was cut short at the nape of the neck in the new naval fashion, the same restlessness. Grave and withdrawn one moment, full of boyish excitement the other.
    Twenty-one years old, Keen thought. Without a war and its demands on lives and ships Pascoe would be lucky to gain advancement or a ship of his own.
    â€œGood-day, Mr Pascoe. Is everything in the admiral’s quarters to the flag-lieutenant’s liking?”
    Pascoe smiled. “Aye, sir. With four of the after eighteen-pounders removed to the hold and replaced by Quakers, the admiral will have plenty of space.”
    Keen looked at the quarterdeck and said, “I have seen him content with ten paces of a deck. Back and forth, up and down, his daily stroll to arrange his ideas, to exercise his mind as well as his limbs.”
    Pascoe said suddenly, “I see no sense in this mission, sir. We fought the enemy to a standstill so that he needed a peace to lick his wounds. And yet our government has seen fit to give up almost all of our possessions which we won from the French. Everything but Ceylon and Trinidad we have let go and cannot even decide definitely to keep Malta. And now San Felipe is to go the same way, and the admiral’s lot is to have the dirty task of doing it.”
    Keen regarded him gravely. “A word of advice, Mr Pascoe.”
    He saw Pascoe’s chin lift stubbornly. That wary glance Keen had grown to know in the past.
    He said, “In the wardroom the lieutenants and others can speak as they please provided their private views do not spread among the people. As captain I stand apart, so too does the flag-lieutenant. Despite your wish to serve your uncle, I suspect you accepted the post more to please him than