"You are not an Arab," she whispered. "You are an Englishman."



"You have found me out," he said, and kissed her again.



When they drew apart, she said, "I am so confused. Who are you?"



"I will tell you," he promised, 'but later." He sought her lips again, and she gave them willingly.



After a while she placed both her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back gently. "Please, Mansur, we must stop this. If we don't something will happen that will spoil everything before it has begun."



"It has begun already, Verity."



"Yes, I know it has," she said.



"It began when first I laid eyes on you on the deck of the Arcturus."



"I know," she said again, and stood up quickly. With both hands she flung the glorious profusion of her hair back from her face and over her shoulders.



"They are coming." She pointed back up the valley at the band of horsemen who were galloping towards them.



A they rode back to Isakanderbad, al-Salil and Sir Guy listened to Verity's account of the near tragedy. When al-Salil asked Mansur for his version of events, Mansur replied quite naturally in Arabic, and Verity was obliged to go along with the deception that he spoke no English. She translated for her father his praises of her courage and resourcefulness, and could omit none of his hyperbole now that she knew Mansur understood every word.



At the end Sir Guy smiled tightly and nodded to Mansur. "Please tell him that we are in his debt." Then his expression turned bleak. "You were at fault. You should not have been alone in his company, child. Your behaviour was scandalous. It will not happen again." Once again Mansur saw fear in her eyes.



The sun had set and it was almost dark when they reached the encampment. Verity found her tent lit with lamps whose wicks floated in perfumed oil and her clothing from the ship had been unpacked. Three handmaidens were waiting to attend her. When she was ready for her bath they poured warm, perfumed pitchers of water over her, and



giggled as they marvelled at the whiteness and beauty of her naked body.



The evening meal was laid out under a dazzle of stars, and the desert air had cooled. They sat cross-legged on cushions while the musicians played softly. After they had eaten, servants offered hookahs to the Caliph and Sir Guy. Only al-Salil indulged. Sir Guy lit a long black cheroot from the gold case that Verity carried for him. Politely she offered one to Mansur. Thank you, my lady, but I have never found tobacco to my taste."



"I agree with you. I also find the odour of the smoke unpleasant in the extreme." Instinctively she had lowered her voice, even though her father spoke no Arabic.



Now Mansur was certain she was terrified of him. There was more to her feelings than simply that Sir Guy was a daunting figure, hard and unyielding, and Mansur knew he would have to be circumspect in what he now had in mind. He kept his voice on the same even level when he spoke again. "At the end of this street there lies an ancient temple to Aphrodite. The moon rises a little before midnight. Although dedicated to a pagan deity, in the moonlight the temple is very lovely."



Verity had not heard him, or so it seemed from her lack of reaction. She turned back to translate a remark that Sir Guy had made to al Salil, and the two men continued their earnest conversation. They were discussing the extent of the Caliph's gratitude to Sir Guy for his intervention with the Company and the British government. In what manner could the Caliph best demonstrate it? al-Salil asked. Sir Guy suggested delicately that five lakhs of gold rupees might be appropriate, which should be followed by an annual payment of another lakh.



The Caliph began to understand how his brother had amassed such vast wealth. It would take two ox carts to carry that amount of gold. The treasury in Muscat no longer held a tenth of that amount, but he did not inform Sir Guy of this. Instead he brought the subject to a close. These are matters we can discuss again, for I hope to enjoy many more days of your company. But now, if we are to rise again before the sun tomorrow, we should repair to our sleeping mats. May pleasant dreams attend your slumbers."



Verity took her father's arm as he escorted her to her tent with torchbearers leading them through the encampment. In turmoil, Mansur watched her go: he had no indication that she would honour their assignation.



Later, dressed in a dark cloak, he waited in the temple of Aphrodite. Through a hole in the dilapidated roof the moonlight played full on the



statue of the goddess. The pearly marble glowed as though with internal life. Both her arms were missing, for the ages had taken their toll, but the figure was graceful and the battered head smiled in eternal ecstasy.



Mansur had stationed Istaph, his trusted coxswain from the Sprite, on the roof to keep guard. Now Istaph whistled softly. Mansur caught his breath and his pulse beat faster. He stood up from his seat on one of the tumbled stone blocks and moved to the centre of the temple so that she would see him at once and not be startled by his sudden appearance from out of the shadows. He saw the dim light of the lamp she carried as she came down the narrow alley, stepping over the rubble and debris of three thousand years.



At the entrance she paused and looked across at him, then set her lamp in a niche in the doorway and threw back her hood. She had braided her hair in a single rope that hung down over one shoulder, and in the moonlight her face was as pale as that of the goddess. He let his own cloak fall open to hang from his shoulders, and went to meet her. He saw that her expression was serious and remote.



When he was within arm's length she put out a hand to stop him coming closer. "If you touch me I shall have to leave at once," she said. "You heard my father's rebuke. I was never again to be alone with you."



"Yes, I heard. I understand your predicament," he assured her. "I am grateful you have come."



"What happened today was wrong."



"I am to blame," he said.



"There is no blame on either of us. We had been close to death. Our expressions of relief and gratitude towards each other were only natural in the circumstances. However, I said foolish things. You must forget my words. This is the last time we shall meet like this."



"I shall fall in with your wishes."



"Thank you, Your Highness,"



Mansur switched to English. "Will you not at least treat me as a friend and call me Mansur, and not by the title that sits so uncomfortably on your lips?"



She smiled, and answered in the same language. "If that is indeed your true name. It seems to me that you are a great deal more than you seem, Mansur."



"I have promised to explain it to you, Verity."



"Yes, indeed you have. That is why I have come." Then she added, as though she was trying to convince herself, "And for no other reason."



She turned away and took a seat on a fallen stone block just large enough to accommodate her alone, and she gestured to another at a discreet distance. "Will you not be seated and make yourself at ease? It



seems to me that your tale will take some telling." He sat, facing her. She leaned forward with one elbow on her knee and her chin in the palm of her hand. "You have all of my attention."



He laughed and shook his head. "Where to begin? How will I ever make you believe me?" He paused to gather his thoughts. "Let me start with the most preposterous. If I can convince you of those parts of it, then the rest of the medicine will not be so difficult for you to swallow."



She inclined her head in invitation, and he drew breath. "Like yours my English surname is Courtney. I am your cousin."



She burst out laughing. "In all fairness, you did warn me. None the less 'tis bitter medicine that you are trying to dole out to me." She made as if to rise. "I see that this is but a prank, and you take me for the fool."



"Wait!" he entreated. "Give me a fair hearing." She sank back on the stone. "Have you heard the names Thomas and Dorian Courtney?" The smile vanished from her lips and she nodded wordlessly. "What have you heard?"



She thought for a moment, her expression troubled. Tom Courtney was a terrible rogue. He was my father's twin brother. He murdered his other brother, William, and had to fly from England. He died somewhere in the African wilderness. His grave is unmarked and his passing unmourned." "Is that all you know of him?



"No, there is more," Verity admitted. "He is guilty of something even more heinous."



"What is worse than the murder of your own brother?"



Verity shook her head. "I know none of the details, only that it was so foul a deed that his name and his memory are blackened for ever. I do not know the full extent of his wickedness, but since we were children we have been forbidden to mention his name."



"When you say we, Verity, who is the other person?"



"My older brother, Christopher."



"It pains me to be the one to tell you, but what you have been told about Tom Courtney is but a sad travesty of the truth," Mansur said, but before we discuss it further, please tell me what you know of Dorian Courtney."



Verity shrugged. "Very little, for there is little to know. He was my father's youngest brother. No, that is not correct, he was my father's half-brother. In a tragic turn of events he fell into the hands of Arab pirates when he was but a child of ten or twelve years. Tom Courtney, that craven rogue, was to blame for his abduction and did nothing to Prevent it, or to save him. Dorian died of fever, neglect and a broken heart while he was a captive in the lair of the pirates."



"How do you know all this?"



"My father told us about it, and with my own eyes I have seen Dorian's grave in the old cemetery on Lamu island. I placed flowers upon it and said a prayer for his poor little soul. I take comfort in the words of Christ, "Suffer little children to come to me". I know he rests in the bosom of Jesus."



In the moonlight Mansur saw a tear tremble on her bottom eyelid. "Please don't weep for little Dorian," he said quietly. "Today you rode out hawking in his company and you dined this very evening at his board."



She recoiled so violently that the tear fell from her eyelid and slid down her cheek. She stared at him. "I do not understand."



"Dorian is the Caliph."



"If this be true, which it cannot be, we are cousins."



"Bravo, coz! You have arrived at where we started our conversation."



She shook her head. "It cannot be... yet there is something about you--' She broke off, then began again: "At our very first meeting I felt something, an affinity, a bond that I could not explain to myself." She looked distraught. "If all this is a jest, then it is a cruel one."



"No jest, I swear it to you."



"I need more than that to convince me."



"There is more, a great deal more. You shall have as much of it as you can possibly desire. Shall I tell you first how Dorian was sold by the pirates to the Caliph al-Malik, and how the Caliph came to love him so that he adopted him as his own son? Shall I tell you how Dorian fell in love with his adoptive half-sister Princess Yasmini and they eloped together? How she bore him a son, whom they named Mansur? How Yasmini's half-brother Zayn al-Din became caliph after the death of al Malik? How, not a year past, Zayn al-Din sent an assassin to murder my mother Yasmini?"



"Mansur!" Verity's face was as white as the marble Aphrodite's. "Your mother? Zayn al-Din murdered her?"



"This is the main reason we have returned to Oman, my father and I. To avenge my mother's death, and to deliver our people from tyranny. But now I must tell you the truth about my uncle Tom. He is not the monster you paint him."



"My father told us--'



"I last saw Uncle Tom scarcely a year ago, hale and flourishing in Africa. He is a kind person, brave and true. He is married to your aunt Sarah, your mother Caroline's younger sister."



"Sarah is dead!" Verity exclaimed.



"She is very much alive. If you knew her you would love her as I do. She is so much like you, strong and proud. She even looks a great deal



like you. She is tall and very beautiful." He smiled and added softly, "She has your nose." Verity touched her own and smiled faintly.



"With such a nose as mine she cannot be so beautiful." The little smile faded. They told me my mother and father told me they were all dead, Dorian, Tom and Sarah..." Verity covered her eyes with one hand as she tried to assimilate what he had told her.



"Tom Courtney made two mistakes in his life. He killed his brother William in a fair fight, defending himself when Black Billy tried to murder him."



"I heard that Tom stabbed William while he slept." She dropped her hand and stared at him.



"Tom's other mistake was to father your brother Christopher. That is the reason your mother and father hated him so."



"No." She leaped to her feet. "My brother is no bastard! My mother is no whore!"



"Your mother conceived in love. That is not harlotry," Mansur said, and she sank down again. She reached across the gap between them and laid her hand on his arm. "Oh, Mansur! This is too much for me to endure. Your words tear my world apart."



"I do not tell you this to torment you, Verity, but for both our sakes."



"I do not understand."



"I have fallen in love with you," Mansur said. "You asked who I am, and because I love you I must tell you."



"You delude yourself and me," she whispered. "Love is not something that falls like manna from the sky, full formed and complete. It grows between two persons--'



"Tell me you feel nothing, Verity."



She would not reply. Instead she sprang to her feet and looked to the night sky as if seeking escape. "The dawn is breaking. My father must not learn I have been with you. I must go back to my tent at once."



Answer my question before you go," he insisted. "Tell me you feel nothing and I will trouble you no further."



"How can I tell you that when I know not what I feel? I owe you my life, but beyond that I cannot yet tell."



"Verity! Give me one small grain of hope."



"No, Mansur. I must go! Not another word."



Will you come to meet me here again, tomorrow evening?"



"You do not know my father--' She stopped herself. "I can promise you nothing."



There is so much more that I must tell you."



She laughed shortly, then stopped herself. "Have you not told me sufficient to last me a lifetime?"



"Will you come?"



"I will try. But only to hear the rest of your story." She snatched up the lamp and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, covering her face, and ran from the temple.



In the dawn the Caliph rode out with his guests and all his entourage to fly the falcons. They killed three times before the heat came down and they were forced back into the shelter of the tents.



During the noonday heat Sir Guy spoke to the council, explaining to them how he could save Oman from the tyrant, and from the clutches of the Turk and the Mogul. "You must place yourselves under the suzerainty of the English monarch and his Company."



The desert sheikhs listened and argued among themselves. They were free men, and proud. At last Mustapha Zindara asked for all of them, "We have driven out the jackal from our sheepfold. Shall we now allow the leopard to take his place? If this English monarch wants us as his subjects, will he come to us so that we can see him ride and wield the lance? Will he lead us into battle as al-Salil has done?"



The English king will hold his shield over you, and protect you from your enemies." Sir Guy avoided a direct answer.



"And what is the price in gold of his protection?" Mustapha Zindara asked.



Al-Salil had seen that Mustapha's temper was rising like the heat outside the tent. He looked across at Verity and said gently, "I ask your father for his indulgence. We must discuss all he has told us, and I must explain to my people what it means, and set their fears at rest." He turned to his councillors. "The heat has passed and the huntsmen have found much game on the high ground across the river. We shall talk more on the morrow."



Mansur found that Verity was avoiding him assiduously. She would not even glance in his direction. Whenever he came close to her she turned all her attention on her father or the Caliph. He saw how she looked on Dorian in a changed light now that she knew he was her uncle. She stared into his face and watched his eyes when he spoke to her. She followed his every gesture with attention, yet she would not even glance in Mansur's direction. During the afternoon's hunt she would not allow him to separate her from her



father, but rode close at Sir Guy's side. In the end Mansur was forced to contain himself until the evening meal. He was not hungry and it seemed interminable. Only once did he catch Verity's eyes and, with a tilt of his head, asked a silent question of her. She arched an eyebrow enigmatically, and gave him no reply.



When at last the Caliph dismissed the company, Mansur escaped to his own tent with relief. He waited until all was quiet, for he knew that even if she intended to keep the assignation she would not move before then. That night there was a restless feeling in the camp with men passing back and forth, loud voices and singing. It was well after midnight before Mansur could leave his own tent, and start for the temple. Istaph was waiting for him beside the stone doorway. "Is all well?" Mansur asked.



Istaph came closer and whispered, There are others abroad this night."



"Who are they?"



"Two men came out of the desert while the Caliph and his guests were at dinner. They hid themselves in the horse lines When the English effendi and his daughter left the company, the girl did not go to her own tent as she did last night. Instead she went with her father to his. Then the two strangers came secretly to them."



They are set on mischief?" Mansur demanded, with horror. Was Verity to die as his own mother had, under the assassin's blade?



"No!" Kumrah assured him quickly. "I heard the effendi greet them when they entered and they are together still."



"You are certain you have never seen these men before tonight?"



They are strangers. I do not know them."



"How were they dressed?"



They wore Arab robes, but only one was an Omani."



"How did the other look?"



Kumrah shrugged. "I saw him only for a moment. It is not possible to tell much from a man's face alone, but he was a ferengi."



A European?" Mansur exclaimed, with surprise. "Are you sure?"



Istaph shrugged again. "I am not sure, but so it seemed to me."



They are still in the tent of the consul? Is the woman with them?" Mansur demanded.



They were all still there when I came to meet you here."



Come with me, but we must not be seen," Mansur said decisively.



There are watchmen only on the outer perimeter of the camp," Istaph answered.



We know where they are. We can avoid them." Mansur turned back and went quietly down the narrow alley, the way he had come. He made



as if he was returning to his own tent, then ducked behind a pile of ancient masonry and waited there until he was certain they had not been seen or followed. Then he and Istaph crept up silently behind Sir Guy's pavilion. There was light within, and Mansur could hear voices.



He recognized Verity's. She was speaking to her father, clearly translating, "He says that the rest will arrive within the week."



"A week!" Sir Guy's voice was louder. They should have been ready at the beginning of the month."



"Father, lower your voice. You will be heard throughout the entire camp."



For a while their voices sank to a soft mumble and they spoke with suppressed urgency. Then another voice spoke in Arabic. Even though it was so low and muted that he could not make out the words, Mansur knew he had heard it before, but where and when he could not be sure.



In a barely audible whisper Verity translated for Sir Guy, and his voice rose again sharply. "He must not even think of it now. Tell him it could dash all our plans. His private concerns must wait until afterwards. He must restrain his pugnacious instincts until the main business has been taken care of."



Mansur strained his ears but could catch only snatches of what followed. At one stage Sir Guy said, "We must sweep up the whole shoal in our net. We must not allow a single fish to slip through."



Then, abruptly, Mansur heard the strangers take leave of him. Once again the familiar Arab voice tugged at his memory. This time it whispered the formal words of farewell.



I know him, Mansur thought. He was certain of this, but still could not place him. The second stranger spoke for the first time. Istaph had been correct. This was a European speaking Arabic with a German or guttural Dutch accent. He could not remember having heard it before. He ignored it, and tried to concentrate instead on exchanges between Sir Guy and the Arab. There was silence, and he realized that the strangers had left Sir Guy's pavilion as quietly as they had come. He jumped up from where he was crouched and ran to the corner of the tent wall. Then he had to shrink back, for not ten paces away Sir Guy and Verity were standing at the entrance talking quietly and looking in the direction in which their visitors had gone. If Mansur and Istaph tried to follow, Sir Guy would spot them. Father and daughter remained in the doorway for some minutes longer before they went back inside. By this time the strange visitors had vanished among the closely huddled pavilions of the encampment.



Mansur turned to Istaph, who was close behind him. "We must not



let them get away. Search the far side of the camp, down towards the river, and see if they went that way. I shall take the northern perimeter."



He broke into a run. Something about the stranger's voice had filled him with a sense of foreboding. I have to find out who that Arab is, he thought.



When he reached the last ruined buildings he saw two of the night watchmen standing together in the shadows cast by the wall. They were leaning on their jezails and talking quietly. He called to them, "Did two men pass this way?"



They recognized his voice and ran to him. "No, Highness, no man passed us." It seemed that they had been awake and alert, so Mansur had to believe them.



"Shall we raise the alarm?" one demanded.



"No," Mansur said. "It was nothing. Return to your post."



The strangers must have gone down towards the river. He ran back through the dark camp and, in the moonlight, saw Istaph running back towards him along the causeway. He sprinted to meet him and called to him while still far off, "Have you found them?"



"This way, Highness." Istaph's voice was harsh with exertion. Together they raced down the hillside, then Istaph turned off the path and led Mansur towards a clump of thorn trees.



They have camels," he gasped.



As he said it two riders burst from the clump of trees. Mansur came up short and stood panting, gazing after them as they rode diagonally across the hillside below him. They passed not more than a pistol shot from where he stood. Their mounts were both beautiful racing camels and carried bulky saddlebags and waterbags for a desert crossing. They were ghostly in the silvery moonlight, moving away in uncanny silence towards the open desert.



In desperation Mansur bellowed after them, "Stop! In the Caliph's name, I order you to halt!"



Both riders turned swiftly in their high saddles at the sound of his voice. They stared back at him. Mansur recognized them both. He had not seen the man with the European features, whom Istaph had called the /erengi, for some years. However, it was the Arab who commanded his attention. He had thrown the hood of his cloak upon his shoulders and, for a fleeting moment, the slanting rays of the moon struck full into his face. He and Mansur stared at each other for a heartbeat, then the Arab leaned forward over the neck of his camel and, with the long riding stick he carried, urged it into the long, elegant gait that covered the ground at an astonishing speed. His dark cloak billowed behind him



as he whirled away down the valley with his ferengi companion riding hard behind him.



A shock of recognition and disbelief paralysed Mansur's legs. He stood and stared after them Then, black thoughts swirled through his head and seemed to batter his senses like the flapping wings of vultures, until at last he rallied himself. I must get back to my father and warn him of what is afoot, he thought. But he waited while the camels dwindled into the distance, flitting like moths across the moonlit landscape, and then were gone.



Mansur ran all the way. He had to stop in the shadow of the walls to regain his breath. Then he went on swiftly but quietly among the tents so as not to raise the alarm. There were two sentries at the door to the Caliph's, but at a quiet word from Mansur they sheathed their swords and stood aside to let him pass. He went through into the inner chamber of the pavilion. A single oil lamp was burning on a metal tripod that shed a soft light.



"Father!" he called.



Dorian sat up from his sleeping mat. He wore only a light loincloth and his naked body was slim and muscled, like an athlete's, in the lamplight. "Who is it?" he called.



"It is Mansur."



"What ails you at this hour?" Dorian had recognized the urgency in his tone.



There were two strangers in our camp this night. They were with Sir Guy."



"Who were they?"



"I recognized them both. One was Captain Koots from the garrison at Good Hope, the man who pursued Jim across the wilderness."



"Here in Oman?" Dorian came fully awake. "It does not seem possible. Are you certain?"



"I am even more certain of the other man. His face is graven upon my mind until the day I die."



Tell me!" Dorian commanded.



"It was the assassin, Kadem ibn Abubaker, the swine who murdered my mother."



"Where are they now?" Dorian's voice was harsh.



They fled into the desert before I could confront them."



"We must follow at once. We cannot let Kadem escape again." The glazed pink knife-scar on Dorian's chest caught the lamplight as he reached for his robes.



They are mounted on racing camels," Mansur answered. "We have



none, and they were headed into the dunes. We can never hope to catch them in the sands."



"Nevertheless we must try." Dorian raised his voice and shouted for the guards.



The dawn was a lemon and orange glow in the eastern sky before bin-Shibam had gathered together a punitive party of his desert warriors and they were all mounted and ready to ride. They swept down the causeway from the camp to where Mansur had seen the fugitives disappear. The ground was sun-baked and stony and held no tracks of the camels passing, but they could not afford further time for the skilled huntsmen to search every inch.



With Mansur leading, they followed the direction in which Kadem had headed into the wilderness. Within two hours' ride they saw the dunes rising ahead of them, in flowing and fantastic shapes. The slip faces down which the sand cascaded were blue and purple and amethyst in the early light. The crests were sharp and sinuous as the back of a gigantic iguana.



Here they found the tracks of two camels trodden into deep saucers in the liquid sand where they had climbed the first dune and disappeared over the crest. They tried to follow, but the horses sank over their hocks with each pace and, in the end, even Dorian had to admit that they were defeated.



"Enough, bin-Shibam!" he told the grizzled old warrior. "We cannot go on. Wait for me here."



Dorian would not allow even Mansur to accompany him as he rode up the face of the next dune. His tired horse had to lunge upwards with each pace and only reached the crest with great effort. There he dismounted. From the sand valley below Mansur watched his father. He was a tall, lonely figure staring out into the desert with the early morning breeze blowing his robes out behind him. He stood like that for a long time, then sank to his knees in prayer. Mansur knew he was praying for Yasmini, and his own sorrow for the loss of his mother welled up almost to suffocate him.



At last Dorian remounted and came down the dune with his stallion sliding in the soft-running sands on braced haunches and stiff front legs. (tm) said not a word as he passed them, and rode on with his chin sunk n his chest. They fell in behind him and he led them back to kakanderbad.



Dorian dismounted in the horse lines and the grooms took his stallion. He strode to Sir Guy's tent with Mansur close behind him. His intention was to confront his half-brother and disclose his true identity, to throw in his face the ancient memories of his vicious treatment of Tom, Sarah and himself as a child, and to demand from him a full explanation of the nocturnal and clandestine presence of Kadem ibn Abubaker in the camp.



Before he reached the tent he realized that things had changed during their absence. A party of strangers was gathered before the entrance. They all wore seafaring dress and were heavily armed. At their head was Captain William Cornish of the Arcturus. Dorian was so angry that he almost hailed him in English. With an effort he prevented his anger boiling over, but it simmered dangerously close to the surface.



Mansur followed close behind him as he stormed into the tent. Sir Guy and Verity stood in the centre of the room. They were in riding garb, and were deep in conversation. Both of them looked up, startled, at the precipitate entrance of the two grim-faced figures.



"Ask them what they want," Guy said to his daughter. "Make them understand that this behaviour is insulting."



"My father welcomes you. He hopes nothing is seriously amiss." Verity was pale and seemed distraught.



Dorian made a perfunctory gesture of greeting, then glanced around the tent. The handmaidens were packing the last of Sir Guy's possessions.



"You are leaving?"



"My father has received tidings of the gravest import. He must return to the Arcturus and sail at once. He asks me to present his most sincere apologies. He tried to inform you of this change in his plans, but he was informed that you and your son had left Isakanderbad."



"We were in pursuit of bandits," Dorian explained, 'but we are desolate that your honoured father must leave before we have reached an accord."



"My father is also put out. He asks you to accept his thanks for the generosity and hospitality you have extended to him."



"Before he leaves I would be most grateful for his assistance. We have learned that there were dangerous bandits in the camp last night. Two men, one an Arab, the other a European, perhaps a Dutchman. Did your father speak to these men? I have had a report that they were seen leaving this tent during the night."



Sir Guy smiled at the question, but the smile was on his lips only and his eyes were cold. Verity said, "My father wishes to assure you that the two men who came to the camp last night were not bandits. They were



the messengers who brought him the news that has necessitated his change of plans. They were with him for a short time only."



"Does your father know these men well?" Dorian insisted. Sir Guy's reply was without obvious guile.



"My father has never seen them before."



"What were their names?"



"They did not give their names, nor did my father ask. Their names were of no interest or importance. They were merely messengers."



Mansur was watching Verity's face intently as she answered these questions. Her expression was calm, but there was a latent tension in her voice, and shadows in her eyes as though dark thoughts lurked in her mind. She avoided looking at Mansur. He sensed that she was lying, perhaps for her father's sake and perhaps for her own.



"May I ask His Excellency the nature of the message they brought him?"



Sir Guy shook his head regretfully. Then he drew from his inner pocket a parchment packet that bore the heavily embossed royal coat of-arms with the legend "Honi soit qui mal y pense' and two red wax seals. "His Excellency regrets that this is an official, privileged document. Any foreign power who attempted to seize it would be committing an act of war."



"Please assure His Excellency that no one is contemplating an act of war."



Dorian dared press the matter no further. "I much regret His Excellency's sudden departure. I wish him a safe journey and a swift return to Oman. I hope I shall be allowed to ride in company with him upon the first mile of his journey?"



"My father would be greatly honoured."



"I will leave you now to make your final preparations. I shall wait with a guard of honour on the perimeter of the camp."



Both men bowed to each other as the Caliph withdrew. As he left the tent Verity shot a single, anguished glance at Mansur. He knew that, at last, she was desperate to talk to him.



Sir Guy and Verity, escorted by Captain Cornish and his armed seamen, rode up to where Dorian and Mansur waited beside the eastern road to escort them. Dorian had brought his anger firmly under control. They set out again in company. Although Mansur fell in beside her, Verity stayed close to her father, translating the polite but inconsequential conversation between him and Dorian. But as they topped the first rise, the wind off the sea blew into their faces, cool and refreshing. As though to adjust it, Verity loosened the scarf that held her high hat in



place. She seemed to lose her grip on it, and the breeze snatched it from her head. It tumbled away down the hillside, rolling like a wheel on its stiff brim.



Mansur turned his horse and raced after it. He leaned far out of the saddle and grabbed the hat from the ground without checking the stallion's speed. He turned back and handed it to Verity as she rode to meet him. She nodded her thanks, and as she replaced it on her head she used the silk scarf to veil her face for a moment. She had contrived to separate them from the rest of the party by at least a hundred paces.



"We have but a moment before my father becomes suspicious. You did not come last night," she said. "I waited for you."



"I could not," he replied, and he would have explained further, but she cut him off brusquely.



"I have left a letter under the pedestal of the goddess."



"Verity!" Sir Guy called sharply. "Come here, child! I need you to interpret."



With her hat again firmly on her head, the brim tilted to a saucy angle, Verity kicked her mare forward and trotted up beside her father's horse. She did not look directly at Mansur again, not even when, with an exchange of compliments, the two bands of horsemen parted. Sir Guy went on towards Muscat while the Caliph and his escort turned back to Isakanderbad.



By the merciless light of midday the goddess's expression was melancholy and her beauty marred by the ravages of millennia. With one last glance around the temple to make certain that he was unobserved Mansur went down on one knee before her. Windblown sand was piled along one side of the pedestal base. Someone had arranged five small chips of white marble in the shape of an arrowhead. It pointed at a spot where the sand had been recently disturbed, then carefully smoothed over again.



He swept away the sand. There was a narrow crack between the marble base of the statue and the stone flags of the floor. When he lowered his face to floor level he saw that a folded sheet of parchment had been pushed deep into the crack. He had to use his dagger to prise it out. He unfolded the sheet and saw that both sides were written upon in an elegant, feminine script. He refolded the sheet, hid it in his sleeve, hurried back to his own tent and went into the inner room. He spread out the letter on his sleeping mat and pored over it. There was no salutation.



I hope you will be there tonight. If you are not I will leave this for you. I heard the alarm a short while ago and the horsemen riding out, and I must believe that you went with them. I suspect that you are chasing the two men who came to my father this night. They are generals in the army of Zayn al-Din. One is named Kadem ibn Abubaker. The other is a renegade Dutchman whose name I do not know. They command the Turkish infantry who will lead the assault on Muscat. The news they brought my father is that, at this very moment, the fleet and the transports carrying Zayn's army are no longer lying in Zanzibar roads. They sailed two weeks ago, and they are already at anchor off Boomi island. My father and I will return on board the Arcturas with all despatch so that we are not trapped in the city when the Turks attack. It is my father's purpose to join Zayn's fleet, so that he might be present when Zayn enters the city.



Mansur felt his heart turn cold with dread. Boomi island lay a mere ten sea miles from the entrance to Muscat harbour. The enemy had come secretly upon them, and the city lay under a terrible threat. He read on quickly:



Zayn himself is aboard the flagship. He has fifty great dhows and seven thousand Turkish soldiers on board. They plan to land on the peninsula and march on the city from the landward side, to surprise the defences and avoid the batteries of cannon on the seaward walls. By the time you read this, they may have already launched their attack. Zayn has another fifty dhows crammed with troops and the munitions of war following. They will be in Muscat within the next week.



Mansur was so stricken that he could barely bring himself to read the rest of the letter before rushing out to warn his father.



It is with deep sadness and guilt that I must tell you that my father's offer of assistance to the junta was a ruse to lull them and to keep the desert sheikhs in Muscat until Zayn could fall upon them and capture all of them together. They will receive no mercy from him. Nor shall you and your father. I knew nothing of this until an hour ago. I truly believed that the offer of British protection my father made was genuine. I am ashamed by what he has done to his brothers, Tom and Dorian, down the years. I knew nothing of this either, not until you told me of it. I have always known he was an



ambitious man, but I had no idea of the true extent of his ruthlessness. I wish there was some way in which I could make amends.



"There is, Verity, Oh, yes, there is," Mansur whispered, as he read on.



There is more that it pains me to relate. I learned tonight that Kadem ibn Abubaker is the villain who assassinated your mother, Princess Yasmini. He boasted of the heinous murder. Tonight he wanted to kill your father and you also. My father prevented him doing so, not on grounds of compassion but lest the plot he has hatched with Zayn al-Din to recapture the city be jeopardized. If my father had not stopped him, I swear to you on my hope of salvation that I would have managed to warn you somehow. You cannot know how deep is my repugnance for the deeds my father has committed. In one short hour I have come to hate him. I fear him even more. Please forgive me, Mansur, for the hurt we have done you.



"You are not to blame," he whispered, and turned over the sheet of parchment. He read the last few lines.



Last night you asked me if I did not feel anything between you and me. I would not answer you then, but I answer you now. Yes, I do.



If we never meet again, I hope you will always believe that I never intended to cause you hurt. Your affectionate cousin, Verity Courtney.



They drove the horses without mercy, riding in full force back to Muscat. They were still too late. As they came within sight of the city towers and minarets they heard the cannon fire and saw the dun smoke of battle sully the sky above the harbour.



With Dorian, al-Salil, at the head of the troop they drove the exhausted horses through the palm groves, and now they could hear musket fire, shouting and screaming below the city walls. Onwards they raced, and the roadway ahead was crammed with women, children and old men fleeing the city. They turned off and galloped on through the groves, while the din of battle grew louder. At last they saw the glint or spearheads, scimitars and bronze Turkish helmets surging forward towards the city gates.



They flogged the last ounce of speed from their horses, and in a tight column they raced for the gates. The Turks ran through the palm grove to head them off. The gates were swinging closed.



"The gates will shut before we can reach them!" Mansur called to his



father.



Dorian ripped off his turban. "Show them who we are!" he cried. Mansur pulled off his own turban and they rode on with their bright red hair streaming behind them like banners.



A cry went up from the parapets: "Al-Salil! It is the Caliph!"



The gates began slowly to open again as the men on the winches bent to the handles.



The Turks saw that they could not cut them off on foot. Their cavalry had not yet arrived: it was following in the second fleet. They halted and unslung their short recurved bows. The first flight of arrows rose dark against the blue and hissed like a pitful of serpents as it fell among the racing horses. One was struck, and went down as though it had run full-tilt into a tripwire. Mansur turned back, hauled Istaph from the saddle of the floundering horse, swung him up on to his stallion's withers and raced on. The gates started to close again the moment the Caliph had galloped through. Mansur shouted to the winch men as he came through the storm of Turkish arrows. They seemed not to hear him and inexorably the gates continued to shut in his face.



Then, suddenly, Dorian turned back into the opening and stopped his horse full in the path of the great mahogany gates, which creaked to a standstill. Mansur galloped through with inches to spare. The gates slammed as the wave of Turkish attackers reached them, and the defenders on the parapets above fired muskets and arrows down into them. They fled back into the palm grove.



Dorian galloped at once through the narrow alleys to the mosque and climbed the spiral staircase to the top balcony of the tallest minaret. On one side he had a sweeping view over the harbour and peninsula, and on the other over cultivated fields and groves. Earlier he had devised a system of flag signals to communicate with the gunners on the parapets and his two ships in the bay so that he could co-ordinate their actions.



From this height he could make out through his telescope the forest of masts of Zayn al-Din's fleet showing above the high ground of the peninsula. He lowered the glass and turned to Mansur. "Our ships are still safe," he pointed to the Sprite and the Revenge at anchor, 'but as soon as Zayn brings his war dhows round the peninsula and enters the bay they will be exposed and vulnerable. We must bring them close in under the protection of the battery on the sea wall."



How long can we hold out, Father?" Mansur lowered his voice and sPoke in English so that bin-Shibam and Mustapha Zindara, who had followed them, could not understand him.



"We have not had enough time to finish the work on the south wall," Dorian replied. They will discover our weak places soon enough."



"Zayn almost certainly knows of them already. The city is swarming with his spies. Look!" Mansur pointed at the corpses hanging on the outer wall like washing. "Although Mustapha Zindara is taking care of as many as he can lay his hands on, no doubt he has overlooked one or two."



Dorian surveyed the gaps in the defences, which had been hurriedly stopped up with timber balks and gab ions filled with sand. The repairs were temporary, and would not withstand a determined attack by seasoned troops. Then he lifted his spyglass and ran the lens over the palm groves to the south of the city. Suddenly he stiffened and handed the glass to Mansur. "The first attack is gathering already." They could make out the sparkle of sunlight on the helmets and spearheads of the Turkish troops, who were massing under cover of the groves. "Mansur, I want you to go aboard the Sprite and take overall command of both our ships. Bring them in as close to the shore as is safe. I want your guns to cover the approaches to the south wall."



Later, Dorian watched him being rowed out to the Sprite in the longboat. Almost as soon as he stepped aboard, both ships swung round as their anchor cables were hauled in. Under topsails they sailed deeper into the bay, Mansur in the Sprite leading Batula in the Revenge.



In the light breeze they were barely under steerage way, and they loafed in over the sparkling water, their hulls dappled turquoise green by the reflection of sunlight off the white sand of the lagoon bottom. Then Dorian looked to the south, and saw the first wave of the Turkish assault swarming across the open fields towards the walls. He ordered a red flag hoisted to the pinnacle of the minaret: the prearranged signal to the squadron that an attack was imminent. He saw Mansur look up at the flag, waved down at him and pointed to the south. Mansur waved back in acknowledgement, and sailed on sedately.



Then the ships turned in succession just below the harbour wall. Dorian watched the gun ports fall open and the guns run out, like the fangs of a snarling monster. Mansur's tall figure was pacing along the gundeck. He paused occasionally to speak to his crew as they gathered tensely around the gun carriages.



The south wall and its approaches were still hidden by the angle of the tall stone ramparts, but as the Sprite cleared the range and angled in towards the beach the view opened before Mansur's eyes.



The Turks were bunched up as they carried in the long scaling ladders. Some of them looked across the narrow strip of water as the two pretty little ships emerged from behind the citadel walls. The Turkish infantry had never seen the effect of shot from a naval nine pounder. Some even waved, and Mansur ordered his crews to wave back to lull their fears.



It happened with dreamlike deliberation. Mansur had time to walk down his deck and lay each gun with his own hand, turning down the elevation screws. He found it difficult to convince some of his crew that the power of the guns was not enhanced when the screws were turned up to maximum. Closer and closer they crept in towards the beach and Mansur listened with one ear to the leadsman in the chains calling the soundings: "By the mark, five."



"Close enough," Mansur murmured, and then to Kumrah, "Bring her up a point."



The Sprite settled on the new course parallel to the shore. "We will now serve out a taste of Mr. Pandit Singh's very best," he murmured, without lowering the glass. The Sprite's guns began to bear by the bows. Still he waited. Mansur knew that the first broadside would do the most damage. After that the enemy would scatter into cover.



They were so close that through the lens he could see the links in the chain-mail of the nearest Turks and the individual feathers in the plumed helmets of the officers.



He lowered the glass and walked back down the battery. Every gun was bearing and the gun-crews were watching him, waiting on his command. He lifted the scarf of scarlet silk in his right hand, and held it high.



"Fire!" he shouted, and snapped it down.



Kadem ibn Abubaker and Herminius Koots, that unlikely couple, stood on a rocky eminence and looked across the open ground towards the southern ramparts of the city. Their staff were gathered around them, among them the Turkish officers whose authority they had usurped when Zayn al-Din had promoted them.



They watched the assault troops moving forward in three columns of two hundred men each. They carried the scaling ladders, and on their shoulders were strapped the round bronze targes to defend them against the missiles that would rain down on them from the walls as soon as they were within range. Close behind them, in massed quarter columns, followed the battalions that would surge forward to exploit any foothold they won on the parapets. "It is worth the risk of losing a few hundred men against the chance of a quick break-in," Koots said.



"We can afford the loss," Kadem agreed. The rest of the fleet will arrive within days, another ten thousand men. If we fail today, we can begin the formal siege works on the morrow."



"You must prevail on your revered uncle, the Caliph, to bring his warships round to begin the blockade of the bay and the harbour."



"He will give the order as soon as he has seen the outcome of this first assault," Kadem assured the Dutchman. "Have faith, General. My uncle is a seasoned commander. He has been waging war on his enemies since the day he ascended the Elephant Throne. The treacherous revolution of these pork-eating swine we see before us," he pointed to the lines of defenders on the city wall, 'was the only defeat he has ever suffered through treason and betrayal within his own court. It will not happen again."



"The Caliph is a great man. I never said different," Koots assured him j hastily. "We shall hang those traitors by their own entrails on the walls | of the city."



"With God's favour, thanks be to God," Kadem intoned.



The first tenuous bond between them had been tempered to steel J links over the two years they had been together. That terrible journey, forced upon them after they were routed by Jim Courtney in the | disastrous night attack, was one that lesser men could not have survived. They had braved disease and starvation across thousands of leagues of ':| wild country. Their horses died of sickness and exhaustion, or had been killed by hostile tribesmen. They had covered the last stages on foot :| through swamps and mangrove forest before they reached the coast again. There they had come across a fishing village. They attacked it in |



the night and slaughtered all the men and children at once, but they killed the five women and the three little girls only after Koots and Oudeman had expended their pent-up lust on them. Kadem ibn Abu baker had kept aloof from this orgy. He had prayed upon the beach while the women screamed and sobbed, then gave one last shriek as Koots and Oudeman slit their throats.



They had embarked in the captured fishing-boats that were nothing more than ancient, dilapidated outrigger canoes. After another arduous journey, they at last reached Lamu harbour. There they prostrated themselves before Zayn al-Din in the throne room of his palace.



Zayn al-Din had welcomed his nephew warmly. He had thought him dead, and was delighted by the tidings he brought of Yasmini's execution. As Kadem had promised, the Caliph looked with favour on Kadem's new companion and listened to accounts of his ruthless warlike talents with attention.



As a trial he had sent Koots with a small force to subdue the remaining strongholds of the rebels who still held out upon the African mainland. He expected him to fail, as all the others before him had done. However, true to his reputation, within two months Koots had brought all the ringleaders back to Lamu in chains. There, with his own hands and in Zayn's royal presence, he had disembowelled them alive. As his reward Zayn gave him half a lakh of gold rupees from the plunder, and his pick of the female slaves he had captured. Then he had promoted him to general and given him command of four battalions of the army that he was assembling to attack Muscat.



"The Caliph comes to us now. As soon as he arrives you can order the assault to begin." Kadem turned and went to meet the palanquin that eight slaves were carrying up the hill. It was covered with a sun canopy of gold and blue, and when they set it down Zayn al-Din stepped out.



He was no longer the chubby child whom Dorian had thrashed in the harem on Lamu island and whose foot he had maimed in the struggle to protect Yasmini from the torments Zayn had heaped upon her. He still limped, but the puppy-fat had fallen away long ago from his frame. A lifetime of intrigue and constant strife had hardened his features as it had sharpened his wits. His eyes were quick and acquisitive, his manner imperious. If it were not for the cruel lines of his mouth and the fierce cunning in his dark eyes, he might have been handsome. Kadem and Koots prostrated themselves before him. In the beginning oots had found this form of respect abhorrent. However, like the Oriental attire he had adopted, it had become part of his new existence. Zayn gestured to his two generals to rise. They followed him to the



brow of the hill, and looked down over the open ground on which the assault force was drawn up. Zayn studied the dispositions of the troops with a practised eye. Then he nodded. "Proceed!" His voice was high pitched, almost girlish. When he had first heard it, Koots had despised Zayn for it, but the voice was the only feminine thing about him. He had fathered a hundred and twenty-three children, and only sixteen were girls. He had slain his enemies in thousands, many with his own sword.



"One red rocket." Koots nodded to his aide-de-camp. Swiftly the order was relayed down the back slope of the hill to the signallers. The rocket sparkled like a ruby as it rose into the cloudless sky on a long silver tail of smoke. From the foot of the hill they heard faint cheering, and the massed troops swarmed forward towards the walls. A slave stood in front of Zayn, who rested his long brass telescope on the man's shoulder, using him as a living bipod.



The leading ranks of Turks had reached the ditch below the walls when suddenly the Sprite came into view from behind the stone ramparts. She was followed almost immediately by the Revenge. Zayn and the officers switched their telescopes to the two ships.



Those are the ships in which the traitor, al-Salil, arrived in Muscat," snapped Kadem. "Our spies warned us of their presence."



Zayn said nothing, but his features altered at the mention of the name. He felt a stab of pain in his crippled foot, and the acid taste of hatred rose in the back of his throat.



"Their guns are run out." Koots stared at them through the glass. "They have our battalions in enfilade. Send a galloper to warn them," he snarled at his aide-de-camp.



"We have no horses," the man reminded him.



"Go yourself!" Koots seized his shoulder and shoved him away down the slope. "Run, you useless dog, or I shall have you shot from a cannon's mouth." His Arabic was becoming more fluent every day. The man raced away down the slope, shouting, waving his arms and pointing towards the small squadron of warships. However, the Turks were fully launched upon the attack, and none looked back.



"Signal the recall?" Kadem suggested, but they all knew it was too late for that. They watched in silence. Suddenly the leading ship erupted in a cloud of white powder smoke. She heeled slightly to the broadside of her long black cannons, then came back on even keel, but her hull was blotted out by the billowing smoke cloud. Only her masts showed high above it. The thunderous sound of the blast reached their ears only seconds after the discharge, then rolled away in diminishing echoes among the distant hills.



The watchers on the hilltop turned their telescopes back to the dense pack of humanity on the plain below. The havoc shocked even these old soldiers, who were hardened to the carnage of the battlefield. The grape-shot spread so that each blast cut a swathe twenty paces wide through the massed battalions. Like the scythe blade through a field of ripe wheat, it left not a single one standing in its path. Chain-mail and bronze armour offered the same protection as a sheet of brittle parchment. Severed heads, bearded and still wearing their soup-bowl helmets, were tossed into the air. Torsos, with arms and legs torn off, were piled upon each other. The cries of the dying and wounded carried clearly to the men on the hilltop.



The Sprite put up her helm and tacked round into the open waters of the bay. The Revenge sailed serenely into her place. On shore the survivors stood in stunned dismay, unable to fathom the extent of the disaster that had swept through their ranks. As the Revenge levelled her cannon on them, the moans of the wounded were drowned out by the survivors' wails of despair. Few had the presence of mind to throw themselves flat against the earth. They dropped the scaling ladders, turned their backs on the menace of the guns and ran.



The Revenge loosed her broadside upon them. Her shot swept the field. She put up her helm and followed her sister ship round.



The Sprite completed her tack across the wind, then came back on the other leg, offering her port battery to the fleeing Turks. Meanwhile her starboard battery had reloaded with canvas bags of grape, and the gunners were standing ready to take their next turn.



Like dancers performing a stately minuet, the two ships went through a series of elaborate figures-of-eight. Each time their guns bore they loosed another thunderclap of smoke, flame and cast-iron grapeshot across the narrow strip of open water.



After the Sprite had completed her second pass, Mansur snapped his telescope shut and told Kumrah, "There is nothing more to fire at. Run in the guns, take her out into the bay." The two ships sailed back blithely to their anchorage under the protection of the guns on the parapets of the city walls.



Zayn and his two generals surveyed the field. Corpses littered the ground, thick as autumn leaves.



|How many?" asked Zayn, in his high girlish voice.



"Not more than three hundred," Kadem hazarded.



"No, no! Fewer." Koots shook his head. "A hundred and fifty, two hundred at the most."



They are only Turks, and another hundred dhows full of them will arrive before the week is out." Zayn nodded dispassionately. "We must



begin digging the approach trenches and throw up a wall of gab ions filled with sand along the bayside to protect our men from the ships."



"Will Your Majesty order the fleet to take up a blockading station across the entrance to the bay?" Kadem asked respectfully. "We must bottle up those two ships of al-Salil and, at the same time, prevent supplies of food reaching the city by sea."



The orders have already been given," Zayn told him loftily. The English consul will place his own ship at the head of the fleet. His is the only vessel to match those of the enemy for speed. Sir Guy will prevent them breaking out through our blockade and escaping to the open ocean."



"Al-Salil and his bastard must not be allowed to escape." Kadem's eyes lit with the dark mesmeric glare as he said the name.



"My own hatred for him exceeds yours. Abubaker was my brother and al-Salil murdered him. There are other old scores, too, almost as compelling, which I still have to settle with him," Zayn reminded him. "Despite this setback, we have the noose round his neck. Now we will draw it tight."



Over the next weeks Dorian watched the development of the siege from his command post on the minaret. The enemy fleet sailed round the peninsula and deployed across the entrance to the bay, just out of range of the batteries on the walls or even of the long nine-pounders on the two schooners. Some of the larger, less manoeuvrable dhows were anchored on the twenty-fathom line where the sea bottom shelved in. The more nimble vessels patrolled back and forth in the deeper waters, ready to seize any supply ships trying to enter the bay, or to intercept the two schooners if they tried to break through.



The graceful hull and the elegant raked masts of the Arcturus hovered in the distance, sometimes hidden by the cliffs, sometimes dropping below the horizon. At intervals Dorian heard the distant rumble of her cannons as she fell on some unfortunate small vessel attempting to bring supplies in to Muscat. Then she reappeared from a different quarter. Mansur and Dorian discussed her as they watched her through their telescopes.



"She points well up into the wind when she is close-hauled, unlike any of the dhows. She can carry a spread of canvas nearly half as large again as either of our ships. She has eighteen guns to our twelve," Dorian murmured. "She is a lovely ship."



Mansur found himself wondering if Verity was aboard her. Then he



thought, If Sir Guy is there, of course she must be with him. She is his voice. He could not do without her. He thought of having to turn his guns on the Arcturus if Verity were standing on the open deck. I will worry about that when the time comes, he decided, then answered his father. The Sprite and the Revenge are able to point higher. Between them they have twenty-four guns to Sir Guy's eighteen. Both Kumrah and Batula know these waters like lovers. Ruby Cornish is a babe in arms compared to them." Mansur smiled with the reckless abandon of youth. "Besides, we will make our stand here. We will send Zayn and his Turks running like curs with live coals tucked under their tails."



"I wish I had the same confidence." Dorian turned his spyglass inland, and they watched the besieging army inch inexorably towards the walls. "Zayn has done this many times before. He will make few mistakes. See how he has begun to sap forward? Those trenches and the lines of gab ions will protect his assault forces until they are right under the walls." Each day he instructed Mansur on the ancient science of siege making. "See there, they are bringing up their great guns to position them in the emplacements they have prepared. Once they begin firing in earnest they will smash through the weak spots in our defences and shoot away any repairs faster than we can make them. When they have opened the breaches they will rush them from the head of the assault trenches."



They watched the guns being dragged forward by the teams of oxen. Weeks earlier the remainder of Zayn's fleet had arrived from Lamu and had landed his horses, draught animals and the rest of his men on the other side of the peninsula. Now his cavalry patrolled the palm groves and the foothills of the interior. Their dust was always visible.



"What can we do?" Mansur sounded less certain of the outcome.



"Very little," Dorian replied. "We can sortie and raid the earthworks. But they are expecting us to do that. We will take heavy losses. We can shoot away a few of the gab ions but they will repair any damage we can inflict within hours."



"You sound despondent," Mansur said, accusingly. "I am unaccustomed to that, Father."



"Despondent?" Dorian said. "No, not of the eventual outcome. However, I should never have allowed Zayn to trap us in the city. Our men do not fight well from behind walls. They love to be the attackers. They are the ones losing heart. Mustapha Zindara and bin-Shibam are having difficulty keeping them here. Even they want to be out in the open desert, fighting the way they know best."



That night a hundred of bin-Shibam's men threw open the city gates and, in a tight group, galloped through the Turkish lines and escaped



into the desert. The guards were only just able to close the gates before the attackers rushed to exploit this opportunity.



"Could you not have stopped them going?" Mansur demanded, next morning.



Bin-Shibam shrugged at his lack of understanding, and Dorian answered him. "The Saar do not accept orders, Mansur. They follow a sheikh just as long as they agree with what he asks of them. If they don't, they go home."



"Now that it has begun, more will leave. The Dahm and the Awamir are restless also," Mustapha Zindara warned.



At dawn the following day the enemy batteries in their deep, heavily fortified emplacements began to bombard the southern wall. Counting the flashes and the spurts of gunsmoke with each discharge, Dorian and Mansur determined that there were eleven guns of cavernous calibre. The stone balls they fired must have weighed well over a hundred pounds each. It was possible to watch the flight of the massive projectiles with the naked eye. Mansur timed the rate of fire: it took almost twenty minutes for each gun to be swabbed, loaded, primed, then run out, re laid and fired. Once the enemy guns had ranged in, the massive balls smashed into their target with disturbing accuracy, each one striking within a few feet of its predecessor. A single ball might crack a block in the wall, and the second, striking on the same spot, dislodged it entirely. If it struck the timber balks, which the defenders had used to repair the weak sections, it splintered them to toothpicks. By nightfall of the first day two breaches had been knocked through the walls. As soon as it was dark, teams of workmen under Mansur's command rushed forward to begin the repairs.



With the dawn the bombardment began again. By noon the repairs had been swept away, and the stone balls were chipping away to enlarge the breaches. Dorian's gunners dragged half of their guns round from the harbour side to reinforce the battery on the south wall, and steadily returned the fire. However, Zayn's guns were well set in their emplacements, with deep banks of sand-filled gab ions protecting them. Only the gaping bronze muzzles were visible, and these were tiny targets to hit at such ranges. When the defenders' balls struck the gab ions the sand filled baskets of woven cane absorbed the shot so completely that it made almost no impression at all.



However, half-way through the afternoon they scored their first direct hit. One of their twenty-pound iron balls struck the extreme left-hand gun full on the muzzle. The bronze rang like a church bell, and even that weight of metal was hurled backwards off its carriage, crushing the gun-crew behind it to mincemeat. The barrel stuck straight up in the



air. On the city walls the gunners cheered themselves hoarse, and redoubled their efforts. But by dusk they had not achieved another hit, and the breaches in the walls gaped wide.



As soon as the moon set, bin-Shibam and Mansur led a sortie into the enemy lines. They took twenty men each and crept up on the battery emplacement. Even though the Turks were expecting the raid, Mansur's party had almost reached the wall of the emplacement before they were spotted and one of the sentries fired his musket. The ball hummed past Mansur's head and he shouted at his men, "Follow me!"



As he scrambled in through the embrasure, jumped up on the barrel of the gun and ran along the top of it, he stabbed at the throat of the man who had fired the shot at him. He dropped the musket he was trying to reload and grabbed the naked blade with both hands. When Mansur pulled it back the steel ran through the man's fingers, severing flesh and tendons to the bone. Mansur jumped over his twitching body and down among the Turkish gunners, who were dulled with sleep, and struggling out of their blankets. He killed another, and wounded a third before they ran howling with terror into the night. His men followed him in to join the attack. While they were busy, Mansur plunged the point of one of the iron spikes he carried in his pouch into the touch hole of the gun, and another of his men drove it home with a dozen lusty blows of the hammer.



Then they ran down the connecting trench to the adjoining emplacement. Here the gunners were fully awake, waiting to meet them with pikes and battleaxes. Within seconds they were a shouting, struggling mass, and Mansur knew they would never be able to reach the second gun. More of the enemy were rushing up the communication trench from the rear to repel them.



"Back!" Mansur yelled, and they clambered over the front wall, just as Istaph and the other grooms rode up with horses. They galloped back through the city gates with bin-Shibam coming in close behind them.



There they found they had lost five men killed and another dozen wounded. In the dawn light they saw that the Turks had stripped the corpses of the missing men and displayed them on the front wall of the emplacement. Between them, Mansur and bin-Shibam had managed to spike only two of the guns, and the remaining eight opened fire again. Within hours the stone balls had ripped away all the repairs that had been thrown up during the night. In the middle of the afternoon a single lucky shot brought twenty feet of wall tumbling down in a heap r masonry and rubble. Surveying the damage from the top of the minaret, Dorian estimated, "Another week at the latest, and Zayn will be ready to launch his attack."



That night two hundred of the Awamir and the Dahm saddled their horses and rode out of the city. The next day, as was customary, the muezzin gave his wailing call to the faithful from the minaret of the main mosque in the city. Both sides responded: the big guns stopped firing, the Turks took off their round helmets and knelt among the palm groves, while on the parapets the defenders did the same. Before he joined in the worship, Dorian smiled ironically at the notion that both sides prayed to the same God for the victory.



This time there was a new development to the ritual. After the prayers Zayn's heralds rode around the perimeter of the walls shouting a warning to the defenders on the parapets: "Hear the words of the true Caliph. "Those of you who wish to leave this doomed city may do so without let. I grant you pardon for their treachery. You may take with you your horse and your weapons and return to your tents and your wives. Any man who brings me the head of the incestuous usurper al Salil, I will reward with a lakh of gold rupees."



The defenders jeered at them. However, that night another thousand warriors rode out through the gates. Before they went, two of the lesser sheikhs came to take their leave of Dorian. "We are not traitors or cowards," they told him, 'but this is not a fight for a man. Out in the desert we will ride with you unto death. We love you as we loved your father, but we will not die here like caged dogs."



"Go with my blessing," Dorian told them, 'and may you always find favour in the sight of God. Know you that I will come to you again."



"We shall wait for you, al-Salil."



The next day, at the time of prayers when the guns fell silent the heralds circled the walls again.



"The true Caliph Zayn al-Din has declared a sack of the city. Any man or woman who is found within the walls when the Caliph enters will be put to death by torture."



This time only a few voices jeered back. That night almost half of the remaining defenders left. The Turks lined the road as they passed and made no effort to prevent them.



You are distracted, my darling." Caroline Courtney watched her daughter's face quizzically. "What is it that troubles you so?" Apart from a vague greeting, Verity had not spoken to her mother since she had come up on the deck of the Arcturus from her father's great cabin. The meeting with the Caliph's military commander, Kadem ibn Abubaker, had lasted most of the morning. Now Verity stood at the ship's side and watched the fast felucca conveying the general back to the shore. She had translated Abubaker's report to her father, and relayed to him the Caliph's orders to tighten the blockade of the bay to prevent any enemy ships escaping when at last the city was captured from the usurper.



She sighed and turned to her mother. "The siege is entering its final stages, Mother," she answered dutifully. The two had never been close. Caroline was a nervous, hysterical woman. She was dominated by her husband and had little time or energy remaining for her role as mother. Like a child, she seemed unable to concentrate on a single matter for any extended period, and her mind flitted from one subject to the next like a butterfly in a spring garden.



"I will be so relieved when this awful business is over and your father has dealt properly with this al-Salil rascal. Then we can have done with the whole dreadful business and go back home." For Caroline, home was the consulate in Delhi. Behind the stone walls, in the manicured gardens and cool courtyards with bubbling fountains, she was safe and shielded from the cruel, alien world of the Orient. She scratched at her throat, and moaned softly. There was a scarlet rash on the white skin. The humid tropical airs and confinement in the hot little cabin had aggravated her prickly heat again.



"Shall I help you with some of the cooling lotion?" Verity asked. She wondered how her mother could so easily make her feel guilty. She went to where Caroline lay on the wide hammock that Captain Cornish had had rigged for her in a corner of the quarter-deck. A canvas sunscreen shaded her, but allowed the cooling airs of the trade wind to flow over her plump, moist body.



Verity knelt beside her and dabbed the white liquid on to the inflamed and itching rash. Caroline waved a hand languidly. Her diamond rings were deeply embedded in pasty white skin. The slim brown Indian maid in her beautiful silk said knelt on the opposite side t the hammock from Verity and offered her a dish of sweetmeats. Caroline picked out a pink cube of Turkish Delight. When the maid



began to rise to her feet Caroline stopped her with a peremptory snap of her fingers and selected two more of the flower-flavoured jellies and popped them into her mouth. She chewed with unbridled pleasure, and the fine white icing sugar dusted her lips.



"What do you suppose will happen to al-Salil and his son Mansur if they are captured by Kadem ibn Abubaker?" Verity asked mildly.



"I have no doubt that it will be something utterly detestable," Caroline said, without interest. "The Caliph does beastly things to his enemies, trampling by elephants, shooting from cannon." She shuddered and reached for the glass of honey sherbet that the maid offered her. "I really do not want to discuss it." She sipped, and brightened. "If this business is over by the end of the month, then we might be back in Delhi for your birthday. I am planning a ball for you. Every eligible bachelor in the Company will attend. It is high time we found a husband for you, my dear. By the time I was your age, I had been married four years and had two children."



Suddenly Verity was angry with this vapid, famous woman as she had never been before. She had always treated her mother with weary deference, making allowance for her gluttony and other weaknesses. Not until her meeting with Mansur had she understood the depths of her mother's subservience to her father, the guilt that had placed her in his power. But now she was outraged by her smug, mindless complacency. Her anger boiled over before she could check it.



"Yes, Mother," she said bitterly. "And the first of those two children was Tom Courtney's bastard." No sooner were the words past her lips than she wished them back.



Caroline stared at her with huge, swimming eyes. "Oh, you wicked, wicked child! You have never loved me!" she whimpered and a mixture of sherbet and half-chewed Turkish Delight dribbled down the front of her lace blouse.



All Verity's sense of deference vanished. "You do remember Tom Courtney, Mother?" Verity asked. "And what tricks the two of you played while you were on passage to India in Grandfather's ship the Seraph?"



"You never-Who told you? What have you heard? It isn't true!" Caroline blubbered hysterically.



"What about Dorian Courtney? Do you remember how you and my father left him to rot in slavery when he was a child? How you and Father lied to Uncle Tom? How you told him that Dorian had died or the fever? You told me the same lie. You even showed me the grave on Lamu island where you said he was buried."



"Stop this!" Caroline clapped her hands over her ears. "I will not listen to such filth."



"Tis filth, is it, Mother?" Verity asked coldly. Then who do you think is this al-Salil, whom you wish trampled by elephants or shot from a cannon? Do you not know that he is Dorian Courtney?"



Caroline stared at her, her face white as buttermilk, the inflamed rash more evident in contrast. "Lies!" she whispered. "All terrible wicked lies."



"And, Mother, al'Salil's son is my cousin, Mansur Courtney. You want a husband for me? Look no further. If ever Mansur does me the honour of asking me to marry him, I shall not hesitate. I shall fly to his side."



Caroline let out a strangled shriek, and fell out of the hammock on to the deck. The maid and two of the ship's officers ran forward to help her to her feet. As soon as she was up, she struggled out of their grip, the fat quivering beneath her lace and pearl-studded dress, and heaved herself to the companionway that led down to the great cabin.



Sir Guy heard her shrieks of anguish and rushed out of the doorway in his shirtsleeves. He seized his wife's arm and drew her into the cabin.



Verity waited alone by the ship's rail for the retribution that she knew must surely follow. She stared beyond the rest of the blockading fleet of war dhows, into the entrance of Muscat bay to the distant spires and minarets of the city.



In her mind she went over once again the dreadful news that Kadem ibn Abubaker had brought to her father, and which she had translated to him. Muscat would be in the hands of Zayn al-Din before the month was out. Mansur was in the most dire danger, and there was nothing she could do to help him. Her dread and frustration had led her to the gross indiscretion with her mother she had just perpetrated. "Please, God!" she whispered. "Do not let anything befall Mansur."



Within the hour her father's steward came to summon her.



In the cabin her mother sat in the seat below the stern window. She held a moist, crumpled handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose loudly.



Her father stood in the centre of the cabin. He was still in his shirtsleeves. His expression was severe and hard. "What poisonous lies have you been telling your mother?" he demanded.



"No lies, Father," she answered him defiantly. She knew what the consequences of provoking him must be, but she felt a reckless abandon.



Repeat them to me," Sir Guy ordered. In quiet, measured tones she described to him all that Mansur had told her. At the end he was silent. He went to the stern window and stared out at the low swells of the azure sea. He did not look at his wife. The silence drew out. Verity knew that this silence was one of his ploys to intimidate her and force her to lower her defences and her resistance to him.



"You kept this from me," he said at last. "Why did you not tell me at once what you had learned? That was the duty you owe to me, child." "You do not deny any of it, Father?" she asked.



"I do not have to deny or affirm anything to you. I am not on trial. You are."



Silence fell again. It was hot and airless in the cabin, and the ship rolled sickeningly on the slow, greasy undulations of the current. She felt breathless and nauseated, but was determined not to show it.



Sir Guy spoke again: "You have given your mother a severe shock with these wild stories." Caroline sobbed dramatically and blew her nose again. "A fast packet boat arrived from Bombay this morning. I am sending her back to the consulate."



"I will not go with her," Verity said evenly.



"No," Sir Guy agreed. "I will keep you here. It might be a summary example for you to witness the execution of the rebels in whom you have expressed such an unhealthy interest." He was silent again for a while as he considered how much Verity knew of his affairs. Her knowledge was so extensive that it might prove lethal if she chose to use it against him. He dared not let her escape his immediate control.



"Father, these rebels are your own brother," Verity broke the silence, 'and his son."



Sir Guy showed no reaction. Instead he went on quietly, "It seems, from what your mother tells me, you have been playing the harlot with the younger Arab. Have you forgotten that you are an Englishwoman?"



"You demean yourself by making that accusation."



"You demean me and your family by your unconscionable behaviour. For that alone you must be punished."



He went to his desk and picked up the whalebone riding crop that lay upon it. He turned back to her. "Disrobe!" he ordered. She stood motionless, her face expressionless.



"Do as your father orders," said Caroline, 'you blatant hussy." She had stopped weeping and her tone was vindictive and gloating.



"Disrobe at once," Guy said again, 'or I shall summon two of the seamen to do it for you."



Verity lifted her hands to her throat and untied the ribbon that held her blouse closed. When at last she stood naked before them she raised her chin defiantly, shook out her hair and let it hang forward over her shoulders to screen her proud young breasts, and cover her pudenda.



"Lie face down over the day bed her father ordered.



She went to it with a firm tread. She stretched out on the buttoned green leather. The lines of her body were sweet and smooth as those of ;1 a Michelangelo marble. I will not cry out, she told herself, but her |



muscles convulsed instinctively as the whip hissed and clapped across her buttocks. I will not grant him that pleasure, she promised herself, and closed her eyes as the next stroke fell across the back of her thighs. It stung like the bite of a scorpion. She bit her lip until blood seeped salty and metallic into her mouth.



At last Sir Guy stood back, his breath fast and ragged with the effort. "You may dress yourself, you shameless harlot," he gasped.



She sat up slowly, and tried to ignore the fire that raged down her back and her legs. The front of her father's breeches was on a level with her eyes and she smiled with cold contempt as she noticed the tumescent evidence of his arousal.



He turned away hurriedly and threw the whip on to the desk top. "You have been deceitful and disloyal to me. I can no longer trust you. I shall keep you confined to your cabin until such time as I have decided what additional punishment is appropriate," he warned her.



Dorian and Mansur stood with the sheikhs on the balcony of the minaret, and watched the plumes and tops of the bronze soup bowl helmets of the Turkish assault troops showing above the parapets as they moved up the approach trenches. As they massed below the walls Zayn al-Din's heavy batteries redoubled their rate of fire. They had changed their ammunition. Instead of stone balls, they swept the parapets and breaches with cartloads of fist-sized pebbles and cast-iron pot legs The guns fell silent and the Turkish trumpeters sounded the charge; the drums pounded out an urgent beat.



A mass of shrieking Turks erupted from the head of the trenches. As they raced forward across the last few yards before the breaches, the guns of the defenders on the parapets blazed down upon them, and the archers loosed flights of arrows.



The leading attackers were across the open ground before the gunners could reload. They left dead and wounded littered upon the shot-torn earth, but wave after wave ran forward to take the place of the fallen.



They clambered over the rubble and the shattered stone blocks, and swarmed through the breaches. As soon as they were through they found themselves in a maze of narrow alleys and dead-end lanes. Dorian had ordered barricades built across every one. The Turks had to take each by storm, running into a hail of close-range musket fire as they charged. As soon as they scaled an obstruction, the defenders ran back to the next line of defence and the Turks were forced to attack again. It was gruelling and bloody work, but gradually Mansur and bin-Shibam's depleted forces



were driven back into the main souk, and the Turks were able to outflank them, and reach the main city gate. They slaughtered the men who tried to defend the winches and forced the gates wide. Kadem and Koots, at the head of two thousand Turks, were waiting outside and the moment the gates swung open they rushed in.



From the top of the minaret Dorian saw them pouring like floodwaters down the narrow streets. He was relieved that over the past months he had been able to spirit most of the women and children out of the city and into the desert, for they would have been lambs to these wolves. As soon as the gates were open, he ordered the hoisting of the previously prepared flag signal to the Sprite and the Revenge. Then he turned to his councillors and captains. "It is over," he told them. "I thank you for your courage and loyalty. Take your men and escape if you can. We will fight again another day." One at a time they came forward to embrace him.



Bin-Shibam was covered with dust and black with smoke; his robe was stained with the dried blood of half a dozen flesh wounds. It mingled with the blood of the Turks he had slain. "We shall wait for your return," he said.



"You know where you can find me. Send a messenger to me when all is in readiness. I shall return to you at once," Dorian told him, 'if God is willing. Praise God."



"God is great," they replied.



The horses were waiting in the lanes before the small north gate. When it was thrown open Mustapha Zindara, bin-Shibam and the rest of the council rode out at the head of their men. They fought their way through the attackers who raced forward to cut them off, then galloped away through the palm groves and irrigated fields. Dorian watched them go from the minaret. He heard footsteps on the marble stairs and turned with his sword in his hand. For a moment he hardly recognized his own son under the coating of grime and soot.



"Come, Father," Mansur said, 'we must hurry."



Together they ran down the stairs to where Istaph and ten men were waiting for them in the mosque.



"This way." An imam stepped from the shadows and gesticulated. They hurried after him, and he led them through a labyrinth of passages until they reached a small iron gate. He unlocked it and Mansur kicked it open.



"Stay with God's blessing," Dorian told the imam.



"Go with God's blessing," he replied, 'and may He bring you swiftly back to Oman."



They ran through the door and found themselves in a gloomy



alleyway so narrow that the latticed balconies of the top floors of the deserted buildings almost met overhead.



"This way, Majesty!" Istaph had been born in the city, and these alleys had been his childhood playground. They raced after him and burst out into the sunlight again. The open waters of the harbour lay before them, and the Sprite's longboat was waiting out in the bay to take them off. Mansur shouted and waved to Kumrah who stood at the helm. The oarsmen pulled together and the longboat shot in towards them.



At that moment there was an angry din behind them. A mob of Turkish and Omani attackers poured out from the mouth of one of the alleys on to the wharf. They charged towards them, their front rank bristling with long pikes and bright-edged weapons. Dorian glanced over his shoulder and saw that the longboat was still a pistol shot away across the green waters. "Stand together!" he cried, and they formed a tight circle at the head of the landing steps, shoulder to shoulder, facing outwards.



"Al-Salil!" shouted the Arab who led the attack. He was tall and lean, and he moved like a leopard. His long, lank hair whipped out behind him and his beard curled on to his chest.



"Al-Salil!" he shouted again. "I have come for you." Dorian recognized that fierce, fanatical glare.



"Kadem." Mansur recognized him at the same moment, and his voice rang with the force of his hatred.



"I have come for you also, you bastard puppy of a dog and an incestuous bitch in heat!" Kadem shouted again.



"You must take me first." Dorian stepped forward a pace, and Kadem hurled himself upon him. Their blades clashed as Dorian blocked the cut for his head, and then sent a riposte at Kadem's throat. Steel rang and scraped on steel. It was the first time they had matched blades, but Dorian knew at once that Kadem was a dangerous opponent. His right arm was quick and powerful, and in his left hand he held a curved dagger, poised to strike through any opening.



"You murdered my wife!" Dorian snarled, as he thrust again.



"I give thanks that I was able to do that duty. I should have killed you also," Kadem answered, 'for my father's sake."



Mansur fought at Dorian's right hand and Istaph on the left, guarding his flanks but careful not to block or impede his sword arm. Step by step they gave ground, retreating to the head of the landing, and the attackers pressed them hard.



Dorian heard the bows of the longboat bump against the stone wall below them, and Kumrah shouted, "Come, al-Salil!"



The steps were greasy with green algae and Kadem, seeing Dorian about to escape his vengeance a second time, leaped in furiously. Dorian was driven back another pace on to the top step, and his right foot slipped on the greasy surface. He went down on one knee and was forced to save his balance by dropping his point for an instant. Kadem saw his chance. He launched himself, all his weight on his right foot, lunging for Dorian's heart.



The moment his father had gone down, Mansur anticipated Kadem's response. He turned, poised and ready. Kadem swung his body forward and for an instant his left flank was open as he launched himself into the attack. Mansur hit him, going in under his raised arm. He put all his anger, hatred and grief for his mother behind the thrust. He expected to feel his point slide in deeply, that clinging reluctance of living flesh opening to the steel. Instead his sword arm jarred to the strike of steel on the bone of Kadem's ribs, and his wrist twisted slightly as the point was deflected. Nevertheless, the thrust ran along the outside of Kadem's ribcage, and up under his scapula. It touched no vital organ but the force of it spun Kadem sideways, throwing off-line the thrust he aimed at Dorian. Kadem reeled away, and Mansur pulled his blade free and struck again. But with a violent effort Kadem blocked the second blow, and Dorian leaped back to his feet.



Father and son went at Kadem together, eager for the kill. Blood was pouring from the wound under Kadem's arm and cascading down his flank. The shock of the blow and the realization that he was in mortal danger from two skilled swordsmen blanched his face a dirty treacle colour.



"Effendil' Kumrah shouted, from the longboat. "Come! We will be trapped. There are more Turks coming." The enemy was thronging out of the mouth of the alleyway, and rushing towards them.



Realizing their predicament, Dorian hesitated and that was all Kadem needed to break off and leap out of play. Instantly two swarthy, armoured Turks jumped forward in his place and rushed at Dorian. When he struck at them his blade skidded off their chain-mail.



"Enough!" Dorian grunted. "Get back to the boat!" Mansur feinted at the bearded face of one of the Turks, and when he ducked back Mansur stepped across to cover his father.



"Run!" he snapped, and Dorian bounded down the steps. Istaph and the others were already on board, and Mansur was left alone at the head ? of the landing. A line of pikes and scimitars pressed him back. He had a glimpse of Kadem ibn Abubaker glaring at him from the back row of the attackers; the wound had not dimmed his hatred.



"Kill him!" he screamed. "Let not the pig-swine escape."



"Mansur!" He heard his father call from the bows of the longboat. Yet he knew that if he tried to run down the steps one of the pike men would send a thrust into his exposed back. He turned and jumped, launching himself out over the stone edge of the wharf. He dropped ten feet and landed feet first on one of the thwarts. The heavy planking cracked under his weight, and he toppled forward. The longboat rocked violently and Mansur almost went over the side, but Dorian grabbed and steadied him.



The oarsmen heaved together and the longboat shot away. Dorian looked back over the stern just as Kadem staggered to the edge of the wharf. He had dropped his sword and was clutching the wound under his arm. The blood flowed through his fingers. "You shall not escape my vengeance!" he shrieked after them. "You have my father's blood on your hands and your conscience. I have sworn your death in the sight of Allah. I will follow you to the gates of hell."



"He does not understand the true meaning of hatred," Dorian whispered. "One day I hope to teach it to him."



"I share your oath," said Mansur, 'but now we have to get our ships out of the bay and into the open sea, with Zayn's entire fleet to oppose us."



Dorian shook himself, throwing off the debilitating throes of grief and hatred. He turned to look at the mouth of the bay. Four of the big war dhows were anchored in sight, and two more under sail.



"No sighting of the ArcturusT he asked Mansur.



"Not these past three days," Mansur replied, 'but we can be sure she is not far off, lurking just below the horizon."



Dorian went up on to the deck of the Revenge, then called down to Mansur in the longboat. "We must try at all times to keep one another in sight, but there is sure to be fighting. Should we become separated, you know the rendezvous."



Mansur waved at him. "Sawda island, north tip. I will wait for you there." He broke off at the sullen boom of a cannon, and looked back at the city walls above the harbour. Powder smoke bloomed on the parapet but was swiftly blown aside by the wind. Moments later a fountain of spray leaped from the surface of the sea close alongside the Sprite.



The enemy have seized the batteries," Dorian shouted. "We must get under way at once."



Another cannon shot bellowed out before Mansur reached the Sprite. Although this ball fell well short, Mansur knew that the gunners would soon have the range.



Pull!" he shouted to the rowers. "Pull or you will be forced to swim!"



The crew of the Sprite, urged on by the fall of shot around them, had



the anchor cable singled up and the falls dangling over side from the davits, ready to retrieve the longboat. As Mansur bounded up on to the deck, he ordered the jib set to bring her round to face the entrance to the bay. As the Sprite turned on to the wind Kumrah broke out all sails to the royals.



The evening offshore wind had set in and was blowing steadily from the west, h was on their best point of sailing and they flew down towards the mouth of the bay. As they came up with the Revenge, she backed her mainsail to allow the Sprite to take the lead. The entrance was treacherous with hidden shoals, but Kumrah knew these waters better even than Batula in the Revenge. He would lead them out.



Mansur had not realized until then how swiftly the day had sped away. The sun was already low on the peaks of the mountains behind them, and the light was rich and golden. The batteries on the parapets of Muscat were still blazing away at them, and one lucky shot punched a neat hole in the mizzen topmast staysail, but they drew steadily out of range and could look ahead to the blockading ships across the entrance. Two of the war-dhows had hoisted their anchors, set their huge lateen sails and were moving out into the channel to meet them. Their passage through the water was sluggish compared to the two much smaller schooners, and they fell away noticeably even though they were not pointing high up into the stiff evening breeze. In contrast, the two schooners had set all sail and were tearing down the length of the bay.



Mansur looked along his deck and saw that his gunners were all at their action stations, although they had not yet run out the guns, which were loaded with round-shot. The slow-match was smouldering in the sand tubs and the men were laughing and talking excitedly. The days of gunnery practice and their successful attack on the Turkish infantry had imbued them with confidence. They were chafed by the inactivity of the last few weeks while they had been forced to lie at anchor, but now that Mansur and al-Salil were back in command of the flotilla they were eager for a fight.



Kumrah made a small adjustment to their course. Although Mansur trusted his judgement, he felt a twinge of unease. On this heading Kumrah would take them into the boiling white surf below the cliffs that guarded the entrance to the bay.



The nearest war-dhow altered her course towards them as soon as Kumrah's turn became apparent. They began to converge swiftly. Mansur raised his glass and studied the dhow. It was crammed with men. They lined the windward rail and brandished their weapons. She had already run out her big guns.



"She is armed with short-barrelled Ostras," Kumrah told Mansur.



"I do not know them."



"That does not surprise me. They must be older than your grandfather." Kumrah laughed. "And with a great deal less power."



Then it seems we are in greater danger of striking the reef than receiving a ball from those ancient weapons," Mansur said pointedly. They were still charging straight in towards the cliffs.



"Highness, you must have faith in Allah."



"In Allah I have faith. I worry only about the captain of my ship."



Kumrah smiled and held his course. The dhow fired her first ragged broadside from all fifteen of her starboard guns. The range was still too far by half. Mansur spotted the fall of only one shot, and that was short by half a musket. However, the faint cheering of the dhow's crew carried to them faintly.



Still the huge dhow and the two small ships converged. Gradually as they bore down on the breaking white water the cheering from the dhow subsided and the pugnacious display with it.



"You have terrified the enemy, as you have me," said Mansur. "Do you intend scuttling us on the reef, Kumrah?"



"I fished these waters as a boy, as did my father and his father before me," Kumrah assured him. The reef was still dead ahead, and they were closing rapidly. The dhow fired another broadside, but it was clear that the gunners were distracted by the menace of the coral. Only a single large stone ball howled over the Sprite and severed a mizzen shroud. Quickly Kumrah sent two men to replace it.



Then, without reducing sail, Kumrah steered into a narrow channel in the reef that Mansur had not noticed. It was barely wide enough to accept the beam of the schooner. As they tore through, Mansur stared with dread fascination over side and saw huge mushroom heads of coral skimming by less than a fathom below the churning surface. Any one of them would have ripped the Sprite's belly out of her.



This was too much for the nerves of the dhow captain. Mansur could see him in the stern of his ship, screaming and gesticulating wildly. His crew deserted their posts at the guns and scrambled to take in the billowing lateen sail and bring their ship on to the other tack. With the sail down they had to run the boom back to bring its butt round the mast, then home again on the port side. This was a laborious business and while they were about it the dhow wallowed helplessly.



Stand by to go about!" Kumrah gave the order and his men ran to the stays. He was staring ahead, shading his eyes with one hand, judging his moment finely. "Up helm!" he called to his helmsman, who spun the wheel until the spokes blurred. The Sprite pirouetted and shot through the dogleg turn in the channel. They raced out of the far end into the



deeper water, and the helpless dhow wallowed directly ahead of them with her sail in disarray and her guns unmanned.



"Run out the starboard guns!" Mansur gave the order, and the lids of the gun ports crashed open. They crossed the dhow's stern so closely that Mansur could have thrown his hat on to her deck.



"Fire as you bear!"



In quick succession the cannons roared out, and each ball smashed into the dhow's stern. Mansur could see the timbers shatter and burst open in clouds of flying wood splinters. One of them as long as his arm pegged like an arrow into the mast beside his ear. At that range not a single shot missed the mark, and the iron balls raked through the dhow from stem to stern. There were screams of terror and agony from the crew as the Sprite sailed on past her into the open sea.



Following her closely through the channel in the coral, the Revenge bore down on the stricken vessel in her turn. As she passed she raked her again, and the dhow's single mast toppled and fell over side



Mansur looked ahead. The way was clear. Not one of the other dhows was in position to head them off. Kumrah's seemingly suicidal manoeuvre had taken them by surprise. "Run in the guns!" he ordered. "Close the ports and secure the gun tackles."



He looked back and saw the Revenge only half a cable's length behind them. A long way back the dismasted dhow was drifting on to the reef, driven before the wind. She struck and heeled over violently. Through the glass Mansur saw her crew abandon her. They were leaping over the side, hitting the water with tiny white splashes, then striking out for the shore. Mansur wondered how many would survive the rip current at the foot of the cliffs, and the sharp fangs of the coral.



He backed his mainsail and let the Revenge come up alongside, close enough to enable his father to hail them through the speaking trumpet: Tell Kumrah never to play that trick on us again! He took us through the gates of hell."



Kumrah made a deep and penitent obeisance, but Dorian lowered the trumpet and saluted his cool head and nerves. Then he lifted the trumpet again. "It will be dark in an hour. I shall burn a single lantern in my stern port for you to keep your station on me. If we should become separated during the night, the rendezvous will be the same as always, Sawda island."



The Revenge forged ahead and the Sprite fell in behind her. Weeks before Dorian had decided on their final destination. There was only one port in all the Ocean of the Indies open to them now. Zayn had all the Fever Coast and the harbours of Oman under his thrall. The Dutch had Ceylon and Batavia. The English East India Company controlled



all the coast of India. Sir Guy would close that to them. There remained only the safe haven of Fort Auspice in Nativity Bay. There they would be able to gather their reserves and make plans for the future. He had marked the chart and given Mustapha Zindara and bin-Shibam the sailing directions for Fort Auspice: they would send a ship to find him there as soon as they had united the desert tribes and made all the preparations for his return. They would need gold rupees and strong allies. Dorian was as yet uncertain as to where he would find men and money, but there would be time to ponder this later.



He turned to his immediate concerns, and the course that he set now was east by south-east to clear the Gulf of Oman. Once they were into the open ocean they could steer directly for Madagascar and pick up the Mozambique current to carry them southwards. Mansur took up close station on the Revenge and they sailed on beneath a sunset of awe inspiring grandeur. Mountainous anvil-headed thunderclouds marched along the darkling western horizon to the sound of distant thunder, and the sinking sun costumed them with suits of rosy gold and glittering cobalt blue.



Yet all this beauty could not lift from Mansur's shoulder the sudden oppressive weight of the melancholia that bore down upon him. He was leaving the land and the people he had swiftly learned to love. The promise of a kingdom and of the Elephant Throne had been snatched from them. Yet all that was of little account when he thought of the woman he had lost before he had won her. He took from the inner pocket of his robe the letter he carried close to his heart, and read yet again her words: "Last night you asked me if I did not feel anything between you and me. I would not answer you then, but I answer you now. Yes, I do."



It seemed to him that those were the most beautiful words ever written in the English language.



Darkness fell with the dramatic suddenness that is seen only in the tropics, and the stars showed through the gaps left in the high canopy of the storm clouds Within a short time they were closed by the rolling thunderheads and the darkness was complete, except for the tiny firefly of light that was the lantern on the stern of the Revenge.



Mansur leaned on the compass pinnacle and let himself lapse into romantic fantasy, dreaming half the night away without seeking his bunk. Suddenly, he was roused by a stroke of forked lightning that flew



from the cloud ceiling to the surface of the sea, and was followed immediately by a sky-shattering thunderclap. For an instant the Revenge appeared out of the darkness ahead, shimmering in vivid blue light, each detail of her rigging and sails stark and clear. Then the darkness fell over her again even more heavily than before.



Mansur jumped erect from his slouch over the binnacle and ran to the starboard rail. In that blinding lightning flash he thought he had seen something else. It had been an evanescent flash of reflected light, almost on the far horizon.



"Did you see it?" he shouted at Kumrah, who stood beside him at the rail.



"The Revenge." Kumrah answered, from the darkness, and his tone was puzzled. "Yes, Highness. She is not more than a single cable's length ahead. There you can see the glimmer of her stern light still."



"No, no!" Mansur cried. "Not on our bow. Abaft our beam. Something else."



"Nay, master. I saw nothing."



Both men peered out into the night, and again the lightning cracked overhead like a gigantic whip, then thunder deafened them and seemed to shiver the surface of the dark sea with its monstrous discharge. In that fleeting moment of diamond-sharp clarity Mansur saw it again.



"There!" Mansur seized Kumrah's shoulder and shook him violently. There! Did you see it this time?"



"A ship! Another ship!" Kumrah cried. "I saw it clear."



"How far off?"



"Two sea miles, no more than that. A tall ship. Square-rigged. That is no dhow."



"Tis the Arcturusl Lying here in ambuscade." Desperately Mansur looked to his father's ship, and saw that the tell-tale lantern still burned on her stern. "The Revenge has not seen the danger."



"We must catch up with her and warn her," Kumrah exclaimed.



"Even if we clap on all our canvas we will not overhaul the Revenge and be within hail of her in less than a hour. By then it may be too late." Mansur hesitated a moment longer, then made his decision: "Beat to action quarters. Fire a gun to alert the Revenge. Then bring her on to the starboard tack and run in to intercept the enemy. Do not light the battle lanterns until I give the order. God grant we can take the enemy by surprise."



The war drums boomed out into the dark, and as the crew scrambled to their stations a single peremptory gunshot thudded. As the Sprite came about, Mansur peered across at the other ship, waiting for her to extinguish her lantern or show some sign that she had taken heed of



the warning, but at that instant the thunderclouds burst open and the rain teemed down. All was lost in the warm, smothering cascade of water. It seemed to fill the air they breathed, cutting out any faint glimmer of light and muting all sound other than the roar of the heavy drops on the canvas overhead and the deck timbers underfoot.



Mansur ran back to the binnacle and took a hasty bearing, but he knew that it was not accurate, and that the enemy ship might also have spotted them and changed her course and heading. His chances of coming upon her in this deluge were remote. They might pass each other by half a pistol shot without either being aware of the other's presence.



Turn the hourglass and mark the traverse-board," he ordered the helmsman. Perhaps he could intercept her on dead reckoning. Then he snapped at Kumrah, Tut two good men on the wheel."



He hurried to the bows, and through the sheets of blinding rain tried for a glimpse of the stern lantern of the Revenge. He took little comfort from the fact that he could see and hear nothing.



"God grant that Father is aware of the danger, and that he has doused the lantern. Otherwise it might guide Sir Guy to him, and he could be taken unawares." He considered firing another gun to emphasize the urgency of the danger, but discarded the idea almost at once. A second gun would confuse the warning. His father might be led to believe that the Sprite had already engaged an enemy. It might alert the Arcturus and bring her down upon them. Instead he sailed on into the darkness and the torrents of blood-warm rain.



"Send your sharpest lookouts aloft," he ordered Kumrah grimly, 'and have the gunners ready to run out on the instant. We will not have much warning if we come upon the enemy."



The hourglass was turned twice, and still they sailed on in darkness, every man aboard straining all his senses for some warning of the enemy ship. And the rain never let up.



The enemy might have sailed on without spotting us, Mansur thought. He pondered the chances and the choices that were open to him. Or she might have turned to intercept us, and have passed us close at hand. She might even now be creeping up on the unsuspecting Revenge.



He reached a decision, and called to Kumrah, "Heave the ship to, and warn every man to keep his eyes peeled and his ears open."



1 hey lay dark and silent, and another hour passed, measured by the soft slide of the sand in the hourglass. The rain abated, and the freshening breeze veered into the north, bringing with it the spicy odour of the desert, which was still not far off. The rain ceased. Mansur was about to give the order to set sail again, when a flickering glow lit the



darkness far over their stern. It played like candlelight on the underbelly of the lowering cloud masses. Mansur held his breath and counted slowly to five. Then came the sound, the unmistakable rumbling roar of the guns.



The Arcturus has slipped by us and she has found the Revenge. They are engaged," he shouted. "Wear ship and bring her round on to the port tack."



With the night breeze on their quarter the Sprite tore through the darkness, both Mansur and Kumrah straining to coax every knot of speed from her. Ahead of them the flickering light and rumble of gun salvos grew brighter and louder as they sailed towards them.



"God grant we are in time," Mansur prayed, and as he stared ahead the wind of their passage in his face brought tears to his eyes, or it may have been some other emotion. The two persons he loved most were caught up in that maelstrom of shot and flame, and he was still powerless to intervene. Even though the Sprite lay well over and ran before the breeze like a stag hard pressed by the hounds, she was still too slow for Mansur's heart.



Yet the distance between them narrowed steadily and, standing in the bows, balancing to the ship's urgent motion, Mansur was at last able to make out the shapes of the two ships. They were locked in conflict, lit by the muzzle flashes of their cannon.



Mansur saw that they were on the opposite tack to the Sprite, crossing their bows at an acute angle, so he yelled to Kumrah to bring the Sprite round two points on to an interception course. Now the range began to close more rapidly, and he could make out the more intimate details of the battle.



In the Revenge, Dorian had somehow wrested the weather gauge from Captain Cornish, and was holding him off, frustrating his efforts to bring the Arcturus alongside and to board him. But Cornish was blocking any effort that Dorian might make to bring the Revenge before the wind on ' to her best point of sailing and to run away from his superior adversary. In this formation the two ships were almost perfectly matched for speed, and the Revenge could not evade the bigger ship for much longer. In a | duel of attrition like this the heavier weight of cannon must tell in the | end.



However, the Sprite was closing rapidly, and soon she would throw her own weight into the unequal contest. The balance then would swing in their favour if Mansur could reach them before the Arcturus grappled and boarded the smaller ship.



Closer and closer Mansur edged the Sprite towards the two ships Even though his impulse was to rush in recklessly and hurl himself at



the Arcturus, he restrained his warlike instincts, and manoeuvred across the wind.



He knew that he was still shrouded in the night, invisible to the captains and crews of either ship. He must take the utmost advantage of the surprise element. There were many minutes still before he was in position to put up his helm and charge out of the darkness, to cross the Arcturus's stern, then to grapple and board her from across her port quarter. Mansur watched the development of the conflict through the lens of his spyglass.



Although the guns were firing steadily, the range was still too long for them to inflict telling damage on each other. He saw that a number of the Revenge's shots had smashed holes in her opponent's hull above the waterline. The shattered timbers were bright with fresh splinters. There were rips and holes in some of her sails, and a few spars had been knocked away in her rigging, but all her guns were firing steadily.



Opposite her the Revenge was in no worse a case. In the light of the cannons, Mansur could pick out his father's figure in the distinctive green robes as he directed his gunners. Batula stood beside the helm, endeavouring to milk the last turn of speed from his ship.



Then Mansur turned his glass back on the quarter-deck of the Arcturus. With dread he searched for a glimpse of Verity's tall slim figure. He felt a small lift of relief when he could not find her, although he guessed that Sir Guy had confined her below decks where she would have some protection from the screaming round-shot.



Then he picked out Captain Cornish's face, red and angry in the glare of gunfire. He was pacing his deck with ponderous dignity, occasionally shooting a glance at his adversary, then turning back to harangue his gunners through the speaking trumpet he held to his lips. Even as Mansur watched, a lucky shot from the Revenge took away a spar in the Arcturus's rigging and her main course came billowing down across the quarter-deck, smothering officers and helmsman under its heavy canvas folds.



There were a few moments of pandemonium as the crew rushed to hack away the flapping canvas. The fire from her batteries dwindled, and the blinded helmsman allowed her head to pay off a point before the wind as he tried to struggle out from under the sail. Then, from the far side of the quarter-deck, Mansur saw Sir Guy Courtney run forward into Cornish's place, and take command. Mansur heard faintly his shouts and saw that order was being swiftly restored. He must act at once to take advantage of the moment. He called an order to Kumrah, who was already poised for it. The Sprite turned like a polo pony and charged out of the darkness. She passed close under the stern of the



Revenge and Mansur jumped up in the shrouds and called across the narrow gap of water to Dorian, "Father!" Dorian spun round with a startled expression as the Sprite appeared miraculously out of the darkness so close at hand. "I will cross his bows and rake him. Then I will board him from his port side. Do you close from the other hand and split his force." Dorian's features lit with the old battle madness and he grinned at Mansur as he waved acknowledgement.



Mansur ordered the guns run out as he steered boldly across the Arcturus's bows. For almost five minutes, which seemed a lifetime, he came directly under her fire, but her gun-crews were still in disarray and only three balls crashed into the Sprite's upper deck. Although they ripped open the heavy planking and the splinters buzzed like a swarm of hornets, not a single man of the Sprite's crew was struck down. Then he was under the Arcturus's bows and screened from her fire by her own hull.



Mansur ran forward as his guns began to bear, then walked back along his battery, making certain that each one was aimed true before he gave the order to fire. One after the other the huge bronze weapons bellowed flame and shot, then crashed back against their tackles. Every ball struck home.



Mansur had cut his attack a shade too fine, and he passed so closely under Arcturus's bows that the larger ship's bowsprit snagged in the Sprite's mizzen mast shrouds and snapped off, but the hulls missed each other by only an arm's length before the Sprite was past.



Immediately he was clear Mansur spun the Sprite round and laid her neatly alongside the Arcturus. The lids of the gun ports on her port side were still closed, for the Arcturus was unprepared for an attack from this quarter. As the grappling irons were hurled over the Arcturus's bulwarks and the two hulls were lashed together, Mansur fired another point' blank salvo from his starboard battery, then led his men across in a howling berserker rush. The gun-crews of the Arcturus turned to face them, but no sooner were they locked in the desperate hand-to-hand fighting than the Revenge took advantage of her weather gauge and came gliding in to grapple on to her starboard side. The Arcturus's batteries on that side had not been reloaded after the last discharge, and the crews had abandoned them to meet Mansur's attack. The Arcturus was caught in the jaws of the barracuda.



The fighting raged back and forth across the main deck, but the combined crews of the two schooners outnumbered that of the larger Arcturus and slowly they began to wrest the upper hand. Mansur sought | out Cornish and the two locked blades. Mansur tried to drive him back across the deck, and pin him against the shrouds. But Ruby Cornish was



a wily old dog sailor. He came back at Mansur hard and fast, and they circled each other.



Dorian killed a man with a quick thrust, then looked around for Guy. He was not certain what he would do if he found him. Perhaps, deep in his heart, he longed for a battlefield reconciliation. He could not see him in the ruck of fighting men, but he realized that the battle was swinging in their favour. The crew of the Arcturus were giving up the fight. He saw two throw aside their weapons and, quick as rabbits, scuttle down the nearest hatchway. When a crew ran below decks they were beaten.



"In God's Name the battle is ours," he exhorted the men around him. "Have at them!" His voice filled them with fresh strength and they threw themselves at the enemy. Dorian looked for Mansur, and saw him on the far side of the deck. He was heavily engaged with Cornish. There was blood on his robe but Dorian hoped that it was not his own. Then he saw Ruby Cornish break off, and run back to attempt to rally his fleeing men. Mansur was too exhausted to follow him and rested on his sword. In the light of the battle lanterns, sweat shone on his face and his chest heaved with the effort of breathing. Dorian shouted across the deck to him, "What happened to Guy? Where is my brother? Have you seen him?"



"No, Father," Mansur shouted back hoarsely. "He must have run below with the rest of them."



"We have them beaten," Dorian cried. "It will take one last charge, and the Arcturus is ours. Come on!"



The men around him gave a ragged cheer and started forward, but then they came up short again as Guy Courtney's high-pitched yell cut through the hubbub of the battle. He stood at the rail of the poop deck. In one hand he carried a burning length of slow-match and on the other shoulder he balanced a keg of black powder. The bung had been knocked from the keg and a thick trail of powder poured from it to the deck at his feet.



"This powder trail runs to the ship's main powder magazine," he shouted. Though he spoke in English his meaning was clear to every Arab seaman aboard. The fighting ceased and all stared at him, aghast. A deathly silence fell over the Arcturus's deck.



1 will strike this ship, and blow up every one of you with it," Guy screamed, and lifted the smoking, spluttering slow-match high. "As God is my witness, I shall do it."



"Guy!" Dorian shouted up at him, "I am your brother, Dorian Courtney!"



"I know it well!" Guy yelled back, and there was a bitter, hard edge to his voice. "Verity has confessed her deceit and complicity to me. That will not save you."



"No, Guy!" Dorian cried. "You must not do it."



"There is naught you can say to dissuade me," Guy shouted back, and hurled the powder keg down on to the deck at his feet. It burst open. Gunpowder spilled across the deck. Slowly he brought down the flaring slow-match and a wail of fear went up from the crowded main deck. One of the men from the Revenge turned and raced back to the ship's side. He sprang across the narrow gap, to the illusory safety of the deck of his own ship.



His example was infectious. They fled back to the smaller ships. As soon as they were aboard they hacked with their swords at the grappling lines that held them bound to the doomed Arcturus.



Only Kumrah, Batula and a few other staunch sailors stood their ground beside Dorian and Mansur.



"It's a ruse! He will not do it," Dorian told them. "Follow me!" But as he ran to the foot of the ladder that led up to the poop deck, Guy Courtney hurled the slow-match into the powder trail. In a dense, hissing tail of smoke the gunpowder ignited and ran back swiftly along the deck until it reached the open hatchway and shot down into the interior of the ship.



The pluck of even the stalwart captains and their officers deserted them, and they turned and ran. The last of the grappling lines were parting, popping like cotton threads. In a moment the two smaller ships would be free of the Arcturus and drift away into the night.



"Even if it is a ruse, we shall still be stranded here," Mansur called to his father. There were hostile sailors all around them. Their predicament would prove fatal.



"Not a moment to lose," Dorian shouted back. "Run for it, Mansur."



Both of them turned and leaped across to the decks of their own ships, just as the last grappling lines parted and the hulls drifted apart. On the poop deck Guy Courtney stood alone. The powder smoke swirled in clouds around him, giving him a satanical appearance. The sparks of burning powder and debris took hold in the rigging and ran up the shrouds.



The first cannon salvo had jarred the timbers of the hull and startled Verity awake. The Arcturus had come to battle stations so silently that in her barred cabin she had not realized what was happening on deck until this moment. She scrambled from her bunk and turned up the wick on the lantern that hung on gimbals from the deck above. She reached for her clothing and pulled on a cotton shirt and the breeches she preferred to skirts and petticoats when she needed freedom of movement.



She was busy with her boots when the hull heeled sharply to the next broadside of cannon. She ran to the door of her cabin and beat upon it with her fists. "Let me out!" she screamed. "Open this door!" But there was no one to hear her.



She picked up the heavy silver candelabrum from the table and tried to break open the door panels so that she could reach the locking bar on the outside, but the sturdy teak timbers resisted her efforts. She was forced to give up and retreat to the far side of her cabin. She opened the porthole and peered out. She knew that escape by this route was hopeless. She had considered it many times during the weeks of her captivity. The surface of the sea creamed by close below her face, and it was six feet to the rail of the deck above her. She gazed out into the night and tried to follow the battle by the flare and flicker of gunfire. She caught glimpses of the other ship that was engaging them, and recognized it at once as the Revenge. She could see no sign of Mansur's ship.



She winced every time the cannon salvos roared out from the deck above her cabin, or when an enemy ball crashed into their hull. The battle seemed to rage interminably, and her senses were dulled by the uproar. The stench of burnt powder permeated her cabin like some dreadful incense burned to the god Mars, and she coughed in its acrid fumes.



Then, suddenly, she saw another dark apparition appear silently out of the darkness, another ship.



The Sprite!" she whispered, and her heart bounded. Mansur's ship! She had thought never to see it again. Then it began to fire upon them, and she was so excited that she felt no fear at all. One after another the iron round-shot smashed into the Arcturus, and each time she shuddered to the strike.



then, abruptly, Verity was flung to the deck as a ball ripped through the bulkhead beside her doorway, and the cabin was filled with smoke



and wood-dust. When it cleared she saw that the door had been shot away. She jumped to her feet, clambered through the wreckage and forced her way out into the open passageway. She heard the hand-to hand fighting on the deck above her as the crew of the Sprite boarded the ship over her port rail. The shouts and cries mingled with the clash of steel blades and the report of pistols and muskets. She looked about her for a weapon but there was nothing. Then she saw that her father's door stood open. She knew he kept his pistols in the drawer of his desk, and hurried to it.



Now she stood directly below the skylight, and her father's voice carried clearly through the opening: "This powder trail runs to the ship's main powder magazine," he shouted. A deathly silence fell over the Arcturus's deck, and Verity froze. "I will strike this ship, and blow up every one of you with it," her father screamed again. "As God is my witness, I shall do it."



"Guy!" Verity recognized the voice that answered him. "I am your brother, Dorian Courtney!"



"I know it well!" Guy yelled back. "Verity has confessed her deceit and complicity to me. That will not save you."



"No, Guy!" Dorian cried. "You must not do it."



"There is naught you can say to dissuade me," Guy shouted back.



Verity listened to no more. She dashed out into the passage and immediately saw the thick trail of black powder running down the treads of the companionway and along the passage to the lower deck and the magazine.



"He is telling the truth," she cried aloud. "He truly means to strike the ship." She acted without hesitation. She seized one of the fire buckets that stood at the foot of the companionway. The ship's wooden hull was a mortal fire hazard, and the buckets filled with seawater were placed at every convenient point whenever the ship went into battle. Verity sloshed the water across the powder trail, washing a wide gap in it.



She was only just in time. With a sizzling rush the flames came shooting down the companionway, then checked in a cloud of blue smoke as they reached the gap she had made. She jumped upon them, stamping on the smouldering grains. Then she seized another bucket of seawater and emptied it over them. She made sure she had doused every spark before she ran up the ladder to the quarterdeck.



"Father! This is madness!" Verity cried, as she stepped out of the smoke behind him.



"I ordered you to remain in your cabin." He rounded on her. "You disobeyed me."



"If I had not, you would have blown me and yourself to glory," she shrieked at him, almost beside herself with terror at how close they had been to death.



He saw how her clothing was scorched and blackened and sodden with seawater. "You treacherous, evil woman," he screamed. "You have gone over completely to my enemies."



He struck her full in the face with a clenched fist, and sent her reeling across the deck until she crashed into the bulwark. She stared at him in horror and outrage. Since childhood she had been accustomed to the beatings with his riding crop across her legs and buttocks when she displeased him, but only twice before had he struck her with his fist. She knew in that moment that she could never let it happen again. That had been the third and last time. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glanced at the thick smear of blood from her torn lips. Then she turned her head and looked down on to the deck of the Sprite below her.



The last grappling lines that held the two ships together parted and the Sprite's sails filled with the night breeze. She began to bear away. Her deck was a shambles of shot damage, some of her crew were wounded, others scurrying to their gun stations, and still more were jumping back into her from the taller side of the Arcturus as the gap between them widened.



Then she saw Mansur below her on the deck of the Sprite and, despite her injuries and her father's rage, her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. During all the time since they had parted, she had tried to subdue her feelings for him. She had had no expectation of ever laying eyes upon him again, and thought she had succeeded in putting him out of her mind. But now, when she saw him again, handsome and tall in the light thrown by the burning rigging, she remembered the secrets he had imparted to her and the protestation of his feelings for her, and she could deny him no longer.



In the same moment he looked up and recognized her. She saw his astonishment give way immediately to grim determination. He leaped across the deck of the Sprite to the wheel and shoved aside the helmsman. He seized the spokes and spun it in a blur back the opposite way. The Sprite's turn away to port checked and then she answered her rudder, turning back slowly. Once more her bows collided heavily against the Arcturus's mid-section, but she did not rebound for Mansur held the wheel over. She began to drag down the side of the larger vessel.



Mansur shouted up at her, "Jump, Verity! Come to me!" For a long moment she remained frozen, and then it was almost too late. "Verity, in God's Name, you cannot deny me. I love you. Jump!"



She hesitated no longer. She came up on her feet as quick as a cat, and sprang to the top of the bulwark, balancing there for an instant with her arms outspread. Guy realized what she was about, and ran across the poop to her.



"I forbid it!" he screamed, and snatched at her leg, but she kicked away his hand. He grabbed a fistful of her shirt, and she tried to pull free, but he clung on stubbornly. As they struggled, Mansur left the wheel and ran to the Sprite's side. He was directly below her, holding his arms wide in invitation.



"Jump!" he called. "I will catch you."



She flung herself out over the ship's side. Her father did not release his grip, and her shirt ripped, leaving him holding a handful of cloth. Verity dropped into Mansur's arms and her weight bore him to his knees, but he straightened and, for a moment, held her tightly to his chest. Then he set her on her feet and dragged her to safety. The crew's bundled hammocks had been piled along the bulwark as some protection from splinters and musket balls, and Mansur pushed her down behind this barricade. Then he ran back to the wheel and spun it the opposite way.



The two ships drew apart swiftly. The Revenge had also disentangled herself, and was under sail. The Arcturus was still ablaze, but Mansur saw Ruby Cornish striding down her deck, taking charge of the salvage. His men were swarming out of the hatchways again. Within minutes they had brought down the flaming canvas and doused it with seawater from the pumps.



With her guns reloaded and run out, the Arcturus turned in pursuit of the Sprite once more, but her rigging was heavily damaged and Cornish had not had time to bring up new canvas from the sail lockers ; and bend it on to the bare, scorched yards. The Arcturus made slow progress through the water and both the Sprite and the Revenge drew away from her.



Then, as swiftly as it had risen, the night wind died away. Almost as if they had anticipated the dawn, the clouds opened and allowed the paling stars to shine through. A hush descended on the ocean, the roiling surface seemed to freeze into a sheet of polished ice. All three of the battered ships slowed, then came to a gradual standstill. Even in the faint light of the stars they were within sight of each other, becalmed, swinging slowly and aimlessly on the silent currents beneath that glassy surface. However, the Sprite and the Revenge were out of hail of each other, so Dorian and Mansur were unable to confer and decide their next course of action.



"Let the men eat their breakfast as they work, but we must repair our



damage swiftly. This calm will not last long." Mansur saw the work put in hand, then went to find Verity. She stood alone by the ship's side, staring across at the dim shape of the Arcturus, but she turned to him at once.



"You came," he said.



"Because you called," she replied softly, and held out her hand to him. He took it, and was surprised by how cool and smooth her skin was, how narrow and supple her hand.



"There is so much I want to tell you."



"We will have a lifetime for that," she said, 'but let me savour this first moment to the full." They looked into each other's eyes.



"You are beautiful," he said.



"I am not. But my heart sings to hear you say it."



"I would kiss you."



"But you cannot," she answered. "Not under the eyes of your crew. They would not approve."



"Fortunately, we will have a lifetime for that also."



"And I will rejoice in every minute of it."



The dawn broke and the first shafts of sunlight beamed through the gaps in the thunderheads and turned the waters of the ocean to glowing amethyst. It played full upon the three ships. They lay motionless, like toys on a village pond. The sea was glassy smooth, its surface marred only by the skittering flight of the flying fish and the swirls of the great silver and gold tuna that pursued them.



The shot-torn sails hung slack and empty. From each ship the sounds of the carpenters' hammers and saws rang out as they hurriedly repaired the battle damage. The sail makers laid out the damaged canvas on the decks and squatted over it, long needles flying as they cobbled up the tears and rents. They all knew that this respite would not last long, that the morning breeze would rise and the next phase of the conflict must begin.



Through the telescope Mansur watched the crew of the Arcturus extinguish the last flames, then send new spars aloft to replace the broken bowsprit and the yards that had been burned or shot away.



"Is your mother aboard the Arcturus?" Mansur asked Verity.



Six weeks ago my father sent her back to the safety of the consulate n Bombay," Verity answered. She did not want to think about Caroline now, or of the circumstances in which she had last seen her. To change the subject she asked, "Will you fight again?"



"Are you afraid?" he asked.



She turned to him. Her eyes were green and her gaze was direct. That question is unkind."



"Forgive me," he said at once. "I do not doubt your courage, for you proved it to me last night. I wanted only to know your feelings."



"I am not afraid for myself. But my father is aboard the other ship, and you are on this one."



"I saw him strike you."



"He has struck me many times before, but he is still my father." Then she lowered her eyes. "More important than that, though, you are now my man. I am afraid for both of you. But I will not flinch."



He reached out and touched her arm. "I will do my utmost to avoid further battle," he assured her. "I would have done so last night but my own father was in danger. I had no choice but to come to his aid. However, I doubt that Sir Guy will let you and me escape without he does everything in his power to prevent it." He nodded grimly towards the distant Arcturus.



"Here comes the morning wind," she said. "Now my father's intentions will be made plain."



The wind scoured the polished azure surface with cats' paws. The Arcturus's sails bulged and she began to glide forward. All her yards were standing, and bright new canvas had replaced much of that which had been scorched and blackened. The wind left her behind and she slowed gradually, then came once more to a standstill. Her mainsail flapped and drooped. The squall of wind came on and picked up the two smaller ships, carried them a short distance, then dropped them.



Again stillness and silence fell on the three vessels. All their saib were set, and the upper yardmen were poised to make the final adjustments when the wind came again.



This time it came out of the east, hard and steady. It caught up the Arcturus first and bore her on. The instant she had steerage way she put up her helm and charged straight towards the two smaller ships. Her guns were still run out and her intentions manifest.



"I am afraid your father is spoiling for a fight."



"And so are you!" Verity accused him.



"You misjudge me." He shook his head. "I have already taken the prize. Sir Guy has nothing more that I want from him."



Then let us hope that the wind reaches us before he does." As Verity spoke it puffed against her cheek and blew a long strand of hair across her eyes. She tucked it back into the silk hairnet. "Here it comes."



The wind struck the Sprite and she heeled to it. Her canvas slatted and her blocks rattled as her sails filled and bulged. They could feel the



force of it in the eager trembling of the deck beneath their feet and, despite the exigencies of the moment, Verity laughed aloud with excitement. "We are off!" she cried, and for a moment clung to his arm. Then she saw Kumrah's disapproving expression and stepped back. "I need no chaperon aboard this ship for I have a hundred already."



The Sprite raced down towards the Revenge, which still lay becalmed, but then the wind reached her also. The two ships bore away together, the Revenge leading by two cables' length. Mansur looked back over the stern at the pursuit.



"With the wind coming from this quarter your father can never catch us," he told Verity exultantly. "We will run him below the horizon before nightfall." He took her arm and led her gently towards the companionway. "I can safely leave the deck to Kumrah now, and we can go below to find suitable accommodation for you."



"There are too many eyes here," she agreed, and followed him willingly.



At the bottom of the ladder he turned her to face him. She was only a few inches shorter than he was, and the thick, lustrous coils of her hair made the difference even less obvious. There are no other eyes here," he said.



"I fear I have been gullible," her cheeks blushed pink as rose petals, 'but you would never take advantage of my innocence, would you, Your Highness?"



"I am afraid you may have overestimated my chivalry, Miss Courtney. It is my intention to do exactly that."



"I suppose that it would be of no avail if I should scream, would it?"



"I am very much afraid that it would not," he said.



She swayed towards him. "Then I shall save my breath," she whispered, 'for perhaps I will find better employment for it later."



"Your lip is swollen." He touched it gently. "I will not hurt you?"



"We Courtneys are a hardy lot," she said.



He kissed her, but softly.



It was Verity who pulled him closer, and parted her swollen lips to him. "It hurts not at all," she said, and he lifted her in his arms and carried her through into his cabin.



Kumrah stamped three times on the deck above Mansur's bunk. He sat up quickly. "I am wanted on deck," he said. "Not as much as you are wanted here," she murmured, with drowsy contentment, 'but I know that when duty calls I must let you go for the moment."



He stood up and she watched him, her eyes growing bigger and her interest quickening. "I have never seen a man in his natural state before," she said. "Only now do I realize I have been deprived, for 'tis a sight much to my liking."



"I could think of far better," he demurred, and stooped to kiss her belly. It was smooth as cream and her navel was a neat pit in the taut sleek muscle. He thrust the tip of his tongue into it.



She sighed and writhed voluptuously. "You must stop that at once, or I shall never let you go."



He straightened and then his eyes flew wide with alarm. "There is blood on the sheet. Have I injured you?"



She raised herself on one elbow, looked down at the bright stain and smiled complacently. "It is the flower of my maidenhood, which I bring to you as proof that I have always belonged to you and to none other."



"Oh, my darling." He sat on the edge of the bunk and smothered her face with kisses.



She pushed him away. "Go to your duty. But come back to me the instant it is done."



Mansur ran up the ladder and it seemed that his feet were winged, but he stopped at the head of the companionway in alarm. He had expected to see the Revenge still far ahead of him, for in speed she had the edge on the Sprite, but she was almost alongside. He snatched up his telescope from its bucket beside the binnacle and strode to the side. He saw at once that the Revenge sat low in the water, and that all her pumps were manned. Seawater was spurting white over the side from the outlet pipes. As he watched in consternation, Dorian appeared on deck, stepping out from the hatch over the main hold. Mansur snatched up the speaking trumpet and hailed him. His father looked across, then came to the near rail.



"What's amiss?" Mansur called again.



"We have taken a ball below the waterline, and we are taking in water faster than the pumps can discharge it." His father's reply was faint on the wind.



So great was the disparity in speed between the two ships that in the



short time that Mansur had been on deck the Sprite had gained a few yards on the Revenge. Already his father's voice carried more clearly across the gap. He looked back over the stern and judged that the Arcturus had lost little distance in the hours that he and Verity had been below. She was making much better speed through the water than the crippled Revenge.



"What can I do to assist you?" he asked his father. There was a long pause.



"I have shot an angle on the Arcturus's mainmast every hour," Dorian called back. "At this rate she will be within cannon shot before nightfall. Even in the darkness we cannot hope to elude her."



"Can we repair the damage?"



"The shot-hole is awkwardly placed." Dorian shook his head. "If we heave to, Arcturus will be upon us before we can plug it."



"What, then, must we do?"



"Unless something unforeseen happens, we shall be forced to fight again."



Mansur thought about Verity in the cabin below this deck, and had a picture of that perfect pale body torn to bloody tatters by round-shot. He forced the image from his mind. "Wait!" he called to Dorian, then beckoned to Kumrah.



"What can we do, old friend?" They talked quickly and earnestly, but while they did so the Revenge dropped back a little further and Mansur was obliged to order a reef in his main sail to slow the Sprite enough to keep his station with the Revenge. Then he hailed his father. "Kumrah has a plan. Conform to me as best you are able, but I will moderate my speed if you fall too far behind."



Kumrah brought the Sprite's bows around another three points into the west until they were on a direct heading for Ras al-Had, the point of land where the gulf opened out into the ocean proper.



For the rest of that morning Mansur kept his crew busy repairing the battle damage they had suffered, cleaning and servicing the guns, bringing up more round-shot from the orlop deck, filling the powder bags to replace that which had been fired away. Then, with block and tackle, they hoisted one of the guns up from the main deck to the poop where the carpenters had made a temporary gun port for it. Trained back over the stern the cannon could now be used as a stern chaser to bring the Arcturus under fire as soon as she drew within range.



Almost imperceptibly the Revenge was settling lower in the water and losing speed as the men at the pumps battled to hold at bay the inflow or water through her pierced hull. Mansur closed in on her and they Passed a line across. Then he was able to send over twenty fresh seamen



to relieve the Revenge's crew, who were exhausted from the unremitting work at the pump handles. At the same time he sent over Baris, one of Kumrah's junior officers, a young Omani who was also a native of this coast and knew every rock and reef almost as intimately as Kumrah did. While the two ships sailed in such close company, Mansur explained to his father the plan he and Kumrah had devised.



Dorian understood at once that this was perhaps their best chance, and he endorsed it without hesitation. "Go to it, lad," he called back, through the speaking trumpet.



Within the next hour Mansur was obliged to take in another reef so as not to head-reach on the Revenge during the night. As darkness fell he gazed back at the Arcturus and calculated that she had closed the gap between them to only a little over two sea miles.



It was almost midnight before he went below to his cabin, but even then Mansur and Verity could not sleep. They made love as though it would never happen again, then lay naked in each other's arms, sweating in the tropical night, and they talked softly. Sometimes they laughed and more than once Verity wept. There was so much they had to tell, their whole lifetimes to relate to each other. At last, though, even their new love could no longer keep them awake, and they slept with their limbs entwined.



An hour before first light Mansur slipped from their bunk and left her to go back on deck. But within minutes Verity, too, came up the companionway and took a place in the angle of the quarter-deck and the poop, where she could be near him but unobtrusive.



Mansur ordered the cooks to give the men their breakfast and while they ate he went down the deck and spoke to them, giving them encouragement, making them laugh and others smile, even though they knew that the Arcturus was close behind them in the darkness and they would soon be called upon to fight her again.



As soon as the dawn sky began to pale Mansur and Kumrah were at the stern rail on the poop deck beside the stern chaser. The lantern on the main truck of the Revenge showed close astern, but as the circle of their vision opened they all stared beyond her for the first glimpse of the Arcturus. They were not disappointed. As the light strengthened they caught the loom of her against the still dark horizon, and Mansur had to check himself from giving voice to his disappointment. She had gained almost a mile on them during the hours of darkness, and now she was within long cannon shot. Even as Mansur stared at her through the lens of his telescope there was a flash from her bows, and a puff of white smoke.



"Your father is firing at us with bow chasers. Though I fancy the range



is a trifle too long for him to do us any real damage for a while yet," Mansur told Verity.



At that moment there was a hail from the masthead: "Land ho!" and they left the stern and went up into the bows to scan ahead with the spyglass.



"You excel yourself, Captain," Mansur told Kumrah. "Unless I am very much mistaken, that is Ras al-Had dead ahead." They went back to the chart table beside the traverse-board and pored over the chart. This masterpiece of the cartographer's art had been drawn up by Kumrah himself, the work of a lifetime spent on the sea.



"Where is this Kos al-Heem?" Mansur asked. The name meant the Deceiver in the dialect of the Omani coast.



"I have not marked it on the chart." Kumrah pricked the waxed leather with the point of his dividers. "Some things are best kept from the eyes of the world. But it is here."



"How much longer to run?" Mansur asked.



"If this wind holds, we will be there an hour after noon."



"By then the Arcturus will have overhauled the Revenge." Mansur glanced across his father's ship.



"If it is God's will," said Kumrah, with resignation, 'for God is great."



"We must try to shield the Revenge from the fire of the Arcturus until we reach the Deceiver." Mansur gave Kumrah his orders, then went back to the stern where the gun-crew were gathered around the nine-pounder.



Kumrah shortened sail again and dropped back until he could interpose the Sprite between the other two ships. During that time the Arcturus fired twice with her bow chaser. Both shots fell short. However, the Arcturus's next splashed heavily alongside the Revenge.



"Very well." Mansur nodded. "We can try a ranging shot at her now."



He chose a round-shot from the locker, rolling it under his foot to check its symmetry. Then he measured the charge of powder with care, and had his crew swab the bore carefully to remove as much powder residue as possible.



Once the gun was loaded and run out he stood behind it and noted how the stern of the Sprite lifted and yawed as she rode over the swells. He calculated the adjustments necessary to counteract these movements. Then, slow-match in hand, he stood well clear of the breech and watched for the next swell. As the Sprite kicked up her heels and lifted her stern, like a flirtatious girl swishing her skirts, he pressed the burning end of the match to the quill of powder in the touch-hole. The elevation would give the iron ball the extra carry.



I he long cannon bellowed and slammed back into its tackle. Verity and Kumrah were watching for the fall of shot.



Seconds later they picked out the tiny feather of white that jumped from the surface of the dark sea. "Short by a hundred yards and about three degrees left," Verity called sharply.



Mansur grunted and wound the elevation screw to its maximum height. They fired again. "Under again, but on line." They kept firing steadily.



The Revenge had joined in the bombardment. The Arcturus closed in slowly, firing her bow chasers as she came on. However, by the middle of the morning none of the ships had managed a hit, although some of the shot had fallen close. Mansur and his gun-crew were stripped to the waist in the rising heat: their bodies were shining with sweat, and their faces were blackened with gunsmoke. The barrel of the cannon was too hot to touch. The wet swab sizzled and steamed as it was thrust down the bore. For the twenty-third time that morning they ran out the long nine-pounder and Mansur laid it with care. The Arcturus appeared much taller as he squinted at it over the sights. He stood back and waited for the pitch and roll of the hull under him before he fired.



The gun carriage bounded back violently and slammed against its tackle. This time, though they strained their eyes through the lens, there was no splash of falling shot. Instead Verity saw shattered timbers explode from the Arcturus's bows and one of her chaser cannon knocked from its carriage and upended.



'"A hit! A very palpable hit!"



"Say Miss Verity and the Bard!" Mansur laughed and gulped down a mouthful from the water dipper before laying the next shot.



Seemingly in retaliation, the Arcturus dropped a ball from the remaining bow chaser so close under the Sprite's stern that a fountain of spray rose high into the air, then cascaded over them, drenching them to the skin.



All this time the rocky cape of Ras al-Had was rising higher out of the sea, and Arcturus was slowly overhauling them from astern.



"Where is Kos al-Heem?" Mansur asked impatiently.



"You will not see it until you are about to strike. That is how it was given the name, but these are the landmarks. The white streak in the cliff face, there. The tip of the egg-shaped rock that stands to the left of it, there!"



"I want you to take the helm now, Kumrah. Luff her a little and spill your wind. I want to let the Arcturus close up to us, without making it obvious that it is deliberate."



The raging duel between the ships carried on. Mansur hoped to distract Cornish's attention from the hazard ahead, and to let the Revenge draw further ahead. The Arcturus came on eagerly, and within



the hour she was so close that through the glass Mansur and Verity could recognize the burly figure and distinctive features of Captain Ruby Cornish.



"And there is Sir Guy!" Mansur had been about to say 'your father', but he changed the words at the last moment. He did not want to emphasize the relationship of his enemy to his love.



In comparison to Ruby Cornish, Guy Courtney cut a slim, elegant figure. He had changed his attire, and even in this heat he wore a cocked hat and a blue coat with scarlet lapels, tight-fitting white breeches and black boots. He stood staring across at them. His expression was set and hard, and there was a deadly purpose about him that chilled Verity to the marrow: she well knew this mood of his and dreaded it like the cholera.



"Kumrah!" Mansur called to him. "Where is this Deceiver? Where is Kos al-Heemi" Is it something you dreamed after a pipe of hashish?"



Kumrah glanced at the Revenge, which had forged slowly ahead. She was now leading them by a quarter of a sea mile.



The Caliph, your revered father, is almost upon the Deceiver."



"I can see no sign of it." Minutely Mansur studied the waters ahead of the other ship, but the swells marched on inexorably, and there was no break or check in their ranks; no swirl nor flurry of white water that he was able to descry.



That is why it is called the Deceiver," Kumrah reminded him. "It keeps its secrets well. It has murdered a hundred ships and more, including the galley of Ptolemy, the general and favourite of the mighty Isakander. It was only by God's favour that he survived the wreck."



"God is great," Mansur murmured automatically.



"Praise God," Kumrah agreed and, as he spoke, the Revenge abruptly put up her helm and turned her bows into the wind. With all her sails backed and shuddering, she have to.



"Ah!" cried Kumrah. "Baris has found and marked the Deceiver for us."



"Run out the port battery and prepare to come about on the starboard tack," Mansur ordered. While the crew ran to their battle stations, he eyed the approaching Arcturus.



She was rushing in towards them jubilantly, with every stitch of canvas set. Even as he watched, Mansur saw the lids of her gun ports crash open and the muzzles of her cannon poke out menacingly along her sides. He turned and strode forward until he had a full view of the Revenge, hove-to dead ahead; she also had run out her guns, offering battle.



Mansur went back to the helm. He was conscious that from the angle



below the poop Verity was watching him intently. Her expression was calm and she showed no fear.



"I would like you to go below, my love," he told her quietly. "We will very soon be under fire."



She shook her head. "The ship's timbers offer no protection from nine-pound iron balls. This I know from experience," she replied, with a naughty sparkle in her eyes, 'when you fired upon me."



"I have never apologized for my bad manners in so doing." He smiled back at her. "It was unforgivable. But I swear I will make it up to you in spades and trumps."



"All other things apart, from now on my place is at your side, not cowering under the bunk."



"I shall always treasure your presence," he said, and turned to look back at the Arcturus. She was within easy cannon shot at last. Now he must engage all her attention, and lure her on at the top of her speed. Kumrah was watching for his order.



"Up helm," Mansur snapped, and the Sprite turned like a dancer. Suddenly she had turned her full broadside on the Arcturus.



"Steady, gunners!" Mansur shouted, through the trumpet. "Make good your aim!" One after the other the captains raised their right arms to show that they had laid their pieces true.



Tire!" Mansur cried, and the broadside bellowed out like a single clap of thunder. Gunsmoke poured back across the deck in a thick grey cloud, but was almost at once blown away by the wind and they could see a single spout of seawater rise from under the Arcturus's bows, but the rest of the broadside smashed into her stem, tearing holes in her timbers. The ship seemed to tremble to these terrible blows but came on without a check in her speed.



"Bring her about on the old course," Mansur ordered, and the Sprite obeyed her helm at once. They sped away towards where the Revenge lay waiting for them. Bows on to them, the Arcturus had not been able to fire her own broadside in return, but the manoeuvre had cost the Sjrrite almost all of her lead, and the enemy was scarcely more than a cable's length behind her. She fired her bow chaser, and the Sprite shuddered as the ball struck her stem and tore through her hull.



Kumrah was staring ahead with slitted eyes, but Mansur could see no sign of the Deceiver. Kumrah called a correction to the helm and the man on the wheel eased her over to port a trifle. This cleared the range for the Revenge, and now she could fire without fear of hitting the Sprite. She was still presenting her broadside to the enemy, and disappeared momentarily behind the curtain of her own gunsmoke as she let fly with all her cannon.



The range was long but she hit with at least some of her shot. The Arcturus was so close by now that Mansur could hear the iron round shot strike against her timbers like heavy hammer strokes.



"That will invite all Cornish's attention," Verity said, and her voice was clear in the sudden silence that followed the broadside. Mansur did not answer. He was gazing ahead with a worried frown.



"Where is this triple-damned Deceiver--' He broke off as he saw the sparkle of bright specks like drifting snowflakes deep in the blue waters directly under their bows. They were so unexpected that for a moment he was at a loss. Then it dawned upon him.



"Fusiliers!" he exclaimed. These shoals of tiny, jewelled fish always hung over submerged reefs, even out here in the mid-water at the edge of the continental shelf. The shoals scattered as the Sprite's hull cut through them, and Mansur saw the dark, terrible shadows rising from the depths, like blackened fangs, directly in the ship's path. Kumrah stepped across and pushed away the helmsman. Then he took the wheel of his ship in lover's hands to steer her through.



Mansur saw the dark shapes harden as they rushed down upon them. They were three horns of granite that reached up from dark waters to within a fathom of the sunlit surface. So sharp were the points that they offered little resistance to the flow and push of currents and waves. This accounted for the lack of surface turbulence.



Instinctively Mansur held his breath as Kumrah steered into the centre of this cruel crown of stone. He felt Verity's hand on his arm as she clung to him for comfort, her fingernails digging painfully into his flesh.



The Sprite touched the rock. To Mansur it felt as though he had ridden a horse at full gallop through the forest and a thornbush had tugged at his sleeve. The deck shuddered softly under his feet, and he heard the granite horn rasp against their bottom timbers. Then the Sprite pulled herself free and they were through. Mansur let the air out of his lungs with a sigh, and beside him Verity cried, "That was as close as I ever want to be."



Mansur seized her hand and they ran back to the stern rail. They watched the Arcturus run into the trap at full tilt. Despite her battle damage and her soot-blackened rigging she presented a beautiful picture, with every sail drawing and a tall white bow wave sparkling and curling back from her forefoot.



She hit the stone pinnacles and stopped dead in the water, transformed in a single instant from a thing of airy grace to a shambles. Her foremast snapped off level with the deck and half her yards came tumbling down. Her underwater timbers crackled and roared as they



shattered and she hung in the water like part of the reef. The granite horns of the Deceiver were driven deep into her belly. The top yards men in her rigging were hurled from their perches, like pellets from a slingshot, to splash into the water half a pistol shot from the ship's side. The rest of her crew were skittled down the deck to slam into the masts and bulwarks. Their own cannons were turned against them as they were catapulted into the unyielding metal with the full impetus of the ship's way. Arms, legs and ribs broke like green twigs, and skulls cracked like eggs dropped on to a stone-flagged floor. The crews of the two smaller vessels lined the sides, and stared in awe at the devastation they had wrought, too overwhelmed to cheer the destruction of the enemy.



Mansur have to alongside his father's ship. "What now, Father?"



"We cannot leave Guy in such a state," Dorian shouted back. "We must render what help we can. I shall go across in the longboat."



"No, Father!" Mansur called back. "You can spend no more time here. Your ship is also in extremes. You must go on to find the safe harbour at Sawda island, where we can repair the underwater damage before she founders and sinks."



"But what of Guy and his men?" Dorian hesitated. "What is to become of them?"



"I shall take care of that business," Mansur promised. "You can be certain that I will not let your brother, Verity's father, perish here."



Dorian and Batula conferred quickly, and then Dorian returned to the Revenge's side. "Very well! Batula agrees that we must get into safe anchorage before another storm brews up. We cannot ride out rough seas in the shape we are now in."



"I shall take off the survivors from the Arcturus, and follow you with all speed."



Dorian put the Revenge once more before the wind, and headed in towards the mainland. Mansur handed over command to Kumrah, and went down into the longboat. He stood in the stern sheets as they rowed in towards the stranded and heavily listing Arcturus. As soon as they were within easy hail he ordered the boat crew to rest on their oars. "Arcturus! I have a surgeon with me. What help do you need?"



Cornish's red face appeared over the top of the canted bulwark. "We have many broken limbs. I need to get the wounded back to the infirmary on Bombay island, or they will die."



"I am coming on board!" Mansur shouted back.



But another voice rang out angrily: "Stand off, you filthy rebel scum!" Sir Guy Courtney was clinging to the main shrouds with one hand. His other arm was thrust into the front of his jacket, using it as a makeshift sling. He had lost his hat, and fresh blood caked his hair and the side of



his face from the deep lacerations in his scalp. "If you try to board this ship I shall fire into you."



"Uncle Guy!" Mansur called. "I am your brother Dorian's son. You must allow me to help you and your men."



"In God's Holy Name, you are no kith or kin of mine. You are a heathen bastard, an abductor and violator of innocent English woman'



hood."



"Your men need help. You yourself are wounded. Let me take you and your men to the port of Bombay island."



Guy did not reply but staggered along the listing deck to the nearest cannon. He snatched a smoking slow-match from the sand tub. The heavy weapon still poked its gleaming bronze barrel through the open gun port but Mansur was not alarmed. The weapon was harmless. The angle of the deck pointed the muzzle down into the water close alongside.



"Listen to reason, Uncle. My father and I wish you no harm. You are of our blood. See! I am unarmed." He held up his open hands to prove it. But with a chill of horror he realized that Guy was not intending to fire the great cannon. Instead he seized the long handle of the murderer that sat squat and ugly in its gimbal fixed to the bulwark: it was a hand cannon, designed to repel enemy boarders, loaded with a hatful of lead goose-shot. At short range its name described its gruesome capabilities accurately.



The longboat was close under the side of the Arcturus. Guy swivelled the murderer towards them and squinted over the crude notch-and-pin sights at Mansur. The flared muzzle of the gun seemed to leer at them obscenely.



"I gave you fair warning, you lecherous swine." He thrust the burning match into the touch-hole.



"Down!" shouted Mansur, and flung himself on to the deck. His crew was slow to follow his example and the blast of goose-shot swept through them. In the screams of the wounded Mansur pulled himself upright again. His shirt was splashed by the brains of his coxswain, and three dead men lay piled against the boat's side. Two others were clutching their wounds and struggling in puddles of their own blood. Seawater spurted in through the holes the goose-shot had torn in the planking.



Mansur rallied those of the crew who were unharmed. "Pull back for the Sprite!" and they flung themselves on the oars with a will. From the stern sheets Mansur shouted back at the figure that still clung to the handle of the smoking hand-cannon: "Rot your black soul, Guy Courtney. You bloody butcher! These were unarmed men on an errand of mercy."



Mansur stormed back on to the deck of the Sprite. His face was white and set with rage. "Kumrah," he snarled, 'get our dead and wounded on board, then load all our guns with grape. I am going to give that murderous swine a taste of his own dung."



Kumrah brought the Sprite round on to the port tack and at Mansur's direction steered in to pass the stranded wreck of the Arcturus at a distance of a hundred paces, the optimum range in which the grape would wreak the most slaughter.



"Stand by to fire as you bear!" Mansur called to his gunners. "Sweep her deck clean. Kill them all. When you have done we will put fire into her and burn her down to the water-line." He was still trembling with rage.



The crew of the Arcturus saw death coming down upon them, and scattered across the deck. Some ran below and others threw themselves over the side and thrashed around clumsily in the water. Only Captain Cornish and his master Sir Guy Courtney stood four-square and faced the Sprite's gaping broadside.



Mansur felt a light touch on his arm and glanced down. Verity stood beside him. Her face was pale but expressionless. "This is murder," she said.



"Your father is the murderer."



"Yes. And he is my father. If you do this thing, you will never wash his blood from your conscience or from mine, not if we live a hundred years. This might be the one act that will destroy our love."



Her words struck deep as a dagger. He looked up and saw the number one gunner about to touch off his weapon, the smoking slow-match only inches from the flash-hole. "Hold your fire!" Mansur roared at him, and the man lifted his hand. All the gun captains turned to look back at Mansur. He took Verity by the hand and led her to the rail. He raised the speaking trumpet to his lips.



"Guy Courtney! You are saved only by the intervention of your daughter," he called across.



That treacherous bitch is no daughter of mine. She is naught but a common street whore." Guy's face was livid, the clotted blood upon it dark crimson in contrast. "Filth and filth have found their own level in the cesspool. Take her, and a black pox on both of you."



With an effort that strained all his natural instincts, Mansur kept his temper from boiling over again. "I thank you, sir, for your daughter's hand in marriage. A boon so graciously granted is one I will guard with my life." Then he looked to Kumrah. "We will leave them here to rot. Lay the ship on a course for Sawda island."



As they drew away Ruby Cornish touched his forehead in a salute,



silently acknowledging his defeat and Mansur's compassion in holding his fire.



They found the Revenge lying at anchor in the tiny bay, enclosed by the cliffs of Sawda island. This grim buttress of black rock reared three hundred feet sheer from the deep waters at the edge of the continental shelf, six miles off the coast of the Arabian peninsula. Kumrah had chosen it for good reasons. The island was uninhabited and isolated from the mainland, secure from casual discovery by an enemy. The bay was sheltered from the easterly gales. The enclosed waters were calm, and the narrow beach of black volcanic sand made a good platform on which to careen a ship's hull. There was even a secret seep of sweet water from a cleft at the foot of the cliff.



As soon as they dropped anchor, Mansur had himself and Verity rowed across to the Revenge. Dorian was at the entry-port to welcome him aboard.



"Father, there is no call for me to present your niece Verity to you. You are well enough acquainted already."



"My greetings and respect, Your Majesty." Verity dropped him a curtsy.



"Now at last we are able to converse in English, and I can greet you as your uncle." He embraced her. "Welcome to your family, Verity. I know there will be much opportunity for us to come to know each other better."



"I hope so, Uncle. But I realize that now you and Mansur have much else to do."



Standing on the open deck they swiftly devised a plan of action, and at once set it in motion. Mansur brought the Sprite alongside his father's ship and they lashed the hulls together. Now all the pumps of both ships could be applied to pumping out the flooded hull. At the same time they dragged a sheet of the heaviest canvas under the Revenge's hull. The pressure of the water held it firmly in place, plugging the underwater shot hole. With the inflow choked off they were able to dry out the hull within a few hours.



Then they hoisted all her heavy cargo out of her cannon, powder and shot, spare canvas, masts and spars and deck-loaded the Sprite. Relieved of her burden the Revenge floated high and light as a cork. With the boats they towed her on to the beach and, with the help of the tide, careened her over so that the shot damage was exposed. The carpenters and their mates fell to work.



It took two days and nights working by the light of the battle lanterns



for them to complete the repairs. When they had finished, the replaced section of timber was stronger than the original. They took the opportunity to scrape the weed from her hull, recaulk her joints and renew the copper sheeting that kept the shipworm from attacking her underwater timber. When they floated her off she was tight and dry. They warped her out into the bay, reloaded her cargo and remounted her weapons. By evening they had topped up all the water-kegs of both ships from the spring, and were ready to sail. However, Dorian decreed that the crews had earned a respite of two days to celebrate the Islamic festival of Id, a joyous occasion when an animal is sacrificed and the flesh shared among the celebrants.



That evening they assembled on the beach, and Dorian killed one of the milk goats that were kept in a cage on board the Revenge. Its meagre flesh provided only a mouthful for each of them, but they supplemented it with fresh fish roasted on the coals while the musicians among the crews sang, danced and praised God for their escape from Muscat, and their victory over the Arcturus. Verity sat between Dorian and Mansur on silk prayer mats spread on the black sand.



Like most people who came to know Dorian, Verity couldn't resist the warmth of his spirit, his quiet humour. She empathized with the tragic loss of his wife, and the sadness with which it had marked him.



He was equally taken by her lively intelligence, the courage she had demonstrated so amply, and her forthright, pleasing manner. Now, as he studied her in the firelight he thought, She has inherited all the virtues of both her parents her mother's beauty before it was marred by gluttony, Guy's bright mind. She has been spared their failings Caroline's shallow, famous personality, and Guy's avaricious and vicious instincts, his dearth of humanity. Then he put aside deep thoughts and picked up the light mood. They laughed and sang together, clapping and swaying in time to the music.



When at last the musicians faltered, Dorian dismissed them with thanks and a gold coin for their trouble. But the three were too elated for sleep. They were to sail on the morrow for Fort Auspice. Mansur began to describe to Verity the life they would live in Africa, and the relatives she would meet there for the first time. "You will love Aunt Sarah and Uncle Tom."



Tom is the best of us three brothers," Dorian agreed. "He was always the leader, while Guy and myself--' He broke off as he realized that Guy's name would throw a pall over their mood. The awkward silence drew out and none of them knew how to break it.



Then Verity spoke: "Yes, Uncle Dorian. My father is not a good man, and I know that he is ruthless. I cannot hope to excuse his murderous



behaviour when he fired on the longboat. Perhaps I can explain why it happened."



The two men were silent and embarrassed. They stared into the coals of the fire and did not look at her. After a while she resumed, "He was desperate that no one should discover the cargo he carries in the main hold of the Arcturus."



"What cargo is that, my dear?" Dorian looked up.



"Before I answer, I must explain to you how my father has amassed such a fortune as to exceed that of any potentate in the Orient, save perhaps the Great Mogul and the Sublime Porte in Constantinople. He is a power-broker. He uses his position as consul general to enthrone and dethrone kings. He wields the power of the English monarchy and the English East India Company to deal in armies and nations as some men deal in cattle and sheep."



Those powers you speak of, the monarchy and the Company, are not in his gift," Dorian demurred.



"My father is a conjuror, a master of illusion. He can make others believe what he wants them to believe, although he cannot even speak the languages of his client kings and emperors."



"For that he uses you," Mansur interjected.



She inclined her head. "Yes, I was his tongue, but his is the gift of political perception." She turned to Dorian. "You, Uncle, have listened to him and you must have understood how persuasive he can be and how uncanny his instincts are."



Dorian nodded silently, and she went on, "Had you not been forewarned you would have been eager to sample his wares, even though his fee was exorbitant. Well, Zayn al-Din has paid many times more than that to him. The sheer genius of my father is that not only was he able to milk Zayn but the Sublime Porte and the East India Company have paid him almost as much again to act as their emissary. For the work he has done in Arabia during these last three years my father has received fifteen lakhs in gold specie."



Mansur whistled, and Dorian looked grave. Tis almost a quarter of a million guineas," he said softly, 'an emperor's ransom."



"Yes." Verity dropped her voice to a whisper. "And all of it is stored in the main hold of the Arcturus. That is why my father would have died rather than allow you to board his ship, why he was prepared to strike his powder magazine when that cargo was threatened."



Sweet heavenly angels, my love," Mansur whispered, 'why did you not tell us this before?"



She looked steadily into his eyes. "One reason only. I have lived all my adult life with a man whose soul is consumed by greed. I know full



well the effects of that corrosive affliction. I did not want to infect the man I love with the same disease."



"That would never happen," Mansur said hotly. "You do me an injustice."



"My darling," she replied, 'if you could but see your own face at this very moment." Shamefaced Mansur dropped his eyes. He knew that her arrow had struck close to the mark, for he could feel the emotions she had warned of churning in his guts.



"Verity, my dear," Dorian intervened, 'would it not be a rich justice if we could use Zayn al-Din's blood-soaked gold to topple him from the Elephant Throne and set his people free?"



This is what I have been brooding on endlessly since I threw in my lot so irrevocably with you and Mansur. The reason I have told you about the gold on board the Arcturus is because I reached the same conclusion as you. Please, God, that if we seize that blood money, we use it in a noble cause."



From afar they saw that much of the Arcturus's damaged rigging had been replaced or repaired, but as they sailed closer it became clear that she still lay impaled upon the granite horns of the Deceiver like a sacrifice on the altar of Mammon. Closer still they saw a small, forlorn group standing at the foot of the mainmast on the heavily canted deck. Through the lens of the telescope Dorian picked out the burly figure and bright features of Ruby Cornish.



In was obvious that the Arcturus offered no threat. She was immobilized and the heavy list in her deck rendered her batteries useless. The cannons along her port side pointed into the water and the starboard side at the sky. However, Dorian took no chances: he ordered both the Revenge and the Sprite cleared for action and the guns run out. They closed in and have to on each side of the Arcturus, covering her with their broadsides.



As soon as he was within hail Dorian called across to Cornish. "Will you yield your ship, sir?"



Ruby Cornish was astonished to be addressed by the rebel Caliph in perfect English, toned with the sweet accents of Devon. He recovered swiftly, removed his hat and stepped to the rail, balancing there against the listing deck. "You leave me no choice, Your Majesty. Do you wish to take my sword as well?"



"No, Captain. You fought bravely and acquitted yourself with honour. Please keep it." Dorian was hoping for Cornish's cooperation.



"You are gracious, Your Majesty." Cornish was mollified by these compliments. He clapped his hat back on his head and tightened his sword-belt. "I await your instructions."



"Where is Sir Guy Courteney.7 Is he below decks?"



"Nine days ago Sir Guy took the ship's boats and a party of my best men. He set off for Muscat where he purposes to find assistance. He will return as speedily as is possible to salvage the Arcturus. In the meantime, he left me to guard the vessel and protect her cargo." This was a long message to shout, and Cornish's face was as bright as a jewel by the time he had finished.



"I am sending a boarding party to you. I intend to salvage your vessel and float her off the reef. Will you co-operate with my officers?" Cornish fidgeted for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind.



"Majesty, I have yielded to you. I will follow your orders."



They laid the Sprite and the Revenge along each side of the Arcturus and unloaded her, divesting her of her cannon, shot and water. Then they ran the heaviest anchor cables under her hull as slings. They tightened these with the windlasses on the Revenge and the Sprite until they were rigid as bars of iron. The Arcturus lifted slowly, and they heard the timbers popping and crackling as the granite horns eased their grip in her vitals. The tides were only two days from high springs, and in these waters the tidal variation was almost three fathoms. Before making the final effort, Dorian waited until slack water was at the bottom of the ebb. Then he sent every able-bodied man to his place at the pumps. At his signal they threw themselves on the long handles. The bilge water flew in sheets over the sides, faster than the inflow through rents in the Arcturus's hull. As she lightened, she strained to tear herself free of the rock. The rising tide added its irresistible impulse to the buoyancy of the hull and, with a last, terrible rending sound from below, the Arcturus slowly righted and floated free.



Immediately all three vessels set their mainsails and, still lashed together, glided out of the Deceiver's clutches. With fifty fathoms of water under their hulls Dorian brought the linked vessels slowly around on a course for Sawda island. Then he placed an armed guard over the hatches of the Arcturus's main hold with strict orders that no man be allowed to pass.



The steering was clumsy and erratic, and the three ships staggered along like drinking companions returning homeward from a night of revelry. As the dawn broke they had raised the black massif of Sawda over the horizon, and before noon they had dropped anchor in the bay.



The first task was to draw a heavy canvas sail under the Arcturus's hull and cover the terrible tears through her bottom timbers; only then



could the pumps of all three ships dry her out. Before they warped her into the beach to careen her and complete the repairs, Dorian, Mansur and Verity went aboard her.



Verity went directly to her own cabin. She was appalled by the damage that the battle had wrought. Her clothing was in disarray, torn by wood splinters, stained by seawater. Perfume bottles had shattered, powder pots cracked, and the contents had spilled over her petticoats and stockings. However, all of this could be replaced. It was her books and manuscripts that were her prime concern. Chief of these was a set of rare, beautifully illustrated and centuries-old volumes of the Ramay ana. This had been a personal gift from Muhammad Shah, the Great Mogul, in recognition of her services as interpreter during his negotiations with Sir Guy. She had already translated the first five volumes of this mighty Hindu epic into English.



Among her other treasures was a copy of the Qur'an. This had been given to her by Sultan Obied, when she and her father had last visited him in the Topkapi Saray Palace in Constantinople. The gift had been made on condition that she translate it into English. This was reputed to be one of the original copies of the authoritative text revisions commissioned by the Caliph Uthman in ad 644 to 656, twelve years after the death of Muhammad, and it was known as the Uthmanic Recension. True to her promise to the Sultan, Verity had almost completed the translation of this seminal work. Her manuscripts were an investment of two years' painstaking labour. With her heart in her mouth she dragged out the chest in which she kept them from under a pile of fallen timbers and other debris. She exclaimed with relief when she opened the lid and found them undamaged.



In the meantime Dorian and Mansur were searching Sir Guy's great cabin next door. Ruby Cornish had handed over the key to them. "I have removed nothing," he told them. They found him as good as his word. Dorian took custody of the Arcturus's logbooks and all her other papers. In the locked drawers of Guy's desk they found his private papers and his journals.



"These will afford us much valuable evidence about my brother's activities," Dorian said, with grim satisfaction, 'and of his dealings with Zayn al-Din and the East India Company."



Then they went back on deck, and broke open the seals on the hatches of the main hold. They lifted off the covers and went down into it. They found it filled with great quantities of muskets, swords and



lance heads, new and unused, still packed in the manufacturers' grease. There was also powder and shot by the ton, twenty light field-artillery pieces, and much other military stores.



"Enough to start a war or a revolution," Dorian remarked drily.



"Which is Uncle Guy's purpose," Mansur agreed.



Much of this had been damaged by seawater. It was a lengthy business to clear the hold of this cargo, but at last they were down to the deck timbers, and there was no trace of the gold Verity had promised them.



Mansur climbed out of the hot, fetid hold, and went to find her. She was in her cabin. He paused in the entrance. In this short time she had restored the shambles of her cabin to a remarkable state of order and cleanliness. She sat at the mahogany desk under the skylight. She was no longer clad like an orphan in his oversized cast-off clothing. Instead she was wearing a fresh blue organza dress with leg-o'-mutton sleeves and trimmed with fine lace. Around her throat was a lustrous string of pearls. She was reading a book in a jewelled, engraved silver cover, and making notes in another with a plain vellum cover. Mansur saw that the pages were closely written with her small, elegant script. She looked up at him and smiled sweetly. "Ah, Your Highness, do I have your attention for the moment? I am greatly honoured."



Despite his disappointment in finding the hold bare, Mansur gaped at her in admiration. "There is not a shadow of doubt in my mind that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon," he said, with awe in his tone. In this setting she seemed to him a perfect jewel.



"While you, sir, are rather sweaty and grubby." She laughed at him. "But I am sure that is not what you came to hear."



"There isn't a single coin down there," he said lamely.



"Have you taken the trouble to look beneath the floorboards, or should that be the deck? I am a little at sea with these nautical terms, if you will forgive the play on words."



I love you more each hour, my clever darling," he cried, and ran back to the hold, shouting for the carpenters to come to him.



Verity waited until the banging and hammering in the hold ceased abruptly and she heard the squeal of timbers being prised loose. Then she laid aside the Ramayana and went up on deck. She strolled across to the open hatch. She was just in time to watch the first chest being brought reverentially out of its snug hiding-place beneath the deck. It was so weighty that it took the combined strength of Mansur and five hefty seamen to lift it. As one of the carpenters unscrewed the lid, seawater poured out through the joints, for the chest had been submerged since the ship had run on to the horns of the Deceiver.



There were exclamations of astonishment and wonder as Mansur lifted off the lid. From directly above, Verity caught the wanton shine of pure gold before the men crowded forward and cut off her view. She gazed instead at Mansur's bare back. His muscles were oiled with sweat, and when he reached down to pick out one of the bright yellow bars, she glimpsed the tuft of coppery hair in his armpit.



The sight of the gold had not moved her in the least, but his body did. She felt that strange but particular feeling melting her loins, and had to go back to her book in an attempt to alleviate it. This helped not at all. The warm and pleasant sensation grew stronger.



"You have become a shameless and lascivious woman, Verity Courtney she whispered primly, but her smug little smile gave the lie to her self-deprecatory tone.



Mansur and Dorian removed fifteen chests of gold from the bilges of the Arcturus. When they weighed them they found that, as Verity had said, each one contained a lakh of the precious metal.



"My father is a neat, fastidious man," Verity explained. "Originally the gold was delivered to him from the treasuries of Oman and Constantinople in a profusion of coins of various dates and empires and denominations, in bars, beads and coils of wire. My father had it melted down and recast into standard bars of ten pounds weight, with his crest and the assayed purity stamped into each."



"This is a vast fortune," Dorian murmured, as the fifteen chests were lowered into the hold of the Revenge, where they would be under his direct charge. "My brother was a rich man."



"Do not feel sorry on his behalf," Verity said. "He is a rich man still. This is but a small part of his wealth. There is much more than this in the strongroom of the consulate in Bombay. It is zealously guarded by my brother, Christopher, who sets greater store by it even than my father does."



"You have my word on it, Verity, that what we do not use in the struggle to free Muscat from Zayn's baleful thrall will be returned to the treasury in Muscat whence most of it was stolen. It will be used for the benefit of my people."



"I trust your word on that, Uncle, but the truth is that I am sickened by it, for I have been party to its acquisition by a man who prizes it above humanity."



Once the gold was out of her they could warp the Arcturus on to the beach and careen her. Then the work went swiftly, for they had gathered much experience from the repairs they had carried out on the Revenge. This time they were also able to call upon the expertise of Captain Cornish. He cherished his ship like a beautiful mistress, and his advice and assistance were given unstintingly. Dorian came more and more to rely on him, although by rights he was an enemy prisoner-of-war.



In his own bluff, bucolic manner Ruby Cornish was Verity's ardent admirer. He sought the first opportunity to be alone with her. This was while she was sitting on the black sands of the beach, sketching the scene as the workmen swarmed over the careened hull of the Arcturus. The patterns of lines and ropes stretched over the graceful hull reminded her of a spider's web, and the contrast of clean white planed timbers against the jagged black rock intrigued her.



"May I take a few minutes of your time, Mistress Courtney?" Cornish stood before her and doffed his hat, holding it across his chest. Verity looked up from her easel and smiled as she laid aside her pencils.



"Captain Cornish! What a pleasant surprise. I thought you had quite forgotten me."



Cornish turned an impossible shade of scarlet. "I have come to beg a favour of you."



"You have only to ask, Captain, and I will do my best on your behalf."



"Mistress, at the moment I am without employment, as my ship has been seized by Caliph al-Salil, who, I understand, is an Englishman and related to you."



It is all very confusing, I agree, but, yes, al-Salil is my uncle."



He has expressed the intention of sending me back to Bombay or to Muscat. I have lost your father's ship, which was in my charge," Cornish went on doggedly, 'and, begging your pardon, your father is not a man who forgives readily. He will hold me directly responsible."



"Yes, I rather suspect he may do so."



"I would not like to explain the loss of the ship to him."



"That might indeed be prejudicial to your continued good health."



"Mistress Verity, you have known me since you were a young girl. Could you find it in your conscience to recommend me to your uncle, the Caliph, for continued employment as the captain of the Arcturus? I think you know that in the circumstances I will be loyal to my new employer. In addition, it would give me the greatest pleasure to think that our long acquaintance will not end here."



They had, indeed, known each other for several years. Cornish was a fine seaman, and a loyal servant. She also had a special affection for him, in that he had on many occasions proved himself her staunch but discreet ally. Whenever possible he had shielded her from her father's perverted malice.

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