Birds of Prey

As Cumbrae watched them march out through the gates, in their flat black caps, green doublets and white cross belts, their muskets carried at the trail, he remarked sourly, "I hope they fight as prettily as they march, but I think they may be in for a wee surprise when they meet Franky's sea-rats."

He could carry only a single company with all its baggage on board the Gull. Even then her decks would be crowded and uncomfortable, especially if they ran into heavy weather on the way.

The other two companies of infantry went on board the naval frigate. They would have the easier passage, for De Sonnevogel, the Sun Bird, was a fast and commodious vessel. She had been captured from Oliver Cromwell's fleet by the Dutch Admiral de Ruyter during the battle of the Kentish Knock, and had been in de Ruyter's squadron during his raid up the Thames only months previously to her arrival off the Cape. She was sleek and lovely in her glossy black paint, and snowy-white trim. It was easy to see that her sails had been renewed before she sailed from Holland, and all her sheets and rigging were spanking new. Her crew were mostly veterans of the two recent wars with England, prime battle-hardened warriors.

Her commander, Captain Ryker, was also a tough, rugged deep-water mariner, wide in the shoulder and big in the gut. He made no attempt to hide his displeasure at finding himself under the direction of a man who, until recently, had been his enemy, an irregular whom he considered little short of a greedy pirate. His bearing towards Cumbrae was cold and hostile, his scorn barely concealed.

They had held a council of war aboard De Sonnevogel which had not gone smoothly, Cumbrae refusing to divulge their destination and Ryker making objection to every suggestion and arguing every proposal that he put to him. Only the arbitration of Colonel Schreuder had kept the expedition from breaking down irretrievably before they had even left the shelter of Table Bay.

It was with a profound feeling of relief that the Buzzard at last watched the frigate weigh anchor and, with almost two hundred musketeers lining her rail waving fond farewells to the throng of gaudily dressed or half-naked Hottentot women on the beach, follow the little Gull out towards the entrance to the bay.

The Gull's own deck was crowded with infantrymen, who waved and jabbered and pointed out the landmarks on the mountain and on the beach to each other, and hampered the seamen as they worked the Gull off the lee shore.

As the ship rounded the point below Lion's Head and felt the first majestic thrust of the south Atlantic, a strange quiet fell over the noisy passengers, and as they tacked and went onto a broad easterly reach, the first of the musketeers rushed to the ship's side, and shot a long yellow spurt of vomit directly into the eye of the wind. A hoot of laughter went up from the crew as the wind sent it all back into the wretch's pallid face and splattered his green doublet with the bilious evidence of his last meal.

Within the hour most of the other soldiers had followed his example, and the decks were so slippery and treacherous with their offerings to Neptune that the Buzzard ordered the pumps to be manned and both decks and passengers to be sluiced down.

"It's going to be an interesting few days," he told Colonel Schreuder. "I hope these beauties will have the strength to carry themselves ashore when we reach our destination."

Before they had half completed their journey, it became apparent that what he had said in jest was in fact dire reality. Most of the troops seemed moribund, laid out like corpses on the deck with nothing left in their bellies to bring up. A signal from Captain Ryker indicated that those aboard the Sonnevogel were in no better case.

"If we put these men straight from the deck into a fight, Franky's lads will eat them up without spitting out the bones. We'll have to change our plans," the Buzzard told Schreuder, who sent a signal across to the Sonnevogel. While he hove to, Captain Ryker came across in his skiff with obvious bad grace to discuss the new plan of assault.

Cumbrae had drawn up a sketch map of the lagoon and the shoreline that lay on each side of the heads. The three officers pored over this in the tiny cabin of the Gull. Ryker's mood had been alleviated by the disclosure of their final destination, by the prospect of action and prize_ money and by a dram of whisky that Cumbrae poured for him. For once he was disposed to agree with the plan with which Cumbrae presented him.

"There is a another headland here, about eight or nine leagues west of the entrance to the lagoon." The Buzzard laid his hand on the map. "With this wind there will be enough calm water in the lee to send the boats ashore and land Colonel Schreuder and his musketeers on the beach. Then he will begin his approach march." He stabbed at the map with a forefinger bristling with ginger hair. "The interlude on dry land and the exercise will give his men an opportunity to recover from their malaise. By the time they reach Courtney's lair they should have some fire in them again."

"Have the pirates set up any de fences at the entrance to the lagoon?" Ryker wanted to know.

"They have batteries here and here, covering the channel." Cumbrae drew a series of crosses down each side of the entrance. "They are so well protected as to be invulnerable to return fire delivered by a ship entering or leaving the anchorage." He paused as he remembered the rousing send-off those culver ins had given the Gull as she fled from the lagoon after his abortive attack on the encampment.

Ryker looked sober at the prospect of subjecting his ship to close-range salvoes from entrenched shore batteries.

"I will be able to deal with the batteries on the western approaches," Schreuder promised them. "I will send a small detachment to climb down the cliffs. They will not be expecting an attack from their rear. However, I will not be able to cross the channel and reach the guns on the eastern headland."

"I will send in another raiding party to put those guns out of the game," Ryker cut in. "As long as we can devise a system of signals to co-ordinate our attacks." They spent another hour working out a code with flag and smoke between the ships and the shore. By this time the blood of both Ryker and Schreuder was a-boil, and they were vying for the opportunity to win battle honours.

Why should I risk my own sailors when these heroes are eager to do the work for me? the Buzzard thought happily. Aloud he said, "I commend you, gentlemen. That is excellent planning. I take it you will delay the attacks on the batteries at the entrance until Colonel Schreuder has brought up his main force of infantry through the forest and is in a position to launch the main assault on the rear of the pirate encampment."

"Yes, quite so," Schreuder agreed eagerly. "But as soon as the batteries on the heads have been put out of action, your ships will provide the diversion by sailing in through them and bombarding the pirates" encampment. That will be the signal for me to launch my land attack into their rear.

"We will give you our full support." Cumbrae nodded, thinking comfortably to himself, How hungry he is for glory, and restrained an avuncular urge to pat him on the shoulder. The idiot is welcome to my share of the cannonballs, just as long as I can get my hands on the prize. Then he looked speculatively at Captain Ryker. It only remained to arrange that the Sonnevogel lead the squadron through the heads into the lagoon, and in the process draw the main attentions of Franky's culver ins along the edge of the forest. It might be to his advantage if she were to sustain heavy damage before Franky was overwhelmed. If the Buzzard were in command of the only seaworthy ship at the end of the battle, he would be able to dictate his own terms when it came to disposing of the spoils of war.

"Captain Ryker," he said with an arrogant flourish, "I claim the honour of leading the squadron into the lagoon in my gallant little Gull. My ruffians would not forgive me if I let you go ahead of us."

Ryker's lips set stubbornly. "Sir!" he said stiffly. "The Sonnevogel is more heavily armed, and better able to resist the balls of the enemy. I must insist that you allow me to lead the entry into the lagoon."

And that takes care of that, thought the Buzzard, as he bowed his head in reluctant acquiescence.

Three days later they put Colonel Schreuder and his three companies of seasick musketeers ashore on a deserted beach and watched them march away into the African wilderness in a long untidy column.

The African night was hushed but never silent. When Hal paused on the narrow path, his father's light footfalls dwindled ahead of him, and Hal could hear the soft sounds of myriad life that teemed in the forest around him. the warbling call of a night bird, more hauntingly beautiful than ever musician coaxed from stringed instrument, the scrabbling of rodents and other tiny mammals among the dead leaves and the sudden murderous cry of the small feline predators that hunted them, the singing and hum of the insects and the eternal soughing of the wind. All were part of the hidden choir in this temple of Pan.

The beam of the storm lantern disappeared ahead of him, and now he stepped out to catch up. When they had left the encampment, his father had ignored his question, but when at last they emerged from the forest at the foot of the hills, he knew where they were going. The stones that still marked the Lodge within which he had taken his vows formed a ghostly circle in the glow of the waning moon. At the entry to it Sir Francis went down on one knee and bowed his head in prayer. Hal knelt beside him.

"Lord God, make me worthy," Hal prayed. "Give me the strength to keep the vows I made here in your name."

His father lifted his head at last. He stood up, took Hal's hand and raised him to his feet. Then, side by side, they stepped into the circle and approached the altar stone. "In Arcadia habito! Sir Francis said, in his deep, lilting voice, and Hal gave the response.

"Flumen sac rum bene cognosco!"

Sir Francis set the lantern upon the tall stone and, in its yellow light, they knelt again. For a long while they prayed in silence, until Sir Francis looked up at the sky. "The stars are the ciphers of the Lord. They light our comings and our goings. They guide us across uncharted oceans. They hold our destiny in their coils. They measure the number of our days."

Hal's eyes went immediately to his own particular star, Regulus. Timeless and unchanging it sparkled in the sign of the Lion.

"Last night I cast your horoscope," Sir Francis told him. "There is much that I cannot reveal, but this I can tell you. The stars hold a singular destiny in store for you. I was not able to fathom its nature."

There was a poignancy in his father's tone, and Hal looked at him.

His features were haggard, the shadows beneath his eyes deep and dark.

"If the stars are so favourably inclined, what is it that troubles you, Father?"

"I have been harsh to you. I have driven you hard." Hal shook his head. "Father, -" But Sir Francis quieted him with a hand on his arm. "You must remember always why I did this to you. If I had loved you less, I would have been kinder to you." His grip on Hal's arm tightened as he felt Hal draw breath to speak. "I have tried to prepare you and give you the knowledge and strength to meet that particular destiny that the stars have in store for you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes. I have known this all along. Aboli explained it to me.

"Aboli is wise. He will be with you when I have gone." "No, Father. Do not speak of that."

"My son, look to the stars," Sir Francis replied, and Hal hesitated, uncertain of his meaning. "You know which is my own star. I have shown it to you a hundred times before. Look for it now in the sign of the Virgin."

Hal raised his face to the heavens, and turned it to the east where Regulus still showed, bright and clear. His eyes ran on past it into the sign of the Virgin, which lay close beside the Lion, and he gasped, his breath hissing through his lips with superstitious dread.

His father's sign was slashed from one end to the other by a scimitar of flame. A fiery red feather, red as blood.

"A shooting star," he whispered.

"A comet," his father corrected him. "God sends me a warning. My time here draws to its close. Even the Greeks and the Romans knew that the heavenly fire is the portent of disaster, of war and famine and plague, and the death of kings."

"When?" Hal asked, his voice heavy with dread.

"Soon," replied Sir Francis. "It must be soon. Most certainly before the comet has completed its transit of my sign. This may be the last time that you and I will be alone like this."

"Is there nothing that we can do to avert this misfortune? Can we not fly from it?"

"We do not know whence it comes," Sir Francis said gravely. "We cannot escape what has been decreed. If we run, then we will certainly run straight into its jaws."

"We will stay to meet and fight it, then," said Hal, with determination.

"Yes, we will fight," his father agreed, "even if the outcome has been ordained. But that was not why I brought you here. I want to hand over to you, this night, your inheritance, those legacies both corporal and spiritual which belong to you as my only son." He took Hal's face between his hands and turned it to him so that he looked into his eyes.

"After my death, the rank and style of baronet, accorded to your great-grandfather, Charles Courtney, by good Queen Bess after the destruction of the Spanish Armada, falls upon you. You will become Sir Henry Courtney. You understand that?"

"Yes, Father."

"Your pedigree has been registered at the College of Arms in England." He paused as a savage cry echoed down the valley, the sawing of a leopard hunting along the cliffs in the moonlight. As the dreadful rasping roars died away Sir Francis went on quietly, "It is my wish that you progress through the Order until you attain the rank of Nautonnier Knight."

"I will strive towards that goal, Father."

Sir Francis raised his right hand. The band of gold upon his second finger glinted in the lantern light. He twisted it off, and held it to catch the moonlight. "This ring is part of the regalia of the office of Nautonnier." He took Hal's right hand, and tried the ring on his second finger. It was too large, so he placed it on his son's forefinger. Then he opened the high collar of his cloak, and exposed the great seal of his office that lay against his breast. The tiny rubies in the eyes of the lion rampant of England, and the diamond stars above it, sparkled softly in the uncertain light. He lifted -the chain of the seal from around his own neck, held it high over Hal's head and then lowered it onto his shoulders. "This seal is the other part of the regalia. It is your key to the Temple."

"I am honoured but humbled by the trust you place in me "There is one other part to the spiritual legacy I leave for you," Sir Francis said, as he reached into the folds of his cloak. "It is the memory of your mother." He opened his hand and in his palm lay a locket bearing a miniature of Edwina Courtney.

The light was not strong enough for Hal to make out the detail of the portrait, but her face was graven in his mind and in his heart. Wordlessly he placed it in the breast pocket of his doublet.

"We should pray together for the peace of her soul," said Sir Francis quietly, and both bowed their heads. After many minutes Sir Francis again raised his head. "Now, it remains only to discuss the earthly inheritance that I leave to you. There is firstly High Weald, our family manor in Devon. You know that your uncle Thomas administers the house and lands in my absence. The deeds of title are with my lawyer in Plymouth..." Sir Francis went on speaking for a long while, listing and detailing his possessions and estates in England. "I have written all this in my journal for you, but that book may be lost or plundered before you can study it. Remember all that I have told you."

"I will not forget any of it, "Hal assured him.

"Then there are the prizes we have taken on this cruise. You were with me when we cached the spoils from both the Heerlycke Nacht and from the Standvastigheid. When you return with that booty to England, be sure to pay over to each man of the crew the share he has earned."

"I will do so without fail."

"Pay also every penny of the Crown's share to the King's customs officers. Only a rogue would seek to cheat his sovereign."

"I will not fail to render to my king."

"I should never rest easy if I were to know that all the riches that I have won for you and my king were to be lost. I require you to make an oath on your honour as a Knight of the Order," Sir Francis said. "You must swear that you will never reveal the whereabouts of the spoils to any other person. In the difficult days that lie ahead of us, while the red comet rules my sign and dictates our affairs, there may be enemies who will try to force you to break this oath. You must bear always in the forefront of your mind the motto of our family.

Durabo! I shall endure."

"On my honour, and in God's name, I shall endure," Hal promised. "The words slipped lightly over his tongue. He could not know then that when they returned to him their weight would be grievous and heavy enough to crush his heart. or his entire military career Colonel Cornelius Schreuder had campaigned with native troops rather than with men of his own race and country. He much preferred them, for they were inured to hardship and less likely to be affected by heat and sun, or by cold and wet. They were hardened against the fevers and plagues that struck down the white men who ventured into these tropical climes, and they survived on less food. They were able to live and fight on what frugal fare this savage and terrible land provided, whereas European troops would sicken and die if forced to undergo similar privations.

There was another reason for his preference. Whereas the lives of Christian troops must be reckoned dear, these heathen could be expended without such consideration, just as cattle do not have the same value as men and can be sent to the slaughter without qualm. Of course, they were famous thieves and could not be trusted near women or liquor, and when forced to rely upon their own initiative they were as little children, but with good Dutch officers over them, their courage and fighting spirit outweighed these weaknesses.

Schreuder stood on a rise of ground and watched the long column of infantry file past him. It was remarkable how swiftly they had recovered from the terrible affliction of seasickness that only the previous day had prostrated most of them. A night's rest on the hard earth and a few handfuls of dried fish and cakes of sorghum meal baked over the coals, and this morning they were cheerful and strong as when they had embarked. They strode past him on bare feet, following their white petty-officers, moving easily under their burdens, chattering to each other in their own tongues.

Schreuder felt more confidence in them now than at any time since they had embarked in Table Bay. He lifted his Hat and mopped at his brow. The sun was only just showing above the tree-tops but already it was hot as the blast from a baker's oven. He looked ahead at the hills and forest that awaited them. The map that the red-haired Scotsman had drawn for him was a rudimentary sketch that merely adumbrated the shoreline and gave no warning of this rugged terrain that they had encountered.

At first he had marched along the shore, but this proved heavy going under their packs the men sank ankle deep into sand at each pace. Also, the open beaches were interspersed with cliffs and rocky capes, which could cause further delay. So Schreuder had turned inland and sent his scouts ahead to find a way through the hills and forest.

At that moment there was a shout from up ahead. A runner was coming back down the line. Panting, the Hottentot drew himself up and saluted with a flourish. "Colonel, there is a wide river ahead." Like most of these troops he spoke good Dutch.

"Name of a dog!" Schreuder cursed. "We will fall further behind and our rendezvous is only two days from now. Show me the way." The scout led him towards the crest of the hill.

At the top of the slope a steep river valley opened beneath his feet. The sides were almost two hundred feet deep and densely covered with forest. At the bottom the estuary was broad and brown, racing out into the sea with the tide. He drew his telescope from its leather case and carefully scanned the valley where it cut deeply into the hills of the hinterland. "There does not seem to be an easier way to cross and I cannot afford the time to search further." He looked down at the drop. "Fix ropes to those trees at the top to give the men purchase on the slope." it took them half the morning to get two hundred men down into the valley. At one stage a rope snapped under the weight of fifty men leaning on it to keep their footing as they descended. However, although most sustained grazes, cuts and sprains as they rolled down to the riverbank, there was one serious casualty. A young Sinhalese infantryman's right leg caught in a tree root as he fell, and was fractured in a dozen places below the knee, the sharp splinters of bone sticking out of his shin.

"Well, we're down with only one man lost," Schreuder told his lieutenant, with satisfaction. "It could have been more costly. We might have spent days searching for another crossing."

"I will have a litter made for the injured man," Lieutenant Maatzuyker suggested.

"Are you soft in the head?" Schreuder snapped. "He would hold up the march. Leave the clumsy fool here with a loaded pistol. When the hyena come for him he can make his own decision who to shoot, one of them or himself. Enough talk! Let's get on with the crossing."

From the bank Schreuder looked across a hundred-yard sweep of river, the surface dimpled with small whirlpools as the outgoing tide spurred the muddy waters on their race for the sea.

"We will have to build rafts-" Lieutenant Maatzuyker ventured, but Schreuder snarled, "Nor can I afford the time for that. Get a rope across to the other bank. I must see if this river is fordable."

"The current is strong,"Maatzuyker pointed out tactfully. "Even a simpleton can see that, "Maatzuyker. Perhaps that is why you had no difficulty in making the observation," said Schreuder ominously. "Pick your strongest swimmer!" " Maatzuyker saluted and hurried down the ranks of troops. They guessed what was in store and every one found something of interest to study in sky or forest, rather than meeting Maatzuyker's eye.

"Ahmed!" he shouted at one of his corporals, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the huddle of men where he was trying to make himself inconspicuous.

Resignedly Ahmed handed his musket to a man in his troop and began to strip. His naked body was hairless and yellow, sheathed in lithe, hard muscle.

Maatzuyker knotted the rope under his armpits and sent him into the water. As Ahmed edged out into the current it rose gradually to his waist. Schreuder's hopes for a swift, easy crossing rose with it. Ahmed's mates on the bank shouted encouragement as they paid out the line.

Then, when he was almost half-way across, Ahmed stumbled abruptly into the main channel of the river, and his head disappeared below the surface.

"Pull him back!" Schreuder ordered, and they hauled Ahmed back into the shallower water, where he struggled to regain his footing, snorting and coughing up the water he had swallowed.

Suddenly Schreuder shouted, with more urgency, "Pull! Get him out of the water!"

Fifty yards upstream he had seen a mighty swirl on the surface of the opaque waters. Then a swift V-shaped wake sped down the channel to where the corporal was splashing about in the shallows. The team on the rope saw it then and, with yells of consternation, they hauled Ahmed in so vigorously that he was plucked over backwards and dragged thrashing and kicking towards the bank. However, the thing below the surface moved more swiftly still and arrowed in on the helpless man.

When it was only yards from him its deformed black snout, gnarled and scaled as a black log, thrust through the surface, and twenty feet behind the head a crested saurian tail exploded out. The hideous monster raced across the gap, and rose high out of the water, its jaws open to display the ragged files of yellow teeth.

Then Ahmed saw it, and shrieked wildly. With a crash like a falling portcullis the jaws closed over his lower body. Man and beast plunged below the surface in a whirlpool of creaming foam. The men on the line were jerked off their feet and dragged in a struggling heap down the bank.

Schreuder leapt after them and seized the rope's end. He took two turns around his wrist and flung his weight back on the line. Out in the brown tide-race there was another boiling explosion of foam as the huge crocodile, its fangs locked in Ahmed's belly, rolled over and over at dizzying speed. The other men on the line recovered their footing and hung on grimly, There was a sudden stain of red on the brown water as Ahmed was torn in half, the way a glutton might twist the leg off the carcass of a turkey.

The bloodstain was whipped away and dissipated downstream by the swift current, and the straining men fell back as the resistance at the other end of the rope gave way. Ahmed's upper torso was dragged ashore, arms jerking and mouth opening and shutting convulsively, like that of a dying fish.

Far out in the river the crocodile rose again, holding Ahmed's legs and lower torso crosswise in its jaws. It lifted its head to the sky and gulped and strained to swallow. As the dismembered carcass slid down into its maw, they saw it bulge the soft, pale scaly throat.

Schreuder was roaring with rage. "This foul beast will delay us for days, if we allow it." He rounded on the shaken musketeers who were dragging away Ahmed's sundered corpse. "Bring that piece of meat back here!" They dropped the corpse at his feet and watched in awe as he stripped off his own clothing, and stood naked before them, flat, hard muscle rippling his belly and his thick penis jutting out of the mat of dark hair at its base. At his impatient order they tied a rope under his armpits, then handed him a loaded musket with the match burning in the lock, which Schreuder shouldered. With his other hand he grabbed Ahmed's limp dead arm. An incredulous hum of amazement went up from the bank as Schreuder stepped into the river dragging the bleeding remnants with him. "Come, then, filthy beastV he bellowed angrily, as the water reached his knees and he kept going. "You want to eat? Well, I have something for you to chew on."

A moan of horror burst from every throat as, upstream from where Schreuder stood, with the water at his hips, there was another tremendous swirl and the crocodile rushed down-river towards him, leaving a long slick wake across the brown surface.

Schreuder braced himself and then, with a round-arm swing, hurled the upper half of Ahmed's dripping, dismembered corpse ahead of him into the path of the crocodile's flailing charge. "Eat that!" he shouted, as he lifted the musket from his shoulder and levelled it at the human bait that bobbed only two arms" span ahead of him.

The monstrous head burst through the surface and the mouth opened wide enough to engulf Ahmed's pitifully shredded remains. Over the sights of the gun Schreuder looked down into its gaping jaws. He saw the ragged spikes of teeth, still festooned with shreds of human flesh, and beyond them the lining of the throat, which was a lovely buttercup yellow. As the jaws opened, a tough membrane automatically closed off the throat to prevent water rushing down it into the beast's lungs.

Schreuder aimed into the depths of the open throat and snapped the lock. The burning match dropped and there was an instant of delay as the powder flared in the pan. Then, as Schreuder held his aim unwaveringly, came a deafening roar and a long silver-blue spurt of smoke flew from the muzzle straight down the throat of the crocodile. Three ounces of antimony-hardened lead pellets drove through the membrane, tearing through windpipe, artery and flesh, lancing deep into the chest cavity, ripping through the cold reptilian heart and lungs.

Such a mighty convulsion racked the great lizard that fifteen feet of its length arched clear of the water and the grotesque head almost touched the crested tail before it fell back in a tall spout of foam. Then it rolled, dived and burst out again, swirling in leviathan contortions.

Schreuder did not pause to watch these hideous death throes, but dropped the smoking musket and dived headfirst into the deepest part of the channel. Relying on the beast's frenzy to confuse and distract any other of the deadly reptiles, he lashed out towards the far bank with a full overarm stroke.

"Pay out the rope to him!" Maatzuyker yelled at the men who stood paralysed with shock, and they recovered their wits. Holding it high to keep it clear of the current they let it out as Schreuder clawed himself across the channel.

"Look out!" Maatzuyker shouted, as first one then another crocodile pushed through the surface. Their eyes were set on protuberant horny knuckles so they were able to watch the convulsions of their dying fellow without exposing the whole of their heads.

The softer splashes thrown up by Schreuder did not attract their attention until he was only a dozen strokes from the far bank, when one of the monsters sensed his presence. It turned and sped towards him, ripples spreading like a fan on each side of the twin lumps on its forehead.

"Faster!" Maatzuyker bellowed. "He's after you!" Schreuder redoubled his stroke as the crocodile closed in swiftly upon him. Every man on the bank roared encouragement at him, but the crocodile was only a body length behind as Schreuder's feet touched the bottom. It raced in the last yard as Schreuder flung himself forward and the mighty jaws snapped closed only inches behind his feet.

Dragging the rope like a tail he staggered towards the tree-line but still he was not clear of danger for the dragonlike creature raised itself on its stubby bowed legs as it came ashore, and waddled after him at a speed that the watchers could hardly credit. Schreuder reached the first tree of the forest only feet ahead of it and sprang for an overhanging branch. As the snaggle-toothed jaws clashed shut he was just able to lift his legs beyond their bite and, with the last of his strength, draw himself higher into the branches.

The frustrated reptile lurked below, circling the hole of the tree. Then, uttering a hissing roar, it retreated slowly down the bank. It carried high its long tail, crested like a gigantic cockscomb, but as it reached the river it lowered itself and slid back beneath the surface.

Even before it had disappeared, Schreuder shouted across the river, "Make your end fast!" He looped his own rope end around the thick trunk beside which he was perched, and knotted it. Then he yelled, "Maatzuyker! Get those men busy building a raft. They can pull themselves over on the rope against the current."

The hull of the Resolution had been cleaned of weed and, barnacles, and as the crew paid off AT her hoving lines she righted herself slowly against the press of the incoming tide.

While she had been careened on the beach, the carpenters had finished shaping and dressing the new mainmast, and it was at last ready to step. It took every hand to carry the long, heavy spar down to the beach and lift the thick end over the gunwale. The tackle was made fast to her other two standing masts, and the slinp were adjusted to raise the new spar.

With gangs heaving cautiously on the lines, "and Big Daniel and Ned directing them, they raised the massive length of gleaming pine towards the vertical. Sir Francis trusted no one else to supervise the crucial business of fitting the heel of the mast through the hole in the main deck and then sliding its length down through the hull to the step on the keelson of the ship. It was a delicate operation that needed the strength of fifty men, and took most of that day.

"Well done, lads!" Sir Francis told them, when at last the massive spar slid home the last few inches and the heel clunked heavily into its prepared step. "Slack off!" No longer supported by the ropes, the fifty-foot mast stood of its own accord.

Big Daniel shouted up to the deck from where he stood waist deep in the lagoon, "Now woe betide those cheese heads Ten days from today, we'll sail her out through the heads, you mark my words."

Sir Francis smiled down at him from the rail. "Not before we get the shrouds on that mainmast. And that will not happen while you stand there with your mouth open and your tongue wagging."

He was about to turn away when suddenly he frowned at the shore. The Governor's wife had come out of the trees, followed by her maid, and now she stood at the top of the beach, spinning the handle of her parasol between her long white fingers so it revolved over her head, a brightly coloured wheel that drew the eye of every man of his crew. Even Hal, who was overseeing the gang on the foredeck, had turned from his work to gawk at her like a ninny. Today she was dressed in a fetching new costume, cut so low in front that her bosom bulged out almost to her nipples.

"Mister Courtney," Sir Francis called, loud enough to shame his son in front of his men, "give a mind to your work. Where are the wedges to steady that spar?"

Hal started, and flushed darkly under his tan as he turned from the rail and seized the heavy mallet. "You heard the captain," he snapped at his gang.

"That strumpet is the Eve in this paradise," Sir Francis dropped his voice, and spoke from the side of his mouth to Aboli at his shoulder. "I have seen Hal mooning at her before and, sweet heavens, she looks back at him bold as a harlot with her dugs sticking out. He is only a boy."

"You see him through a father's eyes." Aboli smiled and shook his head. "He is a boy no longer. He is a man. You told me once that your holy book speaks of an eagle in the sky and a serpent on a rock, and a man with a maid." although Hal could steal little time from his uties, he responded to Katinka's summons like a salmon returning to its native river in the spawning season. When she called him, nothing could stop him answering. He ran up the path with his heart keeping time to his flying feet. It was almost a full day since last he had been alone with Katinka, which was much too long for his liking. Sometimes he was able to sneak away from the camp to meet her twice or even thrice in a single day. Often they could be together only for a few minutes, but that was time enough to get the business done. The two wasted little of their precious time together in ceremony or debate.

They had been forced to find a meeting place other than her hut. Hal's midnight visits to the hostage stockade had almost ended in disaster. Governor van de Velde could not have been sleeping as soundly as his snores suggested and they had grown careless and rowdy in their love play.

Roused by his wife's unrestrained cries and Hal's loud responses, Governor van de Velde seized the lantern and crept up on her hut. Aboli, on guard without, saw the glimmer of it in time to hiss a warning, giving Hal a space to snatch up his clothing and duck out of the hole in the stockade wall, just as van de Velde burst into the hut with the lantern in one hand and a naked sword in the other.

He had complained bitterly to Sir Francis the following morning. "One of your thieving sailors," he accused.

"Is there any item of value missing from your wife's hut?"

Sir Francis wanted to know and, when van de Velde shook his head, he was heavy with innuendo. "Perhaps your wife should not make such a show of her jewels for they excite avaricious thoughts. In future, sir, it might be prudent to take better care of all your possessions."

Sir Francis questioned the off-duty watch, but as the Governor's wife could supply no description of the intruder she had been fast asleep at the time the matter was soon dropped. That had been the last nocturnal visit Hal dared risk to the stockade.

Instead they had found this secret place to meet. It was well hidden but situated close enough to the camp for Hal to be able to respond to her summons and to reach it in just a few minutes. He paused briefly on the narrow terrace in front of the cave, breathing deeply in his haste and excitement. He and Aboli had discovered it as they returned from one of their hunting forays in the hills. It was not really a cave, but an overhang where the soft red sandstone had been eroded from the harder rock strata to form a deep veranda.

They were not the first men to have passed this way. There were old ashes in the stone hearth against the back wall of the shelter, and the low roof was soot-stained. Littering the floor were the bones of fish and small mammals, remnants of meals that had been prepared at the hearth. The bones were dry and picked clean, and the ashes were cold and scattered. The hearth was long disused.

However, these were not the only signs of human occupation. The rear wall was covered from floor to roof with a wild and exuberant cavalcade of paintings. Horned antelope and gazelle that Hal did not recognize streamed in great herds across the smooth rock face, hunted by stick-like human archers with swollen buttocks and incongruously erect sexual members. The paintings were childlike and COlourful, the perspective and the relative size of men and beasts fantastical. Some human figures dwarfed the elephant they pursued, and eagles were twice the size of the herds of black buffalo beneath their outstretched wings. Yet Hal was enchanted by them. Often in the intervals of quiet between wild bouts of lovemaking, he would lie staring up at these strange little men as they hunted the game and fought battles with each other. At those times he felt a strange longing to know more about the artists, and these heroic little hunters and warriors they had depicted.

When he asked Aboli about them, the big black man shrugged disdainfuly. "They are the San. Not really men, but little yellow apes. If you are ever unfortunate enough to meet one of them, a fate from which your three gods should protect you, you will find out more about their poison arrows than their paint pots."

Today the paintings could hold his interest for only a moment, for the bed of grass that he had laid on the floor against the wall was empty. This was no surprise, for he was early to the tryst. Still, he wondered if she would come or if her summons had been capricious. Then, behind him, he heard the snap of a -breaking twig from further down the slope.

He glanced around quickly for a place to hide. Down one side of the entrance trailed a curtain of vines, their dark green foliage staffed with startlingly yellow blossoms) their light, sweet perfume wafting through the cave. Hal slipped behind it and shrank back against the rock wall.

A moment later Katinka sprang lightly onto the terrace outside the entrance and peered expectantly into the interior. When she realized it was empty, her frame stiffened with "anger. She said one word in Dutch that, from her regular use of it, he had come to know well. It was obscene, and he felt his skin crawl with excitement at the delights presaged by that word.

Silently he slipped out from his hiding place and crept up behind her. He whipped one hand over her eyes and, with the other arm around her waist, lifted her off her feet and ran with her towards the bed of grass.

Much later Hal lay back on the grass mattress, his naked chest still heaving and running with sweat. She nibbled lightly at one of his nipples as though it were a raisin. Then she played with the golden medallion that hung from his neck.

"This is pretty," she murmured. "I like the red ruby eyes of the lion. What is it?" He did not understand this complex question in her language, and shrugged. She repeated it slowly and clearly.

"It is something given me by my father. It has great value to me," he replied evasively.

"I want it," she said. "Will you give it to me?" He smiled lazily. "I could never do that."

"Do you love me?" she pouted. "Are you mad for me?" "Yes, I love you madly," he admitted, as with the back of his forearm he wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

"Then give me the medallion."

He shook his head wordlessly and then, to avoid the looming argument, he asked, "Do you love me as I love you?"

She gave a merry laugh. "Don't be a silly goat! Of course I do not love you. Lord Cyclops is the only one I love." She had nicknamed his sex after the one-eyed giant of the legend, and to affirm it she reached down to his groin. "But even him I do not love when he is so soft and small." Her fingers were busy for a moment, and then she laughed again, this time throatily. "There now, I love him better already. Ah, yes! Better still. The bigger he grows, the more I love him. I am going kiss him now to show him how much I love him."

She slid the tip of her tongue down over his belly, but as she pushed her face into the dark bush of his pubic hair, a sound arrested her. It came rolling in across the lagoon below, and broke in a hundred booming echoes from the hills.

"Thunder!" Katinka cried, and sat up. "I hate thunder. Ever since I was a little girl."

"Not thunder!" Hal said, and pushed her away so roughly that she cried out again.

"Oh! You son of a pig, you have hurt me." But Hal took no heed of her complaint, and sprang to his feet. Naked, he rushed to the entrance of the cave and stared out. The entrance was situated high enough to enable him to see over the tops of the forest trees surrounding the lagoon. The bare masts of the Resolution towered into the blue noon sky. The air was filled with seabirds the thunderous sound had startled them from the surface of the water and the sunlight sparkled on their wings so that circling high overhead they seemed to be creatures of ice and crystal.

A softly rolling bank of mist obscured half the lagoon. It blanketed the rocky cliffs of the heads in silvery-blue billows that were suddenly shot through with strange flickering lights. But this was not mist.

The thunder broke again, reaching Hal long after the flare of lights, the distant sound taking time to reach his ears. The swirling clouds thickened, spilling densely and heavily as oil across the lagoon waters. Above this cloud bank, the tall masts and sails of two great ships floated as though suspended above the waters. He stared at them, stupefied, as they sailed in serenely between the heads. Another broadside broke from the leading ship. He saw at once that she was a frigate, her black hull trimmed with white, her gun ports gaping and the fire and smoke boiling out of her. High above the smoke banks the tricolour of the Dutch Republic rippled in the light noon breeze. In line behind her the Gull of Moray followed daintily, the colours of St. George and St. Andrew and the great red cross of the Temple bedecking her masts and rigging, her culver ins bellowing out their warlike chorus.

"Merciful God! Hal cried. "Why do not the batteries at the entrance return their fire?"

Then with his naked eye he saw strange soldiers in green uniform overrunning the gun emplacements at the foot of the cliffs, their swords and the steel heads of their pikes flashing in the sunlight as they slaughtered the gunners, and flung their bodies over the parapets into the sea below.

"They have surprised our men in the forts. The Buzzard has led the Dutch to us, and shown them where our guns are placed." His voice trembled with outrage. "He will pay with his blood for this day, I swear it."

Katinka sprang up from the grass mattress and ran to the entrance beside him. "Look! It is a Dutch ship, come to rescue me from the den of your foul pirate father. I give thanks to God! Soon I will be away from this forsaken place and safe at Good Hope." She danced with excitement. "When they hang you and your father from the gibbet on the parade outside the fort, I shall be there to blow you one last kiss and to wave you farewell." She laughed mockingly.

Hal ignored her. He ran back into the cave, pulled on his clothing hastily and belted on the Neptune sword. There will be fighting and great danger, but you will be safe if you stay here until it is over," he told her, and started down.

"You cannot leave me alone here!" she screamed after him. "Come back here, I command you!"

But he took no notice of her pleas and raced down the footpath through the trees. I should never have allowed her to tempt me from my father's side, he lamented silently as he ran. He warned me of the danger of the red comet. I deserve whatever cruel fate awaits me now.

He was in such distress that he was oblivious to all but the need to take up his neglected duties and almost ran full tilt into the lines of skirmishing soldiers moving through the trees ahead of him. just in time, he smelt the smoke of their burning match and then picked out their green doublets and the white cross belts as they wove their way through the trees of the forest. He flung himself to the ground and rolled behind the trunk of a tall wild fig tree. He peered out from behind it, and saw that the strange green-clad ranks were moving away from him, advancing on the encampment, pikes and muskets at the ready, keeping good order under the direction of a white officer.

Hal heard the officer call softly in Dutch, "Keep your spacing. Do not bunch up!" There could be no doubt now whose troops these were.

The Dutchman's back was still turned, and Hal had a moment's respite to think. I must reach the camp to warn my father, but there is not enough time to find a way round. I will have to fight my way through the enemy ranks. He drew the sword from its scabbard and rose on one knee, then paused as a thought struck him with force. We are outnumbered on land and on the water. This time there are no fireships to drive off the Buzzard and the Dutch frigate. The battle may go hard for us.

Using the point of his sword, he scratched a hole in the soft, loamy soil at the base of the wild fig. Then he slipped the ring from his finger and the locket with the miniature of his mother from his pocket and dropped them into the hole. After that he lifted the seal of the Nautonnier from his neck and laid it on top of his other treasures. He swept the loose soil back over them, and tamped it down with the flat of his hand.

It had taken him only a minute but when he started to his feet the Dutch officer had disappeared into the forest ahead. Hal crept forward, guided to his quarry by the rustle and crackle of the undergrowth. Without their officers these men will not fight so well, he thought. If I can take this one I will quench some of the fire in their bellies. He slowed as he drew closer to the man he was stalking, and came up behind the Dutchman as he pushed his way through the undergrowth, the noise of his progress masking the fainter sounds of Hal's approach.

The Dutchman was sweating in dark wet patches down the back of his serge coat. By his epaulettes Hal realized that he was a lieutenant in the Company's army. He was thin and lanky, with angry red pustules studding the back of his scrawny neck. He carried his bared sword in his right hand. He had not bathed for many days and smelt like a wild boar.

"On guard, Mij nheer!" Hal challenged him in Dutch, for he could not run him through the back. The lieutenant spun round to face him, lifting his blade into the guard.

His eyes were pale blue, and they flew wide with shock and fright as he found Hal so close behind him. He was not much older than Hal, and his face blanched with terror, emphasizing the rash of purple acne that covered his chin.

Hal thrust and their blades rasped as they crossed. He recovered swiftly, but with that first light touch he had assessed his adversary.

The Dutchman was slow and his wrist lacked the snap and power of a practised swordsman. His father's words rang in his ears. "Fight from the first stroke. Do not wait until you are angry." And he gave his heart over to a cold, murderous rage to kill. "Ha!" he grunted, and feinted high, aiming the point at the Dutch, mans eyes but balanced for his parry. The lieutenant was slow to counter, and Hal knew he could risk the flying attack that Daniel had taught him against such a foe. He could go for the quick kill.

His wrist tempered to steel by hours with Aboli on the practice deck, he caught up the Dutchman's blade, and whirled it with a stirring motion that threw the point off the line of defence. He had created an opening, but to exploit it with the flying attack he must open his own guard and place himself in full jeopardy of the Dutchman's natural riposte suicide in the face of a skilled opponent.

He committed himself, throwing his weight forward over his left foot, and sped his point in through the other man's guard. The riposte came too late, and Hal's steel spiked through the sweat-stained serge cloth. It glanced off a rib and then found the gap between them. Despite the days he had spent with a sword in his hand this was Hal's first kill with the cold steel, and he was unprepared for the sensation of his blade running through human flesh.

It was a soggy, dead feeling, which smothered the speed of his thrust. Lieutenant Maatzuyker gasped and dropped his own sword as Hal's point stopped at last against his spine. He clutched at Hal's razor-sharp blade with bare hands. It slashed his palms to the bone, severing the sinews in a quick flush of bright blood. His fingers opened nervelessly, and he sank to his knees staring up into Hal's face with watery blue eyes, as though he were about to burst into tears.

Hal stood over him, and tugged at the sapphire pommel of the Neptune sword, but the Toledo blade clung fast in the wet flesh. Maatzuyker gasped in agony and held up his mutilated hands in appeal.

"I am sorry," Hal whispered in horror, and heaved again on his sword hilt. This time Maatzuyker opened his mouth wide and whimpered. The blade had passed through his right lung, and a sudden gout of blood burst through his pale lips, poured down his coat front and splashed Hal's boots.

"Oh God!" Hal muttered, as Maatzuyker toppled backwards with the blade between his ribs. For a moment, he stood helplessly, watching the other man choke on and drown in his own blood. Then, close behind him, came a wild shout from the bushes.

A green-jacketed soldier had spotted him. A musket boomed, the pellets rattled into the foliage above Hal's head and -sang off the tree trunk beside him. He was galvanized. All along he had known what he must do but, until that moment, he had not been able to bring himself to do it. Now he placed his booted heel firmly on Maatzuyker's heaving chest and leaned back against the resistance of the trapped blade. He tugged once and then again with all his weight behind it. Reluctantly the blade slid out until suddenly it came free and Hal reeled backwards.

Instantly he recovered his balance and leapt over Maatzuyker's body just as another musket shot crashed out and the pellets hissed past his head. The soldier who had fired was fumbling with his powder flask as he tried to reload and Hal ran straight at him. The musketeer looked up in fright, then dropped his empty weapon and turned his back to run.

Hal would not use the point again but slashed at the man's neck, just below his ear. The razor edge cut to the bone, and the side of his neck opened like a grinning red mouth. The man dropped without a sound. But all around him the bushes were alive with green-jacketed figures. Hal realized there must be hundreds of them. This was not a raiding party but a small army attacking the encampment.

He heard shouts of alarm and anger, and now a constant barrage of musket fire, much of it wild and undirected, but some slashing into the undergrowth close on either side of him as he ran with all his speed and strength. In the midst of the uproar Hal recognized, by its power and authority, one stentorian voice.

"Get that man!" it bellowed in Dutch. "Don't let him get away! I want that one." Hal glanced in the direction from which it was coming, and almost tripped with the shock of seeing Cornelius Schreuder racing through the trees to head him off. His Hat and wig flew from his head, but the ribbons and sash of his rank were gold. His shaven head gleamed like an eggshell. His moustaches were scored heavily across his face. For such a big man, he was fast on his feet, but fear made Hal faster.

"I want you!" Schreuder yelled. "This time you will not get away."

Hal put on a burst of speed and, within thirty flying paces, had forged ahead to see the stockade of the encampment through the trees. It was deserted and he realized that his father and every other man would have been decoyed away to the lagoon's edge by the heavy fire of the two warships, and that they must be manning the culver ins in the emplacements.

"To arms!" he screamed as he ran, with Schreuder pounding along only ten paces behind him. "Rally to me, the Resolution, In your rear!" As he burst into camp he saw, with huge relief, Big Daniel and a dozen seamen responding to his call, rushing back from the beach to support him. Immediately Hal rounded on the Dutchman.

"Come, then," he said, and went on guard. But Schreuder came up short as he saw the Resolution's men bearing down on him and realized that he had outrun his own troops, had left them without a leader, and was now outnumbered twelve to one.

"Again you are lucky, puppy," he snarled at Hal. "But before this day ends, you and I will speak again."

Thirty paces behind Hal, Big Daniel pulled up short and lifted the musket he carried. He aimed at Schreuder but, as the lock snapped, the Colonel ducked and spun on his heels, the shot went wide and he bounded back into the forest, shouting to rally his attacking musketeers as they came swarming forward through the trees.

"Master Daniel," Hal panted, "the Dutchman leads a strong force. The forest is full of men."

"How many?"

"A hundred or more. There!" He pointed as the first of the attackers came running and dodging towards them, stopping to fire and reload their muskets, then running forward again.

"What's worse, there are two warships in the bay," Daniel told him. "One is the Gull but the other is a Dutch frigate." "I saw them from the hill." Hal had recovered his breath.

"We are outgunned in front and outnumbered in the rear. We cannot stand here. They will be on us in a minute. Back to the beach."

The coloured troops behind them clamoured like a pack of hounds as Hal turned and led his men back at a run. Ball and shot thrummed and whistled around them, kicking up spurts of damp earth at their heels, speeding them on their way.

Through the trees he could see the piled earth of the gun emplacements and the drifting bank of gunsmoke. He could make out the heads of his own gunners as they reloaded the culver ins Out in the lagoon the stately Dutch frigate bore down on the shore, wreathed in her own powder smoke. As Hal watched, she put her helm over, bringing her broadside to bear, and again her gun ports bloomed with great flashes of flame. Seconds later the thunder of the cannonade and the blast of howling grape shot swept over them.

Hal flinched in the turmoil of disrupted air, his eardrums singing. Whole trees crashed down, and branches and leaves rained upon them. Directly in front of him he saw one of the culver ins hit squarely, and hurled off its train. The bodies of two of the Resolution's sailors were sent spinning high into the air.

"Father, where are you?" Hal tried to make himself heard in the pandemonium but then, through it all, he heard Sir Francis's voice.

"Stand to your guns, lads. Aim at the Dutchmen's ports. Give those cheese-heads out there some of our good English cheer."

Hal leapt down into the gun pit beside his father, seized his arm and shook it urgently.

"Where have you been, boy?" Sir Francis glanced at him, but when he saw the blood on his clothing he did not wait for an answer. Instead he grunted, "Take command of the guns on the left flank. Direct your fire, -" Hal interrupted, in a breathless rush, "The enemy ships are only creating a diversion, Father. The real danger is in our rear. The forest is full of Dutch soldiers, hundreds of them." He pointed back with his blood-stained blade. "They'll be on us in a minute."

Sir Francis did not hesitate. "Go down the line of guns. Order every second culverin to be swung round and loaded with grape. The front guns continue to engage the ships, but hold your fire with the back guns until the attack in our rear is point-blank. I will give the order to fire. Now, go!" As Hal scrambled out of the pit, Sir Francis turned to Big Daniel. "Take these men of yours, and any other loafers you can find, go back and slow the enemy advance in our rear. Hal raced down the line, pausing beside each gun pit to shout his orders and then running on. The sound of the barrage and the answering fire from the beach was deafening and confusing. He reeled and almost went sprawling to the ground as another broadside from the black frigate swept over him like the devil-winds of a typhoon, smashing through the forest and ploughing the earth around him. He shook his head to clear it and ran on, hurdling a fallen tree-trunk.

As he passed each emplacement and alerted the gunners, they began to train the culver ins around, aiming them back-into the forest. Back there they could already hear musket fire and angry shouts as Big Daniel and his small band of seamen charged into the advancing hordes that poured from the forest.

Hal reached the gun pit at the end of the line and jumped down beside Aboli, who was captaining the team of gunners there. Aboli thrust his burning match into the touch hole. The culverin leapt and thundered. As the stinking smoke swirled back over them, Aboli grinned at Hal, his dark face stained even darker with soot and his eyes bloodshot with smoke. "Ah! I thought you might never pull your root out of the sugar field in time to join the fight. I feared I might have to come up to the cave, and prise you loose with an iron bar."

"You will grin less happily with a musket ball in your tail feathers," Hal told him grimly. "We are surrounded. The woods behind us are full of Dutchmen. Daniel is holding them, but not for much longer. There are hundreds of them. Train this piece around and load with grape." While they reloaded, Hal went on giving his orders. "We'll have time for only one shot, then we'll charge them in the smoke," he said as he tamped down the charge with the long ramrod. As he pulled it out, a sailor lifted the heavy canvas bag filled with lead shot, and forced it down the muzzle. Hal drove it down to sit upon the powder charge. Then they ducked behind the parapet on both sides of the gun, keeping clear of the area where the train would recoil, and stared past the stockade into the forest beyond. They could hear the ring of steel on steel and the wild shouts as Daniel's men charged then fell back before the counter charge of the green-jackets. Musket fire hammered steadily as Schreuder's men reloaded and ran forward to fire again.

Now they caught glimpses through the trees of their own seamen coming back. Daniel towered above the others. he was carrying a wounded man over one shoulder and swinging a cutlass in his other hand.

The green-jackets were pressing him and his party hard.

"Ready now!" Hal grated at the seamen around him, and they crouched below the parapet and fingered their pikes and cutlasses. "Aboli, don't fire until Daniel is out of the line."

Suddenly Daniel threw down his burden, and turned back. He raced into the thick of the enemy, and scattered them with a great swipes of his cutlass. Then he ran to the wounded seaman, slung him over his shoulder and came on again towards where Hal crouched.

Hal glanced down the line of gun pits Although the forward-pointing cannon were still banging away at the ships in the lagoon, every second culverin was directed into the forest, waiting for the moment to loose a storm of shot into the lines of attacking infantry.

"At such short range the shot will not spread, and they are keeping their spaces," Aboli muttered.

"Schreuder has them well under control," Hal agreed grimly. "We can't hope to bring too many down with a single volley."

"Schreuder!" Aboli's eyes narrowed. "You did not tell me it was him."

"There he is!" Hal pointed at the tall wig less figure striding towards them through the trees. His sash glittered and his moustache bristled as he urged his musketeers forward.

Aboli grunted, "That one is the devil. We'll have trouble from him." He thrust an iron bar under the culverin and turned it round a few degrees, trying to bring the sights to bear on the colonel.

"Stand still," he urged, "for just long enough to give me a shot."

But Schreuder was moving up and down the ranks of his men, waving them on. He was so close now that his voice carried to Hal as he snapped at his men, "Keep your line! Keep the advance going. Steady now, hold your fire!" His control over them was apparent in the determined but measured advance. They must have been aware of the line of waiting guns, but they came forward without wavering, holding their fire, not wasting the one fair shot they carried in their muskets.

They were close enough for Hal to make out their individual features. He knew that the Company recruited most of its troops in its eastern colonies, and this was apparent in the Asiatic faces of many of the advancing soldiers. Their eyes were dark and almond-shaped and their skins a deep amber.

Suddenly Hal realized that the broadsides from the two warships had ceased and snatched a glance over his shoulder. He saw that both the black frigate and the Gull had anchored a cable's length or so off the beach. Their guns were silent, and Hal realized that Cumbrae and the frigate captain must have arranged with Schreuder a code of signals. They had ceased firing for fear of hitting their own men.

That gives us a breathing space, he thought, and looked ahead again.

He saw that Daniel's band was much depleted. they had lost half their number, and the survivors were clearly exhausted by their foray and the fierce skirmishing. Their gait was erratic many could barely drag themselves along. Their shirts were sodden with sweat and the blood from their wounds. One at a time they stumbled up and flopped over the parapet to lie panting in the bottom of the pit.

Daniel alone was indefatigable. He passed the wounded man over the parapet to the gunners and, so murderous was his mood, would have turned back and rushed at the enemy once more had not Hal stopped him. "Get back here, you great ox! Let us soften them up with a little grape shot. Then you can have at them again."

Aboli was still trying to line up the barrel on Schreuder's elusive shape. "He is worth fifty of the others," he muttered to himself, in his own language. Hal, though, was no longer paying him any heed, but trying anxiously to catch a glimpse of his father in the furthest emplacement, and take a lead from him.

"By God, he's letting them get too close!" he fretted. "A longer shot would give the grape a chance to spread, but I'll not open fire before he gives the order."

Then he heard Schreuder's voice again. "Front rank! Prepare to fire!" Fifty men dropped obediently to their knees, right in front of the parapet, and grounded the butts of their muskets.

"Ready now, men!" Hal called softly to the sailors crowded around him. He had realized why his father had delayed the salvo of culverin until this moment. he had been waiting for the attackers to discharge their muskets, and then he would have them at a fleeting disadvantage as they tried to reload.

"Steady now!" Hal repeated. "Wait for their volley!" "Present your arms!" Schreuder's command rang out in the sudden silence. "Take your aimV The file of kneeling men lifted their muskets and aimed at the parapet. The blue smoke from the slow-match in the locks swirled about their heads, and they slitted their eyes to aim through it. "Heads down!" Hal yelled.

The seamen in the gun pits ducked below the parapet, just as Schreuder roared, "Fire!" The long, ragged volley of musketry rattled down the file of kneeling men, and lead balls hissed over the heads of the gunners and thumped into the earth ramp. Hal leapt to his feet and looked down to the far end of the line of gun pits He saw his father jump onto the parapet, brandishing his sword, and, although it was too far for his order to carry clearly, his gestures were unmistakable.

"Fire!" yelled Hal at the top of his lungs, and the line of guns erupted in a solid blast of smoke, flame and buzzing grape shot. It swept through the thin green line of Dutch infantry at point-blank range.

Directly in front of him Hal saw one of them hit by the full fury of the volley. He disintegrated in a burst of torn green serge and pink shredded flesh. His head spun high in the air, then fell back to earth and rolled like a child's ball. After that, all was obscured by the dense cloud of smoke, but though his ears still sang from the thunderous discharge, Hal could hear the screams and moans of the wounded resounding in the reeking blue fog.

"All together!" Hal shouted, as the smoke began to clear. "Take the steel to them now, lads!"

After the mind-stopping blast of the guns their voices were thin and puny as they rose together from the gun pits "For Franky and King Charley!" they shouted, and the steel of cutlass and pike winked and twinkled as they jumped from the parapet and charged at the shattered rank of green uniforms.

Aboli was at Hal's left side and Daniel at his right as he led. them into the attack. By unspoken agreement the two big men, one white the other black, placed protective wings over Hal but they had to run at their best speed to keep up with him.

Hal saw that his misgivings had been fully borne out. The volley of grape had not wrought the devastation among the Dutch infantry that they might have hoped for. The range had been too short. five hundred lead balls from each culverin had cut through them like a single charge of round shot. Men caught by the discharge had been obliterated, but for every one blown to nothingness, five others were unscathed.

These survivors were stunned and bewildered, their eyes dazed and their expressions blank. Most knelt blinking and shaking their heads, making no attempt to reload their empty muskets.

"Have at them, before they pull themselves together!" Hal screamed, and the seamen following him cheered again more lustily. In the face of the charge the musketeers started to recover. Some leapt to their feet, flung down their empty guns and drew their swords. One or two petty officers had pistols tucked in their belts, which they drew and fired wildly at the seamen who rushed down on them. A few turned their backs and tried to flee back among the trees, but Schreuder was there to head them off. "Back, you dogs and sons of dogs. Stand your ground like men!" They turned again, and formed up around him.

Every man of the Resolution's crew who could still stand on his feet was in that charge even the wounded hobbled along behind the rest, cheering as loudly as their comrades.

The two lines came together and immediately all was confusion. The solid rank of attackers split up into little groups of struggling men, mingled with the green serge coats of the Dutch. All around Hal fighting men were cursing, shouting and hacking at each other. His existence closed in, became a circle of angry, terrified faces and the clatter of steel weapons, most already dulled with new gore.

A green-jacket stabbed a long pike at Hal's face. He ducked under it and, with his left hand, seized the shaft just behind the spearhead.

When the musketeer heaved back, Hal did not resist but used the impetus to launch his counter-attack, leading with the Neptune sword in his right hand. He aimed at the straining yellow throat above the high green collar, and his point slid in cleanly. As the man dropped the pike and fell back, Hal allowed the weight of his dropping body to pull him free of the blade.

Hal went smoothly back on guard, and glanced quickly around for his next opponent, but the charge of seamen had almost wiped out the file of musketeers. Few were left standing, and they were surrounded by clusters of attackers.

He felt his spirits soar. For the first time since he had seen those two ships sail into the lagoon, he felt that there was a chance that they might win this fight. In these last few minutes, they had broken up the main attack. Now they had only to deal with the sailors from the Dutch frigate and the Gull as they tried to come ashore.

"Well done, lads. We can do it! We can thrash them," he shouted, and the seamen who heard him cheered again.

Looking about him, he could see triumph on the face of every one of his men as they cut down the last of the green-jackets. Aboli was laughing and singing one of his pagan war-chants in a voice that carried over the din of the battle and inspired every man who heard it.

They cheered him and themselves, rejoicing deliriously, in the ease of their victory.

Daniel's tall figure loomed at Hal's right side. His face and thick muscular arms were speckled with blood thrown from the wounds he had inflicted on his victims, and his mouth was wide open as he laughed ferociously, showing his carious teeth.

"Where is Schreuder?" Hal yelled, and Daniel sobered instantly. The laughter died as his mouth snapped shut and he glared around the quietening battlefield.

Then Hal's question was answered unequivocally by Schreuder himself. "Second wave! Forward!" he bellowed lustily. He was standing on the edge of the forest, only a hundred paces from them. Hal, Aboli and Daniel started towards him, then came up short as another massed column of green-jackets poured out of the forest from behind where Schreuder stood.

"By God!" Hal breathed in despair. "We haven't-seen the half of them yet. The bastard has kept his main force in reserve."

"There must be two hundred of the swine!" Daniel shook his head in disbelief.

"Quarter columns!" Schreuder shouted, and the advancing infantry changed their formation. they spread out behind him three deep in precisely spaced ranks. Schreuder led them forward at a trot, their ranks neatly dressed and their weapons advanced. Suddenly he held his sword high to halt them. "First rank! Prepare to fire!" His men sank to their knees, while behind them the other two ranks stood -steady.

"Present your arms!" A line of muskets was raised and levelled at the knots of dumbstruck seamen.

"Fire!" roared Schreuder.

The volley crashed out. From a distance of only fifty paces it swept through Hal's men, and almost every shot told. Men dropped and staggered as the heavy lead pellets struck. The line of Englishmen reeled and wavered. There was a chorus of yells of pain and anger and fear.

"Charge!" Hal cried. "Don't stand and let them shoot you down!" He lifted the Neptune sword high. "Come on, lads. Have at them!"

On each side of him Aboli and Daniel started forward, but most of the others hung back. It was dawning on them that the fight was lost, and many looked back towards the safety of the gun emplacements. That was a dangerous signal. Once they glanced over their shoulders it was all up.

"Second rank," shouted Schreuder, "prepare to fire!" Fifty more musketeers stepped forward, their weapons loaded and the matches burning. They walked through the gaps in the kneeling rank that had just fired, advanced another two paces in a brisk businesslike manner, then knelt.

"Present your arms!" Even Hal and the dauntless pair flanking him wavered as they gazed into the muzzles of fifty levelled muskets, while a moan of fear and horror went up from their men. They had never before faced such disciplined troops.

"Fire!" Schreuder dropped his sword, and the next volley slashed into the wavering seamen. Hal flinched as a ball passed his ear so closely that the wind of it flipped a curl of his hair into his eyes.

At his side Daniel gasped, "I am struck!" jerked around like a marionette and sat down heavily. The volley had knocked over another dozen of the Resolution's men and wounded as many more. Hal stooped to aid Daniel, but the big boatswain growled, "Don't dither about here, you fool. Run! We're beaten, and there's another volley coming."

As if to prove his words, Schreuder's next orders rang out close at hand. "Third rank, present your arms!"

All around them the Resolution's men who were still on their feet, broke and scattered in the face of the levelled muskets, running. and staggering towards the gun pits

"Help me, Aboli," Hal shouted, and Aboli grabbed Daniel's other arm. Between them they hauled him to his feet and started back towards the beach.

"Fire!" Schreuder shouted, and at that instant, not waiting for a word from each other, Hal and Aboli flung themselves flat to earth, pulling Daniel down with them. The gunsmoke and the shot of the third volley crashed over their heads. Immediately they sprang up again and, dragging Daniel, ran for the shelter of the pits.

"Are you hit?" Aboli grunted at Hal, who shook his head, saving his breath. Few of his seamen were still on their feet. Only a handful had reached the line of gun pits and jumped into their shelter.

Half carrying Daniel, they staggered on, while behind them there were jubilant cheers, and the green-clad musketeers surged forward, brandishing their weapons. The three reached the gun pit and pulled Daniel down into it.

There was no need to ask of his wound for the whole of his left side ran red with blood. Aboli jerked the cloth from around his head, wadded it into a ball and stuffed it hurriedly into the front of Daniel's shirt.

"Hold that on the wound," he told Daniel. "Press as hard as you can." He left him lying on the floor of the pit, and stood up beside Hal.

"Oh, sweet Mary!" Hal whispered. His sweat-streaked face was pale with horror and fury at what he beheld over the parapet. "Look at those bloody butchers!"

As the green-jackets came clamouring forward, they paused only to stab the wounded seamen who lay in their path. Some of their victims rolled on their backs and lifted their bare hands to try to ward off the thrust, others screamed for mercy and tried to crawl away but, laughing and hooting, the musketeers ran after them, thrusting and hacking. This bloody work was quickly done, with Schreuder bellowing at them to close up and keep advancing.

In this moment of respite Sir Francis came dodging down the line and jumped into the pit beside his son.

"We are beaten, Father!" Hal said, dispiritedly, and they looked around at their dead and wounded. "We have lost over half our men already."

"Hal is right," Aboli agreed. "It is over. We must try to get away."

"Where to?" Sir Francis asked, with a grim smile. "That way?" He pointed through the trees towards the lagoon, where they saw-boats speeding in towards the beach, driven by the oars of enemy sailors eager to join the fight.

Both the frigate and the Gull had lowered their boats which were crowded with men. Their cutlasses were drawn and the smoke of their matchlocks blued the air, trailing out across the surface of the water.

They were shouting and cheering as wildly as the green-jackets in front.

As the first boats touched the beach the armed men spilled out of them and raced across the narrow strip of white sand. Howling with savage zeal, they stormed at the line of gun pits in which the empty culver ins gaped silently, and the Resolution's remaining crew cowered bewildered.

"We cannot hope for quarter, lads," Sir Francis shouted. "Look at what those bloodthirsty heathen do to those who try to yield to them." With his sword he indicated the corpses of the murdered men that littered the ground in front of the guns. "One more cheer for King Charley, and we'll go down fighting!"

The voices of his tiny band were small and hoarse with exhaustion as they dragged themselves over the parapet once more and sallied out to meet the charge of two hundred eager musketeers. Aboli was a dozen paces ahead, and hacked at the first green-jacket in his path. His victim went down under the blow but Aboli's blade snapped off at the hilt. He tossed it aside, stooped and picked up a pike from the dead hands of one of the fallen English seamen.

As Hal and Sir Francis ran up beside him, he hefted the long oak shaft and thrust at the belly of another musketeer who rushed at him with his sword held high. The pike head caught him just under the ribs and transfixed him, standing out half an arm's length between his shoulder blades. The man struggled like a fish on a gaff, and the heavy shaft snapped off in Aboli's hands. He used the stub like a cudgel to strike down the third musketeer who rushed at him. Aboli looked around, grinning like a crazed gargoyle, his great eyes rolling in their sockets.

Sir Francis was engaged with a white Dutch sergeant, trading cut for thrust, their blades clanking and rasping against each other.

Hal killed a corporal with a single neat thrust into his throat, then glanced at Aboli. "The men from the boats will be on us in an instant." They could hear wild cries in their rear as the enemy seamen swept over the gun pits dealing out short shrift to the few men hiding there. Hal and Aboli did not need to look back they both knew it was over.

"Farewell, old friend," Aboli panted. "They were good times. Would that they had lasted longer."

Hal had no chance to reply, for at that moment a hoarse voice said in English, "Hal Courtney, you bold puppy, your luck has just this moment ended." Cornelius Schreuder pushed aside two of his own men and strode forward to face Hal.

"You and me!" he shouted and came in fast, leading with his right foot, taking the quick double paces of the master swordsman, recovering instantly from each of the swift series of thrusts with which he drove Hal backwards.

Hal was shocked anew at the power in those thrusts, and it taxed all his skill and strength to meet and parry them. The Toledo steel of his blade rang shrilly under the mighty blows and he felt despair as he realized that he could not hope to hold out against such magisterial force.

Schreuder's eyes were blue, cold and merciless. He anticipated each of Hal's moves, offering him a wall of glittering steel when once he attempted the riposte, beating his blade aside then coming on again remorselessly.

Close by, Sir Francis was absorbed in his own duel and had not seen Hal's deadly predicament. Aboli had only the stump of the pike-shaft in his hand no weapon with which to take on a man like Cornelius Schreuder. He saw Hal, his immature strength already spent by his earlier exertions, wilting visibly before the overwhelming force of these attacks.

Aboli knew by Schreuder's expression when he judged his moment and gathered himself to make the kill. It was certain, inevitable, for Hal could never withstand the thunderbolt which was ready to loose itself upon him.

Aboli moved with the speed of a striking black cobra, faster even than Schreuder could send home his final thrust. He darted up behind Hal, and lifted the oak club. He struck Hal down with a crack over his ear, rapping him sharply across the temple.

Schreuder was amazed to have his victim drop to the ground, senseless, just as he was about to launch the death thrust. While he hesitated Aboli dropped the shattered pike-shaft and stood protectively over Hal's inert body.

"You cannot kill a fallen man, Colonel. Not on the honour of a Dutch officer. ""You black Satan!" Schreuder roared with frustration. "If I can't kill the puppy, at least I can kill you."

Aboli showed him his empty hands, holding up his pale palms before Schreuder's eyes. "I am unarmed," he said softly.

"I would spare an unarmed Christian." Schreuder glared. "But you are a godless animal." He drew back his blade and aimed the point at the centre of Aboli's chest, where the muscles glistened with sweat in the sunlight. Sir Francis Courtney stepped lightly in front of him, ignoring the colonel's blade.

"On the other hand, Colonel Schreuder, I am a Christian gentleman," he said smoothly, "and I yield myself and my men to your grace." He reversed his own sword and proffered the hilt to Schreuder.

Schreuder glared at him, speechless with fury and frustration. He made no move to accept Sir Francis's sword, but placed the point of his weapon on the other man's throat and pricked him lightly. "Stand aside, or by God I'll cut you down, Christian or heathen." The knuckles of his right hand turned white on the hilt of his weapon as he prepared himself to make good the threat.

Another hail made him hesitate. "Come now, Colonel, I am loath to interfere in a matter of honour. If you murder the brother of my bosom, Franky Courtney, then who will lead us to the treasure from your fine galleon the Standvastigheid?"

Schreuder's gaze flicked to the face of Cumbrae as he came striding up to them, the great blood-streaked claymore in his hand.

"The cargo?" Schreuder demanded. "We have captured this pirate's nest. We will find the treasure is here."

"Now don't you be so certain of that." The Buzzard waggled his bushy red beard sadly. "If I know my dear brother in Christ, Franky, he'll have squirrel led the best part of it away somewhere." His eye glinted greedily from under his bonnet. "No, Colonel, you are going to have to keep him alive, at least until we have been able to recompense ourselves with a handful of silver rix-dollars for doing God's work this day."

When Hal recovered consciousness, he found his father kneeling over him. He whispered, "What happened, Father? Did we win?" His father shook his head, without looking into his eyes, and made a fuss of wiping the sweat and soot from his son's face with a strip of grubby cloth torn from the hem of his own shirt.

"No, Hal. We did not win." Hal looked beyond him, and it all came back. He saw that a pitiful few of the Resolution's crew had survived. They were huddled together around where Hal lay, guarded by green-jackets with loaded muskets. The rest were scattered where they had fallen in front of the gun pits or were draped in death upon the parapets.

He saw that Aboli was tending Daniel, binding up the wound in his chest with the red bandanna. Daniel was sitting up and seemed to have recovered somewhat, although clearly he had lost a great deal of blood.

His face beneath the grime of battle was as white as the ashes of last night's camp-fire.

Hal turned his head and saw Lord Cumbrae and Colonel Schreuder standing nearby, in deep and earnest conversation. The Buzzard broke off at last and shouted an order to one of his men. "Geordie, bring the slave chains from the Gull! We don't want Captain Courtney to leave us again." The sailor hurried back to the beach, and the Buzzard and the colonel came to where the prisoners squatted under the muskets of their guards.

"Captain Courtney." Schreuder addressed Sir Francis ominously. "I am arresting you and your crew for piracy on the high seas. You will be taken to Good Hope to stand trial on those charges."

"I protest, sir." Sir Francis stood up with dignity. "I demand that you treat my men with the consideration due to prisoners of war."

"There is no war, Captain," Schreuder told him icily. "Hostilities between the Republic of Holland and England ceased under treaty some months ago."

Sir Francis stared at him, aghast, while he recovered from the shock of this news. "I was unaware that a peace had been concluded. I acted in good faith," he said at last, "but in any event I was sailing under a commission from His Majesty."

"You spoke of this Letter of Marque during our previous meeting. Will you consider me presumptuous if I insist on having sight of the document?" Schreuder asked.

"My commission from His Majesty is in my sea-chest in my hut." Sir Francis pointed into the stockade, where many of the huts had been destroyed by cannon fire. "If you will allow me I will bring it to you."

"Please don't discommode yourself, Franky my old friend." The Buzzard clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll fetch it for you." He strode away and ducked into the low doorway of the hut that Sir Francis had indicated.

Schreuder rounded on him again. "Where are you holding your hostages, sir? Governor van de Velde and his poor wife, where are they?"

"The Governor must still be in his stockade with the other hostages, his wife and the captain of the galleon. I have not seen them since the beginning of the fight."

Hal stood up shakily, holding the cloth to his head. "The Governor's wife has taken refuge from the fighting in a cave in the hillside, up there."

"How do you know that?" Schreuder asked sharply.

"For her own safety, I led her there myself." Hal spoke up boldly, avoiding his father's stern eye. "I was returning from the cave when I ran into you in the forest, Colonel."

Schreuder looked up the hill, torn by duty and the desire to rush to the aid of the woman whose rescue was, for him at least, the main object of this expedition. But at that moment the Buzzard swaggered out of the hut. He carried a roll of parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon. The royal seals of red wax dangled from it.

Sir Francis smiled with satisfaction and relief. "There you have it, Colonel. I demand that you treat me and my crew as honourable prisoners, captured in a fair fight."

Before he reached them, the Buzzard paused and unrolled the parchment. He held up the document at arm's length, and turned it so that all could see the curlicue script penned by some clerk of the Admiralty in black indian ink. At last, with a jerk of his head, he summoned one of his own seamen. He took the loaded pistol from the man's hand, and blew upon the burning match in the lock. Then he grinned at Sir Francis and applied the flame to the foot of the document in his hand.

Sir Francis stood appailled as the flame caught and the parchment began to curl and blacken as the pale yellow flame ran up it. "By God, Cumbrae, you treacherous bastard!" He started forward, but the tip of Schreuder's blade lay on his chest.

"It would give me the greatest pleasure to thrust home," he murmured. "For your own sake, do not try my patience any further, sir."

"That swine is burning my commission."

"I can see nothing," Schreuder told him, his back deliberately turned to the Buzzard. "Nothing, except a notorious pirate standing before me with the blood of innocent men still warm and wet on his hands."

Cumbrae watched the parchment burn, a great wide grin splitting his ginger whiskers. He passed the crackling sheet from hand to hand as the heat reached his fingertips, turning it to allow the flames to consume every scrap.

"I have heard you prate of your honour, sit," Sir Francis flared at Schreuder. "It seems that that is an illusory commodity."

"Honour?" Schreuder smiled coldly. "Do I hear a pirate speak to me of honour? It cannot be. Surely my ears play me false."

Cumbrae allowed the flames to lick the tips of his fingers before he dropped the last blackened shred of the document to the earth and stamped on the ashes, crushing them to powder. Then he came up to Schreuder. "I am afraid Franky's up to his tricks again. I can find no Letter of Marque signed by the royal hand."

"I suspected as much." Schreuder sheathed his sword. "I place the prisoners in your charge, my lord Cumbrae. I must see to the welfare of the hostages." He glanced at Hal. "You will take me immediately to the place where you left the Governor's wife." He looked round at his Dutch sergeant who stood attentively at his shoulder. "Bind his hands behind his back and put a rope round his neck. Lead him on a leash like the mangy puppy he is."

Colonel Schreuder delayed the rescue expedition while a search was conducted for his lost wig. His vanity would not allow him go to Katinka in a state of disarray. They found it lying in the forest through which he had chased Hal. It was covered with damp earth and dead leaves, but Schreuder beat it against his thigh then -rearranged the curls carefully before placing it on his head. His beauty and dignity restored, he nodded at Hal. "Show us the way!"

By the time they came out on the terrace in front of the cave Hal was a sorry object. Both hands were trussed behind his back and the sergeant had another rope round his neck. His face was blackened with dirt and gunsmoke and his clothing torn and smeared with blood diluted with his own sweat. Despite his exhaustion and distress, his concern was still for Katinka, and he felt a tremor of alarm as he went into the cave.

There was no sign of her. I cannot live if anything has happened to her, he thought, but aloud he told Schreuder, "I left Mevrouw van de Velde here. No ill can have befallen her."

"For your sake, you had better be correct in that." The threat was more terrifying for having been uttered so softly. Then Schreuder raised his voice. "Mevrouw van de Velde!" he called. "Madam, you are safe. It is Colonel Schreuder, come to rescue you!" The vines veiling the entrance to the cave rustled softly, and Katinka stepped out timidly from behind them. Her huge violet eyes were brimming with tears, and her face was pale and tragic, adding to her appeal. "Oh!"she choked with emotion. Then, dramatically, she held out both hands towards Cornelius Schreuder. "You came! You kept your promise!" She flew to him and stood on tiptoe to fling both her slim arms round his neck. "I knew you would come! I knew you would never leave me to be humiliated and molested by these dreadful criminals."

For one moment Schreuder was taken aback by her embrace, then he folded her in his arms, shielding and comforting her as she sobbed against the ribbons and sashes that covered his chest. "If you have suffered the slightest affront, I swear I will avenge it a hundredfold."

"My ordeal has been too terrible to relate," she whimpered.

"This one?" Schreuder looked at Hal and demanded, "Was he one of those who mistreated you?"

Katinka looked sideways at Hal, her cheek still pressed against Schreuder's chest. Her eyes narrowed viciously and a small sadistic smile twisted her luscious lips. "He was the worst of all." She sobbed. "I cannot bring myself to tell you what disgusting things he said to me, or how he has harassed and humiliated me." Her voice broke. "I only thank God for the strength that he gave me to hold out against that man's importunity."

Schreuder seemed to swell with the strength of his fury. Gently he set Katinka aside, then turned on Hal. He bunched his right fist and punched him hard in the side of his head. Hal was taken by surprise, and staggered back. Schreuder followed him swiftly, and his next punch caught Hal in the pit of his stomach, driving the wind from his lungs and doubling him over.

"How dare you insult and mistreat a high-born lady?" Schreuder was shaking with fury. He had lost all control of his temper.

Hal's forehead was almost touching his knees, as he gasped and wheezed to recover his breath. Schreuder aimed a kick at his face, but Hal saw it coming and jerked his head aside. The boot glanced off his shoulder, and sent him reeling backwards.

Schreuder's rage boiled over. "You are not fit to lick the soles of this lady's slippers." He braced himself to punch again, but Hal was too quick. Although his hands were tied behind his back he stepped forward to meet Schreuder and aimed a kick at his groin, but because he was hampered by his bonds the kick lacked power.

Schreuder was more startled than hurt. "By God, puppy, you go too far!" Hal was still off-balance, and Schreuder's next blow knocked his legs out from under him. He collapsed and Schreuder set on him, using both feet, his boots thumping into Hal's curled-up body. Hal grunted and rolled over, trying desperately to avoid the barrage of kicks that slogged into him.

"Yes! Oh, yes!" Katinka trilled with excitement. "Punish him for what he has done to me." She goaded Schreuder, driving his violent temper to its limit. "Make him suffer, as I was made to do."

Hal knew in his heart that she was forced to reject him now in front of this man and even in his hurt he forgave her. He doubled over to protect his more vulnerable parts, taking most of the kicks on his shoulders and thighs, but he could not ride them all. One caught him in the side of the mouth and blood trickled down his chin.

Katinka squeaked and clapped her hands to see it flow. "I hate him. Yes! Hurt him! Smash his pretty, insolent face!" But the blood seemed to bring Schreuder to his senses again. With an obvious effort, he curbed his wild temper and stepped back, breathing heavily and still trembling with rage. "That is just a small taste of what is in store for him. Believe me, Mevrouw, he will be paid out in full when we reach Good Hope." He turned back to Katinka and bowed. "Please let me take you back to the safety of the ship that waits in the bay."

Katinka gave a pathetic little cry, her fingers on her soft pink lips. "Oh, Colonel, I fear I shall swoon." She swayed on her feet, and Schreuder leapt forward to steady her. She leant against him. "I do not think my legs can carry me."

He swept her into his arms, and set off down the hill carrying her lightly. She clung to him as though she were a child being taken to her bed.

"Come along, gallows-bait!" The sergeant yanked Hal to his feet by the loop around his neck, and led him, still bleeding, down towards the camp. "Better for you had the Colonel finished you off here and now. The executioner at Good Hope is famous. He's an artist, he is." He tugged hard on the rope. "He'll have some sport with you, I'll warrant."

They brought the chains to the beach where the survivors of the Resolution's crew, both Awounded and unharmed, were squatting under guard in the blazing sun.

They carried the first set to Sir Francis. "It's good to see you again, Captain." The sailor with the irons in his hands stood over him. "I have thought of you every day since last we met." on the other hand, I have never given you another thought, Sam Bowles." Sir Francis barely glanced at him, but scorn was in his voice.

"It's Boatswain Sam Bowles, now. His lordship has promoted me, "said Sam, with an insolent grin.

"Then I wish the Buzzard joy of his new boatswain. "Tis a marriage made in heaven."

"Hold out your hands, Captain. Let's see how high and mighty you are with bracelets of iron on you, Sam Bowles gloated. "By Christ, you'll never know how much pleasure this gives me." He snapped the shackles onto Sir Francis's wrists and ankles, and with the key screwed them so tight that they bit into his flesh. "I hope that fits you as well as your fancy cloak ever did." He stepped back and spat suddenly into Sir Francis's face, then burst out laughing. "I give you my solemn promise that, the day they reef your top sails for you, I will be at the Parade at Good Hope to wish you Godspeed. I wonder what way they will send you. Do you think it will be the fire, or will they hang and draw you?" Sam chuckled again and went on to Hal. "Good day to you, young Master Henry. It's your humble servant Boatswain Sam Bowles come to tend to your needs."

"I did not get a glimpse of your yellow hide during the fighting," Hal said quietly. "Where were you hiding this time?" Sam flushed and swung the handful of heavy chains against Hal's head. Hal recovered and stared coldly into his eyes. Sam would have struck again, but a huge black hand reached up and seized his wrist. He looked down into the smoky eyes of Aboli, who crouched beside Hal. Aboli said not a word but Sam Bowles stayed the blow. He could not hold that murderous stare, and dropped his eyes, keeping them averted as he knelt hurriedly to clamp the chains on Hal's limbs.

He stood up and came to Aboli, who watched him with the same expressionless gaze as he hurriedly screwed the shackles onto him, then passed on to where Big Daniel lay. Daniel winced but uttered no sound as Sam Bowles tugged brutally at his arms. The bullet wound had stopped bleeding, but with this rough treatment it opened again and began to weep watery blood from under the red head cloth that Aboli had used to bandage it. The blood trickled over his chest and dripped into the sand.

When they were all shackled together they were ordered to their feet. Supporting him between them, Hal and Aboli half carried Daniel as they were led in a file to one of the larger trees. Again they were forced to sit while the end of the chain was passed around the trunk and made fast with two heavy iron padlocks.

There were only twenty-six survivors from the Resolution's complement. Among these were four ex slaves, of which Aboli was one. Nearly all were at least lightly wounded, but four, including Daniel, were gravely injured and must be in danger of their lives.

Ned Tyler had received a deep cutlass slash in his thigh. Hampered by their manacles, Hal and Aboli bound it up with another strip of cloth salvaged from the shirt of one of the dead men who littered the battlefield like flotsam on the windswept beach. Parties of green-jacketed musketeers were working under their Dutch sergeants to gather up the corpses. Dragging them by the heels to a clearing among the trees, they stripped the bodies and searched them for the silver coins and other items of value that had been their share of the booty from the Standvastigheid.

A pair of petty-officers painstakingly searched through the discarded clothing, ripping out seams and tearing the soles off boots. Another team of three men, their sleeves rolled high and their fingers dipped in a pot of grease, probed the body orifices of the corpses, searching for any valuables that might be tucked away in these traditional hiding places.

The recovered booty was thrown into an empty water cask, over which a white sergeant stood with a loaded pistol as the keg filled slowly with a rich booty. When the ghoulish trio had finished with the naked corpses another gang dragged them away and threw them onto tall funeral pyres. Fuelled by dry logs the flames reached so high that they shrivelled the green leaves on the tall trees that surrounded the clearing. The smoke of charring flesh was sweet and nauseating, like burnt pork fat.

In the meantime, Schreuder and Cumbrae, assisted by Limberger, the captain of the galleon, were taking stock of the spice barrels. They were as officious as tax collectors, with their lists and books, checking the contents and weights of the recovered goods against the original ship's manifest, and marking the staves of the kegs with white chalk.

When they had made their tallies other gangs of seamen rolled the great barrels down to the beach and loaded them into the largest pinnace to be taken out to the galleon, which lay anchored out in the channel, under her new mainmast and rigging. The work went on all that night by the light of lantern and bonfire and the yellow flames of the cremation pyres.

As the hours passed Big Daniel became feverish. His skin was hot, and at times he raved. The bandage had at last staunched his wound, and under it a soft crusty scab had begun to form over the ugly puncture. But the skin around it was swollen and turning livid.

"The ball is still in there, Hal whispered to Aboli. "There is no wound in his back for it to have left his body." Aboli grunted, "If we try to cut it out, we will kill him.

From the angle which it entered, it must lie close to his heart and lungs."

"I fear it will mortify." Hal shook his head.

"He is strong as a bull." Aboli shrugged. "Perhaps strong enough to defeat the demons." Aboli believed that all sickness was caused by demons that had invaded the blood.

It was a groundless superstition, but Hal humoured him in his belief. "We should cauterize the wounds of all the men with hot tar." This was the sailor's cure-all and Hal pleaded in Dutch with the Hottentot guards to bring one of the pitch pots from the carpenter's shop in the stockade, but they ignored him.

It was after midnight before they saw Schreuder again. He strode out of the darkness and went directly to where Sir Francis lay chained to the others at the foot of the tree. Like the rest of his men, he was exhausted but able to snatch only brief moments of broken sleep, disturbed by the restless din and movements of the work gangs and the weak cries and groans of the wounded.

"Sir Francis." Schreuder stooped and shook him fully awake. "May I trouble you for a few minutes of your time?" From the tone of his voice, it seemed that his temper was on an even keel.

Sir Francis sat up. "First, Colonel, may I trouble you for a little compassion? None of my men has had a drop of water since yesterday afternoon. As you can see, four are grievously wounded."

Schreuder frowned, and Sir Francis guessed that he had not given orders for the prisoners to be deliberately mistreated. He himself had never thought that Schreuder was a brutal or sadistic man. His savage behaviour earlier had almost certainly been caused by his excitable nature, and by the strain and exigencies of battle. Now Schreuder turned to the guards and gave orders for water and food to be brought to the prisoners, and sent a sergeant to find the chest of medical supplies in Sir Francis's shattered hut.

While they waited for his orders to be carried out, Schreuder paced back and forth in the sand, his chin on his breast and his hands clasped behind his back. Hal suddenly sat up straighter.

"Aboli," he whispered. "The sword."

Aboli grunted as he realized that on Schreuder's sword belt hung the inlaid and embossed Neptune sword of Hal's knighthood, that had once belonged to his grandfather. Aboli laid a calming hand on the young man's shoulder to prevent him accosting Schreuder, and said softly, "The spoils of war, Gundwane. It is lost to you, but at least a real warrior still wears it." Hal subsided, realizing the cruel logic of the other man's advice.

At last Schreuder turned back to Sir Francis. "Captain Limberger and I have tallied the spice and timber cargo that you have stored in the go downs and we find that most of it is accounted for and still intact. The shortfall would probably be due to seawater damage sustained during the taking of the galleon. I have been told that one of your culverin balls pierced the main hold and part of the cargo was flooded."

"I am pleased," Sir Francis nodded with weary irony, "that you have been able to recover all of your Company's property.-" "Alas, that is not the case, Sir Francis, as you are well aware. There is still a large part of the galleon's cargo missing." He paused as the sergeant returned, and gave him an order. "Take the chains off the black and the boy. Let them water the others." Some men were following with a water cask, which they placed at the foot of the tree. Hal and Aboli immediately began to pour fresh water for their wounded, and all of them drank, gulping down the precious stuff with closed eyes and bobbing throats.

The sergeant reported to Colonel Schreuder, "I have found the surgeon's instruments." He displayed the canvas roll. "But, Mijnheer, it contains sharp knives, which could be used as weapons, and the contents of the pitch pots could be used against my men."

Schreuder looked down at Sir Francis where he squatted, haggard and dishevelled, beside the tree-trunk. "Do I have your word as a gentleman not to use these medical supplies to harm my men?"

"You have my solemn word," Sir Francis agreed. Schreuder nodded at the sergeant. "Give all of it into Sir Francis's charge," he ordered, and the sergeant handed over the small chest of medical supplies, the tar pot and a bolt of clean cloth that could be used as bandages.

"Now, Captain," Schreuder picked up the conversation where he had left off, "we have retrieved the plundered spice and timber, but more than half the coin and all of the gold bullion that was in the hold of the Standvastigheid is still missing."

"The spoils were distributed to my crew." Sir Francis smiled humourlessly. "I do not know what they have done with their share, and most are too dead to be able to enlighten us."

"We have recovered what I calculate must be the greater part of your crew's share." Schreuder gestured at the barrel containing the valuables collected in such macabre fashion from the battlefield casualties. It was being carried by a party of seamen down -to a waiting pinnace and guarded by Dutch officers with drawn swords. "My officers have searched the huts of your men in the stockade, but there is still no sign of the other half."

"Much as I would like to be of service to you, I am unable to account to you for the missing portion," Sir Francis told him quietly. At this denial, Hal looked up from ministering to the wounded men, but his father never glanced in his direction.

"Lord Cumbrae believes that you have cached the missing treasure," Schreuder remarked. "And I agree with him."

"Lord Cumbrae is a famous liar and cheat," Sir Francis said. "And you, sir, are mistaken in your belief."

"Lord Cumbrae is of the opinion that were he given the opportunity to question you in person he would be able to extract from you the whereabouts of the missing treasure. He is anxious to try to persuade you to reveal what you know. It is only with the greatest difficulty that I have been able to prevent him doing so."

Sir Francis shrugged. "You must do as you feel fit, Colonel, but unless I am a poor judge, the torture of captives is not something that a soldier like you would condone. I am grateful for the compassion that you have shown my wounded."

Schreuder's reply was interrupted by an agonized scream from Ned Tyler as Aboli poured a ladleful of steaming tar into the sword gash in his thigh. As the scream subsided into sobbing, Schreuder went on smoothly. "The tribunal that tries you for piracy at the fort at Good Hope will be headed by our new governor. I have serious doubts that Governor Petrus Jacobus van de Velde will feel himself so constrained to mercy as I am." Schreuder paused and then went on, "By the way, Sir Francis, I am reliably informed that the executioner employed by the Company at Good Hope prides himself on his skills."

"I will have to give the Governor and his executioner the same answer I gave you, Colonel."

Schreuder squatted on his heels and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial, almost friendly, tone. "Sir Francis, in our short acquaintance I have formed a high regard for you as a warrior, a sailor and a gentleman. If I were to give evidence before the tribunal that your Letter of Marque existed, and that you were a legitimate privateer, the outcome of your trial might go differently."

"You must have faith in Governor van de Velde that I lack," Sir Francis replied. "I wish I could further your career for you by producing the missing bullion, but I cannot help you, sir. I know nothing of its whereabouts."

Schreuder's face stiffened as he stood up. "I have tried to help you. I regret that you reject my offer. However, you are correct, sir. I do not have the stomach to have you put to the question under torture. What is more, I will prevent Lord Cumbrae from taking that task upon himself. I will simply do my duty and deliver you to the mercy of the tribunal at Good Hope. I beg you, siR, will you not reconsider?"

Sir Francis shook his head. "I regret I cannot help you, sir.

Schreuder sighed. "Very well. You and your men will be taken aboard the Gull of Moray as soon as she is ready to sail tomorrow morning. The frigate Sonnevogel has other duties in the Indies and she will sail at the same time to go her separate way. The Standvastigheid will remain here under her true commander, Captain Limberger, to take on her cargo of spice and timber before she resumes her interrupted voyage to Amsterdam."

He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the shadows, in the direction of the spice go down

When they were aroused by their captors the following morning, four of the wounded, including Daniel and Ned Tyler, were unable to walk and their comrades were forced to carry them. The slave chains allowed little freedom of movement, and it was a clumsy line of men that shambled down to the beach. Each step was hampered by the clanking shackles, so that they could not lift their feet high enough to step over the gunwale of the pinnace, and had to be shoved in by their guards.

When the pinnace tied onto the foot of the rope ladder down the side of the Gull, the climb that faced the chained men to the deck was daunting and dangerous. Sam Bowles stood at the entry port above them. One of the guards in the pinnace shouted up to him, "Can we loose the prisoners" chains, Boatswain?"

"Why do you want to do that?" Sam called down.

"The wounded can't help themselves. The others will not be able to hoist them. They'll not be able to make it up the ladder otherwise." "if they don't make it they're the ones that will be the poorer for it," Sam answered. "His lordship's orders. The manacles must stay on."

Sir Francis led the climb, his every movement hampered by the string of men linked behind him. The four wounded men, moaning in their delirium, were dead weights that had to be dragged up by force. Big Daniel, in particular, tested all their strength. If they had allowed him to slip from their grasp, he would have plummeted into the pinnace and pulled the whole string of twenty-six men with him, almost certainly capsizing the small boat. Once in the lagoon, the weight of their heavy iron chains would have plucked them all to the bottom, four fathoms down.

If it had not been for the bull strength of Aboli, they would never have reached the deck of the Gull. Yet even he was completely played out when, at last, he heaved Daniel's inert form over the gunwale and collapsed beside him on the scrubbed white deck. They all lay there gasping and panting, to be roused at last by a tingling peal of laughter.

With an effort Hal raised his head. On the Gull's quarterdeck, under a canvas awning, a breakfast table was laid. The glass was crystal and the silverware sparkled in the early sunlight. He smelt the heady aroma of bacon, fresh eggs and hot biscuit rising from the silver chafing dish.

At the head of the table sat the Buzzard. He raised his glass towards that sprawling heap of human bodies in the waist of his ship.

"Welcome aboard, gentlemen, and your astounding good health!" He drank the toast in whisky, then wiped his ginger whiskers with a damask napkin. "The finest quarters on board have been prepared for you. I wish you a pleasant voyage."

Katinka van de Velde laughed again, a musical sound. She sat at the Buzzard's left hand. Her head was bare, her golden curls piled high, her violet eyes wide and innocent in the flawless oval of her powdered face, and a beauty spot drawn carefully at the corner of her pretty, painted mouth.

The Governor sat opposite his wife. He stopped in the act of lifting a silver fork loaded with crisped bacon and cheese to his mouth, but continued to chew. A yellow drop of egg yolk escaped from between his pendulous lips and ran down his chin as he guffawed. "Do not despair, Sir Francis. Remember your family motto. I am sure you will endure." He stuffed the forkful into his mouth, and spoke through it. "This is really excellent fare, fresh from Good Hope. What a pity you cannot join us."

"How thoughtful of your lordship to provide us with entertainment.

Will these troubadours sing for us, or will they amuse us with more acrobatics?" Katinka asked in Dutch, then made a pretty little moue and tapped Cumbrae's arm with her painted Chinese fan.

At that moment Big Daniel rolled his head from side to side, thumping it on the planks, and cried out in delirium. The Buzzard howled with laughter. "As you see, they try their best, madam, but their repertoire does not suit every taste." He nodded at Sam Bowles. "Pray show them to their quarters, Master Samuel, and make sure they are well cared for."

With a knotted rope end, Sam Bowles whipped the prisoners to their feet. They lifted their wounded and shambled down the companion ladder. In the depths of the hull, below the main hold, stretched the low slave deck. When Sam Bowles lifted the hatch that opened into it, the stench that rose to greet them made even him recoil. It was the essence of the suffering of hundreds of doomed souls who had languished here.

The head space in this deck was no higher than a man's waist so they were forced to crawl down it and drag the wounded men with them. Iron rings were set into the bulkhead, bolted into the heavy oak beam that ran the length of the hold. Sam and his four mates crawled down after them and shackled their chains into the ring bolts When they had finished, the captives were laid out like herrings in a barrel, side by side, secured at wrist and ankle, only just able to sit up, but unable to turn over or to move their limbs more than the few inches that their chains allowed.

Hal lay with his father on one side and the inert hulk of Big Daniel on the other. Aboli was on the far side of Daniel and Ned Tyler beyond him.

When the last man had been secured, Sam crawled back to the hatch and smirked down at them. "Ten days to Good Hope with this wind. One pint of water a day for each man, and three ounces of biscuit, when I remember to bring it to you. You're free to shit and piss where you lie. See you at Good Hope, my lovelies."

He slammed the hatch closed, and they heard him on the far side hammering the locking pins into their seats. When the mallet blows ceased, the sudden quiet was frightening. At first the darkness was complete, but then as their eyes adjusted they could just make out the dark forms of their mates packed around them.

Hal looked for the source of light and found a small iron grating set into the deck directly above his head. Even without the bars, it would not have been large enough to admit the head of a grown man, and he discounted it immediately as a possible escape route. At least it provided a whiff of fresh air.

The stench was hard to bear and they all gasped in the suffocating atmosphere. It smelt like a bear-pit. Big Daniel moaned, and the sound loosened their tongues. They started to talk all at once.

"Love of God, it smells like a shit-house in apricot season down here."

"Do you think there's a chance of escaping from here, Captain?" , "Of course there is, my bully," one of the men answered for Sir Francis. "When we reach Good Hope."

"I would give half my share of the richest prize that ever sailed the seven seas for five minutes alone with Sam Bowles."

"All my share for another five with that bloody Cumbrae."

"Or that cheese-headed bastard, Schreuder."

Suddenly Daniel gabbled, "Oh, Mother, I see your lovely face. Come, kiss your little Danny." The plaintive cry disheartened them, and the silence of despair fell over the dark, noisome slave deck. Gradually they sank into a torpor of despondency, broken occasionally by the groans of delirium and the clank of the links as they tried to find a more comfortable position.

Slowly, the passage of time lost all significance, and none were sure whether it was night or day when the sound of the anchor capstan from the upper deck reverberated through the hull and they heard the faint shouts of the petty-officers relaying the orders to get the Gull under way.

Hal tried to judge the ship's course and direction by the momentum and heel of the hull, but soon lost track. It was only when the Gull plunged suddenly and began to work with a light, frolicsome motion to the scend of the open sea that he knew they had left the lagoon and passed out through the heads.

For hour after hour the Gull battled with the sou'-easter to make good her offing. The motion threw them back and forth on the bare planks, sliding on their backs the few inches that their chains allowed before coming up hard on their manacles, and then sliding back the other way. It was a great relief when, at last, she settled into an easier reach.

"There now. That's a sight better." Sir Francis spoke for them all. "The Buzzard has made his offing. He has come about and we are running free with the sou'-easter abaft our beam, heading west for the Cape."

As time passed, Hal made some estimate of the passage of the days by the intensity of light from the grating above his head. During the long nights there was a crushing blackness in the slave deck, like that at the bottom of a coal shaft. Then the softest light filtered down on him as the dawn broke, which grew in strength until he could make out the shape of Aboli's dark round head beyond the lighter face of Big Daniel.

However, even at noon the further reaches of the slave deck were hidden in darkness, from which the sighs and moans, and the occasional whispers of the other men echoed eerily between the oaken bulkheads. Then again the light faded away into that utter darkness to mark the passing of another day.

On the third morning a whispered message was passed from man to man. "Timothy O'Reilly is dead." He was one of the wounded. he had taken a sword thrust in his chest from one of the green-jackets.

"He was a good man." Sir Francis voiced his epitaph. "May God rest his soul. I would that we were able to afford him a Christian burial." By the fifth morning, Timothy's corpse added to the miasma of decay and rot that permeated the slave deck and filled their lungs with each breath.

Often, as Hal lay in a stupor of despair, the scampering grey rats, big as rabbits, clambered over his body. Their sharp claws raised painful scratches across his bare skin. In the end he gave up the hopeless task of trying to drive them away by kicking and hitting out at them, and set himself to endure the discomfort. It was only when one sank its sharp, curved teeth into the back of his hand that he shouted and managed to seize it, squeaking shrilly, by the throat and throttle it with his bare hands.

When Daniel cried out in pain beside him, he realized then that the rats had found him also, and that he was unable to defend himself from their attacks. After that he and Aboli took turns at sitting up and trying to keep the voracious rodents away from the unconscious man.

Their fetters prevented them from squatting over the narrow gutter that ran along the foot of the bulkhead, designed to carry away their sewage. Every once in a while Hal heard the spluttering release as one of the men voided where he lay, and immediately afterwards came the fetid stench of fresh faeces in the confined and already musty spaces.

When Daniel emptied his bladder, the warm liquid spread to flood the planks under Hal and soaked into his shirt and breeches. There was nothing he could do to avoid it, except lift his head from the deck.

Most days, around what Hal judged to be noon, the locking pins on the hatch were suddenly driven out with thunderous mallet blows. When it was lifted the feeble light that flooded the hold almost blinded them, and they lifted their hands, heavy with chains, to shield their eyes.

"I have a special posset for you merry gentlemen today," Sam Bowles's voice sang out. "A mug of water from out oldest barrels, with a few little beasties swimming in it and just a drop of my spittle to give it flavour." They heard him spit heartily, and then bray with laughter before he handed down the first pewter mug. Each mugful had to be passed along the deck, from hand to clumsy manacled hand, and when one was spilled there was none to replace it.

"One for each of our gentlemen. That's twenty-six mugs, and no more," Sam Bowles told them cheerily.

Big Daniel was now too far gone to drink unaided, and Aboli had to lift his head while Hal dribbled water between his lips. The other sick men had to be treated in the same way. Much. of the water was lost when it ran out of their slack mouths, and it was a long-drawn-out business. Sam Bowles lost patience before they were half through. "None of you want any more? Well, I'll be off, then." And he slammed the hatch closed and drove home the pins, leaving most of the captives pleading vainly, through parched throats and flaking lips for their share. But he was unrelenting, and they were forced to wait another day for their next ration.

After that Aboli filled his own mouth with water from the mug, placed his lips over Daniel's and forced it into the unconscious man's mouth. They did the same for the other wounded. This method was quick enough to satisfy even Sam Bowles, and less of the precious fluid was lost.

Sam Bowles chuckled when one of the men shouted up at him, "For God's sweet sake, Boatswain, there's a dead man down here. Timothy O'Reilly is stinking to the high heavens. Can you not smell him?"

He answered, "I'm glad you told me. That means he will not be using his water ration. It will be only twenty-five mugs I'll be serving from tomorrow."

Daniel was dying. He no longer groaned or thrashed about in delirium. He lay like a corpse. Even his bladder had dried up and no longer emptied itself spontaneously on the reeking planks on which they lay. Hal held his head and whispered to him, trying to cajole him into staying alive. "You can't give up now. Hold on just a while longer and we will be at the Cape before you know it. All the sweet fresh water you can drink, pretty slave girls to nurse you. just think on that, Danny."

At noon, on what he thought must be their sixth day at sea, Hal called across to Aboli, "I have something to show you here. Give me your hand." He took Aboli's fingers and guided them over Daniel's ribs. The skin was so hot that it was almost painful to the touch, and the flesh so wasted that the ribs stood out like barrel staves.

Hal rolled Daniel over as far as his chains would allow, and directed Aboli's fingers onto his shoulder blade. "There. Can you feel that lump?"

Aboli grunted, "I can feel it, but I cannot see." He was so restricted by his chains that he could not look over the bulk of Daniel's inert body.

"I'm not sure, but I think I know what it is." Hal put his face closer and strained his eyes in the dim light. "There is a swelling the size of a walnut. It's black like a bruise." He touched it gently, and even this light pressure made Daniel groan and fret against his bonds.

"It must be very tender." Sir Francis had roused himself and leaned as close as he was able. "I cannot see well. Where is it?"

"In the middle of his shoulder blade," Hal answered. "I believe that it is the musket ball. It has passed clean through his chest and is lying here under the skin."

"Then that is what is killing him," Sir Francis said. "It is the seat and source of the mortification that is eating him up. "If we had a knife," Hal murmured, "we could try to cut it out. But Sam Bowles took the medical chest."

Aboli said, "Not before I hid one of the knives." He searched in the waistband of his breeches and held up the thin blade. It glinted softly in the faint light from the grating above Hal's head. "I was waiting for a chance to cut Sam's throat with it."

"We must risk cutting," Sir Francis told him. "If it stays in his body the ball will kill him more certainly than the scalpel. "I cannot see to make the cut from where I lie," Aboli said. "You will have to do it."

There was a scuffling and clinking of the chain links, then Sir Francis grunted, "My chains are too short. I cannot lay a finger on him."

They were all silent for a short while, then Sir Francis said, "Hal."

"Father," Hal protested, "I do not have the knowledge or the skill."

"Then Daniel will die," Aboli said flatly. "You owe him a life, Gundwane. Here, take the knife."

In Hal's hand the knife seemed heavy as a bar of lead. His mouth dry with dread, he tested the edge of the blade against the ball of his thumb and found it dulled by much use.

"It is blunt," he protested.

"Aboli is right, my son." Sir Francis laid a hand on Hal's shoulder and squeezed. "You are Daniel's only chance." Slowly Hal reached out with his left hand, and felt the hard lump in Daniel's hot flesh. It moved under his fingers, and he felt it grate softly against the bone of the shoulder blade.

The pain roused Daniel, and he struggled against his chains. He shouted, "Help me, Jesus. I have sinned against God and man. The devil comes for me. He is dark. Everything grows dark."

"Hold him, Aboli," Hal whispered. "Hold him still."

Aboli wrapped his arms around Daniel, like the coils of a great black python. "Do it," he said. "Do it swiftly."

Hal leaned in close to Daniel, as close as his chains would let him, his face a hand's breadth from the other man's back. Now he could see the swelling more clearly. The skin was stretched so tightly over it that it was glossy and purple as an overripe plum. He placed the fingers of his left hand on each side of it and spread the skin even tighter.

He took a deep breath, and placed the tip of the scalpel against the swelling. He steeled himself, counting silently to three, then pressed down with the strength of a trained sword arm. He felt the blade slide deep into Daniel's back, and then strike something hard and unyielding, metal on metal.

Daniel shrieked and then went slack in Aboli's enfolding arms. A spurt of purple and yellow pus erupted from the deep scalpel cut. Hot and thick as carpenter's glue, it struck Hal in the mouth and splattered across his chin. The smell was worse than all the other odours of the slave deck, and Hal's gorge rose to scald the back of his throat. He swallowed back his own vomits and wiped the pus from his face with the back of his arm, before he could bring himself to peer gingerly once more at the wound.

Black pus still bubbled from it, but he saw extraneous matter caught in the mouth of the fresh cut. He dug at it with the tip of the scalpel, and freed a plug of dark and fibrous material, in which bone chips from the shattered scapula were mingled with jellied blood and pus.

"It's a piece of Danny's jacket," he gasped. "The ball must have pulled it into the wound."

"Have you found the ball?" Sir Francis demanded. "No, it must still be in there."

He probed deeper into the wound. "Yes. There it is." "Can you get it out?"

For a few minutes Hal worked in silence, thankful that Daniel was unconscious and did not have to suffer during this crude exploration. The flow of pus dwindled and now fresh clean blood oozed from the dark wound.

"I can't get it with the knife. It keeps slipping away," he whispered. He put aside the blade and pushed his finger into Daniel's hot, living flesh. Breath rasping with horror, he worked in deeper and still deeper, until he could get his fingertip behind the lump of lead.

"There!" he exclaimed suddenly, as the musket ball popped out of the wound and dropped onto the planks with a thump. It was deformed by its violent contact with bone, and there was a mirror-bright smear in the soft lead.

He stared at it in vast relief, then snatched his finger from the wound.

It was followed by another soft rush of pus and lumpy foreign matter. "There is the musket wad." He gagged. "I think everything is out now." He looked down at his besmeared hands. The stench from them struck him like a blow in the face.

For a while they were all silent. Then Sir Francis whispered, "Well done, Hal!" "I think he is dead," Hal answered, in a small voice. "He is so still."

Aboli released Daniel from his grip, then groped down his naked chest. "No, he is alive. I can feel his heart. Now, Gundwane, you must wash out the wound for him."

Between them they dragged Daniel's inert body to the limit of his fetters and Hal half knelt above him. He opened his filthy breeches and dehydrated by the limited ration of water, strained to squirt a weak stream of urine into the wound. It was enough to wash out the last rotting shreds of wadding and corruption. Hal used the last few drops of his own water to cleanse some of the filth from his hands and then fell back, spent by the effort.

"Done like a man, Gundwane," Aboli told him, and offered Hal the red head cloth black and crackling with dried blood and pus. "Use this to staunch the wound. It is all we have."

While Hal bandaged the wound, Daniel lay like a corpse. He no longer groaned or fought against his chains. Three days later, as Hal leaned over to give him water, Daniel suddenly reached up, pushed away his head and took the mug from Hal's hands. He drained it in three long swallows. Then he belched thunderously and said, in a weak but lucid voice, "By God, that was good. I'll have a drop more of that."

Hal was so delighted and relieved that he handed him his own ration and watched him drink it. By the following day, Daniel was able to sit up as much as his chains would allow.

"Your surgery would have killed a dozen ordinary mortals, Sir Francis murmured, as he watched Big Daniel's recovery with amazement, "but Daniel Fisher thrives upon it."

The ninth day of their voyage Sam Bowles opened the hatch and sang out cheerily, to "Good news for you, gentlemen. Wind has played us false these last fifty leagues. His lordship reckons it will be another five days before we round the Cape. So your pleasure cruise will last a little longer."

Few had the strength or interest to rail at this dread news, but they reached up for the pewter water mug with frantic hands. When the daily ceremony of watering was done, this time Sam Bowles altered the routine. Instead of slamming the hatch closed for another day, he stuck his head down and called, "Captain Courtney, sir, his lordship's compliments, and if you have no previous engagement, he would be obliged if you would take dinner with him." He scrambled down into the slave deck and, with two of his mates to help him, unscrewed Sir Francis's shackles from his wrists and ankles, and withdrew them from the ring bolts in the bulkhead.

Even once Sir Francis was free, it took all three men to lift him to his feet. He was so weak and cramped that he swayed and staggered like a drunkard as they helped him climb painfully through the hatch. "Begging your pardon, Captain," Sam laughed in his face, "you ain't exactly no bed of roses, you ain't. I've smelt pig-sties and cesspools a sight sweeter than you, that I have, Franky me lad."

They dragged him up on deck, and stripped the stinking rags from his shrunken body. Then four seamen worked the handles of the deck pump while Sam turned the stream from the canvas hose full on him. The Gull had entered the tail end of the cold green Benguela current that sweeps down the west coast of the continent. The jet of icy seawater from the hose almost knocked Sir Francis from his feet, and he had to cling to the shrouds to keep his balance. Shivering and choking when Sam directed the hose full into his face, he was able yet to scrub most of the crusted filth from his hair and body. It was of no concern to him that Katinka van de Velde leaned on the rail of the poop deck and scrutinized his nudity without the least indication of modesty.

Only when the hose was turned off and he was left to stand in the wind to dry off did Sir Francis have a chance to look about him and form some estimate of the Gull's position and condition. Although his emaciated body was blue with cold, he felt refreshed and strengthened by the dousing. His teeth chattered and his whole frame shuddered with involuntary spasms of cold as he looked over side and he folded his arms over his chest to try to warm himself. The African mainland lay ten leagues or so to the north, and he recognized the cliffs and crags of the point that guarded the entrance to False Bay. They would have to weather that savage point before they could enter Table Bay on the far side of the peninsula.

The wind was almost dead calm, and the surface of the sea as slick as oil, with long, low swells rising and falling like the breathing of a sleeping monster. Sam Bowles was telling the truth. unless the wind picked up it would be many more days before they rounded the Cape and dropped anchor in Table Bay. He wondered how many more of his men would follow Timothy before they were released from the confines of the slave deck.

Sam Bowles threw a few pieces of threadbare but clean clothing on the deck at his feet. "His lordship is expecting you. Don't keep him waiting now."

"Franky!" Cumbrae rose to greet him as he stooped through the doorway into the Gull's stern cabin. "I am so pleased to see that you look none the worse for your little sojourn below decks." Before Sir Francis could avoid it, Cumbrae seized him in a bear-hug. "I must apologize deeply for your treatment but it was at the insistence of the Dutch Governor and his wife. I would never have treated a brother Knight in such a scurvy fashion."

While he spoke the Buzzard ran his great hands quickly down Sir Francis's body, checking for a concealed knife or other weapon, then pushed him into the largest and most comfortable chair in the cabin.

"A glass of wine, my dear old friend?" He poured it with his own hand, then gestured for his steward to place a bowl of stew in front of Sir Francis. Though saliva flooded into his mouth at the aroma of the first hot food he had been offered in almost two weeks, Sir Francis made no move to touch the glass or the spoon beside the bowl of stew.

Cumbrae noticed his refusal and, although he raised one bushy ginger eyebrow, he did not urge him but seized his own spoon and slurped up a mouthful from his own bowl. He chewed with all the sounds of appetite and approval, then washed it down with a hearty swallow from his wine glass, and wiped his red whiskers with the back of his hand. "No, Franky, left to my own choice I would never have treated you so shabbily. You and I have had our differences in the past, but it has always been in the spirit of gentlemanly sport and competition, has it not?"

"Such sport as firing your broadside into my camp without warning?" Sir Francis asked.

"Now, let us not waste time in idle recrimination." The Buzzard waved away the remark. "That would never have been necessary if only you had agreed to share the booty from the galleon with me. What I really mean was that you and I understand each other. At heart we are brothers."

"I think that I understand you." Sir Francis nodded. "Then you will know that what gives you pain, pains me even more. I have suffered every minute of your incarceration with you."

"I hate to see you suffer, my lord, so why not release me and my men?"

"That is my fervent wish and intention, I assure you. However, there remains one small impediment that prevents me doing so. I need from you a sign that my warm feelings towards you are reciprocated. I am still deeply hurt that you would not share with me, your old friend, what was rightly mine in the terms of our agreement."

"I am certain that the Dutch have given you the share you lacked before. In fact I saw you loading what seemed to me a generous portion of the spice aboard this very ship. I wonder what the Lord High Admiral of England will make of such traffic with the enemy."

"A few barrels of spice barely worth the breath to mention it." Cumbrae smiled. "But there ain't nothing like silver and gold to rouse my fraternal instincts. Come, now, Franky, we have wasted enough time in the pleasantries. You and I know that you have the bullion from the galleon cached somewhere close by your encampment on Elephant Lagoon. I know I will find it if I search long enough, but by then you will be dead, sent messily on your way by the executioner at Good Hope."

Sir Francis smiled and shook his head. "I have cached no treasure. Search if you will, but there is nothing for you to find."

"Think on it, Franky. You know what the Dutch did to the English merchants they captured on the isle of Bali? They crucified them and burnt off their hands and feet with sulphur flares. I want to save you from that."

"If you have nothing further to discuss, I will return to my crew." Sir Francis stood up. His legs were stronger now. "Sit down!" the Buzzard snapped. "Tell me where you hid it, man, and I will put you and your men ashore with no further harm done, I swear it on my honour." Cumbrae wheedled and blustered for another hour. Then at last he sighed. "You drive a hard bargain, Franky. I tell you what I'll do for you. I would do it for no one else, but I love you like a brother. If you take me back and lead me to the booty, I'll share it with you. Fifty-fifty, right down the middle. Now I can't be more fair than that, can I?" Sir Francis met even this offer with a calm, detached smile, and Cumbrae could hide his fury no longer. He slapped the table so viciously with the palm of his hand, that the glasses overturned and the wine sprayed across the cabin. He bellowed furiously for Sam Bowles. "Take this arrogant bastard away, and chain him up again." As Sir Francis left the cabin he shouted after him, "I will find where you hid it, Franky, I swear it to you. I know more than you think. Just as soon as I have seen you topped on the Parade at Good Hope, I will be going back to the lagoon, and I won't leave until I find it."

One more of Sir Francis's seamen died in his chains before they anchored off the four shore in Table Bay. The others were so stiff and weak that they were forced to crawl like animals up the ladder to the upper deck. They huddled there, their ragged clothing crusted with their own filth, gazing around them, blinking and trying to shield their eyes from the brilliant morning sunshine.

Hal had never been this close inshore of Good Hope. On the outward leg of their cruise, at the beginning of the war, they had stood well off and looked into the bay from a great distance. However, that brief glimpse had not prepared him for the splendour of this seascape, where the royal blue of the Atlantic, flecked with wind spume, washed up on beaches so dazzling they hurt his weakened eyes.

The fabled flat-topped mountain seemed to fill most of the blue African sky, a great cliff of yellow rock slashed by. deep ravines choked with dense green forest. The top of the mountain was so geometrically level, and its proportions so pleasing, that it seemed to have been designed by a celestial architect. Over the top of this immense tableland spilled a standing wave of shimmering cloud, frothy as milk boiling over the rim of a pot. This silver cascade never reached the lower slopes of the mountain, but as it fell it evaporated in mid-flight with a magical suddenness, leaving the lower slopes resplendent in their cloaking of verdant natural forest.

The grandeur dwarfed and rendered inconsequential the buildings that spread like an irritating rash along the shore above the snowy beach, from which a fleet of small boats put out to meet the Gull as soon as she dropped her anchor.

Governor van de Velde refused to climb down the ladder, and was hoisted from the deck, swung outboard in a boatswain's chair, all the while shouting nervous instructions at the men on the ropes. "Careful now, you clumsy oafs! Drop me and I will have the skin thrashed off your backs."

He was lowered into the longboat at the Gull's side, in which his wife already waited. Assisted by Colonel Cornelius Schreuder, her descent had been considerably more graceful than her husband's.

They were rowed to the foreshore, where five strong slaves lifted the new Governor from the boat that danced in the shore break of white foam at the edge of the beach. They waded ashore with him and deposited him on the sand.

As the Governor's feet touched African soil the first cannon shot of a salute of fourteen rang out. A long plume of silver gunsmoke shot from the embrasure on the top of the southern redoubt, and the thunderous report so startled the new representative of the Company that he leapt a foot in the air and almost lost his plumed Hat to the sou'-easter.

Governor Kleinhans, overjoyed that his successor in office had at last arrived, was at the foreshore to meet him. The garrison commander, equally anxious to hand over to Colonel Schreuder and shake from his feet the rank African dust, was on the ramparts of the fortress, his telescope focused on the arriving dignitaries.

The state carriage was waiting above the beach, six beautiful greys in the traces. Governor Kleinhans dismounted from it to greet the new arrivals, clutching his Hat in the wind. An honour guard from the garrison was drawn up around the carriage. Gathered along the waterfront were several hundred men, women and children. Every resident of the settlement who could walk or crawl had turned out to welcome Governor van de Velde as he struggled through the loose sand.

When at last he reached firm footing and had gathered his breath and dignity he accepted Governor Kleinhans" welcome. They shook hands to cheering and applause from the Company officials, free burghers and slaves gathered to watch. The military escort presented their arms, and the band launched into a spirited patriotic air. The music ended with a clash of cymbals and a roll of kettle drums. The two Governors spontaneously embraced each other, Kleinhans delighted to be free to return to Amsterdam, and van de Velde overjoyed at having escaped death by storm and piracy and to have Dutch soil under his feet once more.

While Sam Bowles and his mates were removing the corpses from the slave chains and tossing them overboard, Hal squatted in the rank of captives and watched from afar as Katinka was ushered into the carriage by Governor Kleinhans on one arm and Colonel Schreuder on the other.

He felt his heart tear with love for her, and he whispered to Daniel and Aboli, "Is she not the most beautiful lady in the world? She will use her influence for us. Now that her husband has full powers, she will persuade him to treat us justly." Neither of the two big men replied, but they exchanged a glance. Daniel grinned with broken teeth and Aboli rolled his eyes.

Once Katinka was settled on the leather seats, they boosted her husband aboard. The carriage swayed and rocked under his weight. As soon as he was safely installed beside his wife, the band struck up a lively march and the escort shouldered their muskets and stepped out, a stirring sight in their white cross belts and green jackets. The procession streamed across the open parade ground towards the fort, with the crowds running ahead of the carriage and lining both sides of the route.

"Farewell, gentlemen. It has been a pleasure and a privilege to have you aboard." The Buzzard touched the brim of his Hat in an ironic salute as Sir Francis shambled across the deck dragging his chains, and led the file of his crew down the ladder into the boat moored alongside. So many men in chains made a heavy load for it in this condition of swell. They were left with only a few inches of freeboard as they pushed off from the Gull's side.

The oarsmen struggled to hold the longboat's stern into the breaking white waves as they approached the beach, but a taller swell got under her and threw her off line. She broached heavily, dug in her shoulder and rolled over in four feet of water. Crew and passengers were thrown into the white water, and the capsized boat was caught up in the wash.

Choking and coughing up seawater, the prisoners managed to drag each other from the surf by their chains. Miraculously none was drowned, but the effort taxed most to their limit. When the guards from the fortress hectored them to their feet and drove them with musket butt and curses up the beach, they were streaming water and coated with a sugaring of white sand.

Having seen the state carriage safely through the gates of the fort, the crowds poured back to the waterfront to have a little sport with these wretched creatures. They studied them as though they were livestock at a market, and their laughter was unrestrained, their comments ribald.

"Look more like gypsies and beggars than English pirates to me."

"I'm saving my guilders. I'll not be bidding when that lot go up on the slave block."

"They don't sell pirates, they burn them."

"They don't look much, but at least they'll give us all some sport. We haven't had a really good execution since the slave revolt."

"There's Stadige Jan over there, come to look them over. I'll warrant he'll have a few lessons to teach these corsairs." Hal turned his head in the direction the speaker pointed to where a tall burgher in dark, drab clothing and a puritan Hat stood a head above the crowd. He looked at Hal with pale expressionless yellow eyes.

"What do you think of these beauties, Stadige Jan? Will you be able to get them to sing a pretty tune for us?"

Hal sensed the repulsion and fascination this man held for those around him. None stood too close to him, and they looked at him in such a way that Hal instinctively knew that this was the executioner of whom they had been warned. He felt his flesh crawl as he looked into those faded eyes.

"Why do you think that they call him Slow John?" he asked Aboli, from the side of his mouth.

"Let us hope we never have to find out," Aboli replied! as they passed where the tall, cadaverous figure stood.

Small boys, both brown and white, danced beside the column of chained men, jeering and pelting them with pebbles and filth from the open gutters that carried the sewage from the town down to the sea front. Encouraged by this example a pack of mongrel dogs snapped at their heels. The adults in the crowd were turned out in their best clothes for such an unusual occasion and laughed at the antics of the children. Some of the women held sachets of herbs to their noses when they smelt the bedraggled file of prisoners, shuddering in horrified fascination.

"Oh! What dreadful creatures!"

"Look at those cruel and savage faces."

"I have heard that they feed those Negroes on human flesh."

Aboli contorted his face and rolled his eyes at them. The tattoos on his cheeks stood proud, and his great white teeth were bared in a fearsome grin. The women squealed with delicious terror, and their little daughters hid their faces in their mothers" skirts as he passed.

At the rear of the crowd, hanging back from the company of their betters, taking no part in the sport of baiting the captives, were those men and women who, Hal guessed, must be the domestic slaves of the burghers. The slaves in the crowd ranged in colour from the anthracite black of Africa to the amber and gold skins of the Orient. Most were simply dressed in the cast-off clothing of their owners, although some of the prettier women wore the flamboyant finery that marked them as the favourite playthings of their masters.

They looked on quietly as the seamen trudged past in their clanking chains, and there was no sound of laughter among them. Rather, Hal sensed a certain empathy behind their closed impassive expressions for they were captives also. Just before they entered the gate to the fort, Hal noticed one girl in particular at the back of the crowd. She had climbed up on a pile of masonry blocks for a better view and stood higher than the intervening ranks of spectators. This was not the only reason why Hal had singled her out.

She was more beautiful than he had ever expected any woman to be. She was a flower of a girl, with thick glossy black hair and dark eyes that seemed too large for her delicate oval face. For one moment their eyes met over the heads of the crowd, and it seemed to Hal that she tried to pass him some message that he was unable to grasp. He knew only that she felt compassion for him, and that she shared in his suffering. Then he lost sight of her as they were marched through the gateway into the courtyard of the fort.

The image of her stayed with him over the dreadful days that followed. Gradually it began to supersede the memory of Katinka, and in the nights sometimes returned to give him the strength he needed to endure. He felt that if there were but one person of such loveliness and tenderness out there, beyond the gaunt stone walls, who cared for his abject condition, then it was worth fighting on.

In the courtyard of the fort, a military armourer struck off their shackles. A shore party under the command of Sam Bowles stood by to collect the discarded chains to take back aboard the Gull. "I will miss you all, my shipmates." Sam grinned. The lower decks of the old Gull will be empty and lonely without your smiling faces and your good cheer." He gave them a salute from the gateway as he led his shore party away. "I hope they look after you as well as your good friend Sam Bowles did. But, never fear, I'll be at the Parade when you give your last performance there."

When Sam was gone, Hal looked around the courtyard. He saw that the fortress had been designed on a substantial scale. As part of his training his father had made him study the science of land fortifications, so he recognized the tlassical defensive layout of the stone walls and redoubts. He realized that once these works were completed, it would take an army equipped with a full siege train to reduce them.

However, the work was less than half finished, and on the landward side of the fort or, as their new gaolers referred to it, bet kasteel, the castle, there were merely open foundations from which the massive stone walls would one day rise. Yet it was clear that the work was being hastened along. Almost certainly the two recent Anglo-Dutch wars had imparted this impetus. Both Oliver Cromwell, the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland, during the interregnum, and King Charles, son of the man he had beheaded, could claim some credit for the frenzy of construction that was going on around them. They had forcibly reminded the Dutch of the vulnerability of their far-flung colonies. The half-finished walls swarmed with hundreds of workmen, and the courtyard in which they stood was piled with building timber and blocks of dressed masonry hewn from the mountain that loomed over it all.

As dangerous captives they were kept apart from the other prisoners. They were marched from the courtyard down the short spiral staircase below the south wall of the fort. The stone blocks that lined floor, vaulted roof and walls glistened with moisture that had seeped in from the surrounding waterlogged soil. Even on such a sunny day in autumn the temperature in these dank forbidding surroundings made them shiver.

At the foot of the first flight of stairs Sir Francis Courtney was dragged out of the file by his gaolers and thrust into a small cell just large enough to hold one man. It was one in a row of half a dozen or so identical cells, whose doors were of solid timber studded with iron bolts and the tiny barred peep-hole in each was shuttered and closed. They had no sight of the other inmates. "Special quarters for you, Sir Pirate," the burly Dutch gaoler told him as he slammed the door on Sir Francis and turned the lock with a huge iron key from the bunch on his belt. "We are putting you in the Skellum's Den, with all the really bad ones, the murderers and rebels and robbers. You will feel at home here, of that I'm sure."

The rest of the prisoners were herded down to the next level of the dungeon. The sergeant gaoler unlocked the grille door at the end of the tunnel and they were shoved into a long narrow cell. Once the grille was locked behind them there was barely room for them all to stretch out on the thin layer of damp straw that covered the cobblestoned floor. A single latrine bucket stood in one corner, but murmurs of pleasure from all the men greeted the sight of the large water cistern beside the grille gate. At least this meant they were no longer on shipboard water rations.

There were four small windows set in the top of one wall and, once they had inspected their surroundings, Hal looked up at them. Aboli hoisted him onto his shoulders and he was able to reach one of these narrow openings. It was heavily barred, like the others, but Hal tried the gratings with his bare hands. They were set rock-firm, and he was forced to put out of his mind any notion of escaping this way.

Hanging on the grating, he drew himself up and peered through it. He found that his eyes were a foot or so above ground level, and from' there he had a view of part of the interior courtyard of the castle. He could see the entrance gateway and the grand portals of what he guessed must be the Company offices and the Governor's suite. To one side, through the gap where the walls had not yet been raised, he could see a portion of the cliffs of the table-topped mountain, and above them the sky. Against the cloudless blue sailed a flock of white gulls.

Hal lowered himself and pushed his way through the throng of seamen, stepping over the bodies of the sick and wounded. When he reached the grille he looked up the staircase but could not see the door to his father's cell. - "Father!" he called tentatively, expecting a rebuke from one of the gaolers, but when there was no response he raised his voice and shouted again.

"I hear you, Hal, his father called back.

"Do you have any orders for us, Father?"

"I expect they'll leave us in peace for a day or two, at least until they have convened a tribunal. We will have to wait it out. Tell the men to be of good heart."

At that a strange voice intervened, speaking in English but with an unfamiliar accent. "Are you the English pirates we have heard so much about?"

"We are honest sailors, falsely accused," Sir Francis shouted back. "Who and what are you?"

"I am your neighbour in the Skellum's Den, two cells down from you. I am condemned to die, as you are."

"We are not yet condemned," Sir Francis protested.

"It is only a matter of time. I hear from the gaolers, that you soon will be."

"What is your name?" Hal joined in the exchange. He was not interested in the stranger, but this conversation served to pass the time and divert them from their own predicament. "What is your crime?"

"I am Althuda, and my crime is that I strive to be free and to set other men free."

"Then we are brothers, Althuda, you and I and every man here. We all strive for freedom."

There was a ragged chorus of assent, and when it subsided Althuda spoke again. "I led a revolt of the Company slaves. Some were recaptured. Those Stadige Jan burned alive, but most of us escaped into the mountains. Many times they sent soldiers after us, but we fought and drove them off and they could not enslave us again." His was a vital young voice, proud and strong, and even before Hal had seen his face he found himself drawn to this Althuda.

"Then if you escaped, how is it that you are back here in the Skellurn's Den?" one of the English seamen wanted to know. They were all listening now. Althuda's story had moved even the most hardened of them.

"I came back to rescue somebody, another slave who was left behind," Althuda told them. "When I entered the colony again I was recognized and betrayed."

They were all silent for a space.

"A woman?" a voice asked. "You came back for a woman?" "Yes," said Althuda. "A woman."

"There is always an Eve in the midst of Eden to tempt us into folly, "one sang out and they all laughed.

Then somebody else asked, "Was she your sweetheart?" "No," Althuda answered. "I came back for my little sister."

Thirty guests sat down to the banquet that Governor Kleinhans gave to welcome his successor. All the most important men in the administration of the colony, together with their wives, were seated around the long board.

From the place of honour Petrus van de Velde gazed with delighted anticipation down the length of the rosewood table above which hung massive chandeliers, each burning fifty perfumed- candles. They lit the great hall as if it was day, and sparkled on the silverware and crystal glasses.

For months now, ever since sailing from the coast of Trincomalee, van de Velde had been forced to subsist on the swill and offal cooked on the galleon and then on the coarse fare that the English pirates had provided for him. Now his eyes shone and saliva flooded his mouth as he contemplated the culinary extravaganza spread before him. He reached for the tall glass in front of him, and took a mouthful of the rare wine from Champagne. The tiny seething bubbles tickled his palate and spurred his already unbridled appetite.

Van de Velde considered this a most fortunate posting, for which his wife's connection in the Council of Seventeen was to be thanked. Positioned here, at the tip of Africa, A constant procession of ships passed in both directions bringing the luxuries of Europe and the Orient into Table Bay. They would want for nothing.

Silently he cursed Kleinhans for his long-winded speech of welcome, of which he heard barely a word. All his attention was on the array of silver dishes and chargers that were laid before him, one after another.

There were little sucking pigs in crisp suits of golden crackling, barons of beef running with their own rich juices set around with steaming ramparts of roasted potatoes, heaps of tender young pullets and pigeons and ducks and fat geese, five different types of fresh fish from the Atlantic, cooked five different ways, fragrant with the curries and spices of Java and Kandy and Further India, tall pyramids of the huge claw less crimson lobsters that abounded in this southern ocean, a vast array of fruits and succulent vegetables from the Company gardens, and sherbets and custards and sugar dumplings and cakes and trifles and confitures and every sweet delight that the slave chefs in the kitchens could conceive. All this was backed by stalwart ranks of cheese brought by Company ships from Holland, and jars of pickled North-Sea herring, and smoked sides of wild boar and salmon.

In contrast to this superabundance, the service was all of delicate blue and white pattern. Behind each chair stood a house slave in the green uniform of the Company, ready to recharge glass and plate with nimble white-gloved hands. Would the man never stop talking and let them at the food, van de Velde wondered, and smiled and nodded at Kleinhans" inanities.

At last, with a bow to the new Governor and a much deeper one to his wife, Kleinhans sank back into his chair, and everyone looked expectantly at van de Velde. He gazed around at their asinine faces, and then with a sigh rose to his feet to reply. Two minutes will do it, he told himself, and gave them what they expected to hear, ending jovially, "In conclusion, I want only to wish Governor Kleinhans a safe return to the old country, and a long and happy retirement."

He sat down with alacrity and reached for his spoon. This was the first time the burghers had been privileged to witness the new Governor at table, and an amazed and respectful silence fell upon the company as they watched the level in his soup bowl fall like the outgoing tide across the mud-flats of the Zuider Zee. Then, suddenly realizing that when the guest of honour finished one course, the plates would be changed and the next course served, they fell to in a frenzied effort to catch up. There were many stout trenchermen among them, but none to match the Governor, especially when he had had a head start.

As his soup bowl emptied, every bowl was whisked away and replaced with a plate piled high with thick cuts of sucking pig. The first two courses were completed in virtual silence, broken only by slurping and gulping.

During the third course Kleinhans rallied and, as host, made a valiant attempt to revive the conversation. He leaned forward to distract van de Velde's attention from his plate. "I expect that you will wish to deal with the matter of the English pirates before any other business," he asked, and van de Velde nodded vigorously, although his mouth was too full of succulent lobster to permit a verbal reply.

"Have you decided yet how you will go about their trial and sentencing?" Kleinhans enquired lugubriously. Van de Velde swallowed noisily, before he replied, "They will be executed, of course, but not before their captain, this notorious corsair Francis Courtney, reveals the hiding place of the missing Company cargo. I would like to convene a tribunal immediately for this purpose."

Colonel Schreuder coughed politely, and van de Velde glanced at him impatiently. "Yes? You wanted to say something? Out with it, then!"

"Today I had opportunity to inspect the work proceeding on the kasteel fortifications, sir. The good Lord alone knows when we will be at war with England again, but it may be soon. The English are thieves by nature, and pirates by vocation. It is for these reasons, sir, that the Seventeen in Amsterdam have placed the highest priority on the completion of our fortifications. That fact is spelt out very clearly in my orders and my letter of appointment to the command of the kasteel."

Every man at the table looked grave and attentive at the mention of the sacred Seventeen, as though the name of a deity had been invoked. Schreuder let the silence run on for a while to make good his point, then said, "The work is very much behind what their excellencies have decreed."

Major Loten, the outgoing garrison commander, interjected, "It is true that the work is somewhat behindhand, but there are good reasons for this." The construction was his prime responsibility, and Governor van de Velde's eyes switched to his face. He placed another forkful of lobster in his mouth. The sauce was truly delicious, and he sighed with pleasure as he contemplated another five years of meals of this order. He must certainly buy the chef from Kleinhans before he sailed.

He formed his features into a more solemn pattern as he listened to Loren making his excuses. "I have been hampered by a shortage of labour. This most regrettable revolt among the slaves has left us severely under manned he said lamely, and van de Velde frowned.

"Precisely the point I was about to make," Schreuder picked up smoothly. "If we are so short of men to meet the expectations of the Seventeen, would we be wise to execute twenty-four strong and able-bodied English pirates, instead of employing them in the workings?"

Every eye at the table turned to van de Velde to judge his reaction, waiting for him to give them a lead. The new Governor swallowed, then used his forefinger to free a shred of lobster leg caught in his back teeth before he spoke. "Courtney cannot be spared, he said at last. "Not even to work on the fortifications. According to Lord Cumbrae, whose opinion I respect," he gave the Buzzard a seated bow, "the Englishman knows where the missing cargo is hidden, besides which my wife and I," he nodded towards Katinka, who sat between Kleinhans and Schreuder, "have been forced to suffer many indignities at his hands."

"I quite agree," said Schreuder. "He must be made to tell all he knows of the missing bullion. But the others? Such a waste to execute them when they are needed on the walls, don't you think, sir. They are, after all, dull-witted cattle, with little understanding of the gravity of their offence but with strong backs to pay for it."

Van de Velde grunted noncommittally. "I would like to hear the opinion of Governor Kleinhans on this matter," he said, and filled his mouth again, his head lowered on his shoulders and his small eyes focused on his predecessor. Sagely, he passed on the responsibility of making the decision. Later, if there were repercussions, he could always unload a share of the blame.

"Of course," said Governor Kleinhans, with an airy wave of the hand, "prime slaves are selling for almost a thousand guilders a head at the moment. Such a large addition to the Company purse would commend itself highly to their excellencies. The Seventeen are determined that the colony must pay for itself and not become a drain on the Company exchequer."

All present gave this their solemn consideration. In the silence Katinka said, in ringing crystal tones, "I, for one, will need slaves for my household. I would welcome the opportunity to acquire good workers even at those exorbitant prices."

"By international accord and protocol it is forbidden to sell Christians into slavery," Schreuder pointed out, as he saw the prospects of procuring labour for his fortifications beginning to recede. "Even Englishmen."

"Not all the captured pirates are Christians," Kleinhans persisted. "I saw a number of black faces among them. Negro slaves are much in demand in the colony. They are good workers and breeders. Would it not be a most desirable compromise to sell them for guilders to please the Seventeen? We could then condemn the English pirates to lifelong hard labour. They could be used to hasten the completion of the works, also to please the Seventeen."

Van de Velde grunted again, and scraped his plate noisily to draw attention to the fact that he was ready to sample the beef. He pondered these conflicting arguments while a freshly loaded plate was placed in front of him. There was another consideration to take into account of which no one else was aware. his bitter hatred of Colonel Schreuder. He did not want to ease his lot in life and, truth to tell, he would be delighted if the Colonel failed dismally in his new command and was ordered home in disgrace just as long as that failure did not redound to his own discredit.

He stared hard at Schreuder as he toyed with the idea of refusing him. He knew, all too well, what that one had in mind and he turned his attention from the Colonel to his wife. Katinka looked radiant this evening. Within a few days of arriving at the Cape and moving into their temporary quarters in the castle, she was fully recovered from the long voyage and from the captivity forced upon them by Sir Francis Courtney. She was, of course, young and resilient, not yet twenty-four years of age, but that alone did not account for her gaiety and vivacity this evening. Whenever the bumptious Schreuder spoke, which was too often, she turned those huge, innocent eyes upon him, with full attention. When she spoke directly to him, which was also too often, she touched him, laying one of her delicate white hands on his sleeve, and once, to van de Velde's intense mortification, actually placing her fingers on Schreuder's bony paw, letting them linger there for all the company to see and smirk at.

It almost, but not quite, spoiled his appetite to have this blatant courtship ritual take place not only under his nose but under the collective noses of the entire colony. It would have been bad enough if, in private, he had been forced to face the fact that the valiant Colonel would soon be rummaging around under those rustling petticoats. It was insufferable that he must share this knowledge with all his underlings. How could he demand respect and sycophantic obedience from them while his wife was set on publicly placing horns upon his head? When I packed him off to Amsterdam to negotiate my ransom, I thought we had seen the last of Colonel Schreuder, he thought sullenly. It seems I will have to take sterner measures in the future.

And as he ploughed his way through all sixteen courses, he turned over in his mind the various alternatives.

Van de Velde was so stuffed with good food that the short walk from the great hall of the castle to the council chamber was only accomplished with much heavy breathing and the occasional pause, ostensibly to admire the paintings and other works of art that decorated the walls, but in reality to recover his resources.

In the chamber he settled with a vast sigh into the cushions of one of the high-backed chairs, and accepted a glass of brandy and a pipe of tobacco.

"I will convene the court to try the pirates this coming week, that is immediately after I formally take over the governorship from Mijnheer Kleinhans, he announced. "No point in wasting any more time on this riffraff. I appoint Colonel Schreuder to act as attorney-general and to prosecute the case. I will take on the duties of judge." He looked across the table at his host. "Will you have your officers make the necessary arrangements please, Mijnheer Kleinhans."

"Certainly, Mijnheer van de Velde. Have you given any thought to appointing an advocate to defend the accused pirates?"

It was clear from van de Velde's expression that he had not, but now he waved a pudgy paw and said airily, "See to that, will you? I am sure one of your clerks has sufficient knowledge of the law to perform the duty adequately. After all, what is there to defend?" he asked, and chuckled throatily.

"A name comes to mind." Kleinhans nodded. "I will appoint him and arrange for him to have access to the prisoners to receive their statements."

"Dear GodP Van de Velde looked scandalized. "Why would you do that? I don't want that English rogue Courtney putting all sorts of ideas into the man's head. I will set out the facts for him. He need only recite them to the court."

"I understand," Kleinhans agreed. "It will all be ready to hand over to you before I step down next week." He looked across at Katinka. "My dear lady, you, of course, will wish to move out of your temporary quarters here in the castle, and into the much more commodious and comfortable Governor's residence as soon as possible. I thought that we could arrange an inspection of your new home after the church service on Sunday. I would be honoured to personally conduct you on a tour of the establishment."

"That is kind, sir." Katinka. smiled at him, glad to be the focus of attention once more. For a moment Kleinhans basked in the warmth of her approval, then went on diffidently, "As you can well imagine, I have acquired a considerable household during my term of office in the colony. Coincidentally, the cooks who prepared the humble little meal of which we partook this evening are part of my own span of slaves." He glanced at van de Velde. "I hope that their efforts met with your approval. When the Governor nodded comfortably, he turned back to Katinka. " As you know, very soon I shall return to the old country, and into retirement on my small country estate. Twenty slaves will be far in excess of my future requirements. You, Mevrouw, voiced your interest in purchasing quality slaves. I would like to take the opportunity of your visit to the residence to show you those creatures that I have for sale. They have all been hand-picked, and I think you will find it more convenient and cheaper to make a private acquisition than to bid at public auction. The trouble with buying slaves is that those who look good value on the auction block can have serious hidden defects. It is always comforting to know that the seller has sound and sufficient reasons for selling, is it not?"

Hal set a constant lookout at the high window of the cell. There was always one of the men standing on another's shoulders, clinging to the bars, to keep a watch on the castle courtyard. The lookout called down all sightings to Hal, who in turn relayed these up the stairwell to his father.

Within the first few days they were able to work out the timetable of the garrison, and to note the routine comings and goings of the Company officials, and of the free burghers who visited the castle regularly.

Hal called a description of each of these persons to the unseen leader of the slave rebellion in the Skellum's Den. Althuda knew the personal details of every person in the settlement and passed on all this accumulated knowledge, so that within the first few days Hal came to know not only the appearance but also the personality and character of each one.

He started a calendar, marking the passage of each day with a scratch on a slab of sandstone in one corner of the cell and registering the more important events beside it. He was not certain that anything was to be gained from these records, but at least it gave the men something to talk about, and fostered the illusion that he had a plan of action for their release or, failing that, for their escape.

"Governor's carriage at the staircase!" the lookout warned, and Hal jumped up from where he was sitting between Aboli and Daniel against the far wall.

"Come down, he ordered. "Let me up."

Through the bars he saw the state carriage parked at the foot of the broad staircase that led up to the Company offices and the Governor's suite. The coachman's name was Fredricus, an elderly Javanese slave who belonged to Governor Kleinhans. According to Althuda, he was no friend. For thirty years he had been Kleinhans" dog, and he could not be trusted. Althuda suspected that he was the one who had betrayed him, and had reported his return from the mountains to Major Loten. "We will probably be rid of him when Kleinhans leaves the colony. He is sure to take Fredricus back with him to Holland," Althuda told them.

There was a sudden stir as a detachment of soldiers hurried across the courtyard from the armoury and formed up at the foot of the staircase.

Xleinhans going out," Hal called, recognizing these preparations, and as he spoke the double doors swung open and a small party emerged into the sunlight and descended towards the waiting carriage.

The tall, stooped figure of Kleinhans, with his sour dyspeptic face, contrasted sharply with the lovely young woman on his arm. Hal's heart tripped as he recognized Katinka but his feelings were no longer as intense as once they had been. Instead, his eyes narrowed as he saw that the Neptune sword hung in its chased and gold-encrusted scabbard at Schreuder's side as the colonel followed Katinka down the stairs. Each time he saw Schreuder wearing it his anger was rekindled.

Fredricus climbed stiffly from his high seat, folded down the steps, opened the carriage door, then stood aside to allow the two gentlemen to hand Katinka up and settle her comfortably.

"What is happening down there?" his father called and, with a guilty start, Hal realized that he had not spoken since he had laid eyes on the woman he loved. By now, though, she had been carried out of his sight. The carriage rolled out smoothly through the castle gates, and the sentries saluted as Fredricus shook the horses into a trot across the parade.

It was a sparkling autumn day, and the constant sou'-easter of summer had dropped. Katinka sat beside Governor Kleinhans, facing forward. Cornelius Schreuder sat opposite her. She had left her husband in his office in the castle, labouring over his reports for the Seventeen, and now she felt the devil in her. She flounced out her skirts and the rustling crinolines covered the Colonel's soft leather boots.

While still chatting animatedly to Kleinhans, she reached out one slippered foot under cover of her skirts and found Schreuder's toe. She pressed it coquettishly, and felt him start. She pressed again, and felt him respond sheepishly. Then she turned from Kleinhans and addressed Schreuder directly. "Don't you agree, Colonel, that an avenue of oaks leading up to the residence would look splendid? I can imagine their thick hard trunks standing up vigorously. How beautiful that would be." She opened her violet eyes wide to give the remark signicance, and pressed his foot again.

"Indeed, Mevrouw." Schreuder's voice was husky with double meaning. "I agree with you entirely. In fact the image you paint is so vivid that you should be able to see the stem growing before your very eyes."

At this invitation she glanced down at his lap and, to her amusement, saw the effect that she was having. upon him. He is putting up a tent in his breeches for my sake!

Almost a mile beyond the forbidding pile of the castle, the Governor's residence stood at the mountain end of the Company gardens. It was a graceful building, with dark thatched roof and whitewashed walls, surrounded by wide shady verandas. Laid out in the shape of a cross, the gables at each of the four ends of the house were decorated with plaster friezes depicting the seasons. The gardens were well established, a succession of Company gardeners had lavished love and care upon them.

Even from a distance Katinka was delighted with her new home. She had dreaded being lodged in some ugly, bucolic hovel, but this far surpassed her most optimistic expectations. The entire domestic staff of the residence was drawn up on the wide front terrace to greet her.

The carriage rolled to a standstill and her two escorts hastened to help Katinka to earth. At a prearranged signal all the waiting manservants lifted their hats, and bowed so low as to sweep the ground before her with their head-gear, while the females dropped into deep curtsies. Katinka acknowledged their greeting with a cool nod, and Klein, hans introduced each of them in turn to her. Most were merely brown or yellow faces that made no impression whatsoever on her, and she glanced vaguely in their direction then passed on, hurrying through this tedious little ritual as swiftly as she could.

However, one or two caught and held her attention for more than a few moments.

"This is the head gardener." Kleinhans summoned the man with a snap of his fingers, and he stood bareheaded before her, holding over his chest the high-crowned Puritan Hat with its silver buckled band and wide brim. "He is a man of some importance in our community," Kleinhans said. "Not only is he responsible for these beautiful surroundings," he indicated the wide green lawns and splendid flower beds, "and for providing each Company ship that calls into Table Bay with fresh fruit and vegetables, but he is also the official executioner."

Katinka had been on the point of passing on, but now, with a small thrill of excitement, she turned back to study this creature. He towered above her, and she looked UP into his strange pale eyes, imagining what dread sights they had seen. Then she glanced down at his hands. They were farmer's hands, broad and strong and calloused, the backs covered with stiff bristles. She imagined them holding a spade or a branding iron, a pitchfork or the knotted coil of the strangling cord.

"They call you Stadige Jan?" She had heard the name spoken with fascination and revulsion, the way one speaks of a deadly, venomous snake. ja, Mevrouw." He nodded. "That is what they call me." "A strange name. Why?" She found his level yellow stare disquieting, as though he was looking at something far behind her.

"Because I speak slowly. Because I never rush. Because I am thorough. Because plants grow slowly and fruitfully under my hands. Because men die slowly and painfully under these same hands." He held up one for her to examine. His voice was sonorous yet melodious- She found herself swallowing hard with a strange, perverse arousal.

"We are soon to have a chance to watch you work, Stadige Jan." She smiled slightly breathlessly. "I believe that the dungeon of the castle is full of rogues awaiting your ministrations." She had a sudden image of those broad strong hands working on Hal Courtney's slim straight body, the body she knew so well, changing it, gradually breaking it down. The muscles in her thighs and lower belly tightened at the thought. it would be the ultimate thrill to see the beautiful toy of which she had tired being maimed and disfigured, but slowly and slowly.

"We must talk again, Stadige Jan," she said huskily. "I am sure you -have many amusing stories to tell me, about cabbages and other things." He bowed again, replaced the Hat on his shaven head and stepped back into the line of servants. Katinka passed on.

"This is my housekeeper," Kleinhans said, but Katinka was so engrossed in her thoughts that, for several seconds, she gave no indication that she had heard him. Then she threw an idle glance at the female Kleinhans was presenting, and suddenly her eyes widened. She turned her full attention on the woman. "Her name is Sukeena." There was something in Kleinhans" tone that she could not immediately fathom.

"She is very young for such an important position," Katinka said, to gain time in which to allow her instincts to have play. In an entirely different manner, she found this woman as enthralling as the executioner. She was so exquisitely small and dainty as to seem an artist's creation and not flesh and blood.

"It is a characteristic of her race to appear much younger than their years," Kleinhans told her. "They have such small childlike bodies you will observe her tiny waist and her hands and feet, like those of a doll." He broke off abruptly, as he realized that he might have committed a solecism in discussing another woman's bodily parts.

Katinka's expression did not change to reveal the amusement she felt. The old goat lusts for her, she thought, and she studied the jewel-like qualities to which he had drawn her attention. The girl wore a high collar, but the stuff of her blouse was sheer and light as gossamer. Like the rest of her, her breasts were tiny but perfect. Katinka could see the shape and colour of her nipples through the silk. they were like a pair of imperial rubies wrapped in gossamer. That dress, although simple and of classical Eastern design, must have cost fifty guilders at the very least. Her sandals were gold-embroidered, rich raiment for a house slave. At her throat she wore an ornament of carved jade, a jewel fit for a mandarin's favourite. The girl must certainly be Kleinhans" pretty bauble, she decided.

Katinka's first carnal fulfilment had been at the age of thirteen, on the threshold of puberty. In the seclusion of the nursery, her nurse had introduced her to those forbidden delights. Occasionally, when her fancy dictated and opportunity presented, she still voyaged to the enchanted isles of Lesbos. Often she had found there enchantments that no man had been able to afford her. Now as she looked up from the childlike body to the dark eyes, she felt a tremor of desire run down her own belly and melt into her loins.

Sukeena's gaze smouldered like the lavas of the volcanoes of her native Bali. These were not the eyes of a subservient child slave but those of a proud, defiant woman. Katinka felt herself challenged and aroused. To subdue her, and have her, and then to break her. She felt her pulse quicken and her breath come short as she pictured it happening.

"Follow me, Sukeena," she commanded. "I want you to show me the house." "My lady." Sukeena placed the palms of her hands together and touched her fingertips to her lips as she bowed, but her eyes held Katinka's with the same dark, furious expression. Was it hatred, Katinka wondered, and the idea increased her excitement.

Sukeena has intrigued her, as I knew she must. She will buy her from me, Kleinhans thought. I will be rid of the witch at last. He had been aware of that interplay of passions and emotions between the two women. Although he did not flatter himself that he could fathom the slave girl's oriental mind, she had been his chattel for almost five years and he had learned to recognize many of the nuances of her moods. The thought of parting with her filled him with dismay but for his own peace and sanity he knew he must do it. She was destroying him. He could not remember what it was to have a quiet mind, not to be plagued and tormented by passions and unfulfilled desires, not to be in the witch's thrall. Because of her he had lost his health. His stomach was being eaten away by the hot acids of dyspepsia, and he could not remember a night of unbroken sleep in all those long five years.

At least he was rid of her brother, who had been almost as great a torment to him. Now she, too, must go. He could no longer endure this blight on his existence.

Sukeena stepped out of the line of servants and fell in dutifully behind the three, her loathsome master, the boorish giant of a soldier and this beautiful cruel golden lady, who, she sensed somehow, already held her destiny in those slim white hands.

I will wrest it from her, Sukeena vowed. This vile old man could not own me, although for the last five years he has dreamed of nothing else. Neither will this golden tiger woman ever own me. I swear it on my father's sacred memory.

They passed in a group through the high airy rooms of the residence. Through the green-painted shutters spilled the mellow Cape sunshine, casting stark zebra shadows on the tiled floors. Katinka felt a lightness of the spirit in these sunny colonies. She felt a recklessness in herself, an eagerness for strange adventures and for un-fathomed excitements.

In every room she encountered a subtle, delicate feminine influence. It was not only the lingering perfume of flowers and incense, but some other living presence that she knew could never have emanated from the sad and sick old man at her side. She did not have to glance behind her to be aware of the girl who had created this aura, her silk clothing whispering and the susurration of the golden sandals on her tiny feet, the scent of the jasmine blossom in her coal-dark hair and the sweet musk of her skin.

In counterpoint, there was the crisp staccato click of the Colonel's heels on the tiles, the creak of his leather and the clink of his scabbard as it swung at his side. His scent was more powerful than that of the girl. It was masculine and rank, sweat and leather and animal, like a stallion pushed hard, bounding between her thighs. In this emotional hothouse in which she found herself, every one of her senses was fully engaged.

At last Governor Kleinhans led them out of the house and across the lawns to where a small gazebo stood, secluded beneath the oaks. An alfresco repast had been laid for them, and Sukeena stood in close attendance, directing the service of the meal with a glance or a subtle, graceful gesture.

Katinka noticed that as each dish or bottle was presented Sukeena tasted a morsel or took a delicate sip, like a butterfly at an open orchid. Her silence was not selfeffacing, for all three seated at the table were intensely aware of her presence.

Cornelius Schreuder sat so close to Katinka that his leg pressed against hers whenever he leaned close to speak to her. They looked down towards the bay, where the Standvastigheid lay at anchor, not far from the Gull of Moray. The galleon had come in during the night, fully laden with her cargo of recovered spices and timber. She would carry Kleinhans northwards on the next leg of her voyage, so he was in haste to settle his affairs here in the Cape. Katinka smiled sweetly at the old man over the rim of her wine glass, knowing that she had him at a disadvantage in the bargaining.

"I wish to sell fifteen of my slaves," he told her, "and I have prepared a list of them, setting out their personal details, their skills and training, their ages and the state of their health. Five of the females are pregnant, so already the buyer will be assured of an increase on his, or her, investment."

Katinka glanced at the document he handed her, then dropped it on the table top. "Tell me about Sukeena." she commanded. "Am I mistaken, or have I detected in her a drop of northern blood? Was her father Dutch?"

Although Sukeena stood close by, Katinka spoke about the girl as though she were an inanimate object, without hearing or human sensitivity, a pretty piece of jewellery or a miniature painting, perhaps.

"You are observant, Mevrouw." Kleinhans inclined his head. "But no, her father was not Dutch. He was an English trader and her mother was a Balinese but, nonetheless, a woman of high breeding. When I saw her she was in her middle age. However, I understand that in her youth she was a great beauty. Although she was merely his concubine, the English trader treated her like a wife."

All three studied Sukeena's features openly. "Yes, you can see the European blood. It is the tone of her skin, and the set and shape of her eyes," said Katinka.

Sukeena kept her eyes lowered, and her expression did not change. Smoothly she continued with her duties.

"What do you think of her appearance, Colonel?" Katinka turned to Schreuder, and pressed her leg against his. "I am always interested in what a man finds attractive. Do you not think her a delicious little creature?"

Schreuder flushed slightly, and moved his chair so that he was no longer looking directly at Sukeena.

"Mevrouw, I have never had a penchant for native girls, even if they are half-castes." Sukeena's face remained impassive even though, at six feet from him, she had heard the derogatory description clearly.

"My tastes incline very much towards our lovely Dutch girls. I would not trade the dross for the pure gold."

"Oh, Colonel, you are so gallant. I envy the pure golden Dutch girl who catches your fancy." She laughed, and he gave her a look more eloquent than the words that rose to his lips, but perforce remained unspoken.

Katinka turned back to Kleinhans. "So if her father was English, does she speak that language? That would be a useful accomplishment, would it not?" indeed, she speaks it with great fluency, but that is not all. She has a way with guilders and runs the household with great economy and efficiency. The other slaves respect and obey her. She has intimate knowledge of Oriental medicines and remedies for all illness-" "A paragon!" Katinka interrupted his recital. "But what of her nature? Is she tractable, docile?"

"She is as she appears," said Kleinhans, concealing the evasion with a ready reply and open face. "I assure you, Mevrouw, that I have owned her for five years and have always found her completely compliant."

Sukeena's face remained as if carved in jade, lovely and remote, but her soul seethed with outrage at the lie. For five years she had withstood him, and only on the few occasions when he had beaten her unconscious had he been able to invade her body. But that had been no victory for him, she knew, and "took comfort from that knowledge. Twice she had recovered her senses while he was still grunting and straining over her like an animal, forcing himself into her dry, reluctant flesh. She did not count this as defeat, she did not even admit to herself that he had conquered her, for the moment that she regained consciousness she had begun to fight him again, with all the strength and determination of before.

"You are not a woman," he had cried in despair, as she thrashed and kicked and wormed out from under him, "you are a devil," and, bleeding where she had bitten him and covered with deep gouges and scratches, he had slunk away, leaving her battered but triumphant. In the end he had given up any attempt at forcing her into submission, and instead had tried every other blandishment.