`Boats ready, sir!' Shellabeer tilted his swarthy face in the glare.

Bolitho walked to the rail and looked down at the gun deck. The seamen seemed altered yet again. Perhaps because of their cutlasses, the way they glanced at each other, their torment of thirst momentarily put aside. Most of them were very different from the men who had first joined the ship. Their bared, backs were well browned, with only an occasional scar of sunburn to mark the foolish or the unwary.

He called, `Over yonder is Africa, lads.' He felt the rustle of excitement expanding like a wind over corn. `You'll be seeing many more places before we are homeward bound again. Do as you are bid, stay with your parties, and no harm should come to you.' He hardened his tone. `But it is a dangerous country, and the natives hereabouts have had little cause to like or trust the foreign sailorman. So keep a good watch, and work well with the casks.' He nodded. `Man your boats.'

Mudge joined him at the gangway as the first men swung their way down the side.

`I should be a'goin' with you, sir. I've told me best master's mate, Fowlar, what to look for, an"e's a good man, that 'e be.'

Bolitho lifted his arms as Allday buckled on his sword.

`Then what troubles you, Mr. Mudge?'

Mudge scowled. `Time was when I could swim 'alf a mile an' then march another with a full load on me back!'

Herrick, grinned. `And still have the wind to bed a fine wench, I'll be bound!'

Mudge glared at him. `Your time'll come, Mr. 'Errick. It ain't no pleasure, gettin' old!'

Bolitho smiled. `Your value is here.'

To Herrick he said, `Rig boarding nets during our stay. With only an anchor watch and the marines at your back, you might be in bother if someone tries to surprise you.' He touched his arm. `I know. I am over-cautious. I can read your face like a chart. But better so than dead.' He glanced at the shore. `Especially here.'

He walked to the entry port. `The boats will return two by two. Send the rest of the men as soon as you can. They'll tire easily enough in this heat.'

He saw Puigserver wave to him from the gangway, and Raymond watching from right aft by his wife's little canopy. He touched his hat to the side party and climbed quickly down into the gig where Allday waited by the tiller.

`Shove off!'

One by one the boats idled clear of the frigate's shadow, and then with oars moving in unison turned towards the land. Bolitho remained standing to examine his little flotilla.

Lieutenant Soames with the launch, Undine's ' largest boat, every inch of space filled with men and casks, while in the bows a gun captain crouched over the loaded swivel like some kind of figurehead. Then the cutter, also deeply laden, with Davy in control, his figure very slim against that of Mr. Pryke, Undine's portly carpenter. As was proper, Pryke was going ashore in the hopes of finding timber suitable for small repairs about the ship.

Midshipman Keen, accompanied by little Penn, had the pinnace, and Bolitho could see them bobbing about with obvious excitement as they pulled steadily across the water.

Bolitho glanced astern at his ship, seeing the figures on her deck already small and impersonal. Someone was in the cabin, and he guessed it was Mrs. Raymond, watching the boats, avoiding her husband, probably neither.

Then he looked down at the men in the gig, at the weapons between their straddled legs, at the way they avoided his scrutiny. Right forward he saw a man moving the musketoon from side to side to free the mount from caked salt, and realised it was Turpin, the one who had tried so desperately to deceive Davy at Spithead. He saw Bolitho watching him and held up his arm. In place of his hand he had a hook of bright steel. He called, `The gunner had it fixed up for me, sir!' He was grinning. 'Better'n the real thing!'

Bolitho smiled at him. He at least seemed in good spirits.

He watched the slow moving hulls. About eighty officers and men with more to follow when he could spare the boats. He sat down and shaded his eyes with his hat. As he did so he touched the scar above his eye, remembering that other watering party he had been with so long ago. The sudden charge, screams all about him, that great towering savage brandishing a cutlass he had just seized from a dying sailor. He had seen it only for a second, and then fallen senseless, his face a mask of blood. It had been a close-run thing. But for his coxswain, it would have been the end.

Herrick probably resented his landing with this watering party. It was work normally given to a lieutenant. But that memory, like the scar, was a constant reminder of what could go wrong without any sort of warning.

`Cable to go, Captain!' Allday eased the tiller bar slightly.

Bolitho started. He must have been dreaming. Undine looked far away now. A graceful toy. While right across the bows and reaching out on either hand like huge green arms, was the land.

Once again Mudge's memory proved to be sure and reliable. Within two hours of beaching the boats and sorting the hands into working parties, the master's mate, Fowlar, reported finding a little stream, and that the water was the freshest thing he had tasted for years.

The work was begun immediately. Armed pickets were placed at carefully chosen vantage points, and lookouts sent to the top of the small hill, below which Mudge's stream gurgled away into the dense jungle. After the first uncertainty of stepping on to dry land, with all the usual unsteadiness to their sealegs, the sailors soon settled down to the task. Pryke, the carpenter, and his mates quickly assembled some heavy sledges upon which the filled casks would be hauled down to the boats, and while the cooper stood watchfully at the stream the other men were busy with axes, clearing a path through the trees under Fowlar's personal supervision.

With Midshipman Penn trotting at his heels to act as messenger, Bolitho retained contact between beach and stream, making several journeys to ensure the operation was working smoothly. Lieutenant Soames was in charge of the beach, and of allocating more men to the work as they were ferried ashore. Davy had the inland part, while Keen was usually to be seen with some armed men at his back trudging around the labouring sailors to make sure there were no unwelcome visitors.

Fowlar had discovered two native fireplaces almost immediately. But they were decayed and scattered, and it seemed unlikely that anyone had been near them for months. Nevertheless, as he paused to watch over the progress of each party, Bolitho was conscious of a feeling of menace. Of hostility, which was hard to define.

On his way inland to the stream yet again he had to stand aside as a heavy sledge, hauled by some two dozen blaspheming seamen, careered past him, shaking the undergrowth, and making several great red birds flap between the trees, squawking discordantly. Bolitho watched the birds and then stepped back on to the crude trail. It was good to know something was alive here, he thought. Beneath the trees, where the sky was hidden from view, the air was heavy, and stank of rotting vegetation. Here and there, something clicked and rustled, or a small beady eye glittered momentarily in filtered sunlight before vanishing just as swiftly.

Penn gasped, `Might be makes, sir!' He was panting hard, his shirt plastered to his body from his exertions to keep up.

Bolitho found Davy beneath a wall of overhanging rock, marking his list as yet another cask was sealed by Duff for the bumpy ride to the beach.

The second lieutenant straightened his back and observed, `Going well, sir.'

`Good.' Bolitho stooped and cupped his hands into the stream. It was like wine, despite the rotten looking roots which sprouted from either bank. `We will finish before dark.'

He looked up at a patch of blue sky as the trees gave a stealthy rustle. It was unmoving air below the matted branches, but above and to seaward the wind was holding well.

`I am going up the hill, Mr. Davy.' He thought he heard Penn sigh with despair. `I hope your lookouts are awake.'

It was a long hard walk, and when they moved clear of the trees for the final climb to the summit, Bolitho felt the sun searing down on his shoulders, the heat through his shoes from the rough stones, like coals off a grate.

But the two lookouts seemed contented enough. In their stained trousers and shirts, with their tanned faces almost hidden by straw hats, they looked more like castaways than British seamen.

They had rigged a small shelter with a scrap of canvas, behind which lay their weapons, water flasks and a large brass telescope.

One knuckled his forehead and said "Orizon's clear, Cap'n!'

Bolitho tugged his hat over his eyes as he stared down the hill. The coastline was more uneven than he had imagined, water glittering between the thick layers of trees to reveal some inlet or cover not marked on any chart. Inland, and towards a distant barrier of tall hills, there was nothing but an undulating sea of trees. So close-knit, it looked possible to walk upright across the top of them.

He picked up the telescope and trained it on the ship. She was writhing and bending in a surface haze, but he saw the boats moving back and forth, very slowly, like tired water-beetles. He felt grit and dust under his fingers, and guessed the telescope had spent more time lying on the hillside than in use.

He heard Penn sucking noisily at a water flask, and could sense the lookouts willing him to leave them in peace. Theirs might be a thirsty job, but it was far easier than hauling casks through the forest. He moved the glass again. All those men, sledges and casks, yet from here he could see none of them. Even the beach was shielded. The boats, as they drew near the shore, appeared to vanish into the trees, as if swallowed whole.

Bolitho turned to his right, the movement making the men stir with alarm. In the telescope's lens the trees and slivers of trapped water grew and receded as he continued his search. Something had touched the corner of his eye, but what? The lookouts were watching him doubtfully, each caught in his own attitude as if mesmerised.

A trick of light. He blinked and rubbed his eye. Nothing.

He began another slow scrutiny. Thick, characterless forest. Or was that merely what he expected to see? And therefore ... He stiffened and held his breath. When he lowered the glass the picture fell away into the distance. He waited, counting seconds, allowing his breathing to steady.

The lookouts had begun to whisper again, and Penn was drinking as before. They probably imagined he had been too long in the sun.

He lifted the glass very carefully. There, to the right, where he had already noticed a faint gleam of water, was something darker, at odds with the forest's greens and browns. He stared at it until his eye watered so painfully he could not continue.

Then he closed the glass with a snap and said, `There is a ship yonder.' He saw Penn gaping at him, transfixed. `To the south'rd. It must be some sort of inlet which we did not see earlier.'

He shaded his eyes, trying to estimate the distance, where it lay in relation to Undine and the beach where he had come ashore.

One of the lookouts exclaimed, 'Oi never saw nothin', sir.' He looked frightened, and worse.

Bolitho stared past him, trying to think.

`Take this glass and make sure you can see it now!'

He knew the seaman was more frightened of his captain, or what might become of him because of his negligence, than anything this discovery might mean.

Bolitho's mind recorded all these reactions as he said, `Have you found it?'

`Aye, sir!' The man bobbed unhappily. "Tis a mast, right enough.'

`Thank you.' Bolitho added dryly, `Keep your eye on it. I do not want it to vanish again!'

Penn dropped the flask and scuttled after him as he strode down the hill.

`Wh-what might it mean, sir?'

`Several things.' He felt the trees looming around him, a small relief from the sun's torment. `They may have sighted us and are lying low until we weigh. Perhaps they are intent on some other mischief, I am not certain.'

He quickened his pace, ignoring creepers and fronds which plucked at his body. But for that brief flaw in the lens's picture he would have seen nothing, known nothing about the other vessel. Perhaps it would have been better that way. Maybe he was worrying to no purpose.

He found Davy as before, lounging in the shade of the hillside, his features relaxed as he watched his men filling the casks. `Where is Mr. Fowlar?'

Davy came out of his torpor with a jerk. 'Er, on the beach, sir.'

`Damn!'

Another hard mile before he could examine Fowlar's chart and Mudge's notes. He looked up at the sky. Hours yet before sunset, but when it did come it would be quick. Shutting out the light like a curtain.

`I have discovered a ship, Mr. Davy. Well hidden, to the south'rd of us.' He saw the carpenter emerge from the under growth, a saw glinting in one fist. `Take charge here, Mr. Pryke.' He beckoned to Davy. `We are going to the beach.'

Pryke nodded, his fat face glowing like a ripe apple. `Aye, sir.' He looked at Duff. `There be only five more casks, by my reckonin'.'

`Well, speed the work. I want our people mustered as soon as the last one is filled.'

Davy hurried along at his side, his handsome face puzzled.

`Do you think this ship may be an enemy, sir?'

`I intend to find out.'

They completed the journey in silence, and Bolitho knew that Davy, like the lookouts, thought he was making too much of it.

Fowlar listened to him calmly and then examined his chart.

`If it is where I believe, then it is not marked here. So it must lie somewhere 'twixt this beach and the next bay.' He made a mark. `About there, I would suggest, sir.'

`Could we reach it before dark? Overland?'

Fowlar's eyes widened but he answered, `It looks close enough, sir. No more'n three mile or so. But that is four times as much in the jungle.' He dropped his eyes from Bolitho's gaze. `You might be able to do it, sir.'

Davy asked, `But if we wait until tomorrow, sir? We could have Undine anchored nearer this vessel you have found.'

`It -would take too long. She may have weighed and gone overnight. And if they are aware of our presence and purpose, a boat attack would be useless in daylight, and in a confined inlet. You should know that, Mr. Davy.'

Davy looked at his shoes. `Yes, sir.'

Another heavy cask lurched down the beach, the men panting like animals running from the hounds.

Soames, who had trudged up the beach to listen, said suddenly, `She might be a slaver. In which case she will be well armed.' He rubbed his chin and nodded. `Yours is a good plan, sir.' His thick forefinger scratched over the chart. `We could cross the bottom of the hill where it reaches for the sea and strike south. If we travel lightly we should be at the inlet before dark.' He looked at Davy, his eyes hard. 'I'11 pick some good men. Ones who won't falter when the passage gets rough.'

Davy said nothing, he was obviously smarting because Soames had offered a course of action rather than an unthinking suggestion.

Bolitho looked towards the ship. `Very well. We will rest the hands for half an hour. Then we will begin. Forty men should be sufficient if we are careful. It may be a complete waste of time.' He thought of the silent jungle. Watching. `But to be anchored so dangerously inland? I doubt it.'

He beckoned to Penn. `I will write my orders for the first lieutenant, and you will take them across directly. Undine will send her boats tomorrow morning and pick us up from seaward. By then we should know.' He glanced at Davy. `One way or the other.'

He saw Keen coming out of the trees, a pistol hanging casually from his belt. As he turned towards the sea he halted and raised one arm to point. It was the jolly boat, darting across the water at full speed, the oars winking in the sunlight like silver.

Eventually it ground on to the beach, and without waiting for it to be made fast, Midshipman Armitage leapt over the gunwale and then fell face down on the sand.

Allday, who had been watching critically, exclaimed, `God damn me, Captain! That young gentleman will stumble on an acorn!'

Armitage hurried up the beach, his cheeks scarlet as he dashed past the groups of grinning seamen.

He stammered, `Mr. Herrick's respects, sir!' He paused to wipe sand from his chin. `And we have sighted some small craft to the north of here.' He pointed haphazardly into the trees. `A whole party of them. Mr. Herrick thinks they may come this way, although ...' he stopped, screwing up his face as he usually did when passing a message, `... although they have vanished for the present.' He nodded, relieved, as he recalled the last part. `Mr. Herrick suggests they have gone into another beach for some purpose.'

Bolitho gripped his hands behind him. The very thing he had been expecting had happened. It could not have come at a worse time.

`Thank you, Mr. Armitage.'

Davy said quietly, `That has put paid to the venture, sir. We cannot be divided if hostile natives are about.'

Soames said scathingly, `A plague on that, Mr. Davy! We have enough powder and shot to scatter a thousand bloody savages !'

`That will do!' Bolitho glared at them, his mind struggling with the problem. `Mr. Herrick is probably correct. They may have gone ashore to hunt, or to make camp. Either way, it makes our mission all the more urgent.' He watched Soames thoughtfully, seeing the mixture of anger and triumph in his deepset eyes. `Select your men at once.'

Davy asked stiffly, `What will I do, sir?'

Bolitho turned away. In a hand-to-hand struggle Soames would be the better man. If things went against them, Herrick would need brains rather than brawn if he was to continue the voyage on his own resources.

`You will return to the ship with the last of the shore parties.' He scribbled a note on Fowlar's pad. `And you will convey my . . . 'he hesitated, not seeing the desperation which clouded Davy's face, `... my ideas to him as best you can.'

Davy said tightly, `I am senior to Soames, sir. It is my right to take part in this!'

Bolitho looked at him calmly. `I will decide where your duty lies. Your loyalty I take for granted.' He watched Soames marching up and down a double line of men. `Your turn will come, be sure of that.'

A shadow fell across Fowlar's chart and Bolitho saw the Spanish lieutenant, Rojart, watching him, his face as sad as ever.

`Yes, Teniente?'

He must have come ashore in one of the other boats.

Rojart said, `I arrive to offer my services, Capitan.' He looked at Davy and Allday, his face very proud. `Don Luis 'as instructed me to do all I can to 'elp you.'

Bolitho sighed. Rojart had already shown himself to be somewhat of a dreamer. Or perhaps his cruel experiences in the shipwreck had made him as he was. But one more officer, Spanish or not, would be useful. He also provided an excuse.

He said to Davy, `So you see, Mr. Herrick will need your services more than ever now?'

To Rojart he replied, `I accept your offer, Teniente, thank you.'

The Spaniard gave a flashing smile and bowed. `Your servant, Capitin!'

Allday grinned and murmured, `God help us all!'

Another cask was being manhandled on to the beach, and Duff puffed out of the trees, folding his spectacles as he shouted, `That be the last 'un, sir!' He beamed at the onlookers. `A full load!'

Soames tightened his swordbelt and said, `Ready when you are, sir.' He pointed to the assembled seamen. `All armed, but without any unnecessary gear to drag 'em back.' He ignored Davy.

Keen and his pickets were gathering at the end of the beach, and by the shallows Pryke stood guard over an odd pile of timber which his mates had collected for him.

Davy touched his hat formally. `I wish you luck, sir.'

Bolitho smiled. `Thank you. I hope we will not need it just yet.'

He glanced at Fowlar. `Lead the way and make notes as we go. Who knows, we may come here again some day.'

Then he turned his back on the sea and strode up the beach towards the trees.

`We will rest now.'

Bolitho dragged his watch from his breeches pocket and peered at it. Its face was harder to see than the last occasion. When he looked up at a gap in the trees he thought the sky was already duller, the trees touched with purple instead of gold. Around him the seamen dropped wearily on their knees or leaned against the trees, trying to gain relief after their forced march. The first part had not been too difficult. With axes swinging to carve a trail, they had made good time, but as they drew closer to where Bolitho and Fowlar estimated the inlet lay, they had stopped using axes, and had fought their way through the brush and creeper with bare hands.

He looked at them thoughtfully. Their shirts were ripped and torn, faces and arms bloody from encounters with treacherous branches and thorns. At their backs the intertwined trees

had grown blacker, and seemed to shiver in the vapour of dead vegetation as if in a wind which could not be felt.

Soames was wiping his face and neck with a rag. `I've sent scouts ahead, sir.' He knocked a water bottle from a man's mouth. `Easy, damn you! That may have to last awhile yet!'

Bolitho saw him with different eyes. Like the men Soames had selected as scouts, for instance. Not the toughest or the most seasoned seamen as a lieutenant of his background might be expected to choose. Both scouts were from Undine's newest recruits and had never been to sea before. One had worked on a farm, and the other had been a Norfolk wildfowler. Excellent choices both, he thought. They had gone off into the trees with hardly a sound.

Allday muttered, `What d'you think, Captain?'

His sturdy figure, familiar and reassuring, made Bolitho relax slightly.

He replied, `I think we are very near now.'

He wondered how Herrick was managing, and whether he had sighted any more native craft. He shivered. Like most of his men, he felt out of place here.

‘Cut off.’ Fowlar hissed, `Stand to, lads! Someone's a'comin'!'

Muskets moved blindly in the gloom, and a few men started to draw their cutlasses.

Soames snapped, `A scout!' He strode towards the shadow. `By God, Hodges, that was quickly done.'

The man stepped into the small clearing and looked at Bolitho.

`I found the ship, sir. She be about 'alf a mile away.' He stretched out one arm. `If we veers a piece we should be able to reach 'er within the hour.'

`What else?'

Hodges shrugged. He was a lean man, and Bolitho could well picture him as a wildfowler, creeping about in the Norfolk marshes.

He said, `I didn't stray too near, you'll understand, sir. But they're anchored close in. There's more on 'em ashore in a clearing. I 'card someone,' he faltered, `sort of moanin'.' He shuddered. `It made me flesh tingle, I can tell you, sir.'

Soames said harshly, `As I thought. Bloody slavers. They'll have a camp ashore. They collect the poor devils and sort 'em into groups. Girls in one party, men in t'other. They weigh 'em, then decide who will last the voyage to wherever the cargo is bound.'

Fowlar spat on the dead leaves and nodded. `The rest they leave behind. Cut their throats to save powder and shot.'

Bolitho looked at the scout, trying to shut Fowlar's blunt comment from his thoughts. Everyone knew it happened. Nobody seemed to know how to deal with it. Especially when many influential persons reaped a rich profit from the trade.

`Are there guards about?'

`I saw two, sir. But they seem well content. The ship 'as two guns run out.'

Soames grunted. `No doubt. A bellyful of grape or canister if anyone tries to free those bastards!'

The Spanish lieutenant moved amongst them. Despite the rough passage through the trees he managed to remain very elegant in his ruffled shirt and wide cuffs.

'Per'aps we should continue towards the shore, Capitan.' He shrugged eloquently. `There is no sense in arousing this ship if she is a mere slaver, yes?'

Soames turned away, saying nothing. But Bolitho guessed that like most sailors he was disgusted that Rojart could accept slavery as a natural state of affairs.

`We go forward, Teniente. In any case, our boats will not come for us until tomorrow.'

He looked at Soames. `Take charge. I am going to see for myself.' He beckoned to Midshipman Keen. `You, too.' As he felt his way out of the clearing he added, `The rest of you, be ready to follow. No talking, and hold on to each other if you fear getting separated. Any man who fires a musket by whatever means or accident will feel my anger!'

Hodges pushed ahead saying, `My mate, Billy Norris, is keepin' a weather eye on 'em, sir. Follow close. I've marked the way.'

Bolitho took his word, although he could see no marks anywhere.

It was amazing how near they had been. It seemed no time at all before Hodges was tapping his arm and gesturing for him to take cover amidst some sharp-toothed scrub, and here, opening up like a theatre, was the inlet. And how much lighter it seemed, the sunlight still lingering on the trees, and painting the sluggishly moving water with rippling reflections.

He eased himself forward, trying to ignore the painful jabs in his hands and chest. Then he froze, forgetting all the discomfort and uncertainty as he saw the ship for the first time.

Behind him he heard Allday voicing his thoughts.

`By God, Captain, it's the one which lured the Dons on to that reef!'

Bolitho nodded. The brigantine appeared larger in the confined inlet, but there was no mistaking her. He. knew he would not forget her for many a year to come.

He heard the same pitiful moaning Hodges had described, and then the sharp clatter of steel on the ,far side of the inlet.

Allday whispered, `Putting manacles on the wretches.'

`Yes.'

He wriggled forward again, seeing the brigantine's anchor cable, a boat alongside, the glow of light from her poop. As before, no flag. But there was no doubting her watchfulness. Two guns already run out, muzzles depressed to rake any attacker.

A boat glided from the shore, very slowly, and Bolitho tensed as a woman cried out, the sound dragging at his nerves as it echoed around the trees.

`Taking slaves aboard.' Allday ground his teeth. `They'll be off shortly. That's my guess.'

Bolitho agreed.

To Keen he said, `Fetch the others. Tell them to take care.' He sought out the crouching shape of the second scout. `You go with him.'

To Allday he said quietly, `If we can seize her, we'll know for sure who was behind Nervion's destruction.'

Allday had his cutlass in both hands. `I'm for that, Captain!'

More thuds and sounds from alongside the brigantine, and another shrill cry rising to a scream until it was swiftly silenced by a blow.

Bolitho tried to estimate how far this point was from the sea. The slaver's master would need to be able to slip away as quietly as he had entered. He would require stealth. As little noise as possible until he was clear. It seemed incredible to be watching this same vessel. While Undine had waited to search for Nervion's survivors, and had then taken wide detours to avoid land and other ships, the slaver had pushed on with his own affairs. As if nothing had happened. It took iron-hard nerves for that. There were more sharp cries. Like animals at slaughter. Slavers had no nerves. No pity.

He heard furtive noises behind him and Soames's voice, flat, unemotional.

`Young Keen was right then. It is the same vessel.' He squinted at the tree-tops beyond the brigantine. `Not much time left, sir. It'll be as black as a boot in an hour. Maybe less.'

`What I believe, too.' Bolitho looked at the clearing where the slaves were being gathered. A few wisps of smoke from fires. Probably for a blacksmith to work on the manacles. But it was the weakest point. `Take twenty men and move around the camp. At the first sign of alarm you open fire with everything you have. Create panic if nothing else.'

`Aye. Makes sense.'

Bolitho nodded, his mind chilling with excitement. A kind of madness which always came at such moments.

`I'll want ten men who can swim. If we can board her while the slaves are being loaded, we might be able to hold the poop until you rush the boats and join us.'

He heard Soames rubbing his chin.

`A wild plan, sir, but it's now or never, it seems to me.'

`It's settled then. Tell Rojart to keep a few hands here to protect our flank. For this is the way we must go if all fails.' Soames started to crawl away, hissing his orders into the forest until he appeared satisfied.

Other figures rustled and grunted nearby, and Keen said, `Our party is ready, sir.'

`Our party?'

Keen's teeth looked very white in the fading light. `I am an excellent swimmer, sir.'

Allday muttered anxiously, `I hope there are none of those damned serpents in the water.'

Bolitho looked around at their faces. How well he had got to know most of them. He saw it all in these last moments. Fear, anxiety, wildness to match his own. Even brutal eagerness.

He said shortly, `We will slide into the water below the bushes. Leave your shoes and everything else but your weapons.' He sought out Allday. `See that the pistols are well wrapped. It should keep them dry for a while.'

He studied the sky. It was darkening swiftly, and only the tree-tops still held the gentle glow of sunlight. In the inlet and around the anchored brigantine the water was dull. Like liquid mud.

`Nosy !'

He caught his breath as the water came up to his waist and then his neck. It was very warm. He waited a few more seconds, expecting to hear a shout or the sound of a musket. But the muffled cries from the camp told him he had chosen the time well. They were too busy to watch everywhere at once.

The others were in the water behind him, their weapons held high as they paddled slowly away from the bank.

Keen was overtaking him, his arms moving smoothly. He whispered, `I'll make for the cable, sir.' He was actually grinning.

Further, and further still, until they had passed the halfway, and Bolitho knew if they were discovered now they would be lost. The masts and yards stood high overhead, the furled sails sharp against the sky, the lantern light shining more brightly in the descending gloom. Feet thudded on deck and a man laughed wildly. A drunkard's laugh. Perhaps you needed extra rum for such work, he thought.

And then, as if by magic, they were all together, clawing the rounded hull below the starboard cathead, the current dragging at their legs, folding them against the rough timbers as they fought to stay concealed.

Allday gasped, `The boats'll never see us here. We're safe for a bit.'

At that very instant a terrible cry floated across the water, and for a moment Bolitho imagined someone had been killed.

But the seaman at his side was floundering and pointing towards the bank which they had just left.

Even in the dying light it was easy to recognise Rojart's ruffled shirt. He was standing in the open, his arms held out as if to seize the inlet and everything it contained. He yelled again and again, waving his fists, stamping his feet, as if he had gone raving mad.

Rojart's sudden appearance had brought a complete hush to the brigantine's deck, but now as voices babbled and shouted and more feet thudded along the planking, Bolitho knew any hope of surprise was gone.

Keen had been clinging to the bobstay below the bowsprit, but now allowed himself to drift down towards him.

He gasped wretchedly, `Nobody told Rojart it was the ship which sank Nervion. He must have just discovered-'

The sound of the shot was deafening and seemed to come from almost overhead. The smoke gushed and eddied across the swirling water, making more than one man duck his face to avoid a fit of coughing.

Before it hid the bank Bolitho saw Rojart hurled away by a full charge of canister. A bloody rag. Not a man at all.

He clung to the line which Allday had bent on to the bobstay and tried to clear his mind. The unexpected and unforeseen.

He winced as another shot crashed out from further aft, the hull shivering under his fingers as if alive. A ball this time, he heard it smashing through the trees and then fading away completely.

And it was then, from beyond the hidden camp, that Soames's men opened fire.

7

Herrick’s Decision

The sporadic bang of musket fire was almost drowned by the mingled cries and screams from the terrified slaves. Bolitho heard men tumbling into a boat on the opposite side of the brigantine, and confused yells which were probably to encourage their companions in the camp.

He gestured to Allday. `Now! Over the bows!'

His limbs were like lead as he hauled himself up and across the small beakhead, his heart pounding his ribs, hearing the gasps and frantic whispers from the men below him.

As they climbed on to the forecastle he saw groups of manacled natives, their naked bodies crowded together while they watched what was happening on the land. Two armed seamen stood beside a swivel gun, but as the boat pulled away from the side they were unable to fire without hitting their comrades.

Allday bellowed, `At 'em, lads!' Then he was flying along the deck, his heavy cutlass taking a man across the neck and felling him without even a cry.

The second guard dropped on one knee and aimed a musket as more and more of Bolitho's party scrambled aboard. Faces lit up in the flash, and Bolitho felt the ball whine past, the sickening sound as it smashed into flesh and bone.

More of the brigantine's crew were dashing wildly from the poop, firing as they came, regardless of the screaming slaves who fell dying in their path.

A naked girl, her body shining with sweat, was trying to reach one of the fallen slaves, her arms pinioned by a length of chain. Husband? Brother? Bolitho had no time even to guess

as one of the crew hacked her down with his cutlass in order to bar the way aft.

Bolitho felt his sword jerk in his hand. as he crossed blades with the girl's killer. He saw the hatred on the man's bearded face, the madness in his eyes as they pressed forward and apart, feet sliding in someone's blood, bodies balanced to withstand each parry.

All round the deck others were fighting and slashing in the shadows with only an occasional pistol shot to throw light on friend and enemy.

Bolitho pushed the man against the main mast, forcing him backwards over the spider-band while their hilts stayed locked below his throat. He could feel the other man's anger giving way to fear, saw the sudden anguish as he jerked the hilt free and struck him hard across the mouth with it. As he fell away, gasping for breath, Bolitho turned and thrust. The man gave one shriek, lifting an arm as the blade drove under his shoulder and deeper still.

Allday dashed to his side and gasped, `Well done, Captain!' He rolled the man away with his foot. Then he snarled, `And another, by God!'

The seaman had jumped from the shrouds. To take them by surprise from above, to escape the unexpected attack, Bolitho did not know. All he heard was Allday's quick breathing, the swish of his blade as he slashed the man down and then finished him with one more terrible blow.

`Two boats comin', sir!'

Bolitho ran to the bulwark, and then ducked as a ball slammed hard into the rail by his fingers.

He yelled, `Train that swivel on them!'

Someone scuttled past him firing a pistol as he fled from Allday's cutlass. Bolitho spun round, sobbing as the pain lanced into his thigh. But when he felt his leg and the jagged tear in his breeches there was no blood, no agonising splinter of broken bone.

The man who had fired had inadvertently run too close to the yelling slaves. Chains swung like serpents, and he vanished beneath a struggling heap of screaming, shining bodies.

Allday threw his arm around Bolitho's waist. `Where are you hit, Captain?' His anxiety was clear even amidst the din of shouting and screaming.

Bolitho pushed him aside, gasping between his teeth, `Hit my watch, damn his eyes!'

Allday grinned and ducked after him. `I think his time has stopped, too!'

Bolitho only glanced at the thing which had rolled away from the panting slaves. They had literally torn him to pieces.

He dragged Allday clear. `Stray too close and you will follow him!'

`Ungrateful dogs!'

Bolitho reached the abandoned swivel and swung it towards the nearest long boat.

`Probably think we are a different lot of slavers.'

He jerked the lanyard, feeling the hot breath from the muzzle as the canister exploded across the crowded boat. Screams and curses, bodies splashing in the water, and others still firing from the sternsheets.

He twisted round, trying to see where Soames had reached on the shore. But it was impossible to be certain. Shots stabbed and whimpered over the inlet, and once he thought he heard, steel on steel.

Then he turned and looked inboard. `How many?' He caught Keen's wrist as he lurched past, a dirk gleaming in one hand, an empty pistol held like a club in the other.

Keen stared at him dazedly. `We seem to have lost five of our people, sir. But the slavers have either been killed or have jumped overboard.'

Bolitho strained his ears for the sounds of more oars, the one thing which would tell him Soames was coming to his aid.

There was a loud thud from aft, and he guessed that another boat was grappling in readiness for boarding. He peered at his little party. Five dead, one obviously wounded. It was not enough.

Allday shouted hoarsely, `We can manhandle one of the guns to the hold and put a ball through her bottom! If we can hold 'em on the poop while-'

Bolitho shook his head, pointing at the slaves. `They are held by more than one chain. They would go down with the ship.'

He could feel the fight dying in his surviving men, like fire under heavy rain. Most of them were staring aft, each unwilling to be the first to challenge this new attack.

They did not have long to wait. The poop doors burst open and a group of men charged along the littered deck, their voices yelling wildly in what seemed like a dozen different languages.

Bolitho balanced himself on the balls of his feet, the sword angled across his body.

`Cut the cable! We'll let her drift ashore in the shallows!'

A ball shrieked above his head, and he turned to see one of his men sprawled headlong, blood gushing from his throat. He had been struck by a marksman somewhere in the shrouds.

Allday yelled, `Stand fast, you bastards!'

But it was useless, the remaining seamen were clambering forward again, dropping their weapons in their frantic haste to get away.

Only Keen remained between him and the beakhead, his arms at his sides, his young body swaying with exhaustion.

Allday said, `Come on, Captain! It's no use!' He fired a pistol into the advancing shadows, and grunted with satisfaction as a man screamed in agony.

The next seconds were too blurred to understand. One moment Bolitho was astride the bowsprit, and the next he was swimming towards the black wall of trees. He could not remember diving or regaining the surface, although his lungs were raw from shouting, from keeping alive.

Feathers of spray spurted nearby, and he heard feet stampeding along the brigantine's deck as more men climbed from boats or swam out from the shore. Shots whimpered above his head, and there was one short cry as a seaman was hit and disappeared beneath the surface.

`Keep together!'

It was all he could do to speak, and the foul-tasting water was slopping again and again into his mouth.

He saw a white figure splashing down the beach, and when he groped for his sword he stumbled headlong, his feet stubbing against sand and stone beneath him.

But it was Soames, his chest heaving from exertion, his hair wild as he pulled Bolitho to dry land.

Bolitho gasped at the air. They had failed. They had lost several good men. For nothing.

Allday was hauling Keen from the water, and two more figures lay on the sand like corpses, only their fierce breathing telling otherwise. There were no others.

A gun banged out from the brigantine, but the ball went wide, splintering through the trees to a chorus of shrieks from birds and slaves alike.

Soames said harshly, `I could only capture one boat, sir.. The slaver had a large party ashore.' He sounded angry. Despairing. `When they fired at that damn Spaniard my lads started to attack. It was too soon. I'm sorry, sir.'

`Not your fault.' Bolitho walked heavily along the water's edge, searching for one more swimmer. `How many did you lose?'

Soames replied indifferently, `Seven or eight.' He gestured to several dark shapes along the beach. `But we took a dozen of the others!' He added with sudden fury, `We could have taken that damn ship! I know we could!'

`Yes.' Bolitho gave up his search. `Muster our people and lead me to the boat. We must pick up Mr. Fowlar and his party while it's dark. The slaver will be ready for us by dawn, I'm thinking.'

It was not much of a boat, and leaked badly from a couple of stray musket balls.

One by one the weary seamen clambered into it, hardly looking at each other, or even caring where they were. If they were called on to fight now they would fail completely.

Bolitho watched them anxiously. Vaguely he recalled Herrick's words all those weeks back. Different in peacetime. Perhaps they were.

The wounded men were sobbing quietly, and he pushed Keen towards them. `See to them.' He saw the youth draw back, knew that he, too, was close to breaking. He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. `Hold on, Mr. Keen.'

To Soames he said quietly, `Mr. Fowlar's party can take the oars. They'll be in better shape.'

He turned as a new sound intruded from the trees. Like one huge beast stamping its feet, while a combined chorus of yells echoed and re-echoed around the inlet.

Allday muttered, `What in the name of God is that?'

`The slaves at the camp.' Soames was standing beside Bolitho as the boat edged away from the land. `They know something we don't.'

Bolitho swayed as the overloaded craft rocked dangerously in the current. The slaves must realise that, despite the brigantine's presence, and the power of her guns, they would not now be taken as captives to the other side of the world. Not this time anyway. He thought of the native craft Herrick had sighted. They might be here already.

He snapped, `Easy there! I can see Mr. Fowlar!'

The master's mate peered into the boat with obvious dismay. 'I'll never get my party in, too, sir!' Soames jerked his thumb towards the trees. `You will if you wish to stay alive!'

Allday took the tiller and checked each man as he climbed into the boat. Somehow they all got in, barely leaving the oarsmen room to pull, and with the hull so low in the water

there was hardly six inches of freeboard. `Shove off!'

He winced as a gun banged out, the long orange flame of fire darting from the vessel's side like a vicious tongue. The ball hissed astern of the boat and pounded into the sand.

Bolitho called, `Easy now! Watch the stroke, lads!'

Too many splashes and the gunners would have an aiming mark.

Keen whispered, `One of them has just died, sir.' He added hoarsely, 'Hodges.'

`Heave him over the side. Watch the trim, lads. Keep her steady.'

Poor Hodges. He would not walk in the marshes again. Never feel the North Sea on his face, or see the ducks in flight. He shook himself angrily. What was the matter with him?

The corpse drifted clear, and another man shifted along the thwart.

Soames observed, `They've ceased firing. Probably licking their wounds, like us.'

`Most likely.'

Bolitho felt the bitterness rising again. The slaver had lost several men, but had still enough captives to make his visit profitable whether he retrieved the rest from the camp or not. Whereas . . . He tried not to face the fact that they had failed.

His men had fallen back, probably because they had lost whatever faith they had held in him.

Nervion's attacker was as much a mystery as before. A slaver's crew was usually made up from the sweepings of many ports and many tongues. Perhaps Davy had been right after all, and he should never have attempted to capture the brigantine.

His head was aching to match the bruise on his thigh. He was barely able to think any more.

Fowlar said, `Mr. Mudge has explained it to me, sir. The ship will have to stand well out tomorrow because of the shoals hereabouts. The slaver's master doubtless knows a better passage, but . . .' He left the rest unsaid.

`Very well.' Bolitho saw an overhanging clump of trees reaching out across the water like a partly demolished bridge. `We will make fast here. Rest the men, and share out the last of our water and rations.'

Nobody replied, and some of them appeared to be sleeping where they sat or crouched like so many bundles.

He tried not to think about the brigantine. But for his action she would be in ignorance of Undine's presence. It was obvious they had not seen her, nor had they understood who had attacked and tried to capture their ship. After all, it was not unknown for one slaver to prey upon another for extra profit.

But now, because of his persistence, her master would recognise Undine as soon as he stood out to sea. Undine would be unable to venture too close inshore, and a long chase would prove just as fruitless. So, if he had been involved in delaying Puigserver's mission, he would now know that Undine at least was on her way.

He clenched his fingers around his sword until the pain steadied him. But for Rojart they would have succeeded. How many battles had been lost by a single, stupid oversight? Poor Rojart. The ship which had destroyed his Nervion was the last thing he had seen on earth. Then she had murdered him just as brutally.

The bowman called, `I can see a beach to larboard, Cap'nl Looks safe enough!'

Allday glanced at Bolitho's shoulders, feeling his despair as if it were his own.

Bolitho said, `Take her there, Allday.' He pushed his other thoughts aside with something like physical force. `We will work in three watches. Two hours at a time.' He tried again. `Post sentries, and keep a good lookout.'

The bowman leapt over the stem and waded into the shallows, a line across his ragged shoulder like a halter. The boat nudged on to hard sand, tilting drunkenly to the current and the sudden shift of men as they staggered ashore.

Bolitho listened to Soames as he picked out his sentries for the first watch. Had he been in charge of the boarding party, would he have hesitated? He doubted it. Soames would have done what he saw ass his duty, helpless slaves or not, and put a ball through the brigantine's bottom or touched off her magazine. In this climate she would have been gutted in minutes, leaving the slavers isolated and easy to capture at leisure.

Because he had not been able to destroy the slaves, Bolitho had gained nothing. And he had lost nearly a third of his original party as well.

Allday slumped down beside him and handed him a water flask.

`I've secured the boat, Captain.' He yawned hugely. `I just hope we don't have to pull too far in it, that's all.' Then he said, `Don't you fret, things aren't that bad.' When Bolitho remained silent he added, 'We've seen an' done much worse in our time. I know some of our people took to their heels instead of rallying when they were most needed, but times are different, or seem so to many of 'em.'

Bolitho looked at him dully, but could not see his expression.

`How so?'

Allday shrugged. `They don't see the sense in getting killed for a few slaves, or a ship they know nothing about. In the old Phalarope it was different, y'see. A flag to follow, an enemy you could recognise.'

Bolitho laid back against a tree and closed his eyes, hearing the jungle coming alive for the night. Squeaks and roars, groans and rustlings.

He said, `You mean that they do not care?'

Allday grinned. `If it was a proper war, Captain, a real one

like the last, we'd soon make 'em into fighters.'

`So, unless they are threatened personally they will not fight for those less fortunate?' Bolitho opened his eyes and studied the stars overhead. `Before this voyage is done, I fear that some of them may come to understand otherwise.'

But Allday had fallen asleep, his cutlass across his chest like a dead knight.

Bolitho stood up quietly and walked to the boat to see how the wounded man had settled down for the night. He saw the stars reflected on the sluggish water, and was surprised to discover he was feeling less despairing.

He looked back at the trees, but Allday's shape was lost in darkness. By accident or design he did not know, but it had often happened with Allday. He seemed to hit upon the very thing which was troubling him in his simple, open manner. Not dispel it completely, but stand back from it and keep it in its proper perspective.

When he reached the boat he found the seaman sleeping heavily, his rough bandage very white against the planking.

Keen looked up, startled. `Sorry, I did not see you, sir.'

Bolitho replied, `Rest, easy, Mr. Keen. We are snug here for the night.'

As he walked away, Fowlar, who had been washing his face and hands in the water, moved to the boat and said admiringly, `What a man, eh? Never a one to weep an' wail when things go hard.'

Keen nodded. `I know. I hope I'm like him one day.'

Fowlar laughed, the sound bringing more cries from the forest. `Bless you, Mr. Keen, I'm sure he'd be flattered to know that!'

Keen turned back to watch the wounded seaman. Under his breath he said fervently, `Well, I do, and that's an end to it!'

In the pale glow of morning both sea and sky were joined by a filtered, milky haze. As the overcrowded longboat moved ponderously away from the trees and tiny beaches which lined both sides of the inlet, Bolitho watched for some sign of life or movement which might betray an ambush. A few birds floated overhead, and far beyond the last jutting spit of land he saw open water, colourless in the strange light.

He turned his attention to the men in the boat. Their brief rest seemed to have had little effect. They looked tired and anxious, their clothes filthy with dirt and dried blood, faces dark with stubble. There was little to associate them with a King's ship.

Soames was standing upright beside Allday, peering ahead, watching the men who baled away the seeping water, keeping an eye on the remaining wounded sailor. His eyes were never still.

Keen was right forward, squatting on the stemhead, his bare legs and feet dangling in the water while he watched the nearest bank, his body sagging as if from a great weight.

The hull lifted and dipped as the first inshore swell rolled into the inlet. Some of the men croaked with alarm, but most merely stared listlessly in front of them, beyond caring.

Bolitho said, `We will turn to larboard when we get into open water. It will make our meeting with Undine's boats all the quicker.'

Soames glanced at him. `Could be hours before they come. It'll be like a damned oven today, I'm thinking.'

Bolitho groped for his watch and winced as his fingers touchqd the bruise. When he lifted the watch from his pocket he stared at it for several seconds, seeing where the ball had lanced from it, smashing both shield and mechanism to fragments, but saving him from injury. But for it, he would probably be dying now, or at best a prisoner aboard the brigantine.

Soames said quietly, `Made short work of that, sir.'

Bolitho nodded. He could remember exactly when his mother had given it to him. He had just been commissioned lieutenant. The watch had meant a lot to him, partly because it reminded him of her, of her gentleness and forbearance over losing her family to the sea.

The boat tilted, and several voices shouted in protest, and. he saw Keen struggling back into the hull, his face shocked as he yelled, `Ahead, sir! Larboard bow!'

Bolitho stood up, one hand on Allday's shoulder as he stared at the two low shapes which were emerging around the last spit of land. They were moving quite fast, the long paddles plunging and rising in perfect unison as they headed purposefully into the inlet.

Fowlar said harshly, `War canoes. I seen plenty on 'em in my time. There'll be more close by, if I'm not mistaken.' He dragged out his pistol and fumbled with a powder horn.

Soames slitted his eyes to watch the two low canoes, his face like a mask.

`God's teeth, there must be thirty men in each of 'em!'

One of the seamen shouted wildly, `It ain't fair! We got no reason to fear 'em, lads! We ain't no slavers!'

`Silence, that man!' Fowlar cocked the pistol and rested it on his forearm. `To them we're all the bloody same, so hold your noise P

Bolitho said, `Speed the stroke. They may let us pass.'

Allday kept his eyes on the oars. `If you say so, Captain.'

Another man called, `Astern, sir! I can see the brigantine's tops'ls !'

Bolitho turned carefully to avoid unsettling the oarsmen. The man had not been mistaken. Far astern, and moving at a snail's pace above some low trees, was a limp square of sail. The slaver must have taken stock of his position and got under way before dawn. The lifeless canvas told Bolitho that the ship was being warped downstream with the aid of her boats. But once in open water she would be free and away. He glanced again at the advancing canoes. Whereas he and his men would stay here and die. If they were lucky.

Soames asked, `What can we do, sir? We can't outpace those canoes, and they'll not let us get near enough to grapple.' He was fidgeting with his sword-hilt, showing anxiety for the first time.

Bolitho called, `Check the powder and shot.'

There would not be much left. What with the confused battle ashore and his own boarding party leaving their weapons behind, he could hope for very little.

Fowlar reported, `Bare enough for one shot per man, sir.'

`Very well. Send the two best marksmen aft. Give them all the powder you have.' To Soames he added softly, `We might hold them off until our own boats come for us.'

The canoes had stopped, their paddles glinting as they backed at the water, holding the slim hulls motionless like a pair of pike.

Bolitho wished he had a telescope, but that too lay somewhere in the jungle. He could see the natives clearly enough, their skins very black, their bodies angled to the paddles in readiness to move at a second's notice. In the stern of each hull was a tall man wearing a bright head-dress, his body hidden by an oval shield. He thought of the slaves in the clearing. The girl who had been killed on the brigantine's deck. These silent watchers would show no mercy for anyone. He saw the spears glinting in the growing sunlight. Only blood would satisfy them.

Nearer and nearer, until less than half a cable separated them from the poised canoes. Bolitho looked at the two muskets in the sternsheets. Fowlar had one, and a scar-faced seaman held the other. Between them the pile of powder and shot seemed even smaller now.

`Bear to starboard, Aliday.' He was surprised how unemotional he sounded. `They will have to move soon.'

As the longboat swung heavily towards the centre of the opening both canoes came alive, the paddles darting into the water at a great pace, the air suddenly filled with the beat of a drum and the animal cry of a single warrior in the prow of the leading craft.

Bolitho felt the boat thrusting ahead beneath his feet, saw the sweat on the oarsmen's faces, the eyes which turned to watch the oncoming canoes widening with fear.

He shouted, `Take care! Keep the stroke! Eyes in the boat!'

Something hit the water alongside and threw spray over his leg. It must have been a heavy stone, for immediately a whole volley of them rained down on the heads and backs of the struggling seamen, knocking some of them unconscious. The stroke was failing, and one oar had drifted away as still more jagged stones plunged amongst them.

Bolitho said, `Open fire!'

Fowlar squeezed his trigger, and cursed as the ball went astray. The other musket banged out, and one of the natives screamed and pitched from his canoe.

Soames yelled, `Keep baling!'

He fired his pistol abeam, and swore with satisfaction as another black figure plunged into the water.

Both canoes were swinging round in a wide arc to follow astern, one on either quarter. They were cut off now from each side of the inlet, and ahead the sea was opening up to greet them, mocking them with its emptiness.

Fowlar fired again, and had better luck, bringing down a plumed figure who was apparently beating out the time for the paddles.

The seamen were all so busy at the oars, or peering fearfully astern, that hardly any of them saw the real threat until it was almost too late.

Bolitho yelled, `Get forrard, Mr. Fowlar! Fire when you can!'

He stared fixedly at the canoes which had suddenly swept around the green hump of land, spreading out like a fan as they surged towards him. A dozen at least, all filled with whooping, screaming savages. The first shot made them falter, but only for minutes. Then they came on again, the canoes cutting through the inshore swell like sword-blades.

Some of the seamen were whimpering and pulling haphazardly at their oars, others tried to stand up, while a few began to gather fallen stones to defend themselves.

Fowlar yelled, `That is my last ball, sir!' He cursed as a heavy stone, hurled at extreme range by a sling, glanced off the gunwale and cut open the back of his hand.

The leading canoe was drawing very near, the din of chanting and the drum almost deafening.

Bolitho drew his sword and shouted, `Ready, lads !' He looked at his cowering men. `Close quarters!'

. But it was not to be. Instead, another volley of stones clattered over the boat, striking one seaman so badly that he fell overboard. The man with the musket fired and brought down two savages with one shot. The canoe swung away, some of the paddles being dropped so that the floundering seaman could be hauled up into their midst.

Bolitho watched, sickened, as they dragged the man to his feet, pinioning his arms and holding him so that he faced -the slow-moving longboat. He could see the blood on his neck where the stone had hit him, imagine his screams which were drowned by the yelling figures who held him. One, with a high head-dress, waved a knife above his head, back and forth, back and forth, so that the captured seamen followed it with his eyes as if watching a snake, his mouth like a black hole as he continued to scream.

The knife came down very slowly, the blood shining in the sunlight and making several of the seamen retch and groan with horror.

Allday said tightly, `Jesus Christ, they're skinning him alive !'

Bolitho seized the marksman's shoulder, feeling him jump as if he was dying with the man in the canoe.

`Do what you can.' He had to force the words out.

When he looked astern again he saw that the man was still alive, writhing like a soul in hell as the knife did its work.

The musket bucked against the sailor's shoulder, and Bolitho turned away, fighting back the nausea.

Soames said thickly, `The only way, sir. I'd not let a dog suffer like that.'

Fowlar shouted, `Brigantine's away, sir!'

The slaver had slipped into deeper water almost without anyone noticing her. Boats hoisted inboard, and already her foresail set and drawing well as she rode clear of the protecting land.

The canoes were forming into two arrowheads again, the drums getting wilder as they manoeuvred for the final attack.

Bolitho held his sword towards the hazy horizon. `Pull, lads! We'll not go under without a fight!'

It was an empty speech, but it was better than merely standing and watching them overwhelmed, tortured and killed without lifting a finger.

Allday whispered, `Here they come.' He held the tiller between his legs and drew his cutlass. `Keep close, Captain. We'll show the bastards.'

Bolitho looked at him. They were outnumbered ten to one, and his men were already fit to drop, the fight gone out of them.

He said simply, `We will, Allday.' He touched his thick forearm. `And thank you.'

A great yell made him turn, and as the boat swayed dangerously to the sudden shift of bodies he saw the crisp topsails and jib, the figurehead shining in the milky glare like pure gold, as Undine tacked around the headland, her starboard battery run out in a line of black teeth.

Soames bellowed, `Sit down! You'll have us in the sea otherwise !'

Allday said hoarsely, `Now, there is a sight, Captain.'

Fowlar called, `She's going about, sir! In God's name, she's a'comin' through the shoals!'

Bolitho could barely breathe as he watched Undine's graceful outline shortening, her sails in momentary disarray until the yards had been trimmed again. If she struck now she would share Nervion's fate, and worse, when the survivors were taken by the war canoes.

But she showed no hesitation, and he could see the bloodred coats of the marines along the quarterdeck nettings, and even imagined he could discern Herrick and Mudge beside the wheel as the frigate heeled heavily to the wind, her gunports almost awash.

Keen was yelling, `Huh.Za! Huh.Za, lads!' He was cheering and weeping, waving his shirt above his head, the closeness of danger forgotten.

The brigantine had already changed tack, clawing clear of a dark smudge below the surface while she set more sail to carry her to the south.

Fowlar said with disbelief, `She's goin' after the slaver! They must be mad!'

Bolitho,did not speak. Just watching his ship was enough. It told him what Herrick was thinking and doing, as if he had shouted it aloud. Herrick knew he could not engage all the canoes in time to save Bolitho and his small party. He was going to stop the brigantine and so distract the war canoes in the only way he knew.

As the realisation came to him, Undine opened fire. It was a slow, carefully-aimed broadside, the guns belching smoke and flame at regulated intervals while the frigate swept further and further amongst the hidden shoals.

Someone gave a cracked cheer as the brigantine's foretopmast shuddered and then curtsied down into the sea alongside in a tangle of rigging and canvas. The effect was immediate, and within seconds she was paying off to the wind, her hull broadside on as another volley crashed and ricocheted all around her. One twelve-pound ball struck the sea near her quarter and shattered into fragments, so near was the shoal to the surface.

`She's struck!'

Everyone was yelling and screaming like a madman, hugging each other and sobbing with disbelief.

Bolitho dragged his gaze from the brigantine which had slewed round either on a shoal or a sandspit, her canvas in pandemonium while she continued to drive ashore.

He held his breath as Undine shortened sail, the tiny figures on her yards like ants, her copper glinting brightly as she thrust round again on the opposite tack. Another half a cable, and she would have been aground.

Allday shouted, `She's hove-to, Captain, an' there's a boat being dropped!'

Bolitho nodded, unable to answer.

The canoes were paddling furiously towards the helpless brigantine, and more canoes had appeared around the headland, the latter very careful to stay clear of Undine's bared guns. The frigate's big launch was speeding across the choppy water, and when one of the canoes turned towards it the crash of its swivel gun was enough to make the yelling natives join their companions elsewhere.

Davy stood in the sternsheets, very erect and proper. Even his oarsmen seemed totally unreal against the tattered, cheering remnants of Bolitho's landing party.

The captured longboat was already sinking, more planks having been stove open by stones, and Bolitho doubted if they could have lasted another half-hour even without the attacking canoes.

As the launch. grappled alongside, and hands dragged the gasping survivors to safety, he turned to watch the listing brigantine. Even at this distance it was possible to hear the muskets, the baying chorus from the canoes as they surrounded her for the final attack. Revenge or justice, the slaver's end would be terrible indeed.

Davy took his wrist and helped him into the other boat. `Good to see you again, sir.' He looked at Soames and grinned. `And you, of course.'

Bolitho sat down and felt his limbs beginning to quiver uncontrollably. He kept his eyes on the ship as she grew and towered above him, very conscious of his own feelings for her, and those who had risked their lives for him.

Herrick was waiting to greet him, his anxiety matched only by his relief as he took Bolitho's hands and said, `Thank God you're safe!'

Bolitho fought for time, looking at the loosely flapping sails, the watching marines, the gun crews who had paused in their swabbing to look at him and grin. Herrick had taken a terrible chance. It had been sheer lunacy. And he could tell from Mudge's expression, beaming and nodding by the compass, that his was an equal share.

But there was something new here, which had been lacking before. He tried to name it.

Herrick was saying, `We heard the shooting, sir, and guessed you might be in trouble. Instead of sending boats, we came in strength, so to speak.' He let his glance move along the busy figures at the guns and waiting by the braces. `They did well. They were glad to be here.'

Bolitho nodded, understanding. Pride. That was it. To find it had cost them dear, and it could have gone much worse.

He said, `Get the ship under way, if you please. Let us stand away from this damnable coast.' He paused, searching for the words. `And, Thomas, if you ever doubt your ability to command again, I will remind you of today. You handled her to perfection.'

Herrick looked at Mudge and almost winked. `We have a good captain, sir, and are beginning to feel the benefit of his drills and exercises.'

Bolitho turned aft, suddenly spent. `I shall not forget.'

Then he walked to the cabin hatch with Allday at his heels.

Mudge ambled to Herrick's side. `A near thing, Mr. 'Errick. If you 'adn't given the order, I don't know if I'd 'ave 'ad the will to persist through them shoals.'

Herrick looked at him, remembering Bolitho's expression, the guard no longer hiding his thoughts.

`Well, Mr. Mudge, I reckon it was well worth it.'

He stared at the misty shore line and at a growing plume of smoke. The brigantine must have caught fire, he thought. For a while longer he held on to the picture of the battered, listing boat, with Bolitho upright in the sternsheets, that old tarnished sword in his hand. If he had not disobeyed Bolitho's order to put the ship's safety before all else, he would indeed be in command now, and Bolitho back there, dying in agony.

`Get the hands to the braces !' He walked to the rail with his speaking trumpet. `And God bless lady luck!'

Below the cabin hatch Bolitho heard Herrick laugh, and then the clatter of blocks as the seamen went to their stations for getting under way again.

Allday asked quietly, `Can I fetch you some wine, Captain? Or something a mite more powerful?'

Bolitho leaned against the mizzen mast trunk and felt it vibrating urgently to the pressure of wind and canvas high overhead.

'D'you know, Allday, I think that after all the trouble we went through to get it, I would like a glass of fresh water.'

8

Madras

Bolitho stood very still by the quarterdeck rail and watched the vast spread of land which reached away on either bow. In the morning sunlight the countless white buildings seemed to rise tier upon tier, the uneven skyline decorated at irregular intervals by tall minarets and plump golden domes. It was breathtaking, and he could tell from the quiet way the seamen were moving around the decks that they were equally impressed.

He turned and looked at Herrick. Very tanned, and strangely unreachable in his best uniform.

`We did it.'

Bolitho raised his telescope and watched some high-prowed dhows scudding abeam, their gaunt sails like wings. Even they were part of the magic.

Mudge said, `Ease off a point'. Then he, too, fell silent as the wheel squeaked over.

Perhaps he was satisfied, and so he should be, Bolitho thought. Madras, the name itself was like one great milestone for what they had achieved together. Three months and two days after weighing anchor at Spithead. Back there, Bolitho had seen disbelief on Mudge's heavy face when he had suggested they might make the voyage in one hundred days.

Herrick said quietly, `Aye, sir. Since we quit the African coast lady luck came with us for certain.' He grinned broadly.

`You and your lady luck.' But he smiled all the same.

It had seemed much as Herrick had described. Within a few days of leaving the land, the dead and dying far astern, the wind had risen from the south-west, the fringe of the monsoon which on this occasion had acted as a friend. Day after day, with all sail set, Undine had bounded along, freely, recklessly, her forecastle never clear of bursting spray, while dolphins and other strange fish had stayed close in company. It was just as if that terrible confrontation with the war canoes, seeing the seaman being flayed alive, and all else had been one last great challenge.

He glanced up at the gently flapping topsails and forward to the solitary jib, the power barely enough now to carry them into the wide anchorage and between that impressive spread of shipping.

Madras, the most important British station on the south-east coast of another continent. A stepping-stone to advancement elsewhere, to trade and further discovery. Even the names were like fresh challenges. Siam and Malacca, south-east to Java, and beyond to a million unknown islands.

He saw a towering merchantman spreading more sail as she tacked heavily into a pale bank of sea-haze. With her chequered gunports and impeccable sail drill she could have been a manof-war. But she was one of the East India Company's ships, and three months back Bolitho would have given his right arm for just a few of her seamen. Well trained and disciplined, they were far superior to the Navy's companies in many respects. The Company could and did afford better pay and conditions for its people, while the Navy still had to depend on what it could get by other means, and in time of war that usually meant relying on the pressgangs.

Bolitho had often considered the unfairness of the system. One day, perhaps in his own life, he hoped to see the change come. When the Navy could offer the same fair inducements.

The big Indiaman's flag dipped from her peak, and Bolitho heard Keen calling to his signalling party to return the salute.

Then he looked again at his own company, knowing he would not willingly change them now, merely because it would make life easier. Browned by the sun, toughened by hard work and regular drills with sails and weapons, they were a far cry from that motley assortment at Spithead.

He glanced towards the Indiaman and smiled. Perfect or not, she had had to dip her flag to a King's ship. His Undine.

Mudge blewhis nose and called, "Bout five minutes now, sir.'

Bolitho raised his hand and saw the master's mate with the anchor party acknowledge. It was Fowlar. A man who had proved his worth, and his loyalty. Who had already earned promotion whenever an opportunity came.

Captain Bellairs was inspecting his marine drummers, and looking even more like a toy soldier in the blazing sunlight.

Davy and Soames were on the gun deck with their separate divisions, and the ship had never looked better.

He heard voices behind him and turned to see Don Puigserver and Raymond speaking together by the taffrail. Like him, they were probably eager to discover what awaited them here in Madras. Puigserver was surprisingly elegant. His clothing consisted of a lieutenant's dress-coat which had been taken apart and re-fashioned by Mrs. Raymond's maid, aided willingly by Jonas Tait, Undine's sailmaker. Tait had one eye, but was very skilful, even if he was the most villainous looking man aboard. The maid seemed to find him fascinating.

`Well, Captain, you must be pleased with yourself today?'

Mrs. Raymond stepped from the cabin hatch and crossed to his side. She walked easily, so used had she become to Undine's motions and behaviour in every sort of sea. She, too, had altered. Still aloof for much of the time, yet lacking the old veil of disinterest in shipboard life which had first irritated Bolitho. Her large stock of personal delicacies which had come aboard at Santa Cruz had long been consumed, and yet she had taken to the cabin's simple fare with little complaint.

`I am, ma'am.' He pointed towards the bows. `You will soon be able to shed the smells and sounds of a small frigate. I have no doubt that an English lady reigns like a queen out here.'

`Perhaps.' She turned her head as if to watch her husband. `I hope to see you when you come ashore. Here, after all, you are king?' She laughed lightly. `In many ways I am sorry to leave the ship.'

Bolitho watched her thoughtfully. He remembered when he had arrived aboard after the running battle with the canoes. Spent, almost asleep on his feet as weariness replaced the will to fight, and memory pushed aside his immediate relief at his own survival. She had guided him to a chair, rapping out orders to her maid, to a startled Noddall, and even to Allday as she had taken charge. She had told someone to fetch the surgeon, but when Bolitho had said harsly, `I'm not hurt! The ball hit my damned watch!', she had thrown back her head and laughed. The unexpected reaction had angered him, then as she had gripped his hand, quite unable to stop her laughter, he had found himself joining in. Perhaps that, more than anything else, had steadied him, had released all the anxiety he had been forced to conceal until that moment.

Some of it must have shown on his face as he remembered, for she said softly, `Can I share them?'

`My thoughts?' He smiled awkwardly. `I was thinking of something. My watch.'

He saw her lip begin to tremble again, and wondered why he had not noticed the fine shape of her chin and throat. Until now. When it was too late. He felt himself flushing. For what?

She nodded. `It was cruel to laugh so. But you looked-so angry, when anyone but you would have been grateful.'

She turned her face away as Herrick called, `Ready, sir!V

'Carry on, Mr. Herrick.'

`Aye, sir.' But his eyes were on the woman. Then he. hurried to the rail yelling, `Man the lee braces ! Hands wear ship!'

Undine swung easily into the wind, her anchor splashing down into water so blue it looked like satin.

Puigserver pointed at a small procession of boats which were already moving towards the ship and said, `A time for ceremony, Capitan. Poor Rojart would have enjoyed this part.'

He was a different man now. Steely eyed, impatient to move again. To get his plans into order.

Behind him, Raymond was watching the oncoming boats with a look of apprehension rather than excitement on his face.

With the anchor down, and all sails neatly furled, Undine's decks were bustling with life as her company prepared to take on stores, visitors, or whatever they were ordered to do. Above all, to be ready to sail again within hours, should it be required.

Bolitho knew he would be needed for a dozen things at once. Even now he could see the purser hovering to catch his eye, and Mudge, waiting to suggest or ask something.

He said, `Perhaps I will see you on land, Mrs. Raymond.' The others were listening, and he could feel their glances, their interest. `It has not been an easy passage for you, and I would wish to thank you for your, er,' he faltered, seeing her lip quiver very slightly, `forbearance.'

Equally gravely she replied, `And may I thank you in turn, Captain, for your companionship.'

Bolitho made to bow to her, but she held up her hand and said, `Until the next time, Captain.'

He took her hand and touched the back of it with his lips. He felt her fingers give his just the merest squeeze, and when he glanced at her face he knew it was no accident.

Then it was all over as he was caught up in the turmoil of receiving visitors from the governor and handing his despatches to the officer of the guardboat.

As a brightly-canopied launch pulled clear of Undine's black shadow he saw his passengers looking astern towards him, growing smaller with each sweep of the oars.

Herrick said cheerfully, `I expect you'll be glad to have the cabin to yourself, sir. You've waited long enough.'

`Yes, Thomas. Indeed I will.'

`Now, sir, concerning extra hands ...'

Herrick had seen the lie in Bolitho's grey eyes, and decided it was prudent to change the subject immediately.

It was late afternoon when Bolitho received a summons to report in person to the governor. He had begun to think that his part of the mission had been cancelled, or that in Madras his -status had shrunk so much he would merely stay at arm's length and do as he was bid whenever it might suit the proper authority.

Accompanied by Herrick and Midshipman Keen, he was carried ashore in Undine's gig, despite a haughty equerry's insistence that a local boat would be more fitting and comfortable.

An open carriage was waiting to convey them to the governor's residence, and for the whole of the short journey they barely exchanged a word. The bright colours, the surrounding press of chattering people, the whole strangeness of the town took their complete attention. Bolitho found the people very interesting indeed. How different their skins were, ranging from pale brown, no darker than young Keen's tan, to those who were as black as the warriors he had seen in Africa. Turbans and flowing robes, cattle and dejected goats, all milled across the winding streets, in and around the curtained shops

and bazaars in an unending panorama of noise and movement.

The governor's residence was more like a fort than a house,

with slits in the walls for weapons, and well guarded by Indian troops. The latter were most impressive. Turbaned and bearded, yet they wore the familiar red coat of British infantry set off with baggy blue pantaloons and high white gaiters.

Herrick gestured to the flag which drooped, barely moving, from a high staff and murmured, `That, at least, is familiar.'

Once through the gates and into the cool shadows of the house it was another world again. The noise of the streets was sealed off as if by a great door, and all around was an air of watchful elegance. Fine rugs and heavy brass ornaments, barearmed servants who moved noiselessly like ghosts, and tiled passageways which led away in every direction as in a maze.

The equerry said smoothly, `The governor will see you at once, Captain.' He eyed the others without enthusiasm. `Alone.'

Bolitho looked at Herrick. `Mr. Keen will remain here in case I need to pass a message to the ship. You can make good use of your time as you will.' He turned to hide his face from the equerry. `Don't forget to keep an eye open for extra hands.'

Herrick grinned, relieved perhaps at being spared yet another set of questions and answers. The visitors to the ship had kept him on his feet since the anchor had been let go. The sight of an English frigate seemed to attract far more interest than the comings and goings of merchantmen. A link with home. Some word or hint of what these people had left behind in their search for empire.

He said, `Good luck, sir. This is a far cry from Rochester!'

The equerry watched him leave and then glanced at Keen. To Bolitho he said, `I'll send the young gentleman to the troops' quarters if you wish.'

Bolitho smiled. `I am sure he will be happier here.'

Keen met the man's stare calmly and replied, `Indeed I will, sir.' He could not resist adding, `My father will be glad to learn of your hospitality when next I write.'

Bolitho turned away. `His father owns quite a large portion of your trading agency here.'

The equerry said no more, but led the way down the grandest of the passages. He opened some double doors and an pounced with as much dignity as he still retained, `Captain Richard Bolitho of His Britannic Majesty's Ship Undine.'

Bolitho already knew the governor's name, but little else about him. Sir Montagu Strang was almost hidden behind a great desk, the sides of which appeared to be made of ebony, with feet fashioned of massive silver claws. He was a frail, grey-haired man, with a pallid complexion which told its own story of some past fever. Hooded eyes, a thin, unsmiling. mouth, he was studying Bolitho's approach along a strip of blue carpet as a hunter might examine a possible victim.

`Welcome, Bolitho.' The thin mouth turned upwards a fraction, as if it hurt him to make the effort.

It was then and only then Bolitho realised that Strang's attitude was not one of disdain, for as he moved around the desk he saw that the governor had been standing to receive him, and not in a chair as he had first thought.

`Thank you, sir.'

Bolitho tried not to show surprise, or worse, pity. Down to his waist Sir Montagu was a normal if slight figure. Beyond that his legs were tiny, those of a dwarf, and his neat hands hung seemingly to his knees.

Strang continued in the same crisp tone, `Please select a chair. I have a few things to say before we join the others.' He let his gaze move over him before adding, `I have read your report, and those of certain onlookers. You did well, and have made a fast passage. Your action in trying to save Nervion's people, your attack on the slave-ship, if only partly successful, are the two better pieces of news today.'

Bolitho sat down on the edge of a throne-like chair and then realised for the first time that the great overhead fan was being worked by a tiny Indian who was squatting in a far corner, apparently asleep, his bare foot jerking a cord to keep it in regular motion.

Strang returned to his desk and sat down. Bolitho guessed he always behaved in this manner with a new visitor. To get it over with and avoid embarrassment. He had heard that Strang had spent many years in India, as a representative of government, as an adviser on trade and native affairs. A very important man. No wonder he had chosen power out here rather than suffer the constant humiliation of gaping eyes in London.

He said calmly, `Now, Bolitho, to business. I have been waiting too long for despatches, wondering if my original suggestions have been accepted. Nervion's loss was a serious blow, but your apparent determination to continue with the voyage without further advice cancels it out in some ways. You have Don Puigserver's admiration, it seems, although whether that is good or bad remains to be seen.' His hooded eyes flashed angrily. `The Spaniards lost great opportunities in Teluk Pendang. As a race they are stealers rather than builders. The sword and the crucifix are about the most they can offer.'

Bolitho gripped his hands together and tried not to let his mind drift on Strang's words. So the mission was still in being. Undine would be going to Teluk Pendang.

Strang said sharply, `I can see that you are ahead of me, Bolitho 1 Allow me to fill in a few small chinks, eh?' Then he smiled. `But it is refreshing to find one still able to think at all.'

Beyond the cool room Bolitho heard the distant call of a bugle. It sounded strangely sad.

Strang saw his expression and said, `We were hard put during the war. Hyder Ali, the ruler of Mysore, and one with a real hatred for us, had plenty of support from the French. But for the Navy, I fear the Fleur de Lys and not the Union Flag would fly above here today.' He continued in an almost matter-of-fact tone. `But that is not your concern. The sooner we can install a British governor in Pendang Bay the better I will be pleased. Since the end of the war, the Spanish garrison there, which comprised mainly of native soldiers, has been in a state of confusion. Fever and some sort of mutiny made their work impossible. I am hardly surprised that the King of Spain is so willing to rid himself of the station.' His voice hardened.

`However, under our protection it will prosper. The local native ruler is harmless enough. He must be, to allow the Spanish garrison to be alive. But further to the west is a vast area, almost uncharted, and plundered by another, less charitable prince, Muljadi. If we are to extend our gains, he must be contained, is that understood?'

`I think, so, sir.' Bolitho frowned. `Yours is a great responsibility.'

`Quite. The wind always shakes the top of the tree, Bolitho., 'I am not certain what I will be required to do, sir. I would have thought a fresh garrison of soldiers would be a better force than mine.'

`I know otherwise.' His voice was scathing as he added, `Native troops for the most part, with British officers whose minds have become numbed by heat and other, er, local attractions. I must have mobility. Your ship, in fact. The French, as you are now aware, are very interested. They have a frigate somewhere in those waters, and that, too, you know. Which is why I cannot afford open conflict. If we are to succeed, we must be in the right.'

`And if this Muljadi opposes us, or those showing friendship, sir?'

Strang walked to a wall tapestry and touched it lightly. `You will crush him.' He swung round with surprising agility. `In the King's name.'

He picked up a small bell and shook it impatiently. `I am arranging a transport for the troops, and all the stores required. The East India Company will provide a suitable vessel in due course. The rest will be up to you. Under the new governor's hand, that is. Rear Admiral Beves Conway has made many of the arrangements.' He darted a quick glance at him. `You know him then?'

`Why, yes, sir.' Bolitho's mind grappled with a dozen memories at once. `He commanded the Gorgon, seventy-four. My second ship.' He smiled, despite Strang's set features. `I was sixteen.'

`It will be an interesting reunion, no doubt.' Strang glared at the open door where a servant stood watching him anxiously.

`Take the captain to the chamber. And next time I ring this bell I want you here at once!'

As Bolitho made to leave, Strang added, `You saw a Company ship leaving harbour as you entered today?'

`Yes, sir.'

`Homeward bound. A rich cargo for England.' He smiled gently. `No, I am not full of regrets or pining for the homeland, which in any case is Scotland. I merely wished you to know that the vessel's crew had a long night's celebration, too much to drink, a way sailors have.' He turned his back. `Some twenty of her hands were too drunk to return on board. They are in the care of my officers. They have enough to do without the trouble of drunken oafs who, had they been in a naval vessel, would no doubt have been flogged for desertion. I do not wish to know about it further, but should your lieutenants care to take over the responsibility, I am certain you could make better use of some extra men.'

Bolitho smiled. `Thank you, sir.'

`I will join you shortly. Now go and take wine with my staff.' Bolitho found Keen in the entrance hall, and passed the news to him without delay.

The midshipman's eyes widened: and he said, `I'll tell Mr. Davy at once, sir. Though I doubt if "John Company" will thank you for taking hands from an Indiaman.' He chuckled. `Nor will they, sir!'

Bolitho hurried along the passage where he had seen the servant waiting for him, his mind returning to Strang's other news. Beves Conway, then the captain of a two-decker, had always been something of a hero to him. Cold and remote in many ways, but a superb seaman, and not one given to undue harshness, even with his midshipmen.

He had left the Gorgon before Bolitho, having held the command for several years. After that he had disappeared completely, which was unusual in the Navy. Faces, like ships, came and went repeatedly, like the sea and wind which governed their lives. With Conway in control of things there would be little tolerance for failure, he thought.

He was ushered into the vaulted room described as the chamber, and was surprised to find it filled with a variety of people, including a number of women.

He saw Puigserver, still dressed in his makeshift clothes, and Raymond in close conversation with a heavy-jowled major. Raymond left his companion immediately, and with barely a nod of recognition, guided Bolitho around the chamber, making introductions, hardly able to hide his impatience if someone asked about England, or what the latest fashion was at home. `Home' was somewhat vague, but for the most part seemed to be London.

Raymond paused while Bolitho took a glass of wine from a bowing servant.

`Like a lot of damned farmers!' He smiled at a lady as she passed, but added savagely, `But they live well enough here!'

Bolitho watched him curiously. Raymond had tried to show his contempt, but had sounded only envious.

Then he heard a familiar voice, and when he turned observed Mrs. Raymond talking with someone he had not so far met.

She saw him immediately and called, `Come and join us!' Her smile faded slightly as she noticed her husband. `We have been talking about local customs.'

Raymond said abruptly, `Rear Admiral Conway, the new governor of Teluk Pendang.'

Conway had been standing with his back to Bolitho. He was dressed in a dull bottle-green coat, his shoulders sloping badly so that he seemed to be leaning forward. He turned to face Bolitho, his eyes moving rapidly, noting all that they saw.

Bolitho said, `It is good to see you again, sir.'

He did not know how to continue. If he had met Conway in Plymouth or anywhere else he would have walked past him. Could anyone change so much in twelve years? He looked thin and very intense, with two deep lines running from his hooked nose to his jaw, so that the mouth appeared to be suspended between them. Only the eyes were familiar. Cool, calculating.

Conway held out his hand. `Richard Bolitho, eh.' The handshake, like his tone, was dry. `And a post-captain, no less. Well, well.'

Bolitho tried to relax. It was like seeing someone looking through a mask. A rear admiral, but seniority apart, he was only one rank higher than himself. And no title, no proud knighthood to mark his climb to success.

He said quietly, `I have been very fortunate, sir.'

Mrs. Raymond touched Conway's sleeve with her fan. `He is too modest by far. I have had good opportunity to watch the captain at his duties, and listen to his past exploits.'

Conway's glance darted between them. `Did he relate them well, ma'am?'

`I heard them from others.' Her eyes regarded him coldly. `To drag self-praise from the captain is to try and open an oyster with a feather!'

Conway picked a thread from his waistcoat. `I am relieved to hear it.'

Raymond said, `It seems I am to accompany you to the new station, sir.' He did not hide his haste to distract Conway's attention from his wife's sudden anger.

`That is so.' Conway looked at Bolitho. `The captain will tell you I am not one to tolerate mistakes. I require everyone connected with the hand-over of governorship within reach.' He glanced at the chattering people around him. `Not here, living in spoiled unreality.'

Behind his shoulder Mrs. Raymond looked at Bolitho and pouted.

Conway said, `I must go and speak to the military.' He bobbed his head. `If you will excuse me, ma'am.'

Raymond waited just a few seconds, then exploded. `Do you have to make a scene, Viola? In God's name, Conway could be important to me. To us !'

She looked at Bolitho. `He is a pompous . . .' she sought for a word, `... bore!' To her husband she added, `And it makes me sick the way you grovel to his kind. You always seem to throw yourself after the failures.'

Raymond stared at her. `He is the new governor! What are you suggesting?'

She flashed a smile to someone across the room. `You do not know anything. He is a failure. You have only to look at him!'

Strangely enough, Raymond appeared relieved. `Is that all? I thought you had heard something.' He stared after Conway. `I had better go to him. Sir Montagu Strang has instructed me to give all my experience to aid him.'

She held her fan across her lips and whispered, `That should take very little time.' She slipped one hand through Bolitho's arm. `And now, Captain, you can escort me, if you will.'

Bolitho was still thinking of that rapid exchange between them. Most of all of Conway, and what he had become.

She squeezed his arm. `I am waiting.'

`An honour.' He smiled at her impatience. `And thank you for your defence just now.' He shook his head. `Although I cannot imagine what has happened to Conway.'

Her fingers dug into his arm. `One day, some stupid officer will say that about you.' She tossed her head. `Anyway, it was true. The pompous old bore!'

Bolitho saw the heavy-jowled major watching him and then turning to murmur to a fellow soldier.

`There will be talk, ma'am, if we walk about like this.' `Good.' She looked at him calmly. `Do you care?' `Well, no.'

She nodded. `And my name is Viola. Please use it in future.'

True to his word, Sir Montagu Strang lost no time in putting his long-standing plan into operation. Two days after Undine's arrival at Madras the Bedford, a heavy transport wearing the flag of the East India Company, dropped anchor nearby and began to take in stores and equipment for the new station.

After his first visit to the governor's residence, Bolitho had had no time for relaxation. So little was known of Teluk Pendang, except by those who had been engaged with local trade there, that it was some while before he was satisfied with his calculations. Mudge, who knew the waters well, gave his cautious approval, and when Bolitho had paid a visit to the Bedford's captain, he had been quick to praise not merely his work, but also his readiness to consult an officer of the Company.

`Not like a King's officer!' He had been greatly amused. `Most of 'em would rather drive aground than enquire from the likes of us!' Bolitho wondered what his attitude might have been had he known about the twenty extra seamen he had poached from the all-powerful E.I.C.

Before he had left the transport he had caught his first sight of the troops who were being sent to replace the Spanish garrison. They looked as if they intended to make their new station a permanent home, for they were accompanied by as many wives and children, varied livestock, and a great mass of pots and pans, which made him wonder where they could all be stowed. Bedford's captain was unimpressed, so he guessed it was the normal way of doing things out here.

He was in his cabin writing his readiness report when Herrick arrived to announce that a launch was approaching. Its only passenger was Rear Admiral Beves Conway.

Bolitho hurried on deck, half wondering why Conway had stayed away from him since Undine's arrival, and partly concerned at the lack of notice.

To his surprise he saw that Conway was still dressed in his green coat, devoid of decorations or sword. He was not even wearing his hat as he stepped through the entry port and bowed curtly to Bellairs' guard of honour and to the quarterdeck at large.

`Taut ship, Bolitho.'

The eyes flitted this way and that, and Bolitho tried to dispel his sudden resentment at Conway's attitude. Perhaps he had always been like this, even in the Gorgon when Bolitho had watched his regular appearances on the quarterdeck or poop with something like awe.

`Dismiss the side party. This is an informal visit.'

Conway walked to a six-pounder and ran his hand across the breech. Then he looked aloft where some hands were blacking down the rigging, making it shine like ebony.

He nodded. `She looks well enough.'

He turned his attention to the Bedford, at the booms which swayed back and forth above the boats and lighters moored around her.

Bolitho was able to watch him less cautiously, and saw the thinness of his hair, which was completely grey.

Without turning, Conway asked, `What is your estimated time of arrival at our destination?'

`Given fair winds, sir, and in accordance with all I have discovered, I hope to make a landfall in eighteen days. Three weeks at the most. I have already been told that I am to sail ahead of the transport.'

`My idea.' Conway turned and looked at him searchingly. `No sense in dragging our feet with that damned hulk.'

`Then you will be coming in Undine, sir?'

`Disappointed?' Conway shrugged. `Of course I shall. I have made arrangements for my baggage to be sent out this afternoon.'

Bolitho's picture of his cabin faded. He had thought of it often since arriving at Madras. Somewhere he could examine his mistakes and assemble his advantages. Puigserver was one thing. Conway another entirely. It would be like being Conway's junior officer again.

He said, `I will inform my first lieutenant at once, sir.' 'Herrick?' He sounded indifferent. 'No need.' Bolitho stared at him. That was not like Conway.

He tried again. `At least we shall have a rear admiral's flag at the mizzen when we reach Teluk Pendang, sir.'

The effect was startling. Conway spun round, his features working with sudden anger.

"`Was that slur intended? Does it give you some twisted pleasure to sneer? If so, I will damn soon break you for your insolence!'

Bolitho kept his voice calm, aware of Herrick watching nearby with obvious concern. `I am sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect.'

Conway took a deep breath. `No flag, Bolitho. I am the governor-elect of Pendang Bay, a place neither you nor most of the world has ever heard of until now.' The bitterness had put a new edge to his voice. `To all intents I am out of naval service. What respect I receive at your hands will be arranged accordingly.'

Bolitho stared at him. It was suddenly all too clear. Conway had been putting off this moment, not out of haughtiness or from any sort of envy at Bolitho's steady promotion since their first meeting, but because he was a broken man.

`Then it will be done well, sir. That I can promise you.' He looked away. `I have been fortunate in the Navy, in many cases I have been aided by sheer chance, or luck, as my first lieutenant would say. But I have never forgotten where I first gained the value of experience, and the patience of my own captain.'

Conway fumbled with his waistcoat, apparently oblivious to the sun across his neck and shoulders.

`That was kindly said.' He looked at his hands and then thrust them behind his back. `May we, go below?'

In the cabin he moved about restlessly, touching the furniture, peering into corners without saying anything.

Then he looked at one of the wooden quakers and snapped, `This was done for that woman, eh?'

`Yes, sir. But I will see that they remain until you are settled in your new command.' He had meant to say residence, but the word just slipped out.

Conway watched him, his thin face expressionless. Then he said, `No. Have the guns replaced. I need no bloody pampering. I want this ship ready for anything. A few missing guns might make a world of difference.' He did not explain, but asked in the same abrasive tone, `That woman? Mrs. Raymond. How did she stand up to three months in a fifth-rate, eh?'

`Better than I had expected.'

'Hmm.' He studied Bolitho grimly, his features in shadow. `Watch yourself with her. She is three years older than you, but the gap in experience is immeasurably wider.'

Bolitho said hastily, `Might I ask when sailing orders will arrive, sir?'

`Tomorrow probably, but I can tell you now. You will weigh the day after you receive your orders. No delays. Maximum haste. We will have company on the passage.'

`Sir?'

Bolitho was certain that Conway's thoughts were elsewhere, even though his ideas came out in perfect order.

`Brig. Don Puigserver has chartered her for his own use. Partly my suggestion. It is too close to the war for me to take a Don as a friend.'

`I see, sir.'

`You don't. But no matter.'

He walked to the stern windows and stared at the shoreline, at the countless tiny craft which jostled the waterfront like busy insects.

`I would like to stay aboard, Bolitho.' `Until we weigh, sir?'

Bolitho looked around the cabin. Tiny compared with the residence ashore.

`Yes.' He swung away from the windows. 'D'you object?' Just for a second it was there again. The same voice which Bolitho still remembered.

`No, sir.' He smiled. `I have been waiting to broach some wine I have brought from London, I '

`London?' Conway sighed. `That cursed place. I've not set foot there for five years. A plague on it and its selfishness!'

`Perhaps it has changed since-'

`People do not change, Bolitho.' He touched his breast. `Not here, inside. You, of all people, should know that. When I learned who commanded my transport, I knew you would be as you are. Not so merry-eyed and trusting perhaps, but you've not altered.'

Madras 145

Bolitho stayed silent, watching the emotions on the other man's face, each one perhaps representing a memory.

'Gorgon seems an eternity back in time. The best moments were with her, although I did not realise it was so.'

yBolitho said carefully, `Your new post will probably make ou believe otherwise, sir.'

`You think that?' Conway smiled, but no humour touched his eyes. `It is given to me because I will succeed. I must. There is nothing else left. When you make a slip, Bolitho, you sometimes get one final chance to redeem yourself.' He pounded one hand against the other. `And I intend to succeed!'

There was a tap at the door and Allday stepped into the cabin.

`Who is this fellow?'

`My coxswain, sir.' Bolitho had to smile at the incredulous look on Allday's face.

`I see.'

Allday said, `Mr. Herrick's respects, and could you come on deck to receive Bedford's captain.'

Bolitho excused himself to Conway and followed him from the cabin.

Allday muttered, `Fellow, Captain? He was a trifle hard, I thought.'

Bolitho grinned. `I am sure that when he knows you better he will call you by your first name!'

Allday faced him guardedly and then chuckled. `No doubt, Captain.' He lowered his voice. `A message has been sent aboard.' He held out an engraved card, tiny in his broad palm.

She had written across the back, Eight o'clock. Please come.

Bolitho stared from it to Allday's masklike face.

`Who gave you this?'

`A servant, Captain.' His eyes did not even flicker. `The lady knows she can trust me.'

Bolitho turned away to hide his expression. `Thank you.'

Allday watched him hurry up the quarterdeck ladder and grinned. `It will do him good.' He saw the marine sentry watching him and snapped, `Who are you gaping at?' He grinned again. `My good fellow?'

9

Gift from a Lady

One hour before the morning watch was relieved Bolitho came on deck to enjoy the most peaceful time of the day. With his shirt open to his waist he crossed to the weather side and studied the set of each individual sail before going aft to consult the compass. Madras lay twelve days astern, but the wind, which had begun so promisingly, had lulled to a gentle breeze, so that even with all sails set it was unlikely they could maintain more than four knots.

Fowlar was scribbling on the slate beside the wheel, but straightened his back as Bolitho approached.

He touched his forehead and reported, `East by south, sir. Full an' bye.'

Bolitho nodded and shaded his eyes to watch the sails again. The wind, such as it was, came from the south-west, and Undine's yards were braced well round, laying her over to the starboard tack. About a mile abeam the brig Rosalind had no difficulty in maintaining station on her heavier consort, and Bolitho found himself tempted to take a telescope and examine her more closely.

Fowlar seemed to think that he was expected to add something to his report and said, `Might pick up before nightfall, sir. Mr. Mudge seems to think the wind'll freshen when once we enter the Malacca Strait.'

'Er, yes.'

Bolitho tried to compose himself. FromRosalind's deck Undine must make a beautiful sight under full canvas. But for once this gave him little consolation. He wanted to drive his ship faster to become involved with his mission. Ghosting along like

Gift from a Lady 147

this, even if idyllic for poet or artist, gave too much time for

other thoughts.

He saw Davy hurrying towards him, frowning as he said, `I beg pardon for not seeing you come on deck, sir.' He gestured towards the main mast. `I was dealing with a complaint from a marine.' He added swiftly, `Nothing important.'

,you are officer of the watch, Mr. Davy. You should know by now I don't interfere in your affairs merely to excite attention.' He smiled. `A fine day, is it not?'

`Yes, sir.'

Davy followed his gaze over the nettings. The sea was very blue, and apart from the low-hulled brig there was not a speck of land or another ship to break the emptiness, its sense of vastness.

Davy asked casually, `Is it true this sort of mission often leads to permanent appointments in the realm of colonial government, sir?'

Bolitho nodded. `Rear Admiral Conway's appointment is such.'

He watched Davy's tanned features gravely. He was worried about something. It was showing now, just like the time when he had selected Soames and not him for the raiding party.

`I was thinking . . .'Davy faltered. `I am of course well content with life as a King's officer. It is what I want. I am the first in my family to follow the sea. My father was a city merchant and had no use for service life. He was loath to allow me to enter the Navy.'

Bolitho wished he would get on with it. He said encouragingly, `Mr. Herrick is like you. The first sailor in his family.'

`Yes.' Davy looked suddenly desperate as Soames emerged from the cabin hatch, yawning and consulting his pocket watch. `Well, it is not exactly what I meant, sir.'

Bolitho turned and faced him. `Mr. Davy, I would be obliged if you would come to the point. In an hour it will be an'oven again. I would like to take my walk before breakfast, and not wait until after dinner tonight.'

Davy bit his lip. `I am sorry, sir.' He nodded firmly. `Yes, I will try to explain.' He lowered his eyes. `May I speak of your brother, sir?'

Bolitho tensed. `My late brother?'

`I did not mean to offend.' Davy looked up and allowed the words to come out in a flood. `I heard somewhere that he quit the Navy.'

Bolitho waited. Always it seemed to catch up with him. Now even his second lieutenant was risking a rebuke to satisfy his own curiosity. But he was wrong in Davy's case.

Davy said quietly, `It was because of his gambling, I was told?'

He looked so strained, so pleading, that Bolitho forgot his own bitterness and asked, `Is that what bothers you? Gambling?'

`Yes, sir. Like a fool I tried to win back my losses in London. With my father dead I am responsible for my mother's welfare, and that of the estate.' He looked away. `In time of war I might have gained early promotion, and all the prize-money which went with it.'

`You could have just as easily been killed.' Bolitho added gently, `Am I to be told how much you owe?' `Twenty, sir.'

Bolitho stared at him. `In God's name, you could pawn your dress-coat for more, man!'

„I1, Davy gritted his teeth. `Twenty thousand, sir.'

Bolitho ran his fingers through his hair. 'Undine and the brig

yonder would cost about that sum. And I thought you had

more sense.'

`Perhaps I should have kept my secret, sir.' Davy was shamefaced. Wretched.

`No. It is better shared. At least you are safe from your creditors out here.' He watched Davy grimly. `But twenty thousand. It is a small fortune.'

Soames clumped past and beckoned to a bosun's mate. `Have the watch piped aft, Kellock.' He was careful to keep to the lee side of the deck.

Davy hurried on, well aware that Soames was waiting to relieve him. `You see, sir, I thought that on a voyage such as ours I might gain some new standing.'

`I see. However, this is a mission of protection, not of dis

covery, or the capture of Spanish gold.' He nodded to Soames

and added softly, `But I will keep it in mind.'

He began to pace the deck while the two lieutenants conversed over the compass.

Undine had gathered all sorts within her slender hull. It was not only the lower deck which sported its fortune-hunters, it seemed. He saw Midshipman Keen walking along the larboard gangway with Armitage, and prayed he would never be left in Davy's predicament, or in one such as his brother Hugh's.

In family background Davy and Keen were similar. Both had wealthy parents who had gained promotion in trade rather than in the King's service. Davy's father had died leaving his son and heir totally unprepared for the temptations which he had managed to overcome. Keen on the other hand had been sent to sea because of his father's riches and influence. Her-tick had said that Keen had confided in him during a night watch in the Indian Ocean. To make a man of me. It had seemed to amuse him, Herrick had said. But Keen's father must be a remarkable man, Bolitho thought. There were not many who would risk a son's life or limb for such a goal.

He saw Noddall scurrying aft along the gun deck with a can of boiling water from the galley. Conway must be up and about, waiting to be shaved. It was surprising how little Conway's presence aboard had interfered with daily life. He had explained it himself. Informal. That did not mean he was disinterested. Quite the reverse. Whenever a ship had been sighted, or the hands had been called to reef or make sail, he had been there, watching. Once, when becalmed for half a day, the seamen had streamed a seine net in the hopes of getting some fresh fish. Just a few flounders, and some flatheaded fish which Mudge had knowingly described as `foxes' were the entire result of their efforts, but Conway could not have been more pleased if they had caught a whale.

It was as if he was living out every hour, like a prisoner awaiting sentence. It was not pleasant to watch.

Bolitho was not quite twenty-eight years old, but as a postcaptain with two previous commands behind him he had learned to accept, if not agree, with many of the Navy's judgements.

Conway's experience had come out at dinner, one evening in the cabin. It was the second day out of Madras, and Bolitho had told Noddall to fetch some of his special wine to make it an occasion. It was madeira, the most expensive he had ever purchased in his life. Conway hardly seemed to notice. Had he been offered cider, Bolitho doubted if he would have remarked on it. But he had become very drunk. Not slowly, or by accident, or even out of bravado. But with the firm determination of one who has been too often alone, and wishes to blur the realisation without delay.

It had all happened two years back in these same waters, when the French admiral, Suffren, had captured Trincomalee and very nearly toppled Britain's power in India for good. Conway had started to tell his story as if Bolitho had not been there. As if he just wanted to make sure he could still remember it.

He had been in command of an inshore squadron and employed on the protection of supply ships and military convoys. A sloop had brought news of a French squadron off the coast of Ceylon, and without ado he had set off to engage or cripple the enemy ships until help arrived to complete the victory.

Unbeknown to Conway, another sloop was already searching for him, sent by the Commander-in-Chief with new orders for the defence of Trincomalee. Conway reached the area where the French had been sighted, only to find them gone. Fishermen informed him they had sailed towards the very position he had just left, and with an anxiety which Bolitho could only imagine, he had put his ships about once again. He managed to find and bring the French rear to a brief but unsatisfactory action before losing contact in the night. When dawn united his small squadron again, Conway found the supply ships which he had been guarding had been captured or destroyed, and when the admiral's sloop contacted him, she, too, had fresh news to cancel all previous instructions. Trincomalee had been taken.

In the silence of the cabin Conway's voice had risen suddenly, like a dying man's cry.

`Another day and I've have brought them to grips ! Not Suffren, nor any other admiral, could have got us out of Ceylon then!'

Bolitho looked up as the first working parties swarmed aloft for the constant round of repairs, splicing and stitching. It was all too plain. Conway could have emerged a hero. Instead, he was seized upon as a scapegoat. He must still have influence

somewhere, he thought. A governorship, no matter where it was, represented reward rather than a continuance of disgrace.

He halted in his stride, his mind suddenly very alert. But suppose there was a second, more devious reason? Another scapegoat perhaps?

He shook his head. What would be the point of that?

Bolitho turned as Allday walked along the quarterdeck towards him.

`Breakfast's ready, Captain.' He squinted his eyes towards the brig. `Still with us then?' He smiled calmly at Bolitho's steady gaze. `That's good.'

Bolitho watched him and wondered. It was the same look he had given when he had brought the gig for him at Madras.

`Thank you.' He added coldly, `And what is amusing you now?'

Allday shrugged. `Hard to put a name to it, Captain. It's a sort of glow I get inside sometimes.' He massaged his stomach. `Comforting.'

Bolitho strode past him towards the hatch. His morning had been badly interrupted.

As he stepped into the cool shadows between decks he imagined Viola Raymond just a mile abeam in the brig. Her husband would be watching her. Mister Pigsliver would be watching both of them.

It was still hard to know what she really thought about him, or if she saw his attraction as some sort of game. There had been several visitors staying at the residence, soldiers, Company officials, but she had been determined to keep him to herself. It had not been anything she had actually said. It had been more of an excitement, a sense of recklessness. A dare which he found impossible to ignore.

She had no longer stayed at arms' length, and several times had allowed her hand to linger on his, even when Raymond had had been close by.

When he had made to return to the ship she had followed him on to a shaded terrace below the inner wall, and had held out a small box.

`For you.'

She had made light of it, but he had seen the hot eagerness in her eyes, the thrust of her breasts beneath her gown as he had opened the box.

It was a gold watch.

While he had turned it over in his hands she had gripped his arm and had whispered, `I will always remember your face that day. ..'But she had not laughed that time. `Do not refuse my little gift, please.'

He had taken her hand and kissed it, his mind grappling with what he was doing, seeing all the dangers, and yet dismissing them.

`It is as well you are sailing in another ship, Captain !' She had laughed and then had pulled his hand below her breast. `See how my heart beats now! A week, a day even, and who can say what might occur!'

Bolitho walked past the sentry and into the cabin, his mind still hanging on to that moment.

Conway was spreading thick treacle on a biscuit, his wispy hair ruffling in the breeze from the stern windows. `What time is it, Bolitho?'

`Time, sir?'

Conway eyed him wryly before taking a mouthful.

`I observed that you had your, er, new watch in your hand

and assumed that time was of some importance?'

Bolitho stared at him, the midshipman in front of his

captain again.

Then he grinned. `It was a memory, sir, that was all.' Conway sniffed. `That I can well believe!P

'It makes a fine sight, Thomas.'

Bolitho lowered the telescope and wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. The noon sun was merciless, but like most of the men around him, or standing high in the shrouds, he was momentarily unaware of it. Fifteen days out of Madras, and in spite of the wind's perversity, Undine had done well. Bolitho had made many landfalls in his time, but the sight of any shore after the hazards and doubts of navigation never failed to move him.

And now, just visible through the glare of sea and sky, he could see a smudge of green across the larboard side, and felt a fresh excitement and satisfaction. The narrowest part of the Malacca Strait. To starboard, hidden even to the masthead lookout, was the great scimitar-shaped island of Sumatra, poised as if to squeeze the strait shut and leave them sailing in a wilderness forever.

Herrick said, `It seems a mite too narrow for comfort, sir.'

Bolitho smiled at him. `It is wider than the English Channel even here, Thomas. The master assures me it is the safest course to take.'

`Perhaps.' Herrick shaded his eyes again. `So that is Malacca, eh? It is hard to believe we have reached this far.'

`And in five days or so, with God's good grace, we'll anchor in Pendang Bay.' He paused, seeing the doubt in Herrick's blue eyes. `Well, come on, Thomas, let us see that smile again!V

'Yes, sir, I know it is a good and fast passage, and I am well satisfied, as you are.' He fidgeted with his belt buckle. `But I am more concerned with something else.'

`I see.'

Bolitho waited, knowing what was coming. He had seen the worry mounting in Herrick's face over the past fifteen days. Having to spend much of his time with the admiral, Bolitho had had little chance of enjoying Herrick's company. A walk together before dusk, a pipe of tobacco and a glass of wine.

Herrick said bluntly, `Everyone knows about it, sir. It's not my place to speak on your behaviour, but ...'

`But that is exactly what you are about to do?' Bolitho smiled gravely. `It is all right, Thomas, I am not going to snap your head off!'

Herrick would not relent. `It is no joke, sir. The lady is the wife of an important government official. If this sort of tale ever reached England, you would be in real danger, and that's the truth.'

`Thank you for your concern.' He glanced ahead where far beyond the gently spiralling bowsprit he saw Rosalind leading the way through the shallows and sandspits as she had no doubt done many times before. `But it is something I do not wish to discuss. Even with you, if you are to disagree with everything I say.'

`Yes, sir, I'm sorry.' But Herrick added stubbornly, `I can't stand by and see you in irons because of others, sir, not without trying at least to help.'

Bolitho gripped his arm. `Then we will say no more of the matter, Thomas. Agreed?'

`Aye, Sir.' Herrick regarded him unhappily. `If it is the way you want it.'

A seaman left the galley and darted down an open hatch

below the forecastle. He was carrying a bucket and swab. Herrick said wearily, `The surgeon is sick again. That man

must be going to clean out his quarters.'

Bolitho looked at him. `Drunk, I suppose?'

`It would seem so. But there is little to occupy him, sir, and

our people have been remarkably free of illness.'

`That is just as well.' Bolitho felt unreasonably angry. `What

in hell's name am I to do with him?' `He has a lot on his mind, sir.'

`So have many others.'

Herrick kept his voice even. `He saw his young brother hanged for a crime of which he was later proved innocent. Even if he had been guilty it would still have been a terrible thing to watch.'

Bolitho swung round from the rail. `How did you discover this?'

`At Madras. He came aboard drunk. I was a mite harsh with him and he started to rave about it. It is destroying him.'

`Thank you for telling me, even if it is somewhat late.'

Herrick did not flinch. `You have been rather buoi, sir. I did not wish to trouble you.'

Bolitho sighed. `I take your point. But in future I would like to hear everything. Most ship's surgeons are no more than butchers. Whitmarsh has been something more, but as a drunken sot he is a menace to everyone aboard. I am sorry for his brother, I for one can appreciate his feelings.' He looked steadily at Herrick. `We will have to see what we can do to put things right for him, whether he likes it or not.'

Herrick nodded gravely. `I agree, sir. The one afflicted is not always the best judge of his own malady.' He tried not to grin. `If you see what I mean, sir.'

Bolitho slapped his shoulder. 'By God, Thomas, you go too far! I am not surprised your father sentyou to sea!'

Then he walked up the tilting deck to the weather side and left Herrick to supervise his watch.

So they knew all about it, did they? He touched the bulge in his breeches pocket. What would Herrick say if he saw the inscription inside the watch-guard, he wondered?

`We will wear ship directly, Mr. Herrick.' Bolitho strode to the compass and peered over Mudge's untidy shoulder. `Steer nor'nor'-east.'

Herrick touched his hat. `Aye, aye, sir.' He was equally formal.

It was five days since they had discussed Viola Raymond and the doctor's personal problem, and in that time Bolitho had never felt better. The ship had settled down to a regular, unhurried routine, and even the drills had passed off without complaint. At gunnery Undine's company still had a lot to learn, but at least they moved as a team and not a stumbling, confused rabble.

He raised his glass and studied the new shapes and patterns which parted sea from sky. Mudge had assured him that Pendang Bay lay some five miles distant, but it was difficult to accept that they had all but arrived at their destination. Over fifteen thousand miles. Another world. A different life.

`Hands wear ship! Man the braces there!'

Shoes scraped on the planking, and Bolitho turned to study Conway's reaction as he came on deck. It was early morning, and for a few seconds he thought he was imagining what he saw.

Conway was wearing his rear admiral's uniform, complete with laced cocked hat and sword. The latter he held like a pointer, as if unsure of his reception.

Bolitho said, `Good morning, sir.'

He saw Herrick staring at them, his speaking trumpet in mid-air.

Conway joined him by the rail and raised his head to watch as the great yards creaked round in unison, while the straining seamen hauled and panted at the braces.

`Well?' His tone was wary. `What do you think?'

`I think you look right for the occasion, sir.'

He saw the quick tightening of Conway's mouth, the lines on either side deepening still further. It was moving, if pathetic, to see Conway's gratitude, for that is what it was.

`It is a bit creased of course. I was merely trying it on to see if it required alteration.' He added sharply, `If I am to be governor, I'll land as I intend to continue, damn their eyes!'

Midshipman Armitage was watching the brig as she trimmed her yards to take station off Undine's lee.

He remarked nervously, `Thunderstorm, sir.'

But Bolitho was already snatching a telescope.

`Not this time, Mr. Armitage.' He looked at Herrick. `Shorten sail, if you please, and then beat to quarters.'

He saw them all gaping at him. Like total strangers.

`That thunderstorm is of a kind I have come to respect!'

I0

Another Flag

`Ship cleared for action, sir.' Herrick watched Bolitho's face anxiously.

Bolitho moved the telescope slowly from bow to bow, trying to avoid the overlapping mesh of shrouds and stays as he stared fixedly at the shore. Because of the glare which filtered through then morning haze it was impossible to fix any proper mark or to take an accurate'bearing.

He replied, `Too long, Mr. Herrick. I want the time cut to twelve minutes.' He was speaking merely to give himself another moment to gather his thoughts.

The distant gunfire had stopped, but there had been at least a dozen shots. Sharp and loud, despite the range. Probably small pieces.

He swung the glass further to starboard, seeing the lowlying wedge of land reaching out to lie parallel with their slow approach. The eastern headland of Pendang Bay. There was no room for further doubt.

Something dark intruded into the lens, and he saw the brig tilting to the low breeze, her yards alive with tiny figures as she finished reefing. A huge Spanish flag had been hoisted to her peak, blinding white in the glare, and he found time to wonder how Rosalind's master was reacting to Puigserver's show of national pride.

Almost without intending to speak aloud he said, `I wish the Don was here with us. I think combined thought and action may be called for.'

He heard Conway grunt. `Unnecessary. Ours is the ship of war, Bolitho. I want no damned Spaniard under my feet today.'

Herrick asked quietly, `What d'you make of it, sir?' Bolitho shook his head. `An attack on the settlement maybe.

But I understand the place is well defended and-' Conway interrupted harshly, `All this fuss over a few bloody

savages!'

Herrick was standing beside Mudge and whispered, `I expect that is what poor Captain Cook said!'

Bolitho turned sharply. `If you've all nothing better to do than make stupid remarks.. .' He swung away and added, `Two good leadsmen in the chains immediately. Begin sounding.' To Mudge he snapped, `Let her fall off a point.'

The edge in his tone was having the right effect. Men who seconds earlier had been chatting and gossiping about what might be happening ashore were now silent and alert, standing to their guns, or grouped at halliards and braces for the next command.

The wheel creaked, the sound very loud in the sudden stillness, and the helmsman called, 'Nor'-east by north, sir !'

`Very well.'

Bolitho glanced at Conway's profile, the glassy intentness in his eye.

From forward came the leadsman's cry, `No bottom, sir!'

Bolitho looked at Mudge, but the master's heavy face was expressionless. He probably thought it was a waste of time to take soundings. The chart, and all available information, told them the water was deep until the last cable or so. Or maybe he thought his captain was so nervous that he was afraid to leave anything to chance.

Another, single crack echoed out from the mist-shrouded coast and died away very gradually.

Bolitho tugged out his new watch and stared at it. At this speed it would take near on an hour to close the land. But it could not be helped.

`No bottom, sir!'

He said, `Pass the word for Captain Bellairs. I'll want a full landing party. Tell Mr. Davy to prepare the boats for lowering once we have anchored. He will take charge of them.'

Conway said briefly, `Good beach, I'm told. The settlement and fort are on a slope to the western side of the bay.'

Herrick strode aft and touched his hat. `Shall I order the guns to load, sir? He sounded guarded.

'Not yet, Mr. Herrick.'

Bolitho trained his glass across the larboard bow. Settlement, fort, they could have been imagination. The blurred green outline of the land looked totally deserted.

He heard the marine sergeant bellowing orders, the stamp of boots as his men were divided and sub-divided in readiness to disembark. Bellairs was watching them from the starboard gangway, his face completely blank, but his eyes missing nothing.

`By the mark twenty!' The leadsman sounded triumphant.

Mudge nodded gloomily. `About right. Twenty fathoms hereabouts.'

Some small birds darted across the sea's face and circled above the braced yards. Bolitho watched them, recalling the swifts flying about the grey stone house in Falmouth. It would be fine there today. Sunshine, bright colours. The hills dotted with sheep and cattle. The town itself busy with farmers and sailors, each depending on the other, as it had always been.

jHe saw Herrick nearby and said quietly, `Forgive my anger ust now.'

Herrick smiled. `No matter, sir. You were right. We have been caught unawares already on this venture. Trouble will not fade away merely because we turn our backs on it.'

'Rosalind's settin' 'er fores'l again, sir!'

They turned to watch as the brig dipped to the wind and gathered way.

Conway snarled, `By God, the Don intends to lead us inshore, blast him!V

'It is his right, sir.' Bolitho trained his glass on the other vessel, seeing the busy figures above and below, the great slash of her ensign with its crowned shield bright in the sunlight. `It is still the territory of the Spanish Royal Company until he says otherwise.'

Conway scowled. `That is mere formality.' He stared hard at him. `Fire a warning shot, Captain!'

Bolitho looked at Herrick. `Pass the word forrard. One ball.

But mind it drops well clear of the brig.'

The leadsman called again, `Deep eighteen!'

Bolitho shut his ears to the squeak of gun trucks as the fore, most twelve-pounder was run out. The gun captain was peering along the muzzle, and as the light touched him Bolitho saw that

one hand was a metal hook. Turpin.

Herrick shouted, `Ready, sir!'

`As you will then.'

The gun crashed out, and seconds later a thin waterspout rose

like a feather far beyond the brig's bowsprit.

Bolitho said, `Well, atleasttheywill knowwe are coming, sir,' Conway snapped, `Savages. I'll soon get to the bottom of this

little matter.'

Bolitho sighed as the brig fell off slightly, her foresail already being brailed up in response to his rough signal. The thought of having a poorly armed brig lying between an enemy and his own artillery was a worry he could not afford. And she was aboard Rosalind, too.

He turned round sharply, angry with himself for allowing his thoughts to drift. Right now he needed-to be completely clear. His mind like steel.

`Mr. Mudge, d'you know much of this place, other than you have already told me?'

The master shrugged. `Very few people 'ave seen inland, sir.

'Ead 'unters, warrin' tribes there are a'plenty, I'm told. But the

natives are often sailors, pirates from the north of Borneo.

Sea-Dyaks they calls 'em. Many a good ship 'as been overrun

at anchor by them devils.' He shook his jowls. `Then it's snip, snip with their long knives, an' poor Jack is no more!'

At that moment a seaman beside a six-pounder pointed aloft as the masthead pendant licked out with renewed energy.

Like a long, low curtain the sea mist began to move and shred itself, vanishing into the land, and laying bare endless stretches of beach, thick jungle, and finally the overlapping hills beyond.

Herrick lowered his telescope and exclaimed, `And is that the settlement, sir?'

Bolitho steadied his own glass, not daring to look at Conway's face. What he had first taken to be a heap of lopped and piled trees was shaping itself into long, spiked palisades, supported and guarded at regular intervals by squat, timbered blockhouses. As the mist slipped away he saw what must be the governor's residence. It had to be, for it was the largest building in sight. Again, it was built entirely of timber, with an

upper and lower rampart and one spindly watchtower in its

Centre, above which the Spanish flag lifted occasionally in the

sea breeze.

Conway said thickly, `In God's name!' The words were ,,rung from his throat.

BolithO watched the distant fort for some sign of life other than the flag. The place looked crude, but was well sited, easy to defend. There must be settlements like this all over the world, he thought. But what about before? Someone had first to wade ashore from a boat, or march through swamp and jungle to plant a flag. To claim the land for his own country. He had heard of islands in the Pacific which were regularly claimed and re-claimed by half a dozen nations, sometimes out of the genuine desire to colonise, but often merely because their ships paused there for no other reason than to find water and firewood.

'By the mark ten!'

He looked at Herrick. `We will anchor in eight fathoms.' He saw Allday scrambling over the gig on its chocks. `Then boats away as fast as you can.'

He turned his attention to the cruising wavelets which had risen to enjoy the freshening breeze. It was a large but wellsheltered bay. It was said that the Spanish Royal Company had claimed it years earlier almost by accident. They had intended to place their settlement further north, to gain access for trade with the Philippines. But fever, losses in ships and resources had found them here instead. It was easy to understand why the Spaniards had lost heart, easier still to realise how much more important it would be to the British. Within reach of both India and the vast, barely-tapped resources of the China Seas, it could be a vital link, given time and skilful handling. With the French and Spaniards gone from the area, only the power of the Dutch East Indiamen offered any sort of competition. He glanced quickly at Conway's stiff features. But was he the one to begin it, he wondered?

Fighting men rarely saw much further than the strategy and tactics of the moment. And one made bitter and desperate by past mistakes would be less inclined to compromise.

`People leaving the palisade, sir!'

Bolitho raised the glass again. Twos and threes, some carrying muskets, others limping down the sand towards the water's edge and a long, partly-constructed pier of rough timber and piles. Most of them were so dark-skinned they could be natives, but the uniforms were Spanish well enough.

Not one of them waved. They merely stood or sat dejectedly watching the frigate's careful approach.

Herrick said under his breath, `God, they look like scarecrows!'

`What did you expect, Mr. Herrick, sir?' Unseen and unheard, the surgeon had appeared on the quarterdeck, his face and neck like raw meat.

Bolitho watched him impassively. `You are recovered, it seems, Mr. Whitmarsh?'

The surgeon turned his gaze on him. His eyes were redrimmed with strain, so that they looked too hot for their sockets.

He muttered vaguely, `We have arrived, I see, sir.' He reached out for support and, finding none, almost fell headlong. He mumbled, `Pattern never changes. First they hand over their power of protection to us. With ships and men if needed to give power to that protection. When all is safe the traders will come, and the Company's flag will be supreme.'

Bolitho asked coldly, `And then what?'

Whitmarsh regarded him emptily. `The place will become a colony, a possession. Or if we have cleaned it out like an empty shell, we will simply ...' he retched, `... discard it. Cast it away !'

Conway seemed to hear him for the first time. `Get off this deck, you drink-sodden creature!' His face was working with despair, a need to release his anger. `Or by heaven you will be sorry!'

The surgeon gave an awkward bow. `But I am sorry, believe me! Sorry for you, sir, at being given this wretched task.' He swayed towards Bolitho. `For the good captain, who will eventually be made to stand between justice and tyranny. And more sorry perhaps ...' He pitched forward in an untidy heap and lay completely still.

`By the mark eight!'

The leadsman's call brought Bolitho back to reality.

He snapped, `Have him taken to his quarters.'

As some seamen seized the inert surgeon and carried him to the ladder, he caught the sour odour of vomit and spilled wine. The stench of a man's decay.

Conway was still staring at the deck. `Another second and I'd have had him in irons!' He glared at Bolitho. `Well?'

`There was something in what he said, sir. What is on a sober man's mind is often on a drunkard's tongue.'

Herrick called, `Close enough, I think, sir.'

Bolitho hurried to the quarterdeck rail, glad to be free of Conway's mood. He studied the lie of the smaller headland to larboard, the great eastern one on the opposite beam, thrusting out to sea, and already a delicate green in the early sunlight.

`Signal our intention to Rosalind, and then wear ship, if you please.' He waited until the anchor party had assembled above the cathead. Then he added, `Tell Davy to keep our people together once we are ashore. I want no plague raging through Undine.'

'D'you think there is fever here, sir?'

For just a moment there was fear in Herrick's eyes. Like most seamen he could accept blood and broadside, as well as the harsh discipline which guided his daily life. But the unknown, the terror of plague which could render a whole ship useless, turn her into a floating tomb, was entirely different.

`That we will discover directly.'

'Rosalind's acknowledged, sir!'

Keen seemed his usual carefree self. Even Armitage was watching the land with something like expectancy.

`Wear shipV

'Man the lee braces !'

Bolitho saw the helm going over, and moved to Conway'ss

side to avoid the rush of seamen across the quarterdeck as the

frigate turned slowly into the wind.

`Will you wait for Don Puigserver, sir?'

Conway looked at him, a nerve jumping in his throat, as the

anchor plunged into the clear water in a mighty cascade of

spray.

`I suppose so.' He peered towards the brig which was already swinging easily to her cable. `I wish you to accompany me.'

`An honour, sir.'

`You think so?' Conway removed the gold-laced hat and ran his palm over his grey hair. He smiled bitterly. `We shall see.'

Noddall came on deck with Bolitho's sword, but quailed as Aliday rasped, `Here, give me that!'

He hurried to Bolitho's side and carefully buckled the scabbard into place, muttering, `The very idea!'

Then he straightened his back and stared at the boats which were being swayed up and over the nettings.

`A long way we've come together, Captain.' He turned to watch the brig's boats being lowered into the water. `It's not a happy place, I'm thinking.'

Bolitho did not hear him. He watched the marines clambering out and down into the swaying boats, their coats very red, their boots slipping and clattering as they always did. Captain Bellairs was studying each and every one of them, especially the young corporal who carried the sheathed Union Flag which would soon be planted on foreign soil.

Like many sea officers, Bolitho had often thought about such moments, but the mental picture had always been grander and vaster. Endless lines of men, bands playing, cheering people, and the anchored ships looking splendid and secure at the sea's edge.

Now he understood differently. It was only a beginning. Small, but no less impressive because of that.

Conway said, `Well, we had best begin. I see the Don is already on his way.'

The brig's boats were indeed moving inshore, one bearing

the Spanish flag, the others that of the Company.

Bolitho was thankful Viola Raymond was remaining aboard

the Rosalind.

Conway followed him into the gig, and with the armed and crowded boats fanning out on either beam they started towards the nearest beach.

Bolitho could smell the jungle long before they were within hail of the people by the frothing surf, like incense, heady and overpowering. He gripped his sword-hilt tighter and tried to compose himself. It was a moment he must always try to re

member.

He glanced quickly at Conway for some sign or reaction.

He looked remote and sadly stern.

The new governor of Teluk Pendang had arrived.

Lieutenant Thomas Herrick walked a few paces across the quarterdeck, his movements restless as he watched Bellairs' marines and some seamen below the nearest palisade. It was ast noon, with the sun blazing down on the anchored ships with savage intensity. Most of the unemployed hands were sheltering by the guns beneath the gangways, but Herrick felt unable to leave the deck, even though his head was swimming, his shirt plastered against his body like a wet rag.

Tugging at her cable, the Undine had swung her stern towards the long, pale beach, and with the visibility sharp and clear, it was easier to see the extent of Conway's new command. Larger than he had first imagined, it had obviously been planned and constructed by a military engineer. Even the unfinished timber pier looked neat and strong, but like the rest of the place, was in a state of bad neglect.

As he had paced the quarterdeck, or peered across the taffrail, Herrick had seen Bolitho and some of the landing party moving along the wooden ramparts, or exploring the ground between the two separate palisades which guarded the approaches to the fort and its surrounding buildings. The boats lay like dead fish on the beach, exactly where they had ground ashore some four hours earlier. He had watched some marines hauling the swivel guns towards the fort, others, harried by the massive Sergeant Coaker, had manned the ramparts, or could now be seen patrolling near the pier. The handful of Spanish soldiers had withdrawn into the fort, and of the enemy, or whatever the garrison had been firing at, there was not a sign.

He turned as a heavy step fell on the tinder-dry planking and saw Soames shading his eyes with one hand, and munching a biscuit with the other.

`Any sign yet, sir?' Soames eyed the distant settlement without enthusiasm. `What a place to end your years, eh?

Herrick was worried. Something should have happened by now. There were supposed to be some three hundred Spanish soldiers and followers in the settlement, and God alone knew how many local natives. From what he had seen there were hardly any. The same old thought crossed his mind. Plague perhaps? Or something even more terrible.

He replied, `They appear to be examining the inner defences. I am not surprised the Dons wish to be rid of it.' He shuddered. `From here it looks as if the damned jungle is pushing the whole lot back into the sea.'

Soames shrugged and pointed his half-eaten biscuit at the gun deck. `Shall I dismiss the gun crews? There seems to be little here to excite action.'

`No. There are only five of them manned. Change 'em round and send the others below for a spell.'

He was glad when Soames walked away. He needed to concentrate, to decide what to do if he was suddenly required to act without Bolitho at his elbow. It had been different the last time. A sort of wild recklessness had come over him, prompted as ever by the need to dash to Bolitho's aid in the only way he knew.

But here were no yelling savages, no darting canoes which a few bursts of canister could scatter. Silence, and depressing immobility.

Midshipman Penn called in his shrill voice, `One of the boats is being launched, sir!'

Herrick felt his heart lift as the distant figure thrust Undine's green-painted gig into the shallows. He saw Bolitho's tall figure striding down the beach, pausing to say something to Davy before swinging his legs over the gunwale.

At last. Soon they would know what was happening. Only four hours, but to Herrick it felt an age.

`Muster the side party. Stand by to receive the captain!'

Bolitho looked strained and thoughtful as he climbed up through the entry port, his coat covered with sandy dust, his face damp with sweat. He glanced at the motionless side party but did not seem to see them.

He said, `Have the surgeon and his mates sent ashore to report to Mr. Davy. When the other boats arrive I want powder and shot, food and fresh fruit sent over, too.' He peered towards the anchored brig and at another boat which was pulling quickly towards her. `I have sent word for Rosalind to assist in every way she can.' He looked at Herrick's round face and smiled for the first time. `Easy, Thomas. It is not the end, though it was nearly so. Come to my cabin when you have dealt with my orders. Allday has a list of things required.'

When Herrick finally joined Bolitho in the stern cabin he found him stripped to the waist and drinking a large tankard of lemon juice.

`Sit down, Thomas.'

Herrick sat, aware that although Bolitho sounded controlled and level, there was something else, something familiar which told him his mind was busy along another tack.

`When the war ended there was a garrison of about three hundred here.' It was as if he was drawing a picture, just as it had been painted for him. `The commandant, the King of ;Spain's trusted controller, was Colonel Don Jose Pastor, a dedicated soldier to all accounts, and one well used to building such settlements. He gained some trust from the natives, and by barter and other inducements, as well as the usual Spanish use of force, he was able to create a strong defence line, as well as clear much of the surrounding land. There is even a road of sorts, although that now is overgrown. A wilderness.'

Herrick ventured, `Fever?'

`That, of course, but no more than you might expect in such a place.' He studied Herrick for several seconds, his eyes very grey in the reflected light. `The settlement has been under almost constant attack for over a year. At first they thought it was only the work of marauding tribesmen, Dyak pirates maybe who were becoming worried by the spread of Spanish influence in their midst. Colonel Pastor had set up a Catholic mission above the settlement. The monks were found terribly mutilated and headless.' He did not see Herrick's expression of horror. `Then others died when the fresh-water pools were, poisoned. The garrison had to fall back upon its own little stream within the walls. But for it, the fight would have ended long ago. Think of it, Thomas, if you had been an officer here. Trying to hold up morale, fighting an unseen enemy, while day by day your strength is dwindling. Each dawn you would be watching the horizon, praying for a ship, any vessel which could bring relief. Only one came in the whole of that time, but would not land its people for fear of the plague. She merely dropped despatches and left. God knows, I can understand that. They are like living skeletons over yonder.' He looked round as a boat pulled clear of the hull. `Let us hope our surgeon will find others to help and think less of himself.'

Herrick asked quietly, `What will Admiral Conway do, sir?'

Bolitho closed his eyes, remembering the small gathering in the room at the top of the wooden fort, hearing Puigserver's emotional voice as he had translated the report of the settlement's one remaining officer, Captain Vega.

The attacks had gone on and on, and when once an armed picket had been ambushed, the fort's defenders had nearly been driven mad by the screams and pitiful cries as their comrades had been tortured to death within sight of the walls.

Bolitho said, `To the west of us is a small cluster of islands. The Benua Group.'

Herrick nodded, unable to understand. `Yes. We passed them a day back.'

`They lie astride the strait between Borneo and the islands of Sumatra and Java.' His tone hardened. `This self-styled prince, Muljadi, has his stronghold there. The Dutch built a fortress in one of the isles many years ago, but abandoned it when disease killed most of the garrison.' He looked through the stern windows, his eyes grave. `Not like Conway's new domain, Thomas. It is built of stone.'

Herrick attempted to shift Bolitho from his mood of passive despair. `But a few ships and men would soon destroy this damned Muljadi, surely?'

`Once, perhaps.' Bolitho drained the glass and stared at it. `This morning there was a final attempt to overthrow the defences here. I expect the attacker saw Undine pass through the strait yesterday and knew they must make haste. Now they are gone into the jungle. Captain Vega of the garrison says they will head west to the marsh district, where they will be taken by sea to Muljadi's stronghold.' He gave a great sigh. `Of all the men at the settlement, there are but fifty survivors. Poisoned darts, musket balls, for they have our weapons, too, and fever have wrought a terrible price from them. There was even a mutiny, when Vega's men fought with their own native soldiers, most of them too crazed with drink and despair to know what they were about.'

Herrick stared at him. `What of Colonel Pastor, Sir? Is he also killed?'

Bolitho sat down and massaged the white scar above his ribs. `I am coming to that part. Weeks back, a ship did finally arrive. Not to bring help, or to offer relief to people from their own part of 'the world. She was the Argus, Thomas.' He swung round, the weariness falling away like a cloak. `Of forty-four guns, under the hand of Capitaine Le Chaumareys. He landed himself and met with Colonel Don Pastor. He brought a message from Muljadi. Personally.' He gripped the desk with both hands. `And required him to lower the flag, to relinquish all claims on the settlement in the name of Spain.'

`My God.'

`Indeed. Apparently the colonel told of help which would soon arrive, but Le Chaumareys laughed at him. Said there would be no relief, no ships coming to his aid.'

`Then the French do have a hand in this, sir?'

`A big one.' His face lit up. `Cannot you see it, Thomas? Le Chaumareys was instructed to force the Spanish to surrender their rights here. He knew better than most that Nervion or Undine, or both, would be delayed by any means available. With the settlement handed over to Muljadi, and a written agreement from Pastor, who after all is his King's representative here, there would be nothing we or anyone else could do. I have no doubt Le Chaumareys had further orders to recognise Muljadi's rule in the name of France, and to offer him whatever he needed to control his alliance.' He looked towards the beach, at the seamen who were unloading two of the boats. `But we did come, Thomas. Too late for Colonel Pastor, for he left in the Argus to parley for his men with Muljadi. I pity him, even if I admire his courage.'

Herrick nodded slowly, his eyes clouded. `And when he had gone, the last attack began. No governor, few defenders. Dead men have little to say.'

Herrick thought of their slow approach that morning, the mist on the water distorting the sounds of cannon fire. No wonder the remaining, ragged defenders had not been able to wave or greet them. Undine must have seemed like a miracle.

Bolitho said, `Don Puigserver is our one real card. He can act in the name of Spain and assure Conway of his country's confidence.'

`How did he react to the news?'

Bolitho thought of the Spaniard's face as he had listened to Vega. Anguish, shame and then fury. He had seen it all. Only Conway's attitude still remained in shadow. He had said little, and not even argued with Raymond when he had started off on what Parliament would or would not support. Only one thing was certain. The affair had to be contained. No build-up of additional force, no acceptance that there had been a change in rulership, here or anywhere else. As Raymond had explained more than once, the Dutch were too busy recouping their losses caused by the war to want another conflict in their midst. If France thrust more naval might into the area, then Spain, too, might change her views about her untried allegiance with Britain. It could be war, all over again.

Only when Bolitho had made to leave for his ship had the rear admiral drawn him into a corner.

He had said very calmly, `Politics, a need for furthering trade or colonial power, all are attitudes. Only one thing is properly clear to me, as it must be to you, Bolitho.' He had held his gaze, searching for a reaction before adding, `Every puzzle must have a key. This one has two. Undine and Argus. Governments may try to use more power later on, but by then it will be too late for us all. If Undine is lost, so are we. Be sure that Le Chaumareys is already well aware of it!'

When Bolitho had made to question him further he had said, `He is a good officer, make no mistake. Our squadrons had cause to damn his eyes in the war. France has loaned Muljadi their best, as I hope England has aided me in the same manner!'

Much of his thoughts Bolitho had spoken aloud, for Herrick exclaimed, `But it is not war, sir! No Frenchman will cross swords for fear of starting one!'

Bolitho watched him and was glad he was here. 'Le Chaumareys will have a letter of marque. He is far from a fool. When he runs out those forty-four guns it will be Muljadi's flag at his peak, not the Fleur de Lys of France.' He stood up and moved vaguely about the cabin. `But behind each breech will be an experienced crew, the cream of his navy. While we .'He half turned, his face suddenly drained again. `But that is enough. Battles are not won or lost on daydreams.'

Herrick nodded. `And what will we do now, sir?'

Bolitho tugged the shirt over his head, the same stained one as before.

`We will weigh when the tide is right. If Ihas vessels in the area we must close with them. Show him we mean to continue what we have begun.'

He pulled Herrick towards the stern windows as a bugle wailed sadly across the glittering water. Above the fort there was Conway's new flag, the little group of marines beneath it glowing like tiny red insects.

`See, Thomas, there is no drawing back. Not for Conway. Not for any of us.'