Command a King`s Ship

15. Face to Face

Bolitho levelled his telescope across the hammock nettings and studied the overlapping islets in silence. All morning and into the forenoon watch, while Undine had cruised steadily towards them, he had noted each unusual feature, and had compared his findings with what he already knew. The main channel through the islets opened to the south, and almost in the centre of the approach was one stark hump of rock upon which stood the old stone fortress. Even now, with the nearest spurs of land less than two miles distant, it was impossible to see where the fortress began or the craggy hilltop ended.

'We will alter course again, Mr. Herrick.' He lowered the glass and dabbed his eye with his wrist. 'Steer east nor'-east.'

He saw the men by the larboard twelve-pounders peering through their open ports, the guns already shimmering in the sunlight as if they had just been fired.

Herrick shouted, 'Hands to the braces! Alter course two points to larboard, Mr. Mudge!'

Bolitho sought out the frail figure of Potter amongst the unemployed hands below the forecastle, and when he glanced up beckoned him aft.

He slipped out of his heavy coat and handed it with his hat to Allday, saying as calmly as he could, 'I will go aloft myself.'

Allday said nothing. He knew Bolitho well enough to understand what it was costing him.

Potter hurried on to the quarterdeck and knuckled his forehead.

'Sir?'

'D'you think you could climb to the maintop with me?'

Potter stared at him dully. 'If you says so, sir.' Herrick called, 'East not'-east, sir!'

He looked from Bolitho to the mainyard stretching athwartships and vibrating to the great press of canvas below it.

Bolitho unbuckled his sword and gave it to Allday. 'I may need your eyes today, Potter.'

Feeling every man watching him, he swung out on to the weather shrouds and began to climb, his fingers locking so tightly around each ratline that the pain helped to steady him. Up and up, with his gaze fixed on the futtock shrouds which leaned out and around the sturdy maintop where two marines were studying his progress with unblinking curiosity.

Bolitho gritted his teeth and fought the urge to look down. It was infuriating. Unfair. He had first gone to sea at the age of twelve. Year by year he had studied and matured, had replaced his child's infatuation for the Navy with a genuine understanding which had amounted almost to love. He had overcome seasickness, and had learned to hide his loneliness and grief from his companions when his mother had died while he had been at sea. So, too, his father was buried while Bolitho had been fighting Frenchman and American in and around the Caribbean. He had watched men suffer horribly in battle, and his body bore enough scars to show the narrow margin between his own survival and death. Why then, should he be cursed with this hatred of heights?

He felt his shoes scrabbling on the ratlines as he hauled himself out and around the futtock shrouds, his body hanging in space and supported only by fingers and toes.

A marine said admiringly, 'By God, sir, that was a fair climb!'

Bolitho arrived beside him, his chest heaving painfully. He watched the marine to see if he was disguising his sarcasm, but saw it was the same sharpshooter who had discovered the anchored schooner just two days back.

He nodded and allowed himself a glance at the ship far below.

Foreshortened bodies moved about the quarterdeck, and when he looked forward he saw the leadsman in the chains, the blur of his arm as he hurled the heavy weight deftly beyond the bows.

He relaxed, and waited for Potter to scramble up beside him.

For a moment longer he toyed with the idea of forcing himself up the next length of quivering shrouds to the maintopsail yard, but rejected it. Apart from proving something to himself, or showing his capability to those who might be watching from below, it would serve for little. Potter was exhausted by the climb, and if Herrick needed him urgently on deck he would look even more foolish if he fell headlong from his perch.

He unslung the telescope from his shoulder and trained it on the channel between the islets. In the time it had taken him to climb from the deck and regain his wind Undine had cruised over a cable, and it was possible to see the next overlapping islet behind the central hill with its forbidding fortress and steep, sunbaked cliff.

Potter said, 'I never bin to the east'rd side, sir. There's a good channel there, too, I'm told.' He shuddered. 'They used to bury the corpses in the sandbars at low water. What there was left of 'em.'

Bolitho stiffened and momentarily forgot the deck far beneath him. He saw the blacker silhouette of a ship's masts and yards almost hidden around the curve of the inner channel. A frigate.

Potter saw his interest and added dolefully, 'Best place to anchor, sir. The battery on the fortress can protect two channels at once, an' any craft wot chooses to lay there.'

Something pale flapped and broadened against the furthest islet. A small boat hoisting its sail.

Bolitho glanced quickly at the foretopmast where Herrick had run up a big white flag. One way or another they would soon know.

There was a hollow boom, and after what seemed like an age, a tall waterspout shot skywards about a cable off the larboard beam. He trained the glass quickly towards the fortress, but the smoke had already fanned away so it was impossible to gauge the angle of the shot.

He shifted the glass again and saw the boat moving more quickly around a litter of broken rocks, the sail braced back like the fin of a great shark.

He let out a long breath as he saw a white flag flapping from her masthead. His request to parley was accepted. The single shot from the battery was a warning.

Bolitho slung the telescope across his shoulder. 'You stay here, Potter. Keep an eye on everything, and try to remember any item which might be of use. It could well save lives one day.' He nodded casually to the two-marine marksmen. 'I hope you'll not be needed.' He slung a leg over the low barricade and tried not to lower his eyes. 'Argus intends us to do all the sweating!'

The men grinned and nudged each other, as if he had just given them access to some priceless and vital information.

Bolitho swallowed hard and began to make the journey to the deck. When he reached the point where he could see the nettings on the opposite side again he allowed himself to look at the group which awaited him by the bulwark. Herrick was smiling, although whether from relief or amusement it was hard to tell. Bolitho jumped down to the deck and glanced ruefully at his fresh shirt. It was dripping with sweat, and bore a black streak of tar across one shoulder.

He said, 'Never mind. The coat will hide that.' In a brisker tone he added, 'A boat is coming out, Mr. Herrick. Heave-to, if you please, and prepare to anchor.'

He glanced up at the great yards again. It had not been quite so bad as he had imagined that time. Then he thought of the ideal conditions as compared with a screaming gale, or making the same climb in pitch darkness, and changed his mind.

Bolitho allowed Herrick to shout his orders before asking Mudge, 'What did you make of that shot?'

The master regarded him dubiously. 'Old gun, I'd say, sir. From where I was standin' it sounded like a bronze piece.'

Bolitho nodded. 'As I thought, too. It would be likely that they'd still have the original cannon.' He rubbed his chin, thinking aloud. 'So they'd be loath to use heated shot for fear of splitting them.' He grinned at Mudge's mournful expression. 'Not that it matters much, I daresay. If they fired solid rock, they could scarcely fail to hit a ship trying to force the channel!'

Fowlar shouted, 'The boat has an officer aboard, sir.' He grinned. 'Most o' the hands are the colour of coffee, but he's a Frog if ever I saw one.'

Bolitho took a glass and watched the oncoming boat. Locally built, with the familiar high prow and lateen sail, it was moving fast and well on a converging tack. He saw the officer in question, standing easily below the mast, his cocked hat pulled down over his forehead to shade his eyes from the fierce glare. Fowlar was right. There was no mistaking this one.

He made himself walk a few paces away from the side, as with her courses brailed up and her topsails in booming confusion Undine turned noisily into the wind to await her visitors.

Bolitho gripped the rail and watched in silence as the boat surged round and under the main chains, where some of Undine's seamen and Mr. Shellabeer waited to secure her lines and, if necessary, fend off any risk of collision.

He said, 'And now, Mr. Herrick, we shall see.'

He walked along the swaying gangway to the entry port and waited for the officer to scramble aboard. He stood quite alone framed against the cruising ranks of small whitecaps, his eyes exploring Undine's gun deck, the watching seamen and marines above and below him. Seeing Bolitho, he removed his hat with a flourish and gave a small bow.

'Lieutenant Maurin, m'sieu. At your service.'

He bore no marks of rank, and his blue coat showed plenty of evidence of patching and repairs. He was tanned to the shade of old leather, and his eyes were those of a man who had been at sea for most of his life. Tough, self-assured, competent, it was all there on his face, Bolitho decided.

Bolitho nodded. 'And I am Captain Bolitho, of His Majesty's ship Undine.'

The lieutenant gave a wry smile. 'My capitaine 'as been expecting you.'

Bolitho glanced briefly at the cockade on Maurin's hat. It bore the small red beast instead of a French insignia.

He asked, 'And what is your nationality, Lieutenant?'

The man shrugged. 'I am employed in the service of Prince Muljadi.' He shrugged again. 'Naturally.'

Bolitho gave a wry smile. 'Naturally.'

He added sharply, 'I wish to meet your captain, and without delay. I have certain matters to discuss.'

'But of course, m'sieu.' The lieutenant was looking at the men on deck. His eyes were always moving. Calculating. He continued, 'Capitaine Le Chaumareys is prepared for-me to remain aboard as 'ostage to ensure your, er, good 'ealth!'

Bolitho hid his relief. Had Le Chaumareys been killed or replaced he might have had to alter his tactics.

He said calmly, 'It will not be necessary. I have every faith in your captain's honour.'

Herrick exclaimed, 'But, sir, you cannot mean it! Keep him, I say! Your life is too valuable to risk on a Frenchman's word!'

Bolitho looked at him and smiled. 'If Le Chaumareys is the callous brute you describe, do you imagine he would care about losing a lieutenant if it were to gain him a better bargaining point?' He touched his arm. 'I have made some notes in my cabin. They may help you to pass the time in my absence.' He touched his hat to the quarterdeck and said to Maurin, 'I am ready.'

For a moment longer he stood in the port, looking down into the boat alongside. There were about a dozen men aboard, naked but for a few scraps of rags, but armed to the teeth, and with the looks of men prepared to kill without question.

Maurin said quietly, 'You will be safe with me, m'sieu.' He lowered himself swiftly on to the boat's gunwale, adding, 'For the moment.'

Bolitho jumped the last few feet and steadied himself against a crude backstay, very conscious of the acrid stench of sweat and filth which floated unheeded in the bilges.

'You choose strange allies, Lieutenant.'

Maurin signalled for the boat to be cast off, one hand resting casually on his pistol.

'Lie with a dog and you arise with fleas, m'sieu. It is quite common.'

Bolitho glanced at his profile. Another Herrick perhaps?

Then as the sail billowed and cracked to the wind, and the slim hull began to gather way, he forgot Maurin, even the anxious faces on Undine's quarterdeck, as he considered what he was about to do.

Bolitho clung to the backstay as the boat scudded dangerously close to a line of black-toothed rocks and then went about to enter the main channel. He noticed that the current was strong and at odds with the incoming sea, and felt the hull leap and stagger as it straightened up for the final leg of the ourney. When he looked astern he could see nothing of his own ship. She was already hidden by a wedge of land, the side of which lay, deep in shadow.

Maurin asked suddenly, 'Why d'you take such risks, m'sieu?'

Bolitho looked at him impassively. 'Why do you?'

Maurin shrugged. 'I obey orders. But soon I will be going 'ome again. To Toulon. I 'ave not seen my family for…' He smiled sadly. 'Too long.'

Bolitho glanced across the lieutenant's shoulder and studied the grim fortress which was slipping past the port beam. It was still difficult to see the extent of its buildings. A high wall, undulating with the edge of the clifftop. The spaced windows were little more than black slits, like mournful eyes, while above, on the weatherworn battlements, he could see the muzzles of several large guns, just visible through their individual embrasures.

Maurin said, 'A foul place, is it not? But they are not like us. They live like crabs in the rocks.' He sounded contemptuous.

Bolitho saw several small boats bobbing at anchor, and a schooner similar to the one they had captured moored to a stone pier.

Maurin did not try to stop him looking at everything, to prevent his interest in the many figures which moved about the pier and up the sloping track to the fortress gates. Bolitho decided he was being brought by the main channel by careful design. So that he should see the growing strength of Muljadi's private army. And it was impressive. To think that a pirate, an alien to the Indies, could muster this force, and instil such discipline, was enough to impress anyone. Even a pompous fool like Major Jardine.

He turned as the boat's crew began to shorten sail, and saw the anchored frigate lying directly across the bows. Close to in a confined space she seemed even larger. Far bigger than Undine. Even his last command would have been reckless to match her deadly broadside of eighteen-pounders.

He remarked, 'A fine ship.'

Maurin nodded. 'The best. We 'ave been together for so long, we even think alike!',

Bolitho saw the activity around the entry port, the gleam of sunlight on fixed bayonets where a guard awaited his arrival.

A very carefully staged performance, he thought. He noticed that boarding nets were furled along the gangways where they could be spread without delay. Fear of a cutting-out attack? More likely he was taking no chances with his new 'ally'. It was the only promising thing Bolitho had seen so far.

A small fishing dory drifted abeam, and he saw some natives standing in it shaking their fists at him and baring their teeth like wild beasts.

Maurin said simply, 'They probably think you are a prisoner, eh?' It seemed to depress him.

Bolitho pushed him from his thoughts as the boat swung heavily towards the frigate's main chains. Capitaine Paul Le Chaumareys, a man about whom many tales had been told. Battles won, convoys harried and settlements destroyed. His record in the war had been formidable, just as Conway had described. But as an individual he was a mystery, mostly because he had spent much of his service far away from his own beloved France.

He ran his eyes the full length of the ship's side. Argus, the hundred-eyed messenger of Hera. Very appropriate for a man as elusive as Le Chaumareys, he thought. Sturdily built, and showing the scars and blemishes of hard service, she was a ship he would have been proud to command. She lacked Undine's grace, but had a heavier toughness which could not be ignored.

The boat had made fast to the chains, and the crew stood grouped by the mast as Bolitho climbed up to the gunwale. Nobody attempted to assist him. Then, a young seaman jumped down from the chains and held out his hand.

'M'sieu!' He grinned broadly. 'A votre service!'

Bolitho seized his wrist and levered himself towards the entry port. The French seaman could have been one of his own.

He removed his hat to the broad quarterdeck, and waited while the calls shrilled a salute and a guard presented muskets. Not crisply like Bellairs' marines would have done, but with a familiar jauntiness. Of long practice. Like the upper deck itself, he thought. Not dirty, but not gleaming and in perfect order either. Well used. Ready for anything.

'Ah, Capitaine!' Le Chaumareys stepped forward to greet him, his eyes fixed on Bolitho's face.

He was quite unlike anyone he had expected. Older. A good deal so. Perhaps in his middle forties. And one of the largest men he had ever met. Taller than six feet, with shoulders so broad that his bared head seemed tiny by comparison, especially as he wore his hair very short, like a convict.

'I welcome you to my ship.' He waved his hand around the deck. 'To my world, as it has been for so long.' He smiled, the effect lighting up his face in an instant. 'So come below to the cabin.'He nodded to Maurin. 'I will call for you when it is time.'

Bolitho followed him to the cabin hatch, seeing the eyes watching from both deck and gangways, the way they studied his every move, as if to discover something.

Le Chaumareys said casually, 'I hope Maurin took good care of you?'

'Very, thank you. His English is excellent.'

'Yes. One of the reasons I chose him for my ship. He is married to an Englishwoman.' He chuckled. 'You, of course, are not married. So why not a French bride for you, eh?'

He threw open the door and watched Bolitho's reactions. The cabin was large and well furnished, and like the rest of the ship, vaguely untidy. Lived in.

But Bolitho's attention was immediately drawn to a table which was laden with food.

Le Chaumareys remarked, 'Much of it is locally obtained.' He jabbed a large joint with his finger. 'Like this. It is very much the same as smoked ham. You must eat your fill, while you can, eh?' He chuckled, the sound rising from what Bolitho now saw to be a large belly.

He replied, 'I am here to present

The other captain wagged a finger. 'You are aboard a French ship, m'sieu. First we drink.'

He shouted a brief command and a servant hurried from the adjoining cabin with a tall crystal jug of wine. It was extremely good, as cool as spring water. Bolitho glanced from the jug to the table. Genuine? Or was it one more trick to show they were superior, even in their supplies and comforts?

A chair was brought for him, and when he was seated Le Chaumareys seemed to relax.

He said, 'I have heard of you, Bolitho. You had a fine record in the war for one so junior.' His eyes did not flicker as he added, 'It was difficult for you. The unfortunate affair of your brother.'

Bolitho watched him calmly. Le Chaumareys was a man he could understand. Like a duellist. Relaxed one moment, making a thrust the next.

He said, 'Thank you for your concern.'

The small head bobbed back and forth. 'You should have been in these waters during the war. Independence, an ability to work beyond the reach of some admiral, eh? I think it would have fitted you well.'

Bolitho felt the servant refilling his glass. 'I have come to speak with Muljadi.'

He tightened his grip on the glass. It had come out just like that, as if the words had been lying in his mind for months instead of seconds.

Le Chaumareys stared at him with amazement. 'Are you insane? He would have you screaming for death in a moment, and I could not help you. No, m'sieu, it would be a lunatic thing even to think of.'

Bolitho said, 'Then I will return to my ship.'

'But what of your Admiral Conway? His despatches? Is there nothing from him for me?'

'It would be pointless now.' Bolitho watched him warily. 'Besides which, you are not here as a French captain, but as a subordinate to Muljadi's authority.'

Le Chaumareys took a deep swallow from his glass, his eyes slitted against the reflected sunlight from the windows.

He said abruptly, 'Listen to me. Curb your impatience. As I have had to do, when I was your age, eh?' He looked around the cabin. 'I have my instructions. I obey them, as you must yours. But I have served France well, and I am near finished in the Indies. Perhaps I made my services too valuable to be allowed home earlier, but that is as may be. I know these seas like my own face. During the war I had to live off the islands for food and shelter, for repairs, and to glean intelligence about your patrols and convoys. When I was told to continue in these same waters I resented it, but I suppose I was flattered also. I am still needed, eh? Not like many who fought so bravely and are now without bread.' He looked at Bolitho sharply and added, 'As in your country, too, no doubt?'

Bolitho replied, 'Yes. It is much the same.'

Le Chaumareys smiled. 'Well then, my impetuous friend, we must not fight again! We are too much the same. Needed one minute, expendable the next!'

Bolitho said coldly, 'Many have died because of your actions. But for our arrival at Pendang Bay all the garrison would have

I been killed, and you must know it. A Spanish frigate was des= troyed to delay our arrival, to allow this Prince Muljadi to give his piracy some sort of repute, to make him an ally of France, and a constant threat to peace.'

Le Chaumareys' eyes widened. 'Well said. But I had no part in Nervion's destruction.' He held up one large fist. 'Of course, I heard about it. I hear many things I do not like. That is why I brought the Spanish commandant here to parley for his garrison's safety. He was still the representative of his own King. He could agree to terms which but for your intervention would have given Muljadi certain rights in Pendang Bay.' He became very grave. 'I did not know an attack would be launched the very moment I had left the bay! You have my word, as a French officer!'

'And I accept it.'

Bolitho tried to remain calm, but could feel the blood tingling in his veins like ice water. It was exactly as he had imagined. A set, calculated plan which had begun perhaps in Europe, in Paris and London, even Madrid, and which had almost worked. But for his decision to take Undine and the Nervion's few survivors to their destination, and Puigserver's arrival in Pendang Bay, the matter would be settled, and Le Chaumareys probably on his way home at last, his work done, and done well.

He heard himself say, 'I have come to take the commandant back to his own kind. Don Luis Puigserver, the King of Spain's representative, will be expecting his return.' He hardened his tone. 'Is Colonel Pastor still alive? Or is his death another thing you know of but did not approve?'

Le Chaumareys stood up and moved heavily to the quarter window.

'He is here. A prisoner of Muljadi's. In that ruin on the hill. He will never allow you to take him, dead or alive. His presence can still give legality to his demands. Can show that

England is unable to honour her word and protect the rights and citizens of Spain. A hard story to believe? But time and distance can make truth a mockery.'

'Then why would Muljadi fear to see me?' Bolitho watched him as he moved away from the window, his face lined and grim. 'I'd have thought he would have been eager to throw his power in my face.'

Le Chaumareys walked across the cabin, the deck creaking under his corpulent frame. He halted by Bolitho's chair and looked directly into his eyes.

'It is I who fear foryou, Bolitho. Out here, in my Argus, I am Muljadi's arm, his reach. To him I am not merely a sea captain, but a symbol, a man who can spring his plans into reality. But beyond these timbers I cannot answer for your security, and that is the truth.' He hesitated, his eyes still on Bolitho's face. 'But I see I am wasting time. You are determined, no?'

Bolitho smiled gravely. 'Yes.'

Le Chaumareys added, 'I have met many Englishmen in war and peace. Some I liked, many I hated. Few did I respect.' He held out his hand. 'You I admire.' He smiled sadly. 'A fool, but a brave one. That I can admire.'

He rang a bell and then gestured to the table. 'And you eat nothing.'

Bolitho reached for his hat. 'If what you say is true, then it would be wasted, eh?' He smiled, despite his tumbling thoughts. 'And if not, I will have to content myself with salt pork in the future.'

A tall, lank-haired officer entered the cabin, and Le Chaumareys spoke to him swiftly in French. Then he picked up his own hat and said, 'My senior lieutenant, Bolitho. I have changed my mind. I am coming with you.' He shrugged. 'Curiosity, or to prove my original beliefs, I know not which. But without me you are a dead man.'

When they reached the quarterdeck Bolitho saw there was a boat already alongside, and that the gangways were filled with silent spectators. Having a good look, he thought grimly. A one-way journey, if he had miscalculated.

Le Chaumareys held his arm. 'Listen to me. I am older, and, I expect, wiser than you. I can have you taken back to your ship. You will suffer no disgrace. In a year all this will be forgotten. Leave politics to those who daily dirty their hands without remorse.'

Bolitho shook his head. 'In my position, would you?' He forced a smile. 'Your face tells me what I need to know.'

Le Chaumareys nodded to his watching officers and then led the way to the entry port.

Bolitho glanced quickly along the gun deck, noting the fresh repairs to timbers and cordage. Where Undine had made her own challenge, and when he had felt the battle was nearly lost. It was an uncanny feeling to be walking with Argus's captain. More like compatriots than men who had so recently tried to destroy each other. If they met again after this, there could be no more truces.

The boat pulled steadily across swirling water towards the pier below the fortress, the French seamen watching Bolitho the whole time. Curious? Or merely seeing the face of an enemy?

Le Chaumareys spoke only once on the short crossing.

'Do not lose your temper with Muljadi. One sign and he will have you seized. He is without pity.'

'And what about your position here?'

The Frenchman gave a bitter smile. 'He needs me, m'sieu.'

Once alongside the pier Bolitho gained a new understanding of the hatred he had seen earlier. With the French seamen surrounding him as an escort he was made to hurry up the steep slope towards the fortress, while on all sides voices rose in shouts and curses, and it was obvious that without Le Chaumareys' massive presence even the sailors would have been set upon.

The lower part of the fortress was little more than an empty shell, its courtyard littered with rushes and rags which the defenders and Muljadi's growing army of followers used for bedding. He looked up at the blue sky above the ramparts and saw the guns. Old but powerful, each with balls nearby, and long ropes which trailed carelessly to the courtyard, and some crude baskets which presumably were used to haul fresh powder and shot when required.

More rough steps, the sun probing across his shoulders, then sudden shadows making his body feel chilled and damp.

Le Chaumareys grunted, 'You will wait here.'

He led Bolitho into a roughly hewn room no bigger than a cable tier and strode towards an iron-studded door at one end. It was guarded by some heavily armed natives, who faced the French seamen as if hoping for a fight.

Le Chaumareys seemed to sail_ right through them, like a three-decker breaking the line of battle. Supreme confidence, or a well-practised bluff. Bolitho did not know.

He did not have to wait long. The door was dragged open and he saw a large room, a chamber, which seemed to span the whole breadth of the upper fortress. Against the dull stone and smoky walls the dais at the far end made a fine splash of colour.

Muijadi was arranged on a pile of silk cushions, eyes fixed on the door, his body completely at ease.

He was naked to the waist, and wore only white baggy trousers and red leather boots underneath. He had no hair, so that in the sunlight from the slitted windows his head seemed pointed, and his single ear very prominent and grotesque.

Le Chaumareys was standing to one side of the dais, his face stern and alert. Around the walls were some of the dirtiest and cruellest-looking men Bolitho had ever seen in his life, although the quality of their weapons marked them as leaders or lieutenants in Muljadi's command.

He walked towards the dais, half expecting one of the onlookers to rush forward and cut him down, but nobody moved or spoke.

When he was within a few feet of the cushions Muijadi said flatly, 'That is close enough!'

He spoke good English, but with a strong accent which was probably Spanish.

He continued, 'Before I have you killed, Captain, is there anything you wish to say?'

Bolitho wanted to lick his parched lips. He heard the rustle of expectancy behind him, saw Le Chaumareys watching him with despair on his tanned face.

Bolitho said, 'On behalf of His Britannic Majesty, King George, I have come to demand the release of Colonel Don Jose Pastor, subject of Spain, and under my country's protection.'

Muijadi sat bolt upright, the stump of his severed wrist pointing like a gun.

'Demand? You insolent dog!'

Le Chaumareys stepped forward hastily. 'Let me explain, m'sieu.'

Muljadi screamed, 'You will address me Highness!' To Bolitho he added savagely, 'Call on your God for help! I will make you plead for death!'

Bolitho could feel his heart pumping against his ribs, the sweat pouring down his spine and gathering around his waist like ice-rime. Deliberately he reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. As he flicked open the guard he heard Muljadi leap to his feet, the gasp of disbelief as he threw himself from the dais to seize Bolitho's wrist in a grip like a manacle.

He screamed into Bolitho's face, 'Where did you get that?'

He jerked up his wrist and the watch, upon which the prancing gold beast dangled like a fob.

Bolitho forced himself to keep his voice level. To stop his gaze from falling on the similar pendant which hung on Muljadi's chest.

'From a prisoner.' He added sharply, 'A pirate!'

Muljadi twisted his wrist slowly, his eyes like fires as he snarled, 'You lie! And you will suffer for it now!!'

Le Chaumareys called, 'In God's name, do not make him kill you!'

Bolitho kept his eyes on Muljadi's, feeling his power, his hatred, but something more. Anxiety?

He said, 'If you take a telescope, you will be able to see my ship. You will also see there is a halter at the mainyard. If I do not return before dusk, your son will hang there, you have my word on it! I took this from his neck when I captured him and his schooner some forty miles to the south'rd of where we are standing.'

Muljadi's eyes seemed to be bulging right out of his head.

'You lie!'

Bolitho eased his wrist from Muljadi's grasp. The fingers had left marks like rope burns.

He said quietly, 'I will exchange him for your prisoner.' He looked at-Le Chaumareys' astonished face. 'The capitaine can arrange it, I am certain.'

Muijadi ran to a window and snatched a telescope from one of his men.

Over his shoulder he said hoarsely, 'You will stay as a hostage!'

Bolitho replied, 'No hostages. A fair bargain. You have my word, as a King's officer.'

Muljadi threw the telescope to the ground, shattering the lens in all directions. His chest was heaving violently; and his shaven head was glittering with tiny jewels of sweat.

'King's officer? Do you think I care for you?' He spat on the stones by Bolitho's shoes. 'You will suffer, that I promise you!'

Le Chaumareys called, 'Let it be done!' He hesitated. 'Highness!'

But Muljadi was almost beside himself. Like a madman. He suddenly grasped Bolitho's arm and propelled him to the opposite end of the chamber and thrust him against the window.

'Look down there, Captain!' He was spitting out each word like a pistol ball. 'I will give you your colonel, but it is too late to save you now!'

Bolitho stared down at the glittering water which snaked around and amongst the next cluster of islets. Anchored in a bend of the channel, her decks alive with hurrying figures, was a frigate.

He felt Muljadi's hatred turning to aa wild jubilation as he shouted, 'Mine! All mine! Well, my King's officer, are you still so confident?'

Le Chaumareys said harshly, 'Why did you have to do Muljadi whirled round on him, his eyes wild. 'Do you think I have to be told what to do? That I am a child? I have waited long enough. The waiting is over now.'

A door grated open and Bolitho saw the Spanish command ant, supported on either side by an armed pirate, his eyes blinking in the light as if he was almost blind.

Bolitho strode past Muljadi and his men. 'I have come to take you home, Senor.' He saw the filth on his torn clothing, the shackle marks on his thin wrists. 'It was a brave thing you did.'

The old man peered blearily at him, his beard quivering as he said jerkily, 'I do not understand?'

Le Chaumareys said, 'Come. Now.' Under his breath he added, 'Or I will not answer for your safety!'

It was like a dream. Down the sloping track to the pier and into the boat, and for most of the way pursued by Muljadi's voice, which had lapsed into another language, although the threat was no less evident.

Bolitho said coldly, 'The frigate. She was English.'

Le Chaumareys nodded wearily. 'Yes. Damaged in battle in '82, she was beached near here and her company removed by another vessel. We have been working on her for two years almost. Putting her to rights. I was ordered to hand her to Muljadi ready for use, before I am allowed to return home.'

Bolitho did not look at him. He was supporting the Spanish commandant against his knees, feeling his sobs and his misery.

'Then I hope you are proud of your work, m'sieu. And what it may mean when Muljadi puts her to work.'

The French frigate's yards loomed above the boat, and Bolitho followed the other captain up to the entry port.

Le Chaumareys said abruptly, 'Maurin will attend to the transfer.'

He looked searchingly at Bolitho for several seconds.

'You are still young. One day you might have understood. Now that is past.' He thrust out his hand. 'When we meet again, as I fear we must, it will be for the last time.'

He turned on his heel and strode to the cabin hatch.

Bolitho pulled out his watch and examined the gold pendant. If he had been mistaken, or Potter had given him wrong information… He stopped his train of thought there and then. It did not bear even conjecture.

Then he thought of the captured frigate. But for Muljadi's flare of anger he would never have known of it. The knowledge was little help, but it was better than nothing, he decided.

Maurin said cheerfully, 'I will take a boat away to your ship, m'sieu. They will be surprised to learn of your safety, as I am.'

Bolitho smiled. 'I was well protected, thank you.' He glanced at the cabin hatch, but was uncertain what he meant.