Free In the King's Name by Alexander Kent

had been in command for almost a year, and with previous experience, mostly at sea, he should have been used to it and prepared for anything. But at moments like this it was always new. Different. Beyond pride. If anything, what Troubridge felt was excitement.
    â€œAll secure, sir.” Turpin, his first lieutenant, was a square, muscular man who could move quickly when it suited him, from watching the anchor drop from the cathead, alert for any mishap, then aft again just minutes later. He was a born sailor with a strong, weathered face, and clear blue eyes that seemed to belong to someone else looking out through a mask at everything around him. And now at his captain.
    Turpin had always served in small ships, and had originally been promoted from the lower deck. When Troubridge had first stepped aboard, Turpin had conducted him over every inch of the ship, pointing out every store and cabin space, messdeck, magazine, even the galley. Proud, even possessive. He was about ten years older than his captain, but if he cherished any resentment he had not revealed it.
    Merlin’s
previous commanding officer had been put ashore, taken suddenly ill with a fever he had picked up on the anti-slavery patrols. He had since died. But as is the way in the navy, nobody now mentioned his name.
    Her second lieutenant, John Fairbrother, was younger than Troubridge and seemed to look upon
Merlin
merely as a stepping-stone to promotion. The brig also carried a sailing master, who, like Turpin, was very experienced with smaller vessels and had served on three oceans. And, surprisingly for her size,
Merlin
boasted a surgeon,
    Edwin O’Brien, although now, with peace and the brig assigned to the Channel Fleet, his might remain a minor role. It might have been different on the slavery patrols, or hunting pirates in the Mediterranean, where in a ship often sailing alone a surgeon’s skill was paramount.
    The four of them made up
Merlin’s
little wardroom. She carried no midshipmen or Royal Marines and ceremonial was kept to a minimum.
    Turpin said, “We are here to await orders, sir?” It sounded like a statement, but Troubridge had come to accept that. The lieutenant hardly ever seemed to write anything down; he carried everything in his head.
    Troubridge stared across the water and saw the church for the first time since that day. The Church of King Charles the Martyr, where he had had the honour of taking the lovely Lowenna up the aisle to become Adam Bolitho’s wife.
    Turpin broke into his dream-like reminiscence with a blunt, “Memories, sir?” The blue eyes gave nothing away, but no doubt he was remembering that the admiral had granted special leave so Troubridge could attend the wedding.
    He nodded. “Yes. Good ones.”
    â€œWill you be going ashore, sir?”
    â€œWe’re to remain here for five days, as you know. If nothing changes we’ll take on board two Admiralty officials. Like our last mission, I’m afraid. Not very exciting.”
    Turpin said sharply, “Better ‘n being laid up.” The slightest pause. “Sir.”
    It was the first hint of envy, and Troubridge was surprised by it. If only …
    Someone yelled, “Boat headin’ our way, sir!”
    Turpin grunted, “Mail boat. See to it, Parker!”
    Troubridge walked across the deck, past the big double wheel and polished compass box, and reached the side in time to see the mail boat already pulling away from the entry port, somebody waving his arm and calling back to
Merlin’s
side party.
    A seaman was coiling some rope and avoided his eyes when Troubridge moved past him. Maybe it was always like this. Adam Bolitho had mentioned the loneliness of command, trying to prepare him.
    Turpin’s shadow was beside him again. “Only two letters, sir. Don’t know we’re here yet, I reckon.” He thrust one out. “For you, sir.”
    â€œThank you.” Troubridge walked