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propitiating providence and praying the battle of Eylau would soon be followed by news of a greater victory for the armies of Tsar Alexander of Russia.
    Occasional talks with Lord Dungarth, Director of the Admiralty’s Secret Department, had kept Drinkwater better informed than most cruiser captains had a right to expect. Their long-standing friendship had given Drinkwater a unique insight into the complexities of British foreign policy in the long war against the victorious French. All the British were really capable of doing effectively was sealing the continent in a naval blockade. To encompass the destruction of theGrand Army required a supply of men as great as that of France. ‘It is to Russia we must look, Nathaniel,’ Dungarth had once said, ‘with her endless manpower supported by our subsidies, and the character of Tsar Alexander to spur her on.’
    He had one of those subsidies beneath him at that moment; as for the character of Tsar Alexander, Drinkwater hoped he could be relied on. It was rumoured that he had connived at the assassination of his own sadistically insane father. Did such acquiescence demonstrate a conviction of moral superiority? Or was it evidence of a weakness in succumbing to the pressure of others?
    Wondering thus, Captain Drinkwater rose, loosened his stock and began to undress.

2
March 1807

An Armed Neutrality
    â€˜Here’s your hot water, zur,’ Tregembo stropped the razor vigorously, ‘and Mr Quilhampton sends his compliments to you and to say that we’ll be entering The Sound in an hour.’ Tregembo sniffed, indicating disapproval, and added, ‘And I’m to tell ’ee that Mr Hill’s on deck . . .’
    Drinkwater lathered his chin and jaw. ‘And my presence ain’t necessary, is that it?’
    Tregembo sniffed again. ‘That’s the message, zur, as I told it.’
    Drinkwater took the razor and began to scrape his lathered face, his legs braced as
Antigone
leaned to the alteration of course. ‘Huh! We’re off Cronbourg, Tregembo, and the Danes are damned touchy about who goes through The Sound. Where are the two brigs?’ he asked after a brief pause, pleased that he had located his charges at Vinga Bay as predicted.
    â€˜Safely tucked under our larboard beam, zur.’
    â€˜Good. We’ll keep ’em on the Swedish side.’ He concentrated on his shave.
    â€˜You’ll pardon me for saying, zur,’ Tregembo pressed on with the familiarity of long service, ‘but you’ve been under the weather these past two days . . .’
    â€˜You talk too much, too early in the day, damn you . . . God’s bones!’ Drinkwater winced at the nick the razor had given him.
    â€˜You’d do better to take more care of yourself,’ Tregembo persisted, and for a second Drinkwater thought he was being insolent, referring to his own bloodily obvious need to keep his mouth shut. But a single glance at the old Cornishman’s face told him otherwise. Tregembo’s concern was touching.
    â€˜You cluck like an old hen,’ Drinkwater said, his tone and mood mellowing. He had to admit the justice of Tregembo’s allegation, although ‘under the weather’ was an inadequate description of Drinkwater’s evil humour. He wiped off the lather and looked atTregembo. It was impossible for him to apologise but his expression was contrite.
    â€˜ ’Tis time we went ashore, zur. Swallowed the anchor, in a manner of speaking.’
    â€˜Ashore?’ Drinkwater tied his stock, peering at himself in the mirror. ‘Ashore? No, I think not, Tregembo, not yet. I don’t think I could abide tea and gossip at the same hour every day and having to be polite to the train or gentlewomen who infest my house like weevils in a biscuit.’
    Tregembo was not so easily diverted, knowing full well Drinkwater’s exaggeration only emphasised his