The Privateer's Revenge

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the privateer's REVENGE

Also by Julian Stockwin

Kydd

Artemis

Seaflower

Mutiny

Quarterdeck

Tenacious

Command

the Admiral's Daughter

JULIAN STOCKWIN

^the privateer's REVENGE

A KYDD SEA ADVENTURE

MCBOOKS PRESS, INC.

www.mcbooks.com

ITHACA, NEW YORK

Published by McBooks Press 2008

Published simultaneously in Great Britain by Hodder and Stoughton Copyright © 2008 Julian Stockwin

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the publisher. Requests for such permissions should be addressed to McBooks Press, Inc., ID Booth Building, 520 North Meadow St., Ithaca, NY 14850.

Cover painting by Geoff Hunt RSMA.

Represented by Artist Partners Ltd., www.artistpartners.com.

Dust jacket and interior design by Panda Musgrove.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Stockwin, Julian. The privateer's revenge : a Kydd sea adventure / by Julian Stockwin. p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-59013-165-7 (alk. paper)

1. Kydd, Thomas (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Great Britain—History, Naval—18th century—Fiction. 3. Seafaring life—Fiction. 4. Sailors— Fiction. I. Title. PR6119.T66P75 2008 823'.92--dc22

2008019445

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Printed in the United States of America 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Admiral Sir James Saumarez

CHAPTER 1

HIS MAJESTY'S BRIG-SLOOP TEAZER eased sheets and came round prettily for the last leg of the short passage from Polperro eastwards to Plymouth Sound. The ship's clerk knocked softly at the captain's cabin door. There was no reply so, from long friendship, Nicholas Renzi entered quietly. Commander Thomas Kydd was sitting rigid at the stern windows staring out. He turned, his face a bleak mask. "Tom, dear fellow? I've brought you this," Renzi said, proffering a glass. "The natives hereabouts do swear by its power to lay demons and recruit the spirit."

Kydd accepted the offering but it remained untouched in his hand. "Fine nor'-westerly blow," Renzi went on brightly. "We should raise the Sound on this tack, I'd venture." There was no response from the fine and ambitious sea officer, who had made the incredible journey from the fo'c'sle to the quarterdeck, then achieved his own command, now brought so low.

It had been so sudden. Returning triumphant after a rousing cruise, Kydd had decided to snatch a few moments in Polperro, the home of his newly betrothed, Rosalynd. There, he had learned of her tragic death, just days before.

Renzi drew a chair close. There was little to be said—grief was such a private thing, but in this Renzi knew guilt. His closest friend had stood alone when he had followed his heart and asked a country lass to be his bride, not Persephone Lockwood, the admiral's daughter. There had never been a formal understanding between Kydd and Miss Lockwood, but society—and Renzi—had been outraged nevertheless.

"You should know this, dear friend, I—I own myself shamed by my actions, you must understand," Renzi said, in a low voice. "It was unpardonable not to recognise that it was—that your sentiments sprang from the noblest and purest . . ."

His words went unheard but he vowed that whatever lay ahead for Kydd he would be at his side. Especially when he tried to reenter the world that had turned its back on him. But there were more pressing concerns now. "We dock in so little time I have to ask, shall you prepare to take the deck again?"

Kydd's face turned slowly. His eyes filled as he tried to speak and his fists clenched.

Renzi knew for the sake of the future that Kydd should be the one to take Teazer to her rest. "You are the captain still, and duty is a stern mistress. Shall I . . . ?" He let it hang.

As the words penetrated, Kydd rose from his chair like an old man and made his way to his inner cabin. After a few minutes he emerged and took a last long look through the windows at the receding wake.

"I have th' ship, Mr Standish," Kydd mumbled to his first lieutenant, and stood alone, face set and pale, staring ahead. Rame Head passed abeam; Teazer hauled her wind for the Sound and home. Hands went to stations for mooring ship and she came gently to single anchor at Barn Pool.

The early autumn sunshine had a fragile, poignant quality as the sloop's gig pulled across the short distance to the dockyard; at Kydd's side, Renzi held ship's papers. The boat nuzzled into the landing stage and Kydd stepped out, seeming lost and bewildered. "This way, old fellow," Renzi said, glaring at passers-by, who stopped to gape at the subject of the so-recent scandal.

It was not far to the offices; the flag-lieutenant hurried away to inform the port admiral of their arrival. Lockwood himself came stalking out to the waiting room but halted in surprise at the sight of Kydd's ashen face. News of the tragedy had apparently not yet reached him. "I'm astonished you have the temerity to cut short your cruise, Mr Kydd. There are matters, it seems—"

"Sir, I beg t' report m' full success in y'r mission."

Lockwood blinked.

"Teazer's report," Renzi said, handing over the details of Kydd's twin victories—success against the notorious Bloody Jacques, the renegade privateer who had terrorised the Devon and Cornish coasts, and the unmasking of Zephaniah Job as the man behind the smuggling ring.

The admiral flicked through the papers. "I, er . . . it would appear I must offer my congratulations, Commander," he said, and looked up, but Kydd had left.

When the news was broken at number eighteen Durnford Street, the residence Kydd and Renzi shared, a pall of silence descended. Shocked, Mrs Bargus, the housekeeper, cast about for things to do that might in some little way comfort her employer. A cheerful fire was soon ablaze and the cook was set to prepare his favourite braised duck. Becky, the maid, came in timidly to light the candles but departed quickly, leaving Kydd and Renzi alone.

"If there's anything . . ." Renzi started hesitantly, but stopped as racking sobs seized his friend.

He waited patiently until they eased.

"I never reckoned it could hurt s' much," Kydd choked.

"Yes, brother," Renzi murmured.

"Rosalynd's gone. F'r ever. So innocent an' young, an' she—she never knew—"

"I have to return to the ship, Tom," Renzi said gently. "There's things will need . . . arranging." Unless someone was there to head off troubles arising in a temporarily captainless vessel chaos might ensure: the ambitious Standish would probably not see it as in his best interest to take a firm hand.

"Do remain here, dear fellow, and I'll be back when I can." Renzi found the brandy and placed a glass before Kydd.

It was no easy matter but a flow of fictitious captain's orders relayed by Renzi saw the larboard watch stream happily ashore and a suspicious Standish set to turning up the hands for restowing the hold. It was dark before Renzi could make his way ashore again, and he hurried to Durnford Street.

Mrs Bargus answered the door, flustered and apprehensive. "Oh, Mr Renzi! I'm s' glad you're here! It's the captain—he's in such a state! All those things he's saying, it's not right, Mr Renzi . . ."

Kydd was slumped in the same chair in his shirtsleeves, gazing fixedly into the fire, the brandy bottle nearly empty beside him. He jerked round when Renzi entered. "Ahoy there, ol' shipmate!" he called bitterly. "Bring y'r arse t' anchor an' let y'r logic tell me why—why scrovy bastards like Lockwood still strut abou' while my Rosalynd . . . while she's . . ." His face crumpled.

Renzi went to him and touched his arm. "I'm going to the apothecary, my friend. He'll have much more efficacious medicines for your pain." It was chilling to witness: never in all their years together had he seen Kydd in such a condition—save, perhaps, in the early days in the old Duke William.

"No!" Kydd's hoarse cry pierced him. "St-stay wi' me, Nicholas."

"Of course, brother." Renzi stoked the fire and drew up his chair. With a forced laugh he went on, "You should have no care for Teazer, old fellow. There's half the ship's company rollicking ashore and Kit Standish believing you gravely concerned with the stowage of the hold."

Kydd took no notice. Instead he turned to Renzi and said hollowly, "It's—it's that I can't face it, Nicholas—life wi'out her." His hands writhed. "I saw all m' days in the future wi' her, plans an' course all set fair, an' now—there's . . . no point."

Carefully, Renzi replied, "Not at all! I see a fine officer who is captain of a ship that needs him, one with the most illustrious of sea careers to come."

Kydd grabbed his arm and leered at him. "Don't y' see, Nicholas," he slurred, "it's th' sea right enough. It's taken m' Rosalynd as it can't abide a rival!"

"What? Such nonsense."

Kydd slumped in his chair. "I knew ye'd not unnerstan' it," he said, almost inaudibly, and closed his eyes before Renzi could continue. "No point," he mumbled, "no point a-tall."

"Tom, I have to slip out for a space," Renzi said. "I'll be back directly."

For a long minute Kydd said nothing. Then, with his eyes still closed, he said, with intense weariness, "As y' have to, m' frien'."

"Why, Nicholas! What a surprise!" Sensing the gravity of the visit, Cecilia added hastily, "Do come in. Mrs Mullins is engaged at the moment—the drawing room will be available to us, I believe."

Renzi followed Kydd's sister into the home of her old friend, whom she was visiting. She turned to face him. "It's Thomas, isn't it?"

"Yes . . ." Renzi hesitated. "I'm truly sorry to have to say that Rosalynd . . . has been taken from us. She was drowned when a packet boat overset on the way to Plymouth."

Cecilia gasped. "No! It can't be! And—and poor Thomas. He— he must be feeling . . ."

"I rather believe it is worse than that. His intellects are perturbed. He's not seeing the point of life without Rosalynd and I fear for his future."

"Then I must go to him this instant, poor lamb. Pray wait for me, sir, I shall accompany you presently."

"No! That is to say, it might not be suitable, Miss Cecilia. You see, he is at this moment, er, disguised in drink and he—"

"He might be, um, flustered, Nicholas, but he needs us. I shall go to him," she said, with unanswerable determination.

The night was cool as they hurried through the streets, but when they reached number eighteen they were met outside by a distraught Mrs Bargus and a wide-eyed Becky clutching her from behind. "I didn't know what t' do, Mr Renzi! All of a sudden I hears this great roar fr'm upstairs—fair set m' heart a-flutter, it did. I goes up t' see, an' then down comes th' captain in a pelt. He pushes past me an' out on the street. An' he just in his shirtsleeves an' all."

It was past enduring: the shock of the news had given way to the spreading desolation of grief, then the firming certainty that he wanted no part of a world that did not include Rosalynd. Whichever way Kydd faced there was pain and mockery, heartbreak and futility. Blind hopelessness had demanded release, and exploded into an overwhelming compulsion to escape the prison of his hurt.

He stumbled on into the night; some instinct had made him snatch up his sea-worn grego as he left, which kept him warm and anonymous over his shirtsleeves. Setting his path away from the sea, his thoughts tumbled on, a tiny thread of reason struggling against the maudlin embrace of the liquor.

Suddenly he had a theory: every mortal had a measure of happiness allotted to them and his had just run out. Did this mean he should resign himself to dreariness for what remained of his days? Was this something to do with the Fates? Renzi always set his face against them, something to do with . . . with 'terminism—deter . . . something . . . Damn it! Who cared about Renzi and his high ideas? Tears stung and no answers came.

A gentleman of age saw him and frostily made much of crossing the street to avoid him. Kydd glared drunkenly at him: how he'd suffered at the hands of so-called gentle society. In the hard days as a newly promoted officer from before the mast he had been ignored until he had learned their fancy ways. There had been ill-disguised scorn for his origins even in far Nova Scotia until he had earned admiration in a social coup when he had unwittingly invited the mistress of Prince Edward to a ball. It had been seen as a cunning move for advancement in high society, and here in England they had been ready enough to see him court one of their own but could not accept that his heart had finally been taken . . . by another.

Bitterness welled. Now when he so needed those who cared and understood to rally to his support there was no one. Not a soul. Cecilia could not be seen with him for the social stigma and Renzi, well, he had been so disapproving about Rosalynd in the past . . . Be damned to it—be damned to all of them! When he had been a common foremast jack it had never been like this—he remembered the comradely understanding, the rough kindnesses . . . Then there had been no judgements, and all was plain speaking, square playing. The memories flooded his brain fuzzily, the drink in him only intensifying his loneliness. He yearned to exchange his hard-won status for the careless warmth of the fo'c'sle. But never again would he—

A sudden thought came—seductive, challenging and glorious. He had lost everything, was alone in the world now and nobody cared. What if he left Commander Thomas Kydd to his misery and became once more Tom Kydd, carefree mariner, shipping out on a deep-sea voyage to the other side of the world? There were ocean-going merchantmen a-plenty in Plymouth, taking on last stores and cargo—they would snap up a prime hand.

Such a voyage would give him time to heal, find a new self. He gulped at the thought. After all these years, would he be able to hand a staysail, tuck a long-splice, stomach the burgoo and hard tack? He knew the answer instantly.

Yes.

He tried to focus on the details, muzzily aware that he was in no fit state to walk the mile or two back to Plymouth. He drew himself up with drunken dignity and hailed an approaching public diligence. The only other occupant stared in astonishment at his worn, tar-smelling grego over the lace-trimmed shirt and stylish breeches, then averted his head.

He was deposited outside the King's Arms in Old Town Street, on the heights above Sutton Cove and well clear of the insalubrious sailors' haunts—but that was where he was headed, down the narrow streets, alleys and passageways into the jumble of rickety buildings around the waterfront. He knew that Cockside on the opposite side of the Pool was most favoured by the merchant seamen so he made his way there, spurred on by the roars of jollity from a nearby taphouse.

A memory—a reflex from a life long ago—came back: he removed one shoe gravely, placed a few coins in it, then put it on again. This old sailor's trick would ensure that whatever condition he was in later he would not be a burden to his shipmates in returning to his ship. Whichever it would be . . .

He lurched upright and continued down the steep, unlit street towards the glittering pool of darkness. What was waiting below? What adventure would follow? Every time he had been to sea it had always been into some wild experience or other. Since he'd left the shore life and—

A blow to the side of his head sent him staggering, disoriented. He turned—

Another from behind knocked him to his knees. "Scrag 'im then, mate!" he heard.

Footpads! He scrabbled for his sword but, of course, it was not there. Grog-fuddled he was easy meat. A blackjack smacked into his head and sent him sprawling.

Then the two were on him, expertly riffling his pockets, taking his purse, a small ring, the fob watch Cecilia had proudly given him when he had achieved the quarterdeck. He was helpless while they ransacked his body with savage, invasive hands.

"Dick—I'm 'avin' them kicks. Help me get 'em off th' bastard."

They had seen his breeches, the sign of a gentleman, and these were his finest, worn for the admiral. He struggled but was held while they were viciously stripped off. "An' the shirt, cully!"

He caught one a glancing blow but it was no use. Before they had robbed him of stockings and shoes, too, something made them scurry off, leaving him prostrate in the dirty alley, sore and shivering with cold and shame.

Kydd sat up, head swimming. A bout of heaving seized him and he fell sideways, sliming his undervest. He got to his feet unsteadily, then saw that one of the robbers had thrown aside his own garments to run off in his. A rank pair of trousers and a ragged black waistcoat; they would have to cover him as he made his way back to . . . his old life?

No! If there was one thing he was not, it was a craven-hearted lobcock. He would see through what he'd set out to do. With pathetic dignity he hauled on the malodorous trousers, the fat-streaked waistcoat, and his old grego, which the footpads had disdained. It had seen many a stormy night in the past and no doubt would in whatever lay ahead . . .

Kydd set course stubbornly for Cockside. He reached the cobblestones of the quay, the bowsprits of silent ships spearing high above him in the still darkness. On the far wharf others were moored broadside to, with cargo working gear rigged, waiting for the next day. A lone shipkeeper wandered morosely about the deck of his vessel.

The sailors' taverns were beacons of light and noise and he made for the nearest. His mouth tasted vile, his head throbbed—but a gage of bowse with the splicings would soon set him to rights. Kydd pushed open the door and a sickly sweet smell of liquored sawdust and warm humanity hit him. A few turned, then resumed their conversations.

Across the room a serving maid looked at him speculatively and made her way through the tables. "A hard time, sailor?" she said sympathetically. It was not uncommon after a rough voyage and the hard carousing that followed for a sailor to sell his clothes. Kydd's heart warmed to her and he gave a shy smile. "Ye're welcome here, shipmate," she continued. "An' what c'n I find f'r you as will chase away y'r mem'ries, m' dear?"

Kydd's face clouded. "Thank 'ee, Miss—but there isn't a med'cine made as will settle that. Er, I have m' hopes of a long voyage t' come, though," he concluded weakly. His expression eased. "But a muzzler o' y'r right true sort is wha' I'd take kindly."

"Look, come over an' sit wi' these gennelmen," she said and waved a pot towards a cosy group about a table in the corner. "They's in from the Indies, eleven weeks 'cross the Western Ocean wi' a sprung foremast an' aught t' eat but belaying-pin soup an' handspike hash."

The beer was dark, honest and spread the glow of inebriation once more. His new friends had glanced at him curiously just once and then, as was the way of the sea, had accepted him for what he was. "Yez must've had a time of it, Tom, m' skiddy cock. Which hooker?" one asked.

"Save y'r kindness, mates, an' it's something I—I don't wan' t' talk of," Kydd said gruffly, and took refuge in his tankard.

"Right b' us, ain't it?" the oldest in the group said hastily to the others and called for another pint. "An' if ye're not flush in the fob . . ." he muttered kindly.

"Ah, 'everybody's mess an' no one's watch'?" Kydd snorted. "No, cuffin, I has m' cobbs as will pay m' way."

He fumbled with his shoe while the others looked away politely. He found the coins—in his careless haste he had slipped in three half-guineas and a florin, a princely sum for a seaman. Embarrassed, he mumbled something and ordered a drink for each man.

They had not questioned Kydd's reticence—many went to sea for a good enough reason—but they told him willingly of their own hard passage. Seeing Kydd relax a little, they asked what he had in mind for the future and, head spinning, he tried to explain his great need for far voyaging. They nodded: it was the ambition of most seamen when reaching port to spend all their hard-won pay in one glorious spree and, penniless, sign on for another hard voyage.

"Well, matey, we's not f'r south o' the Line, but y' might want t' think about Barbadoes Packet. Sailin' soon f'r Batavia in hardwares. Her mate'll be about lookin' f'r hands tonight, I shouldn't wonder."

Kydd tried blearily to take it in.

"Th' mate?" said another, with feeling. "Ye're forgettin' it's Hellyer, a right bucko as ever I seen! You ship out in that there—"

A splintering crash and female screams slammed into Kydd's consciousness followed by urgent shouts and a strident bellow from the door. Reeling, he tried to make sense of it as his companions shot to their feet and yelled at him, "The press! Skin out while y' can, Tom—jowla, jowla, matey!" They disappeared hurriedly into the scrimmage and Kydd tried clumsily to follow but fell headlong. Before he could rise he felt knees in his back, his thumbs secured with rope-yarns, and he was yanked to his feet.

"Got a rough knot 'ere, sir," the press gang seaman called, his hand firmly on the scruff of Kydd's neck as he tried to writhe free.

A young lieutenant was approaching and Kydd hung his head in stupefied dejection, waiting for recognition. "Ah, yes. Looks fit enough. Hey, you—which ship? What rate o' seaman?"

Kydd struggled with his befuddled mind. "Er, there's a mistake," he mumbled.

"That's 'sir' t' you, cully," the seaman said, with a sharp cuff to Kydd's head.

"Um, sir, y' can't take me, I'm . . . er, that is t' say, I'm . . ." He trailed off weakly.

"And, pray, what are you, then? A gentleman?" the officer said sarcastically, eyeing Kydd's appearance. "Or possibly the captain of your ship as can't be spared."

The seaman tittered.

Kydd said nothing, overcome with mortification. The lieutenant changed his tone. "Now there's nothing to be ashamed of. Should you show willing, in the King's service, we can make a man of you. Proud to serve! Who knows, there's been those who've been rated full petty officer in just a few years."

Numb, Kydd was led off with the others by the Impress Service, the regular organisation for supplying the fleet with men. He knew they were going to the receiving ship, an old, no longer fit-for-service hulk moored well out.

There, they were herded into the darkness of the hold, and the gratings slid into place with hopeless finality. Two dim lanthorns revealed dirty straw and pitiful bodies, a pail of water in the corner. In the morning he would be cleaned up to go before the regulating captain who, he recalled, was Byam, honourably wounded at the Nile. Without question he would be recognised.

The drink-haze fled, leaving him in full knowledge of the horror of his situation. He would be laughed out of the Navy. Even the merchant sailors would chortle with glee at the story of his downfall. To the disgrace of his family, he would be pointed out wherever he went as the captain who had been pressed by his own press gang.

The long night passed in self-condemnation, recrimination and torturing images of his shocked friends and relations as they heard the news. How could he bear the shame? What excuse could he offer? He lay sleepless on the rank straw, dreading the day to come.

At first light the guards took up position at the grating. Kydd heard footsteps approaching and saw figures peering down. He shrank away. There were muffled voices, then a guard lifted away the grating and swung over a lanthorn. "Hey! Yair, you wi' the grego!"

Kydd looked up miserably.

"Yes, that's him, the villain," came a cultured voice. Another loomed next to him.

The ladder was slid down. "Up 'n' out, matey, an' no tricks!"

Kydd climbed slowly, misery overflowing. He reached the top and raised his eyes—to be met with the grave face of Nicholas Renzi, who said, with a sigh, "It's him. Tom Brown, gunner's mate. Never to be trusted ashore. I dare to say that "Teazer's captain will know what to do with him." He turned to the lieutenant. "I do thank you for securing him—we'll have him back aboard immediately. I don't believe Captain Byam need be troubled." Then he ordered the thick-set seaman next to him, "Hale him into the longboat directly, if you please."

Tobias Stirk grinned mirthlessly and frogmarched Kydd away.

CHAPTER 2

HEARING MOVEMENT IN THE OTHER BEDROOM, Renzi sat up. Although he was very tired, he rose quickly and dressed. It had been a long, distressing night. After frantically searching for Kydd for hours, he had gone to Teazer and found Stirk. Together, with Stirk sworn to secrecy, they had scoured the dockyard and town. Then, despairing, they had thought to check the press gang catch.

Renzi knocked softly. Kydd's pain was heartbreaking and he was clearly not responsible for his actions: Who knew what he might do next?

"Tom?" he called gently. "Are you awake, brother?"

There was an indistinct murmur. Renzi entered. To his surprise Kydd was shaved, dressed and tying his neckcloth. "Do I see you well, my friend?" Renzi ventured.

"As ye'd expect." Kydd did not take his eyes from the mirror.

"Believe me, brother, you have my every understanding. When one's wits are askew with grief there is no telling where the mind will stray."

"Spare me y'r pity, Nicholas," Kydd said. "It happened."

"I'm saying that I've yet to meet the man who, trapped in a pit, is able to fix on far horizons. What you did—"

"What I did was weak an' foolish. I could've brought th' Service t' contempt an' ridicule." He paused. "I'm t' be—I'm beholden t' ye, Nicholas, f'r what ye did last night."

"It was nothing more than a friend would do, dear fellow."

Kydd resumed at the mirror. "I'm goin' back aboard. This is m' duty an' this I must obey above all things." He paused. "It was th' last thing she spoke t' me, o' course," he added, swallowing hard.

"A noble sentiment, Thomas. Fitting for a gentleman of the first rank."

Kydd found his waistcoat. "Ye'll oblige me b' tellin' how many— er, who saw me last night."

"Why, none of acquaintance, I believe," Renzi answered equably. "The quarter is not favoured by King's men."

"But there was Stirk."

"It was Toby Stirk who thought to summon a waterman, once we were landed, and even gave you his coat to wear over yours on the way back. Do you think he would be the kind of man to glory in his captain's abasement? There is none who—"

"And Cecilia?"

"She will now be in possession of my note detailing how you were cruelly set upon by footpads while taking the night air to clear your head, and that visitors are discouraged."

Kydd finished dressing. "I'm returnin' t' Teazer now," he said abruptly. "Do ye wish t' come?"

"If that is my duty, Captain."

"It is."

The waterman, under the tight-lipped grimace of his passenger, bent to his oars and sent the wherry skimming across to the little brig in Barn Pool. Rounding the pretty stern windows he brought it expertly alongside her side-steps, and Kydd boarded briskly.

"You, sir!" he roared at Prosser, the lounging mate-of-the-watch, who straightened in dismay at Kydd's sudden appearance. "What kind o' watch can't sight their captain returnin' on board?"

Prosser snatched off his hat. "Er, you're not in uniform, sir," he said weakly.

Farther forward the boatswain faltered under Kydd's glare. "We—we weren't told ye was comin', sir," he said.

Hurriedly the watch found things that needed attention round the decks. "This is not a King's ship, it's a Dutch scow. What are th' men doin' for'ard?" Kydd said angrily. "Hangin' out th' washing? If'n ye can't take charge properly, Mr Prosser, I'll find someone who will."

He stalked down to his cabin. Renzi paused, then descended the after hatchway to his own tiny hideaway to wait out the mood.

The morning wore on: he usually worked by the clear light of the stern windows in the captain's cabin. He gathered up his papers and made his way aft, knocked softly and waited.

"Yes?"

The impatient tone made him hesitate.

Kydd was at his desk, his face stony. "Is there anything y' need?"

"Oh—er, you wished to sight the quarterly return on casks shaken," Renzi said, thinking quickly. "Will this be the right time, do you think?"

"Not now. Ask th' bosun to step aft, if y' please."

The afternoon watch came to an end and the starboard watch for liberty mustered. There would be the usual sore heads in the morning after their time ashore. Standish paid his respects warily and was off as smartly, leaving the ship to its evening rest. Renzi waited a little longer, then went up.

Kydd was sitting motionless by the stem windows, gazing out at the shadowed waters. "I—I'll be stayin' with Teazer for now, Nicholas," he said stiffly. "Ye're at liberty t' use number eighteen as y' see fit."

"Thank you, my friend," Renzi said quietly. "But, as you'll know, we've been at sixes and sevens in recent days. I need to take some quiet time to bring things to order. I shall stay aboard." Without asking, he sat down in the opposite chair.

Kydd stirred and cleared his throat. "Ship's business? Then do y' care t' share m' dinner?"

It was a cheerless meal: not so much Kydd's halting conversation or his silences but the contrast with what had been before. Kydd's face was drawn, his eyes dull, and there was no light-hearted taking up of Renzi's witty sallies.

As soon as he decently could, Renzi excused himself.

The next day Kydd kept to his cabin. Life aboard Teazer settled to a dreary stasis at her mooring, the entire ship affected by the solitary and melancholy figure in the captain's cabin.

Renzi knew the cause of the flares of temper, the distracted silences: Kydd had seized on duty as salvation—the stern call to a code of conduct that was plain, uncompromising and immediate. A pathway out, which would offer a clear and unthinking course to follow that was sure and secure. And it was denied him while Teazer lay idle.

What would Admiral Lockwood plan for them? he wondered. It was an embarrassment now to have Kydd in his command, despite his recent successful cruise. Another anti-smuggling patrol? Worthy but dull, with possibly the Admiralty questioning continued employment of such a proven asset in this way. It would probably be a vague order to keep the seas as far from Plymouth as could be contrived; in any event, the sooner they got under way the better.

On the fifth day, Standish went ashore to the dockyard and returned with packages. He disappeared into Kydd's cabin and soon the ship was alive with rumour—orders had arrived at last.

The ship's clerk reported with the others. While the cabin filled with animated chatter, Renzi picked up the single sheet: ". . . and agreeable to an Admiralty Order . . . you are detached from duty in the Plymouth Command and shall proceed forthwith to join the Channel Islands Squadron . . ."

Renzi smiled cynically. Not only had Lockwood rid himself of his embarrassment but had even managed to have them consigned to the quiet backwater guarding those lonely English outposts, the tiny Channel Islands near the French coast. He had never heard of any stirring battles in that quarter—in fact, nothing of note in all the years of war. It was exile for Kydd.

He looked again. The date was a good seven months earlier. Lockwood had been asked then to provide a vessel but had held on jealously to his small fleet—until now.

"We're near ready t' sail. What's to do about our marines?" Kydd exploded, as though it was Renzi's fault.

"We'll hear back soon, I'm sure of it," Renzi responded, although he felt that Kydd had enough on his hands without insisting they ship the complement of marines to which they were entitled since they were now proceeding to a "foreign" station.

He had himself worded the application, which had been duly acknowledged, but Kydd was in a dangerous mood. "Don't th' marines barrack in Stonehouse? I've a mind t' go ashore an' stir the idle swabs."

There was no dissuading him and Renzi found himself hurrying behind as Kydd stalked the short distance from Stonehouse Pool to the massive light grey stonework of the barracks. A sentry snapped to attention and slapped his musket, bringing a lieutenant strolling out from the gatehouse. "Sir," he said, saluting smartly, "what can I do—"

"Commander Kydd, HMS Teazer. An' where are our marines?"

The lieutenant blinked. "Sir?"

"I've not time t' discuss th' matter. Please t' conduct us to y'r general in charge."

"The colonel commandant," the lieutenant said, clearly pained. "This is irregular, sir. Perhaps the adjutant might satisfy."

They headed across the parade ground, passing several drill squads of marines executing complex manoeuvres.

Kydd did not waste time. "Kydd, HMS Teazer. We're t' sail soon an' I've heard nothing of our marines, sir."

The adjutant steepled his fingers, then glanced up at the ramrod-straight colour sergeant at his side. "Then I'm to understand that you seek a company of marines to make up the complement of your fine vessel before you sail?"

"Yes."

The adjutant barked, "Sar'nt, go outside and find this officer some marines."

"Sah!" bellowed the man, with a quivering salute, and marched noisily away. In a suspiciously short time he marched back in and crashed to attention with another salute. "Sah! No marines. Sah!"

"None?"

"No marines a-tall. Sah!"

The adjutant assumed an expression of saintly sorrow. "There, Commander, you see? We cannot help you—there are no marines left, I regret to say." Sounds of screamed orders on the parade ground outside echoed in the office.

Kydd took a deep breath. "You flam me, sir, an' I'll not stand f'r it," he snarled. "What are th' men outside? A flock o' goats? If I don't get m' men an' that main quickly, I'll—"

"Commander! There seems to be a misunderstanding!" the adjutant said smoothly. "We may yet find you some men." He pointed at the colour sergeant. "Tell me, what do you see there?"

"A marine?" Kydd grated, without humour.

"No, sir. If you will observe, the man bears facings and cuffs of royal blue. This to the knowing signifies a royal regiment. Sir, he is a Royal Marine and has been since His Majesty in the year two did us the signal honour of recognising our services to the Crown of the last century or so." "Sah!" the colour sergeant blurted in satisfaction. "Loyal an' royal it is. Sah!"

"So, you see, these are proud men and are entitled to their honours. Should you take aboard Royal Marines you will find no more loyal and courageous a band of men anywhere."

Kydd glowered.

"Now, let me see, I have the current sea roster here. Pray tell, where do you see your service mainly? What rate of ship? It does matter, you know."

"Brig-sloop, Channel Islands Squadron," Kydd snapped.

The officer sighed. "Not as who might say an active station." He leafed through the book. "A brig-sloop, ship's company of eighty—a hundred? Then you'll be looking to a company of a sergeant, corporal and a score of privates."

"No officer?" Kydd came back testily. Even a junior lieutenant would be better than none for no one in Teazer could talk soldier lingo enough to take charge.

"None. But you'll find a Royal Marine is different from your regular soldier—more initiative, more reliable on his own." He leaned back. "I'll find you a long-service sergeant you might rely on, Commander. As for the men, it takes some two hundred Royal Marines to get a ship-o'-the-line to sea and I rather fancy you'll have to be satisfied at this time with near a dozen.

"Have no fear, sir, the men will be found. The barrack-master will need the details, of course, and I'm assuming you have made application for complement in the usual form. Our quartermaster will kit them for service and you shall have them before you sail. Good luck and good day to you, sir."

"Our marines at last, thank God," Standish muttered peevishly, spying "Teazer's longboat putting out from Stonehouse Pool.

"I rather think they would wish to be referred to as Royal

Marines, Mr Standish," Renzi murmured, watching the boat full of red coats approach.

"Lobsterbacks," Standish said. "Well, as long as they're inboard and victualled in by noon we'll be in a fair way of putting to sea before dark. Our lord and master is in a right taking, I tell you—wants to up hook and bowting the briny without losing a minute."

"You've applied for a removal out of Teazer, Renzi said quietly.

Standish looked at him sharply. "Who told you that?" His gaze swung back to the boat. "But it's true enough. Since he's crossed the admiral's hawse there's no hope o' Teazer being put in the way of a good fight and chance of distinction—the Channel Islands, I ask you!" He continued moodily, "And it's got to be said, since his dolly had the bad grace to get drowned he's been knocked athwart and no use to any. I fear our Mr Kydd's appetite for glory has gone, and with it any desire I have to stay in this ark of misery."

Renzi did not reply. The rot was setting in. Only the previous day they had lost Boyd, one of their only two midshipmen. There had been a rambling letter from his father about a fortunate placement in a ship-of-the-line but the real reason was obvious: society was unwilling for their sons and heirs to learn their officer-like qualities from someone of Kydd's reputation. And none had come forward to take Boyd's place; this was unfortunate for a midshipman counted as a petty officer and, among other things, could stand a watch in harbour under the mate-of-the-watch. It would not improve Prosser's attitude.

From his tiny cabin Renzi could not fail to overhear mess-deck conversations: at the moment the men were generally understanding of their captain's grief but he would quickly lose sympathy if he could not soon come to himself and give the ship and her company the attention they deserved.

Word was passed of the marines' imminent arrival, then Kydd appeared and stood motionless with a look of inward distraction. Renzi noted the resulting movement of officers and men: they were crossing the deck to keep their distance, not out of respect.

The boat's coxswain hooked on abreast the side-steps. Renzi moved unobtrusively to watch. After the sergeant and corporal had swung themselves inboard less than half seemed confident in their movements boarding a ship-of-war. However, the sight of so many identical red-coated uniforms was striking beside the individual dress of the seamen.

When the men had been drawn up to satisfaction by the corporal, the sergeant swung about and marched down the deck. He had strong, confident features with an easy cheerfulness. "Sar'nt Ambrose, sah! Corporal Jay, sah! An' twelve privates come t' join," he reported.

"An' not before time, Sergeant," Kydd said. "We're t' sea directly."

"With only one midshipman?" murmured Renzi beside him. "A mort hard on Mr Prosser, I believe."

"Do him good, th' lazy villain!" Kydd flared. But he knew this was no minor quibble: the lack of a midshipman in the opposite watch was going to affect more than just the watchkeepers for in any kind of action they were effective in standing between officers and men.

He rounded on Renzi: "So, if y'r polite society doesn't see Teazer a fit berth f'r their sons, why, I'm th' captain, an' it's m' right to set on the quarterdeck as midshipman any I please!" he retorted. He turned back with a sardonic smile. "Send Able Seaman Calloway aft, if y' please."

Teazer put to sea on the tide and stood out into the Channel. Seen from the rolling green hills of Devon, there was nothing to suggest that this was anything other than one of the many small men-o'-war going about their vital business in great waters. Her spars and rigging properly a-taunto, her pennant streaming out, sails trimmed to perfection, she was a picture of grace and warlike beauty—but on her quarterdeck, with the marks of grief and misery on his face, a figure stared astern over the widening seas at the receding coast.

Renzi watched Kydd unnoticed. It would be long months before England was sighted once more. Was there a chance that his friend could heal, away from the memories? He made his way below, guiltily aware that for himself the exile would not be wasted: he had heard enough of the Channel Islands, with their neither truly English nor certainly French character, to be looking forward keenly to his time there. An earnest guidebook was waiting on the bookshelf and opportunities in the future for exemplary ethnical comparisons would be limitless.

At daybreak they raised the south-west of Guernsey and, with the customary pilot aboard for entry into harbour, rounded the south-eastern tip. The island itself was only a few miles long, but a dismaying number of vicious rocks, reefs and islets were visible in the approaches to the harbour, scores of black fangs waiting on every hand.

St Peter Port was guarded by the brooding mass of Herm offshore, and closer to, a squat castle on a rocky islet before an inner harbour. Between, there was a broad expanse of clear water, sheltered from the prevailing westerlies. There, upwards of thirty ships were moored, including three warships riding to anchor.

"Ye'll be wantin' the two-decker, o' course," the pilot said respectfully. "Diomede, an' flagship o' y'r admiral." She was only a 50 but boasted a splendid gallery with a real, old-fashioned sternwalk. "Teazer's small swivel cracked in salute as six marines—all that could be found room for on the afterdeck—were drawn up and, with much stamping and slapping of muskets, brought proudly to attention.

"Away the gig." Kydd, in full dress uniform, stepped gravely into the boat. Renzi watched it stroke smartly away for the flagship. The twittering of pipes carried over the water as Kydd mounted the side and was gone.

"I'll be below," Standish announced, a bored look on his face. He clattered down the hatchway, leaving Renzi with the pilot, whose work would not be done until Teazer had anchored safely.

"This is Admiral Saumarez," Renzi pondered aloud to the pilot.

"Aye, it is."

"And something of a hero, I believe," Renzi added. "Was it not Orion at St Vincent and the Nile? And, of course, Algeciras . . ."

"A Guernseyman first an' always," the pilot said stoutly.

"This is his fleet?" Renzi said, gesturing at the other two ships, both frigates of some maturity. Even the small flagship Diomede was of an obsolete and derided class, not big enough to fight in the line of battle or fast enough to stay with frigates.

"Well, an' there's another two frigates out on a cruise, like," the pilot said defensively. "Plenty an' enough for Sir James t' see away Johnny Frenchman, I'll believe."

To Renzi it was unsettling: at a time when England stood in such peril why consign one of Nelson's band of brothers, a proven leader and experienced admiral, to be a full commander-in-chief of a tiny island or two and a handful of frigates?

He held his doubts, but that didn't stop the boatswain pressing the case: "As it may be, cully, but it don't say why such a right copper-bottomed fightin' man as him tops it the admiral-in-chief here when a little one'll do, does it?"

The pilot drew himself up. "No mystery, m' friend. He's a Guern', as I said, an' he's come back t' stand by his people in their time o' need. Anything y' can see wrong wi' that?"

* * *

Kydd returned, his face set. "Great Road, astern o' Cerberus," he ordered Standish, who had come back on deck and was awaiting the order to moor. "Mr Renzi, please t' attend on me," he added, and disappeared below.

There was a marine on duty outside the captain's cabin. As a naval officer, Renzi had been accustomed to due obeisance but as a ship's clerk he was not to be noticed; Kydd, however, received the respect of a musket clash as they passed into "Teazer's great cabin.

Kydd emptied his dispatch case of papers. "I'd be obliged if ye'd see t' these. Orders o' the station as will touch on "Teazer's standin' orders, forms o' the sort as y' will see bear on our new standing."

"New standing?"

"Aye," Kydd snarled. "As second t' Cerberus 32. Attached t' her for victuals an' stores, f'r duties as her captain will fr'm time t' time direct."

"Attached? This will—"

"It means no cruisin' on our own any more."

Renzi frowned. Apart from the obvious loss of independence, the natural assumption of honours for the senior in any combat that might eventuate and the halving or less of any prize money, there would be little chance now for challenges and diversions to lift Kydd from the pit of despair. "My commiserations, dear fellow. How shall you—"

Kydd's expression was hard. "I shall do m' duty, as will you, an' every man aboard this barky. Those orders t' be transcribed directly, an' the purser t' lay aft now." Kydd's eyes gleamed fiercely, his drawn features bleak and forbidding—almost callous in their estrangement from the world. Renzi felt deep disquiet.

The papers complete, Kydd left for Cerberus to make his number with her captain. He returned quickly, without comment, in time to receive the seven local men coming aboard who had volunteered. Unlike the general run of seamen in England they could be sure that service would be in their home waters, defending their own kith and kin.

At six bells Mr Queripel, a small but well-built man in nondescript old-fashioned dress, arrived aboard. His certificate showed him approved by the commander-in-chief to act locally as a form of on-board permanent pilot, insisted upon by Saumarez for all non-native naval vessels in his command. Renzi saw Dowse, their own sailing-master, take wary measure of him.

Standish turned to Kydd. "Sir, might I ask—"

"When Cerberus puts t' sea, so does Teazer, " Kydd grated. "Until then we remain in attendance at anchor. Is that clear?"

"Aye aye, sir," Standish said sulkily.

That night there was no invitation for Renzi to dine with the captain; he supped with Standish and the others in what passed for a wardroom, the cramped space outside the cabins below.

"Tut, tut," the master said, after the meal had advanced sufficiently for tongues to be loosened. "Where are our spirits? Why are we cast down? Th' chances are we'll soon have our heart torn out on some Godforsaken rock and out o' this 'un quick enough."

"Mr Dowse! F'r shame!" said the boatswain, Purchet. "Could be th' Frogs are out an' then—"

"And then they fall on these pawky islands?" Standish sneered, from the head of the table. "I don't think so, Mr Hellfire Bosun. No, if they've got a handful of hours to crowd across the Channel, they'll not waste time here." He tossed back his wine.

"Then why's his grandevity Sir James o' Algeciras sent here?" Dowse asked. "Must be f'r a very good reason."

"Ha!" Standish came back instantly. "You really can't smoke it? He's here for just the same reason as we are." He glanced quickly at Renzi, who had taken no part in the discussion, then went on, "In course, he's run afoul of some higher and sent here to keep the natives quiet!" He went on strongly, "Stands to reason, dammit—commander-in-chief of an island four miles thick and not a ship-o'-the-line in his command? What other reason than he's been exiled too?" he said bitterly.

"What's your opinion, if y' please, Mr Renzi?" Dowse asked politely.

By now, in this company, Renzi had been accepted for what he was—an enigma, but no threat. He had kept to himself, scrupulously careful never to take anyone's part, his relationship with Kydd seen as that of an eccentric and needy scholiast taking advantage of the free board and lodging due a ship's clerk. A quiet and amiable manner, however, had ensured him the warmth of these men. "Why, I've seen nothing so far that might lead us to suppose there has been some form of alienation, but this presents a mystery. I fear that without facts I'm as much at a loss as you are."

Standish snorted. "If you insist on making it a mystery, sir, I do not." He banged down his glass. "Rather more to the point is our predicament."

"Our which?" said Renzi, mildly. Over time they had come to see that he did not carry tales to Kydd and were increasingly open in his presence. With his ear to mess-deck gossip and to the confidences of the commander, he was in a unique position—which might well end in an impossible situation if he did not tread circumspectly.

"You do not call this a predicament that we're to spend the rest o' the war flogging up and down this coast while all the victories are won elsewhere? I have my hopes of a sea career, gentlemen, as won't be found here. Remember, out of sight, out of mind. We'll not be noticed in this pawky scow." He took a savage pull at his wine. "And," he paused for breath, "I asked to be appointed into Teazer because I'd heard Tom Cutlass was to be her owner and we'd ride to glory together in some famous mauling. In just six months he's thrown the lot away! In with the admiral's daughter and set fair to be made post into a frigate for his trouble, me as his premier, and he takes up with some country milkmaid!"

The table remained silent. "And the worst is, the looby lost the wench and has clearly taken leave of his wits, been touched in the headpiece. God knows what he'll do next—do you?" he threw at Renzi.

Renzi cleared his throat. "The man is to be pitied at this moment, I believe. He confided to me something of his feelings for the young lady and his present state is perfectly understandable, given—"

"So we must all suffer while he comes to his senses."

Dowse stirred uncomfortably. "Er-hum. Them's strong words, sir," he said quietly. "Th' man only needs time."

"Which we ain't got!" Purchet came in unexpectedly. "I don't mind sayin' it before yez all but I'm afeared. He's comin' down hard f'r no reason an' unsettlin' the hands, then forgets things as are needful. If he is, um, not as who should say, square in his reason, then God help us if ever we come up wi' a Frenchy."

A day later a lieutenant from Cerberus brought orders for sea: a neutral had sighted two French corvettes heading west. To the open Atlantic—or Brest? Either way, Saumarez wanted this immediately investigated by Cerberus to the south and another frigate to the north, to sail without delay.

Throughout Teazer there was a quickening of pace, a lightening of spirit. A corvette would be easy prey for a frigate but the other must be theirs. It would be a rare match and hard fought—unless Cerberus's bird tamely gave in the fight early and Cerberus turned to claim both.

There was point now to the mindless cleaning and blacking of guns, the make-work tasks of a ship in harbour. Kydd could be seen everywhere about the decks, and when Cerberus's signal to unmoor was bent on, Teazer was ready. The hoist went close up, and at the midships capstan men placed themselves at the bars, seamen and marines both.

"Stir those mumpin' dawdlers!" Kydd bawled down the deck to Standish. "If we're still hook down when Cerberus weighs, I'll—I'll make 'em rue it!"

To the reedy sound of a fife and the stolid thump of a drum they set to the task with renewed determination. Well before the frigate won her anchor, Teazer 's was clear of the seabed and coming in rapidly. Renzi, on the quarterdeck at the ready with his notebook, pursed his lips. They must now throw sails aback to keep from running down the still-tethered frigate; on the more senior ship, would this be seen as a brazen attempt to do them down?

Eventually the Union Flag at the jack of Cerberus whipped down to indicate her anchor was aweigh and, with a flurry of flapping and banging, Teazer set her sails loose to the wind and settled to follow in her wake.

"Two cables astern, until th' open sea," Kydd told Standish. The low coast slipped past but more of the appalling rocks showed until it seemed they were surrounded by them. For the moment they would be in no danger, in the wake of the experienced bigger ship.

Queripel came forward and stood next to Kydd. "It's not th' rocks ye should be most concerned of," he began, "y' can see 'em. It's the tide set an' currents round 'em that c'n vex even th' most experienced. When th' tide state is—"

"Stand down, Mr Queripel," Kydd said. "Ye're not required."

The man's eyebrows rose but he said nothing and retired to the wheel. Renzi knew better than to interpose and concentrated on the low sea coast to larboard and the endless dark crags and fissures that protruded from the water on all sides.

Clear of the Brayes the vessels stood on out to sea northward, taking advantage of the steady west-north-westerly. Standish made much of trimming sail, demanding a foot of fore-tack here, checking out a main-topsail sheet by two feet there, until "Teazer's bowsprit rose and fell dead in line with Cerberus's stern and at the required distance.

Kydd did not interfere, and when the activity had died away he left the deck, to Standish's clear relief. However, he returned almost immediately, carrying his octant. He paced deliberately to the foredeck, braced, and sighted with the instrument, bringing the main topmast truck of Cerberus to the waterline. Then he strode aft and confronted Standish. "Our orders are t' take station two cables clear, as well y' know, sir. What's this, that you believe it t' mean a full twenty yards closer?"

The lieutenant remained silent.

"I'll not have Cerberus think us laggardly in our duty. I'll trouble ye to fetch y'r instrument. T' save you the figuring it'll be six degrees an' forty-four minutes ye'll set." He stared Standish down, and an abashed midshipman was sent below for Standish's sextant, which, like many officers, he preferred to the more old-fashioned octant.

Kydd waited until Standish was on the foredeck sighting, then stumped off. As soon as he had gone Standish abandoned the task and returned aft, his face murderous. "Get for 'ard with this, you," he demanded of Prosser, shoving the sextant at him. "The sooner I'm quit o' this madness I swear, the better."

Mid-afternoon the signal to tack was thrown out from Cerberus, with the amplification that the two would advance in line-abreast by the same distance. Kydd had been expecting this, and from noon had both watches on deck and lines ranged along ready for the manoeuvre. The hoist jerked down—the execute. In frenzied excitement Teazer hauled and braced, spinning about handily under her brig rig full minutes before the frigate, surging ahead in a fluster of foam but quickly finding need to brail her courses and idle until Cerberus had steadied on her new track.

The waning sun brought with it brisker winds: oceanic westerlies that had a fetch of thousands of miles and a steady pressure that drove unwary sailors staggering across the deck. It was exhilarating sailing—men came from below to watch Teazer take the combers on her bow in a crunch of seas, a dizzying swoop and lift, while out there on their beam to windward was the thrilling picture of a thoroughbred frigate snoring along in a smother of white, close-hauled under a full press of sail.

Purchet came aft and touched his hat, leaning forward to make himself heard. "She's like t' wring her topmasts, sir," he said respectfully. Aloft, every sail was as taut as a board, thrumming with nervous tension and with edges in a mad flutter. The boatswain crossed to a sheet and thumped it with a closed fist. It was as unyielding as an iron bar. He looked back significantly.

Kydd did not speak at first; his gaze went to the topsails, which shivered on the point of going aback where the apprehensive helmsman was luffing up, spilling wind to avert disaster. "Single reef in th' courses," he allowed grudgingly.

Out on their beam the frigate was making splendid sailing, her wake racing past and with only the occasional graceful nod and sway in answer to the lively conditions. Teazer, however, was now taking the seas heavily forward, the straining impulse of her sails sending her into steep oncoming waves with an explosion of white sea and then the shock of a sudden slowing. Courses were double-reefed and topsails to a precautionary single.

"Signal, sir," reported a midshipman. Cerberus was visibly pulling ahead. "Our pennant, keep better station!" The flags streamed out high and clear. It was, no doubt, something of a sweet revenge for the frigate captain, for as Teazer struggled to keep up Cerberus increased her lead, all the while keeping the signal flying.

It was not until dusk, and Teazer floundering miles astern, that the frigate relented and, with a fine show, brought to until the little sloop could come up.

It had been a fruitless chase, the French long gone and nothing to show.

When they had cast anchor again in St Peter Port, Kydd had been summoned by Captain Selby to Cerberus; what had been said Renzi did not know, but Kydd had retired immediately to his cabin, ejecting him. As he left, Renzi caught sight of Kydd slumping in his chair, staring unseeingly out of the stern windows.

Allowing an hour to pass he had returned under some pretence of letters to be signed at the same time as Tysoe, Kydd's servant, had under his advice brought in wine and left quickly. Kydd said nothing but accepted a glass.

"A drollery to reflect that Guernsey is undoubtedly the chief supplier to our smuggling fraternity in Cornwall, and here we are to consider them our charges to protect," Renzi said lightly.

Kydd stared into his wine.

"And such a singular part of the realm, I've read. The guidebook tells that they still converse in a species of ancient Norman French, which your Parisian would find it a sore puzzle to understand." He inspected his wine. "A visit ashore should prove most diverting . . ."

"Go, then."

"I had rather hoped for your company in such an interesting place, as we may talk about at a later time."

"Understand that I only have th' one interest—to do my duty, an' no other!"

Renzi tried once more. "It might prove restorative to the spirit to accept something of the kindness and hospitality that is undoubtedly on offer to the heroes who defend these shores. To taste something of the delicacies peculiar to these climes—it seems the gâche alone will reward the asking."

"I'm stayin' aboard." Kydd's voice was flat and spiritless.

Standish returned bubbling with tales of St Peter Port and its social attractions; it seemed that, as a colourful landfall, it was fulfilling every expectation.

Renzi was sorely tempted: what he had read so far in the guidebook had been explicit about the remarkable differences in social attributes to be experienced on the island neither a colony nor a contiguous moiety of either England or France. They were stationed here, true, but for how long? Better to snatch a glimpse now.

It was not hard to conceive of an excuse that must take him ashore, two papers needed the signature of the civil authority, and soon he was in "Teazer's boat heading for St Peter Port, the town above the enfolding arms of a north and south pier set about a tidal harbour.

The shore rose steeply behind, buildings crowding along irregular streets, and directly at the fore, a long and busy waterfront lined with tall warehouses that took in goods directly from the ships alongside. The port was remarkably busy, the flags of a dozen nations visible from the many ships now settling on the mud. This was no maritime backwater.

He was left at North Pier and, remembering the directions he had been given, pushed past the noisy porters and wharfingers and squeezed up the narrow passages between the buildings to emerge on the main street.

He looked about. Here was a quality of building that would not disgrace Bath or Weymouth. The shops of a perfumier, a stay-maker and an importer of carpets from London, all evidence of a level of society on the tiny island that was no stranger to wealth, a diverting ethnographical study. Was it purely economics at the root of their success or was it true there were other aspects to their culture?

High Street was choked with people, carts and carriages in rowdy contention. He found his way to Smith Street, a steep road that led him up to quite another purlieu: imposing new buildings that looked out above the hurly-burly of the town to the sweeping prospect of the harbour, castle islet and distant islands.

He found the government offices easily enough and it took minutes only to complete his duty, but as he wandered back down to High Street and its lively crowds he felt reluctant to return to Teazer straight away. He decided to walk the length of the thoroughfare, revelling in the riotous sounds and smells after so long in the small ship with its bleak atmosphere. At the end was a church and, beyond, a rookery of decaying medieval houses crowded on the steep slopes above boatyards on the strand.

He turned to go back; but on noticing a raised level with the crush and animation of a market, he was drawn irresistibly to the cheerful din. At the far end was a noble arch, and to the right a stone building with, in the upper storey, the unmistakable lofty windows of an assembly hall.

Renzi crossed to admire it; on the end wall there were posters, theatre notices and, to one side, a beautifully handwritten one. He bent to read: "The Cists and Dolmens of Ancient Sarnia newly considered. A public lecture to be given at the Royal College of Elizabeth . . . Revd Dr Carey, MA Oxon etc., etc. . . ."

Dolmens! Of course! Were these in any way related to the cromlechs of Brittany? What manner of mysterious peoples had created those great stone monoliths? Had their civilisation wilted and crumbled from the immense effort—or had they failed to meet some overwhelming economic challenge and subsequently disappeared from the face of the earth?

His excitement mounted. What fortune to have come ashore the very day it was to be delivered. A wave of guilt rushed in: he had vowed to stand by Kydd in his grief and travail. But at this particular time he was not so immediately needed, and this lecture, given by a passing savant, would not be repeated.

He would go! He had plenty of time to discover the whereabouts of the Royal College as the event would take place this evening so until then he could wander the narrow streets agreeably and possibly the rocky shore. His means did not extend to a meal but there were sights enough for an enquiring mind. Feeling like an errant schoolboy, he set out.

With evening drawing in Renzi topped the rise above the town, footsore and hungry, looking for the ancient college. The town was giving way to country; on the left-hand side, for some distance, he saw a series of newer, more handsome houses, and on the right, open fields and a dilapidated structure of uncertain antiquity.

Where were the college and the people flocking to the lecture? He stopped a passing tradesman. "Elizabeth College? Ye're looking at it!" he was told.

It was an academy of sorts, much decayed but still in possession of extensive grounds and with only one glimmer of light showing. Renzi entered hesitantly.

"Welcome, welcome! Do come in, sir!" The broad room was musty with age and gloomy with dark panelling. There were but six sitting among the rows of school chairs facing the lectern from which a diminutive cleric beamed at him.

He settled in the second row. Chairs scraped and coughs tailed off in the silence until it became evident that no more would arrive. The man picked up his papers and introduced himself; the talk was pleasantly delivered and competent, the material stimulating. At the conclusion Renzi applauded enthusiastically but he subsided at the thin handclaps from the rest of the stolid audience.

Renzi offered a question or two, which were gratefully received, then the meeting concluded, most quickly making for the door—all but one gentleman. "A good evening to you, sir," he said, "and I do not believe I have seen you before."

"Mr Renzi, er, of the Navy. Just visiting."

"Then I should thank you for supporting the reverend doctor with your presence. Are you by any chance an old scholar of the college?"

"No, sir." So the lecture had been a noble attempt by the dominie to attract the public, the gentleman speaking with him an old boy loyally present. Judging by the painfully chalked Latin epigrams still on the board, Renzi surmised that the lecture would not seem to be typical of the kind of instruction normally carried on.

"Then . . . ?" the man asked politely.

"I have a penchant for the outworkings of human culture of any age, sir."

"An unusual inclination for a sea officer, if I might remark it." The man's bearing was aristocratic, his eyes shrewd.

"I—I am not a naval officer, sir. My situation is fortunate, being that of a man of some learning afforded the felicity of board and lodging, while I undertake my investigations, for the trifling price of acting as ship's clerk."

"How curious!" The man hesitated, then held out his hand. "My name is Vauvert, and it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr . . . ?"

"Renzi."

"My carriage is at present in use, else I should offer to transport you back to your ship, but my house is near and no doubt you will appreciate refreshment before you return."

Vauvert's house was one of the large, handsome buildings on the other side of the road. "I'm by way of being an écuyer, that is to say a négociant, a merchant investor, and my name is not unknown in these islands."

Renzi took in the fashionable adornments of the drawing room. "Mr Vauvert, it would gratify me considerably to know how it is that a distant island, barely five miles across, can display such wealth and success, when others . . ."

"The reason is simple. We are left to our own devices, Mr Renzi. Parliament in London plays no part in our affairs and our loyalty is not to the English King but to the Duke of Normandy."

"I'm astonished to hear it," Renzi murmured uneasily.

"This is so," Vauvert said firmly. "Our islands were anciently in the fiefdom of Normandy and we see no reason to shift our allegiance to the Crown of England."

Renzi held still. In the face of the revolutionary madness sweeping Europe, savage laws had been forced through by the prime minister William Pitt with swift and dire penalties for illegal and treasonable association. If—

"Therefore our loyal toast will always remain to the Duke of Normandy—who, since his subsequent conquest of England in 1066, now occupies the throne in the person of His Majesty King George."

At Renzi's expression he continued smoothly, "Which confers considerable benefits, chief of which is an independence in matters of trade and law—for instance, we are outside the remit of English Customs and Excise . . ."

"I have heard the term 'smuggling' used in that connection," Renzi said delicately. "Teazer's days of guarding the Cornish coast were still fresh in his memory.

"Never in these islands!" Vauvert said stoutly. "We are the suppliers of goods only. If our clients choose to evade payment of duty on subsequent import then this cannot be our concern. It has served us well over the centuries, in truth."

"And privateering, I've been led to believe."

"And privateering. It must be confessed that many fine houses along Grange Road here were raised on the profits therefrom. But, pray, do not be deceived. It is our trading that has made us what we are. That and our independence. You will want to hear of our Bailiff and Constable who in this land hold powers higher than a prime minister, our jurats, States and Royal Courts—but I fear you will not wish to be delayed."

Renzi gave a polite bow and murmured a farewell.

"It is, however, an unlettered place," Vauvert added. "I would very much like to hear of the progress of your studies here, Mr Renzi, perhaps at a later date . . ."

CHAPTER 3

AS RENZI ENTERED THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN, Kydd threw him a dark look. "Th' ship in th' state y' see her, and y' step ashore on the ran-tan like some jackanapes wi' not a care in th' world? I'm surprised at ye, Nicholas!"

"It was ship's business," Renzi replied, "and there being no boat going inshore after dark, as you'll recall." He had spent a cold night on the foreshore, waiting for "Teazer's milk-boat at dawn, and did not need a lecture.

"There's some who'd say as ye're guilty of being absent fr'm place o' duty," Kydd said hotly. "How c'n I keep discipline if'n you're straggling ashore as it pleases ye?"

Renzi paused. "I feel you're not yourself, my friend. Perhaps you should—"

"Don't y' understand me?" Kydd said harshly. "You're ship's clerk an' have a duty t' the ship. Y' know, I c'n have ye in irons f'r breaking out o' the ship—desertion!"

Angry now, Renzi took a moment to control himself. "My dear fellow, your words cannot help but strike me as somewhat intemperate, not to say provocative, and hardly justified. You've been under strain lately, I know, and—"

"Ye're not t' go ashore again without I say so."

"As you wish," Renzi said, "Yet I'll have you know that I understand and have much sympathy for you in your loss . . ."

"F' give me f'r sayin' it," Kydd said sarcastically, "but I don't see how y' can. Until y' cares enough f'r someone, loves 'em as I do—did . . ." he said thickly. He faced away suddenly, then turned back with a wooden expression. "But, then, it's of no account to you, o' course."

Renzi felt his control slipping. "Confound it, man—do you think you're the only one who's loved and lost? Death is part of life, and others find ways to deal with it." He was breathing deeply. "You're not the same man I knew, Tom. It's knocked you askew, touched your human judgement—where's your spirit? You've changed— and not for the better."

Kydd did not respond and stared down at his hands. Then he said, "You're in th' right of it. I'm changed." With a heavy sigh he went on, "I'm now empty—quite empty, y' see, an' there's only duty now in m' life."

Renzi bit his lip. "This won't do, Tom. You must come up with a round turn—see yourself, what you're becoming. Do I need to lay it out before you? Be a man, for God's sake!"

Kydd stiffened. "An' you're th' one t' tell me? If you were a man you'd not have run off fr'm Cecilia to New South Wales."

With a deadly ferocity, Renzi swept Kydd's papers off his desk. He leaned down, inches from his face. "How dare you?"

Kydd did not flinch, staring back with equal intensity, and said slowly, "Pick up th' papers—or leave my ship now!"

Renzi bit off what he was about to say and made to walk away, then turned back abruptly to face Kydd again. "I will not leave the ship. You don't realise it but, at this moment, there is not a soul whom you may call friend. And I solemnly warn you, as surely as the sun will set this day, very soon you will most certainly need one."

"Do try the buttered crab, Mr Kydd," Lady Saumarez pressed, "You really should—Guernsey is not to be outshone in the article of fruits of the sea."

"Yes, yes, my dear," the admiral murmured. He turned to Kydd and chuckled. "She's local-born, as was I, and will not rest until you are as a fatted calf on the good produce of our island."

Kydd sat quietly, toying with his food.

"Now, I always like to invite my new captains to a little dinner en famille like this—less formal and allows us to talk freely, learn about each other, as it were."

"Aye, sir," Kydd said respectfully.

"Tell me, your service history is sparse in its detail—you were at the Nile, were you not?"

"Sir. Fifth of Tenacious."

"Come, come, sir! You are much too coy. I happen to know that you were out in the boats when L'Orient blew up. That must have been such a fearful sight close to. Did you suffer much on your own account?"

"No, sir. I had th' boat's crew under coats an' sails. Th' big wreckage went over th' top of us."

Saumarez waited but Kydd did not elaborate. "And this is how you won your step to commander?"

"No, sir. That was later, just before th' peace." He resumed his meal.

Saumarez threw an amused look of resignation at his wife, who simpered encouragement at Kydd. "Who placed you on your own quarterdeck?"

"It was Adm'ral Keith, sir."

"For a fine action, no doubt."

"Off Toulon, Captain Rowley desired I be removed fr'm his ship, sir, an' so Adm'ral Keith sent me t' Malta to commission a new brig jus' built."

Saumarez sat back in amazement. "Well—'pon my soul! For an officer of record you are a quiet one. Have you any family?"

"No, sir."

"Ah, well, then, perhaps you should. There is nothing on this earth to compare with the love of a good woman to set the cares of the world to naught." His warm look at his wife was returned with an affection that was as tender as it was private. He turned back to Kydd. "May we know if you have any hopes at all—in the connubial sense, I mean?"

Kydd sat rigid and unspeaking.

Saumarez went on, "Sea officers, I fear, are so much at a disadvantage when it comes to affairs of the heart. I remember once when . . ." Then his words trailed off and astonishment was replaced by dismay as tears coursed down Kydd's face. Lady Saumarez stared open-mouthed.

Saumarez jumped up, stupefied by the sight but caught himself quickly. "Er, my dear, Commander Kydd is, um—and will be retiring with me to the red drawing room—for brandy, that is."

He hurried round the table, helped Kydd to his feet and led him into a large room with a cheerful fire. "Now, what is this, sir?" Saumarez asked, in a kindly tone.

"I—I can only apologise f'r m' conduct, s-sir," Kydd choked. "Y'see, I've—I've just this month lost m' intended t' drowning—" He fought down the tears and added stiffly, "If you desire, sir, I shall leave y' house immediately, o' course."

"Good heavens, no. I had no idea—here, you shall have a good brandy directly." He hurried to the decanter. "It's one of the faults of our modern society that a man cannot in any wight allow his feelings to display. Do sit, sir—my wife will fully understand when I tell her of your sad loss."

"Sir."

"It will, of course, be a grievous ordeal for you, but remember that for those who trust in the Lord's goodness it will be seen that there is a reason, however hard it is to apprehend at this time." He drew his chair closer and confided, "You will perhaps not at this point easily entertain the notion, but it has been said that my nature is one that in its sensitivity might more readily be seen in a man of the cloth. I can assure you that any distress in my fellow creature I do feel for myself." He touched Kydd's arm lightly. "Therefore I trust you will not take it amiss when I offer my advice. It is that you do seek the humanity and warmth of your fellow man in the healing—the well-springs of charity are deep, and within us all."

Kydd's expression did not change.

"I'm only too aware that for the captain of a ship this might prove . . . difficult, but there is a means to this end. I'm referring in this to the Mermaid's Club, which is a retreat for naval officers in St Peter Port. There you may find solace with your brothers of the sea."

At Kydd's silence his forehead creased in concern. "In fact, you may take it as a species of command, sir. I shall have a word in the right place as will see you introduced. Dwelling on your hurts in the privacy of your cabin is not to be countenanced. Now, I will be bending my mind to the task of finding ways to keep you and your command as active as I can contrive. Never doubt it, Mr Kydd, all things will pass in God's good time."

The room was broad but low, and dominated at the far end by windows that extended the entire width to provide a fine prospect of the busy harbour below. "Ho there, the stranger!" a voice called from the group at ease round a mahogany table towards the back.

Kydd handed his cloak to a steward, stepped forward and bowed. "Kydd, brig-sloop Teazer." A few in armchairs nearby looked up curiously from their newspapers, then nodded politely.

Kydd was the only one in uniform; the others wore shore clothes. He approached the group. "Gentlemen."

"Come to join, I take it," a large man, older than Kydd, said.

"Aye."

"Umm. Of good standing, polite to your betters, not afraid of the bottle? Any habits, vices we should know about?" His eyes were shrewd.

"No."

"A pity. We can do with men o' spirit. Right. Ten livres a month—that's less'n a guinea—feast-days extra, commensal brandy extra. Are you game?"

"Aye."

"Then you're in. I'm Carthew of Scorpion ship-sloop, and chairman o' the Mermaid. This is O'Brien out of Harpy brig and the rest you'll get to know soon enough."

He sat back in his chair and contemplated Kydd. "Sit yourself down, then, Kydd. O'Brien, get the young man a rummer. Now, sir, we'll know more of you. What did you do to be banished to this benighted corner o' the world?"

"I was detached fr'm the Plymouth command o' Admiral Lockwood, agreeable to an Admiralty request—"

"Ding dong bell, man, and what's that meant to say? That you—"

"I received m' orders an' I did my duty, Mr Carthew," Kydd rapped.

Faces turned elsewhere in the room and the talking died away for a space. "Well, well! Do I see a discontented fire-eater before me? If so, you have my condolences, my dear sir. You'll have to work hard to chase up some sport here."

O'Brien murmured something indistinct and Carthew laughed cynically. "Then my best advice to him is to get used to it—the only way he's getting out of here now is to contrive to be wrecked or become the admiral's élève when there's to be a promotion!" He continued to appraise Kydd coolly. "Is it right that you were at the Nile?"

"I was."

"I see. And Saumarez here second-in-command under Our Nel. Fortunate for you, not to say useful," he said smoothly.

"I was fifth in Tenacious, signal luff, an' never clapped eyes on him but the once, if that's y'r meaning."

"Do ease sheets, Mr Fire-eater," Carthew said evenly. "This is a small command and we all have to live with each other."

As the hard night softened with the first intimations of dawn, Kydd readied his boats' crews. It was a hastily planned operation with all the potential to go wrong. During the night they had been towed within striking distance by Teazer. He was in the first boat, about to lead the shore party, which included others who had been sent in reinforcement from the squadron.

An oar clunked awkwardly as the men took up position for the coming assault. "Hold y' noise, oaf," Kydd hissed savagely, "or I swear I'll see y' liver at the gangway tomorrow!" The man stared back at him resentfully.

All hinged on surprise—getting the men ashore and to the top of the two-hundred-foot cliffs before troops, roused by sentries, could arrive from farther up and down the coast. Once on the heights there was level ground into the interior countryside, and if they could establish a well-defended position, reinforcements could flood ashore.

The coast materialised ahead from the dove-grey mists, high, craggy and forbidding. There might be pickets even now concerned by the odd cluster of shapes out to sea, finding a telescope and . . . Kydd scanned the area feverishly, looking for the features he must locate in order to land in the right place: an offshore scatter of rocks that guarded a small coomb, not much more than a fissure but which would give them a chance to reach the top. There! At the right distance from the unmistakable high headland to the southwest he saw the betraying white of sea-washed rocks extending out in a distinctive pattern, Les Lieuses, Sept Boues and the rest.

"Stretch out!" Kydd roared. "Stretch out f'r y'lives!" The need for caution was past—now everything depended on speed. Oars thumped and strained as men leaned into the task. Astern, the other boats surged and flew to bellows and threats from their coxswains.

At the periphery of his vision Kydd saw movement at the high cliff-edge. It was a figure on horseback! The alarm would now be given speedily—their margin of time was perilously small. The figure fell back and disappeared.

They reached the first rocks. The assumption was that those defending would believe these lofty crags would prevent any seaward onslaught—this would certainly be true for a ship-of-war under sail but well-handled boats could thread their way through and make a landing.

As they approached, the cliffs towered impossibly high above them but their information had been correct: a fold in the cliff-face lay away at an angle; bare rock, scrubby bushes and the occasional scree slope—but a way up!

And praise be! Queripel had the tides precisely calculated in these parts. The rocky plateau at the base was all but submerged, allowing the boats to ground close in. Kydd clambered over the side, all pretensions to dignity abandoned, and splashed into the shallows. "Move y'selves!" he bellowed.

Men started to gather on the rocky strand, many staring up anxiously at the precipitous heights. "Light along th' tackles—get going, then!" Kydd barked irritably. This was his trump card: numbers of nimble-footed topmen would work in relays, advancing upward to secure a block and tackle, which would then be used to sway up swivel guns and their improvised mounts in stages. Only a light weapon at sea, on land in these wild parts they would be the only artillery in the field, and would give pause to even the finest infantry arrayed against them.

"Now!" Kydd gestured to Ambrose, and the marines began to climb up the slope, disappearing quickly into the scrubby undergrowth in clouds of reddish dust. At the top they would throw up a defensive perimeter for the rest. The stolid sergeant had grasped immediately what had to be done.

It seemed to be going well—too well? Nearly two hundred men were massing at the foot of the cliff, each encumbered with a musket slung over his back and others with ungainly packs of ammunition. As more landed, they were getting increasingly in each other's way.

Kydd drew his sword hastily. "Forward!" he yelled, and led them upwards in a rush. So much had to go right! There were those who were detailed to haul on the tackles, unarmed topmen swarming up to secure the blocks, more still to fleet the blocks once close up, others to keep together for gun-crew when on the level . . .

At any moment lines of soldiers might appear along the edge of the cliff—and it would be all over very quickly. Panting with effort, Kydd yanked on bushes to heave himself up the craggy heights, muscles burning and his world contracting to the untidy slither of dust and rubble that was their path.

Out of sight above them the marines must have reached the top—would they be met with naked bayonets or . . . ? But there had been no sudden shouts so they were still in with a chance.

When he drew near to the top Ambrose scrambled over to him. Breathless, Kydd heard that the perimeter was secure with outlying sentries concealed and the defenders not yet in sight. Keeping his head down, the marine pointed out the salient features: a far-distant cluster of buildings, probably a farm, and farther still the tip of a steeple. For the rest it was open fields and curious cows in a gently rolling rural tranquillity.

"We post th' guns here—an' over there," Kydd gasped.

"Sah." Ambrose pointed suddenly. Following the outstretched arm Kydd saw mass movement at the edge of a small wood a mile or so away. Without a telescope he could only squint. Then, as the activity extended to each side, there could be no mistake. Troops were deploying.

"Get those guns up here at th' rush!" he bawled, and heaved on a line himself. The swivels with their clumsy frame mountings were manhandled up and hurried into position. Men fanned out to either side. It was sobering how few two hundred looked when occupying a battlefield.

But they were in time. Dusty and weary, chests heaving with exertion, they stood ready.

Trumpets could be heard faintly as the soldiers opposite formed a line and, to the thin rattle of drums, advanced on them. "Give 'em a swivel," Kydd ordered. They were not within range but it would show them what they'd be up against.

At the spiteful crack there was wavering in the ranks, and screamed orders carried across to them. The lines came to stop and a white flag rose. It was brought forward by an officer. Kydd grinned savagely: the day was theirs—and so easily.

The man trudged over, red and angry. "Damn it, sir, no one told us o' artillery in the field. Rather unsportin', I would have thought. Where the devil did they come from?"

"Show him, Sergeant," Kydd grunted, and watched while the officer was escorted to the cliff-edge and peered down.

When he returned he mopped his forehead. "Well, sir, an' I declare m'self well and truly at a stand." It had been a hard march for the soldiers from the redoubts to the west but they had been too late.

"I give ye victory, sir," the officer said in admiration. "Those ship guns were a master-stroke." He advanced to shake Kydd's hand. "Major Jevons, o' the Guernsey Militia. Might I hope t' see you at Fort George one day, sir?"

It had started as a difference of opinion between Lieutenant Governor, General Sir John Doyle, and Rear Admiral Saumarez as to the adequacy of the military defences in the south of the island. Kydd had taken up Saumarez's conjecture that they were not impregnable and now there was proof positive for all to see.

HMS Teazer had closed with the land the better to view proceedings and had the singular distinction of flying the colours of Rear Admiral Saumarez with the standard of the Lieutenant Governor.

In a little over an hour Kydd was back aboard. "Well done, sir!" Saumarez said genially, when introductions had been made on the quarterdeck to Doyle. "Showed 'em what the Navy can do, by Jove." He looked benignly upon Kydd. "And what an active and enterprising officer might be trusted to achieve."

CHAPTER 4

THE CHAMBER OF THE HOUSE OF LORDS was in an uproar. Baron Grenville, a former foreign secretary, was on his feet and in full cry: "In fact I'm led to believe that this government has no idea— no idea—of the dire threat the kingdom now faces! Allow me, my noble lords, to attempt to arouse some measure of urgency in this supine Tory ministry."

Seated on the Woolsack before the empty throne, the lord chancellor frowned but made no move to intervene.

Grenville waited for the noise to lessen then pronounced, "I can now say for a certainty that Bonaparte no longer menaces Great Britain with invasion." Having the august chamber's full attention, he went on, "This is just so: the threats have now been withdrawn!" There was puzzled murmuring. Then he continued, with quiet venom, "My noble lords, the empty threats have gone, and in their place is the awful reality. From Dunkirk in the east to Granville in the west, in every French harbour and port opposite us, there are now being built hundreds—nay, thousands—of invasion craft whose only purpose is to throw one hundred and fifty thousand men on the English shore."

Lord Hobart fidgeted in his seat. As secretary of state for war in a beleaguered administration, his would be the task of replying to the unanswerable.

"This realm, at great cost to its treasure, has created and maintains a navy whose chief purpose is the safeguarding of our islands. We have a right to see it arrayed in all its might along our coasts, resolutely facing the enemy, as it has done so gloriously from long before." Grenville gestured at the wall panels, each of which depicted a scene of some heroic sea battle from England's long past.

He paused, then asked, "But where is it now? Apart from Lord Keith in the Downs it always seems to be away on some distant errand—dissipating its strength on some foreign adventure. It should be here, standing four-square before Bonaparte's hordes."

Turning sharply, he looked straight at Hobart. "I beg this House do remain attentive while the noble lord does enlighten us as to why we should not be terrified at this moment!"

Rising slowly, Hobart tried to marshal his thoughts. "My lords, er, there is—"

There was a stir at the door and the lord chancellor got to his feet. "The Earl St Vincent," he intoned.

A buzz of interest broke out. The bluff man in the splendid robes of a peer of the realm was Jervis. Honoured by his sovereign, he was a sea hero whose service dated back to before Nelson was born. It had been he who, in the year of the Great Mutiny, had led the fleet against the combined might of the French and Spanish to spectacular success. He now stood at the pinnacle of his sea profession as First Lord of the Admiralty and strategic head of the Navy, feared and respected.

His wintry eyes took in the excited peers as he paced slowly to the centre of the chamber. "My noble lords!" he said, in a voice that had in past days carried through winter gales. "I do not deny that we are faced with a determined and dangerous foe who is undoubtedly resolved on the conquest of Great Britain. You are right to be concerned, to question the power of the Royal Navy to withstand the tyrant."

He paused. "It is not in me to find you agreeable words of comfort—that is not my way. You ask me to assure you that Bonaparte will not prevail. That cannot be in my power to guarantee to you." In the utter silence Earl St Vincent added grimly, "This only am I sure upon: I do not say, my lords, that the French will not come. I say only they will not come by sea."

"Sir, "Teazer's number at the signal tower," Standish said, to the motionless figure on the quarterdeck. A ship's pennants hung out meant a summons for her captain to attend immediately upon the commander-in-chief. Standish tried to hide his curiosity.

"Aye," Kydd acknowledged dully. "Th' gig t' be alongside in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Flags. I'll ring when you're needed." Saumarez turned to Kydd, "Do sit, sir," he said formally. He picked up a paper from his desk and regarded Kydd gravely. "There are two matters that I wish to discuss, the first of which is causing me some distress. I think it fair to inform you that I have received a most unusual, that is to say disturbing, communication from the port admiral at Plymouth." He regarded Kydd steadily. "In it Admiral Lockwood has seen fit to disclose to me his views on your moral worth while serving in his command, which are not necessarily to your credit."

"Sir? This is—"

"The wording need not concern you, but it should be understood that I myself hold personal probity and the strictures of honour among gentlemen at the highest possible value, especially so in any of my commanding officers whose moral example will naturally be followed by those serving aboard his ship.

"Now, Mr Kydd, please know that I propose to decide for myself your fitness of character for the dignity of captain of your vessel, as is only right and proper. However, the nature of these views implies a moral transgression of some weight and I therefore do beg you to acquaint me now with the substance of—"

"I have naught t' regret," Kydd whispered, his face pale.

"Why, surely Admiral Lockwood did not—"

"He—There's nothing I've done f'r which I need be ashamed. Nothing!"

"It's very odd, then, that—"

"I swear!"

Saumarez leaned back, plainly mystified. He seemed to come to a conclusion and sat forward. "Er, very well, sir. Then I'm minded to take your word on it." He put down the paper firmly. "And therefore, unless I learn of something to the contrary, you shall hear no more of it.

"Now, may I know if you've been able to find a measure of companionship at the Mermaid's Club?"

"Thank you, sir, I have," Kydd said stiffly.

"Again, you do have my sincere condolences, Mr Kydd, and my wife wishes you to know that she perfectly understands your—"

"Sir."

"Yes, well, perhaps we shall move on to matters more of the moment." He reached across and rang the desk bell. "Ah, Flags. If we could have the Gulf of Avranches charts."

He turned to Kydd with a sombre expression. "You're no doubt aware of the preparations the Corsican tyrant is undertaking for his enterprise against England. I have this day received more news of these evil works, which must not be suffered to continue with impunity." Saumarez selected the large-scale chart and laid it on his desk. "I have not forgotten my pledge to make your command an active one, Mr Kydd, and now I have a mission for you."

He moved the chart round to face Kydd, tapping his finger at a point on the coast of Normandy, a bare forty leagues from England. "I wish you to look into Granville to discover a count of invasion craft and similar assembling there. Should your report warrant, I shall have no alternative but to contemplate action against them."

Granville was one of the few harbours of that iron-bound coast, lying to the south-east beyond the vast reef plateaus and vicious half-tide rocks and could only be approached at particular states of the tide. The harbour was in the lee of a long peninsula, an ancient town atop its length and long, enfolding stone piers providing capacious shelter below.

"I understand, sir."

"It will not be an easy task—the waters in approach are shallow and treacherous and the tidal streams prodigious. I believe that spring equinoctial ranges exceeding forty feet are often experienced there," he added, with a thin smile. "And you will discover Granville to be so situated that only the closest approach will answer."

"I'll do m' duty, sir."

"I'm sure you will, Mr Kydd." Saumarez said. "There may be others who may feel that their greater familiarity with these waters entitles them to this important task. I'm confident, however, that you will secure the intelligence without overly hazarding your ship or taking unnecessary risks, and it only remains for me to wish you good fortune."

"Where's Queripel?" Kydd demanded.

Standish, startled by Kydd's sudden appearance on deck in the midst of the upheaval necessary in a rush to sea, turned to Prosser. "Pass the word for Mr Queripel."

"My cabin!" Kydd said irritably, and left.

The lieutenant scowled. "Where the devil's Quez?" he said to Prosser. "I don't know what all the fuss is about, this is only a reconnaissance—action to be avoided at all costs. Where is the rogue, dammit?"

The little man puffed up, buttoning his waistcoat. "As I was a-mustering m' charts," he said, with dignity.

"Captain wants your company," Standish grunted.

Kydd looked up as Queripel entered the great cabin. "What do ye know of Granville?"

"Granville! Not y' harbour of notice—dries at low water, miles o' reefs and sandbanks afore you come up with it. C'n get a nasty lop over the shallows if'n the wind's in the sou'-west on the ebb and—"

"I mean t' look into it directly," Kydd said flatly. "How . . . ?"

Queripel hesitated, then said defensively, "An' if it please ye, 'twould oblige me should Mr Dowse be heard an' all." Queripel was clearly conscious that his position aboard was local and irregular: a hired pilot would in the nature of things assume responsibility for the ship, but his position was ill-defined and he did not want difficulties with the sailing-master later.

Dowse was summoned and Kydd gestured him to one side as a chart was spread. "I'll hear your opinions afterwards. Get on with it, then, Mr Queripel."

"From the suth'ard, Mr Kydd," Dowse came in, before Queripel could speak, pointing to the long peninsula set out to the southwest from the north-south-trending coast. To see directly into the port it did seem obvious they would have to make their approach more from the south.

"Won't be possible, Mr Dowse," Queripel said firmly, "what with Banc de Tombelaine an' the shoalest water of all t' the sou'-sou'-west. We has t' come at it by the same course as all do take, from the west, an' lay Le Videcocq rocks no more'n a couple o' cables distant."

"From th' west?" Kydd said sourly. "An' under eye the whole time?"

"Can't be helped, sir," said Queripel.

Teazer had lain uneasily to anchor overnight to the east of Îles Chausey, a six-mile desolation of countless rocks and reefs that were a bare ten miles from the Normandy coast and Granville. At dawn the winds were fair, the day bright and no sail in sight. But the sloop remained stubbornly at anchor: there would be no sudden descent on the port, for Queripel had been insistent. The tides had to be right.

It was not until after nine that Teazer got under weigh. The tide-set had been quite apparent while they were moored; the ship had soon swung into the ebb and the rapid current had gurgled urgently along her hull until in the early hours it had lessened. After the vessel had veered right about, the busy swirling had begun again in the opposite direction.

On a strengthening flood tide Teazer, with doubled lookouts, raised the coast, an uneven ripple of blue-grey firming quickly to a sweep of craggy coastline interspersed with sandhills and beaches. The pale blobs of sail close inshore changed aspect one after another as the far-off craft, recognising an approaching man-o'-war, fled for their lives.

The Granville peninsula, Cape Lihou, lay dead ahead. Ending in a prominent lofty headland, it angled across and half concealed the harbour. The sheltering stone piers of the port sweeping the vessels into its embrace were dozens of feet high, in deference to the vast tidal range. And they hid the harbour completely, with everything it contained.

"They enters b' keeping in wi' the land from the south," Queripel murmured. This lie of the piers would give the best protection from harsh westerlies, but meant that their one and only chance to see past the high stone walls was to close right in with the land, then make a hard turn to the left until they could peer inside the two pier-heads.

"Take us in, Mr Dowse," Kydd ordered, lifting his telescope to scrutinise the panorama. The distant last sail was even now disappearing within the enfolding piers as they approached, leaving the whole coast in both directions clear and somnolent in the autumn sunshine.

The headland gained clarity, but as they neared and shaped course to its southward there was a gust of white on the bluff tip and, seconds later, a double thump. Cannon balls plumed and skittered towards them.

"Ranging fire only," murmured Standish, coming up to stand next to Kydd. "The villains'll have to do better'n that."

Kydd didn't reply. Another rumble, and a shot passed the length of the ship before meeting spectacularly with a wave crest to send spray sheeting and rattling over the quarterdeck. "Stand on, Mr Dowse," he said, with a cold grin. "We'll tack about opposite the harbour entrance as quick as y' please an' out again."

Teazer edged away to make sea-room, but Queripel said anxiously, "An' nothing t' starb'd." At the same time a distant avalanche of thuds sounded and the sea was alive with rising plumes. Boxed in as they were by sand-shoals to the south and the peninsula to the north, their approach track left precious little space for manoeuvre—and of a certainty the gunners in the old fort were well aware of it. No inquisitive British warship was to be allowed sight of the harbour.

A ball slapped through the fore topsail, leaving a ragged hole, another parted a backstay with a musical twang, and they were not yet within a mile or so of the harbour. Dowse whispered to Standish, "Action t' be avoided, did ye say, sir?"

"Hold y' course!" snarled Kydd, as the helmsman allowed the ship to fall off the wind.

Standish whipped up his glass. "Sir—I see . . . two, no, three and more craft under sail and leaving."

Kydd raised his own telescope, then lowered it. "Gunboats," he said heavily.

It altered everything. Small lug-rigged open craft they each mounted a cannon in their bows. One, two—possibly four or five— Teazer could take on but, well-handled, a swarm together could bring the broadside of a frigate to bear. It was time to retreat.

Renzi entered the cabin noiselessly to see Kydd at his desk, head in his hands. He stood by the stern windows for a moment, then turned. "An unfortunate situation," he said softly. His friend did not look up. "As would vex the saintliest," he added.

Kydd raised his head and mumbled something, but Renzi was shocked by the red-rimmed, puffy eyes. Kydd gestured wearily at a chair and Renzi sat quietly.

"I'll not quit," Kydd croaked.

"It would seem we have little choice," Renzi said.

"Standish wants t' land a party an' scale th' heights t' look down the other side into th' harbour."

"With the old town all along the top and roused by our presence? I think not."

"A boat in th' night? But they'd never see anything."

Renzi pursed his lips. No course of action suggested itself and in going on he was only humouring Kydd. "Then possibly some sort of . . . spy, agent who, when landed, will mingle unnoticed and . . ."

Kydd's head lifted. "You?" he said, and smiled.

Renzi treasured the look for the memory of shared times now past, but said wryly, "The character of a Norman townsman might well be beyond my powers, I fear."

The light died in Kydd's eyes more and he slumped back. "I shall think on it," he said finally. "Tell Mr Queripel t' present himself with his charts, if y' would."

Shortly, HMS Teazer got under way from where she had been lying hove-to and made away to the west, yet another frustrated English man-o'-war thwarted in her mission to uncover Bonaparte's secrets. No doubt there were those in Granville seeing her fade away over the horizon who were blessing the port's odd topography for repelling the foe so easily.

But among the islands of Chausey Teazer ceased her retreat and rounded to in a channel east of the larger. Renzi and Standish waited at the conn, the rich stink of seaweed drifting out from the scatter of rocky islets. A desolate cluster of sod huts was the only sign of life.

"It sounds a right madness," Standish said sullenly. Renzi fore-bore to reply, for Kydd had been curt and unfeeling: he alone would carry out the plan. Any other conversation was stilled by Kydd's arrival on deck.

"Sir, you've given thought to what this means for the customary usages of war?"

"Yes." Kydd was apparently in no mood to discuss matters. "Ye have y'r orders, Mr Standish. Mind you fail me not, sir," he added grimly. "You have th' ship."

The lieutenant stepped forward. "Aye aye, sir."

The yards came round and, taking the pleasant wind on her quarter, "Teazer's forefoot chuckled contentedly as she began to circle the forlorn group of rocks. Before long she found what she was looking for.

"It'll do," Kydd said shortly. "Mr Andrews, go below an' find a notebook," he told the young midshipman. "I'll be telling ye what to write."

The white-faced lad hesitated. What Kydd contemplated was causing consternation round the ship. Renzi motioned the lad to one side. "I do believe, sir, that any clerkly duty belongs rightfully to me," he said to Kydd. "And, as it happens, my notebook is ready by me."

The little fishing-boat bobbed disconsolately under Teazer 's guns while the pinnace pulled out to it. By common consent in wartime the fisher-folk were left alone to go about their business but now Kydd had seen fit to capture one. If it resulted in reprisals and the sea fisheries of Britain suffered . . .

The three-man crew had little choice: they were relieved of their rank-smelling fishing smocks and headgear and sent back to Teazer while Stirk and Renzi set about acquainting themselves with the rigging of the little two-master that reeked so of eel and shellfish.

It was a simple but effective lugsail rig, the Breton chasse-marée, a "tide-chaser" that was fast and agile in these shallow waters, but Renzi had a considerable sense of foreboding. Trespassing in French waters out of uniform they could be taken up as spies—and the French would stop at nothing to prevent information about their invasion preparations getting out.

And the only way their stratagem would work was if they sailed right up to the entrance, ignoring the heavy cannon of the fort and the gunboats at readiness inside. He swallowed and glanced at Stirk, who sat impassively forward next to the foremast stepped so close to the stem. There were distinct advantages to those not cursed with a vivid imagination, he thought ruefully.

The frayed brown sails fluttered then tautened and the boat leaned willingly into the wind, heading back to Granville and its home while Renzi wedged himself against the gunwale. All depended on things having settled down after the English ship had been seen to give up. But was Kydd to be trusted in his judgements? It was so troubling, his obsession with duty. Did his headstrong daring mask carelessness with others' lives?

Cape Lihou loomed ahead; sail were dotted here and there, issuing out from between the pier-heads, free to continue their coastal voyages. Renzi was aware that locally their little craft would be well known, and with strangers seen aboard, to answer a friendly hail might result in alarm and disaster.

They were close enough now to make out the embrasures of the fort at the tip of the peninsula, the long, defensive walls along the old town and the high stone piers extending well out, a perfect concealment.

Faint shouts came from over to starboard—another chasse-marée, waving for attention. Instinctively Renzi ducked and began to throw odd bits of gear to Stirk, who quickly caught on, busying himself industriously at nothing. Kydd remained stolidly at his steering oar, concentrating on the approach.

The ruse of being too occupied to talk seemed to satisfy: with several final derisory yells, the fishing vessel passed across their stern and away. The afternoon light was mellowing to early evening, but if they made it to the entrance soon, they would have no difficulty in seeing into the port. A coaster emerged and, loosing topsails, made off to the south; they were now less than a mile from the entrance. Under his fishing smock Renzi readied his notebook and pencil—they would have minutes only. He dared a glance at Kydd. His concentration was intense.

Angry voices came from astern: a French advice boat making importantly for the entrance as well. Kydd fell away from the main track to let it by. Renzi busied himself once more and caught glimpses of faces, some bored, others staring down the worthless fishermen as they overtook to make the sharp turn to pass within the piers.

"On m' mark," Kydd whispered savagely. Their lives depended on what happened in the next few minutes. The twin pier-heads, each with the figure of a sentry atop, were now barely hundreds of yards distant, the nearer one drawing back with their advance. In seconds they would know everything.

The pier-heads drew apart and there within was what they had risked so much for—Renzi had time only for a quick impression of an inner harbour all of a quarter-mile in size and crammed with small craft before Kydd leaned on the steering oar and the boat turned sharply towards the entrance.

"Now!" Kydd rapped. Renzi was holding a bucket on a rope over the side as though scooping water but at the command let it go. Under its drag the boat lurched to a snail's pace and Kydd began his count.

"I see six—no, a full dozen o' chaloupes canonnières," he hissed urgently, "No—make it a score. An' more'n I can count o' bateaux canonnières—say twenty, thirty?" The piers were approaching slowly and steadily, and if they allowed themselves to be swept inside they would be trapped.

"There's six gun-brigs, an' more building on th' inner strand," Kydd went on remorselessly.

Something in the muddy water caught Renzi's eye; a subliminal flick of paleness and mottled black. It must be desperately shallow here and—

His mind went cold: years of experience told him that the sea state had changed. The tide was now well and truly on the ebb— Queripel's calculations had been proved inaccurate in these local conditions: they had been counting on an approach with the flood and retreat on the ebb.

It might already be too late. Renzi's imagination saw them making desperately for the open sea only to grind to a sickening stop on some tidal bank. "Er, tide's well on the ebb," he said, with an edge in his voice.

"Take this down. A frigate—say a 24—building t' th' north, wi' at least ten flat barges next t' it."

"I do believe we should put about now," Renzi said pointedly, with an odd half-smile. The piers were near enough that a sentry could be seen looking down on them curiously.

Renzi tried to catch Stirk's eye but he was doing something with the lug-yard. "Tom, we have enough as will convince even—"

"Stand by t' go about!" Kydd hissed. A coastal brig was coming up fast astern, a marked feather of white at her forefoot and, in her relative size, indescribably menacing. Renzi stood ready with his knife.

"Lee-oh!"

The blade severed the bucket rope in one, and at the same time the steering oar dug deeply. Then Renzi understood what Stirk had done: a lugger had to dip the yard round the mast when going about, but he had furtively laid it on the wrong side at the cost of their sailing speed. When they had turned, it was already on the correct side and had gloriously filled, sending the bow seaward.

Renzi leaped to the main lug and worked furiously on the heavy yard. Distant screams of rage across the water made him look up and he saw the brig bearing down on them, frighteningly close. They had not gathered enough speed to clear its path—and the close-hauled larger vessel hemmed in by shoals clearly would not be able to avoid them.

Stirk gripped the gunwale and stared in horror at the onrushing ship but Kydd remained immovably at his post. On the brig men were running urgently to the foredeck shouting, gesticulating.

The ship plunged nearer, its bowsprit spearing the air above them and suddenly it was upon them—but the swash from the bluff bows thrust them aside and they were clear by inches, the barrelling hull towering up and rushing past almost close enough to touch, the noise of her wash sounding like a waterfall. And then it was over, the plain transom receding and men at her taffrail shaking their fists at the lunatic fishermen.

The old boat gathered way agonisingly slowly, her gear straining. Renzi knew that high above them in the fort their antics were being pointed out and probably puzzled over, especially the odd fact that they were shaping course not along the coast but heading directly out to sea.

Now all depended on speed. It would not be long before the French woke up to their audacious incursion and then . . .

The first dismaying sign was the sound of a thin crack high up.

Gunsmoke eddied away next to a signal mast at the tip of the headland, clearly to bring attention to a string of flags that had been peremptorily hoisted.

They stood on doggedly but then a deeper-throated thud sounded and, seconds later, a plume arose between them and the open sea.

Renzi looked again over the side and saw that anonymous seabed features were becoming visible in the murky water. Then, with a bump and slewing, they came to a halt.

It was now deadly serious: if they could not get off within minutes they would find themselves left high and dry by the receding tide, easy prey for soldiers cantering up on horses.

"Over th' side!" Kydd shouted, leaping over the low gunwale into the water. It was hard, serrated rock underfoot, the striations parallel with the coast. They manhandled the big boat, heaving until their muscles burned. It moved. Then, juddering, it found deeper water and suddenly they were dangling from the gunwale. At the limits of their strength they flung themselves inboard panting, and hauled in on the slatting and banging sails.

Stirk saw them first. "Be buggered—they's after us!" he gasped, pointing back to the harbour entrance. One by one gunboats were issuing out. It was now all but over.

"Sheet in!" Kydd roared. The chasse-marée leaned and showed her breeding, perfectly suited to the shallow waters of the Brittany coast. But it would not be enough against the half-dozen vessels now in fierce pursuit.

Then quickly it was all over. In obedience to orders, and at the appointed time, HMS Teazer appeared round the headland, her colours flying and guns ablaze.

CHAPTER 5

THE LARGE, AIRY UPPER ROOM at Government House, St Peter Port, with sunlight beaming in from tall windows, was ideally suited for a captains' conference. The commanding officers of His Majesty's ships in Guernsey Roads sat round the long table with, at the head, in his gold lace and decorations, Admiral Sir James Saumarez. Distinguished at St Vincent and the Nile, victor of Algeciras, he made an imposing figure.

"Gentlemen." His grave glance took them all in—Selby, captain of the frigate Cerberus at the foot, with the sloop commanders on each side: Carthew of Scorpion, O'Brien of Harpy, Kydd of Teazer and the rest.

"I have no need to remind you of the utmost seriousness of our situation with Bonaparte adding daily to his arsenal for his enterprise against England. We have now received intelligence of a most disturbing nature directly affecting this station, concerning the harbour of Granville, which is, as you must be aware, apart from St Malo, the only anchorage worth the name in all the two hundred miles between Cherbourg and Brest."

Studied blank looks indicated that this was old news to most.

Saumarez continued: "It would appear that Granville is being readied to play a major role in the armament and building of invasion barges and support craft, concentrating them there in great numbers—yes, Captain Selby?"

"Sir." The frigate captain leaned forward, "But do we have recent intelligence as will—"

"This last two days Commander Kydd has returned from a reconnaissance of the harbour. By means of remarkable exertions he was able to look into the port directly and make an account of the shipping therein. I have no reason to doubt his information."

Selby sent a quick smile of respect to Kydd, who did not acknowledge it.

"I've heard something of this daring, sir," Carthew interjected, looking pointedly at Kydd, "and I rather feel it would be of interest if we could hear his justification for taking prize a fishing-boat, contrary to the common usages?"

O'Brien murmured something but Saumarez cut across quickly: "The vessel was not made prize, and was restored immediately afterwards. And I understand the master did not decline the sum that was offered him for the, er, hire of his craft. You should understand Mr Kydd has my entire approbation for the initiative he displayed in this matter."

Carthew exchanged a significant glance with the others.

Saumarez frowned. "And I shall be looking to more of the same from all of you in the very near future." Heads rose as the implication of his words penetrated.

"Yes, this meeting is not one about defences, gentlemen. We are to make an assault on Granville."

There was stunned silence, then a hubbub of excited talk. If it went forward it would be the first real offensive operation in these waters against the French so far in the war—and the best chance in sight of some form of distinguished action. But Granville? In so formidable a defensive position with forts and a walled town overlooking the harbour? It would take considerable military resources—did Saumarez have these?

The admiral called the meeting to order and went on, "The essence of my plan is this. The primary objective can only be the invasion craft: I propose to inflict such damage on them that their sailing to join in concentration those readying opposite England's shores cannot be in contemplation before the winter season is upon us.

"And by no means may we consider a landing. This leaves us in prospect of a massed boat action, which I can only think will be a bloody affair indeed, and I will not have it. There is, however, one possibility left us. Bombs."

Saumarez paused while his captains took his words in. A bomb-vessel was a specially constructed craft with a huge mortar throwing explosive shells. If it could be manoeuvred into position . . .

"I have therefore sent for a pair from the Downs Squadron to assist us in the assault. Sulphur and Terror will be joining us, with their tenders, and then we sail against the enemy."

There was no mistaking the feeling in the pugnacious growls round the table.

"With shoal water out beyond cannon fire before Granville, there is limited sea-room and thus our force is constrained. Therefore I am making the following dispositions: I will be shifting my flag to Cerberus frigate from Diomede to close with the coast more nearly and will, of course, be in overall command. The two bombs will also be under my direction and will form the core of the assault. To this end, there will be a force of three sloops and cutters whose sole duty will be the protection of the bomb-vessels."

This was a small force to set against the might of the French but if a ship-of-the-line was present it would necessarily be compelled to remain powerless far offshore, and with the bomb-vessels warped close in only smaller craft could keep with them.

"Under whose command will the covering force be?" Carthew asked. He left unspoken his realisation that any valiant defence of the bombs would certainly be applauded but only the man in command would bear the public credit.

"For this task I will be asking Commander Kydd," Saumarez replied levelly.

"Sir! I must protest!" Carthew said hotly. "This officer has been in these waters only a few weeks and, besides, I feel I must draw your attention to the fact that he is considerably my junior in the list of commanders."

"I'm not in the habit of defending my decisions, sir," snapped the admiral. "However, you will recall that Mr Kydd has had a recent and intimate acquaintance with the object of our expedition and has done nothing to disabuse me of his suitability for the post. He will assume charge and I expect all my captains to support him."

Sailing with the early-morning tide the small fleet laid course for the enemy coast—the flagship Cerberus in the van and HMS Teazer immediately following, leading the close-support squadron.

However, even before Jersey was laid to larboard it was clear that the bomb Terror was unable to stay in the line, her broad, flat-bottomed hull making atrocious leeway in the combined south-south-westerly and strong tidal current. It was essential that she be in position before dark: her mooring arrangements were complex and technical, for it was not the mortar she aimed but the whole ship.

Her sister Sulphur was delayed in port. There was now every prospect that the assault would fail even before it started and there were bleak looks on every quarterdeck. Later in the afternoon Cerberus backed her topsails and hove-to with "Teazer's pennant and the signal for "come within hail" hoisted.

Saumarez's voice sounded through the speaking trumpet, strong and calm. His orders were to go on and anchor before Granville and await the bomb-vessels, which would now necessarily be obliged to conduct a difficult night moor. A council-of-war would be called upon arrival.

Pointe du Roc was raised by five o'clock, and well before dusk Cerberus let go her bower anchor, a second streamed out by the stern. She settled just outside range of the guns of the fort on the louring heights. The signal for "all captains" was immediately made.

"As you see, gentlemen, we have set ourselves a challenging task," Saumarez opened, with a tight smile. "I propose to place the bomb-vessels to seaward of the peninsula. Their fire will overarch and descend into the harbour the other side among the dense-packed shipping with the object of causing general damage and the utmost confusion, for there is nothing that the French might do to prevent it falling among them." He looked meaningfully at Kydd. "Unless, that is, they are able to make a sally against the bombs."

"They'll not touch 'em, sir—that's m' promise."

"Good. May I know how you plan to dispose your forces, sir?"

Scorpion and Harpy t' take close station on the bombs, Elingschooner f'r communication and Carteret cutter with Teazer at th' entrance o' the harbour t' bar any who thinks t' leave."

The captain of the schooner was visibly crestfallen and Carthew curled his lip in a barely concealed sneer. "And if there is a concerted attack on any one position?"

"Red rocket, all vessels attend at the harbour entrance. Blue rocket, t' fall back on the bombs."

"Very well. We lie here until the bomb-vessels reach us, at which point we close with the shore to begin the bombardment, paying particular attention to the state of the tide. If any vessel takes the ground, there will be no help for it—with this tide range there can be no relief." Saumarez hesitated. "It does occur to me," he said, in a troubled voice, "that our actions will be alarming in the extreme to the civil populace, living as they do in the town beneath the flight of the shells and in sight of them exploding. Captain Selby, do you take a flag of truce ashore and warn them of what will occur and—"

"Warn them? Sir! The bombs are now able to approach under cover of darkness and can achieve a fearful surprise and—and—" he spluttered.

"Nevertheless this is what you will do. Can you not conceive, sir, the mortal dread that must seize every female heart at the sudden thunder of Jove we will unleash? I will remind you that our duty is to make war against soldiers, not children and womenfolk."

Terror had touched on a reef, which delayed her progress, and it was not until after midnight that she was reported approaching. In the wan light of a fading moon she was shepherded in.

Out of the darkness the ghost-like form of a schooner appeared and a voice hailed Teazer. "Compliments from the Flag an' on account o' the tide state, Terror is to prepare for an immediate bombardment, an' desires ye to take position according."

Kydd acknowledged; it was a breathtaking assumption that the little bomb-vessel could in the darkness lay out accurately her anchors and springs in readiness—not only that but to contemplate bringing forward the other vessels to their close-in positions and undertake an actual bombardment . . .

One by one the sloops abandoned the security of their anchors for the invisible urging of the tidal currents and felt cautiously for their appointed positions in the last light of a low moon, well aware of the lethal ramparts of granite beneath their keels.

The long stone piers by the low moonlight seemed strangely sinister in their stillness as Teazer drew nearer, the small cutter close astern. At a prudent distance she rounded to and awaited developments.

At two in the morning, the last of the moon disappeared and darkness enfolded the scene, a chuckle of water along the ship's side the only intrusion into the stillness. Then, suddenly, the night was blasted apart: a blinding sheet of flame erupted, which froze the shadows of ships and the anonymous black heights of the peninsula in stark relief. A fat thud rolled over the water while a red streak drove across the night sky, high and over the huddled town, to descend out of sight on the other side. Then there was another.

Unseen guns opened up on every side in an eruption of noise, gunflash stabbing from the embrasures of the fort, at gun-towers along the cliffs and even from field-pieces atop the piers. And all in vain. Apart from occasional small splashes out in the darkness there was nothing to show for the chaotic fusillade fired blindly into the night.

From the bomb-vessel a blazing flash and another two-hundred-pound shell was hurled into the blackness, followed by another. The shallow-draught bomb-vessel pounded away with monotonous horror in the darkness. "Teazer's tense watch on the harbour, however, spotted no rush to escape: the vessels within were evidently taking their chances rather than risk the unknown English warships lying outside in wait for them.

In the first creeping pre-dawn light, firing ceased and all vessels fell back to their deep-water anchorages, leaving vacant the stretch of water where before there had been such warlike activity. From seaward, however, nothing could be seen of the effects of the long bombardment, and at the council-of-war Saumarez looked at his captains gravely. "A good night's work, I believe," he said heavily, "yet I feel frustrated. Without certain knowledge of our success I am reluctant to quit the field while there may well be work yet to be done."

Selby frowned. "Sir, we've pummelled the enemy for nearly four hours continuous. Do you not think that—"

"And I believe I mentioned we have no intelligence regarding its effectiveness," Saumarez said testily, and glanced at Kydd.

"I could not see into th' inner harbour," Kydd said, his face drawn.

"The French are well roused b' now," Carthew put in. "They know what to expect an' they'll have daylight to prepare."

"Y' want a retreat?" Kydd said tautly. "Sulphur will be up with us this day—we have th' chance f'r double the fire."

"Do you want to return there without clear cause? We don't know for a fact we have failed, sir," retorted Carthew.

"We find out," Kydd rapped. "Lie at anchor today, an' this night land a reconnaissance party t' settle the matter, the bombs t' await their signal."

"A reconnaissance party? Against such odds? Pray who would be the hero you would find to accept this mission?" Carthew enquired silkily.

Saumarez rubbed his eyes in fatigue. "Gentlemen, this discussion is to no account. In the absence of information I must decide myself if—"

"I'll lead the party!" Kydd announced, looking directly at Carthew. "Sir, I'll be ashore at dusk—and with y'r information b' midnight."

"Mr Kydd," said Saumarez, weighing his words, "am I to understand you are volunteering to lead a party of reconnaissance yourself? You must understand that in the nature of things this must be regarded in the character of a 'forlorn hope.' We are all wanting sleep, Mr Kydd, our judgement necessarily in question. I beg you will reconsider your offer, sir."

Carthew leaned back, his expression unreadable.

"I will do it, sir," Kydd said.

Renzi squinted closer at the congested typeface and brought the little brass Argand lamp nearer. It guttered for a moment: the disadvantage of having his tiny cabin so close to the main hatchway was, however, more than offset by the relief it gave from the 'tween-decks fetor and he resumed his study.

The small volume in German, in turgid Hochdeutsch dealt with the Perfectibilists, who were urging the reclamation of modern society from its sordid roots, not through gross revolutions but the perfection of human nature through rigorous moral education.

On the other side of the thin partition the mess-decks were in full cry after issue of grog and the talk eddied noisily round. It did not penetrate Renzi's thoughts for he was well used to it. He was much more interested in how a source for this moral education could be found, given that Weishaupt had specifically proclaimed the abolition of all religion. Yet the Illuminaten could not be lightly dismissed: it was said to be a secret society of freemasonry with Goethe himself a member and—

Suddenly he became aware that the mess-deck had gone quiet, but for one deep-throated voice holding forth nearby. Despite himself he listened: it was Mawgan, petty officer and captain of the foretop, an older man and steady—Renzi could visualise the scene beyond the thin bulkhead, the others listening raptly to him.

"No, mates, I ain't! An' this is fer why. He's got th' mark about 'im. I seen it before, done somethin' evil an' has t' pay fer it. First he loses his doxy an' then it's his ship an' we with it, afore he finally goes down ter his just reward."

There was indistinct murmuring and Poulden came in, troubled: "Y' can't say that, mate. He's had a hard beat t' wind'd since losin' his sweetheart, bound t' bear down on 'im, like." There was increased muttering, which did not sound like sympathy.

"There's one thing as gives me pause t' think." Renzi knew it to be the voice of the sharp-faced Gissing, gunner's mate. "Yer've all got him on th' wrong tack. He's not a death-or-glory boy, not he. No, it ain't that a-tall—an' I'll tell yez fer why."

Renzi held still. Kydd's call for volunteers on his return from a council-of-war had been met with a stony silence and his own offer curtly dismissed. No more eloquent testimony was needed for the loss of moral authority that Kydd was now facing.

"Go on, cully, then tell us—why's our Tom Cutlass not a-tryin' t' top it the flash hero?"

There was a moment's pause, then Mawgan said, "'Cos he's not int'rested." Shouting down the disbelieving cries, he continued, "He's not int'rested fer a clinkin' good reason. He's got th' death-wish."

"Yer what?" A horrified quiet spread through the mess-deck.

"A death-wish, yer iggerant lubber. That's when y' grief is so oragious y' can't see as life's worth th' living. Y' doesn't care if yer lives or dies, an' then y' feels as if bein' dead might just be th' medicine t' cure all y'r pain . . ."

This was clearly a new and deeply disturbing thought for straight-thinking sailors to dwell upon. Renzi hesitated. If he intervened, his overhearing their private talk would be revealed and his position become impossible. But at the same time he could recognise the signs: in the absence of insight and enlightened leadership from Kydd, the malignancy of unreason and superstition was spreading among the unlettered seamen and it would not take much . . .

"So he's going t' be careless with his life—an' I ask ye this. Will he be any different wi' us?" There was a dismayed silence and he finished flatly, "There's a-going t' be them as leaves their bones here, mates, take my word on't."

Teazer had made one pass along the coast north with Kydd at a telescope, and as the evening was drawing in she was heading south once more. To an appalled Standish on the quarterdeck, Kydd had loudly declared that in the absence of men of spirit he was going on the mission alone. It had brought astonishment and grudging admiration but no volunteers.

Now, as the time was approaching, there was a fearful expectation about the ship: landing on an enemy coast under arms to act the spy was utterly alien to the kind of courage a seaman was normally called upon to display.

When lights began twinkling ashore and a hazy darkness descended, Kydd came up on deck, dressed in dark clothing, his face pale and set. "Sir, may we know your intentions? If—if you—" Standish stammered.

"I shall be landin' at th' neck o' the peninsula," Kydd said coldly, "an' will cross quickly to th' other side, which if ye'll remember is a beach along fr'm the harbour. They won't be expectin' any t' approach fr'm the inside direction."

"Sir." Stirk touched his hat respectfully but remained impassive. "Boat's alongside."

Poulden and three seamen were in the gig; their role would be confined to taking him ashore, perilous though that would be. "Ready t' land, sir," Stirk reminded.

"You have th' ship, Mr Standish," Kydd said stiffly, and crossed to the side, looking neither to right nor left. Renzi held still, watching silently.

"Sah!" Sergeant Ambrose emerged from the main hatchway, followed by three more marines, each with blackened gaiters, signifying imminent action. "Y'r escort present 'n' correct, sah!"

Kydd hesitated and turned to Ambrose, who saluted smartly. "Sergeant—do you . . . ?"

"We'll be with ye, sir."

"Thank 'ee, Sergeant, but—"

"Th' men are volunteers too, sir," he said crisply.

There was a stirring among the men and Midshipman Calloway stepped across the deck. "I'll come if y' wants me, Mr Kydd," he said, twisting his hat nervously in his hands.

Stirk growled something at him but he held his ground.

"Yes, lad." No emotion could be seen on Kydd's face.

"Sir—if you'll have me." Andrews, the wispy midshipman, came forward too and looked at Kydd, imploring.

So junior, Renzi thought, but he would not be such a loss to the service if he failed to return.

"Very well."

From the crowd now came cries of encouragement and further offers but Kydd cut them off. "Th' Royal Marines an' these two. Muskets f'r the redcoats."

In a hushed silence they boarded the gig. Renzi followed it with his eyes into the darkness but Kydd did not look back.

The oars rose and fell, dipping carefully and economically, the rowlocks stuffed with rags to muffle the thump of each stroke. Kydd sat upright, his gaze searching what could be seen of the shore until he pointed in one direction. "Th' beach there—we land at th' northern end." The lights of the town were along the top of the peninsula, well to the south; an anonymous rural darkness stretched away everywhere else.

Obediently Stirk moved the tiller and the boat headed in. Every sight, every sound that could not be instantly identified was a threat—betrayal and disaster could happen so quickly. The pale beach looked so exposed, a low, dark rock at the end offering the only cover.

The boat hissed to a standstill on the sand at the edge of the water and, taut with tension, the men went over the side, then splashed ashore—aware that the hard sand underfoot was the soil of the enemy. "T' me," Kydd whispered hoarsely, and hurried to the nearby rocks, searching for a sea-facing cove.

They scurried after him to the shelter, their boat and security already heading rapidly seawards. With the whites of eyes flashing about him, Kydd whispered, "No more'n half a mile across here, I've measured it wi' bearings. No lights as c'n be seen, should be all farmland. We come t' a beach th' other side, work our way as close as we need. Questions?"

"If'n we get cut off by a patrol . . ." Ambrose began.

"We don't let ourselves be," Kydd said. He raised his head cautiously above the line of granite. "Nothing. We move."

They crossed a straggling line of coarse grass into low dunes that soon gave way to firmer grassland, but it was now so dark that only gross shadows loomed ahead, not a light within a mile. Kydd struck out inland, the marines on either side, the midshipmen in a nervous crouch behind. The smell of cow pasture was rank after the purity of the sea air.

A stout stone wall materialised across their path with a suspiciously military-looking ditch beyond. They scrambled over and found muddy water at the bottom of the ditch before reaching, panting, the far side. Ahead the ground rose and the skyline could just be made out. Squarely athwart their track was the squat, low shape of a building.

"A sentry post," whispered Calloway, fearfully.

"Sergeant?"

Ambrose sucked in his breath. "Not as any might say . . ."

They waited for long minutes, seeing no signs of life, just hearing the breathy night air playing through the straggling grasses. Then Kydd said, in a hard whisper, "We can't wait all night. We go forward. When we get to the building, we listen." He moved quickly towards the silent shadow.

It was of rough stone but gave no other clue. They pressed up to its cold bulk, keeping an absolute quiet, their breathing seeming loud in the stillness. Nothing. "We go—"

The wooden squeal of a door shattered the silence. It was opening on the opposite side. Then came the clink and slither of—a harness? Sword scabbard? A military accoutrement?

"A marine at each end," hissed Kydd savagely. "Bayonets! Take him wi' cold steel if he turns th' corner."

Ambrose dispatched his men who silently took position, unseen in the inky blackness behind the wall. The random clinking sounded from one side, growing louder and more distinct, almost certainly the spurs of a cavalryman. The footfalls, however, seemed uncertain. Ambrose whispered cynically, "He's bin on the doings 'n' is goin' behind to take a piss."

The sounds drew nearer and nearer—and, in a desperate swing, a terrified young marine transfixed an indistinct figure with an audible meaty thump. The figure dropped, squealing and choking, the unmistakable clatter of a falling bucket like a thunderclap.

"It's—it's an ol' woman! I done an ol' lady!" The marine's cry of horror pierced the night. He dropped beside the frantically twisting shape on the ground, her terror-stricken frail cries turning to pathetic sobs.

Kydd swung on Ambrose. "Sergeant!" he ordered stonily.

The man hesitated only a moment, then crossed over, took the marine's musket and thrust the bayonet expertly; once, twice. There was a last despairing wail that ended in choking and—stillness.

"We got t' go back now," Calloway pleaded, and the other midshipman's wretched puking could be heard to one side. But there was only the serene caress of the night breeze abroad and Kydd turned on them. "On y'r feet," he said harshly. "This is only a farmhouse. We're going on."

Beyond the structure a rough-made access road gave them fast going to the main road to town, crossing in front of them. Halfway! If it were daylight they could probably see down into the harbour from the other side. As it was—

"Halte là—qui vive?" In the dimness they had not noticed a foot sentry astride the road farther down. "Qui va là?" he called again, more forcefully.

Kydd whipped round: there was only low scrub nearby, pitiful cover. "Sergeant—"

But the sentry had yanked out a pistol and fired at them. Then, hefting his musket, he stood his ground.

"It's no good, sir," Ambrose whispered hastily. "He's stayin' because he knows there's others about." More voices could be heard on the night air.

Kydd stood still for a moment, then said savagely, "Back t' th' boat!"

They wheeled about, racing past the silent bulk of the farmhouse and to the ditch. As they clambered over the wall there was the sudden tap of a musket, then others, dismayingly close.

"Move!" Kydd bawled. There was no need now for quiet. They stumbled and rushed towards the sea, tripping and cursing in their frenzy.

Kydd stopped suddenly. "Where's the marines?" he panted. A double crack to his rear answered him. Ambrose was behind the wall delaying the troops closing in, two firing while two reloaded. It would hold for minutes at most.

Kydd and his men made the beach. The pale sands gave nothing away—there was no boat to be seen. The end must be very near, despite Ambrose's sacrifice. Kydd traced the line of the water's edge along the beach until his eyes watered.

The firing stopped, but then out on the dunes flanking them musket fire stabbed again—inland. The marines must still be doing their duty but it would not be long now.

At that moment a rocket, just half a cable offshore, soared up and burst in a bright sprinkle of stars. "A gun!" Kydd roared. "Any wi' a musket, fire it now!"

But, of course, there was none. In the inky darkness no sailor untrained in the art could possibly be relied on to reload a musket; the marines must do it by feel.

"There's no one?" Kydd pleaded.

"Sir! I have this," Andrews said shamefacedly, handing over a little folding pistol. He had taken it just in case, a foolish notion, but now . . .

"Priming powder?"

It was in a little silver flask. Kydd snatched it and sprinted to the nearest rock. He shook out a large pile and, holding the pistol lock close, stood clear and pulled the trigger. The powder caught in a bright flare, which died quickly but did the job.

"Come on!" Kydd yelled hoarsely. "For y'r lives!" He broke cover and ran to the water's edge. And there it was, their boat pulling strongly inshore, Stirk at the tiller. It grounded and Kydd stood in the waves, urging the others into it.

"We gotta leave now, sir!" Stirk pleaded. His crew were rotating the boat seaward for a fast withdrawal to the safety of the sea.

"Wait!"

All along the line of dunes the flash of muskets was increasing. Twice Kydd felt the whip of bullets close by. The boat was afloat and pointing out to sea, but he remained standing in the shallows with his hand on the gunwale.

Then there was a flurry of firing from up the beach and figures were staggering across the sand, one with another over his back. "Ambrose an' the marines!"

Willing hands helped them into the boat and, with frantic strokes, the little craft finally won the open sea.

Troubled and depressed, Renzi stood by the main shrouds, gazing out into the hostile darkness. The talk of a death-wish was nonsense, of course, but it pointed up the core of the difficulty: since losing Rosalynd, Kydd had turned hard and bitter, and no longer possessed the humanity that had informed his leadership before.

It had destabilised his men, who could not be expected to follow one whose character they could not fathom, whose human feeling was so much in doubt and who was said to be deranged by grief. Above all, the iron control and remoteness now set him apart.

There was a distant spatter of firing ashore. Renzi stiffened: the party must have been discovered, he thought. They could not last long against regular French troops and he gripped the shroud.

Standish appeared next to him. "Seems he's got himself into a pother," he said casually. "To be expected. We'll give him an hour, I think." Renzi could not trust himself to reply.

Another spasm of firing occurred farther along—it grew to a crescendo, musket flashes now atop the dunes all along the beach. Then it lessened and stopped abruptly. It was not possible in the dark to make out what had happened, but Standish let out a theatrical sigh. "It seems to be all over with Mr Kydd, I do believe."

"You'll send another boat," Renzi snapped.

"I will not. There's half the French army there waiting for us to blunder in to the rescue. I'll be taking Teazer to sea and—"

"Boat ahoooyy!" The fo'c'sle lookout's voice cracked with feeling. A distant cry came out of the night. A seaman ran aft and touched his hat to Standish.

"Our boat in sight, sir," he said, with relish.

The tired party came over the bulwark, ashen-faced, the wounded marine handed up tenderly. Kydd went straight aft to Standish. "I'm t' see the admiral. You have th' ship till I return." Without acknowledging Renzi he went over the side and the boat shoved off.

Renzi noted sadly that Kydd had not said a word of praise to the men or ordered a double tot for them, something inconceivable before.

The boat came back quickly; as soon as Kydd was inboard he summoned Standish. "Th' admiral has decided t' resume th' action. We stand to at dawn."

This time it was to be both bomb-vessels, Sulphur and her tenders having arrived during the night, and not only that but a daytime assault for maximum accuracy. The tides allowed for an approach at five in the morning and the two ships would pound away for as long as the tide allowed, probably until ten—or until they were overwhelmed by vessels emboldened by daylight, which the French must surely have in readiness. Much would depend on Kydd's inshore squadron . . .

The two bomb-vessels crabbed in and began the elaborate preparations with three anchors and springs attached in such a way that the vessel could be oriented precisely. It was then a technical matter for the gunners: the charge exactly calculated for range and the fuse cut at the right point to explode the thirteen-inch mortar shell just above the ground for deadly effect.

As the day broke with wistful autumn sunshine the bomb-vessels opened up. Sheets of flame shrouded the small ships in a vast cloud, again the heavy concussion, and this time it was possible to glimpse a black speck hurled high in a parabola, trailing a thin spiral. Seconds later from behind the headland a muffled crash was followed by a lazy column of dirty smoke.

The provocation was extreme and there was every possibility that before long the beleaguered French would burst out of the harbour in a vengeful lunge to crush their tormentors.

The frigate moved in as close as she dared, leadsmen in the chains and kedges streamed, but there was no avoiding the fact that the bomb-vessels could only be defended by the smaller ships with a lesser draught. Teazer and the cutter stayed off the entrance to the harbour.

Suddenly, from the harbour mouth came a succession of gunboats—one by one in an endless stream—a growing array until a full twenty-two of the ugly craft were in view.

"Attend at th' entrance!" roared Kydd aft to the signal crew. All possible forces were needed, even if it stripped bare the bomb-vessel defences. "An' give 'em a gun!" As the red-flag signal whipped up, a gun cracked out forward to lend urgency.

The other two sloops hauled their wind for the entrance, but before they arrived the gunboats were roping themselves together in a double line facing outward. "Be damned t' it!" Standish spluttered. "They're defending the harbour as they think we mean to cut 'em out!"

It was telling evidence of the respect and awe in which the Royal Navy was held by her enemies. Nevertheless, the battering the French were receiving was murderous and unceasing. Surely they would attempt some kind of retaliation.

In the light morning airs, powder smoke hung about the ships in slowly roiling masses as the mortars thudded again and yet again, the dun clouds spreading gradually far and wide. There was little response from the forts, sited to overlook the port; the French were paying dearly for having ignored the possibility of an artillery strike from the sea.

Dowse pointed over the side. "Mr Kydd, ye can see—we're makin' foul water." The tide now fast on the ebb, their keel was stirring up seabed mud.

The bomb-vessels concluded their work and their windlasses heaved in their ground tackle, but it was this moment that held the greatest danger: Would the enemy see the fleet in retreat and throw caution to the winds to seek revenge?

Cerberus lingered until the last possible moment to cover the withdrawal before bracing round for the run out to sea, her admiral's flag proudly aloft. Still the enemy remained out of sight. But it was time to leave: Teazer jockeyed round to take position astern of the flagship, the last to leave the field of battle.

Then, suddenly, the frigate slewed sharply to starboard and slowed to a crawl before stopping altogether. Her sails were let fly, then doused, the big man-o'-war now motionless. "She's gone aground," hissed Kydd. "We close an' take th' admiral off."

Things had changed catastrophically: the powerful ship was now helpless. Hard and fast with the ebb far from spent, without the means to manoeuvre, she lay easy prey.

"Sir, we stand ready t' take you off," bellowed Kydd, through the speaking trumpet to Cerberus's quarterdeck. Saumarez could be seen in serious consultation with Selby. Hard decisions must be made: to abandon ship now, in good order and no loss of life, or be forced later to a humiliating scramble over the side in the face of hostile gunfire.

Disdaining an offered hailer, Saumarez cupped his hands and roared back, "I shall stand by the ship, Mr Kydd. Do as you see fit for the defending of the bombs—their preservation is of great importance."

"Aye aye, sir," Kydd acknowledged.

The bomb-vessels even now were making a slow but steady retreat to the north-west—but if any of the small squadron was detached, would the remainder be enough to discourage a determined attack on the stranded frigate? On the other hand all could be retained and deployed to prevent the enemy leaving Granville, the only threat of any consequence. But if, once out of sight, the bombs were set upon . . .

"Tell Harpy t' come within hail," Kydd called. It was a moot point whether his temporary command of a squadron defending the bombs could be said still to exist in their absence but he had his orders from the admiral. Harpy was dispatched with the schooner Eling to chase after and stay with the bombs.

Scorpion t' come within hail." The bigger ship-sloop affected not to notice the signal but, at "Teazer's gun, went about and came up, pointedly rounding to windward off her quarter. Kydd ignored the calculated slight: the custom of service was for the senior to lie-to while the junior went round her stern to leeward and Carthew, no doubt, was making a point.

"I'd be obliged should you stay wi' the frigate," Kydd hailed. "Teazer an' Carteret will lie off th' harbour." There was an unintelligible acknowledgement from Carthew and the three-master curved away, leaving just one brig-sloop and one tiny cutter to meet whatever challenge would emerge from between those stone piers.

The day wore on; it was clear that Cerberus had lost the race against the tide—she was now visibly at an angle and unnaturally still. And the significance would not be lost on the French. With such a prize within reach, there for the taking, it could now be only a matter of time.

Another hour. Now the frigate lay heeled over at a crazy angle, her guns either in the water or impotently skyward, her green-streaked copper bulking indecently, her men moving hand over hand along the decks, the ship a picture of helplessness.

When the attack did come it was cunningly mounted and rapidly carried out. Without warning a stream of other gunboats under oars issued out, one after another. In the light winds Teazer and Carteret were too late in closing with them, and with their car-ronades' short range could only blaze away in futile desperation as the shallow-draught gunboats swiftly made away against the wind for the north of the Videcocq rocks, where no British ship could follow.

It was a master-stroke. The gunboats were positioned such that their weapons could bear on the helpless frigate—only one long gun each, but these were full-size eighteen- or twenty-four-pounders. Together they would have the same weight of metal as the broadside of a frigate of equal size. And Cerberus could do nothing but endure until the inevitable capitulation.

The guns opened with slow and deliberate fire. The first shot sent up a plume of water just short, others joining to surround the frigate with a forest of splashes—and then, aim improving, dark holes appeared in the naked hull.

Renzi watched in alarm; Kydd's squadron had failed. In just a short while the admiral's flag must be lowered in abject surrender. Then, suddenly, his friend seemed to lose his reason. He wheeled his sloop about and sent her pell-mell at the harbour itself.

In the smoke and confusion of combat a miracle happened. The gunboats abandoned their prey and retreated inside the walls of the harbour, and when the tide returned Cerberus was duly refloated and was able to make off to safety.

But Kydd was not of a mind to communicate his motives to anyone . . .