That had been inevitable because many officers were active in politics or linked by family ties or patronage with leading political figures. They had been quick to strike at the Government of the day through his father—and not a few took advantage of an opportunity to satisfy their jealousy of a young admiral already famous as one of the Navy's leading tacticians. Although several of these men were now dead or superannuated, there were still many in high positions who carried on the vendetta against the Earl's family—helped in turn by the younger officers who looked to them for promotion—and the vendetta had extended to the Earl's son and heir, Ramage himself.

'Sit down—here, in Lord Arden's chair.'

Arden, second senior of the Lords Commissioners, sat at the First Lord's left hand.

As Spencer unlocked a drawer in the table, Ramage thought of the brief and peremptory letter in his pocket ordering him to report to the First Lord. It gave no reason, but as far as Ramage was concerned there could be only one.

Spencer put several papers on the table and, patting them with his hand, remarked: 'Mercifully there are few lieutenants in the Navy List who've had so many contradictory reports on them forwarded to the First Lord.'

And here we go, Ramage thought bitterly. First the honeyed words: now the harsh judgement. Well, it wasn't unexpected. He'd been back in England for several weeks since the Battle of Cape St Vincent. For me first three he had been recovering from the head wound, and as soon as he wrote to the Admiralty reporting himself fit he'd expected the summons to London or an order to report to some port for a court martial.

His father hadn't tried to comfort him; in fact the old Admiral insisted he didn't accept any reprimand and, if necessary, demanded a court martial. But the days had gone by without anything more than a bare acknowledgement of the letter. While it meant no reprimand it also meant no employment Turning the pile of papers over so the bottom one was uppermost, the First Lord said:

'Let's just run through these. Then you'll see my predicament. Here's one from Sir John Jervis—as he then was— dated last October and praising you for your bravery in taking command of the Sibella frigate after all the other officers had been killed, and going on to rescue the Marchesa di Volterra from Napoleon's troops. He encloses one from Commodore Nelson—as he then was—which is even more fulsome, saying you literally carried the Marchesa off from beneath the feet of the French cavalry.

'Now for the next one. This, from another admiral, refers to the same episode and says you should have been condemned by a court martial for cowardice, and that the trial he'd ordered was interrupted.

'What am I to believe? Well, I take the word of Sir John, since he's the senior officer.

'Then we have the third report, again from Sir John, telling me how you captured a dismasted Spanish frigate while commanding the Kathleen cutter. As Sir John says, he admires your bravery but cannot possibly overlook that in making the capture you flatly disobeyed Commodore Nelson's orders.

'Well, all that seems clear enough—until I open the enclosure from Commodore Nelson which is full of praise and doesn't mention a word about disobedience.'

He put down the two pages and picked up the remaining ones.

'I received this shortly after the despatch describing the Battle of Cape St Vincent. Sir John gives due credit to your action but makes it quite clear that he's not sure whether it was due to bravery or foolhardiness, and that you acted without orders and, much worse, lost the Kathleen cutter, into the bargain.

'Now,' the First Lord said flatly, 'that's more than sufficient grounds for a court martial. However, since Lieutenant Lord Ramage is involved, it's not as simple as that. Do you know why?'

A puzzled Ramage shook his head.

'Because on the same day I received a private—and, I might say, quite irregular—letter from Commodore Nelson pointing out that had you not deliberately rammed the Spanish San Nicolas with the Kathleen cutter and slowed her down, he would never have been able to catch up and capture her and the San Josef, and he ends his letter with a request that I should "look after" you.'

'Well sir, I------'

'And as if that wasn't enough,' Spencer said with a show of anger, 'no sooner does Sir John receive an earldom for his splendid leadership in the battle than he tells me that if any occasion arises where a resourceful young officer is needed, I could make use of you—as long as I didn't expect you to pay any heed to my orders!'

'But, my Lord------'

'And another very senior officer present at the battle writes to a friend—who sent me a copy of the letter—saying that you and another officer ought to be brought to trial at once in case other captains take it into their head to ignore the Fighting Instructions and quit the line of battle.'

'But Captain Calder's known to be jealous of the Commodore------'

Spencer lifted a hand to silence him and said grimly, 'I didn't mention Captain Calder's name, and I recall that the Commodore received a knighthood and the nation's admiration for capturing two Spanish sail of the line.'

Numbed and resentful, Ramage stared down at the table, trying to guess the reason for Spencer's long recital. It sounded more like a prosecutor reading the charges. Warily he waited for the judgement since he obviously hadn't been summoned to see the First Lord for a social talk.

'How is the Marchesa?'

'Well enough, thank you, my Lord,' mumbled Ramage, taken completely by surprise and wondering if he'd murmured his thoughts aloud.

'She looked very lovely at Lady Spencer's ball the night before last. In fact we both remarked what a splendid pair you made. You're an appalling dancer, though.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'I believe she's very grateful for the risks you took when rescuing her.'

'So I'm given to understand, sir,' Ramage said stiffly.

'And obviously prepared to run risks herself by dancing with you.'

Ramage remained silent.

Spencer suddenly slapped the table and laughed.

'Ramage, my boy, every other lieutenant in the Navy List would give ten years of his life to sit where you sit now with the First Lord. At every opportunity they'd say "Yes, my Lord", "No, my Lord". They'd laugh at my poorest jokes. They'd agree with everything I said. They certainly wouldn't sulk, because they know one word from me would put them on the beach for the rest of their lives.'

'Quite, my Lord.'

Every word was true and Ramage knew it; he was sulking like a schoolboy: like a child who kept crying long after he'd forgotten what caused the tears.

'There's a slight difference in my case, my Lord.'

'And that is ... ?'

'Since I knew before I came into this room I was going to be put on the beach for losing the Kathleen, sir, I've nothing to lose—or gain—by laughing, saying yes or saying no.'

Even as he spoke he regretted the words: they were—discipline apart—unnecessarily offensive to a man who was clearly trying to do in the kindest, most tactful way, whatever the Board had decided. And Ramage suddenly realized he'd misunderstood Spencer's earlier remark about the great and the shameful decisions made in this room. The Board must have outvoted Spencer, who'd probably spoken up for him Spencer had been giving him advance warning, not apologizing for the orders given years ago to his father.

Yet the First Lord said nothing in reply to his outburst; no anger showed in his face; instead it was bland. He looked down and opened the drawer again, bringing out several flat packets, all sealed with red wax. He sorted them out and slid them along the table towards Ramage.

'Read out the superscriptions.'