The Only Victor

5. "Must They Die For Nothing?"

"IF YOU WOULD care to follow me, Sir Richard?" The young army captain stared at Bolitho as he strode up the sloping beach, as if he had just dropped from the moon.

Bolitho paused and glanced at the closely anchored vessels in the bay Between them and the land every sort of boat was pulling back and forth, some disgorging redcoated soldiers into the shallows to wade ashore, others making heavy weather of it. They seemed loaded down with weapons and stores so that one or two looked in some danger of capsizing.

Bolitho saw Miranda's longboat threading her way back to the schooner to await his next instructions. Tyacke would be only too glad to be out of this place, he thought.

If it was hot aboard ship it was doubly so ashore. The heat seemed to rise from the ground like a separate force, so that within minutes Bolitho's clothing was clinging to him. For the army's sake he was fully dressed in the frock coat and gold-laced hat he had collected from Themis during their brief pause to inform Warren what was happening, and to pass his orders to the other captains.

He walked behind the young officer, watching for signs of success or delays in the army's progress so far. There were plenty of soldiers in evidence, working to haul powder and shot from the beach while others marched steadfastly in squads and platoons towards the hills. A few glanced at him as they passed, but he meant nothing to them. Some of them were very bronzed, as if they had come from garrisons in the Indies; others looked like raw recruits. Weighed down as they were with packs and weapons, their coats were already darkly patched with sweat.

Allday tilted his hat over his eyes and commented, "Bloody shambles, if you asks me, Sir Richard."

Bolitho heard the far-off bang of light artillery-English or Dutch it was impossible to tell. It seemed impartial and without menace, but the canvas-covered corpses awaiting burial along the rough coastal track told a different story.

The captain paused and pointed at some neat ranks of tents. "My company lines are here, Sir Richard, but the General is not present." When Bolitho said nothing he added, "I am sure he will be back shortly."

Somewhere a man screamed out in agony, and Bolitho guessed there was a field hospital here, too, with the headquarters company. Progress was slow. Otherwise the army surgeons would be beyond that forbidding-looking ridge, he decided.

The captain opened a tent flap and Bolitho ducked to enter. The contrast was unnerving. The ground was covered by rugs and Bolitho imagined the challenge it must have been for the orderlies to find somewhere flat enough to lay them, and pitch this large tent so securely.

A grave-faced colonel, who had been seated in a folding campaign chair, rose to his feet and bowed his head.

"I command the Sixty-First, Sir Richard." He took Bolitho's proffered hand and smiled. "We knew of your presence here, but not amongst us of course! " He looked tired and strained. "There was no time to receive you with due honours."

Bolitho looked up and saw a singed hole in the top of the tent.

The colonel followed his glance. "Last evening, Sir Richard. One of their marksmen got right through our pickets. Hoping for an important victim, no doubt." He nodded to the orderly who had appeared with a tray of glasses. "This may quench your thirst while you are waiting for the General."

"Are the enemy well-prepared?"

"They are, Sir Richard, and they have all the advantages." He frowned and added disdainfully, "But they use methods I find unsoldierly. That marksman, for instance, was not in uniform, but dressed in rags to match his surroundings. He shot two of my men before we ran him to earth. Not the kind of ethics I care for."

Allday remarked, "I think I sees him just now, Sir Richard, hanging from a tree."

The colonel stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.

"What…?"

Bolitho said, "Mr Allday is with me, Colonel."

He watched as Allday took a tall glass of wine from the orderly and winked at him. "Don't you stray too far, matey." In his fist, the glass looked like a thimble.

Bolitho sipped the wine. It, like the General, travelled well.

The colonel walked to a folding table where several maps were laid out.

"The enemy falls back when pressed, Sir Richard-there seems no eagerness to stand and fight. It is a slow business all the same." He shot Bolitho a direct glance. "And if, as you say, we can expect no further support in men and supplies, I fear it will be months rather than weeks before we take Cape Town."

Bolitho heard horses clattering amongst loose stones, the bark of commands and the slap of muskets from the sentries outside the tent. The horses would be glad to be on dry land again, Bolitho thought, even if nobody else was enjoying it.

The General entered and threw his hat and gloves on to a chair. He was a neat man with piercing blue eyes. A no-nonsense soldier who claimed that he asked nothing from his men that he could or would not do himself.

There were instructions; then the General suggested that the others should leave. Allday, with three glasses of wine under his belt, murmured, "I'll be in earshot if you needs me, Sir Richard."

As the flap fell across the entrance the General commented, "Extraordinary fellow."

"He's saved my life a few times, Sir David; my sanity a few times more."

Surprisingly, some of the sternness left the General's sun-reddened face.

"Then I could use a few thousand more like him, I can tell you! " The smile faded just as quickly "The landings went well. Commodore Popham worked miracles, and apart from the inevitable casualties it was very satisfactory He looked at Bolitho severely "And now I am told that I shall receive no reinforcements, that you even intend to strip the squadron of some of the frigates."

Bolitho was reminded vividly of his friend Thomas Herrick. His eyes were that blue. Stubborn, loyal, hurt even. Was Herrick still his friend? Would he never accept his love for Catherine?

He said shortly, "It is not merely my intention, Sir David! " Thinking of Herrick and the gulf which had come between them had put an edge to his voice. "It is the King's own signature on those orders, not mine."

"I wonder who guided his hand for him?"

Bolitho replied quietly, "I did not hear that, Sir David."

The General gave him a wry smile. "Hear what, Sir Richard?"

Like two duellists who had changed their minds, they moved to the maps on the table.

Once, the General looked up and listened as distant gunfire echoed sullenly around the tent. It reminded Bolitho of surf on a reef.

Bolitho laid his own chart on top of the others and said, "You are a soldier, I am not; but I know the importance, the vital necessity of supplies to an army in combat. I believe that the enemy expect to be reinforced. If that happens before you can take Cape Town, Sir David, what chances have you of succeeding?"

The General did not answer for a full minute while he studied Bolitho's chart, and the notes which he had clipped to it.

Then he said heavily, "Very little." Some of his earlier sharpness returned. "But the navy's task is to prevent it! Blockade the port, and fight off any would-be attempt to support the garrison." It sounded like an accusation.

Bolitho stared at the chart, but saw only Warren 's handful of ships. Each captain had his orders now. The three frigates would watch and patrol the Cape and the approaches, while the remaining two schooners maintained contact between them and the commodore. They might be lucky but under cover of darkness it would not, be too difficult for other vessels to slip past them and under the protection of the shore batteries.

And then the choice would remain as before. Attack into the bay and risk the combined fire of the batteries and the carefully moored ships-at best it would end in stalemate. The worst did not bear contemplating. If the army was forced to withdraw in defeat because of lack of supplies and the enemy's continued stubborn resistance, the effect would resound right across Europe. The crushing victory over the Combined Fleet at Trafalgar might even be cancelled out by the inability of the army to occupy Cape Town. France 's unwilling allies would take fresh heart from it, and the morale in England would crumble with equal speed.

Bolitho said, "I suspect that neither of us welcomed this mission, Sir David."

The General turned as the young captain Bolitho had seen before appeared at the entrance. "Yes?"

The captain said, "A message from Major Browning, Sir David. He wishes to re-site his artillery."

"Send word, will you? Do nothing until I reach there. Then tell an orderly to fetch my horse."

He turned and said, "The news you have brought me is no small setback, Sir Richard." He gave him a level stare. "I am relying on you, not because I doubt the ability of my officers and men, but because I have no damned alternative! I know the importance of this campaign-all eyes will be watching it as a foretaste of what lies ahead. For make no mistake, despite all the triumphs at sea, they will be as nought until the English foot-soldier plants his boots on the enemy's own shores."

There were hushed voices outside the tent, the dragging steps of a horse being led reluctantly back to duty.

The General tossed back the glass of brandy someone had brought for him and picked up his hat and gloves. They were probably still warm from his last ride.

He gave a wry smile. "A bit like Nelson yourself, y'know. He used to think he was just as able a brigadier ashore as he was a good sailor afloat! "

Bolitho said coldly, "I do recall that he captured Bastia and Calvi with his sailors, and not the army."

"Touche! " The General led the way from the tent and Bolitho saw more soldiers marching past, their boots churning up clouds of red dust.

The General said, "Look at 'em. Must they die for nothing?"

Bolitho saw Allday hurrying down the beach to signal for the boat. He answered, "If you knew me, Sir David, you would not ask that."

The blue eyes flashed like ice as the General lifted one foot to the stirrup. "It is because I know of you, Sir Richard; and I am not asking. For the first time in my career, I am begging! "

The colonel joined Bolitho near the water's edge, and together they watched the boat pulling strongly around an anchored storeship.

He said, "I have never seen him like that before, Sir Richard."

Allday was pointing to where he wanted the boat to come in, but his mind was still with Bolitho. What he had not heard, he could guess. Whoever knew the rights and wrongs of all this must have realised the hopeless task they had given him.

He heard the colonel snap his boots together as he said, "I hope we shall meet again, Sir Richard."

Bolitho turned and looked up the shelving beach. "Be certain of it, Colonel. In Cape Town or in hell, only greater powers will decide which! "

The boat had almost reached the anchored schooner when Bolitho turned and spoke to Allday again.

"You remember Achates, Allday?"

The big coxswain grimaced and touched his chest. "Not likely to forget that little lot, Sir Richard! " He tried to grin, to shrug it off. "But that were four years past."

Bolitho touched his arm. "I did not mean to bring it back, old friend, but I had an idea concerning it. There was a time when I thought we had lost 'Old Katie' just as surely as Hyperion."

Allday stared at his grave features, his spine suddenly like ice despite the strong sunlight. "A fireship, d'you mean, sir?" He spoke almost in a croak, then glanced at the stroke oarsman to make certain he was not listening as he threw himself back on his loom.

Bolitho seemed to be thinking aloud. "It might prove useless. I realise what I am asking others to do." He stared abeam as a fish leapt from the water. "But set against the cost in lives and ships…"

Allday twisted round and looked at the boat's coxswain. But the man's eyes were fixed on the final approach, his knuckles whitening on the tiller bar. It was unlikely that Miranda would carry a flagofficer again. He would be fully aware of the consequences if he ruined it.

Not one of them in the boat would realise what agony Bolitho was going through, nor understand if they did.

Bolitho said, "I recall what Mr Simcox said about the wind. Little use to us maybe, but it might entice the enemy to cut and run for it."

He turned as the schooner's masts swept above them. "They will have to be volunteers."

Allday bit his lip. These were not Bolitho's men, but strangers. They had not followed his flag when they had broken the enemy's line with all hell coming adrift around them. He could remember that other time at San Felipe as clearly as yesterday Achates at her moorings, and then suddenly the approaching ship bursting into flames, bearing down on them while they stared with horror at the inferno. There was only one thing worse than being snared by a fireship, Allday thought grimly, and that was being the crew of one. Volunteers? They were as likely as a virgin on Portsmouth Hard.

Bolitho reached up for the side as the boat lurched against the hull and the seamen tossed their oars, like white bones in the sunshine.

He looked down at Allday's troubled face and said calmly, "It is not a question of choice this time. For there is none." Then he was up and over the bulwark. Allday followed and saw him already talking with Tyacke, who mercifully had his terrible scars turned away.

After what he had suffered, it was unlikely that Tyacke would offer much support.

Commodore Arthur Warren watched with open astonishment, while Bolitho tossed his crumpled shirt to Ozzard before slipping into a clean one. The little servant was fussing round him and almost got knocked over as Bolitho hurried between the table and the stern windows of Themis's great cabin.

Before Themis began to swing again to her cable, Bolitho had seen the busy activity aboard the nearest transport. The captured slaver was hidden on her seaward side, and he wondered how long it would take to complete the arrangements he had ordered.

Bolitho had never understood his own instincts; how he could sense that time was in short supply. He felt it now, and it was vital that Warren knew what was happening.

He said, "You'll have the schooner Dove to repeat your signals to the offshore patrol." In his mind he could see the thirty-six-gun frigate Searcher tacking back and forth somewhere beyond the horizon, Warren 's first line of defence should an enemy approach from the west. The second schooner was retained to keep the same contact with the main squadron at Saldanha Bay It was up to each captain, from the senior, Varian, to the lieutenants who commanded the schooners, to use their own initiative if the wind changed against them, or they sighted any vessel which was obviously hostile. In his written orders Bolitho had stressed his requirements precisely and finally. There would be no heroics, no ship-to-ship actions without informing the commodore.

The anchorage looked strangely deserted and even more vulnerable, and he wondered if Warren were regretting the removal of his aftermost cannon to replace them with useless "quakers." It was too late for regrets now.

Warren said, "I don't like it, Sir Richard. If you fall in this venture, or are taken prisoner, how will I explain?"

Bolitho looked at him impassively. Is that all it means? Perhaps Varian was right after all.

He answered, "I have left some letters." He saw Jenour turn from an open port. "But have no fear." He failed to conceal his bitterness. "There are some who would not grieve too much! "

Allday entered through a screen door and handed Bolitho his old sword. He ran his eyes critically over Bolitho's appearance and nodded.

Bolitho smiled. "Satisfied?"

"Aye. But it don't signify that I've changed my mind! "

Allday too had changed into his fine blue jacket and nankeen breeches. He glanced at Bolitho's other sword on the rack and remarked to Ozzard, "Take good care o' that, matey." He patted the little man's bony shoulder. "Like the last time, remember?"

Bolitho walked to the table again and stared at the chart.

Captain Poland 's Truculent should be on her station to the west of Table Bay ready to rendezvous with Miranda and her dangerous consort. Varian's Zest, the most powerful of the frigates, would be standing to the south-west. If the attack was successful, it would be Varian's task to chase and take any vessels which tried to put to sea to escape the fireship.

Whether the enemy recognised the Albacora or not made little difference to the attack. Only to those who remained with the fireship until the last moment would it be important.

The marine sentry called from the door, "Surgeon, sir! "

The man who entered was a thin, unsmiling individual whose skin was as pale as Warren 's.

He said abruptly, "I am sorry to intrude, sir but Miranda's midshipman wishes to return to his ship immediately."

Warren frowned, irritated by the interruption. "Well, that is for you to say, surely. I am too busy for-"

Bolitho asked, "Is he recovered enough?"

Confused by the presence of the admiral dressed as he was now in his proper uniform, instead of the casual open shirt, the surgeon stammered, "It was a severe wound, sir, but he is young and very determined." His mouth closed in a thin line, as if he had just decided not to say what he had been about to add. It was not his affair.

"Then he can come over to Miranda with us. See to it, Stephen." Bolitho saw the undisguised relief on the flag lieutenant's features and added, "Did you think I would leave you yet again?" He tried to smile. "If Allday is my right arm, you surely must be my left! "

He thought of Jenour's face when he boarded the flagship only hours ago. A courier brigantine had paused at the anchorage and had sent over a despatch bag without even stopping long enough to anchor. She had been so fast that it was little wonder Miranda had not seen any sign of her.

Jenour had dropped his voice as they had walked aft to the cabin. "Inside your official envelope there is… a letter… for you, Sir Richard."

Bolitho had turned on him. "Tell me, Stephen-I beg of you! "

Warren had been coming towards them, dragging his feet, trying to control his painful breathing, and Jenour had answered quickly, "It is from your lady, Sir Richard." He had recognised Bolitho's remaining uncertainty and clarified, "From Falmouth."

"Thank God." At long last. The first letter. He had half expected it might be from Belinda. With distance to give her confidence she might have been demanding more money, or suggesting another reconciliation for the sake of appearances.

The letter was in his pocket now. Somehow, even in Miranda's crowded world, he would find a private place where he could read it, feel her presence, hear her voice. When this was over he would write to her again, tell her all the longings he had built up since their wretched parting.

He looked towards the glittering water beyond the stern windows. If I should fall… Then there would be the other letter which was locked in his strongbox.

Bolitho raised his arm to allow Allday to clip the old family sword to his belt. So many times; and too many had seemed like the last.

Bolitho left the cabin and paused where Ozzard was waiting with his hat. "When we are finished with this matter we shall return to Falmouth." He saw the anxiety in Ozzard's eyes and added gently, "You are better off here." He looked across his rounded shoulders. "Commodore Warren will see that you are taken care of."

He hurried to the entry port and glanced at the silent figures who had paused in their work to watch him leave. How different from England, he thought. These men were probably glad to see him go, as if by remaining their own lives would be more at risk.

The sun was dipping very slowly, like a gigantic red ball which quivered above its own reflection and made the horizon glisten like a heated wire.

Commodore Warren doffed his hat and the calls trilled, while the flagship's reduced section of Royal Marines slapped their muskets in salute.

Then he lowered himself to the longboat and got a brief glimpse of the midshipman, who was sitting crammed beside Jenour and Allday.

"Good day-Mr Segrave, is it not?" The youth stammered something, but at that moment the boat was cast off and with oars pulling and backing, steered away from the side.

Jenour peered astern, glad he was not remaining in Themis with Yovell and Ozzard. He touched the lanyard on his fine sword and lifted his chin as if in defiance.

Allday was watching the fiery sunset. It had taken on a new meaning, a threatening aspect, with Death the winner one way or the other.

To break the silence Bolitho asked, "What else do you have in your important-looking bag, Stephen?"

Jenour tore his mind from the letter he was writing in his mind to his parents in Southampton.

"For Miranda, Sir Richard." He could guess what Bolitho was thinking and recalled the letter he had given to him. Bolitho had taken it as if it were life itself. It should have surprised him that his admiral could be two such different men: the one who inspired and commanded, and the other who needed that lady's love so much, but could not hide it as he did his other fears and hopes.

Lieutenant Tyacke waited by the ladder and touched his hat as Bolitho climbed aboard. He even managed an ironic smile as he looked at Jenour and Midshipman Segrave. "Two bad pennies together, eh, Sir Richard?" He took the package from Jenour and said, "The Albacora is all but ready sir." They stared across the, darkening water to the other, untidy schooner. In the sunset's glow she looked as if she were already burning from within.

"We did our best, sir. But not being pierced for gunports to draw the flames, we had to cut makeshift ones to the main hold an' the like." He nodded grimly. "She'll burn like a torch when need be."

He turned away; his men were waiting for his attention. Both schooners would sail at nightfall, slink away from the other ships like assassins. Thinking aloud, Tyacke said, "With God's help we should rendezvous with Truculent at dawn. Then you'll have a mite more comfort in her than I can offer you, sir! "

Bolitho looked at him and saw the red glow on the ruined face. Like melted wax. As if it had just happened.

He said simply, "It is not comfort I need. Your ship has offered me what I want most."

Tyacke asked with a touch of wariness, "And what may that be, sir?"

"An example, Mr Tyacke. How all ships could be, large or small, offered the right trust and leadership."

"If you will excuse me, sir." He turned awkwardly. "There is much to do."

Bolitho gazed at the sun sliding into the horizon and the sea. There should be steam or an explosion, so powerful was its majesty, and menace.

Midshipman Segrave was groping beneath the companion hatch when Simcox found him and said, "You'll have to sleep rough tonight, my lad. We're somewhat overfull till I can discover Truculent's whereabouts." The lighter mood eluded him and he said, "Bob Jay told me about your other injuries." He saw the youth staring at him in the gloom. "'E 'ad to. It was 'is duty to me."

Segrave looked down at his clenched fists. "You had no right…"

"Don't you lecture me about rights, Mister Segrave! I've had a bloody gutful o' them since I first donned the King's coat, so let's 'ave no more of 'em, see?" His face was only inches from Segrave's as he added vehemently, "You was whipped like a dog to have scars like that, Bob Jay said. Bully you, did they? Some poxy scum who

thought you was lettin' them down, was that it?" He saw the youth bow his head and nod. Afterwards Simcox thought he had never witnessed such despair. He said, "Well, it's in the past now. Bob Jay'll never forget you saved 'is skin." He touched his shoulder and added roughly, "I 'ad to tell the Cap'n."

Segrave shivered, wiping his face with his forearm.

"That was your duty too." But there was no sarcasm or resentment. There was simply nothing at all.

Simcox watched him with concern. "All right then, son?"

Segrave looked at him, his eyes very bright in the lantern's glow from the cabin.

"You don't understand. I was told aboard Themis. I am to return to my old ship as soon as we leave the Cape." He got to his feet and made for the companion ladder. "So you see, it was a lie, like everything else! "

Later, as darkness folded over the anchorage and the stars were still too feeble to separate sea from sky Bolitho sat at the cabin table, half listening to the muffled commands from the deck, the creak of the windlass as the cable was hove short. Jay the master's mate, was across in Albacora with a small prize crew, so all hands would be working doubly hard and standing watch-and-watch until the rendezvous was made.

Tyacke peered through the door. "Ready to proceed, Sir Richard." He waited questioningly. "Any further orders?"

Something about him was different.

Bolitho asked, "What is troubling you?"

Tyacke said steadily, "I received orders in the despatch bag, sir. Both Mr Simcox and Segrave are leaving my command after this is over and done with." He tried to smile, but it made him look desperate. "Ben Simcox is a good friend, and I've come to feel differently about the midshipman since…" He did not go on.

"I understand." Bolitho saw the surprise on Tyacke's maimed face.

"Because I am what I am, is that it?" He shook his head and Tyacke caught a quick glimpse of the terrible scar which was only partly hidden by the lock of hair. "I had another flag lieutenant once. He used to call me and my captains, We Happy Few. By God, Mr Tyacke, there are precious few of us now! Oh yes, I know what it is to find a friend, then lose him in the twinkling of an eye. Sometimes I think it is best to know nobody, and to care for nothing."

Somebody called from the deck, "Th' slaver's under way, sir! "

"I-I am sorry, sir." Tyacke had to leave, but wanted to remain.

"There's no need." Bolitho met his gaze and smiled. "And know this. I do care. And when I call for volunteers tomorrow-"

Tyacke turned to the ladder. "You'll not lack them, Sir Richard. Not in this ship." Then he was gone, and moments later came the cry, "Anchor's aweigh! "

Bolitho sat for several minutes, his ears deaf to the din of rudder and canvas as the schooner curtsied round, free of the land once more.

Why had he spoken to Tyacke like that? He smiled at his own answer. Because he needed him and his men more than they would ever know, or understand.

With great care he opened the letter, then stared with surprise as a dried ivy leaf fell to the table.

Her writing seemed to blur as he held the letter closer to the swaying lantern.

My darling Richard This leaf is from your house and my home-

It was enough. The remainder he would read later when he was quite alone.

6. While Others Dare. LIEUTENANTJames Tyacke clung to the weather rail and squinted through the spray as Bolitho appeared by the companion-way.

"Sail in sight, sir! "

Bolitho clutched a backstay and nodded. "I heard the call, Mr Tyacke. You've a good man aloft! "

It had been dark to all intents when he had caught the lookout's cry Even in so small a vessel it had been difficult, and to anyone less experienced the overnight change in wind and weather would have appeared astonishing. The wind had veered several points and now came from the north, or near enough. With her bowsprit pointing due east, Miranda appeared to be lying hard over, the sea occasionally licking above the lee bulwark; when it touched your skin it felt like ice.

Bolitho peered to where the horizon should be, but could see nothing. Only the creaming wavecrests and the blacker depths of fast-moving troughs. It would make the two schooners' approach doubly challenging. A lantern was shuttered across the tumbling water, and Bolitho guessed that the captured slaver was less than half a cable away. It was a mark of Tyacke's and Jay's experience that they had managed to keep in close company all through the night. When dawn finally broke the seamen would be at their worst, he thought. Worn out by trimming sails, reefing and changing tack over and over again.

Tyacke shouted, "Time to close with Albacora, sir." He was watching him in the darkness, his eyes well accustomed to the night while Bolitho was still trying to adjust to it.

It was strange to realise that the lookout could not only see the rising dawn but the sails of another vessel. It had to be Truculent. If it was not, it could only be the enemy.

"Deck there! She's a frigate, sir. Hove-to."

Bolitho heard Simcox release a sigh. So it was Truculent. Captain Poland could justly be proud of another successful rendezvous.

Someone called, "Th' slaver's come about, sir. 'Er boat's in the water."

Tyacke muttered, "Lucky it's no further. It'll be a rough haul for the oarsmen."

Bolitho touched Tyacke's arm and said, "About the volunteers?"

Tyacke faced him. "That deserter was sent over from the flagship with the prize crew. There was a Royal Marine too, for all the use he'll be." He spoke with the unreasonable contempt of sailors for members of the Corps.

"Is that all?"

Tyacke shrugged. "It's better this way, sir. My ship will provide the remainder." His teeth showed faintly through the shadows as the first hint of light fingered the horizon. "I spoke to them myself, sir. Men I know and trust." He added bluntly, "More to the point, who trust me."

"Mr Simcox knows what he must do?"

Tyacke did not answer directly. He was watching the approaching boat as it lifted and plunged like a winged fish while it fought around the stern to find shelter beneath Miranda's lee. He said, "Mr Simcox will remain in Miranda." He paused as if expecting to be challenged.

Bolitho said, "I placed you in charge. It must be your decision."

Simcox suddenly lurched towards them. "I must protest! I know these waters, and in any case-" Tyacke seized his arm and spun him round. "Do as you're bloody told, man! I command here! Now attend to that boat! "

Bolitho could barely see the acting-master in the gloom, but felt his disbelief and hurt as if Tyacke had struck him.

Tyacke said heavily, "Ben is a fine sailor. If he survives this bloody war, begging your pardon, sir-and I said if-he'll have a career. Something waiting for him even if they pitch him on the beach with all the others." He gestured angrily towards the confusion in the waist of the schooner. God damn you, Morgan, catch a turn there, or you'll stove in the bloody boat! "

Bolitho had not heard him berate any of his seamen before. He was trying to get it out of himself, to forget what he had said and done to his only friend.

Figures lurched through the darkness and then Jay, the master's mate, appeared by the tiller.

"All prepared, sir! Ready to change crews! " He glanced quickly from Tyacke to Simcox, who was standing by the foremast, then asked, "Ben not ready yet, sir?"

Tyacke said harshly, "I am going in his place. So stay with him." For a moment his voice softened. "And the ship."

Another figure appeared and Bolitho saw it was the midshipman, Segrave.

Tyacke murmured, "He volunteered, sir, and I might need another officer, if things go badly." He said more loudly, "Are you still eager, Mr Segrave? You can still fall out-no one would blame you after what you did for Mr Jay."

The youth's face seemed to grow out of the shadows as the first pale sunlight reflected from the dripping sails and rigging. He said firmly, "I want to go, sir."

The lookout's cry made them look up again. "She's Truculent right enough, sir! " A further pause, then, "She's shaken out some reefs an' she's comin' about."

Tyacke said, "She'll be sending a boat for you, sir."

"Yes." Bolitho saw Allday with the small bag of clothing which they had brought with them from Themis. So like those other occasions, when suddenly there is no more time left. Lastly came Jenour, yawning hugely He had slept through everything. The other figures had disappeared into the pitching boat alongside; Tyacke was eager to leave. To get it over.

He said in a calm voice, "I'll not let you down, sir." Bolitho took his hand. It was hard like Thomas Herrick's. He replied quietly, "You wouldn't know how, Mr Tyacke."

Tyacke swung one leg over the bulwark, but paused as Simcox pulled himself along the side heedless of the sea sluicing along the scuppers, dragging at his legs.

"You want me, Ben?"

Simcox staggered and almost fell headlong, but Tyacke caught him with his arm. Watching from the mainmast bitts Bolitho saw and understood. It was like a last embrace.

Tyacke said roughly, "You've too much to lose, Ben, and you know it. You'll make a fine Master, with a proper captain to take care of, eh?"

Simcox said something but it was lost in the drumming rigging and the turmoil alongside.

When Bolitho looked again Tyacke had gone and the boat was surging away once more, spray flying from the oar blade like ragged silk.

Bolitho said, "Get under way, Mr Simcox. The sooner we can meet with Truculent, the faster we can-" He left the rest unsaid.

Allday said gruffly, "He's all aback, an' that's no error! "

Bolitho called, "Mr Simcox, once I am in Truculent you will follow the fireship." He had not used her name. By accident or design, he wondered? Perhaps to make Simcox accept her brutal role. What it might well mean for her crew.

Simcox stared at him. "Pretend to give chase, Sir Richard?" He sounded vague.

"Yes. It is an old trick but it may well work, and give Mr Tyacke the opportunity to stand closer to the enemy."

He glanced at his cuff and saw the gold lace suddenly clear and bright; even felt the first warmth as the sunlight rolled down from the horizon.

Jenour asked, "What are their chances, Sir Richard?"

Bolitho looked at him, steadily "Not good. With the wind against them they will have to lose valuable time tacking back and forth. After Mr Tyacke has fired the fuses he will have to pull away in the boat and head for the shore. They will fall into Dutch hands, but with our army so near I feel certain they will not be harmed." He saw the doubt on Jenour's young face. "If Mr Tyacke fails and is too late to get away, we will lose twelve good men. In a frontal attack we could lose every ship and every soul in the squadron."

Allday gazed towards the land. "Not a choice I'd care to make, Sir Richard."

Bolitho pushed the lock of hair from his forehead. Allday understood. One man or a thousand; life or death; it was a decision which was damned either way.

Allday added, "I'll lay odds at the Admiralty they never gives it a thought, nor lose a wink of sleep."

Bolitho saw patches of cloud scudding out from the land and imagined he could feel dust between his teeth.

Allday was studying him grimly and said, "I was a mite bothered back there, Sir Richard. Knowin' you, I did think once or twice that you might take charge o' the fireship."

Bolitho looked at Simcox, who was still staring after Albacora as she laid herself over on her new course.

"Not this time, old friend."

Allday watched Truculent's pyramid of pale canvas rising above the departing shadows while she bore down on the schooner.

His worry had been real enough, until he had remembered what Bolitho had said when they had been together. I want to go home. It was as if the words had been torn from his throat. Allday had shared most things with Bolitho but he had never heard him speak like that before. He released a huge sigh. But they were still a long way from England.

Even as the deck planking began to steam in the first morning warmth, Truculent went about and then lowered the gig smartly from her quarter.

Bolitho waited for Simcox to have his depleted company piped to halliards and braces to heave-to and await the boat, then said, "I wish you well, Mr Simcox. I have written a report which will not come amiss at your final interview."

Simcox nodded and replied, "I am grateful, Sir Richard." He struggled for the right words. "Y'see, Sir Richard, we was friends, an' I know why he's doin' this for me."

Bolitho said, "If anyone can do it, he can." He thought of that last handshake, firm and hard like Herrick's; and of Herrick's Lady Luck in whom he had always believed so fervently.

He saw the frigate's boat pulling strongly towards them, a lieutenant trying to stand upright in the sternsheets while the hull bucked beneath him. So like Poland, he thought, everything correct and beyond criticism.

To Simcox he said, "I hope we meet again. You have a good company and a fine little ship." Even as he spoke he knew what was wrong. It was better not to know them, see and recognise their faces, before you made a decision which could kill them all. He had told himself often enough in the past, and after Hyperion's end he had sworn it to himself again.

"Stand by, on deck! "

Bolitho nodded to those by the bulwark. Old Elias Archer the gunner, Jay the master's mate who would probably take Simcox's place when he quit the ship. Faces he had come to know in so short a while. He noticed that Sperry the boatswain was not here. It was good to know he would be with Tyacke. He wondered why the midshipman had insisted on going with the prize crew when he had just received orders to return to his old ship. Perhaps the one riddle answered the other? In Tyacke's hands they might manage to reach the shore. He shut it from his thoughts like slamming a door.

"And I shall not forget the beer, Mr Simcox! "

Then he was down and into the boat, gripping the lieutenant's shoulder and trying not to allow his legs to be caught by his sword.

Only Allday saw his face when he made that last carefree comment.

He was also the only one who knew what it had cost him.

"So this is where it happened?" Tyacke stooped to peer into the Albacora's cabin. "It's like a pig-sty! "

Midshipman Segrave darted a quick glance at the bunk as if he expected to see the naked slave-girl still chained there. Like the rest of the crew's quarters, the cabin was full of inflammable material of every sort which had been piled or thrown on top of the original master's possessions. The whole schooner stank of it. Oil, old canvas and oakum soaked in grease, wood dipped in tar which had been gathered from Warren 's two transports: anything which would transform Albacora into a raging torch. Segrave felt the air playing around his face from one of the jagged vent holes which had been cut in the deck to fan the flames. For the first time since he had pushed himself forward to volunteer he knew true fear.

Tyacke's voice helped to reassure him. He sounded completely absorbed in his own thoughts, almost matter-of-fact. As if he accepted the inevitability of his fate with the same coolness as he had changed roles with Simcox.

Segrave said, "It seems easier, sir."

"What?" Again, so distant. "Yes, we're closer inshore. But the wind's as much an enemy as before." He sat down unexpectedly on a cask and looked at the youth, his awful wound in shadow. "Mr Simcox told me about your other injuries." He eyed him calmly as if there was nothing to do, with all the time in the world to do it. "Beat, you, did they? Because you were no use on board?"

Segrave clenched his fists. Remembering the first time, and all the others which were to follow. The captain had been uninterested in what went on in the midshipmen's berth, and as he had been heard to tell his first lieutenant on several occasions, he was only concerned with results. Another lieutenant had been chosen to divide the midshipmen into teams, and would set one against the other in all drills and exercises in seamanship, gunnery and boatwork. There were penalties for the laggards, minor awards for the winners.

Tyacke was not far from the truth in his casual summing-up. Except that it was persecution of the worst kind. Segrave had been stripped naked and bent over a gun and flogged without mercy either by the lieutenant or some of the midshipmen. They had humiliated him in any way they could, had worked off a kind of madness in their cruelty. It was doubtful if he would ever lose the scars, any more than a sailor flogged at the gratings.

Segrave found that he was blurting it out in short, desperate sentences although he did not recall beginning to speak at all.

Tyacke said nothing until he had fallen silent. Then he said, "In any ship where such brutality is tolerated it is the fault of her captain. It is the way of things. Disinterest in how his lieutenants administer discipline or enforce his orders must lie at his door. No lieutenant would dare to act in this fashion without the full knowledge of his captain." His eyes gleamed in the shadows. "The orders to return to your old ship in due course prompted you to volunteer, is that it?" When Segrave remained silent he said harshly "By God, boy you would have done better to kill that lieutenant, for the end will likely be the same, without the satisfaction! " He reached across suddenly and gripped his shoulder. "It was your choice." He turned away and a shaft of sunlight filtered through the filthy skylight to lay bare his disfigurement. "As it was mine."

He twisted round as feet pattered along the deck overhead, and the boatswain's hoarse bellow chased some of the crew to their stations for altering course.

Segrave said simply, "I'm glad I came, sir."

He did not cringe as Tyacke pushed his face nearer and said, "Well spoken! "

They went on deck together, and after the foul stench below the air tasted like wine.

Tyacke glanced at the streaming masthead pendant, then at the compass. The wind was as before, but as the youth had noticed, it was less violent in the shelter of the land.

As he removed a telescope from a rack beside the compass box he glanced quickly at the men on deck. Including himself there were twelve of them aboard. He saw the seaman named Swayne, the deserter, hauling on a halliard to take out some slack. He moved quickly and easily a proper Jack, Tyacke thought. Now that he, had accepted what he had done by coming here with the others, he even looked cheerful. While there was life there was still hope. Aboard the flagship an award of two hundred lashes or more, with the only other alternative being an agonising dance at the yardarm, left no room for hope.

Tyacke stared at the other volunteer, a Royal Marine named Buller, under a similar sentence for striking a sergeant after getting fighting drunk on pilfered rum. When it came to such matters the "Royals" could be merciless with one of their own.

The other faces he knew well. He saw the squat figure of George Sperry the Miranda's boatswain, calling to two hands who were working with chain slings on the foreyard. Once the fire was started, the tarred rigging would ignite in seconds, the sails too if the deed were done too soon. Chain would keep their sails in place just, that much longer. Tyacke's face twisted into a grimace. Or so he had been told. Like all sailors Tyacke hated the danger of fire more than anything. He touched his burned face and wondered if he would break at the last moment; knowing in the same breath he would not.

He looked at Segrave, his hair ruffling in the wind, and thought of his faltering voice as he had stammered out his story. Tyacke had found his rage mounting to match the boy's shame. Those others should be the ones to feel shame, he thought. There would always be scum like that, but only where their cruelty was condoned.

Tyacke raised his glass and trained it past the midshipman's shoulder. The land was hard abeam, the very tip of the point which guarded the entrance to the bay reaching out rocky and green in the pale sunshine. He felt the deck planking growing warm again; very soon the whole schooner would be as dry as tinder. God help them if the enemy had sited some long-range guns as far out as the point. He doubted it; it was an impossible place for a landing party to scale or even disembark. But the doubt remained. No ship was a match for land artillery especially those with heated shot. Tyacke forced his mind away from the picture of a red-hot ball, slamming into the crammed hull beneath his shoes.

"Deck there! " The lookout was pointing astern. "Miranda's tackin' to the point, sir! "

Tyacke turned his glass towards the open sea, where the water was a deeper blue as if unwilling to give up the night.

He felt a lump in his throat as he saw Miranda's huge courses swinging above the waves, her single topsail flapping wildly as she began to change tack. To all appearances it might well look as if she was in pursuit of the shabby Albacora.

"Shake out all reefs, Mr Sperry! Lively there! " He saw the boatswain give his broken-toothed grin as he added, "We don't want a King's ship to catch us! " But he turned away in case Sperry saw, and understood, the lie.

He said to Segrave, "Lend a hand at the helm. As far as I can calculate we shall have to make good some ten miles before we can attempt a final approach."

Segrave watched him as he voiced his thoughts aloud. He found he could do it now without revulsion. There was something compelling about the tall lieutenant, and something frightening too.

Tyacke waved the telescope towards the full breadth of the bay as the point of land appeared to slide across the larboard quarter, like the opening of a giant gateway.

"We shall beat up to the nor'-east where the bottom shelves to a few fathoms. The sort of thing any ship's master might do if he was being chased by a man-o'-war. Then we'll come about and lay her on the starboard tack and run straight for 'em." He glanced at Segrave's sensitive features. "That's if they're still there, of course."

Tyacke rubbed his chin and wished he had had a shave. The idea made him smile. As if it mattered now! He recalled the viceadmiral's coxswain, Allday with the morning ritual. He thought also of his own private talks with Bolitho. Such an easy man to speak with, to share confidences. Like the time when Bolitho had asked him about his face and the Nile, when he had found himself answering without his usual defence and resentment.

And it was all true. There was no falseness in Bolitho, no using men as mere tools to complete some plan, or hiding indifference behind his rank.

"Stand by to alter course, Mr Segrave." He saw him start with surprise. "In a minute or so we shall steer nor'-east, so watch the mains'l no less than the compass! "

Segrave swallowed hard then joined the helmsman who acknowledged him almost shyly. Segrave saw that it was the young seaman named Dwyer, the one who had tried to tie up his wound in the cabin beneath them.

Dwyer said, "We'll manage well enough, eh, Mr Segrave?"

Segrave nodded and discovered he could even offer a smile. "We shall."

Tyacke turned as a shot echoed across the water, and was in time to see a faint puff of smoke shred away from Miranda's bows. Simcox had started to play his part. It was to be hoped he did not overplay it and outrun the Albacora as Miranda had done before.

Then he returned attention to the sailing of the fireship; but even as he signalled for Sperry to put two of his hard-pressed men on the foremast boom, he found himself thinking of the girl he had known in Portsmouth. Marion. He dashed the sweat from his eyes with his grubby shirt sleeve and believed for an instant that he had said her name aloud. If only… Another shot echoed over the glittering water, and from a corner of his eye Tyacke saw the four-pound ball jag into the sea a good cable astern.

"Steady she goes, sir! Nor'-east it is! " It was strange to hear Segrave call out when he was usually so quiet and withdrawn.

Tyacke glanced at him sadly. We are both scarred, inwardly or out.

Spray dashed over the side and swept over the patched and dirty deck like a tide. Tyacke saw the boatswain blink as another shot banged out astern, and the ball ploughed down a bit closer than the previous one. He glanced at the skylight and Tyacke knew he was thinking about the woman he had satisfied his lust with in the cabin. We all have only memories now.

Tyacke gazed along the busy deck as the schooner leaned over still further under her full press of sail.

Perhaps Marion would read about it someday. He gave a bitter smile. My last command.

Captain Daniel Poland remained a little apart from Bolitho as he stood by the cabin table, and used some dividers to measure off the calculations on his chart.

Bolitho said, half to himself, "As far as we know, there have been no new arrivals in the bay. If there had been, either you or Captain Varian in Zest would likely have sighted them. Likewise, the big ships and frigate must still be at anchor." He looked up in time to see Poland 's doubtful expression. "Don't you agree?"

Poland responded, "It is a big area, Sir Richard. Four times the size of Table Bay." He faltered under the grey stare. "But as you say, it is perhaps unlikely."

Bolitho watched the sunlight fanning through Truculent's stern windows, swinging across the cabin like fiery bars as the frigate changed tack yet again.

Poland bit his lip with annoyance as someone or something fell heavily on the deck above. "Clumsy oafs! "

Bolitho half-smiled. Maybe it was better to be like Poland. Caring only for the immediate and the things he knew best.

He tugged out his watch and studied it. Tyacke should be standing into his proper position by now, Miranda too. It was still stark in his mind, the way Tyacke had changed places with his friend. But it was more than a gesture to save his friend, to cast himself away It was the act of a leader; what he had seen others do without a thought for the cost of it.

It did not occur to Bolitho that it was exactly what he would have done in Tyacke's position.

Jenour, who had been moving restlessly by the stern windows, straightened up and exclaimed, "Gunfire, Sir Richard! "

Bolitho gave a last lingering glance over the chart. "So it was, Stephen." He looked around the cabin which had been his hiding-place on the passage from England. From Catherine. After Miranda it was like a ship of the line. He faced Poland as feet clattered along the passageway towards the screen door.

"While others dare, we must wait, Captain." His own words depressed him, and he added shortly, "You may beat to quarters when convenient." He touched his hip as if to find his sword. "Tell Allday-"

Allday padded across the cabin. "I'm here, Sir Richard." He grinned as Bolitho raised his arm for him to fix the scabbard in place. "Like always! "

Another far-off shot brought Allday's words into sharp focus and Bolitho said quietly, "I am depending on it."

Lieutenant Tyacke reluctantly lowered his glass. It would not be sensible to be seen watching the anchored ships rather than the pursuing Miranda. But in those last brief seconds he had seen the two large ships, and they certainly had all the appearances of Dutch Indiamen. The most important factor was that they were not moving with the wind and current. So Bolitho's first impression had been right. They were anchored fore-and-aft to provide two fixed batteries of guns against any attacker, which would be in trouble enough beating against the northerly wind.

Dwyer exclaimed admiringly, "God, look at 'er go, Mr Segrave! " He was staring across the quarter at Miranda's bulging sails as she came up into the wind yet again, cutting away the distance still further so that Segrave imagined he could see Simcox aft by the tiller, his unruly hair waving in the wind.

Another puff of smoke from her bowchaser and this time the ball slammed down just a boat's length clear. Some of the spray pattered across the deck and Sperry cursed violently. "Damn you, Elias Archer. Lay another ball like that an' I'll not forgive 'ee."

Segrave licked his dry lips. Like Dwyer, the boatswain seemed to have forgotten for the moment what they were attempting to do; that it was unlikely he would get a chance to argue with Miranda's gunner ever again.

A lookout clinging in the foremast shrouds yelled, "Guardboat, sir! "

Tyacke was watching the sails and the masthead pendant. "Stand by to wear ship, Mr Sperry! " He wiped his face again, gauging the distance and the power of the wind. It had taken over an hour to get this far and penetrate the bay without any apparent opposition, although there must be many glasses trained on the one ship fleeing from another. It seemed likely that the Dutch commander might already know the Albacora, while Miranda's streaming ensign left little else to doubt.

Tyacke raised his glass again and peered at the boat just reported by the lookout. A small cutter, under a scrap of sail but with oars already angled from her rowlocks for extra power, was rounding the stern of the nearest merchantman. Metal gleamed in the sunshine, and he saw the gilt buttons of an officer in the sternsheets.

The guardboat would challenge their presence. Tyacke frowned. There was only one chance.

He called, "You! Private Buller! " The marine turned away from his place by the halliards as Tyacke added harshly, "You're supposed to be a bit of a marksman, I'm told?"

Buller met his tone with equal insolence. "Best shot in the company, sir! "

Tyacke grinned. "Right. Fetch your piece and prepare to mark down the officer in charge of the guardboat. They've got a swivel mounted in the bows, so you must not miss! "

He turned away as Buller stooped down to where his weapons were rolled up inside his telltale scarlet coat.

"All ready, sir! "

Tyacke looked steadily at Segrave. "Ready aft?"

Segrave nodded jerkily, his face pale despite the sun's glare, but strangely determined.

Tyacke walked to the taffrail and made certain that the longboat was towing clumsily astern. Once again he stared hard at the land, then across the larboard quarter where the moored storeships appeared to be falling away into the distance. Even the guardboat seemed in no hurry to close with them, especially with Miranda charging in full pursuit.

"Ready about! Helm a-lee! Let go and haul, lads! " Tyacke's voice harried them until they were sweating and gasping to perform the work normally done by twice the number of hands.

Segrave's shoes slipped, then gripped on the tarred deckseams while he threw his weight on the tiller, his eyes blind to everything but the great swinging sails and the shriek of blocks, while the schooner continued to tack into and then across the eye of the wind.

Dwyer gasped, "Come round, you bloody bitch! " But he was grinning as the sails banged out on the opposite tack to thrust the deck over even more steeply. Where there had been empty land suddenly lay the anchorage, the ships clear and real in the sunlight, even their Dutch ensigns visible against the land mass beyond.

Tyacke was holding on for support but even he gave a quick smile. This was no Miranda, but she had been used to fast handling in her rotten trade. He studied the guardboat: her sails were flapping and losing wind, and as he watched he saw the oars begin to move ahead and astern, pulling the hull around until the bow-gun was pointing, not at them but at Miranda.

Sperry gasped, "Miranda'll blow 'er clean out of the water. Wot's their game?"

The lookout shouted, "Deck there! Th' frigate's under way! "

Tyacke swung round, his heart sickened as he saw the frigate's topsails shaking out and hardening to the wind while she glided away from her inshore anchorage.

Sperry said hoarsely, "We'll not stand a chance, sir." He rubbed his eyes as if he could not believe what he saw. "She's got th' wind, God damn her! "

Tyacke said, "Let her fall off a point, Mr Segrave." He raised his glass and felt a sudden pain, as if the breath had been knocked out of him. "It's not us. It's Miranda she's going for! " Tyacke waved his arms and yelled at the top of his voice. "Run for it, Ben! In the name of Christ-come about! " Their very helplessness, and the fact that nobody aboard Miranda could possibly hear him, made his voice crack with emotion.

"Get out of it, Ben! "

Segrave asked in a whisper, "What's happening?"

Dwyer flung at him, "Th' frigate's runnin' for open sea, that's what! "

Segrave watched. Miranda's length began to shorten as she saw her danger and started to come about.

Tyacke trained his glass on the frigate. She was smaller than Truculent, but showed all the grace of her class as she changed tack, and her huge fore and main courses filled to the wind, pushing her over until he could plainly see the French Tricolour rippling from her peak. Getting away from the bay before she might be caught defending her ally's supply ships, and be held as much a prisoner as they were.

Sickened, Tyacke saw the frigate's ports open, could almost imagine the orders to aim their broadside. It was over a mile's range, but with a controlled assault it was impossible to miss.

He saw the smoke belch along the frigate's low hull, and even before he could swing his glass across the glistening water he heard the staccato crash of gunfire. The sea around and beyond the little Miranda seemed to boil, while spray burst skyward, standing in the sunlight like waterspouts-as if they were suddenly frozen and might never fall.

For one more second Tyacke clung to a spark of hope. At that range Miranda had somehow managed to escape the enemy's iron.

He heard some of his men groan as, with the suddenness of a great seabird settling to fold its wings, both of Miranda's masts collapsed, burying the deck under a mass of writhing canvas and splintered spars.

The frigate did not fire again. She was already setting her royals, her yards alive with tiny figures as she pointed her jib boom towards the south-east, the wind carrying her speedily to open sea and freedom.

Tyacke wanted to look away but could not even lower his telescope. No wonder the French frigate had not fired a second broadside. Miranda's hull had been blasted open in several places, and he saw smoke escaping from the fallen canvas to add to the horror of the men pinned beneath.

Then just as suddenly the fire was quenched, as quickly as it had begun.

Tyacke lowered the glass and stared into the sun until he could see nothing. The schooner, his Miranda, had gone. In trying to help him she had herself become a victim.

He realised that Segrave and some of the others were watching him. When he spoke again he was stunned by the calmness of his own voice.

"Shorten sail, Mr Sperry. The chase is over." He pointed at the guardboat, where some of the oarsmen were waving and cheering towards the shabby schooner. "See? They bid us welcome! "

Slowly, like drunken men, the hands turned to, to give the appearance of reducing sail.

Tyacke stood beside Segrave and rested his hand on the boy's until the tiller brought the bowsprit in line with the space between the two anchored ships.

"Hold her steady." He looked at those nearest him and added, "Then you take to the boat." He studied their faces, but was seeing others in their place. Ben Simcox, who would have been leaving the ship to obtain his position as Master. Bob Jay and old Archer the gunner. So many faces. Gone in a moment. Those who had not died in the broadside would not escape the sharks."

He said, "Be ready, lads." He cocked his head as a trumpet echoed across the water. "The alarm." He glanced at the sudden activity in the guardboat as the oar blades churned up the water, and the boat began to swing round towards them.

Tyacke snapped, "Stand by, Private Buller! " He knew the marine was crouching by the bulwark, his long musket resting beside him. Tyacke said, "Think of what you just saw, Buller, and of the flogging you deserve but will never receive!

"Ready, Buller! "

He watched the officer in the guardboat as he got to his feet, his arm beating out the time to his confused oarsmen.

"Now! "

The musket bucked against Buller's powerful shoulder, and Tyacke saw the Dutch officer's arm halt in midair before he pitched over the side and floundered away from the hull.

The boat turned, out of command, while some of the crew attempted to reach their officer with an oar.

Segrave heard the sharp bang of the guardboat's swivel and Dwyer cry out before he slithered to the deck, blood pouring down his neck and side. Buller's musket cracked again and another man vanished inside the boat, its oars now in complete disarray.

Segrave saw Sperry the boatswain down on his knees, his teeth bared like fangs as he clutched his bulging stomach. He must have taken some of the guardboat's deadly canister shot even while he was helping to trim the sails.

Tyacke's eyes narrowed as he stared hard at the two big ships which seemed to lie across the bows barely yards away. In fact they were over half a cable distant-but nothing could save them now.

Segrave tore his eyes away as Sperry rolled kicking on to his back, his blood filling the scuppers while he choked out his life.

The Dutch sailors were probably wondering what the Albacora was doing, the boy thought wildly. As if reading his thoughts Tyacke shouted, "Let's not leave them in suspense, eh?" He took the tiller and drew a pistol from his belt. "Get below, Mr Segrave and take the slow-match to the fuses! "

Even Segrave could sense the fear which had so suddenly replaced the wildness, the urge to kill. Men Tyacke knew and trusted could soon change once the fuses were lit, and they were standing on their own funeral pyre. Segrave ran past the dying boatswain, realising that his eyes were fixed on his as he hurried by as if they alone were clinging to life.

In his dazed mind he seemed to hear more trumpets, the far-off squeal of gun-trucks as some of the Indiamen's officers understood at last what they were witnessing.

He was sobbing and could not stop himself as he stumbled down into the stinking hull, still shocked by Miranda's unexpected end, and Tyacke's terrible grief and anger.

The man who had been his only friend and whom he had tried to save was dead, and the little schooner, which had been Tyacke's very life, his one escape, had been sent to the bottom.

Segrave fell back with a gasp as the first fuse hissed into life like a malevolent serpent. He had not even seen himself lighting it. He reached the second one and stared at the slow-match in his fingers. His grip was so firm it did not even quiver when he ignited the fuse.

As he scurried back towards the sunlight at the foot of the ladder, he thought of his mother. Perhaps the admiral would be satisfied now. But neither bitterness nor tears would come, and when he reached the tiller he saw Tyacke exactly as he had left him, propped against the tiller as if he were part of the ship.

Tyacke nodded. "Look at 'em now! "

The Indiamen's decks were swarming with sailors. Some were clambering aloft to the yards, others were in the bows, probably attempting to cut their cables.

There was a dull thud below their feet, and seconds later black greasy smoke surged up through the vents, followed by the first vicious tongues of flame.

Tyacke said, "Heave the boat alongside, handsomely now. I'll shoot the first man who tries a run for it! "

Segrave watched flames darting through the deckseams, his eyes glazed as he felt the whole hull heating up like a furnace.

A man yelled, "Ready in the boat, sir! " It was the one named Swayne, the deserter.

Segrave said in a strangely controlled voice, "Don't stay with her, sir." He waited for Tyacke to turn his terrible scars towards him. "Please." He tried to shut out the growing roar beneath the deck and added, "They all died back there, sir. Let it not be a waste, for their sakes! "

Surprisingly, Tyacke stood up and grasped his shoulders. "I'll see you a lieutenant yet, my lad."

They clambered down into the boat and cast off. They had barely pulled out of Albacora's shadow when, with a savage hiss of flames, the deck appeared to burst open, fires starting everywhere, as if lit by one man's hand.

Tyacke rested his arm on the tiller bar. "Pull, lads. If we reach the headland, we may be able to get ashore and hide until we know what's happening."

One of the oarsmen exclaimed, "She's struck, by Jesus! " His own eyes and face were shining in the reflected glare as the schooner, her rigging and sails already blowing away in ashes, crashed alongside the first Indiaman.

Tyacke swung round as the flames leapt up the moored ship's tarred shrouds and darted out along the yards. Some of the men who had been working feverishly to loose the topsails found themselves trapped by the mounting fires. Tyacke watched without expression as their tiny figures fell to the decks below, rather than face

that slower, more horrific death. The second Indiaman had managed to cut her stern moorings but she had freed her cable too late. Fires were already blazing on her forecastle and flowing along her hammock nettings like spurting red liquid.

Nobody spoke in the boat, so that the sounds of creaking oars and the men's rasping breathing seemed to come from somewhere else.

So short a while ago, they had all expected to be dead. Now Fate had decided otherwise.

"Watch out for any place to beach when we get closer."

Buller the Royal Marine paused, ramming home a ball into his musket, and swore with harsh disbelief. "You won't need no beach, sir! "

Tyacke stared until his mind throbbed and his eyes were too blind to see; all that remained was the memory. Miranda's sails folding like broken wings.

He gripped Segrave's wrist and said, "Truculent! She's coming for us! "

The oars seemed to bend as with sudden hope they threw themselves on the looms. The boat headed away towards the frigate's silhouette while she rounded the point, as they themselves had done just a few hours earlier.

Segrave turned to look astern, but there was only a towering wall of black smoke which appeared to be pursuing them, its heart still writhing with flames. He glanced at Tyacke. He knew the lieutenant had intended to stay at the helm and die. The pistol had been ready to prevent anyone dragging him to the boat by force; and for no other reason.

Then Segrave looked away and watched the frigate standing-off to receive them. His pleas had somehow given Tyacke the will to reach out for another chance. And for that, Segrave was suddenly grateful.

For if Tyacke had changed, so had he.