Free For My Country's Freedom by Alexander Kent Page A

who had worked on the new uniform without pause. The others would be ready when he hoisted his flag above Indomitable.
    He replied, “He works in Falmouth, Your Royal Highness.”
    The Prince smiled. “Then indeed I shall not know him.” His eyes moved to the diamond fan again. “It must bore you, my lady, living in the country when Sir Richard is away, hmm?”
    â€œI keep too busy to become bored, sir.”
    He gently patted her wrist. “One so beautiful should never be busy!”
    They led the way into the adjoining room. Bolitho had heard that when it had been fully extended for a more lavish banquet recently, the table had been over two hundred feet long, with an artificial stream running from a silver fountain at its head.
    They were not to be disappointed at this more humble gathering, it appeared. A veritable army of footmen and servants lined the walls, and music drifted gently through the far doors.
    Bolitho took his place without enthusiasm. He had recognised the expression in the Prince Regent’s eyes, the lewd confidence of one used to getting his own way. As a footman pulled out a chair for Catherine she glanced over the table at him, her eyes very level and compelling. Remember me, they seemed to say, reassuring him. The woman in the boat. The one who loves you and no other.
    The Prince sat back in a tall chair at the head of the table. It was more like a throne, Bolitho thought, with an ornately carved back featuring the plumes of his own coat of arms and the royal crown and cipher, G.R. It seemed that he already imagined himself as King.
    Catherine sat on his right hand, Bolitho on his left. As far as the Prince of Wales was concerned, his other guests could think what they chose.
    He raised one hand and instantly, like a well-trained platoon of Royal Marines demonstrating a complicated drill, the footmen and servants moved into action.
    As was customary, Bolitho had expected Grace to be spoken; in fact he had seen a severe-looking bishop at the opposite end of the table in the act of getting to his feet. The Prince gave no sign that he had seen him, but Bolitho guessed that, like Sillitoe, His Royal Highness missed very little. Soon the table was groaning with the weight of huge platters, some of gold, some of silver. The number of staff in the kitchens must be equally large, Bolitho thought. Spring soup, then slices of salmon and caper sauce were served with fried fillet of sole. Each dish would have satisfied even the hungriest midshipman, but when he glanced along the table Bolitho saw little hesitation as silver flashed in the candlelight, and hands moved and plunged as if his fellow guests had not eaten for days.
    The Prince remarked as more glasses were filled, “This is a lighter wine, Lady Catherine, not much to my taste. I prefer something with a little more body. ”
    She met his gaze and said, “From Madeira, I believe.” She had not reacted to the emphasis he had placed on the last word; in fact, it was even rather amusing. He was no different from other men after all. She looked across at Bolitho and raised her glass. “To our new admiral, sir!”
    A few sitting close by followed suit, but most were more concerned with emptying their plates in anticipation of the next offering.
    The Prince said, “Indeed, yes. I was impressed with your choice of words at the Admiralty, Sir Richard, although your choice of a flagship surprised me until I perceived the logic of it. The vital need for speed and gunnery to act as one . . . there are still many who will not believe it. Merchants and so forth, who can see only an increase in trade and thicker linings to their purses if we slacken our pressure on the enemy. This war must be pursued. I insist on it!” He gave Catherine a wry smile. “Forgive this talk, Lady Catherine. Doubtless you have heard enough on the subject.”
    â€œWhere Sir Richard is concerned, I am always ready to learn