“Your Excellency is too kind. Would Your Excellency please proceed to the door in front?”

An imposing flight of steps, lined on either side with more uniforms; beyond that an open doorway and a vast room. A prolonged whispered conference between Mendez-Castillo and an official beside the door, and then their names blared out in resounding Spanish—Hornblower had long given up hope of ever hearing his name pronounced intelligibly by a foreign tongue.

The central figure in the room rose from his chair—which was almost a throne—to receive the British Commander-in-Chief standing. He was a much younger man than Hornblower had expected, in his thirties, dark complexioned, with a thin, mobile face and a humorous expression at odds with his arrogant hooked nose. His uniform gleamed with gold lace, with the Order of the Golden Fleece on his breast.

Mendez-Castillo made the presentations; the Englishmen bowed deeply to the representative of His Most Catholic Majesty and each received a polite inclination in return. Mendez-Castillo ventured so far as to murmur their host’s titles—probably a breach of etiquette, thought Hornblower, for it should be assumed that visitors were fully aware of them.

“His Excellency the Marques de Ayora, Captain-General of His Most Catholic Majesty’s dominion of Puerto Rico.”

Ayora smiled in welcome.

“I know you speak Spanish, Your Excellency,” he said. “I have already had the pleasure of hearing you do so.”

“Indeed, Your Excellency?”

“I was a major of migueletes under Claros at the time of the attack on Rosas. I had the honour of serving beside Your Excellency—I remember Your Excellency well. Your Excellency would naturally not remember me.”

It would have been too flagrant to pretend he did, and Hornblower was for once at a loss for a word, and could only bow again.

“Your Excellency,” went on Ayora, “has changed very little since that day, if I may venture to say so. It is eleven years ago.”

“Your Excellency is too kind.” That was one of the most useful phrases in polite language.

Ayora had a word for Fell—a compliment on the appearance of his ship—and a supplementary smile for the junior officers. Then, as if it were a moment for which he had been waiting, Mendez-Castillo turned to them.

“Perhaps you gentlemen would care to be presented to the ladies of the company?” he said; his glance passed over Hornblower and Fell and took in only the lieutenants and the midshipmen. Hornblower translated, and saw them depart a little nervously under Mendez-Castillo’s escort.

Ayora, etiquette and Spanish training notwithstanding, wasted no time in coming to the point the moment he found himself alone with Hornblower and Fell.

“I watched your pursuit of the Estrella del Sur today through my telescope,” he said, and Hornblower once more found himself at a loss for a word; a bow and a smile also seemed out of place in this connection. He could only look blank.

“It is an anomalous situation,” said Ayora. “Under the preliminary convention between our governments the British Navy has the right to capture on the high seas Spanish ships laden with slaves. But once within Spanish territorial waters those ships are safe. When the new convention for the suppression of the slave trade is signed then those ships will be forfeit to His Most Catholic Majesty’s government, but until that time it is my duty to give them every protection in my power.”

“Your Excellency is perfectly correct, of course,” said Hornblower. Fell was looking perfectly blank, not understanding a word of what was said, but Hornblower felt that the effort of translating was beyond him.

“And I fully intend to carry out my duty,” said Ayora, firmly.

“Naturally,” said Hornblower.

“So perhaps it would be best to come to a clear understanding regarding future events.”

“There is nothing I would like better, Your Excellency.”

“It is clearly understood, then, that I will tolerate no interference with the Estrella del Sur while she is in waters under my jurisdiction?”

“Of course I understand that, Your Excellency,” said Hornblower.

“The Estrella wishes to sail at the first light of morning tomorrow.”

“That is what I expected, Your Excellency.”

“And for the sake of the amity between our governments it would be best if your ship were to remain in this harbour until after she sails.”

Ayora’s eyes met Hornblower’s in a steady stare. His face was perfectly expressionless; there was no hint of a threat in that glance. But a threat was implied, the ultimate hint of superior strength was there. At Ayora’s command a hundred thirty-two-pounders could sweep the waters of the harbour. Hornblower was reminded of the Roman who agreed with his Emperor because it was ill arguing with the master of thirty legions. He adopted the same pose as far as his acting ability allowed. He smiled the smile of a good loser.

“We have had our chance and lost it, Your Excellency,” he said. “We can hardly complain.”

If Ayora felt any relief at his acquiescence it showed no more plainly than his previous hint of force.

“Your Excellency is most understanding,” he said.

“Naturally we are desirous of taking advantage of the land breeze to leave tomorrow morning,” said Hornblower, deferentially. “Now that we have refilled with water—for the opportunity of doing so I have to thank Your Excellency—we would not like to trespass too far upon Your Excellency’s hospitality.”

Hornblower did his best to maintain an appearance of innocence under Ayora’s searching stare.

“Perhaps we might hear what Captain Gomez has to say,” said Ayora, turning aside to summon someone close at hand. He was a young man, strikingly handsome, dressed in plain but elegant blue clothes with a silver-hiked sword at his side.

“May I present,” said Ayora, “Don Miguel Gomez y Gonzalez, Captain of the Estrella del Sur?”

Bows were exchanged.

“May I felicitate you on the sailing qualities of your ship, Captain?” said Hornblower.

“Many thanks, señor.”

“Clorinda is a fast frigate, but your ship is superior at all points of sailing.” Hornblower was not too sure about how to render that technical expression into Spanish, but apparently he contrived to make himself understood.

“Many thanks again, señor.”

“And I could even venture”—Hornblower spread his hands deprecatingly—“to congratulate her captain on the brilliance with which he managed her.”

Captain Gomez bowed, and Hornblower suddenly checked himself. These high-flown Spanish compliments were all very well, but they could be overdone. He did not want to give the impression of a man too anxious to please. But he was reassured by a glance at the expression on Gomez’s face. He was actually simpering; that was the only word for it. Hornblower mentally classified him as a young man of great ability and well pleased with himself. Another compliment would not be one too many.

“I shall suggest to my government,” he went on, “that they request permission to take off the lines of the Star of the South, and study the plan of her sails, in order to build a similar vessel. She would be ideal for the work of the Navy in these waters. But, of course, it would be hard to find a suitable captain.”

Gomez bowed once more. It was hard not to be self-satisfied when complimented by a seaman with the legendary reputation of Hornblower.

“His Excellency,” put in Ayora, “is desirous of leaving the harbour tomorrow morning.”

“So we understood,” said Gomez.

Even Ayora looked a trifle disconcerted at the admission. Hornblower could see it plainly. Stuart, so helpful with his information, had not hesitated to help both sides, as Hornblower had expected he would. He had gone straight to the Spanish authorities with the intelligence Hornblower had supplied him with. But Hornblower had no desire to allow a jarring note to creep into the present conversation.