The Monsoon

The Monsoon

The Monsoon

Wilbur Smith

The three boys came up through the gill behind the chapel, so that theywere hidden from the big house and the stables. Tom, the eldest, ledthem as he always did, but the youngest brother was close on his heels,and when Tom paused where the stream made its first turn above thevillage he renewed his argument.

“Why do I always have to be the cat? Why can I never join in the fun,Tom?

“Because you are the littlest,” Tom told him, with lordly authority. Hewas surveying the tiny hamlet below them, which was now visible in theslot of the ravine.

Smoke was rising from the forge in the smithy, and washing flapped inthe easterly breeze behind the Widow Evans’s cottage, but there was nosign of human life. At this time of day most of the men would be outin his father’s fields, for the harvest was in full swing, while thosewomen who were not toiling beside them would be at work in the bighouse.

Tom grinned with satisfaction and anticipation.

“No one’s spotted us.” No one to carry reports back to their father.

“It’s not fair.” Dorian was not so easily distracted from hisargument. His coppery gold curls spilled down on to his forehead,giving him the look of an angry cherub.

“You never let me do anything.”

“Who let you fly his hawk last week? I did.” Tom rounded on him.

“Who let you fire his musket yesterday? I did. Who let you steer thecutter?”

“Yes, but,

“But me no buts.” Tom glowered at him.

“Who’s the captain of this crew, anyway?”

“You are, Tom.” Dorian dropped his green eyes under the force of hiselder brother’s stare.

“But, still-“

“You can go with Tom in my place, if you want.” Guy spoke softly forthe first time.

“I’ll play the cat.” Tom turned to his younger twin, while Dorianexclaimed, “Can I, Guy? Will you really?” It was only when he smiledthat his full beauty burst out, like sunlight through parting clouds.

“No, he won’ tV Tom cut in.

“Dorry’s only a baby. He can’t come.

He’ll stay on the roof to keep the cat.”

“I’m not a baby,” Dorian protested furiously.

“I’m nearly eleven.”

“If you’re not a baby, show us your ball hairs,” Tom challenged him.Since he had sprouted his own, these had become Tom’s yardstick ofseniority.

Dorian ignored him: he had not even a pale ginger fluff to match theimpressive growth of his elder brother.

He went on to another tack.

“I’ll just watch, that’s all.”

“Yes, you’ll watch from the roof.” Tom killed the argument dead in itstracks.

“Come on! We’ll be late.” He struck out up the steep ravine.

The other two trailed after him with varying degrees of reluctance.

“Who could come anyway?” Dorian persisted.

“Everybody’s busy. Even we should be helping.”

“Black Billy could come,” Tom replied, without looking back. That namesilenced even Dorian. Black Billy was the oldest Courtney son. Hismother had been an Ethiopian princess whom Sir Hal Courtney had broughtback from Africa when he returned from his first voyage to that mysticcontinent.

A royal bride and a shipload of treasure plundered from the Dutch andthe pagan, a vast fortune with which their father had more than doubledthe acreage of his ancient estate, and in so doing had elevated thefamily to among the wealthiest in all Devon, rivalling even theGrenvilles.

William Courtney, Black Billy to his younger half, brothers, was almosttwenty-four, seven years older than the twins. He was clever,ruthless, handsome, in a dark wolf-like way, and his younger brothersfeared and hated him with good reason. The threat of his name madeDorian shiver, and they climbed the last half-mile in silence. At lastthey left the stream and approached the rim, pausing under the big oakwhere the hen harrier had nested last spring.

Tom flopped down against the hole of the tree to catch his breath.

“If this wind holds we can go sailing in the morning,” he announced, ashe removed his cap and wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve.

There was a mallard wing feather in his cap, taken from the first birdever killed by his own falcon.

He looked around him. From here the view encompassed almost half theCourtney estate, fifteen thousand acres of rolling hills and steepvalleys, of woodland, pasture and wheat fields that stretched down tothe cliffs along the shore, and reached almost to the outskirts of theport. But it was ground so familiar that Tom did not linger long onthe view.

“I’ll go ahead to see if the coast is clear,” he said, and scrambled tohis feet. Crouching low, he moved cautiously to the stone wall thatsurrounded the chapel.

Then he lifted his head and peered over.

The chapel had been built by his great grandfather, Sir Charles, whohad won his knighthood in the service of Good Queen Bess. As one ofher se a captains he had fought with great distinction against thearmada of Philip of Spain. Over a hundred years ago Sir Charles hadbuilt the chapel to the glory of God and in commemoration of the fleetaction at Calais. He had earned his knight, hood there, and many ofthe Spanish galleons had been driven in flames on to the beach, therest dispersed to the storms that Vice-Admiral Drake had called theWinds of God.

The chapel was a handsome octagonal building of grey stone, with a tallspire that, on a clear day, could be seen in Plymouth almost fifteenmiles distant. Tom vaulted easily over the wall, and sneaked throughthe apple orchard to the iron-studded oak vestry door. He opened it acrack and listened intently. The silence was impenetrable.

He crept inside and went to the door that opened into the nave.

As he peeped in, the sunlight through the high stained-glass windowslit the interior like a rainbow. Those above the altar depicted theEnglish fleet locked in battle against the Spaniards, with God theFather looking down approvingly from the clouds as the Spanish galleonsburned.

The windows above the main door had been added by Tom’s own father.This time the foes who were being battered into submission were theDutch and the hordes of Islam, while above the battle stood Sir Hal,his sword raised heroically with his Ethiopian princess at his side.

Both of them were armoured and on their shields was blazoned the croixpaug of the Order of St. George and the Holy Grail.

The nave was empty today. The preparations for Black Billy’s wedding,which would take place next Saturday, had not yet begun. Tom had thebuilding to himself. He ran back to the vestry door, and stuck hishead out. He put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.Almost immediately his two brothers scrambled over the outer wall andran to meet him.

“Up to the belfry, Dorry!” Tom ordered, and when it seemed that theredhead might still protest, he took a menacing pace towards him.

Dorian scowled but disappeared up the staircase.

“Is she here yet?” Guy asked, with a hint of trepidation in hisvoice.

“Not yet. It’s still early.” Tom crossed the floor and went down thedark stone staircase that led to the underground crypt. When hereached the bottom, he unbuckled the flap of the leather pouch thathung beside the sheathed dagger on his belt. He brought out the heavyiron key that he had removed from his father’s study that morning, andunlocked the grille gate, then swung it open on its creaking hinges.

He showed no hesitation as he entered the vault where so many of hisancestors lay in their stone sarcophagi. Guy followed him with lessconfidence. The presence of the dead always made him uneasy. Hepaused at the entrance to the crypt.

There were high windows at ground level through which glimmered aneerie light, the only illumination.

Stone and marble coffins were arranged around the circular walls of thecrypt. There were sixteen, all of the Courtneys and their wives sinceGreat-grandfather Charles. Guy looked instinctively to the marblecoffin that contained the earthly remains of his own mother, in thecentre of the line of his father’s three dead wives. There was acarved effigy of her on the lid, and she was beautiful, Guy thought, apale lily of a girl. He had never known her, never taken suck at herbosom: the three-day labour of giving birth to twins had been too muchfor such a delicate creature. She had died of blood loss andexhaustion only hours after Guy had vented his birth cry. The boys hadbeen raised by a series of nurses, and by their stepmother, who hadbeen Dorian’s mother.

He crossed to the marble coffin and knelt at the head.

He read the inscription in front of him: “Within this casket liesMargaret Courtney, beloved second wife of Sir Henry Courtney, mother ofThomas and of Guy, who departed this life on the 2nd of May 1673. Safein the bosom of Christ.” Guy closed his eyes and began to pray.

“She can’t hear you,” Tom told him, not unkindly.

“Yes, she can,” Guy replied, without raising his head or opening hiseyes.

Tom lost interest and wandered down the row of coffins. To hismother’s right lay Dorian’s mother, his father’s last wife. It wasonly three years ago that the cutter in which she had been sailing hadoverturned at the entrance to the bay, and the rip tide had swept herout to sea. Despite her husband’s efforts to save her, the current hadbeen too strong and had nearly taken Hal with her. It had cast themboth up in a wind-battered cove five miles down the coast, but by thenElizabeth was drowned and Hal nearly so.

Tom felt tears welling up from deep inside of him, for he had loved heras he could not love the mother he had never known. He coughed andbrushed his eyes, forcing the tears back before Guy could see hischildish weakness.

Although Hal had married Elizabeth mainly to provide his orphaned twinswith a mother, very soon they had all come to love her, as they lovedDorian from when she had given birth to him. All of them but BlackBilly, of course.

William Courtney loved nobody but his father, and he was as fiercelyjealous of him as a panther. Elizabeth had protected the younger boysfrom his vindictive attentions, until the sea took her from them andleft them defenceless.

“You should never have left us,” Tom told her softly, then glancedguiltily at Guy. But Guy had not heard him, too intent on his prayers,and Tom moved across to the other coffin, which flanked his naturalmother. This belonged to Judith, the Ethiopian princess, the mother ofBlack Billy. The marble effigy on the lid depicted a handsome womanwith the fierce, almost hawklike features that her son had inheritedfrom her. She was in half-armour, as befitted one who had commandedarmies against the pagan. There was a sword on her belt, and a shieldand helmet rested on her chest, the shield blazoned with a Copticcross, the symbol of Christ that predated even the ministry of Rome.

Her head was bared and the bush of her hair was a dense curlingcrown.

As he looked at her Tom felt the hatred he bore her son rise in hischest.

“The horse should have thrown you before you had a chance to whelp thatcub of yours.” This time he spoke aloud.

Guy stood up and came to join him.

“It’s ill luck to speak so of the dead,” he cautioned his brother.

Tom shrugged.

“She can’t hurt me now.” Guy took his arm and led him to the nextsarcophagus in the row. They both knew it was empty.

The lid had not been sealed.

“Sir Francis Courtney born 6th January 1616 in the County of Devon.Knight of the Order of the Garter and of the Order of St. George andthe Holy Grail. Navigator and Sailor. Explorer and Warrior.

Father of Henry and Valiant Gentleman.” Guy read the inscriptionaloud.

“Unjustly accused of piracy by the craven Dutch settlers of Cap deBonne Esperance, and most cruelly executed by them on the 15th July1668. Although his mortal remains lie on the far and savage Africanshore, his memory lives for ever in the heart of his son, HenryCourtney, and in the hearts of all the brave and faithful seamen whovoyaged the Ocean Sea under his command.”

“How can Father set an empty coffin here? Tom murmured.

“I think perhaps that he intends one day to fetch back Grandfather’sbody,” Guy answered.

Tom shot him a sharp glance.

“Did he tell you that?” He was jealous that his brother had been toldsomething that he, the elder, had not. All the boys worshipped theirfather.

“No, he didn’t,” admitted Guy, “but it’s what I would do for myfather.” Tom lost interest in the discussion and strode out into thecentre of the open floor, which was inlaid with a weird circular designin granites and marbles of many different colours. Brass cauldronswere set at the four points of the circle, which would hold the ancientelements of fire and earth, air and water, when the Temple of the Orderof St. George and the Holy Grail was convened at the full moon of thesummer equinox. Sir Henry Courtney was a Nautonnier Knight of theorder, as had been his father and his grandfather before him.

In the centre of the domed roof of the crypt there was an airhole opento the sky above. The building was so cunningly laid out that, throughthis opening, the rays of the full moon would strike the design on thestone floor under Tom’s feet where the cryptic legend of the order wasinlaid in black marble: “In Arcadia habito.” Neither of the boys hadyet learned the deeper meaning of this heraldic device.

Tom stood upon the black Gothic letters, placed his hand over his heartand began to recite the liturgy with which he, too, would one day beinducted into the order.

“These things I believe, and I will defend them with my life. Ibelieve there is but one God in Trinity, the Father eternal, the Soneternal and the Holy Ghost eternal.”

“Amen!” cried Guy softly. They had both studied the catechism of theorder assiduously and knew the hundred responses by heart.

“I believe in the communion of the Church of England, and the divineright of its representative on earth, William the Third, King ofEngland, Scotland, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith.”

“Amen!”

Guy repeated. One day they would both be called upon to join thisillustrious order, to stand in the light of the full moon and to makethese vows in earnest.

“I will uphold the Church of England. I will confront the enemies of”my sovereign Lord, William .. .” Tom went on, in soaring tones thathad almost lost any last timbre of childhood. He broke off abruptly asa low whistle issued from the opening in the roof above his head.

“Dorry!” said Guy nervously.

“Someone’s coming!” They both stood stock-still, waiting for thesecond sharply pitched whistle that would signal alarm and danger, butthere was no further warning.

“It’s her!” Tom grinned at his brother.

“I was afraid she might not come.” Guy did not share his pleasure. Hescratched his neck nervously.

“Tom, I like this not at all.”

“Bollocks to you, Guy Courtney.” His brother laughed at him.

“You’ll never know how good it is unless you try it.” They heard therustle of cloth, the patter of light feet on the staircase, and a girlburst into the crypt. She stopped in the entrance, breathing quickly,her cheeks flushed brightly from. her run up the hill.

“Did anyone see you leave the house, Mary?” Tom demanded.

She shook her head.

“Not a one of them, Master Tom.

They was all too busy a-pigging thor broth.” Her voice purred with thelocal brogue, but its tone was light and pleasing. She was awell-set-up lass, with a full bow and stern, older than the twins soprobably closer to twenty than fifteen. However, her skin was flawlessand smooth as the famous Devon cream, and a tangle of dark ringlets andcurls framed her pretty chubby face. Her lips were pink, soft andmoist, but there was a sly slant to her bright, knowing eyes.

“Are you sure, Mary, that Master Billy didn’t see you?” Tom askedinsistently.

She shook her head so the ringlets danced.

“No. I looked in at the library afore I came, and he had his head inthe books like always.” She placed both her small hands on her hips,and although they were rough and red from her work in the scullery,they almost encircled her tiny waist. Both twins” eyes followed themovement and settled on her body. Her full petticoats and raggedskirts reached halfway down her plump calves, and although her feetwere bare and grubby, her ankles were slim. She saw their eyes, theirexpressions, and smiled with a sense of power over them.

She lifted one hand and fiddled with the ribbon that held her bodiceclosed. Obediently both pairs of eyes followed her hands and shepushed out her breasts so that they strained at the retaining ribbon.

“You said I would have” sixpence for it,” she reminded Tom, who rousedhimself “That I did, Mary.” He nodded.

“Sixpence for both of us, Guy and me.” she tossed her head and stuckout her pink tongue at him.

“You’re a sly one, Master Tom. 7was sixpence each, a shilling for thetwo, “twos.”

“Don’t be daft, Mary.” He reached into the purse on his belt andbrought out a silver coin. He flipped it in the air.

It glinted in the soft light as it spun and he caught it on his palm,then held it out for her to inspect.

“A whole silver sixpence, all for yourself.” Again she shook her head,and pulled loose the bow in the ribbon.

“Shilling,” she repeated, and the front of her bodice opened an inch.Both the boys stared at the sliver of white skin that was revealed: itcontrasted startlingly with the sun-browned, freckled shouldersabove.

“Shilling, or naught!” She shrugged with feigned indifference.

At the movement, the swell of one fat round breast popped half out,leaving just the pointed tip still hidden but with the border of theruby aureole that encircled her nipple peeping shyly from under thefrayed edge of her blouse. Both boys were speechless.

“Mice got your tongue?” she asked saucily.

“Methinks there’s naught for me here.” She turned back to thestaircase, flouncing her round bottom beneath the skirts.

“Wait!” Tom called, in a strangled voice.

“Shilling it is, then I , Mary, my pretty.” Show me first, Master TomVShe looked back over her freckled shoulder as he scratched franticallyin his purse.

“Here you are, Mary.” He held out the coin and she came to him slowly,swaying her hips in the way of the girls at the Plymouth docks.

She took the coin from his fingers.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Master Tom?”

“You’re the prettiest girl in all England,” Tom told her fervently, andmeant every word. He reached out for the big round breast, which hadnow come clear of the bodice.

She giggled and struck away his hand.

“What about Master Guy? he first?” She looked past Tom.

“You never done it afore, have you, Master Guy?” Guy swallowed hard,but could not find his voice. He dropped his eyes and flusheddarkly.

“It’s his first time,” Tom affirmed.

“Take him first. I’ll go after.” Mary went to Guy and took hishand.

“Don’t be afraid.” She smiled at him with those slanted eyes.

“I’ll not hurt you, Master Guy,” she promised, and began to lead him tothe far end of the crypt.

Guy smelt her as she pressed against him. She had probably not bathedin a month and exuded a powerful odour of the kitchens where sheworked, of bacon grease and woodsmoke, the horsy tang of her sweat, theodour of lobster boiling in the pot.

He felt his gorge rise.

“No!” he blurted out, and pulled away from her.

“I won’t, I can’t-” He was close to tears.

“You go first, Tom.” (I got her for you,” Tom told him harshly.

“When you feel it, you’ll go daft for it. See if you don’t.”

“Please, Tom, don’t make me.” Guy’s voice shook, and he looked backdesperately to the staircase.

“I just want to go home. Father will find out.”

“I’ve already given her our shilling.” Tom attempted to reason withhim.

“You’ll just waste it.” Mary seized his hand again.

“Come along, now!” She tugged at his hand.

“There’s a good lad. I’ve had you in my eye, honest I have. You’re afine pretty boykin, that you are!

“Let Tom go firstP Guy repeated, frantic now.

“Very well, then!” She flounced towards Tom.

“Let Master Tom show you the way. By now he should be able to find itblindfolded, he’s been there often enough.” She grabbed Tom’s arm, anddragged him to the nearest coffin, which happened to be that of SirCharles, the hero of Calais, and leaned back against it.

“Not me only,” she giggled up into his face, “but Mabel too, and Jill,unless they were both speaking a lie, and half the girls in thevillage, I’ve heard tell. It’s a ram and a half you are, Master Tom?

She reached down and tugged at the laces of Tom’s breeches. At thesame time she stood on tiptoe and fastened her mouth on his. Tomshoved her back against the stone coffin. He was trying to saysomething to his twin, rolling his eyes in Guy’s direction, but he wasgagged by her soft wet lips and the long catlike tongue was thrustingdeep into is mouth.

At last he pulled his face free and gasped for air, then grinned atGuy, his chin wet and shining with the girl’s saliva.

“Now I’m going to show you the sweetest thing you ever will lay eyes onif you live a hundred year.” Mary was still leaning back against thestone coffin.

Tom stooped and, with practised fingers, loosed the draw, strings ofher skirt to let the garment billow down and drape around her ankles.She wore nothing under it, and her body was very smooth and white. Itlooked as though it had been moulded from the finest candle wax Allthree looked down at it, the twins in awe and Mary with a smirk ofpride. After a long minute of silence, broken only by Tom’s raggedbreathing, Mary lifted her blouse over her head with both hands, anddropped it on the coffin lid behind her. She turned her head andlooked into Guy’s face.

“You don’t want these?” she said, and took one of her own plump whitebreasts in each hand.

“No?” she mocked him. He was dumb and shaken. Then she ran herfingers slowly down her creamy body, past the deep pit of her navel.She kicked away her skirt and planted her feet apart, still watchingGuy’s face.

“You’ve never seen the likes of this little pussy cat, have you now,Master Guy?”

she asked him. The curls rustled crisply under her fingers as shestroked herself He made a choking sound, and she laughedtriumphantly.

“Too late now, Master Guy!” she taunted him.

“You had your chance. Now you must wait your turn!” By this time Tomhad dropped his breeches to his ankles. Mary placed her hands on hisshoulders and, with a little hop, pulled herself up, clinging to himwith both her arms tight around his neck and her legs wrapped aroundhis waist.

She wore a necklace of cheap glass beads, which caught between them.

The string snapped, the shiny beads cascaded down their bodies andscattered over the stone slabs. Neither seemed to notice.

Guy watched with a strange mixture of horror and fascination as histwin pinned the girl against the stone lid of their grandfather’ssarcophagus, thrust and pounded against her, grunting, red faced, whilethe girl thrust back at him. She began to make little mewing sounds,which rose higher and louder until she was yelping like a puppy.

Guy wanted to look away, but he could not. He stared in dreadfulfascination as his brother threw back his head, opened his mouth wideand let out a dreadful, anguished cry She’s killed him! Guy thought,and then, What are we going to tell Father? Tom’s face was bright redand shining with sweat.

“Tom! Are you all right?” The words were out of his mouth before hecould stop them.

Tom turned his head and gave him a contorted grin.

“I’ve never been better.” He let Mary drop to her feet, and steppedback, leaving her leaning once more against the coffin.

“Now it’s your turn,” he panted.

“Give her your six pennyworth ladV Mary was also breathless, but shelaughed unsteadily, “Give” me a minute to catch my wind, then I’ll takeyou for a gallop you’ll not forget in many a year, Master Guy.” Atthat moment a sharp double whistle reverberated down the airhole in theroof of the crypt, and Guy jumped back with alarm and relief. Therewas no mistaking the urgency of the warning.

“Cats!” he exclaimed.

“It’s Dorry on the roof. Somebody’s coming.” Tom hopped on one foot,then on the other as he jerked up his breeches and hauled at thelaces.

“Get you gone, Mary,” he snapped at the girl. She was scrabbling abouton hands and knees, trying to gather up the fallen beads.

“Leave thoseV Tom told her, but she ignored him. Her naked buttockswere marked with pink where they had caught the edge of the coffin, hecould almost make out his grandfather’s inscription imprinted on thewhite skin, and he felt a ridiculous urge to laugh.

Instead he grabbed Guy by the shoulder.

“Come on! It might be Father!” That thought put wings on their feetand they flew up the stairs, jostling each other in their haste.

As they tumbled out of the vestry door, they found Dorian waiting forthem, hiding in the ivy that covered the wall.

“Who is it, Dorry?” Tom. gasped.

“Black Billy!” shrilled Dorian.

“He’s just left the stables on Sultan and took the path straight up thehill. He’ll be here in a minute.” Tom gave vent to his most potentoath, learned from Big Daniel Fisher, his father’s boatswain.

“He mustn’t catch us here.

Come onP The three raced to the stone wall. Tom boosted Dorian overit, then he and Guy sprang over and pulled their younger brother downinto the grass.

“Quiet! Both of you!” Tom was snorting with laughter andexcitement.

“What happened?” Dorian piped up.

“I saw Mary go in.

Did you do it with her, Guy?”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

Guy tried to avoid the question.

“I do know what it is,” Dorian told him indignantly.

“I’ve seen the rams at it, and the dogs and the cocks, and Hercules thebull, like this.” He rose on all fours and gave a lurid imitation,bucking and pumping his hips, sticking his tongue out of the corner ofhis mouth, and rolling his eyes horribly.

“Is this what you did to Mary, Guy?” Guy flushed furiously.

“Stop that, Dorian Courtney!

Do you hear me?” But Tom gave a delighted guffaw and pushed Dorian’sface into the grass.

“You dirty little monkey. I bet a guinea you’d be better at it thanGuy, hairs or no hairs.”

“Will you let me try next time, Tom?” Dorian pleaded, his voicemuffled, his face was still buried in the turf.

“I’ll let you try, when you’ve got a bit more to try with,” Tom said,and let him sit up, but at that moment they all heard the hoof-beatscoming up the hill.

“Quiet!” Tom said, through his giggles, and they lay behind the wallin a row, trying to control their breathing and their mirth. Theyheard the horseman approach at a canter and rein down to a walk as hereached the grovelled area in front of the main doors of the chapel.

“Keep down!” Tom whispered to his brothers, but he pulled off thefeathered cap and raised his head cautiously to peer over the top ofthe wall.

William Courtney sat up on Sultan. He was a superb horseman: the arthad come to him naturally, perhaps some instinct from his Africanorigins. He was slim and tall, and as usual dressed all in black.

This, apart from his skin and hair pigmentation, was why hishalf-brothers had given him the nickname he hated so vehemently.

Although today he was bare-headed, he usually wore a wide@ brimmedblack hat decorated with a bunch of ostrich feathers. His high bootswere black; his saddle and bridle were black.

Sultan was a black stallion, groomed until he shone in the palesunlight. Horse and rider were magnificent.

It was obvious that he’d come to check the arrangements for hisimpending marriage. The nuptials were to be held here rather than inthe bride’s home chapel, for other important ceremonies were tofollow.

These could only be held in the chapel of the Nautonnier Knights.

He stopped at the front door of the chapel and stooped low in thesaddle to peer inside, then straightened and rode slowly around theside of the building to the vestry door. He looked about carefullythen stared straight at Tom. Tom froze. He and the other boys weresupposed to be down at the river mouth, helping Simon and his crew withthe salmon nets. The itinerant labourers, whom William hired for theharvest, were fed almost entirely on salmon. It was cheap andplentiful, but they protested at this monotonous diet.

The apple-tree boughs must have concealed Tom from his brother’s keengaze for William dismounted and hitched Sultan to the iron ring besidethe door. He was betrothed to the middle Grenville daughter.

It was to be a splendid marriage, and their father had haggled foralmost a year with John Grenville, the Earl of Exeter, to agree thedowry.

Black Billy’s in a lather to get at her, Tom thought derisively, as hewatched his brother pause on the chapel steps to slap the dust from hisglistening black boots with the heavy lead-weighted riding-crop healways carried.

Before he entered the chapel William glanced in Tom’s direction oncemore. His skin was not black at all, but light amber in colour.

He looked more Mediterranean than African, Spanish or Italian,perhaps.

However, his hair was jet black, dense and shining, scraped backsleekly from his face and secured in a pigtail with a black ribbonplaited into it. He was handsome, in a formidable, dangerous fashion,with that thin, straight Ethiopian nose and the flashing dark eyes of apredator. Tom was envious of how most young women became flustered andfluttery in his presence.

William disappeared into the vestry and Tom rose to his feet. Hewhispered to his brothers, “He’s gone! Come on! We’ll go back-” Butbefore he could finish there was a scream from the chapel.

“Mary!” exclaimed Tom. I thought she had run, but the little dilly isstill in the reV “Black Billy has caught her,” gasped Guy.

“Now there’ll be troubleP said Dorian gleefully, and leaped up to get abetter view of the excitement.

“What do you think he’ll do.”

“I

don’t know,” said Tom, “and we aren’t waiting to find out.” Before hecould lead them in a precipitous retreat down the gill, Mary burst outof the vestry door. Even at that distance her terror was obvious. Sheran as though pursued by a pack of wolves. A moment later Williamcharged out into the sunlight, following the fleeing girl.

“Come back, you little slud” His voice carried clearly to where theystill crouched behind the wall. But Mary snatched up her skirts andran all the harder. She was heading straight towards the wall wherethe boys were hiding.

Behind her, William freed Sultan’s reins and swung up easily into thesaddle. He sent the stallion after her at a full gallop. Horse andrider overhauled the running girl swiftly.

“Stop where you are, you dirty little whore. You’ve been up to nogood.” William leaned over with the heavy riding-crop in his righthand as he caught up with her.

“You’re going to tell me what you’re doing here.” He slashed at her,but Mary dodged away. He wheeled the stallion to “follow her.

“You aren’t going to escape me, bitch.” He was smiling, a cruel, coldsmile.

“Please, Master William,” Mary shrieked, but he swung the crop again.It hissed in the air and she ducked under its arc with the agility of ahunted animal. Now she was running back towards the chapel, duckingthrough the apple trees, with William after her.

“Come on!” whispered Guy.

“Now’s our chance.” He sprang up and tumbled down the steep side ofthe gill, Dorian behind him, but Tom still crouched by the wall.

He watched in horror as his brother caught the running girl again androse in the stirrups over her.

“I’ll teach you to listen when I tell you to stop.” He lashed at heragain, and this time the crop caught her between the shoulder-blades.Mary screamed at a higher pitch, a cry of agony and terror, andcollapsed into the grass.

The sound of that shriek chilled Tom’s spine and set his teeth onedge.

“Don’t do that!” he said aloud, but William did not hear.

He stepped down out of the stirrups and stood over Mary.

“What mischief were you up to, drab?” She had fallen all in a welterof skirts and bare legs and he hit her again, aiming for her terrifiedwhite face, but Mary threw up an arm and took the lash across it. Itraised a bright scarlet weal and she blubbered and writhed at thepain.

“Please don’t hurt me, Master William.”

“I’m going to beat you until you bleed, and until you tell me what youwere doing in the chapel when you should be in the scullery with yourgreasy pots and pans.” William was smiling easily, enjoying himself.

“I didn’t do no harm, sir.” Mary lowered her hands to plead with him,and could not lift them again fast enough to meet the next blow thatcaught her full in the face. She V howled and the blood rushed intoher swollen cheek to colour it flaming scarlet.

“Please. Please don’t hurt me any more.” She buried her injured facein her hands and rolled over in the grass trying to get away from him,but her skirt was tucked up under her.

William smiled again as he saw that she was naked beneath it and hisnext blow was delivered with relish across the soft white skin of herbuttocks.

“What were you stealing, bitch? What were you doing in there?” He hither again, and left a scarlet weal across the back of her thighs.

Her scream struck Tom just as cruelly as the crop had sliced into herflesh.

“Leave her, damn you, Billy,” he blurted out, struck by an overpoweringsense of responsibility and pity for the tortured girl.

Before he had even thought about what he was doing he was over the walland racing to Mary’s rescue.

William did not hear him coming. He was absorbed in the sharp,unexpected pleasure he was experiencing from punishing this littleslut. The sight of the scarlet lines on her white skin, her flailing,naked limbs, her wild shrieks, the unwashed animal smell of her allroused him keenly.

“What were you up to?” he roared.

“Are you going to tell me, or shall I beat it out of you?” He couldhardly restrain his laughter as he laid a vivid scarlet stripe acrossher bare shoulders and watched the muscles beneath the soft skin spasmin agony.

Tom crashed into him from behind. He was a strap, ping lad for hisage, not much shorter in height or less in weight than his olderbrother, and he was strengthened by his outrage and his hatred, by theinjustice and cruelty of what he had watched, and by the memory of athousand hurts and insults he and his brothers had suffered at BlackBilly’s hands. And he had the advantage this time of completesurprise.

He struck William in the small of the back, just as he was balanced onone leg, in the act of kicking the girl into a better position toreceive the next blow from the riding crop He was flung forward withsuch force that he tripped over his victim and went sprawling, rolledover once and crashed head first into the hole of one of the appletrees.

He lay there stunned.

Tom bent down and yanked the trembling, blubbering girl to her feet.

“Run!” he told her.

“As fast as you can!” He gave her a push.

Mary needed no urging. She went off down the path, still weeping andhowling, and Tom turned back to face the wrath of his brother.

William sat up in the grass. He was not yet certain who or what hadknocked him down. He touched his scalp, pushing two fingers into thedark wavy hair, and brought them out smeared with blood from the smallcut where he had hit the tree. Then he shook his head and stoa d up.He looked at Tom.

“You!” he said softly, almost pleasantly.

“I

should have known you’d be at the bottom of this devilry.”

“She’s done nothing.” Tom was still too buoyed up by his anger toregret his impulse.

“You might have wounded her sorely.”

“Yes,” William agreed.

“That was my purpose. She deserved it well enough.” He stooped andpicked up the crop.

“But now she’s gone, it’s you I shall wound sorely, and take thedeepest pleasure in doing my duty.” He cut left and right with theweighted crop, which made a menacing hum in the air.

“Now tell me, little brother, what it was that you and that littlewhore were playing at? Was it something foul and dirty that our fathershould know about? Tell me now, before I have to whip it out ofyou.”

“I’ll see you in hell first.” This was one of their father’s favouriteexpressions, but despite his defiance Tom was bitterly regretting thechivalrous impulse that had propelled him into this confrontation. Nowthat he had lost the element of surprise he knew himself hopelessly outmatched. His elder brother’s skills were not confined to his books. At Cambridge he had wrestled for King’s College, and all-in wrestlingwas a sport without rules, except that the use of deadly weapons wasfrowned upon. At the fair in Exmouth last spring Tom had seen Williamthrow and pin the local champion, a great ox of a man, after kickingand punching him half out of his mind.

He considered turning and running. But he knew that on those longlegs, even wearing riding-boots, William would catch him within ahundred yards. There was nothing for it. He took his stance andraised both fists, the way Big Daniel had taught him.

William laughed in his face.

“By Peter and all the saints, the little cockerel wants to make a fightof it.” He dropped the riding-crop, but let his hands hang at hissides as he moved forward lazily. Suddenly he shot out his right fist.He had given no warning of the blow, and Tom only just managed to jumpback. However, the fist grazed his lip, which swelled and immediatelyleaked the salty slick taste of blood into his mouth. His teeth werestained as though he had been eating raspberries.

“There we go! The first drop of claret spilt. There will be more, Iwarrant you, a cask of it before we’re finished with this business.”William feinted with the right again, and when Tom ducked away hehooked at his head with the other hand. Tom blocked, as Big Daniel hadshown him. William grinned.

“The monkey has learned a few tricks.” But his eyes narrowed: he hadnot expected that.

He fired the same fist again, and Tom ducked under it then seized hisbrother’s arm at the elbow in a desperate two hand grip.

Instinctively William pulled back, and Tom used the momentum to springforward instead of resisting and, at the same time, to kick outwildly.

Again he caught the other off balance, and one of his flying kickslanded squarely in his crotch. The breath went out of William in a whoof of pain, and he doubled over to clutch his injured parts with bothhands. Tom swirled round and ran off down the path towards thehouse.

Although his dark features were still contorted with pain, when he sawthe younger boy go, William straightened, forced himself to ignore thepain and launched himself after him. He was hampered by his injury,but even so he bore down inexorably on the fleeing Tom.

When Tom heard the racing footfalls coming up on him, he glanced overhis shoulder and lost a yard. He could hear his brother grunting, andimagined he could feel his breath on the back of his neck. There wasno escape, he could not run away from him. Instead he dropped to theground and rolled himself into a ball.

William was so close, and coming on so fast, that he could not stop.The only way he could avoid Tom was to jump over him. He cleared himeasily, but Tom rolled on to his back in the middle of the muddy path,and reached up to grab William’s ankle while he was in mid-air. Heheld on with the strength of terror, and the man crashed down in thepath on his face. For that instant he was helpless, and Tom scrambledto his feet, was on the point of racing away again, when his anger andhatred took over from his good sense.

He saw Black Billy sprawling in the mud. The temptation was too muchfor him to resist: for the very first time in his life his elderbrother was at his mercy. Tom pulled back his right leg and took afull swing of the boot.

He caught William in the side of the head just in front of his ear, butthe result was not what he had expected.

Instead of collapsing, William let out a roar of rage and clutched atTom’s leg with both hands. With a heave, he flung the boy into thebracken beside the path then hauled himself to his feet and launchedhimself at Tom before he could recover.

He straddled his younger brother’s chest, then leaned forward to pinhis wrists to the ground above his head.

Tom could not move, and could hardly breathe as William’s full weightcrushed his ribs. William was still gasping and wheezing, but slowlyhis breathing eased, and he began to smile again, a twisted, painfulsmile.

“You’re going to pay for your fun, puppy. You’re going to pay in aheavy coin, that I promise you,” he whispered.

“Just let me get my breath back and then we’ll finish this business.”The sweat dripped from his chin onto Tom’s upturned face.

“I hate you!” Tom hissed up at him.

“We hate you. My brothers, everybody who works here, everybody whoknows you, we all hate you!”

Abruptly William released his grip on one of Tom’s wrists and slashedhim across the face with a vicious backhanded blow.

“For all these years I’ve been trying to teach you manners,” he saidsoftly, “and you never learn.” Tom’s eyes filled with tears of pain,but he still managed to gather a mouthful of saliva and spit it at theswarthy face above him. It splattered across William’s chin, but heignored it.

“I’ll get you, Black Billy!” Tom promised, in a painful whisper.

“One day I’ll get you.”

“No.” William shook his head.

“I think not.”

He smiled, “Have you not heard of the law of primogeniture, littlemonkey?” He landed another filli-blooded, openhanded blow against theside of Tom’s head. The boy’s eyes glazed, and blood appeared belowone nostril.

“Answer me, brother.” William swung back with the other hand, knockingTom’s head across.

“Do you know what it means?” He hit him again, right-handed.

“Answer me, my little beauty.” The next swing was left-handed, thenright-handed again, and the blows settled into a rhythm. Slam, withthe right. Slam, with the left. Tom’s head rolled loosely from sideto side. He was swiftly losing consciousness, and the succession ofblows never let up.

“Primogeniture” Slam! “is the” Slam! “right” Slam!

“of the” Slam “first-born.” Slam!

The next blow came from behind Black Billy’s back.

Dorian had followed them down the path and had seen what was happeningto his favourite sibling. The blows raining down on Tom hurt Dorianjust as painfully. He looked around desperately for a weapon.

There was a thick accumulation of fallen branches along the edge of thepath.

He picked up a dry stick as thick as his wrist and as long as his armand crept up behind William. He had the good sense to give no warningof what he was about to do, just quietly lifted the branch with bothhands high above his head. He paused to take aim, gather all hisstrength, then brought down the branch on top of William’s head withsuch force that the stick snapped in his hands.

William’s hands flew to his pate and he rolled off Tom’s chest.

He looked up at Dorian, and let out a bellow.

“The whole stinking litterV He came to his feet, and swayedunsteadily.

“Even the youngest cub.”

“You just leave my brother be,” Dorian threatened, white, faced withterror.

“Run, Dorry!” Tom croaked dazedly, from where he lay in the bracken,without the strength to sit up.

“He’ll kill you. Run!” But Dorian stood his ground.

“You leave him alone,” he said.

William took a step towards him.

“You know, Dorry, that your mother was a whore.” He smiled,soothingly, and took another step forward, dropping his hands from hisinjured head.

“That makes you the son of a whore.” Dorian was not certain what awhore was, but he answered furiously, “You are not to speak of my mamalike that.”

Despite himself he took a pace backwards, as William advancedmenacingly upon him.

“Mama’s baby,” William mocked him.

“Well, your whore mama is dead, baby.” Tears flooded Dorian’s eyes.

“Don’t say that! I hate you, William Courtney.”

“You, too, must learn some manners, Baby Dorry.” William’s hands shotout and locked around the child’s neck.

He lifted Dorian easily into the air, kicking, clawing.

“Manners make th man,” William said, and pinned him against the trunkof the copper beech under which they stood.

“You must learn, Dorry.” He pressed carefully on the child’s windpipewith both fingers, staring into his face, watching it swell and turnpurple.

Dorian’s heels kicked helplessly against the tree trunk, and hescratched at William’s hands, leaving red lines on his skin, but hemade no sound.

“A nest of vipers,” said William.

“That’s what you are, asps and vipers. I’ll have to clean you out.”Tom heaved himself out of the bracken and crawled to where his elderbrother stood. He clutched at his legs.

“Please, Billy! I’m sorry. Hit me. Leave Dorry alone. Please, don’thurt him. He didn’t mean anything.” William kicked him away, stillholding the child against the tree. Dorry’s feet were dancing two feetabove the ground.

Respect, Dorry, you must learn respect.” He relaxed the pressure ofhis thumbs and allowed his victim to draw a single breath, then clampeddown again. Dorian’s silent struggles became frantic.

“Take me!” pleaded Tom.

“Leave Dorry alone. He’s had enough.”

Tom pulled himself to his feet, using the tree trunk to supporthimself.

He tugged at William’s sleeve.

“You spat in my face,” William said grimly, “and this little vipertried to brain me. Now you may watch him choke.”

“WilliamV Another voice, rough with outrage, cut in from close at hisside.

“What in the name of the devil do you think you’re playing at?” Aheavy blow fell across

William’s outstretched arms. He let the child drop to the muddy earthand whirled to face his father.

Hal Courtney had used his scabbard to strike his eldest son’s hands offthe child, and now it seemed he might use it to knock William off hisfeet.

“Are you mad? What are you doing to Dorian?” he asked, his voiceshaking with rage.

“He had to be, it was only a game, Father. We were playing.”

William’s own rage had miraculously evaporated, and he seemedchastened.

“He has taken no harm. It was all in good part.”

“You have half murdered the lad,” Hal snarled, then went down on oneknee to pick his youngest son out of the mud. He held him tenderlyagainst his chest. Dorian buried his face against his father’s neckand sobbed, coughed and choked for air. There were livid scarletfinger marks on the soft skin of his throat, and tears were smearedacross his face.

Hal Courtney glared at William.

“This is not the first time we have spoken about rough treatment of theyounger ones. By God, William, we will discuss this further, afterdinner, this evening in the library.

Now get you out of my sight, before I lose control of myself.”

“Yes, sir,” William said humbly, and started back up the path to thechapel. As he left, though, he shot Tom a look that left no doubt inthe boy’s mind that the matter was far from settled.

“What happened to you, Tom?” Hal turned back to him.

“Nothing, Father , he replied staunchly.

“It’s nothing.” He wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve. It would havebeen a violation of his own code to carry tales, even of such a hatedadversary as Black Billy.

“Then what happened to make your nose bleed and your face swell andturn red as a ripe apple?” Hal’s voice was gruff but gentle: he wastesting the lad.

“I fell,” Tom said.

“I know that sometimes you’re a clumsy clod, Tom, but are you suresomeone didn’t push you?”

“If I did, then it’s between him and me, sir.” Tom pulled himself upto his full height to disguise his aches and injuries.

Hal placed an arm around his shoulder. With the other he claspedDorian to his chest.

“Come, boys, we’ll go home now.” He took the pair down to where he hadleft his horse at the edge of the woods, and lifted Dorian up onto itsneck in front of the saddle before he swung up behind him. He slippedhis feet into the stirrups then reached down to take Tom by the arm andhaul him up behind.

Tom placed both arms around his father’s waist and pressed his swollen,bruised face into the small of his back.

He loved the warmth and smell of his father’s body, the hardness andstrength of him. It made him feel safe from all harm. He wanted tocry but he forced back the tears.

“You’re not a child,” he said to himself.

“Dorry can cry, but you can’t.”

“Where is Guy?” his father asked, without looking around.

Tom almost said, “He ran away,” but he stopped the disloyal wordsbefore they were spoken.

“He went home, I think, sir.” Hal rode on in silence, feeling the twowarm bodies pressed gratefully against him, and hurting for them as heknew they were hurt. Yet he felt a sense of angry helplessness. Thiswas far from the first time he had been sucked into this primevalconflict of siblings, the children of his three wives. He knew it wasa competition in which the odds were heavily loaded against theyoungest, and from which there could be only one possible outcome.

He scowled in frustration. Hal Courtney was not yet forty-two Williamhad been born when he was only eighteen, yet he felt old and weigheddown with care when he confronted the turmoil of his four sons.

The problem was that he loved William as much, if not more, than evenlittle Dorian.

William was his first-born, the son of his Judith, that fierce,beautiful warrior-maid of Africa, whom he had loved with deep awe andpassion. When she had died under the flying hoofs of her own wildsteed she had left an aching void in his existence. For many yearsthere had been nothing to fill the gap except the beautiful infant shehad left behind.

Hal had reared William, had taught him to be tough and resilient,clever and resourceful. He was all those things now, and more. And inhim there was something of the wildness and cruelty of that dark,mysterious continent that nothing could tame. Hal feared that and yet,in all truth, he would not have had it any other way. Hal himself wasa hard, ruthless man, so how should he resent those qualities in hisown first-born son?

“Father, what does primo genital mean?” Tom asked suddenly, his voicemuffled by Hal’s cloak.

He was so in step with Hal’s own thoughts that his father started.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked.

“I heard it somewhere,” Tom mumbled.

“I forget where.” Hal could guess very well where it had been but hedid not press the boy, who had been hurt enough for one day.

Instead he tried to answer the question fairly, for Tom was old enoughnow. It was high time that he began to learn what hardships life heldin store for him as a younger brother.

“You mean primogeniture, Tom. It means the right of the first-born.”

“Billy said Tom softly.

“Yes. Billy,” Hal agreed frankly.

“In accordance with the law of England, he follows directly in myfootsteps. He takes precedence over all his younger brothers.”

“Us,” said Tom, with a touch of bitterness.

“Yes, you,” Hal agreed.

“When I am gone, everything is his.”

“When you are dead, you mean,” Dorian bored in, with indisputablelogic.

“That’s right, Dorry, when I am dead.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Dorian wailed, his voice still hoarse fromthe damage to his throat.

“Promise me you won’t ever die, Father.”

“I wish I could, lad, but I can’t. We’re all going to die one day.”Dorian was silent for a moment.

“But not tomorrow?” Hal chuckled softly.

“Not tomorrow. Not for many a long day, if I can help it. But one dayit will happen. It always does.” He forestalled the next question.

“And when it does, Billy will be Sir William,” Tom said.

“That’s what you’re trying to tell us.”

“Yes. William will have the baronetcy, but that’s not all. He willhave everything else as well.”

“Everything? I don’t understand,” said Tom, lifting his head from hisfather’s back.

“Do you mean High Weald?

The house and the land?”

“Yes. It will all belong to Billy. The estate, the land, the house,the money.”

“That not fair,” Dorian expostulated.

“Why can’t Tom and Guy not have some? They’re much nicer than Billy.

It’s not fair.”

“Perhaps it isn’t fair, but that’s the law of England.”

The Monsoon

“It isn’t fair,” Dorian persisted.

“Billy’s cruel and horrible.”

“If you go through life expecting it to be fair, then you will havemany sad disappointments, my boy,” Hal said softly, and hugged hisbaby. I wish I could make it different for you, he thought.

“When you’re dead, Billy won’t let us stay here at High Weald.

He’ll send us away.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Hal protested.

“Yes, I can,” Tom said, with conviction.

“He told me so, and he meant it.”

“You’ll make your own way, Tom. That’s why you have to be clever andtough. That’s why I’m hard on you sometimes, harder than I ever was onWilliam. You must learn to fend for yourselves after I am gone.” Hepaused.

Could he explain this to them, when they were still so young? He hadto try. He owed them that.

“The law of primogeniture has served to make England great. If everytime somebody died his land was split between his surviving children,then soon the whole country would be divided into tiny, uselessparcels, unable to feed a single family, and we would become a nationof peasants and paupers.”

“So what will we do?” Tom asked.

“Those of us who are driven out.”

“The army, the navy and the Church are open to you.

You might go out into the world as traders or colonists and come backfrom its far corners, from the ends of the oceans, with treasures andwealth even greater than William will inherit when I die.” Theythought about that in silence for a long while.

“I’ll be a sailor, like you, Father. I’ll sail to the ends of theoceans like you did,” said Tom, at last.

“And I will go with you, Tom,” said Dorian.

it ting in the front pew of the family chapel, Hal Courtney had everyreason to feel pleased with himself and the world around him. Hewatched his eldest son waiting at the altar, while organ music filledthe small building with joyous sound. William was strikingly handsomeand dashing in the costume he had chosen for his wedding. For once hehad eschewed his sombre black attire. His collar was of the finestFlemish lace, and his ” waistcoat of green velvet embroidered withgolden stags.

The pommel of his sword was encrusted with camelians and lapis-lazuli.Most of the women in the congregation were watching him also, and theyounger ones were giggling and discussing him in whispers.

“I could ask nothing more of a son,” Hal told himself.

William had proved himself as an athlete and as a scholar.

His tutor at Cambridge had praised his industry and capacity forlearning, and he had wrestled, ridden and hawked his way toprominence.

After his studies, when he had returned to High Weald, he had provedhis worth yet again as an administrator and entrepreneur.

Gradually Hal had given him more and more control over the running ofthe estate and the tin mines, until now he himself had almost withdrawnfrom overseeing the day-to-day running of the family estates. If therewas anything that made Hal at all uneasy, it was that William was oftentoo hard a bargainer, too ruthless in his treatment of the men whoworked for him. More than once men had died at the tin face who mighthave been spared if a little more thought had been given to theirsafety, and a little more money spent on improvements to the shafts andthe haulage. Yet the profits from the mines and the estate had almostdoubled in the last three years. That was proof enough of hiscompetence.

Now William was contracting this glittering marriage.

Of course, Hal had pointed him in the direction of Lady AliceGrenville, but William had courted her and, in very short order, hadhad her so besotted with him that she had convinced her father of thesuitability of the union, despite his initial reluctance. After all,William Courtney was a commoner.

Hal glanced at the Earl as he sat in the front pew across the aisle.John Grenville was older than him by ten years, a lean, man, plainlydressed as ill befitted one of the greatest landowners in England. Hisdark eyes were hooded in the unhealthy pallor of his face. He caughtHal’s eye and nodded, his expression neither friendly nor hostile,although harsh words had been exchanged when it had come to the matterof Alice’s dowry. In the end she brought with her the title toGainesbury farms, over a thousand acres, in addition to the working tinmines of East and South Rushwold. The demand for tin seemedinsatiable, these days, and Rushwold adjoined the Courtney mines thatWilliam was administering so efficiently.

Run together, output would grow and lower the costs of hauling theprecious ore to the surface. That was not all of Alice’s dowry. Thefinal item which he had wheedled out of the Earl pleased Hal as much asthe rest: the packet of English East India Company shares, twelvethousand of the common stock with fijIl voting rights. Hal was alreadya major shareholder in and governor of the Company, but these newshares would increase his voting power and make him one of the mostinfluential men on the board after the chairman, Nicholas Childs.

Yes, he had every reason to feel smug. Then what was this strangefeeling that niggled, like grit in the eye, at his contentment?

Sometimes, when he rode along the cliffs and gazed out over the coldgrey sea, he remembered the warm azure waters of die Ocean of theIndies. Often now when he flew a hawk and watched its rapid wing-beatsagainst the sky, he remembered the taller, bluer sky of Africa. Onsome evenings he took down his charts from his library shelves andpored over them for hours, reading the notations he had made upon themtwo decades before, and earning of Africa’s blue hills, its whitebeaches and mighty rivers.

Once, very recently, he had woken from a dream in sweat and confusion.It had all been so vivid, the reliving of those tragic events. She hadbeen with him again, the lovely golden girl who had been his first truelove. Once again she had been in his arms, dying.

“Sukeena, my love, I will die with you.” He had felt his heart breakagain as he said those words.

“No.” Her sweet voice began to fade.

“No, you will go on. I have travelled with you as far as I ampermitted. But for you the fates have reserved a special destiny. Youwill live on. You will have many strong sons whose descendants willflourish in this land of Africa, and make it their own.” Hal coveredhis eyes and bowed his head as if in prayer in case someone in thecongregation saw the glint of a tear in his eye. After a while heopened his eyes and looked down at the sons she had foreseen all thoseyears ago.

Tom was the closest to him in spirit and flesh, big boned and strongfor his age, with the eye and hand of a warrior. He was restless,easily bored by routine or any task that called for long, meticulousconcentration. He was no scholar, but neither did he lack in brain orcunning. In looks, he was pleasant but not handsome, for his mouth andnose were too large, but he had a strong, determined face and heavyjaw. He was impulsive and sometimes rash, almost fearless, often toobold for his own good. The bruises on his face were faded now toyellow and ugly purple, but it was typical of Tom to rush in againstsomeone so much older and of twice his strength, without a thought forthe consequences.

Hal had learned the truth of the confrontation in the woods below thechapel: William had told him of Mary, the scullery maid and she hadmade to him an almost incoherent confession, sobbing bitterly thewhile.

“I’m a good girl, sir, God’s truth I am. I didn’t steal nothing likehe said I did. It was just a bit of fun, nothing bad.

Then Master William he came into the chapel and he said bad things tome, and he beat me.” Weeping copiously she had pulled up her skirts toshow the great flaming weals across her thighs.

Hal had said hastily, “Cover yourself, girl.” He could guess just howinnocent she was. He had noticed her before, although he usually tookscant interest in the two dozen or so females who worked in the mainhouse, for she had a saucy eye and a voluptuous turn of buttock andbosom that was difficult to overlook.

“Master Tom tried to stop him, else he would have killed me, MasterWilliam would. He’s a good boy, is Master Tom. He didn’t do nothing-“So Tom had cut his teeth on this bit of sweet meat, Hal thought. Itwould do the lad no harm. She had probably given him a good groundingin the old game, and when William had caught them at it, Tom had rushedto her defence. The sentiment was praiseworthy, but the action wasfoolhardy: the object of his knight errantry hardly worthy of suchfierce loyalty.

Hal had sent the girl back to the kitchens and had a quiet word withhis steward. Within two days he had arranged other employment for heras a serving-wench at the Royal Oak in Plymouth, and she haddisappeared quietly from High Weald. Hal didn’t want her knocking athis door in nine months” time to present them with a bundle.

He sighed softly. It was not long now before he would have to findother employment for Tom too. He could not stay here much longer.

He was almost a man. Aboli had recently started Tom’s lessons with thesword, Hal had delayed this until the boy had the strength in his arms:he had seen youngsters who had been spoiled by a too early start withthe blade. He shuddered abruptly as he thought of Tom in another fitof rage calling out his elder brother: William was a swordsman of note.He had severely wounded a fellow student at Cambridge with a thrustthrough the lower chest. It had been an affair of honour but it hadtaken all Hal’s influence and a purse of gold guineas to keep it quiet.Duelling was legal, but frowned upon; had the man died, even Hal mightnot have been able to shield his son from the consequences.

The thought of two of his sons taking up their feud with blades did notbear thinking about, Yet it might become more than a possibility if hedid not separate them soon. He would have to find Tom a berth in oneof the ships of John Comp the affectionate sobriquet for the EnglishEast India Conmypany. Tom sensed his father’s gaze upon him and turnedto give him such a frank, guileless grin that Hal had to look away.

Guy sat beside his twin. Guy was another problem, Hal mused, but of adifferent sort from Tom. Although twins ran strongly in the Courtneyline, and each generation usually threw up at least one set, Tom andGuy were not identical. To the contrary. They were different inalmost every way that Hal could divine.

Guy was by far the better-looking of the two, with delicate, ratherfeminine features, and a graceful body that yet lacked the physicalpower and force of Tom’s. In nature he was cautious to the point oftimidity, yet he was bright and intelligent, with the ability to applyhimself to even the most repetitive tasks with all his attention.

Hal did not have the gentry’s usual disdain for merchants andmoneylenders, and had no qualms in encouraging one of his sons to makea career in that direction.

He recognized that Guy might be best suited to such a life.

It was hard to imagine him as a warrior or a sailor. Hal frowned.

There were numerous openings in John Company for clerks andsecretaries, safe, secure jobs that could lead to swift advancement,especially for a bright, industrious young man whose father was agovernor of the Company.

He would speak to Childs next week when they met.

Hal intended to leave for London early the following morning, directlyafter he had seen William wed safely to Lady Alice, and the transfer ofher dowry into the Courtney estate. The horses were standing ready andBig Daniel and Aboli could have them harnessed to the coach and on theway within an hour of Hal calling for them. Even at their best speed,though, it would take at least five days to get up to London and thequarterly meeting of the Company board was due to be held on the firstday of next month.

I will have to take the boys with me, he thought suddenly, and it was ameasure of his concern that he made that decision. It would betempting providence to leave them at High Weald with William as masterof the estate, and himself not there to mediate and protect. EvenDorian had best come, he decided.

He looked down fondly at his youngest son, perched beside him on thepew, and received in return a sunny, adoring smile. Dorian wriggled alittle closer to him on the hard oak bench. Hal felt strangely movedby the contact of that small body. He placed a casual hand on theboy’s shoulder. It’s too early to tell how this one will turn out, hethought, but it seems that he might have all the good points of theothers and fewer of their weaknesses. But it is still far too soon totell.

At that moment he was distracted by the organ music as it burstdramatically into the bridal march. Then there was a rustle and hum asthe congregation turned in their seats and strained for a first glimpseof the bride.

Ithough the sun was not yet clear of the treetops, and only a few strayrays were catching the high Lgables and towers of the big house, theentire household turned out to see them away to London, from Williamwith his new bride at his side, Ben Green the estate steward, Evan thehouse-steward, right down to the lowest kitchen maid and groom.

In order of seniority they were marshalled down the main staircase thatled up to the front doors, and the servants were gathered in orderlyranks on the front lawn. Big Daniel and Aboli were on the coachman’sbox, and the horses were snorting steam from their nostrils in themorning chill.

Hal embraced William briefly, while Alice, pink and glowing withhappiness and love, clung adoringly to her new husband’s arm. On theirfather’s instructions the boys lined up unsmiling behind him to shaketheir elder brother’s hand and then, whooping with excitement, racedeach other down to the waiting carriage.

“Can I ride up with Aboli and Big Daniel?” Tom pleaded, and his fathernodded indulgently.

Me, too?” Dorian danced beside him.

“You ride in the coach with me and Mr. Walsh.” Mr. Walsh was theirtutor, and Dorian faced four days of captivity with him and his books,Latin, French and arithmetic.

“Please, Father, why can’t I?” Dorian demanded, then immediatelyanswered himself.

“I know, because I’m the youngestV “Come on, Dorry.”

Guy took his hand and pulled him into the coach.

“I’ll help you with your lessons.” The hardships and injustices ofyouth were immediately forgotten as Aboli cracked his whip, thecarriage jerked and set off, with the gravel crunching under theiron-shod wheels. Guy and Dorian leaned from the window to wave andshout farewell to their favourites among the household staff until theyturned at the crossroads and High Weald was hidden from their view.

On the box, Tom sat ecstatically between two of his favourite men.

Big Daniel was a great hulk with a mane of silver hair bristling outfrom under his cocked hat. He possessed not a single tooth in his headso when he chewed his weathered face folded like the leather bellows ofa blacksmith’s forge. It was well known that, even at his age, he wasthe strongest man in Devonshire. Tom had seen him lift a recalcitranthorse in the air and dump it on its back with all four legs in the airand hold it there effortlessly while the blacksmith shod it. He hadbeen boatswain for Francis Courtney, and when Tom’s grandfather hadbeen killed by the Dutch, Big Daniel had served the son, had sailed thesouthern oceans with Hal Courtney, had fought with him against paganand Dutchman, against pirate and renegade and a dozen other enemies.

He had played nurse to William and the twins, had carried them on hisback and dandled them with huge, gentle hands.

He could tell the most enchanting stories that any small boy coulddream of, build models of tall ships, so beautiUly realistic in everydetail that it seemed they might at any moment sail over the horizon tosome stirring adventure, bearing Tom away with them on thequarterdeck.

He had the most intriguing repertoire of oaths and sayings that Tomrehearsed only in the company of Dorian and Guy, for to recite them inthe presence of William or his father, or any other grown-up, wouldhave led to instant retribution. Tom loved Big Daniel dearly.

Outside his own immediate family there was only one other person heloved more. Aboli sat on Tom’s other side, holding the reins in hishuge black hands.

“You hold the blunderbuss.” Knowing what pleasure it would give him,Aboli handed the hideous weapon to Tom. Although its barrel wasshorter than Tom’s arm, it could hurl a devastating double handful ofgoose shot from the gaping bell-shaped muzzle.

“If a highwayman tries to stop us, you give him a bellyful, Klebe.” Tomwas almost overwhelmed by the honour, and sat up straight between them,silently praying for the chance to use the heavy weapon he cradled inhis lap.

Aboli had used his pet name: Xlebe” meant Hawk in the language of theforests of Africa. It was a nickname Tom delighted in. Aboli hadtaught him the language of the forest, “because,” he had explained,”that is where your destiny will take you. It has been prophesied by awise and beautiful woman long ago. Africa awaits you. I, Aboli, mustprepare you for that day when you step on her soil for the firsttime.”

Aboli was a prince of his own tribe. The patterns of ritual scars thatcovered his black face in raised whorls and ridges were proof of hisroyal blood. He was an expert with any weapon he laid his hands on,from an African fighting stick to the finest Toledo rapier. Now thathis twins were of the correct age, Hal Courtney had entrusted to Abolithe task of teaching them swordsmanship. Aboli had trained Hal at thesame age, and William too. He had moulded each of them into expertswordsman. Tom had taken to the blade with the same natural ability ashis father and his half-brother but it grieved Aboli that Guy did notshow the same eagerness or aptitude.

“How old do you think Aboli is?” Dorian had once asked.

Tom had replied, with all the wisdom of his superior age, “He is evenolder than Father. He must be a hundred years at leas tV Aboli had nota hair on his cannonball head, not a single thread of grey to betrayhis true age, and though wrinkle and scar were so intertwined on hisfeatures as to be inextricable, his body was lean and muscular, hisskin smooth and glossy as polished obsidian. Nobody, not even Abolihimself, knew how old he was. The stories he told were even morefascinating than Big Daniel’s best. He told of giants and pygmies, offorests filled with marvelous animals, great apes who could rip a manapart as though he were a grasshopper, of creatures with necks so longthey could eat the leaves off the tops of the tallest trees, of desertswhere diamonds the size of apples glittered in the sun like water, andmountains made of solid gold.

“One day I’ll go the reV Tom told him fervently, at the end of one ofthese magical stories.

“Will you come with me, Aboli?

“Yes, Klebe.

We will sail there together, one day,” Aboli promised.

Now the carriage jolted and crashed over the uneven surface, andsplashed through the mud holes, and Tom perched between the two mentrying to contain his excitement and impatience. When they reached thecrossroads before Plymouth, a skeletal figure was hanging in chainsfrom the gibbet, still wearing waistcoat, breeches and boots.

“He’s been hanging there a month, come next Sunday.” Big Daniel liftedhis cocked hat to the grinning skull of the executed highwayman, fromwhich the crows had picked most of the flesh.

“God speed, John Working. Put in a good word for me with Old NickVInstead of continuing into Plymouth Aboli swung the horses onto thewide, well-travelled tracks that led eastward towards Southampton andLondon.

London, the greatest city in the world. Five days later, when theywere still twenty miles off they saw its smoke on the horizon. It hungin the air and mingled with the clouds, like the great dun pall of abattlefield. The road took them along the bank of the Thames, broadand busy, bustling with an endless procession of small craft, barges,lighters and bum-boats, loaded deeply with timber and building stone,with bags of wheat and lowing cattle, with boxes, bales and kegs, thecommerce of a nation. The river traffic grew denser as they approachedthe Pool of London, where the tall ships were anchored, and they passedthe first buildings, each surrounded by open fields and gardens.

They could smell the city now, and the smoke closed over their heads,shading the sun. Each chimney stack was belching forth its dark fumesto deepen the gloom. The smell of the city grew stronger. The reek ofgreen hides and new cloth in bales, of rotten meat and other strange,intriguing odours, of men and horses, of rats and chickens, thesulphurous stench of burning coal and raw sewage. The river watersturned dung brown, and the roadway became congested with cart andcarriage, coach and dray. The open fields gave way to endlessbuildings of stone and brick, their roofs huddled together, and theside-streets became so narrow that two carriages could not pass eachother. Now the river was almost obscured by the warehouses that stoodfour-square along either bank.

Aboli weaved their own carriage through the multitude, exchangingcheerful banter and insult with the other drivers. Beside him Tomcould not drink it all in. His eyes darted back and around, his headtwisted on his shoulders and he chattered like an excited squirrel.

Hal Courtney had given in to Dorian’s pleading and allowed him toscramble onto the carriage roof where he sat behind Tom and added hisshouts and laughter to those of his elder brother.

At last they crossed the river on a mountainous stone bridge, somassive that the river tide built up around its piles and swirled likea brown maelstrom through the piers.

There were stalls along its length where ragged hucksters shriekedtheir wares to the passers.

“Fresh lobsters, me darlings. Live oysters and cockles.”

“Ale!

Sweet and strong. Drunk for a penny. Dead drunk for twopence.”

Tom saw one man puke copiously over the side of the bridge and adrunken drab spread her tattered skirts around her as she squatted andpeed in the gutter. Officers in splendid uniforms from King William’sGuards regiments, back from the wars, strutted through the throng withpretty girls in bonnets on their arms.

Warships were anchored in the river, and Tom eagerly pointed them outto Daniel.

“Aye.” Daniel spat tobacco juice over the side.

“That’s the old Dreadnought, seventy-four guns. She was at the Medway.That one over there is the Cambridge, - .” Daniel reeled off the namesof glory, and Tom thrilled to hear them.

“Look there!” he cried.

“That must be St. Paul’s Cathedral.” Tom recognized it from thepictures in his school books. The dome was only half complete, open tothe sky and covered with a spider’s web of scaffolding.

Guy had heard him and stuck his head out of the carriage window.

“New St. Paul’s,” he corrected his twin.

“The old cathedral was completely destroyed in the Great Fire.

Master Wren is the architect, and the dome will be almost 365 feethigh.. .” But the attention of his two brothers on top of thecarriage had moved on.

“What happened to those buildings there?” Dorian pointed out thesmoke-blackened ruins that were interspersed with the newer edificesalong the banks of the river.

“They were all burned down in the Fire,” Tom told him.

“See how the builders are at work.” They crossed the bridge into thecrowded streets of the city. Here the press of vehicles and humanitywas denser still.

“I was here before the Fire,” Daniel told them, “long before younippers were even thought of. The streets were half as broad as theyare now, and the people emptied the chamber-pots into the gutters.. “He went on to delight the boys with other graphic details of theconditions that had prevailed in the city only twenty yearspreviously.

In some of the open carriages they passed were grand gentlemen dressedin the height of fashion, and with them ladies in bright silk andsatin, so beautiful that Tom stared at them in awe, sure that they werenot mortals but heavenly angels.

Some of the other women who leaned from the windows of the houses thatcrowded the street did not seem so sacred. One singled out Aboli andscreeched an invitation to him.

“What does she want to show Aboli?” Dorian piped wide-eyed.

Daniel ruffled his flaming red hair.

“Better for you if you never find out, Master Dorry, for once you doyou’ll never know peace again.”

They came at last to the Plough, and the carriage rumbled over thecobbles as Aboli wheeled it up to the entrance of the inn. The hostrushed out to receive them, bowing and dry-washing his hands withdelight.

“Sir Hal, welcome! We were not expecting you until the morrow.”

“The road was better than I feared. We made good time.” Hal steppeddown stiffly.

“Give us a pitcher of small beer to wash the dust from our throats,” heordered as he stamped into the inn and flung himself down into one ofthe chairs in the front parlour.

“I have your usual chamber ready for you, Sir Hal, and a room for yourlads.”

“Good, and have your grooms take care of the horses, and find a roomfor my servants.”

“I have a message from Lord Childs for you, Sir Hal.

He charged me most strictly to send him word the minute you arrived.”

“Have you done soT Hal looked at him sharply. Nicholas Childs was thechairman of the governors of the English East India Company, but he ranit as though it were his personal fief. He was a man of vast wealthand influence in the city and at court. The Crown was a majorshareholder in the Company, and thus Childs had the ear and favour ofthe sovereign himself. Not a man to treat lightly.

“I have this minute sent a message to him.” Hal quaffed from thepitcher of beer and belched politely behind his hand.

“You can show me up now.” He stood and the host led him up the stairs,backing ahead of him and bowing at every third step. Swiftly Halapproved the accommodation.

His own chamber had a salon and private dining room.

The boys were in the room opposite, and Walsh, their tutor, in the roombeside them. They would use this as their schoolroom, for Hal wasdetermined that they miss not a day of their studies.

“Can we go out and see the town, please, Father?” Tom begged.

Hal glanced at Walsh.

“Have they finished the lessons you set for them on the journey?”

“Master Guy has indeed. But the others .. .”

Walsh said primly.

“You complete the task that Master Walsh has given you,” Hal scowled athis sons, “to his complete satisfaction, before you set a foot outsidethe front door.” As he turned away Tom made a ferocious face atWalsh’s back.

The messenger from Nicholas Childs arrived before Aboli and Daniel hadfinished bringing up the heavy leather trunks that had been strapped onthe roof of the carriage. The liveried footman bowed and handed Halthe sealed sheet of parchment. Hal gave him a coin and split the waxseal of the East India Company with his thumbnail. The letter had beenpenned by a secretary: “Lord Childs requests the pleasure of yourcompany to supper at eight of the clock this evening at Bombay House.”Below this was a note in Childs’s own ornate hand:

“Oswald Hyde will be the only other guest. N.C.” Hal whistledsoftly:

a private supper with the old man and the Chancellor of His MajestyKing William III.

“Something interesting afoot. “He smiled and felt the tingle ofexcitement run through his veins.

between them Aboli and Daniel had scrubbed the mud of the road off thecarriage and curried the horses until once again their coats shone likepolished metal. Hal had plenty of time to bath and have his clothessponged by the chambermaid before it was time to set out to keep hisappointment with Childs.

Bombay House stood behind high walls and was set in substantial gardenswithin a stone’s throw of the Inns of Court, an easy stroll from theheadquarters of the East India Company on Leadenhall Street.

There were guards at the high wrought-iron gates, but they swung openthe gates as soon as Aboli announced his master. Three footmen werewaiting at the double doors of the house to usher Hal in and take hiscloak and hat. Then the majordomo led him on a march through asuccession of grand rooms, hung with mirrors and huge oil paintings ofships, battles and exotic landscapes, and lit by forests of wax candlesin crystal chandeliers and gilt oil lamps held aloft by statues ofnymphs and blackamoors.

As they went further the grand public rooms gave way to meanersurroundings, and Hal realized that they had entered the private areasof the great house, closer to the kitchens and the servants”quarters.

At last they paused before a door so small and insignificant that hemight easily have passed it by, but the head steward knocked once withhis staff.

“EnterV boomed a familiar voice from the far side, and Hal, stoopingthrough the opening, found himself in a small but richly decoratedcabinet. The panelled walls were hung with tapestries from Arabia andthe Indies, and the space was only just sufficient to accommodate thelarge table piled high with silver chafing dishes and gilt tureens,which emitted succulent aromas and enticing wisps of steam.

r I

“Punctual as usual,” Lord Childs complimented him.

He was sitting at the head of the table, overflowing the large paddedchair.

“Forgive me for not rising to greet you properly, Courtney. Damnedgout again.” He indicated his foot, swathed in bandages, resting on astool.

“You have met Oswald, of course.”

“I

have had that honour.” Hal bowed to the Chancellor.

“Good evening, my lord. We met at Mr. Samuel Pepys’s house lastAugust.”

“Good evening, Sir Henry. I well recall our meeting.” Lord Hydesmiled and gave him a seated half-bow.

“You are not the kind of man one readily forgets.”

It was a propitious start to the evening, Hal realized.

Childs waved him easily and informally to the chair at his side.

“Sit here, so we can talk. Take off your coat and wig, man.

Let’s be comfortable.” He glanced at Hal’s thick dark hair, onlylightly laced with silver.

“Of course, you don’t wear a wig, damned sensible. We are all slavesto fashion, we unfortunates who live in the city.” The other two hadclose-cropped heads, and were in their shirtsleeves, their collarsloosened. Childs had a f napkin tied round his neck, and they had notwaited for Hal before beginning to eat.

judging by the pile of empty oyster shells, Childs had alreadyaccounted for several dozen. Hal shrugged out of his coat, passed itto a footman, then took the proffered chair.

“What do you fancy, Courtney, the hock or the Madeira?” Childsbeckoned to one of the servants to fill Hal’s glass. Hal selected thehock. He knew from past experience that it was to be a long evening,and that the Madeira was deceptively sweet but powerful. Once hisglass was charged and a platter of huge Colchester oysters in front ofhim, Childs dismissed the servants with a wave so that they could talkfreely. Almost immediately they were away on the vexing question ofthe Irish war. The deposed King James had sailed to Ireland fromFrance to raise an army among his Catholic supporters there, and wasattacking the forces loyal to King William. Oswald Hyde bemoaned thecost of the campaign, but Childs rejoiced at the successful defence ofLondonderry and Enniskillen by His Majesty’s arms.

“You can be certain that, as soon as the King has taken care of theIrish, he will turn his full attention back to France.” Oswald Hydesucked another oyster from its shell and looked unhappy, an expressionthat seemed to come to him naturally.

“I shall have to go back to Parliament for another appropriation.” Eventhough he lived in the country, Hal kept himself well informed on theevents of the day, for he had many good friends in London andcorresponded with them regularly. He was able to follow the weightytwists and turns of the discussion and even to make his own noteworthycontributions.

“We have little choice in the matter,” he said.

“Once Louis invaded the Palatinate, we were forced to act against himin accordance with the terms of the Alliance of Vienna.” He hadexpressed an opinion with which the others concurred, and he sensedtheir approval, although Hyde continued to bewail the expense of aContinental war.

“I agree there must be war with France but, in God’s name, we have notyet paid off the costs of the Dutch war and the Fire. The Black Boyand Jamie left us with debts owing to every bank in Europe.” The BlackBoy was the nickname of Charles II, the Merry Monarch. Jamie was JamesII, who had succeeded him and ruled for three scant years before hisovert Roman Catholicism forced him to flee to France. William, theStadholder of the United Provinces of the Netherlands and fourth inline of succession, had been invited, with Mary his wife, to take thethrone of England. Mary was the daughter of James, which made theirclaim to the throne all the more valid, and, of course, they werestaunch Protestants.

Once the oysters had been dealt with, Childs called back the footmen toserve the other courses. He fell upon a Dover sole as though it werean enemy, and then they went on to the lamb and the beef, with threedifferent flavours of soup from the silver gilt tureens to wash themdown. A good red claret replaced the rather insipid hock.

Hal sipped sparingly at his glass, for the conversation was fascinatingand opened insights into the interwoven structure of power and worldpolitics which he was seldom vouchsafed. He would not let even thefinest wines cloud his mind. Their talk ranged widely from thecoronation of Peter as the Tsar of Russia to the incursions of theFrench into Canada, from the massacre of their settlers at Lachine bythe Iroquois Indians, to the rebellion of the Marathas against the ruleof the Mogul Emperor Aurangzeb in India.

This last item of news led the conversation directly to the true reasonfor this meeting, the affairs and fortunes of the English East IndiaCompany. Hal sensed the change that came over his companions in theway that they regarded him. Their eyes upon him became shrewd andappraising.

“I understand that you are a considerable shareholder in the Company?”Lord Hyde asked innocently.

“I was fortunate enough to purchase a little of the Company stock whenI returned from the East, in the seventies,” Hal admitted modestly,”and since then, from time to time, when fortune has been kind I haveadded to my holdings.” Childs waved away his disclaimer.

“All the world is aware of the distinguished exploits of you and yourfather during the Dutch wars and thereafter, and the very considerableadditions that you made to the privy purse from the prizes of war, andthe fruits of your trading voyages to the spice islands and the easterncoasts of the African continent.” He turned to the Chancellor.

“Sir Henry controls four and a half per cent of the Company stock,which does not include the dowry of Alice Grenville who so recentlymarried his eldest son,” he concluded drily.

Hyde looked impressed as he mentally calculated the monetary value thatthat represented.

“A valiant and resourceful sea captain you have proved yourself,” Hydemurmured.

“And a prudent investor. You richly deserved those rewards.” He waswatching Hal with a piercing gaze, and Hal knew that they were comingat last to their true purpose.

“Moreover, your personal interests are closely linked to our own,” theChancellor went on quietly, rubbing his cropped pate so that the short,stiff hairs rasped under his fingers.

“We are all stockholders, the Crown the largest of all. Thus, therecent news from the East Indies affects us all most painfully.” Halfelt the sudden constriction of dread in his chest.

He straightened in his chair and his voice was tight as he murmured,”Forgive me, my lord, but I arrived in London only this morning and Ihave heard no news.”

“You are fortunate ffien, for the news is not good,” Childs grunted,and lifted a lump of beef, dripping blood, to his mouth. He chewed andswallowed, then took a gulp of the claret.

“Two weeks ago the Company ship Yeoman of York tied up at the EastIndia docks. She was sixty@ two days out from Bombay with a cargo ofcotton and cochineal, and despatches from Gerald Aungier, the governorf the colony.” Childs frowned and shook his head, relucOtant to speakthe next words.

“We have lost two ships. The Minotaur and the Albion Spring.” Halrocked back in his chair as though he had taken a punch to the head.

“Those two are the pride of the fleet,” he exclaimed.

It was almost impossible to believe. The East Indiamen, those stately,magnificent vessels, were the lords of the oceans, built not only forthe carrying of cargo but for the prestige of the great and prosperouscompany that owned them and of the English Crown under whose charterthey sailed.

“Wrecked?” Hal hazarded. Even the might of the Company must be shakenby the magnitude of the loss. One such vessel sunk was a terribleblow. Two ships lost was a disaster, perhaps worth a hundred thousandpounds with the cargoes.

“Where were they wrecked?” he demanded.

“The Agulhas Bank? The coral reefs of the Mascarenes?”

“They were not wrecked,” said Childs ominously.

“What then?”

“Pirates,” said Childs.

“Corsairs.”

“Are you sure?

How can we know that?” The East Indiamen were built for speed andheavily armed for just such a contingency. It would take a warship offorce to capture one. When this news spread, the value of the Companystock would plunge. His own investments would be slashed by thousands,nay, tens of thousands of pounds.

“For months now, both ships have been overdue. We had no news ofeither,” Childs said.

“But it seems that a single seaman escaped from the Minotaur. He wasalmost forty days at sea clinging to some piece of wreckage, drinkingbut a few drops of rainwater and eating raw fish he was able to catch,until he was at last thrown up on the wild African coast. He walkedfor weeks along the shore to reach the Portuguese settlement at Lobito.There he was able to find a berth on a sloop bound for Bombay. He toldhis story to Governor Aungier, who sent the seaman and his despatchesback to us on board the Yeoman of York “Where is this seaman now?” Haldemanded.

“Have you spoken to him? Is he reliable?” Childs held up one hand tohalt the flood of questions.

“He is in a safe place, and well cared for, but we don’t yet want himtelling his story on the streets of London, or in a coffee-house.”

Hal nodded: that made good sense.

“And, yes, I have spoken to him at length. He seems a sensible lad,tough and resourceful, if his account is true, which I think it is.”

“What does he say happened?”

“In essence, the Minotaur came upon a small dhow in distress off theisland of Madagascar and took off her crew of a dozen before shesank.

But that first night the survivors seized control of the deck duringthe middle watch. They had concealed weapons on their persons and theyslit the throats of the officers of the watch. Of course, the crew ofthe Minotaur should have had small trouble regaining the ship from sucha tiny band of pirates, but almost immediately a fleet of small boatsswarmed out of the darkness, obviously in response to a signal, and theband of pirates already on board were able to prevent the ship’scompany from serving the guns or otherwise defending themselves untilit was too late.”

“How did this man escape?”

“Most of the Minotaur’s men were massacred, but this man, Wilson is hisname, convinced the pirate captain that he would enlist with his bandand lead him to other plunder. Wilson then seized his firstopportunity to escape and slipped overboard through a gun port with asmall wooden keg as a float.” Childs opened a silver casket andbrought out a long brown object that looked like a piece of dead treebark.

“Tobacco leaves rolled into a stick,” he explained.

“Spanish, from their colonies in America. They call it a cigarro. Ihave come to prefer them to a pipe. Will you try one? Here, let meprepare it for you.” He made a fuss of sniffing it and cutting off asliver of the dark tobacco from one end.

Hal accepted it and sniffed it suspiciously. The aroma wassurprisingly pleasing. He followed Childs’s example and lit the end ofthe tube from the burning taper Childs held for him. He puffedcautiously and found that, even though he was distressed by what he hadjust learned, the taste was to his liking, better than any pipe he hadever taken.

By now both other men were puffing on their cigarros, which gave Hal afew minutes to consider the problem with which Childs had presentedhim.

“You said two ships were lost,” he said.

“Yes,” Childs agreed.

“The Albion Spring only weeks before the Minotaur. Taken by the samegang of cutthroats.”

“How can we be sure of that?”

“The pirate captain boasted of his exploits to this man Wilson.” Afteranother long silence Hal asked, “What do you intend to do about this,my lord?” Then his pulse quickened as he saw the two men exchangeglances, and he had the first inkling as to why he had been invited tothis intimate meeting.

Childs wiped beef fat from his jowls with the back of his hand, thenwinked at Hal like a conspirator.

“We are going to send someone to deal with this pirate fellow, Jangiri.That’s the rascal’s name Jangiri.”

“Who will you send?” asked Hal, already knowing the answer.

“by, you, of course.”

“But, my lord, I am now a farmer and a county squire.”

“Of only a few years” standing,” Hyde cut in.

“Before that you were one of the most eminently successful mariners inthe southern and eastern oceans.” Hal was silent. It was true, ofcourse.

These two knew everything about him.

They could almost certainly detail every voyage he had made, and Hydewould have in his records every return of treasure and precious cargohe had made to the Treasury.

“My lords, I have a family, four sons to care for, and no woman toshare the responsibility. That is the reason I no longer goseafaring.”

“Yes, I know why you gave up the sea, Courtney, and you have my deepestcondolences for the loss of your wife.

But, on the other hand, even your youngest son must now be of the agewhen you yourself first went to sea. There is no reason why you cannotfind berths for every one of your offspring aboard a well4ound ship.”That was also true.

Childs had clearly planned his strategy with great attention to detail,but Hal was determined not to make it easy for him.

“I could not leave my responsibilities at High Weald.

Without careful administration of my estates I would be beggared.”

“My dear Sir Henry,” Hyde smiled, “my own son was at King’s Collegewith your William. They are still the greatest of friends andcorrespond regularly. I understand that the administration of yourestates has become almost solely the charge of young William, and thatyou spend much of your time hawking, hunting, reading and reminiscingwith your old shipmates.” Hal flushed with anger. Was that William’sestimation of his worth and contribution to the running of High Wealdand the mines?

“If this fellow, Jangiri, is not dealt with swiftly we will all bebeggared,” Childs added.

“You are the best man for the job, and we all know it.”

“The suppression of piracy is the concern of the King’s navy,” Halretorted stubbornly.

“Indeed it is,” Hyde agreed.

“But by the end of the year we will be at war with France and theKing’s navy will have more pressing matters with which to attend. Itmay be several years before the Admiralty can turn its mind to volicinythe far oceans of the globe and we dare not wait that long. Jangirialready has two ships of great power under his command. Who can saythat in a year or two he will not be strong enough to attack Bombay orour factories on the Carnatic coast? Your shares in the Company wouldbe worth little if he succeeded.” Hal moved restlessly in his chairand fiddled with the stern of his wineglass. This was what he had beenwaiting for secretly, during these past months of boredom andinactivity. His blood was charging, his mind raced, flitting from ideato idea like a sunbird on a flowering tree, darting from bloom to bloomto drink its nectar.

have no ship, he said. He had sold the Golden Bough when he came backto Devon. She was tired and her hull eaten half away by ship-worm.

“I would need a ship of equal or superior force to the Minotaur or theAlbion Spring.”

“I can offer you a squadron of two fine ships,” Childs counteredeasily.

“Your flagship would be the new Seraph, the finest vessel the Companyhas ever built. Thirty-six guns and fast as a gull. She is this veryday fitting out at Deptford yard.

She can be ready for sea by the month’s end.”

“And the other?”

Hal demanded.

“The Yeonwn of York, the same ship that carried this lad Wilson backfrom Bombay. It will have completed its refit by the end of the weekand be ready for sea again.

Also thirty-six guns. Captain Edward Anderson, a fine seaman.”

“I know him well.” Hal nodded.

“But what authority would I sail under?”

Hal was determined to resist a little longer.

“By noon tomorrow,” Hyde promised, “I can deliver to you a commissionsigned by His Majesty’s own hand, authority to seek out and destroy ortake as prize the ships and property of the corsairs.”

“What terms of prize?” Hal turned his full attention to him.

“One third to the Crown, one third to the East India Company, and thelast third to you and your crew,” Hyde suggested.

“If I were to go, and there is no guarantee that I shall, I would liketo have half to myself and my men.”

“It is true, then.” Hyde looked miserable.

“You strike a hard bargain. We can discuss that when you agree to takethe commission.”

“I should like to be able to trade for my own account during thevoyage.” It was one of the tenets of Company policy that its captainsshould not indulge in private trade, and thereby risk a conflict ofinterest and loyalty. Childs’s face darkened and his jowls wobbledwith outrage.

“Under no circumstances. I cannot agree to that. It would set adangerous precedent.” Then he saw that Hal had prepared the trap andthat he had walked straight into it.

“Very well,” Hal said quietly.

“I will forgo that right, if you grant me the half-share of the prize.”Childs gulped and spluttered.

at his effrontery, but Hyde smiled lugubriously.

“He has you there, Nicholas. One or the other, which is it to be?

The prize money or the right to trade?” Childs was thinkingfuriously.

The prize money might far outstrip any trading profit that even thiscunning and resourceful mariner might garner along the Asian andAfrican coasts, but the right to trade was sacred and reserved to theCompany alone.

“Very well,” he agreed at last.

“Half the prize but none of the trading profits.” Hal scowled, but waswell content. He nodded apparently reluctantly.

“I will need a week to think on it.”

“You do not have a week,” Hyde remonstrated.

“We need your answer this very night. His Majesty needs my reply atthe meeting of his cabinet in the morning.”

“There is too much for me to consider before I can take up thecommission.” Hal sat back and folded his arms in a gesture offinality. If he delayed there was a chance he might squeeze otherconcessions out of them.

“Henry Courtney, Baron Dartmouth,” Hyde murmured.

“Does not the title have a satisfying ring?” Hal unfolded his arms andleaned forward, taken so off guard that he allowed his eagerness tolight his features. A peerage! He had never before allowed himself tothink of it. Yet it was one of the few things in this world helacked.

“You mock me, sir?” he murmured.

“Please make clear your meaning.”

“Take up the commission we offer immediately, and bring back the headof this Jangiri rogue in a pickle barrel, and I give you my solemn wordthat a barony is yours.

What say you, Sir HaV Hal began to grin. He was a commoner, albeit ofthe highest rank, but this next step up the ladder would enter him intothe nobility and the House of Lords.

“You are the one who drives a hard bargain, my lord. I can no longerresist either your blandishments or my duty.” He raised his glass andthe other two followed his example.

“Fair winds, and a good chase,” he suggested as the toast.

“Bright gold and glory!” Hyde made a better one and they drained theirglasses.

When they lowered their glasses, Hyde dabbed his lips with his napkinand asked, “You have not yet been presented at court, have you, Sir?HaV When Hal shook his head he went on, “If you are one day to become apeer of the realm, we must see to that before you leave London.

Two of the clock in the afternoon on this coming Friday, at St. James’s Palace. The King is holding a levee before he sails forIreland to take charge of the campaign against his father-in-law. Ishall send a man to your lodgings, to guide you to the palace.” IfredWilson was a surprise. With such a name Hal had expected a stalwartEnglish tar with a LYorkshire or Somerset accent. At Hal’s requestChilds had released the seaman from wherever he was being held and senthim to Hal at the inn. He stood in the centre of the floor of theprivate salon and twisted his cap in his slim dark hands.

“You are English?” Hal demanded.

Wilson respectfully touched the hank of thick dark hair that spilledonto his forehead.

“My father was born in Bristol, Captain.”

“But your mother was not?” Hal guessed.

“She was an Indian, a Mogul, a Mussulman, sir.” Wilson was darker eventhan Hal’s own William, and as handsome.

“Do you speak her language, Wilson?”

“Yes, sir, and write it. My mother was of high birth, begging yourpardon, sir.”

“Then you write English also?” Hal liked the look of him, and if hisstory of the escape from Jangiri were true he was indeed resourcefuland clever to boot.

“Yes, sir.” Hal was surprised, few seamen were literate. Heconsidered him thoughtfully.

“Do you speak any other language?”

“Only Arabic.” Wilson shrugged self-deprecatingly.

“Better and better.” Hal smiled and switched into Arabic to test him.He had been taught it by his first wife, Judith, and had honed hisknowledge of it on many voyages along the coasts of Africa and Araby.

“Where did you team?” His tongue was a little rusty from disuse of theguttural tones of Arabia.

“I sailed many years before the mast, with a crew that was mostlyArab.” Wilson’s command of the language was rapid and fluent.

“What rating did you hold on the Minotaur?”

“Warrant officer, sir.” Hal was delighted. To hold the rank of awatch keeping officer, at his age, he must be a bright one. I musthave him, Hal decided.

“I want to hear from you everything you can tell me of the taking ofthe Minotaur. But more important, I want you to tell me aboutJangiri.”

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but that will take a while.”

“We have all day, Wilson.” Hal pointed to the bench against the farwall.

“Sit there.” When he hesitated, Hal went on, “You said it would taketime. Sit down, man, and get on with it.” It took almost four hours,and Walsh, the tutor, sat at the table and made notes as Hal instructedhim.

Wilson spoke quietly and without emotion until he had to describe themurder of his shipmates by the pirates.

Then his voice choked, and when Hal looked up, he was surprise to seethat Wilson’s eyes were bright with tears. He sent for a pot of beerto soothe the man’s throat and give him a chance to regain hiscomposure. Wilson pushed the tankard aside.

“I don’t take strong liquor, sir.” Hal was delighted. Drink was thedemon of most seamen.

“Never?” he asked.

“No, sir. My mother, you understand, sir.”

“You are a Christian?”

“Yes, sir, but I can’t forget my mother’s teaching.”

The Monsoon

“Yes, I understand.” By God, I need this one, Hal thought. He’s a gemamong men. Then an idea occurred to him: During the voyage out I willhave him teach my lads Arabic. They will need it on the coast.

By the time they had finished Hal had a vivid picture of what hadhappened on board the Minotaur, and of the man he was going out toconfront.

“I want you to go over all this again in your mind, Wilson.

If there is anything you have forgotten, any detail that may be useful,I want you to come back and tell me.”

“Very well, Captain.”

Wilson stood up to leave.

“Where will I find you, sir?” Hal hesitated.

“I hope you can keep your tongue from wagging?” he asked, and when theman nodded, he went on, “I know that you have been kept from tellingthe story of the taking of the Minotaur. If you can give me your wordthat you’ll not be spouting your story into every flapping ear, thenyou can join my crew. I am looking for good watch-keeping officers.Will you sign up with me, lad?” Wilson smiled almost shyly.

“I have heard of you afore, Captain,” he said.

“You see, my uncle sailed with your father aboard the Lady Edwina, andwith you on the Golden Bough. He told tales of you.”

“Who was your uncle?”

“Ned Tyler, Captain, and he still is.”

“Ned Tyler!” Hal exclaimed. He had not heard that name in fiveyears.

“Where is he?”

“On his farm near Bristol. He bought it with the prize money he won onboard your ship, Captain.” Ned Tyler was one of the best men Hal hadever sailed with, and he marvelled yet again at how small andclose-knit was the brotherhood of the sea.

“So what do you say, then, Wilson? Will you sign the watch-bill on theSeraph?”

“I would like it well to sail with you, Captain.” Hal felt a lift ofpleasure at his acceptance.

“Tell my boatswain Daniel Fisher to find lodgings for you until we canmove into our quarters on the ship. Then you can exercise yourpenmanship by composing a letter to your uncle Ned. Tell him to stopmilking cows and shovelling muck, and get on his sea boots again. Ineed him.” After Wilson had clumped down the narrow wooden stairs tothe parlour below, Hal moved to the small window that overlooked thecobbled stableyard. He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, andwatched Aboli instruct the twins with the blade. Guy sat on a pile ofhay with Dorian next to him. He must have finished his turn for he wasred in the face and sweating in dark patches through his shirt. Dorianwas patting his back in congratulation.

Hal watched while Aboli exercised Tom in the manual of arms, the sixparries and the full repertoire of cuts and thrusts. Tom was sweatinglightly when at last Aboli faced him and nodded to begin the bout.

“On guard, KlebeP They fought half a dozen inconclusive engagements.

Hal could see that Aboli was moderating his power to match Tom, but theboy was tiring and slowing down when Aboli called to him, “Last one,Klebe. This time I mean to hit you!” Tom’s expression hardened, andhe went on guard in quarte, point high, watching Aboli’s dark eyes toread his move before he launched. They touched sabres and Aboli cameat him, right foot leading, graceful as a dancer, a feint into the highline and then, as Tom parried fierce and made the riposte, Abolifluidly recoiled and made a counter-riposte in the line of engagement,fast as a striking viper. Tom attempted the correct parry low quarte,but his hand still lacked an inch of speed. There was a slither ofsteel over steel and Aboli’s blade stopped an inch from his nipple asit showed through the white shirt.

“Faster, Klebe. Like a hawkV Aboli admonished him, as Tom recoveredsmoothly, but his wrist was pronated and his blade slightly off line.It seemed he had left an opening for a cut to the right shoulder. Tomwas furious and scowling at the hit against him, but he spotted theopening.

Even from the highmindow Hal saw him make the mistake of signalling hismove with a slight lift of his chin.

“No, Tom, no!” he whispered. Aboli was dangling the bait that hadsnared Hal himself, so often, when he was Tom’s age. With consummatejudgement of distance Aboli had set himself up two inches beyond thereach of Tom’s cut to the shoulder: he would hit him again if Tom triedfor it.

Hal crowed with delight as his son took a double step, a feint for theshoulder, but then with the agility of a monkey and extraordinarystrength of wrist for his age, he changed his angle of attack and wentinstead for Aboli’s hip.

“You almost had himV Hal whispered, as Aboli was forced to extremeextension to protect himself with a circular parry that gathered Tom’sblade and swept it back into the original line of engagement.

Aboli stepped back and broke off the engagement. He shook his head sothat drops of sweat flew from his bald head, and flashed his teeth in ahuge white smile.

“Good, Klebe. Never accept an enemy’s invitation. Good! You cameclose to me there.” He placed one arm around Tom’s shoulders.

“That’s enough for one day. Master Walsh is waiting for you to take upthe pen rather than the sabre.”

“One more hit, AboliV Tom pleaded.

“This time I will have you, fair and square.”

But Aboli pushed the boy in the direction of the inn door.

“Aboli judges it finely,” Hal said to himself with approval.

“He will not drive them beyond their years and strength.” He touchedthe white scar on the lobe of his own right ear and grinned ruefully.”But the day is not far off when he will tap a drop or two of MasterThomas’s raspberry juice, as he once did mine, to moderate the boy’sfine opinion of his own skills.” Hal opened the casement and leanedout.

“Aboli, where’s Big Danny?” Aboli wiped the sweat from his foreheadwith his forearm.

“He was working on the carriage. Then he went off with that new lad,Wilson.”

“Find him and bring him up here.

There is something I have to tell you.” A little later, as the two bigmen shuffled in, Hal looked up from the document on the writing-desk infront of him.

“Sit down both of you.” He indicated the bench and they sat side byside like two overgrown schoolboys about to be chastized.

“I had a word with Mabel.” Hal picked on Daniel first.

“She says she cannot abide another winter with you prowling around thecottage like a chained bear. She begged me to take you off somewhere,far away.”

Daniel looked stunned. Mabel was his wife, the head cook at HighWeald, a plump, cheerful woman with red cheeks.

“She had no call-” Daniel began angrily, then broke off into a grin ashe saw the sparkle in Hal’s eyes.

Hal turned to Aboli.

“As for you, you black devil, the mayor of Plymouth tells me there hasbeen a plague of bald brown babies born in the town and all thehusbands are loading their muskets. Its time we got you away for awhile also.” Aboli rumbled and shook with laughter.

“Where are we going, Gundwane?” He used the pet name with which he hadchristened Hal as a boy and which meant Cane Rat in the language of theforests. He seldom used it, these days, only in moments of greataffection.

“South!” Hal answered him.

“Past the Cape of Good Hope. Into that ocean you know so well.”

“And what will we do there?”

“Find a man named jangiri.”

“And when we find him?” Aboli went on.

“We will kill him, and take his treasure for our own.” Aboli pondereda moment.

“That sounds good to me.”

“What ship?” Big Daniel asked.

I le Seraph. An East Indiaman, fresh off the builder’s slip.

Thirty-six guns and quick as a ferret.”

“What does Seraph mean?”

“A seraph is one of the highest order of heavenly angels.”

“That’s me to the letter Z.” Daniel showed all his pink gums in a widesmile. Of course he could not read and knew of the letter Z only byrepute, which made Hal smile inwardly.

“When will we lay eyes on the Seraph?” he demanded.

“First thing tomorrow. Have the carriage ready at dawn. It’s a longhaul up to the Company’s yards at Deptford.” Hal stopped them fromrising.

“Before then we have much to do. To begin with we have no crew.” Theyboth sobered immediately. Finding a crew for a new ship, even aFifth-Rate, was always a difficult task.

He held up the document that lay on the desk in front of him. It was aposter he had drafted the day before and sent down to the printers inCannon Street with Walsh.

This was the first pull of the press.

PRIZE MONEYI EHUNDREDSE!

the headline bellowed in thick black type. The text below it wassmaller in size but no less flamboyant and rich with hyperbole,scattered with exclamation marks and high, cast letters.

CAPTAIN SIR HAL COURTNEY, Hero of the Dutch wars, Master mariner andFamous Navigator, Captor of the Dutch Galleons Standvastigheid andHeerlige Nacht, Who in his Fabled ships Lady Edwina and Golden Boughhas pursued many capital voyages to Africa and the Spice Islands of theIndies, who has fought and vanquished the foes of His Sovereign Majestywith great capture of RICH TREASURES and VAST BOOTY,

has berths for Good men and True on his new ship v

Seraph, a 36-gun East Indiaman of Great Power and Speed, fitted out andvictualled with attention to the Comfort and Care of officers and men.Those seamen who have had the good FORTUNE to sail under CAPTAINCOURTNEY on his previous voyages have shared PRIZE MONEY as much as 200pounds each man.

Sailing under LETTERS OF MARQUE issued by HIS MAJESTY WILLIAM III (GODBLESS HIM!), CAPTAIN COURTNEY will seek out the enemies of HIS MAJESTYin the OCEAN OF THE INDIES, to their confusion and destruction and theWINNING of RICH PRIZE! Of which one half to be shared by officersAND

CREW!

ALL GOOD SEAMEN seeking employment and fortune will be heartily welcometo take a pot of ale with BIG DANIEL FISHER the chief warrant officerof the Seraph at the PLOUGH in TAILORS LANE.

Aboli read it aloud for the benefit of Big Daniel, who always claimedthat his eyes were too weak for the task but who could spot a gull onthe horizon and carve the finest details on his model ships without theslightest difficulty.

When Aboli had finished his recitation, Daniel grinned. “7is too gooda chance to pass by, and this famous captain is the man for me.

Darrin me, but I think I’ll put my cross on his watch-bill.” WhenMaster Walsh returned from the printers, staggering under a heavybundle of posters, Hal sent Dorian and the twins to help Aboli andDaniel nail them up on every street corner, and on every tavern andbawdy-house door along the river and the docks.

boll pulled up the carriage on the hard of the shipyard. Hal leapeddown impulsively and strode to the edge of the Deptford jetty where BigDaniel and All Wilson were waiting for him. The river was thick withshipping of every class from bum-boats to First Rate men-o’-war. Somewere merely hulks while others were in full seagoing rig with yardscrossed and sails set, as they ran downriver towards Gravesend for theChannel or tacked slowly up against the wind and the stream, headed forBlackwall.

In all this multitude there was no mistaking or overlooking the Seraph.Hal’s eye went to her immediately as she lay at anchor out of the maincurrent, surrounded by lighters, her decks teeming with carpenters andsail-makers.

As Hal watched, a huge water-barrel was swayed up out of one of thelighters and lowered into her open hatch aft.

“You beauty!” Hal whispered, as he ran his eyes over her in almostlascivious pleasure as though she were a naked woman. Although heryards were not yet crossed, her tall masts had an elegant rake and Halcould visualize the vast cloud of sail they could carry.

Her hull was a happy compromise. She had the beam and depth toaccommodate a heavy cargo and her inventory of cannon, as befitted herrole as an armed trader. Yet she had such a fine entry at the bows andpretty run at the stern as promised speed and handiness in anycondition of wind.

“She will point high as you could wish, Captain, and sail away on afairy’s fart,” Big Daniel said gruffly behind him. It was anindication of his own enchantment that he had spoken unbidden.

The Seraph was dressed in splendour, as befitted the pride and prestigeof the East India Company. Despite the lighters that clustered aroundher, and partially screened her from scrutiny, her paintwork showedthrough, sparkling in the pale spring sunlight. She was all gold andblue, her quarter galleries intricately carved with hosts of cherubimand seraphim, and her figurehead the winged angel, with the face of achild, for which she was named. Her gun ports were picked out in gold,a pleasing chequer board pattern that emphasized her force.

“Hail a bum-boat!” Hal ordered, and when one came in and tied up atthe slimy stone steps he ran down lightly and stepped into the sternsheets.

“Run us out to the Seraph,” Big Daniel told the ancient who sat at thetiller, and pushed off. The skiff stank of sewage and her decks werestained with it, probably one of her duties was to remove night soilfrom the officers” cabins of the ships anchored in the river, but byday she carried vegetables and passengers out to the fleet.

“You be Captain Courtney, the new master of the Seraph?” the boatmanquavered.

“Seed your poster at the tavern “That he be,” Big Daniel answered, forHal was too intent in studying his new love to hear the question.

“I have two fine strong lads as want to ship aboard with you, , the oldman went on.

“Send them to see me,” Big Daniel growled. In the three days sincethey had hung the posters he had recruited almost a full crew.

There would be no need to visit the gaol and bribe the warden to sendhis most likely prisoners aboard the Seraph in chains. On the contraryDaniel had been able to pick and choose from the mob of unemployedsailors that had besieged the inn. A berth in a Company ship was inhigh demand: the living conditions and the pay were infinitely betterthan those in the Royal Navy.

Every loafer in the ports and every sailor stepping off an inward-boundship knew full well that if war was declared against France, the navalpress-gangs would be scouring every port in Britain, and hauling aboardthe warships the men they caught. Every fool knew that it was wiser tograb a plum berth now and ship out to the far oceans before they begantheir dread work.

The master shipbuilder on the Seraph’s quarterdeck had recognized thetall figure standing in the bum-boat’s sheets as a man of quality andguessed his identity. He was waiting at the rail to welcome him whenHal came up the ladder.

“Ephraim Greene at your service, Captain.”

“Show me the ship, Mr. Greene, if you please.” Hal’s eyes werealready darting from the topmasts to every corner of the deck, and hestrode off towards the stern with Greene scurrying to keep up with him.They went through the ship from the bilges to the main topgallant, andHal snapped terse instructions to Big Daniel when he found the smallestthing that was not to his entire liking. Daniel grunted at Wilson, whoscribbled a note in the leather bound book he carried under his arm.Already Daniel and Wilson were shaping into a good working team.

When Aboli took Hal back to the inn, he left Daniel and Wilson to findquarters for themselves in the confusion of timber and sawdust, bundlesand bags of new canvas sails and great coils of fresh hemp thatcluttered the between-decks of the Seraph. They would hardly have timeto step ashore again until the ship was ready to sail.

“I’ll be back tomorrow early,” Hal promised Big Daniel.

“I’ll want a list of stores that are on board already, you can get thatfrom Master Greene, and another list of those we yet lack.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Then we will work out a load manifest and start to get her trimmed outfor her best attitude of sailing.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Then, in your spare time, you can start to encourage Master Greene andhis lads to shake out a little more canvas and get us ready for seabefore winter sets in.” During the afternoon a nasty little wind hadsprung up out of the north-east, which smelt of ice and made the menhuddle into their cloaks as they stood on the open deck.

“It is on an evening such as this that the warm southern winds seem towhisper my name.” Hal smiled as he took his leave of them.

Big Daniel grinned.

“I can almost smell the hot dust of Africa on the monsoon.” t was wellafter dark when the carriage rolled into the cobbled yard of thePlough, but all three of Hal’s sons rushed out of the warm lamp-litfront parlour to welcome him before he stepped down from the carriage,and they trailed him up the stairs into his private salon.

Hal shouted for the landlord to bring him a pewter jug of mulled wine,for he was chilled by the turn in the weather, then threw off his cloakand dropped into a highbacked chair before he faced the line of solemnboys who stood before him.

“To what do I owe the honour of this deputation, gentlemen?” He put ona serious when to match that of the young faces before him. Two headsswivelled towards Tom, the acknowledged spokesman.

“We tried to sign up for the voyage with Big Daniel,” Tom said, “but hesent us to you.”

“What is your rating, and what experience do you have?” Hal teasedthem.

“We have naught but a good heart and a will to learn,” Tom admitted.

“That will serve for Tom and Guy. I will rate you captain’s servantand you will draw a guinea a month pay.” Their faces lit like thesunrise, but Hal went on swiftly, “But Dorian is still too young.

He must stay at High Weald.” There was an appalled silence, and thetwins turned to Dorian with stricken expressions. Dorian struggledwith his tears and only just held them back.

“Who will look after me when Tom and Guy have gone?”

“Your brother William will be master of High Weald while I am at sea,and Master Walsh will remain with you to see to your lessons.”

“William hates me,” said Dorian softly, with a tremor in his voice.

“You are too harsh on him. He is strict but he loves you.

“He tried to kill me,” Dorian said, and if you are not there he willtry again. Master Walsh will not be able to stop him.” Hal began toshake his head, but then he had a vivid mental picture of theexpression on William’s face as he held the child by the throat. Forthe first time he faced the unpalatable reality that Dorian’sextravagant claim might not be too far from the truth.

“I will have to stay and look after Dorian.” Tom broke the silence,his face pale and set.

Hal understood intuitively how much that offer had cost him: Tom’swhole existence revolved around the thought of going to sea, yet he wasprepared to give that up. Hal felt such devotion tug at his heart.

“If you do not wish to stay at High Weald, Dorian, you can go to youruncle John at Canterbury. He is your mother’s brother and he loves youalmost as much as I do.”

“If you truly love me, Father, you will not leave me behind. I wouldrather have brother William kill me than that.” Dorian spoke with aconviction and determination strange for one so young and Hal was takenaback: he had not been prepared for such steadfast refusal.

“Tom is right,” Guy agreed staunchly.

“We can’t leave Dorian.

None of us can. Tom and I will have to stay with him.” More than anyother, Guy’s petition swayed Hal. It was almost unheard of for Guy totake a strong stance on any issue, but when he did no threat would movehim.

Hal frowned at them while his mind raced. Could he take a child ofDorian’s age into a situation that would certainly mean terribledanger? Then he looked at the twins. He remembered that when hismother had died, his own father had taken him to sea and he had beenhow old? Perhaps a year or so older than Dorian was now. For once hefelt his determination waver.

Then he considered what dangers they would surely face. He imaginedDorian’s perfect body torn by a storm of flying splinters as round shotcrashed through a wooden bulkhead. He thought of shipwreck and thechild thrown up, drowned, on some deserted, wild African beach to bedevoured by hyena and other loathsome beasts. He gazed at his son, atthe red and gold head as innocent and lovely as the carved seraphicangel at the bows of his new ship.

He felt the words of refusal rise again in his throat. But, at thatmoment, Tom placed his hand protectively on his younger brother’sshoulder. It was a gesture without guile, but with a calm dignity,love and duty, and Hal felt the words to deny him dry in his throat.

He took a slow breath.

“I will think on it,” he said gruffly.

“Go now, all three of you.

You have given me enough trouble for one day.” They backed away, andat the door chorused, “Goodnight, Father.” when they reached their ownchamber, Tom held Dorian by both shoulders.

“Don’t cry, Dorry.

You know that when he says he will think on it he means yes. But youmust not cry ever again. If you are coming to sea with Guy and me,then you have to act like a man. Do you understand?” Dorian gulpedand nodded vigorously, not trusting himself to reply.

here was a long line of carriages in the Mall outside the entrance toSt. James’s Palace. The building was a fantasy toy-soldier castlewith battlements and towers, built by Henry VIII and still used by thereigning sovereign. \When Hal’s carriage eventually pulled up, twofootmen came forward to open the carriage door and the secretary whomLord Hyde had sent to fetch him led him through the palace gates andacross the courtyard.

There were pike men in steel helmets and half-armour, at the entranceto the stairway leading up to the Long Gallery, but when the secretaryshowed his credentials they let Hal pass, and a footman announced himin a stentorian voice.

“Captain Sir Henry Courtney!”

The guards saluted with a flourish of pikes and Hal filed up thestaircase behind the Spanish ambassador and his entourage. When hereached the top he found that the entire length of the gallery wascrowded with a splendid assembly of gentlemen, and such a collection ofuniforms, medals, stars, plumed hats and periwigs that Hal felt like acountry bumpkin. He looked around for the secretary who was guidinghim, but the idiot had vanished in the throng and Hal was at a loss asto what he should do next.

Yet he had no call to feel out of place, for he was wearing the newburgundy@ coloured velvet suit that he had had tailored for theoccasion, and the buckles of his shoes were solid silver. Around hisneck he wore the order of a Nautonnier Knight of the Order of St.George and the Holy Grail, which had belonged to his father andgrandfather before him. It was a magnificent decoration: on a massivegold chain hung the golden lion of England with ruby eyes, holding inits paws the globe of the world with diamond stars of the heavenstwinkling above.

It matched in splendour any of the myriad other orders and medals thatglittered down the length of the gallery. At his hip hung the BlueNeptune sword, the blue sapphire, big as a pullet’s egg, glowing on itspommel, the scabbard worked in gold inlay.

At that moment an avuncular grip closed on his elbow and Hyde’s voicemurmured in his ear, “I am pleased you could come. We need not wastetoo much time here. Tis but a gathering of peacocks showing off theirtails, but there are some it might be worth your while to meet.

Let me present you to Admiral Shovel. He is to be the governor of thenew naval shipyards that the King is building at Devonport, and thereis Lord Ailesham, a good man to know, he gets things done.”

Oswald Hyde led Hal adroitly through the press and each knot of menopened invitingly at his approach. At Hyde’s introduction they studiedHal keenly, noting him as someone of importance simply because he wasthe protege of the Chancellor. Hal realized that Hyde was working hisway gradually towards the panelled doors at the end of the gallery, andonce there he took up a position where they would be among the first toencounter whoever came through.

Hyde leaned closer to Hal and murmured, “His Majesty signed yourcommission in cabinet yesterday.” He slipped the roll of parchment outof his sleeve. It was tied with a red ribbon and secured by a waximprint of the Great Seal of England: “Honi soit qui mal y pense’.

“Guard it wellP He placed it in Hal’s hand.

“Have no fear,” Hal assured him. That scrap of parchment might beworth a vast fortune, and a peerage.

At that moment there was a stir, and a murmur ran along the gallery asthe doors were thrown open.

William III, King of England and Stadholder of the Neth errands,stepped through on small neat feet in slippers encrusted with seedpearls and gold filigree. Everyone in the gallery bowed in unison.

Of course, Hal had known of his deformity, but the actuality came as ashock. The King of England stood not much taller than Dorian, and hisback was hunched, so that the scarlet and blue mantle of the Order ofthe Garter rose in a peak behind his small bird-like head, and themassive gold chain of the order seemed almost to weigh him down.

Beside him his wife, Queen Mary 11, towered over him, although in truthshe was only a young, slender girl in her twenties.

The King saw Hyde immediately and nodded for him to approach.

Hyde bowed low before him, sweeping the ground with his hat. Two pacesbehind, Hal followed his example. The King looked at him over Hyde’sback.

“You may present your friend,” he said, in a heavy Dutch accent.

He had a deep, strong voice out of place in such a childlike form.

“Your Majesty, I present Sir Henry Courtney.”

“Ah, yes. The mariner,” said the King, and he gave Hal his hand tokiss. William had a long beaked nose, but his eyes were wide set,bright and intelligent.

Hal was amazed that he had been so readily recognized, but he said, influent Dutch, “May I assure Your Majesty of my loyal devotion.” TheKing looked at him sharply and replied in the same language.

“Where did you learn to speak so well?”

“I spent some years at the Cape of Good Hope, Your Majesty,” Halreplied. He wondered if the King knew of his imprisonment at the Dutchcastle there. William’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement, and Halrealized that he did, Hyde must have told him. Strange it was thatthis King of England had once been its bitter foe, and that as asoldier he had bested many of the English generals who now stood alongthe gallery ready to pay him deep respect and allegiance.

“I expect to have good reports of you before long,” said the littleman, and the Queen nodded to Hal. He bowed again as the royalentourage moved on down the gallery.

Hal’s presentation was over.

“Follow me,” said Hyde, and led him surreptitiously to a side door.

“That was good. The King has a remarkable memory. He won’t forget youwhen the time comes to claim those rewards of which we spoke.” Hydeheld out his hand.

“These stairs will lead you down into the courtyard.

Farewell, Sir Hal. We will not meet again before you sail, but I tooexpect to have good reports of your exploits in the Orient.” The twoships went downriver in company. The Seraph led, with the Yeoman ofYork trailing her by two cables” length. The Seraph still had workersfrom the shipyard aboard. They had not been able to complete her finalfitting out by the date they had so faithfully promised, but Hal hadsailed nevertheless.

“I will send your men ashore when we reach Plymouth,” he had toldMaster Greene, the ship-builder, “if they have finished their work whenwe reach there. If they haven’t I shall drop them in the Bay of Biscayand let them swim home.” The handling of the ship was still clumsy asthe crew settled in. Hal glanced back over his stern and saw how, insharp contrast, the Yeoman’s crew worked their sails with speed andexpertise. Edward Anderson, the captain of the Yeoman, would bewatching him too, and Hal flushed with mortification at the ineptitudeof his men. That would change before they reached Good Hope, hevowed.

When they reached the open water of the Channel, the wind veered andstrengthened into an autumn gale.

The sun went behind the clouds and the sea turned sullen green andboisterous. The night came on prematurely, so that the two ships lostcontact with each other in the darkness before they passed Dover.

For some days the Seraph slogged into a head-sea but at last they wereoff the Isle of Wight and Hal found the Yeoman only four miles distantand on the same tack as he was.

“GoodV He nodded and closed his telescope. He had reserved hisjudgement on Anderson. The Yeoman’s captain was a burly Yorkshireman,red-faced, unsmiling and taciturn, who, it seemed, resented having Halplaced in authority over him. But during those first days he hadproved that, if nothing else, he was a reliable seaman.

Hal switched his attention back to the Seraph. Already the crew’sship-handling was improving with practice in these conditions, and themen seemed cheerful and willing, as well they should. Hal had offeredgood wages to secure the best, making up the difference over what theCompany offered out of his own pocket.

At that moment the three boys came pelting up the companionwaytogether, released by Master Walsh from their studies. They wereexcited and boisterous, showing not the least sign of sea-sicknessafter their time afloat in half a gale. Aboli had been able to outfitthem with seagoing clothing in London, where there were numerouschandlers along the docks. They were better turned out than Hal hadbeen when he sailed for the first time with his father. The old manhad not believed in spoiling him, and he remembered the petticoats ofrough canvas and the tar@ daubed pea-jacket, stiff with salt crystals,that had rubbed him raw under his arms and between his thighs. Hesmiled ruefully at the memory of how he had slept beside Aboli on adamp straw pallet on the open deck, with the other common seamen, hadeaten his meals crouched behind the shelter of one of the guns, usinghis fingers and dirk to spoon the stew out of his pannikin and breakthe hard biscuit, had used the leather bucket in the heads for hisprivate business, and never bathed from the beginning of a voyage tothe end. It did me little harm, Hal recalled, but on the other hand itdid me little good. A lad does not have to be reared like a pig tomake him a better seaman.

Of course, the circumstances of his first voyages with his father hadbeen different. The old Lady Edwina had been less than half the sizeof the Seraph, and even his father’s cabin had been a dog-kennelcompared to the spacious stern cabin, which was now at Hal’sdisposal.

Hal had ordered the workmen to partition off a small section of his ownquarters, hardly larger than a cupboard, and build three narrow shelvesto serve as bunks for the boys.

He had signed on Master Walsh as captain’s clerk, over the tutor’sprotestations that he was no seaman. He would continue his instructionof the boys, using his own tiny cabin as a schoolroom.

Hal watched now with approval as Daniel seized the whooping skylarkingboys as soon as they appeared on deck, and sternly sent them to theduties he had devised for them. He had separated the twins, placingTom in the starboard watch and Guy in the other. They were always abad influence on each other. Guy’s proximity encouraged Tom to showoff, while Tom distracted Guy with his antics. Dorian was sent to thegalley to help the cook bring up the breakfast.

Hal felt a pang of anxiety that Daniel might send the twins aloft tohelp handle sail, but he need not have worried: the time would come forthat when their sea legs were hardened and they had learned to balanceeasily on the heeling, plunging deck. For the time being, Daniel keptthem on the open deck, helping to handle the sheets.

Hal knew he could leave the boys under the big man’s watchful eye,and-turn his attention to the problems of his own seamanship. He pacedup and down the quarterdeck, tuned now to the hull beneath him, thefeel of how his ship responded to every alteration and trim of sail.

She’s down in the bows, he judged, as she took a green wave on boardand the water streamed back down the deck and poured out through thescuppers. Over the last days he had been visualizing how he couldreload the cargo in the hold, especially the heavy water-barrels, toachieve the trim he wanted. I can put two knots of speed on her, heestimated.

Childs was sending him on a warlike expedition but, nevertheless, themain concern of the East India Company was always profit and theSeraph’s hold was crammed with a variety of trade goods for delivery tothe Company factories at Bombay.

While part of his mind was busy with the loading and trim, the otherpart was on his crew. He was still short of watch-keeping officers.This was the main reason why he was putting in at Plymouth instead ofhauling away directly to round Ushant on the French coast, cross theBay of Biscay and head south for the bulge of the African continent andeventually for Good Hope. Plymouth was their home port, and Daniel andAboli knew almost every man, woman and child in the town andsurrounding countryside.

“I can fill the watch-bill with the best men in England within a day ofsetting foot on the Plymouth dock,” Daniel had boasted to Hal, who knewit was true.

“My uncle Ned sent word that he will be waiting for us there,” Wilsonhad said, to Hal’s satisfaction: he had set his heart on having NedTyler aboard the Seraph.

Apart from the necessity of finding crew there were other reasons forthis detour. Powder and shot were virtually unobtainable in London.The Irish war had led to the shortage of munitions and now, with aFrench war in the offing, the Admiralty was hoarding every barrel ofpowder and every round of shot. It had even embargoed the factories totake every scrap of their production.

One of the warehouses Hal owned at the Plymouth docks was piled highwith powder kegs and iron shot. He had stored these here inpreparation for the last voyage of the Golden Bough, which he had beenforced to abandon when Dorian’s mother had died and left him with ababy to care for. Although several years, old, the new powders Hal hadstored did not deteriorate as fast as the older types and should stillbe in good condition.

The final reason for the stop at Plymouth was that.

Childs had passengers for him to convey to the Company’s factory atBombay Island: they would be waiting for him in the port. Childs hadnot told him how many he was sending and Hal hoped they would be few.Accommodation was at a premium in any ship, even one of Seraph’s size,and some of his officers were bound to be evicted from their cabins tomake space for them.

So engrossed was Hal with all these problems that it seemed little timehad passed before they had the Isle of Wight abeam. Then they wererounding Gara Point, heading down the Sound past Drake’s Island, andPlymouth Ho was opening before them. On shore, a few dozen idlers hadseen the two fine ships coming down the Sound and had lined thewaterfront to watch them tie up.

Daniel stopped beside Hal and murmured, “Do you see that head of silverhair shining there like a beacon?” He pointed with his chin towardsthe quay.

“You cannot miss it, can you now?”

“Dear God, it’s Master Ned.” Hal laughed.

“And that’s Will Carter with him. Ned must have laid a line on him,”Daniel agreed.

“A good lad is our Will.

With him as third and Ned as mate, looks like you’ve got all yourwatch-keepers, Captain, sir.” As soon as they tied up alongside NedTyler was the first on board, and Hal had to restrain himself fromembracing him.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Tyler.”

“Aye,” Ned agreed.

“And she’s a pretty little ship you have under you, but she’s down inthe bows and her sails look like a bunch of dirty shirts on washingday.”

“You’ll have to see to that, then, won’t you, Ned?” Hal said.

Ned nodded lugubriously.

“Aye, that I will, Captain.” Despite the condition of the roads, Abolihad made good time down from London with the carriage and he waswaiting on the dock, sitting on the box with the horses still in thetraces. Hal gave orders to Daniel to begin bringing the powder downfrom the warehouse and to have the Seraph’s water-barrels off-loadedonto the quay so that they could be reloaded with better attention toher trim, before he called the boys to join him and went to where Aboliwaited with the horses. Guy followed his father dutifully, even with acertain amount of relief.

On the other hand, Tom and Dorian climbed the gangplank onto dry landonly after elaborate delaying tactics, including protracted farewellsto all those members of the crew with whom they had made friends. Theyhad taken to shipboard life as though born to it.

Which, of course, they were, Hal thought, and grinned.

“Come on, you two.

You may return tomorrow to help Big Daniel with the reloading.”

As soon as they had scrambled onto the box beside Aboli, Hal said,”Take us up to High Weald, Aboli.” A while later, as the carriagepassed through the gate in the stone wall that marked the boundary ofthe estate, Tom looked ahead and saw a single rider crossing the moorat a canter, aiming to intercept the carriage at the foot of thehill.

There was no mistaking the tall figure dressed all in black on the backof the black stallion, coming from the direction of the tin shaft atEast Rushwold.

Dorian saw Black Billy at the same time, and moved a little closer toTom as if for protection, but neither boy spoke.

William put the stallion to the hedge. Horse and rider sailed over,the black cloak billowing out behind, and landed easily, then turned upthe road immediately to meet the oncoming carriage.

William ignored Aboli and his two younger brothers on the box, butwheeled his horse to canter alongside.

“Well met, Father!” he greeted Hal through the carriage window.

“Welcome back to High Weald. You were sorely missed.” Hal leaned fromthe window, smiling with pleasure, and the two fell at once into ananimated conversation. William recounted everything that had takenplace in Hal’s absence, with special emphasis on the running of themines and the reaping of the grain harvest.

They were coming up the last hill to the big house when suddenlyWilliam broke off, with an exclamation of annoyance.

“Ahl I forgot to mention that your guests have arrived from Brighton.They have been here two days awaiting your coming.”

“My guests?” Hal looked mystified.

William pointed with his riding-crop to the distant figures on the farlawns. A large, solid gentleman stood with a lady on each arm, whiletwo girls in brightly coloured pinafores were already racing each otheracross the grass to meet the carriage, squealing with excitement likesteam from a boiling kettle.

“Girls!” said Dorian, with disdain.

“Small girls!”

“But a big one also.” Tom’s sharp eyes had picked out the slimmer ofthe two women on the arms of the portly gentleman.

“Damned pretty too.”

“Have a care, Klebe,” Aboli murmured.

“The last one landed you in deep water.” But Tom was like a huntingdog on point to the scent of a bird.

“Who on earth are they?” Hal asked William irritably.

He was engrossed in fitting out a ship for a long voyage and it was notthe time to have uninvited guests at High Weald.

“A certain Mr. Beatty and his brood,” William answered.

“I was told you were expecting them, Father. Is that not the case? Ifso, we can send them packing.”

“Damn me!” Hal exclaimed.

“I had almost forgotten.

They must be the passengers on board the Seraph as far as Bombay.

Beatty is to be the new auditor-general for the Company factorythere.

But Childs never mentioned he was bringing his whole tribe with him.This is a nuisance.

Four females! Where, in the devil’s name, will I find berths for allof them?” Hal concealed his annoyance when he stepped out of thecarriage to greet the family.

“Mr. Beatty, your servant, sir. Lord Childs has given me good reportsof you. You had a pleasant enough journey down to Devon, I trust?” Thetruth was that he had expected the family to find lodgings in the portrather than to arrive at High Weald, but he put a good face on it andturned to greet the wife.

Mrs. Beatty was full-fleshed, like her husband, for they had sat atthe same dining-table for twenty years. Her face was red and round asa child’s ball, but little girlish curls peeped out from under the peakof her bonnet. She gave Hal an elephantine curtsy.

“Enchanted, madam.” Hal told her gallantly.

She giggled when he kissed her hand.

“May I present my eldest daughter, Caroline?” She knew that, apartfrom being one of the richest men in Devon and a great landowner, SirHenry Courtney was a widower.

Caroline was almost sixteen, and lovely. There was not more thantwenty-five years” difference in their ages, she estimated, the same asbetween Mr. Beatty and herself. They would all be on a long voyagetogether, plenty of time for friendships to ripen, and sometimes dreamsbecame reality.

Hal bowed to the girl, who curtsied prettily, but he made no effort tokiss her hand. His eyes moved on swiftly to the two girls, who hoppedand danced around their parents like chirping sparrows.

“And who are these two fine young ladies?” he asked, with a paternalsmile.

“I am Agnes!”

“And I am Sarah!” By the time they were all moving up the staircaseand through the front doors of High Weald, Hal had a child by each handand they were both chattering and dancing, looking up at him, vying forhis attention.

“He always wished for a daughter,” Aboli said softly, watching hismaster fondly, “and all he ever got was this gang of hellions.”

“They’re only girls,” Dorian pointed out loftily.

Tom said nothing. He had not spoken since he had come close enough toCaroline to make out every detail of her features. Since then he hadbeen transfixed.

Caroline and Guy were following the others up the stairs. They werewalking side by side, but at the top Caroline paused and looked back.Her eyes met Tom’s.

She was the most beautiful thing Tom had ever imagined. She was astall as Guy, but her shoulders were narrow and her waist was lithe as asapling. Her slippered feet were tiny under the flaring layers ofpetticoats and skirts. Her arms were bare below the puffed sleeves,the skin pale and unblemished. Her hair was a tower of shimmeringcurls and ribbons. Her face was exquisite, full pink lips and largeviolet eyes.

She looked through Tom without expression, her face calm and unsmiling:it was almost as if she had not seen him, as if for her he did notexist. Then she turned away and followed her family into the house.Tom had been holding his breath without realizing it, and now he let itout with an audible hiss.

Aboli shook his head. He had missed nothing. This may be a longvoyage, he thought. And a dangerous one.

The Seraph lay alongside the quay for six days. Even with Ned Tylerand Big Daniel driving them relentlessly, it took that long for theworkmen to finish fitting her out. No sooner was the last joint gluedand pinned and the last wedge driven home than Daniel saw them allpacked off on the post coach, back to the builders” yards at Deptford.By this time the cargo, provisions and armaments had been swung out ofthe Seraph’s hold and then in again and repacked, while Hal stood offin the middle of the harbour in one of the longboats to check her trim.Edward Anderson, from the Yeoman, proved his goodwill by sending hisown crew across to help with the heavy work.

In the meantime Ned had sent all the sails to the sail makers yard. Hehad checked each seam and stitch and had those that did not please himre sewn Then he had watched each sail repacked in its canvas bag,marked and stowed away in the sail-lockers ready to hand.

Once he had dealt with the sails, Ned laid out and inspected the sparespars and yards, then sent them aboard again before the main cargo. Tomfollowed him around, asking questions and avidly gleaning every bit ofsailing lore that he could.

Hal personally sampled a mug of water from each of the barrels beforethey were sent back on board, to make certain that their content wassweet and potable. He opened every third pickle barrel and had theship’s surgeon, Dr. Reynolds, check that the salt pork and beef, thebiscuits and flour were of the first quality. They all knew wellenough that by the time they reached Good Hope the water would be greenwith slime, the biscuits crackling and popping with weevils, but Halwas determined that they would start off clean, and the men took noticeof his concern and murmured approvingly among themselves.

“Not many captains would take those pains. Some would condemned porkfrom the Admiralty just to save a guinea or two.” He and his gunnerslooked at the powder to ensure that damp had riot got into the kegs andcaked it. After that they cleaned the muskets, one hundred and fiftyof them, and made sure that the flints were firm and struck a shower ofsparks when the lock was fired. The deck guns were run out and thecarriages greased. On their swivel mounts the murderers and falconerswere sited aloft in the crow’s nests and at the break of thequarterdeck so that they could command the decks of an enemy ship asshe came alongside and sweep her decks with a storm of grapeshot. Theblacksmith and his mates sharpened the cutlasses and the axes, and setthem back in their racks ready for when they were needed.

Hal puzzled over his quarter-bill, which assigned each man his stationin a battle, then worked out the space at his disposal to accommodatehis unexpected passengers. In the end he evicted the boys from theirnewly built cabin and gave it to the three Beatty sisters, while WillCarter, the third officer, had to give up his cabin, tiny as it was, toMr. Beatty and his wife. Those two large bodies would have to share abunk twenty-two inches wide, and Hal grinned at the picture that calledto mind.

In the stern cabin of the Seraph, Hal sat for hours with EdwardAnderson of the Yeoman, working out with him a system of signals withwhich they could communicate at sea. Forty years previously, the threeparliamentarian “Generals at Sea” Blake, Deane and Monck had innovateda system of signalling, using flags and sails by day and lanterns andguns by night. Hal had obtained copies of their pamphlet,”Instructions for the Better Ordering of the Fleet in Fighting’, and heand Anderson used the five flags and four lanterns as the basis fortheir own set of signals.

The meaning of the flags depended on the combinations and the positionin the rigging from which they were flown. At night the lanterns wouldbe arranged in patterns, vertical and horizontal lines, or squares andtriangles, on the main mast and -the main yard.

Once they had agreed the signals, they drew up a schedule of rendezvousto cover the possibility of the two ships losing contact with eachother in conditions of poor visibility or during the vagaries ofbattle. At the end of these long discussions Hal was confident that hehad come to know Anderson well, and that he could trust him to do hisduty.

On the seventh day after reaching Plymouth they were ready to sail, andon their last day William laid on a splendid dinner for them in thedining room at High Weald.

-CAM aroline was placed between William and Guy at the longdinner-table. Tom sat opposite her, but the table was too wide foreasy conversation. This made little difference to him: for once hecould think of nothing to say. He ate little, hardly touching thelobster and sole, his favourite foods. He could barely take his eyesoff the girl’s lovely tranquil face.

Guy, though, had discovered almost immediately that Caroline was alover of music and they had formed an instant bond. Under MasterWalsh’s instruction, Guy had learned to play both the harpsichord andthe cittern, a fashionable plucked stringed instrument. Tom had shownno aptitude for either instrument, and his singing, Master Walshopined, was enough to make horses bolt.

During their stay in London, Master Walsh had taken Guy and Dorian to aconcert. Tom had developed a severe stomachache, which had preventedhim accompanying them, a circumstance he bitterly regretted now, as hewatched Caroline listening with what seemed divine rapture to Guydescribing the evening to her, the music and the glittering gatheringof London society. Guy seemed able even to remember what dresses andjewellery the women had worn, and those huge violet eyes had not lefthis face.

Tom made an effort to drag her eyes away from Guy by embarking on anaccount of their visit to Bedlam at Moorfields, to see the lunatics ondisplay in their iron cages.

“When I threw a stone at one, he picked up his own turds and threw themback at me,” he recounted with1i relish.

“Luckily he missed me and hit Guy instead.” Caroline’s rosebud upperlip lifted slightly as if she had smelt the missile, and her basiliskgaze passed clean through Tom leaving him stammering, before she turnedback to Guy.

Dorian sat stiffly between Agnes and Sarah at the bottom of the table.The two girls were hidden from their parents by the display of flowersin the silver vases and the tall candelabra. They giggled andwhispered to each other during the whole meal, or told inane, pointlessjokes that they thought so rich they had to stuff their table napkinsinto their mouths to control their mirth.

Dorian was left squirming with embarrassment, and terror that thefootmen waiting at table would recount his agony in the servants”quarters. Then even the stable-boys, who were usually his bosom pals,would despise him as a ninny.

At the top of the table Hal and William, Mr. Beatty and EdwardAnderson were engrossed in discussing the King.

“Lord knows, I was not entirely happy with a Dutchman on the throne,but the little gentleman in black velvet has proved himself a warrior,”Beatty said.

Hal nodded.

“He is a great opponent of Rome, and no lover of the French. For thatalone he has my loyalty. But I found him also a man with a sharp eyeand mind. I think he will make us a good king.”

Alice Courtney, William’s new bride, sat pale and quiet beside Hal. Incontrast to her initial loving, dutiful behaviour, she did not look ather new husband across the table. There was a purple bruise on thepoint of her jaw below the ear, which she had tried to hide with ricepowder and by combing a lock of her dark hair over it. She respondedin monosyllables to Mrs. Beatty’s chatter.

At the end of the meal William stood up and rang for quiet on hiswineglass with a silver spoon.

“As one who is duty-bound to remain behind when the rest of my belovedfamily voyages to far lands.. he began.

Tom ducked his head behind the floral decorations so that he was out ofsight of William and his father, and pretended to stick his finger downhis throat and throw up.

Dorian found this so hilarious that he coughed and choked withlaughter, and ducked his red head below the table.

Caroline gave Tom a single haughty glance, then moved in her chair sothat he was out of her eye-line. Oblivious to the sideshow, Williamwas continuing, “… Father, I know that as you have many times before,you will return to us with your fame enhanced and the holds of yourships bearing great profit. I live for that day. But while you areaway I wish you to know that the affairs of the family here in Englandwill receive my unstinted care and attention.” Hal leaned back in hischair, his eyes half closed, smiling encouragement as he listened tohis eldest son’s sonorous praises and hearty wishes for his safety andwellbeing. But when William included the names of his threehalf-brothers in his address, Hal felt a tickle of doubt: thesentiments he was expressing were too ffilsome.

He opened his eyes suddenly to see William looking towards Tom at theend of the table. His cold dark eyes were so much at odds with thewarmth of his words that Hal knew that little of what he had said wassincere.

The Monsoon

William sensed the depth of his father’s appraisal and glanced at him,quickly masking his malevolence. At once his expression becameaffectionate again, tinged with sadness for the impending departure ofall those he loved best.

However, what he had seen in William’s eyes started a train of thoughtin Hal and filled him with foreboding, a sudden premonition that thiswas the last time he would sit around the same table with all his sons.The winds of hazard are bearing us all away, each on his own separatecourse. Some of us will never see High Weald again, he thought. Hefelt a melancholy so profound that he could not shrug it off, and hadto force a smile to his lips as he rose to reply to William’s toast:”God speed and fair windsr t the end of the breakwater William sat onSultan, his black stallion, and lifted his hat high in salute Las thetwo ships put out to sea. Hal walked to the rail of the quarterdeckand returned his salute before turning away to give orders to the helmto bring the ship round for the run down the Sound to the open sea.

“What course to weather Ushant?” he asked Ned Tyler as they clearedPenlee Point, and the green hills of England began to drop away astern.Ned stood by the newfangled steering wheel which, on such a modernship, had replaced the ancient whipstall. It was a marvelousinvention: using the whipstall the helmsman had been limited tofive-degree turns either side of centre but with this new wheel hecould lay the tiller seventy degrees across for much greater control ofthe ship’s direction under way.

“The wind stands fair, Captain. South-west by south,” Ned answered. Heknew that the question was a formality, that Hal had checked his chartcarefully before leaving his cabin.

“Mark it on your traverse!” Hal told him, and Ned set a peg in a holein the border of the circular traverse board.

A peg would be added every half-hour and at the end of the watch themean course could be found, and the ship’s position calculated by deadreckoning.

Hal walked ari looking up at the sails. They were running free, withthe wind coming in fresh over the port quarter. With Ned’s setting,every sail was drawing beautifully, and Seraph was flying she seemed toleap from wave to wave. Hal felt a wild exhilaration, the intensity ofwhich surprised him: I thought I was too old to have this joy againfrom a ship and the promise of adventure, he thought.

It took an effort to keep his expression calm and his gait dignified,but Big Daniel was standing by the break of the quarterdeck and theycaught each other’s eye. They did not smile but each understood howthe other felt.

The passengers were standing amidships, lining the rail. The women’sskirts whipped and fluttered in the wind, and they had to hold on totheir bonnets. But as soon as Seraph cleared the land and felt thefull thrust of the sea, the feminine squeals of excitement died away,and one after the other they left the rail and hurried below, untilonly Caroline was left standing beside her father.

All that day, and for several that followed, the force of the windincreased. It drove the two ships on, until -one evening it wasthreatening a full gale, and Hal was forced to shorten sail. Asdarkness fell, both ships hoisted lanterns in their main tops tomaintain contact, and as dawn broke Ned knocked on Hal’s cabin door totell him that the Yeoman was in sight two miles astern and that thelight on Ushant was fine on the port bow.

Before noon they rounded Ushant and plunged headlong into the stormywaters of Biscay, which lived up to their evil reputation. For thenext week the crew had good practice at handling the sails and workingthe ship in turbulent waters and high winds. Among the ladies onlyCaroline seemed unaffected, and joined Tom and Dorian for daily lessonsin Master Walsh’s crowded little cabin.

She spoke little, and not at all to Tom, continuing to ignore even hismost clever quips and witticisms. She declined when he offered to helpher with the mathematical problems that Master Walsh set for them.

Languages and mathematics were two of the areas in which Tomexcelled.

She also refused to join the lessons in Arabic that All Wilson gave thethree boys for an hour each afternoon.

During the crossing of the Bay of Biscay, Guy was prostrated byseasickness. Hal was deeply disturbed that any son of his couldsuccumb so to the motion of the waves. Nevertheless he had a palletlaid in the corner of the stern cabin for him, and Guy lay there, paleand groaning, as though on the point of death, unable to eat and onlyjust able to gulp water from the mug Aboli held for him.

Mrs. Beatty and her younger daughters were in no better case. None ofthem left their cabins, and Dr. Reynolds, helped by Caroline, spentmost of his days attending to them. There was much spiriting to andfro of chamber, pots and dumping their contents over the side of theship.

The sour odour of vomit pervaded the stern quarters.

Hal had ordered their course laid off well to the westwards, to avoidrunning aground during darkness on the islands of Madeira and theCanaries and in the hope of picking up more favourable winds when theyat last entered the doldrums. However, it was only when they wereapproaching thirty-five degrees north latitude, with Madeira a hundredleagues eastward, that the gales began at last to moderate. In theseeasier conditions Hal was able to set about repairs to the sails andrigging that the ship had sustained during the storms, and to exercisehis crew in manoeuvres other than sail-setting and shortening. Thecrew were able to dry out their clothing and sodden bedding, the cookcould get his fires going and serve hot fare. A different mood tookover the ship.

Within days Mrs. Beatty and her younger girls reappeared on deck, atfirst wan and listless, but soon in brighter spirits. It was not longbefore Agnes and Sarah had become the ship’s pests. They took anespecial set at Tom, for whom they had developed an overwhelming 6.

hero-worship, and it was to escape them that Tom talked Aboli intoallowing him to go aloft, without his father’s permission, which theyknew would not be forthcoming.

Hal came on deck at the change of the forenoon watch to find Tom out onthe yard thirty feet above the deck, bare feet planted firmly on thehorse as he helped shake out another reef in the main topsail. Halfroze in mid-stride, his head thrown back, searching for an order thatwould bring Tom back to the deck without making plain his concern. Heturned to the helm, saw that all the officers on deck were watchinghim, and casually crossed to where Aboli stood at the rail.

“I recall the first time you ever climbed to the main topmast,Gundwane,” Aboli said softly.

“It was in heavy seas off the Agulhas Bank. You did it because I hadforbidden you to go higher than the main shrouds. You were two yearsyounger than Klebe is now but, then, you always were a wild boy.” Abolishook his head disapprovingly, and spat over the side.

“Your father, Sir Francis, wanted to take the rope end to you. Ishould have let him do it.” Hal remembered the incident clearly. Whathad begun as boyish defiance had ended in abject terror as he had clungto the mast top while, a hundred feet below, vistas of the deckalternated with glimpses of the creaming green waves as the ship rolledand plunged, and the wake streamed away behind. Was Tom really twoyears older now than he had been that day? Certainly the yard fromwhich his son was hanging was not even halfway to the topmast.

“You and I have both’ seen a fall from the main yard,” he growled.

“It breaks bone and kills just as surely as from the main-masttruck.”

“Klebe will not fall. He climbs like an ape.”

Aboli grinned suddenly.

“It must be in his blood.” Hal ignored the sally and returned to hiscabin, ostensibly to write up his log but in truth so that he would nolonger have to watch his son in the rigging.

For the rest of the forenoon watch he waited to hear that terriblemeaty thump on the deck above his head, or the cries of “Man overboardVWhen at last there was a knock on the door of the cabin and Tom,beaming with pride, put his head through to deliver a message from theofficer of the watch, Hal almost leaped up with relief and hugged himto his chest.

When they ran into the doldrums, the ship lay becalmed, all sailsdrooping, without even an eddy or ripple under her counter. In themiddle of the morning Hal was with Big Daniel, Ned Tyler and Wilson inhis cabin, again going over Wilson’s description of the capture of theMinotaur by Jangiri. Hal wanted all his officers to know exactly whatto expect, and to have their ideas on how best to bring Jangiri tobattle, or to discover the whereabouts of his sally port.

Suddenly Hal broke off from what he was saying, and cocked his head.There was some unusual activity on the deck above, footsteps, the faintsound of voices and laughter.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” He came to his feet and hurried up thecompanionway. He looked about swiftly.

All the off-duty hands were on deck, in fact, every loafer on boardseemed to be there. All heads were craned back, looking up at the mainmast. Hal followed their gaze.

Tom was sitting easily astride the main royal yard and callingencouragement to Dorian.

“Come on, Dorry. Don’t look down.” Dorian was hanging in the topmastshrouds below him. For a horrible moment Hal thought he was frozenthere, eighty feet above the deck, but then the boy moved.

He took one cautious step up, then he groped for a handhold on theropework above his head and took another step.

“That’s it, Dorry! Another one now!” The strength- of Hal’s angertowards Tom was heightened by his fear for the child. I should havethrashed the skin off his backside when he played his first trick inthe rigging, he thought, and strode to the helm and seized the hailingtrumpet from its bracket. Before he could lift it to his mouth andbellow at the boys, Aboli appeared at his side.

“It will not be wise to frighten them now, Gundwane.

Dorian needs both hands and all his wits for the job.” Hal lowered thetrumpet and held his breath as Dorian inched, hand over hand, up theshrouds.

“Why did you not stop them, AboliP he asked furiously.

“They did not ask me.”

“Even if they had, you would have let them go,” Hal said accusingly.

(I

do not know, in truth.” Aboli shrugged.

“Every boy comes to manhood in his own time and in his own way.” Hewas still watching the small boy in the high rigging.

“Dorian is not afraid.”

“How do you know?” Hal snarled, beside himself with fear.

“Look at the way he holds his head. Watch his feet and hands as hetakes his holds.” Hal did not answer. He saw that Aboli was right.

A coward clings to the ropes and closes his eyes, his hands shake andthe smell of terror is strong upon him. Dorian kept moving, head upand eyes ahead. Almost every man of the crew was on deck, watching,and they were silent and tense.

Tom reached out towards his brother.

“Almost there, Dorry!” But Dorian scorned the helping hand and, with avisible effort, pulled himself up beside his big brother. He took amoment to catch his breath, then threw back his head and let out a highcry of triumph.

Tom put a protective arm around his shoulders and hugged him.

Their beaming faces were clear to see even at that distance from thedeck.

The crew burst into spontaneous cheering, and Dorian pulled his capfrom his head and waved it at them.

He and Tom were already the ship’s favourites.

“He was ready for it,” Aboli said.

“And he has proved it.”

“My God, he’s only a baby! I will forbid him to go aloft again!” Halburst out.

“Dorian is no baby. You see with the eyes of a father,” Aboli toldhim.

“Soon there will be fighting, and you and I both know that in a fightthe topmast is the safest place for a lad to be.” This was true, ofcourse. When he was that age Hal’s battle quarter had always been highaloft, for the enemies” fire was directed at the hull, and if the shipwere boarded he would be out of harm’s way.

A few days later Hal amended the quarter-bill to place both Tom andDorian in the main-mast crow’s nest when the ship went into battle.

He was not certain what he should do with Guy, who had shown noindication of wishing to leave the safety of the main deck. Perhaps hecould act as surgeon’s mate in the sickbay, he thought.

But, then, he might not take kindly to the sight of blood.

n the doldrums the wind flirted with them. For days on end it diedaway completely, and the sea was oily calm.

The heat beat down upon the ship and they laboured for breath whilesweat burst from every pore of their skins.

Those on deck sought the shade of the sails as respite from the sun.Then, on the horizon, a cat’s-paw would scratch the slick surface ofthe sea, and a breath of wind would scurry to fill the sails and bearthem away for an hour or a day.

When the wind, capricious and fickle, stranded them again, and the shiplay dead in the water, Hal battle trained his men. He worked them atthe guns, watch competing against watch to be the quickest at loading,running out, firing and loading again. He gave them musketry drill,throwing a barrel over side to act as a target.

Then he issued cutlasses from the arms locker and had Aboli and Daniellead the company through the manual of arms. Tom took his place withthe rest of his watch when they worked with the cutlass, and more thanonce Big Daniel made him stand out in front to demonstrate a finerpoint of style to the others.

Hal had started with handpicked men: almost all had fought before andwere old hands with pistol and cutlass, boarding pikes and axes, and atserving the cannon. After two or three weeks, he knew that this wasthe finest crew of fighting men he had ever commanded. One quality setthem apart, which Hal found hard to define: he could think of it onlyas eagerness. They were hunting dogs questing for the scent of thequarry and he would be happy to lead them into any fight.

They had left the islands of Madeira and the Canaries far below thehorizon to the east, but their progress slowed as they ran further anddeeper into the doldrums. They lay for days at a time, sails hanginglifelessly, the surface of the ocean around them glassy smooth, asthough oil had been spilled upon it, the burnished waters marred onlyby clumps of Sargasso weed and the dappling of flying fish as theyskimmed over it. The sun was malicious and relentless.

Hal knew of the malaise that could overtake a crew in these enervatinglatitudes, how it could sap their vitality and resolve. He went togreat lengths to keep his men from falling into this quagmire ofboredom and despondency. When the battle drills were done each day, heorganized relay races from the deck to the main top, and down again,setting one watch against the other. Even Tom and Dorian took part inthese, to the squealing delight of the Beatty Brats, as Tom hadchristened Agnes and Sarah.

Then Hal ordered the carpenters and their mates on both ships to insertthe thwarts into the pirmaces. They launched them, and a crew ofoarsmen from the Seraph raced a crew from the Yeoman on a course settwice around the drifting ships, with a prize of a red ribbon and anextra ration of rum to the winning pinnace. The ribbon was tied to theSeraph’s bowsprit after the first race, and thereafter became an emblemof honour as it changed hands back and forth between the two ships.

To celebrate the winning of the red ribbon, Hal invited Edward Andersonto row across from the Yeoman to join him and his passengers for dinnerin the stern cabin. As an afterthought he included his own sons in theinvitation to help provide entertainment, for Master Walsh hadsuggested a musical recital after dinner. Walsh would play the fluteand Guy the cittern, while Dorian, who had an extraordinary voice,would sing.

Hal served his best claret, and the dinner was noisy and convivial.With this number of guests there was barely space for all to sit, letalone move around, and when Hal called at last for silence and askedMaster Walsh to play, the unmusical Tom found himself pushed into acorner, on a stool, and hidden from general view behind the carvedscreen that divided the day cabin from his father’s sleepingquarters.

Walsh and Guy began with a rendition of several old tunes including”Greensleeves” and “Spanish Ladies’, which delighted all except Tom,who was so thoroughly bored that, with his dirk, he was carving hisinitials into the wooden frame of the screen behind which he wassitting.

“And now we will have a song from Mistress Caroline Beatty and MasterDorian Courtney,” Walsh announced.

Caroline stood up and, with difficulty, eased her way through theclosely packed audience until she reached the end of the cabin whereTom sat. She gave him one of her cold looks, then turned half awayfrom him and placed her hip against the carved screen to face Dorian,who stood against the opposite bulkhead.

They began with an aria by Purcell. Caroline’s voice was clear andsweet, if a little stilted, while Dorian sang with a naturalexuberance. The divine sounds that burst out of the angelic little boybrought tears to the eyes of those who listened.

By this time Tom was squirming with the need to escape the hot,claustrophobic cabin. He wanted to be up on deck, under the stars,hidden away behind one of the gun carriages with-either Daniel or Abohor both Of them, listening to stories of the wild lands and mysteriousoceans that lay ahead. But he was trapped.

Then he noticed that when Caroline reached for a high note she rose upon tiptoe: her skirt rode high enough to expose her ankles and the backof her calves. Tom’s boredom evaporated. The girl’s slippered feetwere finely shaped. She wore dark blue stockings and her anklesblended in a lovely line into the swell of her calves above.

Almost of its own volition, his hand came out of his pocket and reachedtowards a sculpted ankle.

“Are you mad?” he asked himself. With an effort he stopped himselftouching her.

“She will make no end of a fuss, if I lay a finger on her.” He lookedaround guiltily.

Caroline was standing directly in front of him, so close to him thatshe screened him from the sight of the rest of the company. He knewthat every eye in the cabin was turned on Dorian. Still Tom hesitated.He started to withdraw his hand, to thrust it back safely into thedepths of his pocket.

Then he smelt her.

Over the other powerful odours in the cabin, of pork crackling andcabbage, of wine fumes and the smoke of his father’s cigarro, he caughtthe arm girl smell of her body.

His heart clenched like a fist and there was a pain of wanting in thepit of his stomach. He had to stifle the groan that rose to hislips.

He leaned forward on the stool and touched her ankle.

It was the lightest brush of his fingertips against the sheer bluestuff of her stockings. Then he jerked away, and sat back on the stoolready to feign innocence when she rounded on him.

Caroline picked up the chorus from Dorian, without missing a beat, andTom was perplexed at the lack of reaction from her. Again he reachedout and this time laid two fingers gently on her ankle.Caroline did not move her foot and her voice continued clear andsweet.

Tom stroked her foot, then slowly encircled her ankle with hisfingers.

It was so small, so feminine, that he felt the pressure swell in hischest. The blue stocking was glossy and silky to his touch. Veryslowly, lingeringly, he ran his fingers up over the swell of her calf,savouring the warm curve, until he reached the top of her stocking andthe bow of ribbon that secured it below her knee. There he hesitatedand at that moment the song came to an end, in a glorious ringingtogether of the two young voices.

There was a moment’s silence, then a burst of clapping and shouts of”Bravo!” and “Encore! Sing us another.” His father’s voice: “We mustnot impose on Mistress Caroline. She has been too kind to us already.”Caroline’s dark curls danced on her shoulders.

“It is no imposition, Sir Henry, I assure you. We are only pleasedthat you enjoy it. We will sing again with the greatest of pleasure.Shall we give them “My Love She Lives In Durham Town”, Dorian?”

“I suppose so,” Dorian agreed, with little enthusiasm, and Carolineopened her pretty mouth and let the song pour out. Tom had not movedhis hand, and now his fingers stole over the top of her stocking tocaress the soft skin at the back of her knee. She sang on, and itseemed that her voice had gained in force and feeling. Master Walshwagged his head in delighted approbation as he blew on his flute.

Tom fondled first one knee then the other. He had lifted the hem ofher skirt and he stared at the glossy skin, so soft and warm beneathhis fingertips. Now that it was clear she would not scream or denouncehim to the company, he was growing bolder.

He ran his fingers higher, moving up over the back of her thigh, and hefelt her tremble, but her voice was still steady and she missed not aword of the song. From this angle Tom could just see his father’s footbeneath the table, tapping out the rhythm with his toe.

The knowledge that Hal was so close, the dangerous nature of hisbehaviour, enhanced Tom’s excitement. His fingers were trembling asthey reached the crease above which swelled Caroline’s tight roundbuttock. She wore nothing under Aer petticoats and he followed thecurve of her bottom until he reached the deep vertical cleft thatseparated one hemisphere of warm flesh from the other. He tried toslip one of his fingers high between her thighs but they were pressedtightly together, every muscle in both her legs was clenched as hard asstone. The divide was impassable and he abandoned the attempt.

Instead he cupped one of her small firm buttocks in his hand andsqueezed it gently.

Caroline hit a high ringing note at the end of the verse, and changedher position slightly, moving her tiny slippered feet apart and pushingout her bottom towards him. Her thighs parted, and when Tom triedagain he felt the silken nest of fur between them. She made anothersmall movement, as though to make it easier for him, then moved again,directing his touch. Mary the scullery maid had shown Tom where tofind that magical nub of hard flesh, and deftly he sought it out.

Now Caroline was gently moving her whole body to the beat of the music,swaying her hips. Her eyes sparkled and her colour was high.

Mrs. Beatty thought that her daughter had never looked so enchantinglylovely, and she glanced around the circle of men’s faces and was proudwhen she saw the admiration in their eyes.

The song reached its climax, and even Dorian had to extend himself tomatch the beauty of that last, high, ringing note, that seemed to fillthe whole cabin then hang there, shimmering in the air, even after thesong had ended. Caroline spread out her skirts and petticoats, likethe petals of a glorious tropical orchid, and sank down in such a deepcurtsy that her forehead almost touched the deck.

All the men came to their feet to applaud her, even though they had tostoop beneath the heavy overhead beams. When Caroline lifted her headher lips were trembling and her cheeks were wet with tears of deepemotion.

Her mother jumped up and hugged her impulsively.

“Oh, my darling, that was surpassing beautiful. You sang like anangel. But you have exhausted yourself. You may take a half-glass ofwine to refresh yourself.” To expressions of congratulations anddelight Caroline made her way back to her seat. The girl seemedtransformed from her usual quiet, withdrawn self, and joined theconversation around her almost gaily. When Mrs. Beatty deemed it timeto retire and leave the men to their pipes, cigarros; and port,Caroline went with her demurely. When she said goodnight and left thecabin she never so much as glanced in Tom’s direction.

Tom sat back on his stool in the corner, staring at the deck above hishead, trying to appear aloof and unconcerned, but both hands werethrust deeply into his pockets and he held himself hard so that no onewould notice what he had grown in his breeches.

hat night Tom slept hardly at all. He lay on his pallet with Dorian onone side of him, Guy on the other, and listened to the snores, thegroans muttering of the sleeping crew along the gundeck.

allnde relived in his -imagination every detail of the episode in thestern cabin, every touch and movement, the smell of her and the soundof her voice singing as he fondled her, the slippery softness of hermost secret parts and the heat of them. He could barely containhimself until the following day when he would be with Caroline inMaster Walsh’s cabin. Even though they would all be poring over theirslates and listening to Master Walsh’s excruciatingly dull monologues,he longed for a glance or a touch that would confirm for him themonumental significance of what had taken place between them.

When at last she entered Master Walshs cabin, preceded by her squealingsisters, she ignored Tom and went directly to Master Walsh.

“I find the light at my seat is too dull. It tires my eyes. May Ichange my place and sit beside Guy?”

“Yes, of course you may, young mistress,” Walsh acceded instantly, notat all immune to Caroline’s charms.

“You should have told me earlier that you were uncomfortable besideTom.” Guy moved up the bench with alacrity to make a place for her,but Tom felt himself snubbed and tried to catch her attention by gazingat her fixedly across the narrow cabin. However, Caroline fastened herfull attention on her slate and did not look up.

At last even Master Walsh became aware of Tom’s strange behaviour.

“Are you seasick?” Tom was appalled by and all-ranted at such anaccusation.

“I am perfectly well, sir.”

“Then tell me what I was saying?” Walsh suggested.

Tom looked thoughtful and stroked his chin. At the same time he kickedDorian’s ankle beneath the tabletop.

Dorian came loyally to the rescue.

“You were saying that tautology is-“

“Thank you, Dorian,” Walsh stopped him.

“I was speaking to your brother, not to you.” He regarded Tomdisapprovingly. It always irked him when a boy with a good brainrefused to make use of its full potential.

“Now that you have been reprieved, Thomas, perhaps you will enlightenus all on the meaning of the word.”

“Tautology is the unnecessary, repetition of meaning that has alreadybeen conveyed earlier in a phrase or sentence,” Tom told him.

Walsh looked disappointed. He had hoped to make him display hisignorance and suffer humiliation before his peers.

“You amaze me with your erudition,” he said stiffly.

“Will you display it further by giving us an example of tautology?” Tomthought.

“A pedantic pedagogue?” he suggested.

“A tedious teacher?” Dorian let out a snort of laughter, and even Guylooked up and smiled. The Beatty Brats understood not a word of it butwhen they saw Walsh flush scarlet and Tom fold his arms over his chestand grin triumphantly, they realized that their idol had come out ontop again and tittered delightedly. Only Caroline went on writing onher slate without so much as raising her head.

Tom was baffled and hurt. It was as though nothing at all had happenedbetween them. When his perennial fencing with Master Walsh left herunmoved, he tried in other ways to attract her attention.

When Caroline was on deck, he pushed himself to the limits of hisstrength and experience to impress her with his new-found prowess as atopmast man. He copied the feats of h” is seniors, running out alongthe high yard, hands above his head, to his place on the rat-lines, orsliding down the mizzen stay without pause so that the rough hemp ropescorched his palms before he landed on bare feet with a thump close towhere she stood. She turned away without even a second glance.

In contrast she was honeyed sweetness with Guy and Dorian, and evenwith Master Walsh. Tone-deaf Tom was excluded from their musicalpractices and Caroline seemed to take extra pleasure in Guy’scompany.

The two would whisper together even during lessons, when Walsh madeonly half-hearted attempts to silence them. Tom protested, “I’mworking on a problem in trigonometry, and I cannot think when you twoare chattering away all the time.” Walsh smiled vindictively.

“I am unaware of any significant increase in your cerebral processes,Thomas, even in times of deepest silence.” At this Caroline gave aburst of tinkling laughter and leaned on Guy’s shoulder, as if to sharethe joke with him.

The glance she threw at Tom was malicious and taunting.

Both Dorian and Tom had inherited their father’s sharp eyesight so theywere often sent aloft together as lookouts. Tom came to enjoy thoselong stints at the masthead: it was the only place in the crowded shipthat they could ever be alone. Dorian had learned how to hold histongue, and they could sit for hours in companionable silence, notintruding on each other’s thoughts, each indulging his imagination andhis fantasies.

Where once Tom’s dreams had been of battle and glory, of the wild landsand great oceans whither they were bound, of the elephants and whalesand huge apes on misty mountain peaks, which he discussed so avidlywith Aboli and Big Daniel, his visions now were of Caroline. Of herwarm soft body, which he had touched but never seen, of her eyes turnedupon him with love and devotion, of doing with her the wondrous thingshe had done with Mary and the other girls from the village. Yet itseemed sacrilege) somehow, to allow those coarse creatures into thesame dream as the divine Caroline.

He conjured up images of saving her when the ship was in flames and thedecks swarming with pirates, leaping overboard with her in his arms andswimming to the snowy beach of a coral island where they could bealone. Alone!

That was the problem that confronted him at the end of each of hisdreams. How to be alone. The Seraph could sail on to the ends of theoceans with her on board, but they would never be alone.

He tried desperately to think of some place on board where they mightspend even a few minutes away from prying eyes, even if he could enticeher to follow him there. Which, he admitted, seemed highly unlikely.

There was the cargo hold, but it was battened down and had the Companyseals upon it. There were the cabins in the stern quarters, but eventhe largest of those afforded little privacy and all were packed tooverflowing with humanity. The bulkheads were so flimsy that throughthe partitions he had heard the three sisters arguing because there wasonly room in their cabin for one to stand upright at a time.

Two had to crawl into their bunks so that one could dress or undress.

There was certainly nowhere there for him to be alone with Caroline andto pour out his love to her, or to further his knowledge of herdelights. But still his imagination would give him little rest.

On those evenings when the weather was favourable, Tom and Dorian wouldfetch their food bowls from the galley and take them up to the bows,where they would eat, squatting on the deck, with Aboli and sometimesBig Daniel for company. Afterwards they might lie on their backs andstare up at the night sky.

Daniel would puff on his clay pipe and point out to them how the skychanged with every day as they ran down further into the south.

He showed them the great Southern Cross rising each evening higherabove the horizon ahead of them, the shimmering clouds of Magellan,hovering like the aura of angels, showing at last beneath it.

Around each-constellation Aboli wove the legends of the stars from hisown tribe, and Big Daniel would chuckle.

“Away with you, you great black pagan. Let me tell them the Christiantruth. That is Orion the mighty hunter, not some savage bushman.”Aboli ignored him and told them, one night, the legend of the foolishhunter who fired all his arrows at the herd of zebra, here he pointedout the star cluster of Orion’s belt, and thus had nothing with whichto defend himself when the lion of Sirius stalked him. For his lack offorethought, the hunter ended up in the lion’s belly “Which is a moresatisfying story for the listener,” Aboli concluded complacently.

“And for the lion,” Big Daniel agreed, knocked out his pipe and stoodup.

“I have, work to do on this ship, unlike others it seems.”

He went aft to make his rounds.

After he had gone they were silent for a while.

Dorian curled up on the deck, like a puppy, and fell almost instantlyasleep. Aboli sighed with contentment, then murmured, in the languageof the forests, which they often used when they were alone, “Thefoolish hunter might have learned many things if he had lived longenough.”

“Tell me what they are.” Tom spoke in the same language.

“Sometimes it is best not to chase after the zebra firing off yourarrows wildly and from a distance.”

“What do you mean, Aboli? Tom asked, sitting up and hugging his kneesto his chest, sensing a hidden meaning to the story.

“The foolish hunter lacks guile and cunning. The harder he chases, thefaster runs the game. Those who watch cry, “Behold, the stupidhunter!” and they laugh at his fruitless endeavours.” Tom thoughtabout this: he had come to expect hidden depths in all Aboli’s stories.Suddenly the moral of the story occurred to him and he movedrestlessly.

“Are you mocking me, Aboli?

“That I would never do, Klebe, but it galls me to see lesser menlaughing at you.”

“What cause have I given anyone to laugh at me?”

“You chase too hard. You let every man on board know what you areabout.”

“Do you mean Caroline?” Tom’s voice sank to a whisper.

“Is it so obvious, then?”

“There is no need for me to answer that. But, rather, tell me whatmakes you pine for her most.”

“She is beautiful, Tom began.

“She is not ugly, at least Aboli smiled in the darkness.

“But what drives you mad is that she takes no notice of you.

“I don’t understand, Aboli.”

“You chase because she runs, and she runs because you chase.”

“What should I do rather?”

“Do what the wise hunter does and wait softly at the waterhole. Letthe quarry come to you.” Until that time Tom had taken any excuse tolinger in Walsh’s cabin after the day’s lessons had ended, hoping forsome small sign from Caroline that she was still interested in him. Hisfather had stipulated that all three boys undergo three hours of formalinstruction each day before attending to their duties in the ship. Itmust have seemed even to Hal that three hours was enough of MasterWalsh’s instruction, but until now Tom had braved it longer, simply tospend a few minutes longer in the presence of the object of hisdevotion.

After his talk with Aboli, this changed. During lessons, he forcedhimself to be silent and inscrutable, confining his exchanges withWalsh to bare necessities. As soon as the ship’s bell sounded thechange of watch, no matter if he were in the middle of some complexmathematical problem, he would pack away his books and slate and riseimmediately to his feet.

“Please excuse me, Master Walsh, I must go to my duties.” Then hewould stride from the cabin without even a glance at Caroline.

In the evenings when Caroline came on deck with her mother and hersisters to take their constitutional stroll in the fresh air, Tom madesure that his duties kept him as far from her as the ship’s crampedconditions allowed.

For some days she gave no indication that she was aware of the changein his attitude to her. Then, one morning while they were at lessons,Tom glanced up inadvertently from his slate and caught her regardinghim from the corner of her eye. She looked down instantly, but couldnot prevent the rise of colour to her cheek. Tom felt a flare ofsatisfaction. Aboli had been right. This was the first time he hadever caught her studying him.

With his resolve strengthened, it became easier each day to ignore heras she had once ignored him. This stalemate persisted for almost twoweeks until he noticed a subtle change in her behaviour. During themorning lessons she became more talkative, addressing her remarksmostly to Walsh and Guy but particularly to Guy. She exchangedwhispers with him, and laughed inordinately at his most famous remarks.Tom maintained his grim silence without raising his head, although herlaughter galled him to the depths of his soul.

Once when they had been released from Walsh’s cabin and were at thefoot of the companionway, Caroline asked, in an irritatingly theatricaltone, “Oh! These stairs are so steep. May I take your arm, Guy?” Thenshe leaned on him and looked up into his grinning face.

Tom brushed past them with no display of emotion.

Somehow Guy’s shipboard duties allowed him time to walk with Mrs.Beatty and the girls on deck, or to spend hours in earnest conversationwith Mr. Beatty in his cabin.

In fact, both Mr. and Mrs. Beatty seemed to have taken to him. Hestill made no attempt to leave the deck and venture aloft, even whenTom teased him about it in Caroline’s hearing. Tom was surprised thathe did not resent Guy’s timidity. In fact, he felt relief that he didnot have the responsibility of keeping an eye on his twin in the high,dangerous dimension aloft. It was enough to have Dorian in his care,even though the younger boy was already so quick and agile in therigging that he was soon of little concern to Tom.

Although Caroline’s intervention had first made it apparent, the twinshad been drifting apart for some time.

They spent little time in each other’s company, and when they weretogether their talk was terse and guarded. It was a far cry from thedays not so long ago when they had shared every thought and dream, andcomforted each other when they encountered life’s small hardships andinjustices.

After dinner Hal often invited his passengers to an evening of whist inthe stern cabin. He was a keen player and he had taught Tom to enjoythe game. With his bent for mathematics Tom had developed into anexcellent player, and often partnered his father against Mr. Beattyand Master Walsh. These games were taken seriously and contested tothe knife. After each hand the play was discussed and dissected, whileat the other table in the cabin, Guy, Mrs. Beatty and the girlsgiggled and squealed over infantile games of loo and spoil five. Guyhad shown neither aptitude for nor liking of the more difficult game ofwhist.

On one of these evenings Tom found himself placed by his father in atenuous contract of five hearts. He knew from the outset that he had achoice of two mutually exclusive plays. He could place Mr. Beattywith the queen of hearts and take the finesse through him, or he couldplay for a two split of trumps. He tried to calculate the odds on thehearts breaking evenly or the queen being a singleton, but the criesand feminine squeaks from the other table distracted him. Hedeliberated a while, then finessed for the lady. He saw his fatherfrown as he began the play, and then, to his dismay, Master Walsh gavea snigger of triumph and made good his singleton queen.

Flustered by this miscalculation, Tom misplayed the clubs and the handwas a disaster.

His father was severe.

“You should have known from Master Walsh’s bidding that he had sevenclubs, and his discard to your king confirmed the unfavorabledistribution.” Tom squirmed in his chair. He looked up to see that,at the other table, all play had stopped and that they were listeningto his father berate him. Both Caroline and Guy were watching him,their heads close together. In Guy’s expression there was a maliciousglee that Tom had never witnessed before. Guy was actually glorying inhis brother’s humiliation.

Suddenly Tom found himself plunged into a crisis of guilt. For thefirst time in his life he was confronted with the realization that hedid not like his twin. Guy turned his head and winked at Caroline, whoplaced a small white hand on his sleeve. She covered her mouth withthe other and whispered something in his ear. She was looking squarelyat Tom, and her eyes were mocking. With a shock Tom realized that,more than merely disliking Guy, he actually hated him and wished himharm.

For days afterwards, he wrestled with his guilt. His father had taughtall his sons that loyalty within the family was sacrosanct.

“Us against the world, he often said and now Tom felt that once againhe had fallen short of his father’s expectations.

Then, unexpectedly, it seemed that he had been vindicated. At first hewas only vaguely aware that something of great portent was afoot. Henoticed Mr. Beatty and his father in earnest conversation on thequarterdeck, and he could tell instantly that his father was deeplydispleased.

Over the next few days Mr. Beatty spent much time closeted with Hal inthe stern cabin. Then Hal despatched Dorian to summon Guy to one ofthese meetings.

“What were they saying?” Tom demanded of his little brother as soon ashe returned.

“I don’t know.”

“You should have listened at the door,” Tom muttered.

He was beside himself with curiosity.

“I didn’t dare,” Dorian admitted.

“If he had caught me, Father would have had me keel-hauled.” Dorianhad only recently heard of this gruesome punishment, which fascinatedhim.

For days Guy had been dreading the summons to the stern cabin. He wasbusy with Ned Tyler in the powder magazine, helping him open the kegsand check the gritty black powder for damp, when Dorian came to findhim.

“Father wants to see you now in his quarters.” The boy was besidehimself with his importance as the bearer of such ominous tidings. Guystood up and dusted the powder grains from his hands.

“Better go quickly,” Dorian warned him.

“Father’s got his Death-to-the-Infidel face on.” When Guy stepped intothe cabin he saw at once that Dorian had not exaggerated their father’smood. Hal stood by the stern windows with his hands clasped behind hisback. He wheeled around, and the thick pigtail down his back twitchedlike the tail of an angry lion as he regarded his son with anexpression not entirely of anger. In it Guy saw a touch of concern andeven dismay.

“I have been having a long talk with Mr. Beatty.” He indicated himwith a nod. Beatty sat at the table, stern and unsmiling. He wore hisfull periwig, a further indication of the seriousness of thismeeting.

Hal was silent for a moment, as if what he had to say next was sodistasteful that he would prefer not to have to utter the words.

“I am led to believe that you have been making plans for your future,without consulting me as the head of the family.”

“Forgive me, Father, but I do not want to be a sailor,” Guy blurted outmiserably.

Hal stepped back involuntarily, as though his son had denied his faithin God.

“We have always been sailors. For two hundred years the Courtneys haveput out to sea.”

“I hate it,” Guy said softly, his voice shaking.

“I hate the stink and cramped space aboard a ship. I feel sick andunhappy when I am out of sight of land.” There was another longsilence, then Hal went on, “Tom and Dorian have taken to theirheritage. They will surely enjoy rich adventures and profits. I hadthought one day to offer you your own ship. But I see that I waste mybreath.” Guy hung his head, and reiterated miserably, “I will never behappy out of sight of land.”

“Happy!” Hal had promised himself to keep his temper in check, but thescornful word burst from his lips before he could contain it.

“What has happiness to do with it? A man follows the path laid out forhim. He does his duty to God and his king. He does what he must do,not what pleases him.” He felt the anger and outrage building inhim.

“God’s truth, boy, what kind of world would this be if every man didwhat pleased him alone? Who would plough the fields and reap theharvest, if every man had the right to say, “I don’t want to do that.”In this world there is a place for every man, but every man must knowhis place.” He paused as he saw a stubborn look come over his son’sface. He turned to the stern window, looked out at the ocean and thetall blue sky streaked with gold by the setting sun.

He was breathing deeply, but it took him some minutes to regain hiscomposure. When he turned back, his features were set.

“Very well!”

he said, “Perhaps I am over-indulgent, but I will not force you to itthough, God knows, I have thought of doing just that. You arefortunate that Mr. Beatty has the good opinion of you that has beendenied me by your selfish behaviour.” He sat down heavily in hissea-chair and drew towards him the document that lay on the tabletop.

“As you already know, Mr. Beatty has offered you a position with theHonourable East India Company as an apprentice writer. He has beengenerous as regards salary and conditions of employment. If you takeup this offer, then your employment in the Company will commenceimmediately. I will release you from your duties as a member of thecrew of this ship. You will instead begin as assistant to Mr. Beatty,and you will accompany him to the Company factory at Bombay. Do youunderstand that?”

“Yes, Father,” Guy murmured.

“Is that what you want?” Hal leaned forward and stared into his son’seyes, hoping for some denial.

“Yes, Father. That is what I want.” Hal sighed and the anger lefthim.

“Well, then, I pray for your sake that you have made the rightdecision. Your fate is now out of my hands.” He pushed the parchmentof indenture across the desk.

“Sign it. I will bear witness.”

Afterwards Hal sanded the wet ink of the signatures carefully then blewoff the excess and handed the document to Mr. Beatty. He turned backto Guy.

“I will explain your position to the ship’s officers, and to yourbrothers. I have no doubt what they will think of you.” n thedarkness the brothers discussed Guy’s decision in exhaustive detail,squatting up in the bows with Aboli and Big Daniel.

“But how can Guy leave us like this? We swore that we’d always sticktogether, didn’t we, Tom?” Dorian was distraught.

Tom avoided the direct question.

“Guy gets seasick.

He could never be a real sailor,” he said.

“And he’s afraid of the sea and of going aloft.” Somehow Tom could notbring himself to feel his younger brother’s distress at this turn ofevents.

Dorian seemed to sense this and looked instead to the two older men forcomfort.

“He should have stayed with us, don’t you agree, Aboli?”

“There are many roads through the jungle,” Aboli rumbled.

“If we all took the same one it would become very crowded.”

“But Guy!”

Dorian was almost in tears.

“He should never have deserted us.”

He turned back to Tom.

“You won’t ever desert me, will you, Tom?”

“Of course I won’t,” Tom said gruffly.

“Promise?” A single tear ran down Dorian’s cheek now, sparkling in thestarlight.

“You must not cry,” Tom admonished him.

“I’m not crying. it’s just that the wind makes my eyes water.”

He dashed away the tear.

“Promise me, Tom.”

“I promise you.”

“No, not like that. Swear me a dreadful oath,” Dorian insisted.

With a long-suffering sigh, Tom drew the dirk from the sheath on hisbelt. He held up the narrow blade, which glinted in the moonlight.

“As God, Aboli and Big Daniel are my witness.” He pricked the point ofthe dagger into the ball of his thumb and they all watched the bloodwell up, black as tar, in the silvery light. He slipped the daggerback into its sheath, and with his free hand he drew Dorian’s faceclose to his own. While he stared solemnly into the child’s eyes, Tominscribed with his thumb a bloody cross on Dorian’s forehead.

“I

swear you a, dreadful oath that I will never leave you, Dorian,” heintoned with gravity.

“Now stop crying.” ith Guy’s defection the watch-bill was altered sothat Tom took over his twin’s shipboard duties, adding them to his own.Now Ned Tyler and Big Daniel could concentrate the lessons innavigation, gunnery and sail-management on two students instead ofthree. Tom’s routine had been heavy before, but now it seemed to haveno limits.

Guy’s duties now, though, were light and pleasant.

After the daily lessons with Master Walsh, when Tom and Dorian had tohurry topsides to begin their stints, he spent a few hours writingletters and reports for Mr. Beatty, or studying the Company’spublications, including “Instructions to Recruits in the Service of theHonourable English East India Company’, after which he was free to readto Mrs. Beatty, or to play cards with her daughters. None of thisendeared him to his older brother, who sometimes, from the rigging,watched him strolling and laughing with the ladies on the quarterdeck,which was out of bounds to all but the ship’s officers and thepassengers.

The Seraph crossed the equator amid the usual jollification when allthose who were making the crossing for the first time underwentinitiation and paid allegiance to Neptune, god of the oceans. Aboli,in an improbable costume of oddments from the slop chest and a beard ofunravelled rope, made an impressive Neptune.

Now the doldrums had swung to the northwards of the line, and as thetwo ships gradually shook free of their grip, they found themselvesentering the belt of the southern, trades. The character of the oceanchanged: there was a sparkle to the ocean, which seemed alive after thesluggish, sullen waters of the doldrums. The air was fresh andinvigorating, the sky dappled with mares” tails of wind driven cirruscloud. In sympathy, the mood of the crew became light and almostgay.

Hal shaped their course South-westerly, so that they could run on abroad reach, away from the continent of Africa, more than halfwayacross the Atlantic towards the coast of South America, but they tradedthe angle on the wind for distance run.

Every ten days Tom went down with Ned and the gunnery mates to checkthe contents of the magazine. It was part of his instruction in theart of gunnery to understand the character and the temperamental natureof the black powder. He had to know its composition, of sulphur,charcoal and saltpetre, how these ingredients could be safely blendedand stored, how to prevent a buildup of heat and damp, which could cakethe grains and cause uneven or faulty ignition in the guns.

At each visit, Ned always impressed on him the danger of naked flame orspark in the magazine, which could set off an explosion and blow theship out of the water.

Before going into battle the kegs were opened and the powder carefullyweighed out into silk bags that contained the exact charge for a gun.This was rammed home down the muzzle as a cartridge and on top wasplaced a wad of cloth and then the shot. The bags were carried up tothe gun decks by the powder monkeys or boys. Even when the ship wasnot expecting action, several silk bags were filled and laid out in theready racks, in case of an emergency.

Unfortunately the thin silk made the contents susceptible to damp andcaking, so the bags had to be checked and repacked regularly.

When Ned and Tom worked in the magazine there was seldom any skylarkingor light banter. The light from the single mesh-screened lantern wasdim, and there was a cathedral hush. As the silk bags were passed upto him, Tom packed them carefully into the racks. They were firm andsmooth to the touch. That would make a comfortable bunk, he thought.Suddenly he had a vision of Caroline stretched out on the silk bags,naked. He gave a low moan.

“What is it, Master Tom? Ned looked up at him quizzically.

“Nothing. I was just thinking “Leave the daydreaming to your twin.He’s good at it” Ned advised laconically.

“And you get on with the job That’s what you’re good at.” Tom went onpacking in the bags, but now he was thinking furiously. The magazinewas the only part of the ship that was deserted for ten days at a time,where a person could be alone, without fear of intrusion. It was justthe place he had been trying so hard to find, so obvious that he hadoverlooked it. He glanced down at the keys that hung from Ned’s belt.There were half a dozen in the bunch: those for the magazine, thearms-lockers, the galley stores and the slop chest, as well as themagazine.

The Monsoon

When they had finished, Tom was at Ned’s side when he secured the heavyoak door. He made a mental note of the key that turned the massivelock: it was quite distinctly shaped from the others on the bunch, withfive tangs in the shape of a crown. He tried to think of a way to gethis hands on the bunch, even for a few minutes, so that he could slipthe one he wanted off the ring. But it was wasted effort:

generations of seamen before him had contemplated the similar problemof how to get the key to the store where the spirits, were kept.

That night he was lying on his pallet when the next idea occurred tohim, so suddenly that he sat bolt upright: there must be more than oneset of keys on board. If there were, he knew where they must be: inhis father’s cabin. In the sea-chest under his bunk, or in one of thedrawers of the desk, he thought. For the rest of that night he hadlittle sleep. Even in his privileged position of the master’s eldestson aboard, he certainly could not make free with his father’squarters, and Hal’s movements about the ship were unpredictable. Therewas never any time when his cabin was certain to be deserted. If hewas not there, his steward was probably fussing with the bedclothes, orwith Hal’s wardrobe. He discounted the idea of making an attempt afterhis father had retired to his bunk. Tom knew that he was a lightsleeper, he had found that out the hard way. His father was not aneasy man to bamboozle.

Over the next week, Tom considered, and discarded, a few other wildlyimpractical plans, such as climbing down the outside of the hull andentering through the stern gallery. He knew he would have to take acalculated risk, and wait until his father ordered a major change ofsail.

Then both watches would be on deck, and his father would be fullyengrossed above. Tom would conjure up some excuse to leave his postand hurry below.

The days went by swiftly, with the trades steady from the south-eastand Seraph still set on the port tack. No change of sail was calledfor and there was no opportunity for Tom to put his plan into action.

Then the opportunity came to him in such a fortuitous all mostsuperstitious unease. THe manner that Tom felt was squatting with theother men of his watch under the break of the forecastle, enjoying arare few minutes of rest, when his father looked up from the compassbinnacle and beckoned to him. Tom scrambled to his feet and ran to hisfather’s side.

“Run down to my cabin, there’s a good lad,” Hal told him.

“Look in the top drawer of my desk. You’ll find my black notebookthere. Bring it to me.”

“Aye, sir.” For a moment Tom felt quite giddy, then raced for the headof the companionway.

“Tom, not so fast.” His father’s voice made him pause, his heartskipping. It had been too easy.

“If its not in the top drawer, it may be in one of the others.”

“Yes, Father.” Tom shot down the stairs.

The black notebook lay in the top drawer, exactly where his father hadsaid it would, be. Quickly Tom tried the other drawers, dreading tofind them locked, but they slid open readily enough, and he searchedthem quickly.

As he pulled open the last, he heard a heavy metal object clank andslide with the movement. Again his heart jumped.

The duplicate keys were tucked under a copy of the almanac andnavigational tables. He lifted them out gingerly, and recognized thecrown shape of the magazine key He glanced up at the closed cabin door,and listened for footsteps before committing himself. Then heunscrewed the ring, slipped the key from it, thrust it into his pocket,closed the hasp of the ring, laid the depleted bunch back in the drawerand covered it with the almanac.

As he ran back on deck the key seemed as heavy in his pocket as a roundshot. He had to find a hiding-place for it. The chances were that hisfather would not discover the theft, not unless the original was lostor mislaid. That was highly unlikely but, still, it was dangerous tocarry his prize on his person.

That night he woke as usual when the ship’s bell sounded the beginningof the middle watch at midnight.

He waited for another hour then rose silently from his pallet.

Beside him Guy sat up.

“Where are you going?” he whispered.

Tom’s heart sank.

“To the head,” he whispered back.

“Go to sleep.” In future he must make some changes to their sleepingarrangements. Guy sank back on his straw pallet, and Tom slipped awayin the direction of the bows, but as soon as he was out of Guy’s sighthe turned back quickly and slipped down the companionway to the lowerdeck.

In this wind and on this point of sailing the ship was never silent.Her timbers creaked and groaned, one of the seams popped regularly,loud as a pistol shot, and the waters rushed and whispered, thumpedagainst the hull.

There was no light in the lower deck, but Tom moved with confidence,only once running into one of the bulkheads. Any noise he made wascovered by the other shipboard sounds.

A single lantern was hanging from the deck at the bottom of the sterncompanionway. It cast a glimmering of light down the central passage.There was a sliver of light under the door to his father’s cabin. Heslipped past it and paused briefly outside the tiny cabin in which thethree girls slept. He heard nothing, and went on.

The powder magazine was on the next deck down, right beside where theheel of the mainmast was stepped on the keelson. Tom crept down thelast set of wooden stairs into the utter darkness of the lowest deck,and carefully to the door of the magazine. He knelt beside it and, bytouch alone, fitted his key into the lock. The mechanism was stiff, hehad to exert considerable effort before it yielded, and the door openedto his nudge. He stood in the dark opening and inhaled the sharp odourof black powder. Although he felt a sense of accomplishment, he knewthere were still many obstacles before him.

Quietly he pulled the door closed and locked it. He groped for andfound the crack above the lintel, where he hid the key and thetinderbox he had brought with him. Then he retraced his steps throughthe vessel until he reached his pallet on the gundeck and crawled ontoit. Beside him Guy moved restlessly. He was still awake, but neitherspoke again, and soon they both drifted back to sleep.

So far all had worked in Tom’s favour. So much so that the next day hehad a queasy feeling that his luck must change. There had been littleindication from Caroline that his plans might go any further than thepoint they had now reached. His courage was evaporating. He broodedon the risks he had taken, and those he must still take. More thanonce he determined to return the magazine key to his father’s deskdrawer, and abandon the whole desperate idea, but then he would sneak aglance at Caroline when she was absorbed in her lessons. The curve ofher cheek, the pink lips pouting in concentration, a soft forearm belowthe puffed sleeves of her dress now lightly gilded by the tropical sun,and sparsely decorated with fine, peach-fluff hairs.

I have to be alone with her, even for a minute. It’s worth any risk,he decided, but still he hesitated, unable to screw his courage to theact. He teetered on the brink, until she gave him the push that senthim over the edge.

At the end of the day’s lessons, Caroline flounced out of the cabinahead of Tom. But as she stepped onto the companionway, Master Walshcalled out to her, “Ah, Mistress Caroline, will you be able to attendthe music practice this evening?” Caroline turned back to answer him.Her movement was so unexpected that Tom could not avoid bumping intoher. At the collision she almost lost her balance, but caught hold ofhis arm to steady herself, and he put the other round her waist. Atthat moment they were out of sight of Walsh and the two boys in thecabin behind them.

Caroline made no effort to pull away from him.

Instead, she swayed towards him and pressed her lower body against his,a deliberate gyrating movement, looking up into his face with a sly,knowing expression as she did SO. In that instant, the world changedfor Tom. The contact was fleeting. Then she stepped round him andspoke to Master Walsh through the cabin door.

“Yes, of course.

The weather is so fair we could meet on deck, don’t you think?

That’s a splendid idea,” Walsh agreed, with alacrity.

“Shall we say at six o’clock, then?” Walsh still used the landlubber’scalculation of time.

Ned Tyler stood beside Tom at the ship’s wheel.

Tom was trying to hold the Seraph’s heading at south-west by south, onher unswerving run across the ocean.

“Meet herP Ned grunted, as Tom let her pay off a point. With everysail set to the royals and filled with twenty-five knots of wind, itwas like trying to hold a runaway stallion.

“Look at your wake. Ned told him sternly. Obediently Tom glanced backover the stern.

“Like a pair of snakes on honeymoon,” Ned said, which they both knewwas unfair: a cable’s length behind there was a barely discernible kinkin the creaming wake, but Tom was allowed no leeway by his tutors. Forthe next ten minutes the Seraph cut a rapier-straight furrow throughthe blue waves.

“Very well, Master Thomas.” Ned nodded.

“Now, from the top of the main mast, if you please.”

“Royals, topgallants .. .” Tom called the names of the sails, withouthesitation or mistake, and without allowing the ship’s head towander.

Then the trio of musicians came up from the stern quarters. Guy wascarrying Caroline’s songbook and his cittern. Walsh, with his flutesticking out of his back pocket, was carrying her stool in one hand andholding his wig on with the other. The group took up their usual placeat the lee rail, protected from the main force of the wind.

Tom tried to keep his attention on the con of the ship’s respond toNedinquisition and watch for the moment that Caroline opened her songbookand found the note he had placed between the pages.

“Mizen mast sails, if you please, from the top,” said Ned.

“Mizen topsail,” Tom replied, then hesitated. Caroline was ready tosing, and Walsh passed her the songbook.

“Go on,” Ned encouraged him.

“Mizen staysail,” said Tom, and paused again. Caroline opened thebook, and frowned.

She was reading something between the pages. He thought he saw herpale, but then she glanced up involuntarily and looked straight at himacross the full length of the open deck.

“Mizen course,” said Tom, and looked back at her.

Again she gave him that sly, enigmatic look, and tossed her head sothat her curls danced in the wind. From between the pages of hersongbook she picked up the scrap of rice-paper, on which he had solaboriously penned his message, crumpled it into a ball between herfingers and tossed it disdainfully over the side. The wind caught itand carried it far out before dropping it into the water, where itdisappeared among the pear ling white caps. It was so clearly anotherrejection that Tom felt his world totter.

“Hold your luff!” said Ned sharply, and Tom started guiltily as he sawthat he had let the Seraph sag down to leeward.

yet though he knew now that it was fruitless, Tom lay on his palletthrough all the long first watch, awaiting the hour of midnight, anddebating with himself as to whether there was any reason to take therisk and keep true to the assignation he had proposed. Her rejectionhad seemed categoric, and yet he knew with certainty that she hadenjoyed that disturbing moment of intimacy in his father’s cabin asmuch as he had. And that fleeting contact outside Walsh’s quarters hadconfirmed beyond doubt that she was not averse to another adventure.

“She ain’t the high and mighty lady she pretends,” Tom told himselfangrily.

“Under all those fancy petticoats she loves it just like Mary or any ofthe other village girls.

I bet a gold guinea to a pinch of dried horse droppings, she knows howto play Bury the Mannikin with the best of them.” He had removed hispallet to a niche behind one of the cannon, so that neither Guy norDorian could lie beside him and keep watch on his comings and goingsduring the night. The hours of the watch seemed interminable. Once ortwice he dozed, but then he would jerk awake, trembling withanticipation or consumed with doubts.

When seven bells in the first watch was struck on the deck above wherehe lay, he could contain himself no longer and crept out from under hisblanket to make his way stealthily to the head of the companionway,holding his breath in case one of his younger brothers accosted him.

Once again he paused outside the tiny cabin in which the three girlsslept, and placed his ear to the door. He heard nothing, and felt thetemptation to tap on the panel to find out if Caroline was lying awakeas he had been.

Good sense prevailed, however, and he left the door to creep down ontothe lower deck.

To his relief the key to the magazine was where he had left it alongwith the tinderbox. He unlocked the door, slipped through it, climbedonto the ready rack to reach the lantern in its gimbals then took itout into the passage and closed the door carefully so that a spark fromthe tinderbox would not touch off any loose grains of powder on themagazine floor.

He brought the tinderbox down from its hiding-place, and, squatting onthe deck, considered the risk he was taking in striking a flint in thedarkness of the ship. It was not so much the danger of explosion thatworried him, but that any light might attract attention.

His father’s cabin was at the top of the companionway, and beside itwas that of Mr. Beatty and his wife. They might be sleepless, or oneof them might leave the cabin to answer nature’s call. The officer ofthe watch might move through the depths of the hull on his rounds andcome to investigate any unusual illumination.

Yet Tom knew with absolute certainty that Caroline would have neitherthe courage nor the knowledge of the layout of the hull to find her waydown to the magazine in complete darkness. At least he must give herthat much encouragement.

He crouched over the tinderbox, shielding it with his body, and struckthe steel to the flint. There was a blinding eruption of blue sparksand the under caught. His heart was beating fast as he lifted the meshscreen of the lantern, lit the wick and cupped it with his hands untilit caught fairly. Then he lowered the screen, which dimmed the flamebut protected it from setting off any loose grains of powder.

He tucked away both key and tinderbox in their hiding-place, thencarried the lantern back into the magazine and replaced it in itsgimbals.

He retreated from the magazine and drew the door to behind him,adjusting the gap so that only the merest glimmer of light showedthrough, not enough to attract undue attention but sufficient to tempta timid girl to try the ladder of the companionway.

Then he crouched beside the door, ready to close it at the firstindication of any trouble and blot out the light.

He could not hear the ship’s bell down here so close to the bilges, sohe lost count of time.

“She’s not coming,” he told himself, after what seemed to him thepassage of several hours. He half rose, but still he could not bringhimself to leave.

“Just a little longer,” he decided, and settled back against the timberbulkhead. He Must have dozed, for the first warning he had of herarrival was the perfume of her body, that kitten smell of a young girl,and then he heard the slither of her bare feet on the deck, very closeat hand.

He sprang up, and she screamed in terror as he rose out of the darknessat her feet. He seized her desperately.

“It’s me! It’s me!” he whispered.

“Don’t be afraid.” She clung to him with surprising strength.

“You frightened me.” She was shaking wildly, so he held her to hischest and stroked her hair. She had let it down. It was thick andspringing under his hands, reaching halfway down her back.

“It’s all right. You’re safe. I’m here to look after you.” in thedim light he saw that she wore a nightdress of pale cotton. It wasfastened at her throat with a ribbon, and reached down to her ankles.

“I should never have come,” she whispered, her face pressed to hischest.

“Yes. Oh, Yes!” he told her.

“I’ve waited so long. I wanted you to come so so much.” He was amazedat how small she was, and how warm her body was against his. He huggedher tighter.

“It’s all right, Caroline. We’re safe here.” He ran his hands downher back.

The cotton was sheer and flimsy and she wore no other garment underit.

He could feel every swell and hollow of her body.

“What if my father-” Her voice was breathless and broken with fear.

“No, no.” He stopped her.

“Come with me.” He drew her swiftly into the magazine and pushed thedoor shut behind them.

“No one can ever find us here.” . He hugged her close and kissed thetop of her head.

Her hair smelt faintly aromatic. Her shaking eased, and she lifted herface and looked up at him. Her eyes were huge and luminous in the dimlight of the screened lantern.

“Don’t be rough with me,” she begged.

“Don’t hurt me.” The very idea appalled him.

“Oh, my darling. I could never do that.” He found that the words ofreassurance came naturally and convincingly to his lips.

“I love you, I have loved you since the first moment I laid eyes onyour beautiful face.” He did not yet realize that he had the gift ofeloquence that sets great lovers apart, nor did he know how well itwould serve him over the years ahead.

“I loved you even when you treated me so coldly.” Her waist was soslim that he could almost encircle it with his hands. He pulled herharder against himself and her belly felt hot against his.

“I never wanted to be unkind to you, , she told him piteously, “Iwanted to be with you, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said, “I know,” and he kissed her face,rained kisses on her forehead and her eyes, until at last he found hermouth. At first her lips were firmly closed to him, then slowly theyopened like the fleshy petals of some exotic flower, all hot and moistand filled with a nectar that made his senses swim. He wanted to haveall of it, to suck out her essence through her mouth.

“We are safe here,” he reassured her.

“No one ever comes down here.” He kept whispering reassurances, todistract her as he moved her towards the racks of silk powder bags.

“You are so lovely.” He eased her backwards.

“I have thought about you every waking moment.” She relaxed and letherself fall backwards onto the mattress of silk and gunpowder.

Her head was thrown back, and he kissed her throat.

At the same time he gently loosed the ribbon that held the top of hernightdress. His instinct warned him to proceed so slowly that shecould pretend that it was not happening.

He whispered to her, “Your hair is like silk and it smells of roses.”But his fingers were quick and light.

One of her breasts popped out of the top of her nightgown, whereuponher whole body stiffened and she gasped, “We musm’t do this.

You must stop. Please.” Her breast was very white, and much biggerthan he had expected. He made no move to touch it, although it saggedsoftly against his cheek. He held her tightly and murmured assurancesand flattery until slowly the tension left her body, and one of herhands groped up to the back of his head. She took a handful of hispigtail, and her grip tightened on it until his eyes watered, but hedid not mind the pain.

Almost as though she was unaware of what she was doing she used thehandful of his hair to direct him. The warm soft breast pressedagainst his face so that, for a moment, he could not breathe. Then heopened his mouth and sucked in the nipple. It was rubbery and firm inhis mouth. Mary had liked him to do this, “feeding the baby”, she hadcalled it.

Caroline made a soft humming sound in the back of her throat, and beganto rock him softly as though he were an infant. Her eyes were closedand a small half-smile curved her lips as he sucked upon herrhythmically.

Touch me,” she murmured, so faintly that he did not understand what shehad said.

“Touch me,” she repeated.

“Touch me like you did before.” Her gown had tucked up almost to thetop of her thighs and now she moved her knees apart. He reached down,and she sighed.

“Yes, like that.” She began to thrust with her hips as though she wasposting on a trotting pony. It did not take more than a few minutesbefore her back arched and he felt every muscle in her small bodytense.

It’s like drawing a longbow, Tom thought, when the nocked arrow isready to loose.

Suddenly she shuddered and gave a cry that startled him, then fell backand went limp in his arms like a dead woman He was alarmed. He lookedinto her face and saw that it was flushed, her eyes were closed anddewy droplets of sweat sparkled on her upper lip.

She opened her eyes and stared at him blankly. Then, suddenly, shedrew back and struck him a ringing openhanded blow across the cheek.

“I hate you!” she whispered fiercely.

“You should never have made me come here. You should never havetouched me like that. It’s all your fault and she burst into tears.

He recoiled in astonishment, but before he could recover she had leapedto her feet. With a rustle of cloth and small bare feet on the woodendeck she pushed open the magazine door and fled down the passageway.

It was some time before Tom had recovered sufficiently from the shockto stir himself. Still bemused, he doused the lantern then locked themagazine door behind him carefully. He would have to find anopportunity to return the key to his father’s desk, but there was nourgency for that. So far there had been no indication that its absencefrom the drawer had been discovered. Yet it was too dangerous to keepit on his person, so he returned it to the hiding-place above thelintel.

When he crept past the door of Caroline’s cabin, he found he wastrembling with indignation and anger. He felt an almost irresistibleurge to drag her from her bunk and vent his feelings upon her. Hemanaged to contain himself, and to make his way back to his pallet onthe gundeck.

Guy was waiting for him, a silent shadow crouching beside thegun-carriage.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, in a whisper.

“Nowhere.” Tom was taken by surprise, and the famous reply was outbefore he could stop it.

“I was in the head.”

“You’ve been gone since seven bells in the first watch, almost twohours,” Guy told him grimly.

“You must have filled the bucket. It’s a wonder there’s anything leftof you.” went on deck,” Tom started defensively, then broke off.

“Anyway, I don’t have to tell you. You’re not my keeper.”

He threw himself on the pallet, curled into a ball and pulled theblanket over his head.

Stupid little vixen, he thought bitterly. I wouldn’t give a fig if shefell overboard and was eaten by the sharks.

“The Seraph bored on into the south-west, never shortening sail duringthe starry nights. At noon each day Tom was on the quarterdeck withthe other officers, using his own backstaff, a gift from his father, toobserve the noon passage, and to calculate the ship’s latitude. Hisfather and Ned Tyler made simultaneous sun shots then compared theirresults. On one unforgettable noonday Tom finished the complexcalculation, and looked up from his slate.

“Well, sir?” his father asked, with an indulgent smile.

“Twenty-two degrees sixteen minutes thirty@ eight seconds southlatitude,” Tom answered uncertainly.

“By my reckoning, we should be only a few leagues north of the Tropicof Capricorn.” Hal frowned dramatically and looked across at Ned.

“A gross error there, Mr. Mate?”

“Indeed, Captain. He’s out by at least ten seconds.”

“I make it fifteen seconds of error.” Hal’s expression softened.

“No need to take the cat to him?”

“Not this time.” Ned gave one of his rare grins. The differencebetween the three calculations amounted to no more than a few nauticalmiles of the ocean’s vastness. No man alive could have said which ofthe three was correct.

“Well done, lad.” Hal ruffled his hair.

“We might make a seaman of you yet.” The glow of pleasure those wordsgave Tom lasted him the rest of that day.

As they crossed the Tropic of Capricorn, the weather changed abruptly.They had entered the wet quadrant of the southern Atlantic, and the skyahead was filled from horizon to heavens with dark, broodingthunderclouds, their immense heads flattened into the shape of theanvils of Vulcan, the blacksmith of the gods. Lightning rippled andglowed in their dark bellies. Thunderclaps beat down like the strokesof the god’s hammer.

Hal passed the order to shorten sail, and made a signal to the Yeomanastern of them: “Keep station on me.” The sun went down behind thestorm clouds and stained them with its blood, then the rain fell uponthe two ships in torrents. Solid sheets of water hammered the woodendecks so hard that the din drowned the men’s voices and blotted outtheir vision. They could see nothing through the roaring curtains ofwater from one rail to the other. The scuppers could not clear thewater from the main deck fast enough, and the helmsman stood kneedeep

The crew cavorted in this world of sweet water, holding up their faceswith mouths wide open, drinking it down until their bellies bulged,stripping off their clothing and washing the salt from their bodies,laughing and splashing each other.

Hal made no effort to restrain them. The salt had galled all theirbodies, in some cases forming suppurating sea-boils in the armpits andcrotch. It was a relief to wash the corrosive crystals from theirskins. Instead he ordered the empty water-casks filled.

The men scooped up bucketfuls; of the sweet, pure water and bynightfall every cask aboard was brimming.

The rain never let up all that night or the next day, and on the thirdday, when the sun rose over the watery wilderness of creamy whitecapsand towering cloud ranges, the Yeoman was nowhere in sight.

Hal ordered both Tom and Dorian to the masthead, for their young eyeshad already proved themselves the sharpest on the ship.

Though they stayed aloft most of that day, they could make out no flashof the Yeoman’s canvas on the disturbed horizon.

“We won’t see her again afore we drop anchor off Good Hope,” Ned Tyleropined, and secretly Hal agreed with him. There was only the remotestpossibility that the two ships would find each other again in thisendless expanse of wind-whipped ocean. It did not worry Hal unduly: hehad planned with Anderson for just such an eventuality. Theirprearranged rendezvous was in Table Bay, and from now onwards each shipwould have to make its passage independently of the other.

On the fifty@ second day out of Plymouth Hal ordered the Seraph putabout on the starboard tack. By his calculation they were less than athousand miles off the coast of South America. With the backstaff andthe navigational tables he could confidently place the ship’s longitudeto within twenty miles. However, the determination of longi rude wasnot an exact science but more an arcane ritual, based on a study ofeach day’s pegs on the traverse board and a series of guesses andextrapolations of the ship’s distance and course made good.

Hal knew full well that he could be several hundreds of miles adrift inhis dead reckoning. To make a landfall on Good Hope, he would now haveto ride the trade winds down until he struck thirty-two degrees ofsouth latitude, then hold due east until he raised the distinctivetable land that marked the tip of the African continent.

This would be the slowest, most wearying leg of the voyage: with thewind almost in his face he would have to tack every few hours.

To avoid missing the Cape to the south, and running through into theIndian Ocean beyond, he must lay his course to strike the savageAfrican shore some leagues to the north of Good Hope. There was alwaysthe danger of making that landfall in the black of night or in thedense fog that so often shrouded the southern Cape, many great shipshad found a watery graveyard on this treacherous shore. With thisthreat on his mind, Hal was thankful that, when the time came, he wouldhave Tom’s and Dorian’s sharp young eyes at the masthead.

Thinking of his two sons, Hal was pleased with the progress they weremaking with their Arabic. Guy had dropped out of these lessons on thegrounds that there was precious little Arabic spoken in Bombay, buteach afternoon Tom and Dorian huddled for an hour with All Wilson onthe forecastle and chattered away in the language like parakeets.

When Hal tested them he found they could hold their own in aconversation with him.

Their growing fluency in the language would stand them in good stead onthe Fever Coast. It was a good strategy to speak your enemy’slanguage, Hal thought.

Apart from the Yeoman they had not seen another ship since they hadleft Ushant, but this ocean was not an empty wasteland: there werestrange and wonderful sights to intrigue and delight Tom and Dorian asthey squatted shoulder to shoulder in the crow’s nest high above thedeck.

One day out of the great wilderness of water there came an albatross.Circling the ship on wide pinions, dipping and rising on currents ofair, gliding and planing, sometimes so close to the crests of the wavesthat it seemed to become part of the spume, it kept station with theship for days on end. Neither of the boys had seen a bird of that sizebefore. At times it sailed close to where they crouched in theirbarrel-shaped perch, seeming to use the up draught from the Seraph’smainsail to hold its position, never flapping its wings, only gentlyfingering the air with the black feathers at the tips. Dorianparticularly delighted in the creature whose wingspan was three or fourtimes that of his arms.

“Mollymawk!” He called it by the sailors” pet-name, meaning “StupidGull’, for its trusting, confiding nature when it settled to earth.Dorian had begged scraps of food from the ship’s cook and tossed themto the circling bird.

Very soon the albatross had learned to trust and accept him, camewinging to his whistle and cry. It sailed beside him almost closeenough to touch, hanging almost motionless in the air, daintilysnapping up the morsels he threw to it.

On the third day, while Tom hung on to his belt to prevent him falling,Dorian reached out as far as he could with a piece of fat salt pork inhis hand. Mollymawk regarded him with a wise, ancient eye, banked inon his spreading pinions and took the offering from him with a delicatepinch of his formidable curved beak, which could easily have lopped offone of the boy’s fingers.

Dorian whistled and clapped his hands in triumph while all three of theBeatty girls, who had been following his courtship of the bird from thedeck below, shrieked with delight. When he came down at the end of thewatch, Caroline kissed him in front of the officers of the deck and theon-duty watch.

“Girls are so soft!” Dorian told Tom, when they were alone on thegundeck, and gave a realistic imitation of puking.

Over the next few days Mollymawk grew tamer and more confiding towardsDorian.

“Do you think he loves me, Tom? I shall want to keep him for ever asmy pet.” But on the eighth morning when they climbed to the mastheadthe bird had disappeared. Though Dorian whistled for him all that day,he was gone, and at sunset the child wept bitterly.

“What a baby you are,” Tom said, and hugged him until he stoppedsnuffling.

On the morning after Mollymawk disappeared, Tom took his usual seat onthe bench against the bulkhead in Master Walsh’s cabin. When the threegirls arrived, late as usual, for the day’s lessons, he resisted thetemptation to look in Caroline’s direction. He was still simmeringwith indignation at the way she had treated him. Sarah Beatty, whostill hero-worshipped him, and was for ever plying him with smallgifts, had today made him a paper rose us a bookmark, which shepresented to him in front of everyone else in the cabin. Tom flushedwith humiliation as he mumbled a churlish thanks, while behind Sarah’sback Dorian held an imaginary baby in his arms and rocked it, Tomkicked his shin and reached for his books and slate, which he kept inthe locker under the bench.

When he glanced at the slate, he saw that someone had rubbed out thealgebra equation with which he had been struggling the previous day. Hewas about to accuse Dorian of the crime when he realized that theculprit had replaced his convoluted chalk scribbling with a simple linein a flowery script: “Tonight at the same time.” Tom stared at it.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

Dorian and the younger girls still had a childlike uneven scrawl, andGuy’s hand was stolid and lacking in any art.

Although he still hated Caroline to the depths of his soul, he wouldhave recognized her handwriting anywhere and at any time.

Suddenly he became aware that Guy was craning across, trying to readthe slate over his shoulder.

Tom tilted it to hide it from him and with one thumb smeared the chalkletters until they were indecipherable.

He could not stop himself glancing across to where Caroline sat.

She seemed oblivious as always to his presence, absorbed in the book ofpoetry that Master Walsh had lent her, but she must have sensed hiseyes on her because the one ear that Tom could see peeping out fromunder her bonnet in a tangle of curls slowly turned a deeper shade ofpink. It was such a striking phenomenon that Tom forgot he hated herand stared at it in fascination.

“Thomas, have you completed the problem I set for you yesterday?”

Walsh roused him and he started guiltily.

“Yes, I mean no, I mean almost.” For the rest of that day Tom was in astew of emotion.

At one minute he determined to scorn the tryst she had osed and laughin her face the next morning. He even prop uttered the scornful laughaloud, and every person in the cabin stopped what he or she was doingand looked up at him expectantly.

“Is there some gem of wit or erudition that you wish to share with us,Thomas?” Walsh asked sarcastically.

“No, sir. I was just thinking.”

“Ah, I thought I heard the wheels rumbling. But let us not interruptsuch a rare occurrence.

Please continue, sir.” All that day his feelings for Carolineoscillated from adoration to angry loathing. Later, when he sat highin the crow’s nest, he noticed nothing except that the waters seemed asviolet blue as her eyes. Dorian had to point out to him the palefeather on the horizon where a whale spouted, and even then he viewedit without interest.

When he stood beside his father and made the noonday sight through theaperture of his backstaff, he remembered the feel of a soft white bosompressed to his face, and his thoughts drifted away.

When his father took the navigation slate from his hands and read hisworking, he turned toNed Tyler.

“Congratulations, Mr. Tyler. During the night you must have sailed usback into the northern hemisphere. Send a good man to the masthead.

We should be making a landfall on the east coast of America at anyminute now.” Tom had no appetite for his dinner and gave his cut ofsalt beef to Dorian, whose appetite was legendary and who accepted itwith alacrity then wolfed it down before Tom could change his mind.

Then, when the gundeck lanterns were trimmed down for the night, Tomlay unsleeping in his corner behind the gun carriage and went over hispreparations again and again in his mind.

The magazine key and tinderbox were still where he had left them intheir niche above the door. He had been waiting for an opportunity toreturn the key to his father’s desk, but none had presented itself.

Now he was deeply grateful for that. He had decided by now that heloved Caroline beyond anything in the world and that he would nothesitate to lay down his life for her.

At seven bells in the first watch he crept from his pallet, and pausedto see if anyone had seen him rise. His two brothers were smaller darkshapes beyond Aboli’s bulk, stretched out on the deck in the dim lightof the shuttered battle lanterns. Stepping over the huddled, snoringbodies of the rest of the crew he made his way unchallenged to thecompanionway.

Once again the lamp was burning in his father’s cabin and Tom wonderedwhat always kept him awake until after midnight. He moved softly pastand could not prevent himself from stopping again beside the girls”cabin. He thought he heard soft breathing beyond the bulkhead and,once, the sound of one of the younger girls talking in her sleep, a fewgabbled words. He passed on and took the key from its hiding-place,and went into the magazine to fetch out the lantern, light it andreplace it in its gimbals.

By this time he was so overwrought that he jumped at every strangenoise in the running ship, the scuffle of a rat in the bilges or therattle and knock of a loose piece of rope or rigging. He crouchedbeside the magazine door and watched the foot of the ladder. This timehe did not doze so he saw her bare white feet the moment they camehesitantly into view. He whistled softly to reassure her.

She stooped and looked at him. Then she came down the last few stepsof the ladder with a rush. He ran to meet her, and she came into hisarms and clung to him.

“I wanted to say how sorry I was that I struck you,” she whispered.

“I have hated myself for that every day since then.” He could nottrust himself to speak, and when he remained silent she lifted her faceto him. It was merely a pale luminescence in the poor light but hestooped to kiss her, searching for her mouth.

She moved toward him at the same moment and his first kiss was on hereyebrow, the next on the tip of her nose and then their mouths cametogether.

She was the first to pull back, “Not here,” she whispered.

“Somebody may come.” She followed him willingly as he took her handand drew her through the door into the magazine. Without hesitationshe went directly to the rack of powder bags, and drew him down besideher.

Her mouth was open to his next kiss, and he felt the tip of her tonguefluttering on his lips, like a moth at the candle-flame. He sucked itin.

Still mouth to mouth she tugged at the drawstring that closed the topof his shirt and when she had it loose she thrust one small cool handdown into the opening and caressed his chest.

“You are hairy.” She sounded surprised.

“I want to see.” She lifted the front of his shirt.

“Silky. It feels so soft.” She pressed her face to his chest. Herbreath was warm and tickling. It excited him in a way he had not knownbefore.

A sense of urgency came over him, as though she might be whisked awayfrom him at any moment. He tried to loosen the ribbon that closed hernightdress but his fingers were clumsy and unskilled.

“Here.” She pushed away his hands.

“Let me do that.” He was vaguely aware that she was behavingdifferently from their last meeting here in the magazine: she wasassertive and sure of herself. She was acting more like Mary or one ofthe other girls he had been with at High Weald.

All at once he was convinced that his intuition had been accurate.

She had done this before,” she knew as much as he, or perhaps more, andthe knowledge goaded him on.

There was no longer cause for him to hold himself back.

She knelt up, lifted the nightgown over her head in one movement anddropped it to the deck. She was mother naked now, but all he saw wereher breasts, big, round and white, seeming to glow like two greatpearls, hanging above him in the gloom. He reached for them, fillingboth his hands with their soft abundance.

“Not so hard. Don’t be so rough,” she warned him. For a while she lethim do what he wanted and then she whispered, “Touch me! Touch methere, like before.” He did as she asked, and she closed her eyes andlay quietly. Gently he moved over her, careful not to alarm her.

He eased his breeches down to his knees.

Suddenly she tried to sit up, “Why did you stop?” She looked down.

“What are you doing? No, stop that!” She tried to wriggle out fromunder him but he was much heavier and stronger than she was, and shecould not move him.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised. She pushed ineffectually at hisshoulders, but slowly she gave up. She stopped struggling and relaxedunder the insistence of his touch.

The rigidity went out of her body. She closed her eyes and started tomake that soft humming sound in the back of her throat.

Suddenly her whole body convulsed and she gave a soft cry.

“What are you doing? Please, no! Oh, Tom, what are you doing?” Shestruggled again, but he held her very tightly, and after a while shelay quietly in his arms. Then both of them started to move in unison,in the natural rhythm as old as man himself.

Long afterwards they lay together with the sweat cooling on theirbodies, their breathing steadying until they could speak again.

“It’s late. Agnes and Sarah will be awake soon. I must go, Carolinewhispered, and reached for her nightgown “Will you come again?” heasked her.

“Perhaps.” She drew the gown over her head, and tied the ribbon at herthroat.

“Tomorrow night?” he insisted.

“Perhaps,” she repeated, slipped off the rack and went to the magazinedoor. She listened There, then peeped through the crack.

She pushed open the door just wide enough to slip through and wasgone.

Gradually the Seraph sailed out of the tropical latitudes and on intothe south. The days cooled and, after the stifling heat they hadendured, the wind came sweet and fresh out of the southeast. Thistemperate ocean swarmed with life) clouded green with krill andplankton. From the masthead they could make out shadowy shoals oftuna, endless streams of huge fish effortlessly overtaking the ship, ontheir mysterious perambulations through the green ocean.

At last the noonday sun-shOt Proved that the ship had made hersouthing, and at thirty-two degrees south latitude Hal brought the bowsaround for the final run down to Good Hope.

It was a relief to him that the end of this leg of the voyage wasapproaching, and that they must soon be making their landfall. Onlythe Previous day Dr. Reynolds had reported to him the first cases ofscurvy among the crew. This mysterious affliction was the curse ofevery captain undertaking a long passage- Once a ship had been at seafor six weeks, the foul miasma that bred the disease might overtake thecrew and strike them down without reason or warning.

The two sick men were merely the first of many, Hal knew. They hadshown the surgeon their swollen, bleeding gums and the first darkbruises on their bellies, where blood was weeping under the skin. Noman could account for this pestilence, or for the miraculous manner inwhich it vanished, and its victims were cured, once the ship reachedport.

“Let it be soon, Lord!” Hal prayed, and looked to the empty easternhorizon.

Now, as they approached the land, pods of dolphin joined them, ridingthe bow-wave, dodging back and forth under the hull, rising again onthe far side and curving their glistening black backs through thesurface, finning high with their flat tails beating, eyeing the men inthe gging with a bright eye and fixed grin.

This was the ocean of the great whales. On some days they saw theirspouts blowing white on the wind wherever they looked from themasthead. The mountainous creatures wallowed and cavorted on thesurface. Some were longer than the Seraph’s hull, and they passed soclose that the boys could see the barnacles and growths of sea lifethat encrusted their bodies as though they were reefs of rock, notliving creatures.

“There is twenty tons of oil in each fish,” Big Daniel remarked to Tom,as they leaned together on the bowsprit, and watched a leviathan risefrom the depths, a cable’s length ahead, and lift its massivebifurcated tail to the skies.

“That tail is as wide across as our mi zen yard,” Tom marvelled.

“They do say they’re the biggest creatures in creation.” Danielnodded.

“At ten pounds the ton of his oil, we might do better at chasing whalesthan pirates.”

“How could you ever kill a thing that big?” Tom wondered.

“It would be like trying to kill a mountain.”

“Dangerous work, it is, but there’s them that do it. The Dutch aregreat whale-hunters-2

“I should like to try,” said Tom.

“I should like to be a great hunter.” Big Daniel pointed down thebowsprit as it rose and fell across the horizon.

“There’s much to hunt where we are going, lad.

It’s a land swarming with wild creatures.

There are elephants with ivory tusks longer than you are.

You may get your wish.” Tom’s excitement was heightened with eachday’s run.

After they had made the sun-shot, he went to the stern cabin with hisfather to watch him mark the ship’s position: the line on the chartcrept ever closer to the great landmass, shaped like the head of ahorse.

His days were so filled with excitement and frantic activity that heshould have been exhausted by nightfall.

Most evenings he managed a few hours” sleep before midnight, but thenhe woke eagerly at the end of the first watch, and crept from hispallet.

He no longer had to beg and cajole: Caroline came to the magazine everynight of her own accord. Tom found that he had aroused a wildcat. Shewas no longer hesitant or modest, but matched him in the urgency of herpassion, giving vent to her emotions with voice and savage excess.

Tom often carried away with him the evidence of their meetings:

his back scratched by her long fingernails, his lips bitten andbruised.

However, he had become careless in his haste to keep their assignationeach night and had a number of close calls. Once, when he was passingMr. Beatty’s cabin, the door opened suddenly and Mrs. Beatty steppedout. Tom just had time to pull his cap over his eyes as he slouchedpast, and disguised his voice.

“Seven bells in the first watch, and all’s well,” he croaked hoarsely.He was tall as any man aboard now, and the passageway was dimly lit.

“Thank you, my good man.” Mrs. Beatty was so flustered at beingcaught in her nightclothes that she ducked back into the cabin as ifshe were the guilty one.

On more than one night he felt he was being followed as he crept downfrom the gundeck. Once he was certain he had heard footsteps comingdown the companionway behind him, but when he doubled back nobody wasthere.

On another occasion he was leaving the lower deck in the small hours,at the end of the middle watch, when there came the clump of sea bootsdown the ladder from the quarterdeck. He only just had time to duckback when Ned Tyler came down the passage towards his father’s cabin.From the shadows he watched him knock at the door, and heard hisfather’s voice from within.

“What is it?”

“Ned Tyler, Captain. Wind’s freshening. She could carry away a sparif we drive her on. Permission to take in the staysails and reef themain course.”

“I’ll be on deck right away, Ned,” Tom’s father replied.

A minute later he burst out of his cabin shrugging on his Jacket, andpassed a few feet from where Tom lay as he ran up the companionway tothe deck.

Tom reached his pallet on the gundeck just as the boatswain’s whistleshrilled and Big Daniel’s voice boomed out in the darkness, “All handsto shorten sail.” Tom had to pretend to rub the sleep out of his eyesand join the rush of men up into the blustery night.

It was in his nature not to be alarmed or cowed by these narrowescapes, and perversely he became emboldened by them. Nowadays therewas a strut to his stride like that of a young rooster, which madeAboli grin and shake his head.

“This is the son of the man!” One morning when the ship had been putabout on the port tack, and her motion had eased to a long rise andthrust through the green Atlantic rollers, Tom was among the topmastmen coming down from working the canvas.

Suddenly, for no reason other than high spirits and cockiness he stoodup to his full height on the yard and danced a High Hornpipe.

Every person on deck froze with horror as they watched Tom’s suicidalantics. Forty feet above the deck, Tom performed two full passes,three to the measure, on bare tiptoe, one hand on his hip and the otherover his head, then he jumped on the shrouds and slid down to the deckbelow. He had had enough sense to make certain that his father was inhis cabin at the time but before the day was out Hal had heard aboutthe escapade and sent for Tom.

“Why did you do such a stupid, irresponsible thing?” he demanded.

“Because John Tudwell told me I wouldn’t dare,” Tom explained, asthough this was the best reason in the world.

Which perhaps it was, Hal thought, as he studied his son’s face.

To his astonishment, he realized that he was looking at a man, not aboy. In the few short months of the voyage Tom had toughened andmatured beyond all recognition. His body was work-hardened, hisshoulders had filled out from the constant exertion of climbing in therigging and handling canvas and sheets in a heavy blow, his arms weremuscled from the hours of sword drill with Aboli each day, and hebalanced like a cat to the ship’s pitch in the southern rollers.

But there was something else he could not quite put his finger on.

He knew that Tom had . always been the precocious one among all hissons, and though he had tried to control his wilder extravagances hehad never wanted to fetter this bold, adventurous spirit. Secretly,Hal had admired the boy’s courage and was proud of his headstrongways.

But now he was aware that something had happened that he had missed.

This was a man, full-groWn, Who faced him with level gaze.

“Well!” Hal said at last.”You’ve shown John Tudwell he was wrong, haven’t you? So there’s noneed to do the High Hornpipe again.”

“No, Father,” Tom agreed readily.

“That is, not until somebody else tells me I lack the guts for it.” Hisgrin was so infectious that Hal felt his own mouth pulled out ofshape.

“Get away with you!” He gave Tom a shove towards the cabin door.

“There’s no reasoning with a barbarian.” Guy sat at his accustomedplace on the bench beside Caroline in Master Walsh’s cabin. His facewas pale and he spoke little during the course of the morning,answering any question from the schoolmaster in a terse monosyllable.

He kept his eyes on his book, not looking at either Tom or Caroline,even when they were reciting the texts that Walsh had asked for.

At last Caroline became aware of his strange behaviour.

“Are You out of sorts, Guy? Are you feeling seasick again?” shewhispered.

Guy could not bring himself to look into her face.

“I am perfectly well,” he told her.

“You need not worry about me,” and added silently, Ever again!

Guy had conjured up a fantasy world over the past weeks since he hadsigned his indenture papers and his employment in the Company factoryat Bombay had been secured. With his family connections, and under thepatronage of Mr. Beatty, he had foreseen his rapid advancement in theservice of the Company. The Beatty family would have become his own,and Caroline would have been there beside him. He imagined sharing hercompany every day in the tropical paradise of Bombay. They would ridetogether through palm groves. In the evenings there would be musicrecitals, Guy playing and Caroline singing, and poetry readings,picnics with the family. He would walk hand in hand with her alongwhite beaches, exchange with her pure, chaste kisses. In a few shortyears he would be twenty years old, high in the Company service andwell able to afford to marry. Now all these dreams were shattered.

When he tried to think of the vile things he had uncovered, his mindshied away from them like a skittish horse. His hands shook and hefelt the blood fuming in his brain. He could not bear another minutein the confines of the tiny cabin, with the two people he hated morethan he had ever believed himself capable. He stood up abruptly.

The Monsoon

“Master Walsh, please excuse me. I am feeling faint. I need to take aturn on deck. The fresh air-” Without waiting for permission, hestumbled to the door and fled up the ladder. He hurried to the bowsand clung to a halyard, letting the wind blow in his face. His miserywas bottomless and the rest of his life stretched ahead like an endlessdesert plain.

“I want to die!” he said aloud, and peered over the ship’s side.

The water was green and beautiful. It would be so peaceful downthere.

He stepped down onto the chains and balanced there, hanging on with onehand on the shrouds.

“It will be so easy,” he told himself.

“So quick and easy.” He began to lean outwards over the rushing,curling bow-wave.

A powerful grip closed on his free wrist, and he almost lost hisbalance.

“There is nothing that you have lost down there, Mbili,” Aboli’s voicerumbled.

“You never were a swimmer.”

“Leave me!” Guy said bitterly.

“Why do you always interfere, Aboli? I just want to die.”

“You will have your wish, that is the only thing certain in this life,”Aboli assured him.

“But not today, Mbili.” The name he had called Guy from the day of hisbirth meal Number Two in the language of the forests. Gently Heexerted pressure on his arm.

Guy tried vainly to resist that great strength.

“Leav, me, Aboli.

Please.”

“The men are looking at you,” Aboli told him softly.

Guy looked round and saw that some of the watch on deck had stoppedtheir talk and were watching this little pantomime curiously.

“Do not shame your father and me with this stupidity.” Guycapitulated, and hopped down clumsily onto the, deck. Aboli releasedhis wrist.

“Let us talk,” he suggested.

“I do not want to talk, to you or to anybody.”

“Then we will be silent together,” Aboli agreed, and led him to the leerail. They squatted together there, shielded from the wind and fromthe eyes of the watch.

Aboli was calm and silent, like a mountain, a reassuring presence.

He did not look at Guy or touch him, but he was there. The longminutes drew out, then Guy blurted out wildly, “I love her so, Aboli.

It’s like fangs gnawing at my belly.” So! Aboli thought sadly.

He has found out the truth.

Klebe is not one to hide his tracks. He is after this filly like ayoung stallion that has kicked down the fence. It is a wonder thatMbili took so long to discover it.

“Yes, I know, Mbili,” he said.

“I

have also loved.”

“What am I to do?” Guy demanded miserably.

“No matter how much it hurts, it will never kill you, and one day,sooner than you will believe possible, you will have forgotten thepain.”

“I will never forget it,” said Guy, with deep conviction.

“And I will never forget my love for her.” Hal Courtney heard theship’s bell sound the beginning of the middle watch.

“Midnight,” he murmured. He pressed both fists into the small of hisback. He had sat at his desk for many hours, he felt stiff and hiseyes smarted. He stood up and trimmed the wick of the lamp, adjustingit to light the documents on his desktop, then seated himself again inthe heavy oak chair and applied himself once more to his work.

The builders” drawings of Seraph were spread before him. He studiedthe plan of her gun decks for a while, then set it on one side, pulledtowards him the drawing of the side elevation, and compared the two.

“We have to conceal the guns, and give her the look of an unarmedtrader,” he murmured.

“It will mean stripping the lids off the gun ports of the lower deck-“He broke off and frowned as he heard a soft scratching at the door ofhis cabin.

“Who is it?” he demanded. The weather was fair and the wind light andsteady. He had not expected to be interrupted. There was no answer tohis challenge, and after a moment he grunted. It must have been a rator his imagination. He turned his attention back to the drawings.

The scratching at the door came again. This time he pushed back hischair irritably and stood up. Stooping under the beams he strode tothe door and pulled it open.

A slight figure stood diffidently before him. It took Hal a moment torecognize his own son.

“Guy?” He peered closely at him.

“What are you doing at this time of night? Come in, boy.” Guy steppedinto the cabin, and pulled the door to behind him. He plucked his capfrom his head. His face was pale and his expression nervous.

“Father, I had to tell you-” he stammered, twisting the cap in hishands.

“What is it, lad? Speak up,” Hal encouraged him.

“There is somebody in the powder magazine in the, hold,” Guy blurtedout.

“The door is open and there is light.”

“What?” Hal’s voice was sharp with alarm.

“In the magazine? A light?” A host of dire misgivings crowded hismind.

“Yes, sir.”

Hal whirled and crossed to his desk. He jerked open the top drawer andlifted out the wooden case of pistols, He opened it and took out one ofthe double-barrelled weapons, swiftly checked the flint and thepriming, then thrust it into his belt. Then he checked the second ofthe pair and hefted it in his right hand.

“We’ll see about this,” he muttered grimly, and lifted the lamp out ofits gimbals.

“Come with me, Guy, but softly. We don’t want to warn the rascals,whoever they are.” He eased open the cabin door and Guy followed himout into the passageway.

“Close it quietly,” Hal warned and went to the head of thecompanionway. He peered down into the lower deck but saw no glimmer oflight. He turned his head to Guy.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Father.” Stepping lightly Hal started down the ladder, stoppingon each tread to listen and look. He reached the bottom and pausedagain. Only then did he see the faint nimbus of light around the edgesof the magazine door.

“Yes!” he whispered, and cocked both hammers of the pistol in hishand.

“Now we’ll see what they’re up to.” He started towards the magazine,carrying the lamp behind his back to shield the flame. Guy was closebehind him.

Hal reached the door and placed his ear to the thick oak panel.

Faintly, above the other noises of the ship, he heard sounds thatpuzzled him, soft cries and moans, a rustling and thudding he could notplace.

He tried the lock and the handle turned readily enough in his hand. Heput his shoulder against the door and gradually applied his weight. Thejamb scraped softly and then the door swung open. He stood in theentrance and lifted his lantern high above his head. For a while hewas deprived of the power of further movement. The scene before himwas so far from his expectations that he could not make sense of whathe was seeing.

The screened lamp in its gimbals on the bulkhead above the ready racksadded its light to the rays of his own lantern. Clothing was jumbledon the deck at Hal’s feet, and human bodies sprawled over the silkpowder bags before him. It took a moment for him to realize they werenaked. Pale skin gleamed bright in the lamplight, and he stared indisbelief. A woman’s curls, tangled limbs, red mouth open wide, smallfeet that kicked spasmodically towards the deck beams above, slim handsthat clutched and twisted in a man’s hair, the man’s head buriedbetween her pearly thighs, her back and buttocks thumping against themattress of powder bags as she writhed in transport.

The pair seemed oblivious to anything but each other.

Even the lantern turned full upon them had not alarmed them for thegirl’s eyes were tightly closed and her features so contorted withpassion that she seemed a stranger to Hal.

He stood there transfixed and only roused himself when Guy tried topush his way into the magazine. He moved to block his entrance andscreen the scene from him.

“Get back, Guy!” he said, and his voice penetrated the curtains ofpassion that shrouded the pair on the rack. The woman’s eyes flewopen, then slowly expanded like the petals of a violet bloom as shestared at Hal in horror and disbelief. Her mouth twisted into a silentscream Of despair, and she struggled up on one elbow, her breastsswinging round and white in the lamplight. With both hands she tore atthe dark hair of the head lodged between her thighs, but could notbudge it.

“Tom!” Hal found his voice at last. He saw the muscles in the boy’sbroad white back convulse with shock, as though a dagger had beenplunged into them. Then Tom lifted his face and stared at hisfather.

It seemed an eternity that all three were frozen like that.

Tom’s face was suffilsed with blood, as though he had run a race, orwrestled a heavy bout. His gaze was as unfocused and vague as that ofa drunkard.

“In the name of God, girl, cover yourself!” Hal grated.

His own shame flared up as he found it took a huge effort on his partto tear his eyes from her spreadeagled body.

At his words she kicked Tom away with both feet and tumbled from therack onto the deck. She snatched up her discarded nightdress and heldit to her chest with both hands, trying to cover her nudity, crouchingthere on her knees like a wild animal in a trap. Hal turned his backon her and found Guy pressing close behind him, craning to see what washappening in the magazine. Hal shoved him roughly out into thepassageway.

“Get you back to your bed!” he snarled.

“This is not your business.” Guy backed away at the venom in hisfather’s voice.

“Tell no one of what you have seen here tonight, for if you do I willflay the skin from your back.” Guy backed slowly and reluctantly upthe ladder, and Hal turned into the magazine.

Caroline had pulled the gown over her head and now it covered her toher ankles. She stood before him, hanging her head. The thick curlsand ringlets fell forward and covered her face. She looked like alittle girl, young and innocent. Which she has, as the devil iswitness, proven she is not, Hal thought grimly, and looked at his son,who was hopping on one leg trying to get his other into his breeches.

There was no longer any trace of his usual cockiness or braggadocio.

He hauled his breeches up to his waist and buckled his belt, then stoodabjectly beside the girl, neither of them able to meet Hal’s sterngaze.

“Mistress Caroline,” Hal ordered, “you will go this very instant toyour cabin.”

“Yes, Captain,” she whispered.

“I can only say that I am disgusted by your behaviour.

I never expected anything of the like from a lady of your breeding.” Hefelt vaguely ridiculous as he said it. As though the lower classes arethe only ones who should make the beast with two backs, he mockedhimself silently, and searched for some pronouncement less famous.

“What will your father make of it when I tell him?” he demanded.

She looked up at him with real terror dissolving her prettiness.

“You won’t tell him?” Suddenly, embarrassingly, she fell at his feet,and hugged his knees.

“Please don’t tell him, Captain. I will do anything, only please don’ttell him.”

“Get up, girl.” Hal lifted her to her feet, his anger fading. It tookan effort to fan the flames.

“Go to your cabin, and stay there until I send for you.”

“You won’t tell my father?” she pleaded. Tears were streaming downher face now.

“I make you no promise on that,” he said.

“You richly deserve the horse-whip that I know he will take to you.” Heled her out, and pushed her towards her cabin. She fled up the ladderand he heard her door open and close softly.

Hal turned back to Tom and tried to glare at him, but felt the flamesof indignation subside. Despite himself he journeyed back over theyears, to another boy and girl in a dark ship’s cabin in these southernseas. He had been Tom’s age, and the Dutch girl five years his seniorwhen she had carried him over the threshold into manhood.

She had possessed golden hair and the face of an innocent angel, butthe body of a wanton and the nature of a she devil He blinked as hebrought his mind back from twenty-five years ago, and found Tom stillstanding contritely before him.

“Miss Beatty is a passenger on this ship, and therefore in my care,” hesaid.

“You have shamed yourself and me.”

“I am sorry, Father.”

“I don’t think you are.” Hal studied his face, and saw him strugglingwith the truth.

“I mean, I’m sorry I shamed you.” Tom qualified himself “But as nobodybut us knows of it, then your shame need never be made public, sir.”Hal had to stop himself gasping at his son’s err -rontery, but then hefollowed the quick-witted logic.

“You are a barbarian, sir, “he said gravely, and thought, As I was asevery red-blooded young buck is at your age.

“I shall try to improve myself,” Tom promised.

Hal stared at him. He would never have dared address his own father inthat fashion. He had been terrified of his father. This boy was notterrified of him, respected and admired him, perhaps, loved him,certainly, but felt no terror when they stood face to face like this.Have I failed in my duty? Should I have made him fear me? hewondered. No, I am glad of it. I have made him a man.

“Father, I will readily accept whatever punishment you see fit to layon me. But if you tell Caroline’s family of this, you will bringdisgrace upon her and ruin her life.” Tom spoke up with barely atremor in his voice.

“She does not deserve that from us.”

“I agree with you,” Hal admitted reluctantly.

“Do I have your undertaking never to try to be alone with the girlagain while she is on this ship?”

“I

promise you that.” Tom raised his right hand.

“I swear it to you.

“Then we shall not speak of it again, and I will say nothing to Mr.Beatty.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hal felt rewarded when he saw the expression in hisson’s eyes, then had to cough to clear the constriction in his throat.He cast around swiftly for some way to avoid having to pursue thesubject.

“How did you get into the magazine?”

“I borrowed the key from your desk,” Tom answered straight.

“Borrowed?” Hal demanded.

“Yes, sir. I would have returned it when I was finished with it.”

“You have no further need of it now, that I assure you,” Hal told himgrimly. Tom went obediently to the doorway, reached up to the nicheand brought down the key.

“Lock the door,” Hal ordered, and when Tom had done so, “Give it tome.” Tom placed it in his hand.

“I think that is more than enough for one night,” Hal said.

“Go to your mattress now.”

“Goodnight, Father, and I truly am sorry that I have caused youdistress.”

” Hal watched him disappear up the ladder, then grinned ruefully.Perhaps I could have conducted that little skirmish with more aplomb,he thought, but the devil tell me how.

Guy waited expectantly for the uproar that must follow his disclosureof the sinful pair. He expected Caroline to be castigated by herfather, perhaps beaten like a scullery-maid caught stealing, reviled byher mother and sisters, become such an outcast that she would have onlyhim to turn to for comfort.

In his imaginings, she came to him and begged his forgiveness forhaving betrayed the pure, honest love he held for her. She threwherself on his mercy, and promised that if he forgave her she would tryfor the rest of her life make amends to him. The thought of it warmedhim.

and made up for the terrible suffering he had endured since the nightwhen he had first followed Tom down to the lower deck and discoveredthe filth in which he was engaged.

Then he hoped that his father might haul Tom before the ship’s companyand order him placed on the triangle and publicly flogged, though inhis heart he knew that this was too much to hope for. But at least hemight force Tom to apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Beatty and forbid himever again to speak to Caroline or any other member of the family.

Tom would become the ship’s pariah. Perhaps his father might have himremoved from the Seraph when they reached Good Hope, even sent back toEngland in disgrace to suffer the tyranny of Black Billy at HighWeald.

He waited eagerly for some or all of these things to happen. Hischagrin deepened as each day passed as though nothing earth-shatteringhad occurred, as if his emotional turmoil and suffering were of noconsequence.

It was true that for several days thereafter Caroline was quiet andwithdrawn, starting whenever she heard footsteps outside the cabinwhere they laboured together over their books, looking terrified whenshe heard her father’s voice booming out from the deck above, neverglancing in Tom’s direction but keeping her eyes on her books. Guynoticed, with some small satisfaction, that if Tom came on deck whenshe was there with her mother and sisters, she immediately made someexcuse and went down to her own little cabin, staying there alone forhours.

This lasted less than a week, then she rapidly recovered her old poiseand appealing manners. The roses bloomed once more in her cheeks, shelaughed and joked with Master Walsh, and sang as prettily in the duetswith Dorian during the musical recitals. For some time Guy refused totake part in these evenings, pleading ill-health, and he lay miserablyon his pallet on the gundeck listening to the faint sounds of music andlaughter from the deck below. In the end he allowed Master Walsh topersuade him to return with his cittern, although his expression andwhen while he played were heroically tragic.

for Tom, he showed precious little remorse for his treachery anddeceit. True, for a while he made no effort to talk to Caroline oreven catch her attention, but this was nothing new. It was one of hisperfidious ways. Then, during one of their lessons, Guy intercepted anexchange between the pair.

Caroline dropped her chalk to the deck and before Guy could retrieve itfor her she had stooped and groped for it under the table.

The ship rolled and the chalk skittered across the deck towards Tom,who scooped it up and, with a mock-gallant bow, handed it to her, atthe same time taking the opportunity to peer down her decolletage.

Caroline, with dancing eyes, turned so that Master Walsh could not seeher face and stuck out her tongue at Tom. It was not a childlikegesture, but suggestive and inviting, fraught with sexual undertones.

Tom acknowledged it with a leer and a wink that made Caroline blushprettily, and struck Guy like a blow in the face from a clenchedfist.

He brooded on it for the rest on that day, but could think of only oneway in which to try to show Caroline how much she had hurt him, how shehad destroyed his trust in her and shattered his life. He moved hisseat without permission in the classroom. The following day, withoutexplanation, he left the bench beside Caroline and went to the low,uncomfortable stool in the corner furthest from her.

This tactic had unforeseen and undesirable results.

Master Walsh took in the rearrangement of his classroom at a glance,then looked across at Guy.

“Why have you moved?”

“I am more comfortable here,” Guy replied sullenly, without looking athim or Caroline.

“In that case,” Walsh looked across at Tom, “I think it would be betterif Tom moved over beside Mistress Caroline. There I can better keephim under my eye.” Tom needed no second invitation, and for the restof the morning Guy was forced to witness the play between the two.While frowning at his slate, Tom surreptitiously moved one of his greatclodhoppers under the table to touch her elegant satin slipper.

Caroline smiled secretly to herself, as though at something she hadjust read, but made no move to withdraw her foot.

Then, a little later, Tom wrote something on his slate and, when Walshwas busy marking Dorian’s arithmetic, held it so that she could readit. Caroline glanced at what he had written then flushed and tossedher curls as if in annoyance, but her eyes danced. Then she scribbledon her own slate and let Tom read it. He grinned like the lout Guyknew he was.

Guy was consumed with jealous rage, but he was helpless. He was forcedto watch them flirting, teasing each other, and his hatred boiled upuntil he felt he could no longer contain it. He was haunted by theimages of the terrible things he had witnessed in the magazine.

His father’s bulk had screened from him most of the horror of thatnight, and the light had been poor, but the gleam of her white skin andthe tantalizing roundness and soft shapes of her body flashed beforehim again, until he hated her but at the same time ached with longingfor her. Then he saw again his brother, and the unspeakable act he wascommitting, degrading that perfect pure and lovely form.

He was like a pig, like a filthy boar guzzling and snorting at thetrough. He tried to find the most extreme words in his lexicon toportray the depth of his revulsion, but they fell short of his truefeelings. I hate him, he thought fiercely, and then, I will killhim.

He felt a stab of guilt at the thought, but almost immediately thatevaporated to be replaced by a savage joy.

Yes. I will kill him. It was the only way now open to him.

Guy watched for his opportunity. At noon the next day he was strollingwith Mr. Beatty up and down the forecastle while the officers of thewatch, including his father and Tom, made the sunpshot with theirbackstaffs.

Mr. Beatty was explaining to him in detail how the affairs of theCompany were administered in the Orient.

“We have two factories on the Carnatic coast, do you know where thatis, Courtney?”

“Yes, sir.” Guy had studied the huge pile of books and documents thatMr. Beatty had given him to read.

“The Carnatic is that stretch of country in south-east India, betweenEastern Ghats and the Coromandel Coast. It is one of the richesttrading areas in the Orient,” he recited dutifully.

Mr. Beatty nodded.

“I see you are taking your duties seriously,” he said.

Guy tried to keep his mind on the conversation, but his attention keptwandering to the group on the quarter, deck. He saw them confer overthe traverse board at the helm, then Tom scribbled on his slate andshowed the result to his father.

“Well done, lad. I’ll mark it so on the chart.” His father’s voicecarried even against the wind. The commendation irked Guy andincreased his determination to carry through his plan.

His father took a last turn up and down the deck, darting sharp glancesat the set of the sails, and the course in the binnacle. He was animposing figure, tall and broad shouldered, with handsome well-formedfeatures and thick dark hair knotted at the back of his head. Guy feltdaunted at the prospect of having to confront him. At last Hal handedover the deck to the officer of the watch and disappeared down thecompanionway to his own quarters.

“Sir.” Guy turned to Mr. Beatty.

“Will you please excuse me?

There is something of the utmost importance I must discuss with myfather.”

“Of course.” Mr. Beatty waved him away.

“I shall be here when you return. We shall continue our conversationthen. I find it most diverting.” Guy knocked at the door of the sterncabin, and opened it when his father’s voice called from within,”Enter!” He looked up from the ship’s log, in which he was recordingthe noon position, with the plume of his pen poised over the page.

“Yes, lad, what is it?”

Guy took a deep breath.

“I want to challenge Tom to a duel.”

Carefully Hal replaced the goose quill in the inkwell, and rubbed hischin reflectively, before he looked up again.

“What is this about?”

“You know, Father, you were there. It is so disgusting that I cannotbring myself to discuss it, but Tom has given deep offence to MistressCaroline.”

“Ah!” Hal sighed.

“So that’s it.”

As he studied Guy’s taut features silently, he thought, If what thelittle trollop was doing on her back in the powder magazine was takingoffence, then she has a remarkable way of demonstrating it. At last hesaid, “And what is she to you?”

“I love her, Father,” said Guy, with a simple, touching dignity thattook Hal unawares.

He stopped the smile that was already rising to his lips.

“And is the lady aware of your feelings?”

“I know not,” Guy admitted.

“You have not declared them to her? You are not betrothed? You havenot spoken to Mr. Beatty for his daughter’s hand?” Guy faltered, “No,Father, not yet. I am but seventeen and.

“Then I fear that you might have left it a trifle late.” Hal spoke notunkindly, he remembered the agony of young love full well.

“Which, in the circumstances, is probably fortunate.”

“I do not follow your meaning, sir.” Guy drew himself up stiffly.

Now I have to qualify myself to the little prig, Hal thought, withsecret amusement, “Simply put, now that you are painfully aware of thepredilections, shall we say? of Mistress Beatty, you may wish toreview your affection for her. Is she worthy of such noble love asthat which you bear her? Has your brother not done you a service bybringing her true nature, even as forcefully as he did, to yourattention?” He was going to add, “It seems clear that MistressCaroline is a little strumpet, but he bit back the words, thinking, Ido not want to be challenged to a duel by my own son.

“Tom forced her to it,” Guy answered, with grim determination.

“That is why I must challenge him.”

“Did he drag her down to the magazine against her will?”

“Perhaps not, but he enticed her. He seduced her.”

“If you call Tom out, will not the entire ship’s company become awareof what has transpired between Tom and her? Do you want her father tolearn of her little indiscretion? Do you want her to suffer the fullforce of parental disapproval?” Guy looked flustered, and Hal pressedhis advantage.

“The sole reason I have not been more severe in my condemnation of yourbrother’s part in this is to spare the young lady’s reputation andprospects. Do you wish to expose her now?”

“I will not have to tell anyone else why I am doing this, but I want tofight him.”

“Well, then.” Hal gave up.

“If you are determined, and there is nothing more that I can say topersuade you, then fight him you shall. I will arrange a wrestlingbout between the two of you-, “No, Father,” Guy interrupted, “You donot understand.

I wish to challenge him to a duel with pistols. Hal’s expressionhardened instantly.

“What nonsense is this, Guy? Tom is your brother.”

“I hate him said Guy, and his voice quivered with passion.

“Have you considered that, if you call him out, Tom will have thechoice of weapons? He will certainly choose sabres. Would you wish toface Tom with a sabre in his hand? I don’t think I would. Aboli hasturned him into a swordsman who can hold his own in any company. Youwould not last a minute against him. He would humiliate you, or hewould kill you,” Hal told him bluntly and cruelly.

“I don’t care, I want to fight him

Hal lost his temper. He slammed the palm of his hand on the desk withsuch violence that the ink sprayed from its well onto the pages of theship’s log.

“That’s enough! I have tried to reason with you. Now I forbid thisnotion of yours. There will be no duelling on this ship, and certainlynone between my own sons. If there is one more word from you on thesubject, I will have you chained in the forward hold and as soon as wereach Good Hope I will have You transferred to another ship and sentback to England. Do you hear me, boy?” Guy recoiled at the strengthof his father’s anger. He had seldom witnessed such fury from him.However, he tried to stand his ground.

“But, Father-“

“Enough!”

Hal-snapped.

“I have had my say and the subject is closed for all time. Now getabout your duties with Mr. Beatty. I will hear no more of thisnonsense.” The sea changed in colour and mood as the Seraph tackedback and forth, battling her way steadily eastward. The confused anddisordered wave formations of the ocean changed their character andbecame great serried ranks, an army of giants marching in battle arraytowards the land still hidden beneath the horizon “The Cape rollers,”Ned Tyler told Tom and Dorian, and pointed ahead towards the mistedhorizon.

“Cold waters meeting the warm African airs, some call it the Cape ofGood Hope, but others call it the Sea of Fogs and others still the Capeof Storms.” Each day a sense of excitement grew stronger in the ship,which had been so long out of sight of land. The birds came out tomeet them from the distant continent, gannets winging in longformations with slashes of black down their yellow throats, gulls withsnowy breasts and sable mantles following with raucous cries and tinypetrels splattering the surface of the water with webbed feet.

Then they saw the first dark clumps of drifting kelp, torn from therocks by the stormy seas and washed out by the current, waving theirlong sterns and bunched fronds like the tentacles of deformed octo podsVast shoals of small sardine-like fish seethed upon the surface of thecold green waters, and legions of slippery, glistening seals frolickedand fed upon this abundence. As the ship ploughed on they lifted theirheads towards the men on the deck with huge swimming eyes and stiff,cat-like whiskers.

Now each evening Hal shortened sail, so that the ship was barelyholding her own against the swirling green current. At first light hesent Tom and Dorian to the masthead to make sure that no reef or rocklay ahead to claw out the ship’s guts. As soon as he was certain thatthe way ahead was clear, he shook out, the reefs and clapped on allcanvas.

In the middle of the seventy-third morning since leaving PlymouthDorian pointed out to his elder brother the cloud that stood stationarydead ahead above the horizon, while the other heavenly cohorts tumbledand streamed away upon the wind. Both boys studied it for a while,until suddenly it swirled, opened, and they saw a hard blue linebeneath it, straight as a sabre cut.

“Land!” whispered Tom.

“Can it be?” Dorian asked, wonderingly.

“Yes! Yes!” Tom’s voice rose sharply.

“It’s the land!” He leaped to his feet in the swaying perch andpointed ahead with a finger that shook.

“Land!” he shrieked.

“Land ho!” Below him the deck erupted into life, the watch below camestreaming up and joined the scramble into the rigging. Soon everyshroud and yard was clustered with men, hanging like bunches of ripefruit, shouting and roaring with laughter and excitement.

Hal Courtney came rushing up from the stern cabin in his shirtsleeves,clutching the brass barrel of his telescope under his arm, and climbedup to where his sons perched at the masthead. He climbed fast andstrongly, never stopping until he reached the crow’s nest. Tom noticedwith pride that, despite the long climb, his breathing was light andeven.

He lifted the telescope to his eye and studied the blue silhouettethrough the glass, picking out the shadowy seams and folds of ruggedrock.

“Well, Master Thomas, you’ve made your first landfall.” He handed theglass to Tom.

“What do you make of it?” Crouched between the two boys he placed anarm around each of them.

“It’s a mountain!” Tom cried.

“A great mountain, with a flat top.”

“Table Mountain!” Hal agreed. Tom did not yet realize what a feat ofnavigation this was. More than seventy days without sight of land, andhis father had brought them in precisely on the thirty-fourth degree ofsouth latitude.

“Look well upon this land ahead of you,” Hal told them.

He felt a strange sense of prescience as though the curtains thatveiled the future had opened for an instant before his eyes.

“For this is where your destiny lies.”

“Mine also, Father?” Dorian piped.

“Both of you. This is where Fate has led you.” Both boys were silent,rendered speechless for once by their father’s vehemence.

The three sat together at the masthead while the sun reached itszenith.

“No need of sun@ shot today.” Hal chuckled.

“We can leave that to Ned Tyler and All Wilson.

We know where we are, don’t we?” The sun started down the sky, and theSeraph plugged on gamely, beating her way slowly into the rushingsouth-east wind, gaining slowly so that the table-topped mountain rosewith solemn majesty out of the sea, until it seemed to fill the skyahead of them, and they could even make out the white specks of humanhabitation at the foot of the sheer rock cliff.

“We helped build that fort.” Hal pointed it out to them.

“Aboli and Daniel and Ned Tyler and me.”

“Tell us the story!” Dorian pleaded.

“You’ve heard it a hundred times,” Hal protested.

Tom added his entreaties.

“It doesn’t matter, Father.

We want to hear it again.” So, as they sat together in the rigging,Hal related to them the events of the war twenty-five years ago, howthe entire crew of Their grandfather’s ship had been captured by theDutch, and brought in chains to Good Hope. Sir Francis Courtney hadbeen tortured to reveal the whereabouts of the treasure he had takenfrom the Dutch galleons he had captured. When he had stood fastagainst his tormentors, steadfastly enduring the most vile and inhumansuffering on him, the Dutch had taken him out onto the parade groundand publicly executed him.

Hal and the rest of the crew had been condemned to hard labour on thewalls of the Dutch fort, and they had toiled and suffered there forthree long years before they had made good their escape.

“So is that the mountain where Grandfather Francis is buried?”

Tom asked.

“Do you know where his grave is, Father?”

“Aboli knows, for it was he who took the body down from the scaffold inthe night.

Under a staring moon he carried it up the mountain to a secretplace.”

Tom was silent for a while, thinking about the empty sarcophagus in thechapel on the hill behind High Weald with his grandfather’s name gravenupon it. He guessed what his father was planning, but this was not thetime to thrust himself forward. He would bide his time.

The Seraph came level with the small rocky island that guarded theentrance to the bay below the mountain.

Forests of waving black kelp clogged the waters around it and hordes ofglistening seals thronged the rocky shore of Robben Island, so calledbecause rob ben was the Dutch name for seal.

“Now I must go down to see the ship safely into the anchorage,” Haltold them.

“Race you to the deck!” Dorian cried, as he sprang into the rigging.Tom gave him a lead, then flew after him.

Their feet danced over the rat-lines, and they dropped as thoughfalling free, but Tom was soon narrowing the gap between them until,when he was almost level, he slowed to let Dorian reach the deck a footahead of him.

“I won! I won!” Dorian exulted.

Tom ruffled his shining coppery curls.

“Don’t gloat,” he said, and pushed him away. Then he looked at thesmall group in the Seraph’s bows. Mr. and Mrs. Beatty stood therewith all their daughters, Guy with them. They were animated andexcited, pointing out to each other the landmarks of this famousheadland, next to Cape Agulhas, the most southerly point of the Africanlandmass.

“They call the white cloud sitting on top of the mountain thetablecloth.” Guy was lecturing the group.

“And that little hill there to the south of the settlement is calledLion’s Head. You can see the shape of it. “As always he had studiedthe navigation books and knew all the details.

“Guy, why don’t you go to the masthead?” Tom called to him, notunkindly.

“You’ll get a much better view from there.” Guy glanced coldly at him,”Thank you, but I’m quite happy where I am.” He stepped a littlecloser to Caroline, and began to turn away.

“No need to be afraid,” Tom assured him.

“It’s quite safe.” Guy rounded on him.

“Are you calling me a coward?” His face was suffused with blood andhis voice cracked with indignation.

“That’s not what I said.” Tom laughed, and turned on his heel to go tothe helm.

“But take it any way you wish,” he flung over his shoulder.

Guy glared at him, and mortification flooded over him.

Tom had disparaged his courage, then dismissed him casually in front ofthe Beatty family and Caroline. Something snapped in his mind, andbefore he truly realized what he was about, he launched himself downthe deck at a full run.

“Tom, look out!” Dorian yelled, but he was too late.

Tom was turning to protect himself but Guy crashed into him with allhis weight and momentum while he was balanced on only one foot. Itsent him reeling against the gunwale, with such force that the wind wasdriven from his lungs, Guy leaped onto his back and threw a full arm-loaround his neck. All the boys had taken regular wrestling instructionfrom Big Daniel, and though Guy was slow at maladroit at the sport, heknew all the holds and throw and now that he had this killer grip hewas making the most of it. He braced himself with one knee in Tom’sback, and used the counter-thrust of one arm against the crook of theother, to block off Tom’s windpipe and put strain on his spine so thatat any moment the vertebrate must snap. Tom reeled about the decktearing at Guy’s arms with desperate fingers, gradually weakening, hismouth wide open as he gasped for air.

The crew came running to watch the show, hooting with excitement,sTorming and shouting encouragement to their favourites. Then, abovethe clamour, a bull voice roared, “Back throw, Klebe,” and Tom reactedinstantly.

Instead of resisting the hold that was dragging him backwards, hechanged direction, throwing all his weight and strength into a backsomersault. Guy found himself hurled backwards with such force that hehad no choice but to release his grip and fling back both arms to breakhis fall, otherwise his ribs would have been stove in.

Tom turned in the air like a cat, and was on top of his twin before hehit the deck. As they crashed together onto the planks he drove downwith both elbows and knees into Guy’s chest and belly.

laid Guy screamed like a girl and tried to double up to clutch hisinjured stomach, but Tom was sitting astride him, pinning him to thedeck. He bunched his fist and took a full back swing to drive it intoGuy’s face.

“Tom, no!” It was his father’s voice, and Tom froze. The wild angerfaded slowly from his eyes. He lowered his fist and stood up.

He looked down contemptuously at Guy.

“Next time,” he warned, “You won’t get off so lightly.” He turnedaway. Behind him, Guy came to his feet, still clutching his stomachand braced himself against one of the cannon.

The watchers drifted away, disappointed that the show had ended sotamely.

“TomV Guy called, and Tom looked back.

“I’m sorry,” Guy said.

“Let’s shake hands. Let’s be friends.” He staggered towards hisbrother, looking contrite and abject, his right hand outstretched.

Immediately Tom grinned and strode back. He seized the profferedhand.

“I don’t know why we ever fought,” he said.

“I do,” Guy told him, and the pathetic expression on his face changedin an instant to one of blackest hatred.

Quick as a viper he drew the dagger from the sheath on his belt.

The blade was six inches of bright steel with a needle point. He heldit at the level of Tom’s navel and thrust hard, at the same time usinghis grip on his right hand to jerk Tom towards him with all hisstrength, trying to pull him on to the dagger.

“I hate you!” he screamed at Tom, spittle spraying from his lips inthe sunlight.

“I’ll kill you for what you’ve done.” Tom’s eyes flew wide with frightand he twisted violently aside. The point of the dagger scored hisflank, slit open his shirt and ploughed a shallow furrow in the fleshbeneath. Instantly the blood burst out, soaking the cotton andflooding down his leg.

Caroline screamed in a high ringing voice, “You’ve killed him!” and aroar went up from the crew as they raced back to watch the sport.

Guy knew that he had bungled the stroke, and he thrust and slasheddesperately at Tom’s face and chest. But Tom danced and dodged eachthrust until, suddenly and unexpectedly, he leaped forward and slammedthe heel of his left hand up under Guy’s chin. His twin’s head snappedback and he let go his death grip on Tom’s right hand.

Guy staggered back against the gunwale, blood oozing from the corner ofhis mouth where he had bitten through his tongue. He still held thedagger and pointed it at Tom’s face, snarling, “I’ll kill you!”

His teeth were stained with his own blood.

“I’m going to kill you, you filthy swine.” With one hand Tom massagedhis injured throat, but with the other he drew his own dagger from itssheath.

“You make a fine speech, brother,” he said grimly.

“Now let’s see you do the killing you boast of” He went after Guy,right foot leading, moving on his toes, the dagger weaving in his handlike an erect cobra, his eyes fastened on his brother’s face. Guyretreated before him.

Hal moved forward quickly, opened his mouth to shout at them to stop,but before he could utter a sound Aboli was beside him and gripped hisupper arm.

“No Gundwanel” His voice was low but urgent, lost to all but Hal in thescreams of the women and the howls of the men.

“Never try to separate fighting dogs. You will only give one theadvantage.”

“In God’s name, Aboli, these are my sons: “They are no longer children,Gundwane. They are men. Treat them like men.” Tom jumped forward,the point of his dagger held low, and feinted for Guy’s belly. Guy ranbackwards, almost tripping over his own feet. Tom circled out to hisright, and Guy backed away towards the bows. The men there scatteredto give them space in which to fight, and Hal saw what Tom was doing:he was driving Guy as a sheep, dog moves the flock, shepherding himinto the bows.

Tom’s expression was cold and set, with no sign of emotion, but hiseyes glowed as he watched his twin’s face.

Hal had fought -many men, and he knew that only the most dangerousswordsman had that cold menace in their gaze when they closed in forthe kill. He knew that Tom was no longer seeing a brother but an enemyto be destroyed. He had become a killer, and Hal was afraid as he hadseldom been for himself. He was afraid for Guy, but he knew that Aboliwas right. There was nothing he could do to stop this now. He couldnot call off Tom, it would be like trying to call off a huntingleopard.

Tom was still bleeding from the cut across his flank.

The slash in his shirt flapped open to show the white skin beneath andthe wound like a smiling mouth, from which the red tide oozed. Itdripped onto the deck, and into his shoes so that they squelched witheach step he took. But he was unconscious of the injury: all he sawwas the man who had inflicted it.

Guy came up against the rail. With his left hand he groped behind him,testing the oak timbers. The realization that he was trapped dawned onhim, and the wild anger faded from his eyes, replaced at once by fear.He glanced quickly about him, seeking an avenue of escape.

Then his fingers touched the shaft of one of the pikes in the rackbelow the gunwale, and the fear dissolved like sea mist at the comingof the sun. A fierce joy lit his features as he dropped the dagger,and snatched the pike from the rack.

In the face of the heavy spear with its barbed steel head, Tom droppedback a pace. Guy grinned at him, his mouth a bloody gash.

“Now we shall see,” he gloated, lowered the pike head and charged.

Tom sprang back and Guy wheeled after him, thrusting with the longshaft, well out of the reach of the dagger in Tom’s right hand. Hegathered himself and charged again. Tom dropped the dagger, hurledhimself aside to escape the gleaming steel point, then leaped backbefore Guy could round on him and seized the oak shaft.

They wrestled back and forth along the deck, with the shaft betweenthem, thrusting and pushing, grunting and bleeding, mouthing garbledoaths and insults at each other.

Eventually Tom pushed Guy against the side of the ship until they werelocked together, face to face and chest to chest, with the pike shaftbetween them.

Slowly Tom forced the shaft up until it was in line with his brother’sthroat, then put all his weight and strength behind it.

Guy’s back arched as he bent over the rail, the thick oak shaft underhis chin.

Fear was in his eyes again: he could hear the water gurgling along theship’s side beneath him and his toes left the deck.

He was going over, and he was no swimmer, water terrified him.

Tom’s feet were firmly planted, but in a puddle of his own blood,slippery as oil. His feet shot out from under him, and he went downheavily on the deck. Guy was free, and he staggered to the shrouds onthe foremast, gasping for breath, sweat soaking his shirt. He caughtat the shrouds for support, and looked back over his shoulder.

Tom rolled to his feet, and stooped to pick up his dagger, then wentafter Guy like a charging leopard.

“Stop him!” Guy screamed in terror.

“Make him stop!” But the clamour of the watchers was deafening, risinghigher still with wild excitement as Tom ran in with the dagger in hishand and madness in his eyes.

Guy turned and, with the strength of panic, leaped into the shrouds andbegan to climb hand over hand.

Below him Tom paused only long enough to clamp the dagger between histeeth, then followed him up.

The audience on deck stood with heads thrown back.

None had ever seen Guy in the rigging before, and even Hal was amazedat how fast he moved. Tom could gain on him only gradually.

Guy reached the yard and scrambled onto it. He looked down andexperienced a moment of giddy vertigo.

Then he saw Tom’s face below him, coming closer as he raced up therat-lines. He saw the merciless set of his mouth and the-blood thatsplattered his face and soaked his shirt. Desperately he looked up themast, but his spirit quailed at the height to the topmast and he knewthat with every foot he climbed the advantage passed more firmly intoTom’s hands. There was only one way for him to go, and he crawledpainfully out along the high yard.

He could hear Tom coming after him, and the sound drove him on.

He could not look down at the rushing green water so far below him. Hewas sobbing with terror, but still he crawled on until he had reachedthe end of the yard. He looked back over his shoulder.

Tom was a pace behind him. Guy was trapped and helpless. Tom checkedand sat upright on the swinging yard. He took the blade from betweenhis teeth, he was a ghastly sight, all splashed with blood, his facewhite and set with rage, and the shining weapon was in his hand.

“Please, Tom,” Guy waited.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He threw up both hands to shield hisface, and lost his precarious balance on the yard. He teetered wildly,windmilling his arms, then leaned further and further outwards until,with a wild shriek, he went over, twisting and turning in the air,dropping free until he hit the water in an untidy tangle of limbs andwent deep under.

Tom sat rigid as the fog of killing rage cleared from his brain, andlooked down in horror at what he had caused.

Guy was gone, there was no sign of him below the green surface, no headbobbing in the ship’s long creaming wake.

He can’t swim! The dreadful reality struck Tom so hard that he reeledon his perch. I’ve done it. I’ve killed my own brother. The biblicalhorror of the deed flashed through him. He leaped to his feet, stood.tall on the high yard, and peered back along the wake.

Then he saw Guy come to the surface, his arms waving and his criesfaint and plaintive as those of a wounded gull.

He heard his father’s orders to the helm bellowed from the deckbelow.

“Heave her to! Launch a boat! Man overboard!” Before the ship couldeven respond to her helm and turn her bows up into the wind, Tomgathered himself and sprang far out from the yard. Head first, armsstretched far out above his head, he arced over, his legs straight outbehind him. He struck the surface of the ocean cleanly, and went sodeep that the dark waters closed around him and crushed his chest.

Then he turned and struck up towards the surface. He burst outwaist-high, the breath whistlin@ in his throat. The ship was past him,already swinging it’s bows round and into the wind.

He looked back along the path of the wake and saA nothing, but still hestruck out overarm, swimming with all his strength, churning the watersbehind him, hardly feeling the sting of salt in the long shallow wounddown his flank. He judged roughly how far back he had last seen Guy’shead, paused, and trod water, panting for breath, looking about him.There was no sign of his brother.

Oh, God, if he drowns I will never… He did not finish the thought butsucked in a mighty breath, doubled over until his head was pointed atthe bottom of the sea, kicked his feet high in the air and slidsmoothly below the surface.

With eyes wide open he saw only the green, shot through with bars ofsunlight, and swam downwards until his lungs craved air. He must turnback to breathe.

Then he saw something below him, a blur of white and blue, Guy’s shirtand jacket, turning end over end, lifeless as a piece of flotsam.

With aching lungs Tom swam on down until he touched his brother’sshoulder. He seized the collar of his jacket and turned for thesurface. Although he kicked out strongly, the drag of the limp bodyhampered him. The seconds stretched out into an infinity of pain.

His chest burned and the need to breathe consumed him.

He felt the strength going out of his legs. His hold on Guy’s collarslackened and he felt him slip away. The greenness filled his head andhis vision faded, stars of light exploding silently in the darkness.

Be strong! he screamed soundlessly at himself, then forced his fingersto close tighter on Guy’s jacket, and willed his legs to keepkicking.

The light grew stronger, the green faded and suddenly his head burstout into the air and the sunlight. He drew a breath that filled hischest to the point of bursting, then another, honey-sweet, he felt itpervade his body and the strength flood back. He reached down, andgrabbed a handful of Guy’s thick, sodden locks and pulled his head outinto the air.

Guy was drowned. There was no life in him. His eyes were open, blindand staring. His face was waxen.

“Breathe! For the love of God, breathe! Tom shouted, into his white,still face and he seized him with both arms around the chest andsqueezed. Aboli had shown him this trick, and it worked. The dead,state air gushed out of Guy, mingled with gouts of sea-water andvomit.

It spewed into Tom’s face and he released his grip. Guy’s chestexpanded reflexively, sucking in air through his gaping mouth. Twicemore Tom squeezed the water out of him, fighting to hold his face clearof the surface.

With the third breath, Guy coughed and choked and he struggled tobreathe of his own accord. His eyes blinked, Still unseeing, thenslowly focusing. He was breathing but with great difficulty, rackedevery few seconds with paroxysms of coughing, but slowly expressionreturned to his eyes.

“I hate you,” he whispered into Tom’s face.

“I still hate you. I will always hate you.”

“Why, Guy, why?”

“You should have let me drown, for one day I will kill you.

“Why?” Tom repeated.

“You know,” Guy gasped.

“You know why!” Neither twin had heard the boat approaching, but HalCourtney shouted to them now, from close at hand, “Hold hard, lads! I’mhere.” The crew of the longboat were pulling with a will and, at thetiller, Hal steered them in close. At his order they shipped theiroars and strong hands reached down to seize both boys and drag themfrom the water.

Dr. Reynolds was waiting at the rail as Guy was lifted aboard theSeraph. Tom stood next to his father on the deck, and watched,strangely forlorn, as the surgeon’s mates carried his brother below.

“He hates me, Father,” he whispered.

“Let’s see to that cut, lad,” Hal said gruffly.

Tom glanced down without interest at his wound. The sea-water hadreduced the bleeding to a slow weep.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“A

scratch.” Then he looked up again at Hal.

“He hates me. It was the first thing he said when I pulled him to thesurface. What am I to do?”

“Guy will get over it.” Hal ripped open Tom’s shirt to get at thedagger cut.

“He will forget and forgive.”

“No, he will not.” Tom shook his head.

“He said he will always hate me. He is my brother.

Help me, Father.

What can I do?” Hal could give him no answer. He knew all too wellthe younger twin’s obstinacy and tenacity: they were at once hisstrength and his weakness. He knew that Tom was right. Guy wouldnever forgive him.

The Monsoon

It was the most beautiful landfall in all the oceans Hal had eversailed. The mountain was a towering wall against the sky, and the windsweeping over the top frothed like boiling milk into a soft pulsatingcloud, touched with shades of oyster shell and pink pearl, coloursborrowed from the lowering sun. The slopes of the mountain below therocky ramparts were green with forests, and the beaches were white,rimmed with a frosting of surf.

Such beauty should have delighted Hal, yet every memory that crowdedback upon him was touched with pain and horror. The walls of thecastle were clear to see from this range, and on the crenellatedbattlements the cannon glared out at them, their muzzles dark, emptyeye, sockets. In the dungeons beneath those walls he had lived outthree cruel Cape winters, and he shivered now at the memory of the coldin his bones. It was on those walls that Hal had laboured until theskin and flesh were torn from his palms, and he reeled with fatigue.

It was on the builders” scaffolding that he had seen so many good mendie, and there that he had made the difficult transition from boy toman.

He lifted the telescope to his eye to survey the other ships at anchorin the bay. He was amazed at their numbers. He counted twenty-threesail, all big trading vessels, Dutchmen for the most part.

He spotted one Englishman among them, another East Indiaman from thelook of her, but he saw with disappointment that she was not the Yeomanof York. There was no sign of his companion in the anchorage.

Without lowering the telescope, he swept the waters of the bay towardsthe land. His eye stopped on the open parade below the castle’s walls,and the memories of his father’s execution flooded back to him in alltheir stark, terrible detail. He had to force them from his mind to beable to concentrate on bringing the Seraph into the anchorage.

“We will anchor out of range of the guns in the fort, Mr. Tyler.”

He gave the order, and there was no need to qualify it. Ned knew hismind, and his expression was also sombre. Perhaps he too was relivingthose days of horror as he put up the helm, and gave the order to takein the canvas.

The anchor went down with a splash that wet the forecastle, and thecable smoked out through the hawsehole. Seraph snubbed up hard, andthen pirouetted gracefully with her head to the wind and becamequiescent, transformed from a vital, living, straining sea creature tosomething lovely and tranquil as a drifting swan.

The crew lined the Seraph’s bare yards and hung in the shrouds, staringat the land, shouting comment, speculation and question as they watchedthe bum-boats rowing out to meet them. Seamen called this fair capethe Tavern of the Seas. It had been colonized over fifty years beforeto serve as a victualling station for the fleet of the Dutch East IndiaCompany, and the bum-boats were laden with all the things that a crewcraved after three months at sea.

Hal called his officers to him.

“Watch that no strong drink is smuggled into the ship,” he warned AllWilson.

“The rum-sellers will try to slip it in through the gun ports.

We will have half the men puking drunk by nightfall if you let themhoodwink you.”

“Aye, Captain.” The fourth officer touched his cap.

As a man Of abstinence, he was a good choice for the duty.

“Aboli, place men armed with cutlass and pistol at the list rail.

We don’t want those thieving rogues coming aboard to strip the shipbare, nor whores plying their trade on the gundeck. Otherwise thedaggers will be out-” He had almost said, “again,” but stoppedhimself.

He did not want to remind them of the conflict between his sons.

Mr-Fisher, you will do the bargaining with the bum boats you’re good atthat.” He could rely on Big Daniel to get his shilling’s worth, and tocheck every piece of fruit and vegetable that came aboard.

“Mr. Walsh will assist you and pay the boatmen.” Walsh had manyduties, from schoolmaster to writer and purser.

The officers scattered to the tasks he had set them, and Hal strode tothe rail. He looked down into the bum boats as they came alongside.They were laden to the gunwales with fresh produce:

potatoes with the earth still on them, green cabbages and apples, figsand pumpkins, sides of fresh red mutton and plucked chickens. The crewwould gorge themselves this evening. Saliva squirted from under Hal’stongue as he looked down upon this cornucopia. This hunger for freshfood was a consuming lust that overcame every seaman at the end of along voyage. Some of his men were already leaning out over the sideand bargaining for the wares. Those with money paid as much aludicrous price.

as a ha’ penny for a single fresh potato.

They were frantic with greed, wiping the clinging earth off the fatwhite tubers against the skirts of their petticoats as though they wereapples, then wolfing them down raw, crunching the astringent whiteflesh with every evidence of enjoyment.

Dr. Reynolds came to Hal’s side.

“Well, sir, it’s a relief to be in port again. Twenty-six cases ofscurvy on board already, but we will see those cured before we sailagain.

It’s a miracle and a mystery, but the air from the land heals even theworst cases, men who have lost their teeth and are too weak to stand.”He handed Hal a ripe apple.

“I stole a couple of these from Master Walsh’s stock.” Hal bit into itand had to close his eyes in ecstasy.

“The food of the gods,” he said, as the juices flooded his mouth andslid, like sweet oil, down his throat.

“My father used to say it was lack of fresh food that caused thescurvy,” he told the surgeon.

and took a huge bite. Dr. Reynolds smiled pityingly, .

“Well, Captain, sir, no reflection on your sainted father, for all theworld knows he was a great man, but ship’s biscuit and salt beef isfood enough goo for any seaman.” Reynolds wagged his head wisely.

“You do hear some marvelous theories from men not trained in the hysicarts, but it’s the sea air that causes scurvy, and nothing else.”

“How are my two sons, Doctor?” Hal asked, changing the subjectadroitly.

“Thomas is a healthy young animal and, fortunately, little damage.

the wound was not deep and I closed it with cat-gut stitches, and itwill be healed in next to no time, that is if it does not mortify.

“What of Guy?”

“I have sent him to the bunk in your cabin.

His lungs were flooded with salt water, and that sometimes breedsmorbid humours. But in a few days he, too, should be none the worsefor his ducking.

“I am thankful to you, Doctor.” At that moment there was a commotionamidships.

Aboli had picked out one of the Hottentot lads, who had carried a crateof fruit up the ladder from the bum-boat alongside, and grabbed hisshoulder.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” he challenged.

“Or are you a boy?” His victim had a heart-shaped face, flawlessgolden skin and slanted Asiatic eyes. He reacted to Aboli’s challengewith a flood of high pitched abuse, in a strange, tongue-clickinglanguage, and struggled in Aboli’s great hands. Laughing, Aboli jerkedthe hat from his head, and a thick black mane fell onto the fellow’sshoulders.

Then Aboli lifted him high with one hand, and with the other jerked hisbreeches down around his knees.

The crew let out a howl of delight as a plump yellow bottom wasrevealed and shapely thighs, between which nestled the dark, fimry,triangular badge of womanhood.

High in the air, the girl rained blows with both hands on Aboli’s baldhead, and when this had no effect on him, she clawed at his eyes withlong, sharp fingernails, and kicked wildly at him with both feet.

Aboli walked to the ship’s rail and tossed her over the side aseffortlessly as if she had been a stray kitten. Her companions hoistedher back into the bum-boat, streaming water, hoisting her breeches, andstill shrieking abuse at the seamen who jeered at her from the rail.

Hal turned away to hide his smile, and walked across to where Mr.Beatty stood with his family around him at the foot of the main mast,all of them gazing across “at the shore and animatedly discussing thisnew land. Hal lifted his hat to the ladies, and Mrs. Beatty beamedwith pleasure.

In contrast, Caroline avoided his eyes. She had been shame, faced inhis company ever since the night in the magazine.

Hal turned back to Mr. Beatty.

“We will be anchored here for many days, possibly weeks. I must awaitthe arrival of the Yeoman, and there is much else I must see to. I’msure that you will want to take your family ashore, to give the ladiesan opportunity to escape from the confines of their cabins and tostretch their legs. I know that there are comfortable lodgings to behad in the town.”

“What a capital idea, sir!” Beatty responded enthusiastically.

“I’m sure it is no hardship to you, Sir Hal, but for us land@ dwellersthe confined spaces on board become irksome.” Hal nodded agreement.

“I shall send young Guy ashore with you. I’m sure you will want yoursecretary at hand.”

He was pleased to have achieved his most urgent purposes: first toseparate Tom from Guy, and second to separate Tom from Caroline. Bothsituations could blow up like a powder-keg at any moment.

“I will have you conveyed ashore as soon as the boats are launched,although it is perhaps too late this evening.” He glanced at thesetting sun.

“You might wish to pack your chests now and wait until tomorrow to goashore.”

“You are very kind, Captain.” Beatty bowed.

When you have an opportunity you might be good enough to make acourtesy call upon the Dutch governor, van der Stel is his name, Simonvan der Stel. I will be much occupied with the ship’s management, andyou will be doing me a great service by undertaking this duty on my andthe Company’s behalf” Beatty bowed again.

“With the greatest of pleasure, Sir Hal.” It was over twenty yearssince Hal had escaped with his crew from imprisonment in the castledungeons, and it was unlikely that anyone in the settlement wouldrecognize him, but he was a convicted felon, with a life sentencehanging over his head. During the escape from the castle he and hismen had been forced to kill many of their gaolers and pursuers in selfdefence but the Dutch might see it in a different light. If he wererecognized he might find himself before a Dutch tribunal charged withthose crimes and facing the prospect of serving out his life sentenceor even paying for his crimes on the gallows, as his father had. Aformal call on the governor of the colony would not be a wise move. Much better to send Beatty.

Then again, he must gather all the news available in the settlement.Every ship returning from the Orient, no matter its nationality, calledhere at the Cape. He could not hope for better intelligence than wasreadily available in the taverns and bawdy-houses of the waterfront. Heexcused himself from the Beatty family and called Big Daniel and Abolito him.

“As soon as it’s dark, we’re going ashore. Have one of the boats madeready.” he moon was four days from full. The mountain loomed dark andmonstrous over them, its gullies and bluffs touched with silver, asthey followed the shimmering path of moonlight to the beach.

Hal sat between Aboli and Big Daniel in the stern sheets. All threewere muffled with cloaks and hats, and they carried pistols and swordsunder their cloaks. The rowers were also armed, twelve good men underAll Wilson.

They came into the beach on one of the Atlantic swells, hissing overthe sands on the foaming crest. As soon as the wave began to retreat,the rowers jumped out and dragged the longboat high and dry.

“Keep the men under your eye, All. Don’t let them sneak away to lookfor drink and women,” Hal warned Wilson.

“We may be in a hurry when we return.” They trudged together throughthe soft beach sand, and as soon as they found the path they set outfor the huddle of buildings below the fort. Some of the windoWs showedthe glimmer of lanterns, and as they drew nearer they could hear music,singing and drunken shouts.

“It has changed little since our last visit,” Aboli grunted.

“Trade is still good,” Big Daniel agreed, and stooped into the door ofthe first tavern on the edge of the settlement.

The light was so dim and the fog of tobacco smoke so dense that it tooka few seconds for their vision to adjust.

The room was full of dark figures, and the reek of sweating bodies,rank pipe smoke and bad liquor. The noise was deafening, and as theypaused in the entrance, a seaman reeled past them. He staggered to theedge of the sand dunes, dropped to his knees and threw up loudly andcopiously. Then he toppled forward and fell face down in the puddle ofhis own vomit.

The three men stepped together into the room and pushed their waythrough the throng towards the far corner, where there was a trestletable and a bench on which another comatose drunk sprawled. Big Daniellifted him as though he were a sleeping child and laid him gently onthe cow-dung floor, Aboli swept the clutter of empty tankards andplatters of half-eaten food from the table, while Hal took a seat onthe bench with his back to the wall to survey the dim room and the menwho crowded it.

They were mostly sailors, though there were a few troopers, in theirblue jackets and white cross-belts, from the castle garrison.

Hal listened to their talk, but it was a drunken babble of wildboasting, cursing and mindless laughter.

“Dutchmen,” Aboli murmured, as he took his seat on the bench besideHal. They listened for a while. As a matter of survival all three hadlearned to speak the language during their captivity.

A group of five tough-looking sailors sat at the table beside them.They seemed less drunk than the others, but they were speaking loudlyto make themselves heard above the din. Hal listened for a while butheard nothing of interest. A Hottentot serving-wench brought themfoaming pots of beer.

Daniel tasted his and made a face.

“Piss! Still warm from the pig,” he said, but took another swig.

Hal did not touch his, because he had just heard the Dutchman at thenext table say, “We will be lucky if the devil-damned convoy everleaves this pestilent port.” The mention of a convoy intrigued Hal.

Traders usually sailed alone. Only in times of war or other emergencydid they form convoys and place themselves under the protective guns ofmen-o’-war. He leaned forward to hear the rest.

“Ja. I for one will not weep if I never drop anchor again in this nestof black whores and thieving Hottentots.

I have spent nearly the last guilder in my purse, and all I have toshow for it is a sore head and a raw pizzle.”

“I say the skipper should take his chances and sail alone. The hellwith this bastard Jangiri and his heathen crew! Die LuiPard is a matchfor any son of the prophet.

We don’t need to sit around here until van Rutyers is ready tonursemaid us.” Hal’s pulse spurted at the name Jangiri. It was thefirst time he had heard it outside Nicholas Childs’s cabinet.

“Who is van Rutyers?” Big Daniel asked quietly, and took another pullat his poisonous beer. He, too, had been eavesdropping on the Dutchsailors.

“The Dutch admiral of the Ocean of the Indies,” Hal told him.

“He is based in the Dutch factory at Batavia.” He slid a silvershilling over the dirty tabletop.

“Buy them a pot of beer, Big Danny, and listen to what they have totell you,” he ordered, but as Daniel stood up from the bench he foundhimself confronted by a woman.

She stood, arms akimbo, and looked up at him with a seductive grin thatlacked only a few teeth.

“Come to the back room with me, you big bull,” she told him, and I willgive you something you’ve never had before.”

“What have you got, my darling?” Big Daniel showed her his bare gumsin a wide grin. Teprosy?” Hal surveyed the drab swiftly, and realizedthat she could be a better source of information than any drunkenDutchman.

“Shame on you, Master Daniel,” he said, “that you don’t recognize alady of quality when you see one.” The woman ogled Hal, taking in thecut and quality of his coat, the silver buttons on his waistcoat.

“Sit you down, your ladyship,” Hal invited her. She giggled andpreened like a girl, pushing straggling grey strands back from her facewith grimy fingers whose nails were broken and black-rimmed.

“Take a little something, for your throat’s sake. Daniel, get the ladya glass of gin.

No, no, let us not be mean. Get a full bottle.” The woman fluffed outher grubby petticoats, and dropped onto the bench opposite Hal.

“You’re a real prince, u are.” She peered into his face.

“And handsome as the yo devil, too.”

“What is your name, my beauty?” Hal asked.

“Mevrouw Maakenberg,” she answered.

“But you may call me Hannah.”

Daniel returned with a square bottle of gin and a tumbler. He pouredit to the brim. Hannah lifted it with her little finger raised andtook a ladylike sip. She did not wince at the ferocity of the palespirit.

“So, Hannah, Hal smiled at her, and she wriggled like a puppy under hisgaze, “there is nothing that goes on here at Good Hope that you don’tknow about, is there, now?”

“That’s God own truth, if I say it myself.” She showed the gaps in herteeth again.

“Anything you want to know, sir, you ask old Hannah.” She was as goodas her word.

For the next hour Hal sat opposite her and listened to what she had totell him.

He found that behind the raddled face and bleary gin sodden eyes lurkedthe remnants of a once bright intelligence.

It seemed that she knew the sexual mores and leanings of every male andfemale in the settlement, from Governor van der Stel to thedock-workers and transport drivers. She could tell them the price ofall, the produce in the market, from potatoes to mampoer, the fierypeach brandy made by the burghers. She knew which slaves were forsale, the prices their owners were asking and what they would accept.

She knew the sailing dates of every ship in the bay, her captain’sname, her cargo and every port of call on her route. She could givethem an account of each ship’s latest voyage, the hazards and hardshipsshe had encountered.

“Tell me, Hannah, why there are so many VOC ships lying in the bay?” Hewas referring to the Verenigde Oostindische Compagnie, the Dutch EastIndia Company.

“Those are all outward bound for Batavia. Governor van der Stel hasordered that all ships sailing eastward must sail in convoy under theprotection of warships.”

“Why, Hannah, would he want to do that?”

“Because of Jangiri. You have heard of Jangiri, have you not?”

Hal shook his head.

“No. Who is he, or it?”

“The Sword of the Prophet that’s what he calls himself. But he’snothing more than a bloody pirate, worse than Franky Courtney his selfthat’s what he is.”

Hal exchanged a glance with Aboli. Both men were taken aback to havehis father’s name thrown at them so carelessly, and to know that SirFrancis and his exploits were st ill so well remembered hereabouts.

Hannah had not noticed their reaction. She took a gulp of her gin, andlaughed raucously.

“In the last six months three VOC ships have disappeared from the Oceanof the Indies. Everybody knows it’s Jangiri’s doing. They do say he’scost the Company a million guilders already.” Her eyes lit up withwonder.

“A million guilders! I did not know there was that much money in theworld.” She leaned across the table to stare into Hal’s face. Herbreath smelt like a dung-heap, but Hal did not recoil. He did not wantto risk giving her offence.

“You look like somebody I know.” She puzzled over it for a moment.

“Were you ever here at Good Hope before?

I never forget a face.” Hal shook his head and Big Daniel chuckled.

“Perhaps, missus, if he showed you his pink end you would recognize itfor certain, better than his face, that is.” Hal frowned at him but bythis time the gin bottle was half empty and Hannah cackled.

“I’d pay a million guilders for sight of that!” She leered at Hal.

“Do you want to come in the back with Hannah? There’ll be no chargefor it, such a lovely man you are.”

“Next time,” Hal promised her.

“I do know you,” she insisted.

“When you smile like that, I know you. It’ll come back to me. I neverforget a face.”

“Tell me more about Jangiri,” he suggested to divert her, but she waslosing her wits now.

She refilled her tumbler and held up the empty bottle.

“Everyone I love goes off and leaves me,” she said, tears flooding hereyes.

“Even the bottle don’t stay with me long.”

“Jangiri,” Hal insisted.

“Tell me about Jangiri.”

“He’s a bloody Mussulman pirate.

He burns Christian sailors just to hear them scream.”

“Where does he come from? How many ships does he command? Whatstrength are they?”

“One of my friends was on a ship that Jangiri chased but didn’t catch,”she slurred.

“He’s a lovely boy. He wants to marry me and take me home toAmsterdam.”

“Jangiri?” Big Daniel asked.

“No, you stupid clod of earth.” Hannah bristled.

“My boyfriend.

I forget his name, but he wants to marry me. He saw Jangiri. He waslucky to escape that bloodthirsty heathen.”

“Where did this happen, Hannah? When did your friend run acrossJangiri?”

“Not two months past, off the Fever Coast it was, near the isle ofMadagascar.”

“What force did jangiri have?” Hal pressed.

“Many great ships,” Hannah said uncertainly.

“A fleet of warships. My friend’s ship fled.” Hal realized that shewas floundering. There was little more she could tell him ofimportance.

But he asked a last question.

“Do you know which route the VOC convoy takes on its way to Batavia?”South,” she said.

“They say far south.

I’ve heard that they keep well clear of Madagascar and the islands, forthat’s where Jangiri skulks, the filthy heathen.”

“When will the convoy in the bay sail?” Hal asked.

But she was gone into the fogs of alcohol. jangiri is the devil,” shewhispered.

“He is the Antichrist, and all true Christians should dread him Slowlyher head sagged forward, then flopped face down into the puddle of ginon the tabletop.

Daniel took a hank of her greasy grey hair and lifted her head to lookinto her eyes.

“The lady has left us,” he said, and let it drop again to hit the woodwith a crack.

She rolled off the bench and lay on the floor, snoring loudly.

Hal took a silver ten-guilder coin from the purse on his sword-belt andpushed it down Hannah’s bodice.

“That’s more than she’ll earn on her back in a month of Sundays,” BigDaniel grunted.

“But well worth it.” Hal stood up.

“That’s better intelligence than we could get from Admiral van Ruytershimself.” On the beach All Wilson was waiting for them with thelongboat. As they rowed back across the bay to the Seraph Hal satquietly, digesting all the news Hannah had given him, and weaving itinto his plans. By the time he had climbed the rope-ladder to the maindeck he knew what he had to do.

Some things seem clear from what Daniel’s ladyfriend told us lastnight.” Hal looked around at the intent faces of his officers, whowere crowded into the stern cabin.

“The first is that jangiri has his nest somewhere along here.” Halleaned over the chart spread on his desk and placed his finger on theoutline of Madagascar.

“From here he can harry the trade routes to the south and east with thegreatest ease.”

Aboli grunted, “Finding his sally-port will be the trick.

He does not have to use one of the big islands as his base.

There are hundreds of other smaller ones, scattered over two thousandleagues from the Oman coast in the Arabian Sea to the Mascarene islandsin the south.”

“You are right.” Hal nodded.

“Added to those, there are almost certainly dozens of other islands wedo not know, that are neither named nor shown on any chart. We mightsail a hundred years and not discover or explore them all.” He lookedaround their faces.

“If we cannot go to him, then what should we do?”

“Bring him to us,” said Ned Tyler.

Again Hal nodded.

“Bring him out of his lair. Give him a bait to tease him. The placeto do that is off the Fever Coast. We will have to cruise off theislands of Madagascar and Zanzibar, trail our cloak along the Africanshore.” They muttered in agreement.

“You can be certain he has agents in every port in the Indian Ocean.They send him word of every prize that calls,” Daniel told them.

“At least, that’s what I would do, if I were a heathen pirate.”

“Yes.” Hal turned to him.

“We’ll call in at every port, let them know how rich we are, and howpoorly armed.”

“Two fighting ships of thirty-six guns apiece?” Ned Tyler chuckled.

“That’s enough force to daunt any pirate.”

“One ship,” Hal said, and smiled when they looked askance.

“I will send the Yeoman on alone to Bombay ; soon as she arrives here.She can carry our passengers and all the urgent cargo of which we canrid ourselves and cram into her hold. We will sail the Fever Coast onour own.”

“The Seraph is still a ship of force,” All Wilson pointed out.

“Enough to frighten off most pirates.”

“She will not look like one by the time we are ready to sail.” Halunrolled the drawings of the ship’s hull, on which he had been workingsince they had crossed the equator.

“A Trojan horse, gentlemen. That is what we shall prepare for Mr.Jangiri.” They crowded round the desk, voicing approval, making eagercomment and suggestion as they began to see what Hal had in mind.

Try “What we want to make her into is a rich, fat, unarmed trader.

The gun ports first .. .” The next morning, Hal had himself rowedround the ship as she lay at anchor. Ned Tyler and the two ship’scarpenters were with him, and he pointed out to them the changes hewanted made to the Seraph’s appearance.

“We can leave all the carving and gold work as they are.” He pointedto the beautiful decorative features on the stern and bows.

“They give her a nice decadent air, like the Lord Mayor’s barge.”

“More like a French whorehouse.” Big Daniel sniffed.

“Besides which Lord Childs will be greatly put out if we damage hislittle masterpiece.” He pointed to the Seraph’s sides.

“It’s the gun ports that must be our prime concern.” The sills of thegun ports were picked out in gold leaf, which gave a pleasing chequered effect to the hull but emphasized the Seraph’s warlikecapability.

“You will begin work on them first,” Hal ordered the carpenters.

“I want the joints of the lids to the gun ports concealed. Caulk themwith tar and repaint them so they blend into the timberwork of thehull.” For an hour longer they studied the ship from the longboat anddecided on other small touches to the Seraph’s outline that would makeher appear more innocuous.

As they rowed back to the ship, Hal remarked to Big Daniel, “One of thereasons I anchored so far off-shore, apart from out-ranging the guns onthe fort, was to keep out of sight of prying eyes on the beach.” Henodded at the bum-boats and other small craft still clustered aroundthe ship.

“As soon as the work begins, I want you to warn off those boats. Wemust believe that Jangiri has agents in the settlement, and act on thatbelief. I don’t want beady eyes watching everything we do, and busytongues passing on the news.” Once back in his cabin, Hal penned aletter to Mr. Beatty addressed to his lodgings in the town, explainingthat he and his family would complete the voyage to Bombay in theYeoman of York, when she arrived, and that Guy would accompany him. Halwas glad to arrange this by note, rather than having to persuade Mr. Beatty to make the change by discussion and argument.

“Well, now!” he said aloud as he sanded the ink on the paper.

“That arrangement will also take care of Master Tom’s pugilistic andamorous proclivities.” Once he had placed his wax seal on it, he sentfor Big Daniel to carry the letter ashore.

“No sign of the Yeoman yet?” he demanded, as soon as Big Daniel stuckhis head in at the door.

“Nothing yet, Captain.”

“Tell the officer of the watch to call me the minute she puts hertopmasts above the horizon.” He had given the same order more thanonce before, and Big Daniel rolled his eyes and sucked his gums toillustrate his forbearance. Hal concealed a smile.

Big Daniel was allowed such familiarity.

e stood on the scaffold in the bright morning sunlight. He was stillonly a lad, perhaps eighteen years of age, certainly no older.

He was very good-looking, Hannah Maakenberg loved it when they were.

He was tall and straight-limbed, with long waving hair, raven’s-wingblack, falling to his shoulder. He was terrified, which excited her asit excited the large crowd around her.

Every man, woman and child in the settlement was there, every burgherand housewife, slave and Hottentot. They were in high spirits,boisterous and playful. Even the very young children were among them,infected by the spontaneous gaiety of the occasion, they chased eachother, squealing, between the legs of the adults.

Beside Hannah stood one of the free burgher’s wives, a plump, kindlylooking woman in an apron dusted with flour. She had obviously comedirectly from baking bread in her kitchen. Her tiny daughter clutchedat her apron.

She was an angelic child, who sucked her thumb and stared solemnly atthe man on the scaffold with huge blue eyes.

“It’s her first execution,” the mother explained to Hannah.

“She feels a little strange and afraid of all the people.” Theprisoner’s hands were manacled behind his back.

He wore ragged seaman’s petticoats and his feet were bare.

The magistrate stepped to the front of the scaffold to read the chargeand the sentence, and the crowd swayed and jostled with anticipation.

“Now hear the verdict of the court of the colony of Good Hope, by thegrace of God and the power vested in me by Charter of the StatesGeneral of the Republic of Holland.”

“Get on with it!” howled one of the burghers at the back of thecrowd.

“Let’s see him do his little dance for us.”

“It is hereby decreed that, Hendrik Martinus Ockers, having been foundguilty of the crime of murder…”

“I was there,” Hannah told the housewife beside her proudly.

“I saw it all. I even gave evidence at the court, yes, I did!

The woman looked suitably impressed.

“Why did he do it?” she asked.

“Why do any of them do it?” Hannah shrugged.

“They was both pissing, puking drunk.” She remembered the two figurescircling each other with the long knives gleaming in the eerie lanternlight, throwing distorted shadows on the tavern walls, and the shoutsand the sTomping of the watchers.

“How did he do it?”

“A knife, dearie. He was quick, for all the liquor in his belly. Likea panther, he was.” She made a slashing gesture.

“Like that, right across his belly. Opened him up like a fish on theblock. His guts fell clean out of him, tangled in his feet, so hetripped and fell on his face.”

“OohP The housewife shuddered with horrified fascination.

“Like animals, these sailors.”

“All of them, dearie, not just the sailors.” Hannah nodded primly.

“All men are the same.”

“And that’s God’s truth!” The woman agreed, picked up the child andplaced her on her shoulder.

“There you are, lieveling. You will get a better view from up there”she told her.

The magistrate reached the end of the proclamation of sentence:

“The aforesaid Hendrik Martinus Ockers is hereby condemned to death byhanging. Sentence to be carried out in public on the parade ground ofthe castle on the morning of the third day of September at ten of theclock in the forenoon.” He moved heavily down the ladder from thescaffold and one of the guards helped him down the last few steps. Theexecutioner, who had been standing behind the condemned man, steppedforward and placed a black cotton bag over his head.

“I hate it when they do that,” Hannah grumbled.

“I like to see his face when he’s on the end of the rope, all purpleand screwed up.”

“Slow John never covered their faces,” the woman beside her agreed.

“Ah! Do you remember Slow John? He was an artist “I’ll never forgetwhen he executed Sir Franky, the English pirate. That was a show.”

“Remember it like yesterday,” Hannah agreed.

“Worked on him for nearly half an hour, before he chopped him-” Shebroke off as something else nudged her memory.

Something to do with the pirates, and the pretty lad on the scaffold.She shook her head with irritation, the gin had fuddled her mind.

The executioner placed the noose over the prisoner’s head and pulled itsnug under his left ear. The lad was trembling now. Hannah wishedagain that she could see his face. The whole scene reminded her ofsomeone.

The executioner stood back, and picked up his heavy wooden mallet. Hetook a full swing at the wedge that held the trap-door.

The condemned man gave a pitiful cry: “In God’s name, have mercy!”

The watchers hooted with laughter. The executioner swung the malletagain and the wedge was knocked out.

With a crash the trap flew open, and the man dropped through. He cameup short on the rope’s end, his neck stretched and his head jerked tothe side. Hannah heard the vertebrae snap like a dry twig, and wasdisappointed again. Slow John would have judged it better, and had himkicking and jerking at the rope’s end for many tantalizing minutes withthe life being slowly choked out of him. This executioner washam-fisted, lacking subtlety. For Hannah it was all over tooswiftly.

A few shuddering tremors ran through the condemned man’s body and thenhe hung quietly, revolving slowly on the noose, his neck twisted at animpossible angle.Hannah turned away, disgruntled. Then she stopped.

The memory that had eluded her so long came back with a rush.

“The pirate’s boy!” she said.

“Sir Franky, the pirate’s boy. I never forget a face. I said I knewhim.”

“Who are you talking about?”

the woman with the child on her shoulder asked. Tranky’s boy? Who’sFranky’s boy?” Hannah did not bother to reply but she hurried away,hugging her secret to herself, trembling with excitement.

The memory of the events of twenty years ago crowded back. The trialof the English pirates; Hannah had been young and pretty in those days,and she had given one of the guards a little something for free to lether into the courtroom. She had followed the entire trial from herseat in the back row. It had been better entertainment than any playor fair.

She saw again the lad, Franky’s son, chained to the pirate, standingside by side with him, as old Governor van der Velde sentenced the oneto death and the other to a life sentence at hard labour on the castlewalls. What was the lad’s name? When she closed her eyes she couldsee his face so clearly in her mind’s eye.

“Henry!” she exclaimed.

“Henry Courtney!” Then three years later the pirates, led by this sameHenry Courtney, had broken out of their dungeon in the castle. Hannahwould never forget the sounds of shouting and fighting and of musketfire, then the earth-shaking explosion and the vast towering cloud ofsmoke and dust that rose high in the air as the English ruffians blewup the powder magazine in the castle. With her own eyes she hadwatched them gallop out of the castle gates in the carriage they hadstolen, and take the road that led out into the wilderness. Althoughthe troops from the garrison had pursued them as far as the savagemountains to the north, they had got clean away.

After that, she remembered seeing the reward posters in the market, andin every tavern along the waterfront.

“Ten thousand guilders!” she whispered to herself.

“It was ten thousand guilders.” She tried to imagine such a vast sumof money.

“With that money, I could go back to Amsterdam. I could live like agrand lady for the rest of my life.” Then her spirits plunged. Willthey still pay the reward after all these years? Her whole body saggedwith despair as the great fortune receded from her grasp. I will sendAnnetjie to find out from her sport at the castle.

Annetjie was one of the younger, prettier whores who worked the tavernsalong the waterfront. Among her regular clients was the Governor’sclerk, her steamer, in the vernacular of the trade. Hannah lifted herskirts and set off at a run for the waterfront. She knew that Annetjiehad a room in the Malmok, one of the most popular of the sailors”taverns, named after the wandering albatross.

She was in luck: Annetjie was still stretched out on her stainedmattress in the tiny room beneath the eaves.

The room stank of men’s sweat and lust. Annetjie sat up still with herdense black curls in a tangle and her eyes dulled with sleep.

“What are you waking me for at this hour? Are you mad?” she whinedangrily. Hannah flopped down beside her and blurted out her story.

The girl sat up and wiped the cheesy granules of sleep from the innercorners of her eyes. Her expression changed as she listened.

“How much?” she asked in disbelief, and crawled off the mattress togather up her clothing, which was scattered across the floor.

“What ship is this kerel on?” she demanded, as she pulled her shiftover her head and down over her wobbling white bosom. Hannah baulkedat the question. There were over twenty ships in the bay, and she hadno idea which one her prey was on. Then her expression cleared. HenryCourtney was an English pirate, and there were only two English shipsin the flotilla lying out there at anchor. He must be on one ofthem.

“You let me worry about that”, she told the girl.

“All you have to do is find out if there is still a reward, and how wecan collect it.” The Seraph had been lying at anchor for fifteen daysbefore the Yeoman of York finally beat into Table Bay against thesoutheaster and dropped anchor a cable’s length astern of her. EdwardAnderson had himself rowed across directly, and as he came up theladder to the Seraph’s deck he greeted Hal.

“I hardly recognized you, Sir Henry.

The Seraph looks like a different ship.”

“Then I have succeeded in my purpose.” Hal took him by the arm and ledhim to the companionway.

“What kept you so long?”

“Foul winds ever since we parted company. I was carried down withinsight of the coast of Brazil,” Anderson grumbled.

“But I am pleased we are together again.”

“Not for long,” Hal assured him, as he waved him to a chair, and poureda glass of Canary wine for him.

“As soon as you have re victualled and refurbished the Yeoman, I amsending you on to Bombay alone, while I am going up the coast to seekout this Mussulman rover.”

“That was not what I expected,” Anderson spluttered into his wine, ashe saw the chance of prize money snatched from him.

“I have a good fighting ship and a crew-“

“Perhaps too good,” Hal stopped him.

“From news that I have had since arriving here, it seems that our bestchance of coming at Jangiri is to offer him a bait. Two, fightingships are likely to drive him off rather than suck him in.”

“Ah! So that’s why you’ve changed your appearance.”

Anderson asked.

Hal nodded, and went on, “Besides which, there are passengers, urgentmail and cargo for Bombay. Mr. Beatty is in lodgings in the town,waiting for you to convey him and his family to Bombay. The tradewinds will not stand fair much longer before the season changes and thewinds turn foul for a crossing of the Ocean of the Indies.”

Anderson sighed.

“I understand your reasoning, sir, though it is of scant comfort. I amloath indeed to part company with you again.”

“By the time you reach Bombay the monsoon wind will have changed. Youwill be able to discharge your cargo, and catch that wind to hastenyour passage back across the Ocean of the Indies to the Fever Coast,where I will be waiting to rendezvous with you.”

“That will take several months, the round trip,” Anderson pointed outgloomily.

Hal was pleased that he showed this eager spirit. Other Companycaptains would have been delighted to avoid danger, and were wellcontent with the peaceable life of a trader. He tried to mollifyhim.

“By the time we meet up again, I will have much better intelligence ofJangiri. By then I may have smelt out his lair. You can be certainthat it will need both our forces to smoke him out, and that I will notattempt such an enterprise without the assistance of you and your crew,sir.” Anderson brightened a little.

“Then I must make all haste to prepare myself for the next leg of thevoyage to Bombay.” He drained his glass and stood up.

“I shall go ashore immediately to speak to Mr. Beatty and have himprepare himself and his family to continue the voyage.”

“I shall send Daniel Fisher, my officer, ashore with you to guide youto Mr. Beatty’s lodgings. I would go with you myself, but for variousreasons that is not prudent.” He escorted Anderson up the companionwayto the deck, and . At the rail he told him, “I shall have all thecargo and mail FOR Governor Aungier loaded into my pinnaces and sent ACCRoss to you tomorrow. I intend to hoist anchor three days from now,and set out to begin the hunt for Jangiri.”

“My men will be standing by to receive your cargo.

By the grace of God, I should be ready to sail myself within ten days,or less.”

“If you would give me the pleasure of being my guest at dinnertomorrow, we can use the opportunity to agree the details of our futureplans.” They shook hands, and Anderson seemed a great deal happier ashe went down into the longboat, Big Daniel following him.

Hannah sat on the top of one of the tall sand dunes above the beach,from where she could look out to the flotilla anchored in the bay. Twoothers were with her: Annetjie and Jan Oliphant.

Jan Oliphant was Hannah’s bastard son. His father was Xia Nka, apowerful Hottentot chief Thirty years previously, while she still hadher looks and golden hair, Hannah had accepted from him the gift of abeautiful kaross, made from the pelts of the red jackal, in exchangefor a night of her favours. Liaisons between white women and colouredmen were strictly forbidden by the VOC but Hannah had never paid heedto the silly laws made by seventeen old men in Amsterdam.

Although Jan Oliphant favoured his father in looks and skin colour, hewas proud of his European ancestry.

He spoke Dutch fluently, carried a sword and musket, and dressed like aburgher. He had earned the name Oliphant from his vocation. He was afamous elephant hunter, an,] a hard, dangerous man. By decree of theVOC none of the Dutch burghers was allowed to venture beyond theboundaries of the colony. By virtue of his Hottentot lineage, JanOliphant was not subject to these restrictions. He could come and goat will, free to range out into the trackless, wilderness beyond themountains, and return to sell the precious ivory tusks in the marketsof the settlement.

His swarthy visage was horrifically mutilated, his nose twisted and hismouth riven through by the shining white scars that started in thethick woolly mat of his hair and ran down to his chin. His shatteredjawbone had set askew, giving him a perpetual gaping grin.

On one of his first Ventures into the interior, while lying by hiscamp-fire, a hyena had crept up on his sleeping form, and seized amouthful of his face in its massively powerful jaws.

Only a man of Jan Oliphant’s formidable physique a nd strength couldhave survived such an attack. The beast had dragged him away into thedarkness, dangling him beneath its chest, like a cat with a mouse. Ithad ignored the shouts and stones hurled by Jan’s companions. Its longyellow fangs were sunk so deeply into his face that the bone of his jawwas crushed, and his mouth and nose were tightly sealed, so that he wasunable to draw breath.

Jan had reached for the knife on his belt, and with the other handgroped under the beast’s chest until he found the gap in its ribsthrough which he could feel the beating of its heart. He had placedthe point of the knife carefully and then made a single, powerfulupward stroke to kil the brute. He crouched now on the dune betweenthe two women, and his voice was distorted by the damaged nostrils andtwisted jawbone.

“Mother, are you certain this is the same man?”

“My son, I never forget a face,” Hannah told him doggedly.

“Ten thousand guilders?” Jan Oliphant snorted with laughter.

“No man living or dead is worth that much.”

“It is true,” Annetjie cut in vehemently.

“The reward still stands. I have spoken to my sport at the castle. Hesays that the VOC will still pay the full amount.” She grinnedavariciously.

“They will pay dead or alive, as long Is we can prove that he is HenryCourtney.”

“Why don’t they send the soldiers out to his ship and fetch him off?”Jan Oliphant wanted to know.

“If they arrest him, do you think they will give the reward to us?”Annetjie asked contemptuously.

“We have to catch him ourselves.”

“He may have sailed already,” Jan pointed out.

“No!” Hannah shook her head with certainty.

“No, my lieveling. No English ship has set sail from the anchorage inthe last three days.

Another has arrived, but none has sailed. Look!” She pointed outacross the bay.

“There they are.” The waters were flecked with white, curling waves,and the ships of the fleet danced a graceful minuet to the music of thewind bowing and prancing at their moorings, with their banners andcolours unfurling and waving in a shifting rainbow. Hannah knew thename of every one of them. She reeled them off, until she came to thetwo Englishmen that lay so far out in the bay that it was impossible todistinguish their colours.

“That’s the Seraph, and the one further back, towards Robben Island, isthe Yeoman of York.” She mutilated the names with her heavy accent,then shaded her eyes.

“There is a boat leaving the Seraph.

Perhaps we are in luck, and our pirate is in it.”

“It will take nearly half an hour to reach the beach.

We have plenty of time.” Jan Oliphant lay back in the sun, rubbed hisbulging crotch expansively.

“I have a great itch here. Come, Annetjie, scratch it for me.” Shebridled coyly.

“You know it’s against the Company law for us white ladies to milk apint from any of you black bastards.” Jan Oliphant chortled.

“I won’t report you to Governor van der Stel, though I hear he likes aslice of dark meat himself.” Jan Oliphant wiped the trickle of salivathat ran down his chin from between his twisted lips.

“My mother can stand guard for us.”

“I don’t trust you, Jan Oliphant. You bilked me last time. Let me seeyour coin first,” Annetj he protested.

“I thought we were sweethearts, Annetjie.” He leaned over and squeezedone of her fat round tits.

“When we have the ten thousand guilders from the reward, I might evenmarry you.”

“Marry me?” She screeched with laughter.

“I wouldn’t even walk in the, street with you, you ugly monkey.” Hegrinned at her.

“It’s not walking in the street we are discussing.” He grabbed heraround the waist and kissed her on the mouth.

“Come, my little pudding, we have plenty of time before the longboatreaches the beach.”

“Two guilders,” she insisted.

“That’s my special price for all my best sweethearts.”

“Here’s half a florin.” He pushed the coin into her cleavage.

She reached out and massaged his crotch, feeling it grow in her hand.

“One florin, or you can dip it in the ocean to cool it off.” Hesnorted through his deformed nostrils and wiped the saliva from hischin as he scratched another coin from his purse. Annetjie took itfrom him, then tossed her head, throwing the wind-tangled mane of hairout of her face, and stood up. He picked her up in his arms andcarried her down into the hollow between the dunes.

Hannah watched them with disinterest from her seat on the top of thedune. She was worrying about her share of the reward money. JanOliphant was her son, but she had no illusions that he would not cheather if he had the slightest opportunity. She would have to makecertain that the reward money was placed in her own hands but, then,neither Annetjie nor Jan would trust her either. She puzzled over thedilemma as she watched Jan butting away at Annetjie, his belly slappingloudly against hers. He was snorting and exhorting himself to greatereffort with loud cries.

“Yah! Yah! Like a hurricane! Like Leviathan spouting!

Like the father of all elephants tearing down the forest! Yah! Herecomes Jan Oliphant.” He let out a final bellow, slid off her andcollapsed in a heap on the sand beside her.

Annetjie stood up, rearranged her skirts and looked down at himdisdainfully.

“More like a goldfish blowing bubbles than a whale spouting,” she said,and scrambled back up the dune to sit beside Hannah again. Thelongboat from the Seraph was close in to the beach now, its oarsflashing and dipping, riding the crest of one of the swells.

“Can you see the men in the stern?” Hannah asked eagerly.

Annetjie shaded her eyes with one hand. “ja, two of them.”

“That one.” Hannah pointed out the figure in the stern sheets.

“He was with Henry Courtney that night. They are shipmates, I couldtell that.” A big man stood up and called an order to the rowers.

In unison they shipped their long oars, and held them straight in theair, like the lances of a cavalry troop. The boat slid in over thesands, and came to rest high and dry.

“He is a big bastard,” Annetjie remarked.

“That’s him for sure.” They watched Big Daniel and Captain Andersonstep out of the longboat, and strike out along the beach towards thesettlement.

“I’ll go down and talk to the boatmen,” Annetjie volunteered.

“I’ll find out which ship our man is on and if he is truly the son ofFranky the pirate.”

Hannah and Jan Oliphant watched her saunter along the water’s edgetowards the boat. The crew saw her coming and laughed and nudged eachother, grinning expectantly.

“Annetjie will have to be the one who collects the reward money forus,” Hannah told her son.

“Ja ! I was thinking the same thing. It’s her boyfriend will bepaying out.” They watched the girl laughing and bantering with thesailors. Then she nodded and led one of them into a small grove ofdark green milk wood trees above the beach.

“How much have you promised her as her share?” Jan Oliphant asked.

“Half.”

“Half?” He was shocked by such profligacy.

“That’s too much.” The first seaman emerged from among the trees,retying the length of rope that held up his breeches. His mates gavehim an ironic cheer, and a second man jumped out of the boat andhurried into the grove, followed by a chorus of whistles andclapping.

it’s too much,” Hannah agreed.

“She’s a greedy bitch. You watch, she will serve every last one ofthose English pigs Ja, she charged me two guilders. She is a greedybitch.

We will have to get rid of her.” Jan shrugged philosophically.

“You’re right, my son. She deserves it. But only after she has pickedup the reward money for us.” They waited patiently in the warmsunlight, chatting idly, making plans to spend the great fortune thatwould soon be theirs, watching the procession of English seamendisappearing among the milk wood trees, and returning minutes later,sheepishly acknowledging the friendly jeers and hoots of theircompanions.

“I told you she would fix every last one of them,” Hannah said, withprim disapproval, as the last sailor returned to the longboat. A fewminutes later Annetjie emerged from among the trees, brushing grains ofsand out of her hair and clothing. She struggled up to where Hannahand Jan Oliphant sat, with a smug expression on her chubby pink face.She flopped down beside Hannah.

“Well?” Hannah demanded.

“The captain of the English East Indiaman Seraph is Sir HenryCourtney,” Annetjie announced grandly.

“And you have the separate testimony of eight of his sailors to proveit,” said Hannah sarcastically.

Annetjie was un flustered and went on, “It seems that Henry Courtney isa rich English Milord. He owns great property in England.”

Jan Oliphant grinned.

“As a hostage he may be worth even more than ten thousand. Me and mybullies will be waiting here on the beach to meet him when he comesashore.” Hannah looked worried.

“Don’t take chances by trying to hold him for ransom. He looks aslippery fish to me.

Grab him, chop off his head and hand it over to the VOC.

The Monsoon

Take the reward and forget about the ransom.”

“Dead or alive?” Jan Oliphant asked Annetjie.

Ja, that’s what I said.”

“My mother is right. A dead fish will not slip through our fingers. Afish with its throat cut,” Jan mused.

“I will wait with you until he comes ashore. I will point him out toyou and then it’s up to you and your boys,” Hannah told her son.

“If he comes ashore a second time,” Annetjie reminded her spitefully,and Hannah began to worry again.

the cargo for Bombay had been taken out of the Seraph and ferriedacross to the Yeoman. The water barrels had been scoured and refilledfrom the stream that meandered down from the slopes of TableMountain.

Stores of lamp-oil, salt, flour, biscuit and other dry goods, which hadbeen depleted during the long voyage south, were replenished. Hal hadre trimmed the ship to her best attitude for sailing. The crew were ingood health and spirits, fat and happy on this diet of fresh fruit,vegetables and meat, and the twenty-six scurvy cases had recoveredsince Hal had sent them ashore to lodgings in the settlement. Now theycame back aboard, cheerful and eager to continue the voyage.

“I will sail with the dawn tomorrow,” Hal told Captain

Anderson of the Yeoman.

“Do you also make all speed to get to sea again?”

“Have no fear of that,” Anderson assured him.

“I will be waiting at the rendezvous on the first day of December.”

“And I will have good employment for you then,” Hal promised him.

“There is one last matter in which I must ask your assistance.”

“You have only to name it.”

“I am going ashore tonight to attend to some business of importance tome: I “Pardon my impertinence, Sir Henry, but is that wise?

As you have confided in me, and as I have myself ascertained bydiscreet enquiry to the Dutch authorities in the ? “O, colony, theyhave unfinished business with you. If you fall into their hands, thatwill certainly redound to your disadvantage.”

“I am grateful for your concern, sir, but my business ashore cannot beneglected. When it is done, I shall have a small chest for you toconvey to Bombay on my behalf.

From there I will be in your debt if you can consign it by the verynext vessel leaving that port to my eldest son in Devon.”

“You may have complete confidence that I shall do so, Sir Henry.” fromand Dorian had watched the preparations for the shore expedition withmounting fascination.

They had discussed it between themselves for several days. When Halpicked out the men who were to accompany him, and issued equipment andweapons to them, their curiosity overflowed.

Gathering their courage, the two crept down to their father’s cabinwhen they knew he was safely closeted there with his officers.

While Dorian played the cat on the compo nionway ladder, Tom sneaked tothe door and listened at the panel. He could hear his father’svoice.

You, Mr. Tyler, will have charge of the ship while I am ashore. Wemay be hard pressed by the Dutch, and in some haste when we return, sothe boat crew waiting for us on the beach must be alert and well armed,ready to take us off at any instant. You must be ready to come to ourassistance, Mr. Tyler, and as soon as we are back on board to weighanchor and set sail, even in the dark of night.” Tom led Dorian backon deck. The two climbed into the rigging and sat side by side on themain yard. This was the place where they went when they wanted not tobe overheard.

“It’s tonight. I heard Father giving his orders. He’s taking an armedraiding party ashore tonight,” Tom told his little brother.

“So now we know what the chest is for, don’t we?”

“Do we?” Dorian asked doubtfully. They had watched a working partyunder Big Daniel bring the mysterious chest up from the hold. It wasthe size of a small sea-chest, made of polished teak, beautifullydovetailed and joined, with a screw-down lid.

“Of course we know,” Tom said importantly.

“Father is going to fetch Grandfather’s body from the place where Abolihid it.”

Immediately Dorian was intrigued.

“Will he let us go with him?

Tom lifted his cap and scratched his head dubiously.

Dorian persisted, “You aren’t afraid to ask him, are you, Tom?”

He knew that challenge was the best way to get Tom to do what hewanted.

“Of course not,” Tom denied indignantly. Nevertheless, he had to screwhis courage to the sticking point before he could bring himself toventure again to the stern cabin.

“You let me do the talking,” he whispered to Dorian, as he knocked atthe door.

“Enter!” his father called brusquely, and then, as he saw who it was,”Oh, it’s you two, is it? However important your business, lads, Ihave no time to attend to it now. You will have to come back later.

We will talk tomorrow.” Caps in hand, but with dogged expressions, thepair stood their ground. Tom pointed at the polished teak chest thatnow reposed in the centre of the cabin deck.

“Dorian and I know that you are going to fetch Grandfather Francistonight.

That’s the cofhn you have brought from home for him, Hal was drawingthe loads from the pair of pistols that lay on the desk in front ofhim, inserting the corkscrew down the barrels and pulling out the oldball, wad and powder charge to replace them. He looked up from thetask, and studied their serious expressions. At last, he sighed.

“You have found me out,” he grunted.

“No point in denying it.”

“We want to come with you,” Tom said.

Hal looked up at him, startled, then dropped his eyes back to thepistol and went on with the loading. Deliberately he measured a chargeof powder from the flask, poured it into the muzzle and rodded it homefirmly. Then he took a Cloth patch from the brass patch box andwrapped the half-ounce lead ball with it. This would make a perfectfit in the barrel. The pistol was a lovely weapon, built by GeorgeTruelock of London. The grip was of curlicue grained walnut.

“Your wound is not yet healed, Tom, he said, still without lookingup.

“It’s healed clean,” Tom protested, and touched his flank.

“It was naught but a scratch, even at its worst.” Hal made a pretenceof admiring the locks of the double-barrelled pistol. They were chasedwith a gold inlay, and the octagonal barrels were rifled. This wouldimpart spin to the ball in flight and stabilize it to an accuracy thatwas unheard-of in smooth-bored weapons. If he trusted himself to holdtrue, Hal knew he could hit a target the size of his own thumbnail withevery shot at twenty paces.

He tapped the wrapped ball home with a small wooden mallet, then primedthe pan.

“Even so, I don’t think that yours is a very good idea,” he said.

“He was our grandfather. We are his family,” Tom insisted.

“It’s our duty to be there with you.” He had chosen his words withcare and rehearsed them. Family and duty were two concepts his fathernever took lightly. Now he reacted to them as Tom had hoped he would.He laid aside the loaded Pistol, stood up and went to the sternwindow.

For a while he remained there, hands clasped behind his back, staringout at the land. At last he spoke.

“Perhaps you’re right, Tom. You are old enough, and you know how totake care of yourself in a fight.” He turned back to the pair.

Tom was exultant, his expression shining.

“Thank you, Father.”

Dorian was tense with expectation, watching his father’s lips for hisnext utterance.

“But not you, Dorian. You’re still too young.” Hal tried to softenthe blow with a kindly smile.

“We don’t want to lose you yet.”

Dorian seemed to crumble beneath the rejection. His expression wasstricken, and his eyes welled. Tom nudged him sharply, and whisperedout of the side of his mouth, “Don’t cry. Don’t be a baby.”

Dorian gathered himself, and with huge effort fought back the tears.

“I’m not a baby.” He stood brave and tragic.

He’s a beautiful boy, Hal thought, as he studied his son’s face.

Dorian’s skin was gilded by the tropical sun, and his curls caught aray of sunlight through the stern window and shimmered like spuncopper.

Hal was struck again by the child’s resemblance to his mother. He felthis resolve waver.

“I’m not a baby. Give me a chance to prove it, please, Father.”

“Very well.” Hal could not resist him, though he knew it was unwise.

“You may come with us.” Dorian’s face was incandescent with joy, andHal hastened to qualify his agreement.

“But only as far as the beach.

You will wait for us there with All Wilson and the boat crew.” He heldup one hand to forestall the protests he saw coming.

“That’s enough.

No argument. Tom, go to Big Daniel and tell him to issue you withpistol and cutlass.” They went down into the longboat an hour beforesunset. There were only four of them in the shore party: Hal, Aboli,Daniel Fisher and Tom. They each carried a tinderbox and a bull’s-eyelantern. Under their dark boat cloaks they were armed with a cutlassand a brace of pistols apiece. Aboli had a large leather sack foldedand tied around his waist.

As soon as they were settled on the thwarts, All Wilson gave the orderto cast off. The boat crew pulled on the long sweeps and they crept intowards the beach. In both bows and stern long-barrelled falconerswere mounted, murderous small hand-cannon loaded with grapeshot. Therewere pikes and cutlasses laid on the deck, between the rowers” feet,ready to hand.

No one spoke, and the oars dipped and swung without sound except thedrip of sea-water from the blades. All Wilson had muffled the rowlocks In the silence, Tom and Dorian exchanged excited grins; this wasone of the adventures they had dreamed about and discussed with feveredanticipation so often during their long duties in the crow’s nest. Ithad begun.

Hannah Maakenberg was lying in the grove of milk woods above the beach.She had been there every daylight hour for the last three days, keepingwatch on the distant silhouette of the Seraph as she rode at anchor. Three times she had seen boats coming from the English ship, and hadwatched them eagerly through the lens of the long brass telescope thatJan Oliphant had lent her. Each time she had been disappointed whenHal Courtney was not on board.

At last she was becoming discouraged. Perhaps Annetjie was right,perhaps he would not come ashore again.

Her own son was rapidly losing interest in the hunt also.

For the first two days he had been at her side, watching with her, butin the end he had given up hope and gone off to join his men in thedrinking hells along the waterfront.

Now she watched the shape of the longboat coming from the Seraph,barely visible against the darkening waves.

She could not contain her excitement. He comes in the darkness, likehe did last time, so that no one will recognize him. She held thelongboat in the round field of the lens. She watched its prow touchthe beach and her heart leaped with excitement, then raced. There wasmerely a glimmering of light remaining in the western sky as the tallfigure stepped from the longboat on to the white sand, and lookedaround the dunes and scattered bush with an alert turn of his head.

For an instant he stared directly at Hannah’s hiding place and a flukeof the light struck his face, picking out his features unmistakably.

Then the light faded and died away so that even through the glass theboat and its crew were just a dark blob at the edge of the whitebeach.

“Its him! Hannah breathed.

“I knew he would come.” She strained her eyes as a small party of mendetached itself from the dark shape of the boat. They picked their waythrough the heaps of white driftwood that were piled at the high watermark, then came towards where she lay.

She closed the telescope and shrank back against the hole of thenearest milk wood

The men came on without speaking, until they were so close she thoughtshe must be discovered. Then, without check, their boots crunching inthe loose sand, they passed her by, so close she might have reached outand touched their legs. Looking up she saw Hal Courtney’s face lit bythe last of the sunset. Then the men passed on to disappear into thethick scrub, heading inland.

She gave them several minutes to get well clear then lurched to herfeet and ran down the path leading to the town. Her heart was singingand she exulted aloud: “I’ve got him now. I’m going to be rich. Allthat money! I’m going to be rich.” In single file, Aboli leading,they skirted the settlement, giving it a wide berth. They encounteredno human being even when they crossed the road that ran along the baseof the mountain towards Salt River and the scattered farms ofConstantia. Once a dog must have scented them, for it burst intohysterical barking as they passed, but no one challenged them.

The slope of the mountain reared beneath their feet and they leanedforward against it. The bush became thicker, but Aboli seemed byinstinct to find the narrow game paths, and led them upwards.

The dense forest closed out the stars above them, and both Hal and BigDaniel stumbled occasionally. As Tom’s eyes were young, his nightvision was still sharp: he picked his way sure-footedly through theshadows. Aboli was a creature of the forests and moved silently as apanther ahead of them. Suddenly they came out on a bluff of bare rockhigh above the settlement.

“We will rest here,” Hal ordered. As he found a seat on one of thelichen-covered stones, Tom was amazed at how high they had climbed.

The stars seemed very close, vast whorls of silvery light, bewilderingin their infinite multitudes. Below them, the pinpricks of yellowcandlelight in the windows of the buildings were insignificant againstthat splendid display.

Tom drank from the leather bottle Aboli handed him, but no one spoke.Yet the night was no longer silent. Small creatures scurried in theforest around them, and the night birds hooted and screeched.

From down the slope came the hideous giggling chorus of a pack ofhyenas scavenging the rubbish heaps and dung-hills of the Dutchsettlement.

It was a sound that made the hackles rise on the back of Tom’s neck,and he had to resist the impulse to draw closer to Aboli’s dark,protective bulk.

Suddenly a warm puff of wind struck him in the face, and he looked upat the night sky to see the stars blotted out swiftly as a heavy bankof cloud swept in from the sea.

“Storm coming,” Aboli grunted, and as he said it another gust sweptover them on the exposed bluff. In contrast to the first it was icycold, and Tom shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around hisshoulders.

“We must hurry on,” Hal said, “before the storm hits us.” Withoutanother word they rose and went on into the night, which was dark withstorm clouds and clamorous with wind. The trees thrashed and clatteredtheir branches overhead.

As he stumbled along behind Aboli’s tall figure, Tom began to doubtthat anyone, even Aboli, could find his way through this dark night anddarker forest to a secret place he had last visited twenty years ago.

@, At last, when it seemed that half the night had wasted away, Abolistopped below a sheer cliff of splintered rock, whose summit was lostagainst the dark sky above them.

Both Hal and Big Daniel were panting audibly from the long climb.

Aboli was the oldest of them all, but he and Tom were the only onesstill breathing easily.

Aboli knelt and placed his lantern on a flat rock in front of him.

He opened the shutter and worked with the tinderbox. A shower ofbright sparks flew from the flint and steel and he held the flamingunder to the lamp wick. Holdin the lantern high he moved along thefoot of the cliff, shining the pale beam onto the lichen-paintedrock.

A narrow cleft opened abruptly in the cliff face, and Aboli gruntedwith satisfaction. He moved into it, it was only just wide enough toaccommodate his broad shoulders.

A short distance in, the crack was choked with trailing lianas anddangling shrubs. Aboli hacked them away with his cutlass, then droppedto his knees when he reached the end of the cleft.

“Hold the lantern, Klebe.” He handed it to Tom. In its beam Tom sawthat the end of the cleft was sealed with rocks and boulders. With hisbare hands Aboli prised one free from the wall, and handed it back toDaniel. They worked in silence, gradually clearing the opening to alow, natural tunnel in the cliff. When it was open Aboli turned backto Hal.

“It is fitting that only you and Klebe should enter your father’sresting place,” he said softly.

“Daniel and I will wait here.” He unwound the leather sack from aroundhis waist, and handed it to Hal, then stooped to light the wicks of theother lanterns. When he had finished he nodded to Daniel and both menmoved away along the foot of the cliff, leaving Hal and Tom alone tocomplete their sacred duty.

They stood in silence for a while, with the storm wind buffeting themand flapping their cloaks like vultures” wings. The light of thelanterns cast weird shadows on the rocky walls of the cliff.

“Come, lad.” Hal led Tom into the rock cleft, then went down on handsand knees to enter the dark mouth of the tunnel. Tom passed him thelantern and followed.

The sounds of the storm faded behind them, and suddenly the tunnelopened into a cavern. Hal rose to his feet, the rock roof hanging onlyinches above his head.

Tom stood up beside him and blinked in the yellow light of the lantern.He found himself in a tomb that smelt of the dusts of antiquity, and hewas struck with a religious awe that stifled his breathing and made hishand tremble.

At the far end of the cavern there was a natural stone platform.

A gaunt human figure squatted upon it, staring directly at him withhuge empty eye-sockets. Tom recoiled from it instinctively, and chokedback the sob that rose in his throat.

“Steady, lad.” Hal reached out and took his hand. He led him step bystep towards the seated figure. The wavering lantern light disclosedthe details as they drew nearer.

The head was a skull.

Tom knew that the Dutch had beheaded his grandfather, but Aboli musthave replaced his head upon his shoulders. Fragments of dried skinstill hung on the banc like the dead bark of a fever-tree trunk.

Long dark hair hung down the back of the bony head, lovingly dressedand combed.

Tom quailed, for his grandfather’s empty eyes seemed to be looking deepinto his soul. He drew back once more, but his father held his handfirmly, and chided him gently.

“He was a good man. A brave man with a great heart.

There is no reason for you to fear him.” The body was bound in theskin of a beast, a pelt Of black hair, which the bacon beetles hadgnawed off in patches, giving it a leprous look Hal knew that theexecutioner had quartered his grandfather’s body, crudely hacking itinto pieces on the scaffold with a cleaver. Aboli had tenderlyassembled those parts and bound them up in the hide of a freshly killedbuffalo. On the floor below the stone platform were the remains of asmall ritual fire, a circle of ash and black charcoal sticks.

“We will pray together,” Hal said softly, and drew Tom ..

down beside him on the stone floor of the cavern.

“Our Father, which art in heaven. Hal began, and Tom clasped his handsbefore his eyes and joined in the recital, his voice growing moreconfident as the familiar words rolled off his tongue. Thy will bedone, on earth, as it is in heaven.” While Tom prayed he saw frombetween his fingers, the array of strange objects that had been laidout on the rock platform, grave offerings that he realized Aboli musthave placed there all those years ago when he had laid Grandfather’sbody to rest.

There was a wooden crucifix, set with abalone shell, and bone andwater-worn pebbles that shone softly in the lantern light. There was acrudely fashioned model of a three-masted ship, with the name LadyEdwina carved into her transom, then a wooden bow and a knife. Tomrealized that these were symbols of the forces that had dominated hisgrandfather’s life. The one true God, a tall ship, and the weapons ofa warrior. Aboli had chosen his last gifts with love and perception.

When they had finished the prayer they were silent for a while, thenHal opened his eyes and lifted his head.

He spoke quietly to the skeletal skin-bound figure on the platformabove them.

“Father, I have come to take you home to High Weald.” He laid out thesack on the platform.

“Hold its mouth open,” he ordered Tom, then knelt over the body of hisfather and lifted it in his arms.

It was surprisingly light.

The dry skin crackled and small tufts of hair and flakes of skin fellaway. After all this time, there was no odour of putrefaction, justthe scent of fungus and dust.

He slid the hunched body into the sack, feet first, until only theancient, ravaged head remained exposed. He paused to stroke the longblack tresses of hair, shot through with strands of silver.

Watching that gesture Tom was struck with the love and respect itdemonstrated.

“You loved him,” he said.

Hal looked up.

“If you had known him, you would have loved him also.”

“I know how much I love you,” Tom replied, 4so I can guess.”

Hal slipped one arm around his son’s shoulders and hugged him brieflybut hard.

“Pray God you never have to perform such an onerous duty for me,” hesaid, then pulled the sack over Francis Courtney’s head and secured theleather laces tightly. He stood up.

“We must go now, Tom, before the storm reaches its height.” He liftedthe sack , then carefully and swung it over his shoulder, then stoopedto the entrance tunnel of the cave.

Aboli was waiting for them outside the cavern, and he made as if torelieve Hal of his burden, but Hal shook his head. will carry him,Aboli. Do you lead us down this mountain.”

The descent was more hazardous than the climb had been. In thedarkness and the roaring wind, it would have ” been easy to miss thepath, and step out over a precipice, or stumble on one of thetreacherous scree slopes and break a leg, but Aboli led them unerringlythrough the night, until Tom felt the gradient ease, and the rock androlling pebbles under his feet give way to firm soil then to crunchingbeach sand.

A bolt of vivid blue lightning tore open the clouds and, for aninstant, turned the night to brilliant noonday.

In that moment they saw the sweep of the bay before them, its surfacechurned to confusion by the gale, boiling and foaming, leaping andspouting white. Then the blackness closed over them again and thethunder crashed down in an avalanche of sound that numbed theireardrums.

“The longboat is still there.” Hal shouted his relief above the wind.The stark, fleeting image of the boat was imprinted upon his vision.

“Hail them, Aboli!”

“Seraph!” Aboli bellowed into the night, and heard the reply faintupon the storm.

“Ahoy!” It was All Wilson’s voice, and they started down the dunestowards it. Hal’s burden, which had weighed so lightly at thebeginning of the descent, now bowed him over, but he refused torelinquish it. They reached the foot of the dunes in a close group.Aboli opened the shutter of the lantern and shone the feeble yellowbeam ahead.

“On guardV he shouted a desperate warning, as he saw in the light thatthey were surrounded by the dark figures of men or beasts, he could notbe certain which.

“Defend yourselves!” he cried, and they threw open their cloaks anddrew their blades, instinctively forming a ring, back to back, facingoutwards, the points of their levelled weapons forming a circle ofsteel.

Then lightning broke over them again, a blinding bolt that split thelow clouds, lit the beach and the gale-beaten waters. In its lightthey saw a phalanx of menacing shapes charging down upon them. Thelightning flashed on the naked blades they wielded, on the clubs andspears they brandished, and for a moment it revealed their faces. Theywere all Hottentots, not a Dutch face among them.

Tom felt a rush of superstitious dread as he saw the man coming at him.He was as hideous as a thing from a nightmare. Long tresses of blackhair writhed in the wind, like serpents, about the terrible face, alivid scar slashed through the bloated nose and purple lips, the mouthwas twisted and deformed, drooling saliva, and the eyes flashedfiercely as the creature rushed at him.

Then the darkness closed over them all again, but Tom had seen theman’s sword raised over his head, and he anticipated the stroke,twisting aside his shoulders and ducking under it. He heard the bladehiss past his ear, and the explosive grunt of the effort his attackerput into the blow.

All Aboli’s training came to the fore. Tom went smoothly on theriposte, lunging for the sound of the man’s breathing, and felt hisblade sink into living flesh, a sensation he had never experiencedbefore, which startled him. His victim shouted with pain, and Tom felta surge of savage joy. He recoiled and shifted his feet, quick as acat, and lunged blindly again. Once more he felt the hit, the soggyslide of steel into flesh, then the clash as the point struck bone. Theman squealed, and for the first time in his life Tom rode the wildexhilaration of battle lust.

The lightning flamed across the heavens, and Tom saw his victim reelaway, his sword dropped into the sand.

He was clutching at his deformed face. His cheek was Iaij open to thebone, and the blood was black as tar in the blue light, pouring in asheet down his chin and splashing over his chest.

Tom saw in the same flash of lightning that both his father and Abolihad killed: their victims were down, one kicking and convulsing in thesand, the other curled into a ball clutching his wound with both hands,his mouth open in a silent cry of agony.

Big Daniel was engaged, blade to blade with a tall, sinewy figure nakedto the waist, body black and shiny as an eel-skin. But the rest of theattackers were backing away, repulsed by the vigour of the little knotof defenders, Darkness shut down over them like the slamming of a door,and Tom felt Aboli’s fingers close on his upper arm, his voice close tohis ear: “Back to the boat, Klebe. Keep together.” They ran blindlythrough the soft sand, bumping into each other.

“Is Tom with us?” His father’s voice was harsh with concern for him.

“Here, Father!” he shouted.

“Thank God! Danny?”

He reV Big Daniel must have killed his man, for his voice was close andclear.

fall “Seraph!” Hal bellowed.

“On meV “Seraph!” All’s voice acknowledged the order, and thelightning flared again to reveal it all. The four of them were still ahundred paces from where the longboat lay at the edge of the roaringsea. Led by All, the eight men waiting with it were running to jointhe fight, brandishing their pikes, cutlasses and boarding axes. Butthe pack of Hottentots had rallied and like hunting dogs were baying attheir heels.

Tom glanced over his shoulder and saw the man that he had wounded hadrecovered and was charging along at the head of them. Though his facewas a mask of blood he was slashing the air with his sword, andscreeching a war cry in a strange language. He had singled out Tom,and was rushing directly at him.

Tom tried to estimate how many there were. Perhaps nine or ten, heguessed, but the darkness closed down again before he could be sure.

His father and All Wilson were shouting to keep contact with eachother, and now the two groups came together. Immediately Hal called,”Meet them! Skirmish line!” Even in darkness they smoothly executedthe manoeuvre they had practised so often on the Seraph’s deck.

Shoulder to shoulder they stood to meet the attack, which burst intothem like a wave out of the night. There was the clatter and clash ofmetal on metal and the shouts and curses of men struggling together.Then the lightning flared again.

Hannah staggered to the edge of the milk wood grove with fifteen men.The night had been too long for them, the fury of the stormdebilitating, and the boredom of the ambush had overcome them. Theyhad crept away into the grove to find a spot out of the wind in whichto curl up and sleep. Then the shouting and the sounds of battle hadroused them. They had seized their weapons and now poured out fromamong the trees.

The lightning revealed the struggling, evenly matched men, close to thewater’s edge where the empty longboat lay. In the same flash, Hannahsaw Henry Courtney clearly.

He was in the first rank of the fight, his face turned towards her, hiscutlass lifted high in his right hand then slashing down at the head ofone of the Hottentots.

“Dis hotn!” Hannah screeched.

“It’s him! Ten thousand guilders for the picking. Kom kerels! Come,lads!” She waved the pitchfork with which she was armed, and chargeddown the dune. The men, who had hesitated at the edge of the grove,were galvanized by her example.

Now they raced down behind her, a howling, shrieking mob.

Dorian was alone in the longboat. He had been curled up asleep on thefloorboards when the fighting started, but now he crawled to the bowsand knelt behind the falconer.

He was wide-eyed with sleep, but in the lightning he had seen Tom andhis father beset by the enemy, and the new threat rushing down uponthem from out of the dunes.

During battle practice on the Seraph, Aboli had shown Tom how to swingand aim the falconet in its swivel seating, and how to fire it.

Dorian had watched avidly and begged for a chance to try it. Asalways, he had been met with the infuriating answer, “You are toosmall. When you are older.” Now was the chance he had been denied,and Tom and his father needed him. He reached for the length ofburning match in the tub of sand below the gun. All Wilson had lit itand placed it at hand for just such an emergency. He took it in onehand, seized the long monkey-tail of the falconer with the other andswivelled it in the direction of the screams and shouts of the mobcharging down the dunes. He looked over the barrel but could not seethe sights of the gun, nor any glimpse of his target in the darkness.

Then the thunder crashed directly overhead, and the beach was litbrilliantly by the lightning. Directly under his barrel Dorian sawthem coming, led by a witch from mythology, a terrible female creaturewaving a pitchfork, long grey hair streaming out behind her, her whitedugs swinging and flopping out of the bodice of her gown, a faceravaged by age and debauchery, screaming. Dorian pressed the burningmatch to the touchhole of the falconers i Twenty feet of flame shotfrom its muzzle, and a bucketful of grapeshot, each ball the size of aman’s eye, was hurled down the beach. The range was just sufficientfor the blast to reach its optimum spread. Hannah caught the fullbrunt of it: a dozen lead balls shattered her chest, and one struck herin the centre of the forehead, taking the top off her skull like theshell off an egg. She was flung backwards into the white sand withanother six of her troop down around her. The rest staggered with theshock and disruption of the air around them. Three of those still ontheir feet howled with terror and fled back towards the protection ofthe grove. The others were stunned, and milled in confusion, stumblingover their dead companions, some bleeding from their wounds, uncertainwhich way to turn.

The burning wad from the falconet was blown into the long windrow ofdry driftwood at the top of the beach.

The flames took hold swiftly and, fanned by the wind, burned brightly,showering blue sparks from the salt crystals, which lit the beach witha wavering, flickering light.

The fight swung back and around. Although they had reduced the oddsagainst them with pike and blade, Hal’s men were still heavilyoutnumbered.

Hal had three men against him, circling him like a pack of hyenaharassing a black-maned lion. He was fighting for his life and couldnot even glance in the direction of his son.

Jan Oliphant was intent on his revenge for the gaping slash across hischeek, and he went after Tom, swearing and shouting his rage, usingonly the edge of his sabre with wild cuts and overhead slashes. Tomgave ground before him, outmatched in height, reach and strength by theburly Hottentot. For these fatal seconds Tom was on his own: he couldcount on no help from Aboli or Daniel, or even his father. His manhoodwould have its full flowering this night, or he would die on theseblood-soaked sands. He was afraid, but not unmanned by his, fear.

Rather, it gave power to his wrist and sword arm. He found somethingwithin him that he had not known was there until this moment.

He fell naturally into the rhythmic fighting grace that Aboli hadinstilled into him through all these years of training. Now that theflames from the burning driftwood were lighting the beach, he found hisconfidence growing.

He felt the steel in his arm, as he realized that the brute he facedwas a brawler and not a swordsman, although the power in his swingingblade was enormous, it was as irresistible as a landslide.

Tom did not make the mistake of trying to match it. Instead, heanticipated each wild, hacking stroke before it was launched. Therewas no subtlety in the way Jan Oliphant signalled his intention withhis glaring eyes and contorted blood-smeared face, or in how he movedhis feet and opened his shoulders to make the stroke.

As it came whistling down at Tom’s head, he reached out and touched itwith his own blade, never attempting to stop it in the air, lightlydeflecting it, so that it flew harmlessly an inch past his head. Eachtime Tom did this Jan Oliphant’s rage swelled until it overwhelmed him.He held his sword high above his head with both hands and rushedstraight at Tom, roaring like a bull seal in the rut.

He made no attempt to cover himself from any counter, stroke, and hisbody was wide open.

al winged one of his antagonists, hitting him high in the rightshoulder with his riposte. The man screamed and reeled back, droppinghis sword, clutching at his wound. The other two Hottentots fightingon each side of him lost heart and dropped back. Hal had an instant ofrespite to glance around in the flickering light of the flames.

His heart froze in his chest as he saw Tom stand full in the path ofthe towering Hottentot captain. They were too far for Hal to intervenebefore Jan Oliphant charged home. A shout of warning and despair rosein his throat, but he choked it back. It would have served only todistract Tom.

Tom was as pale as the sand beneath his feet, but his face was set andhard with determination, his eyes bright and intent, no glimmer of fearin them as he sighted over the weaving point of his sabre. Halexpected him to drop back before the charge of the huge beast of a manbearing down on him. The set of his shoulders and the balance of hisslim body signalled just that intention. But suddenly his left footswung forward and he launched himself like an arrow from a bow,straight at Jan Oliphant’s throat. The big man had no time to bringdown his guard or turn aside from the thrust. Tom’s point caught himprecisely in the hollow at the base of his neck, an inch above wherehis collarbones met. It flew deep, a hand span through Jan Oliphant’sthroat, found the juncture of two vertebrae in his spine and severedthem cleanly. The steel drove on until, smeared pink with blood in thefirelight, it sprang out a foot from the nape.

The raised sword fell from Jan Oliphant’s nerveless fingers, and hislimbs flew wide, for a moment forming a dark crucifix against theflames. Then he fell backwards, hitting the sand with all his slack,lifeless weight. Tom’s blade jerked free, plucked from the dead man’sthroat by his own weight and momentum, and the air from Jan Oliphant’slungs was driven out through his punctured windpipe in an explosivesigh by the force of his fall. It burst from the wound in his throatin a tall pink feather of froth.

There was a long moment when every man on the beach froze, and staredat the grotesque corpse. Then one of the Hottentots facing Hal wailedwith despair, turned and fled up the dunes. In an instant the otherswere racing after him in panic, leaving their dead and wounded wherethey had fallen.

Tom was still staring down at the man he had killed.

His face crumpled and he started to shake with shock and the release offear and rage. Hal went to him immediately and placed an arm aroundhis shoulders.

“Well fought, lad,” he said, and hugged him.

“I killed him!” Tom whispered, in tones of disbelief.

“Before he killed you,” Hal told him. He looked around at his menscattered along the beach.

“Which of you fired the falconer?” he shouted against the wind.

“That saved us all.”

“Not me.”

“Nor me.” All heads turned towards the longboat, and they stared atthe small figure in the bows.

“Not you, Dorian?” Hal asked, in wonder.

“Yes, Father.” Dorian held up the smoking slow-match in his hand.

“Two cubs of the old lion,” said Aboli softly.

“But now we should go, before the garrison from the castle comes tothat cannon and the fire.” He gestured at the piles of It burningdriftwood.

“Did we lose anyone?” Hal shouted.

“I saw Dick Foster go down,” All Wilson shouted back, and went to kneelbeside the body. There was a fearsome wound in the chest. All feltfor the carotid artery in the man’s throat beside his windpipe.

“He’s gone.”

“Any others?” Hal asked.

“No, only the one,” All replied.

Hal felt a lift of relief. It could have been much worse he could havelost a son, or a dear friend.

“Right, then.

Get Dick into the boat. We’ll give him a Christian burial when we getto sea.” He picked up the leather sack that held his father’sremains.

“What shall we do with this trash?” Big Daniel kicked one of thewounded Hottentots, and the man groaned.

“We should slit their throats.”

“Leave them. Don’t waste time.” Hal looked around and saw that halfof his crew had shallow cuts and sword nicks, but none had bothered toremark on it. This was the first time he had seen them fight. They’rea good hard crew indeed, he thought, with satisfaction.

They will give good account against Jangiri, or any other foe.

“Back to the boad” he ordered, and four men picked up Dick Foster’sbody, handling it with respect, and laid it on the floorboards. Halplaced the leather bag beside it, then jumped over the stern to takehis place at the tiller.

The men seized hold of the boat and ran it down over the sands aseasily as if it were a coracle. The bows were thrown high by the firstwave and they leaped aboard and seized the oars.

“Heave away!” Hal shouted, and the next storm-driven wave crashed overthe bows, tumbling aboard so that they were flooded knee-deep.

“Heave!” Hal exhorted them, and they shot forward, climbing at animpossible angle up the steep slope of the next wave. They reached thecrest and hovered a moment on the very brink of capsizing end over end,then dropped forward and hit the trough with a crash.

“Heave!” Hal roared, and they shot out into the clear where the waveswere tall but not steep enough to up-end them. Half the men set asidetheir oars and began to bail her out, while the others rowed hard forthe distant Seraph.

“Dorian!” Hal called the boy to him.

“Sit by me.” He spread the wing of his cloak over his son and underits cover hugged him close.

“How did you learn to fire the falconer?”

“Tom showed me,” Dorian said uncertainly.

“Did I do

wrong?

“You did well.” Hal hugged him harder.

“God knows, you could not have done better.” al carried the leathersack into the stern cabin.

The two boys followed him, sea-water pouring from their clothing ontothe deck. The Seraph plunged and rolled at her anchor cables as thestorm lashed her mercilessly.

Hal laid the sack and its precious burden on the deck beside thecoffin. The screws that held down the lid were already loosened and ittook only a few turns to free them.

Hal lifted the lid and laid it aside. Carefully he placed the leathersack in the chest. He had to turn and angle it to get it to fit, thenhe packed raw oakum around his father’s corpse, to prevent the fragilebones being shaken and broken during the long voyage ahead.

Tom helped him replace the lid. He took the turn-screw from hisfather’s hands.

“Let me have the honour, Father.”

“You have earned it,” Hal agreed.

“Both of you. Let Dorian help you.” He handed the younger boy anotherturn-screw from the tool chest, and watched them secure the coffinlid.”We will give your grandfather a Christian service when we lay him inthe stone sarcophagus in the crypt at High Weald that I prepared forhim twenty years ago,” he told them, and wondered if all his sons wouldbe together on that day. He put the gloomy doubt from his mind, as hewatched them finish the task.

“Thank you,” he said simply, when they had finished.

“Go and change into dry clothes. Then see if, in this foul weather,the cook still has a fire burning in his galley and can give yousomething hot to eat and drink.” At the door he stopped Dorian.

“We can never call you a baby again,” he said.

“You proved tonight that you are a man in everything but size. Yousaved all our lives.” Dorian’s smile was so radiant, and even with hissea-wet locks dangling in his face he looked so beautiful, that ittwisted Hal’s heart.

Soon he heard the two brothers chattering away in the tiny cabin besidehis, which had been vacated by the Beatty daughters, then their runningfootsteps in the passageway as they went off to importune the cook.

Hal lit two candles and placed them on the lid of his father’s coffin.Then he knelt on the deck in front of it and began the long vigil.Sometimes he prayed aloud, for the peace of his father’s soul and theforgiveness of his sins.

Once or twice he spoke quietly to him, remembering incidents from theirlife together, reliving the frightful agony of Sir Francis’s death.Though the night was long, and he was exhausted and cold, his vigilended only when the dawn light, grey with the storm, crept through thestern windows. Then he roused himself and went on deck.

“Good morrow, Mr. Tyler. Call both watches to get the ship underway,” he bellowed above the wind. The watch came tumbling up on theheaving deck. The forecastle men manned the capstan and the pawlsclanked as they recovered her anchor cable. In the meantime the topmen poured into the rigging and manned the yards.

Hal ordered the foresail spread for a moment to give the ship way tobreak out the anchor flukes from the sandy bottom, then furled the sailagain as she came up hard. He listened to the capstan pawls:

clank, then clank again, silence for a long moment, then clank andclank, coming faster until it became a rattling chorus as the anchorbroke out and the cable slithered in through the hawsehole.

“Head sails!” Hal roared, and as they broke out the storm snatchedthem drum-tight. The Seraph quivered eagerly, and as Hal ordered thehelm put over she spun on her heel and frolicked away. The men in therigging let out a spontaneous cheer. A moment later Tom’s voice hailedfrom the masthead, “On deck there! A boat!”

“Where away?” Hal shouted back.

“Putting out from the beach. Now there are two of them, no, three!”Hal crossed to the lee rail, and raised his telescope.

The sea was dreary grey, flecked with whitecaps. Low cloud scuddedacross the sky and obscured the mountain-top. He picked out the threelongboats battling the wind and the tide, throwing bursts of spray overtheir bows, heading towards the Seraph.

“Visitors, Captain,” said Ned at his elbow.

Hal grunted and focused his telescope. He could pick out the Dutchuniforms and the glint of bayonets.

“I do not think they have anything to tell us that we want to hear, Mr.Tyler.” He shut it with a snap. Clearly, they were troops from thecastle. Last night’s fracas on the beach had stirred them up. Heturned his back on the distant flotilla and smiled as he gave the nextorder.

“Lay the ship on a course to pass the Yeoman of York close to leeward,if you please, Mr. Tyler.” Half a cable’s length from the Yeoman, theSeraph hove to, and launched the longboat. The teak chest was loweredinto her as she danced alongside, then Hal dropped down the ladder andtook the tiller before he gave the order to pull across to the anchoredYeoman.

Anderson was at the rail, and Hal stood in the stern sheets and hailedhim.

“I

have the cargo for you.”

“I’m ready to receive it,” Anderson shouted back, and his crew lowereda tackle from the main yard. The longboat crept in under it and,working swiftly and deftly, they secured the teak chest to it.

“Hoist away!” Hal called, and his father’s coffin was raised and swungin onto the Yeoman’s deck.

“I am greatly obliged to you, sir,” Hal cried to the deck high above.

“My great pleasure, sir,” Anderson answered.

“I wish you a fair wind.” He touched the brim of his cocked hat insalute.

“Until we meet again,” Hal said.

Then Guy’s head appeared at the rail. He looked pale, as if the firstthroes of seasickness had already overtaken him. Nevertheless, hesmiled bravely and waved his cap over his head.

“Farewell, Father, until we meet in Bombay.

“Farewell and farewell,” Hal replied, and felt a sharp pang of sorrowat this parting. Would that our fates had treated us all more kindly,he thought, but he smiled encouragingly at Guy, trying to convey amessage of love and hope to him, until he was forced to give his wholeattention to bringing the longboat back alongside the Seraph.

Although the whipping pendulum action of the Seraph’s foremast in thiswind and sea had made the climb both hazardous and Tightening, Tom andDorian were at last secure in the crow’s nest. They could look downfrom there onto the Yeoman’s deck as they passed the anchored ship soclosely that they could clearly make out the expressions of thepassengers and crew looking up at them.

“There’s Guy!” Dorian whipped off his cap to wave at his brother.

“Guy! Ahoy there, Guy!” Guy raised his head and looked up at them.

But his hands remained clasped behind his back, and no smile relievedthe severity of his expression.

“Why does he not answer me?” Dorian asked plaintively.

“I have not given him offence.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Dorry. It’s not you he hates, it’s me,” Tomsaid quietly, and returned his twin’s cold glare.

Behind Guy, the Beatty family stood in a small group together.

With him, they had come on board the Yeoman days before from theirlodgings in the settlement, ready for the sailing of the ship toBombay. Caroline stood a few paces separated from the rest of herfamily, and Tom picked her out. She made a pretty picture in thesesurroundings, her skirts and petticoats rippling and flirting in thewind, holding her bonnet on with one hand, her curls dancing on cheekspink from the wind’s touch, eyes sparkling as she looked across at theother tall ship.

“Caroline!” Tom yelled.

“Up here! Ahoy!” The devil was in him, and he called her more toinfuriate his twin than for any other reason.

Caroline raised her eyes and saw him high in the crow’s nest. She dida little impromptu dance of excitement, and waved with her free hand.

“TomV The wind whipped her voice away, but Tom’s sharp eyes could readher lips.

“God speed!” Guy spun round when he heard her voice, then strodeacross the deck and stood close by her side. He did not touch her, buthis posture was possessive and belligerent as he stared across at hisbrother.

The Seraph broke out more sail, and she heeled sharply and flew away onthe wind. The figures on the Yeoman’s deck dwindled in size and thenwere lost to sight. From the crow’s nest they stared-back at the othership until she was a distant shape on the horizon, almost lost beneaththe dark mountain and the towering ranges of sullen, bruised cloud.

“Now it’s just you and me,” Dorian said sadly.

Tom did not answer. He could think of nothing to say.

“You won’t ever forget the oath you swore to me?” Dorian insisted.

“You won’t ever leave me?”

“I won’t forget it,” Tom said.

“It was a dreadful oath,” Dorian reminded him.

“The very strongest kind.”

“I know,” said Tom, and repeated, “I won’t forget it.”

He rubbed the tiny white scar at the end of his thumb.

After leaving Table Bay the Seraph was twenty-three Adays withoutglimpse of land or the sun. They ran into torrential downpours ofrain, so copious that it seemed the very ocean had been upended and wascrashing down on the deck. The rains lasted days and nights withoutcessation. In such conditions, even Hal’s Vignoiation was sketchy andwithout substance, relying entirely on the traverse board and deadreckoning of each day’s run.

“This is usually a placid, sunny ocean,” Aboli remarked, looking up atthe tumbling clouds low overhead.

“The sea devils have turned it on its head.”

“There is some great disturbance out there in the east,” Ned Tyleragreed.

“The wind turns over us like a wheel, always altering the direction ofits thrust, “We have met these winds before,” Big Daniel remindedthem.

“They spin around like a child’s top. I have heard that they are notuncommon in these latitudes at this season of the year. But we are notat the centre-” He broke off as a mountainous swell even taller thanall the others marched down upon the ship with ponderous dignity. Itwas so high as to dwarf the Seraph and its crest reached above herforetop yard. The yawning trough between this one and the swell thathad preceded it was over a league wide.

Hal left his position by the lee rail and crossed quickly to thehelm.

“Bring her up two points,” he ordered quietly.

“Meet her!” he said. As the wave crashed down, they wallowed in thetrough for a long moment. The men around the wheel held their breath,then released it together as the Seraph kicked up her head.

“Mr. Fisher is right.” Hal nodded at him.

“These storms spread out from their centre for hundreds of sea miles.

They will sweep the entire ocean from end to end. But give thanks toGod that we are not at the centre of this one. The strength of thewind there could probably rip out the main mast, though we flew not ascrap of canvas upon her.” Big Daniel spoke again.

“In the Mascarene Islands I have seen one of these devil winds tear outthe largest palm tree by its roots and carry it a mile out to sea,flying as though it were a kite.”

“Pray for a sight of the sunNed Tyler looked up at the looming overcastsky, “that we might at last be able to fix our latitude.”

“I have given us a wide berth of the land.” Hal glanced at thebinnacle, then looked into the west.

“We should be at least two hundred miles clear of the Africanmainland.”

“But Madagascar is one of the largest islands in the world, almost tentimes the size of Ireland, and it lies right across our path,” Nedpointed out quietly, so that the helmsman could not hear him. Therewas nothing to be gamed in alarming the crew by discussing the hazardsof navigation in their hearing.

At that moment there came a hail from the masthead.

“Deck! Flotsam! Fine on the port bow!” The group of officers peeredahead, and Hal shouted, through the hailing trumpet, “Masthead!

What do you make of it?”

“Looks like the soar of a ship, or the–2 The lookout broke off, thenwent on excitedly, “No! It’s a small boat, but almost swamped. Thereare men in her.” Hal hurried up to the bows, and jumped onto thebowsprit.

“Yes, by God,” he said.

“Castaways, by the look of them. Alive too, I can see one of themmoving. Stand by to launch a boat and pick them up.” Bringing theSeraph down on the small boat was difficult, dangerous work in theseconditions of sea and wind, but at last Hal could lower a boat and sendBig Daniel and a crew to the rescue. There were only two men in thebattered craft, which Big Daniel abandoned, for it was not worth the,labour of salvaging it.

They brought the two survivors up in a boatswain’s chair, for they werefar too weak to climb the ladder.

Dr. Reynolds was there to meet them, and he examined them as they layon the deck. They were both only semiconscious. The salt had flayedthe skin off their faces. Their eyes were swollen almost shut, andtheir tongues were blue and bloated from thirst so that they filledtheir mouths and protruded between their lips.

The Monsoon

“Water is their first need,” he grunted.

“Then I will bleed them both.” Their tongues were so swollen that theycould not drink, so Reynolds introduced a brass syringe into the backof their throats and squeezed sweet water into them. Then he smearedmutton grease thickly over their salt-scalded lips, faces and arms. Theeffect on the younger of the two was miraculous: within two hours hehad recovered sufficiently to be able to speak lucidly. However, theolder man was still unconscious and seemed to be sinking fast. At Dr. Reynolds’s summons, Hal went down to the corner of the gundeck wherethey were lying on straw pallets. He squat red beside them and watchedthe surgeon bleed the younger patient.

“I should take another pint,” he told Hal as he finished, “but this oneis rallying strongly, and I have always been a conservative physician.One pint will do for now.” He closed the wound with a dab of tar andbound it up with a clean cloth.

“The older man is not faring as well.

I shall take two pints from him.” He began work on the still figure onthe other pallet.

Hal observed that the younger man indeed seemed brighter after thistreatment, and leaned over him to ask, “Do you speak English?”

“Aye, Captain. That I do,” the sailor whispered. The Welsh lilt wasunmistakable.

“What is your name, lad, and what ship?”

“Taffy Evans, begging your pardon, Captain. From off the Company’sship Nile, God have mercy on her.” Slowly and gently Hal drew hisstory out of him. As a precaution against piracy, the Nile had beensailing in a convoy with two other ships, outward-bound from Bombay toEngland, with a cargo of cloth and spices, when they had run full intothis terrible cyclonic storm a hundred leagues north of the MascareneIslands. Battered by the ferocious winds and gigantic seas, the Nilehad become separated from the other ships of the convoy and taken onwater. On the fifth day, during the second dogwatch, she had been hitby a monstrous swell. Heavy with the water in her bilges she hadcapsized and gone under. So swift had been her end that only a handfulof men had got away in a boat, but they had neither water nor food withthem and most had perished swiftly. After twelve days only the tworemained alive.

While he was talking, Dr. Reynolds had bled two pints from the otherpatient. He had just sent away his assistant to empty the blood-filledbowl over side when he exclaimed, with chagrin, “Devil take it, thepoor wretch is dead. I had hoped to save him.” He turned his fullattention back to Taffy Evans.

“I think we will get this one through, though.”

“When you are fully recovered there will be a berth for you on fullpay, and with a share of the prize money.” Hal stooped under the lowdeck.

“Will you sign the watch-bill?” Taffy touched his forehead with a weakgrin.

“Right gladly, Captain. I owe you a life.”

“Welcome aboard, sailor.” Hal ran up the ladder to the deck, and pacedeasily against the heavy roll and pitch of the ship. Finding thesecastaways had been fortuitous, as was the storm that was now graduallydissipating its power.

They gave him the excuse for which he had been seeking.

When he had the details of his plan firmly in mind, he called hisofficers down to his cabin. They gathered around the chart spread onhis writing-desk.

“All of you know that for two hundred years the centre of all trade andcommerce on the Fever Coast has been here,” he said, and touched thetiny cluster of islands marked on the chart.

“Zanzibar.

Logically that is where our search for Jangiri must begin.” Theynodded in agreement. Every one of them had sailed this ocean beforeand they knew well how the three small islands of the Zanzibar groupwere situated ideally for India, the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, andonly a few leagues off the African mainland. The islands lay full inthe track of the monsoon winds, which reversed themselves with thechange of the seasons. The south-easterly monsoon carried shippingfrom India to Africa, and when the season changed, the northwesterlymonsoon facilitated the return voyage. Added to this, Zanzibar had asecure harbour on the main island of Ungula, and even in the worstseason of the rains, it was relatively free of the dreaded malarialfevers that turned the African mainland into a deathtrap. Since as farback as the rise of Islam it had always been the entrept to Africa andthe Ocean of the Indies, and the market where the produce of Africaslaves, gold, ivory, gum arabic, the precious frankincense wastraded.

All Wilson spoke up diffidently.

“While I was their captive, I heard the pirates speak often ofZanzibar, I formed the impression that they visited it regularly totrade part of their booty, to sell their captives in the slave marketand to refit and revictual their fleet.” t

“Did it seem to you that Jangiri used Zanzibar as his main base?”

Hal asked him.

“No, Captain, it did not. I believe that he would not place himself inthe power of the Omani sultan by doing so I believe that Jangiri hasanother secret hideaway, but that he uses Zanzibar as his tradingport.”

“It has been my intention ever since our quest began to call atZanzibar. However, what has troubled me is to explain what business anEnglish ship of force is doing in these waters, so far from the regulartrade route between India and Good Hope.” Hal looked around the circleof their intent faces and saw both Big Daniel and Ned Tyler nod.

“Indeed, if we sail into Zanzibar the word will spread down the coastwithin a week that a squadron of pirate hunters has arrived, andJangiri will take fright. We will never bring him to battle unless wecan give good, innocent reasons for being in these waters.

“The storm has given us that reason,” Hal told them, “and the castawayswe found have suggested the excuse we lacked.” They looked at himcuriously.

“What story will you tell the consul in Zanzibar?” Ned Tyler asked.

“I shall tell him that we were part of the convoy from Bombay thatincluded the luckless Nile. My story will be that we are laden withrich cargo. I will dream up the details of a treasure -so fabulousthat it will have Jangiri salivating in his beard when he hears ofit.”

They all laughed delightedly at the thought.

“We ran into the heart of the great storm and were battered by it justas the Nile was.”

Hal looked across the desk at Ned Tyler.

“We have already concealed the greater part of our armament, but now Iwant you to send down some of our yards and spars to give theappearance of storm-damage to rigging and hull that will convince awatcher from the shore of the truth of our story. Can you do that, Mr.Tyler?”

“Indeed I can, Captain,” Ned said, with relish.

“Such damage will give us the excuse to linger in Zanzibar roads, whilethe news of our plight is carried by every spy and trading dhow up anddown the coast.” Hal enlarged on his plan.

“By the time we leave port again, every corsair and rover from thecoast to Jiddah will be drawn to us like wasps to a pot of honey.”Despite the heavy seas, the work of transforming the Seraph was begunat once. Ned seemed inspired by the task that Hal had set him, and hiscarpenters used paint of mixed colours to patch and dapple the hull. Hehad an old suite of sails from the Atlantic voyage brought on deck thendeliberately sullied and tattered it. He selected certain parts of therigging, including some of the upper yards and spars, for removal sothat the ship’s sailing qualities would not be too adverselyaffected.

These would be sent down as soon as land was in sight. The Seraphwould present a truly sad, bedraggled appearance when she limped intoZanzibar harbour.

“Three days later, the skies began to clear and, although the seas werestill high and unruly, the tropical sun burned down on them once again.The effect on the spirits of the crew was gratifying to Hal as hewatched them set about their duties with new heart and vigour. At noonhe was able to make his first sun-shot in all those weeks of sailing.He found that the ship’s position was on the twelfth parallel of southlatitude, two hundred and fifty miles further north than his deadreckoning had suggested.

“Depending on our castings, we should raise Madagascar island withinthe week, “he commented, as he marked the new position in the ship’slog, and ordered a change of course up into the west, towards theisland and the African mainland.

s always, the birds gave warning of the proximity of land. These wereof species that neither Tom nor Dorian had ever seen before. They sawfairy terns, with plumage white as frost on a December morning at HighWeald, and long-tailed tropichirds hovered over the shoals of smallfish that darkened the surface in their multitudes. Closer to theisland, they came across villainous-looking frigate birds, black ashell with scarlet throats, hanging on the high currents of the monsoonwind. They were lying in ambush for the flocks of terns as theyreturned from their fishing forays. Tom and Dorian watched them diveon their quarry with wings shaped like the blade of a half folded claspknife, forcing their victims to disgorge the hard-won fruits of theirlabours, then swooping to gobble the partly digested fish from theircrops.

The sea changed colour, taking on a yellowish hue.

When the boys asked why, Aboli explained, “The rains of the great stormhave engorged the rivers of the mainland, and they have dischargedtheir muddy flood-waters into the sea. We are very close to land now.”The next morning as the dawn exploded silently in the eastern skybehind them, and turned the horizon the colour of fire opals and rosepetals, from the masthead they saw a blue wavy line scored across thehorizon ahead of the ship’s bows.

“Land!” The joyous cries rang through the ship.

Hal knew these is lands well, and as the day wore on he climbed intothe rigging and was able to identify the blue mountains of the northtip of Madagascar as they rose higher and higher from the sea.

All that day both watches laboured at the heavy work of slinging downthe spars from the topmasts to make the ship appear storm-crippled.Without her top canvas the Seraph became baulky and recalcitrant, andwhen close hauled she refused to sail more than eight points to thewind. However, the trade winds were behind her and Hal was able tofree her sails and lay her on a direct course towards the land. It wasas well that they completed this work before the ship sailed closer inand met any of the small fishing dhows that would report their arrivalin these waters and describe the Seraph’s condition.

The following noon Cap d’Ambre, at the northern tip of Madagascar, layten leagues off their port beam. With this fix on his position Hal wasable to shape a course directly across the Mozambique Channel forZanzibar. This inner sea was bejewelled with lovely little islands.

The Seraph wove her way between them, sometimes so close that theycould see the dark, half-naked islanders waving from the whitebeaches.

The sailors climbed into the rigging and waved back lustily,speculating on the gender of the tiny figures on the sand.

These waters were dotted with the sail of small trading vessels andfishing dhows. As the Seraph passed, their crews called questions inArabic and other unintelligible languages. To the delight of theSeraph’s men, there were women in some of the dhows.

“By God, I can see that one’s titties from here. Brown as a pair ofEaster buns hot from the oven.”

“Then I’ll lick the sugar coating off them, so help me, I will.”

“Say you’ll marry me, you little heathen beauty, and I’ll jumpoverboard this moment,” one of the topmast men shouted.

“They don’t understand the word marry. just tell them They’llunderstand that well enough!” his mate Suggested. The faint tinkle ofdelighted feminine laughter from the dhow drifted back to confirm thewisdom of this counsel.

Through his telescope Hal could make out damage to the palm trees andthe other vegetation on the islands they passed, while the debris andfloating rubbish that speckled the surface of the ocean confirmed thestorm’s passage, and that their excuse for being in these waters wouldbe strengthened when they reached Zanzibar.

“If we do not run into Jangiri first,” Ned Tyler pointed out drily “Wehave already made such a ripple in these waters that news of ourarrival must be speeding ahead of us.” Hal was aware of the danger ofjangiri springing the trap prematurely, for they were now in his homewaters.

He redoubled his vigilance. The lookouts were warned of the danger,and the crew kept in a state of alert. Because of the work on the gunports Hal could not exercise the gun-crews, but he kept them busy withsword practice and musketry. These precautions proved superfluous,though, for they saw no large ships, and within ten days they hadraised the African mainland.

Since leaving Good Hope this was Tom and Dorian’s first sight ofAfrica, and whenever they could escape from their labours in MasterWalsh’s classroom, from the Arabic lessons with All Wilson or theirother duties, the boys climbed to a masthead and sat for hoursdiscussing the mysterious land out there, the wonders and adventures itpromised them. The Seraph bore northwards along the coast, sometimesclose in to the capes and coral reefs of the mainland, and the boyslonged for glimpses of weird beasts and savage black tribes, but Africaseemed vast, enigmatic and deserted.

Finally Unguja appeared ahead. There were two other smaller islands inthe group: Pemba and Latham. But when sailors spoke of Zanzibar, thiswas the island to which they usually referred. It was crowned by themassive fort, built of sparkling white coral blocks that glistened likean iceberg in the sunlight. Its ramparts bristled with heavy cannon.Hal tacked into the entrance of the ancient harbour.

A mass of fore-and-aft-rigged craft was anchored in wild disorder,congesting the harbour. Some of the oceangoing dhows were almost aslarge as the Seraph. These were the traders from India, Muscat and theRed Sea. However, there was no way of telling if any were corsairs.

Probably all of them are, given a chance. Hal smiled to himself, thengave his full attention to bringing the Seraph safely to rest. Hedipped his colours to the fort in courtesy to the Sultan’srepresentative, and dropped anchor at the limit of random shot from thebatteries. He had learned long ago to mistrust even the most warm,open welcome of any African potentate.

A swarm of small boats came out to greet them as soon as they were atanchor, offering wares to cater for every need or vice, from greencoconuts to bundles of narcotic Mang leaves and flowers, from thecarnal services of small brown slave boys and girls to porcupine quillsfilled with gold dust.

“Make certain that none of this rabble are allowed on board,” Halwarned Big Daniel.

“And keep a weather eye on our own lovely lads that they do not try tosneak ashore for a bottle and a bit of fun. I’m going to visit theBritish consul, although I do not expect him to be the same man I sawtwenty years ago, when last we visited this place.

What was the fellow’s name?”

“Grey, as I recall, Captain.”

“That’s right, Daniel. William Grey, and as likely a rogue as remainsun hanged Hal took a small party ashore wid-i him, including Aboli andfive armed seamen. The longboat deposited them on the stone quay belowthe thick white walls of the fort. Aboli cleared a way through thethrong of merchants and idlers and they entered the warren of smallalleys and lanes that were barely wide enough for three men to walkabreast.

The stench from the open sewers that ran down to the harbour was strongenough to catch in their throats, and made Hal’s gorge rise.

The heat where no breeze entered was stifling and their sweat hadsoaked through the back of their shirts before they had gone a hundredpaces. Some of the buildings were three storeys high, and none of thewalls was true, they leaned and bulged out, almost meeting overhead.

The upper balconies were screened with intricate latticework, andfaceless female creatures in black veils peered at them through thezenana screens.

This was the season of the monsoon, which brought the slavers from allthe far reaches of the eastern shores.

Aboli led them through the main slave market. It was a large sauk,open to the sky but shaded by a grove of banyan trees, with weirdserpentine trunks and thick, dark green foliage.

The ranks of slaves for sale squatted in the shade of the spreadingboughs. Hal knew they had worn their chains from the day of theircapture deep in the African interior, during the long heartbreakingjourney down to the coast and in the slave decks of the dhows that hadbrought them across the channel. Some of the men were branded on theforehead, the scars still pink and freshly healed.

These markings denoted that they had been castrated in the barra coonson the beaches of the mainland. They were destined for the Chinatrade: the emperor had decreed that no black slaves could be importedwho were capable of bastardizing the pure bloodline of his people. Theprice of these gelded creatures was almost doubled as losses, due tothe crude surgery and cauterization, were high.

The buyers from the ships in the harbour were inspecting the offerings,and haggling with the slave-masters in their ankle-length robes andhead cloths Hal shouldered his way past them and entered the maze oflanes on the far side of the sauk.

Although two decades had elapsed since his last visit, Aboli led themunerringly to the heavy door of African

AM

mahogany that opened on to the noisome street. It was studded withiron nails and intricately carved with Islamic designs and texts fromthe Koran, in which no figure of man or animal, which might beconstrued as idolatry, was depicted. A slave, in long black robes andturban, answered the jangling bell.

“salaam aliekum.” He touched breast and lips and bowed in welcome.

“My master knows of your coming, and waits eagerly to welcome you.” Helooked at the small party that followed Hal.

“There is refreshment for your men.” He clapped his hand for anotherslave to lead them away, and Hal followed him into the courtyard wherea fountain played and banks of flowering hibiscus sweetened the stenchfrom the street.

For a moment he did not recognize the monstrous figure that lay on apile of cushions in the shade beside the fountain. He hesitated, andstared at him until behind the bloated features he could make out thevestiges of the man he had once known.

“Salaam aliekum.” William Grey, His Majesty’s consul to the Sultanateof Zanzibar, greeted him.

Hal almost replied in the same language, but stopped himself. He didnot want to let Grey know that he was fluent in Arabic. Instead hesaid, “I’m afraid I have not a word of that heathen tongue, sir. I wasled to understand that you were English. Do you not speak a Christianlanguage?”

“Pardon me, sir. It is a matter of habit.” Grey smiledingratiatingly.

“I am William Grey, His Majesty’s consular representative to the Omanisultanate. Forgive me not rising to greet you.” Grey made adeprecatory gesture that took in his ruined body and swollenelephantine legs, which were covered in running ulcers. Hal recognizedthe ravages of dropsy.

“Please be seated, sir. I have been expecting your visit since Ireceived reports of your arrival in the harbour.” .” Good day to you,sir. Captain John Black, at your service.” Hal remembered that Greywas a Christian apostate, who had embraced Islam. He suspected thatthe man’s change of faith had been more for financial and economicconsiderations than from religious conviction.

Obviously Grey neither recognized nor remembered Hal, and it had been asafe bet that he would not. Hal had banked on this when he had givenGrey a false name: it was essential that the pirates did not becomeaware of his true identity. Twenty years before, Hal had earned theArabic name of El Tazar, the Barracuda, for his fighting exploits whenhe had spread terror throughout the fleets of Islam during theEthiopian war in the Horn of Africa. if he were to lure Jangiri toattack him, his enemies must not be given any inkling of the trueidentity of the man against whom they were pitted.

Hal seated himself on the cushions that had been placed for him.

A female slave carried in a tray, on which were set out two silvercoffee thimbles, and a second woman carried a tall silver pot, on itsown charcoal brazier.

The slave girls were both young, slim and supple-wasted.

Grey would have paid at least two hundred rupees for each.

Hal remembered that Grey had made a vast fortune from trafficking inthe slave trade, and the sale of licences and commissions from theSultan. At their last meeting, he had tried to interest Hal in boththese propositions. Hal guessed that this was not the limit of hisnefarious activities, and he had no illusions as to the man’s integrityor morals. That he was in league with Jangiri and his ilk was notbeyond the bounds of probability.

One of the girls knelt before Grey and filled the thimbles with thebitter black beverage, viscous as honey.

Idly Grey caressed her arm, as he would a pet cat, with a hand on whichthe gold rings and jewels had sunk into the putty-soft flesh of hisswollen white fingers.

“You have had a good voyage, Captain?”

“A voyage not without incident, sir,” Hal answered.

Grey must already know every detail of the condition of the Seraph, andwas merely seeking confirmation.

“After leaving Bombay, in convoy with two other ships of the HonourableEast India Company, we were beset by a fearful gale off the coast ofMadagascar. One of the other vessels went down with all hands lost,and we escaped only with great damage to our hull and rigging. This isthe main reason why we have called at this port, which was not myoriginal intention.”

“I am sorry to hear of your misfortune, Grey shook his head insympathy, “but grateful that you have graced us with your presence, andthat of your fine ship. I pray only that I may be of service to you,and provide you with whatever stores you need.” Hal gave him a seatedbow, and thought, No doubt at inflated prices, and for a goodlycommission. He marvelled at the changes that age and the disease hadwrought in Grey.

He had been young and vigorous when last they had met but now his patewas bald and his beard silver white.

His eyes were weak and rheumy and the smell of death was upon him.

“Thank you, sir. I am grateful for your good offices, particularlysince I am conveying a cargo of peculiar value and political importanceto His Majesty King William.” Grey stirred his vast body, and asparkle of interest shone in his watery eyes.

“As I am His Majesty’s direct representative in these parts,” hemurmured, “might I be permitted to know the nature of this cargo?” Haldrew in his breath sharply at the suggestion, the lowered his gaze tostudy the ornamental fish that drifted in the waters of the fountain.He rubbed his temples thoughtfully and made a show of pondering thewisdom of acceding to this request. At last he sighed.

“As His Majesty’s representative,” he said, “you of all persons shouldbe informed.” He hesitated again, then seemed to make up his mind. Helowered his voice to a conspiratorial level.

“I am entrusted with the conveyance of the gift that Aurangzeb, theMogul Emperor of India, is sending to His Majesty to celebrate hiscoronation.” Grey raised his bulk on one elbow and gaped at Hal.

Then, Slowly, avarice bloomed in his eyes. He tried to mask his greed,but the idea of a royal tribute, the gift of one sovereign to another,filled him with almost religious awe.

The Mogul dynasty had been founded by Babur, and he in turn was thedirect descendant of Timur and Genghis Khan. His father, Shah Jehan,had built the fabulous Taj Mahal as a mausoleum for a favourite wife.The Mogul empire was the most powerful and the richest ever to emergefrom the Orient. What might be the value of the gift of such a mightyemperor?

Hal lowered his voice further to a whisper.

“I have been informed by the Governor of Bombay, to whom the gift wasdelivered, that it comprises a suite of emeralds, twenty stones perfectin fire, and each the size of a green pomegranate.” Grey gaspedsoftly, then struggled for breath Hal went on, “Governor Aungierconfided in me that the value of these stones is five lakhs of rupees.”Grey tried to sit up, but the effort was too much for him. He fellback on the cushions and stared wordlessly at Hal. One lakh was ahundred thousand rupees.

Half a million rupees was worth almost a hundred thousand pounds. Thiswas a fortune almost too large for the mind to encompass.

Indeed, Captain Black, such a vital cargo must be given all priority,”Grey managed.

“You may be certain that I will do all in my power to assist with therepairs to your ship, and to expedite your departure.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How long do you estimate that these repairs will occupy you?” Greyask anxiously.

“When do you expect to be able to resume your voyage, Captain?”

“With your help I should be ready to sail again within the month.” Greywas silent for a moment, evidently making rapid calculations. Then helooked relieved.

With each of these tiny indications Hal was becoming more stronglyconvinced that Grey was in league with the corsairs.

Grey gave him a pasty, oleaginous smile.

“The damage must be greater than it appears from a casual examination,”he said, which confirmed what Hal had suspected: that he had been onthe rooftop overlooking the harbour to scrutinize the Seraph throughhis telescope.

“Of course, I will try to leave sooner than that, but we are takingwater heavily and I believe there may be underwater damage to the hull.We will be here for two or three weeks at least.”

“Good!”

Grey declared.

“I mean, I am sure your ship will be in all respects ready for sea bythat time.” Hal smiled pleasantly and thought, And, unless I am verymuch mistaken, your business partner Jangiri will by that time be readyto greet us and give us a rousing welcome as soon as we enter theMozambique Channel again.

Grey gestured to the slave-girls to refill the coffee thimbles.

“Apart from ship’s stores, I am able to offer you other items for yourpersonal profit, goods that will be worth three and four times thepurchase price once you reach England again. Would that interest you,Captain?”

“Despite the decrees of John Company against private trade, I believeevery man is entitled to the fruits of his own labour and ingenuity,”Hal replied.

Grey nodded enthusiastically.

“My view entirely. I have a dozen slaves in my own barracoon of suchquality as is seldom seen in the sauk.” He leaned forward and winkedat Hal in such a suggestive, obscene fashion that Hal had to forcehimself not to show his disgust by either gesture or expression.

“In fact, I might bring myself to part with one or both of my specialtreasures.” He stroked the rim head of the girl who knelt in front ofhim, then smiled at her lovingly and said in Arabic, “Smile at theinfidel pig!” The girl looked up sideways at Hal and showed smallwhite teeth in a shy smile.

“Is she not a beauty?” Grey asked.

“And well worth a hundred and fifty pounds at Good Hope.

I can let you have her, as a favour, you understand, for seventy.”

He caressed the girl again.

“Show the infidel your tits,” he ordered in Arabic. The girlhesitated.

“Show him, or I will have the skin whipped off your back.” She washardly more than a child, not above sixteen years, but she raised thehem of her blouse and displayed one half brown breast, tipped with anipple like a black pearl, at the same time hanging her headmodestly.

“Her more intimate parts are of equal perfection, should you wish toexamine them, Grey assured him.

“She is beautiful. But, alas, I have no accommodation for her aboard,”Hal said firmly, and the girl covered her bosom.

Grey was not deterred by this refusal.

“I have a quantity of frankincense, of the very finest quality,” hesaid.

“I assure You it is very much in demand. You cannot but make ahandsome profit upon it.” Hal knew that if he were to remain on civilterms with Grey, it would be politic to avail himself of at least oneof the Man’s offerings. He haggled for ten baskets of frankincense, atotal weight of one hundred and fifty pounds.

Grey’s slaves carried in the baskets and set them in a row down thecentre of the courtyard while Hal examined the contents. He knew thatthis aromatic gum came from trees in the African mountains. The trunkswere deeply incised, and the sap that oozed from the wounds hardenedwhen it was exposed to the air. After four months the gum formed intolarge gem like globules, which could then be scraped off.

This first milking of the sap produced a gum of a semi-opaque greenishhue, which bespoke its superior quality. Hal checked the offerings forthese characteristics and affirmed his acceptance.

Grey seemed impressed with his knowledge.

“I can see you’re a gentleman of taste and discernment, Captain. Apair of ivory elephant tusks arrived in the Zanzibar market recently,such as I have never seen in all my years on the island. I wouldhesitate to offer them to any but a gentleman of your quality, sir.” Heclapped his hands, and five hefty male slaves, who must have beenwaiting for the order, staggered in under the weight of one of thegreat tusks.

“Ten feet in length” Grey told Hal proudly.

“Two hundred and five pounds in weigh tV It was an incredible shaft ofcurved ivory. The butt, which had been buried in the beast’s skull,was creamy white, while the rest was stained yellow brown by the sap ofthe great trees that it had shattered and stripped of their bark. Whenthe slaves laid the twin beside it, it was almost impossible to tellthe two tusks apart, so perfectly were they matched.

Hal had been fascinated by the monstrous pachyderms since he had firstlaid eyes on a herd of them on the wild African shores. Then he hadbeen a lad of around Tom’s age. He stroked one of the tusks. Heseemed to be touching the very soul of that immense, savagecontinent.

He knew that he had to have this pair at any price. Grey recognizedthe longing in his eyes and drove a hard bargain. Hal paid more forthem than he would have for a dozen slave-girls.

Later, when the tusks were swung up onto the Seraph’s deck to lie theregleaming like ancient amber in the sunlight, Hal knew that he had madethe best of the bargain. In his old age, in the depths of an Englishwinter, when the final chill crept into his bones, he would need onlyto stretch out his hand to touch his Africa and be transported back toan age and place where he was young again, with all the wonder and fireof that land still in his breast.

He stood, almost reverently, looking down at the magnificent pair.

His sons came to stand on either side of him. Even Dorian was silentand awed, the same spell held them all. When Tom spoke at last hisvoice was almost inaudible.

“They’re so big,” he whispered.

“One day I would like to hunt a creature such as this must have been.”Hal made a lengthy show of repairing the Seraph.

He wanted to give the news of his presence in Zanzibar an opportunityto filter down the islands and to seep along the Fever Coast until itreached the ear of Jangiri, wherever he might be. Then it would taketime for the corsair to rally his forces and deploy them in ambush inthe channel. Hal was certain that even Jangiri would never attempt tocut out the Seraph while she lay at moorings in the harbour. He was,after all, the guest of the Sultan and under his protection.

Hal understood the teachings of the Prophet well, and he knew that inthe world of Islam there was a duty on the host, a burden of honour,that the Sultan would not allow any of his subjects to flout. Once theSeraph was on the open sea, though, she would become fair game oncemore, and the Sultan would probably accept his share of the bootywithout the least qualm.

Another consideration that Hal had to take into account was theprogress of the Yeoman of York under Captain Edward Anderson, and whenhis arrival at the rendezvous might reasonably be expected. Hal wasmore than willing to face Jangiri in a single- ship action upon theopen sea but he was certain that once he had sniffed out the corsair’sland base, he would find it heavily fortified and garrisoned: he knewhe would need every man and ship available to storm and seize it.

If Edward Anderson had left Good Hope a week after the Seraph, then hewould probably have missed the worst of the great storm, and the highwinds that were its aftermath would have hastened him on the voyage toBombay. They stood now at the change of the seasons.

Soon the monsoon would swing about and aid Anderson on his returnvoyage to the African coast. Nevertheless, it would be many more weeksbefore Hal could expect him to reach the rendezvous. No, indeed, therewas no great hurry.

In a leisurely fashion the crew of the Seraph began the long businessof swinging the upper yards and spars aloft and resealing them at themasthead, while the carpenters went through the motions of repairingand repainting the hull.

A week after his visit to the British consul, Hal sent Aboli ashore tomake some purchases in the sauk. That evening he called Tom and Dorianto his cabin. Both boys had pestered him to be allowed to go ashorewhenever a boat put off for the quay. Their high spirits, too longcontained, had led them lately into some dangerous pranks and it wouldbe as well for them to have a run off the ship to rid themselves ofthis pent-up mischief.

“Aboli and I are going ashore this evening to listen to the gossip inthe streets and marketplaces of the town,” he said.

“I am in need of a pair of slave-boys to attend me.” He spoke inArabic, and smiled when Tom entered into the spirit of the occasion andreplied in the same language.

“Revered Father, you would do me great honour if we were to be allowedto accompany you.” Hal corrected his mistakes, but he was gratified bythe progress the lad had made. Of course, he could not yet pass as anative of Arabia but he would be able to make himself understood inmost company. He glanced at Dorian.

“What does my Youngest son have to say on the matter?” Dorian made arespectful obeisance.

“Beloved Father, for such kindness my gratitude would spring forth likesweet water from a desert fountain.”

“I have sired a veritable poed” Hal laughed. Dorian’s Arabic was farsuperior to that of his elder brother. His vocabulary was impressive,and of exactly the type a true Arab would use in similarcircumstances.

“Aboli has purchased clothing for both of you. Be ready to come withme after you have eaten your dinner.” Hal wore the long ankle-lengthrobe and sandals Aboli had bought for him. His wide belt was of goldfiligree with a curved dagger in its sheath over his stomach. Thehandle of the weapon was of rhinoceros horn, polished like opaqueyellow agate. His waistcoat was embroidered with gold and silverthread, and his turban was black. With his thick black moustache, hisbeaked nose and his skin tanned the colour of oiled teak, he lookedlike a prosperous dhow captain, perhaps a slaver or a Red Sea rover. Hetook the precaution of slipping the brace of double-barrelled pistolsinto the gold belt, under the tail of his waistcoat.

The skin of both boys was also so sun-darkened that they needed nostain, and their head cloths covered their hair. Dorian’s eyes were ofsuch a startling green that they stood out against his coppery goldskin, but many of the Pathan tribes from the north of India had fairskins and pale eyes.

After dark they went down into the longboat and, rather thandisembarking at the stone quay of the harbour, Hal steered around thebreakwater to land on a quiet beach a mile from the town. He left theboat in the charge of Big Daniel, and they followed the well-used trackinto the town.

The town was without walls and the narrow streets unlit, except for anoccasional lamp beam from an upstairs window, so they had no difficultyin entering unremarked.

When they reached the main sauk they found most of the stalls and smallshops still open for business. Hal chose the shop of a rug-seller hehad noticed on his last visit to Consul Grey. Some of the carpets init were of beautiful design and texture. The proprietor, whose namewas Salim bin-Tall, welcomed him effusively, seated him on a carpet oflustrous silk and offered him thick sweet coffee, flavoured withcardamom. Aboli and the two slave-boys sat well back in the shadowsand, following Hal’s instructions, maintained a respectful silencethroughout the evening.

“So what is the news, effendi?” Bin’ Tall asked the ritual question ofHal.

The news is good,” Hal told him. He would have given the customaryreply if he had just been robbed of all his worldly possessions, if allhis wives had been raped, and if his eldest son had died of asnake-bite.

“What of your news?”

“My news is also good.”

They sipped coffee and, as they chatted, three or four of bin-Tall’sfamily and friends, drawn by the presence of a stranger in their midst,came to join the circle. Slowly, and with due regard to manners andprotocol, the questions were asked and the true state of affairsdiscussed.

“Your speech is not of the north, effendO They had picked out hisaccent.

“I am from Morbi in Gujarat, in the empire of the Great Mogul. My shiplies in the harbour.” He had studied a number of the sea-going dhowsanchored close to the Seraph so that he could give a description tosatisfy his listeners.

“I have come to buy slaves and trade goods in the souks of Zanzibar andLaniu.”

“And how is it in your land?”

“The tribes of Marathas and the Sikhs are in revolt against theEmperor, but with God’s help he will defeat them.”

“By God’s grace!”

“in this sailing season his eldest son, Asaf Khan, will make thepilgrimage to Mecca, with a fleet of a hundred ships.”

“Praise be to GodV “There is but one God.” All this was news that Halhad gathered while in Good Hope, but its authenticity confirmed hisidentity to bin-Tall and his party. They became more friendly andrelaxed, the conversation flowed freely. Hal haggled genteelly for amagnificent silk carpet from Persia, and when he paid with gold mohurs,coins of fifteen rupees” value, the warmth of the vendors wasunreserved.

“Have you seen the English ship in the harbour?” a cousin of bin-Tallasked.

“The one with the black hull anchored at the far end of thebreakwater?” My own ship is anchored close by the Englishman.

She seems to have been damaged, for her crew work upon her masts.”

“They say it happened in the great storm last month.”

“I also encountered the same storm but, by God’s grace, we survived itsfury.”

“Thanks be to GodV “They say that the English ship is outward-boundfrom your country, from Bombay in the kingdom of the Great Mogul.”

Bin-Tall glanced around to make certain there were no spies to overhearhim.

“She carries a vast treasure to a king of Franks from the Mogul.”

“I too have heard of this treasure.” It took an effort for Hal torepress his smile.

“There was much talk of it when I left Allahabad.”

He also lowered his voice.

“They say it is a treasure of diamonds worth twenty lakhs.”

“Nay!” whispered the cousin excitedly, “I heard it was emer aids andthat it was worth fifty lakhs. They say the Great Mogul has emptiedhis treasury.”

“Truly it must be one of the greatest treasures the world has everseen,” Hal breathed in awe.

“And now it lies here among us. I should like to lay my eyes upon sucha treasure.” They were all silent as they considered the possibilitiesthat Hal’s words presented. Their eyes sparkled with greed as theythought about it.

“I should like to hold such a treasure in my hand,” said bin-Tall atlast.

“Just to be able to boast to my grandchildren that I had done so.” Hiscousin laughed spitefully.

“Al-Auf would take it from your hand, cousin.” They all laughed then,and another said, “Al-Auf “would take your hand also.”

“By God, that is the truth.”

“True! True!” They laughed without restraint.

“Who is this Bad One?” Hal asked innocently, for that was the meaningof al-Auf.

“You are a seafarer and you have not heard of him?” bin-Tallmarvelled.

“I thought every sailor must tremble at that name.”

“I am an ignorant one from a far country,” Hal admitted.

“Musallim. bin-jangiri, the scourge of the infidel and the Sword ofIslam. That is al-Auf, the Bad One.” Hal felt his pulse throb at thename, but he kept his expression neutral and stroked his chinthoughtfully.

“Al-Auf is then a corsair?” he asked.

“He is the father and mother of all corsairs.” Bin-Tall smiled.

“He sounds like one who should be avoided. But where would a man findal-Auf, if he were stupid enough to seek him out?” Bin-Tall chuckled,and took a long pull on his hookah pipe. The water bubbled in the bowland the musky Mang smoke streamed from his lips.

“You are right, effendi. Only a madman would wish to seek out al-AufBut if you can fathom the track of the tiger shark across the ocean,then you will know where to look for his ship. If you know where thesea mist rises, then you may discern the shadow of his black sails.”

“He sounds like a djinn, a spirit of the sea, and not a man of fleshand blood,” Hal said.

“He is a man indeed. For I have seen him with my own eyes,” boastedthe cousin.

“Where did you see him? What is he like?”

“I saw him at Lamu.

He was in the harbour there in his ship. I saw him on the deck. Hehas the proud when 01 and the bold eye of a hero of old, a mighty manand terrible to look upon.”

“How was his ship?” Hal knew that any description of jangiri would becoloured brightly with blind terror and unlikely to bear muchresemblance to the man.

He had better prospects of an accurate description of his ship.

“Strange to tell, it is not a dhow, as you might expect.

It is a Frankish ship, with many sails,” said the cousin.

“But the sails are black.”

“A ship like the English ship in the harbour?”

Hal asked.

“Yes! Yes! Like that but much bigger and with many more guns.

This must surely be the captured Minotaur they had seen, Hal thought.

“How, many guns?” he enquired.

“Many! Perhaps, a hundred,” the cousin hazarded.

Clearly he was no seaman and the question had no significance to him.

“If the English ship ever meets al-Auf, then her infidel crew must lookto Allah for mercy, for they will receive none from alauf.”

Soon afterwards, Hal made his farewells, and left with Aboli and theboys.

When they rowed back to the Seraph, he sat alone in the stern andlistened with half an ear to Tom and Dorian chatting excitedly to BigDaniel and All, relating in detail all they had seen and heard in theport. He was satisfied with the results of the visit. He had toldnobody but Consul Grey of the putative Mogul treasure, and yet it wascommon talk in the sauk. By now the news must have reached the ears ofthe corsair.

“The Seraph lingered another three weeks at her moorings in theharbour, then Hal paid a final call on the consul. After all theflowery compliments and greetings had been exchanged, Hal told him, “Ihave at last completed the repairs to my ship, and I am once againready for sea.”

“When do you plan to sail?” Grey hauled his great bulk into a sittingposition, and peered at Hal with interest.

“In three days” time, with the morning ebb.”

“Although I have been honoured by your presence in my house, Iunderstand your eagerness to recommence your interrupted voyage.Especially in view of the fact that you carry such precious cargo. Ican only wish you fair winds and God speed.” He showed not the leastinterest in delaying Hal’s departure, rather, he seemed anxious to seehim on his way. To Hal, this meant only one thing: jangiri, al-Auf,had been summoned and must even now be lying in ambush in theMozambique Channel.

The last three days in Zanzibar harbour were spent in the finalpreparations for battle. Big Daniel supervised the loading of thecannon with fresh charges, and the silk ready bags in the magazine werefilled and placed at the gun stations. Aboli saw that all the musketsand pistols were fitted with new flints, and fully loaded. Thewhetstones whirred and sparks flew as the cutlass blades were sharpenedto a razor edge, and the points of the pikes were whetted by hand. Yetall this warlike activity was hidden carefully from any spy on the quayor on the battlements of the fort.

Hal watched for any unusual movement of the other shipping in theanchorage. Since he had last spoken to Grey, it seemed that there hadbeen an increase in the number of small dhows entering and leaving theharbour.

Many steered close to the Seraph and the crews hung over the gunwale togape at the tall ship. This might have been due only to naturalcuriosity, but Hal was certain that the news of their imminentdeparture was being conveyed to interested ears out there in theblue.

During their last night in Zanzibar harbour there was a heavythunderstorm, and while the thunder rolled great boulders across theroof of the sky and the lightning turned night to day, the raincascaded on to the Seraph’s decks.

The men on the gun decks had to shout to make themselves heard.

After midnight the clouds cleared, and myriad stars flared andflickered across the sky, reflecting in the surface of the harbour. Itwas so still that Hal, lying sleepless in his bunk, heard an Arabwatchman in one of the dhows anchored nearby singing softly, God isGreat.

Man is as spume in the track of the monsoon.

Hold the Pleiades overhead, And the Morning Star in your eye.

Only God knows all the ways of the ocean.

Only God endures for ever.

As the first promise of the dawn lightened the eastern sky and snuffedout the stars Hal roused himself and went on deck. The land breezecame in warm puffs from the island, and the Seraph stirred on hermoorings, eager to be on her way. Hal nodded toNed Tyler, who calledboth watches to get the ship under way.

The crew poured up into the rigging, and the sails billowed out,flapped and shook until the breeze filled them tightly and Seraphheeled, then swung her bows towards the harbour entrance. Hal walkedback to the stern rail and saw that four dhows had slipped theirmoorings, hoisted their single lateen sails and were following them.

“They could have chosen the beginning of the ebb to get under way,” Nedmurmured, at his elbow, as they stood looking back.

“Anything is possible, Mr. Tyler, even that Consul Grey is an honestman,” Hal agreed.

“I think that may be reaching for the moon, Captain,” Ned saidseriously.

Hal lifted his eyes to the high walls of the fort, glowing in the earlylight with a pearly luminosity, and grunted with sudden interest.

There was a spark of fire on the eastern tower-top. As he watched it,a thin column of white smoke rose into the air, then drifted away onthe monsoon wind.

“Do you think they’re warming themselves up there?”

Hal asked quietly.

“That smoke will be clear to see on the mainland across the channel,”was Ned’s opinion.

“Or twenty leagues out at sea.” The channel was so narrow that, as thesun pushed its glowing rim above the horizon, they saw the Africanmainland etched in stark detail before them, its distant mountainsablaze with the sun’s fire.

Hal looked back over the stern. The small flotilla of dhows from theharbour was still following in their wake.

He had not yet set all sail, and there were still three reefs in themain, so the Seraph was loafing along easily. Two of the largerfollowing vessels were faster than the others.

They were keeping pace with the Seraph, while the others dropped backgradually.

“Deck! There’s more smoke from the mainland. “Tom’s voice floateddown from the masthead, and Hat crossed to the lee rail. A thin columnrose from the green back of one of the headlands, which guarded acurving beach of white coral sand. The smoke was an unnatural silverywhite, and rose straight upwards until suddenly the wind caught it andsmeared it in a long trail across the tops of the green hills.

They sailed on southwards all that day. Keeping pace with theirprogress, more fires were lit upon the shore, always when the Seraphwas level with some headland or bluff, and each billowed with the samesilver smoke, which must have been visible for many miles around.

The straggling fleet of small dhows scattered down channel continued todog them, the two larger vessels keeping station two or three milesback in their wake. But as the sun dipped down towards the horizon,and turned the tumbled cumulus clouds red and gold, the two dhows shookout the reefs in their sails and almost imperceptibly closed the gap,until even in the fading light they were in clear view from theSeraph’s main deck. Through the lens, Hal made out the mass of mencrowded into them.

“I think we can expect something to happen very soon,” he told NedTyler.

“I want the crew to be given their dinner while it’s still daylight.They may be required to fight a night action.” Ned looked grave: evena powerfiil fighting ship was at a disadvantage in a night actionagainst an inferior but numerous enemy. Under cover of darkness afleet of small dhows might be able to creep up on the larger ship, andput a mass of armed men onto her decks before the gunners could see todrive them off.

At that moment there was a hail from the lookout.

“Deck! There’s a small boat dead ahead! She seems to be indifficulties!” Hat strode to the rail and raised his telescope. Overthe bows he could make out the hull of a fishing dhow wallowing lowdown in the water, with only her bottom planking exposed. There was acluster of human heads in the water around her. As the Seraph boredown upon them they waved and their shouts came thin on the wind.

“For the love of GodV “Mercy! God has sent you to save us.” When theywere close enough to make out the features of the men struggling aroundthe wreckage, Hal gave the order to heave to. The Seraph swung round,head to the wind, and drifted closer to the swamped dhow.

“Send a boat to pick them up!” Hal ordered, and while the longboat waslaunched and pulled across to them, he counted the heads.

“Twenty-two. A large crew for such a small boat, Mr. Tyler.”

“Indeed, Captain, an uncommonly large crew.” Hal strolled across tothe rail, where Big Daniel and All Wilson waited with a gang of armedmen.

“Are we ready to give them a fitting welcome, Mr. Fisher?”

“As loving a welcome as they will ever get this side of Paradise,” saidBig Daniel grimly. The longboat was now crowded with, the sodden,bedraggled survivors from the dhow. It began to pull back towards theSeraph, low in the water.

Suddenly All Wilson whistled softly, and his dark, handsome featureslit with a devilish pleasure.

“That big one in the bows, with the beard.” He pointed to one of thesurvivors.

“I know him. By God, it will be a pleasure to greet him again. He wasthe leader of the gang of cutthroats who boarded the Minotaur underexactly the same ruse as this “Stand back, please, Mr. Wilson,” Halwarned him softly, “lest he recognize you also. Let us get him onboard before he sees you.”

The longboat hooked on to the Seraph’s chains, and the first of therescued men came up the ladder and fell upon his hands and knees.

He pressed his forehead to the deck, and the sea-water streamed fromhis long sodden robe to form a puddle around him.

“The blessings of Allah and all his saints be upon this ship.

Your kindness and mercy shall be written in the golden book-” “Enoughof that, my lad.” Big Daniel lifted him to his feet with a kindlyhand, and his men hustled the startled Arab to the far rail andsurrounded him closely. The next man up the ladder and over the railwas the tall bearded one. He spread his arms, and his long wet robesclung to his lanky frame.

The Monsoon

“This is a most auspicious day. My children and my grandchildren-2 hebegan, in sonorous tones.

“Salaam aliekum, Rachid,”All Wilson greeted him.

“My eyes have hungered many long days for the sight of your beauteouscountenance.”

Rachid stared at him in alarm. Then All stepped closer and smiled athim. The Arab recognized him and looked about with wild dismay,seeking an avenue of escape, then leaped for the ship’s side. AllWilson seized him while he was in the air and bore him to the deck. Heplaced his knee in the small of his back and the point of his dirkagainst the soft skin under his ear.

“I beg of you, Beloved of the Prophet, give me reason to slit yourthroat.” He pricked the man so that he squealed and writhed on thedeck. All ran his free hand over Rachid’s body, then groped under hiswet robe and brought out a murderously curved dagger. He tested theedge against Rachid’s ear and shaved away the lobe cleanly. A trickleof blood ran down into the man’s beard.

“Ah! Sharp enough,” All said happily.

“This must be the same blade with which you cut the nose off my oldshipmate Ben Brown, and murdered Johnnie Waite.” Rachid sobbed, howledand pleaded for mercy.

“God is my witness, I am innocent. You have mistaken me for another.

I am a poor honest fisherman.” The others were hustled onto the deckto stand in a bewildered group, surrounded by a ring of drawncutlasses.

All jerked the whining, cringing Rachid to his feet and shoved himacross the deck to join his men.

“If any one of you attempts to escape, or to draw one of the weaponsyou have concealed under your robes, my men have orders to lop off hishead,” Hal warned them. Then he turned toNed Tyler.

“Please get the ship under way again.” When the Seraph was on the windand sailing down channel once more, Hal snapped at the prisoners,”Disrobe, all of you! Down to your unwashed skins.” There were criesof protest.

“Effendi, it is not fitting.

Our own nudity must shame us in the sight of God.” Hal pulled one ofthe pistols from his belt and drew back the hammers. He placed themuzzle against Rachid’s head.

“All your clothes! Amaze us with the girth and length of yourcircumcised pricks, as you will delight the hour is in the gardens ofParadise when I send you to them.”

Reluctantly Rachid stripped off his wet robe, and stood in hisloincloth.

“All of id” Hal insisted, and one after the other the Arabs shed theirclothing. They laid it down with exaggerated care so that whatever washidden in the folds did not clink or bump weightily against the decktimbers. At last they stood in a miserable huddle trying to covertheir private parts with cupped hands, wailing and protesting theirinnocence. Their discarded clothing lay in a heap on the deck.

“Search these!” Hal ordered, and Aboli and Big Daniel ran each itemthrough their hands, pulling out the selection of daggers concealed inthe wet folds. By the time they had finished there was a heap ofweapons on the deck.

“Rachid!” Hal singled out the leader, who fell on his knees with tearsstreaming down to mingle with the blood from his injured ear.

“What is the plan of al-Auf? What signal were you to make to show himthat you had seized control of my ship?”

“I do not understand you, effendi. I know of no man named al-Auf. Havemercy on a poor fisherman! Without me to providing for them mychildren will starve.”

“Allah, the All Merciful, will provide for your wretched orphans,” Halassured him, and ran his eye over the terrified prisoners.

“That one!”

He selected a villainous looking rogue, with a scarred face and oneempty eye.

socket. Aboli dragged him out of the huddle. He wound a short lengthof heavy chain around his neck and secured it with a shackle.

“I will ask you once more.” Hal grinned at Rachid.

“What is the signal?”

“In God’s name, effendi, I do not know this person, alAuf. I know ofno signal.” Hal jerked his head at Aboli, who picked up the chainedArab as if he were a child and carried him to the rail. He lifted himhigh over his head and threw him over the side. The man hit the waterand disappeared instantly, snatched beneath the surface by the weightof the chain.

A horrified silence fell over every man on deck, even the Englishsailors. They had never guessed that their captain could be soruthless. Then the group of naked prisoners let out a soft wail and,as one man, dropped to their knees, hands clasped before their eyes asthey pleaded for their lives.

“The signal?” Hal asked quietly, looking straight at Rachid.

“As God is my witness, I know of no signal.”

“Take him,” Hal said to Aboli. He seized Rachid by his wounded ear anddragged him, squealing and bleeding, to the ship’s side. He threw himflat on the deck, placed one huge bare foot between his shoulder-bladesto pin him down and wound another length of chain around his neck.

Then he lifted him easily over his head.

“Throw him to the sharks,” ordered Hal, “though even they will sickenon such offal.”

“I

will tell you,” Rachid howled, kicking in the air.

“Only tell this black shaitan to put me down and I will tell you:

“Hold him over the side,” Hal ordered.

Aboli changed his grip and held Rachid by the ankles far out above theSeraph’s rushing bow-wave.

“Speak,” he rumbled softly, “for my arms grow tired. They will notsupport your weight much longer.”

“Two lights shrieked Rachid.

“Two red lanterns at the masthead. That is the signal to al-Auf thatwe have taken the ship.” Aboli pulled him back on board and droppedhim to grovel on the deck.

“What course did he order you to steer? Where were you to meet him?”asked Hal.

“He told me to steer south and stay close to the land, heading for RasIbn Khum.” Hal knew that that was a prominent headland that jutted outinto the channel.

“Chain all of them and lock them in the forecastle with a guard towatch them at all times. Shoot the first one who tries to escape,” Halordered Aboli, in Arabic for benefit of the prisoners.

A sthe sun sank smouldering into the sea, Hal shortened sail and stoodfurther offshore, as any Aprudent captain would with a lee shorelooming so close at hand. They sailed on slowly southwards, and onceor twice during the early part of the night the lookouts made out a dimlantern light on one or other of the dhows shadowing them.

On board the Minotaur, wherever she was lurking, alAuf would expect hismen to seize the Seraph only after most of her crew were asleep.Therefore, Hal waited until four bells in the middle watch two o’clockin the morning before he ordered the two red signal lanterns lit andplaced at bows and masthead. They glared out into the night likedragon’s eyes.

Then he ordered Aboli and twenty other chosen men to don the still-dampdiscarded robes of the captured Arabs. While they were winding ontheir head cloths Hal went down to his cabin and dressed quickly in theclothing he had worn on the night of the visit to the sauk in Zanzibar.When he came on deck again the Seraph was sailing quietly on throughthe dark waters. When the moon set, the dark shape of the land, withits pearly necklace of phosphorescent surf, was lost in the darkness.1, Hal went down the deck and spoke to each group of men squattingbeneath the gunwales.

“This is the dangerous time,” he told them softly.

“Be alert. They can be upon us before we see them.”

Two hours before dawn, in that darkest time of the night, Hal sent forthe two boys. When they came to him, Tom was alert and snapping withexcitement, but Dorian must have been curled on his pallet for he wasstill half asleep yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“I want both of you to go now to your battle quarters at the masthead,”he said sternly.

“If the ship becomes engaged you are to stay there, no matter what ishappening on the decks below you. Do you understand me?” Yes,Father.” Tom’s face was intent in the dim light from the binnacle.” Iplace you in charge of your brother, Tom, Hal said, as he had so manytimes before.

“Dorian, you are to obey Tom, whatever he tells you to do.” Yes,Father.”

“I shall be much occupied.

I will not be able to keep an eye on You. I want to know you are bothsafe and high above the fighting.” He walked with them to the foremastshrouds and, under cover of the darkness, placed a hand on theirshoulders and squeezed.

“God love you, lads, as I do. Don’t try to be heroes. just stay wellout of harm’s way.” He watched them clamber up the shrouds thendisappear into the darkness above. He went back to his place on thequarterdeck.

With the dawn it rained again, so the night was prolonged. Then,simultaneously with the sunrise, the rain clouds parted, and the dayburst upon them with dramatic suddenness. During the night, with thevagaries of the current in the narrow channel, the Seraph had beencarried in close to the land.

Two miles to starboard the African mainland was rimmed with whitebeaches, and the fangs of coral reefs snarled in the shallow greeninshore lagoons. Dead ahead was the whale@ backed headland of Ras IbnKhum, which thrust out into the channel. Hal quietly ordered a changeof course to carry them clear of it.

During the night the fleet of following dhows, guided by the signallanterns at Seraph’s masthead, had closed the gap between them.

The leading vessel, a ship of some hundred tons and packed with men,was less than a cable’s length astern of the ship. As soon as they sawthe Seraph appear, with magical suddenness, out of the darkness aheadof them, they burst out cheering and fired their jezails into theair.

Clearly they believed from the signal lamps that the ship was alreadyin al-Auf’s hands. Feathers of gunsmoke spurted into the air, whiletheir voices and the popping of their weapons carried thinly across thedark, choppy waters as they danced and waved them.

“Greet them, lads,” Hal told his men in Arab gear.

They capered and waved back at the dhow, their robes ng ze off theland.

flaring and billowing in the morning breeze Hal made no move to slowthe ship so the gap between them was not reduced.

He looked ahead, judging his safe distance off the green headland thatjutted out ahead, then felt his chest tighten and his breathing comeshort as, not two miles ahead, another square-rigged ship with blacksails came charging around the point.

At once Hal realized that she had been lying at anchor in the baybeyond, waiting in ambush while the signal fires along the coast warnedher of the Seraph’s approach. Now she rushed out to meet them, with abow-wave curling white under her forefoot. She was followed by a hordeof small craft, a dozen or more small dhows.

All Wilson ran back to Hall his dark eyes dancing with excitement.

“That’s the old Minotaur,” he shouted.

“I’d know her anywhere, Captain.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilson, I suspected as much.” Hal kept his expressionneutral, then turned to glance at Ned Tyler.

“Hold her on this course.” As the two tall ships came togetherswiftly, Hal examined the Minotaur through his telescope. It was lessthan two years since she had been captured by al-Auf, but Hal saw atonce that her sails and rigging had been allowed to deteriorate into asorry state. No English captain would ever neglect his ship likethat.

Added to which, she was being handled sloppily. Perhaps her captainwas accustomed to the lateen rig, and lacked expertise in thecomplicated setting of the high tiers of square sails. Now, hertopsails were luffing and her mains were not properly trimmed around sothe wind was spilling, the black canvas shaking and trembling as ifwith palsy. Hal could tell by the leeway she was making that herbottom must be foul and thick with weeds.

A disorderly swarm of men lined her sides and crowded into the rigging,prancing and waving their weapons, wild with glee. Hal estimated thatthere were several hundred, and he felt a chill of apprehension as heimagined that wild horde pouring aboard the Seraph.

But he took no avoiding action that might alert the corsair.

Meanwhile, the disguised English seamen on the Seraph were goingthrough a delirious pantomime of welcome to the corsair.

The Minotaur carried twenty-five guns a side and the weight of herbroadside was almost double that of the Seraph’s. If she were deftlyhandled, the Seraph would be no match for her. Let us hope that herfighting skills match her sailing qualities, Hal thought, as the twoships raced together head-on, until they seemed on the point ofcollision. The Minotaur’s attendant dhows straggled along behind herlike ducklings.

They were so close now that Hal could make out the figurehead at herbows, the homed beast of mythology, half man and half bull.

Swiftly the two ships closed until Hal could make out her name,Minotaur, even though the goldleaf lettering was chipped, faded andcoated with salt crystals.

Hal lifted his telescope and swept her deck. Almost at once he pickedout a tall figure in black robes who stood out from the rabble of Arabseamen. There was no doubt in his mind that this was al-Auf, the BadOne. How had the cousin of bin-Tall described him?

“He has the proud when and the bold eye of a hero of old, a mighty manand terrible to look upon.” Not too great an exaggeration, Hal thoughtgrimly.

Al-Auf’s green turban was coiled high and the gem that secured itsfolds glittered above his forehead in the slanting rays of the earlysun. The promise of hard muscle showed in his wide shoulders, andbeneath the drapes of his robes his body was graceful and poised, asthat of one of the great predatory cats. His beard was oiled andbarbered into twin forks that blew back over his shoulders.

The two ships plunged closer towards each other, until Hal coulddiscern alAuf’s features: dark eyes framed with beetling black brows,an eagle beak of a nose above a thin sword-cut of a mouth. A face ashard and cruel as the merciless Arabian desert that had fashioned it.

Hal saw that all the Minotaur’s gun ports were open and all her heavyguns run out. A fine haze of blue smoke swirling back from her decksin the wind warned him that all her slow-match was lit, that hergunners waited behind their cannon. Al-Auf was cunning and wary enoughnot to accept the evidence of the red lanterns at the Seraph’s mastheadas conclusive.

Hal’s eyes narrowed as the gap between them shortened to a cable’slength, and al-Auf showed no sign of giving way. Some of the crew inthe bows of the Minotau-f ceased their capering and looked arounduneasily.

“Run out the guns!” Hal had left it to the last possible moment andhis order was repeated in a yell down the companionways to the decksbelow. Immediately the sound of heavy blows reverberated through theship. The wedges were being driven out with mallets. There followed aseries of crashes as the lids of the gun ports flew open, then therumble of the gun carriages. From the gaping ports poked out the blackmuzzles of her cannon. Hal imagined the consternation on board theMinotaur as they saw what they had believed was a helpless, unarmedvictim transformed before their eyes into a dangerous, warlikeadversary.

As Hal watched, al-Auf reacted immediately. He whirled to his helm,but the order he shouted was lost in the wind and the cheers of his owncrew. The Minotaur put up her helm and swung her bows into the wind.It was an ill-judged manoeuvre, intended to avoid collision and thesudden unexpected menace of the Seraph’s gaping broadside of cannon.

“Not a wise decision,” Hal murmured, with satisfaction.

“You would have done better to trade shot for shot,” and he held hiscourse.

“Mr. Fisher!” Hal called.

“I’m going to cross her bows.

Fire as you bearP Big Daniel strode to the leading starboard gun-team.Swiftly he checked the laying of the heavy weapons and pulled out thegunner’s wedge to depress the aim. The range would be point-blank.Aiming down into her would send the round shot plunging through theMinotaur’s vitals.

Al-Auf’s ill-considered turn into the wind had taken the Minotauraback. She was in irons, stalled, with the wind pressing into thefront of her sails so that she could not pay off again on eithertack.

“Come up a point to windward,” Hal ordered the helmsman. The Seraphturned in slightly towards the Minotaur and began to cross her bows soclosely that she almost ran into the jutting bowsprit. Not one of theother ship’s guns could bear, while every single gun in succession onthe Seraph’s starboard side would be aimed directly into the gildedbows. Big Daniel pressed the lighted match into the touch-hole of theleading gun, which fired with a tremendous roar and leaped back againstits restraining tackle. The long plume of gunsmoke touched theMinotaur’s bows, and her planking burst open to the shot in a hummingcloud of splinters.

The single shot raked the Minotaur, tearing through her lower deckswhere her gunners waited by their cannon.

On board the Seraph they could clearly hear the screams and the criesto God as the ball tore along the gundeck.

Big Daniel strode back to the second gun, and checked its aim.

Sedately the Seraph glided on past the wallowing Minotaur until thecannon was pointing straight into her.

Daniel touched it off in another bellowing blast of fire and gunsmoke.The heavy iron ball smashed through her bows, and the shrieks ofwounded and dying men carried clearly on the wind.

One after the other, the Seraph’s guns crashed out, and the Minotaurshivered and reeled, unable to respond, under the heavy blows.

Hal could see the green turban of al-Auf standing out in thepanic-stricken mob of his crew as he tried to rally them, to get thesails trimmed around so that his ship would come on the wind and turnaway from the terrible blows that were raking her from stern tostern.

in the Seraph’s rigging men were firing muskets down onto theMinotaur’s deck. Even with their inaccurate smooth-bored guns nearlyevery shot was telling among the densely packed throng of robed figuresmilling about in wild confusion. The deafening boom of the cannon waspunctuated by the sharper crack of the falconers that swept theMinotaur’s deck with grapeshot. Hal glanced up at the foremast to makecertain the two boys were safe, and saw Tom busy reloading thefalconer. Dorian’s head was close beside his brother’s, bobbing withexcitement, and Hal thought he could hear his high, excited voice evenabove the din of battle.

Every one of the Seraph’s starboard batteries had been discharged intothe helpless Minotaur, and the slaughter was terrible. Hal could seeblood running out of her open gun ports and scuppers in bright rivuletsthat dribbled down her sides.

“I will lay us alongside,” Hal warned Ned. He waited until the lastgun had fired and the Seraph had swept past her victim, then shoutedthe order in the lull.

“One broadside into her as we come alongside, and we will board her inthe smoke.” The crew cheered and brandished their boarding weapons,pikes, cutlasses and axes. Once they were on the Minotaur’s deck theywould still be outnumbered, but Hal trusted in their training, theirfighting spirit and the confusion of the Arabs to carry the ship withthe first rush.

He gave the order and the Seraph pivoted neatly, coming around so thatthe two ships presented their broadsides to each other. But theSeraph’s way had carried her wide and they were still a full musketshot apart. Hal ordered all the mainsails taken in so that she wasdown to fighting sail, then he backed the foretopsail to take some ofthe way off her and bring her in more rapidly towards the Minotaur.

One of the small dhows that had been following the enemy ship founditself directly under the Seraph’s bows, unable to avoid collision.

Her crew looked up in terror as the high ship reared over them.

Some threw themselves overboard, others were frozen with terror as theSeraph trod the dhow down. Her planking shattered and snapped as sherolled clean under, and the screams of her crew were drownedabruptly.

As the Seraph gybed through the wind she gathered speed and rushed downon the Minotaur, but the enemy ship was at last paying off and swingingon to the opposite tack.

They were at half musket shot, a hundred yards apart, and Hal could seeal-Auf driving his men back to their battle quarters with angry shoutsand blows. One or two of the Minotaur’s heavy cannon roared out. Someof the shot flew wide, missing the Seraph by fifty yards, skippingacross the surface of the water like a child’s game of ducks anddrakes. A few balls howled through the Seraph’s rigging high above thedeck, and one of her stays parted with a crack like a pistol shot.Still she bore down remorselessly on the other ship. The Minotaur wasgathering speed only slowly, and most of her sails were still shakingand flapping.

The yards were so close now that they were almost touching.

“Stand by to grapple her!” Hal cried, and glanced at the men in thechains. They were already swinging the heavy iron hooks in loopingcircles above their heads, working up the momentum to launch themacross the narrow gap and grip the enemy.

Hal saw al-Auf abandon his futile efforts to rally his men to face theSeraph. Instead he ran to one of the unfired cannon, which had beendeserted by its crew. Hal saw no sign of fear on his bearded face ashe snatched up a burning V match from the tub beside the gun and glaredacross at the Seraph. Then he stared straight at Hal and his thin lipscurled into an angry sneer. In that instant Hal sensed that neither ofthem would ever forget the other. Then al-Auf thrust the smoking,spluttering match into the touch-hole of the cannon. He had no time totrain it around. It was a despairing gesture of defiance, a wild throwof the dice in the hazard of battle.

With a long blast of flame and smoke, the heavy iron ball smashedthrough the Seraph’s gunwale, blew two English seamen to bloody shredsthen smashed into the base of the Seraph’s foremast. It shivered,swayed, then began to topple, swinging slowly outwards, stays andshrouds popping and whipping, the timber tearing and cracking,gathering speed and momentum as it fell.

Hal watched his ship transforming before his eyes from a sleek fightingmachine to a crippled hulk. Then, from the crow’s nest at the top ofthe falling mast, he saw two human figures hurled like pebbles from aslingshot. For a moment they were outlined against the grey rainclouds then they dropped towards the surface of the sea.

“TomV Hal cried, in agony.

“Oh, my God, Dorian!” From the crow’s nest, Tom looked down onto theMinotaur’s decks, onto the horde of turbaned Arabs in theirmulticoloured robes. He was swinging the falconet on its swivelmounting, training it almost straight downwards so that he had to hangout over the side of the crow’s nest to bring it to bear.

“Shoot!” Dorian shouted beside him.

“Shoot, Tom!” Tom could see clearly the terrible damage that theSeraph’s guns had inflicted on the enemy ship. Her gunwales wereshattered, raw white timbers exposed, her bowsprit had been shot awaywith a tangle of foresails and ropes hanging into the water. One ofher deck cannon had taken a direct hit and been hurled from itscarriage. The bodies of two Arab gunners were pinned under its massiveblack barrel.

Dead and wounded men littered the deck, and the terrified crewslithered and fell on the red-washed decks, tripping over the corpsesof their fellows as they crowded to the side of the ship furthest fromthe Seraph’s menacing banks of cannon.

“Shoot!” Dorian was pounding his brother’s shoulder with a clenchedfist.

“Why don’t you shoot?” Tom was waiting for the right moment. He knewit might take five minutes to reload the long-barrelled falConet in hisawkward perch in the crow’s nest and in that time his best chance mightpass while his gun was empty.

“Always wait for your moment,” Big Daniel had drummed into him.

“Don’t blaze away at long range. Get in close and make every shotcount to the full.” The far rail of the Minotaur was denselycrowded.

Some of her crew had scrambled onto the ship’s rail, prepared to throwthemselves into the sea and try to swim to one of the small dhows,rather than face the Seraph’s broadside and the wave of infidel devilswho would come swarming aboard. They were pushing and fighting toreach safety, packed six and seven deep. Tom saw clearly their brown,terror-stricken faces looking back over their shoulders as the Seraphloomed high over them.

He aimed carefully into the thick of them, then touched off thefalconet. Smoke and fragments of burning wad flew out in a dense cloudand were blown back into his face by the wind so that, for severalseconds, he was blinded. Then the smoke was whipped away and he sawthe hole that the blast of grapeshot had blown in the frenzied ranks onthe deck below. At least a dozen robed figures were down, strugglingand kicking convulsively in their own blood.

“Oh, good shot! Good shod” Dorian screeched.

“Help me reload,” Tom said and swung the falconet’s stubby barrelupwards until it was pointed at the sky.

Dorian reached up, swabbed out the barrel, and poured a charge of blackpowder from the leather bucket into the gaping muzzle, and Tom thrustin the oakum wad to ram it home.

It was at that moment that the mast lurched and shuddered under them,and the shivering impact of the iron cannonball fired by al-Auf wascarried through the timbers. Tom dropped the ramrod and snatched ahandhold on the side of the crow’s nest. He flung his other arm aroundDorian’s body and hugged him close.

“Tom, what’s happening?” Dorian cried, in wild alarm, and clung to hisbrother.

“Hold hard, Dorry!” Tom tried to quell his own terror as the mastswayed, teetered, then leaned out until they saw the tossing wavesdirectly beneath them.

“We’re going over, Dorry. Hold on to me.”

Unhurriedly the foremast swung outwards, and the boys were overwhelmedby the squeal of tortured timbers, the snap and whip of parting ropesand sundering tackle.

Faster and still faster the toppling mast sent them plummetingdownwards so their breath was trapped in their lungs.

“I can’t hold” Tom cried in despair. Still clinging to each other theywere thrown clear of the canvas bucket and dropped through the thicketof twisting ropes and tumbling spars, a long, swooping, breath-stoppingfall, until they struck the surface of the sea and were driven deepbeneath the green water.

Dorian was torn from Tom’s hands by the force with which they hit thewater. Even while he was deep below the surface, Tom opened his eyesand tried to look for him, groping wildly as he kicked upwards.

When he burst out again and gasped for air, his only thought was forhis little brother. Through eyes that streamed and stung with saltwater he looked around him.

“Dorry!” He choked.

“Where are you?”

The Seraph’s shattered mast lay over the side, its canvas in dreadfuldisarray, hanging in the water like a huge drogue anchor, dragging thebows around, so that the Minotaur was pulling away from her rapidly.

Tom found himself enmeshed in a tangle of rope and canvas, andstruggled to free himself. He kicked off a length of trailing ropethat wound itself around his legs, and grabbed at a shattered spar tolift himself high enough to look about him.

“Dorry!” His voice was high with terror and panic. At that momentDorian’s head popped above the surface thirty feet from where Tomfloundered. He was half drowned, choking and coughing up gouts ofwater. The way that the ship was swinging through the water wasdrawing them swiftly apart.

“Dorry, hold on!” Tom shouted.

“I’m coming.” He let go of the spar and struck out overarm towards hisbrother.

Immediately the rope wrapped itself around his legs again.

“TomV Dorian saw him, and reached out a hand towards him.

“Save me, Tom. Please, Please, TomV He was out in the open water,drifting swiftly away.

“I’m coming, Dorry.” Tom kicked and struggled with the rope that heldhim, but it was like trying to throw off the tenacious grip of anoctopus. A wave broke over Dorian’s head, driving him under again.

When he surfaced he was twenty feet further away, flapping his armsuselessly, trying to keep his head clear of the surface.

“Swim, Dotty!” Tom yelled at him.

“Like I taught you.” Dorian heard him, and controlled his frenziedstruggles a little.

“Kick, Dorry!” Tom called again.

“Use your hands.” Dorian trod water more determinedly, but the currenthad him in its grip, and Tom was being pulled away swiftly by the ropethat bound him to the broken spar. He ducked below the surface, gropedfor the rope end and unwound it from around his legs. But the drag ofthe sea was tightening the loops of line and, although he tore at therough hemp with bleeding fingers, it would not yield. He had tobreathe and he dragged himself back to the surface.

He sucked in air, and once his eyes were clear looked about for Dorian.He saw him a hundred yards away, his expression unreadable withdistance but his voice a despairing wail.

“Tom, help me!” At that moment the spar rolled end over end in thewater, and Tom was plucked under again, but this time so deep that hiseardrums squeaked and the pain shot through his skull like a gimlet. Ashe tore at the rope that held him he felt the skin on his fingertipssmear and his nails tear out at the roots. The pain in his chest, theneed to breathe, was insufferable, but he fought on even as thestrength went out of him.

His vision faded into blackness, and he was left with nothing but thewill to go on. I’m not going to give in. It was the only thought leftto him. Dorry needs me. I cannot let myself drown.

Then he felt powerful hands seize him. When he opened his eyes againand forced back the darkness, he saw Aboli’s face only inches from his,his eyes wide open and the weird patterns of his tattoos giving him theaspect of some terrible monster of the deep. He held a knife betweenhis filed teeth and silver bubbles streamed from the corners of hislips.

Aboli had seen- the two boys fall with the shattered mast and, withoutany hesitation, had deserted his battle station. In the time it hadtaken him to cross the deck and reach the weather rail, Dorian haddrifted fifty yards out from the Seraph’s side. In desperate hasteAboli had ripped off his Islamic robes and headdress and, wearing onlyhis breeches, he had sprung to the rail and balanced there an instantwhile he decided which of the boys was in deepest peril.

Dorian seemed to be treading water easily, but he was drifting down towhere the fleet of Arab dhows hovered.

Tom, though, was trapped in the welter of billowing canvas and tangledropes. Aboli hesitated, torn between his love for and duty to theboys. He found it impossible to decide between them.

Then, with a loud snap, one of the foremast spars cracked through androlled over in the water. Tom was entangled in the ropes and had beenplucked beneath the surface. Aboli threw one last desperate glance atDorian’s drifting head, tiny in the distance, drew the knife from thesheath on his belt, clamped the blade between his teeth and dived overthe side. He came up almost over the spot where Tom had gone down,snatched another quick breath and dived again. He used the trailingropes to pull himself down, and peered through the water, which wascurtained with whirlpools of turbulence and clouds of bright bubbles.

As he went deeper he saw Tom’s form appear out of the green hazebeneath him. He was moving only feebly, near the point of drowning,and the yellow rope was wound around his legs like a python. Abolireached down and held him by the shoulders, then peered into the boy’sface. He saw Tom’s eyes open and squeezed his shoulders hard to bracehim and give him hope. Then he snatched the blade from between histeeth and reached down to the rope that bound Tom’s legs. He did nothack wildly at it, for the blade was razor sharp and might inflict aserious wound in the boy’s bare legs. Instead, he worked carefully tosort out the tangle, sawing one loop at a time until the last stranddropped away and Tom was free. Then Aboli seized him under the armpitsand shot upwards towards the surface.

They broke out together, and even while Aboli hunted for air, his greatchest filling and purging like a blacksmith’s bellows, he was holdingTom’s face well clear of the water and peering into his eyes for signsof life. Suddenly Tom coughed violently, vomited a gush of sea-waterand fought for breath. Aboli dragged him onto the fallen mast anddraped him over it, slamming his back with the flat of his hand so thatthe water Tom had swallowed erupted out of his gaping mouth and the airwhistled in his throat.

Meanwhile Aboli was looking about desperately for sight of Dorian.

The surface of the sea was misted with gunsmoke, which drifted in aheavy bank towards the land.

The guns were still crashing out a discordant chorus, but graduallysinking into silence as the two ships pulled further and furtherapart.

At a glance Aboli saw that the Minotaur was already half a mile or moreaway, all her sails set and drawing, bearing up into the north.

She was making no attempt to take advantage of the Seraph’s crippledstate by attacking her while she was unable to manoeuvre.

Instead she was fleeing to safety. Aboli wasted no more time on herbut searched again for Dorian.

He saw three of the small dhows circling the Seraph at a wary distance,like jackals around a wounded lion. If the Seraph showed she wascapable of giving chase to them, Aboli knew they would immediately headinto the shallow water of the lagoon and the shelter of the coral reefswhere the big ship could not follow them. Hampered by the tangle ofwreckage hanging over her side, the Seraph was unable to come on thewind. She was drifting down with it and the current towards the fatalcoral.

Aboli saw that-Big Daniel already had a gang of men with swinging axesclearing away the wreckage. He tried to shout to the men on the deckfor help, but they were too intent on their work and his voice did notreach them above the thump of the axe-heads into the timbers and theshouted orders. Then, suddenly, he saw the hull of one of thelongboats swing out over the Seraph’s side and drop swiftly to thesurface. Immediately the men at the oars pulled furiously towardswhere Aboli and Tom clung to the shattered foremast. Aboli saw withamazement that Hal was at the tiller. He must have left the ship inNed Tyler’s charge to come to the rescue of his sons. Now he was onhis feet, yelling to Aboli as he approached, Where is Dorian? In God’sname have you seen him?” Aboli could not spare the air from histortured lungs to reply but the longboat reached them within a minuteand three men leaned over to haul them aboard. They dropped Tom ontothe deck timbers between the thwarts before they jumped back to taketheir places at the oars. Aboli saw with relief that Tom wasstruggling to sit up, and reached down to help him as Hal repeated hisquestion.

“For God’s sake, Aboli, where is Dorian?” As yet unable to use hisvoice Aboli pointed out into the banks of drifting gunsmoke.

Hal leaped onto the thwart and balanced there easily, shading his eyesagainst the reflected glare of the low morning sun.

“There he is!” he yelled, with wild relief, and then to the oarsmen,”Pull, lads! Pull for all you’re worth!” The longboat built up speedunder the thrust of the long oars, pulling for where the tiny speck ofDorian’s head bobbed a quarter of a mile away.

This sudden precipitous dash out into the open sea, away from theSeraph’s safety, must have caught the attention of the men aboard oneof the dhows that were stalking the ship. The Arab crew pointed toDorian’s drifting head and their excited shouts carried faintly to themen in the longboat. The man in the stern of the dhow hauled the longsteering sweep hard across and she altered course. Her crew scrambledto trim her single lateen sail around, and she bore down swiftlytowards the child, racing the longboat to be first to reach him.

“Pull!” Hal roared, as he realized the danger.

Aboli dropped Tom back onto the deck, and leaped to a place on thethwart. He pushed the man already there to one side and threw all hismassive weight onto the oar.

His muscles bulged and bunched with the effort.

“All together, pull!”h set the stroke and the longboat leaped forward,the waves bursting over her bows and splattering over the strainingbacks of her crew as they raced towards Dorian.

just then a taller wave lifted the boy high and he saw the longboatcoming towards him. Dorian lifted one hand and waved. They were stillnot close enough to see the expression on his face but it was clearthat he had not noticed the dhow skimming in towards him from theopposite direction.

“Swim, lad!” Hal shouted.

“Swim towards us!” But Dorian could not hear him. He waved againweakly, and it was clear that his strength was waning. The morningbreeze was light and fitful, and the longboat was making better speedthan the dhow, but they were further away from Dorian.

“We’re gaining, lads!” Hal told them.

“We’ll reach him before they do.” He felt the wind puff on his cheek,die away for a moment, then come again stronger and with moredetermination. He watched it darken the surface of the sea, pass overDorian’s head, then swell the dhow’s sail tight as a wineskin. Thedhow heeled then sped ahead, her bow wave curling white in the earlysun.

Dorian must have heard the cries of the Arabs as they bore down on himfor his head swivelled round and then he began to swim,-his armsflopping and splashing with exhaustion as he tried to drag himself awayfrom. the racing dhow towards the longboat. He made little headwaythrough the choppy, disturbed water.

With dismay Hal tried to estimate the relative distance and speed ofthe two vessels, and saw that they could not outrun the dhow.

“Pull!” he cried in despair.

“A hundred golden guineas if you reach him first! Pull! For God’ssake, pull!” There were at least twenty men in the dhow. It was anugly little craft, the sail tattered, patched and stained with filth,the paintwork peeling from the hull, the planking zebra-striped whereher crew had defecated over her gunwale. One of them lifted along-barrelled jezail, and aimed over the narrowing gap at thelongboat. White smoke spurted from the ancient weapon, and Hal heardthe ball snap past his head but he did not even flinch.

Aboli heaved on the long oar with such force and effort that his eyesbulged from their sockets, suffused with blood, and his tattooed facelocked in a horrible, snarling rictus. The oar bent like a greenbranch in his great hands, and the water hissed softly under the bowsto spread in an arrow-straight shining wake behind.

The dhow was swifter still, though, and she had less distance totravel. Hal felt the ice of dread encase his chest as he realized, atlast, that they could not win: they were still a hundred yards fromDorian as the dhow captain came level with him and rounded up into thewind, heaving to just long enough for five of his men to lean out overthe side and reach down to seize the child.

They lifted him, struggling and kicking, from the sea with the waterstreaming from his clothing, his terrified shrieks ringing in Hal’shead. Hal drew the pistol from under his waistcoat and pointed it indespair, but he knew it was futile even before Aboli growled, “No,Gundwane!

You might hit the boy.” Hal lowered it and watched as Dorian wasdragged over the filthy gunwale and the dhow captain put over the sweepand swung the craft back on to the wind. Her sail filled with a clapand she bore away, coming round with surprising speed and handiness onto her best point of sailing. She sped away towards the land. TheArab crew screamed abuse and mockery at them. A few fired theirjezails and the bullets splashed into the sea around the longboat.

Hal’s crew collapsed gasping and streaming with sweat on their oars andwatched her go. No one spoke, just stared after the speeding dhow,devastated at the loss of the winsome lad who was everyone’sfavourite.

Then two of the Arabs lifted Dorian’s small struggling body high in theair, so that the men in the longboat could see his pale face clearly.One drew the curved dagger from its sheath at his belt and lifted ithigh over his own head so that the silver blade caught the sunlight andglinted.

Then he lifted Dorian’s chin and pulled back his head like a pig forthe slaughter. Deliberately he placed the blade against his throat andheld it there, grinning back at the other men in the dhow.

Hal felt part of himself shrivel and die deep inside, and a whisperforced itself unbidden from his lips: “Lord, I pray you, spare my boy.Anything you ask of me, I will do, but spare me this.” Dorian wasstill struggling in the Arab’s grip, and suddenly the cap fell from hishead. His red-gold locks tumbled down onto his shoulders and shone inthe sunlight. In obvious consternation, the man jerked the blade awayfrom his throat. There was a sudden commotion in the dhow and the restof the crew crowded around Dorian, gesticulating and shouting.

Then he was bundled away out of their sight. On its wide triangularsail the dhow sped away.

It was two miles distant before Hal could bring himself to give theorder to row back to the drifting Seraph, but all the way he waslooking back over his shoulder. He saw the dhow following the tinyshape of the Minotaur up the channel into the north.

“That is where I will look for them,” he whispered.

“And I will never cease until I find them.” On board the Seraph therewas desperate work to be done to save the ship. This helped Hal tosurvive the first dreadful hours of his loss. The ship could not steerup into the wind with the foremast, sails and rigging dragging throughthe water like an enormous sea anchor. Hal set all sail on thestanding masts to try to hold her off the lee shore, but this merelydelayed the moment when she would be carried aground.

Led by Aboli and Big Daniel, ten axe men clambered out on to theforemast and hacked away the twisted mass of ropes and canvas. It wasdangerous work: as every rope parted under the axe-blades, the strainwas transferred unevenly and the mast rolled and kicked, threatening tothrow the men into the water.

Closer they drifted to the coral reefs while the Seraph fought theimmense drag of her shattered tackle, and Hal hurried from one side ofher to the other, watching the closing land and directing the axe menin their efforts, pointing out to them the vital strands of rope thatstill held the fallen mast.

Always the green, humped back of Ras Ibn Khum loomed closer and higherabove the ship as she battled for her life. The swells reared up underthe hull as the bottom shelved towards the reef and the fangs of blackcoral grinned at the Seraph, waiting to tear the bowels out of her.

But at last the broken mast was held only by the single ten-inch manilarope of the forestay. It was stretched as tight and hard as a bar ofiron, so that under the immense strain the sea-water jetted from thetwisted strands. Big Daniel sent all the other axe men back on deckwhile he balanced easily on top of the heaving mast. He braced himselfand judged his stroke, then swung the axe-head high and brought it downagain on the stretched cable. He had judged it so finely that thethick cable-laid rope was not severed through all at once and only fiveof the strands parted.

As the remaining strands unravelled and gave under the strain, with aseries of loud snaps and whip cracks and the mast rolled ponderouslyunder his feet, Big Daniel had just time enough to race back up itsslanting length and leap onto the deck. Then the butt-end of thebroken mast rasped and grated over the side and at last dropped awayand floated clear of the ship’s side.

Immediately the Seraph responded gratefully to the release from herbonds. The heavily canted deck levelled itself, and she answered herhelm almost joyously. Her bows came round, aiming at last to clear theheadland of Ras Ibn Khum. that had threatened to entrap her.

Hal crossed quickly to the lee rail and watched the jettisoned foremastdrift away towards the reef, carefully marking the spot where it mustbe thrown ashore. Then he turned all his attention to bringing hisship into a safe anchorage.

By altering and adjusting the sail setting on the two standing masts,and making small changes in the helm, he managed to slip the grievouslywounded Seraph past the point of the headland and into the bay beyond.Then he saw at once why al-Auf had chosen it as the place in which tolay his ambush.

It was an enclosed bay, of water so deep that it glowed blue aslapis-lazuli in the sunlight. It was protected from the monsoon windby the tall headland, and when he looked down over the side he couldsee the smooth, sandy bottom ten fathoms down.

“Stand by to drop anchor, Mr. Tyler,” he said, and as it splashed overthe bows and the cable roared out through the hawsehole, the flood ofgrief that had threatened for these last dreadful hours to overwhelmhim came down upon him with a black weight that threatened to crush thevery life out of him. He could think of nothing but Dorian.

The picture of the small body in the hands of the Arab corsairs, theknife held at his throat, was engraved in his mind and he knew it wouldnever be expunged. He was unmanned by sorrow. It seemed to havesucked the strength from his limbs, the very breath from his lungs. Hewanted to seek oblivion. Then he longed to go to his cabin and throwhimself on his bunk and give himself over to his grief.

He stood alone on the quarterdeck, for his officers and all the crewkept clear of him, and none even looked in his direction. With theinnate tact of hard, rough-hewn men, they were leaving him to hisagony. Hal stared at the empty horizon to the north. The blue watersof the channel sparkled prettily in the sunlight, but they were void ofany sail or promise of succour. Dorian was gone. He could not evenrouse himself to consider his next action, to form his next order tothe men who waited without looking at him.

Then Aboli went to him and touched his arm.

“Gundwane, there will be a time for this later. If you wish to saveyour son, you must have the ship ready to follow him.” He glanced downthe deck at the stump of the foremast, the raw timber shattered by theheavy iron ball.

“While you weep, the day steals away from u. Give the order.” Hallooked at him with the blank eyes of a bhang smoker.

“He is so young, Aboli, so small.”

“Give the order, Gundwane.”

“I am so tired,” said Hal, “so very tired.”

“No matter how it aches within you, you cannot rest,” Aboli saidsoftly.

“Now, give the order.” Hal shuddered with the effort, then lifted hischin.

“Mr. Tyler! I want both pinnaces and the boats launched.” The wordscame tentatively to his lips, as though he spoke a foreign language.

“Aye, Captain.” Ned hurried to him, relief apparent on his face.

Hal felt the strength flow back into his body, and his resolvehardened. His voice firmed as he went on, “The boat crews will recoverthe jettisoned mast. In the meantime the carpenters are to trim thestump of the foremast ready to fish her back in place. Sail@makers tobreak out the spare sails and the ropes and cables to rig the newmast.” As he reeled off the string of orders to begin the repairs tothe ship, he glanced at the sun. It was already past its zenith.

“Let the crew eat by watches. There’ll be precious little time to restor eat again until we have the ship under way once more.” Hal was atthe tiller of the leading pinnace as the little flotilla of small boatsrounded the point of Ras Ibn Khum.

The two pinnaces had been reassembled. They were open boats,twenty-five feet in length, but Weatherly, capable of long voyages inthe open sea or of the type of heavy work Hal had in mind.

No sooner had they rounded the point of the headland than Hal spottedthe foremast. Even from two miles away, it was easy to pick out,wrapped in its own gleaming white canvas against the black coral reefthat held it. As they approached Hal saw that it would take hard workto free the long shaft of pine, for the canvas and the trailing ropeswere tangled in the jagged coral and the humped swells coming in fromthe channel were bursting upon the reef and swirling over the mast inwhirlpools of foam and white water.

All Wilson took one of the longboats through a pass in the coral reefinto the quieter waters of the lagoon: from there it was safer -andeasier to land a crew on the reef armed with knives and axes. As thewater burst and foamed around them they clung to the stranded mast.

In the meantime five of the strongest swimmers, led by Aboli and BigDaniel, had swum from the pirmaces; and the longboats to the reef,trailing light lines secured around their waists. They passed the endsto the men already clinging to the foremast, then swam back unhinderedto the boats.

The light lines were used to pass heavier, stronger lines to the men onthe mast. Once they had secured the ends to its butt, the small boatsfanned out and began the attempt to haul the sixty-foot length of heavypine off the reef.

All the boats held double crews, so that as one team tired the nextcould take over. They took up the slack in the lines, and when theycame taut heaved together. The axe men on the mast hacked at thetrailing lines and bundled canvas that were now woven into the jaggedspines and needles of coral, trying to free it from this tenaciousembrace. The oar blades thrashed the water, churning it white as theboats hauled at the stubborn load.

The mast shifted, slid a few yards, and the crews shouted with triumph,but immediately it came up short again, stuck just as firmly as before.The backbreaking work had to begin all over again. A reluctant foot ata time the coral grudgingly yielded its grip, but Hal had to change theteams on the rowing benches three times before the mast rolled off thereef and they could tow it out into deeper water.

All Wilson rescued his men, who were still clinging to the mast.

When they were dragged from the water, their arms and legs werelacerated and torn from contact with the merciless coral. Hal knewthat many of those wounds would fester, for the coral was as poisonousas a serpent’s venom.

By this time the sun was setting. Hal changed the teams again, and thelittle boats set out on the long row around the point into the lagoonbeyond. With the heavy load they were dragging it seemed that theywere standing still in the water, straining to no avail on the longsweeps, their arms and backs burned red as raw beef by the tropicalsun, their sweat puddling on the decks under the thwarts.

Dwarfed by their load the boats inched painfully along the seaward sideof the reef, but when they tried to tow the mast around the point ofRas Ibn Khum, the current that swirled along the headland took them inits jaws, and held them fast.

While they battled against it the sun sank into the sea. Though theywere near exhaustion, every muscle in their bodies racked and aching,their eyes glazed with the agony of their efforts, they could not pauseto rest: if they had, the current would have thrown them backimmediately onto the reef As an example to his men, Hal stripped offhis jacket and shirt and took his turn at the oars.

Neither his back muscles nor his hands were hardened to this heavy workas were those of his men, and after the first hour he was in a tranceof pain, the loom of the oar stained and sticky with blood from his rawpalms. But the agony that gripped his body and the hypnotic swing andheave of rowing served to distract him from the deeper pain of the lossof his son.

The Monsoon

A little before midnight the tide changed and the ebb around the pointbegan to work in their favour. They MOved slowly around it and intothe sheltered lagoon. At last, in the moonlight, they saw the Seraphlying peacefully at her anchor on the tranquil waters speckled by thereflection of the stars. When they secured the floating mast alongsidethe ship, few had strength left to climb the ladder to the deck andmost slumped in the bottom of the small boats, dead asleep before theirheads hit the deck.

Hal forced himself wearily up the ladder to Ned Tyler, who was waitingfor him at the rail. In the lantern light there was respect in hiseyes as he evaluated Hal’s state of exhaustion and saw his bloodyhands.

“I will have the surgeon see to you right away.” He stepped forward tohelp Hal off the ladder, but Hal shook him off.

“Where is Tom?” he asked huskily.

“Where is my son?” Ned looked upwards and, following his gaze, Hal sawa small, lonely figure high in the rigging of the main mast.

“He’s been up there ever since we dropped anchor,” Ned said.

“Give the men a tot of rum with their breakfast, Mr. Tyler,” Halordered, “but get them up again at first light.

God knows, they’ve earned a rest, but I cannot give it to them, notuntil the Seraph is ready for sea again.” Although every muscle in hisown body screamed for rest and he reeled on his feet with fatigue, hecrossed to the main-mast shrouds and began the long climb to theyard.

When Hal reached the main yard, Tom made room for him and they sattogether wordlessly.

Hal’s grief, which he had kept at bay all day and night, came rushingback upon him, sweeping away his exhaustion so that it was sharp andpainful, burning coal in his chest. He put his arm around Tom’sshoulders, partly to comfort him and partly to seek comfort forhimself.

Tom leaned against him, but still they were silent.

The stars moved in their majestic orbit above, and the Pleiades sankbelow the headland before Tom began to sob silently, his hard youngbody racked with unbearable pain.

Hal held him tightly, but Tom’s voice was broken and desolate as hewhispered, “It is my fault, Father.”

“It is nobody’s fault, Tom.”

“I should have saved him. I gave him my promise. I made him adreadful oath that I would never leave him.”

“No, Tom, it is not your fault.

There was nothing any of us could do.” But he thought grimly, If thereis any fault, it is mine. I should have left Dorian safe at HighWeald.

He was too young for this. All the remaining days of my life I willregret that I did not do SO.

“We have to find him, Father. We have to rescue Dorian.” Tom’s voicewas firmer.

“He is out there somewhere. Aboli says they will never kill him. Theywill sell him as a slave. We have to find him “Yes, Tom. We will findhim.”

“We must swear another oath together,” Tom said, and looked up into hisfather’s face. It was gaunt in the starlight, the eyes dark pits andmouth hard as if carved in marble.

Tom groped for his father’s hand. It was sticky with half-driedblood.

“You make the oath for both of us,” Hal told him, and Tom lifted theirintertwined hands to the starry sky, “Hear our oath, O God,” he said.

“We swear that we shall neither rest nor cease until we find Dorianagain, wherever he may be in all the world.”

“Amen!” whispered Hal.

“And amen!” The stars were blurred by the tears that flooded hiseyes.

The carpenters chamfered the stub of the broken foremast, sawing andchiselling away at the torn, splintered butt to form a step on-to whichthe end of the mast could be rabbeted. Meanwhile the mast itself wasfloated ashore and another team shaped the end to make the joint.

The work went on through the day and continued after dark by lanternlight. Hal was demon, driven and spared none, especially nothimself.

Hal and Ned Tyler observed the set of the tides in the bay and surveyedthe beach.

“The sandy bottom was ideal for their purpose and the tide rise wasabove two and a half fathoms. When the mast had been prepared forfitting to its butt, they warped the Seraph onto the beach at hightide, and secured her there with heavy cables attached to palm trees atthe water’s edge.

When the tide ebbed out from under her, the Seraph was left high anddry on the white sands. Using the cables they hove her over at anangle of thirty degrees. They had to work swiftly then, for in sixhours the tide would float her once more. Using a system of blocks andtackles, the old mast was re stepped into its rabbeted butt, and pinnedwith long iron spikes dipped in boiling tar.

Hal used this opportunity to inspect the ship’s bottom for evidence ofthe presence of the teredo worm, which in these warm waters could eataway the bottom timbers of a ship. At times these creatures grew aslong as a man’s arm and as thick as his thumb. During heavyinfestations they drilled their holes so close to each other that onlya thin layer of wood was left between them. A ship so afflicted couldhave the bottom drop out of her in heavy seas. Hal was relieved tofind that the layer of tar and canvas that covered the hull haddeterred not only the ship-worm but also the growth of weed that wouldslow the Seraph’s passage through the water. She was as clean as hecould hope for, but he could not afford the time to scrape away thelight growth of weed and barnacles.

As soon as the tide lifted her off the sand they towed the Seraph backto her anchorage in the deep water of the bay. The joint in theforemast was not strong enough to withstand the pressure of sails in ahigh wind, and the carpenters worked to reinforce it. First theyfashioned hardwood fishes to act as splints over the joint. When thesewere in place they clapped on seizings of soaked hemp rope andtightened these with the capstan. When the rope dried, it was ironhard.

When Hal inspected the finished work, the master carpenter boasted,”That joint is stronger than the mast itself. Once the stays andshrouds are rigged, no matter what you do to her, no matter how muchcanvas you pile on her in any gale, she’ll never break at the sameplace again.”

“Good fellow!” Hal commended him.

“Now stand by to swing aloft her new yards and spars.” When the workwas done, and Seraph rode at anchor under her new foremast with all hercanvas furled under the gaskets, ready to be cast looseNed Tyler cameto Hal on the quarterdeck, with all the other ship’s officers behindhim, and made the formal report.

“Shipshape, and in all respects ready for sea, Captain.”

“Very good, Mr. Tyler.” Ned hesitated, then took his courage in bothhands.

“If you please, sir, whither are we bound? Do you have a course for meto steer?”

“I hope to have a course for you in very short order,” Hal promisedgrimly. No one had seen him smile since they had lost Dorian.

“Have the prisoners paraded on deck.” The Arab captives were broughtout of the forecastle, dressed only in their loin cloths and wearingleg shackles.

The links of the chains clinked as they hobbled in a bedraggled file tothe foredeck and stood there, blinking in the strong sunlight.

Hal ignored them and crossed instead to the ship’s rail. He stareddown into the water. It was so clear that he could see the seacucumbers crawling along the sandy bottom, and the shoals of small fishthat hovered around the Seraph’s bull. Then, abruptly, a dark shapeglided from under the ship. It was as long as one of the longboats,and as broad. Its back was banded with darker wavy lines and themonstrous tail beat to a lazy rhythm.

The Seraph had been long enough at this mooring for the galley slopsand sewage she had dumped into the bay to attract the tiger sharks fromthe deep water beyond the reef. Hal felt his skin prickle as hewatched the monster turn with a flick of its tail and disappear underthe ship.

The tiger shark was the creature that haunted the nightmares of everymariner in these tropical waters.

Hal left the rail and walked slowly down the line of prisoners.

At last his grief had a target on which to focus.

it took all his will-power to keep his anger under control and hisexpression neutral as he peered into the faces of the corsairs. Rachidwas at the far end of the line. A filthy bloodstained rag of a bandagecovered his injured ear. Hal stopped in front of him.

“What is the penalty for piracy?” he asked Rachid quietly, stillholding his rage in check.

“What does the Koran say of the murderer and the rapist? Speak to meof the law of Shari’ah. Expound to me the law of Islam.” Rachid couldnot meet his eyes, but he trembled like a man in fever and the sweatran down his cheeks to drip from his chin.

He had learned how ruthless was this Frankish sea-devil who confrontedhim now.

“Does not the Prophet tell us what must be the fate of the murderer?Does he not give the killer into the hands of the father of thevictim?” Hal asked.

“Does he not exhort us, have no mercy upon him who has the blood of theinnocent upon his hands?” Rachid fell to his knees on the deck andtried to kiss Hal’s feet.

“Mercy, great lord! I place my worthless soul in your hands.” Halkicked him away as though he were a cur, and walked back down theline.

“The Prophet tells us that the penalty for murder is death. You areall murderers taken bloody-handed in the act of piracy. I am a servantof the English king, charged and empowered by His Majesty with the dutyof ridding these seas of such offal as you.” Hal turned to NedTyler.

“Mr. Tyler, have a rope reeved at the yard-arm for each of theprisoners.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, headthrown back to watch the ropes carried aloft and run through thesheaves.

“Ready to proceed with punishment,” Ned reported at last, when thenooses were set and a party of sailors stood ready at the tail of eachrope.

“Leave that rogue for last.” Hal gestured at Rachid, who still cringedupon his knees.

“Hang the others.” Still in their chains, squealing and struggling,crying to Allah for mercy, the nooses were dropped over their heads andtightened around their necks. Then the men on the rope tails walkedaway with them. stomping their bare feet on the deck in unison andchanting as though they were setting the mainsail. Three and four at atime, the Arabs were hoisted kicking and gasping to the high yardGradually their struggles quieted and they hung there like” bunches ofgrotesque fruit, their necks twisted awkwardly, their tonguesprotruding, purple and swollen, from their gaping mouths.

At last Rachid was alone on the deck. Hal went back to stand overhim.

“I gave them an easy death,” he said.

“But you have deprived me of my youngest son. You will not be sofortunate, unless you can tell me what I need to know.”

“Anything in my power, effendi,” Rachid blubbered.

“You need only ask it of me.”

“I need to know where I can find al-Auf and my son.) “I do not knowthat, effendi.” Rachid shook his head so violently that his tearssprayed like water from a spaniel’s back. Hal reached down and liftedhim to his feet, twisted one arm up between his shoulder-blades andmarched him to the ship’s rail.

“Look down there!” he whispered in the man’s mutilated ear.

“See what waits you.” Rachid let out a piercing Wail, as the tigershark slid silently through the bright waters below, rolling slightlyso that they could see every detail of the grotesque foreshortenedhead. It looked up at them with a single pig-like eye.

“Where can I find al-Auf? Where is his sally-art? Tell it to me andyou will die swiftly and go to your God in one piece, not through themaw of that unclean creature down there.”

“I know not.”

Rachid sobbed.

“Very few men know where al-Auf has his citadel.

I am only a poor fisherman.”

“Abolfl” Hal called, and the tall black man strode to his side with thetail of the last hanging rope in his hand.

“Head firstP Hal ordered.

Aboli knelt swiftly and looped the rope through the chains thatfettered the Arab’s ankles.

“Heave away!” he told the sailors who held the rope’s other end andRachid was hoisted feet first into the air, swinging out like apendulum over the ship’s side.

“Where is al–Auff Hal called to him.

“Where can I find my son?”

“I know not. I call on God to witness,” Rachid screamed.

“Lower away!” Hal told the men on the rope end, and Rachid droppedjerkily towards the surface of the water.

“Avast!” He stopped them when Rachid’s face was only a foot above thewater. The man tried to turn his head to look back at Hal, who wasleaning far out over the rail.

“I know not. I swear by all things holy,” he screamed.

“I know not where al-Auf has your son.” Hal nodded to Aboli.

“Feed the beast!” Aboli lifted one of a row of leather buckets filledwith slops from the galley that he had ready beside the rail. Hepoured the contents over the side and the mess of fish1 heads guts andpeelings splattered into the sea. The shoals of small fish dartedupwards to the feast and churned the surface in their frantic greed.

Aboli threw another bucketful overboard.

Within a minute there was a dark, menacing movement below the tinymilling shoals. Then a broad, striped back pushed up from the depthswith awful majesty. The shoals of smaller fish scattered and thebehemoth rose to the surface and opened its jaws, which could haveengulfed a man’s torso. It’s multiple rows of teeth rose erect as itsnapped at the scraps, stirring the waters even though it was stilldeep beneath where Rachid hung suspended. ” “You can never passthrough the gates of Paradise if your body has been devoured by such anobscene, unclean fish,” Hal called down to him.

His prisoner wriggled helplessly on the end of the line.

His voice was shrill and incoherent.

“No! I know not.

Mercy, great lord.”

“Down!” Hal gestured to the men on the rope, and they let Rachid dropuntil his head and shoulders were submerged.

“Hold him there.” Hal watched him kick and struggle. The great sharksensed the disturbance and circled under him, rising slowly andcautiously out of the depths.

Rachid’s movements were becoming weak and spasmodic as he drowned.

“Heave away!” Hal signalled, and they lifted Rachid clear of thesurface. He dangled there upside down. He had lost the bloody bandagefrom around his head, and his long sodden locks dangled in the water.

He was fighting for breath, twisting and writhing at the end of therope.

“Speak to me!” Hal bellowed.

“Speak to me of my youngest son.”

He felt cold, devoid of any pity or compassion. The shark smelt theblood on the drifting bandage and rose to it. Again, the huge jawsopened and it sucked in the scrap of cloth. As it dived, arching itsback, its tail fin broke through the surface and struck the hanging mana heavy blow. Rachid squealed with terror and swung back and forth onthe rope.

“Speak!” Hal encouraged him.

“I wait to hear about my son.”

“I

cannot tell what I do not know,” Rachid howled back, and Hal waved tothe men on the rope. They dropped him back into the water, as far ashis waist. Deep down the shark swirled with an agility and speed thatseemed impossible in such a huge creature and rushed up towards thesurface, growing even larger as it approached.

“Heave!” Hal called sharply, and they lifted Rachid clear just as thegreat jaws snapped closed, plucking him out of their reach with onlyinches to spare.

“It is still not too late,” Hal said, just loudly enough to reachRachid through his terror and failing strength.

“Tell me and end it swiftly.”

“I do not know where you can find al-Auf, but I know a man who does,”Rachid answered, his voice broken and rough with terror.

“Give me his name.”

“His name is Grey effendi in Zanzibar. He was the one who told us ofthe great treasure you carry in your ship.”

“Down!” Hal gave the signal, and as they lowered Rachid, the tigershark rushed up to meet him. This time Hal did not attempt to pluckhim away, he was of no further value. He sent Rachid to his punishmentwithout a qualm, and watched dispassionately as the shark’s jaws closedover the man’s head, engulfing him to the shoulders.

The shark hung from the rope, flexing and whipping its tail from sideto side, jackknifing its massive body, working its fangs in a shearingaction, cutting through flesh and bone. Its great weight and theviolence of its movements jerked the men on the other end of the ropeoff their feet, and sent them skidding across the deck.

Then the fangs met and sheared away Rachid’s head cleanly. The sharkdropped back, leaving his corpse dangling and twitching over thesurface, blood spraying from the severed neck and clouding thewaters.

Hal drew his sword from the sheath on his belt and with a singleback-handed slash cut the rope. The headless body dropped into the seaand sank slowly, turning end over end in dark curtains of its ownblood. The shark came back and, like a dog accepting a titbit, tookthe body almost gently in its half-moon mouth and swam away with itinto the deeper water. Hal moved away from the ship’s side.

“The tide will turn in an hour, Mr. Tyler.” He looked up at the deadmen hanging at the yard-arm.

“Rid the ship of those. Throw them overboard. We will sail forZanzibar on the ebb tide.” They rounded the point of Ras Ibn Khum withevery sail set to the royals and came on to the wind in a broadreach.

“Your new course is northeast by north, Mr. Tyler,” Hal said.

“With this wind, we should be off Zanzibar again before sunset tomorrowevening.” al did not wish to give forewarning of his arrival so duringthe night he hove to in the channel, and took the Seraph into Zanzibarharbour in the dawn. He dipped his colours in courtesy to the fort,and the moment the anchor grabbed a hold on the bottom he ordered thelongboat away. Then he hurried down to his cabin and took the brace ofdouble-barrelled rifled pistols from his desk and thrust them into hissword-belt.

As he stepped out of his cabin, Tom was waiting for him. He had hiscap on his head, a sword on his belt and boots on his usually barefeet.

“I wish to come with you, sir,” Tom said. Hal hesitated there might befighting ashore, but Tom went on quickly, “I shared the oath with you,Father.”

“Come on, then.” Hal ran onto the deck.

“Be ready to sail again at a moment’s notice,” he told Ned Tyler, andwent down into the longboat with Tom and a dozen men.

At the quay he left All Wilson and four seamen to take care of theboat.

“Stand off from the quay, but be ready to come in and pick us up in ahurry,” he told All, then said to Aboli, “Take us back to the consul’shouse. Go swiftly.

Stay together.” They went through the narrow streets at a trot, indouble file, shoulder to shoulder, their weapons at the ready. Whenthey reached the front door of Grey’s house Hal nodded at Aboli, whobeat on the carved panels with the butt of the pike he carried. Theblows reverberated through the quiet house. After an interval theyheard shuffling footsteps approaching from the other side of the door,and the latch was lifted. An ancient female slave stared out at theparty of armed men. Her wrinkled features crumpled in consternation,and she tried to slam the door shut again. Aboli blocked it with hisshoulder.

“You have nothing to fear, old mother, Hal told her gently.

“Where is your master?”

“I dare not say,” the woman whispered, but her eyes flicked to thebroad stone staircase that led from the courtyard to the upper storeysof the house.

“Bolt the door again,” Hal ordered Aboli, “and leave two men to guardit.” Then he went up the staircase two steps at a time, and came outat the second level. He paused there and glanced around the salon inwhich he stood. It was richly furnished with ornamental rugs and heavydark furniture inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl.

Hal knew the usual layout of this type of mansion: the zen anal thewomen’s quarters, would be on the top floor; where he stood were themain living rooms, with the master’s suite beyond the elaboratelycarved ebony and ivory screens at the far end. Hal slipped quietlybetween the screens into a smaller salon. The floor was strewn withsilk-covered cushions and in the centre a hookah pipe stood on a lowtable, which was cluttered with used food bowls. The room reeked withthe smell of stale bhang smoke, the heavy aroma of food spices and thepeculiar musky odour of Grey’s disease.

Hal crossed to another set of screens and stepped through into the roombeyond. A low bed filled half the floor space. He stopped in thedoorway, taken by surprise.

On the bed was a tangle of bodies, white limbs and brown entwined.

It took a long moment for Hal to realize what he was seeing.

Consul Grey lay upon his back, his swollen limbs spread, his huge bellydistended as though he were in the last stages of child-bearing, hischest covered with an animal skin of coarse, curling black hair. Hisgrossly deformed legs were studded with open red ulcers, the stigmataof his disease. The room reeked so strongly of the yellow dischargefrom these uncovered sores, that Hal felt his gorge rise.

Two slave-girls were kneeling over him, one above his face, the otherstraddling his body. One raised her head.

Hal and she stared at each other, until she screamed. Both girlssprang up and fled from the room, disappearing beyond another screenlike a pair of startled gazelles, leaving Grey wallowing upon thebed.

Grey heaved himself “on to his side and lifted himself on one elbow.

“You!” He gaped at Hal.

“I did not expect-” He broke off, and his mouth opened and closedwithout uttering another sound.

“I know full well what you expected, sir,” Hal told him.

“And I apologize for disappointing you.”

“You have no right to trespass in my house.” Grey wiped the girl’sjuices from his face with the back of his hand. Then surprise gave wayto anger and he snarled, “I have armed guards. I shall summon them.”He opened his mouth to shout, but Hal placed the point of his swordagainst the man’s throat.

Grey subsided like a punctured bladder and tried to wriggle away fromthe steel.

“Cover yourself.” Hal picked up a silk robe from the floor beside thebed and threw it at him.

“The sight of your carcass sickens me.”

Awkwardly, Grey drew on the robe and seemed to recover a little of hispoise and confidence.

“I did not mean to threaten you,” he smiled ingratiatingly, “but youstartled me. Your arrival was at an embarrassing moment.” He winkedlewdly.

“And I expected you to be halfway to Good Hope by this time.”

“Again I must apologize,” Hal said.

“I have not been altogether honest with you. I am not a trader, nor amI a servant of the East India Company. My true name is Henry Courtney.I am a servant of His Majesty King William.”

“We are all servants of the King.” Grey’s tone was reverent and hisexpression sanctimonious. He wriggled to the edge of the bed and, witha great effort, hoisted himself to his feet.

Hal placed the point of his sword on Grey’s distended belly and gentlypushed him down again.

“Pray, do not discommode yourself,” he said politely.

“When I say that I am the King’s servant, I mean that I carry theKing’s commission. Included among the powers conferred upon me by thiscommission is the power of summary trial and execution of any persontaken in the act of piracy, or in aiding and abetting any person in thecrime of piracy upon the high seas.” Hal drew the rolled parchmentfrom under his cloak.

“Do you wish to peruse it?”

“I am sure it is as you say.” Grey spoke lightly and with assumedconfidence, but his colour had faded to a sickly sepia.

“However, I am at a loss to see how this affects me.”

“I beg you to allow me to explain.” Hal slipped the parchment backinto the lining of his cloak.

“There is no cargo of treasure aboard my ship. You were the onlyperson who believed that. I told you as a test of your honesty. I wasbaiting a trap for the pirate known as al-Auf.” Grey stared at him,and sweat broke out in a rash of droplets across his chin andforehead.

“I also told you the date on which I would sail from Zanzibar, and theroute I would take. Al-Auf could not have waylaid my ship without thatinformation. He had been given the precise intelligence that couldonly have come from one person.” Hal touched his chest lightly withthe sword-point.

“From you, sir.”

“That is not true!” Grey gobbled frantically.

“I am a loyal servant of the King, a man of honour.”

“If further evidence were needed, one of al-Auf’s men has given me yourname. You are in league with the corsair. You are guilty of aidingand abetting the enemies of the King. We need not debate this further.I condemn you to death by hanging.” He raised his voice.

“Aboli!” Aboli appeared at his shoulder, his tattooed face soforbidding that Grey rolled to the far side of the bed and quaked likea beached jelly-fish.

“Rig the rope for an execution.” Aboli had the coiled rope over hisshoulder. He strode to the window, which reached from floor toceiling, and kicked open the carved shutters. He looked down into thecourtyard where the fountain splashed and gurgled, shook out the nooseand let it drop and dangle halfway down the wall. Then he tied the endto the central upright frame of the window with a bowline knot.

“The drop is too long for such a barrel of lard. It will pull off hishead like a chicken, Aboli grunted, and shook his head.

“It will be messy.”

“We cannot be overly neat and tidy about this,” Hal said.

“Put him into the noose.”

Grey screamed and floundered on the bed.

“For God’s sake, Courtney, you cannot do this to me.”

“I think I can. Let us put my theory to the test.”

“I am an Englishman! I demand a fair trial by an English judge!”

“YOU have just -had one,” Hal pointed out.

“Mr. Fisher,

please help to prepare the prisoner for punishment!”

“Aye, Captain.” Big Daniel led his men into the room and theysurrounded the man on the bed.

“I am a sick man!” Grey blubbered.

“We have the perfect cure for whatever ails you,” said Big Danielcalmly. He rolled Grey onto his belly and, with a light line, pinionedhis hands behind his back. His men hoisted the heavy body off the bedand dragged the consul to the window. Aboli had the noose ready andslipped it over his head. They turned Grey to face Hal again. Theyhad to support him for his grossly swollen legs could not carry hisweight.

“You will be gratified to hear that your ally, Musallim bin-Jangiri,also known as al-Auf, slipped out of the trap I laid for him.” Hal satdown on the end of the bed.

“He has disappeared out into the ocean. We must presume that he hasslunk back to his lair to lick the wounds I was able to inflict uponhim.”

“I know nothing of this.”

Grey hung in the arms of his captors, shaking wildly with terror.

“You must believe me, Sir Henry.” Hal went on as if he had notspoken.

“My problem is exacerbated by al-Auf’s capture of my youngest son. Iam sure you will appreciate that I will do anything to rescue my boyand I think you know where I can find him.” He reached out and placedthe point of his sword at Grey’s throat.

“Let him stand on his own two feet,” he said to the men who held him,and they stepped aside.

“I beg of you, Sir Henry!” Grey swayed in the open window.

“I am an old man.”

“And an evil one,” Hal agreed, and pressed the sword a little harderagainst his throat. A bright drop of blood welled up from the prickedskin and stained the tip of the engraved Toledo blade.

“Where can I find al-Auf? And my son?” A bubbling, spluttering soundcame from under Grey’s robe and his liquid faeces, brown as tobaccojuice, streamed down his bloated legs to puddle on the floor betweenhis feet. The stench was sharp and nauseating in the small hot room,but Hal’s expression did not change. “”Where can I find my son?”

he repeated.

“The Flower of the Sea!” Grey screamed.

“Flor de la Mar, the old Portuguese fort on the island. That isal-Aufs sally-port.” 1.@ “I have to point out to you, sir, that yourability to provide this information confirms your guilt beyond anyshadow of doubt.” Slowly he increased the pressure of the steel atGrey’s throat. Grey tried to resist it, arching his back, while hisfeet slid in his own dung until his heels were over the sill of theopen window. He teetered there a moment and then, with a despairingwail, fell out backwards. The rope hissed after him, then came up witha thump as Grey’s full weight stretched it hard over the sill.

Hal led his band down the staircase into the courtyard.

There he paused to glance at the bloated body, which dangled quiescentat the rope’s end. Grey was suspended over the fish pool.

From the lining of his cloak Hal drew the parchment he had prepared thenight before, and handed it to Aboli.

“Hang that around his neck.”

Aboli jumped onto the parapet of the fountain and reached up to slipthe loop of twine over Grey’s head. The parchment hung down onto hischest. Hal’s proclamation w written in both English and Arabic.

Having been tried and found guilty of complicity with the corsair knownas al-Auf in acts of piracy on the high seas, the prisoner, WilliamGrey, was sentenced to death by hanging. Sentence was duly carried outby me, Henry Courtney, under power vested in me by commission of HisMajesty King William.

Tom stood beside his father and read aloud the Arabic text of theproclamation. When he came to the end he said, “It is signed “ElTazar”. That means the Barracuda.

Why?”

“It’s the name I was given by the Mussulmen when first I voyaged inthese waters.” Hal looked down at his son. Once again, he felt a pangof concern that one as young as Tom should have been witness to suchgrisly proceedings. Then he remembered that Tom was seven, teen, andthat with sword and cannon he had already killed more than one manhimself. He was no child, and he had been prepared by vocation andtraining for such grim work.

“Our work here is completed, Hal said quietly.

“Back to the ship.” He turned to the tall carved doors, and Big Danielgave the order to the men who stood guard there. They swung themopen.

The old crone who had met them on their arrival and given them accessto the house now stood on the threshold. The street behind her wascrowded with guards. There were at least a dozen, armed with jezailsand curved scimitars, a fearsome band of ruffians who surged forward asthe doors opened.

“See what the infidels have done to our lord,” the old woman wailed, asshe saw Grey’s body hanging from the rope.

“Murder!” She opened her toothless mouth and gave forth the high,keening cry that Arab women use to goad their men into a murderousrage.

“Allah akbar! screamed the leader of the guards.

“God is great” He flung up the long jezail to his shoulder and fired itinto the band of English seamen. The ball struck one of Hal’s sailorsfull in the face, blowing out most of his teeth, shattering his jaw anddriving on deep into his skull.

He dropped without a cry, and Hal stepped forward with one of therifled pistols levelled in his left hand.

His first shot hit the guards” leader in the right eye.

His eyeball burst, leaving a gaping hole in the socket, and the jellytrickled down his cheek. As he dropped, Hal fired the second barrel atthe man who appeared in the gap behind him, and hit him cleanly in thecentre of his forehead. The dead man fell back into the pack of hiscompanions, knocking one off his feet.

“Have at them, lads!” Hal shouted, and his seamen charged through thedoorway in a solid phalanx.

“SeraphP They yelled the war-cry, as they carried the mob of robedfigures before their charge. None of their foes was able to lift hislong musket in the close ruck of bodies, and all were driven back bythe bright hedge of cutlasses.

Three more went down, then Hal’s party was in the street where they hadmore room for sword-play.

Hal had the second, unfired pistol in his left hand, but he reservedthe shots, and instead used his blade to cut down another Arab whoblocked his way. He glanced round for Tom and found him a pace behindhim. In that brief glimpse he noticed that Tom’s blade was held high,its point already dulled with blood. He too had scored a hit.

“Good lad,” Hal grunted.

“Stay close.” He ran at the remaining Arabs.

They had seen the fate of their comrades at the front of the line.

Now they were confronted by the ferocious white faces bearing down onthem in a pack.

They broke away and fled back down the alley.

“Let them go!” Hal restrained Tom sharply.

“Back to the boat.”

“What about old Bobby?” Big Daniel asked, and indicated the deadseaman behind them. He was surrounded by the corpses of the Arabs theyhad cut down.

“Bring him,” Hal ordered. It was bad for the men to see one of theirmates left on a battlefield. They must know that, dead or wounded, hewould never desert them.

“As soon as we are at sea again, we will give him a decent burial.”Daniel stooped and Aboli helped him haul the body over his shoulder.Then, bared cutlass in hand, the two big men led the rest at a run backthrough the narrow streets towards the quay. So early in the morning,there were few townsfolk abroad, and those who saw them comingdisappeared swiftly into the alleys and doorways. They reached theharbour un-challenged and All Wilson brought in the longboat to pickthem up.

As they pulled back to where the Seraph lay, a few bolder souls cameout of hiding to fire their muskets, and shout insults or boldchallenges across the waters of the harbour, but the range was alreadylong and none of the musket-balls came near the longboat. Ned Tylerhad the anchor cable firmed up and a dozen men standing by thecapstan.

As soon as they had swarmed up the ladder and the longboat was liftedout of the water, he gave the order to hoist the anchor and set thesails.

As the Seraph came round, and lined up for the harbour entrance, thelong green banner of the Sultan rose to the top of the flagpole on thewest tower of the fort, and the battery of cannon on the rampartsopened up on them.

Even from the deck, they could clearly see the white robed gunnersfrantically serving their pieces. Through the telescope Hal could makeout the panic and confusion among them. As each of the massive cannonwas reloaded and run out again, no attempt was made to correct theiraim. As he watched, one of the over-enthusiastic gunners touched offhis gigantic weapon while his team were still behind it, heaving on thetackles to run out the carriage.

The recoil drove it back over them, crushing bones and amputatinglimbs. Hal could hear the agonized screams of the mutilated gunnerseven across the distance of two full cables” lengths that separatedthem.

Hal saw the huge stone ball in flight: it soared upwards from thebattlements and seemed to pause, like a tiny black speck, at the zenithof its trajectory, then arced down towards them. For a moment Halthought it might strike the ship, but instead it plunged into the seaalongside and threw up such a towering fountain of spray and water thatit fell across the quarterdeck and splashed Hal’s boots to the knees.

“We must acknowledge such a rousing farewell.” Hal looked at NedTyler, without a smile.

“Kindly dip our colours in courtesy to the Sultan, Mr. Tyler. Thenbring the ship on to a southerly heading.”

“It’s not marked,” Hal muttered, as he pored over the chart spread onhis desktop, “yet I swear I have heard the name before. Flor de laMar, the Flower of the Sea. With that name, and as Grey said, it mustindeed be one of the old Portuguese possessions, of course.” He hadalready questioned his officers, and sent them to ask the men, but noneknew of it.

Piled beside the chart were eight heavy books bound in black calfleather. These volumes were among Hal’s dearest possessions. Heselected one from the pile, opened the stiff crackling pages and gazedbriefly at the beautiful flowing script and the ink drawings thatclosely covered every page on both sides. The writing was so familiarit seemed part of his very existence. It was that of his father, SirFrancis Courtney. These log books were part of the legacy Hal hadreceived from him. The eight volumes covered thirty years of hisfather’s voyages and wanderings on the oceans of the globe, alifetime’s accumulation of knowledge and experience, of such intrinsicand sentimental value that, for Hal, they were beyond any price ingold.

Almost reverentially, he thumbed through the pages, searching for thename he had read somewhere in them so many years before. His searchwas spasmodic, as every so often he was diverted by some gem ofobservation or a captivating drawing of a foreign harbour, an exoticlandfall, a portrait of a man, a bird or a fish that had caught hisfather’s keen eye and been faithfully recorded by his skilful pen.

Unsuccessful in his initial search, he laid the first volume aside andchose another, whose cover was marked, “Ocean of the Indies, AnniDomini 1632 to 1641.” Hal’s search lasted so long that he had torefill the oil in the lamp. Then, suddenly, the name leaped out of thepage into his red, aching eyes. He gave a heartfelt sigh of relief.

“Isla Flor de la Mar’: it was the notation beneath the ink line-drawingof a landfall seen from the ocean, which depicted what was clearly anisland. The compass rose and a scale of distances were marked inunderneath. These showed an overall size for the landmass from southto north of five sea miles. Below the name was written the position,”11 degrees 25 minutes south lot. 47 degrees 32 minutes east long.”and in smaller letters, “Known to the Mussulmen as Door Al Shaitan orthe Harbour of the Devil.” Quickly Hal referred back to his chart.With ruler and compass he picked out the co-ordinates his father hadgiven. Although he treated even Sir Francis’s estimate of longitudewith reserve, he found that these measurements gave him a positionabout a hundred and fifty sea miles north of the Glorietta islands.However, on Hal’s chart nothing was marked at this location except theopen sea.

He referred back to his father’s log. Sir Francis had written a fullpage of description. Hal started to read and was immediatelyentranced.

“This island was first reported by Alfonse d’Albuquerque in 1508 whenhe was preparing to capture the Arab cities along the Fever Coast ofthe eastern African continent. From this sally-port he launched hisattacks on Zanzibar and DarEs Salaam.” Hal nodded. He knew thatAlbuquerque had been known as the Great by his peers, and asal-Shaitan, the Devil, by the Arabs for the success of his naval foraysinto the Ocean of the Indies.

He, more than even Trist5o da Cunha, had been responsible for securingthe preeminence of Portuguese power and influence on the Fever Coastand in the Persian Gulf.

His ships had been the first of any European power to penetrate theArab stronghold of the Red Sea. Hal turned back to his father’swriting.

Albuquerque constructed a considerable fort on the north point of theisland, hewing coral stone blocks for the construction, and employingMussulmen prisoners for the heavy work. He armed the fort with cannoncaptured during his conquest of Ormuz and Aden. He named the islandafter his own flagship, Flor de la Mar.

Some years later, in 1508, this same ship was wrecked on the coralreefs off the coast of Goa, and Albuquerque lost the vast personaltreasure he had accumulated during his campaigns in these Oceans.

After the success of his attacks on the African mainland Albuquerqueabandoned his base on the island and transferred his flag toZanzibar.

The fort on Flor de la Mar was allowed to fall into disrepair.

I called here on the 2nd of November 1637. The island is five and aquarter sea miles in length and half a sea mile wide at its broadestpoint. The east side is exposed to the scend of the ocean and theprevailing winds, and offers no secure anchorage. The bay on thenorth-west extremity is well protected and guarded by a coral reef.

The bottom is sand and shell and affords excellent holding. There is apassage through the reef which runs directly under the walls of thefort. Thus when the battlements were manned by the Portuguese anyvessel entering the bay could have been brought under heavy fire by thebatteries of the garrison.

In the middle of the page Hal’s father had made a detailed map of thebay and the fort, showing the passage through the reef and the variousbearings and soundings.

“Thank you, Father,” Hal murmured, with feeling, and went on with hisstudy of the text.

I went ashore and found that the walls of the fort had well stood thePassage of almost a century and a half.

They were sturdily built and would be impervious to all but modernsiege engines. The brass carman were still sited in their embrasuresbut the metal of the barrels was much corroded by the salt sea airs.

The catchments and cisterns for the gathering of rainwater remained inworking order, and we were able to refill our casks from them. Therewas a vast colony of sea birds nesting on the south point of theisland. During the hours of daylight the multitudes of these birdsformed a dark canopy over the island that could be discerned from manymiles out at sea. The chorus of their combined voices was of suchvolume as to give offence to the ear and astound the senses. The fleshof these fowl was oily and strongly flavoured with fish but when saltedand smoked became palatable. I despatched a shore party to gather intheir eggs. They returned with ten large baskets, and all handsfeasted upon them. There was besides much fish and oysters to be takenin the bay, and we lingered ten days and employed all hands in thecatching and smoking of these bounties to replenish the ship’sstores.

We sailed again on the 12th of November, bound for the Bah al Mandeb atthe foot of the Red Sea.

Hal closed the log book with the same reverence as if it had been thefamily Bible, which, in a manner of speaking, it was, and turned hisattention to the chart.

Carefully he marked in the position of the island his father had given,then ruled in the course and bearing from their present position at thesouthern extremity of the Zanzibar Channel.

When he went on deck the sun was lying only a finger above the horizon,so shrouded in purple sea fret that he could look directly at itsfuming red orb with his naked eye. With the coming of dusk, themonsoon wind had eased but still had sufficient force to fill everysail tight and pearly as the breasts of a wet-nurse.

“Mr. Tyler, bring her up to the wind as close as she can sail on thistack,” he ordered grimly.

“Full and by.”

“Full and by, it is, Captain. “Ned touched his cap.

Hal left him and strode forward, glancing up to the yards of theforemast as he passed beneath them. Tom was still up there, as he hadbeen ever since they had cleared the harbour at Zanzibar. Halempathized with him, but he would not go up to join his vigil. He toowanted to be alone.

When he reached the stern he stepped up onto the base of the bowspritand clung to the forestay, peering ahead into the darkening sea, whichwas turning the colour of overripe plums. At intervals the Seraph torethe crest off a larger wave, and tossed it back over the bows, dashinga spattering of drops into his face. He made no effort to wipe themaway, but let them drip down from his chin onto his chest.

Far behind them, Africa had disappeared into the distance and the hazydusk. There was no sight of land ahead. The dark ocean was boundlessand wide. What hope to find one small boy in all its limitlessexpanses? he wondered.

“And yet I will, should it take me the rest of my natural life,” hewhispered.

“And no mercy on any who stand in my way.” he dhow was a slaver,employed in carrying its cargo of misery from the mainland across thechannel to the markets of Zanzibar. It stank of the waste of the humanbody, and of the agony of the human spirit.

It was a foul miasma that hung over the little vessel, and permeatedthe hair and clothing of all aboard her. It entered Dorian’s lungswith every breath he drew, and seemed to corrode his very soul.

He was chained in the lower deck. The iron staples were driven throughthe heavy timber main frame and the heads were riveted. His leg-ironswere hand forged and the chain was passed through the eye of hisfetters. There was space for a hundred captives in the long low hold,but Dorian was alone. He squatted on one of the dhow’s main frames,trying to keep his feet out of the noisome bilges, which slopped backand forth with each pitch and roll of the narrow hull, filled with fishscales and pieces of sodden copra, the dhow’s alternative cargoes.

Every hour or so, the hatch above his head was thrown open and one ofthe Arab crew peered down at him anxiously. His gaoler would pass downa bowl of rice and fish stew or a green coconut from which the top hadbeen hacked away. The coconut juice was sweet and faintlyeffervescent, and Dorian drank it eagerly although he spurned the stewmade from half-rotten sun-dried fish.

part from his fetters and the foul confines of the cabin, his Arabcaptors had treated him with the utmost consideration. More than that,they were evidently concerned for his welfare, and made certain that hewent neither hungry nor thirsty.

Four times in the last two days the captain of the dhow had come downinto the slave deck and stood over him, staring at him attentively,with an expression that was difficult to fathom. He was a tall manwith very dark pockmarked skin and a beaked nose. It was he who hadpulled Dorian from the sea and held the dagger to his throat.

On his first visit he had attempted to question the boy.

“Who are you? Where are you from? Are you a true believer? Whatwhere you doing on an infidel ship?” The captain’s accent was strangeand his pronunciation of some words much different from the manner inwhich Dorian had been taught by All Wilson but he understood the manwithout difficulty, and could have replied fluently. Instead he hadhung his head and refused to look up at him. He wanted desperately tovent his fear and his anger on the Arab. He wanted to warn him that hewas the son of a powerful, wealthy man, but he sensed that this wouldbe the utmost folly. He wanted to blurt out, “My father will come forme soon, and when he does he will have no mercy upon you, or any man ofyours.” Instead he had bitten down painfully on his tongue to preventhimself from responding to these questions.

In the end, the captain had given up the attempt to make him speak, hadsquatted down beside him and taken a handful of his thick curls. Thenhe had fondled them almost lovingly. To Dorian’s astonishment he hadwhispered a prayer.

“God is great. There is no God but God, and Muhammad is his Prophet.”On his subsequent visits to the slave deck, he had made no furtherefforts to question Dorian.

However, each time he had gone through the same ritual of stroking andcaressing Dorian’s head and muttering the prayer.

On his last visit he had suddenly pulled the dagger from the sheath onhis belt. Dorian had been lulled by his previous behaviour, so now hewas shocked as the bright razor-sharp blade was flashed in his face. Heprevented himself from crying out, but shrank away fearfully.

The Arab bared his twisted, discoloured teeth in a horrible grin, whichwas meant to be placatory, and instead of injuring Dorian had merelycut off a long lock of his red-gold hair before he slipped the daggerback into its sheath.

Dorian was puzzled and confused by this behaviour, and he had much timeto ponder it in the dark, stinking “i k slave hold. He realized thatit was the colour and texture of his hair that fascinated his captors,and had some special significance for them. When first he had beenhauled from the sea, it had seemed certain that the Arabs would venttheir anger and spite upon him. He could vividly remember the sting ofthe dagger held to his throat and even now, when he ran his fingertipsover it, he could feel the scabs on the scratch that the blade had lefton his skin.

It was only when the captain had pulled the Monmouth cap from his headand Dorian’s long hair had streamed out in the wind that he had liftedthe blade from the boy’s throat. In the terror of those moments,Dorian had taken no heed of the jabbering and loud arguments of hiscaptors as they hustled him below deck and chained him in the slavehold, but he remembered that every man in the dhow had taken a chanceto touch or stroke his head. Now he recalled snatches of their excitedtalk.

Many had mentioned a’prophecy’and some had called out a name, which wasobviously revered by them all for the others had chorused, “May Allahshow him mercy after anyone mentioned it. To Dorian the name hadsounded like “Taimtaim’. Afraid, and so alone, he crouched on therough stool in the dark, stinking hold and thought of Tom and hisfather, pined for them with a longing that threatened to crush hisheart in his chest. Sometimes he dozed for a few minutes, but eachtime he was jerked awake by the plunging hull as the dhow was struck bya larger wave, and he slipped off his precarious perch. He was able tokeep a check on the procession of day and night when the hatch abovehis head was opened and food and drink was passed down to him, or whenthe captain came down to gloat over him, and it was on the twelfth dayafter his capture that the iron fetters were knocked off his ankles.

He was dragged out through the hatch onto the deck were the sunlightwas so strong after the gloom below that he had to shield his eyesagainst it. It took him many minutes to adjust to its brilliance, andthen, still blinking painfully, he looked about him. He found thathalf the crew were gathered around him in a fascinated circle. Thistime he took note of what they were saying.

“This is verily part of the prophecy, God be praised.”

“It cannot be so for al-Amhara does not speak the tongue of theProphet.” Dorian understood that by al Amhara, which translated as theRed One, they meant him.

“Beware that you speak no blasphemy, O Ishmael. It is not for you tojudge whether he be the child of the prophecy or not.”

“God’s ways are marvelous and cannot be fathomed,” said another, andthey all chorused, “Praise be to God!” Dorian looked beyond the circleof dark, bearded faces and out over the bows. The waves ahead werewind-driven and curled silver-headed in the sunlight, but on thehorizon lay a dark, unnatural cloud. He stared at it so hard that hiseyes watered in the wind. It seemed to be smoke that swirled andeddied, but then, with his sharp young eyes, he icked out the tinyshapes of palm trees beneath it, and realized that he was seeing agreat flock of birds.

Even as he watched, smaller flocks of ten or twenty sea birds flew pastthe dhow, hurrying to join that vast agglomeration. He wanted to seemore of what lay ahead, and at the same time to test the mood of hiscaptors, to see how much latitude they would allow him. He walkedforward, and the circle of Arabs gave way before him: they steppedrespectfully out of his path as if afraid or reluctant to check him.

One touched his head as he passed but Dorian ignored him.

“Watch him well,” the captain of the dhow shouted from the tiller.

“He must not escape.”

“Ah! So, Yusuf,” one answered him, “is al-An-thoro then so blessedthat he can fly like the angel Gibrael?”

They all laughed but none made any effort to restrain Dorian. He wentforward and leaned against the single stubby mast.

Gradually the fringe of palm trees below the cloud of sea birdshardened, and then he could make out the shape of a promontory to thenorth end of what was clearly a small island. Closer still, and thewalls of a square building, made of white blocks, glinted in thesunlight. Then he saw cannon on the walls and a flotilla of shipsmoored in the bay beneath the fort.

The Monsoon

“The Minotaur!” he exclaimed suddenly, as he recognized the tall mastsand shape of the ship that the Seraph had fought only days previously.With her superior speed she must have arrived well ahead of the tinydhow. She was anchored in the middle of the bay under bare yards, andas they sailed closer Dorian could make out clearly the damage that theSeraph’s guns had inflicted upon her.

Closer still he could just read the new name that had been painted inArabic script on the transom, replacing her English name: Breath ofAllah.

She was not the only square-rigged ship in the bay: there were fourothers, one larger and three smaller than the Minotaur. Dorianreasoned that these must also have been captured by the corsair fromthe convoys of the European fleets trading in the Orient. Five greatships loaded with precious cargo was an enormous booty. No wonder thename of al-Auf was so feared across the length and breadth of thisocean.

His thoughts were interrupted by a cry of “Ready aboutV from Yusuf, thecaptain at the tiller, and the rush of bare feet along the deck as thecrew leaped to tack the dhow. The long yard was run back then forwardon to the opposite side of the mast. The single sail filled on thestarboard tack and the captain steered into the narrow passage throughthe reef that guarded the entrance to the bay.

“Take al-Amhara into the forward cabin. Hide him from the eyes of thewatchers on the walls of the fort,” Yusuf shouted, and two of the mentook Dorian’s arms, led him gently to the small cabin on the foredeckand pushed him into it. Though the door was barred, there were port,holes on both sides of the cabin. Dorian peered out: he had a goodview of the bay as the dhow ran in.

The channel took a dog-leg turn through the coral, then passed closeunder the walls of the fort. Dorian looked up at the cannon that pokedthrough the embrasures and saw the brown faces of the gunners behindthem. The faint blue smoke from their slow-match drifted along the topof the stone wall, and the faint welcoming cries of the garrison wereanswered eagerly by the crew of the dhow.

The captain dropped anchor close to the stern of the f Breath of Allahand called across the calm, clear waters to one of the skiffs drawn upon the beach below the fort.

Three men paddled it out and tied up alongside the dhow.

There was a long, heated argument among the crew, which Dorian couldfollow through the thin wooden partition of the cabin, as to who wouldaccompany the captain and al, Amhara ashore. Finally Yusuf settled itby picking out three men and ordering them down into the skiff to actas an escort. Then he came into the cabin, and displayed his yellowteeth in that dreadful false smile.

“We are going ashore to meet al-Auf.” Dorian stared at him dumbly,still giving no indication of having understood, so Yusuf signed andgestured his intention.

“We must cover your beautiful hair. I wish it to astound al-Auf.” Hetook down a grubby grey robe from a wooden peg beside the door, andsigned for Dorian to don it. Though it stank of stale sweat and rottenfish, Dorian obeyed. Yusuf arranged the hood of the robe to cover hishead and shield his face, then took Dorian’s arm and hustled him downinto the waiting skiff.

They were rowed to the beach, where they climbed out onto crunchingwhite coral sand. The three Arabs closed in around Dorian, and Yusufled them up into the palm grove and along the path towards the walls ofthe fort. They passed through a small cemetery in the midst of thegrove. Some of the tombs it contained were ancient, the coral plastercracked and peeling from their walls in chunks. The Christian crossesat the head were broken and fallen. At the far end there were newergraves, without headstones, the mounds of freshly turned soil markedonly by white flags on short poles, covered with prayers and quotationsin Arabic script. The grave flags fluttered in the streaming winds ofthe monsoon.

They left the cemetery and the path was winding through the grovetowards the fort when abruptly they stepped into another clearing.

Dorian stopped in his tracks with shock and fear: naked human bodieswere hanging on tripods of rough timber along both sides of thetrack.

This was clearly an execution ground.

Some of the victims on the tripods were still alive, They werebreathing, making small painful movements.

One stiffened his whole body and groaned loudly before slumping backagainst his bonds. Many of the others were dead, and some had been sofor several days, their features frozen in the rictus of their lastagony, their bellies bloated with gas, and their skins scorched pinkand raw by the sun.

All of them, both living and dead, had been cruelly tortured.

Dorian stared in horror at one who had charred and blackened stumpsinstead of hands or feet. Others had empty sockets in their faceswhere their eyes had been put out with heated irons. Tongues had beenhacked from mouths and flies swarmed in a blue cloud down gapingthroats. Some of those still living called hoarsely for water, andstill others called for God. One watched Dorian with huge dark eyes ashe passed, repeating, in a monotonous whisper, “God is great, God isgreat.” His tongue was so blackened and swollen with thirst that thewords were barely audible.

One of Dorian’s guards laughed and stepped off the path. He looked upat the dying man, and told him, “On your lips the name of Allah isblasphemy!” He drew his curved dagger and, with the other hand,reached out and grasped the shrivelled bunch of the dying man’sgenitals.

With a single stroke of the blade he severed them, and thrust them intothe victim’s open mouth.

“That will keep you quiet!” He chuckled.

The tormented man showed no sign of pain, his anguish was already pastbearing.

“You were always the buffoon, Ishmael,” Yusuf reprimanded himprissily.

“Come, now, you are wasting time with your clowning.”

Dorian’s guards dragged him on until they reached the doorway in therear wall of the fort. It stood wide open M@ and a few robed guardssquatted in the shade of the arch, their jezails stacked against thewall.

Tom had always impressed upon Dorian the need to notice and rememberevery detail of any new surroundings.

His hood hid Dorian’s face but did not cover his eyes, and he saw thatthe main doors of the fort were ancient and rotted, the hinges almosteaten away by rust, but that the walls were very thick. They would beproof even against the heaviest bombardment.

The guards were well acquainted with the dhow captain: they did notbother to rise to their feet but exchanged the customary floridgreetings with him, then waved the party through. They entered thecourtyard of the fort, and again Dorian looked around him keenly. Hesaw that the original buildings must be very old. The coral stoneblocks were weathered and, in some places, had tumbled down.

However, recent repairs had been made and even now a gang of masonswas- working on the staircase that led up to the battlements.

The old roofs had been replaced with a thatch of palm leaves that werestill only half dried. He estimated that close to two hundred men wereloitering in the shade along the base of the walls. Some had spreadtheir prayer-mats and were stretched out upon them. Others weregathered in small groups, playing dice or sharing tall hookahs,chatting together as they cleaned their muskets or whetted the edges oftheir scimitars. Some called the traditional greeting: “Salaamaliekum!” which Dorian’s captors returned, “Aliekum ya salaam.” Undera thatched lean-to with open sides, which stood in the centre of theexpansive courtyard, was a line of cooking-fires. Veiled women wereworking over them, baking bread on the iron griddles or stirring thecontents of the black, three-legged pots that stood over the coals.

They looked up as Dorian and his guards passed but their eyes wereinscrutable behind their veils and they offered no greeting.

There were rooms built into the outer walls of the fort, their doorsopening out into the courtyard. Some were being Vsed as storerooms orpowder magazines, for there were guards at each. Yusuf spoke to hismen: “Wait for me here. Perhaps you can beg food from the women tofill your ever empty bellies.” He took Dorian firmly by the arm anddragged him -towards the doorway in the centre of the fortifications.

Two guards barred their way.

“What is your business, Yusuf?” one demanded.

“What brings you uninvited to the door of Musallim bin-jangiri?” Theyargued for a while Yusuf protesting his right of access, and the guardexerting his power to deny it to him.

Then, at last, the guard shrugged.

“You have chosen an inappropriate hour. The master has already orderedtwo men to their deaths this very day. Now he confers with the trarsfrom the mainland. But you have ever been a reckless man Yusuf, onewho likes to swim with the tiger shark. Enter at your peril.” Helowered his sword and stood aside with a smirk.

Yusuf took a firmer grip on Dorian’s arm, but his fingers trembled. Hedrew the boy through the door into the room beyond and hissed in hisear, “Down! Down on your belly!” Dorian feigned ignorance of hismeaning, and resisted the man’s efforts to pull him to the floor. Theystruggled for a while at the threshold, then Yusuf released him andallowed him to remain standing while he crawled across the room towardsthe group of four men seated at the far end.

Still on his feet, Dorian tried to quell his uneasiness and gazed abouthim. At a glance he saw that although the walls of the room were ofraw, unplastered. coral stone blocks they had been covered with rugsof bright colours and pleasing designs. The other furnishings weresparse.

the rough floor was well swept but bare, except for a single low tableand an array of cushions on which the four men sat. They watched withapparent disdain as Yusuf crept towards them, chanting a litany ofpraises and apologies.

India “Great lord! Beloved of Allah! Sword of Islam! Slayer of theinfidel! Peace be upon you!” Dorian recognized the man who sat facinghim. He had last seen him upon the quarterdeck of the Minotaur.

He knew that he would never forget that face.

Under a green turban, it seemed carved from teak or some other hard,unyielding material. The skin was drawn tightly over the skull so thatthe man’s cheekbones seemed too close to the surface. His brow washigh and smooth, his nose narrow and bony. The beard that hung to hiswaist was groomed into a forked shape, and dyed with henna to a brightginger hue, but streaks of grey showed through the dye. Under thedrooping moustache his mouth was a thin, @ tight line.

This lipless reptilian mouth opened now, and the voice that issued fromit was soft and melodious, its gentleness given the lie by the crueltar-black eyes above.

“You must have good reason to disturb our deliberations,” said alAuf.

“Mighty lord, I am a piece of camel dung drying in the sunshine of yourcountenance.” Three times Yusuf touched the stone floor with hisforehead.

“That at least is true,” al-Auf agreed.

“I have brought you a great treasure, Beloved of the Prophet.”

Yusuf raised his head long enough to indicate Dorian.

“A slave?” al-Auf asked.

“I have filled the markets of the world with slaves. You bring me onemore?”

“A lad,” Yusuf confirmed.

“I am no pederast,” said al-Auf.

“I prefer the honey pot to the dung-heap.”

” lad,” jabbered Yusu fnervously.” But no ordinary lad, this.”

He pressed his forehead once more to the stones.

“A golden boy, but more precious than gold.”

“You speak in riddles and circles, thou son of a diseased foresthog.”

“May I have your permission to display this treasure to your benevolentgaze, O mighty one? Then you will see the truth of what I tell you.”Al-Auf nodded and stroked his dyed beard.

“Swiftly, then. Already I grow weary of your inanities.” Yusuf roseto his feet, but with his back bent almost double and his head bowedwith deep respect. He took Dorian’s hand and pulled him forward.

He was sweating with terror.

“Do as I tell you now,” he whispered ferociously, trying to cover hisown fear, “or I will have you gelded and give you to my crew as theirwhore.” He dragged Dorian to the centre of the room, and stood behindhim.

“Great lord, Musallim bin-jangiri, I will show you something you havenever seen before!” He paused to let the anticipation build UP andthen, with a flourish, he drew back the hood that covered Dorian’shead.

“Behold! The Crown of the Prophet, foretold in the prophecy!” Thefour seated men stared at Dorian in silence.

By this time Dorian had become accustomed to this reaction from anyArab who looked upon him for the first time.

“You have dyed his head with henna,” al-Auf said at last, “as I havedyed my beard.” But his voice was uncertain and his expression awed.

“Not so, lord.” Yusuf was gaining confidence. He had contradictedal-Auf without a qualm, a trespass for which many men had died.

“It is God alone who has dyed his hair, just as he dyed the hair ofMuhammad, his one true Prophet.”

“Praise be to God,” the others murmured automatically.

“Bring him here!” ordered al-Auf. Yusuf seized Dorian by the shoulderand almost yanked him off his feet in his eagerness to obey.

“Gently!” al-Auf cautioned him.

“Treat him with care!” Yusuf re oiced in this reprimand for it showedthat al-Auf had not rejected outright the validity of his claims forthe slave-boy. He pulled Dorian forward more carefully and forced himto his knees in front of the corsair.

“I am an Englishman.” Unfortunately his childish voice quavered,robbing it of its force.

“Keep your dirty bloodstained hands off me.”

“The heart of a black-maned lion in an unweaned cub.” Al-Auf noddedwith approval.

“But what did he say?” No one could answer him, and al-Auf looked backat Dorian.

“Do you speak Arabic, little one?” An angry retort in the samelanguage rose to Dorian’s lips, but he fought it back and spoke inEnglish.

“You can go straight to hell, and give the devil my compliments whenyou get there.” This was one of his father’s expressions and he felthis courage return. He tried to rise from his knees but Yusuf held himdown.

“He does not speak Arabic,” said al-Auf, and there was a drop ofdisappointment in his tone.

“That was part of the prophecy of the holy St. Taimtaim, may his namebe blessed for ever.”

“He can be taught,” Yusuf suggested, with a hint of desperation.

“If you leave him with me I will have him quoting the whole of theKoran within a month.”

“It is not the same.” Al-Auf shook his head.

“The prophecy is that the child would come from the sea wearing the redmantle of the Prophet on his head, and that he would speak the languageof the Prophet.” He stared at Dorian in silence. The unlikelyproposition was dawning slowly upon Dorian that none of the Arabs hadever seen red hair in their lives.

He was beginning to understand that they looked upon it as some sacredreligious stigmata: they spoke of their Prophet Muhammad having thesame colouring. He had a vague recollection of All Wilson alsomentioning this during one of his long lectures on the beliefs ofIslam. Obviously al-Auf had dyed his own beard in imitation of theProphet.

“Perhaps his hair is only cunningly dyed after all,” alAuf saidgloomily.

“If that is so,” he scowled suddenly at Yusuf, “I will send both youand the child to the execution ground Dorian felt fresh terror chokehis breathing at the thought. The memory of the tormented wretches onthe tripods in the palm grove was sickeningly fresh in his mind.

Yusuf was down on his knees once more, blab bering his innocence, andtrying to kiss al-Auf’s feet. The corsair kicked him away and raisedhis voice.

“Send for Ben Abram, the physician.” Within minutes a venerable Arabcame hurrying to make his obeisance before al-Auf He had a silver-whitebeard and brows. His skin was eggshell pale and his eyes bright andintelligent. Even al-Auf spoke to him in a kindly tone.

“Examine this Frankish lad, old uncle. Is his hair a natural colour orhas it been stained? Tell me if he is healthy and well formed.” Thedoctor’s hands on Dorian’s head were gentle but firm, and Doriansubmitted to his touch with bad grace, holding his whole body stiff anduncompromising. Ben Abram rubbed the silky red locks between hisfingers, making sharp little sucking sounds between his teeth.

Then he parted the hair and examined Dorian’s scalp closely, turninghis head to catch the light from the high, barred windows. He sniffedat his head, trying to detect any odour of chemicals or herbs.

“I have never seen any like it in fifty years of medicine, not on manor woman, though I have heard of peoples in the north of Parthia whoare crowned I thus, Ben Abram said at last.

“It is not dyed, then.” Al-Auf sat forward on his cushions, hisinterest reawakening.

“It is his natural colour,” Ben Abram confirmed.

“What of the rest of his body?”

“We shall see. Tell him to disrobe.”

“He does not speak the language of the Prophet. You must undress himyourself.” Even with Yusuf holding him down, they could not carry outthe order. Dorian fought them like a cat being forced head first intoa bucket of cold water. He clawed and kicked and bit, and in the endthey had to call two guards from the door to restrain him.

At last he stood naked before them, a guard holding each wrist toprevent Dorian cupping his hands over himself.

“See the colour and texture of his skin,” Ben Abram marvelled.

“It is as beautiful as the finest white silk, the same as the hide ofthe Sultan’s stallion. It is without blemish. It complements the redof his hair exactly, and proves beyond the last doubt that what I sayis correct. His colouring is natural.” Al-Auf nodded.

“What of the rest of his body?”

“Hold him!” Ben Abram told the guards. The bite on his wrist wasstill bleeding. He reached out warily and began to palpate Dorian’ssmall white genitals.

“His eggs have not yet descended into their pouch, but they areintact.” He took the childish white penis between his fingers.

“As you can see, he is not yet circumcised, but-” He drew back Dorian’sforeskin and the pink cherry-top popped out.

Dorian writhed in the grip of the guards and all his resolutions ofsilence were swept away by his shame and humiliation.”You heathen pig!” he screamed in Arabic.

Take your filthy hands off my prick, or I swear to God I will killyou.” Al -Auf recoiled on his cushions, shock and religious awesuffusing his gaunt features.

“He speaks! It is the prophecy!”

“Allah is merciful! Praise His Glorious Name!” the men on either sideof him chorused.

“It is the prophecy of St. Taimtaim.”

” Tom screamed from his perch high on the foremast, cupping both handsaround his mouth against the wind.

“Sail-oh!”

“Where away?” Ned Tyler hailed back.

“Fine on the port bow. Two leagues distant.” Hal heard the shouts inhis cabin, and jumped to his feet so vigorously that drops from theink-pot splattered his chart. He wiped them away quickly and ran tothe door.

He came on deck in his shirtsleeves.

“Masthead! What do you make of her?” he called up.

“A small craft, lateen-rigged.” Tom’s reply, floated down.

“Ah!

She has seen us. She’s going about.”

“Only a guilty man runs.”

Big Daniel had come on deck and stood by the helm.

“Or a prudent one!” said Ned Tyler.

“I bet a guinea to a pinch of dung that she’s coming from at-Auf’sisland,” said Big Daniel.

Hal looked back at them.

“We’ll bespeak her, Mr. Tyler. Clap on all your canvas, and lay theship on a course to intercept her, whoever she is.” Trying to claw herway back to windward through the wind-chopped seas, the small dhow wasno match for the Seraph. Within half an hour she was hull up, and thebig square-rigged ship was bearing down on her remorselessly.

“Give her a gun, Mr. Fisher,” Hal ordered, and Big Daniel hurriedforward to the bow-chasers. Minutes later a single cannon shot thuddedout. Hal watched through his telescope, and a few seconds after theshot he saw a brief fountain of white spray erupt from the surface halfa cable’s length to one side of the fleeing dhow.

“I think even the infidel will understand that language,” he muttered,and was proved correct immediately as the dhow surrendered to theinevitable. She dropped her single sail and rounded up into thewind.

“Have an armed boarding-party ready to send into her,” Hal ordered BigDaniel, as they raced down on the tiny vessel.

Big Daniel took his party across in the longboat. He jumped up ontothe dhow’s deck and disappeared into her hold. In the meantime his mensecured the vessel, and herded her small crew forward under the threatof their cutlasses. Within ten minutes Big Daniel was back on deck,and hailed the Seraph.

“Captain, she has a full cargo of silk, all of the bales sTomped withthe seal of John Company.”

“Pirate booty, by God.” Hal smiled for the first time in days, thencalled back, “Leave Mr. Wilson and five men to sail her. Bring thecaptain and all his crew back to this ship under guard.” Big Danielbrought the confused, frightened Arabs on board, while All Wilson putthe dhow under sail and followed in the Seraph’s wake as she resumedher previous course close-hauled on the wind.

The Arab captain needed little persuasion to talk.

“I am Abdulla Wazari of Lamu. I am an honest trader,” he protested,part defiant and part servile.

“Where did you trade for your present cargo, Wazari?” Hal asked.

“I paid for it in honest coin and in good faith, as Allah is mywitness,” said the captain, becoming evasive.

“No doubt it escaped your notice that the bales in your hold bear thechop of the English East India Company.”

“I am no thief. I did not steal them. I purchased them in fairtrade.”

“Who sold them to you, then, O Wazari the Honest Trader? And where?” Aman named Musallim bin-Jangiri sold them to me.

I had no way of knowing that they were the property of this Englishcompany.”

“Nothing except the evidence of your own eyes,” said Hal drily inEnglish. Then he went on, in Arabic, “And where did you meetJangiri?”

“On the island of Door Al Shaitan.”

“Where is this island? When did you sail from there?”

“It is fifty leagues distant, perhaps.” Wazari shrugged.

“We sailed with the dawn wind yesterday.” This estimate of theisland’s position agreed with the co-ordinates from his father’s logbook. Hal turned away and paced back and forth slowly while hepondered this fresh intelligence. It seemed apparent that al-Auf wasconducting an open market on the island of Flor de la Mar, selling offhis booty. Probably Arab traders from all the western seas wereflocking to him to fill their holds with stolen goods at bargainprices. He came back to Wazari.

“You saw Jangiri himself, not one of his lieutenants?”

“I saw him. He was freshly returned from a terrible battle with aninfidel ship. His own vessel lies in the bay, and it is pitifullydamaged-” Wazari broke off as the possibility dawned upon him that hestood on the deck of M the very same infidel ship he was describing.His expression .

became shifty.

“Did jangiri tell you he had taken any infidel prisoners in thisbattle?” Hal asked. Wazari shook his head.

“He did not boast to you and you heard no talk that he had taken aFrankish child as slave? A boy of eleven or twelve summers?” Haltried to make it seem a casual question, but saw a sudden flash ofinterest in Wazari’s expression, which the man masked quickly as a goodtrader should.

“I am an old man and my memory fails me,” said Wazari.

“Perhaps some act of hospitality or kindrlessmight restore mymemory.”

“What kindness?” Hal asked.

“That you, my lord, allow me and my ship to go on our way withoutfurther let. That would be a kindness that would be written againstyour name in the golden book.” i “One kindness deserves another,” Halsaid.

“Be kind to me, Wazari, then perhaps I shall be kind to you. Did youhear of a Frankish child when you were with jangiri, who is also knownas al-Auf?”

The Arab tugged at his beard indecisively, then sighed.

“Ah, now, I do recall something of that nature.”

“What do you recall?” Hal demanded, and instinctively touched the hiltof the dagger on his belt.

It was a gesture not wasted on the Arab.

“I recall that two days ago jangiri offered to sell me a slave, aFrankish child, but one who spoke the language of the Prophet.”

“Why did you not buy from him?” Hal leaned so close to him that hecould smell Wazari’s last meal of sun-dried fish on his breath.

Wazari laughed.

“His price was a lakh of rupees.” He repeated, in wonder, “A lakh ofrupees for one slave-boy!”

“That is a ransom for a prince, not a slave, Hal agreed.

“Did you see the boy?”

“At one lakh?” Wazari looked incredulous.

“He said I

Must show him the gold before I may see the boy. I am a poor man, andI told jangiri that. VAlere would I find a lakh?”

“How could he dare to ask such a price?” Hal insisted.

“He said that it was the child of the prophecy of Taimtaim,” Wazarisaid.

“I do not know of this prophecy.”

“The saint prophesied that a child with strange coloured hair wouldcome from the sea.”

“What colour?”

“Red!” said Wazari.

“The Red Crown of the Prophet.

jangiri says that this child of his has hair the colour of the sunset.”Hal felt his heart leap as though to be free of his chest, and hisspirit soared. He turned away so that Wazari should not see it on hisface and went to the weather rail. He stood there for a long while andlet the wind tangle his dark hair around his face. Then he smoothed itback with both hands and returned to face Wazari.

“You have been kind indeed,” he said, and when he turned to Ned Tylerhe was smiling.

“Take this man and all his crew back to the dhow. Let them go on theirway.” Ned was startled, “Let them go? Begging your pardon, Captain,but what about the stolen silk?”

“Let him keep it! “Hal laughed aloud, and every man within earshotgaped at him. They had not heard his laughter in many days.

“It is small reward for what he has given me.”

“What has he given you, Captain?” Ned asked.

“Though it’s none of my business.”

“Hope!” said Hal.

“He has given me hope.”

he pinnace crept in around the south point of Flor de la Mar during thenight.

The moon would not rise for another hour, and it was very dark.

Hal could judge his approach only by the phosphorescence of thebreaking surf on the beach. He had lowered the sail, for even thoughthe canvas was stained black he had to minimize the chances of beingspotted from the shore.

Hal had kept the Seraph below the horizon during the hours of daylightso as not to alert al-Auf. She had come in to drop the pinnace onlyafter the sun had set and was waiting for them now two miles off-shore.Hal had arranged a series of rocket signals with Ned Tyler. If theyshould run into trouble, the Seraph would stand in to take them off.

So far they had encountered no difficulty, and the south end of theisland seemed deserted, although they had seen the wavering lights fromlanterns and cooking-fires at the north end as they sailed past.

If his father’s drawings were accurate, Hal expected to find asheltered cove tucked away behind the southern tail of the island, andhe steered for it now. There were twenty men in the pinnace, but heintended to take only the smallest party ashore with him. He did notplan an attack on the fort or the shipping anchored in the bay: thiswas a scouting foray, to assess the strength of the Mussulman corsairsand to try to find where Dorian was being held. He hoped to slipashore and get away again without alarming the garrison, or giving theman inkling of his presence.

He heard the splash of the lead, then moments later the whisper fromthe bows, “By the mark four.” Big Daniel was taking the soundingshimself, trusting no other with this vital task. The bottom wasshelving sharply. A big swell passed under the boat, lifting themhigh, and Hal wished he had more light to guide them in. The breakingsurf was close ahead.

“Ready for it now, lads,” Hal told the rowers softly, and then, as hefelt the stern start to lift on the next swell, “Heave away!” Thepinnace caught the wave and sped forward. Delicately Hal coaxed her tostay on the wave with small adjustments of the tiller. The crest burstall around them, but on she raced in the creaming waters until suddenlyshe ran onto the sand.

The three leaped out waist-deep and, holding their pistols, wadedashore. Behind them, Big Daniel took the pirinke out into the deeperwater beyond the surf-line to await their return.

They halted above the high-water mark.

“Aboli, leave the rockets here,” Hal said, and Aboli set down the heavycanvas-wrapped packet.

“We must hope we never need them,” he grunted.

“Now look to your priming.” There were metallic clicks and snaps asTom and Aboli re primed their pistols. The long row into the beach andwading through the surf would have given the seawater ample opportunityto degrade the priming. They had not armed themselves with thelong-barrelled muskets, which were heavy and awkward to carry, and oflittle advantage in the night.

“Are you all right, Tom?” Hal dropped his voice even lower. He hadagonized over the decision to bring the lad ashore with him.

“All right,” Tom whispered back. Hal wished he had not taken that oathin Tom’s company. His son used it against him whenever he tried toshield him from danger.

He had not been able to deny Tom a place in this shore party, but Halconsoled himself now with the fact that Tom’s night vision farsurpassed his or even Aboli’s. They might be thankful for those sharpyoung eyes before this night was done.

“Take the lead,” he ordered Tom now, and they moved forward in Indianfile, with himself in second place and Aboli bringing up the rear. Theground was open, devoid of any shrub or sea grass, but they had tofollow carefully in Tom’s footsteps. The nests of the sea birds wereset so close together on the coral sand that there was scarcely spaceto step between them, and the birds” backs were sooty black, which madethem almost invisible. They cackled and squawked irritably as the menstepped over them, but this noise was absorbed by the low susurrationof the vast colony. Occasionally one pecked painfully at a bare ankle,drawing blood, but there was no general outcry and at last they reachedthe palm grove at the far end of the colony.

Tom led them on at a faster pace, keeping in the cover of the grove butjust above the white coral sands of the beach. Within half an hour hehad stopped them again and when Hal went to his side he pointedahead.

“There is the horn of the bay,” he whispered.

“I can just make out the ships lying in the anchorage, though I cannotbe certain which is the Minotaur.” TO Hal’s eyes, the darkness aheadwas unrelieved. However, Wazari had assured him that the Minotaur hadbeen in the bay four days ago and, with the damage that the Seraph hadinflicted upon her, it seemed unlikely that she would have sailed sincethen.

“The moon will be up very soon,” Hal murmurmed, “We will be able tomake certain of her then. But, in the meantime, take us closer.”

They crept forward through the dense jungle beneath the trees.

The ground was littered with fallen palm fronds, dry and noisyunderfoot.

They had to rely on Tom to steer them through this hazard. Halwrinkled his nose as he smelt the smoke from the cooking-fires and theother less pleasing odours of the corsair’s encampment, of rottingfish-heads and offal, of refuse and uncovered dung-heaps.

Then he stopped again as he smelt the unmistakable stench ofdecomposing human corpses. He had been on too many battlefields not torecognize it. Immediately he thought of Dorian, and made an effort toput the thought of his son’s vulnerability out of his mind, and insteadto concentrate on the task in hand. They went on slowly.

There was the sparkle of lights through the trees, and when they pausedagain they could hear the faint murmur of voices. Someone began tochant an Islamic prayer, and someone else was chopping firewood.

Mingled with these sounds was the tapping and soft clatter of shroudsand spars, the clank of an anchor chain from the ships lying in thebay. They reached the edge of the grove and could make out the darkcurve of the bay before them.

“That’s the Minotaur,” Tom said softly.

“No mistaking her.” To Hal she was merely a darker blob in thedarkness.

“The moon rises very soon,” he said, and they settled down to wait.

Eventually it came softly in its silver radiance, and the shapes of thecraft in the bay materialized before them until they could make out theMinotaur’s bare yards against the stars. Hal saw that there were threeother square-rigged vessels in the anchorage, which was as Wazari haddescribed it to him. All these vessels had been captured by al-Auf.

“Tom, you stay here,” Hal whispered.

“Father-” he protested.

“No arguments!” Hal said firmly.

“You have done your job well, but you will stay here out of harm’s wayuntil we return.) “But, Father-” Tom was outraged.

Hal ignored him.

“If anything happens, if we become separated, you must head back to thebeach where we landed and call in the pinnace.”

“What are you going to do?” Tom demanded.

“Aboli and I are going to get a closer look at the shipping in the bay.There is nothing more You can do to help.”

“I want-“Tom began again, but Hal cut him off.

“Enough! We will meet you back here! Come, Aboli.” The two rosequietly and, within seconds, had disappeared, leaving Tom alone at theedge of the forest. Tom was not afraid, he was too angry for that.

He had been cheated, treated like a child when he had proved many @times over that he was not.

“I am oath-bound,” he fumed.

“I cannot sit here while there is the least chance that I can helpDorry.” Still, it needed all his courage to defy his father,deliberately to flout his direct orders.

He rose hesitantly to his feet.

“It’s my duty.” He steeled himself.

He did not follow directly behind his father and Aboli. Instead, hecircled away from the beach. His father had shown him the chart of theisland and the drawings of the old fort that his grandfather had madefifty years before, so he had a good idea of the ground ahead and wherehe was going.

The moon was above the trees by now so he moved swiftly. He saw itslight reflected from the pale battlements of the fort ahead, and whenhe started towards it he struck a path leading in the same direction.As he went forward the odour of decaying human flesh became stronger,until at last he stepped out into an opening in the forest and stoppedin alarm.

A field of dead bodies lay before him. Naked human corpses hungsuspended from a series of crude gallowst weird and chilling in themoonlight. He felt a chill of superstitious dread and could not bringhimself to walk out among the dead men. Instead he skirted theopening, keeping among the trees. It was as well he did, for before hewas halfway round a file of robed figures came along the path throughthe forest from the direction of the fort. If he remained on the pathhe would have run straight into them.

After they had passed, he kept to the cover of the palm grove, andwithin minutes he was crouching below the thick moon-silver walls ofthe fort. By now his anger had subsided and he felt very much aloneand unprotected.

He knew that what he should do now was admit his stupidity and sneakback to the rendezvous, before his father found out that he wasmissing. It won’t take long.

He rationalized his disobedience. Cautiously he started to circle thefort, until he came almost opposite the main gates, which stood open,but guards were huddling under the arch. It looked as though they wereasleep but he could not take the chance of approaching any closer. Hecrouched in the shadows a few minutes longer. A torch was burning in abracket to one side of the opening of the gateway. By its light hecould make out the massive, sturdy timbers of the door.

He turned back and started to retrace his steps around the perimeter ofthe walls. On the eastern side the moonlight played full upon the palecoral blocks, and Tom could see that in places the walls were in ruins:some of their outer cladding had collapsed and the jungle growth wastaking over. The ficus trees had probed their roots deep into thejoints between the blocks, and the sterns of wild lianas crawled up thewalls, looking like monstrous black pythons in the moonlight.

A preposterous idea struck him: he would climb up into the fort, usinga liana as a ladder, to search for Dorry.

He was considering this when suddenly he heard a soft cough. He shrankback into the trees, looking for where the sound had come from.

Then he saw the shape of a man’s turbaned head in a corner of thebattlement. He realized that guards were posted at intervals along thetop of the walls and his heart tripped when he realized how close hehad come to climbing up into disaster. He moved on stealthily aroundthe outside of the fort and turned the corner at the northwesternextremity.

He noticed that along this section there were loopholes in the outsideof the walls, set high up, too narro for any but a child to squeezethrough. Most of these shoots were dark, but behind one or two thesoft yellow light of an oil lamp or lantern showed. There were cellsor rooms behind those windows.

Crouching close under the walls, he stared up at them wistfully.

Behind any of those windows Dorian might be lying in his slave cell.

He imagined his little brother’s terror and loneliness, and sharedthose emotions to the full extent of his love.

Suddenly, almost without conscious volition Tom pursed his lips andwhistled the opening bars of “Spanish Ladies’: Farewell and adieu toyou, fair Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain.

For we’ve received orders to sail for old England … Then he layquietly and waited for some response.

There was none. After a short while he stood up and moved quietly alittle further along the wall. Again he whistled the tune, andwaited.

Then movement caught his eye. Behind one of the high narrow windowssomeone had moved the lamp.

He saw the angle of the shadows change. Tom’s heart thumped againsthis ribs and he crept closer. He was about to whistle the tune againwhen the dark shape of a head appeared between the lamp and the window.Someone was peering out through the loophole, but he could not see theface. Then a sweet unbroken voice whispered in the night, We’ll rantand we’ll roar, all o’er the wild ocean, We’ll rant and we’ll roar, allo’er the wild seas … “Dorry!” Tom wanted to scream it out loud, buthe Stopped himself before it reached his lips. He crept closer to thefoot of the wall, leaving the dense cover of the forest. He saw that atwisted liana rope climbed up the coral blocks to pass an arm’s lengthfrom the lighted loophole where the shadow of Dorian’s head stillshowed.

He reached up and tried his weight on it. His hands were shaking withexcitement and trepidation, but the liana was firm and solidly rooted.He slipped off his sword-belt and laid it, with his pistol, at the footof the creeper.

Then he swung himself up on the liana. His body and every muscle in ithad been forged and hardened in the ship’s rigging and he climbed withthe agility of a monkey.

He came level with the loophole and leaned out towards the opening.

“Dorry!” he whispered.

The reply was instant.

“Tom! Oh, I knew you would come. I knew you would keep yourpromise.”

“Shh, Dorry! Not so loud. Can you climb out through the window?”

“No, I’m chained to the wall.”

“Don’t cry, Dorry. They’ll hear you.”

“I’m not crying.” Dorian’s sobs were pitiful, even though he coveredhis mouth with both hands to muffle them.

“Do you think I can climb through your window?” Tom demanded.

“I’ll come across and get you.”

“I don’t know, Tom. It’s so small, and you’re so big.”

“There’s nothing else for it. I’m going to try.” Tom moved out handover hand, onto the branch of the hana that passed closest to theloophole. He felt it bend in his grip, but he kept moving carefullyuntil he reached the end. He was still at least three feet from thesill of the window, and twenty feet above the ground. He let go withone hand and reached across.

“Tom, be careful!” Tom found a crack in the stonework that gave him asolid hold and took his other hand from the vine. He swung across thegap, hanging on his right hand, searching frantically with his left foranother support. His toes clawed at the smooth coral beneath the sillbut found no step.

“Here!” Dorian reached both hands through the loophole.

“Give me your hand.” Gratefully Tom locked hands with him in thesailors” overlapping monkey-grip. His weight jerked the @ smaller boyforward and jammed his shoulders in the opening.

Tom saw instantly that if it was too narrow for Dorian’s small frame,then his own broad shoulders, heavily muscled now from his exertions asa topmast man could never pass through the opening. He was trapped.There was no entrance for him through the window, and the liana vinewas three feet away, a long reach with his left hand.

“It’s no good, Dorry.” Their faces were only a foot apart.

“We’ll have to come back for you.”

“Please don’t leave me here, Tom.”

Dorian’s voice rose hysterically.

“The Seraph is waiting just off-shore. Father, Big Danny, Aboli andme, we’re all here. We’ll be back for you soon.”

“TomV “Dorry, don’t make so much noise. I swear to you we’ll come backfor you.”

Tom was reaching back for his hold on the vine, but Dorian clung to hisother wrist like a drowning man.

“Tom! Don’t leave me alone, Tom!”

“Let go, Dorry! You’ll make me fall!” There was a shout from thebattlements above them.

A voice cried out in Arabic, “Who is it? Who is down there?”

“The guards, Dorry! Let me go!” Tom looked up and saw two headsoutlined against the starry sky, peering down at him from thebattlements. He was stretched out along the wall, one hand with aprecarious grip on the liana, the other clutched by his brother. Hesaw one of the men above him swing a long-barrelled jezail over the topof the wall and aim it directly into his face.

“Let go of me, Dorry.”

Tom braced both feet against the coral blocks and flung himselfbackwards just as the jezail roared and a bright tongue of flame andpowder sparks shot from the muzzle.

Tom heard the ball whip past his head, but he was falling free,plummeting down the wall, dropping twenty feet with his guts swoopingup against his ribs, until he slammed into the ground with stunningforce. The wind was driven out of his body and he lay for a while,trying to fill his empty lungs.

Another shot from the top of the wall galvanized him.

He did not hear the ball this time, but he scrambled to his feet, stillwheezing and whistling for air. He tried to run back into the grove,but when he put weight on his left foot pain shot up from his ankleinto his groin like the stab of a giant hornet’s sting.

He forced himself forward, running through the pain.

He found his cutlass and pistol and snatched them up.

Hopping and skipping to keep the weight off his injured ankle, he ranfor the edge of the trees. Behind him he could hear Dorian’s faintheartbreaking cries, shrill and desolate, only Tom’s name utteredcoherently. They were more agonizing to him than his injured ankle.

Before he had covered a hundred yards the shots and the shouting hadroused the entire corsair garrison.

Tom paused, and leaned against a tree-trunk. While he strapped on hissword-belt he tried to reorientate himself and decide what to do.

He knew he could not make it back unaided to the south point where theboat waited for them. He had to hope that his father and Aboli wouldbe alerted by the uproar and come back to find him.

In the darkness that seemed a forlorn hope.

He did not have much time to reach a decision, for suddenly the groveseemed alive with men. They were shouting to each other, and every fewminutes there was a It rapid flurry of gunfire as they shot at theshadows.

“Who is it? What is happening?” More were coming up from the beach,cutting off Tom from his rendezvous.

“It is a Frank, an infidel. I saw his face.”

“Where is he now?”

“He went towards the bay.”

“Where did he come from? There is no infidel ship.” The voices werecoming closer and Tom could hear men running and crashing through theundergrowth. He pushed himself off the tree trunk, taking his weighton the ankle again, and hobbled forward. He had not gone fifty yardswhen there was a shout close behind him.

“There he is! Don’t let him get away!” Another shot boomed out andTom heard the ball crack into the trunk of one of the Palms beside him.He placed his crippled foot full on the ground and forced himself to arun.

He was streaming with the sweat of agony. It poured down his face andinto his eyes, half blinding him. Each pace was a torment that madehis vision star into bright lights, but he ran on. His pursuers weregaining on him he looked back over his shoulder and saw their whiterobes flitting through the forest behind him.

He skirted a clump of bush too thick to plunge through and, as he cameround the other side, suddenly, shockingly, he was seized from behindand borne to the ground. He struck out wildly at his captor, but thegrip upon his wrist was like an iron shackle. The weight of the man onhis back crushed him into the soft sandy earth.

“Tom!” his father’s voice was in his ear.

“Don’t struggle.

Don’t make a sound.” He felt a great rush of relief.

“Are you hurt?” Hal demanded urgently.

“Why are you limping?”

“My ankle,” Tom blurted out.

“I fell. I think it’s broken.” The sounds of pursuit were closenow.

“Have you seen him?” an Arab called.

“Which way did he go?”

“I

saw him go that way,” someone answered. They were closing in. ThenAboli’s voice rumbled, “The lad cannot outrun them. I will lead themaway to give you a chance to get back to the boat.” He rose to hisfeet from where he had been lying beside Hal, and darted away into thenight.

When he was twenty yards from where they lay he bellowed in Arabic,”There he goes! He is doubling back towards the far side of theisland. Head him off!” He fired his pistol and loped away through theforest.

Immediately there was a hubbub of shouts and shots.

“There he goes.”

“This way! Head him off!

Hal pushed Tom’s face down into the dried leaves.

“Lie still! Don’t move!” Footsteps pounded close to Tom’s head, buthe did not try to look up. He heard the pursuit swing away and crashthrough the scrub towards the east side of the island, and Aboli’sshouts growing fainter.

Gradually silence returned and Hal released his grip on the back ofTom’s neck.

“Which leg is it?” he snapped unsympathetically.

Tom sat up, still panting wildly.

“This one.” Hal ran his fingers over the ankle.

“You left your post,” he accused Tom as he worked.

“You could have got us all killed. Your pigheaded stupidity has putAboli in dire danger.”

“I’m sorry, but I just had to do it,” Tom panted, and then, with arush, he said, “I found Dorry.” Hal’s hands froze and he looked up atTom, his face pale in the moonlight filtered through the trees.

“You found him? Where?”

“In the fort. I spoke to him through the window.”

“My GodP Hal whispered, his anger subsiding.

“How is he?”

“Very frightened, but they have not hurt him.

They’ve chained him up in one of the cells on the north-west side.

Hal considered this. Then, “There’s nothing we can do for him now. Wehave to get back to the ship.” He squeezed Tom’s shoulder hard.

“You did well, Tom, but never disobey me again. Your ankle is swellingvery rapidly and we must get back to the beach.” He stood up andhauled Tom to his feet, “Lean on me. Come.” It took them most of whatwas left of the night to struggle back through the forest to the southpoint of the island. Even through the agony in his ankle, Tom frettedaloud about Aboli. They stopped every half hour or so to listen forhim, or for sounds of chase behind them, but they heard nothing more.

The moon was slanting down towards the African mainland when at lastthey staggered together out into the open ground of the sea-birdcolony. By this time Tom’s ankle was blown up like a pig’s bladder,and Hal was half carrying and half dragging him along.

The eggs crunched and popped under their feet, and the birds rose in ablack cloud around them, shrieking and circling their heads in themoonlight. They swooped down to peck at their heads, but both Hal andTom were wearing caps.

“Cover your eyes,” Hal muttered, as they tried to beat away thecreatures with their hands.

“Their beaks are like spears.”

“Al-Auf’s men- will hear this din from miles off.” At last, eventhrough the cacophony of the birds, they heard the surf breaking on thebeach of the cove, and staggered the last few yards. Hal saw the darkblob against the sand where he had left the packet of rockets.

“Thank the Lord,” he gasped, for they were both almost at the end oftheir strength. Then he cried with alarm, “Look out! It’s an ambush.”A huge dark form rose out of the darkness before them. Hal dropped Tomto the sand and drew his sword.

“What took you so long, Gundwane? It will be light in an hour.”

Aboli spoke from the darkness.

“Aboli! God love you!”

“The longboat is waiting just beyond the surf4 me Aboli told him, andlifted Tom in his arms as though he were a baby.

“Do not send up a rocket. It will alert the enemy. Come, it is timewe left this place.” He whistled once, high and sharp, and wasanswered from out on the dark sea. Then Tom heard the sound of oarscreaking in row locks as Big Daniel brought in the pinnace to pick themup.

The Seraph stood in towards the land in the dark of the moon. It wastwo nights after Hal and Tom’s landing and fortuitous escape from theisland.

Silently the Seraph glided the last mile and then, at Hal’s quiet orderto the helm, she turned into the light breeze and hove to. Hal crossedto the weather rail and listened intently. The booming of the surf onthe outer beaches of Flor de la Mar was faint, but unmistakable.

“We’re about a mile off-shore.” Ned Tyler confirmed Hal’s ownestimate.

“Launch the boats,” Hal ordered.

“I leave you in charge of the ship, Mr. Tyler. Hold your stationhere, and await our signal.”

“Aye, Captain. And good luck, sir.” The boats were lined up on theopen deck. One after the other they were swung out and dropped to thesurface of the water alongside. Then the armed men went down into themquickly and quietly, and took their places on the rowing benches.

As Hal went to the rail and the ladder, Tom was waiting for him.

He was hunched over the crutch that one of the carpenters had made forhim.

“Would that I were coming with you, Father,” he burst out.

“I would gladly cut off this leg of mine to do so.” He sTomped thecrutch on the deck in frustration. Dr. Reynolds had determined thatalthough the bone was not broken Tom would not be able to walk on itfor many weeks.

“We could have found use for your strong right arm, TOM, Hal told him. He had forgiven his son’s disobedience, which had placed them all insuch danger.

“Will you try to find Dorry?”

“You know that we’re only attacking the shipping in the bay. After theother night al-Auf must know we’re in the offing, and his men will beon the alert. Without the advantage of surprise, we could never hopeto carry the fort with so few men.”

“I am mad with worrying about what those swines are doing to poorDorry.”

“So are we all, but once we have seized or burned alAuf’s ships we willhave him trapped on the island. He won’t be able to escape withDorian. Then, when Captain Anderson returns with the Yeoman, we willhave sufficient strength to storm the fort. We must contain ourselvesuntil then.”

The Monsoon

“I pray to God that the Yeoman returns swiftly.”

“Yes, lad. Pray! That never hurt anyone. But, in the meantime, wewill reinforce your prayers with a little powder and steel said Halgrimly, and went down into the waiting pinnace.

They pushed off from the Seraph’s side, Hal leading the flotilla in thefirst pinnace. Big Daniel had command of the second, and All Wilsonwas in charge of the two longboats. Behind them, the Seraph came onthe wind under shortened sails, prepared to wait out the long hoursuntil the men returned.

The oars of the small boats were muffled and the crews enjoined tostrict silence as they crept in towards the island. Hal navigated bythe compass, stopping every once in a while to listen for the sound ofthe surf. Each time it was louder, and then the man in the bowspointed ahead.

Hal jumped up on the stern sheets and picked out the bright specklingof fires, which marked the encampment below the walls of the fort. Herealized at once that the current had pushed them down towards thesouth, and altered course to head for the pass through the coral reefinto the bay.

Hal could almost smell the nervous tension in the crew of the pinnace.For all fighting seamen there was a peculiar allure in the cutting outof an enemy ship from a protected anchorage. This bearding of the lionwas an English speciality, an innovation of men like Drake, Frobisherand Hawkins.

Hal had enough men to take out only two of the ships he had seen in thebay. He and Aboli had studied them all carefully from the beach, andthough it had been dark, the moon had given him light enough to makehis selection.

First, of course, had been the Minotaur. Though she had been badlyneglected in the hands of the corsairs, and severely damaged in hershort encounter with the Seraph, she was still a well-found vessel ofgreat value. Hal estimated she would be worth ten thousand pounds whenhe tied her up in London. He had no way of knowing how much of hercargo remained on board, but it might be considerable.

The other ship he had selected was a Dutchman that, clearly, had beenpirated from the VOC. She was a big bottomed vessel built in theRotterdam style that would fetch as much as the Minotaur. If he couldbring both ships out, it would mean twenty thousand pounds for thenight’s work.

He leaned forward in his seat at the tiller and whispered to the mennearest him, “There’s twenty pounds a Man lying there in the bay forthe picking. Pass that along.” They chuckled fiercely, and turned onthe thwarts to send the message down the length of the pinnace.

There’s nothing like the smell of gold to raise a bloodthirst in anEnglish seamen, Hal thought, and smiled to himself in the dark. It wasa great shame that he could not bring out the other craft. Two moretall ships and a dozen dhows of varying shapes and sizes would addnicely to the bag, but he would have to settle for the smell of thesmoke of their funeral pyres.

As they approached the pass through the reef the other boats moved intoa single column behind him to follow him through. This was where theentire expedition could end before it had begun in bloody disaster.

He had only his father’s chart and his own instinctive seamanship tocarry them through.

He stood as high as he could on the thwart and stared ahead. He waswatching the snore of the surf curling white on the murderously jaggedspikes of the reef, picking out the dark spot towards the north endwhere the deeper water remained unbroken.

“Start the lead,” he whispered, and heard the plop as it was thrown outahead of the bows.

Seconds later came the soft call of the leadsman.

“No bottom with this line.” They were still beyond the drop-off.Suddenly there was a startled cry from the bows and Hal looked ahead.

He saw a large dhow coming down the channel directly towards them, hertriangular sail catching the moonlight, and her wake leaving a longglossy slick through the passage. She was on a collision course withthe pinnace.

Hal had a moment’s temptation. She was a large vessel, and she wasalmost certainly stuffed with treasure she had traded from al-Auf.

She was unsuspecting and vulnerable. It would take only minutes toboard her and Subdue her crew. Five of his men could sail her out to[where the Seraph waited.

Hal hesitated. If they could take her cleanly it would be gold in thepurse of every man-jack on the Seraph, but if they ran into resistance,and there was a fight on her deck, the sounds of the struggle wouldcarry to the corsairs on the beach.

“Take her or let her go!” Hal had only seconds in which to decide.

He glanced beyond the oncoming dhow, into the heart of the bay, and sawthe bare masts of the Minotaur stand tall and proud against the stars.Then he looked back at the oncoming dhow. Let her go. He made thefateful decision, and aloud he whispered to his crew, “Vast heaving.”The rowers held their beat and the tips of the long oars dragged overthe surface, taking the way off her, until she lay quiet and low in thedark waters. Behind her the other boats conformed to her example.

The big dhow made the final turn out through the passage.

Unchecked and unmolested, she swept past where the pinnace lay. Alookout on her deck spotted them and hailed them in Arabic.

“What boat are you?”

“Fishing boats with the night’s catch.” Hal pitched his voice so thatit would not carry to the shore. What boat are you?”

“The ship of the Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik.”

“Go with Allah!” Hal called after her as she bore away into the westand disappeared on the dark plains of the ocean.

“Haul away!” he ordered, and watched the long oars sweep forward anddip, swing and rise in unison, dripping liquid fire from their tips. Heaimed the bows for the exact spot where the big dhow had comethrough.

“By the mark ten.” The lead had found bottom. Sir Francis’s chart wasproved accurate once again, confirmed for Hal by the passage of thedhow. They rowed on into the gap. Suddenly water was breaking oneither side of them.

3@ “By the mark five. “They were entering the throat.

“Drop the number-one buoy!” Hal ordered. The leads, man in the bowslet it go over the side, and the line attached to the smallwhite-painted keg peeled out. Hal looked round and saw the keg bobbingin their wake. It would give him his marks when he brought out thecaptured Minotaur. He turned back and squinted at the walls of thefort, which showed pale in the moonlight, lining them up with the tipof the reef.

“Now!” he muttered, and made the first turn of the dog-leg. The otherboats followed him round.

“By the mark four, and a half four.”

“Too close to the outer reef.” Hal altered course slightly to keepdown the centre of the channel.

Suddenly there was suppressed urgency in the voice of the man on thelead.

“By the mark two!” With that warning Hal picked up the shape of thecoral, dark and menacing as some monster, dead ahead. He put thetiller hard over, bringing her round only just in time for they hadalmost overrun the channel.

“By the mark seven!” There was relief in the leadsman’s tone.

They had passed through the coral jaws and were into the open harbourwhere the unsuspecting enemy ships lay.

“Drop the number-two buoy!” Hal whispered, and they left it standingin the middle of the pass to mark their way out. He glanced back overhis shoulder. The other boats were fanning out.

He had given each of them their targets. Hal would take the Minotaur.In the second pinnace Big Daniel would take the Dutchman, and thelongboats would attack and burn all the other craft in the anchorage.Hal steered for the big East Indiaman, where she lay in the deepestwater directly opposite the fort. Let us find out how bright-eyed isher anchor watch, he thought, as he waited for the first alarm to begiven. But the Minotaur stood tall, dark and silent as they came upunder her quarter and hooked on to her chains.

Aboli went first, swinging up over the side. With the double-headedaxe in one hand he landed on the deck, his bare feet making almost nosound, and ran forward lightly while a rush of men followed him up fromthe pinnace.

Halfway down the deck a watchman struggled to his feet from where hehad been lying asleep under the gunwale.

He was unsteady on his feet and obviously only half awake.

“Who are you?” His voice was sharp with alarm.

“I know you notV He grabbed for the musket that leaned against thegunwale beside him.

“Go with God.” said Aboli, and swung the axe in a wide, flashing arc.It took the man full in the side of his neck, severing it cleanly. Hishead toppled forward and rolled down his chest, while his trunk stooderect before it slumped to the deck. The air escaped from his lungs ina whistling blast of frothy blood from the open windpipe.

Aboli jumped over the corpse and, with a dozen long strides, reachedthe anchor cable stretched tautly through its hawsehole. He lookedback over his shoulder and saw that Hal was already at the helm.

The rest of the Minotaur’s skeleton crew had been subdued without anyoutcry, and their robed bodies were scattered along the open deck.

Looking upwards he saw that most of the Seraph’s seamen were swarmingup the rigging and swinging out along the yards. The Minotaur had beenbuilt in the same yard as the Seraph, and the rigging of her masts wasalmost identical.

There was no hesitation in the way the topmast men did their work.

As the main course spread, like the wings of a butterfly emerging fromthe chrysalis sheath, Aboli swung the axe high above his head and, withboth hands, brought the blade flashing down again. The axe burieditself with a thump in the deck timber and the anchor cable parted witha twang.

The Minotaur paid away before the night breeze, until the rudder andpush of the spreading sails checked her. Hal spun the wheel full tostarboard and, lightly as a lover, the Minotaur came on the wind.

Only then could Hal spare a glance for the other boats of the flotilla.There was fighting on the deck of the Dutchman, and he heard the tinnyclank of cutlass blade on scimitar, then the faint death-cry of a manhit through the heart. The sails spread on the yards and the big shipturned for the bay entrance.

At that moment there was a flicker of light, which grew swiftly instrength until it lit the deck of the Minotaur.

Hal could make out Aboli’s features clearly as he strode down the decktowards him. He swung round and saw that the square-rigged shipclosest to him was on fire. The men from the longboat commanded by AllWilson had climbed aboard her, killed her crew and tossed tar-soakedtorches into her holds and rigging.

The flames caught in her hull and jumped up into the rigging. The fireraced up as though it were gun match, tracing fiery strings against thedark sky. It reached the furled canvas on her yards, and exploded in atall writhing tower of light higher than the palm trees on the beach.

All’s men tumbled back into the longboat and rowed lustily across tothe next ship in the anchorage, whose crew saw them coming and did notlinger to greet them.

They fired a few wild shots at them, then threw aside their weapons andjumped over the ship’s side, hitting the water in a series of whitesplashes and swimming frantically for the beach.

One after the other the anchored ships burst into flame, and lit theanchorage as though it were noon. The shadows and light played vividlyover the walls of the fort, ” and the first cannon shot banged out fromthe battlements.

Hal did not see where the ball struck for he was bringing the Minotauraround and lining her up for the entrance.

The keg they had left floating to mark the passage stood out clearly inthe firelight, and the flames were so bright that he could even makeout the loom of the reef beneath the surface.

“Ready aboud” Hal bellowed, and began the delicate manoeuvre of tackingship with so few men in the confines of the bay. There was no latitudefor error here.

One false turn would put them up on the beach, or send the Minotaurcrunching into the coral. He was towing the pinnace behind the shipand its weight and drag affected the Minotaur’s handling. He wouldhave to allow for this when he made his turn.

The Minotaur was heading directly towards the fort, and in the dancinglight of the flames Hal could see the gunners scurrying to theirweapons. Before he had reached the keg that marked the entrance acannon fired, then another. He saw a clean round hole appearmiraculously in the mainsail as a ball flew through it, and realizedthat the gunners had made no effort to depress their aim: all theirshots were flying high. He glanced back over the stern and saw thatBig Daniel, in the Dutchman, was following only a cable’s lengthbehind. He was towing his pinnace too: they would leave no consolationprize for the enemy.

Deeper in the bay the longboats had completed their work of destructionand every enemy ship was on fire. The anchor cable of one of the bigsquare-rigged vessels burned through and she began to drift towards thebeach, a moving bonfire. Suddenly the fire reached her powder magazineand she blew up with a thunderous roar. Her main mast as hurled aloftlike a javelin, and as it fell back it 4″ skewered one of the smalldhows, smashing clean through her decks so that the bottom was torn outof her and she sank stern first. The shock-wave of the explosioncapsized two of the dhows nearest her, and raised a tidal wave thatswept through the anchorage.

Hal searched for sight of the longboats, worried that they had beenoverwhelmed by the force of the explosion, but then he saw them,bobbing and rolling in the disturbed waters, but making good speed tocatch up with the Minotaur as their crews heaved frantically on theoars. Hal turned all his attention to taking the ship out through thechannel.

He passed the marker keg by an oar’s length on the port side, and theyentered the mouth of the pass at speed, passing close under the guns onthe battlements of the fort.

Hal had a few seconds before the next turn came upon them, and helooked up at the batteries above.

Some of the gunners seemed to have realized their error and weretraining their pieces down. Hal saw the angle of the protrudingbarrels depressing as they strained at the training tackles.

“Stand by the main course,” Hal told his tiny crew.

Each man was forced to do the work of three, but when he put up thehelm, and shouted, “Lee hoV they jumped to it with a shout and a will,the Minotaur came round handily and glided down the passage between themenacing arms of coral, disaster lurking close on either hand. Hallooked back and saw Big Daniel make the same turn in the slick path ofthe Minotaur’s wake.

“Stout fellow!” Hal applauded him, under his breath.

The battery on the walls behind him was firing furiously: the gunsmokewas a thick rolling bank through which the flashes of the bombardmentcut long bright shafts. The gunners had managed to lower their barragenow, and a ball raised a gleaming fountain of spray close under theMinotaur’s counter.

Hal smiled wolfishly. The turn was taking the ship almost directlyaway from the fort and now the cannon shots were flying too low. Itwould take the gunners some time to realize this, and by then Hal hopedto be clear of the pass and bearing out into the open sea.

“Ready aboud” he yelled, as he saw the number-one marker buoy dancingin the firelight directly ahead. One of his seamen ran to take hisplace at the main sheet. As he passed within arm’s length of where Halstood, a chance shot from the battery hit them. There was a blast ofdisrupted air that almost threw Hal off his feet. He had to clutchwith both hands at the spokes of the wheel for support. The stoneball, reeking of the powder fumes that had sent it on its way, struckthe running seaman high in his back. It mangled his body and poppedhis skull so that half of his brains were flung into Hal’s face like amugful of warm custard. Hal gagged and recoiled at the horror of it,so distracted as almost to misjudge the final turn. At the last momenthe gathered himself, wiped the running yellow mess from his face, andshouted, with the sickening taste on his lips, “Let go your coursesPand put the wheel hard over.

The Minotaur came round, skimming the edge of the coral, and lifted herbows to the first swell of the open sea.

As the reef fell away behind him, Hal turned anxiously to watch BigDaniel negotiate the last turn. He made a neater job of it than Halhad. The Dutchman switched her fat bottom round, heeled slightly tothe change in the angle of the wind and then, with all the aplomb anddignity of a dowager following her more agile and skittish daughter,came trundling after the Minotaur into the deep, open waters.

“We’re through,” Hal said softly then raised his voice in a triumphantshout.

“We’ve made it, lads! Give yourselves a cheer.”

They hooted and howled like mad dogs, and from the ship that followedBig Daniel’s men cheered as wildly. In the longboats they jumped onthe thwarts, and danced and capered until they were in danger ofcapsizing. The guns of the battery banged away in frustration, afutile, fading accompaniment, and the flames of the burning fleet beganto subside as they sailed out to meet the waiting Seraph.

As dawn broke next morning the squadron of Hal’s ships lay hove to tenmiles south-west of Flor de Lla Mar. Hal came on deck, having changedonly his shirt, and gobbled down an early breakfast, just as the sunpushed its upper rim above the horizon.

When Hal looked across at her from the quarterdeck of the Seraph, theMinotaur’s blemishes were apparent in the brilliant early sunlight.

She was shot-ridden and neglected, her sails ragged and discoloured,her hull stained and battered. She rode high and light in the water.

A cursory examination the previous night had disclosed that her holdwas empty of all cargo, but her magazine was almost full of munitions,and the powder-kegs seemed in good condition. These stores would standHal in good stead when the time came to make his final assault onalAuf’s beleaguered stronghold.

Yet despite her appearance the Minotaur needed only small attention andwork upon her to restore her to firstclass condition.

Hal had no reason to revise his opinion of her value. She was worth atleast ten thousand pounds of prize money, of which his personal sharewould be close to three thousand. He smiled with satisfaction andturned the lens of his telescope on the other prize they had taken theprevious night.

There was no doubt at all that she was a VCC ship, just as Hal hadsurmised. Through the glass he read her name in gold letters on hertransom: Die Lam, which translated as the Lamb. Hal thought itdescribed her well: she looked plump and docile, yet her lines weresolid and workmanlike, appealing to his sailor’s eye. She was newlybuilt and had not been long enough in the hands of the corsairs tosuffer degradation. The hatches were still on her cargo hold but fromher depth in the water it was clear that she was still fully laden: hercargo had not been taken ashore by al-Auf.

“Call away the longboat, Mr. Tyler.” Hal snapped shut histelescope.

“I am going across to visit Mr. Fisher on the Lamb to see just what wehave captured.” Big Daniel met him at the entry port of the Dutch shipwith a wide toothless grin.

“Congratulations, Captain.

She’s a beauty.”

“Well done yourself, Mr. Fisher. I could have asked for no more fromyou and your rascals.” He smiled around at the grinning seamen whopressed close behind Big Daniel.

“All of you will have bulging purses when you step ashore on PlymouthHo.” They cheered him raucously.

“How many of your brave lads were killed?” Hal lowered his voice as hetouched on such a morbid subject.

Daniel answered loudly, “Not a single one, praise God.

Though young Peter here lost a finger, shot away. Show the captain,lad.” The young sailor held up the stump of his forefinger, swathed ina grubby rag.

“I will add an extra gold guinea to your prize money,” Hal promisedhim, “to help soothe the pain.”

“At that price you can have the other four fingers as well, Captain.”The seaman grinned hugely, and his mates hooted with laughter as theywent back to their stations.

Big Daniel led Hal forward.

“We found these still chained in her forecastle.” He indicated theband of strangers in rags who huddled by the foremast.

“They are the survivors of the Dutch crew. Twenty-three lovely littlecheese heads all consigned by al-Auf to the slave markets.” Hal lookedthem over quickly. They were thin but n of emaciated, and though thegalls left by their chains were obvious on ankles and wrists and therewere weals on their backs and limbs, which had been laid upon them withthe Arab kiboko, they seemed in reasonable health. Like the Lamb theyhad not been long enough in captivity to have suffered too severely.

“It is your lucky day, Jongens,” Hal greeted them in Dutch.

“You are free men again.” At that their faces brightened. Hal wasdelighted to have them. With two extra prize ships to handle, he wouldneed every man he could find.

“Will you sign up with me for the rest of the voyage, for a guinea amonth and a share of the prize?” he asked.

Their smiles expanded, and their acceptance was wholehearted.

“Are any of you officers?” Hal asked.

“No, mijn heer,” their spokesman replied.

“Our Captain van Orde and all his officers were murdered by thatheathen scum. I was captain’s coxswain.”

“You will retain your rank,” Hal told him.

“All these men are under your command.” If he kept all the Dutchmentogether the language problem would be solved. Then again Big Danielhad learned to speak Dutch well while they were in captivity at GoodHope “They are your little lambs, Mr. Fisher,” Hal said.

“Let them put their marks on the quarter-bill, and give them freshclothing from the slop chest. And now let’s see what we have caughtourselves here.”

He led the way down to the captain’s quarters in the stern.

The main cabin had been looted by the corsairs. The captain’s desk andlockers had been broken open and ransacked. Every item of value hadbeen stolen. The ship’s books and papers were littered over the deck,trampled and torn, although many were still legible. Hal retrieved thelog and the cargo manifest from among the mess. One glance at themanifest made him whistle with surprise and delight.

“By God, if all this is still in her holds, then the Lamb is a treasureindeed.” He was about to show Big Daniel the stiff sheet of parchmentbut remembered that he could not read, was sensitive about this, andinstead said, “Tea from China, Mr. Fisher. She’s crammed with itenough to swamp every coffee-house in London.” He laughed and repeatedthe slogan he had seen above the front door of Garway’s coffeehouse inFleet Street That Excellent and by all Physitians approved China Drink,Tea.”"

“Is it worth anything, Captain?” Big Daniel asked lugubriously.

“Worth anything?” Hal laughed at him.

“Probably more than its own weight in silver bars, Danny.” He flippedthrough the ledger to the final tally of the manifest.

“To be precise, it was worth one hundred and twenty-three thousand sixhundred and ninety-two guilders on the quay at Jakarta, twice as muchin London. Say thirty thousand guineas as a rough estimate. More thanthe Lamb, herself.” At noon that same day Hal called all his officerson board the Seraph to receive their orders.

“We are going to be stretched to the limit for men to work all threeships,” he told them, as they assembled in the stern cabin.

“I’m sending the Minotaur and the Lamb with skeleton crews south to theGlorietta Islands to make the rendezvous with Captain Anderson in theYeoman. Mr. Fisher will have the Lamb and overall command.” Heglanced at Big Daniel, and thought, By God, I shall miss him.

“Mr. Wilson will have command of the Minotaur.” All Wilson bowed hisgypsy-dark head in acknowledgement.

“Grand Glorietta is two hundred and thirty sea miles from here.

Not too far. There is a safe anchorage at the south end of the island,and fresh water in the creek there.

I will give you four of the carpenters to undertake the repairs to theMinotaur and to get her back into fighting trim. That will be yourfirst concern.”

“Aye, Captain.” Big Daniel nodded.

“By my calculations, the Yeoman should arrive at the rendezvous withinthe next three weeks. As soon as she does, you are to leave the Lambanchored at Grand Glorietta with a skeleton crew aboard, and if theMinotaur is repaired by then you will bring her and Captain Andersonback here to take part in the assault on Flor de la Mar.”

“I

understand, Captain,” Big Daniel answered.

“When do you want me to leave, sir?”

“As soon as you possibly can, Mr. Fisher. Captain Anderson mayalready be waiting at the rendezvous. With Dorian a prisoner on Florde la Mar, every day is precious.

I shall remain here to keep al-Auf blockaded.” Standing alone on thequarterdeck of the Seraph, while the sunset incarnadined the westernsky, Hal watched the Minotaur and the Lamb detach and head off into thesouth.

As the shapes of the two ships dwindled with distance and were at lastengulfed by the gathering shades of dusk, Hal gave the order to takethe Seraph back to her station off Flor de la Mar.

In the first rays of the next day’s sunrise Hal sailed his ship boldlyacross the entrance to the bay, just out of range of the guns on thewalls of the fort. His purpose was to warn al-Auf that he was underblockade, and at the same time to survey the island thoroughly.

Through the lens of the telescope, the consternation in the Arab campwas clear to see. A throng of corsairs abandoned the huts and lean-toshelters among the palms and swarmed up to the shelter of the fort.

The great teak doors swung shut before all had passed through and thoseleft outside clamoured and beat at the door with fists and muskets.

Hal was pleased to see how undisciplined they were; their lack oftraining and control had been just as apparent in their wild gunnery.

Hal could make out the turbaned heads of the gunners above the top ofthe wall as they rushed to man the cannon. The first shot boomed out,and the ball struck the surface of the sea halfway between the shoreand the Seraph. It skipped along the surface, slowing with each bounceuntil it was quite clear to the eye. Half a cable’s length from theSeraph it plunged below the surface and Oisappeared.

Then the rest of the battery opened up. Soon the walls of the fortwere hazed with a fog of gunsmoke, and plumes of sea-water rose like aforest between the shore and the ship. The Seraph was still well outof range, Hal had overestimated the range of the Arab ordnance.

He switched his attention to the anchorage. No ships were left lyingin the bay, not even the smallest fishing dhow. Their attack had sweptit clean. Charred wreckage littered the surface and lay thickly alongthe high-water mark of the beach. The hurried-out hull of the threemasted ship lay high and dry, canted over to expose her bottom, themasts burned out of her.

“She’ll never go to sea again,” Ned Tyler remarked with satisfaction.

“You’ve got the rat bottled up in his hole, Captain.”

“Our next trick is to winkle him out,” Hal declared.

“Send Master Tom to me.” Tom came, sliding down the backstay of theforemast and hobbled across on his injured foot. It seemed to behealing more speedily than Dr. Reynolds had predicted. Hal watchedhim come down the deck with a critical eye. Tom was taller now thanmost of the other men on board, with the wide shoulders and brawny armsof a swordsman. His hair had not felt the scissors since they hadsailed from England and it hung down his back, thick and curling, darklike a horse’s tail.

Recently Hal had given him a straight razor, so his cheeks were cleanbut darkly tanned. He had the Courtney nose and piercing green eyes. Alikely lad, Hal thought. It seemed that since he had lost Dorian, hispaternal feelings had become sharper, more intense, and he had to darnback the flood of sentiment that threatened to overwhelm him. Hehanded the telescope to Tom, and said gruffly, “Point out to me theexact spot where you climbed the walls of the fort, and the opening ofDorian’s cell.” They gazed across the water at the island.

The barrage of cannon-fire still raged, and the thick bank of driftinggunsmoke resisted the efforts of the monsoon wind to sweep it aside.

“The northwestern corner.” Tom pointed.

“Do you see the clump of three taller palms? Directly above them thereis a notch in the wall with the green bushes growing out of it, andit’s the first loophole to the left of that. I think that’s the one,though I cannot be absolutely certain.” Hal took back the telescopeand gazed through it at the fortifications. With the early sunlightslanting across the walls, the slits formed by the loopholes were inshadowy contrast to the coral white blocks. He gazed at the one Tomhad indicated, and felt that his loss was almost too painful to beendured.

“If you put me back on the island again, with Aboli and a small partyof good men-” Tom began earnestly.

Hal cut him off with a curt shake of the head.

“No, Tom” He had lost one son, he would not chance losing another.

“I know exactly where to find Dorry,” Tom pleaded.

“There are any number of places where we would be able to climb thewalls.”

“They would be expecting you.”

“We can’t just do nothing.”

Tom’s voice rose passionately.

“God alone knows what will become of Dorry if we don’t get him out oftheir clutches.”

“We will go in as soon as we are certain of success. In the meantime,al-Auf will not hurt Dorian. It seems some religious legend isprotecting him, a prophecy by an Islamic saint.

“I don’t understand. A prophecy and Dorry? How do you know that,Father.”

“From Wazari, the Arab captain we intercepted. It’s Dorian’s red hair.Legend has it that the Prophet Muhammad had red hair. It’s rare amongthe peoples of the East, and they hold it in superstitious esteem.”

“We can’t rely on the colour of Dorry’s hair!”"That’s enough now, Tom. Go back to your battle station.” Hal’sexpression was not unkind, and it took all his good sense anddetermination to resist the lad’s entreaties.

The Seraph drew away from the fort and gradually the guns fell silent,while smoke drifted away on the wind. Hal put her on the other tack,and they rounded the north point, slowly beginning a circuit of theisland. He scrutinized every feature of the shore, coming in as closeas was prudent to the edge of the reef Hal had made a fair copy of SirFrancis’s old chart and it was now spread out beside the binnacle. Onit he made notes of his own observations beside those noted by hisfather fifty years previously. He put a leadsman in the chains to takethe soundings, and once he launched the longboat and sent Aboli inshoreto investigate a lead through the coral. Aboli almost reached thebeach on the far side of the lagoon before a party of a hundred or moreArabs appeared out of the palm forest and from close range opened aheavy musket fusillade on the longboat. One of the rowers was woundedin the shoulder before Aboli could bring them out through the passageagain.

By the time he had completed the circuit of the island, Hal had tickedout a dozen places where he could put a landing-party ashore, and hemarked them carefully on the chart. When they came opposite the bayonce more, he hove to, and made a detailed examination of all he couldsee of the fortifications, and the outworks that the Arabs had thrownup around the foot of the walls.

He tried to make some estimate of the number of men that al-Auf hadunder his command. Finally he decided that it was at least a thousand,but knew that the true figure might be twice that.

Every few minutes the telescope in his hands seemed to take on a lifeof its own and swivel back to the loophole in the thick white walls Tomhad pointed out to him.

“It’s going to be a long, weary wait until Edward Anderson gets here,”he predicted gloomily, and every man on the Seraph settled down intothe monotonous routine of blockade.

Hal tried to keep the men alert by constant drilling, with musket andcutlass and cannon, but still the days dragged by. Four times, duringthe weeks that followed, the monotony was broken when they spottedvessels approaching Flor de la Mar from the west. Each time the Seraphpiled on all sail and, the monsoon behind her, raced down to interceptthem.

Three proved easy prey, and were overhauled and boarded without anyloss. However, the fourth vessel was a beautiful 130-foot dhow, notmuch smaller than the Seraph herself. She led the Seraph on a gloriouschase, showing a startling turn of speed, and was handled adroitly byher terrified crew. The Seraph almost lost her when darkness fell.However, Hal outguessed the dhow’s captain, and in darkness doubledback towards the island. At daybreak the dhow was discovered trying tosneak into the bay at Flor de la Mar. The Seraph pounced and cut heroff only half a mile short of her goal. Her crew put up a stout fight,and one of Hal’s men was shot dead while three others were woundedbefore they carried her decks. It turned out that she was owned byPrince Abd Muhammad al-Malik.

The Prince was not on board but his personal cabin was furnished likethe throne room of an Oriental pOtenTate. Hal had the carpets andfurniture stripped from the bulkheads and taken to his own cabin in theSeraph.

The Prince’s name was familiar to Hal. He recalled clearly the othership they had hailed on the night they had cut out the Minotaur and theLamb from the bay of Flor de la Mar, and that he had deliberately letgo. She “had belonged to the same man, and now that Hal was resentedwith such evidence of great riches he doubted the wisdom of thatdecision. He ordered a rope reeved at the masthead and the nooseplaced over the head of the dhow’s captain. Standing at the condemnedman’s side Hal questioned him at length.

“Yes, effiendi,” the man was terrified for his life, and answeredfreely, “al-Malik is a rich and powerful man. He is THE youngerbrother of the Caliph in Muscat. He has more than one hundred tradingvessels in his fleet. They ply to every port in Africa and India andthe lands of the prophet. We call regularly at Door Al Shaitan totrade with Jangiri.”

“You know full well that al-Auf is a corsair, that all the goods youbuy from him have been stolen from Christian ships, that many innocentseamen have been slaughtered by the corsair to win them, and those whosurvive are sold into slavery?”

“I know only that my master has sent me to trade with Jangiri becausethe prices for his goods are favourable. As to how he obtained them,this is not my concern or that of my master.”

“I shall now make it your concern,” Hal told him harshly.

“By trading with the corsair in stolen goods, you have put yourself inequal guilt.” He turned to Aboli.

“Search the ship carefully.” The three dhows they had captured earlierhad all been intent on trading with al-Auf, just as was this captain.It seemed that the news of the magnificent bargains to be had on DoorAl Shaitan had spread from the Persian Gulf to the Coromandel Coast.

The three other ships had been carrying coin and specie to pay for thewares they expected to obtain.

“Let’s see if this ruffian can make a further contribution to theexpense of maintaining the blockade of the island.” Hal paced the deckwhile his men ransacked the dhow.

Within half an hour they had uncovered the hiding-place of thecaptain’s money chests. The captain tore at his beard and ripped hisrobe with anguish when the four chests were dragged onto the deck ofthe dhow. They were too heavy to carry, “Have mercy, effendi,” thecaptain wailed.

“That does not belong to me. It belongs to my master.” The man fellto his knees.

“If you take it from me then you condemn me to my death.”

“Which you deserve well enough, Hal told him drily, then turned back toAboli.

“Is there anything else of value in her holds?”

“She is empty, Gundwane.”

“Very well, take the booty across to the Seraph.” Hal faced thewailing dhow captain.

“These chests are the price of your freedom and that of your ship. Warnyour master that this is but a small part of the price I will extractfrom him if ever again he is foolish enough to traffic with corsairs. Now, go with God, and thank him for your deliverance.” From the deckof the Seraph he watched the dhow scudding away, back towards theAfrican mainland.

Then he went down to his cabin where Aboli had stacked the capturedchests against the bulkhead.

“Open them,” Hal demanded, and with a crow-bar Aboli ripped away-thelocks.

The three vessels Hal had captured earlier had yielded rich pickings,but those were insignificant in comparison to what was revealed whenthe lids of the four chests were thrown back.

The coin they contained was packed into small canvas bags. Hal slitone open with his dagger and a stream of glittering gold poured outonto his desktop. He saw at once that most of the coins were mohurs,each punch-sTomPed with the three mountains and the elephant of theMogul empire. But other coinage was mixed in with them: gold dinars ofthe Islamic sultans covered with religious script, a few ancienttetradrachms of the Persian satraps, whose rarity value far surpassedthe intrinsic value of the metal.

“It would take ten men a week to count this hoard,” Hal said.

“We’ll weigh it instead. Have Mr. Walsh bring down the ship’s scalesand give him two men to help him.” Walsh laboured the rest of that dayand half the Night before he could bring Hal the final tally.

“It is difficult to obtain a true measure in a moving ship,” Walsh toldhim primly, “the arms of the balance can never come to rest.”

“I shall not hold you accountable for an ounce or two each way,” Halassured him.

“Give me your honest tally, and I will be content with that until weweigh it at the court of assizes in England.”

“The weight is six hundred and five pounds to be precise, or, rather,to be imprecise.”

Walsh chuckled at his own joke, while Hal stared at him inastonishment. He had not expected so much. By God, that was veryclose to a lakh of rupees. A vast fortune in any coinage. To thatmust e added the gold and silver coin he had taken from the three otherdhows he had captured. It’s total value far outstripped the value ofthe two tall ships he had taken as prizes.

“A lakh of rupees,” Hal mused aloud, and his eyes went back to the fourchests with their broken seals standing along the bulkhead. There wassomething about that particular amount that jogged his memory.

“A

Lakh of rupees! That’s the price that Wazari said al-Auf had placed onthe red head of the child of the prophecy. Dorian’@ slave price.” Themore he pondered it, the more it seemed feasible.

The gold was the purchase money for Dorian. The pleasure this thoughtgave him far outweighed the gold itself. If al-Malik was sending goldto al-Auf to buy Dorian, that proved that his son was still on theisland and still contained within his blockade.

“Thank you, Mr. Walsh. You have done good work.”

“I never thought to find the sight of so much gold distasteful.” Walshcontemplated the labour of counting it, and Hal went back on deck toresume the endless vigil.

“Please, God, let Anderson come soon,” he whispered, as he lookedacross sparkling blue waters at the emerald green island rimmed withwhite coral sands.

“Or at least give me the strength to contain myself.” Another weekdragged by. Then, one dazzling morning when the sea lay oily andquiescent under the stinging assault of the sun, heaving to a slowrhythm as though it were making love to itself in the breathless heat,there was a joyous cry from Tom at the masthead.

“Sail ho!” Too impatient to wait for the reports from the lookout, Halclambered up the rigging and squeezed into the crow’s nest besideTom.

“There!” Tom pointed to the south. For many minutes Hal thought hemust have been mistaken for the horizon was deserted, then he pickedout an ephemeral speck that disappeared again immediately. He trainedthe glass on the spot and suddenly it was there again, a tiny snowypinnacle.

“You’re right,” he rejoiced.

“A square-rigged ship.”

“Two!” Tom corrected him.

“Two ships. They can only be the Yeoman and the Minotaur.”

“We’ll go down to meet them, and bid them welcome.”

Swiftly the approaching ships resolved into the Yeoman and theMinotaur. Hal examined them eagerly through the telescope and hardlyrecognized the Minotaur. Big Daniel had worked wonders in the shorttime he had been given to refit her. She was resplendent under a newcoat of paint and even when she drew closer there was no sign of theshot damage to her hull or her rigging. On the other hand, the oldYeoman was sea-weary and showing all the telltale signs of her longvoyage.

Hal exchanged flag signals of greeting with her, and when they werealongside each other both ships hove to and the Yeoman launched a boat.Edward Anderson’s bright red face glowed in the stern like a port lampas he was rowed across, and he scrambled up the ladder with surprisingagility for such a big man. He grasped Hal’s outstretched hand.

“I hear from your Mr. Fisher that you’ve been hard at work in myabsence, Sir Henry, and that you have taken great prize.” His chagrinwas apparent in his tone and expression: only those captains who werein sight of the prize when she was captured were entitled to a share.

“I have urgent employment for your ship, siR, and the promise of evengreater treasure in the offing,” Hal assured him, he thought it wouldbe excessively cruel at this stage to mention the booty taken from theArab dhows.

“Come to my cabin.” As soon as they were seated, Hal’s servant poureda glass of Madeira wine for each of them, then left them alone.

“I bear letters for you from Mr. Beatty and from your son Guy,”Captain Anderson told him, and produced the canvas-wrapped package fromthe folds of his cloak.

Hal laid it aside to be opened and perused later.

“How is Guy?”

The question was casual for he was anxious to get on with more urgentmatters, but still Anderson’s reply startled him.

He was in good health when last I saw him, but I understand that he isto be married very shortly.”

“Good Lord, man! He is only seventeen years of age.” Hal scowled athim.

“I was not consulted in the matter.

You must be Mistaken, sir.”

“I assure you there is no mistake, Sir Henry Anderson was even redderin the face than usual, and he moved A uncomfortably in the chair.

“Who is the woman?” Hal demanded.

“Surely there must be a dearth of young ladies in Bombay.” He jumpedto his feet in his agitation and began to pace the deck, frustrated atthe lack of leg room in the tiny cabin, now made even smaller by thelavish furnishings purloined from al-Malik’s dhow.

“I am informed that it is Mistress Caroline Beatty.” Edward Andersonpulled a luridly coloured handkerchief from his tunic and mopped hisface of the sweat of embarrassment, before he could continue.

“I am led to i believe that there is some urgency in the marriage. Infact, it was set to take place only a day or two after I sailed fromBombay. So your son is almost certainly a married man by this time.”Hal came up short as the unsavoury truth started to break in uponhim.

“TomV he said aloud.

“No, Sir Henry, you misunderstand me. Guy, not Tom.”

“Forgive me, I was thinking aloud,” Hal apologized.

The shock had distracted him from the more urgent business, butAnderson brought him back to it with his next remark.

Mr. Fisher has told me the truly horrifying news that your youngestson has fallen into the hands of the enemy.

You have my deepest sympathy, Sir Henry.”

“Thank you, Captain Anderson. I shall rely heavily on your help torescue my boy.”

“My ship and crew are entirely at your disposal. That goes withoutsaying.”

“Then let us see to our dispositions.” Hal had had weeks to make hisplans for the assault on Flor de la Mar, and now he laid them out indetail for Anderson. They spent the rest of that day closeted in thestern cabin of the Seraph, going over every detail of the campaign,from the systeM of flag signals they would use ship to ship, and shipto shore, to the disposition of seamen to be used in the assault, andthe delegation of the lesser commands to the various officers. Thenthey pored for another hour over the charts Hal had prepared. The sunwas setting before Anderson was ready to go back to the Yeoman.

“Bear in mind, Captain Anderson, what I have told you. Al-Auf has beenensconced in the fort for some years.

All that time the Arab traders from every corner of the ocean have beendrawn to the island, like flies to the dung heap They have broughtwith them vast quantities of bullion to trade for slaves and stolengoods. The prizes I have captured before your arrival will fade intoinsignificance in comparison. I believe that on Flor de la Mar we willfind a treasure to outweigh anything that Drake or Hawkins ever broughthome from their adventures.” Edward Anderson’s blue eyes twinkled atthe thought, and Hal went on to inspire him further.

“You will merit a knighthood for your part in this venture, and I willuse all my influence with the Honourable Company to see that you obtainit.

With your share of the prize you will be able to afford a fine countryestate. After this you need never put to sea again.” They shook handsbriefly.

“Until the morrow!” Anderson’s ruddy features split in a wide grin,and the grip of his huge fist was hearty.

“Warn your men that my son is in the fortress.” Hal struck a harshernote.

“In the heat of the fighting, let there be no mistakes.”

al gave the orders to put the Seraph on course to resume her blockadeof the island and returned at once to his cabin. He slit the stitchingon the canvas package of letters that Anderson had brought fromBombay.

He recognized Guy’s spidery handwriting on one of the folded sheets andset it aside to read later. He unfolded the letter from Beatty, andfrowned as he read it.

Bell The Residence Bombay 6th Day November

Sir Henry,

The pleasure I experience in addressing you is somewhat mitigated bythe circumstances that make it necessary. Not to put too fine a pointon it, my daughter Caroline Beatty has been discovered to be withchild.

Dr. Goodwin, the surgeon at the factory here in Bombay, puts theduration of her pregnancy at three months.

This would set a date of conception to the time when my family waslodging ashore at Good Hope. You will recall that your son, GuyCourtney, was with us at the guest-house.

I am pleased to be able to inform you that your son, Guy Courtney, hasbehaved in a most gentlemanly fashion in this matter. He has admittedpaternity of the child, and has asked if he might be allowed to marrymy daughter. As he is now above the age of seventeen years he is quitewithin his legal right s to contract a marriage.

My daughter Caroline turns eighteen years of age on Friday next sothere is no difficulty as to the ages of the two young people.

My wife and I have thought it politic to give our permission to themarriage, and the date has been set down for next Friday, the same dateas my daughter’s EIGHTEENTH birthday. Thus it is likely that thematter will have been accomplished by the time this epistle comes toyour hand.

“i have been able to provide my daughter with a dowry of 500 POUNDS.The Company will set a house in the cantonment at the disposal of theyoung married couple.

Thus their immediate needs will be taken account of.

No doubt you will see fit to provide your son with a suitable allowanceto eke out his salary, and you will use your considerable influence onthe board of governors of the Honourable Company to advance hiscareer.

In this respect I am able to inform you that Guy has settled well intohis new employment, and has received favourable comment on his effortsfrom Governor Aungier.

My wife joins me in assuring you, siR, of our highest esteem and duty,your servant, Thurston Beatty Hal crumpled it in his fist, and glaredat the letter from Guy, which lay unopened on the desktop.

“The idiot!

He has laid claim to the bird brought down by Tom’s arrow. What in theworld could have possessed him!” He tore Beatty’s letter into shredsand threw it out of the cabin window, watching the scraps floating awayon the ship’s wake. Then, with a sigh, he turned his attention to theletter from Guy.

It added nothing to what Beatty had already written, except to expressGuy’s ecstatic joy at his good fortune in having won the hand of thelovely Caroline.

“Brother Tom did all the digging to unearth that diamond for you,” Halmuttered, with disgust, and considered sending for Tom, informing himas to the fruits of his endeavours and venting his displeasure upon theelder twin. Then he sighed again.

“To what possible advantage?” he asked himself “The deed is done, andall parties seem well enough pleased with the outcome, although nobodyseems to have solicited the bride’s views on the subject.” He balledGuy’s letter, tossed it through the stern window and watched it bobaway until at last it sank waterlogged below the surface.

At that moment there was a discreet knock on the cabin door, and aseaman called through the panel, “Begging your pardon, Captain, Mr.Tyler sends his compliments OF and Flor de la Mar is in sight deadahead.” Hal’s domestic problems were in the instant submerged asdeeply as Guy’s sodden missive. He girded on his sword belt andhurried on deck.

he Seraph led the Minotaur in line astern across the entrance of thebay. Ned Tyler had command of the Seraph, for Hal was not on board. Asthe two great ships drew within range they opened a steady bombardmenton the Arab positions among the palm trees and on the walls of thefort. The months of practice that the gun-crews had endured now showedto good advantage, and even though their numbers were sorely depleted,their fire was rapid and accurate. Relying on the ineptitudedemonstrated by the Arab gunners, Ned brought the Seraph close enoughto skirt the outer edge of the reef He was well within range of theheavy cannon on the walls of the fort, but the Seraph’s fire knockedchunks of coral off the battlements and threw the defenders intofurther disarray.Their return fire was spasmodic and erratic. The attacking ships werewell under their guns, and although a few of the huge stone balls theyfired fell close enough to throw spray onto the Seraph’s decks, mostflew well out to sea.

The Arab encampment among the groves was within long musket shot of thetwo ships, and half their fire was directed into the thatched huts andlean-to shelters. The guns were loaded with grapeshot, and the leadballs swept through the throng of men and women who were scurrying forthe sheltering walls of the fort. They left swathes of brown bodieslying along the pathway, like corn behind the reapers.

After the first pass the ships tacked in succession then came backagain, as close as the reef would allow, their fire unrelenting. Bynow the Arab gunners had recovered from much of their initialconfusion. Their stone balls fell close around the Seraph, and onecrashed in through the frail wooden bulwark. It chopped off both legsof one of the powder boys as he came scampering up the companionwayfrom the magazine, laden with the silk bags of black powder.

Ned glanced at the boy’s legless torso as it writhed in a spreadingpool of blood close to where he stood at the helm. The dying boy wascalling pitifully for his mother, but both branches of his femoralartery were spurting like open taps, and no man could be called fromhis duties to render him assistance. The thought of withdrawing beyondthe range of the guns in the fort to prevent further losses did notoccur to Ned. Hal had asked him to keep the ship close in-shore, theshore batteries engaged and the Arabs bottled up in the fort for aslong as he was able. Ned would not flinch from his task, even thoughhe mourned the loss of a single one of his brave lads.

The Monsoon

On the far side of the island Hal heard the regular controlled gunfireof the two ships, and wiped the sweat from his face with the back ofhis arm.

“Stout fellow!” he applauded Ned’s determination, then turned all hisattention to landing the rest of the men from the Yeoman of York. Theboats were coming in through the pass he had marked in the reef so manyweeks before. The four pinnaces were packed with men, riding so deeplyin the water that they had barely a hand’s breadth of free board.

As the keel of each boat touched the sand the men jumped out knee-deepin the clear, warm lagoon water and waded ashore. Big Daniel and AllWilson marshalled them into columns and led them off the beach into theshelter of the palm grove.

Even with all the men that Anderson could spare from the Yeoman, Halhad less than four hundred in his landing force to match al-Auf’shorde. The enemy might well be more than the thousand, or two, Hal hadestimated, but so far they had not opposed his landing. It seemed thatthe bombardment by the Seraph and the Minotaur had produced the desiredeffect of sending all the defenders into the shelter of the fort.

The last boatload of seamen came trotting up the beach, heavily ladenwith weapons, powder-flasks and water-bottles, for fighting in thisheat would be a thirsty business. Hal watched the empty boats rowingback towards the Yeoman, which was hovering off-shore, not more thanhalf a mile outside the reef, then followed the tail of the marchincolumn up into the forest.

The order of march had been carefully planned. Big Daniel had commandof the vanguard with scouts thrown out ahead to prevent them runninginto an ambush. There were musket men sent out as flankers on bothsides of the column. Hal kept the command of the main body of menunder his own hand.

It was less than three miles from the cove in which they had landed tothe fort on the north end and Hal pushed them hard, keeping up a trotthrough the soft, sandy footing. They had not covered a mile beforethere was a volley of musket fire in the forest ahead, and wild criesand screams. Hal hurried forward, fearful that Big Daniel had run intoa set ambush, and dreading what he would find. Nine dead Arabs werescattered on both sides of the wide path trampled by the advancingseamen, and the sounds of the fighting were dwindling among the treesas the remaining Arabs fled back towards the fort with Daniel’s seamenin furious pursuit. A single sailor sat with his back to the trunk ofa palm tree, wrapping a strip of cloth around the musket-ball wound inhis thigh. Hal detailed a man to help him back to the beach to betaken off by the Yeoman, then hurried on after Big Daniel. The gunsstill boomed and thundered from the far side of the island, and nowthey were close enough to the fort to see the clouds of gunsmokebillowing over the tops of the trees not far ahead.

“Ned Tyler is keeping the sons of the Prophet from their prayers,” Halmuttered, sweat pouring down his face into his beard and soaking hisshirt as though he had stood under a waterfall.

For many minutes he had been aware of a foul stench, which was becominginsufferably strong in the humid heat of the forest. When they burstout into open ground, Hal stopped so suddenly that the men who followedhim ran into his back. Even in his haste and urgency he was takenaback by the horrors of al-Auf’s execution ground. The sun-blackenedcorpses hanging on the tripods were grotesquely bloated with their ownstomach gases and a few had burst open like overripe fruit. They werecovered by a moving iridescent mat of blue flies.

Hal could not stop himself from searching the ranks of dead bodies fora smaller one with bright red hair, and felt a swoop of relief in thepit of his stomach when he did not find what he was looking for.

He forced himself to go on between the hanging figures and to ignorethe clouds of buzzing insects that-rose dElickly- around him andbrushed against his face.

Aboli and Tom were waiting for him in the trees on the far side of theclearing.

“Can we go now? Tom shouted, from a distance of thirty paces. He,Aboli and the three men with them were all dressed in Arab robes andhead cloths Hal saw that his son’s face was set with determination andimpatience, and that his sabre was bared in his right hand. He feltanother stab of regret that he had given in to Tom’s entreaties and hadallowed him to go with Aboli. The one consideration that hadinfluenced him was that Tom was the only man among the attackers whohad been on the walls and knew where they could be scaled by a smallparty of determined men. Tom also knew the cell in which they wereholding Dorian. Dressed as corsairs, they would try to reach Dorianand protect him from the fighting and slaughter that would follow thestorming of the fort.

Hal grabbed Aboli’s arm and hissed, “Keep Tom under your eye.

Don’t let him do anything stupid. Cover his back at every moment.”

Aboli looked back at Hal with smoky dark eyes and did not deign toanswer. Hal went on, “Don’t let him begin the climb until we drawevery man on top of the wall away to the east side.” Aboli whisperedback fiercely, “Do your work, Gundwane, and I will do mine.”

“Go to it, then.” Hal pushed him away lightly, and watched the smallparty, Tom and Aboli running shoulder to shoulder at its head, jogaway, circling out through the forest to reach the far side of thefortress.

As they disappeared Hal looked up at the tops of the walls justshowing-above the trees ahead, and cocked his head to listen for soundsof the bombardment. Although this end of the island was wreathed inthick eddies of gunsmoke and the taste of burnt powder was rank in theback of his throat, the thunder of the guns was fading away. Ned wastaking the Seraph and the Minotaur out to safer waters.

Hal looked back over his shoulder and saw that, even after the long,hard run through forest, the column of seamen was closing up behindhim, with few stragglers. He led them on and found Big Daniel waitingat the edge of the trees.

Across a hundred and fifty paces of open ground the white walls of thefort stood fifty feet high. The arched gates were closed, heavy beamsof mahogany reinforced by iron studs. There were no defenders in sighton the battlements. They must all be on the west wall facing the sea.As the last shots of the bombardment died away, Hal heard their thin,distant cheers as they saw off the squadron of attacking ships.

“We have them at a disadvantage, Hal told Big Daniel, “but we must workquickly if we are to keep the element of surprise.” Behind him the menof the column were still coming up, bowed under their loads.

Sweating and panting they flopped down and raised their water-bottles,gulping down long draughts greedily. Hal strode among them, rallyingthem and sending them to take up their positions along the edge of thetreeline.

“Keep your heads down. Keep out of sight. See to your priming, but donot fire until I give the order!” The teams carrying the five heavypowder-kegs had fallen back to the rear of the coluMN, but at last theycame staggering up with each of the fifty-pound kegs slung on a polebetween two men. They stacked them under the palm trees and Hal andDaniel set to work to prepare the fuses.

Hal had cut slow-match as short as he dared, and this was always adelicate business, for no two pieces of match would BURN at the samerate. They tapped each length of fuse with the handle of a knife totry to spread the fulminate evenly, then they threaded a fuse throughthe bung-hole of each cask. Every second was precious now and theycould not spare time to make certain that each fuse was perfect. Ifone failed there were four others to set off the explosives.

“Hal looked up from his task.

Big Daniel plugged the final fuse in place with a handful of softpitch.

“Ready as we’ll ever be.”

“Light the slow-match!” Hal ordered, and Daniel struck the flint withthe steel. The under caught. One after the other they touched a shortlength of slow-match to the flame, and watched it smoulder and smoke.

“Shoulder the kegs!” Hal ordered, and five fresh men, each chosen forhis brawn, rose from where they had been squatting and came forward.Another rank was waiting behind them, ready to run forward and take upa keg if one of the porters was shot down by enemy musket fire from thewalls of the fort.

Hal drew his sword, and strode to the edge of the forest. He peeredfrom the cover across the open ground.

There was still no sign of any defenders on the walls. He drew a deepbreath and steeled himself.

“Quietly, lads!

Follow me!” Without a shout or cheer they ran forward in a group.

The bare feet of the heavily burdened seamen sank deep into the sandysoil with each pace, but they covered the ground fast and were almostto the gates when there was a yell and a shot from the battlement abovethe gates. Hal saw a turbaned head in the stone opening and the muzzleof a smoking jezail aimed down at them. The range was short and theball took one of the running seamen squarely in his naked chest. Thewounded man sprawled full length in the sand, and the keg rolled fromhis shoulder.

Big Daniel was running only a pace behind him, and scooped up the kegas lightly as though it were a ninepin.

With it tucked under his arm he jumped over the dying man and was thefirst to reach the gates. He dropped the keg against the hinges, andbeckoned to the men coming up behind him.

“Here! Bring them here!”

As the first man came up, snorting and panting with the effort, BigDaniel snatched his burden from him.

“Get back to the trees!” he barked and laid the keg beside theother.

“Well done, lad.” He grabbed the next keg and stacked it in a pyramidupon the first two.

By now a crowd of shrieking Arabs was on the battlements above them,and a ragged fusillade of musket shots rang out as Daniel’s men triedto reach the cover of the treeline. Another was shot down and laygroaning in the open ground, with spurts of dust kicking up around himas the musketeers on the wall tried to finish him off. From the treesthe seamen hidden there opened answering fire.

Their musket-balls cracked against the stone blocks, and rained chipsof coral down on the men crouched at the foot of the massive gates.

Hal knelt beside Big Daniel as he placed the fifth powder-keg on top ofthe stack. He blew on the smouldering end of the slow-match in hishand, and it flared up redly.

“Get you gone, Danny,” he told the big man.

“I’ll see to the rest of it.” But Daniel had his own slow@ maTChsmoking in his hand.

“Beg your pardon, Captain, but I’ll give you a hand to kiss the devil’sdaughter.” He knelt beside Hal and touched the match to the fuse ofone of the powder-kegs.

Hal did not waste words in argument and bent to the same task.

Working without haste, they lit each of the five fuses and waited tomake certain that they were burning evenly.

By this time half the garrison of the fort was swarming along the wallabove them, firing as fast as they could reload into the edge of theforest. Four hundred British sailors were yelling and cheering andsending in a withering fusillade over the battlements.

Hal and Daniel were protected from the fire of the men above them bythe slight overhang below the battlements, but as soon as they left itsshelter they would be fully exposed during their return across the openground.

Hal took a last look at the furiously burning fuses, only an inch or soprotruded from the bung-hole of each keg and rose to his feet.

“I think the time has come to leave.” can see no reason to linger,Captain.” Big Daniel grinned at him with his bald gums, and the twolaunched themselves side by side into the open.

Immediately the shouts from the battlements behind them redoubled, andevery Arab on the walls turned his fire upon the running pair. Theheavy lead balls whirred about their heads and ploughed into the softsand at their flying feet. From the trees the seamen yelledencouragement an fired as wildly as the Arabs on the walls.

“SeraphP they screamed.

“Come on, Danny! Run for it, Captain!”

Time seemed to slow down for Hal. It was as though he was under water,each stride seeming to last many minutes. The line of the forestseemed to come no nearer, and the musket-balls flew around them asthick as hail.

Then Big Daniel was struck, not once but almost simultaneously by twoballs. One hit him in the back of the knee, broke the bone, and hisleg folded under him like a carpenter’s rule. The second ball struckhim in the hip and shattered the neck of the femur. He went down inthe sand with both legs twisted and useless under him.

Hal ran on four paces before he realized he was alone.

Then he paused and looked back.

“Go on!” Big Daniel yelled at him.

“You can’t help me.

Both my legs are GOne.” His face had dived into the sand, and his eyesand mouth were filled with it. Hal whirled and ran back to him throughthe storm of musket fire.

“No! NO!” Big Daniel bellowed, sand and spittle flying From his mouthin a cloud.

“Go back, you fool. Go back.”

Hal reached him and stooped to seize his shoulders.

He tried to lift him, and was appalled by the weight of the great body.With both his legs shot away, Daniel could not help him take thestrain. Hal took another deep breath and readjusted his grip, thenheaved up again. This time he lifted the top half of Daniel’s torsoclear of the ground and tried to get his shoulder under the other man’sarmpit.

“It’s no use”

” Big Daniel gasped in his ear, swamped in agony as the shattered bonesin his hip grated against each other.

“Go on, save yourself!” Hal had no breath to reply, so he gathered thelast ounce of his strength and lifted, straining with every sinew andfibre of his body. At the effort his vision darkened and starred intowhirling comets of light, but slowly Big Daniel’s huge frame liftedclear of the sandy earth and he threw his right arm around Hal’sshoulders. They stood there for a long moment, locked together, unableto move another step.

You’re mad,” Big Daniel whispered, his lips an inch from Hal’s ear.

“The powder’s going to blow-” On the high battlements behind them anArab musketeer poured a handful of coarse black powder into the muzzleof his jezail, and rammed down a wad on top of it.

He was holding the ball between his teeth. It was an irregular lump ofsoft pig-iron that he had hand-forged to a rough fit in the barrel. Hespat the ball into the muzzle and used the long wooden ramrod to driveit home. Then he reversed the weapon and laid the forestock across thestone sill of the embrasure. With shaking fingers, he poured a finestream of powder into the pan of the lock, snapped the friz zen closedand drew back the hammer to full cock.

When he lifted the stock to his shoulder and peered down the longbrass-bound barrel, he saw that out in the open ground the two infidelswere still struggling helplessly, clinging to each other likelovers.”

He aimed carefully at their heads, which were close together, thenpulled hard on the stiff trigger. The hammer dropped and the flintstruck a starburst of sparks from the steel of the friz zen The powderin the pan ignited in a puff of white smoke, and for a moment it seemedthat the jezail would misfire but then, with a deafening bellow, itleaped in his hands, kicking the barrel head high.

IF The beaten slug of pig-iron started to tumble end over end as soonas it left the muzzle. It whirred through the air to where Hal and BigDaniel were dragging themselves away. It had been aimed at Hal’s head,but it dropped so sharply in flight that it almost missed himcompletely. In the end it struck him with a loud thump on the side ofhis ankle, tore away his heel and shattered the fragile bones of hisleft foot.

As his foot was knocked out from under him Hal dropped under BigDaniel’s weight and the two lay side by side, flat upon the ground.

“Run! In the name of God!” Big Daniel shouted into Hal’s face.

“The kegs are going to go up at any moment!”

“I can’t!” Hal blurted through the pain.

“I’m hit! I can’t stand!” Big Daniel heaved himself up on one elbowand looked down at Hal’s foot. He saw at once that the wound wascrippling, then glanced back at the pyramid of powder kegs under thearch of the gate, only thirty yards from where they lay. One of theburning fuses reached the bunghole and flared brightly in the plug ofsoft pitch. It was on the point of exploding.

Big Daniel seized Hal in a smothering bear-hug and rolled on top ofhim, forcing his face into the soft earth, covering him with his owngreat body.

“Get off me, damn you!” Hal struggled beneath him, but at that instantthe bottom keg blew up, and set off an instantaneous sympatheticexplosion in every one of the four others piled on top of it.

Two hundred and fifty pounds weight of black powder was consumed in asingle flash and the blast was cataclysmic. It ripped the heavy doorsfrom their splintered beams across the courtyard beyond. It collapsedthe stonework of the arch and brought the battlements rumbling down inan avalanche of coral blocks, mortar and dust. A score or more of theArabs on the wall were brought down with it, crushed and buried in therubble.

The smoke and dust shot two hundred feet straight up into the air, thenboiled into the anvil head of a thundercloud. The shock-wave blew outacross the open ground in front of the walls and struck the edge of theforest, bringing heavy branches crashing down, bowing the palm treesand thrashing through their fronds like the winds of a hurricane.

Big Daniel and Hal lay full in the path of the blast. It swept overthem in a rolling wave of dust and debris. It sucked the air fromtheir lungs and hammered them into the earth like the hoofs of a herdof sTAmPeding buffalo.

Hal felt his eardrums balloon, and the shock clubbed his brain.

His senses were driven from him, and he seemed to hurtle through blackspace with the stars bursting in his head.

He came back slowly from that far away dark place, and his damagedeardrums roared and sang with the memory of that terrible blast, butthrough it he heard the thin, disembodied cheers of his seamen as theycharged forward from the forest. In a pack they raced past where helay and reached the destroyed gateway. They scrambled and shoved eachother over the piles of rubble that blocked it, then they fought theirway through the dust and the smoke, and swarmed into the courtyard ofthe fort. With their cutlasses in their hands, giving tongue like apack of deer hounds when the stag stands at bay, they fell upon thedazed defenders in a savaGe orgy of battle lust.

Blinded with dust, Hal tried to sit up but there was an immense weighton his chest that suffocated him and hinges and blew pinned him to theground. He coughed, choked, and tried to blink the grit out of hisstreaming eyes. Though he clawed feebly at the huge slack body abovehim he did not have the strength to free himself Gradually Hal’s visioncleared and the roaring in his ears faded to the buzz of a hive of beestrapped in his skull.

He saw Big Daniel’s face above him: his eyes were wide and staring andhis head rolled from side to side as Hal tried to push him off.

His toothless mouth gaped open, and his tongue lolled. A mixture ofhis blood and spittle dribbled warm over Hal’s cheek.

The horror of it goaded Hal, and he made a supreme effort and wriggledout from under the great slack body.

Groggily he raised himself into a sitting position and looked down atthe other man. By shielding him, BiLy Daniel had taken the full forceof the blast. It had strippe@ away his clothing so that he was nakedexcept for his boots and sword-belt. The driven sand had blasted awaythe skin from his back and buttocks, so that he looked like a freshlyflayed deer. Chunks of stone and flying debris had ripped through hisback and flanks, exposing the white bone shards of his ribs and brokenspine.

“Danny?” Hal called.

“Danny? Can you hear me?” The question was futile, borne of his ownstunned senses. He tried to move closer to him, but found his own legswould not obey his will. He glanced down at them. They were the onlypart of his body that had not been protected by Daniel’s. Both hislegs had been stripped of the cloth of his breeches and Hal saw thathis flesh had been mangled as though caught in the iron teeth of arevolving capstan.

Splinters of white bone protruded from the bloody mess.

There was no pain, so his mind discounted the evidence of his eyes. Hecould not believe that he had lost both his legs. He did not want togaze upon that destruction any longer.

Hal used his elbows now to drag himself closer to Big Daniel, diggingthem into the soft soil and his shattered legs slithered along behindhim. He lay beside the great body and gathered it in his arms.

He rocked it gently as once he had soothed his infant son to sleep.

“It will be all right. We’ll come through this together, like wealways do,” he whispered.

“It’s going to be all right, Danny.” He did not realize that he wasweeping until he saw his own tears falling into Daniel’s upturned face,like warm drops of tropical rain washing away the white grains of sandthat coated the staring eyeballs.

Dr. Reynolds, coming up through the grove with his two surgeon’smates, found them lying there.

“Take care of Danny first,” Hal pleaded.

“God has already taken him into his care,” Dr. Reynolds answeredgently, and between them they lifted Hal onto the stretcher with hislegs dangling.

Hal looked back over the bay. From where they lay at the top of a lowwhite dune he could see the two square-rigged ships a mile out beyondthe reef, the graceful Seraph leading and the Minotaur, with her blacksails, looking menacing and potent. As he watched they tacked insuccession and turned back into the south, taking up their blockadestation across the mouth of the bay.

Tom rose on one knee and stared over the top of the dune at the wallsof the fort, two hundred paces away. The heavy mist of gunsmoke wasdissipating, blowing away on the monsoon wind, streaming out to sea.The top of the wall was lined with hundreds of heads, dark beardedfaces below their keffiya head cloths and turbans. The defenders werebrandishing their muskets and dancing on the ram parts in triumph. Tomcould hear the excited jabber of their voices, and even understood someof their shouted insults aimed at the two English ships: “May Godblacken the face of the infidel.”

“God is great! He has given us the victory.” Tom started to rise tohis feet.

“Something has gone wrong. They should have blown the gates by now.”

Aboli reached up and seized his wrist. He drew him down to his side.

“Steady, Klebe! Sometimes the cruel lest part of the battle is thewaiting.” Then they heard musket fire from the far side of thefortress, and all the Arab heads along the breastworks turned in thatdirection. Their shouts and taunts died away.

“The infidel is attacking the gates!” a voice screamed in Arabic, andthere was an immediate sTompede. Even the gunners deserted theircannon and raced away along the catwalk to counter this new threat. Inseconds the parapets were deserted, and Tom scrambled to his feetagain.

“Now is our chance! Follow me!” Aboli pulled him down again.

“Patience, Klebe!” Tom struggled to break his grip.

“We can’t wait any longer. We have to get to Dorry!” Aboli shook hishead.

“Even you cannot fight a thousand men on your own.” Tom stared acrossat the loophole in the top of the wall where he knew Dorian wasincarcerated.

“He should have the sense to signal, to show us where he is. He shouldwave his shirt, or something.” Then swiftly he made allowance for hisbrother.

“But he’s only a baby. He doesn’t always know what to do.”

From the far side of the fort the scattered sound of musket shotscrescendoed into a furious fusillade.

“Listen, Klebe.” Aboli restrained him.

“Danny and your father are laying the charges under the gates. It willnot be long now.”

Then the blast stung their eardrums, and the thunder of the explosionstunned them. A tower of dust and smoke shot into the sky and boiledover at the crest, spreading out into a bulging thunderhead. The dustcloud was thick with hurtling debris, with lumps of rock and burningfragments that spun smoke-trails against the blue. Tom Watched a brasscannon thrown a hundred feet into the air. Human bodies anddismembered limbs were hurled even higher, along with heavy baulks oftimber and other wreckage.

Before Tom could recover his wits, Aboli was on his feet and lopingaway across the open ground towards the fort. Tom leaped up andcharged after him, but the skirts of his robe hampered him and he couldnot catch Aboli before he reached the foot of the wall.

Aboli knelt and made a stirrup with his intertwined fingers.

Without pausing Tom placed one booted foot into it and Aboli boostedhim high into the branches of a strangler fig tree, whose roots werewoven into the joints between the stone blocks. Tom climbed upwardslike a monkey: neither the sword scabbard banging against his legs northe brace of pistols thrust into his belt could slow him.

Aboli and the three other men followed him up, but Tom reached the topof the parapet ahead of them.

He scrambled into the gap where the wall had begun to collapse andthrew his legs over the top.

A startled brown face confronted him. One Arab had not been drawn awayfrom his post by the tumult of the assault on the gates. With a shoutof astonishment, he recoiled before Tom’s sudden appearance, and triedto level the musket in his hands, but the curved hammers hooked in afold of his robe and while he struggled to free them the sabre flewfrom Tom’s scabbard as though it was a bird.

His thrust caught the man in the throat and severed his vocal cords sothat his next shout was stillborn. He tottered backwards and dropped,arms flailing, fifty feet into the courtyard behind him.

While Aboli and the three seamen scrambled over the battlements, Tomcast a quick look around the walls and the courtyard of the fort.

Through the thick billows of dust and smoke he saw the indistinctshapes of the Arabs stumbling away from the ruins of the gateway.

Along the catwalks at the top of the parapet a wailing mob was fightingto get away from the smoking shambles that had been the gate to thefort.

Then, through the shattered gateway poured a yelling mob of Englishseamen. They struggled over the rubble and raced up the ramps to fallupon the Arabs on the walks of the ramparts. There were a fewscattered musket shots and Tom saw one seaman fall backwards down theramp. Then the two sides met and became a confused mass of howling,hacking, fighting men.

Tom looked for his father in the mob. Usually Hal’s height and hisblack beard distinguished him even in the worst melee, but Tom couldnot find him. However, he could not spare the time to search longer.

“This way!” he called, and led his party along the catwalk to the rampfurthest from the gate. Their robes disguised them, and the

Arabs around them let them pass without a second glance. Tom went downthe ramp at a run, and reached the halfway landing unchecked.

From there an arched doorway opened into the interior.

Two guards were at the entrance. One gawked at Tom’s pale eyes andEuropean features, then swung his scimitar above his head.

“FererighiP he screamed, and swung a full-blooded cut at Tom’s headwith the curved blade.

Tom ducked under it and riposted with a clean thrust high in the lineof engagement, which went deep into the Arab’s chest. As he withdrewhis blade, the breath from the guard’s punctured lungs whistled out ofthe wound, and he dropped to his- knees. Aboli killed the other guardas swiftly. Then they jumped over the corpses and ran into the darknarrow passage beyond.

“Dorry!” Tom screamed.

“Where are you?” He flung the robes back from his face and tore theturban from his head.

He no longer needed the disguise and he wanted Dorian to recognizehim.

“Dorian!” he cried again. His voice echoed weirdly along the passageand was answered by wild shouts in a babble of different languages.

Along both sides of the passage were the entrances to a dozen or morecells. The original doors must have rotted away a half century ago,for they had been replaced by others of raw timber and crudely barredconstruction. Tom saw gaunt, bearded white faces peering through theopenings and clawed hands reaching out towards him in supplication. Heknew at once that these were the prisoners from the ships captured byal-Auf. Dorian must be among them, and his spirits soared.

“Dorian!” An English voice answered, “Jesus love you, sir, we haveprayed for your coming.” Aboli lifted the heavy locking bar from itsbrackets, the door burst open and the prisoners forced their way out ofthe tiny stone cell into the passageway. Tom was almost trapped in theflood of ragged, stinking humanity, and fought himself clear, hurryingon to peer into other cells.

“Dorian!” he bawled above the hubbub. He was trying to work out inwhich of the cells he had last seen his brother, but he was uncertainof his bearings.

He grabbed one of the released prisoners and shouted at him as he shookhis shoulders.

“Is there a young white boy here, with red hair?”

The man stared at him as though he was mad, then pulled himself freeand ran to join the flood of released men streaming down into thecourtyard. Tom reached the end of the passage and the last cell. Thedoor was ajar and he stepped into the tiny stonewalled room. It wasempty.

There was a mattress of dried palm fronds against the wall but no otherfurnishing. The sunlight slanted in through the loophole set in thefar wall, and Tom crossed to it quickly. He looked out at the sweep ofthe bay and -the two ships lying offshoreI “This is the one,” hemuttered. He jumped onto the step below the loophole and stuck hishead through the opening. The liana grew up the outside of the wall,almost close enough to touch.

“This is the cell they had Dorry in.

But where is he now?” He jumped down from the step and looked aroundthe empty cell. Iron rings were cemented into the stone blocks, towhich men had been chained. The walls were covered with graffiti,scratched into the soft coral. He read Portuguese names and dates ahundred years old, worn and overgrown with moss and fungi. There weremore recent additions in Arabic script, and he picked out a religiousexhortation, a line from Sura 17 of the Koran that he recognizedbecause All Wilson had made him learn it by heart: “The seven heavensand the earth, and all things therein, declare His glory.” Below thatthere was another scratching, made with a belt buckle or some othermetal implement. It was fresh and raw, in lopsided childish letters:

“DORIAN COURTNEY, 3RD FEBRUARY 1 69.”

“He was here!” Tom shouted aloud.

“Aboli, Dorry was here!” Aboli appeared in the doorway, blocking itwith his massive dark body.

“Where is he now, Klebe?”

“We will find him.” Tom paused only to rip off the constricting robethat hampered his movements, and hurled it against the wall.

Then they ran together back down the passage and out into the sunlight.The fighting was still surging through the courtyard below them andover the ramparts of the fortress, but at a glance it was obvious thatthe defenders were in rout. Hundreds had escaped through the shatteredgateway. They had thrown away their weapons and were streaming intothe forest. Others were trapped within the walls. Many were on theirknees pleading for quarter, but Tom saw others leap from the rampartsrather than face the English cutlasses. With their white robesballooning around their bodies, they shrieked as they plunged toearth.

However, a few were still fighting. One isolated group of a dozen menwas holding the east bastion and screaming their defiance, “Allahakbar! God is great,” but as Hal watched, the Englishmen swarmed overthem, cut them down and threw their bodies over the battlements.

Tom looked desperately for a small figure and a fiery patch of hair inthe confusion, but there was no glimpse of his brother. A woman racedup the ramp towards Tom.

Her black veil had blown away and her head was uncovered. Tom saw thatshe was little more than a child.

Her long black hair streamed back from her terrified face, and herkohl-darkened eyes were those of a fawn pursued by the hounds.

Shouting with excited laughter, four seamen followed her, their shirtssoaked with the blood of the men they had killed, their faces speckledwith bloody droplets, swollen and inflamed with lust.

They caught the girl at the edge of the ramp and threw her down.

Three pinned her to the stone flags and, although she struggled, theypulled up the skirts of her robe and exposed her slim brown limbs andher smooth naked belly. The fourth sailor ripped open his own breechesand fell on top of her.

“Grease the pink lane for us!” his mates encouraged him Tom had neverimagined anything so horrific. As a novice of the Order of St. Georgeand the Holy Grail, he had been taught that war was noble and all truewarriors were gallant. He ran forward to intervene, but Aboli seizedhis arm and held it in a grip of iron.

“Leave them, Klebe.

It is the right of the victors. Our duty is now to Bomvu.” He usedhis pet name for Dorian, which meant “Red” in the language of theforests.

“We can’t let them!” Tom blurted.

the loophole set in the far wall, and Tom crossed to it quickly.

He looked out at the sweep of the bay and -the two ships lyingoff-shore.

“This is the one,” he muttered. He jumped onto the step below theloophole and stuck his head through the opening. The liana grew up theoutside of the wall, almost close enough to touch.

“This is the cell they had Dorry in.

But where is he now?” He jumped down from the step and looked aroundthe empty cell. Iron rings were cemented into the stone blocks, towhich men had been chained. The walls were covered with graffiti,scratched into the soft coral. He read Portuguese names and dates ahundred years old, worn and overgrown with moss and fungi. There weremore recent additions in Arabic script, and he picked out a religiousexhortation, a line from Sura 17 of the Koran that he recognizedbecause All Wilson had made him learn it by heart: “The seven heavensand the earth, and all things therein, declare His glory.” Below thatthere was another scratching, made with a belt buckle or some othermetal implement. It was fresh and raw, in lopsided childish letters:

“DORIAN COURTNEY, 3RD FEBRUARY 1691.”

“He was here!” Tom shouted aloud.

“Aboli, Dorry was here!” Aboli appeared in the doorway, blocking itwith his massive dark body.

“Where is he now, Klebe?”

“We will find him.” Tom paused only to rip off the constricting robethat hampered his movements, and hurled it against the wall.

Then they ran together back down the passage and out into the sunlight.The fighting was still surging through the courtyard below them andover the ramparts of the fortress, but at a glance it was obvious thatthe defenders were in rout. Hundreds had escaped through the shatteredgateway. They had thrown away their weapons and were streaming intothe forest. Others were trapped within the walls.

Many were on their knees pleading for quarter, but Tom saw others leapfrom the ramparts rather than face the English cutlasses. With theirwhite robes ballooning around their bodies, they shrieked as theyplunged to earth.

However, a few were still fighting. One isolated group of a dozen menwas holding the east bastion and screaming their defiance, “AlU akbar!God is great,” but as Hal watched, the Englishmen swarmed over them,cut them down and threw their bodies over the battlements.

Tom looked desperately for a small figure and a fiery patch of hair inthe confusion, but there was no glimpse of his brother. A woman racedup the ramp towards Tom.

Her black veil had blown away and her head was uncovered. Tom saw thatshe was little more than a child.

Her long black hair streamed back from her terrified face, and herkohl-darkened eyes were those of a fawn pursued by the hounds.

Shouting with excited laughter, four seamen followed her, their shirtssoaked with-the blood of the men they had killed, their faces speckledwith bloody droplets, swollen and inflamed with lust.

They caught the girl at the edge of the ramp and threw her down.

Three pinned her to the stone flags and, though she struggled, theypulled up the skirts of her robe and exposed her slim brown limbs andher smooth naked belly. The fourth sailor ripped open his own breechesand fell on top of her.

“Grease the pink lane for us!” his mates encouraged him. Tom hadnever imagined anything so horrific. As a novice of the Order of St.George and the Holy Grail, he had been taught that war was noble andall true warriors were gallant. He ran forward to intervene, but Aboliseized his arm and held it in a grip of iron.

“Leave them, Klebe.

ltl’is the right of the victors. Our duty is now to Bomvu.” He usedhis pet name for Dorian, which meant “Red” in the language of theforests.

“We can’t let them!” Tom blurted.

“We can’t stop Them.” Aboli cut him short.

“They will kill you if you try. Let us find Bomvu, instead.” The girlwas sobbing pitifully but Aboli dragged Tom down the ramp to the groundlevel.

At this end of the courtyard they found a maze of old walls anddoorways. Some of the doors stood open, but most were heavily barredand the windows shuttered.

Dorian could be behind any of those. Tom knew his little brother wouldbe lost and terrified. They had to find him before he was hurt in thefighting and the looting.

“Take the far end,” he shouted at Aboli, pointing down to the coveredterrace.

“I will start here.” He did not look back to see if Aboli had obeyedhim but ran to the nearest door. It was locked. He tried to barge itopen with his shoulder, then stood back and tried to kick out themassive iron lock. It stood solidly, resisting his attempts. Tomlooked about him and recognized one of the topmast men from the Seraph,who was running down the terrace, carrying a long-handled axe in onehand and a pistol in the other. His arms were bloody to the elbows andhis expression was rapturous with the joy of battle.

“Charley!” Tom yelled at him, and even through the mists of fightingmadness the man heard him.

“Break this door in,” Tom ordered.

Charley grinned at the invitation to further destruction.

“Stand back, Tommy me lad,” he cried, and rushed at the door. With twomighty swings of the axe he had dashed in the panels and sent the doorsagging back on its hinges. Tom kicked it open the rest of the way andjumped through. He found himself in a labyrinth of small rooms andpassageways. He ran forward, glancing into each room as he passed.

Clearly they had all been hastily deserted: bedding and clothing werethrown about in disarray.

Suddenly he heard a loud thudding over his head, and looked up arickety staircase at the end of the passage. It sounded as thoughsomeone was trying to escape from a locked room. Perhaps it’s Dorry!

His heart pounded. With out another thought Tom raced up the stairs,taking them two at a time. He reached the top and found a heavy doorstanding open, the huge iron key still in the lock. He ran throughinto a long narrow room. The windows were shuttered, and it was insemi-darkness.

“Dorry!” he shouted, as he looked about him quickly.

He saw at once that this was no prison. Along the wall opposite theshuttered windows was packed an assortment of small wooden chests.

They were very similar to the chests they had captured from the dhow ofal-Malik, the chests that had contained the ransom money for Dorian.

He realized that this must be one of al-Auf’s storerooms, probably theone where he kept his most valuable booty.

Four of the chests stood open, the lids thrown back.

Even in his concern for his brother, Tom was fascinated by the contentsthat were revealed. He recognized the typical Arab coin bags thatfilled them. He took up one and hefted it in his hand. The weight andthe shape of the coins through the cloth dispelled any doubts he mighthave had.

“Gold,” he whispered. Then he noticed that someone had left a leathersaddle-bag on the stone floor beside the chest.

It was half filled with the bullion sacks. He must have interruptedsomeone in the act of filling it before making his escape from thebeleaguered fortress. The banging noises Tom had heard were of thechests being broken open.

Whoever it was must still be here. As the realization dawned upon Tom,he heard the slither of a stealthy footstep on the stone flags behindhim. The sound galvanized him, and he whirled towards the doorway.

Al-Auf had hidden behind the open door when he heard Tom’s runningfootsteps coming up the stairs and now Tom recognized him instantly.

He had seen him on the deck of the Minotaur as the Seraph engaged thecorsair.

He was taller than Tom had thought, and his predatory eyes in theirdeep sockets were dark and fierce as those of a vulture. His head wasbare, he wore no turban. His thick black tresses, laced with silver,fell to his shoulders, and merged with the curls of his beard.

His lips were drawn back in a savage grimace as he lifted the pistol inhis left hand and aimed at Tom’s head.

For a fleeting moment Tom looked deep into the gaping muzzle of thebarrel, then into al-Auf’s bright eye, aiming at him over the sights ofthe pistol. With a metallic click that sounded deafening in theconfines of the small room, the hammer fell and the pan flashed in apuff of white smoke. Tom winced as he waited for the ball to smashinto his face, but it never came. The pistol had misfired.

For an instant al-Auf was blinded by the smoke and the flash in thepan, and in that brief time Tom had covered the space between them. Hehad seen that the pistol was double-barrelled, and that al-Auf’sforefinger was hooking around the second trigger. He knew that luckcould not favour him twice, and that the second barrel would killhim.

He swung the sabre at the outstretched pistol hand, and the bladeslashed across the inside of al-Auf’s wrist.

Like a razor, it opened the cluster of veins and arteries beneath thebrown skin, and the pistol dropped from the nerveless fingers.

Hilt first, it struck the stone floor and with a vicious roar thesecond barrel fired. The ball splintered the wood of one of thebullion chests, and alAuf reeled back, groping for the scimitar on thegernencrusted belt around his waist. He cleared his blade just in timeto counter the thrust that Tom sped at the centre of his sternum.

Tom had not expected him to be so quick. The silver streaks inal-Auf’s hair and beard had misled him. The corsair was leopard fast,and the power in the blade was that of a man half his age. As Tomrecovered from his thrust, al-Auf dropped on one knee and slashed back,handed for his ankles, a stroke that might have maimed him. Tom didnot have time to recoil. Instead he bounded into the air and thecurved blade flickered under the soles of his boots. Still airborne,Tom cut at the Arab’s dark head, but al-Auf slipped away from him likea serpent sliding under a rock. He had left a puddle of blood on thestones, and his wrist was still spurting. Tom blocked the riposte andmade a feint high in the tierce, but al-Auf countered, and lunged underhis blade, aiming for his stomach. Tom jumped back and the thrust cameup short.

They circled, holding each other’s eyes, trying to divine the other’sthoughts. Their blades rasped and thrummed together as each probed fora weakness.

Tom’s foot slipped in the blood, and the moment he was off-balanceal-Auf released himself like a bolt from a cross-bow, going low again,trying for the hip. Tom deflected, and forced him to scramble away.

Tom was reading his man now. He was fast and elusive, and age had noteroded the strength in his wrist. If they continued fencing then inthe end al-Auf’s experience would tell.

Tom knew that he must turn it into trial of strength.

He swayed across the Arab’s strong side, flirting with him, offering afleeting opening, but as al-Auf accepted and thrust low again, Tomblocked his blade with a dead hit, and trapped it with his own. Nowthey were almost chest to chest, their blades crossed at eye-level. Tomput all the weight of his broad young shoulders into it, and alAuf gavea step. Tom could feel the strength going out of him, dribbling fromthe open veins in his left wrist. Tom heaved again, but al-Auf was notas weak as he had pretended. He gave way so rapidly that Tom stumbledforward against no resistance, and again al-Auf went low.

Tom should have read it, for he knew his man well enough by now toguard against the low thrust. It was only by a miracle of speed andcatlike balance that he swayed his lower body aside and the thrustgrazed his thigh. It split the stuff of his breeches and opened ashallow cut in the rubbery muscle of his leg.

It was not a damaging wound, and at the end of his thrust al-Auf was atfull extension. As he tried desperately to recover Tom gathered up hisblade, and forced him into a rolling engagement. The two swordsswirled together, the sound of steel on steel screeching so shrilly asto set their nerves on edge, the hilts vibrating in their hands.

Tom had succeeded at last in making it a straight trial of strength,for al-Auf dared not try to disengage. To do so he must open hisguard, and he knew the riposte would come like a lightning bolt.

This was the classic prolonged engagement, which Tom had learned fromAboli.

“With this coup, your father killed Schreuder,” Aboli had told him,”and that Dutchman was the greatest swordsman I have ever seen wield ablade, after your father, that is.” Tom leaned all his weight into hiswrist and al-Auf gave a pace. Round and round the two blades swirled,and sweat broke out across the brown forehead, which by now was deeplycreased with effort, and streamed down into the eyes and beard.Triumphantly Tom felt the other man weakening. The blood still fell inheavy drops from his wound, and al-Auf’s lips twisted into a horridrictus of despair. Dismay and death bloomed in his eyes.

Suddenly Tom changed the angle of his wrist, the point of his swordflashed an inch from al-Aufs eyes, and he broke. Against the Arab’swill, his long brown fingers opened and the hilt of his scimitarslipped from them. Tom used his own blade to pluck it away and, with aflick of his wrist, hurled it against the far wall where it fell andclattered on the stone floor.

Al-Auf tried to duck and dart to the doorway, but Tom had the point ofhis sword in his beard, probing gently up under his chin, and he forcedhim back against the wall. Tom was panting deeply, and it took him awhile to recover his breath sufficiently to speak.

“There is only one thing that you can do now to save your own life,” hesaid, between ragged breaths. Al-Auf’s eyes narrowed as he heard. theinfidel speak his own language so fluently.

“You can give me the Frankish boy you are holding here.” Al-Auf staredat him. He held his injured arm against his chest, trying to staunchthe bleeding by squeezing his wrist with his other hand.

“Answer me,” Tom said, and pressed the sword-point deeper into histhroat.

“Speak to me, you offspring of a diseased sow. Give me the boy and Iwill let you live.” The Arab winced at the prick of the steel.

“I do not know this child of whom you speak.”

“You know him well. The one with red hair,” Tom interrupted hisprotests.

Al-Auf twisted his lips into a mocking smile.

“Why do you want al-Amhara, the Red One?” He said, and there was aterrible hatred in his eyes.

“Was he your BUm-boy?” Tom’s sword hand trembled with anger at theinsult.

“Al-Amhara is my brother.”

“Then you are too late,” al-Auf gloated.

“He has gone where you will never find him Tom felt as though an ironhoop was tightening around his chest. His breathing came short. Dorianwas gone.

“You are lying.” In his distress the Arabic words tripped histongue.

“I know he is here. I saw him with my own eyes. I will find him.”

“He is not on this island, search where you will.” AlAuf laughed now,a painful, twisted sound.

Tom cut it short with the pressure of the steel point.

He stared into the Arab’s dark eyes, and a confused jumble of thoughtsraced through his brain.

“No!” Tom did not want to believe it.

“You’re hiding my brother here. You are lying.” But there wassomething in al-Auf’s manner that warned Tom he was telling thetruth.

He knew they had lost little Dorry and, slowly, black despair filledthe empty place that Dorry had left in his heart.

He lowered the sword blade from al-Auf’s throat, and turned away.

He started towards the door, desperate to search every corner of theisland, if merely to set his heart at rest.

Al-Auf was so surprised that for a moment he stood rigid. Then hedropped his uninjured right hand to the hilt of the curved dagger inthe gold filigree scabbard on his belt. The burnished blade made asmall slippery sound as it slid from its sheath.

Tom was not too far gone in misery to ignore that fatal whisper, and ashe spun around to face him, al-Auf launched himself across the gapbetween them with the dagger raised above his head, to plunge it intoTom’s back.

At that treachery, Tom’s despair turned to a consuming rage. He jumpedforward to meet the attack and drove his sword-point into the centre ofthe Arab’s chest. He felt the steel glance off a rib, then slidethrough heart and lung and thrill in his grip as the point hit thespine.

Al-Auf froze and the dagger dropped from his hand. It clattered loudlyon the floor, and the hatred in his black eyes faded. Tom placed onebooted foot against the man’s chest, and pushed him backwards as hepulled the red blade free.

Al-Auf slumped to his knees and his head drooped forward, but Tom’srage was not yet assuaged. He lifted the sabre high and swung it downagain, using the full power of his shoulders, his arm and the snap ofhis wrist so that the blade hissed in the air as it descended. It fellacross the back of al-Aufs neck. The head toppled from the spouting “kstump, struck the floor with a meaty thump and rolled to Tom’s feet.

Tom stared down into al-Auf’s face. The dark eyes were wide open andfierce. His lips opened and it seemed he tried to speak, but then hislids fluttered, the light went out of his eyes, which turned dull andopaque, and his jaw went slack.

“It is done, and well doneP said Aboli from the doorway. He steppedinto the room and slipped off the Arabic gown he wore. He knelt andspread the garment on the floor, then lifted the severed head by ahandful of its lank black hair.

Tom watched him as he wrapped al-Auf’s head in the cloak. He feltlittle emotion and no remorse as the blood soaked through the folds ofthe cloth. Aboli stood up and slung the gruesome bundle over hisshoulder.

“We will take it to your father. Al-Auf’s head is worth a barony tohim when he presents it to the governors of the Honourable Company inLondon.” With the naked sword in his hand, Tom followed Aboli like asleepwalker down the passage and out into the sunlight.

He felt no elation, only the crushing weight of the knowledge that hehad lost Dorian for ever.Tom pushed his way through the excited seamen who rampaged through thepassages and inner rooms of the fort. They were guffawing and shoutingloud banter at each other as they ransacked the building.

Every so often there was a shout and a scream as they found anotherArab hiding in one of the cells and dragged him out into thecourtyard.

The Monsoon

The prisoners were stripped naked. The seamen had learned how readilythey could conceal a dagger under their voluminous robes. Even thewomen were treated in this way. The captured weapons were thrown in apile in the centre of the courtyard, while the valuables, the purses ofthe men and the gold jewellery of the women, were thrown on a spreadcanvas sail.

Then the prisoners were dragged away to join the ranks of naked brownbodies that already knelt along the north wall of the courtyard,guarded by grinning sailors with pistols cocked and cutlasses drawn.

Tom strode across to the ranks of squatting Arabs and picked out one.Despite his nudity the man had noble features and an intelligent,dignified gaze.

“What is your name, old father?” Tom asked, making an effort to keephis address respectful.

The old man looked startled to be spoken to in Arabic, but he respondedto Tom’s gentle tone.

“My name is Ben Abram.”

“You have the look of a scholar or a holy man,” Tom flattered him.

Again the old man responded.

“I am a physician.”

“There was a boy here on the island. He would now be twelve, with redhair. He was captured by alAuf. Do you know him?”

“I know him.” Ben Abram nodded, and Tom’s spirits soared.

“He is my brother. where is he now? Is he here on the island?”

he demanded eagerly, but Ben Abram shook his head.

“He is gone. Al-Auf sold him into slavery.” At last Tom had to acceptthis corroboration of al, Auf’s boast. For a minute he thought that hewould not be able to bear the pain of it. “where did they send him?

What is the name of the man who bought my brother as a slave?”

Ben Abram shook his head again, but his eyes slid away from Tom’s faceand his expression was guarded.

“I do not know,” he whispered.

Tom knew he was lying and his hand went to the hilt of his sword.

He would force it out of the old man, but then he saw the strong,determined set of Ben Abram’s features and his intuition warned himthat he would get nothing from him by force.

To give himself time to think, he looked around the inner walls of thefort. Dead Arabs were scattered along the ramparts, with many woundedamong them who groaned and writhed in the dirt. He called across tothe coxswain who was in command of the guard.

“This man is a surgeon. Give him back his clothes and let him tend tothe enemy wounded.”

“Aye, Mr. Courtney.” The man knuckled his forehead.

Tom turned back to Ben Abram.

“Many of your men need your care.

You may go to them.”

“May Allah reward your compassion.” Ben Abram rose to his feet andpulled on the robe that the coxswain tossed to him.

Tom watched the old man hurry away and kneel beside one of the badlywounded Arabs at the foot of the ramp.

Now he must find his father and tell him the dread news he had learnedof Dorian. Tom looked about him again, then started towards the gate.As he went he stopped every crewman from the Seraph he recognized.

“Have you seen the captain? Where is he?” When none could answer, Tomfelt concern well up in him. Then he saw Captain Anderson near thedevastated gateway. Anderson was bright red in the face and roaringlike a wounded bull, trying to get his rampaging ized intoLyan s tostart retrieving the contents troops organ, 9 of the storerooms inwhich the pirate booty was stored.

Already some sailors were staggering out of the fort under the weightof bales and barrels, to stack them beside the gate, ready to becarried down to the beach and loaded aboard the waiting ships.

Tom pushed his way to Anderson’s side. Anderson swivelled to face him,and his expression softened in a way that puzzled Tom.

“I have killed al-Auf.” Tom raised his voice to make himself heardabove the uproar.

“Aboli has his head.” Tom indicated the tall black man and thebloodstained bundle he carried slung over his shoulder.

“Mother Mary!” Anderson looked mightily impressed.

“That’s good work. I was wondering where that rascal had vanished to.His head will be worth a lakh in London.”

“There’s a room full of bullion chests at the head of the stairs behindthat doorway at the end of the ramparts.

The good Lord only knows how much gold al-Auf has squirrel led awaythere. Captain Anderson, I believe it best that you send a reliableofficer to guard it before our la begin helping themselves.” Andersonshouted for his coxswain, and gave the orders. With five hastilyrecruited men, the officer hurried away, and Tom could ask the questionthat had been burning his tongue.

“Have you seen my father, Captain?

I’ve been searching for him. He should be here to help you takecommand.” Anderson looked down at him and his eager expression meltedwith pity.

“He is down, lad. I saw him struck by the blast of the powderexplosion at the gates.” As his premonition of disaster was realized,Tom felt his heart clutched by the icy hand of dread.

“Where is he, sir?”

“The last I saw of him, he was in front of the gates.”

Anderson’s voice was gruff with sympathy.

“I’m sorry, lad, but from what I saw he is almost certainly killed.”Tom fled from him, even Dorian forgotten at that moment. He scrambledover the piles of rubble that blocked the gateway and saw one shatteredbody lying out in the open ground. He ran and dropped to his kneesbeside it. It was so badly mangled, stripped of its clothing, the skinflayed away from the raw flesh, that Tom could not be sure whom he waslooking at. Gently he turned the shattered head.

“Danny,” he said softly, and felt the tears start in his eyes. He hadnot known how much he had loved the big man until now. He blinked backthe tears.

Close up, death was uglier than his worst nightmares. Big Daniel’seyes were open and staring, clustered with blue flies. Tom brushedthem away and stroked the lids closed with the palm of his hand. Hestood up again uncertainly, and found Aboli beside him.

“Where is my father? Captain Anderson said he was here.” Tom couldsee no other body that might have been his father’s. There were thirtyor forty dead Arabs lying along the edge of the forest, killed as theytried to escape.

A few seamen were picking over the corpses, making certain they werenot feigning death, a favourite Arab trick, and searching them foranything of value.

“Your father is not here,” Aboli said.

“They must have taken him away.” Tom ran to the nearest seaman who wassquatting beside a body.

Tom did not recognize him, he must have been off the Yeoman of York.

“Have you seen Sir Henry, the captain of the Seraph?” The man lookedup at him.

“Aye, lad. The old man was sore wounded. I saw the sawbones take himoff down to the bay.” He gestured with his cupped hands full of goldjewellery.

Over the tops of the trees the masts of the squadron showed. As soonas the flags had been hoisted on the ramparts to announce the captureof the fort, all three ships had come into the bay. Tom took thepathway through the trees and ran down through the soft white coralsand. He came out on the beach, with Aboli only a pace behind him andlooked across at the tall ships lying at anchor in the clear, tranquilwaters of the lagoon.

The small boats were already busy ferrying between the vessels and thebeach, bringing ashore those men who had been freed from theirshipboard duties. Tom saw a longboat coming from the Seraph, andhailed it as soon as its keel hit the sand.

“Where is the captain?”

“He is on board already, Master Tom,” the boatswain shouted back.

“I must go to him. Take me out to the ship.”

“Right you are, Master Tom. jump aboard.” When the longboat bumpedagainst the Seraph’s hull, Tom was the first man up the ladder, withAboli still close behind him. There was only a handful of the ship’sdepleted crew on deck, and they were lining the rail, wistfullywatching the commotion ashore, eager to join the fighting andlooting.

“Where is the captain?” Tom demanded.

“They took him to his quarters.” Tom flew down the deck and when hereached the door to the stern cabin he came up short as a terriblegroan echoed along the quiet deck. He paused with his right handoutstretched, unable to summon the courage to open the door anddiscover what horrors awaited him on the far side. Aboli reached pasthim and quietly pushed it open.

Tom stared into his father’s cabin.

They had rigged a wooden grating under the stern windows where thelight was strongest. His father was laid on his back upon thegrating.

Dr. Reynolds stood over him.

He wore his black frock coat, his formal operating attire.

The thick serge cloth was greenish with age and stiff with old driedblood. Reynolds was already perspiring freely in the hot little cabin.He looked up at Tom and nodded.

“Good! Come in, lad. Don’t just stand there gawking! I need anotherpair of strong hands,” he said grimly, and began to roll his sleevesabove the elbows.

Tom advanced on leaden feet until he stood beside the grating andlooked down at his father’s torn body. The fiery stench of raw spiritfilled the heated cabin. One of the two surgeon’s mates was forcingthe neck of a three quarters empty bottle of rum into Hal Courtney’smouth.

The spirit was running down his cheeks and into his hair.

Hal was gagging and even in his semi-conscious condition trying to turnaway his head.

Tom snatched the bottle from the man’s hand.

“Slowly, curse you for a clumsy oaf! You will drown him.”

“He needs the rum to get him through the pain,” the surgeon’s mateprotested.

Tom ignored him, and lifted his father’s head as gently as if he werean infant. He gave him the bottle with care, allowing only a sip at atime to trickle between his lips, then waiting for him to swallow.

He looked down at the injured legs. Reynolds had buckled leatherstraps around each one, halfway up the thighs, and twisted thesetourniquets to stern the bleeding, but the wounds were still weeping.

They had placed a bucket beneath the grating to catch the blood, andthe steady drip-drip sounded to Tom like a water clock counting out theseconds of his father’s life.

Reynolds finished his preparations, and selected an ivory-handledscalpel from the canvas surgeon’s roll that lay on the grating besidethe maimed legs. He began to cut away the ragged blood-soaked legs ofHal’s breeches. Tom blanched and felt his senses swim as the carnagebeneath the cloth was revealed.

The blast had jellified the flesh, bruised it to the colour of mincedliver. Sand and coral chips had been driven into it as though firedfrom a musket, and splinters of bone stood out of the bloody meat likeflint arrowheads.

Reynolds palpated the legs. They were soft and bone, less in his handsHe pursed his lips and shook his head.

“They have to come off. Both of them. I cannot save them.”

“No!”

Tom gasped.

“You cannot take his legs! He will never again ride a horse or commanda ship. You must not do it!”

“Then he will die. His legs will rot, and he will be dead of thegangrene in a week, or less if he is lucky.” He nodded at his twomates.

“Hold him!” Aboli stepped forward, and Reynolds said, “Yes, you too.We need strong arms here.”

He selected a scalpel, which looked to Tom more like a butcher’s knifethan a surgical instrument, and tested the edge on his own thumb.

Tom saw the specks of rust on the blade where old blood had not beenproperly scrubbed away.

“Master Tom, you will hold his head.”

Reynolds handed him a wooden wedge “Keep that between his teeth.

He must have something to bite on when the pain hits him, or his teethwill crack.” He dipped a sponge into the bowl of hot water that hismate held, and swabbed away some of the blood and dirt from Hal’s leftleg so that he could see where to make the first cut. Then he gaveanother twist to the strap of the tourniquet and ran the edge of theblade across the tightly drawn skin. The flesh parted and Tom, who washolding the wooden wedge between his father’s jaws, felt his bodyconvulse and his back arch, every muscle and sinew drawn tight asthough by a capstan.

A terrible cry issued from Hal’s throat, and then he clamped down onthe wedge, locking his jaws so that the wood was crushed between histeeth. Tom tried to hold his head as it thrashed from side to side,but his father had the strength of a madman.

“Hold him!” Reynolds grunted, as he cut down, and Aboli and the menholding Hal were thrown about by the strength of his convulsions. Tomheard the steel of the blade strike the femur deep in his father’sthigh. Quickly Reynolds laid the knife aside and took up the hank ofblack catgut. He tied off the open ends of the blood vessels, BLOODwere running freely despite the tourniquet. The blood cascaded intothe bucket beneath the grating. Tom could not believe that there wasso much of it.

Reynolds picked a saw out of the canvas roll, and inspected the fineteeth. Then he seized the shattered leg in his left hand and, like acarpenter dividing a plank, he placed the blade in the deep scalpelwound and made the first stroke.

The steel teeth grated shrilly against the bone, and despite the weightof four men trying to hold him down Hal doubled AT the middle and cameup into a sitting position. His head was thrown back and ropes ofmuscle and ligaments stood proud in his throat and shoulders.

Another tortured scream tore out of his gaping mouth and rang THroughthe ship. Then his body went slack and he fell back limply on thegrating.

“Thank the Lord for that,” Reynolds whispered.

“We must work swiftly now, before he comes around again.” With threemore long strokes, the bone parted. The leg sagged and the surgeonlaid aside the saw, and picked up the knife again.

“I will leave him a good thick pad on the stump, so that the end of-the bone is Well covered.” He shaped the flesh with a few rapidslices, and Tom gagged as the shattered leg came free and flopped onthe grating. One of the surgeon’s mates picked it up and dropped it onthe deck. It lay there like a fresh-caught cod thrown on thefloorboards of a fishing skiff, twitching softly as the nerve endsdied.

Reynolds threaded a length of catgut through the eye of a sail-maker’sneedle, then folded the flap of flesh over the exposed bone thatprotruded from the stump. He hummed in his throat as he probed thepoint of the needle through the tough skin and began to lay his neatlittle stitches along the seam. The loose ends of the sutures withwhich he had tied off the blood vessels dangled out of the closedwound.

Within minutes Reynolds stood back and held his head to one side, likea seamstress judging a piece of embroidery.

“Nice,” he said.

“Very nice, even if I say it myself.” He made a little clucking soundof self-approval.

To Tom the stump looked like the head of a new-born baby, round andbald and bloody.

“Now, let’s have a look at his other pin.” Reynolds nodded at hismate. The man seized Hal’s remaining ankle in his big hairy hands andpulled the mangled leg straight.

The agony roused Hal from the dark fogs of unconsciousness. He utteredanother shuddering groan, and struggled weakly, but they held himdown.

Reynolds examined the leg, starting high on the thigh, just below thetourniquet, then working down over the knee, probing his powerfulstubby fingers deep into the flesh to feel for broken bone.

“Good!” he encouraged himself.

“Excellent! I think I can risk cutting much lower here. I will savethe knee.

That’s important. We will be able to articulate a wooden leg, He mayeven learn to walk again.” The thought that his father, who had beenthe vigorous centre of his existence for as long as he could remember,might never be able to walk again was suddenly thrust upon Tom’s dazedmind. It was almost as unbearable as the horrors he was forced towitness now as Reynolds picked up the bloody scalpel and laid the firstincision on the remaining leg. Hal bucked and screamed in his sweatslippery hands, and chewed the wooden wedge to splinters.

Tom was panting and grunting with the effort of holding the squirmingbody, and fighting back the waves of nausea that threatened tooverwhelm him as the second leg fell away and dropped to theblood-slick deck under their feet. This time Hal had not been grantedthe release of coma. He had endured every exquisite agony of the knifeand the hacksaw. Tom was filled with awe and a strange sense of prideas he watched the way his father fought back against the agony and onlysuccumbed when it soared to another pinnacle. Even then he tried tochoke back his cries.

At last Tom could bend over him and place his lips an inch from Hal’sear and whisper, “It’s over, Father. It’s all over.”

Unbelievably his father heard him and understood.

He tried to smile, and that smile was a terrible thing to see.

“Thank you.” Hal’s lips formed the words, but no sound issued from histortured throat. Tom’s vision swam as tears threatened to overwhelmhim, but he forced them back, and then he kissed his father on thelips, something he could not remember doing in all his life.

Hal made no effort to roll his head aside to avoid the embrace.

ned Tyler hurried to meet Tom as he stepped out onto the deck.

“How is he?” he asked.

“He is alive,” Tom replied, and then, when he saw how real was Ned’sconcern, he took pity on him.

“As well as we can expect. We will not know for some days yet. Dr.Reynolds says that he must rest.”

“Thank God for that at least.” Ned said, then looked at Tomexpectantly.

For a moment Tom did not know what he was waiting for. Suddenly herealized: Ned needed orders. He shied away from it. He felt too tiredand uncertain of himself to take on the responsibility that was beingthrust upon him.

Then, with an effort, he rallied his resources.

“Our first concern now is to get all our wounded back on board whereDr. Reynolds can attend them properly.”

“Aye, Mr. Courtney.” Ned looked relieved and turned away to pass onthe orders. Tom was astonished at how easily it had happened. He wasno longer Master Tom, but Mr. Courtney.

As Hal’s son, the mantle of command had passed naturally to him. Hewas only seventeen and he bore no official rank, but this was not anaval vessel, and Tom had proved time and again that he had a levelhead on his shoulders, that he could hold his own in any fight.

The officers and men liked him. It did not have to be debated.

If Ned Tyler accepted his right to command, then so would every manaboard the Seraph.

He tried to think what his father would want him to do even though hisinstinct was to hurry back to Hal’s bedside, and stay there until hewas strong enough to care for himself. But he knew that Dr. Reynoldsand his mate were better equipped for the business of nursing him bactto health.

Thinking quickly, he told Ned to secure the ship and.

see to the routine details of management, then he went on, “I leave theship in your hands, Mr. Tyler.” The words he had heard his fatherutter so often came easily to his lips.

“I’m going ashore to take command there.”

“Aye, sir,” Ned replied.

With Aboli close behind him, Tom strode back to the fort. Some sort oforder had been restored, but he found Anderson and every one of the menstill engrossed in ransacking the storerooms of the fortress. Amountain of plunder was piled in the centre of the courtyard, and awild confusion of men milled about it, adding more bales and boxes tothe pile.

“Captain Anderson,” Tom hailed him, “there are three or four hundred ofthe enemy escaped into the forest.

Many of them are still armed. I want the ramparts manned against acounter-attack.” Anderson stared at him incredulously, but Tom went onresolutely, “Please put your best officer in command, and have theenemy cannon reloaded with grape and trained round to cover the edge ofthe forest.” Anderson’s face started to swell and turn a brightercrimson. Every sailor within earshot had stopped whatever he was doingand now stood idle and gaping, following the exchange avidly.

“Then please have the open gateway barricaded to repel an attack,” Tomwent on. He was as tall as Anderson, and he held his eye withoutblinking.

For a long minute Anderson looked at him, and it seemed that he was onthe point of challenging the order, but then he wavered, and lookedaway at the open gateway, at the unprepared rabble of his men.

The sense of what Tom had ordered was irrefutable.

“Mr. McNaughton,” he roared, unnecessarily loudly, for his mate wasonly five paces from where he stood, “fifty men to barricade the gates,and a hundred to man the captured guns. Load with grape and cover theapproaches to the fort.” He turned back to Tom.

“There is only an hour or two of daylight left to us,” Tom went on.

“We will clear the fugitives out of the forest at first lighttomorrow.” He looked across at the ranks of naked prisoners, who stillknelt in the dust.

“As a matter of common humanity I want those people clothed and givenwater, then they can be confined in the cells of the fort.

How many of our men are wounded?”

“I’m not certain.” Anderson looked guilty, and the red faded slowlyfrom his complexion.

“Have your writer draw up the butcher’s bill,” Tom ordered.

“The casualties must be sent on board the ships where they can beattended by the surgeons.” Tom looked around quickly and saw that BenAbram, the Arab surgeon, was still at work attending to the enemywounded.

Someone had had the sense to give him four of the prisoners to assisthim.

“We will bury the dead tomorrow before they start to poison the air.The Mussulmen have certain strict rituals for the disposal of theirdead. Pirates that they are, we must honour their traditions.”

Tom worked with Anderson until long after the sun had set. By thelight of burning torches they restored order, had the fort secured andthe booty placed under strict guard. By then Tom was weaving on hisfeet with fatigue.

The shallow sword wound across his thigh, which al-Auf had inflicted,burned and every muscle in his body ached brutally.

“It is safe now, Klebe. All is taken care of until tomorrow. You mustrest.” Aboli was suddenly at his shoulder.

“There is still one thing that cannot wait until tomorrow.” Tom ledthe way out through the gates to where Big Daniel still lay.

Between them they wrapped the great body in a sheet of canvas and oneof the stretcher parties carried it down to the beach.

It was after midnight when Tom staggered down the passage to theSeraph’s stern cabin. A surgeon’s mate sat beside the bunk on whichHal lay. Tom told him, “I will take over,” sent him away and threwhimself down on the hard deck. Twice during the night his father’sgroans woke him. Once he gave him the water he pleaded for, and laterhe held the pewter bowl for him to urinate. It troubled him deeply tosee Hal brought so low, to the level of an infant, but the pleasure ofbeing able to serve him outweighed his exhaustion and his pity.

Tom woke again before dawn, and thought for a dreadful moment that hisfather had died during the night, but when he touched Hal’s cheek theflesh was warm. He held the steel shaving mirror to his mouth and,with relief, watched the shining surface cloud. Hal’s breath was stilltainted with the odour of stale rum, but he was alive.

Tom wanted to stay with him, but he knew that that would not be whathis father expected of him. He left him in the care of the surgeon’smate, and before the sun rose went ashore with Aboli.

There was still so much to be done. He placed Master Walsh and thewriter from the Yeoman of York in charge of tallying the booty ihey hadcaptured. Anderson took command of packing the treasure and sealingthe chests, which were carried down to the beach and placed in thecharge of a trusted officer and an armed guard.

Then Tom sent for Ben Abram. The old man looked exhausted, and Tomwondered if he had slept.

“I know it is your custom to bury your dead before sunset on the secondday.” Ben Abram nodded.

“You know our customs as well as our language.”

“How many are there?” Ben Abram looked grave.

“Three hundred and forty-three, that I have been able to count.”

“If you give me your parole for their good behaviour, I will releasefifty of your men from the stockade to dig the graves Ben Abramselected a burial site at the far end of the ancient Islamic cemeteryand put his men to work. It went quickly in the soft sandy soil.

Before noon they had carried the bodies, each wrapped in a sheet ofclean white trade cotton down from the fort. Al-Auf’s headless corpsewas in the centre of the long row laid along the bottom of the shallowpit and covered with earth. Ben Abram recited the Islamic prayers forthe dead, and afterwards came to find Tom on the beach.

“I call down the blessings of Allah upon you for your compassion.Without your mercy none of the dead could have entered the garden ofParadise.

One day, may the man who kills you extend to you the sameconsideration.”

“Thank you, old father, said Tom grimly.

“But my mercy will end with the dead. The living must face theconsequences of their crimes.” He left the old man and went to whereAll Wilson and Aboli were waiting at the head of three hundred fullyarmed men, who included the prisoners of al-Auf whom he had released.

“Very well,” Tom said.

“Let’s round up those who escaped from the fort.” Tom used the steadywind of the monsoon and sent small groups of men to put fire into theeastern fringe of the forest. It caught readily and flames roaredthrough the undergrowth in towering clouds of thick black smoke.

Those Arabs still hiding in the forest were driven before the fire.

When they came running out from among the trees few had any fight leftin them. They threw down their weapons, pleaded for mercy and weremarched away to join their comrades. By nightfall on the second dayalmost every fugitive had been rounded up and penned in the stockadesof the fort.

“The only sweet water on the island is in the rainwater cisterns of thefort,” Tom told Anderson, when they met on the beach at sunset.

“If we missed any, they will have to give themselves up before noontomorrow or die of thirst.” Anderson studied the boy, who had soswiftly become a man. Tom’s face was blackened by the soot of thefires, and there were bloodstains on his shirt, for some of the Arabshad chosen to fight rather than accept the dubious mercy of theferenghi. Yet despite the fatigue of battle, there was a commandingset to Tom’s shoulders and a new authority in his voice. Andersonnoticed that the men responded without hesitation to the orders hegave. By God, he thought, the pup has become a fighting dogovernight.

He has the manner and look of his sire. I would not like to get on thewrong side of either of them.

Without questioning his own subservience, he reported, quite naturally,”The writers have finished the tally of the prize. I warrant it willsurprise you, for it did me. The weight of the gold alone is almostthree lakhs at a conservative estimate.”

“Please see that it is divided into four equal portions,” Tom said,”one portion to be sent aboard each of the ships of the squadron,including the Lamb.”

Anderson looked puzzled.

“Surely Sir Henry will want it all under his own eye?” he demurred.

“Captain Anderson, we have the long voyage back to England ahead of us,with countless hazards of sea and weather to face. If we areunfortunate enough to lose a ship, it may be the wrong one and we loseall the gold. If we spread the risk, then we stand to lose only aquarter and not the whole.” Why the hell did I not consider that?

Anderson thought, but said reluctantly, “They screwed your head on theright way-” He had almost called Tom “lad” but that no longer fitted.

“I will give the orders, Mr. Courtney.”

“We have twenty-six of our own men wounded, five of them seriously. Iwant a gang to build comfortable airy shelters above the beach to housethem, and the carpenters to make beds for them. Now, as to our dead,”Tom glanced across at the eight canvas-wrapped corpses lying in theshade of the grove, “I want them taken aboard the Minotaur. We willgive them a proper burial at sea. The Minotaur will sail out into thedeep water at first light tomorrow. Will you be good enough to conductthe service, Captain Anderson?”

“I will be honoured to do so.” Now, I will have Mr. Walsh issue a kegof brandy from the Seraph’s stores to Aboli in which to pickle al-Auf’shead.” When Tom entered the stern cabin, Hal stirred “” on the bunkand whispered, “Is that you, Tom?”

Swiftly Tom went to kneel beside him.

“Father, it is so good to have you back. You have been unconsciousthese last three days.”

“Three days? So long? Tell me what has happened since.”

“We prevailed, Father. Thanks to the sacrifice you made, we carriedthe fort. Al-Auf is dead. Aboli has his head pickled in a brandy keg,and we have taken a vast treasure from the fort.”

“Dorian?” Hal asked.

At that question, Tom felt the joy go out of him. He looked down athis father’s face. It was so pale that it seemed to have been dustedwith white flour, and there were deep purple half-moons under hiseyes.

“Dorian is not here.” Tom’s whisper was as soft as his father’s. Halclosed his eyes, and Tom thought he had passed out again. They weresilent for a long while. When Tom started to rise to his feet, Halopened his eyes again and rolled his head.

“Where is he? Where is Dorian?”

“Al-Auf sold him into slavery, but I do not know where they took himexcept that it must be somewhere on the mainland.” Hal struggled tosit up, but he did not have the strength to lift his shoulders from themattress.

“Help me, Tom.

Help me to my feet, I must go on deck. I must ready the ship to goafter him. We have to find Dorian.” Tom reached out to restrain him,thinking, He does not know. He felt a sorrow so deep it threatened todrown him. How do I tell him?

“Come, lad. Help me up. I am weak as a new-born foal.”

“Father, you cannot stand. They have taken your legs.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Tom. You test my patience.” His father wasbecoming so agitated that Tom feared that he might injure himself. Dr.Reynolds had warned that any violent movement might rupture the suturesand start the bleeding again. I have to convince him, for his owngood.

Tom stooped over Hal and drew back the light cotton coverlet from hislower body.

“Forgive me, Father. I have to show you.” Very gently he placed anarm under Hal’s shoulders and lifted him until he could look down athis own body.

The grotesquely foreshortened limbs lay on the mat, tress, each swathedin a turban of bandages on which the blood had dried in dirty brownstains. Hal stared at them for a long while, then fell back on hispillows. For a minute Tom thought he had fainted again. But then hesaw tears squeezing from between the tightly closed eyelids. That wastoo much for him to bear. He could not watch his father weep. He hadto leave him now to make his own terms with his destiny. He drew thesheet over him to hide those terrible injuries and tiptoed from thecabin, closing the door silently behind him.

When he came on deck, the longboat was ready to take him across to thewaiting Minotaur. Captain Anderson was on the quarterdeck, speakingquietly to All Wilson.

Tom glanced at the eight canvas-wrapped bodies. Each one was lying onits own grating, and a large round shot had been sewn into the foot ofeach shroud. He could recognize Daniel Fisher by his bulk: he dwarfedthe others who lay beside him.

“Mr. Wilson, kindly get us under way and p the ship ut on a course toclear the passage.” The Minotaur’s black sails were appropriate tothis sombre voyage. She left the island and bore out towards the westwhile the colour of the water beneath her keel changed from theturquoise green of the shallows to the royal purple of the oceandepths.

“Heave the ship to, please, Mr. Wilson.” The Minotaur rounded head tothe wind, and Anderson began to intone the sonorous words of the burialservice.

“Out of the deep have I called unto thee.. .” The wind mourned in therigging, while Tom stood bareheaded by the main mast and thought of howmuch he had lost in these last days: a father, a brother and a dearfriend.

“We therefore commit their bodies to the deep .”A sailor was standingby the head of each grating, and at the lk wards they lifted them inunison so that the shrouded bodies slid out over the ship’s side andplunged feet first into the sea, drawn swiftly under by the ironshot.

All Wilson nodded to the gunners standing by their cannon and the firstshot of the salute crashed out in a long spurt of silver gunsmoke.

“Goodbye, Big Danny. Goodbye, old friend,” Tom whispered.

Later that evening Tom sat beside his father’s bunk and, in a lowvoice, reported the day’s events to him. He was not certain that Halcould yet understand everything he told him, for he made no commentsand seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. However, talking tohim made Tom feel closer to him in spirit, and helped to assuage theloneliness of command, the onerous burden of which he was coming toknow for the first time.

When Tom at last fell silent and was about to go to his pallet on thedeck, Hal fumbled for his hand and squeezed it weakly.

“You’re a good lad, Tom” he whispered, “probably the best of all ofthem. I only wish-” He broke off and let Tom’s hand slide from hisgrip. His head rolled to the side and he snored softly. Tom wouldnever know what it was he had wished.

ver the next few days Tom noticed a slight improvement in his father’sstrength. He was able to concentrate for more than just a few minuteson what Tom had to report to him before he slumped intounconsciousness.

Within a week Tom was able to ask him for advice, and receive areasoned reply. However, when he consulted Dr. Reynolds as to whenhis father would be strong enough to begin the return voyage toEngland, the doctor shook his head.

“I will be able to remove the sutures from his legs in three days”time, that is fourteen days from the amputation. If you sail in amonth from now, you will still be subjecting him to severe risk,especially if we run into heavy weather.

To be safe, we should wait at least two months. He needs time to buildup his strength.” Tom went to find Anderson, and found him supervisingthe final loading of the heavy cargo they had captured.

This was mostly spices and cloth, including magnificent silks fromChina.

“Captain Anderson I have discussed with my father the question of theArab prisoners.”

“I hope he does not think of releasing them.

They are pirates, plain and simple. They have murdered hundreds ofhonest seamen.”

“We could never countenance releasing them,” Tom agreed.

“Apart from any other consideration, it would set a dangerousprecedent. We cannot let loose such a pack of tiger sharks to preyupon the sea lanes.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Anderson grunted.

“The rope’s end should be their final destination.”

“By the last count we have five hundred and thirty-five of them. That’sa great deal of rope, Captain Anderson, and I doubt we have enoughyard-arms on which to hang all of them out to dry.” Anderson suckedhis pipe as he thought about the logistical problems of executing somany men.

the other hand, they would be worth at least thirty pounds a head onthe slave block, perhaps more,” Tom pointed out.

Anderson stared at him, his blue eyes popping. He had not thought ofthat.

“God’s blood, they deserve it. But you cannot sell them in Zanzibar,”he said at last.

“The Sultan would never let you put Mussulmen up for sale in hismarkets. We would have another war on our hands.”

“The Dutch have no such qualms,” Tom said.

“They are always on the lookout for slaves to work their cinnamonplantations in Ceylon.”

“You are right.” Anderson chuckled with delight.

“It’s a round voyage of five thousand miles to Ceylon and back again,but the winds are fair and at thirty pounds a head it will be wellworth the detour.”

He did a quick mental calculation.

“Sweet heavens, that’s within spitting distance of sixteen thousandpounds.” He was silent again as he worked out his own share of thatamount, then grinned.

“Al-Auf had sufficient slave chains stored in the fort to accommodateall his own men quite handsomely. That has a fine touch of justice toit.”

“According to Dr. Reynolds, my father will not be well enough to sailfor at least two months. I propose that you should load the captiveson board the Yeoman and convey them to Colombo. When you have soldthem to the VOC governor there, you will rejoin us here. In themeantime I will send the captured dhow south to summon the Lamb fromwhere she is lying in the Gloriettas. We will make the return voyageto England in convoy. With fair winds and God’s grace, we can dropanchor in Plymouth Ho before Christmas.” The following day they loadedthe Arabs on board the Yeoman. The blacksmiths from all the ships wereneeded for the work of riveting the leg irons on to the ankles of thelong ranks of men. They were chained in batches of ten, then led downto the beach.

Tom was with Reynolds in the thatched hospital they had set up underthe palm trees. He was visiting the wounded sailors lying there,hoping to give them a little cheer and encouragement. Two had alreadydied when their wounds mortified and turned into the dreaded gasgangrene, but four had recovered sufficiently to return to their dutieson board ship, and Reynolds was optimistic that the others would soonfollow them.

Tom left the hospital and paused to watch the batches of prisonersshuffling past on their way to the waiting longboats. He felt acertain squeamishness at the thought that he was sending these men intoa life of captivity. The Dutch were not famous as the gentlest ofgaolers: he remembered the tales his father, Big Daniel and Aboli hadtold of their own experiences in the fort at Good Hope under theirDutch captors. Then he consoled himself that the decision had not beenhis alone: his father had concurred and signed the warrant for theirtransportation, under the powers granted him by the royal commission,while Captain Anderson had been positively delighted with the prospectof turning a fat profit on their sale. They were blood-smearedpirates, after all. When he thought of little Dorian, condemned to thesame fate, any pity he had felt for the prisoners withered.

Anyway, he had argued with his elders and convinced both his father andAnderson to exempt the women and children of the garrison from thesentence of transportation into slavery. There were fifty-seven ofthese unfortunates, some of them infants only months old. Many of thewomen were heavily and obviously pregnant.

Touchingly, five had elected to follow their husbands into captivityrather than suffer separation. The others would be kept here on Florde la Mar until suitable transport to Zanzibar could be arranged forthem.

He was about to turn away when the familiar face and silver beard ofBen Abram among the prisoners caught his eye.

“Bring that man to me,” he called to the guards, who pulled him out ofthe ranks and dragged him to where Tom stood.

A pox on you,” Tom reprimanded them.

“He is an old man. Treat him gently.” Then he spoke to Ben Abram.

“How is it that a man like you was with al-Auf?” Ben Abram shrugged.

“There are sick to be tended everywhere, even among the outlaws. Inever ask of a man’s good deeds or of his crimes when he comes to me tobe healed.”

“So, you treated the ferenghi prisoners of al-Auf as well as the truebelievers?” Tom asked.

“Of course. That is the will of Allah, the Compassionate.”

“You cared for my brother? You gave him comfort?”

“He is a winsome boy, your brother. I did what I could for him,” BenAbram said.

“But Allah knows, it was not as much as I would have wished.” Tomhesitated slightly before he countermanded his father’s orders, butthen he reached a decision.

“You have earned your freedom for that. I will send you back toZanzibar with the women and children.” He turned to the guards.

“Have this man’s chains struck off, then bring him back to me. He isnot to be transported to Ceylon with the rest of these blackguards.”When Ben Abram returned, free of his chains, Tom sent him to help thesurgeon’s mates in the makeshift thatched-roof hospital.

Laden with her human cargo, the Yeoman sailed with the following dawn,and Tom watched her from the beach until she disappeared below theeastern horizon. He knew that Anderson was optimistic in thinking hecould make the long voyage across the Indian Ocean to Ceylon and returnto Flor de la Mar within two months.

“The longer he takes, the more time for Father to grow strong again,”Tom whispered, as he closed the telescope and called for thelongboat.

s soon as Tom entered the stern cabin he realized that his father wasworse than when he had left him only hours before.

There was the sour smell of sickness in the cabin and Hal was flushed,restless. Once again he had relapsed into delirium.

“There are rats crawling on my body. Black rats, hairy-” He broke offand screamed, and struck Out at things Tom could not see. In a panicTom sent the longboat back to the island to fetch Dr. Reynolds.

Tom bent over Hal and touched his face. The skin was so hot that hejerked away his hand in surprise. Aboli brought a bowl of cool waterand they stripped back the sheets from Hal’s emaciated body, from whichthe fever had burned the flesh. As they exposed the stumps of his legsthe stench of corruption rose in a thick cloud, strong enough to makeTom gag.

“Tell the doctor to hurry!” he bellowed and heard his order relayed tothe approaching longboat. Aboli and Tom bathed the fever-hot body andlaid wet cloths over Hal’s trunk to try to reduce his temperature. Tomwas relieved when at last Reynolds came down the passage and hurried toHal’s side. He unwound the bandages.

Immediately the stink in the small hot cabin was stronger.

Tom stood behind him and peered in horror at the stumps of his father’slegs. They were swollen purple red, and the stitches of black cat-gutwere almost hidden in the puffy flesh.

“AhP Reynolds murmured, and leaned forward to sniff the wounds like aconnoisseur nosing a fine claret.

“They have ripened very prettily. At last I can pluck the sutures.” Herolled up his sleeves, and called for the pewter bowl.

“Hold it like that under the stump,” he told Tom.

“Hold him down!” he ordered Aboli, who leaned over Hal and took hisshoulders gently in his huge hands.

Reynolds took a firm hold of the end of one of the strings of cat-gutthat hung out between the pursed crimson lips of the wound, and tuggedat it. Hal stiffened and screamed, and the sweat burst out across hisforehead in a white rash. The black string came free and slithered outof the wound, followed by a gush of greenish yellow pus, which drippedthick as cream into the pewter bowl. Hal dropped back on the pillowsin a dead faint.

Reynolds took the bowl from Tom and sniffed the vile effluent again.

“Lovely! It’s benign, not a taint of gas gangrene to it.”

While Tom knelt at his side, he plucked out the other sutures one at atime from the inflamed, swollen flesh. Each had a tiny piece of yellowdetritus, the remains of the decayed blood vessel, caught in the knotat the end. He dropped them into the bowl. When he had finished herebandaged the stumps with fresh white cotton strips.

“Should we not wash the legs first?” Tom asked diffidently.

Reynolds shook his head firmly.

“We will let them heal in the pus. It is safer to let nature take itsown course without interference,” he said, sternly.

“Your father’s chances of survival are now very much improved, andwithin another few days I will be able to remove the main stitches thatare holding the flaps of the stumps.”

That night his father rested much easier, and by the morning the heat-and inflammation of his wounds had !” abated considerably.

Three days later Reynolds removed the remaining stitches. He snippedthe black threads with a pair of scissors and used ivory tweezers topull the last remainin pieces of cat-gut from the tormented flesh.

Within days thereafter Hal was able to sit up with pillows proppedbehind his back, and to take a keen, intelligent interest in thereports Tom gave him of events.

“I have sent the captured dhow south to the Gloriettas to fetch theLamb. She should rejoin the squadron within two weeks at the latest,”Tom told him.

“I shall be relieved when we have her and that fat cargo of tea oncemore under our guns,” Hal said.

“She’s very vulnerable lying down there unprotected.” Tom’s estimatewas accurate, and it was exactly fourteen days later that the twovessels, the small dhow and the matronly Lamb, sailed through the passin the reef and dropped anchor once more in the lagoon of Flor de laMar.

from had Mustapha, the captain of the dhow, and his terrified crewbrought down from the cells in the fort where they had been imprisonedsince their capture by the Minotaur. When they were paraded beforehim, they fell on their knees before him in the white beach sand, fullybelieving that the hour of their execution had come at last.

“I do not believe you are guilty of piracy,” Tom said, to calm theirfears.

“As Allah is my witness, what you say is the truth, exalted one,”Mustapha agreed fervently, and touched the sand with his forehead.

When he looked up again his forehead was dusted with the white grainslike a sugared bun.

“I am setting you free,” Tom reassured him, “but I make only onecondition. You must take certain passengers back with you to the portof Zanzibar. The chief of these is, like you, an honest man and a sonof the Prophet. There are also the women and children who were withalAuf when we captured the island.”

“The blessings of Allah upon you, wise and compassionate one!” Mustaphagenuflected again and tears of joy streamed down into his beard.

“However,” Tom cut short this show of gratitude, “there is no doubt inmy mind that you came here to trade with al-Auf, and that you knew fullwell that the goods he offered were the plunder of a pirate and thatthey were besmirched with the blood of innocent men.”

“I call on God to witness that I did not know,” Mustapha criedpassionately.

Tom cocked his head on one side and looked heavenwards for a minute.Then he said drily, “God does not seem to answer your call.

Therefore, I will fine you the amount of sixty, five thousand golddinars, which is, by a remarkable coincidence, exactly the sum we foundin your chest when we searched your ship.” Mustapha wailed with horrorat such terrible injustice, but Tom turned away and told the guards,”Release them.

Give them back the dhow and let them go. They will take all the womenand children. The Arab physician, Ben Abram, will go with them too,but send him to me before he goes aboard the dhow.” When Ben Abramcame, Tom led him away to the end of the long white beach so that theycould make their farewells in privacy.

“Mustapha, the owner of the dhow, has agreed to take you to Zanzibarwhen he sails.” Tom gestured across the water of the lagoon to wherethe small ship lay at anchor.

“He is taking the women and children from the garrison on board now.”

They watched the refugees being ferried aboard, clutching their infantsand pathetic bundles of their possessions.

Ben Abram nodded gravely.

“I offer you my thanks, but Allah will write your true reward againstyour name.

You are young, but you will grow up to be a man of power.

I have seen you fight. Any man who can overcome al-Auf in singlecombat is a warrior indeed.” He nodded again as he considered thatfeat of arms.

“The manner in which you have treated those weaker than yourself, thewidows and orphans, shows that you temper your strength with com,passion, and that will make you great.”

“You are also a man of great heart,” Tom told him.

“I have watched you work with the sick and wounded, even those who donot follow the teachings of your Prophet.”

“God is great,” Ben Abram intoned.

“In his sight we are all worthy of mercy.”

“Even the young children.”

“Especially the young children,” Ben Abram agreed.

“That is why, old father, you are going to tell me those thingsconcerning my brother that so far you have kept from me.” Ben Abramcame up short and stared at Tom, but Tom returned his gaze steadily andBen Abram dropped his eyes.

“You know the name of the man who bought my brother from al-Auf,” Tominsisted.

“You know his name.” Ben Abram stroked his beard and looked out tosea.

Then, at last, he sighed.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“I know his name, but he is a mighty man, of royal blood. I cannotbetray him.

That is why I have concealed his name from you, even though I havesympathy for your loss.” Tom was silent, allowing the old man towrestle with his conscience and his sense of duty. Then Ben Abramsaid, “You already know the man’s name.” Tom stared at him, puzzled.

“You captured one of his dhows,” Ben Abram prompted him.

Tom’s expression cleared.

“Al-Malik!” he exclaimed.

“Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik?”

“I did not say the name,” said Ben Abram.

“I did not betray my prince.”

“So the lakh of rupees that was on board the dhow of al-Malik wasindeed the payment for my brother, as we suspected?” Tom asked.

“I cannot say if that is true.” Ben Abram ruffled his silver beard.

“But neither can I say that it is false.”

“Both my father and I believed that was so, but I could not understandhow Dorry could be gone from Flor de la Mar before the payment arrivedon the island. I cannot believe that al-Auf would trust anyone withsuch a valuable slave as Dorry without receiving full payment first.”The old man replied, “The Prince is the most powerful man in Araby,save only for his elder brother, the Caliph himself. Al-Malik cannotcount his ships and his gold, his warriors and his camels, his slavesand his wives.

His fame spreads from the mighty River Nile and the deserts of thenorth, east to the kingdom of the Great Mogul, west to the forbiddenforests of Africa, and south to the land of the Monamatapa.”

“You are saying that al-Auf trusted him with the debt of a lakh ofrupees?” Tom demanded.

“I am saying that al-Auf trusted no living man, but Prince Abd Muhammadal-Malik.”

“When you leave here, Ben Abram, will you return to Lamu, whereal-Malik is the governor?” I ” will return to Lamu,” the old managreed.

“Per-chance you will see my brother again?”

“That is in the hands of God.”

“If God is kind, will you give a message to my brother?”

“Your brother is a boy of great beauty and courage.” Ben Abram smiledat the memory.

“I called him my little red lion cub. Because of the kindness you haveshown me, and because of the affection I have for the child, I willcarry your message to him.”

“Tell my brother that I will be true to the dreadful oath I swore tohim. I will never forget that oath, not even on the day of my death.”Dorian sat on a mattress on the stone floor. The only air in his cellcame through the narrow loophole opposite him. It was a faint eddy ofthe monsoon that reached him, and kept the heat bearable.

When he listened he could hear the sounds of prisoners in the othercells along the passage, their muttering broken at intervals byoutbursts of abusive shouting at their Arab guards and bitter argumentamong themselves. They were like dogs confined in cages too small fortheir numbers, and in the oppressive heat these naturally aggressive,violent sailors became murderous. Only yesterday he had heard thesounds of a terrible conflict, and of a man being strangled to death inthe next cell while his mates cheered on the murder. Dorian shudderednow, and reapplied himself to the task he had chosen to while away themonotony of his captivity. He was using a link of his leg irons toscratch his name into the wall. Many others who had been confined inthis cell had left their marks carved into the soft coral blocks.

The Monsoon

“Perhaps one day Tom will find my name here and know what happened tome,” he told himself, as he rubbed away at the stone.

His captors had put the chains on him only the previous morning.

At first they had left him unfettered, then yesterday they had caughthim trying to wriggle out through the narrow loophole in the farwall.

Dorian had not been daunted by the thirty-foot drop below the opening,and he had succeeded in forcing the top half of his small body throughit before there had been cries of alarm behind him, his gaolers hadseized his ankles and dragged him back into the cell.

They held him while he struggled like a fish on a hook.

“Al-Auf will have no mercy on us if the infidel puppy injures himself.Bring the slave chains.” A blacksmith had altered the fetters to fithis small ankle.

“Make certain that the iron does not gall him. Al-Auf will kill theman who marks his white skin or harms one red hair on his head.” Apartfrom the leg-irons, they treated him with consideration and respect.Every morning, despite his struggles, two veiled women took him down tothe courtyard. They stripped him and oiled his body, then bathed himat the rainwater cistern. On board ship Dorian had gone for months ata time without bathing, there was no fresh water for such extravagance,added to which all seamen knew that too much washing reduced thenatural oils of the skin and was bad for the health. The Mussulmenwere strangely addicted to these excesses of personal cleanlinessDorian had watched them wash five times a day, before they went throughthe ritual of their prayers, so even though it threatened his health,he had to resign himself to this daily ordeal by water. He even grewto welcome the break in the dreary routine of his captivity, and hadmore trouble each time in rousing his temper to register hisprotests.

Occasionally he made a rather half-hearted attempt to bite one of thewomen, especially when they handled the more intimate parts of hisanatomy. Soon, though, they were ready for this, and avoided hisattacks while shrieking with laughter. They exclaimed endlessly overDorian’s hair as they fondled, combed, brushed and coiled it into thickshiny ropes. They had replaced his noisome, tattered rags with a cleanwhite robe.

In every other way, too, they took good care of him, They had placed asoft, beautiUly tanned sheepskin over the palm fronds of his mattress.They had given him a silk “A pillow for his head, and an oil lamp tolight the long hours of the night. There was always a water-jar withinhis reach and the evaporation through the porous clay kept the contentscool. The women fed him three times a day, and although at first hehad vowed to starve himself to death simplY to spite them, the aroma ofthe food they offered him was too tempting for his young appetite toresist.

Although his solitary existence was hard to bear, he knew that heshould be grateful that he had not been placed in the crowded cellsfurther along the passageway.

He had been warned by both his father and Tom about what could happento a pretty little boy if he were placed at the mercy of vile, depravedolder men.

His chain was just long enough for him to reach the step below theloophole, and though he could climb up and look out through the tinywindow he could not repeat his previous escape attempt. When he wasnot busy carving his name into the wall he spent hours gazing out overthe lagoon where al-Auf’s fleet was anchored. He longed for even aglimpse of the white topsails of the Seraph over that distant bluehorizon.

“Tom will come,” he promised himself each dawn, as he searched thelightening ocean.

Each dusk he watched until the horizon receded into the wine-purpleshades of night, and he bolstered himself with the same words: “Tompromised, and he always keeps his promises. He will come tomorrow. Iknow he will.” Every few days his gaolers came to take him down to BenAbram. The Mussulman doctor had named Dorian Lion Cub, which hadstuck. His gaolers were as wary of his temper as the women, and handedhim over to Ben Abram with relief The doctor examined him carefullyfrom the top of his shining head to his bare feet for any sign ofneglect or abuse. He was especially concerned that the leg-irons hadnot marked his white skin, and that he had been properly fed andattended to.

“Are they treating you well, little red Lion Cub?”

“No, they beat me every day,” Dorian replied defiantly.

“And they BURN me with red-hot irons.”

“Are they feeding you well?”

Ben Abram smiled kindly at this patent lie.

“They give me worms to eat and rat’s piss to drink.”

“You are thriving on that diet,” Ben Abram remarked.

“I should try it myself.”

“My hair is falling out,” Dorian contradicted him.

“Soon I will be bald and then al-Auf will send you to the executionground.” Dorian was aware of the peculiar value that the Mussulmenplaced on his hair, but the old man had fallen for his threat ofbaldness only once.

Now he smiled again and ruffled the luxuriant tresses.

“Come with me, my bald Lion Cub.” He took Dorian’s hand, and for oncethe boy did not try to pull away. In his aching loneliness, which hetried so hard to conceal, Dorian was drawn irresistibly to the kindlyold man. He went along with him to the audience chamber where alAufwas waiting.

There was a ritual to these gatherings in which Dorian was displayed tothe latest prospective buyer. While they argued and haggled, inspectedhis hair and his naked body, Dorian stood rigid, staring at them with ascowl of theatrical fijry and hatred, silently composing the most foulinsult his increasing command of Arabic afforded him.

Always there came the moment during the negotiations when the buyerasked, “But does he speak the language of the Prophet?” Then al-Aufwould turn back to Dorian and order, “Say something, child.”

Dorian would draw himself up and let fly with his latest composition.

“May Allah blacken thy face, and rot the teeth in thy cursed jaws.” Or”May he fill thy bowels with worms, and dry the milk in the udders ofall the goats whom thou hast ever taken to wife.” There was alwaysconsternation among the prospective buyers at these sallies.

Afterwards when Ben Abram walked him back to his cell he wouldreprimand Dorian primly.

“Where did such a beautiful child learn such evil words?” But his eyeswould twinkle merrily in their webs of wrinkles.

But on the final occasion when he entered the audience chamber, Dorianwas aware of a different atmosphere.

The man to whom he was being shown was not some rough dhow captain orfat oleaginous merchant: he was a prince.

He sat in the centre of the floor on a pile of silk cushions and rugs,yet his back was straight and his when was regal. Although a dozenattendants sat behind him in attitudes of fawning subservience therewas no arrogance in the man. His dignity was imperious and hispresence monumental. In the family Bible at High Weald there was apicture of St. Peter, the Rock. The resemblance of this man to himwas so striking that Dorian thought that they must be the same person.He was overcome with religious awe.

“Greet the mighty Prince al-Malik,” al-Auf insisted, when Dorian stoodspeechless before this reincarnation of Christ’s apostle.

Evidently al-Auf was nervous of Dorian’s reaction to this command forhe tugged anxiously at his beard.

“Show the Prince respect or I will have you thrashed,” he urged.

Dorian knew that the threat was baseless: al-Auf would never mark himand spoil his value. He continued to stare at the man before him inawe.

“Make your salaams to the Prince!” al-Auf urged him.

Dorian felt his rebellious instincts shrivel in the presence of thisman. Without conscious thought he made an obeisance of deep respect.

Al-Auf looked startled, and decided to press this unexpected advantage.He hoped that the boy would eschew any reference to female goats orrotting teeth.

“Speak to the exalted Prince! Greet him in the language of theProphet,” he commanded.

Without having to think about it, Dorian recalled an exercise AllWilson had set them during a long afternoon on the after-deck when theSeraph had lain becalmed in the doldrums. He had been trying toexplain the similarities between Islamic and Christian beliefs. Now,in his sweet, unbroken voice, Dorian recited from the Koran: “I am buta man like yourselves, but the inspiration has come to me that your Godis one God. Whoever expects to meet his Lord, let him workrighteousness.” There was a sharp intake of breath from every man inthe chamber. Even the Prince leaned forward quickly, and stared raptlyinto Dorian’s clear green eyes.

Dorian was delighted with the sensation he had created. He had alwaysenjoyed the theatrical performances Master Walsh had arranged at HighWeald and on board ship, when Dorian had usually been cast as awoman.

However, this was undoubtedly his most acclaimed performance.

In the long silence the Prince straightened slowly and turned to theman who sat immediately behind him.

Dorian saw by his dress that he was a Mullah, a religious leader, theIslamic equivalent of a priest.

“Expound on the child’s words, the Prince ordered.

“It is verse one hundred and ten of Sura eighteen,” the Mullah admittedreluctantly. His face was round and glossy with good living, and a potbelly bulged on to his lap. His straggly goatee beard had been dyed afaded orange with henna.

“The child has quoted it accurately, but even a parrot can be trainedto mouth words he does not understand.” The Prince turned back toDorian.

“What do you understand by righteousness, child?” All Wilson hadprepared him for that, and Dorian did not hesitate.

“It is the true respect for God, which shuns the worship Of idols, aideified men, or the forces of nature, or especially of one’s own self.”Al-Malik turned back to his Mullah.

“Are those the words of a parrot?” he asked.

The holy man looked discomfited.

“They are not, lord.

They are wise words indeed.”

“How old are you, child.” Al-Malik fixed Dorian with his dark,piercing gaze.

“I am eleven, almost twelve,” Dorian told him proudly.

“Are you of Islam?”

“I would rather my nose were eaten away with leprosy,” Dorianreplied.

“I am a Christian.” Neither the Prince nor the Mullah showed shock oranger at such a vehement denial. They, too, would have rejected anysuggestion of apostasy as strongly.

“Come here, boy,” al-Malik ordered, not unkindly, and Dorian steppedcloser to him. He reached out and took a handful of Dorian’s freshlywashed, glistening hair. Dorian submitted patiently as he ran itthrough his fingers. Thus must have been the very hair of theProphet,” he said softly.

Every man in the room echoed, “Praise be to God.”

“You may send him away now,” al-Malik told al-Auf.

“I have seen enough and we must talk.” Ben Abram took Dorian’s handand they went to the door.

“Guard him well,” al-Malik called after them, “but treat him gently.”Ben Abram made the gesture of respect and obedience, touching his lipsand his heart, and led Dorian back to his cell.

Al-Aufs servants brought fresh pots of coffee.

While one recharged the Prince’s tiny cup of pure gold with the tarrythick brew, another relit his hookah.

The bargaining for such a momentous purchase could not be hurried.

Gradually with long, pregnant pauses and elaborate exchanges, expressedin poetic, flowery phrases, the two men moved closer to an agreement.Al-Auf had doubled his asking price to two lakhs in order to givehimself latitude within which to manoeuvre, and gradually allowedhimself to be beaten down.

It was long after dark when, by the light of the oil lamps and in thefragrant smoke of the pipe, they reached agreement on the slave pricefor the child.

“I do not travel with so much gold in my ship,” alMalik said.

“I

will take the child with me when I sail on the morrow, and I will senda fast dhow back to you as soon as I reach Lamu. You will have yourlakh before the rise of the new moon. My sacred oath on it.” Al-Aufbarely hesitated.

“As the great Prince decrees.”

“Leave me now, for the hour grows late and I wish to pray Al-Auf roseimmediately. He had relinquished his own quarters to al-Malik for hewas honoured to play host to such an exalted guest, and as he backedtowards the door he made a series of deep genuflections.

“May the hour is of paradise attend your dreams, great Prince.

“May your awakening be perfumed with the scent of violets, mightyone.

May your prayers fly like gold-tipped arrows straight to the ears ofAllah, O Beloved of the Prophet.” Dorian could not sleep. The senseof elation he had experienced after his meeting with the Prince hadlong since evaporated and left him frightened and lonely once more. Heknew that, yet again, his circumstances had changed and that he wasabout to be thrown on dark, uncertain waters. Much as he hated hispresent dreary captivity, it was something to which he had grownaccustomed. And there were small consolations in his presentposition:

he had grown to like and depend upon the old Arab doctor. Ben Abramwas a friendly face and Dorian sensed he had his interests at heart.

Also, while he was on this island there was always a chance that hisfather and Tom would be able to follow the trail that led to him.

If he were to be taken off to some other place by this fearsome prince,what chance then that they would still be able to track him down?

He was too afraid to blow out the flame of the oil lamp although itattracted the mosquitoes to his tiny cell, and preferred to scratchrather than lie awake in the dark.

Below the walls of the fort, the palm fronds clattered softly in theunrelenting winds of the monsoon. He hugged himself and listened tothe mournful sound of the wind, fighting back the temptation to give into his tears.

Then he heard a different sound on the wind, so light that at first itdid not quite penetrate the dark mists of his misery. it died away,then came back stronger and more clearly. He sat up and reached forthe lamp. His fingers were trembling so that he almost dropped it.

He stumbled across the cell to the step below the loophole, and came upat the full stretch of his chain. He placed the lamp on the sill andlistened again. There was no mistake: somebody was whistling softlydown there at the edge of the forest, and as he recognized the tune hisheart leaped and soared.

It’s Tom. He wanted to scream it aloud, and he strained against hischain to reach the opening. He tried to sing the next line of thesong, but his voice broke and his lips were numb with excitement. Hegathered himself and tried again, pitching his voice so softly that itwould not carry to the guards at the end of the passage or to thewatchmen on the ramparts of the fort above him: We’ll rant and we’llroar, all o’er the wild ocean, We’ll rant and we’ll roar, all o’er thewild seas.

The whistling out there in the night broke off abruptly. He strainedhis ears but heard no more. He Wanted to call out but knew it mightalert someone. so held Suddenly there was a scrabbling sound closeoutside his tongue, though it burned in his mouth like a live coal.

the loophole, and Tom’s voice.

“Dorry!”

“Tom! Oh, I knew you would come. I knew you would keep yourpromise.”

“Shh, Dorry! Not so loud. Can you climb out through the window?”

“No, Tom. I’m chained to the wall.”

“Don’t cry, Dorry. They’ll hear you.”

“I’m not crying.”

Dorian stuffed his fingers into his mouth to muffle the sounds of hisweeping.

Tom’s head appeared in the opening of the window.

“Here!” Dorian gulped back the last sob and reached with both handsthrough the loophole.

“Give me your hand.” Tom struggled to force his way through the tinyopening but at last -fell back.

“Its no good, Dorry.” Their faces were only a foot apart.

“We’ll have to come back for you.

“Please don’t leave me here, Tom,” Dorian begged.

“The Seraph is waiting just off-shore. Father, Aboli and I we are allhere. We will be back for you soon.”

“Tom!”

“No, Dorry. Don’t make so much noise. I swear to you we’ll come backfor you.”

“Tom, don’t leave me alone! Tom!” His brother was going, he could notbear it. Dorian pulled desperately at his arm, trying to force him tostay.

“Let go, Dorry! You’ll make me fall.” Then there was a shout from thebattlements above them, and a voice cried -out in Arabic: “Who is it?Who is down there?”

“The guards, Dorry. Let me go.” Suddenly Dorian felt his brother’sarm torn from his grip and at the same time there came the roar of amusket shot from close above their heads. He knew his brother below.

had been hit, and he heard his body slide down the wall, Please, God,no!” Dorian cried. He tried to then, owhi-thnoyerrible thump, hit theground far Put his head through the loophole far enough to see if hisbrother was truly killed, but the chain held him back.

There was a chorus of shouts and a wild fusillade of musket fire fromthe top of the walls. Quickly, confusion spread through the garrison.Within minutes he heard Arab voices at the foot of the wall below hiswindow.

“There is nobody here,” someone shouted up at the guards on theramparts above Dorian’s head.

“I know I hit him!” the guard shouted down.

“He must be there.”

“No, there is no one here, but I see the marks where he fell.”

“He must have escaped into the forest.”

“Who was it?”

“A Frank. His face was very white in the moonlight.” Their voicesreceded into the forest.

Then Dorian heard more shouting and musket fire, and the sound of menblundering about among the trees. Gradually the noises receded intothe distance.

Dorian stood by the loophole for the rest of that night, waiting andlistening. But slowly the last sparks of hope flickered out, and whenthe grey dawn at last lit the bay and the ocean beyond, there was nosight of the Seraph.

Only then did he creep back to his sheepskin, and bury his face in thesilk pillow to stifle his sobs and to soak up his tears.

They came to fetch him at noon. The two women who had taken care ofhim were weeping and wailing at the prospect of losing their charge,and when the gaoler unlocked his leg-iron he said gruffly, “Go withGod, little monkey. There will be nobody to make us laugh when you aregone.” Ben Abram took him down to where al-Auf waited for him, handsclasped angrily on his hips, beard bristling with rage.

“What Frankish dogs were those that came sniffing around your kennellast night, puppy?” he demanded.

“I know nothing of this.” Although he still felt bereft and fearful,Dorian put on a show of defiance.

“I was sleeping and I heard nothing in the night. Perhaps the devilsent you evil dreams.” He would never betray Tom to them.

“I do not have to accept your impudence any longer.” Al-Auf steppedcloser.

“Answer me, you seed of Satan!

Who was at the window of your cell? The guards heard you talking tothe intruder.” Dorian stared up at him silently, but he was gatheringa ball of spit under his tongue.

“I am waiting!” al-Auf told him menacingly, and lowered his face untiltheir eyes were only inches apart.

“Wait no longer,” Dorian said, and spat his mouthful into al-Auf’sface. The pirate recoiled in astonishment, then a terrible ragedistorted his features and he whipped the curved dagger from hisbelt.

“You will never do that again,” he swore.

“I’ll have your infidel heart for id” As he started his stroke, BenAbram leaped forward.

For a man of such age he was quick and agile. He locked both hands onal-Auf’s knife wrist. Although he did not have the strength to stopthe stroke, he deflected it from Dorian’s chest. The glittering pointof the dagger snagged in the sleeve of his white robe and left a cleanrent in the material.

Al-Auf staggered back, thrown off-balance by the unexpected attack.Then, almost contemptuously, he threw the old man to the ground.

“You will pay for that, you ancient fool.” He stepped over him.

“Lord, do not harm the child. Think of the prophecy and of the gold,”Ben Abram pleaded, and seized the hem of al-Aufs robe. The corsairhesitated. The warning had touched him.

“A lakh of rupees to lose,” Ben Abram insisted.

“And the curse of St. Tainitaim upon your head if you kill him.”Al-Auf stood uncertainly, but his lips twitched and his knife handtrembled. He stared at Dorian with such hatred that at last the boy’scourage failed and he shrank back against the wall.

“The spittle of an infidel! It is worse than the blood of a swine!”

“He has defiled me!” Al-Auf was whipping up his faltering anger.

He started forward again, then froze as a peremptory voice boomedacross the chamber.

“Stop! Put down that knife! What madness is this?” Prince al-Malaliktowered in the entrance to the chamber.

Summoned by the shouting and the uproar, he had come through from thesleeping quarters at the back. Al-Auf dropped the dagger andprostrated himself on the stone flags.

“Forgive me, noble Prince,” he blubbered.

“For a moment Shaitan stole my wits.”

“I should send you to visit your own execution field,” al-Malik saidcoldly.

“I am dust in your sight,” al-Auf whimpered.

“The child is no longer your property. He belongs to me,”

“I will atone for my stupidity in any way you wish, only do not turnthe face of wrath upon me, great Prince.” Al-Malik did not deign toreply, but looked at Ben Abram.

“Take the child down to the lagoon at once and have him placed on boardmy dhow. The captain is expecting his arrival. I will followpresently. We will sail with the high tide this very night.” Two ofthe Prince’s men escorted Dorian down to the lagoon, and Ben Abramwalked with him, holding his hand. Dorian’s face was pale, his jawsclenched hard in the effort to maintain a brave face. They did notspeak until they reached the beach and the skiff from the royal dhowwas waiting to take Dorian out to where she lay at anchor.

Then Dorian begged Ben Abram, “Please come with me.”

” “I

cannot do that.” The old man shook his head.

“Just as far as the dhow, then. Please. You are the only friend Ihave left in the whole world.”

“Very well, but only as far as the dhow.” Ben Abram climbed into theboat beside him, and Dorian moved up close beside him.

“What will happen to me now?” he asked in a whisper.

Ben Abram replied gently, “Whatever is the will of God, my Lion Cub.”

“Will they hurt me? Will they sell me to some other person?”

“The Prince will keep you beside him always,” Ben Abram reassuredhim.

“How can you be so certain?” Dorian laid his head on Ben Abram’sarm.

“Because of the prophecy of St. Taimtaim. He will never let you go.You are too valuable to him.”

“What is this- prophecy?” Dorian sat up again and looked into hisface.

“Everyone speaks of the prophecy, but nobody tells me what it says.”

“It is not the time for you to know.” Ben Abram drew the child’s headdown again.

“One day it will all be made clear to you.”

“Can’t you tell me now?”

“It might be dangerous for you to know. You must be patient, littleone.” The skiff bumped against the side of the dhow, men were waitingto receive Dorian.

“I don’t want to go.” He clung to Ben Abram.

“It is the will of God.” Gently the old man disentangled Dorian’sfingers. The sailors reached down and lifted him onto the deck.

“Please stay with me a little longer,” Dorian said imploringly, lookingdown into the small boat.

Ben Abram could not refuse the appeal.

“I will stay with you until you sail,” he agreed, and followed Doriandown to the small cabin that had been set aside for him.

He sat beside him on the mattress and reached into the pouch on hisbelt.

“Drink this.” He brought out a small green glass vial, and profferedit.

“What is it?”

“It will soften the pain of our parting, and make you sleep.” Doriandrank the contents of the vial and pulled a face.

“It tastes awful.”

“Like rat’s piss?” Ben Abram smiled, and Dorian burst out in laughterthat was close to a sob, and hugged him.

“Now lie down.” The old man pushed Dorian back on the mattress, andfor a while they talked together quietly.

Then Dorian’s eyelids began to droop. He had not slept at all thenight before and his weariness and the drug soon overpowered him.

Ben Abram stroked his head for the last time.

“Go with God, my child,” he said softly, rose from the mattress andwent on deck.

he clumping of feet above his head and the movement of the hull throughthe water as the dhow got under way woke Dorian. He looked around forBen Abram, but found him gone. Instead a strange woman was squattingon the deck beside his mattress. In her black robe and veil, shelooked like a roosting vulture.

Dorian stood up groggily and staggered to the small porthole in thecabin. Outside it was dark, and the stars were dancing on the watersof the lagoon. The sweet night air blowing into his face revived him,and cleared his mind a little. He wanted to go up on deck but when heturned to the doorway the woman stood up and barred his way.

“You must not leave here until the Prince calls for you.” Dorianargued with her for a while but then gave up the futile effort andreturned to the porthole. He watched the walls of the fort glide by,glistening white in the moonlight, as the dhow left the lagoon andthreaded its way through the channel. Then he felt the deck surgeunder his feet at the first strong scend of the ocean. As the shipturned towards the west his view of the moonlit island was cut out. Hejumped down from the porthole and threw himself on the mattress.

The black-veiled woman went to the porthole and closed the heavy woodenshutter over it. At that moment the lookout on the deck just aboveDorian’s head shouted, so suddenly that Dorian jumped, “What boat areyou?”

“Fishing boats with the night’s catch,” came the answer.

The reply was faint, almost inaudible with distance and the closedshutter over the porthole, but Dorian’s heart leaped against his ribs,then raced away with excitement.

“Father!” he gasped. Although the voice had spoken in

Arabic, he had recognized it instantly. He flung himself across thecabin, and tried to reach the window, but the woman seized him.

“Mother!” he screamed, as he wrestled with her, but she was heavilybuilt, with big breasts and a full soft belly. And although she wasfat, she was powerful. She caught him round the chest and threw himback onto the mattress.

“Let me go!” he screamed at her in English.

“That’s my father.

Let me go to him.” The woman lay on top of him with her full weight,pinning him down.

“You cannot leave the cabin,” she grunted.

“It is the command of the Prince.” Dorian wrestled with her, but thenfroze as from out there in the night his father hailed the dhowagain.

“What boat are you?” His voice was growing fainter. The dhow must bepulling away fast.

“The ship of the Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik,” the lookout calledback, his voice strong and clear.

“Go with Allah!” Hal’s voice was so faint and far away that it came asa whisper to Dorian’s ears.

“Father!” he yelled, with all his strength, but the woman’s weight waspressing on his chest, smothering him.

“Don’t go! It’s me! It’s Dorry!” he cried, in despair because heknew that his muffled cry could never carry from the closed cabinacross the water to his father’s ear.

With a sudden twist and heave he threw off the big woman and slippedout from under her. Before she could hoist her bulk to her feet he haddarted to the cabin door.

As he struggled with the lock, she lumbered at him. He just managed tothrow open the door as her fingers hooked into the collar of his robe.He threw himself forward with such force that the cotton ripped and hewriggled free.

Dorian shot up the companionway with the woman hard after him,screeching at the top of her voice, “Stop him! Catch the infidel!” AnArab seaman was waiting for Dorian at the top of the stairs and blockedhis way with outstretched arms but Dorian dropped to the deck and,quick as a ferret, wriggled between his legs. He raced down the decktowards the stern.

He could see the dark shape of the longboat from the Seraph movingacross the slick waters of the dhow’s wake, pulling away swiftlytowards the island, the oars swinging and dripping phosphorescence fromtheir blades. A figure stood tall in the stern. Dorian knew it washis father.

“Don’t leave me!” His voice was small in the night.

He reached the stern rail and jumped onto it, gathering himself to diveoverboard into the dark waters, but a strong hand closed on his ankleand dragged him down. Within seconds he was covered by the weight ofhalf a dozen Arab crewmen. They carried him back down thecompanionway, kicking, biting and scratching, and pushed him into thecabin.

“If you had jumped into the sea, they would have thrown me after you tobe eaten by the fish,” the fat old woman complained bitterly.

“How can you be so cruel to me?” She huffed and fussed, and sent toask the captain to post two men outside the cabin door, then she madecertain the shutter over the porthole and the cabin door were bothsecurely barred to prevent another escape attempt. Dorian was sodistraught and exhausted that when he fell asleep at last it was asthough he were still drugged.

It was almost midday when she woke him.

“The Prince has sent for you,” she told him, “and he will be angry withold Tahi if you are dirty and smelly as a kid goat.” Once again hesubmitted to being bathed and having his hair combed and dressed withperfumed oil. Then he was led to the pavilion on the foredeck of thedhow.

A roof of canvas shaded the area from the scorching tropical sun almostdirectly overhead, but the sides of the tentlike structure were raisedto let the cool winds of the monsoon blow through. The deck had beencovered with silk rugs and the Prince reclined on a slightly raised daiis, on a bed of cushions, while the mullah and four others of hispersonal retinue sat cross-legged below him. They were in deepdiscussion when Dorian was brought to them, but al-Malik gestured themto silence as Tahi brought the child to stand before him.

She prostrated herself on the deck, and when Dorian refused to followher example, she tugged at his ankle.

“Show respect for the Prince!” she hissed at him.

“Or else he will have you beaten.” Dorian was determined to resist herorder. He set his jaw and raised his eyes to stare into the Prince’sface. After only a few seconds he felt his determination waver and hedropped his eyes. Somehow he found it impossible to defy this regalperson. He made the gesture of respect.

“Salaam aliekum, lord!” he whispered, and prostrated himself.

Al-Malik’s expression remained stern, but little laughter linescrinkled around his eyes.

“And peace unto you also, al-Ahmara.” He beckoned Dorian to comecloser, then indicated a cushion below his dais, close to his righthand.

“Sit here, where I can stop you jumping over the ship’s side when nextthe cafard, the madness, overtakes you.”

Dorian obeyed without protest, whereupon the men ignored him andcontinued with their discussions. For a while Dorian attempted tofollow their conversation, but they spoke swiftly and in a formalmanner that tested his understanding to the limits. Their talk wasfull of the names of men and places of which he was ignorant. Oneplace name he recognized, though, was Lamu. He tried to orientatehimself, and conjured up in his mind’s eye the charts of the FeverCoast that he had been made to study so often during his navigationlessons with Ned Tyler.

Lamu was several hundred leagues north of Zanzibar.

It was a smaller island and, from what he remembered of the sailingorders in his father’s log book, it was another In ajar trading portand centre of government of the Omani empire.

He could tell by the wind direction and the angle of the afternoon sunthat the dhow was on an approximately northwesterly heading, whichwould indicate that Lamu was probably where they were heading. Hewondered what fate awaited him there, then craned his neck to look backover the stern.

There was no sign of Flor de la Mar on the horizon behind them.

During the night they must have run the island under and severed allcontact with the Seraph, his father and Tom. At the thought he feltagain that enervating mood of despair, but determined not to lethimself capitulate to it. He made another effort to follow thediscussions of the Prince and his retainers.

“Father will expect me to remember everything they say. It could bevery valuable to him in making his plans,” he told himself, but justthen the mullah stood up and went to the bows.

From there he began the call to prayer, in a high, quavering voice. ThePrince and his men broke off their discussions and made preparationsfor the midday worship. Slaves brought ewers of fresh water for thePrince and his retinue C to wash.

In the stern, the helmsman pointed up into the north, indicating thedirection of the holy city of Mecca, and every man aboard who could bespared from the running IF: of the dhow faced that way.

In unison, following the plaintive cries of the holy man, theyperformed the ritual of standing, kneeling and prostrating themselveson the deck, submitting themselves to the will of Allah and offeringhim their devotions.

This was the first time Dorian had been caught up in such anefflorescence of devotion. Although he sat apart from it, he felthimself strangely moved its rce. He had never felt the same way duringthe weekly services in the chapel at High Weald, and he followed thechanting and the exaltations with a keener interest than their localclergyman had ever evoked in him.

He looked up towards the heavens, into the vast blue bowl of theAfrican sky, filled with the cloud ranges marching ahead of the monsoonwinds. In religious awe, he imagined he could see in the eddies ofsilver cloud the beard of God and his terrible features adumbrated inthe shapes and outlines of the thunderheads.

Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik rose from his position of prostration andstood erect on the low dais, still facing towards the holy city,crossing his hands over his breast in the final expression of hisdevotion. Dorian looked up at his bearded face, and thought thatperhaps God looked like that, so noble, so terrifying, and yet sobenign.

The dhow was running before the monsoon, her huge lateen sail filledtight and hard as a water-skin. The single boom was carved from joinedlengths of some dark, heavy tropical timber, almost as thick as a man’swaist, and longer in all than the dhow herself. Its full weight washeld aloft on the stubby mast by the main halyard. As the dhow rolledto the swells, the shadow of the boom swung back and forth across thedeck, alternately shading the Prince’s regal figure, then allowing thefull brilliance of the tropical sunlight to pour down upon him. Hestood to his full height under the swinging boom. The Arab helmsman’sattention was diverted, and he allowed the bows of the ship to come uptoo far into the eye of the wind. The sail jarred and creakedominously.

Dorian had been taught by Ned Tyler that the lateen sail wasnotoriously fickle and unstable in any real blow of wind, and he couldsense the ship’s distress at the rough handling to which she was beingsubjected.

From the corner of his eye he noticed a sudden change in the sailshadow cast across the deck below the dais. His eyes flickered up intothe rigging, and he saw the main halyard begin to unravel just belowthe heavy wooden sheave block. The rope untwisted like a nest ofmating serpents as, one after the other, the strands gave way.

Dorian stared in horror, for precious seconds too appalled to move orcry out. He had watched the boom being lowered and trained around whenthe dhow was tacked, so he knew what a vital role the main halyardplayed in the lateen rigging.

He started to rise to his feet, still staring up at the single mast,but as he did so the last strand of the halyard parted with a cracklike a pistol shot. With a rush and roar of canvas the boom hurtleddown from on high, half a ton of heavy timber, swinging towards thedeck like the stroke of an executioner’s blade. The Prince wasoblivious to everything but his religious devotions, and stood directlyunder the falling boom.

Dorian threw himself forward, shoulder first into the back ofal-Malik’s knees. The Prince was taken completely unprepared,balancing himself in the contrary direction to meet the ship’smovement. He was thrown off the raised dais face downward onto thedeck. The piles of rugs and cushions strewn across the timbers brokehis fall, and Dorian’s small body landed on top of him.

Behind them the hardwood boom crashed through the roof of the lowdeck-house, shattering it into a heap of broken planking and rawsplinters. The great baulk of timber snapped at the splice and thefore-end whipped down, gaining velocity as it struck the foredeck. Itcrushed the low wooden dais on which, moments before the Prince hadbeen standing, smashed through the bulwarks of the bows and stove inmost of the deck planking.

The single lateen sail ballooned down behind it and covered theforedeck, smothering the men lying there under its stiff canvasshroud.

The dhow’s motion altered drastically as she was relieved of all thepressure of her canvas. Her bows fell off into the wind and she beganto roll viciously and wallow in the swells of the monsoon.

For long seconds there was silence on board except for the banging andclattering of loose tackle and sundered rope ends. Then there came achorus of startled shouts and the screams of injured men. Two sailorson the after-deck had been crushed and killed instantly, and threeothers were terribly mutilated, limbs shattered and bones crushed.

Their cries were pitifully thin in the wind.

Under the shouted orders of the dhow captain, the unhurt sailors rushedforward to hack away the tangle of ropes and canvas that covered themen on the foredeck.

“Find the Prince!” the captain shrieked, fearful for his own life ifhis master were hurt or, Allah forbid, killed under the massive weightof the boom.

Within minutes they had ripped away the folds of the sail and, withexclamations of relief and expressions of thanks to God, lifted him outfrom under the wreckage.

The Prince stood aloof in the pandemonium, ignoring the rapturous criesof thanks for his deliverance, and surveyed the remains of his dias.The boom had even sheared through the thick silk folds of the preciousprayer rug on which he had been standing. The mullah rushed down thedeck to his side.

“You are uninjured, thanks be to Allah. He spread his wings over you,for you are the Beloved of the Prophet.”

Al-Malik fended off his hands and asked, “Where is the child?”

The question triggered another frantic search under the mountains ofcanvas. At last they dragged Dorian out and stood him in front of thePrince.

“Are you hurt, little one?” Dorian was grinning with delight at thedevastation that surrounded them. He had not enjoyed himself so muchsince he had last been with Tom.

“I am fine, sir.” In the excitement of the moment he had lapsed intoEnglish.

“But your ship is fairly buggered.”

Tom knew that the men must be kept busy during the days and weeks thatthey had to wait for the return of Anderson from Ceylon. Idle seamensoon find mischief with which to occupy themselves; they become athreat to themselves and to each other.

He also realized that, for his own well-being and peace of mind, hemust find solace in work. Otherwise he would spend the long, tropicaldays brooding on Dorian’s fate and his father’s terrible injuries andslowly deteriorating state of health. He found himself torn betweenthese two conflicting loyalties. He knew that, as soon as Hal was fitto travel, he must try to get his father home to the peace and securityof High Weald, where he could be nursed back to health by Englishsurgeons and cared for by a staff of loyal servants.

On the other hand, this would mean leaving Dorian to his fate as aslave in an alien world. He felt the irresistible force of his oath tohis brother summoning him towards that awful coast that was Africa.

He went to Aboli to help him resolve this dilemma.

if my father would let me take command of the Minotaur, and gave me asmall crew of good men, then you and I could go after Dorian. I knowwhere to start to search for him. Lamu!”

“Then what of your father, Klebe? Are you ready to desert him, nowthat he needs you most? What will you feel when the news reaches youwhen you are somewhere out there,” Aboli pointed to the west where themysterious continent lay beneath the horizon, “that your father isdead, and that perhaps you could have been there to save him?”

“Do not even speak of it, Aboli,” Tom flared at him, then subsided witha sigh of uncertainty.

“Perhaps by the time Captain Anderson and the Yeoman return, my fatherwill be strong enough to make the voyage home without us. I will waituntil then before I decide, but in the meantime we must get theMinotaur ready for any call we make upon her.” Despite the workalready done on her, she still showed the effects of her sojourn at thehands of al-Auf, and they both knew that her hull was probably heavilyinfested with ship-worm, the curse of tropical waters.

That very day Tom ordered her to be careened. He had never had to dothis before and knew he must rely heavily on the expertise of Ned Tylerand All Wilson. The ship was unloaded of all her cargo and heavy gear,including her cannon and water barrels. All this was ferried to thebeach and stored under thatched lean-to shelters in the palm grove andthe guns arranged to protect the camp. Then the lightened hull waswarped in parallel to the beach on the high spring tide.

Lines were run through heavy sheave blocks from the top of all threemasts to the shore, and secured to the largest, strongest palms abovethe beach. Then, with three fathoms of water under her hull, theMinotaur was hove over. Twenty men on each of the capstans and therest of the men on the shore-lines strained and chanted and heaved.

Gradually the ship took on a heavy list to star, board, and herplanking on the opposite side was exposed until she was in danger ofrolling clean under. But by this time the tide was in full ebb and theMinotaur settled on the sandy bottom with her entire port sideexposed.

Before the tide was fully out, Tom and Ned Tyler waded out to inspecther planking.

The Minotaur had been in these waters for almost four years and herbottom was foul with weed and barnacles.

Although these would affect her speed and sailing characteristics, theywould not threaten her existence. However, when they scraped away theweed they found what they had most feared: everywhere ship-worm hadbored their holes into the timbers of the hull below the waterline.

Tom was able to thrust his forefinger full length into one of theseburrows, and feel the worm squirm as his fingertip touched it.

In some places the holes were so close together that the wood resembleda Swiss cheese.

The carpenters had iron vats of pitch boiling over fires on the beach.Ned poured a ladleful, bubbling, into one of the worm-holes.

The loathsome creature came writhing and twisting, in its death throes,out into the open. It was as thick as his finger, and when Tom seizedits head and held it up as far as he could reach, the red serpentinebody hung down as far as his knees.

“The old lady would never have made it back home with this filthy crewaboard,” Ned told him.

“Her hull would have broken up in the first real gate she ran into.”With an expression of disgust, Tom flung the parboiled worm far outinto the lagoon, where a shoal of small silver fish churned the waterwhite as they devoured it.

The carpenters and their mates came wading out to join them in the workof ridding the hull of these vermin, and kept at it until the tideturned and the rising water drove them back to the beach. They workedthrough five successive low tides to scrape off the weed and shellfish,then cooked out the worms and plugged their holes with pitch andoakum.

Those planks that were riddled and rotten past saving were cut out andreplaced with bright new timbers. The scoured bottom was painted witha thick coat of pitch, covered with a mixture of pitch and tallow, thenanother two coats of pitch before Ned and Tom were satisfied.

With the next high tide the Minotaur was floated off, and in deeperwater turned round. Then she was brought back to the same spot on thebeach and the whole process repeated, but this time with her starboardside rolled t uppermost.

When, finally, she was brought back to her moorings in the deeperwaters of the lagoon, the topmast men went aloft to send down heryards.

These were carefully examined and any weak spot was repaired beforebeing sent aloft again. Next, all the lines and sheets of her riggingwere minutely inspected and the greater part replaced with fresh manilaof the finest quality from the Seraph’s stores. The old black sailswere in rags and tatters, most had been roughly patched and cobbled byalAuf’s men.

“We will replace them all,” Tom decided, and sent Ned to rifle thelockers of the Seraph. The sail-makers squatted in rows on the opendeck, making up new canvas and altering the sails from the Seraph’slockers to suit the Minotaur’s masts and yards.

The lower decks were in the same state of degradation as the Minotaur’srigging. She was lousy with vermin and rats, and stank like adung-heap. Ned concocted a fearsome brew of gunpowder, brimstone andvitriol, and they placed Pots Of this in the lower decks and set themalight. As the noxious smoke and fumes billowed from the pots, theyhurried out onto the deck and into the fresh air. Then they batteneddown all her ports and hatches, and let the smoke seep into everycorner and cranny of the hull.

Within minutes the rats began to desert the ship, wriggling out throughthe hawsehole and every crack in the gun ports. Some were as big asrabbits. As they swam frantically for the beach, the crew had greatsport shooting at them with pistol or musket and wagering on the bag.

When the hull and the rigging had been taken care of, Tom turned hisattention to the paintwork. This was faded and peeling. They riggedcradles over her sides and teams of men sanded her down, then gave herthree coats of gleaming white down to the waterline. In a transport ofartistic zeal, Tom had them pick out her gun ports in a gay sky blue,and regild the homed figurehead and the carvings of the stern gallery.After six weeks of unrelenting work the Minotaur looked like a shipjust off the builders” slip.

Her lovely lines and her sweet sheer were displayed to fulladvantage.

Looking across at her from the stern windows over his sick bed, HalCourtney smiled wanly with approval.

“By Jesus, she’s as pretty as a bride on her wedding day. Well done,my boy. You have added five thousand pounds to her value.” Hisfather’s words gave Tom the courage to make a request. Hal listenedquietly as he asked for the Minotaur and an independent command. Thenhe shook his head.

“I have lost one son,” he said softly.

“I am not yet prepared to lose another, Tom.”

“But, Father, I gave Dorry my sacred oath.” Shadows of terrible pain,worse than those he had undergone on the grating when they took hislegs, passed behind Hal’s eyes.

“I know, TOM, I know,” he whispered.

“But the Minotaur is not mine to give you, it belongs to John Company.Even that would not stop me if I thought we could help your brother.But I cannot give you the ship and let you go off into terrible dangerwithout a full crew to help you.” Tom opened his mouth to argueftwffier, but Hal reached up from the rumpled sick-bed on which he layand placed his hand on his son’s arm.

“Listen to me, lad.” His voice was husky and the pale bony hand onTom’s arm was light as the wing of a bird.

“I cannot let you go alone.

This al-Malik is a man of power. He commands armies and hundreds ofships. On your own, you will not prevail 4 against one such as him.”

“Father-” Tom broke in again, but his father stopped him.

Hear me out, Tom. We must see through this voyage together. I have aduty to my King and to the men who placed their trust in me.

When we have discharged that duty, I will have you inducted into theOrder. You will become a Knight Templar of the Order of St. Georgeand the Holy Grail, with all the power that gives you. You will beable to call on the assistance of your brother knights, men like LordChilds and Lord Hyde.”

“That will take a year,” Tom cried, in physical pain at the prospect.

“No, it may take two or three years.”

“We will achieve nothing by rushing in unprepared against a powerfulnobleman in a far country, a country that is alien and where we have noallies or influence.”

“Years!” Tom repeated.

“What will happen to Dorry in the meantime?”

“By then I will be recovered from these wounds.” Hal looked down athis pitifully truncated legs.

“We will sail together to find Dorian, you and I, in a fleet of fine,powerful ships, manned with good, fighting men. Believe me, Tom, thisis Dorian’s best chance, and ours.” Tom stared at his father aghast.Since his injury Hal Courtney had turned into a frail old man, withsilvering beard and crippled body. Did he truly believe that he wouldever again command another squadron or fight another battle? It was aforlorn dream. Tom felt the tears rising behind his eyes, but forcedthem back.

“Trust me, Tom,” Hal murmured.

“I give you my word.

Will you give me yours?”

“Very well, Father.” Tom had to summon all his courage to make theoath, but he could not deny his own father.

“I give you my word.”

“Thank you, Tom.” The hand dropped from Tom’s arm and Hal’s chindrooped onto his chest. His eyes closed and his breathing was so softthat it was inaudible. With a flare of dismay Tom thought he had losthim. Then he saw the gentle rise and fall of Hal’s wasted chest.

Tom rose from the bedside and moved towards the door, walking softly sothat he did not disturb his father’s sleep.

he monsoon died away, and they lay for months in the torpid grip of thegreat calm between the seasons. Then the palm trees stirred theirfronds i@ and the clouds turned back upon their tracks across theheavens and marched away in the opposite direction.

“These two mighty winds are the great wonder of all the oceans of theIndies, All Wilson told Tom, as they sat on the foredeck. He spoke inArabic, for Hal still insisted that Tom practise this language everyday, and Tom knew that it would stand him in good stead in his quest tofind his brother.

“From November to April they blow out of the north-east, and the Arabscall them the kaskazi,” All went on.

“From April to November they turn back upon them selves and blow out ofthe south-east. Then the Arabs call them the kusi.”

RON

It was the kusi that had brought Captain Edward Anderson back to Florde la Mar in the bright dawn of another windswept day. While the crewsof the other ships of the squadron manned the yards and lined the railsto cheer her in, Anderson brought the Yeoman of York through thepassage in the coral and dropped anchor alongside the Seraph. Hardlyhad the ship snubbed up to her cable than Tom sent the longboat acrossto fetch Anderson to see his father.

Edward Anderson came up the ladder looking mighty pleased with himselfand his accomplishments, but his first words were to enquire after HalCourtney’s health.

My father makes a strong recovery from his wounds,” Tom gave him thewhite lie, “and I am most grateful for your concern, Captain Anderson.”He led Anderson to the stern cabin. Tom had seen to it that the linenon the bunk was freshly washed and ironed, and that Hal’s hair had beentrimmed and combed by the surgeon’s mate. He was propped up onbolsters and looked healthier than he really was.

The Monsoon

“I give thanks to God to see you in such fine fettle, Sir Henry,”Anderson greeted him, and took the chair beside the bunk to which Halpointed.

Tom served them each a glass of Madeira.

“Do you wish me to leave you alone with Captain Anderson, Father?” heasked, as he handed the twist-stemmed glass to Hal.

“Of course not,” Hal told him quickly, then said to Anderson, “My sonhas taken command in my stead, while I am indisposed.” Tom stared athim. This was the first time his promotion had been mentioned.

However, Anderson showed no surprise.

“He does you credit, Sir Henry.”

“Enough of our doings here on the island.” Hal tried to sit higher,but pain stabbed him. He winced and lay back on the pillows.

“I’m eager to have a report of your exploits since we parted.”

“All my news is good.” Anderson was neither shy nor reticent.

“The outward voyage to Ceylon was accomplished without mishap, and theloss of only a dozen of the captives. Van Groote, the Dutch governorin Colombo, was courteous in his reception, and most amenable in hisdesire to trade. It seems that our timing was most propitious, as arecent epidemic of smallpox in his barra coons had reduced hispopulation of slaves most drastically.

Fortunately I had been apprised of this prior to opening negotiationswith him, so I was able to agree with him a very satisfactory price.”

“How much?”

“Thirty-seven pounds a head.”

Anderson looked smug.

“My felicitations, Captain Anderson.” Hal reached out to shake hishand.

“That is considerably more than we expected.”

“The good news does not end there.” Anderson chuckled.

“The smallpox plague and the predations of alAuf in these oceans meantthat van Groote had been unable to ship much of the last two years”cinnamon crop.

His warehouses were filled to overflowing.” Anderson winked.

“Instead of taking a note on the VOC bankers in Amsterdam for the saleprice of the slaves, I loaded my ship with bales of cinnamon at thesebargain prices. I have no doubt that we will double our investmentwhen we reach the Pool of London again.” Again I must commend yourgood sense and acumen.” Anderson’s news had visibly cheered Hal. Tomhad not seen his father look so keen and vigorous since his injury.

“The wind stands fair for Good Hope. We should sail as soon as you areready to take your Yeoman back to sea, Captain Anderson. When willthat be?”

“I have a few cases of scurvy among my crew, but I expect them torecover quickly now that we are in harbour. I need only replenish mywater-barrels and take on a load of coconuts. I will be ready to sailwithin the week.” Four days later the squadron weighed anchor, andtacked out through the passage in line astern. As soon as they reachedthe open sea they set all plain sail and headed down into the south, topass through the Mozambique Channel and forge on to the south cape ofthe African continent.

For the first few weeks the weather remained fair and the windfavourable. Hal’s health responded favourably to being at sea again inthe fresh air and to the kindly motion of the Seraph. He spent timeeach day rehearsing Tom in the rites of the Order of St. George andthe Holy Grail, preparing him for his entry into the knighthood, andexpressed pleasure at his son’s progress. After the first week, Tomordered a day-bed set up on the deck, on the weather side of thequarterdeck, and had his father carried up and laid where he could onceagain feel the wind and sun on his face. Although Tom took fullresponsibility for the running of the ship, he made time each day to bewith his father. During these days Tom felt himself growing closer toHal than he had ever been before. Often their talk turned to Dorianand their plans to find and rescue him. They discussed Guy and hismarriage to Caroline Beatty only once. To Tom’s astonishment hisfather spoke to him as to a man full grown.

“You do realize, Tom, that the child might well be yours and notGuy’s?”

“That had occurred to me.” Tom hid his embarrassment as well as he wasable, and answered as forthrightly as his father had broached thesubject.

“I fear you have made an enemy of your twin brother.

Be wary of Guy. He does not forgive an injury, and he has an endlesscapacity for hatred.”

“I doubt we shall ever meet again. He is in India, and I, well, Ishall be at the ends of the oceans.”

“Fate plays us shabby tricks, Tom, and the oceans may not be as broadas you think.” The squadron made its southings and at forty-threedegrees south latitude swung up on to a westerly heading to make thelandfall on the tip of Good Hope. Soon they saw the surf beating whiteon the southern cliffs of Africa.

That same day Hal summoned Tom to the stern cabin and showed him therecord of his promotion entered in the ship’s log.

“Apart from a demonstration of the trust I have in you, Tom, this alsomeans that you will be entitled to an officer’s share of the prize,”his father told him.

“That might be as much as a thousand pounds.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“There is much that I would do for you that is beyond my powers.William is my first-born, and you know the significance of that.Everything goes to him.”

“You need not worry about me. I can make my own way in the world.”

“Of that I am sure.”

Hal smiled, and gripped his arm.

He was stronger now than when they had left Flor de la Mar, Tom couldfeel the power in his fingers, and the sun had put new colour in hischeeks.

“It must be because we have doubled the Cape and are northward-boundthat my thoughts turn once again to High Weald. Do not hate your elderbrother, Tom.”

“It is not I who hate him, Father.

It’s Black Billy who hates me.”

“That contemptuous name betrays your true feelings for him, but when Iam gone he will be the head of our family and he has a right to yourrespect and loyalty.”

“It was you who taught me, Father, that respect and loyalty have to beearned and not demanded.” They anchored well off the beach of thelittle Dutch settlement at the Cape of Good Hope. They watered and revictualled with fresh vegetables and meat, and had neither truck norbother with the Dutch administration ashore. Within the week they wereon their way north-wards once more. As suddenly as the squadronentered the Atlantic Ocean, the character of the waters changed, andHal Courtney’s health with it.

The Cape rollers came marching down upon them, great grey ridges ofwater with deep valleys between, to batter the squadron day and night.The seas creamed over the ships” bows and-tore away any weak plank orfitting from the decks. The howl of the wind was the voice of thiswolf-pack, and the onslaught was merciless and unrelenting. Each dayHal grew weaker again, and when Tom entered his cabin one gale-drivenmorning he found his father flushed and sweating. His nostrils flaredas he detected the familiar stench of corruption in the air, and whenhe drew back the bedclothes he found telltale stains of yellow pus onthe white linen.

He shouted to the watch above to call Dr. Reynolds, who cameimmediately. He unwrapped the bandages from Hal’s left leg, and hiskindly features crumpled with dismay.

The stump was horribly swollen, and the lips of the freshly healedwound were hot purple and splitting open with pus oozing from theedges.

“I’m afraid there is a deep corruption in the wound, Sir Henry.” Dr.Reynolds sniffed at the pus, and pulled a face.

“I do not like these humours. There is the taint of gangrene in them.I must lance the wound at once.” While Tom held his father’sshoulders, the surgeon pressed the point of a long scalpel deeply intothe wound as Hal writhed and whimpered with the pain. When Reynoldswithdrew the blade, it was followed by a copious gush of yellow andpurple pus, stained with fresh blood, that covered the bottom of thebowl the surgeon’s mate held under the stump.

“I think we have drained the source of the evil.” Reynolds lookedpleased with the quantity and colour of the discharge.

“Now I will bleed you to reduce the fever.”

He nodded to his mate. They rolled back the sleeve of Hal’s nightshirtand wound a leather thong around his upper arm. When they twisted ittight the veins on the inside of Hal’s elbow stood proud, like blueropes beneath the pale skin. Reynolds cleaned the pus and blood fromthe blade of the scalpel by wiping it on his sleeve, then tested thepoint on the ball of his thumb before pricking the swollen vein andwatching the dark red blood dribble into the pewter bowl to mingle withthe yellow PUS.

“A single pint should be sufficient,” he muttered.

“I think now we have drained off the morbid humours.

Though I do say it myself, that’s as good a job as you’ll see this sideof Land’s End.” Over the following weeks of the voyage, Hal’s strengthfluctuated widely. For days he lay wan and inert in his bunk, seemingon the point of death. Then he would rally strongly. When theycrossed the equator, Tom was able to have him taken on deck again toenjoy the hot sunshine, and Hal talked eagerly of home, longing for thegreen fields and wild moorland of High Weald. He spoke of the booksand papers in his library.

“All the log books of your grandfather’s early voyages are there. TheseI can leave to you, Tom, for you are the sailor in the family and theywill be of little interest to William.” Thinking of Sir Francis madehis mood swing again, and he was saddened.

“Your grandfather’s body will be waiting for us at High Weald, forAnderson sent him back from Bombay. We will lay him in his sarcophagusin the crypt of the chapel. He will be glad to be home again, as gladas I will.” His expression was tragic as he thought about it.

“Tom, will you see to it that I have a place in the crypt? I wouldlike to lie with my father and the three women I have loved. Yourmother-” He broke off, unable to continue.

“That day is still far off, Father,” Tom assured him with a desperateedge to his voice.

“We still have a quest to undertake. We exchanged oaths. We have togo after Dorian. You must get well and strong again.” With an effort,Hal shrugged off the black mood of despair.

“Of course, you are right. This moping and complaining will profit usnot at all.”

“I have had the carpenters begin to fashion new legs for you, of strongEnglish oak,” Tom told him brightly.

“We will have you up before you see High Weald again.” Tom sent forthe head carpenter. The little gnarled Welshman brought the twopeg-legs, still only crudely carved, to show Hal. Then he and Tom madea show of measuring and fitting them to Hal’s stumps.

Hal seemed to take a lively interest, and laughed with them, makingfamous suggestions.

“Can we not fit them with a compass and weather cock to aid mynavigation?” But when the carpenter had gone below, he lapsed backinto his dark mood. I will never be too handy with those timber yardson my legs. I fear that you might have to go after Dorian on your own,Tom.” He held up a hand to still Tom’s quick protest.

“But I will stand by my word. You shall have all the help I can giveyou.” Two weeks later, while the ship lay becalmed on the edge of thesluggish Sargasso Sea at thirty degrees north latitude and sixtydegrees west Tom went down to his father’s cabin in the humid calm andfound him shrunken . his bunk. His skin was stretched over the boneof his skull, tight and parchment yellow, like the face of the Egyptianmummy that one of Tom’s ancestors had brought back from a voyage toAlexandria, and which stood in its open coffin against one of the backwalls of the library at High Weald. Tom called for Dr. Reynolds andleft his father in his care. Then, unable to bear the atmosphere inthe stern cabin any longer, he hurried on deck, and took long draughtsof the warm air.

“Will this voyage never end?” he lamented.

“If we do not get him home soon, he will never see High Weald again.Oh, for a wind to hasten us on.

He ran to the main-mast shrouds and climbed aloft, never stopping untilhe reached the truck. He hung there, peering at the horizon to thenorth, vague and smoky with sea fret. Then he drew the dagger from thesheath on his belt and slammed it into the wood of the mast. He leftit there, for Aboli had taught him that this was the way to call up thewind. He started to whistle “Spanish Ladies’, but that made him thinkof Dorian, so he changed to “Greensleeves’.

All that morning he whistled for the wind, and before the sun hadreached noon, he looked back over the stern.

The surface of the sea was a polished mirror, broken only by thefloating clumps of yellow Sargasso weed. Then he saw the dark blueline of the wind racing swiftly towards them over the shiningsurface.

“Deck!” he yelled down.

“Squall line! Dead astern.” And he saw the tiny figures of the watchon deck scramble to the sheets to trim the sails to the coming wind. Itpicked up all four ships of the squadron and bore them away.

The Seraph was still in the van, and the Yeoman, the Minotaur and thematronly Lamb trailed after her. From then onwards it blew steadilyout of the west, never faltering, not even during the night.

Tom left his dagger pegged into the top of the main mast.

They made their landfall off the Isles of Scilly, and hailed the firstsail they had seen in two months. It was a small open fishing-boatwith a crew of three.

“What news?” Tom hailed them.

“We have had no news for eighteen months.”

“War!” the reply was shouted back.

“War with the French.”

Tom called Edward Anderson and the other captains on board the Seraphfor a hasty council of war. It would be tragic to complete such aperilous voyage and then, almost in sight of home, to fall victim toFrench privateers. Hal was enjoying one of his stronger periods, andlucid enough to take part in the discussions, so Tom gathered them inthe stern cabin.

“We have a choice,” he told them.

“We fall can dock in Plymouth, or we can run up Channel for the mouthof the Thames.”

Anderson was for Plymouth, but Ned Tyler and All Wilson wanted to headfor London. When each had given his opinion, Tom spoke out: “Once weare at Blackwall we can off load our cargoes directly into the Companywarehouses, and our prize can be on the Company auction floors withindays.” He looked to his father for encouragement. When Hal nodded,Tom went on, “If we go into Plymouth, we may be bottled up there forthe good Lord only knows how long. I say we run the gauntlet of theFrench privateers and set a course to weather North Foreland.”

“Tom’s right.

The sooner we can deliver our cargo, the happier I will be,” saidHal.

They stood the crews to and, with loaded cannon and double lookouts atthe mastheads, they ran up-Channel.

Twice during the days that followed they saw strange sails that flew nocolours but had the look of Frenchies about them. Tom gave the flagsignal to close up their formation and the strangers veered off,heading back into the east where the French coast lay just below thehorizon.

They raised the light on North Foreland two hours before dawrn, andwere past Sheerness by noon. In the gloaming of that winter’s day allfour ships tied up at the Company docks in the river. Before thegangplank was down, Tom had shouted across to the Company agent, whowaited on the wharf to greet them, “Send a message to Lord Childs thatwe have taken great prize. He must come at once.” Two hours beforemidnight Childs’s carriage, with the two outriders at full gallopclearing the way, and the side, lights glaring, came clattering throughthe gates of the yard. The driver reined in the team at the edge ofthe dock, and Childs almost tumbled from the carriage door before thewheels had stopped turning. He came stumping up the Seraph’sgangplank, his face flushed, his wig awry and his mouth working withexcitement.

“Who are you?” he blared at Tom.

“Where is Sir Henry?”

“My lord, I am Sir Henry’s son, Thomas Courtney.”

“Where is your father, lad?”

“He waits for you below, my lord.” Childs swivelled around and pointedat the Minotaur.

“What ship is that? She has the look of an Indianian, but I know hernot.”

“That’s the old Minotaur, my lord, under a fresh coat of paint.”

“The Minotaur! You retook her from the corsair?” Childs did not waitfor his reply.

“That other ship beyond her.” He pointed at the Lamb.

“What ship is that?”

“Another prize, my lord. A Dutchman with a full cargo of China tea.”

“Jesus love you, lad. You are a herald of great good tidings. Lead meto your father.” Hal was sitting up in the captain’s chair, with avelvet cloak draped across his lap to hide his injuries. He wore adark blue velvet coat. On his chest glittered the gold and jewelledemblem of the Order of St. George and the Holy Grail. Although hisface was deadly pale and his eyes sunk into dark cavities, he heldhimself straight and proud.

“Welcome aboard, my lord,” he greeted Childs.

“Please excuse me for not rising, but I am a little indisposed.” Childsseized his hand.

“You are welcome indeed, Sir Henry. I am eager to hear the extent ofyour successes.

have seen the two prizes tied up alongside the wharf, and your son hasgiven me some idea of the cargo you carry.”

“Please be seated.”

Hal indicated the chair at his side.

“My report will take some little time. I have written it all out, butI should like to tell you of our expedition man to man, and face toface. But, first, a glass of wine.” He gestured to Tom to fill theglasses that stood ready on a silver tray.

Childs sat forward in his chair and listened intently as Hal began histale. Occasionally he asked a question, but mostly he listened in raptsilence, as Hal read aloud the cargo manifests of the four ships of thesquadron. When at last he fell silent, drained by the effort of thelong recital, Childs leaned over and took the parchments from his hand.He scrutinized them carefully, his eyes shining with cupidity.

At last he looked up again.

“Since the outbreak of war with the French, the price of commoditieshas almost doubled. With the two captured ships, the value of theprize you have won for us might be as much as five hundred thousandpounds. The directors of the Company will be more than grateful, and Ithink I can speak for His Majesty when I say that the Crown will honourits solemn undertaking to you.

You will be Henry Courtney, Baron Dartmouth, before the week is out.”

Childs saluted him with a raised glass.

“I knew that I had chosen the right man when I sent you. May I drinkto your health and fortune, Sir Henry?”

“Thank you, my lord. I am happy that you are pleased.”

“Pleased?” Childs laughed.

“There are no words to express the extent of my pleasure, myadmiration, my amazement at your resourcefulness, your courage.” Heleaned across to place his hand on Hal’s knee. A comical expression ofastonishment came over his face.

He looked down and groped for Hal’s missing limb.

“Sir Henry, I am overcome.” He looked down at Hal’s lower body.

“Good God, man! Your legs! You have lost your legs!” Hal smiledwanly.

“Yes, my lord, there was a certain price to pay. We seamen call it thebutcher’s bill.”

“We must get you out of this ship. You will be my guest at BombayHouse while you recuperate. My carriage is on the wharf. I will callmy physicians, the best in London. You will lack for nothing. Ipromise you that.” One of the first things Hal did after he arrived atBombay House was write to William, giving him the momentous tidings ofthe prize he had taken, and of his imminent elevation to the peerage.It took the letter over a week to reach his son in Devon.

With the letter still in his hand, William shouted for his horse andwithin the hour was riding furiously out through the gates of HighWeald and galloping up the main road to London as fast as the relays offresh horses from the post-houses could carry him.

Five days after leaving High Weald, he rode into the grounds of BombayHouse in the middle of the afternoon in a downpour of rain. He lefthis hired horse in the stableyard; then, soaked and muddy to the waist,he strode through the main doors, brushing aside the steward andfootmen who tried to bar his entrance.

“I am the eldest son of Sir Henry Courtney. I wish to be taken to myfather immediately.” As soon as he heard the name, one of thesecretaries came hurrying forward. In the last few days the name ofCourtney had taken the city by storm.

Every news-sheet had carried pages of print concerning the exploits ofSir Henry Courtney in the Ocean of the Indies. Some were wildlyfanciful, yet as an item of gossip he had supplanted the news of thelatest English victory in France, and his name was bandied about everytavern and fashionable gathering in London. To add to the excitement,broad sheets handed out in the street advertised the forthcomingauction sale of the cargo and the prizes at the premises of JohnCompany in Leadenhall Street, describing them as “The GreatestTreasures ever taken from an Enemy on the High Seas!” Within days ofthe squadron’s arrival, shares in “The United Company of Merchants ofEngland Trading to the East Indies’, which was the full and ringingtitle of John Company, increased in value by over 15 per cent. Overthe past five years the Company had paid an annual dividend of 25 percent, but anticipation of the distribution of this vast treasure drovethe shares to unheard-of heights.

“Thank God you have arrived, sir,” the secretary greeted William.

“Your father has been asking for you every day. Please allow me tolead you to him.” He took William up the broad curving marblestaircase. When they reached the first landing, William haltedabruptly under the massive Holbein portrait of Lord Childs’sgreat-great-grandfather, and looked up at the two men descending thestairs towards him. His severe features knitted, and his dark eyesglittered as he took in the younger of the pair.

“Well met, brother dear. It seems my prayers are unanswered and youhave returned to plague me. You, and that great black savage.” Heglanced at Aboli.

Tom stopped on the landing facing William. He was an inch taller nowthan his elder brother. He looked him UP and down, starting at hismuddy boots and ending at his arrogant, saturnine head, and smiledcoldly.

“I’m touched deeply by your expression of affection. Please be assuredthat it is returned in full measure.” Although he did not show it,William was taken aback by the transformation that the years hadwrought in Tom.

He had become tough and tall, full of self-confidence. A man to reckonwith.

“No doubt we shall have the opportunity to continue this pleasantdiscourse at a later date.” William inclined his head in dismissal.

“But now I have my duty as the firstborn to attend our father.”

Tom did not acknowledge the barbed reference to William’s seniority ofbirth, although it stung. He stood aside and bowed slightly.

“Your servant, brother.” William swept past him and, without lookingback, reached the long portrait gallery of the house. The secretaryled him to the end of the passage, and rapped with his cane on thedouble doors. They were opened immediately and William went throughinto the elaborate bedchamber beyond. Four black-clad surgeons wereclustered about the huge four-poster bed on its raised dais.

William could tell their profession by the old bloodstains on theirclothing. They opened their ranks as he approached.

When he saw the figure lying on the pillows William came to a halt. Heremembered the robust and vigorous man he had seen sail away fromPlymouth harbour. This frail old fellow with silver beard, shaven headand pain fretted features could not be the same man.

“I have prayed God for your arrival, Hal whispered.

“Come, kiss me, William.” William started forward again and hurried tothe bedside. He knelt and pressed his lips to his father’s palecheek.

“I give thanks to God that he has spared you, and that you are so wellrecovered from your wounds,” William told him, with a sincere andjoyous when, which disguised his true feelings. He is dying, Williamthought, with a mixture of elation and alarm. The estate is almostmine, and this famous treasure which he has brought back from hismarauding.

“I hope you are as well as you appear?” he asked, and gripped thethin, cold hand that lay on top of the brocaded bedclothes. By Jesus,he thought, if the old pirate dies before the investiture, the baronywill be lost.

Without the belt of nobility around my waist, the taste of even thisgreat fortune he has raided from the heathen will be soured.

“You are a fine and loving son, William, but don’t weep for me yet.Even these coffin fillers, he gestured at the four eminent surgeons whosurrounded his bed, “even they will be hard put to bury me.” Heattempted a feckless laugh, which rang hollow in the vast echoingchamber.

None of the doctors smiled.

“My love for you is enhanced by the pride I feel for the glory you haveachieved. When will you take your seat in the Lords, Father?”

“Within the next few days,” Hal answered.

“And, as the eldest son, you will be with me to see me honoured.”

“Sir Henry,” one of the physicians interjected, we do not feel that itis wise for you to visit the House of Lords in your present state ofhealth. We are seriously concerned-“

William sprang to his feet and rounded on the doctor before he couldfinish expressing his misgivings.

“Nonsense, fellow. It is plain for any fool to see that my father isstrong enough to honour the summons of his sovereign lord. I shall bewith him at every minute.

With my own hands I shall see to his every want.” Five days later theservants carried Hal down the staircase on a litter. with Williamhovering anxiously at his side. Lord Childs’s carriage stood ready infront of the main doors, and Tom and Aboli stood separated from thetroop of horsemen who would escort the carriage.

The footmen set down the litter down next to the carriage and there wasa moment of confusion when nobody seemed certain what to do next. Tomstepped forward quickly, elbowing his elder brother aside, and beforethe doctors could intervene, he lifted his father easily and steppedinto the carriage with the wasted body in his arms.

“Father, this is not wise. You are taxing your strength with thisjourney,” he whispered, as he settled Hal in the carriage and spreadthe fur rug over him.

“The King may return to the Continent soon to pursue the war, and whoknows when next he will return to England?”

“Then Aboli and I should go with you,” Tom pleaded, “but William hasforbidden it.”

“William will take good care of me.” Hal pulled the lustrous fursaround his shoulders.

“You must stay here with Walsh to take care of our interest at theauction house. I place great trust in you, Tom.”

Tom knew that the true reason for his refusal was that his father didnot want to throw him together with his half-brother.

“As you wish, Father,” he acquiesced.

“As soon as this business at the Lords is done with, and the salecompleted, we can go back to High Weald and make our plans for therescue of Dorian.”

“I will be waiting here when you return,” Tom promised him, and climbeddown to stand at the rear wheel. William stepped into the carriage,settled himself in the seat beside their father, the driver whipped upthe horses and the carriage rolled out through the gates.

Tom turned to Aboli.

“It is bad enough that Black Billy will drag him around in thatbone-shaker. I will not let him do the same on the return to HighWeald. The long journey down to Devon over those rough roads will killhim. We must take him by ship to Plymouth. The sea will be gentler onhim, and you and I can take better care of him.”

“You do not have a ship, Klebe,” Aboli reminded him.

“The Seraph and the Minotaur belong to John Company.

“Then we must find another to charter.”

“There are French privateers in the Channel.”

“We need something small and handy, small enough not to attract theirinterest and fast enough to give them the slip if they decide to chaseus.”

“I think I know the master of such a craft,” Aboli said thoughtfully.

“Unless things have changed in the time we have been away.” Theauction sale at the Company’s magnificent premises at Le aden hallStreet took four days to accomplish. Tom sat beside Master Walshthroughout to note the prices bid on the booty.

The main sale room was shaped like a cockpit, with tiers of benchesrising up from the circular floor where the auctioneer had his dais.

The benches were so crowded with merchants, their secretaries andbookkeepers that there were not enough seats for all. Many foundstanding room only against the back walls, but they joined inboisterously, roaring their bids and waving their catalogues to attractthe attention of the auctioneer.

As Tom listened to the prices being driven up with mad abandon, hethought of the chests of coin stored in the vaults beneath the auctionrooms. They had brought them up from the Company wharf the night thatthe squadron had docked, driving the coaches through the dark, cobbledstreets while a guard of fifty armed seamen marched in an escort aroundthem.

It was clear that the prices Lord Childs had predicted would be farsurpassed in the hysteria that surrounded the sale. Each day itcontinued Tom saw his share increase in value.

“Dear LordP he marvelled on the last day, as he scribbled hiscalculations on his slate.

“With good fortune, I will take away more than a thousand pounds.” Thatwas as much as one of the miners or farm labourers at High Weald mightearn in his entire working life. He was bewildered by such dreams ofwealth, until he thought of what his father’s share would be worth.

“Almost a hundred thousand!” he exclaimed.

“Together with the ermine cloak and jewelled sword-belt of a baron.”Then his mouth hardened with anger.

“And all of it will drop neatly into Black Billy’s clutching paws.Black Billy, who pukes;

his guts out every time he has a ship under him.” While he was stillbrooding on the injustice of it the auctioneer announced, in a loud,braying voice, the next item for sale.

“My lords, ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased and privileged to offerfor your delectation a rare and wonderful trophy that will delight andintrigue even the most sophisticated and world-weary among you.” Witha flourish, he lifted the covering cloth from a large jar of thick,transparent glass, which stood on the table in front of him.

“None other than the pickled head of the notorious and bloodthirstybrigand and corsair Jangiri, or al-Auf, the Bad One.” A buzz and stirswept over the tiers of merchants and they craned forward to peerghoulishly at the disembodied head swimming in its bath of spirits. Tomfelt a physical shock as he looked once again into al-Auf’s face. Hisdark hair floated like seaweed around his head. One of his eyes wasopen: it seemed to single out Tom and stare up at him with mildastonishment. There was a pained expression on his lips, as if hecould still feel the stinging kiss of the blade that had parted headfrom. trunk.

“Come, gentlemen!” the auctioneer wheedled.

“This is an item of value. Many persons across the land would bepleased to pay their sixpence for a peek at it. Do I hear five poundsbid?” Slowly, a sense of outrage overcame Tom. He had taken the headas proof to the directors of John Company of the success of theirexpedition, not to become a bizarre sideshow in a travelling circus.His instincts and his training had instilled in him the concept ofcompassion and respect for a vanquished foe. That al-Auf had capturedand sold Dorian into slavery did not enter into it.

Without thinking, he shouted angrily, “Ten pounds!” He did not havethat sum at his disposal, but his share of the prize was owing to him.All around the hall heads turned and faces peered at him curiously. Heheard their whispers.

“It’s Hal Courtney’s lad, the one who cropped the head.”

“That’s him. He lopped al-Auf.”

“What’s his name?

“Tom Courtney. He’s Sir Hal’s boy.” The auctioneer bowed theatricallyto him.

“The bold swordsman and executioner himself has bid ten pounds. Isthere any advance on ten pounds?” Someone in the front row of benchesbegan to clap, and it was taken up by those around him. Slowly theapplause became a roar until they were all clapping and sTomping theirfeet.

Tom wanted to shout to them to stop. He wanted to tell them that hehad not killed the man for their approbation.

But there were no words to describe what he had felt as he took alAuf’shead, and what he felt now as he watched it floating in a bottle,offered for the sport of gawking peasants.

“Going for the first time! Going for the second time!

Sold to Mr. Tom Courtney for the sum of ten pounds!”

“Pay them out of my share,” Tom snapped at Walsh, and jumped to hisfeet. He wanted to get out into the fresh air, away from the staresand the -grins of this host of strangers. He shouldered his way out ofthe chamber and ran down the great staircase.

When he strode out into Leadenhall Street it was raining. He swung hiscloak over his shoulders, crammed the wide-brimmed hat with itscavalier’s feather onto his head and adjusted his sword-belt before hestepped out from under the portico. There was a touch on his shoulder,and he swung round. In his preoccupation he had not seen Aboli amongthe crowd of loafers at the entrance to the sale rooms

“I have found our man, Klebe.” Aboli led forward a tall lean fellowswathed in a sea cloak, whose features were hidden by the Monmouth cappulled low over his eyes. For a moment Tom was not certain of Aboli’smeaning.

“The man to take your father back to Plymouth by sea, instead of overthe roads,” Aboli prompted him.

“Then let’s all take a pot of ale while we discuss it,” Tom suggestedand they ran through the rain to the alehouse at the corner ofCornhill.

In the stuffy front room, crowded with lawyers and clerks, and redolentof the smoke of tobacco pipes, the yeasty odours of the beer-kegs, theythrew off their cloaks and hats, and Tom turned to study the face ofthe man Aboli had brought him.

“This is Captain Luke Jervis,” Aboli told him.

“He sailed with your father and me in the old Pegasus.” Tom liked himimmediately . He had a sharp, intelligent eye, and the look of a toughseaman. His skin was tanned and creased by the sun and salt.

“Luke has a fast cutter, and he knows every inch of the Channel,especially the French ports, like the back of his hand.” Aboli smiledsignificantly.

“He can give the slip to any Excise man or Froggie. “Tom did not catchhis meaning immediately, but then Aboli went on, “If it’s a shipment ofgood Limousin cognac you’re looking for, then Luke is your man.) Tomgrinned when he realized that Luke was a smuggler. If that was thecase, he was the perfect choice for taking them on a quick voyage downthe Channel. His vessel would be quick as a ferret, and he would beable to navigate the dangerous waters on a moonless night in a gale.Tom shook his hand.

“Aboli has told you what we want. What would be the price of yourhire, Captain?”

“I owe Sir Henry my life and more,” said Luke Jervis, and touched thelong white scar that ran down his left cheek.

“I will not charge him a brass farthing. It would make me proud to beof service to him.” Tom did not ask about the scar, but thanked him.

Then he said, “Aboli will bring you word when my father is ready toleave London.” When Lord Courtney returned from his first visit to theHouse of Lords, Tom could see at a “glance how the journey and theceremony had taxed him. He carried him tenderly up the staircase tothe bedroom in Bombay House and Hal fell asleep almost immediately.

Tom sat by his bed until evening when a footman brought up a dinnertray.

“Where is William?” Hal asked weakly, as Tom fed him spoonfuls ofsoup.

“He is with Master Samuels at the bank. Lord Childs handed over theCompany note to him for the share of the prize, and he has gone todeposit it,” Tom told him. He did not remark on how swiftly William’sconcern for his father’s health had abated once his barony wasestablished, and its succession to William’s person assured. William’smain interest now was to see the gold safely lodged with the bankers inthe Strand where it would be under his control.

“You must rest now, Father. You must regain your strength for thejourney home. Our business here in London is almost done. The soonerwe can get you back to High Weald, the sooner you will be restored tofull health.”

“Yes, Tom.” Hal showed sudden animation.

“I want to go home now. Did you know that William and Alice have givenme a grandson? They have named him Francis, after your grandfather.”

“Yes, Father,” Tom answered.

“William told me.” William had made the point quite clear that, now hehad fathered an heir, the inheritance of the title and estate hadpassed out of Tom’s reach for ever.

“I have engaged a vessel to take us back to Plymouth. The captain isLuke Jervis.

Do you remember him? He says that you saved his life.” Hal smiled.

“Luke? He was a likely lad, a good fellow.

I’m happy to hear he has his own ship now.”

“It’s only a small cutter, but a fast one.”

“I would like to sail at once, Tom.” Hal gripped his arm. There wasan eagerness in his expression.

“We should wait for the doctors to give the word.” It was another weekbefore the four surgeons agreed, reluctantly, to allow Hal to be takenaboard the Raven, Luke Jervis’s ship. They sailed from the Companywharf in the late afternoon to make the most dangerous part of thevoyage at night.

William was not with them. Now that the prize money from the auctionwas safely deposited with Samuels Bank in the Strand, he had beenanxious to get back to take care of the running of the estate.

“Every hour that I am away costs us money. I mistrust those rogues andimbeciles I had to leave in charge during my absence. I will post downto Plymouth at once. I will meet your ship when you arrive, Father.”

The Raven proved as swift as her reputation had promised. As they ransouth in the night, Tom ” stood beside Luke Jervis at the tiller.

Luke wanted to hear every detail of their voyage to the Indies, and hequestioned Tom avidly.

“Sweet Jesus! If only I had known, I would have signed on with CaptainHal, quick as you can say Jack Flash.”

“What about your wife and babes?” Aboli grinned, showing white teethin the darkness.

“If I never hear another brat squeal or a goodwife scold it will notbreak my heart.” Luke pulled at his pipe and the glow lit his ruggedface. Then he took the stem out of his mouth and pointed with it intothe east.

“See those lights over there. That’s Calais. I was in there threenights ago to take on a cargo of brandy and baccy. The roads are thickwith shipping, like fleas on a mangy dog.” He smiled wolfishly in thestarlight.

“If a man had a letter Of marque, he wouldn’t have to sail all the wayto the Orient to find a prize.

“Doesn’t it trouble your conscience to trade with the French when we’reat war with them?” Tom asked, puzzled.

“Somebody has to do it,” Luke said.

“Otherwise there would be no brandy and baccy to comfort our fightinglads.

I’m a patriot, I am.” He said it seriously and Tom did not pursue it,but he mused on what Luke had said about the French shipping crowdingthe Channel ports.

When the Raven tied up at the quay in Plymouth, William proved as goodas his word. He had a big, well sprung coach on the dock, and servantsstanding ready to carry Hal into it. They set out at a sedate pace onthe road for High Weald, and all along the way they passed small groupsof men and women, the labourers, miners and tenant farmers of theestate, gathered to cheer his lordship home. Hal insisted on sittingup so that they could see him, and when he recognized a face among themhe made the driver halt so that he could shake the fellow’s handthrough the coach window.

When they wheeled through the gates and crunched up the drive to thebig house, all the servants were drawn up on the front steps. Some ofthe women wept to see Hal’s state as the footmen carried him in, andthe men muttered gruff greetings.

“Jesus love you, me lord. It does our hearts good to have you safehome.”

“Alice Courtney, William’s wife, waited at the top of the stairs. Shehad the baby in her arms, a tiny creature, Tom saw, with a bright red,wrinkled face. He squalled petulantly when Alice placed him for amoment in Hal’s arms, but Hal smiled proudly and kissed the top of hishead, which was covered with a thick black cap of hair.

It looks like a monkey, Tom thought. Then he looked more closely atAlice’s face. Although there had never been the opportunity to get toknow her when she married William, he had liked her instinctively.

She had been pretty and gay, but now he hardly recognized her.

There was an air of melancholy about her. Her eyes were sad, andthough her skin was still peach soft and unblemished she seemedcare-worn. When Hal was carried inside the main doors she lingered onthe top step to greet Tom.

“Welcome home, brother.” She kissed his cheek, and dropped a curtsy.

“You have a beautiful baby.” Tom touched the little face awkwardly andjerked away his fingers when the child squealed again.

“As beautiful as his mother,” he finished lamely.

“Thank you, Tom,” she said and smiled, then she dropped her voice sothat none of the servants could hear her.

“I must talk to you, not here, but at the first opportunity.” Sheturned away quickly and handed the baby to a nurse, while Tom followedhis father up the stairs.

As soon as he was free to do so, Tom went down the passage towards theback stairs, but he had to pass Dorian’s room. He opened the door,stood on the threshold, and felt a nostalgic pang as he looked aboutthe small chamber.

It was as his little brother had left it. There were the companies oflead soldiers in pretty painted uniforms arrayed along thewindow-ledge, and the kite Tom had made for him hanging above thebed.

The memories were too painful. He closed the door quietly and wentdown the back stairs.

He slipped through the kitchen and stable yards and ran lightly up thehill towards the chapel. It was dark and cool in the vault, just athin beam of sunlight burning down from the opening in the centre ofthe domed roof.

He saw with relief that the chest containing his grandfather’s bodystood against the far wall, beside the stone sarcophagus that had beenprepared so long ago to receive it. It had made the long voyage upfrom Bombay and the Cape of Good Hope safely. He went to the coffin,laid his hand on the lid and-whispered, “Welcome home, Grand, father.You will be more comfortable here than in that cave in a far and savageland.” Then he passed down the line of stone tombs until he reachedthe one in the centre. He stopped before it and read the inscriptionaloud: “Elizabeth Courtney, wife of Henry and mother of Dorian. Takenby the sea before her full flowering. Rest in peace.”

“Dorian is not here today. But he will be soon,” he said aloud.

“I swear it.” He went on to the tomb of his own mother, stooped overit to kiss the cold marble lips of her effigy. Then he knelt beforeit.

“I am safe home, Mother, and Guy is well.

He is in India now, working for John Company. He is married. Youwould like Caroline, his wife. She is a pretty girl, with a lovelyvoice.” He spoke to her as though she were alive and listening, and hestayed beside her sarcophagus until the sunbeam on the stone walls hadmade its full circuit and at last winked out, leaving the vault insemidarkness. Then he groped his way up the stairs and out into thedusk.

He stood and gazed down upon the darkling landscape he remembered sowell, but which now seemed so alien to him. Beyond the rolling hillshe saw the distant sea. It seemed to beckon to him from beyond thetwinkle of lights that marked the harbour. He felt as though he hadbeen away for a lifetime, but far from being content, he felt restless,consumed with the need to move on. Africa was out there, and that waswhere his heart longed to be.

wonder,” he whispered, as he started down the hill, “if I will ever behappy in one place again.” As he reached the bottom of the hill thepile of the house was only a dark shadow looming in the evening miststhat drifted across the lawns. Tom stopped abruptly below the wall ashe glimpsed a ghostly figure beneath the outspread branches of one ofthe old oak trees that stood dark and massive upon the lawns. It was afemale figure, dressed all in white, and Tom felt a stir ofsuperstitious awe, for it appeared ethereal and wraith-like.

There were many legends of the ghosts that haunted High Weald.

When he and Guy were boys their nurse had frightened them with thosetales.

“I’ll not be bettered by any ghost,” Tom resolved, gathered his courageand strode towards the white girl. She seemed oblivious of hisapproach until he was almost upon her. Then she looked up, her facefrightened, and he saw it was his sister-in-law, Alice. The moment sherecognized him she gathered up her skirts and fled towards the house.

“Alice!” he called and ran after her. She did not look back butincreased her pace. He caught up with her on the gravel drive belowthe facade of the house, and grabbed her wrist.

“Alice, it’s me, Tom,” he said.

“Don’t be alarmed.”

“Let me go,” she said, in a terrified tone, and looked up at thewindows of the house, which were already glowing cheerfully with yellowcandlelight.

“You wanted to speak to me,” he reminded her.

“What is it you want to tell me?”

“Not here, Tom. He will see us together.”

“Billy?” Tom was puzzled.

“What can he do?”

“You don’t understand. You must let me go.”

“I’m not afraid of Black Billy,” he told her, with youthfularrogance.

Then you should be,” she said, pulled her hand free and ran lightly upthe steps into the house. Standing in the middle of the carriage waywith both hands on his hips, Tom watched her go. He was about to turnaway when something made him look up.

His elder brother stood at one of the tall bedroom windows on thesecond floor. The light was behind him so he was merely a slim,elegant silhouette. Neither of them moved for a long moment, then Tommade an impatient dismissive gesture and followed Alice into thehouse.

Tom was in his bedchamber when he heard a faint sound that was out-ofplace even in the old house with its creaking timbers and windsweptroof. He stood still, with his stock half tied, and cocked his head tolisten. After a few seconds the sound came again, like a rabbit in asnare, the wail of distress high and plaintive. He went to the windowand opened the latch. When he threw wide the shutters the night breezeoff the sea rushed in, and the cries were stronger. He recognized themas human. It was a woman’s weeping, punctuated by deeper male tones.

Tom leaned out of the window. Now he could hear that the sounds camefrom the floor below, where the main bedchambers were situated.

Abruptly the voices fell silent, and he was about to close his windowagain when he heard the sound of a blow. It must have been a heavy oneto carry so clearly, and Tom’s heart tripped as the woman cried outagain. This time it was a scream of pain so high and clear that hecould not mistake who had uttered it.

“The swine!” he blurted Out, and whirled to the door.

In his shirtsleeves, his stock loosening, its ends dangling down hischest, he raced along the passage to the staircase, and bounded down,three steps at a time.

As he reached the door to his father’s apartment he hesitated.

The double doors stood wide open and the curtains of the four-posterbed across the room were drawn aside, so he could see Hal’s figurelying under the embroidered bedclothes. He was propped up on thepillows, and he called urgently to Tom as he passed the open doors.

“No, Tom. Come here!” Tom ignored his summons and ran on to the doorsof William’s apartment further down the passage. He tried the handlebut it was locked, so he hammered on it with his clenched fists.

“Open up, damn you, Billy!”he bellowed.

There was a long silence beyond, and he filled his lungs to shoutagain, when the door opened quietly and William stood in the opening,blocking it with his body so that Tom could not see past him.

“What is it you want?” William asked.

“How dare you come yelling at the door to my private rooms.” He wasalso in shirtsleeves, but his face was darkly flushed, with anger orexertion, and his eyes burned with ri”.

“Get away with you, you impertinent puppy “I want to speak to Alice.”

Tom stood his ground stubbornly.

“You have already spoken to her once this evening.

Alice is busy. You cannot see her now.”

“I heard someone cry out.”

“It was not here. Perhaps you heard a gull, or the wind in theeaves.”

“There is blood on your shirt.” Tom pointed at the tiny scar letspecks on his brother’s white sleeve. William looked down and smiledcoldly through his anger. Then he brought out his right hand frombehind his back and sucked the cut on his swollen knuckle.

“I

caught my hand in the cupboard doors.”

“I must see Alice.” Tom made to push past him, but at that Alice’svoice called urgently, “Tom, please go away. I cannot see you now. Hervoice was gusty with tears and pain.

“Please Tom, listen to my husband. You cannot come in here.”

“Now do you believe me?” William asked scornfully.

“Alice will not talk to you.” He stepped back and closed the door.

Tom stood indecisively in front of it. ” He lifted his hand to knockagain, but his father’s voice stopped him.

Hal was calling again.

“Tom, come here. I want you.” Tom turned away from the door and wentto stand beside the four-poster bed.

“Father, I heard-“

“You heard nothing, Tom. Nothing.”

“But I did.”

Tom’s voice was tight with outrage.

“Close the doors, Tom. There is something I must say to you.”

Tom did as he was told, then came back to the bed.

“There is one thing you must remember for the rest of your life, Tom.You must never interfere between a husband and wife. Alice isWilliam’s chattel, he can do with as he wishes, and if you try to stepbetween them he is within his rights to kill you. You heard nothing,Tom.” When he went down to supper Tom was still seething with anger.

Three places were set at the long polished table, and William wasalready seated at its head.

“You are late, Thomas,” he said, and he was smiling, relaxed andhandsome, with a heavy gold chain around his neck and a bright rubybrooch hanging on his chest.

“We sit down to supper at eight o’clock at High Weald. Please try toabide by the custom of the house while you are a guest here.”

“High Weald is my home,” Tom protested coldly.

“I am not a guest.”

“That is a matter for debate, but I hold the contrary view.”

“Where is Alice?” Tom looked pointedly at the empty place on William’sleft-hand side.

“My wife is indisposed,” William answered smoothly.

“She will not be joining us this evening. Please take your seat.”

“It is passing strange, but I find myself without appetite.

There is something hereabouts that has put me off my food. I will notbe dining with you this evening, brother William.”

“As you wish.”

William shrugged, and turned his attention to the stemmed glass thebutler was filling with red wine.

In his present mood Tom could not trust himself to spend the night inthe same house as his brother. He threw on a cloak and stormed down tothe stables. He shouted for the grooms, who came tumbling down theladder from their quarters in the loft above and saddled one of thehorses for him. Tom galloped the first mile, standing in the stirrupsand driving his mount on through the night. The night air cooled hisrage a little, so he took pity on the horse and reined him in to a trotalong the Plymouth road.

He found Aboli with Luke Jervis in the taproom of the Royal Oak nearthe harbour. They welcomed him with unfeigned pleasure, and Tom drankthe first pot of ale without taking it from his lips or drawingbreath.

The Monsoon

At one stage of the evening he climbed the back stairs to a small room,overlooking the harbour, with a pretty, laughing lass who helped himwhen he lost his balance and steadied him when he almost fell back downthe stairs.

Her naked body was very white in the lamplight, and her embrace waswarm and engulfing. She laughed in his ear as she clung to him, and hespent his anger on top of her. Later, she giggled and waved away thecoin he offered her.

I should be the one who pays you, Master Tom.” Nearly everyone in thetown had known Tom since childhood.

“What a darling boy you’ve grown into. It’s been many a month since myporridge pot was so well stirred.” Much later Aboli prevented him fromaccepting a challenge to arms from another over-refreshed seaman, anddragged him out of the tavern, helped him up onto his horse, and ledhim swaying in the saddle, singing lustily, to High Weald.

orly the next morning Tom rode up onto the moors with one of hissaddle-bags bulging. Aboli was waiting for him at the crossroads, adark, exotic figure in the thick mist. He wheeled his horse in besideTom’s.

“I think the good burghers of Plymouth would have preferred an attackby the French rather than your last visit.” He looked sideways atTom.

“Do you not suffer still from last night’s alarms and excursions,Klebe?”

“I slept like the innocent child I am, Aboli. Why should I suffer?”Tom tried to smile but his eyes were bloodshot.

“The joy and folly of youth.” Aboli shook his head in mock wonder.

Tom grinned, put the spurs to his mount and sent him soaring over thehedge. Aboli followed him and they galloped over the brow of the hillto where a grove of dark trees nestled in the fold of ground beyond.

Tom pulled up, jumped down, tied his horse to one of the branches, thenstrode into the field of ancient stones that stood in the grove.

They were mossy with age, and legend said that they marked the gravesof the old people who had been buried here back in the infancy oftime.

He chose a propitious spot among them, allowing his feet, not his head,to guide him. At last he sTomped his heel into the damp turf.

“Here!” he said, and Aboli stepped forward with the spade in hishand.

He drove the blade deep into the soft earth and began to dig.

When he paused for breath, Tom took his turn and stopped when the holewas waist-deep. He climbed out of it and went back to where he hadtethered his horse. He unbuckled the flap of his saddlebag andcarefully lifted out a cloth-wrapped burden. He carried it back andset it down on the lip of the hole they had dug. He unwrapped thecloth from the jar. Through the glass, al-Auf glared back at him withone sardonic eye.

“Will you say the prayer for the dead, Aboli? Your Arabic is betterthan mine.” Aboli recited it in a deep, strong voice that echoedweirdly in the dark grove. When he fell silent Tom rewrapped the jar,hiding its grisly contents, and laid it in the bottom of the grave theyhad prepared for it.

“You were a brave man, al-Auf. May your God, Allah, pardon your sins,for they were many and grievous.”

He closed the grave and sTomped down the loose soil. Then he packedthe green sods over it to hide the disturbed earth.

They went to the horses and mounted. From the saddle, Aboli lookedback into the grove for the last time.

“You killed your man in single combat,” he said softly, “and you havetreated his corpse with honour. You have become a warrior indeed,Klebe.” They turned the horses” heads and rode together down the moortowards the sea.

IT was as though Hal Courtney had realized that the hour-glass of hislife was dribbling out the last grains of sand. His thoughts dweltmuch on death and its trappings. From his bed he sent for the masterstonemason from the town, and showed him the design he had drawn forhis tomb.

“I know full well what you want Of me, my lord.” The mason was greyand grizzled, with the stone dust etched into his pores.

“Of course you do, John,” Hal said. The man was an artist with chiseland mallet. He had carved the sarcophagus for Hal’s father and for allhis wives. It was fitting that he should do the same for the master ofHigh Weald.

Then Hal ordered the funeral of his father to be conducted by theBishop. His body would be laid to rest at last in the sarcophagus thatJohn, the master mason, had prepared for it almost two decadesbefore.

The chapel was filled with the family and all those who had known SirFrancis Courtney. The servants and labourers from the estate, dressedin their best clothes, filled the back pews and overflowed into thechurchyard.

Hal sat in the centre of the aisle, in a special chair that the estatecarpenters had adapted for him, with high sides to steady him andhandles at each corner so that he could be carried about by four sturdyfootmen.

The rest of the Courtney family sat in the front pew.

There were a dozen cousins, uncles and aunts as well as the closerrelatives. William was in the seat nearest his father and Alice satbeside him. This was the first time she had appeared in public sincethe night Tom had tried to force his way into their privateapartments.

She was dressed in mourning black, with a dark veil covering herface.

But when she raised the corner of it to dab at her eyes, Tom leanedforward and saw that the side of her face was swollen, a deep cut inher lip was covered with a black scab and an ugly old bruise on hercheek had faded purple and green. She sensed Tom’s eyes on her andhurriedly dropped the veil.

In the pew on the other side of the aisle sat the guests of honour:four knights of the Order of St. George and the Holy Grail.

Nicholas Childs and Oswald Hyde had come down from London together.

Alice’s father, John Grenville, Earl of Exeter, had ridden across fromhis own vast estates, which bordered High Weald, with his youngerbrother Arthur.

After the ceremony, the party returned to the big house for the funeralbanquet. The family and the guests of honour ate in the great diningroom, while trestle tables groaning with food and drink were set up inthe stableyard for the peasantry.

Hal’s hospitality was so bountiful, the offerings from the cellars ofHigh Weald so copious, that before the afternoon was out two peers ofthe realm were forced to retire to their rooms to rest. The Bishop wasso overcome by the exigencies of his office and the fine claret that hehad to be assisted up the main staircase by two footmen, pausing on thelanding to dispense blessings on the mourners gathered below to watchhis progress.

The revellers in the stableyard, after freely availing themselves ofthe pots of foaming cider, took advantage of the hedgerows andhaystacks for similar purposes, and others less sedate. Mingled withthe snores of the imbibers were the lusty rustle of hay, the gigglesand happy cries of young couples otherwise occupied.

At dusk the four knights of the Order came down from their rooms invarious stages of recovery from the mourning banquet, and climbed intothe waiting carriages. The small cavalcade left the house, andfollowed Hal and Tom in the leading carriage back up the hill to thechapel.

In the vault, the ceremonials of the Order had been set out in thecrypt. The mosaic design on the floor was in the shape of thefive-pointed star and in the centre were three bronze cauldronscontaining the ancient elements of fire, earth and water. The flamesfrom the brazier danced on the stone walls and cast weird shadow shapesin the corners beyond the lines of stone tombs.

Hal’s chair stood ready to receive him at the door of the chapel.

Once he was seated in it, his brother knights carried him down thesteps into the vault and set down the chair in the centre of thepentacle, with the three cauldrons surrounding him.

Tom, wearing the simple white robes of an acolyte, waited alone in thenave of the chapel above, praying before the altar in the light of thetorches in their brackets set high on the walls. He could hear thevoices of the knights murmuring and echoing softly from the vaultbelow, as they opened the Lodge in the first degree. Then there was aheavy footstep on the stone stairs as the Earl of Exeter, Tom’ssponsor, came up to summon him.

Tom followed him down the stairs, to where the other knights werewaiting for him within the sacred circle.

Their swords were drawn and they wore the gold rings and chains oftheir offices as Nautonnier knights, the navigators of the first degreeof the Order. Tom knelt at the border of the pentacle and begged forentrance.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost!”

“Who would enter the Lodge of the Temple of the Order of St. Georgeand the Holy Grail?” his father challenged him, in a gusty voice, likea man saved from drowning.

“A novice who presents himself for initiation to the mysteries of theTemple.”

“Enter on peril of your eternal life,” his father invited him, andHal’s gentle tone made the warning more poignant. Tom rose to his feetand stepped over the mosaic marble pattern that marked the boundariesof the mystic circle. He had not expected to feel anything, butsuddenly he shivered as though an enemy had marked his grave with thethrust of a sword into the earth.

“Who sponsors this novice?” Hal asked, in the same reedy voice.

The Earl spoke up boldly.

“I do.” Hal looked back at his son, and his mind wandered away to thehilltop in the savage, untamed land far below the equator where he hadmade his own vows so long ago.

He looked out of the circle to the stone sarcophagus, which at lastheld his own father’s body. He smiled almost dreamily as he consideredthe continuity, the enchanted chain of the knighthood that linked onegeneration to the next. He felt his own mortality creeping towards himlike a man-eating beast stalking him from the darkness. It will beeasier to meet the dark one when I have placed the future firmly in thehands of my sons, he thought, and it seemed then that he could see thatfuture merging with the past and evolving before his eyes. He sawshadowy figures he recognized: the enemies he had fought, the men andwomen he had loved and who were long dead, mingling with others whom heknew had not yet passed into the mist of days to come.

The Earl reached out gently and placed a hand on Hal’s bowed shoulderto call him back to the present. Hal roused himself and looked at Tomagain.

“Who are you?” He began the long catechism.

“Thomas Courtney, son of Henry and of Margaret.” Hal felt the tearsrise in his eyes at the mention of the woman he had loved so dearly.The melancholy was deep in his soul. He felt an exhaustion of thespirit, and he wanted to rest, but he knew he could not until he hadcompleted the tasks appointed to him. He roused himself once more andoffered Tom the blade of the blue Neptune sword, which he had inheritedfrom his own father. The light of the torches danced on the gold inlayof the blade and glowed in the depths of the sapphire on the pommel.

“I call on you to confirm the tenets of your faith upon this blade.”Tom touched the blade and began the recital: “These things I believe.That there is but one God in Trinity, the Father eternal, the Soneternal and the Holy Ghost eternal.”

“Amen!” said the Nautonnier knights together.

The question and answer continued, while the torches guttered.

Each question adumbrated the code of the Order, taken almost entirelyfrom that of the Knights Templar.

The catechism outlined the history of the Templars. It recalled how inthe year 1312 the Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon hadbeen attacked and destroyed by the King of France, Philippe Le Bel, inconnivance with his puppet Pope Clement !” of Bordeaux.

The Templars” vast fortune in bullion and land was confiscated by theCrown, and their master was tortured and burned at the stake.

However, warned by their allies, the Templar mariners slipped theirmoorings in the French Channel harbours and stood out to sea.

They steered for England, and sought the protection of King Edward.

Since then they had opened their Lodges in Scotland and England undernew names, but with the basic tenets of the Order intact.

At last all the questions had been asked and answered.

Tom knelt, and the knights formed a circle around him. A They laid oneof their hands on his bowed head, the other on the hilt of the Neptunesword.

“Thomas Courtney, we welcome you into the Grail Company, and we acceptyou as a brother knight of the Temple of the Order of St. George andthe Holy Grail.” They lifted him to his feet and one after the otherembraced him. This was all part of the ancient ritual, but as Tomstooped to kiss his father, Hal departed from the time-honoured form.He placed the hilt of the Neptune sword in Tom’s hand and closed hisfingers over it.

“It is yours now, my son. Wield it with courage and honour.” Tom knewthat the beautiful blade was one of his father’s most prizedpossessions. He could find no words then to express his gratitude buthe stared deep into Hal’s eyes. He saw that his father indeedunderstood the silent message of love and duty he was trying to sendhim.

After the fitneral guests and the four knights of the Order had left,High Weald seemed silent and deserted. Alice spent most of her days inher private apartment. Tom saw her once, riding alone on the moors,and though he watched her from a distance he remembered theconsequences of their last brief encounter and did not approach her.

William was engrossed in the management of the estate, and passed hisdays at the offices of the tin mine, conferring with his steward, orriding around the estate making unannounced appearances, with theobject of catching malingerers and wrong-doers among his servants.

Misdemeanours were punished with the whip and instant expulsion fromthe estate. He returned to the house in the evenings to spend an hourwith his father before the punctual eight o’clock supper. He atealone, for Alice did not join him and Tom found excuse to eat in hisroom or at one of the local taverns where, with Aboli and Luke Jervis,Ned Tyler and All Wilson, he could find more convivial company.

As the months passed Tom grew increasingly restless and impatient.While William was out of the house he spent the greater part of eachday with his father. He carried Hal down to the library and sat him onhis chair at the head of the long oak table, then brought down frommaps for which Hal the crowded shelves the books and asked. Theyspread them on the table and pored over them earnestly, discussing thedetails of the voyage that Tom knew his father would never make.

Master Walsh, with a pair of newly purchased spectacles perched on hisnose, sat at the far end of the table and took down the notes Haldictated to him. They drew up detailed inventories of the stores andequipment they would need, and watch-bills for the men who would crewthe ships of the expedition back to the Indian Ocean.

“Two ships,” Hal decided.

“Not as large as the Seraph or the Minotaur. Fast, handy vessels, butwell armed, for we will certainly have to fight the pagan again. Nottoo deep a draught, as we will probably have to take them up theestuaries and rivers of the Fever Coast.”

“I will send Ned Tyler and All Wilson to look for ships that will suitus,” Tom cut in eagerly.

“They can ride along the coast and call in at every harbour betweenPlymouth and Margate. But with war raging on the Continent, the rightships will not be easy to find.”

“If you have gold to pay for them, you will be amazed at how easy theywill be to find,” Hal demurred.

“If I have to spend every farthing of the prize we took from al-Auf towin back Dorian from the Arabs, it will be money well spent.”

“We could put a notice in a broadsheet,” suggested Master Walch.

“A good suggestion!” Hal said.

“We could also ask Lord Childs for a Company ship.” Tom looked up fromthe chart.

“No!” Hal shook his head.

“If Childs knows we are taking a squadron back into the domain of JohnCompany, he will do his best to prevent us. The Company is stronglyopposed to what they call interlopers trading, or even sailing, intotheir territory.” Day after day they continued with the planning anddiscussions. Then, fifteen days after Tom had despatched them alongthe coast, Ned Tyler and All Wilson returned with news that they hadfound a ship. It was ideal for the task, but the owners were askingthe criminally exorbitant sum of seven thousand pounds for her. Theyhad with them a letter of acceptance for Hal to sign, and a requestfrom the owners that they be paid by a banker’s draft.

Hal questioned the pair keenly on the condition and standing of theship, then closed his eyes and sat in silence for so long that Tombecame alarmed.

“Father!” He jumped up from his chair, and went to Hal’s side. Hetouched his nek and found that it was burning with fever.

“His lordship is not well. Give me a hand, lads. We must take him upto his bed.” Even Master Walsh grabbed a handl Of the chair, andbetween them they rushed Hal up the e stairs.

Once he was safely laid in the big bed, Tom sent Aboli down to Plymouthto summon Dr. Reynolds from his lodgings in the town. Then hedismissed Ned Tyler and the others, and sent them to wait below. Whenthey were gone he locked the doors to the bedchamber to be alone withhis father. He turned back the bedclothes and, with trepidation, beganto unwrap the bandages from the stumps of his legs.

By this time Hal was flushed with the sudden fever in his blood, andmuttering incoherently in delirium. When Tom lifted off the last clothhe saw that the scar had burst open again, and that the discharge waspouring yellow from the open wound. The familiar cloying odour filledthe chamber, and Tom knew that, once again, the deep corruption hadflared up, but this time more virulently than ever before. The entirestump was riven with scarlet lines as though it had been lashed with awhip. Dr. Reynolds had warned him of this symptom, and now he gropedwith trembling fingers in his father’s groin, afraid of what he mightfind. The glands were swollen hard and lumpy as walnut shells, and Halmoaned in agony when Tom touched them.

“It is the gas gangrene,” Dr. Reynolds confirmed when he arrived.

“This time I cannot save him.”

“Can you not cut it away?” Tom shouted at him.

“Can you not drain the corruption like you did before?”

“It has gone too high.” Reynolds traced, with his fingertips, thefurious red lines that were appearing over Hal’s lower belly even asthey stared at it.

“You must be able to do something,” Tom pleaded.

“It burns through all his body like a fire in dry grass” Your fatherwill be dead by morning,” Reynolds told him simply.

“You should send for your elder brother to pay his last respects.” Tomsent Aboli to find William, but he was down the main shaft of the tinmine at East Rushwold. Aboli waited until evening when Hal’s eldestson returned to the surface.

When he heard of his father’s sudden turn for the worse, Williamgalloped back to the house. He burst into Hal’s bedchamber with such ashow of concern that Tom thought it might readily be mistaken foreagerness.

“How is he?” William demanded from Dr. Reynolds.

“It grieves me to tell you, but his lordship is sinking fast.”

William ignored Tom, and went to kneel at the far side of the bed.

“Father, it’s William. Can you hear me?” Hal stirred at the sound ofhis voice but did not open his eyes.

“Speak to me,” William insisted, but Hal’s breathing was shallow andlight.

“He is going,” William said.

Tom looked up at him sharply. He thought he had detected a note ofsatisfaction in his tone.

“Not long to wait now, Billy,” he agreed, his tone expressionless.

“By morning you should be Lord Courtney.”

“You are a despicable little toad,” William snarled.

“I will make you pay for that gibe in heavy coin.” Neither spoke againfor an hour, then suddenly William rose from his knees.

“It’s eight of the clock, and I am famished. I have not eaten all day.Will you come down to supper?”

“I will stay here.” Tom did not look at him.

“He may wake and need us.”

“Reynolds will call us. It will take only a minute to come up from thedining room.”

“You go, Billy. I will call you,” Tom promised, and William wentstiffly to the door.

He was back within half an hour wiping his lips with the napkin hecarried.

“How is he now?” he asked, with a touch of diffidence in his voice.

“He has not missed you,” Tom answered.

“Do not worry, Billy. He cannot disinherit you for taking a goodsupper.” They settled down for the long vigil, one on each side of thebed and Reynolds stretched out fully dressed on the bed in the dressingroom, snoring softly.

The big house seemed to be holding its breath, and outside the nightwas so still and quiet that Tom could hear the clock in the steeple ofthe chapel on the hill chiming the passage of the hours.

When it struck one in the morning he looked across at William on theopposite side of the four-poster. His head had slumped forward ontothe bedcover, and he was breathing heavily.

Tom laid a hand on his father’s brow. It’s a little cooler, hethought. Perhaps the fever is receding again as it has so oftenbefore. For the first time that night he felt a small lift of hope.

His father stirred at his touch and opened his eyes.

“Are you there, Tom?”

“Here I am, Father,” Tom replied, trying to make his tone joyous.

“You are going to be well. We will sail together again as weplanned.”

“I will not be coming with you, lad.”

Hal had admitted at last what Tom had known all along.

“This is a voyage you will have to make on your own.”

“I wish-” Tom began, but his father groped for his hand.

“Don’t waste time denying it,” he whispered.

“There is little time left. Give me your word you will find Dorian forme.”

“I give you my word, as I gave my solemn oath to Dorry.” Hal sighedand closed his eyes again. With a flare of alarm Tom thought theworst, but then he opened them again.

“William? Where is William?” The sound of his owen name rousedWilliam, who lifted his head.

“I am here, Father.”

Give me your right hand, William,” Hal demanded.

“And you, Tom, give me yours.” They gave them to him, and he went on,”William, you know what terrible fate has befallen your youngestbrother?”

“Yes, Father.”

“I have charged Tom with the duty of finding him, and rescuing him. Tomhas accepted that duty. Now I charge you also. Are you listening,William?”

“Yes, Father.”

“I lay on you the solemn duty that you will do all in your power tohelp Tom with his quest to rescue Dorian.

You will provide him with the ships he needs. You will pay for thecrews, the stores and all else. You will not stint him, but you willmake good the manifest that Tom and I have drawn up together.”

William nodded.

“I understand what it is you wish, Father.”

“Then swear it to me,” Hal insisted, his voice rising.

“There is little time left.”

“I swear it,” William said, quietly and sincerely.

“Thank God for that,” Hal murmured. He lay for a

while as if gathering his strength for one last effort. But he clungto their hands with surprising strength. Then he spoke again.

“You are brothers. Brothers should never be enemies. I want you toforget the old disputes that have torn. you apart and, for my sake,become brothers in the full sense.” William and Tom were silent,neither looking at Hal nor at each other.

“It is my dying wish. Please grant it to me,” Hal begged.

Tom spoke first.

“I am ready to forget what is past. In the future I will give Williamthe respect and affection he deserves.”

“I

can ask for no more,” Hal gasped.

“Now it is your turn, William.

Swear it to me.”

“If Tom keeps to that promise, I will return the same respect andaffection,” William said, without looking across at Tom.

“Thank you. Thank you, both,” Hal whispered.

“Now stay with me this little time that we have left together.” Thenight was long.

More than once Tom thought Hal was dead, but when he listened at hisfather’s lips he heard the soft sigh and hiss of his breathing.

Then he must have dozed for the next he heard was the crowing of thecocks in the stableyard. He started guiltily and looked across atWilliam and saw that he was slumped half across the bed, snoringsoftly. The lamp had burned out, but the first pale glimmer of dawnshowed beyond the curtains.

Tom touched his father’s face and, with a terrible stab of grief, feltthat the skin was cold. He moved his fingers to search his throat forthe pulse of the carotid. There was nothing, no flicker of life.

I should have stayed awake. I failed him at the last.

Tom leaned over and kissed his father’s lips. Tears coursed down hischeeks, and dripped on to Hal’s face. He used a corner of the sheet towipe them away, and kissed him again.

He waited for almost half an hour, until the light in the bedchamberwas stronger. Then he examined his own face in the mirror on the farwall, to make certain that he had full control of his grief.

He did not want Black Billy to see him so unmanned. He reached acrossand shook his elder brother.

“Wake up, Billy. Father is gone.”

William lifted his head and stared at him, dazed. In the dim light ofdawn his eyes were bleary and unfocused.

Then he looked down at Hal’s pale face.

“So it’s over at last,” he said. He stood up stiffly and stretched.

“Sweet Jesus, but the old rogue took his time. I thought he wouldnever move over for me.”

“Father is deadP Tom thought he had not understood.

Not even Black Billy could be so callous.

“We’d best call Reynolds to make certain of that, and then seal him upin his fancy new tomb before he changes his mind.” William smiled athis own grim humour, then bellowed for the surgeon, who came stumblingthrough from the dressing room, still half asleep. Swiftly he examinedHal, listened at his mouth for breathing, then ran his hand inside hisnightshirt to feel for his heart. At last he shook his head and lookedup at William.

“Your father is indeed gone, my lord.” Tom was stunned by how swiftand simple it was. Billy was now Baron Dartmouth.

“Do you wish me to order the laying out and other preparations forinterment, my lord?”

“Of course,” William said.

“I

will be engaged. There is much that I have to see to. I will have togo up to London as soon as possible.” He was talking to himself now,rather than to the others.- “I must take my seat in the House of @:,Lords, then meet Master Samuels at the bank-” He broke off, and lookedat Tom.

“I want you to make the arrangements for the funeral. It’s time youstarted to earn your keep.”

“I would be honoured.” Tom tried to shame him, but William went onwithout check.

“A quiet funeral, just the immediate family. We will get it over assoon as possible. The Bishop can do the honours, if we can keep himsober long enough. A week from today,” he decided abruptly.

“I leave the details to you.” He stretched again.

“By God, but I’m hungry. I will be at breakfast if you need me.” herewas no time for all of Hal’s brother knights to assemble for hisfuneral. The Earl of Exeter and his brother were the only ones closeenough to attend.

However, the officers and men who had sailed with Hal straggled in fromevery corner of the county and every seaport along the coast.

Some walked fifty miles to be there. Ned Tyler, All Wilson and LukeJervis found pews near the front of the chapel, and the common sailorsand labourers from the estate crowded the nave and overflowedoutside.

“I will not spend my hard-earned guineas on food and drink for everyloafer and tippler in the land,” William decided, and paid only for thehospitality offered to his invited guests. From his own prize money,Tom purchased funeral meat and drink for the men who had come to honourhis father.

Two days after Hal’s body had been sealed in the new stone tomb in thevault of the family chapel, William took the coach up to London, andwas gone for almost three weeks. Before he left, he sent Alice and thebaby to her father. Tom was certain that this was to prevent himspeaking to her. He found the empty house so oppressive that he tookrooms at the Royal Oak and spent his days there with Ned Tyler, AllWilson and Master Walsh, planning the final details of the expeditionto find Dorian.

Working from the watch-bills and manifests that he and Hal had drawnup, he prepared a budget to present to William on his return to HighWeald’. Time was running against Tom, for autumn was once again comingon apace.

He had little more than three months to equip and man the ships, crossthe Bay of Biscay and reach the more clement southern waters before thegales of winter blocked his passage.

“It will cost us another year of waiting if winter catches us,” Tomfretted. He spoke for the stores they needed from the chandlers, andpledged his word against the return of William. The credit of the newLord Courtney was good as any banker’s. He hired a large warehouse atthe docks to store the goods, then sent Ned and Aboli to call up themen they needed.

After the triumph of their last expedition, there was little trouble infinding the best crew, all of whom who had sailed on the Seraph. Mosthad already spent their prize money, and were eager to take a berthwith Tom.

Ned Tyler and All found the second ship they needed, and haggled thebest price for her. However, the owners refused to hand over eithership until they had been paid in full. Tom had to curb hisimpatience.

At the end of September William returned from London to High Weald. Hecame in triumph: he had taken his seat in the House of Lords and hadbeen presented at court. He had been the guest of Lord Childs atBombay House for his entire stay in the city. Childs had sponsored hisentry to fashionable London society, had introduced him to the halls ofpower, and had prevailed upon him to take a seat on the board ofgovernors of John Company.

Using the prize money he had inherited, William had increased hisinvestment in the Company to 7 per cent of the issued share capital, tomake himself one of the five major shareholders after the Crown.

The gossip in the town was that Alice had come back with him from herfather’s house, and it was said too that she was expecting anotherinfant.

As soon as he heard of William’s return, Tom rode up from the town toHigh Weald, excited and eager to discuss his plans for the expeditionwith his brother. He carried two metal despatch cases in hissaddlebags. In them were all the papers he had assembled over the pastweeks of waiting: the deeds of purchase of the two ships, the billsfrom the chandlers and suppliers of ships” stores and trade goods.

He arrived at the big house in the middle of the morning, to find thatWilliam was already closeted in the library, in consultation with hisbailiff. Tom was astonished to find a throng waiting their turn to seeLord Courtney.

They crowded the entrance lobby and, at a rough count, Tom made itsixteen in all. Most of them he knew. There was the family lawyer,John Anstey the high sheriff of the county, overseers and engineersfrom the mine, and the mayor and senior aldermen from the town. Theothers Tom did not recognize, but he greeted them all politely andchatted with Anstey while he waited for his brother to see him.

When noon struck, he decided that William did not know he was waitingwith the others so he sent a note through with Evan, the steward, whoreturned almost immediately, looking uncomfortable.

“His lordship says he will call you when he is ready to see you. Inthe meantime u are to wait.” The afternoon passed slowly. Atintervals Evan came to summon the others through to the library. Bythe evening Tom was the last one left.

“His lordship will see you now, Master Thomas,” Evan saidapologetically.

Carrying a despatch box under each arm, and trying to conceal hisirritation at the way in which he had been treated, Tom went through tothe library. He found William standing at the fireplace, his handsclasped behind his back, lifting the tail of his coat to present hisbackside to the warmth of the flames.

“Good afternoon, William. I hope that you have had a successful visitto London. I heard of your presentation at court. I offer you mycongratulations.” He placed the despatch boxes on the library table.

“How kind of you, brother.” William’s tone was distant.

At that moment Evan returned with two goblets on a silver tray, andoffered one first to William. Then he came to Tom, and as Tom took theother goblet, Evan asked him, “Will you be staying to supper thisevening, sir?” Before Tom could reply, William cut in, “I think not,Evan. Master Thomas will not be staying long. I am sure he has plansto dine with his rough friends in the town.” Both Tom and Evan staredat him in astonishment, but he went on smoothly, “That will be all,thank you, Evan. Supper at eight o’clock as usual. I do not want tobe disturbed before then.” He sipped the cognac and raised an eyebrowas he glanced at the black-painted tin despatch boxes.

“I am sure that you did not come merely to congratulate me.”

“I have for your approval the manifest for the expedition. Also thebills for the expenses I have already incurred.”

“What expedition?” William pretended puzzlement.

“I do not remember asking you to run up any bills on my behalf. PerhapsI misheard you.”

“Your undertaking to our father.”

Tom tried not to show that he was put out by the denial.

“I have almost completed the preparations.” He opened the boxes andlaid out the documents in neat piles down the length of the table.

“These are the watch-bills. I have found one hundred and fifty goodseamen.

That’s all the crew I will need.

Every man jack of them sailed with our father, and I know them well. Ican answer for every one.” William stayed at the fireplace.

There was a small enigmatic smile on his lips, but his eyes werecold.

“These are the bills of sale for the two ships. I have inspected both.They are ideal for our purposes, and I have managed to beat down theowners” asking price by almost four thousand pounds.” He looked up atWilliam, but his brother remained silent. Tom waited a while for himto speak, and when he did not he went on doggedly.

“This is a complete manifest of the stores and equipment we will need.I have already purchased most of it, and I have it stored in Patchley’swarehouse at the docks. I am afraid I was forced to pay high prices.

The Admiralty is buying up all available stores to equip the navy.

Powder and shot, rope and sails are in desperately short supply.

Prices have more than doubled since the beginning of the war.” Hewaited for William to reply, then said lamely, “I have given my word onthe payment. I will need the money for these bills, and notes for theowners of the ships at once. The rest can wait a while.” Williamsighed, crossed to one of the leather chairs and threw himself intoit.

Tom started to speak again, but William cut him off by bellowing forone of the parlour maids

“Susan!” She must have been waiting outside the door, anticipating hiscall, for she came at once. Tom knew her. She had been a child whenhe sailed with his father, but in his absence she had grown into apretty girl, with dark ringlets peeping out from under her cap andsparkling blue eyes with naughty lights in them. She dropped Tom aquick curtsy, then ran to answer William’s call.

William lifted one of his legs. She took it between her own legs withher bottom pointed towards him, and seized his boot at toe and heel.She used the grip of her knees to prise it off his foot. When the bootslid off William wriggled his stockinged toes and gave her the otherfoot.

She repeated the process, but as the boot came free William thrust hisfoot up under her petticoats. She squealed playfully and blushedscarlet.

“My lord!” she cried, but instead of pulling away she bent a littlefurther over to let him explore with his toes as he wished.

After a minute, William laughed.

“Go on with you, you saucy little baggage.” He pulled his foot outfrom under her skirts, placed it firmly on her rump and gave her aplayful shove towards the door.

She scampered away, looking back archly over her shoulder as she closedthe door.

“When you are done with exercising your rights as master of High Weald,may we return to the business of the expedition?” Tom asked.

“Please go on, Thomas,” William invited, with a wave of his hand.

“Will you consider the list of costs?”

“Damn me, Thomas. Don’t tire me with your lists.

Come straight out and tell me how much you are begging for?”

“I

am begging only for that my father promised to me.” Tom was havingdifficulty controlling his temper.

“The two ships are the main expense-“

“Speak out!” William snapped.

“Chase the fox into the open.

How much is it?”

“In all it amounts to a little over nineteen thousand pounds,” Tomsaid, “but that includes trade goods. I will trade along the coast forivory, gold, copper and gum arabic. I expect to turn a handsomeprofit-” He broke off as William began to laugh. It started as achuckle, then escalated to a full belly laugh. Tom stood and watchedhim, wrestling with his temper. William was choking on his mirth, andhad to gasp for breath before he could go on.

At last Tom could conceal his irritation no longer.

“Perhaps I am slow, but I am not certain what it is that amuses you so,brother.”

“Yes, Thomas, you are slow. It has not yet penetrated to the depths ofyour thick skull that I am now the master of High Weald and that youare beholden to me for every penny, not to our father’s shadow.”

“What I need is not for myself. It’s for Dorian.

It’s for the oath you swore to our father,” Tom said grimly.

“You gave him your word. You are oath-bound.”

“I think not, Thomas.”

William stopped laughing abruptly.

“At the end Father was in delirium.

He was wandering in his mind. If I said anything, it was merely toplacate him. I had no serious intent. It would be folly to squandermy inheritance on the whim of a dying man.

Nineteen thousand pounds! You must have lost your senses if you thinkfor one minute that I will hand that sum of money over to you so thatyou can go chasing off to the end of the world. No, dear brother.

Put it out of you head.” Tom stared at him speechlessly.

“You are going back on your solemn word? Billy, I am not chasing offfor my own pleasure. We are talking about the rescue of your ownbrother from the hands of the infidel.”

“Don’t call me Billy, not ever again.”

William lifted his goblet and swigged the last drops of the cognac.

“No, I agree that there are better names for you than that.

Cheat? Twister? What else would you call the man who denies his ownyounger brother and goes back on an oath to his father?”

“Don’t address me in that disrespectful tone!” William hurled hisgoblet into the fireplace. It shattered. He got to his feet andadvanced on Tom menacingly.

“You will have to learn your place, or I will beat it into you.” Hisface was dark with rage.

Tom stood his ground.

“As you beat it into Alice?” he asked bitterly.

“You are a fierce, hard man when it comes to bullying servants andwomen, brother. You are a prince of liars when it comes to breakingyour word and cheating on your sworn obligations, too.”

“You little turd.” William’s face had turned dark red and seemed nowto swell. He was no longer handsome and debonair.

“You will not speak like that of my wife.” Tom had found the weakness,the way to reach and wound him.

“Have a care, Billy. Alice might hit back. You would be no match forher in a fair fight. You might be reduced to beating her baby. Thatshould give you real pleasure. Turning little Francis’s face purpleand blue with your whip.” He was watching his man, poised on his toes,his fists clenched at his sides, watching William’s eyes to read hisintention, ready to meet him when he attacked.

“Tom, please, Tom. To Tom’s astonishment, William’s face crumpled. The anger flowed out of him and he looked distraught.

“Don’t say that. Please!” His shoulders sagged, and he held out hishands towards his brother in appeal.

“You are right, I owe a duty to our father’s memory. We promised toset aside our differences.” He came towards Tom with his right handoutstretched.

“Here’s my hand on it, Tom. Come, take it.” Tom was thrownoff-balance by this sudden change in William. He hesitated, but hisanger and outrage were subsiding and William was smiling at him warmly.And what he had said was true: they had promised their father.

He forced himself to relax and, awkwardly, he put out his own hand totake William’s. His brother gripped it firmly, and smiled into Tom’seyes. Then suddenly, with all his strength, he heaved Tom towards him.At the same time he lowered his chin and butted the top of his headinto Tom’s face, catching him across the bridge of the nose.

Tom’s vision exploded in a burst of flashing light, and he felt thecartilage in his nose crack. A wash of blood shot from both hisnostrils, and he reeled backwards. But William still had a grip on hisright hand, and again he pulled him forward. William was left-handedand this was his strong side. Tom’s vision was starred with fireballsof light and he was dazed. He did not see the fist coming. It crackedinto the side of his head and sent him flying backwards over thelibrary table. The sheafs of paper on the tabletop scattered likeleaves in a high wind, and Tom smashed into the floor on hisshoulder-blades. Though he was half stunned, he was already scrabblingat the floor boards in an effort to get back on his feet and into thefight.

But William jerked the dagger from the sheath on his hip, and launchedhimself over the table as Tom came up on his knees. Through hisfractured vision Tom saw the glint of the blade, and hooked up under itwith his forearm, deflecting it from the centre of his chest where itwas aimed. The point scraped over the top of his shoulder, slicingthrough his waistcoat. Tom barely felt the sting of the steel, beforeWilliam’s weight hit him squarely and they went over together, chest tochest. Tom grappled for his wrist as William tried to stab the daggerinto his eye, and they rolled across the polished floorboards, firstone on top then the other.

“I’ll cut your liver out,” William grunted, and changed the angle ofhis thrusts. Tom had to rally all his scattered wits and strength tohold him off. The point of the dagger was inches from his face.

Even though William had led the sedate life of a gentleman these lastthree years, his wrestling skill and muscle seemed unimpaired.

They crashed into the bookcase at the end of the room. At that momentTom was on top, and he used the brief instant of respite to slam hisbrother’s dagger hand into the sharp edge of one of the oak shelves.William yelped, and his grip on the hilt slackened. Tom used all hisstrength to repeat the blow. He saw blood spring up across William’sknuckles where they hit the wood, but he did not loose the dagger.Again Tom pounded his fist against the edge of the shelf and this timeWilliam gasped with the agony, his fingers opened and the weaponslipped from them.

Neither of them could reach for it without loosing his grip on theother. For a moment, they matched strength then Tom curled up his legsunder him and started to rise.

William came up with him. They were standing now, chest to chest,gripping each other’s wrists. William tried to swing Tom off his feet,but he stood solid. He tried again and Tom went with the swing, usingthe impetus to fling William into the bookshelves. Loaded with heavybooks, they reached almost to the high ceiling of the room and Williamcrashed into them with such force that an entire section came free ofthe wall and swung down on top of them. An avalanche of leather boundvolumes cascaded down on the pair, and the falling shelves gatheredmomentum. Anyone trapped under them would be crushed under theirweight. They realized this simultaneously and sprang apart. As theyscrambled aside the shelves thundered down In a chaos of splinteringwood and glass.

Panting, they confronted each other over the wreckage. Blood bubbledfrom Tom’s broken nose and dribbled down his shirt-front. But hisvision and strength came back to him, and with them his rage.

“You were ever the cheat, Billy. You king-hit me.” He startedforward, but William whirled and ran to the display of military armshanging upon the far wall.

There were steel shields, surrounded by hundreds of edged weaponsarranged in decorative patterns, collected by the Courtney ancestorsfrom every battlefield on which they had fought. William snatched downa heavy sword that had been used by a Cavalier officer in KingCharles’s cavalry.

“Now we will finish this once and for all, he said grimly, as he turnedon Tom. He cut and thrust at the air with the long blade, to test itsbalance and feel.

Tom retreated slowly before him. He could not reach the far wall andselect a weapon of his own, neither could he escape through the doubledoors. To do so he would give William his chance. He thought of thedagger his brother had dropped, but that was buried under the books.

With his sleeve, he wiped the blood from his face and backed away.

“Ha! Ha!” William shouted, and came on faster, driving at him with arapid series of lunges. Tom was forced to jump away, twisting anddodging. William was working him towards the corner furthest from thedoor.

Tom saw the trap, but when he tried to break out, his brother blockedhim, cutting right and left at his head, forcing him back once more.Tom was evaluating his style and expertise. He saw that he had notimproved since the days when he had watched him practising withAboli.

William was still a better wrestler than a blades man His eyes gaveaway his intention, and although he was as swift as a striking adder onthe thrust and the left-handed cut, he was weak on the reverse cut andtardy on the recovery from a thrust.

Now he charged in suddenly, underestimating his unarmed adversary.

Tom gave with a series of quick running steps backwards, watching hiseyes. His back came up hard against a section of bookshelf that wasstill standing, and he saw the triumph in William’s dark eyes.”Now, sir!” He thrust high in the natural line, and Tom let him committo the stroke before he rolled his body away from it. The thrust wentunder his armpit, and the blade sank into the spine of a book on theshelf behind him.

Briefly the blade was trapped, but Tom did not make the mistake oftrying to wrestle it from his grip and lacerating his hands on therazor steel. While William struggled to free it, Tom stooped quicklyand gathered up one of the heavy books from the floor at his feet. Hehurled it into William’s face. It struck him on the forehead, but ashe staggered back the blade came free.

As Tom bounded past him William struck out at him, but he was slow onhis weak side and still off-balance. The point touched Tom’s flank anddrew more blood, but it was a flesh wound, and Tom was past. Hestarted for the wall display of weapons, but he heard the soft slitherof William’s stockinged feet close behind him. Instinctively he knewthat William would catch him before he could get another sword down offthe wall, and that he would receive a killing thrust into hisunprotected back. He changed direction and heard William swear as heslipped on the polished floor, his stockings gave him no purchase.

Tom reached the table and snatched up the massive silver candlestickfrom the centrepiece. Holding it in front of him, he whirled to faceWilliam’s next charge. His brother raised the sword high and hacked atTom’s head.

It was a poor stroke, one that would have been fatal folly if Tom hadhad a sword in his hand. Tom raised the candlestick and the bladeclattered against the soft metal.

He knew that the shock had jarred his brother’s hand.

William winced and gasped, but raised the sword to repeat the wildoverarm stroke.

Quicker on the recovery, Tom swung the silver candlestick like a battleaxe into William’s ribs under the raised sword. He heard a bone break,like a green stick, and William shouted with the pain, but though hisaim was thrown askew he could not stop the blow he had alreadylaunched. It hissed past Tom’s head and buried itself in the tabletop,shattering the magnificently grained walnut.

Tom hit him again with the candlestick, but William ducked, avoidingthe full force of the blow. Still it sent him staggering back to tripon the pile of books. He almost went down but, with a wild windmill ofhis right arm, recovered his balance. Tom had darted away towards thedoor and William went after him again, cutting left and right at hisback, the blows falling just short.

Tom raced for the door out into the hall, and through it saw hissword-belt hanging in the alcove where Matthew had hung it for him whenhe entered the house. The great sapphire in the pommel flashed at himlike a harbour beacon welcoming a gale-blasted ship.

As he ran through the open doors he reached out and slammed one shut inWilliam’s face. William blocked the swing of the door with hisshoulder and threw it back, but the check had given Tom just enoughleeway to cross the hall and tear down his sword-belt from the rack.

He whirled and used the engraved and lacquered scabbard to blockWilliam’s next wild thrust. He leaped back and, before William couldfollow up, he had drawn the steel of the blue Neptune sword out of itsscabbard.

The blade came clear with a soft snick and quivered in his right handlike a beam of solid sunlight. The reflections danced on the walls andthe ceiling above where he stood foursquare to face William on equalterms at last.

William came up short as the inlaid steel weaved like a standing cobrain his face and winked gold sparks into his eyes.

“Yes, brother. Now we will finish this, once and for all.” Tom threwWilliam’s threat back into his teeth, and came forward, staring deepinto his brother’s dark eyes, right foot leading, taking light, rapidsteps. William gave ground before his advance and Tom saw fear bloomin his eyes. He realized what he had known all along: William was acoward.

Why should I be surprised? he thought grimly. Bullies are usuallycowards. To test him, he attacked en &che, the attack of the arrow,driving in a storm of rapid thrusts.

William almost fell over backwards in his haste to avoid the flashingblade.

“You are quick as a frightened rabbit, brother.” Tom laughed in hisface, but he was holding himself in check, never relaxing hisvigilance. The frightened leopard is the most dangerous. There wasalso danger in facing a left, handed blades man All the coups werereversed and he might lay himself open to the left-handed cut fromWilliam’s strong side. Fortunately, Aboli had emphasized this duringso many practice sessions. Aboli was ambidextrous and he had oftenchanged his sword into his left hand in the middle of a bout, shiftingthe symmetry of the engagement, trying to throw Tom off his stroke. Inthe beginning he had succeeded, but Tom had been an apt student.

William stumbled and slipped, dropped to one knee.

It looked natural, but Tom had seen his eyes and the way his blade haddrifted back into position for the left-handed cut in the low line - astroke that would sever Tom’s Achilles tendon and cripple him.

Instead of stepping into the snare, Tom jumped back and circled swiftlyinto his weak quarter.

“You waste your talents, brother.” Tom smiled through the blood of hisbroken nose.

“You might have an illustrious career at the Globe.”

William was forced to scramble to his feet as Tom came in again fromthe right, and drove him back to the

The Monsoon

It foot of the grand staircase with a fierce series of cuts andthrusts, changing his angle and line with each blow.

William was hard put to block each successive stroke: his breathingturned ragged and his eyes filled slowly with terror. The sweat poppedout in little transparent blisters across his forehead.

“Don’t be afraid, Billy.” Tom smiled at him over the darting steel.

“It’s like a razor. You’ll hardly feel it go in.” His next thrustsplit open the front of William’s shirt without cutting theivory-smooth skin beneath.

“Just like that,” Tom said.

“No pain at all.” William reached the staircase and whirled. He wentup it with long elastic bounds, three treads at a time, but Tom wasafter him, gaining with every stride. William heard him and was forcedto turn to defend himself on the first landing. He reachedinstinctively for the dagger on his belt, but the sheath was empty.

“It’s gone, Billy,” his brother reminded him.

“No more dirty little tricks. You’ll have to fight with what youhave.” To begin with William had the advantage of height as Tom cameup from below him.

He went for the overhead slash, but it was not the stroke to attempt ona blades man of Tom’s calibre. He blocked it with a dead hit, andtrapped the blade as he came up onto the landing to face him. Theystrained together, their weapons locked before their eyes.

“When you’re gone, Billy, the title will pass to little Francis.”

Tom tried not to let the strain distort his voice, but William waspowerful in the shoulders and their blades trembled and shook with thepressure each was applying.

“Alice will be his guardian. She would never let Dorian down,” hesaid, and threw William away from him with a heave of his shoulders.

At the same time he stepped back and dropped the point to the level ofhis brother’s throat.

“You see, I have to kill you, Billy, if only for Dorian’s sake.”

And he lunged for William’s throat. It was a mortal stroke, but toavoid it William hurled himself backwards wildly.

He crashed into the banisters behind him, which gave way with asplintering crackle of timbers.

William fell in a tangle of limbs into the entrance hall ten feetbelow. He hit the boards with a shuddering crash, and the sword flewfrom his grip. For a moment, the wind was driven from his lungs and helay on his back, dazed and helpless.

Tom jumped over the shattered banisters, and dropped feet first,bracing himself in mid-air with cat-like grace to land lightly,breaking the force of his fall with a flexing of his legs and goingdown on one knee before springing up again. He kicked away William’ssword, sending it skidding across the floor to the far wall. Then hestood tall over William’s sprawling body.

He placed the point of his blade at the base of his brother’s throat,in the !” of his white shirt-front, where the crisp black hairs of hischest curled out of the opening.

“As you said, Billy, once and for all. It’s over between us,” Tom toldhim grimly, and began the death thrust. Yet sword hand. He prickedthe skin at William’s throat, but could not go deeper. He tried again,exerting all his strength, but a force outside himself held back theblade.

He stood over William, a terrible blood-splattered figure, the swordtrembling in his hands and his face distorted into an ugly mask by hisrage and frustration. Do it! The voice of his resolve rang in hisears, and again he tried to stab downwards, but his right arm wouldnot.

Do it! Kill him now. For Dorry’s sake, if not your own.

Then the echo of his father’s voice overrode the murderous command.

“You are brothers. Brothers should never be enemies. I want you toforget the old disputes that have torn you apart and, for my sake,become brothers in the full sense.” ri He wanted to shout back, “Ihave to do this.” William lay on his back pinned under the blade, andtears of terror filled his eyes. He opened his mouth to plead for hislife, but no words came, only a dreadful croak like the cry of araven.

Tom felt the muscles and sinews of his right hand bunching with theeffort he had to make to force them to obey his will, and the pointmoved down an inch and pierced the soft skin. Bright blood welled upfrom the shallow scratch and William squirmed.

“Please, I will give you the money, Tom,” he whispered.

“I swear it. This time I will give you the money.”

“I can never- trust you again. You have broken one sacred oath. Youare beyond the call of honour,” Tom said, and his revulsion for hisbrother’s cowardice and perfidy gave him the strength to carry throughthe dreadful deed.

This time his right arm would obey.

“Tom!” A dreadful cry rang through the silent house. For a moment Tomthought it was his mother’s voice, from it was as though a steelmanacle was holding back his beyond the grave. He looked up. Awraithlike figure stood at the head of the stairs, and Tom was seizedby a Superstitious dread. Then he saw that it was Alice with herinfant in her arms.

“No, Tom. You must not kill him Tom wavered.

“You don’t understand. He is evil.

You yourself know he is the very devil.”

“He is my husband, and Francis’s father. Don’t do it, Tom. For mysake.”

“Both you and the baby will be better off with his death.” Tom turnedhis attention back to the creature who lay, craven and whimpering, athis feet.

“It’s murder, Tom. They will hunt you down, wherever you run, and theywill find you and drag you to the scaffold.”

“I don’t care, “Tom said, and meant it.

“Without you, there will be nobody to go to Dorian.

For his sake, if not for mine, you must not do this evil thing.”

The truth of what she said struck Tom like a blow in the face, and heflinched at the sting of it. Then he stepped back.

“Go!” he ordered, and William scrambled to his feet.

Tom saw there was no fight left in him.

“Get out of my sight.”

His voice was thick with disgust.

“And remember next time you raise your hand to your wife that she savedyour life this day.”

William backed away to the stairs and then, when he was at a safedistance, he turned, ran up them, and disappeared down the longgallery.

“Thank you, Tom.” Alice looked down at him with tragic eyes.

“You and I will live to regret this, “Tom told her.

“That is in God’s hands.”

“I have to go away,” Tom said.

“I

cannot stay here to protect YOU.

“I know that.” Her voice was a resigned whisper.

“I shall never return to High Weald,” he went on doggedly.

“I know that also,” she agreed.

“Go with God, Tom.

You are a good man, as your father was.” She turned and vanishedaround the corner of the gallery.

Tom stood for a while, considering the enormity of what he had justsaid. He would never return to High Weald. When he was dead, he wouldnot lie in the vault of the chapel on the hill with his ancestors. Hisgrave would be in a far and wild land. He shivered at the knowledge.Then he stooped to gather up his sword-belt and scabbard where he haddropped them. He strapped the Neptune sword around his waist.

He looked through the doors into the library. His papers werescattered over the floor. He went into the old room, and was about togather them up, when he stopped himself. There will be no call forthose now, he thought darkly. Slowly he looked around the room. Itwas filled with wonderful memories of his father. Another tie with hischildhood would part here. Then his eye fell on the row of hisfather’s journals on the shelf beside the door, the faithful record ofall Hal’s voyages. Each page, written in his hand, contained sailingdirections and information more valuable then any other item in thehouse Tom was leaving for ever. That much I will take with me, hethought. He swept them off the shelves and went out into the hall.

Evan, the house-steward, and two of the footmen were waiting there.Evan had a cocked pistol in each hand.

“His lordship has sent for the sheriff’s men. He has ordered me todetain you until he arrives, Master Tom.”

“So, what are you going to do, Evan?” Tom laid his hand on the hilt ofhis sword.

“Your horse is waiting outside, Master Tom.” Evan lowered thepistols.

“I hope you find Master Dorian. All of us at High Weald will miss you.Come back to us one day.”

“Goodbye, Evan.” Tom’s voice was gruff.

“Thank you.” He went down the steps, put the journals into hissaddle-bags and sprang up into the saddle. He turned the horse’s headtowards the sea, and rode down the long gravel drive. At the gates heresisted the urge to look back.

“It’s over,” he told himself, “it’s all over,” and he spurred on, downthe dark road.

Tom decided not to wait for the sheriff’s men to come for him with thecharges he knew William would trump up. He found his men in thetaproom of the Royal Oak. They stared in astonishment at hisbloodstained clothing and broken nose.

“We will sail immediately,” he told Aboli, Ned Tyler and All Wilson.

Then he looked across at Luke Jervis on the far side of the fireplace.Luke owned the tiny Raven and was his own man, but he nodded hisacceptance of the order without demur.

When they were about to slip the lines from the dock, a lone horsemancame pounding down Plymouth Ho at a gallop. He almost fell over thehorse’s neck as he reined in.

“Wait for me, sir!” Tom smiled as he recognized Master Walsh’svoice.

“You cannot leave me behind.”

A small group of the old stalwarts gathered on the open deck as theRaven slipped out into the night sea.

“What course, sir?” Luke asked as they cleared the headland.

Tom looked longingly towards the south. Down there lay Good Hope andthe gateway to the Orient. Oh, for a ship, a real ship and not thiscockle-shell, he thought, then turned firmly from that direction.

“London, he said. His voice was blurred for his nose was swollen andblocked.

“I will pay you for this voyage,” he added. He still had most of hisprize money in Samuels Bank in London.

“We will settle that later,” Luke grunted, then shouted the order tohis three-man crew to tack the little cutter on to an easterlyheading.

The Raven slipped quietly up the Thames and into the Pool of London,drawing no attention in the busy throng Of small craft. Luke set themashore with their meagre baggage on the stone wharf below the Tower ofLondon.

Aboli found cheap lodgings in the mean streets alongside the river.

“If fortune favours, we will need these rooms for only a few days.” Tomlooked around the dingy wooden shack.

“We will need good fortune to survive the rats and cockroaches,” AllWilson remarked, while Tom changed into the best clothes he had broughtwith him. The dark blue coat and breeches, not too fancy, gave him asober, businesslike appearance.

“I will go with you, Klebe,” Aboli volunteered.

“You will probably lose your way without me.” The day was cold andrainy, a forerunner of autumn.

It was a long walk through the maze of narrow streets, but Abolithreaded his way through them as unerringly as if they had been hisnative forests. They came out at the Cornhill end of LeadenhallStreet, and crossed to the imposing la@ ode of the Companyheadquarters.

“I will wait for you at the tavern on the corner,” Aboli told Tom asthey parted.

When he entered the foyer of the building one of the secretariesrecognized Tom, and greeted him respectfully.

“I will see if his lordship will receive you,” he said.

“In the meantime will you wait in the parlour, Mr. Courtney.” Auniformed footman took Tom’s boat cloak, and brought him a glass ofMadeira. While he sat in an easy chair before the crackling fire, Tomrehearsed the appeal he intended to put to Nicholas Childs. He couldbe reasonably certain that Childs had not yet heard from brotherWilliam. Unless he had become clairvoyant, William would not expecthim to call here, so he was unlikely to have sent an urgent message toChilds to warn. him not to offer Tom assistance.

On the other hand, Tom had realized the futility of asking Childs forcommand of a Company ship. There were many captains of vast experienceand long service who would take precedence over him. Tom had never hadhis own full command, and Childs would never give him one of themagnificent Indiamen. The best he could expect was a berth as a juniorofficer on a ship bound for India, and Dorian was in Africa.

As he turned the problem over Tom frowned into the fire and sipped hiswine. Lord Childs knew all about Dorian’s capture, in fact, Tom hadheard him discussing it with Hal when they were guests at Bombay House.If Tom asked for a ship he would realize his intention of going afterhis captured brother, instead of trading for profit.

Furthermore, if Tom procured any other vessel, Childs would do his bestto prevent him even rounding the Cape. Hal had said that the Companywas bitterly opposed to interlopers in their chartered territories.

No, best to feign disinterest in that part of the world. I’ll take theskin off this cat from the tail end, he decided grimly.

Lord Childs kept him waiting less than an hour, which Tom took as amark of high favour. The chairman of the board of the East IndiaCompany was probably one of the busiest men in London, and Tom hadarrived without invitation or warning.

On the other hand I am a brother knight of the Order, and my familyowns 7 per cent of the shares in the Company. He cannot guess that,only days ago, I came close to slitting Billy’s throat.

The secretary led him up the main staircase, and through theantechamber to Childs’s office. The furnishings bespoke the Company’svast wealth and circumstance.

The carpets underfoot were of lustrous silk and the paintings that hungupon the panelled walls were imposing seascapes depicting the ships ofthe Company in full sail off the exotic shores of the Carnatic andCoromandel coasts.

When Tom passed under a chandelier that looked like an inverted icemountain and entered the inner chamber through carved and gilt doors,Lord Childs rose from his desk and came to meet him. This was enoughto allay any ivings that Tom still might have about his reception.

dear young Thomas.” Childs clasped his hand and, with thumb andforefinger, gave him the recognition grip of brother knights of theOrder.

“This is a pleasant surprise.” Tom gave him the counter-sign.

“My lord, it is gracious of you to receive me at such short notice.”

Childs made a deprecatory gesture.

“Not at all. I am only sorry that I was forced to make you wait. TheDutch ambassador…” He shrugged.

“I’m sure you understand.” Childs wore a full wig and the star of theGarter on his gold-embroidered lapels.

“How is your dear brother, William?”

“In the best of health, my lord. He asked me to convey his deepestrespects.”

“I was most sad not to be able to attend your father’s funeral, butPlymouth is so far from London.” Childs led Tom to a chair below thetall windows that looked out over the rooftops to a distant view of theriver and its shipping.

“A remarkable man, your father. He will be greatly missed by all of uswho knew him well.”

For a few minutes more they exchanged pleasantries, then Childs leanedback and reached down over his ample midriff to haul the gold watchfrom his fob pocket.

“Bless MY soul, “tis past ten, and I am expected at St. James’s.” Hestuffed it back into his pocket.

“I am sure you did not come here merely to pass the time of day.”

“My lord, if I may come to the point, I am in need of employment.”

“You have come to the right quarter.” Childs nodded so vehemently thathis jowls wobbled like a turkey cock.

“The Seraph sails in ten days for the Carnatic. Edward Anderson is hermaster. You know both him and his ship, of course. He has a berth fora third officer, which is yours for the asking.”

“I had in mind something more, more warlike?”

“Ah, Mr. Pepys is a personal friend of mine, and he knew your father.I have not the least doubt that we can find a berth for you on one ofthe men-o’-war. I think a fighting frigate might suit a young man ofyour temperament.”

“Again, sir, may I be blunt?” Tom interrupted apologetically.

“I have at my disposal a small cutter. She is very fast and handy, anideal craft to raid French commercial shipping in the Channel.” Childsstared at him in astonishment, and Tom hurried on before he couldrefuse.

“I also have a crew of fighting seamen to serve her, some of the samemen who served under my father on the Seraph. All I lack is a letterof marque to attack the French.” Childs chuckled so heartily that hisbelly bounced on his lap like a rubber ball.

“The apple does not fall too far from the tree does it? Like yourfather, you want to lead rather than follow. Of course, your warlikeexploits are common knowledge.

You should have at-Auf’s severed head incorporated into the escutcheonof your coat-of aims when you receive your own knighthood one of thesefine days.” Abruptly he stopped laughing, and Tom had a glimpse of theshrewd, calculating mind behind the benign blue eyes. Childs stood upand went to the window. He stood there, staring out at the river,until Tom began to fidget in his chair. Then it dawned upon him thatthe pause was deliberate. He said, “My lord, I would want you to havea share of any prize I am able to take under this commission.

I thought five per cent might be an appropriate expression of mygratitude.”

“Ten per cent might be even more appropriate,” Childs observed.

“Ten per cent indeed,” Tom agreed.

“And, of course, the sooner I can sail, the sooner I will be able tomake good those ten points to you.” Childs turned to him, rubbing hishands together briskly, his expression affable.

“I will be talking to certain personages at St. James’s this verymorning, gentlemen who have commissions in their gift. Call upon meagain in three days” time, that is Thursday, at ten of the clock. Imay have news for you then.” Those three days of waiting passed like afuneral procession, every minute filled with fears and misgivings. IfWilliam had taken the precaution of contacting all the powerful men heknew in London, all doors would close to Tom. just enough time hadelapsed since he had left High Weald for a messenger to dash all hisplans.

Even if Childs could deliver a commission he had no ship and no crew,for he could not broach the subject with any of the men before he hadthe King’s letter in his pocket. Luke Jervis had already sailed onanother of his nefarious trips to meet a French counterpart somewherein mid-Channel. This time he might run foul of the King’s Excise men,and he might never return. The doubts goth, ered like circlingvultures to plague not only Tom’s waking hours but his dreams. WhenLuke did return, would he be willing to risk his little Raven in such ahazardous enterprise? He must already be a rich man, and Aboli hadsaid that he had a wife and a brood of infants.

During those three days, his men looked at him expectantly, but Tomcould offer them nothing. He dared not even tell them what Childs hadpromised, lest he raise their hopes too high. On the “Thursday morninghe slipped out of his lodgings like a thief, without even telling Aboliwhere he was going.

The clock in the steeple of the little church in Leadenhall Street hadbarely struck ten when Lord Childs’s secretary came down to thevisitors” parlour to summon him.

One glance at Childs’s genial expression was enough to set at rest allthe nightmares that had beset Tom. As soon as they had greeted eachother and were seated face to face, Childs picked up the heavyparchment document from the desktop in front of him. Tom recognizedthe great red seal of the Chancellor of England at the foot of thesingle page. It was identical to the commission under which his fatherhad sailed when the Seraph put out to sea. Childs read out the firstline in a pedantic tone.

“Be it known by these presents that our trusty and well-belovedsubject, Thomas Courtney…” He read no further, but looked up andsmiled at Tom.

“By heaven’s grace, you have it!” Tom interjected excitedly.

“I doubt that any other captain has received his commission with suchdespatch,” Childs remarked.

“This augurs well for our enterprise.” He emphasized the possessiveplural as he set aside the commission, and picked up anotherdocument.

“This is a separate contract that embodies our agreement. I have leftthe name of the ship blank, but we should fill that in now.” He pickedup a quill and sharpened the tip before he dipped it in the inkwell andlooked up at Tom expectantly. Tom took a deep breath before hecommitted himself.

“The Raven,” he said.

“The Raven!” Childs wrote, in a stylish hand, and then looked up atTom.

“Now I will need your signature.” Tom barely glanced at the deed ofjoint venture before he scrawled his acceptance. Childscounter-signed, then sanded the page. Still smiling affably, hecrossed to a side table on which stood a platoon of crystal decantersand poured two glasses to the rim. He handed one to Tom and salutedhim with the other.

“Perdition to Louis the Fourteenth and a black pox on the French!”

boll haggled for a ferryman to row them upriver to where Luke Jervishad his moorings on a small island with the unlikely name of Eel Pie.

From a cable’s length they saw that the Raven had returned from hermost recent jaunt and was tied up at the wooden jetty.

As they closed the distance Luke came out of the cottage set among astand of willow trees and sauntered out onto the jetty to meet them,leaving a thin stream of blue pipe smoke in the air behind him. Tomsprang ashore while Aboli paid the ferryman his sixpence.

“A

profitable voyage, Master Luke?” he asked.

“The Excise men gave us a run off Sheerness. I had to toss threehogsheads of brandy overboard before we could give them the slip. Allmy profits for the last six months gone down to Davy Jones.” He rubbedthe scar on his cheek and looked mournful.

“I think I’m getting too old for the game, Mr. Courtney.”

“Perhaps I can interest you in something less taxing on your nerves,Tom suggested.

Luke perked up noticeably.

“I thought you had something in mind.

You remind me of your father. He was ever the man with an eye to themain chance.” At that moment a woman appeared in the doorway of thecottage. Her apron was grimy from the cooking-fire and she carried anaked infant with a dirty bottom on her hip. The child clung with bothhands to the soft white breast that dangled, limp as a spaniel’s ear,from the opening of her blouse.

“Luke Jervis, don’t you dare go off carousing with your riffrafffriends and leave me here with no food in the house and six hungrybabes to feed!” she screeched, her hair dangling lankly down herface.

Luke winked at Tom.

“My little angel. Marriage is a fine and noble state. Too good forthe likes Of me, I of times think.” The woman shrieked, “It’s time youlooked for honest work, instead of sneaking away in the night andcoming home with some cock-and-bull story about losing your coin, whenI know reAl well you’ve been lying at anchor with some poxy slut inPussy Bay.”

“Do you have honest work for me, Mr. Courtney? Any work that takes mewell out of earshot of my good wife?”

“That is what I came to talk to you about.” Tom said with relief.

hree nights later, the Raven crept inshore of the French coast with aleadsman in the bows.

“By the mark five!” He called the depth softly, then opened theshutter of the lantern a crack to examine the tallow on the end of thelead to see what it had picked up from the sea bottom.

“Sand and shellPhe reported, little louder than a whisper.

“Huitre Bank.” Luke nodded in the dark, his position confirmed.

“That’s Calais over to starboard, Honfieur beyond the headland.”

His pronunciation of the difficult names was fluent. Tom knew fromAboli that he spoke the language like a native.

“The beach shoals in very gently here, and with this breath of windfrom the east we’ll be able to wade ashore without difficulty,” he toldTom.

“Be ready to drop over when I give the word.” Tom had decided thatonly he and Luke would go ashore to scout the anchorage of Calais. Lukeknew the ground and might be able to talk them out of any trouble theymet. He had been tempted to take Aboli with them, but the smallestparty was prudent, and Aboli’s black face would be hard to pass off ifthey were challenged by a French patrol.

“By the mark two!” came the soft call from the bows.

“Ready now,” Luke murmured, and handed the wheel to his mate. He andTom picked up their leather sacks and moved up to the bows. Both menwere dressed in rough fishermen’s clothes with clogs on their feet andleather jerkins over wool petticoats. Their heads were covered withwool caps. At that moment they felt the Raven take the bottom, a softbump on the sandy beach.

“Vast heaving!” Luke whispered, to the men on the long sweeps, andthey rested on the oars. He went over the side first and the watercame to his armpits. Tom handed down the two sacks to him, thenfollowed him over. The water was cold enough to take his breathaway.

“Heave away!” the mate called quietly to the oarsmen, and the Ravenbacked slowly off the sand. Luke had chosen the incoming tide to makecertain they would not be stranded. Within a dozen strokes the littleboat had disappeared into the night, and Tom shivered again, not onlyfrom the cold. It was an eerie feeling to be alone on an enemy shore,not knowing what waited for them on the beach.

The water shallowed quickly and they came out on the hard wet sand andcrouched there, listening. There was only the flop and hiss of the lowsurf, so they jumped up and hurried into the dunes. They rested therefor a few minutes to listen again and catch their breath, then movedquickly through the dunes and low scrub towards the headland.

Half a mile further along, they almost ran into the wreckage of anancient shipwreck stranded above the high-water mark.

“It’s the old Bonheur, a Breton coaster,” Luke told Tom.

“A good landmark for our return.” He dropped on his knees andscratched a hole in the sand under the bone-white ribs of the hull.

Then he dropped one of the leather sacks into it and covered it withthe loose sand.

“We’ll find it here when we need it.” They went on faster now, andclimbed the headland.

On the crest they moved slower, using the low salt scrub as cover,trying to keep out of sight as they searched for a hiding-place. Theyfound one in the ruins of a stone-built structure that Luke said hadbeen a French army blockhouse during the Dutch wars. It had been sitedto give an unrestricted view over the approaches and the mainanchorage. They scouted the area around the fort to make certain thatit was deserted and that there were no signs of recent occupationbefore they settled in. From his sack Luke brought out a pair ofpistols for each of them. They loaded them with fresh powder, checkedthe priming and laid them ready to hand. Then they waited for thedawn.

Eventually, the eastern horizon turned lemon and rosebud pink and casta lovely warm glow over the scene below them.

Even at this hour there was a swarm of activity around the fleet ofFrench men-o’-war that lay at anchor in the harbour. Through the lensof his telescope Tom counted fifteen three-deckers, with eighty gunsapiece, and a huge gathering of lesser ships. Many did not have theiryards crossed and workmen swarmed over their decks.

The activity on shore was also brisk, and as soon as the sun rose outof the morning haze, they saw companies of troops marching into thetown along the road from Paris. The sunlight glittered on the bayonetsof their sloped muskets, and the feathers and ribbons in their tricornhats bobbed and fluttered with each pace. A train of wagons wasfollowing, rumbling over the rutted roadway.

A little later a squadron of cavalry in gold-fragged jackets and bluecapes with polished black high boots trotted out from the town.

For a heart stopping moment Tom thought they were heading straight upthe slope towards their hiding-place. He let out his breath in a sighof relief as they turned away at the crossroads outside the town androde southwards along the road, flanked on both sides with lines ofpoplar trees. Their dust cloud disappeared In the direction ofHonfleur.

As the sun climbed higher, burning off the low cloud, and the lightstrengthened, Tom could concentrate his telescope on a search of theharbour. There were dozens of Hi.

smaller craft among the warships. Some were lighters and barges takingout stores and men to the larger vessels. A barge flying warning flagsrowed slowly to one of the three deckers riding low in the water underthe high-piled kegs of black powder.

Other craft were tied up at the wharf or anchored higgledy-piggledyabout the bay. Many were rigged fore and aft, with single mast andbowsprit. In smaller vessels this new arrangement of sails had someadvantages over the more traditional square-rigged ships, and wasbecoming increasingly popular in all modern navies. They could behandled by fewer men and were faster on the wind. They were oftenemployed as scouts and auxiliaries to the main battle fleet. Anintermittent stream of these vessels and other small ships was comingand going in and out of the bay, all keeping well in-shore to avoid theattentions of the Royal Navy. The English fleet was blockading themain Channel ports, waiting for the French to sally forth in anystrength. Out in mid-Channel Tom had caught an occasional glimpse ofthe distant sails of the English fleet.

The Raven was also out there somewhere, waiting for nightfall beforecoming into the beach again and picking them up out of the shallows.

Tom turned his attention from the shipping out in the Channel andavidly studied the smaller French vessels in the anchorage. Most weremuch larger than the little Raven, and many were armed with smallcannon. He picked out a dozen that might serve his purpose well, butthen was forced to discard one after the other as he discovered theirdefects. Some were in a poor state of repair or too lightly armed,others were coasters and not suited to long voyages and heavy seas,still others did not have the burden to carry the cargo and men herequired.

In the middle of the day Tom and Luke lay on their bellies in the warmsand and ate a meal of bread, ham and hard-boiled eggs that Lukeproduced from his sack, and they passed between them the flask ofbeer.

Tom tried not to become despondent, but there seemed little here forthem.

As the sun dipped towards the horizon he was left with a choice of twoout of the dozens of vessels he had scrutinized. Then one of thesehoisted her mainsail and tacked out to sea, by default leaving him withno option but a nondescript old drab of a cutter, which had seen betterdays and fairer times.

“She will have to do,” he decided unhappily, and they gathered up theirpistols and equipment ready to retreat down to the beach as soon as itwas dark. Suddenly Tom seized Luke’s arm and pointed back towards thenorth.

“There she is!” he exulted.

“That’s her!” Greyhound lean and swift, a sloop came flying round theheadland, then tacked neatly into the fairway and shot into theharbour.

“Look at her! She’s heavily laden, you can see that from herwaterline, but still she could turn fifteen knots on a virgins fart,”Luke whispered, in awe of her beauty. She was flush-decked, no poop orforecastle.

Her single mast was elegantly raked and proportioned to the length ofher hull. Tom estimated that she was fifty foot overall.

“Ten guns” Tom counted through his lens.

“Enough to frighten off any Arab dhow.” She flew a gaff mainsail witha boom, from her square yard a large topsail, and from her bowsprit twojibs. In the fading light she had a ghostly, ethereal appearance, athing of wind and wave spume and sea fret.

“I love her already, and I don’t even know her name.”

“We will choose a new name for her,” Tom promised him.

The sloop rounded up to the hard. Down came her canvas, and waswhisked away like a wizard’s trick. They strained their eyes to watchher tie up. Tom counted her crew, and made it nine, but he guessed shecould accommodate thirty fighting seamen on a long voyage, althoughthey might have to alter her lower deck to take so many.

“Mark her well, Luke,” Tom said, without taking the telescope from hiseye.

“You must find her again in the dark.”

“She is burned into my eye,” Luke assured him.

In the last of the light they saw six men leave the ship and make theirway down the wharf to where the lanterns in the windows of the tavernswere being lit.

“You can smell their thirst from here.

They’ll not be back before dawn,” Tom whispered.

“That leaves only three men aboard.” As the last of the light faded,they hurried back down the dunes to the beach. Luke dug out the othersack from under the wreck, and lit the lantern it contained with flintand steel.

He pointed it out towards the sea and lifted the shutter, flashingthree times. He waited a while then flashed again. On the fourthattempt his signal was answered with three short flashes out on thedark sea.

They waded out until the low surf was breaking into their faces, andwhen they heard the creak of oars out in the night Luke whistledsharply. Minutes later the Raven loomed over them. They reached upand pulled themselves on board.

Still dripping seawater, Luke took the helm and they backed off fromthe shelving beach. As soon as he had laterite sufficient water underher he set the mainsail and jib. Tom stripped naked and dried his bodyon the rough cloth Aboli handed him, then pulled on dry clothes. Aleague off-shore Luke hove the Raven to, and they squatted in a circlearound a shaded lantern on the open deck.

“We have found a ship,” Tom told his men. Their faces were wolfish inthe lantern light.

“But it’s not going to be light winds and fair weather to take her outunder the noses of the French.” He did not want them to becomeover-confident.

“We will wait until the middle watch, when they are tucked into theirhammocks. Master Luke will take us into the harbour and lay usalongside the sloop. If we’re challenged, Luke will answer for us, therest of you hold your tongues.” He frowned at them to impress on themthe need for silence.

“As we come alongside, I will give the word and lead theboarding-party. Aboli and All Wilson will help me clear the deck ofthe enemy. Most are ashore and look to be there all night. We shouldhave no more than three men to deal with. No pistols, only clubs andfists. Use your blades only as a last resort. Silence is our mainconcern and a man with steel in his belly will squeal like a sow givingbirth. Fred will throw off the head lines and Reggie the stern. Cutand run, lads, so have your jackknives, handy.” Then Tom spoke to eachman in turn, making him repeat his orders so that there would be noconfusion in the dark. With Luke and his crew of three, there werefifteen Of them; the rest were old salts from the Seraph whom All andAboli had been able to gather at such short notice. More than enoughto do the job.

“The wind is easterly, and Luke reckons it will strengthen beforemidnight. I didn’t see them put gaskets on the main, so it should comefree at a pull on the halyard.” Tom looked at Ned Tyler, his gnarledfeatures highlighted by the yellow glow of the lantern.

“Mr. Tyler, you will go to the helm, don’t get into the fighting. Lukewill lead us out in the Raven, he will show a shaded light over hisstern.” When every man knew what Tom wanted of him, Tom checked theirweapons and made sure every one had a club and knife. Tom would be theonly man to carry a long blade. He strapped the Neptune sword aroundhis waist.

He had made certain before they sailed that each of them was dressed indark-coloured clothing, and now he passed the lantern round the circle,and they smeared the soot from the chimney on their faces and hands.There were the usual jokes about Aboli not needing this addition to hisnatural pigmentation, and then they settled down below the gunwaleswrapped in their sea cloaks to eat some bread and cold meat, beforetrying to snatch a few hours’ sleep.

At the end of the first watch Luke started to ease the Raven closerin-shore. With the off-shore breeze they could hear the sounds fromthe land quite clearly, and a church clock in the town struck twelve soloudly that they could count each stroke. Tom passed the word and theyshook the sleepers awake there were few of them: most were alreadytense and nervous.

They had to beat into the harbour against the breeze, but this was aprice Tom was pleased to pay in exchange for a straight run out. Soonthey were among the French fleet, passing so close to one tallthree-decker that they could hear the anchor watch on her main decktalking drowsily. No one challenged them and Luke threaded the Ravenquietly towards the stone wharf where they had last seen the sloop. Tomcrouched in the bows, peering ahead for the first glimpse of the Frenchvessel. There was always a chance that she had sailed or moved awayfrom the wharf, but Tom prayed that most of her crew were stillswilling ale in the taverns and that her captain intended waiting untilmorning to off load her cargo.

Slowly the Raven closed with the dark wharf, weaving her way betweentwo anchored ships. Tom strained his eyes, cupping his hands to CutOut reflected light from the lamps of the houses along the waterfront.Now he could hear laughter and singing from the alehouses, but the restof the fleet was silent, showing only their riding lamps at themastheads.

“She is gone!” Tom’s spirits plummeted as they drew within half apistol shot of where he had last seen the sloop, and there was still nosight of her. He cursed himself for not having taken the precaution ofpicking out a secondary target for just such an eventuality. He wasabout to call to Luke at the helm for him to sheer off, when his heartleaped and thudded against his ribcage. He had seen her bare main mastoutlined against the dull glow of lamplight from the town, and herealized that with the low tide the sloop’s hull had dropped below. thelevel of the wharf so that it did not show up against the stonework.

still there, waiting for us!” He glanced back to make sure his menwere ready. They were crouched, like him, below the gunwales. Withblackened faces, they looked like untidily stacked cargo along thedeck. Only Luke stood tall at the wheel. Now he spun it to full lock,and his mate at the halyard, without waiting for an order, let themainsail come down with a soft rush. The Raven slowed and drifted inuntil she touched the side of the moored French vessel. The deck ofthe sloop was six feet higher than the Raven’s and Tom steadied himselfto leap up onto her.

At the jolt of the two hulls coming together a sleepy French voiceexclaimed, “Norn de Dieu!”

“I have a message for Marcel,” Luke answered, in the same language.

“There is no Marcel here,” the Frenchman protested irritably.

“You’re spoiling my paintwork with your dung boat.”

“I have the fifty francs that Jacques owes him,” Luke insisted.

“I will send one of my crew to bring it to you.” The mention of such alarge sum stilled any further protest, and the Frenchman’s tone becamecunning and ingratiating.

“Give it to me. I will see that Marcel gets it.” Tom sprang over theRaven’s side and hauled himself lithely up onto the sloop’s deck. TheFrenchman was leaning over the rail, a woollen cap on his head and aclay pipe clenched between his teeth. He straightened and removed thepipe from his mouth.

“Give it to me.”

As he came across the deck, with hand outstretched, Tom saw he had amagnificent pair of twirling moustaches.

“Certainly,” he said and tapped the man above the left ear with acontrolled swing of the club. Without a sound he went down in aheap.

In the next second Aboli came over the side and landed like a pantheron silent bare feet. Tom saw that one of the hatches in the bows wasopen, and that faint lamplight was reflected from below. He droppeddown the companionway with Aboli close behind him. A lantern swungfrom gimbals in the deck overhead, and by its light Tom saw that threehammocks were slung across the far end of the cabin. He realized thathe had miscounted the numbers of the French crew. As he crossed thecabin, a man sat bolt upright suddenly in the nearest hammock. “aW estla?” he asked.

By way of reply Tom hit him with a full swing. The man fell back, butanother shouted with alarm in the next hammock. Aboli swung it upsidedown and dumped him on the deck. Before he could shout again Tom swunghis club and he collapsed. A third Frenchman leaped from the lasthammock and tried to run for the companionway, but Tom seized his bareankle and hauled him back. Aboli bunched one huge fist, slammed itinto the side of his head, and he went down.

“Any more?” Tom looked around swiftly.

“That’s the last.” Aboli raced up the ladder and Tom followed him uponto the deck. Fred and Reggie had cut the mooring ropes and the sloopwas already drifting away from the wharf. The Frenchman’s shout in thecabin must have been muffled and had not raised the alarm. The harbourseemed as quiet and somnolent as before.

“Ned?” Tom whispered, and the reply came instantly from the stern.

“Aye, Captain.” Even in the heat of that moment it thrill to hear theterm of address. He had a gave To ship and he was a captain oncemore.

“Well done. Where is the Raven?”

“Dead ahead. She’s already under sail.”

“There was some delay among the men at the halyards of the sloop’s mainmast. In the dark and on a strange, foreign ship, they were havingdifficulty sorting out the lines: the French used a different system ofrigging. Tom ran to them and they set about the unravelling.

But the sloop was gathering stern way and drifting down rapidly on oneof the anchored ships. Tom saw that they would crash into it withsufficient force to do damage.

A Frenchman aboard the other ship shouted.

“Have a care, you stupid oafs. You’re going to ram us.”

“Stand by to fend off!” one of Tom’s crew said, in English.

There was an immediate shout from the other vessel.

“Merde! Ils sont Anglais!” Tom snatched the main halyard out of thetangle of lines.

“Smartly now! Heave!” The mainsail soared up the mast, the sloopchecked her sideways drift and picked up the breeze.

She began to sail, but she still had weigh on her, and struck theanchored ship, dragged lightly along her side.

By now other voices were shouting, “English! The English areattacking.” A sentry on the wharf, rudely wakened from sleep, firedhis musket and immediately there was uproar through the entireanchorage. But Ned had the sloop sailing, picking up speed sweetly.When Tom looked ahead he saw the Raven, her stern lantern glimmering,heading down the fairway towards the open sea.

“Jib sheets!” Tom snapped, and led a rush of bare feet down the decktowards the bows. They were getting the hang of her sails now, and thejibs went up with only scant delay. Immediately the sloop heeled andleaped forward, the water rustled under her forefoot, and they began tooverhaul the Raven. But the French fleet was coming awake, there wereshouts from ship to ship, and on some battle lanterns were lit andrunning up the masts.

Inspired by the mounting turmoil, Tom ran to one of the sloop’s guns.It was a toy compared to the huge armaments of the ships-of the lineanchored all around them. He could only hope that it was loaded.

“Help me!” he called to Aboli, and between them they swung open thelid of the gun port and ran out the cannon.

Tom looked up and saw that they were passing half a pistol shot fromone of the ships-of-the-line, a mountainous seventy-four, that blottedout half the night sky above them. He did not even have to aim thelittle cannon, but merely fired as she lay. The lock sparked but therewas a long moment as the weapon hung fire. Then, abruptly, it bellowedand leaped back against its tackle.

Tom heard the ball strike into the heavy planking of the warship with acrash. Wild yells of anger pursued them, but the sloop was running on.She was so low against the water that she was swiftly lost in thedark.

Somewhere further down the line another gun fired and Tom saw from thelong flash of flame that it was aimed nowhere near them. He never knewwhere the shot struck.

There were more shouts and then a stuttering of carmonfire built upinto a deafening fusillade as the big ships fired at the imaginaryEnglish fleet attacking them. Powder smoke drifted in a dense fog overthe two smaller ships.

They were almost obscured from each other, and Tom had to stare hardinto the smoke to pick out the faint light of the Raven’s guidinglantern.

Swiftly the shouting and gunfire fell behind them and they sailed outof the smoke into a sweet clear night. He heard faint voices on thebreeze, English voices, and he realized that the tiny crew of the Ravenwere cheering them. His own crew paused at their work with the sheetsand cheered back. It was unwise to give any French pursuit a lead, butTom did not try to stop them. He saw Aboli’s teeth gleaming white inthe darkness and he grinned back.

“Where are the Frenchmen?” he demanded, and the three bedraggledfigures were dragged up from the cabin to join their captain in thestern.

“There’s a skiff in the bows,” Tom said.

“We’ll heave to, and put them into it. Send them home, with our bestcompliments.” They bundled the four men into the little boat and castthem off. When he realized what was happening the French captain stoodin the bows of the tiny craft, his moustaches bristling with fury,shaking both fists at them, and saw them off with a string ofvituperation.

“Your mother was a cow, and she slipped you from the wrong hole, youlumps of wet turd. I piss in your mother’s milk. I stomp on yourfather’s testicles.”

“Speak English!” Luke shouted back.

“The beauty of your poetry is wasted on the night air.” And thecaptain’s outrage faded swiftly into the darkness behind them.

Aboli helped Tom trim the mainsail and when it was drawing tight andhard, he said, “She is yours now, Klebe.

What will you call her?”

“What did the French christen her?” All Wilson leaned far out over thestern and craned down to read the name on her transom in the light ofthe stern lamp.

“HirondeUe. What does that mean?”

“The Swallow, Luke translated.

“God knows,

it’s a good name,” they all agreed at once.

she flies like a bird.” forsaken language,” Tom de God “But not inthat Swallow! We will mumurred.

“In sweet Mother English. The drink her health when we tie up in theriver.” And they gave her a cheer.

When the sun came up they were off Sheerness, and although she had allsail set the Raven was far astern, unable to keep up with the Swallow.The sloop was on a broad reach, ripping white bursts of spray off thetops of the pewter grey waves as she tore through them.

“She loves to run free,” Ned rejoiced, his face creased into a hundredwrinkles of delight.

“You would have to hang a drogue over her stern to hold her back In thesparkling morning light she was as pretty as a maiden in her weddingdress, her canvas so new and bright that it gleamed likemother-of-pearl. Her paintwork was so fresh Tom could whiff theturpentine) and her decks had been holy stoned until they were white asa snowfield.

Tom turned his thoughts to the cargo they were carrying in the SwaUowlshold. He beckoned to Aboli and sent him to investigate. They liftedthe hatches and Aboli and All Wilson went down with lighted lanternsinto the bill dark holds. Half an hour later they emerged again,looking delighted with their discovery.

“She’s stuffed to the gills with canvas cloth. The finest quality.Enough to clothe a squadron of ships-of-the line.” Tom’s face lit ashappily. He knew what prices that co ity would fetch in the Company’sauction rooms’ The s of war,” he declared.

“Good as goldV

-They offloaded the cargo of canvas at the Company’s

Childs and wharf, then Tom sent a note to Lord took the Swallow upriverto Luke’s mooring at Eel Pie Island. He stayed long enough with hismen to get them started on the work of altering the sloop’s “tweendecks to accommodate a larger crew, and installing tiny cabins for themaster and the three officers. These would be not much larger thancubbyholes, comprising a bunk, a sea-chest, the lid of which could beused as a writing-desk or chart table, and not much else. The headroomunder the deck beams would force the occupant to bend almost doublewhen entering and leaving.

Tom made plans to lay out the forecastle so that it would accommodatetwenty men. He moderated his original estimate of the number of men hewould need to sail and fight the ship in an emergency, and still carrya sufficient cargo of stores for a three-year cruise and trade goods toensure a profit at the end of that time.

As it was, the conditions in the crew’s quarters would be crowded evenin fine weather when most of the men would sleep on the open deck, butin foul weather, when they were all forced below, it would become toocramped even for hardened old sea salts like the men All and Aboli hadrecruited.

Once the new interior had been planned and the carpenters put to work,Tom and Aboli hired a ferryboat to take them downriver. When theycalled at Leadenhall Street, the secretary told them that Lord Childswas at the House of Lords, and would be there all day. However, he hadreceived Tom’s note and was expecting Tom to call. His secretaryhanded Tom a note he had left.

My dear Thomas, I was not expecting to receive word of your successesat such an early date. The cargo from your prize has already been soldto the Admiralty, and we have received a goodly price for the entireamount. I need to discuss this with you. Please attend me at theLords, where a steward will bring a message to me in the House.

Your servant, N.C.

Tom and Aboli made their way down the embankment to where the enormousedifice of government, the Palace of Westminster, stood on the bank ofthe Thames.

The steward accepted the letter that Tom proffered at the visitors”door of the House of Lords, and he waited for a remarkably short timebefore Lord Childs, looking flustered and distraught, came puffing downthe stairs and seized Tom’s arm. Without any preamble he blurted out,”Your brother, William, is in the House. I left him not ten minuteshence. You should have given me warning of the state of affairs thatexists between you.” He shouted for his carriage.

“I

think you should be warned that he is intent on retribution for theinjuries you have done him.”

“Tis Billy who was to blame,” Tom started angrily, but Childs bundledhim in through the door of the carriage as it drew up at theentrance.

“Bombay House!” he ordered the driver.

“As fast as you like.” Then he tumbled onto the seat beside Tom.

“Your boatswain can ride up with the footman,” he said, and Tom shoutedto Aboli to climb on the foot plate

The carriage started off with a jerk, and Childs lifted his wig to mophis pate.

“Your brother is a major shareholder in the Company.

Not a man to trifle with. He must not see us together. For the sakeof good order, I have told him that I have had no dealings with you.”

“He cannot do anything to me,” Tom said, with more certainty than hefelt. He had to cling to the side strap of the lurching carriage andraise his voice above the clatter of hoofs and the thunder of thesteel-shod wheels over the cobbles.

“I think you underestimate the strength of your brother’s animosity,Courtney,” said Childs, and he stuffed the wig back on his shavenhead.

“No matter what the right and wrong of the situation, if a person in myposition dare I say a man of certain influence? , does not wish tofall foul of him, then how much more should you, a disinherited youngerson, keep out of the path of his vengeance?”

The Monsoon

Childs was silent a little while, then said reflectively, “I haveseldom heard such malice, such pure venom, from any other humanbeing.”

They were silent for the rest of the drive to Bombay House.

However, when they drove in through the gates Childs leaned out of thewindow and called to the driver, “Take us to the stables, not the maindoor.”

In the stableyard he led Tom to a small rear door into the mansion.

“I know your brother has spies out looking for you. It is best that hedoes not learn of our meeting today.” Tom hurried after Childs alongwhat seemed an endless series of passages and stairways, until he foundhimself in a small cabinet with tapestry-hung walls and a large ormoluand gilt escritoire in the centre of the floor. Childs waved him to achair beside his own, then scrabbled through the documents that coveredthe top of the desk and picked out one.

“Here is the bill of sale of the cargo of canvas from the French sloopHirondelle to the Admiralty.”

He passed it to Tom.

“You will see that I have deducted the usual handling fee from thetotal.”

“Twenty per cend” Tom burst out in amazement.

“It is customary,” Childs said briskly.

“If you care to reread our agreement, you will see it is covered inclause fifteen.” Tom made a gesture of resignation.

“What about the Hirondelle, herself? Will you take your twenty percent on her value also?” They began to bargain, and Tom soondiscovered why Nicholas Childs had risen so high in the world of tradeand commerce. He had the sinking feeling that he was matched against aswordsman far out of his class. At one point Childs excused himselfand left Tom alone for so long that he began to fidget and finallyjumped up from the chair to pace the room impatiently.

Meanwhile, in the room next door Childs dashed off a long message on asheet of parchment. While he sanded and folded it, he told hissecretary quietly, “Send Barnes to me When the coachman stood beforehim, Childs said, James, this message is for Lord Courtney at the Houseof Lords. You must see it safely into his hands.

“Tis a matter of life and death.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“When you return, I shall want you to take my guest and his servant tothe river landing at the Tower of London. However, you are not toproceed there immediately.

This is what you are to do.. .” Childs gave the driver detailedinstructions, and when he had finished asked, “Do you understand,Barnes?”

“Perfectly, my lord.” Childs bustled back into the cabinet where Tomwaited and made his apologies.

“Forgive me, but there were demanding matters to which I had to attendwith despatch.” He patted Tom’s arm genially.

“Now, back to business.” By the middle of that afternoon Tom foundthat he had the deeds of ownership to the Hirondelle, but that he wouldreceive no monies from the sale of the cargo. In addition, NicholasChilds had wanted to retain a 25 per cent interest in any futureprofits that Tom accrued under the commission Childs had procured forhim. Tom knew that he was a chicken to Childs’s fox, but he held outstubbornly.

The one thing Tom had in his favour was that Childs had not seen theSwallow, and the description he had been given did not do the sloopjustice, so did not excite his avarice. Childs had no employment forsuch a tiny craft and Tom sensed that he was willing to let her go. Hestood his ground and, in the end, Childs dropped his exorbitantdemands, and agreed to deliver the deeds of the sloop to Tom clear ofany impediment to the title. In exchange Childs retained the proceedsof the cargo.

Childs looked well pleased with his bargain, as well he should, Tomthought grimly. He wondered how he was going to be able to explain tothe men who had fought to seize the Hirondelle in Calais Roads thatthey would not be seeing any monetary rewards for their efforts.

“You would be a wise man, Courtney, to leave England as soon as you canhoist a sail, and to stay at the ends of the ocean as long as yourbrother’s memory lasts.” Childs smiled magnanimously.

“I am offering the means for you to escape from a dangerous situationwith your hide intact.” At that juncture there was a soft tap on thedoor of the cabinet, and the secretary stepped in at Childs’scommand.

“The matter has been attended to, my lord. Barnes has returned and iswaiting to convey your guests.”

“Very good.” Childs nodded.

“Excellent, indeed.” He rose at once to his feet and smiled at Tom.

“I think that concludes our business, Courtney. I understand you wishto take a ferryboat from the Tower?” In friendly fashion he saw Tom tothe front door of the mansion, where Barnes waited with the carriage.As they shook hands, Childs asked guilelessly, “Where will you takeyour new ship? And when will you sail?” Tom knew that the questionwas barbed and he sidestepped the thrust.

“I have only this minute become her new owner.” He laughed.

“I have not yet had time to consider that question.” Childs wasstaring into his eyes, watching for any attempt to prevaricate, and Tomwas forced to go on.

“I think the ports of southern France on the Mediterranean would be mybest area of endeavour. Or perhaps the French territory of Louisianaon the Gulf of Mexico. I might take the Swallow, for that is her newname, across the Atlantic.” Childs grunted, not entirely convinced. Ido most sincerely hope, Courtney, that you do not harbour any thoughtof rounding the Cape of Good Hope and searching for your lost brotherin the Ocean of the Indies?”

“Sweet Jesus, no, sir!” Tom laughed again.

“I am not fool enough to try the Cape of Storms in a paper hat like theSwallow.”

“All the territories beyond the Cape have been granted by royal charterto the Honourable Company. Any interloper will be dealt with in theharshest manner the law allows.” It was clear from the steely gleam inhis blue eyes that he would not be bound by the law in hisretribution.

There was an old maritime saying that “There is no law beyond the line,which meant that civilized law did not always apply at the ends of theocean.

Childs gripped his arm hard to make the point unmistakable.

“In fact, I think you would be wise to fear me more than your brother,if you were rash enough to sail across MY bows.”

“I assure you, my lord, that I look upon you as my good friend and thatI would do nothing to change that,” Tom told him earnestly.

“Then we understand each other.” Childs masked his hard expressionwith a smile as earnest as Tom’s, and they shook hands. It matters nota jot, Childs told himself smugly. I think this lad’s finaldestination is in the hands of his elder brother now. Aloud he said,”Go with God,” and added silently, Or the devil! and waved a pudgywhite hand.

Tom leaped lightly into the carriage and beckoned Aboli to take theseat beside him. Childs stepped back and nodded at the coachman, whoreturned a significant look then touched the brim of his hat with thewhip. He shook up the reins, and the carriage rolled away.

Tom and Aboli were so deep in conversation that neither noticed theroute the driver followed. The narrow streets were so homogeneous thatthere were no landmarks for them to orientate themselves. As thecarriage lurched along, Tom related to Aboli all the details of themeeting with Childs.

At the end Aboli said, “It is not as bad a bargain as you think, Klebe.You have the Swallow, and a crew to sail her.”

“I have to pay Luke Jervis and the men who came with us to Calais outof my own purse,” Tom demurred.

“They are expecting a share of the cargo.”

“Offer them a share and a berth in this next voyage. It will make themmore eager to serve.”

“I have but six hundred pounds left of my prize money from the Seraphto fit out the Swallow and provision her.”

“No,” said Aboli.

“You have twelve hundred pounds.”

“What nonsense is this, Abolir Tom turned in the seat to stare athim.

“I have the prize money I earned with your father during all the yearswe sailed together. I will add it to yours ” Aboli shrugged.

“I

have no other use for it.”

“You will be my partner. I will sign a deed.” Tom made no effort tohide his delight.

“If I cannot trust you by now,” Aboli almost smiled, “what good will apiece of paper do me? It is only money, Klebe.”

“With twelve hundred pounds we can refit and provision the Swallow, andfill her holds with trade goods. You will not regret this, my oldfriend, I swear it to you.”

“I regret few things in my life,” Aboli said impassively.

“And when we find Dorian I will have no regrets at all.

Now, if you have done chattering, I will sleep a little.” He leanedback in the seat and closed his eyes. Tom studied his facesurreptitiously, musing on the simple philosophy and inner strengththat made Aboli a man content and complete in himself He is withoutvice, Tom thought, not driven by the need to command or to amasswealth, possessed of a strong sense of loyalty and honour, a stoic anda man of deep natural wisdom, a man at peace with himself, able toenjoy all the gifts he has been given by his strange forest gods, andto endure without complaint all the ills and hardships the world canhurl against him.

He studied the polished black cranium on which grew not a single hair,neither black nor silver, to betray his age.

Then he looked closer at the face. The elaborate patterns of thetattoo that covered it hid any ravages that time might have left uponit. I wonder how old he truly is? He seemed as ageless as a cliff ofblack obsidian, although he must have been a great deal older thanTom’s father, none of his faculties or strength had been impaired bythe passing of the years. He is all I have left now, Tom thought, andfound himself in awe at the depth of his respect and affection for thebig man. He is my father and my counsellor. More than that, he is myfriend.

Without opening his eyes, Aboli spoke suddenly, startling Tom from hisreverie.

“This is not the way to the river.

“How do you know that?” Tom glanced out of the window, and saw onlydark buildings that seemed derelict in the eerie fading light.

The narrow streets were deserted, except for a few stray heavilycloaked figures hurrying he knew not where, or standing, sinister andstill, in dark doorways, their faces hidden so he could not tell ifthey were man or woman.

“How do you know?” he repeated.

“We have been travelling away from the river,” Aboli said.

“Long ago we should have reached the landing at the Tower, if that iswhere he is taking us.” Tom did not doubt Aboli’s sense of time anddirection: it was infallible. He leaned out of the window and hailedthe driver on the box.

“Where are you taking us, fellow?”

“Where his lordship ordered. To Spitalfields Market.”

“No, you idiot,” Tom shouted, “we want to go to the Tower of London.”

“I must have heard wrong. I’m sure his lordship ordered-“

“A pox on what his lordship said! Take us where I tell you. We need aferry-boat to take us upriver.” Grumbling loudly, the driver turnedthe carriage, backing and filling in the narrow lane, with the footmantugging at the bridle of the lead horse to force him to obey.

“We will not get there till after six of the clock,” the driver warnedTom.

“You will find no ferry-boat at that hour.”

“We will take our chance on that,” Tom snarled back at him.

“Do as you are told, man.” Sullenly, the driver whipped up the horsesinto a trot, and they lurched and swayed through the ruts and puddlesback the way they had come. Gradually they were enveloped in a soft,creeping fog that heralded the approach of evening. The buildings theypassed now were wreathed in smoking grey tendrils and even the soundsof the carriage wheels and the horses” hoofs were deadened by the thickwhite blanket.

It was colder suddenly. Tom shivered and drew his cloak closer aroundhis shoulders.

“Is your sword loose in its scabbard, Klebe?” Aboli asked.

Tom looked at him in alarm.

“Why do you ask?” But he laid his hand upon the blue sapphire in thehilt and held the scabbard tight between his knees.

“You may have need of it,” Aboli grunted.

“I smell treachery.

The fat old man sent us out of our way for good reason.”

“It was a mistake by the driver,” Tom said, but Aboli laughed softly.

“It was no mistake, Klebe.” His eyes were open now, and he eased hisown sword in its scabbard, drawing the blade an inch then resealing itwith a soft, scraping sound.

After another long silence he spoke again.

“We are near the river now.” Tom opened his mouth to ask how he knew,but Aboli forestalled him.

“I can feel the damp and smell the water.” Hardly had he spoken whenthey came out of the narrow lane, and the coachman reined in his teamon the edge of a stone wharf. Tom looked out. The surface of theriver was steaming with mist so dense that he could not see the farbank. The light was going fast now, and with the darkness came a senseof icy foreboding.

“This is not the landing,” Tom challenged the driver.

“Follow the path down that way.” The man pointed with his whip.

“Tis no more than two hundred paces from here.”

“Drive us there, if it’s so close.” Tom’s suspicions were fullyaroused.

“The coach is too wide for the path, and it is a long way round by theroad. It will take you but a minute on foot.” Aboli touched Tom’sarm, and said softly, “Do as he says. If this is a trap, we are betterable to defend ourselves in the open.” They clambered down onto themuddy verge, and the coachman smirked at them.

“A proper gentleman would have a sixpence for my trouble.”

“I am no gentleman, and you have taken no trouble,”

Tom replied.

“Next time listen to your orders and bring us on the right road.” Thedriver cracked his whip angrily, and the carriage rumbled away. Theywatched the sidelights disappear back UP the lane, and Tom took a deepbreath. The river stench was strong, damp and clammy cold, thick withthe raw sewage that drained directly into its waters. The mist openedand closed like a curtain, playing tricks on the eye.

But the towpath along the bank lay in front of them. On their leftthere was a drop of two fathoms or more from the edge to the waterbelow, and a blank brick wall hedged it in on the right.

“Take the right side,” Aboli murmured.

“I will be on the river verge.” Tom saw that he had shifted hisscabbard on to his right hip:

he had arranged it so that if he fought lefthanded, which, of course,he could, they would not hamper each other’s sword arms.

“Stay to the centre of the path.” They stepped onto the towpathshoulder to shoulder, their cloaks drawn up to the chin but ready tothrow open in an instant and clear their sword arms. The silence andthe gathering darkness pressed in upon them. There was a faint glimmerof light through the mist ahead, just sufficient to illuminate the edgeof the stone wharf. As they moved towards it, Tom saw that it was asingle unmasked lantern.

Closer still, and from the light of the lantern, he recognized throughthe darkening mists the open stone steps of the river landing.

“This is the right place,” he said softly so that only Aboli wouldhear.

“Look, there is a ferry-boat waiting, and the boatman.” The boatmanwas a tall dark figure at the head of the landing. A wide-brimmed hathid his eyes, and the collar of the cloak covered his mouth. His boatwas moored from one of the iron rings set into the wharf. He hadplaced his lantern on the top step, and it cast his long shadow uponthe stonework of the bridge behind him. Tom hesitated.

“I

like it not. This has the feel of a set stage, with an actor waitingto speak his lines.” He spoke in Arabic-so that no hidden listenercould follow what he said.

“Why is the boatman waiting, unless he knew we were coming?”

“Softly, Klebe,” Aboli warned him.

“Don’t let the boatman hold your eye. He is not the danger. Therewill be others.”

They walked on steadily towards the solitary figure, but their eyesflitted through the shadows that crowded in upon them. Suddenlyanother figure detached itself from the darkness and stepped into theirpath just beyond reach of a sword blade. The figure lifted the cowlfrom its head and let it drop back over her shoulders, revealing a headof thick golden curls that sparkled in the dim light.

“Good night and good cheer, lovely gentlemen.” The woman’s voice washusky and enticing, but Tom saw the repellent patches of rouge on hercheeks and the thick paint on her broad mouth, which was blue as acorpse’s lips in the poor light.

“For a shilling I will give you both a sight of heaven’s gate.” Shehad forced them to halt in a narrow part of the towpath, where theywere cramped, and now she swung her hips and leered at Tom in adreadful parody of lust.

“Behind!” Aboli breathed in Arabic, and Tom heard the soft slither ofa footfall on the cobbles.

“I will take him, but you watch the whore,”Aboli warned, before Tomcould turn, “for by the sound of her she has a fine set of balls underher skirt.”

“Sixpence for the two of us, darling,” Tom said, and stepped towardsher, bringing her into sword reach. At that moment he heard Aboliwhirl, but did not take his eyes from the whore. Aboli lunged smoothlyat the first of the two men who were closing in on them out of thedarkness from behind. It was so swift that his victim did not evenraise his blade to meet the thrust.

The point went in under his ribs, and came out of his back at the levelof his kidneys. He screamed.

Aboli used the buried blade and the strength of his left arm to swinghim like a gaffed fish and hurl him into the man behind him. His swordblade slipped out of the man’s belly, and the assailants staggeredback, clutching at each other, the wounded man still screaming, a wild,eerie sound in the night, but he was blocking his comrade’s sword arm.Aboli sent his next thrust over his shoulder, full into the face of theman behind him.

Struck full in the mouth, the man dropped his weapon and covered hisface with both hands. The blood squirted out between his fingers,black and thick. He staggered away, and fell backwards over the edgeof the wharf. There was a single splash as he hit the dark watersbelow and sank immediately under the surface.

The other man dropped to his knees holding his stomach, and toppledforward on to his face. Aboli whirled to help Tom, but he was toolate.

The whore had drawn a sword from under the cloak and as she sprang atTom the wig dropped off and revealed her cropped head and coarse,masculine features. Tom was ready for him and jumped forward to meethis charge. The assassin was taken by surprise: he had not expectedsuch a swift response and he had not given himself the time to take hisguard.

Tom went high in the natural line, the quick kill to the base of thethroat where there is no bone to turn the stroke. His blade wentthrough the windpipe and the great arteries of the neck to grate on thespine. He recovered and thrust again, an inch lower. This time thesteel found the joint of the vertebrae and went clear through.

“You are learning, Klebe,” Aboli hissed as the whore dropped and laywithout a twitch, his skirts pulled up over thin hairy white legs.

“But we are not finished yet. There will be others.” They came out ofthe dark doorways and, the shadows like pariah dogs smelling offal.

Tom did not bother to count them, but they were many.

“Back to back,” Aboli ordered, and changed his sword to the strongerside. Now the narrow neck of the pathway, which had seemed to be atrap, became their stronghold.

The river guarded their one flank, and the blank windowless wall of atriple-storeyed house the other.

Tom guessed that many more assailants were crowding in upon them fromboth ends of the path. But they could only attack one at a time.

The next man to come at Tom was armed with an iron-tipped stave, and ashe swung at Tom’s head it was instantly apparent that he was an expertwith this ugly weapon. Tom was thankful for all the hours that Abolihad forced him to use one in the practice yard at High Weald. Heducked under the long, heavy staff, not risking the delicate blade ofthe Neptune sword against such a brutal blow, but he was ready for thereverse, which he knew would be a thrust to his head. He could notgive ground for Aboli’s broad back was pressed to his. The six footlength of the staff had kept the attacker out of reach of the blueblade until he thrust with the iron tip. The sharp iron tip came atTom’s head like an arrow from a longbow, but Tom rolled his head at thelast moment and let it fly past his cheek. Then, with his left hand hegrasped the oaken shaftl and let the man pull him forward within swordrange. He reached forward, the blue blade sighed in the air andflickered, like summer sheet lightning.

Clean as a straight razor it opened the man’s throat under hisjaw-line, and the air rushed from his open windpipe with a squeal likea piglet denied the teat.

The man behind him stared at the dreadful sight, as the dying manstaggered in a circle. He was so entranced that he was slow to meetTom’s next lunge. Tom went high again, for the base of the throat, butat the last moment his victim jerked aside and the point went inthrough his shoulder. The weapon he carried fell from his hand andclattered on the cobbles. He clutched his wound and shouted, “In thename of God, I am killed,” turned and blundered into the men coming upbehind him. They formed a dark, struggling bunch of humanity, soclosely packed that it was difficult for Tom to pick out a cleartarget. He stabbed three times fast and hard into the pack, and witheach stroke there was another agonized screech.

One staggered backwards and toppled over the edge of the path, armsswinging wildly as he fell from sight and hit the water in a flash ofspray. The others scrambled back, holding their injuries, their facesdirty grey in the dull light.

Tom heard sounds behind him, somebody moaning hollowly and anothersobbing with agony. A third person was flopping and kicking on theground like a horse down with a broken leg. Tom dared not take hiseyes off the men who still confronted him, but he must know that Abolistill covered his back.

“Aboli, are you hit?” he asked quietly.

At once there was a deep voice close behind him filled with scorn.

“These are apes, not warriors. They defile my blade with theirblood.”

“Be not so fastidious, I beg you, old friend. How many more arethere?”

“Many, but methinks they have lost stomach for the fare we areserving.” A knot of men was hovering in front of Aboli, just out ofswordplay. He saw their first backward paces, and suddenly he threwback his head and let forth such a cry that even Tom was startled.

Despite himself he turned his head to look back.

Aboli’s mouth was a great red cavern, and the tattooed features wereconvulsed in a mask of animal ferocity. The cry he gave was the bellowof a great bull ape, a sound that shocked the ears and stunned thesenses. The men before him were racing away into the darkness whilethe echoes rang across the dark river. The same panic seized thosefacing Tom: they whirled away and ran. Two were limping and weavingwith their wounds, but they straggled away up a side-street and thesounds of their running feet dwindled into the silence of theencroaching mist.

“I think you will have summoned the watch.” Tom stooped and wiped hisblade on the skirts of the dead whore.

“They will be on us in a minute.”

“Then let us go,” Aboli agreed, in a voice that seemed mild andsoothing after the terrible cry that had preceded it.

They stepped over the crumpled bodies, and ran towards the head of thesteps. Aboli raced down to where the ferry-boat was moored, but Tomturned aside and went to the boatman.

“A old guinea for your hire!” Tom promised, as he ran to meet him. Hewas less than ten paces from him when the boatman threw open the foldsof his cloak and raised the pistol he had concealed beneath it. Tomsaw that it had twin barrels arranged side by side,

and that the muzzles were like a pair of black eyeless sockets.

As he stared into those blank eyes of death, the passage of the secondsseem to freeze. Everything took on an unreal, dreamlike quality.Although his eyesight seemed sharpened, and every sense was heightened,yet his movements were slowed as though he were wading through clingingmud.

He saw that both hammers of the pistol were at full cock. From underthe brim of the wide hat a single dark eye glittered over the barrelsat Tom, and a pale forefinger was hooked through the trigger guard,tightening inexorably.

Tom watched the hammer on the left barrel drop, the puff and flash ofthe priming as the flint struck the steel.

He tried to hurl himself aside but his limbs obeyed only lazily.

The boatman’s pistol hand was thrown head high and the weapon firedwith a shattering blast. A cloud of blue gunsmoke filled the airbetween them. At the same instant Tom was struck a heavy blow in thebody that threw him backwards. He went down heavily and lay on hisback on the stones. I am hit, he thought, with surprise, as hesprawled on the top step. He felt the numb heaviness in his chest. Heknew what that presaged. Perhaps I am killed, was his next thought andit made him angry. He glared up at the man who had shot him.

He still had the Neptune sword in his right hand, as he saw the pistolcoming down, like a fatal basilisk, levelling its terrible blank gazeupon him. If I am killed then I can no longer move my sword arm.

The thought fumed in his brain, forcing him to pour every ounce of hisstrength and determination into his right arm.

To his astonishment the arm had lost none of its force.

It whipped forward and the sword flew from his fingers, thrown like ajavelin. He watched its flight, point first, unwavering and true, thelantern-light sending golden sparks from the precious inlaid metal asit flew.

Standing over him, the boatman’s cloak had opened to expose his chest.He wore only a black silk shirt beneath it, laced at the throat. Beforethe second barrel of the pistol fired, the steel pierced the softmaterial under the raised pistol arm, and Tom watched its fullglistening length disappear magically into the man’s torso.

The boatman stood rigid, locked in a mortal spasm, his heart cloven bythe blade. Then he swayed backwards and his long legs, booted inpolished black leather, gave way under him. He fell backwards, lay andwrithed against the agony of the blade. Then swiftly his movementsstilled.

Tom lifted himself on one elbow, and saw Aboli come bounding up thesteps.

“Klebe! Where are you struck?”

“I know not. I feel nothing.” Aboli pulled aside the folds of hiscloak, then ripped open the cloth of his shirt. He groped the hardyoung flesh beneath, and Tom exclaimed, “By God, gently! If I am notdead already you will soon see to it.” Aboli seized the lantern, whichstill burned on the top step, and opened the shutter fully. He shonethe beam on to Tom’s naked chest. There was blood, much blood.

“Low in the right side,” he muttered, “not the heart but perhaps thelungs.” He shone the light into Tom’s eyes, and watched the pupilscontract.

“Good! Now cough for me.” Tom did what he ordered, and wiped hismouth with the back of his hand.

“No blood!” he said, as he studied his unsullied palm.

“Thank all your gods and mine, Klebe,”Aboli grunted, as he pushed Tomback.

“This will hurt,” he promised.

“Shout if you will, but I must gauge the track of the ball.” He foundthe opening of the wound, and before Tom could brace himself slippedone long thick finger full length into it. Tom arched his back andscreamed like a virgin being rudely deflowered.

“It has struck a rib, and glanced aside.” Aboli pulled his bloodyfinger out.

“It has not entered the cavity of your chest.” He ran his hand,slippery with warm blood, around the side of Tom’s chest under his arm,and felt the lump of the ball near his shoulder-blade.

“It has run between the bone and the skin. We will cut for itlater.”

Then he lifted his great tattooed head as a shout echoed from the mouthof the dark lane that led down to the landing. It had the tone ofharsh authority.

“Stand and yield, villains, in the name of the King!”

“The watch!” Aboli said.

“They must not take us here, surrounded by dead men.” He hauled Tom tohis feet.

“Come, I will help you to the boat.”

“Unhand me!” Tom snapped at him, shrugging himself free.

“I have lost my sword.” Doubled over to favour his wounded side, Tomhobbled to where the boatman lay on his back. He placed his boot onthe dead man’s chest and pulled free the long, shining blade. He wasabout to turn away and go down the steps but, on an impulse, he usedthe point of the blade to flick the wide-brimmed hat off the corpse’shead.

He stared at the dark, handsome face, surrounded by the garland ofNubian black hair that shone in the lamplight. The mouth was slack, nolonger cruel, and the eyes stared into the night sky, blank andunseeing.

“Billy!” Tom whispered. He stared in horror at the face of his deadbrother, and for the first time his legs went weak under him.

“Billy! I have murdered you.”

“There was no murder. “Aboli’s great arm closed around hisshoulders.

“But if the watch take us here, there might well be.” He swept Tomhalf off his feet, and down the steps.

Then he tumbled him into the ferry-boat and leaped in beside him.

With a slash of his sword he severed the painter that secured them tothe iron mooring ring in the stone wharf and seized the oars. The boatleaped forward with the strength of his stroke.

“Stop! Surrender yourselves,” a hoarse voice shouted from the shore.In the mist there was the sound of running footsteps and the voices ofmore men.

“Stop, or I will fire upon you! This is the King’s watchman!” Abolipulled with both oars, grunting with the effort, and the mist banksclosed around them. The dark stones of the wharf disappeared in theswirling silver clouds. Then there was the heavy detonation of ablunderbuss, and the hum as a swarm of lead shot cut through the mist.It fell like hail on the surface of the river around them and a fewpellets struck the woodwork of the boat. Tom crouched on thefloorboards, hugging his injured side. Aboli heaved on the oars,sending-them further out on the broad waters.

The shouts of the watch faded swiftly behind them and Aboli stoppedrowing.

“Please do not piss on me. Keep that black python locked in yourbreeches,” Tom pleaded, in mock terror of Aboli’s infamous treatmentfor all wounds.

Aboli grinned as he tore a strip of cloth from his undershirt.

“You do not deserve such pleasures. What stupidity to walk up to anenemy offering him money!” Aboli altered his tone to mimic Tom.

“A gold guinea for your hire!”" He chuckled.

“He surely gave you your guinea’s worth.” Aboli folded the piece ofcloth into a pad and placed it over the bullet wound.

“Hold that there,” he told Tom.

“Press hard to staunch the bleeding!” Then he seized the oars again.

“The tide is with us. We will be at Eel Pie before midnight.”

They were silent for an hour, rowing on quietly in the mist banks.

Aboli found his way along the dark, hidden river as though it werebroad day. Tom spoke at last.

“He was MY brother, Aboli.” Jaw* “He was also your enemy to thedeath.”

“I swore to my father on his deathbed.”

“You spared him once. All oaths to your father were discharged.”

“I will have to answer for his death at judgement Day.”

“That is long hence.” Aboli spoke in rhythm with the swinging oars.

“Let it wait until then, and I will bear witness for you, if your Godwill listen to the testimony of a heathen. How is your wound?”

“The bleeding is staunched, but it hurts.”

“That is good. When a wound does not hurt, you are dead.” They weresilent again, until Tom heard the chimes of a church clock on theriverbank strike eight. He roused himself, and winced at the pain ofthe wound.

“Nicholas Childs must have sent word to Billy where to find us,” hesaid softly.

“In the middle of our discussion, he suddenly left the room. He wasgone for a long time, time enough to send word to him.”

“Of course. He sent us out of our way in the carriage to afford yourbrother time to welcome us with his friends at the landing,” Aboliagreed.

“Childs will point to us as the murderers. The magistrates will sendtheir bailiffs to take us. Childs will have many witnesses against us.The watchmen on the landing probably saw our faces. We will end up onthe gallows tree, if they lay their hands upon us.”

This was so obviously the truth that Aboli made no comment.

“Childs wanted the Swallow. That is why he warned Billy where to findus. I thought the swine had resigned himself to our bargain, but hewanted it all from me, the cargo and the ship.”

“He is fat and greedy,” Aboli agreed.

“Childs knows where to send them. I told him the Swallow was moored atEel Pie.”

“You are not to blame. You could not see the harm in it.” Tom movedrestlessly, trying to ease the pain of the stiffening wound.

“Billy was a peer of the realm, an important man with powerful friends.They will be like bulldogs.

They will not let us go.” Aboli grunted, but never interrupted therhythm of the oars.

“We must sail tonight,” Tom said firmly.

“We dare not wait until morning.”

“At last you have seen what was clear all along,” Aboli applaudedwryly. Tom settled back against the thwart.

Now that the decision was made he could rest easier. He dozedintermittently, but the pain kept waking him.

An hour before midnight he was roused by the change in the stroke ofthe oars, and he looked up to see the outline of the Swallow’s sleekand lovely hull appearing out of the mist just ahead. There was ariding light at her masthead, and the dark figure of the anchor watchrose from behind her gunwale and challenged them sharply.

“Who goes there?”

“Swallow!” Tom shouted the traditional reply when the ship’s captainwas returning, and there was an immediate stir and bustle aboard thesloop. As soon as they came alongside many hands were ready to liftTom on board.

“We must send for a surgeon,” Ned Tyler said, as soon as he saw theblood, and learned the cause and extent of Tom’s injury.

“No! The watch is after us,” Tom stopped him.

“We must sail within the hour. The tide has turned already. We mustrun downriver on the ebb.”

“The work below decks is not complete, Ned warned him.

“I know that,” Tom answered.

“We will find a safe port on the south coast to finish it. We cannotuse Plymouth it is too close to home. That is the first place theywill look for us. Dr. Reynolds lives at Cowes on the Isle of

Wight. It is off the mainland. The bailiffs will not immediately lookfor us there. We can send word to the men we need to join us, andfinish fitting out before we sail for Good Hope.” He struggled to hisfeet.

“Where is Luke Jervis?”

“Ashore with his wife and brats, Ned replied.

“Send for him.” Luke came, still muzzy with sleep. Swiftly Tomexplained what had happened, how he had lost the cargo to Childs,-andthe desperate need to fly downriver at once.

“I know that I owe you the share of the Swallow and her cargo, as Ipromised, but I cannot pay you now. I will give you my note on thedebt. I may never be able to return to England, but I will send themonies to you when I have them.”

“No!” Luke had woken up fully during Tom’s rapid recounting of thefacts.

“I will not trust you for such a large sum.” His voice was harsh. Tomstared at him, at a loss for words, but Luke’s face split suddenly intoa wolfish grin.

“I must come along with you to protect my debt.”

“You don’t understand,” Tom said roughly.

“I am going to Africa.”

“I have always wanted to taste one of them co key nuts,” Luke said.

“It will take me a minute to fetch my ditty-bag, Captain. Don’t slipyour moorings before I return.) Tom refused to go below to thehalf-finished cabin so Aboli placed a mattress on the open deck forhim, with a tarpaulin rigged over it to keep off the mist. Within tenminutes Ned had come to him.

“All shipshape and ready for sea, Captain,” he reported.

“Where is Luke Jervis?” Tom demanded.

“He should be back at any minute Ned started, but broke off as a screamtore through the night, the cry of a woman in terrible distress. Theystarted in alarm and reached for their weapons, just as two darkfigures came running down the wooden jetty towards the Swallow.

“Tis only Luke,” All Wilson said, with relief, “and his missus afterhim. We best get under way. She could make us all suffer.”

“Cast off!” Luke yelled, when he was only halfway down the jetty.

“The she-devil is after me.” They threw off the lines and ran to thehalyards. The Swallow drew away from the jetty. Luke raced the lastfew yards with his wife gaining on him, screeching with rage andswinging at him with a long staff. Luke leaped across the spacebetween dock and ship.

“Luke Jervis, come back! You will not leave me here with the brood ofbastards you got out of my belly, and no food or coin to feed or clotheus. You will not go running off to Afriky to rut on them black savagewhores.”

“Farewell, my bonny dove.” Jervis scrambled to his feet, bold now thattwenty feet of water separated them. He blew her a kiss.

“I will see you again in three years, or maybe four, or perhapsmore.”

“What will become of me and my innocent babes?” she whined, as hermood changed.

“Have you not a morsel of pity?” She burst out into pitiful wails.

“Sell the Raven,” Luke shouted back.

“She’ll fetch enough to keep you and your litter for twenty years.”

“I’ll not wait for you to come back, Luke Jervis.” Her tone changedagain.

“There’s many a good man will be pleased to take your place in mybed.”

“Brave men all of them.”

Luke waved his cap over his head.

“They deserve you more than I do, my little geranium.” They lay up inthe River Medina half a mile up water from Cowes. Tom had ordered Nedto have the t sloop’s French name painted over, but they did notreplace it with her new name. She did not stand out among the othersmall craft in the anchorage. All the crew were enjoined to silenceand warned not to speak to anyone ashore about her origins, herbusiness or final destination.

Dr. Reynolds came out to the ship immediately he received Tom’smessage. He cut for the ball with Tom lying on a grating in his tinynew cabin. Aboli held his arms and All Wilson his legs. Reynoldsfound the soft lead ball on the first incision, and popped it out ofthe swollen, inflamed flesh like the stone of a prune. There was abright smear on the metal where it had struck Tom’s rib.

Then while Tom writhed and sweated on the grating he probed the channelthe ball had cut along his ribcage.

“There they are! All the wadding and the piece of your shirt itcarried in with it.” Proudly the surgeon displayed these reekingtrophies, holding them up in the forceps to show Tom, who lay in asweat of agony champing on the wooden wedge between his teeth.

“I think it will heal cleanly now.” Reynolds sniffed the pus anddetritus from the wound.

“Sweet as a good Devon cider. The corruption has not yet taken astrong hold in your blood. However, I will leave a quill in the woundto help it drain thoroughly. I will return in three days to removeit.” When Reynolds removed the quill, he proclaimed the operation tohave been a masterpiece of the surgeon’s art.

Then he drank a quart jug of the rough cider Tom offered him.

Under its subtle influence he agreed, without protest or demur, toaccept the post of ship’s surgeon that Tom pressed upon him.

“This last year I have near died of boredom. Never a decentmusket-ball wound nor sword cut to lighten my days. Nothing butrunning noses and trickling burns,” he confided over the second jug ofcider, as they sat on the open deck beside the main mast.

“I have dreamed often of those balmy days on the Fever Coast.” Therewas a burst of heavy hammering from below, and minutes later the mastercarpenter stuck his head out of the hatch.

“The work’s all done, Captain. You’re ready to sail whenever you’ve amind.” Tom had hired a gang of three local carpenters to help completethe refitting of the swallow They had worked in shifts, all day and bylantern-light late into the night to meet Tom’s demands. He paid themoff for the excellent work they had done, and bade them farewell.

In the meantime he had sent All Wilson and Ned Tyler by ferry acrossthe Solent to find the best of the men they had already contracted tothe voyage. They were scattered down the coast in the ports andfishing villages between Plymouth and Portsmouth, waiting for Tom tosummon them.

Tom and Master Walsh went with them as far as Southampton. Theyvisited the chandlers; and merchants to purchase the stores and tradegoods they needed to complete fitting out the Swallow and provision herfor an extended trading voyage. From the last voyage with his father,Tom knew what goods were most in demand among the black Africantribes.

He ordered and paid for almost two tons of Merikani cotton cloth, twothousand axe@ heads five tons of copper wire, five hundred handmirrors, a ton of Venetian glass beads, twenty pounds of needles, ahundred cheap muskets with powder flasks and shot bags, and a ton ofassorted trinkets and gewgaws. Most of these goods were safelydelivered across the Solent and stored on board within the week.

Tom left Master Walsh in Southampton to see to the purchase of the lastof the trade goods, and went back to the ship. He fretted throughoutthe last few days as his crew began to come in across the Solent insingles and small groups, carrying their bags slung over theirshoulders.

He greeted each by name as they came aboard and had them place theirmarks on the watch-bill. They were the best of all those who hadsailed on the Seraph and the other ships of the squadron. Tom wasdelighted and relieved to have them on board. He paid each his silvershilling of joining money and sent them below to claim the pegs onwhich to hang their hammocks.

Master Walsh arrived back from their buying expedition aboard the bargehe had hired to bring the last consignment of trade goods and ship’sstores down Southampton Water and across the Solent to where theSwallow was anchored in the Medina. When these goods were loaded, theSwallow’s holds were filled and she lay low in the water. However, NedTyler and All Wilson had not yet returned, and they were forced to waitfor them. There was not an hour that passed when Tom did not look tothe shore and worry about the threat of the bailiffs that hung overhim.

He was certain that the officers of the law were already scouring allthe ports along the south coast. He guessed they had started atPlymouth and were spreading out from there, searching for the sloop.

It was only a matter of time before they reached the Isle of Wight andbegan to make the enquiries that would lead them to where the Swallowlay.

There was another worry. The autumn was far advanced and soon winterwould cast her stormy net across the seaways to the south, and lockthem in. However, these days of grace gave his wound time to heal. Bynow he was vigorous and strong again, eager to be on his way.

At night in his tiny cabin he was haunted by the murder of his brother,and he brooded on his guilt. In his Bible, with its worn leathercover, he read and reread the story of Cain and Abel, and found littlethere to comfort him. Then, at the end of two weeks, All Wilson andNed Tyler returned. The two were surprised by the warmth andenthusiasm of his welcome.

“Jeremy Compton has changed his mind, and we could not find Will Barnesor John Birdham.” Ned was apologetic.

“No harm done, Ned,” Tom assured him expansively, and they went overthe watch-bill together, assigning each man to his station. Ned wasthe first mate. All, Luke and Aboli the other officers, with a crew oftwenty-seven tried and tested old salts to make up the fullcomplement.

“There is only one more load of trade goods to arrive, twohundredweight of red and green Venetian glass beads,” Tom told hisofficers.

“With luck they will come in tomorrow. We’ll sail with the next tideafter they are stowed They settled in for what was to be their lastnight before sailing. As the sun set behind a thick mattress of greycloud, a deputation led by Luke Jervis came to Tom where he satbrooding in the bows, staring across the water at the lamplights in thevillage, taking his leave of England for ever, saddened by the loomingexile into which he was condemned for the rest of his life, and yetelated at the prospect of being able at last to begin the search forDorian and his return to that mysterious, beckoning land so far to thesouth.

“There is some of the lads that would take a last pot of ale in thetavern and kiss a pretty Christian girl once more before we sail on themorrow. Will you give them permission to go ashore for an hour,Captain?” Luke asked respectfully.

Tom thought about it for a minute. It was not wise to allow menashore, for when they had liquor in them even the best seamen were wildand untrustworthy.

“They will not taste a good English ale these next three years.” Lukeprodded him delicately.

He was right, Tom thought, it would be hard on them if he refused.

He could see the lighted windows of the tavern across the water.

They would be almost within hail.

There could be little harm in it.

“Will you go with them, Mr. Jervis, and see to it that it is an hourand no more?”

“Why do you not come across with us your good self, Captain? They willmind their manners and come away prompt and sober if they are underyour eye.”

“It will be better than sitting here worrying about things that mightnever happen, Klebe,” Aboli said softly, from where he sat beside themast.

“The lads will take it well, to have you buy them a jug and drink withthem to the success of our voyage.” Tom left Ned in command of theSloop, and with him a few who would rather be in their hammock than intheir cups. The rest rowed ashore in one of the longboats.

The taproom of the tavern was noisy and crowded with lobster men andfishermen, and the crews off the Royal Navy’s men-o’-war. The air wasthick and blue with tobacco smoke. Tom ordered jugs of ale for hislads, and he and Aboli retired to a corner where they could watch theroom and the door. Jim Smiley and one or two of the others started aboisterous conversation with a trio of women in the far corner, andwithin minutes they slipped away in couples. Although it had startedraining lightly, they disappeared into the night.

“They will not be far off,” Aboli quieted Tom’s misgivings.

“I

told them to stay within call.” Tom had not lowered the contents ofhis jug an inch from. the rim when two strange men came in through thefront door and stood on the threshold, beating the raindrops off theircocked hats and the shoulders of their cloaks.

“I do not like the looks of these,” said Tom uneasily, and set asidehis jug. They were both big, brawny fellows, with grim, stolidfaces.

“They have not come here to revel and carouse.”

“Stay here,” Aboli said, and rose to his feet.

“I will find out more about their business.” He made his way casuallythrough the crowd of drinkers, and followed the pair as they pushedthrough the crowd to where the goodwife and two wenches were fillingale jugs from the spigot of a twenty-gallon keg.

“Good morrow, mistress,” the elder of the strange pair greeted thewife.

“I would like a word”

“Words are cheap.” She looked up and brushed the hair from her eyes.

“Let’s see your ha’ pence for a pot and you can talk as much as youlike.” The man slapped a coin on the table, and Aboli drifted closerso that he could listen to every word, while remaining unobtrusive.

“I am looking for a ship,” said the big man.

“Then you have come to the right place. There are ships aplentyhereabouts. Yonder is Spithead and the whole bloody navy. Take yourpick.”

“The ship I seek is a little sloop.” The man grinned at heringratiatingly, but his eyes were cold and hard.

“A pretty little ship with the name of the Hirondelle.” Hispronunciation of the French name was murderous.

“Or perhaps the Swallow.” Aboli did not wait for the goodwife’s replybut turned away and strode towards where most of the crew of the sloopwere standing in a group, laughing and swigging from their pots.

Tom was watching him across the smoky room and Aboli jerked his head inan unmistakable summons. Tom came to his feet and went among thecrowd, but not so obviously as to draw attention, singling out his men,tapping each on the shoulder, and giving them a quiet word. Aboli wasdoing the same, and shepherding the seamen out into the drizzlingrain.

“What is it?” Luke demanded.

“Bailiffs are drawing our covert,” Aboli told him.

“Where are John Smiley and his mates?”

“Unloading their cargo into some pretty little pink port, like as not,”Luke said.

“Whistle them up,” Tom ordered.

“We will not wait on the tide.”

Luke lifted the whalebone whistle that hung from. a lanyard around hisneck and blew two sharp blasts. Almost immediately John Smiley camerunning out of the shadows at the rear of the tavern. The othersstumbled after him, hauling up their breeches and smoothing down theirpetticoats.

“Back to the boat, lads,” Tom told them, “or get left behind.” It wasless than a hundred paces to the jetty where the longboat was tied up,but they had covered only half that distance when a stentorian bellowfollowed them.

“Thomas Courtney! Stand, in the name of the law.” Tom glanced overhis shoulder and saw the two big men burst out through the taverndoorway and come pelting after them.

“I have a warrant signed by the Chief Justice of England! You arecharged with the bloody murder of Lord Courtney.” The challengespurred Tom on.

“Run for it, ladsP They reached the head of the stone steps well aheadof the bailiffs, but there they ran into a bottleneck on the narrowstairway, and the two big men gained on them rapidly.

Each had drawn a sword from under his Cloak, and their heavy bootspounded over the cobbles.

“Stop! In the name of the law!”

“I will hold them off!”

Aboli rumbled, and turned to face them.

“Go into the boat!”

Instead, Tom turned with him and they stood at the head of the stairs,shoulder to shoulder.

“Your wound. You cannot wield a sword yet. Will you never listen tome?” Aboli demanded.

“Only when you make sense!” Tom changed the Neptune sword into hisleft hand as the pain of his unhealed wound stabbed him in the side.

“I will kill you, if you force me to it,” he shouted at the approachingpair, in such a tone as to bring them up short.

They hesitated just out of sword-play.

“We are officers of the law. Touch one of us at your peril.” Theywere disconcerted by the odd pair who confronted them, the fresh-facedyouth with the bent nose and the scarified black giant.

“And I am a murderer with bloody hands. One more death means little tome.” Tom laughed ghoulishly, “This savage here eats men raw.

He likes their heads best. He sucks the flesh off the boi Aboliwhipped the hat off his great bald head and scowled at them, contortinghis tattooed face into a grotesque mask. The bailiffs stepped backinvoluntarily.

Behind his back Tom heard the last of his men tumble into the longboat,and the oars creaking in the row locks

“Come on board, Captain,” Luke Jervis yelled.

“Shove off!” Tom yelled at Luke, and leaped forward to meet the twobailiffs.

“On guard! Defend yourselves!” He thrust at the man in front of him,driving him back, flashing the blade inches from his eyes, snagging andsplitting the fabric of his coat with the point, but always careful notto wound him.

The bailiffs had only to touch blades to realize that they wereoutclassed, and they retreated before the combined attack. Luke Jervisshouted again.

The Monsoon

Tom glanced swiftly over his shoulder: the longboat hovered just offthe wharf with the rowers resting on their oars.

“Time to go, he said to Aboli in Arabic, and made two more rapid lungesat the bailiffs” faces that sent them stumbling backwards in panic.Then he and Aboli whirled and ran to the edge of the wharf. Theyleaped together far out and dropped into the water with their cloaksballooning behind them.

As soon as they surfaced the longboat shot in to pick them up.

Tom held the Neptune sword in his right hand and side-paddled with theother arm to meet the boat. The crew lifted him and Aboli out of thewater and turned immediately, pulling mightily for where the Swallowlay.

Once they were all safely aboard it took only minutes to recover thelongboat and rope it down on the foredeck, while the other watch wereon the windlass hoisting the anchor from the muddy bottom.

The bailiffs must have commandeered their skiff. They were halfwayacross from the wharf when the Swallow hoisted her mainsail and heeledto the night wind. As they bore away down the narrow inlet towards theopen water of the Solent they passed the small boat close.

One of the bailiffs stood up in the stern and pointed his drawn swordat Tom as he stood beside the Swallow’s helm.

“You can never escape,” he shouted across the gap between the twocraft.

“You have blood on your hands, and we will smell you out, no matterwhere you go on the face of this earth. Tom made no reply, but lookeddead ahead.

They left the small boat bobbing in their wake.

The wind treated them like a lover. It came from the north, theharbinger of winter, cold and swift, but not so strong as to force themto put a reef in the main. Within a week they had cleared Ushant.

Then the north wind whisked them across Biscay, that notorious breederof gales and turbulent seas, and south past the Canaries and on intothe doldrums.

Here they expected it to falter, become fluky and erratic, but it blewsweet and constant. One day, after the noon sun-shot, Tom marked theirposition on the line of the equator and a thousand nautical miles westof the massive bulge of the African continent.

“New course is south by east, Mr. Tyler. Full and by.” He marked iton the traverse board.

Ned Tyler touched his forehead.

“Full and by it is, Captain.”

Tom looked up at the Swallow’s mainsail: it was swollen tight and whiteas an eight-month pregnant belly.

Then he looked over the stern: the wake was slick and straight acrossthe wind-ruffled Atlantic swells.

“With this wind we will raise the Cape in less than sixty days, andthirty days later we will drop our hook in Zanzibar Roads.” He hadleft all his doubts and misgivings far under the northern horizon, andnow he felt strong and invulnerable.

Muhammad al-Malik’s dhow was in disarray.

The fallen boom that had almost killed the Prince had left the shipdrifting helplessly, bows to the wind, her decks smothered under theheavy woven matting sail, and her rigging in a shambles. Blocks wereswinging and banging against the mast and hull in the strong gusts ofthe monsoon, and her rigging was whipping and snapping, threatening toflog itself and the ship into further ruin.

The first thing that had to be done to bring order out of thisdestruction was to capture the end of the main halyard. This heavyrope was flying from the top of the mast. Rove through the eye of themain block at the masthead, it could not be pulled back from thedeck.

This would merely compound the problem of hoisting the great lateensail and getting the ship sailing again. Someone would have to climbthe mast.

Unlike a square-rigged ship, no shrouds secured it and there was noother easy form of access to the masthead.With her mainsail down, the dhow was rolling wildly in the heavyswells. The captain was trying to keep her bows into the sea with thetiller as she made sternway, but every now and then a heavier sea wouldcatch her broadside and roll her almost clean over. The mast was likea gigantic pendulum as it whipped from side to side, aggravating theseviolent movements. The ship was in dire danger.

The captain could not leave the tiller, but he screeched orders at hismen as they huddled as far from him as the deck would allow, all tryingto avoid his eye.

They knew full well what needed to be done but not one was willing toattempt the climb to the masthead.

Dorian watched all this pandemonium with excited fascination.

There had never been anything so entertaining on the deck of theSeraph, not all this screaming and gesticulation.

Ahmed, son of the great sow!” Fouad, the captain, singled out anothervictim and pointed with a shaking finger to the top of the mast.

“I will wrap your corpse in a pig skin before I throw you overboard ifyou do not obey me.” The man turned away his head and stared out tosea, as if he had been smitten deaf.

Dorian measured the climb with an experienced eye, and wondered whatthey were all so afraid of. He had danced a hornpipe with Tom on themain yard of the Seraph, one hand on his hip, the other touching thetop of his head, while the ship ran with the Cape rollers under herstern and the southeaster blew half a gale. This mast was only a thirdthe height of the Seraph’s main.

He could almost hear Tom’s voice mocking him: Come on, Dorry.

Show them what you can do. I’ll give you guts!” No one was looking athim, they had all forgotten him in the desperate exigency of themoment. Even the Prince had forsaken his customary aplomb and wasclinging to one of the stays on the foredeck, staring up at the swayingmasthead.

Dorian slipped off the long robe and threw it down on the deck.

The skirts would tangle his legs. Naked as a newborn he ran to thefoot of the mast and shot up it like a monkey pursued by a leopard.

The Prince recovered his poise and shouted, “Stop that child! He willkill himself.” Dorian was well out of reach of the frantic handstrying to carry out the royal command. His agility and head forheights had been developed and refined in the rigging of the Seraphand, by those standards, it was an easy climb. He used the roll of thehull and the swing of the mast to propel himself upwards, grippingalternately with knees and hands. He reached the top of the mast andglanced down. He saw their terrified faces turned up towards him, andcould not resist the temptation to show off a little more. He wrappedboth legs around the main stay and let go with one hand. He placed histhumb on the tip of his nose and wiggled his fingers down at the deckin a derisive gesture. Even though the crew had never seen thisgesture before, the meaning was unmistakable.

Dorian’s naked body gleamed white as an oyster-shell in the sunlightand his bare bottom was round and pink. He waggled it at them toemphasize the insult.

A moan of dread and horror went up from the watchers below as heclimbed higher. They knew that the Prince’s wrath would be dreadful ifany harm came to the boy, and that it would fall squarely upon theirheads. They moaned again as Dorian reached out and gripped theflapping halyard.

“Belay the end!” he shouted down at the deck, using maritime English,but his order was clear to the captain who, having divined his meaning,then translated it into Arabic. Three men ran to grab the standing endof the heavy line.

As soon as they had it ready to break his fall, Dorian took two turnsof the unravelled, worn tail end around his waist and then ran it backbetween his legs.

“Break my falL!” he yelled again. He waited for the right moment inthe swing of the mast, then released his grip and kicked, himselfclear. The halyard squealed through the block as he dropped.

The men on the standing end of the line let it run through theirleathery palms, braking his fall as Dorian came down. He was swoopingfar out over the water at each travel of the dhow’s roll, and hewhooped with the exhilaration of each swing through the air.

The men on the other end of the halyard judged his descent withsailors” skill, and allowed him to drop down the last few fathoms ofthe rope so lightly that his bare feet made no sound as they touchedthe deck. There was a rush to ensure he was safe and to secure thetail end of the halyard, which was wrapped around his waist.

As soon as a fresh rope was rove through the block at ” the mastheadand the boom was hoisted once more, the dhow came on the wind,transformed by the press of the lateen sail from a helpless rollinghulk into a thing of the sea, agile and swift.

The Prince placed one hand on Dorian’s shoulder and looked around thefaces of his retinue.

“By his quickness of thought and action, this child has saved my life,and that of the ship,” he announced.

“Is there one of you who still doubts that this is the red-crownedorphan of the prophecy?” He laid his hand on Dorian’s shining curlsand looked each of his courtiers in the eyes. Not one could hold hisgaze.

It was the mullah who spoke out first.

“It is the miracle 1 of St. Taimtaim,” he cried.

“I declare the Holy Word. This is the child of the prophecy!”

“It is the prophesy!” they chorused.

“Praise God’s , name.

With his hand still on Dorian’s head, the Prince said clearly, “Let allmen know that I take this child as my adopted son. Henceforth he shallbe known as al-Ahmara ibn al-Malik, the Red One, son of al-Malik.” Themullah smiled slyly at his master’s cunning. By making the child hisown son, he had neatly validated the prophecy of the saint. But otherconditions had to be fulfilled, before the Prince could reap therewards the old saint had promised. No doubt, in due season, thesealso could be met.

“It is the will of God!” cried the mullah.

The others intoned in chorus, “God is great!”

without the Prince’s commendation, over the weeks they spent at seaDorian had earned himself a place in the affections of every member ofthe crew.

It was clear to all of them that the boy was a bird of good omen, andeach one secretly hoped that some of the promise of the prophecy mightrub off on him. As Dorian moved about the deck even the most hardened,villainous sailors smiled and bantered with him, or touched his redhead for luck.

The ship’s cook made special sweetmeats and sugared delights for him,while the rest of the crew vied with each other for his attention, andpressed small gifts on him. One even took the charm he wore on a thongaround his neck and placed it over Dorian’s head.

“May this shield you,” he said, and made the sign against the evileye.

“Little monkey with the heart of a lion,” Fouad, the captain, named himfondly and after evening prayers called Dorian to sit with him at thehelm. He pointed out the navigational stars as they rose out of thesea, recited the names of the constellations and told Dorian thelegends behind each one.

These Arabs were men of the deserts and the ocean.

They lived their entire lives under the panoply of heaven, and thestars were always overhead. They had studied them over the centuries,and now the captain was sharing some of this knowledge with Dorian. Itwas a rare gift he was offering the child.

Dorian listened in fascination, his upturned face shining in the lightof the heavens. Then in his turn he gave the captain the English namesof the heavenly bodies, which he had learned from Aboli and Big Daniel.The other crewmen gathered round them and listened to the fables of theSeven Sisters, of Orion the hunter and of the scorpion, as Dorianrelated them in his sweet high voice. They loved the stars and theyloved a good story.

Now that he had a free run of the ship there was so much to occupy himthat Dorian had little time to feel lonely or sorry for himself Hewould spend half the morning hanging over the dhow’s side, watching apod of long-nosed dolphins frolicking in the bow-wave, their wide tailspumping and their knowing eyes looking up at him as they dodged backand forth under the bows. Suddenly one of the creatures would springfrom the dazzling blue water as high as where Dorian stood and grin athim with its wide mouth. Dorian waved at it, and burst into delightedpeals of laughter. The Arab seamen closest to him would pause in theirlabours and smile in sympathy.

VAenever he became too involved in conversation with them, though,Fouad would call to him possessively, “Come here, little monkey withthe lion heart, steer the ship for me.” Dorian would take the tillerand his eyes sparkled as he held the running dhow on the wind, felt hertremble under his hands like a thoroughbred horse gathering itself fora jump.

Sometimes the Prince, sitting cross-legged on the silk carpet under hissun tent, would break off a discussion with his courtiers and watch theboy with a little smile on his lips.

As Dorian was still a boy and had not yet felt the circumcision knife,Tahi could go unveiled in his presence.

She was that lowliest creature, a divorced woman. Her husband was oneof the Prince’s grooms. Unable to give him a son, Tahi had beendiscarded. Only al-Malik’s beneficence and compassion had saved herfrom begging in the streets and souks of Lamu.

Tahi was big and plump and round all over, her skin well greased andbrown. She loved her food and had a jolly laugh, and an easy-goingdisposition. Her loyalty and devotion to the Prince were the centre ofher existence.

Now, suddenly, Dorian was the son of her master.

Like all the others on board, Tahi was smitten by his beautiful redhair, his strange pale green eyes and milky white skin. When heunleashed the full force of his sunny smile and winning charm upon hershe could not resist him. Childless herself, he assuaged all hermaternal instincts, and very soon she had lost her heart to him.

When the Prince appointed her Dorian’s official nurse, she wept withgratification. It did not take long for Dorian to discover that herbland, almost bovine features concealed a shrewd intelligence and asharp political sense.

She understood all the currents of power and influence in the Prince’scourt and navigated these with rare skill. She explained to him whowere the great and important men in the Prince’s retinue, theirstrengths and their failings, their foibles and how to treat each ofthem. She coached him in the etiquette of the court, and in how tocomport himself in the presence of the Prince and his followers.

For Dorian the nights were the only bad times. In the dark, memoriesof Tom and his father crept up on him and overwhelmed him.

One night Tahi woke to hear stifled sobs coming from where Dorian layon his thin mattress on the far side of the little cabin they shared.

An outcast herself, she understood instinctively the homesickness andloneliness of a small boy torn from his family and all things familiarand dear, cast among strangers of a different racc.

religion and way of life.

She rose quietly and went to him, lying beside him aT1 the mattress andtaking him into her warm, soft, motherh embrace.

At first Dorian tried to resist, and pushed her away, but then he lethimself relax and lie still in her arm,

She murmured little endearments against the top of his shining head,all the love words she had bottled up inside her for the son her barrenwomb had denied her. After a while the rigidity went out of Dorian’sbody and he moved closer to her, cuddling his head between her greatround breasts, and at last he slept. The next night he went to hermattress quite naturally and she opened her fat arms and drew him toher.

“My baby,” she whispered, in wonder at the depth of her emotion.

“My own beautiful baby.”

Dorian could not remember the comfort of his own mother’s arms, butthere was a deep need in him. Tahi soon came to fill a great part ofthat void.

As the dhow drew closer to her home port, Prince Abd Muhammad at-Maliksat under his awning not too deeply involved in affairs of state andbusiness to lack time to ponder the prophecy of the saint, and to watchthe boy with a veiled but keen appraisal.

“Al-Allama,” he used the family name of his mullah, “what revelationshave you received regarding the child?” The mullah hooded his eyes,shielding his thoughts from the penetrating perception of his master.

“He is winsome, and he draws people to him as honey draws bees.”

“That is evident.” The Prince’s voice had an edge to it.

“But it is not what I asked of you.”

“It seems that he has those attributes described by the holy Taimtaim,”the Mullah went on cautiously, “but it will be many years hence beforewe can be certain of that.”

“In the meantime we must guard him well, and nurture those traits thatare necessary to fulfill the prophecy,” alMalik suggested.

“We will do all in our power, great Prince.”

“It will be your duty to lead him in the paths of righteousness, andreveal to him the wisdom of the Prophet so that he will in time comegently to the faith and submit himself to Islam.”

“He is a child still. We cannot hope to place a man’s head on suchyoung shoulders.”

“Every journey begins with the first step,” the Prince contradictedhim.

“Already he speaks the sacred language of the Faith better than some ofmy other children, and he has displayed some knowledge of religiousmatters. He has been tutored. It will be your sacred duty to fosterthat knowledge and enlarge upon it until, in time, he submits to Islam.Only in that way can the prophecy be fulfilled in its entirety.”

“As my lord commands.”

Al-Allama made a sign of acquiescence, touching his lips and hisheart.

“I will take the first step of the long journey this very day,” hevowed to the Prince, who nodded his appreciation.

“If it please Allah!” After the midday prayers, and when the Princehad retired to his cabin in the stern to be with his concubines,al-Allama sought out the child. He was engrossed in discussion withFouad. The captain was instructing him in navigation of the islands,pointing out to him the seabirds and clumps of drifting weed thatindicated the run of the currents. He called these the rivers of thesea, and was explaining to Dorian how the islands and the shape of thecoast affected these mighty rivers, bending and twisting them andsubtly altering their shading of blue and green.

Under Ned Tyler’s instruction Dorian had come to enjoy every facet ofthe art of navigation. Some of his most pleasant memories were ofworking through a sun-shot with Tom, or taking a bearing on a landfeature, then marking the chart and writing up the results in theship’s log, arguing and laughing with his elder brother as they did

SO.

Now Fouad was teaching him the lore of these regions of the ocean, thenames and habits of the seabirds and creatures, and the drifting weed.There were small birds with snowy plumage that dived and fluttered overthe ship’s wake.

“You will not find them further than ten leagues from land. Watch thedirection of their flight, and they will lead you to it,” Fouad toldhim.

At another time he beckoned him to the ship’s rail and pointed overside

“Look, little monkey! One of the monsters of the sea but gentle as anunweaned lamb.” They were passing so close to it that Dorian jumpedonto the gunwale and looked down on its dappled back. He could seethat it was not one of the whales they had encountered by the hundredin the southern reaches of the Atlantic. It seemed to be a species ofshark, but it was almost as long as the dhow. Unlike the tiger or thehammerhead, which he knew, this beast moved lazily and unafraid thoughthe clear waters. Dorian could see the shoal of little pilot fish thatswam just ahead of its cavernous mouth.

“Are they not afraid they will be eaten?” he cried.

“The monster eats only the tiniest creatures of all.

Slime and crawling things that float in the sea, smaller than ricegrains.” Fouad was enjoying the enthusiasm of his pupil.

“When you see one of these gentle monsters it means that the monsoon isready to change from the kaskazi to the kusi, from the north-west tothe southeast.” Al-Allama interrupted the pair, and led Dorian away towhere they could talk in private. Dorian looked disappointed andfollowed him only reluctantly.

“Once, you spoke thus in reply to my question,” alA llama remindedhim.

“I am but a man like yourselves, but the inspiration has come to methat your God is one God. Whoever expects to meet his Lord, let himwork righteousness.”"

“Yes, holy one.” Dorian was not particularly interested in this newtopic. He would have much preferred to continue his animateddiscussion with Fouad.

However, Tahi had warned him of how powerful the mullah was, and how hecould protect or punish a small boy in his power.

“He is the servant of God and a voice of the Prophet. Treat him withgreat respect. For all our sakes,” Tahi had said, so Dorian wasattentive.

“Who taught you these things?” al-Allama demanded.

“I had a teacher,” Dorian looked suddenly as though he was on the pointof tears, “when I was with my father. His name was All, and he taughtme Arabic.”

“So it was he who made you learn the Xoran, the Sacred Book of theProphet?”

“Only some verses to write and discuss.

That verse from Sura eighteen was one of them.”

“Do you believe in God, al-Amhara?” the mullah insisted.

“Yes, of course,” Dorian said quickly.

“I believe in God eternal, in his Son eternal and the Holy Ghosteternal.” f The litany of the Order that he had listened to Tom Sreciting by heart came readily to his tongue.

Al-Allama tried not to let his alarm and repugnance show in the face ofsuch blasphemy.

“There is but one God,” he said solemnly, “and Muhammad is his lasttrue prophet.” Dorian had no interest in this assertion, but heenjoyed arguing, especially with anyone in authority.

“How do you know that?” he challenged.

“How do you know I am wrong, and you are right?” Al-AlIa ma rose tothe challenge, and Dorian leaned back, let the torrent of religiousrhetoric wash over him, while he dreamed of other things.

Dorian wished there was a place for him at the masthead, as there hadbeen on the Seraph, a place high above the sea where he could bealone.

However, the lateen-rigged dhow did not afford this possibility, and hehad to watch from the deck with the rest of the crew as the Africanmainland came up over the horizon, a dark, mysterious landmass.

He wrinkled his nose as he smelt its animal odour on the air. It wasthe smell of dust and spice and mangrove swamp. The alien aroma was amild shock to the senses, but it was alluring and enticing after thesalt-seared airs of the ocean, which had cleared his nose andheightened his sense of smell.

Standing beside Fouad at the helm as they closed the land, Dorian hadhis first view of the island of Lamu. Fouad pointed out its mainfeatures and gave him a brief history of this jewel in the territoriesof the Caliphate of the Omani.

“My people have traded here since the time of the Prophet, and beforewhen we were also infidels and strangers to the Great Truth,” heexplained proudly.

“This was an important port when Zanzibar was still a crocodileinfested swamp.”

Laboriously the dhow tacked up the channel between the island and themainland, and Fouad pointed out the dark green hills above the whitebeaches.

“The Prince has a palace on the mainland where he lives in the dryseason, but in the wet he moves to the island.” He pointed out thewhite buildings that, from this distance, looked like surf breaking ona coral reef.

Tamu is richer than Zanzibar. Her buildings are more beautiful andmagnificent. The Sultan of Zanzibar is a vassal of our Prince and paystribute to him.” There was a gathering of craft in the anchorage, anddozens of other vessels were coming in or setting out to sea. Somewere fishing boats and others were large, heavily laden traders orlighter, faster slavers, proof of the prosperity and importance of thisthriving port.

Those ships they passed recognized the Prince’s dhow by the greenpennants she flew at her masthead, and by the impressive figure of AbdMuhammad al-Malik sitting under the awning on the foredeck, surroundedby his court.

They dipped their colours in respect, and shouted their loyal greetingsand blessings across the water.

“May the love of Allah and the smile of his Prophet follow you all yourdays.” The dhows at anchor in the bay fired their guns and beat theirwar drums. The boom of cannon shot carried to the shore, and as thePrince and his retinue sailed into the harbour they saw a vast crowdgathering on the beach and wharf to greet him.

In their tiny cabin Tahi dressed Dorian in a fresh white robe andcovered his shining hair with a head cloth

She placed leather sandals on his feet, then took his hand and led himup on deck.

Fouad took the dhow in to the beach. The tide was running out swiftly,for here the tidal range at full springs was twenty feet. The shiptook the ground and heeled as the tide ran out from under her. A gangof slaves waded out to the stranded vessel to carry the Prince andother notables to the beach. A huge black man clad only in a loinclothtook the Prince on his back, and the waiting crowds fell to their kneesand shouted their greetings. A band of musicians played a high-pitchedwailing tune, which offended Dorian’s ear. The pipes and fifes sobbedand the drums banged and boomed without rhythm.

Tahi would have carried Dorian to the beach, but he avoided her embraceand splashed joyfully through the surf, wetting himself to the armpits.There was a brief ceremony of welcome for the Prince on the beach, thenal-Malik mounted a black stallion. From horseback he looked aboutquickly and caught Tahi’s eye. She stood in the crowd, holdingDorian’s hand. She rushed forward with Dorian and the Prince spoke toher imperiously.

“Take al-Amhara to the zenana. Kush will provide quarters for both ofyou Dorian was too -interested in the Prince’s horse to take muchnotice of the words that decided his fate.

He loved horses almost as much as he did boats and the sea. Tom hadtaught him to ride as soon as he could walk. AlMalik’s mount was amagnificent animal, much different from those he had known at HighWeald. It was small and more graceful, with large, limpid eyes andflared nostrils, a long back and strong delicate legs. He reached upand stroked its muzzle. The stallion snuffled his fingers, and thentossed its head.

“He’s beautiful.” Dorian laughed.

The Prince looked down on him with a faint smile that softened hisfierce hawk@ handsome features. A boy who was a seaman born and whoalso loved horses had all his approval.

“Take good care of him. See to it that he does not try to run away,”he ordered Tahi and the eunuch, Kush, who had come forward to answerthe Prince’s charge.

Al-Malik lifted the stallion’s head with a touch on the reins, and rodeaway down the street of the port, which was carpeted with palm frondsin his honour. The Musicians and the crowds closed in behind him, andrecession up to singing and clapping followed his wards the toweringwalls of the fort.

ush gathered up the women from the Prince’s household as they cameashore from the dhow.

There were two of the youngest concubines, heavily veiled, but slim andgraceful under the layers of black robes. Their hands and feet werebeautifully formed, dyed with henna, and decorated with precious ringsof sapphire and emerald on fingers and toes. They giggled a greatdeal, which annoyed Dorian, and their maidservants were even worsenoisy as a flock of starlings. He was pleased when they wereshepherded by Kush into the first bullock cart.

Tahi led Dorian into the second. The bullocks were pure white, with ahuge spread of horns and massive humps on their shoulders, like thedrawings of camels Dorian had seen in the books of travel in thelibrary at High Weald.

He wanted to run beside the cart, but Kush restrained him with a podgyhand on his shoulder. There were gold rings on each of the eunuch’sfingers, and the jewels set in them caught the bright tropical sunlightand sparked the eye.

“Ride beside me, little one he said, in a high, feminine voice, andwhen Dorian would have demurred Tahi Pinched his arm so hard it hurt.He interpreted this as a warning that Kush was a man, or, rather, athing, of power and must be placated.

The procession of carts left the seashore, passed through the outskirtsof the port and into the countryside.

They trundled down the narrow, dusty road into the interior of theverdant island. They rolled through groves of swaying coconut palms,and forests of wild fig trees.

Flocks of brightly coloured parrots and wild green pigeons swarmed inthe branches, greedily devouring the ripening fruits. Dorian had neverseen birds like these before. He followed their jewelled flight withexclamations of wonder Kush studied him carefully through bright blackeyes almost buried in rolls of fat.

“Who taught you, a Frank, to speak the language of the Prophet?” heasked suddenly, and with a sigh Dorian gave him the response that hadbecome worn and weary with repetition.

“Are you of Islam? Or is it true that you are an infidel.”

“I am a Christian,” Dorian said proudly.

Kush screwed up his fat face as though he had tasted a greenpersimmon.

“Then how is it that your hair is the same colour as that of theProphet?” he demanded.

“Or is this a lie? what colour is your hair? Why do you hide it?”Dorian adjusted the drape of his head cloth

He was irked by the constant harping on this one subject. There was somuch else of interest all around him. He wished the fat one wouldleave him alone to enjoy it all.

“Show me your hair,” Kush insisted, and reached for the head cloth

Dorian started to pull away, but Tahi spoke sharply and he allowed Kushto lift the cloth from his head. Kush gazed in amazement as Dorian’sthick, curling locks tumbled down to his shoulders and flared in thesunlight like a fire in tall grass. The other passengers riding in theback of the cart exclaimed and called on Allah to witness the wonder ofit, and even the bullock drivers turned back and walked beside the highwheel to stare up at him. Hastily Dorian covered his head.

After a mile the track wound out of the forest and ahead rose the high,blank wall of the zenana. It was built of coral blocks and paintedwith burnt lime wash to a dazzling white. There were no windows, andthe only opening was a gate, carved from teak and decorated withcomplicated designs of vines and foliage, obeying the Islamic stricturethat forbids depictions of human forms or those of other livingcreatures.

The gates swung open as the little caravan of carts approached, andthey proceeded through into the closed, forbidden world of the zenana.This was the home of women, and their offspring, and of the eunuchs whoguarded them. Other than the Prince, no grown man might enter here atthe peril of his very life.

The women and children had gathered just inside the gates to greet theprocession of bullock carts. Many had not left these cloisteredprecincts since childhood. Any distraction delighted them. Theychattered and shrieked with excitement and came close around the cartsto inspect the occupants and to find any strange face among them.

“There he is!”

“It is true. He is a Frank!”

“Is his hair really red? Surely it cannot be.” Here, in the seclusionof the harem, the females could go unveiled. The Prince had the choiceof any girl in his realm, and most were young and comely. Their skincolours ranged from purple black through all shades of brown, gold andamber to soft buttery yellow. Their children danced around them,caught up in the excitement. The babes in the nurses’ arms wailed inthe uproar.

The women crowded forward to have a closer look at Dorian as he jumpeddown from the cart, then followed as Kush led them through a maze ofcourtyards and enclosed gardens. These were richly decorated withmosaic floors and elaborate archways. Sea shells had been inlaid inthe plaster to form intricate designs. There were pools, filled withreeds and lotus plants. Gemlike fish glided beneath the water anddragonflies and bright kingfishers hovered over the surface.

Some of the elder children danced around Dorian, chanting and teasinghim.

“Little white infidel!”

“Green devil-eyes.” Kush pretended to swipe at them with the longstaff he carried but he was grinning, and made no real attempt to drivethem away. Swiftly they passed from the splendid and beautiful area ofthe zenana into the more dilapidated part, in the back regions of themain complex of buildings.

It was clear that this was the least desirable section. The gardenswere unkempt and the walls stained and unpainted. They passed severalabandoned ruins, overgrown with tropical growth, and reached adilapidated block. Kush took them to a small but sturdy door andordered them to enter. They found themselves in a large living room,dark and not too clean. The walls were soot stained the floors dustyand covered with the droppings of gecko lizards and rats.

Kush closed the doors firmly behind them, and turned a massive key inthe lock. Tahi shouted at him through the tiny grille in the door.

“Why are you locking us away?

We are not prisoners. We are not criminals.”

“The mighty -Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik has ordered that the child beprevented from escaping.”

“He cannot escape. There is no place for him to run to.

Kush ignored her protests and strode away, taking A most of the otherswith him. For a while some of the royal @ children mocked them throughthe grille, but they soon grew tired of this and drifted away.

When all was quiet Dorian and Tahi began to explore their quarters.Apart from the living room, there were sleeping chambers, and a littlekitchen with an open hearth. Next to it was the washroom with a tiledfloor sloped to an open drain. Beyond was the latrine with coveredbuckets.

The furnishings were sparse: sleeping mats of plaited reeds and sittingrugs of woven wool. There were cooking pots and water-jars in thekitchen, and naturally they would eat with their fingers in the Arabicfashion. There was a large ceramic rainwater cistern, which suppliedfresh water.

Dorian looked up at the opening in the kitchen roof that allowed smoketo escape.

“I could easily climb out of there,” he boasted.

“If you do, Kush will thrash you with his staff,” Tahi told him, “so donot even think of it. Come and help me clean out this sty.” As theyworked together, sweeping out the bare rooms with brooms of reeds thenpolishing the clay floors with half coconut shells, Tahi explained tohim the rules of the zenana.

As a royal nursemaid since her husband had divorced her, Tahi had livedin the confines of the zenana, and she was an expert on the affairs ofits restricted society. Over the days that followed she shared thisknowledge with Dorian.

Prince Abd Muhammad at-Malik was in his early thirties. His elderbrother, the Caliph, for reasons of his own succession, had preventedhim from marrying until he was almost twenty. Thus it was that hiseldest son was only little older than Dorian. His name was Zayn al-Dinand, like Dorian, he had not yet reached puberty; he still lived withhis mother in the zenana.

“Remember his name,” Tahi instructed.

“As the eldest son, he is very important.” Then she went on to listthe names of the other male children by the other wives and concubines,but there were so many that Dorian made no effort to memorize them.Tahi did not even bother to mention the girls, because they were of noimportance.

in the weeks that followed it seemed that the Prince had forgottenabout his red-headed slave-boy. They heard nothing more from outsidethe walls of the zenana. Every day, under Kush’s beady eye, slave@women came to bring them their rations of rice, meat and fresh fish,and to carry away the rubbish from the kitchen and the buckets from thelatrine. Apart from that, Dorian and Tahi were left to themselves.

There were grille windows in the main room of their quarters, whichoverlooked a section of the gardens. To relieve the boredom of theirconfinement, they spent much of their time watching the comings andgoings of the other members of the zenana from this vantage-point.

Tahi was able to point out Zayn al-Din to Dorian. He was a large,plump child, taller than any of his siblings. He had a sallow caramelcomplexion, his mouth was pouting and petulant. The skin around hiseyes was discoloured, as though it was bruised.

“Zayn has a taste for sweet things,” Tahi explained. There were lividpatches of prickly heat on the inside of his elbows and knees. Hewalked splay legged to prevent his thighs rubbing together and the skinbetween them chafing.

Whenever Dorian saw him, Zayn was surrounded by a dozen or so of hissiblings. One morning he watched as this pack pursued a smaller boyacross the lawns, and f trapped him against the outer wall of thezenana. They dragged him to Zayn, who had not exerted himself in thechase, but came waddling up when it was over. Tahi was watching alsoand she told Dorian that the victim was the son of a lesser concubineof the Prince, and therefore fair game for the eldest son of the firstwife.

Dorian, who knew all about the rights of the first-born from hisdealings with brother William, felt his sympathy go out to the littleboy as he watched Zayn twisting his ears until he sank to his knees,weeping with fear.

“As punishment for what you have done, I make you my horse,” Zayn toldhim loudly, and forced him down on to all fours.

Then he bestrode him and lowered his full weight on to the otherchild’s back. He had a cane in his hand, made from a palm frond fromwhich the leaves had been stripped.

“Gallop, horse!” he ordered, and lashed him across the bottom. Thepalm frond was lithe and whippy. It snapped loudly, and the little boywailed with shock and pain. He started forward on hands and knees withZayn bouncing on his back.

The other children fell in behind them, prancing, jeering and urgingthem on. When the boy faltered, they joined in the beating, somerunning to break sticks from the nearest shrubs. One flipped up thechild’s robe and exposed his brown bottom, laced with angry stripes.They drove him twice around the lawns.

Tears were flooding down the victim’s face when at last he collapsedunder Zayn’s weight and lay sobbing on the coarse grass. His kneeswere rubbed raw and bleeding.

Zayn gave him a casual kick, then led the others away, leaving him todrag himself up and limp away.

“He is a bully,” Dorian said furiously. He could not think of the wordin Arabic, so he spoke in English. Tahi shrugged.

“The Koran says that the strong should protect the weak.” Dorianlapsed back into Arabic.

Tahi advised him, “Do not tell Zayn al-Din that. He will not likeit.”

“I would like to take him for a ride, Dorian said furiously, “and seehow much he likes it.” Tahi made the sign to avert bad luck.

“Do not even think the thought. Walk wide of Zayn al-Din” shewarned.

“He is a vindictive boy. Surely he will hate you for the favour thePrince has shown you. He can do us much harm. Even Kush is afraid ofhim, for one day he will be the Prince.” Over the following days shewent on explaining to Dorian the hierarchy of the harem. The Princewas allowed four wives, by the decree of the Prophet. However, hecould divorce and remarry as he wished, and there was no limit to thenumber of concubines with whom he might indulge himself. Those wiveshe had divorced but who had borne him children still lived in thezenana.

Thus almost fifty women were congregated within these walls. Fiftybeautiful, bored, frustrated women, with nothing to fill the long daysbut intrigue, feud and jealous scheming. It was a complex society,filled with innumerable currents and subtle nuances.

Kush reigned over them all, so his favour or disfavour was important tothe happiness and well-being of the inmates. Then the four currentwives, in order of seniority, were next in importance.

After that, the Prince’s favourite of the moment, but she was usuallysome pretty child only just entered into womanhood and her star wouldsoon wane. Then all the former wives and the concubines squabbled,fought and manoeuvred for position in the order of things.

“It is important for you to understand these things, at-Amhara.

Important for both of us. I have no standing at all, I am only a poorold nursemaid.

I can do little to protect you, and nobody will miss me.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Dorian demanded, with alarm. He had grownso fond of her in the short time they had been together and theprospect of being abandoned yet again frightened him.

“I will miss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, my little one,” she assured him quickly, “butpeople die here in the zenana, especially little people of noconsequence who give offence to those above them.”

“Don’t worry. I will protect you,” Dorian told her stoutly, and huggedher.

I feel safer in your care,” she did not let him see her smile, “but wedo not yet know your position. It seems that the Prince looks upon youwith some favour, but we cannot yet be sure. Why does he allow Kush toimprison us and treat us like animals in a cage? Why does he not sendfor you? Has he forgotten you?” She sighed and returned hisembrace.

“Perhaps he does not know how Kush treats us,” Dorian suggested.

“Perhaps,” she agreed.

“So we must wait. In the meantime we must be careful, al-Amhara, verycareful.” Time passed, and the excitement of their arrival wasforgotten. No one peered at them through the grille any more, and thechildren led by Zayn al-Din became bored with chanting insults underthe windows, and found other occupations more rewarding. Each dayDorian chafed more cruelly at this confinement.

When he heard the shrill cries and happy laughter of other children atplay in the gardens, and heard their running footsteps along thecloisters and across the courtyard outside his meagre quarters, hewould rush to the window for a glimpse of them. This only aggravatedhis loneliness and sense of isolation. He felt as imprisoned as he hadbeen in his cell on the island where al-Auf had chained him.

One morning as the pearly light of a new day filtered a -through thehigh window in his room, he lay naked on his sleeping mat, strippingthe hard outer lining off a stick of sugar-cane with his teeth. Hepaused as someone began singing in the garden outside. It was a sweet,girlish voice, even though the words were repetitive and nonsensical,some nursery rhyme about palm dates and a hungry monkey.

He lay and listened to it idly, chewing the sweet juice out of the caneand spitting out the pith.

Suddenly there came the shrill but unmistakable chatter o a mon cey.singer No off the refrain and burst into peals of silvery laughter.Both sounds intrigued Dorian, who jumped up and went to the window. Hepeered out into the garden and saw a small girl sitting alone on thecoping of the lotus pool below him. She had her back to him, but herhair hung down it, dark, almost iridescent black with a silver streakgleaming through the thick tresses. Dorian had never seen anythinglike it, and he was fascinated.

She wore an embroidered green shift, which left her brown arms bare,and a pair of baggy white cotton trousers.

Her legs were doubled up under her and he could see that the soles ofher small feet were dyed with henna to a bright ginger colour. She washolding up a sugared date, and a vervet monkey stood on its back legsand danced on the grass in front of her. Each time she gave a handsignal, the monkey chattered louder and spun in a circle. The girllaughed with delight. Finally she offered the sweetmeat and called,”Come to me, Jinni!” The monkey bounded up onto her shoulder and tookthe date from her fingers. It stuffed it into its pouch and begansearching in the girl’s hair with skinny black fingers, as though forfleas. The girl stroked its fluffy white belly and began singingagain.

Suddenly, the ape looked up and saw Dorian’s head in the window.

It let out a squeak, shot off the girl’s shoulder and up the wall.

Hanging on the sill it thrust its hand through the window grille, palmup like a beggar, trying to wheedle the stick of sugar-cane from him.

Dorian laughed at the creature, which bared its teeth, bobbed its headat him, and tried to snatch the sugar-cane from his hand, at the sametime gibbering and pulling faces.

The girl swung around and looked up.

“Make him do a trick,” she called.

“Don’t feed him until he does.” Dorian saw that she also had a funnylittle monkey face, and huge eyes the colour of Devon honey when theheather on the moors was in loom.

“Do this with your hand.”

She demonstrated, and at the signal the monkey threw itself into anagile back somersault.

“Make him do it three times.” The girl clapped her hands. Jinni mustdo it three times.” On the third somersault Dorian offered him thesugar-cane. The monkey snatched it, galloped across the lawn on allfours, tail held high, and shot to the top branches of one of thetamarind trees. He sat there chewing it with the sweet juices drippingfrom his lips.

“I know who you are,” the girl announced solemnly, looking up at Dorianwith those huge eyes.

“Who am I?”

“You are al-Amhara, the infidel.” Until now he had been indifferent towhat they called him, but suddenly it displeased him.

“My real name is Dorian, but you can call me Dorry. That’s what mybrother calls me.”

“Dowle.” She tried it out, but had difficulty rolling the R. “It’s astrange name, but I shall call you Dowle.”

“What is your name?” he wanted to know.”Yasmini,” she told him, “which means the flower of the jasmine.”

She jumped up and came closer, staring up at him with an awed andserious expression.

“Your hair really is red. I thought they were making it up.” She heldher head on one side.

“It is very pretty. I wish I could touch it.”

“Well, you cannot,” he told her shortly, but she showed no offence athis tone.

“I feel very sorry for you,” she said.

“Why should you?” He was taken aback.

“Because Zayn says you are an infidel, you will never “be circumcised,and you can never enter the gardens of Paradise.”

“We have our own heaven,” Dorian told her loftily.

He found discussion of his nether regions vaguely disconcerting.

“Where is it?” Yasmin” wanted to know, and they fell into a long,involved discussion of the various -merits of the two paradises.

“Our paradise is called Jannat” she said.

“Allah said, “I have prepared for my righteous servants what no eye hasseen and no ear has heard, and what the mind of man has notconceived.”" Dorian considered that in silence, and could think of nosuitable retort, that was difficult to beat, so he changed the subjectto something of which he felt more certain.

“In England my father has fifty horses. How many does your fatherhave?” After that Yasmini came every morning, bringing Jinni withher.

She sat under Dorian’s window with the monkey on her shoulder andlistened, her eyes glowing, as he tried to explain to her what ice wasand how snow fell from the sky, why Englishmen had only one wife, andhow some had hair the colour of the gold bangles on her ankles as wellas flaming red like his, how the girls curled their golden hair withhot irons and the men shaved theirs off and wore wigs, the colour andstyle of the women’s dresses and the fact that they did not weartrousers like she did but went naked under their skirts.

“That is very uncouth,” she said primly.

“And is it true, as Zayn says, that you even eat the flesh of pigs?”The skin goes all crackly when it’s roasted,” he said, to shock her.

“It crunches in your teeth.” She made her eyes wider still, andpretended to vomit.

“That is truly disgusting. No wonder you cannot go to Paradise withus.” We do not wash five times a day like your people do.

Sometimes we don’t wash at all during the entire winter.

It’s much too cold,” he told her with relish.

“Then you must smell as bad as the pigs you eat.” She knew nothing ofthe world outside, but she was an expert on the affairs of the zenana.She told him that her mother was one of the divorced wives of thePrince, but that she had two brothers, so they were still in hisfavour.

“If it were only me, it would be different, because I am only a girland my father does not like daughters.” She said it in amatter-of-fact tone, devoid of self-pity.

“But my mother is of royal blood. She is the niece of the Great Mogul,so the emperor is my great-uncle,” she told him proudly.

“So you are a princess?”

“Yes, but only a little one, and not very grand.” Her candour wasdisarming.

“Do you see the silver streak in my hair?

“She pirouetted to display it.

My mother has the same streak and my grandfather also. It is a mark ofroyalty.”

When she explained the relationship of the other children, Dorianlistened with more attention than he had to Tahi.

“Zayn al-Din is my half-brother, but I do not like him.

He is fat and cruel.” She considered Dorian thoughtfully.

“Is it true that my father has adopted you?”

“Yes, it is true.”

“Then you are also my brother. I think I like you better than Zayn,even though you eat pig meat. Do you like me, al-Amhara? Zayn says Ilook like Jinni.” She stroked the monkey on her shoulder.

“Do you think I look like a monkey?”

“I think you are very pretty,” Dorian told her gallantly, and when shesmiled it was true.

“My mother says that my father, the Prince, has gone away to see myuncle, who is the Caliph in Muscat.”

“When will he return?” Dorian asked quickly. This must be the reasonthat he and Tahi had been neglected: the Prince was not here to protectthem.

“Will he come back soon?”

“My mother says he may be gone a long time, perhaps a year or more.”Yasmini put her head on one side to study his face.

“If you are verily my brother, perhaps our father will take you ridingand hawking with him when he comes back. I wish I were a boy so Icould go with you,” she said, and jumped up from where she sat on theedge of the lotus pond.

“I must go now. Kush must not catch me here. He has forbidden any ofus to talk to you. He will beat me if he finds me.”

“Come again tomorrow,” he said, trying not to make it sound like aplea.

“Perhaps,” she flung over her shoulder, as she raced away across thelawn with Jinni prancing around her flying bare feet.

When she was gone Dorian looked up at the sky, watched the gullswheeling overhead, listened to the distant sound of the surf beating onthe shore, and thought desperately about trying to escape. He imaginedclimbing out through the open roof of the kitchen, of clambering overthe outer wall of the zenana and finding a small boat on the beach. Butwhere would I go in it? he wondered, and the fantasy shrivelled anddied. I will have to wait for Tom to come. He resigned himself oncemore to the inevitable.

In the morning, Kush came rattling his keys and shouted, in his shrillsqueaky voice, “Tahi, you are to prepare the boy to visit the holymullah.” He threw down an armful of clean clothing.

“I will come back to fetch him after the midday prayers. Make certainthat he is ready, or I will have you beaten until you bleed.”

The bullock cart was waiting at the gates and Dorian clambered onboard, almost beside himself with excitement and the joy of beingallowed out of his bleak prison. Tahi was not coming with him but shehad been allowed to sun herself in the gardens during his absence.

Kush rode beside Dorian on the front seat of the cart, smiling andcaressing him.

“These robes suit you well. They are of the finest quality. See theembroidery on the collar.

It is of silk! Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik has a robe just like this.I chose it specially for you. See how I spoil you.” The closer theycame to the palace, the more agitated and conciliatory Kush became.

The Monsoon

“Have some of these sugared cinnamon cakes. They are my favourites.You will like them also. I want you to be happy, al-Amhara.”

When they came in sight of the white walls of the fort, Kush becamemore direct in his instruction.

“If alAllania, blessed be his sainted name, should ask how I havetreated you, you must tell him that I have been like a father to you.That you have been given the first choice of the finest foods, thefreshest fish and the choicest fruits for your kitchen.”

“And that you have locked me in stinking hot rooms like a criminal?”Dorian asked innocently.

“That is not true. Perhaps I have been a little too concerned for yoursafety, that is all.” Though he was smiling, his eyes were as cold asthose of a cobra.

“Do not try to make trouble for me, little infidel. I can be a betterfriend than an enemy ask that fat old sow Tahi. She will tell you.”

They climbed down from the cart in the outer courtyard of the fort.Kush took his hand and led him into the labyrinth of the building. Theyclimbed several staircases and at last came out on to a terrace, highabove the harbour, which looked out across the waters of the channel tothe mass of the African mainland.

Dorian looked about eagerly. It was a delight to see the sea again,and to have the salt4 aden breeze of the monsoon in his face, cleaninghis head of the stale smells of the zenana. He saw the mullah at onceand made a bow of respect. touching his heart and his lips.

Al-Allama Lyre eted him and said, “May Allah keep you smiling, littleone.” There was another man sitting beside the mullah, cross-leggedunder the sun awning of split bamboo. He was sipping a small cup ofthick black coffee, and a tall glass hookah stood close at hand.

“Salaam aliekum, old father,” Dorian said respectfully, and the manturned to look at him. Dorian’s heart leaped and his face lit with joyas he recognized him. He rushed forward to embrace him.

“Ben Abram!” He clung to the old doctor.

“I thought I would never see you again. I thought you would still bewith at-Auf on the island.” Gently the old man fended off his embrace,and rearranged his ruffled beard. It was not seemly to allow theothers to see the strength of the relationship he and the boy shared.

“Let me look at you.” He held Dorian away at arm’s length and studiedhis face. His expression changed.

“You look pale. What has happened to you, my child?” He swivelledround and looked up at Kush, who was hovering anxiously at the rear ofthe terrace.

“You have been in charge of the boy. What have you done to him,eunuch?” Outside the zenana Kush was only a house-slave, a castratedslave at that. Ben Abram made no effort to disguise his contempt.

“I call on Allah and his saints to witness.” Kush’s jowls quivered anda light sweat broke out on his chin.

“I have cherished him. He has been well fed and cosseted as though hewas the true son of my master.” Ben Abram looked to Dorian forconfirmation, knowing he would receive a direct answer.

“He has locked me in a dingy little room since the day I arrived. Hehas fed us on pig swill, and I have not been allowed to speak to anyonebut my nurse in all that time.”

Ben Abram stared at Kush coldly, and the eunuch fell to his knees.

“It was on the orders of the Prince, your honour. He commanded me tokeep the child from escaping.) “The Prince paid a lakh of rupees ingold for this child.

He has formally declared him his adopted son,” Ben Abram replied, in asoft voice filled with menace.

“When His Royal Highness returns from Muscat I shall inform him inperson how you have cared for his son.”

“I only did my duty, merciful lord,” Kush blubbered.

“I know full well how you discharge that duty towards some of thechildren and women in your care, eunuch.” Ben Abram pausedsignificantly.

“Sometimes it is my duty to punish those who disobey the Prince’scommands.”

“I recall the girl Fatima,” Ben Abram mused.

“She was a whore and a harlot,” Kush justified himself.

“She was sixteen years of age and in love,” Ben Abram contradictedhim.

“She had a lascivious animal come in to her over the wall of thezenana.”

“He was a young warrior, an officer of the royal guard,” Ben Abramcorrected him.

“It was my duty, lord. I did not intend her to die. It was meant onlyto be a lesson to the others.” Ben Abram raised his hand to quietenany further protestations of innocence.

“Hear me, eunuch, and believe what I tell you. If any further harmbefalls this boy, Nay!

If in the future you. treat him with less than the greatestconsideration, I will see to it that you scream even louder than didlittle Fatima.” Al-Allama had been listening intently to all this.

Now he spoke.

“All that Ben Abram has ordered, I endorse. The child and his nursemust be given decent quarters and well fed. You must not confine himnor place unnecessary restriction on him. He must be able to come andgo like any other of the Prince’s sons. He will come to me forinstruction every other day and I shall question him strictly on how hehas been treated. Now get out of my sight.” He waved Kush away.

“Wait below to take the boy back when he is ready.” As Kush crept awayhe shot a glance, rank with venom, at Dorian.

Ben Abram turned back to Dorian.

“There is much I have to tell you. Did you hear of the fighting on theisland after you had left?”

“No. No! I have heard none of this. Tell me, old father. Tell meeverything.”

“Not all of it is good news,” Ben Abram warned him, and he began totalk quietly. Dorian listened intently. He exclaimed with pride andexcitement when he heard of the attack on the fortress of Flor de laMar, and how Tom had killed al-Auf with his own hands.

“Al-Auf was a beast. I am so proud of Tom. I wish I had been there towatch it.” But he wept when he heard of his father’s wounding and howhe had lost both of his legs.

“Is he dead, old father? Please tell me he is still alive.”

“In all truth, little one, I do not know. He was alive when yourbrother allowed me to leave the island. I think your brother plannedto take him back to England.”

“To England?” Dorian was distraught.

“That is so far away. He may never come back. Has Tom deserted me?”The tears welled up and broke over his eyelids. He let them rununheeded down his cheeks.

Ben Abram took his hands, and found that the boy was trembling asthough in the throes of a high fever.

“Your brother is a good man, a man of honour. He showed me greatkindness.”

“But if he has gone back to England-” Dorian broke off and swallowedpainfully.

“He will forget about me. I will never see him again.”

“Then that will be the will of God. In the meantime, you are the sonof the Prince, and you must be attentive to his wishes.” Ben Abramrose to his feet.

“Now you must “obey the holy al-Allarna, for he has returned fromMuscat ahead of the Prince, and it is His Royal Highness’s command thatyou should submit yourself to the mullah’s instruction.” Sippingnumerous cups of coffee and sucking on the water pipe Ben Abram waitedwhile the religious instruction went on through the hottest hours ofthe day. Once or twice he made a comment or asked a question, butmostly he listened in silence. Dorian was comforted by his quietpresence.

The sun was casting the long shadows of the palms over the beach belowthem when Ben Abram asked for the mullah’s blessing and took Dorian towhere Kush waited in the bullock cart to take him back to the zenana.

Ben Abram stopped out of earshot of the eunuch and spoke quietly, “Iwill see you as often as I am able to,” he promised, “whenever you comefor lessons with the mullah.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Your brother showed me great kindness. If it were not for him I too,would have been sold into slavery. Because of this I promised him tobring you a message. I could not repeat it with the mullahlistening.

It is for you only to hear.”

“What was the message? Please tell me, old father.”

“Your brother asked me to tell you that he would always hold true tothe oath he swore to you. Do you remember that oath?”

“He said he would come back for me,” Dorian whispered.

“He swore a dreadful oath.”

“Yes, little one. To me he affirmed his promise. He will return foryou. I should not tell you this. It is against the interests of mymaster, but I could not deprive you of the comfort of your brother’swords.”

“I knew he would never forget that oath.” Dorian touched the old man’ssleeve.

“Thank you for telling me this.” en Abram’s and al-Allama’s threatshad a profound effect on Kush. The next day Dorian and Tahi were movedto more spacious quarters in a better part of the zenana. Now they hadtheir own small courtyard with a freshwater fountain. Kush sent aslave-woman to help Tahi with the cooking and the heavy housework, suchas changing the latrine buckets.

He also sent Dorian a fresh wardrobe of clothing, and Tahi was allowedto meet the carts when they came up from the town each day laden withfresh produce and supplies. She was able to take her pick of the freshmeat and fish. Most importantly, during the day Dorian was allowed therun of the zenana. However, even though he complained bitterly, Kushwould not allow him to leave the walled enclosure t to visit the muIlah at the fort.

Even this changed when Dorian complained to Ben Abram. After thatDorian was allowed to roam the port and the entire island, although oneof Kush’s guards followed him closely and never let him out of sight.

So eat was his freedom that Dorian started to think once gr again ofescaping from the island.

His plans were more a game of make-believe than of serious intent.

When he started frequenting the beach where the fishing-boats came into land their catches and tried to make friends among the fisher-folk,he discovered that Kush had forestalled him. He must have warned allthe islanders not to speak to the infidel. With his guard alwayshovering close at hand there was not the slightest chance of stealing aboat, or of receiving any assistance from the local fishermen andsailors. Finally Dorian resigned himself to the futility of his plansto escape. He started to devote more time and effort to making friendsamong the soldiers at the fort, the grooms of the royal stables and thePrince’s falconers.

Yasmini greeted his release from confinement with patent delight, andas soon as she divined that there was no obvious objection from Kush,she became Dorian’s shadow. Of course, she was never allowed to placea foot outside the gates to the zenana, but she followed Dorian aroundthe gardens and was a constant visitor to the quarters he shared withTahi.

Her voice and laughter mingled with the chattering of Jinni to make thegloomy rooms seem brighter. Tahi started to teach her to cook over thesmoky wood fire. This was something that Yasmini had never triedbefore and she took huge delight in the novelty, and she pressed hercreations on Dorian.

“I made it just for you, Dowle,” she piped.

“You do like it, don’t you?” Anxiously she watched each mouthfuldisappear.

“Is it good? Do you like it?” When Dorian left the zenana for hisvisits to the beach, the harbour and the fort, she pined. She hungaround Tahi’s skirts waiting for his return and her monkey face lit upas he walked through the door and she ran to him.

At times her devotion became so cloying that Dorian made an excuse toleave the walls of the zenana simply to be away from her. He would godown to the royal stables and spend hours feeding, watering andgrooming the magnificent animals of the Prince’s string, for theprivilege of being allowed to ride one. All his instruction by hisfather and elder brothers at High Weald came back to him. In the coolof the evening the grooms played the game of pulu, the Persian name fora ball, which was a passion among the royal Moguls, and had beenadopted by the Omanis. The ball was carved from a bamboo root, and wasstruck by a mallet of the same material. When the head groom came toknow Dorian better, he allowed him to join

V. the younger boys on the practice field. Dorian loved the feel ofthe horse’s sweating back between his legs and the thundering, shoutingcharge down the field, elbowing and jostling the others in the meleearound the ball. Soon his aggression and skill made the old syces nodwith approval.

“If Allah allows, he will be a worthy horseman.” One of his otherfavourite retreats was the royal mews where the Prince’s falcons werekept. Around the fierce yet lovely birds he was quiet and attentive,and soon the falconers accepted his interest, and began to impart theirlore and wisdom to him. He learned their colourful language andterminology, and sometimes, at their invitation, rode out with themwhen they flew the birds along the edge of the mangrove swamps at thenorth end of the island.

At other times he would give his guard the slip, and sneak away aloneto explore the shores of the island, finding coves and deserted beacheswhere he could throw off his clothes, plunge into the ocean and swimout over the reef, driving himself to the point of exhaustion.

Then he would swim back and lie in the white sand, staring out into thesouth and imagining the topsails of Tom’s ship coming up over thehorizon.

When he went back to the zenana, where he knew Yasmini would be waitingfor him, he always took a small gift with him to assuage his guilt.Sometimes it was a falcon feather from one of the moulting birds, or abangle he had plaited from horse-tail hair, or sea shells that he hadbrought up from the reef. He strung these into necklaces for her.

“I wish I could come with you, she told him wistfully.

“I would love to swim with you, or watch you ride the horses.”

“Well, you know that you cannot,” Dorian told her brusquely. He hadrealized what her life would be like in the years ahead. She wouldnever be able to leave the zenana, except veiled and chaperoned.

He was probably the only friend of the opposite sex who was not a bloodrelative she would ever know. Even that would end soon, @ both of themwere on the threshold of puberty. As soon as she became a woman shewas to be married. Tahi told Uhim that it had been arranged whenYasmini was only four .[years old.

“She is to be given to one of her cousins in the land of the GreatMogul across the ocean, to cement the ties between the two royalhouses.” She watched the emotions that crossed Dorian’s face at thethought of his little companion being sent away to a man she did notknow in a land she had never seen.

“She is my sister. I don’t want her to go,” Dorian blurted outimpulsively. He was surprised by the strength of the responsibility hefelt for her.

“It will make no difference to you,” Tahi told him roughly, hiding hercompassion in her tone.

“Within the year the change of manhood will come upon you. Kush willbe watching for it. He never misses it.

At the very first sign you will be banished from the zenana for ever.

Even if she were to stay here, you would never see Yasmini’s face againafter that day. Perhaps it is best that your friendship ends ascleanly as the stroke of the knife that will celebrate your ownmanhood.” The reference to the knife perturbed him. He had heard theother boys discussing the rite of circumcision, and making crude jokesabout it, but he had never thought that he himself would have toundergo it. Now Tahi had rudely brought it home to him.

“I am not a Mussulman,” he protested.

“They cannot do that to me.”

“You will never find a wife if you keep that bit of skin she warnedhim.

I don’t want a wife, and I don’t want anyone to cut pieces off me.” Hisfear of the blade was exacerbated by the incipient guilt he felttowards Yasmini at their enforced separation from each other.

“What will she do without me to look after her?” he worried.

“She is only a baby.” He came home from his wanderings about theisland one afternoon just after the afternoon prayers. His hair wasstill damp and stiff with sea-water. Tahi was squatting in front ofthe cooking-fire and she looked up as he stood in the doorway. With along-suffering expression he answered her questions as to where he hadbeen and what he had been doing, giving her only those details that hefelt she need know. Then he looked around casually.

“Where is Yasmini?” he enquired, as though the answer was of no realconcern.

“She was here until prayers, then she went to see Bat a who has a newpet. I think it is a grey parrot.” Dorian leaned over her shoulderand snatched one of the hot rounds of unleavened bread from the coalsin front of her. She slapped his hand.

“That is dinner.

Put it back at once.”

“May the Prophet open the doors of mercy to you, Tahi.”

Laughing, he headed out into the gardens, breaking off pieces of breadand stuffing them into his mouth. He had a gift for Yasmini, a largespiral shell with an opalescent pink interior. He knew where to findher. There was a ruined tomb at the east side of the gardens that hadbeen built in honour of one of the Islamic saints centuries before.

There was a stone tablet on the wall of the tomb, whose text Dorian haddeciphered laboriously: “Abd Allah Muhammad All, died in the year ofthe Prophet 12O.” There was a high dome surmounted by a bronze symbolof the crescent moon, thick with verdigris. Below it was an openprayer terrace that faced in the direction of the Kabaa in Mecca.

At one end there was large open rainwater cistern where once thefaithful had performed wudu, the ritual ablutions, before prayers. Nowit was k disused and attracted flocks of wild birds in theafternoons.

Yasmini and her special friends among her half-sisters liked to play onthe terrace. Here they gossiped and bickered and played fantasticgames, dressed up their pets in infants” clothing and nursed them,pretended to run a household and cook for their imaginary families.

Dorian had reached the foot of the staircase that led UP to theterrace, when a scream from above froze him with one foot on the bottomstep. Instantly he recognized Yasmini’s voice, but what slashed hisheart was the high pitched agony that filled it. He sprang forward andflew up the ancient staircase driven by a series of those terriblecries, each shriller and more chilling than the one before.

“Tinni, the vervet monkey, sat on the top of the dome of the old tomb. When he grew tired of being nursed and dressed like a human baby, hewould escape to this favourite perch where Yasmini could not reachhim.

Now he scratched under his arm sleepily, his blue eyelids drooping overhis big brown eyes. Every few minutes he would sway and almost fallfrom his perch, then jerk awake and blink down at the gardens spreadbelow him.

Suddenly he smelt something that brought him fully awake: cinnamoncakes. There was nothing in all the world that Jinni loved more. Hestood. to his full height, using his long tail to balance on therounded plaster dome, and looked around him eagerly.

Two boys came down one of the paths through the shrubbery. Even fromthis distance Jinni could see that their jaws were working and that thebiggest of the pair carried a covered silver dish. Jinni did not needhis eyes to tell him what was under the cover. He made a small,greedy, chattering sound, and skipped down off the dome and swung intothe top of the peepul tree, which spread its wide branches below theterrace.

Hidden by the thick foliage, he watched the two boys settle down in ahidden corner of the gardens and place the silver dish between them.Zayn al-Din lifted the cover and Jinni stiffened his tail and rolledhis eyes as he saw the mound of yellow cakes. He was torn betweengreed and fear. He knew Zayn al-Din only too well. He had a healedscar over one eye where a stone had struck him. Zayn was an expertwith a slingshot. On the other hand, the cakes were still warm fromthe clay oven and their aroma was tantalizing, irresistible.

Jinni shot down the trunk of the peepul, keeping it between him and theboys. When he reached the ground he peered out from behind the tree.When he was sure he was still unobserved he left his hiding-place anddarted across the lawn. From the depths of one of the shrubs he stoleanother look. He puffed out his cheeks and wiggled his nose. Thescent of cinnamon was much stronger here.

He watched Zayn lift one of the cakes to his mouth and bite into itsfluffy yellow delights.

al-Mall Abubaker was the other boy, one of Zayn al-Din’s numeroushalf-brothers. He stood up and went to one of the Casuarina trees nearthe outer wall, and pointed UP into the branches.

“There is a hawk nesting there,” he called to Zayn, who stood up andwaddled across to join him. They had their backs turned to the silverdish and their heads were thrown back as they discussed the shaggy nestin the branches high above them.

“Perhaps it’s -a peregrine,” Zayn said hopefully.

“We can take the chicks when they are fledged.” Jinni gathered hiscourage. He shot out from under the shrub, and covered the open groundin a grey streak.

He reached the dish and filled both fists with the sticky cakes.

He stuffed them into his mouth until his pouches “bulged to the pointof bursting. Half the cakes remained in the dish and he tried to fillhis paws, but he couldn’t manage them all, so he dropped those healready held and started again.

“The monkey!” Zayn’s dreaded voice screeched behind him and Jinni knewhe had been discovered. In his haste to escape he sent the dishflying, and raced away back to the safety of the peepul tree. Hescattered a trail of broken cinnamon cakes across the lawn behindhim.

As he sped up the trunk and reached the safety of the first high branchhe ducked his head and looked back. The boys were in close pursuit,shouting their protests and outrage.

“Shaitan! Devil monkey!

Pig animaW Jinni reached the top branches and crouched in a fork.

He felt safe here, and started to munch the remnants of the cakes thathad survived the flight and the climb up the tree.

Below him Zayn opened the pouch on his belt and brought out hisslingshot. He unwound the leather thongs and stretched them betweenspread arms, then he selected a perfectly rounded pebble, and fitted itinto the pocket at the end of the double thongs. He moved around thebase of the tree until he had a clear shot at Jinni.

“The monkey bobbed his head and opened his eyes wide, making aterrifying face to frighten him away.

“I will teach you such a lesson that you will never steal my cakesagain,” Zayn promised him, and began to wind up for the throw. Roundand round his head he swung the sting, building up speed until thethongs thrummed through the air, and then, at that exact moment, hereleased it. The pebble was a hissing white blur, too swift for Jinnito dodge. It struck the monkey’s left arm below the elbow, and thebone snapped.

Jinni screeched and sprang high in the air, his broken arm flapping. Ashe came down he tried to grab at a branch but the arm would not respondand he tumbled halfway down the tree before he could catch hold withhis right paw.

The two boys were shouting and dancing with excitement.

“You hit him, Zayn!” Abubaker exulted.

“I will kill you, you thieving shaitan!” Zayn was fitting anotherstone into the pocket of the sling. Jinni clawed his way single-armedback up the tree. He was whining and t gibbering with pain as hereached the long branch that extended out over the terrace.Zayn launched the next stone, which sang through the air and hit thebranch just under Jinni’s chest. He sprang in the air and racedtowards the end of the branch with his broken arm dangling andswinging. He knew where he could find protection. Yasmini had heardhis , screams and, though she did not know what had caused them, shewas calling him urgently.

“Jinni! What is it, MY baby? Come to your mama.” From the end of thebranch Jinni launched himself, and dropped into Yasmini’s arms, sobbingand chattering with pain and terror.

“Come!” Zayn shouted at Abubaker.

“Find a stick! We will finish him off!” At the foot of the staircasethe gardeners had left a pile of bamboo stakes. Each of the boysgrabbed one and ran up the staircase.

Puffing and laughing, Zayn was the first to reach the terrace. Hestopped short when Yasmini confronted him with Jinni in her arms.

“Don’t come near me!” she yelled at him.

“Leave us alone, Zayn al-Din.” For a moment Zayn was disconcerted bythe fury of the small girl, but then Abubaker came up behind him andpushed him forward.

“It’s only Yasmini. She is a baby. I will hold her. You grab themonkey.” Yasmini retreated before them, clutching the terrified animalto her chest, but they followed her threateningly, brandishing thebamboo stakes, egging each other on.

“The shaitan stole my cakes.

I am going to kill him.”

“I will kill you first,” Yasmini shouted back at him, but her show ofbravery was starting to crumble and tears welled in her eyes. She cameup against the low wall of 9A the rainwater cistern, and stood there,trapped and desperate. Her half-sisters had deserted her and run offat the first sign of trouble from their elder brother. Yasmini wasalone.

Her lips quivered, but she tried to keep her voice strong.

“Leave us alone. I will tell al-Amhara. He will punish you for whatyou have done to Jinni.” Zayn jeered, “You will tell al-Amhara?

You frighten me! Al-Amhara is a pig-eating infidel.” They crowded herup against the cistern. Suddenly Abubaker jumped forward and grabbedher around the neck.

“Get the monkey!” he shouted, and Zayn seized Jinni by the leg.

The three struggled and staggered around the terrace fighting over thescreeching animal. Yasmini was clinging to Jinni with all herstrength, screaming through her tears. Abubaker prised her fingersfree one at a time, until she lost her grip and Zayn snatched themonkey from her.

“Give him back,” she pleaded.

“Please don’t hurt him any more.”

Zayn held Jinni up by the scruff of the neck.

“Come and get him then, before I kill the filthy thing.” SuddenlyJinni twisted in his grip and sank his teeth Into Zayn’s wrist. Zaynlet out a howl of pain and surprise, lifted Jinni over his head andhurled him into the rainwater cistern. The monkey disappeared beneaththe water, then splashed to the surface and swam to the edge. Zaynheld up his bleeding wrist and stared at it. Then his sallow facedarkened with fury.

“He bit me!

Look at the blood!” He ran to the edge of the cistern, reached outwith the bamboo stake and pushed Jinni’s head under the water. As soonas it bobbed up again he thrust it under once more, now hooting withsadistic joy.

“Let us see how well it can swim!” Yasmini tore herself out ofAbubaker’s grip and jumped on to Zayn’s back. She screamed as shepommelled his head and shoulders. Zayn kept on hooting and jeering,taking no notice of her screams and her attack. He went on drowningJinni, ducking his head every time it reappeared.

Jinni was weakening swiftly and sneezing water, his fur sodden andclinging to his skull. He no longer had the strength or the air in hislungs to scream, but Yasmini’s voice rang louder and shriller.

“Leave him! I hate you.

Leave my baby!” Dorian raced up the last few steps and stopped at thetop of the staircase. It took him a moment to grasp the meaning of theconfused scene before him. He had been overtaken by a wild panic atthe prospect of finding Yasmini badly injured and dying, but his feargave way to cold anger as he saw what the two big boys were doing toher and Jinni. He launched himself at them.

Abubaker saw him coming and spun round to face him. He lifted thebamboo to hit at his head but Dorian ducked under the swing and crashedhis shoulder into the centre of the other boy’s chest, sending himreeling away.

Abubaker struck the side wall of the terrace, and dropped the bamboo.Then he turned and fled to the head of the staircase and disappeareddown it.

Dorian’s only concern now was to get at Zayn and rescue Yasmini.

He flew at him, and Zayn turned to meet him, but he was hampered by thesmall girl straddling his back and his swing with the bamboo wasclumsy. Dorian blocked it and seized the stake with both hands. Theystumbled in a circle, both tugging and heaving at the stake.

“Get JinnW Dorian gasped at Yasmini, and obediently she jumped down offZayn’s back and ran to the cistern She reached in and grabbed themonkey as he floundered weakly. She dragged him out, sopping wet,coughing and sneezing water from his mouth and nose. She held him toher chest and crouched below the parapet of the cistern, trying toavoid the two boys who were struggling and pushing each other aroundthe terrace. al Zayn was heavier than Dorian, and taller by twoinches.

He was starting to dominate this straight trial of strength.

“I

am going to drown you just like the monkey, you devil-eyed infidel,” hethreatened, and heaved with all his weight on the bamboo stave.

In his fury Dorian had forgotten everything that Tom had ever taughthim, but now the insult steadied him and he let Zayn pull him in close.Then he released his grip on the stave and bunched his right fist. Heshifted his feet, anchoring himself.

“Use the turn of the body, and the swing of the shoulders,” Tom hadcoached him.

“Go for the nose.” Dorian launched the punch, his hands hardened byriding and his shoulders conditioned by swimming. He caught Zayn flushon the nose, which squashed like an overripe plum in a flood of scarletjuice.

Zayn dropped the bamboo and clutched with both hands at his injuredface.

His eyes flooded with tears of pain, and blood ran from between hisfingers and dripped on to his white kanzu.

Dorian set himself up for the next punch. Tom had shown him how tofind the point of the jaw, making him clench his teeth and feel for itunder his own ear. Dorian let the next punch go with all his weightcoming in behind it.

Zayn had never heard of this kind of fighting. Making a hammer out ofthe hand and using it to beat in an opponent’s face was something aliento his idea of combat.

He had been taught to wrestle, but enjoyed it only when matched againsta lighter, weaker boy.

The blow to his nose had flabbergasted him, the surprise even morecrippling than the pain. He was unprepared for the next blow. It feltlike a cannonball into the Side of his face, and his senses tottered.

Dorian did not yet have the weight or power to drop him senseless.

But the punch struck exactly where he had aimed, and with enough forceto send Zayn reeling backwards, unable to see through his streamingeyes, unable to defend himself, his legs turning boneless under him.

Then, to Zayn’s bewilderment, there came another blow, slamming intohis fat lips. He felt one of his front teeth break off, and the warmmetallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth. With both armscovering his face he stumbled blindly to the head of the stairs.

Behind him Dorian picked up the bamboo, and be laboured his back andshoulders. Even through the pain of his mouth and nose, the sting ofthe bamboo made Zayn leap forward onto the top step.

Dorian swung the cane again, and Zayn yelled as though he had beenstung by a scorpion and lost his footing. He went rolling in a tangleof arms and legs to the bottom, and crawled away sobbing wildly. Thenhe heard Dorian rushing down the stairs behind him, and looked backover his shoulder through swimming eyes.

The infidel’s face was contorted into a crimson mask of fury, thosepale green eyes were blazing and he had the bamboo held high in bothhands. Zayn hauled himself to his feet and spat out the broken toothin a spray of blood.

He tried to run, but something was broken in his right foot, and hehopped, limped and lumbered away across the lawn, in pursuit of thefleeing Abubaker.

Dorian dropped the bamboo and let them go. He took a few deep breathsto bring his rage under control, then thought of the little girl. Heran back up the steps.

Yasmini was still crouched under the parapet. She was shaking andsobbing, and holding the sodden body of the monkey to her chest.

“Are you hurt, Yasmini? Did he hurt you?” She shook her head andwordlessly held Jinni out towards him. The monkey’s fur was soaked andflattened against his body, so that he appeared to be half his normalsize, as though the skin had been flayed off him.

“His arm!” Yasmini whispered.

“It’s broken.” Dorian took the dangling limb gently between hisfingers, and Jinni whimpered. but did not resist. He watched Dorianwith huge, trusting eyes. Dorian tried to remember all he had learnedfrom watching Dr. Reynolds working with the injuries of a sailor whohad fallen from the rigging of the Seraph, and another who had caughthis arm in the spinning bars of the capstan.

He straightened Jinni’s arm gently, using a short length of bamboo tosecure it in that position, then bound it up with a strip of cottontorn from his keffiya head cloth

“I must take him to Ben Abram,” he told Yasmini, and lifted the smallbody out of her arms.

“I wish I could come with you,” she whispered, but she knew that wasnot possible, and Dorian did not bother to reply. He made a cradle forJinni out of a fold of his robe.

Yasmini came with him as far as the gates of the zenana, and stoodstaring after him as he trotted off down the road through the palmgroves heading for the town.

Within half a mile he caught up with one of the grooms from the stablesleading a string of the Prince’s horses.

“Mustapha!” he shouted.

“Give me a ride as far as the harbour.”

Mustapha took him up on the back of his mount and they galloped throughthe narrow streets of the town, down to the se afront

Ben Abram was at work in his infirmary near the harbour. He camethrough from the small back room, scrubbing blood from his hands, andgreeted Dorian and Jinni with astonishment.

“I have brought you a patient, old father, one who is in sore need ofyour great skills,” Dorian told him.

“Will the beast bite me?” Ben Abram peered at Jinni suspiciously.

“Have no fear. inni knows he can trust you.”

“The setting of bones is a skill that goes back into antiquity,” BenAbram remarked, as he peered closely at the limb, “but I doubt any ofmy forebears had such a patient as this.” when he had finished, andthe limb was sprinted and bandaged, Ben Abram gave Jinni a draught oflaudanum, and the monkey slept in Dorian’s arms for all the long walkback to the zenana.

Yasmini was waiting for them just inside the gate. She took thedrugged monkey out of Dorian’s arms, and carried him tenderly to theliving quarters where they found Tahi in a tearful turmoil of worry.

“What have you done, you stupid boy?” She attacked Dorian the instanthe put his head through the doorway.

“The whole zenana is in an uproar. Kush has been here. He is in sucha terrible rage that he can hardly speak. Is it true that Jinni hasbitten Zayn al-Din and that you have broken his tooth and smashed hisnose, and that the bone in his foot is broken?

Kush says that Zayn may never be able to walk again, at the least hewill be crippled for life.”

“He broke his foot with his own clumsiness.” Dorian was defiant andunrepentant, and Tahi seized him and hugged him to her ample bosom. Shebroke down and wept loudly.

“You do not know what danger you have brought on your own head!”

she sobbed.

“From now onwards we must always be on the watch. You must never eator drink anything that I have not tasted first. You must keep the baron the door to your sleeping chamber.” She reeled off the list ofprecautions that they would take against the vengeance of Kush and Zaynal-Din.

“Allah on knows what the Prince will think of this when he returns fromMuscat.” She ended her tirade with morbid relish.

Yasmini and Dorian left her wailing and dreaming of horrors over herkitchen pots, and carried Jinni through to Dorian’s bedchamber.

They laid him on the sleeping mat and sat over him side by side.

Neither spoke, but after a while Yasmini drooped like fading blossomand fell asleep against Dorian’s shoulder.

He put his arm around her, and much later Tahi found them asleep ineach other’s arms. She knelt beside the pair and studied theirfaces.

“They are so beautiful together, so young and so innocent.

What a great pity that it can never be. They might have had red-hairedchildren,” she whispered, and lifted Yasmini out of Dorian’s protectivearms to carry her back to her own mother’s splendid quarters near themain gate, where she handed her over to one of the nurses.

ush came again, early the following morning, full of bluster andthreats. Despite these it was apparent that he was not prepared toflout the strictures of al-Allama and Ben Abram, and to bring any realharm to Dorian, but his malevolence shimmered around him like an auraof evil. At the door he looked back at Dorian, his swollen featuresfilled with hatred.

“The day will soon come, if Allah is kind, when you will no longer behere in the zenana to trouble me.” The atmosphere crackled like summerlightning with hostility towards Dorian. The other children, allexcept Yasmini, kept well away from him. As soon as they saw him theybroke off their rowdy games and scuttled away tittering. The womencovered their faces and drew the skirts of their robes aside as thoughcontact with him would contaminate them.

Three days later he met Zayn as he came back through the gates from hislessons with al-Allama. Zayn was sitting with Abubaker and three othertoadies. They were feasting on a dish of sweetmeats, but they fellsilent as Dorian walked down the cloisters towards them, and watchedhim uneasily. Zayn’s nose was still swollen and there was a black scabon his upper lip. Both his eye sockets were bruised even darker thantheir natural colour. His right foot was wrapped in bandages perhapsit was true that he might be crippled for life, Dorian thought, but henever faltered, and he stared directly at Zayn. The bigger boy couldnot hold that cold green stare and turned away. He said something toAbubaker and both boys giggled nervously.

Dorian strode past them and Zayn grew bolder as he walked away.

“Skin white as pus,” he said, and his breath whistled through the gapin his front teeth.

“Eyes green as pigs” pee,” Abubaker agreed.

“Only one who drinks it would know the colour so well,” Dorian said asloudly, and walked on without looking back.

Over the following weeks the feeling of dangerous hostility subsided.Though Dorian had become the outcast of the zenana, now the otherssimply ignored him. Even I Zayn and Abubaker no longer reacted to hispresence, but behaved with exaggerated nonchalance whenever they met.Zayn was still limping and over time it became clear that the damage tohis right foot might indeed be permanent.

However, Tahi was not placated by the hostile truce between the twoboys, and she missed no opportunity to lecture Dorian on the dangers ofexposing himself to poison, or other macabre methods of dealing deathat a distance.

“Always shake out your kanzu before donning it.

Turn over your sandals. There is a small green scorpion that kills soswiftly that the victim does not have time to cry out after its sting.Kush knows well the ways of the scorpion, and all the other evilthings.” But none of this could dampen Dorian’s naturalh ebullientspirits for long. He spent less and less time within the walls of thezenana. When he was there, Yasmini was his constant companion.

As a credit to Ben Abram’s skills, Jinni recovered rapidly, and thoughhe favoured the undamaged limb he was soon scampering along the top ofthe outer wall or scaling the highest branches of the peepul trees.

The long month of Ramadan came and then the new moon ended the fast.Within days Zayn al-Din was gone from the zenana. He had reachedpuberty and manhood, and, still limping from the injury Dorian hadinflicted on” him, had entered the outside world. Dorian and Yasminirejoiced at his departure. They heard that he had been sent to Muscatto join the court of his uncle, the Caliph.

Tahi sniffed when they told her.

“He has been sent as a hostage to the Caliph to ensure the obedience ofthe Prince.” This was not the first that Dorian had heard of theintrigues within the Omani royal family. However, Tahi repeated whathe knew already.

“The Caliph has executed six of his brothers for treason, and he doesnot trust those he has spared.” She dropped her voice to a whisper.

“The Caliph is a cruel, evil man. Allah forbid that you should evercome to his notice as the child of the prophecy.” She shivered at thethought.

few weeks after Zayn al-Din’s abrupt departure, Yasmini came toDorian’s quarters before he was Lawake and shook his arm urgently.

Jinni did not come for his food last night and he was not in my bedthis MOrning.” She was drawn and shaky from grief and worry.

Dorian jumped up and flung on his kanzU while Yasmini lamented, “Ithink something terrible has happened to my Jinni.”

“We will find him,” Dorian promised her.

“Come on!” They started with all the most likely places, Jinni’sfavourite haunts. The chief of these was the tomb of the saint, AbdAllah Muhammad All. They searched every inch of the ancient structure,calling Jinni’s name and offering cinnamon cakes.

They knew that, if anything would, the aroma would bring him out of anyhiding-place.

When they failed there, they went systematically through the gardens,but with the same lack of success. By this time Yasmini was besideherself with grief.

“You saved him once, Dowle. Now Shaitan has come back for him again.He may have taken him away as a punishment.”

“Don’t be a baby, Yassie.” Unconsciously he used the same words withwhich Tom had chided him.

“Shaitan does not concern himself with monkeys and small females.”

“What are we going to do?”

Yasmini turned those haunted honey-coloured eyes on him with absolutetrust.

“We will start again at the tomb. Jinni must be somewhere.” Theentrance to the tomb had been bricked and plastered closed centuriesbefore, and though Dorian examined it minutely there was no holethrough which even a monkey could pass. They went up onto the terraceand searched that again. Though they called until they were hoarse,there was still no sign of Jinni.

At last they sat in despair on the edge of the cistern and avoided eachother’s eyes, tired and dispirited. If they had not been absolutelysilent they would never have heard the faint chattering.

They heard it at the same time and Yasmini seized Dorian’s arm, sinkingher sharp little nails into his skin.

“Jinni!” she whispered.

They jumped down from the cistern and stared about eagerly, theirtiredness forgotten. The sound seemed to emanate in the air aroundthem, without any focal point.

“Where is it coming from, Dowle?” Yasmini asked, but he shushed herimperiously. Holding up a hand for silence, he tracked the faint soundacross the terrace. When it stopped he whistled, and immediately Jinnicalled again, leading him to the far end.

There they seemed to reach a dead end, until Dorian went down on hisknees and crawled along the juncture of the dome wall and the skirtingof the terrace where Jinni’s cries were perceptibly louder.

Weeds and creepers blanketed the area, but he picked out a trackthrough them that looked as though somebody or something had recentlypassed that way. He moved in, bending the weeds aside and lifting thedangling creepers to inspect the base of the dome wall.

He saw at once that the coral rag had disintegrated at one point andthat there was an aperture large enough for Jinni to have squeezedthrough. When he put his ear to this opening his last doubts weredispelled. Jinni’s cries were magnified as though by a speakingtube.

“He’s down there!” he told Yasmini.

She clapped her hands joyfully.

“Can you get him out, Dowle?”

Then she placed her mouth to the hole and shouted down it, “Jinni, mybaby! Can you hear me?” She was answered by faint but excited squeaksfrom the depths of the hole.

“Get out of the way.” Dorian pushed her aside, and began to work atenlarging the hole with his bare hands.

The ragging was un mortared and chunks of it came away in his hands. Hesent Yasmini to bring him one of the bamboo staves from the pile at thebottom of the steps, and used this to prise out the more stubbornchunks of brick.

Within half an hour he had enlarged the opening enough so that he couldsqueeze through. However, when he peered down into the depths all hecould see was the swirling dust of his labours, and darkness.

“Wait here, Yassie,” he ordered, and lowered his legs into theopening.

Although he kicked around he was unable to touch the bottom or find afoothold. He clung to the lip with both hands and let himself down aninch at a time. Abruptly the section of the wall he was holding brokeaway, and in

M_ with a shout o f alarm he fell into the dark. He expected to plungedown hundreds of feet to his death, but he dropped only inches beforehe hit the ground. The impact was so unexpected that his legs gave wayunder him and he fell in a heap. He scrambled up.

Yasmini was calling down urgently, “Are you all right, Dowle?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come down?”

“No! You stay there. Take your head out of the way to let the lightin.” When the dust had settled and his eyes became accustomed to thegloom he surveyed his surroundings. A faint ray of sunlight came fromthe opening above him and by its light he found himself in a narrowpassage, which seemed to have been built into the centre of the massiveouter wall of the tomb. It was just wider than his shoulders and highenough for him to stand upright.

Jinni’s cries came from close at hand and he moved towards them,sneezing. Dorian found a wooden door, which shut off the passage. Itwas crumbling with age and damp mould, and it had fallen off its rottenleather hinges.

Jinni must have swung on it, and even his small bulk had been enough tobring it down. Now he was trapped under it.

He had torn his fingernails on the wood trying to free himself, and hisfur was thick with dust and wood chips.

Dorian tugged and heaved at the heavy door, lifting it enough for themonkey to wriggle out from under it. Jinni was not injured and he shotup Dorian’s body and onto his shoulder where he clung to his neck withboth arms, chattering with relief.

“You stupid animal,” Dorian scolded in English, as he stroked Jinni’shead to quieten him.

“This will teach you not to go wandering off to where you should notgo, you idiot monkey.” He carried him back and handed him up toYasmini, who was hanging head and shoulders through the hole.

Then he went back, lifted one end of the door and dragged it back.

He leaned it against the wall of the passage and used it as a ladder toclimb back through the opening into the sunlight.

He was covered with dust and dirt, so while Yasmini smothered Jinni ina loving embrace, he washed away the worst of the filth in the watersof the cistern.

Yasmini carried Jinni down the steps, but before he followed themDorian went back on an impulse and arranged the weeds and the floweringcreeper to conceal the hole in the base of the dome.

It was some days later that Dorian went back to explore the furtherreaches of the secret passage. He should never have told Yasmini whathe planned, for she insisted on coming with him and bringing Jinni.

Without letting Tahi know, Dorian took one of the lamps, and a steeland flint to light it.

They went through elaborate precautions to make certain that they werenot followed by any of Kush’s spies or henchmen, taking separate routesto the old tomb and meetine beside the cistern.

“Nobody followed you?” Dorian demanded, as Yasmini scuttled up thestairs with Jinni riding on her shoulder.

“Nobody!” she confirmed, almost dancing with excitement.

“What do you think we will find, Dowle? A great treasure of gold andjewels?”

“A secret room full of skulls and old bones,” he said, teasing.

She looked apprehensive.

“Will you go first?” she asked, and took his hand.

They crept into the weeds and pulled them closed behind them, thenDorian lifted the creepers from the entrance to the passage and peeredinto the darkness.

“It’s safe. Nobody has found it.” He squatted and worked with theflint and steel. When the lamp flame was burning evenly, he said,”Pass it down to me when I tell you.” He lowered himself into theopening, and looked up.

“Give me the lamp.” He took it from her hands and se dit it out of theway.

“Now come down.” He guided her dangling feet, placing them on the olddoor.

“You’re nearly there. jump!” She hopped down and looked about her.Jinni came darting after her and shot up her leg. There was not enoughheadroom for him to ride on her shoulder so she took him on her hip.

“This is so exciting. I have never done anything like this before.”

“Don’t make so much noise.” Dorian picked up the lamp.

“Now stay close behind me, but don’t get in my way He moved cautiouslyto where the old door had stood, but felt a slide of disappointmentwhen he saw that the passage had been bricked shut only a few yardsfurther on.

It was a dead end.

“What is beyond the bricks?” Yasmini asked, in a whisper.

“It looks as if it once led into the tomb itself, but somebody closedit off. I wonder why they built it anyway.”

“So that the Angel Gibrael could come into the tomb to take the soul ofthe saint to Paradise,” Yasmini told him, with authority. @Gibraelalways comes down to fetch the souls of righteous men.” Dorian was onthe point of ridiculing her, when he saw how large and liquid her eyeslooked in the light of the lamp.

“Perhaps you are right,” he agreed.

“But I wonder where the other end of the passage leads to.” Theyturned, passing under the opening through which they had entered andwent on slowly into the dusty darkness, which smelt of fungus andmould. In the feeble yellow lamplight the floor beneath their feetbegan to slope downwards and every few paces there were stone stepsdescending. The roof was only inches above Dorian’s head.

“I’m frightened,” Yasmini whispered breathlessly.

“Perhaps the Angel will be angry with us for using his road.” Shehugged Jinni close to her chest. With her other hand she reached outand took a firm grip on the back of Dorian’s kanzu.

They moved on quietly. The passage continued to angle downwards untilDorian guessed that they were well below ground level, then it levelledout and ran straight.

He counted the paces.

“What happens if the roof falls in?” Yasmini asked.

“It’s been here for hundreds of years,” Dorian said confidently.

“Why would it suddenly fall in now?” He went on, counting the pacesaloud.

Three hundred and twenty-two,” he announced, then said, almostimmediately, “Look, there are steps going up again.” They climbed themslowly. Dorian paused on each tread and held the lamp high to surveythe way ahead.

Suddenly he stopped again.

“It’s blocked,” he said, with heavy disappointment: In the lamplightthey saw that the roof and one of the side walls had fallen in. Theystood uncertainly, staring at the tumbled masonry.

Suddenly Jinni jumped down from Yasmini’s hip and darted forward.

Before Dorian could grab his tail he disappeared into a small openingbetween the intact part of the roof and the pile of rubble.

Jinnfl” Yasmini pushed past Dorian and thrust her arm into theopening.

“He will get stuck again. Save him Dowle.”

“Stupid monkey!”

Dorian started clearing the masonry and trying to reach inside.

Every few minutes they heard Jinni calling, but he would not come backto Yastnini though she pleaded with him. Dorian worked on doggedly, IfF clearing the rubbish from the tunnel ahead. Then he stopped andclimbed onto the heap.

“I can see light ahead He was jubilant. He jumped down and redoubledhis efforts to clear away the rubble that still blocked the tunnel.

The Monsoon

An hour later he wiped his face on the hem of his kanzu. His sweat hadmingled with the dust into a paste of mud.

“I think I can crawl through now.” He worked his way, belly down, intothe enlarged opening, and apprehensively Yasmini watched his body, thenhis legs and finally his feet disappear from view. Moments later hecalled, Tassie! It’s all right. Come on.” She was so much smallerthan him that she could crawl on hands and knees. Within a shortdistance the light strengthened and she found Dorian squatting at theexit to the tunnel. A veil of vegetation hung down in front of them,but beyond that was brilliant sunlight.

“Where are we?” she asked, crowding in beside him.

“I don’t know.” IT Cautiously he parted the green foliage. They werein a saucer of ground, surrounded by fallen walls of coral bricksdisintegrated by time and weather. The whole area was heavilyovergrown.

“Stay there,” Dorian told her) and crept out into the sunlight.Gingerly he climbed to the top of the ruin and looked out.

He saw palm trees and green mangrove forest and beyond that a glimpseof white beach and the vivid blue ocean. He recognized the area fromhis explorations outside the walls.

“We are outside the zenana,” he said, with astonishment.

“The tunnel goes under the wall.”

“I have never been outside in my whole life.” Yasmmi climbed up besidehim.

“Look, is that the beach? Can’t we go down there, Dowle?” They heardvoices, and ducked down. A party of women passed below theirhiding-place without looking UP They were Swahili slave-girls, blackand unveiled, with huge bundles of firewood balanced on their heads.They passed and their voices faded.

“Can we go down to the beach, Dowle?” Yasmini pleaded.

“For only a short time. just this once.”

“No! You’re a silly girl,” Dorian said sternly.

“The fishermen will see us and they’ll tell Kush. Then there will beanother grave in the cemetery. You know what happens to little girlswho defy him.” He scrambled back into the mouth of the tunnel.

“Come on.”

“Perhaps it is the will of God that I should never swim in the oceanwith you,” she said wistfully, still gazing down through the trees.

“Come down, Yassie. We must go backer words troubled him.

Every time he went down to the beach by himself and swam out over thereef he felt guilty, and though she did not mention it again her appealpreyed upon his mind.

Over the weeks that followed he quietly scouted the area outside theeast wall of the zenana, and found that there were many overgrown ruinsamong the trees. They were mostly covered with undergrowth, or by thesand dunes blown up from the beach by the monsoon. It took him somedays to find the exact clump of bushes and old coral rag that hid themouth of the tunnel. When he was certain that he was not being watchedhe climbed over the heap and down to the opening in its saucer.

He spent several hours working to clear the entrance so that access waseasier and safer, then covered it again with fallen palm fronds anddried branches to hide it from casual discovery by the Swahili woodgatherers.

From his friend Mustapha, the groom at the stables, he begged a grubby,tattered kanzu, more patches than original material, and an equallyfilthy keffiya, which even the groom would no longer wear. He rolledthese into a bundle and hid it in the exit of the tunnel. He waiteduntil the moon was full, and then, when all was ready, he askedYasmini, “Would you really like to swim in the ocean?” She stared athim in astonishment, and then her small face crumpled.

“Don’t tease me, Dowle, she pleaded.

“This evening you will come to eat dinner with Tahi and me. After theMaghrib prayers, you will thank Tahi and tell her that you are goingback to your mother. Instead you will come here and hide behind thecistern.” Slowly her face lit up and her eyes sparkled.

“Your mother will think you are with Tahi, and Tahi will think you arewith your mother. I will follow you shortly and find you here.”

“Yes, Dowle.” She nodded vigorously.

“You will not be frightened to come here in the dark, on your own?”

“No, Dowle.” She shook her head so vehemently that it seemed she mightloosen it from her shoulders.

“You cannot bring Jinni. He must stay in his cage. Do you promiseme?”

“I promise you with all my heart, Dowle.” During dinner Yasmini was sorestless and talkative that Tahi studied her shrewdly.

“What ails you, child?

you’re jabbering like a flock of parakeets and bouncing around asthough you have a hot coal in your trousers. Have you been out in thesun again without a covering for your head?” Yasmini gobbled down thelast of the meal, scooping it from the bowl with the fingers of herright hand. Then she jumped up.

“I must go, Tahi. My mother charged me to return early-,

You have not finished your food. I have your favourite, grated coconutcakes with saffron.”

“I’m not hungry tonight. I must go. I will come again tomorrow “Yourprayers first.” Tahi restrained her.

“All praise and thanks to the Almighty Allah for having given us to eatand drink, and having made of us Muslims,” Yasmini gabbled, and sprangto her feet. She was out of the room before Tahi could stop heragain.

Dorian waited a short time, then stood up and stretched nonchalantly.

“I’m going for a walk in the gardens.” Immediately Tahi was allconcern.

“Remember to be very careful, al-Amhara. Do not think that Kush hasforgiven you.” Dorian retreated swiftly to avoid any further advice.

Jassie?” he called softly, as he crept up the staircase to theterrace. His voice quavered and cracked: it had been playing tricks onhim for a while now, in moments of nervousness or emotion, jumping upand down the scale.

“Jassie?” This time it came out gruffly.

“Dowle! I am here.” She crawled out from behind the cistern, and ranto meet him. The moon was just rising above the outer wall of thezenana, and by its light Dorian led her to the opening to the Angel’sRoad, as they had named their secret passage. He lowered himself intoit and found the lamp, the flint and steel where he had left them.

When the wick was burning evenly he called Yasmini down and caught hersmall body as she came sliding down the old door. She pressed closebehind him, hanging on to the back of his robe as he led her along thetunnel.

When they reached the collapsed section that he had cleared Doriansnuffed out the wick of the lamp” We must not show any light,” hewarned her. They groped their way along the wall for the last fewyards, and at last they could see the luminescence of the moon throughthe trailing creepers that masked the exit of the tunnel. Doriansearched for the bundle of old clothes he had hidden in a niche in thetunnel wall.

“Here! Put these on,” he ordered.

“They are smelly!” she protested.

“Do you want to come with me or not?” She did not argue again, butthere was the nestle of cloth as she stripped off her own clothes, andpulled the kanzu over her head.

“I am ready,” she said eagerly.

He led her out into the moonlight. The robe was too big for her.

She tripped over the skirts. He knelt in front of her and ripped awaythe hem at the level of her ankles, then helped her arrange the keffiyaover her head to hide her long hair.

“That will do,” he said as he looked her over.

She looked like any one of the ragged urchins that ran wild through thestreets of the town or along the beaches.

The son of a fisherman, perhaps, or one of the gatherers of firewood ormangrove bark.

“Come on!” They scrambled out of the ruins and then, with exaggeratedcaution, crept down through the palm groves to the head of the beach.Dorian knew this stretch of the coast intimately. He had chosen a spotwhere low sandstone cliffs screened a tidal pool.

In the face of the cliff there was a shallow cave, which was filledwith shadows that hid them as they sat side by side on the hard-packeddamp sand. They looked out on the silvery moon-bathed cove. The tidewas out, and the coral sand was exposed. It was purest white and themoon shadows of the sculpted sandstone pillars were cast stark and blueon its flat, unmarked sands. The low surf on the outer reef glowedwith phosphorescence, which lit up their faces intermittently.

“It’s beautiful,” Yasmini whispered.

“I would never have believed how beautiful.”

“I am going to swim,” Dorian said, and stood up. He pulled off hiskanzu and kicked away his sandals.

“Are you coming?”

Without waiting for an answer he walked out on the beach. At the edgeof the pool he turned and looked back.

Yasmini emerged from the cave, moving like a fawn from the covert onlegs that seemed too long for her childlike body. She had shed thetattered robe and was as naked as he. Dorian had seen slave-girls onthe blocks in the market, but none had possessed this fairy grace. Herhair hung down her back to her small rounded buttocks, the streakthrough the sable hair was silver in the moonlight.

When she reached him she put out her hand in an innocent gesture andtook his. Her creamy breast buds were barely defined, delicateswellings, but the little nipples stood proud, teased by the cool airsof the monsoon. He stared at them, and they made him feel strange, anunaccustomed tightness in the pit of his stomach.

Hand in hand they stepped into the pool. The water was warmer than thenight air, warm as their own blood.

Yasmini sank down into it, until her long hair floated out around herlike the leaves of the water lotus, and she laughed with joy.

The moon was halfway to its zenith when at last he “said, We must notstay here longer. It grows late, we told her, must go back.”

“I have never been so happy,” she said.

“Never in my life. I wish we could stay like this for ever.” But shestood up obediently and the silvery water gilded her long slim limbs.They walked back up the beach and left their footprints like a doublestring of beads on the pale sand.

At the mouth of the cave she turned to him, “Thank you, Dowle.”

Then suddenly she threw both her arms around him, and hugged him.

“I love you so much, my brother.” Dorian stood awkwardly in herembrace.

The feeling of her small body against him, the warmth of her skinthrough the cool drops of sea-water, gave him that strange feelingagain in the pit of his stomach.

She stepped back and giggled.

“I am all wet.” She took a hank of her thick dark hair and twisted it.The water dripped from it on to the sand.

Dorian picked up his kanzu from where he had dropped it.

“Turn around!” he said, and obediently she offered him the slim curveof her back. He dried it roughly, scrubbing it with the folds of hisrobe.

“The other side now.” She turned to face him and he wiped the clothover those small warm swellings on her chest, then down over herbelly.

“That tickles!” Her stomach was smooth and concave, the only blemishupon it the puckering of her navel, and at its base, the littlevertical cleft of hairless skin between her thighs.

“Now put on your kanzu,” he ordered, and she turned and picked up thegarment off the sand. He saw that her buttocks were small andperfectly rounded. He felt his chest constrict, and he drew the nextbreath with difficulty.

She straightened up, and dropped the dirty kanzu over her head, and asshe pushed her head out through the opening he was still standingstaring at her. She gave him a pixie smile. Then, while she wound herhair into a thick rope and pushed it under the keffiya, she studied hisbody openly, and without any sense of guilt or sin.

“You are so white, where the sun has not touched you, and look! Youhave hair down there also.” She pointed with surprise.

“It’s the same colour as on your head. It sparkles like silk in themoonlight. It’s pretty, she marvelled.

He had forgotten the soft fuzz that had sprouted over the past months.For the first time he felt shy, almost guilty, in front of her, andswiftly he covered himself with his own damp robe.

“We must go!” he said, and she had to run to catch up with him as heheaded back towards the zenana. In the safety of the tunnel she shedthe grubby kanzu and changed back into her own clothing.

“Are you ready?” Dorian asked.

“Yes, Dowle.” But before he could start down the tunnel she grabbedhis hand.

“Thank you, my brother,” she whispered.

“I will never forget what we did tonight, never, never!” He tried tountangle her grip on his hand. His emotions confused him, and he feltalmost angry with her for causing him to feel this way.

“Can we come again, Dowle?” she pleaded.

“I don’t know.” He pulled his hand free.

“Perhaps.”

“Please, Dowle. It was so much firm.”

“Well, then, we will have to see.”

“I

will be so good. I will do anything you say. I won’t tease you orcheek you ever again. just say yes. Please, Dowle.”

“All right, Yassie. We will come again.” few days after their foraydown the Angel’s Road, and before Dorian could make good his promise totake her again, Kush came to his living quarters.

He appeared in the early morning, before the sun had risen, and withhim were two of his eunuch slaves. Tahi met them at the door and triedto prevent them entering.

“What do you want with al-Amhara?” she demanded.

“Stand aside, you old cow,” Kush ordered.

“The boy is no longer your charge.”

“You have come to take him from me.” Her voice quivered, and shesnatched at his embroidered waistcoat as he tried to push past her.

“Stand back, I warned you!” He drove the butt of his staff into herbelly, and she doubled over with pain.

“Bring out the infidel,” Kush ordered his two slaves and they rushedinto Dorian’s small chamber. He was sitting up on his mat, rudelywakened by Kush’s penetratingly high tones from the room next door,rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The eunuchs grabbed his arms anddragged him through to where Kush waited.

“Take that off.” Kush pointed with his staff at the kikoi clothknotted around Dorian’s hips. They pulled it off, and Kush grinnedlasciviously.

“I thought so! A nice little garden you’re growing there.” With thetip of his staff, he prodded the nest of fluffy red-gold curls that nowcovered Dorian’s mans pubis. Dorian tried to cover himself, but theyforced him upright.

“It is time for this to come off.” He prodded Dorian with one fat beringed finger.

“We will rid you of this smelly piece of skin.”

“Don’t touch me!” Dorian shouted furiously, his voice cracking, hischeeks flushing bright scarlet with anger and humiliation.

“Take your fat white hands off me, you thing with no balls.”

The smirk dropped from Kush’s lips and he jerked his hand away.

“Say your salaams to this old cow.” He glared at Tahi.

“You will see her no more. My fellows will wait with you while youpack your possessions. You are leaving the zenana. The knife awaitsyou, and a new life thereafter.”

At the door Tahi clung to him.

“You are the son I

could never have she whispered.

“I will love you all my life.”

“And I will love you also, Tahi. I cannot remember my own mother, butshe must have been like you.”

“Be a man and a warrior, al-Amhara. Make me proud.”

“Tell Yasmini-” He broke off. What message could he send the littleone? While he pondered it, the slaves pulled him out through the door.Desperately he called back to Tahi, “Tell Yasmini I will never forgether. Tell her she will always be my little sister.”

The slaves took him out to where the bullock cart waited in the frontcourtyard of the zenana. A small crowd of children and women servantshad gathered to watch him go, but Yasmini was not among them, althoughhe looked for her as they rolled out through the gates.

“It is always more difficult and dangerous when the boy is older,” BenAbram observed.

“This should have been done much earlier, not at thirteen, when he ison the threshold of manhood.”

“The boy comes from the world of the infidel and he is in a state ofabomination until the ritual is performed. It must be done before thereturn of the Prince from Muscat, al-Allama replied.

“If he is verily of the prophecy then Allah will protect the boy.”

Dorian stood naked before them. They were on the terrace of thepalace, overlooking the harbour. Apart from the doctor and the holymullah, there was a young black slave-girl with them, a pagan who couldnot be defiled by assisting Ben Abram.

Ben Abram laid out his instruments on the low table, then lookedstraight into Dorian’s eyes.

“Pain is nothing to a man. Honour is everything. Remember that allyour life,

my son.”

“I will not fail, old father,” Dorian replied. They had discussed thismany times before.

Tismilla-hi Allahu akbar!” Ben Abram said quietly.

“I

begin in the name of Almighty God. Allah is great”

At the same time the mullah began to recite a sura from the Koran in aslow sonorous tone.

“We begin with the name of Allah, who is most kind and merciful. OAllah, grant him full faith, everlasting security, abundance ofprovisions, maturity of mind, beneficial knowledge, guidonce to performrighteous deeds, noble character, honour and sound health.”

Ben Abram nodded to the slave@ girl who knelt in front of Dorian andtook hold of his penis. She began to manipulate it with a milkingmotion. Swiftly it swelled and stiffened, and the girl modestlyaverted her eyes but she continued to fondle him until he was fullyerect. Then Ben Abram selected a small, razor-sharp knife from thetray, and came to them. He said softly to the girl, “Enough!” and shemoved away.

“In the Name of Allah,” Ben Abram said, and made the first swiftpractised stroke of the blade.

Dorian stiffened at the sting, but he bit down and stopped the cry ofpain before it reached his lips. Then came the next cut and the next,but still he fought back any outcry, and felt the blood run warm downhis thighs.

At last Ben Abram laid aside the knife.

“In the Name of God, it is done!” And he bandaged the wound.

Dorian felt his legs quaking under him, but he kept all expression fromhis face, and his eyes open. Even al-Allama gave voice to hisapproval.

“Now you are a man.” He touched Dorian’s forehead in blessing.

“And you have conducted yourself as a man indeed.”

Ben Abram took his arm and led him to a back room in the palace where asleeping mat was laid ready for him.

“I will come in the morning to bandage the wound again,” he promised.

In the morning Dorian was flushed and hot, and the wound was ugly andinflamed. Ben Abram changed the dressing and laid on it a soothingointment. Then he administered a bitter-tasting potion. Within daysthe fever had abated and the healing had begun. Before long, the scabshad come away and Ben Abram allowed Dorian to go alone to the oceanside of the island to swim in the warm clear waters, and to go down tothe royal stables and help the grooms exercise the Prince’s horses,galloping along the white fluffy sand of the beaches and joining in thewild rowdy games of pulu.

Soon after, a sail was sighted coming up the channel, and the lookoutson the palace walls picked out the royal pennant at the masthead. Theentire population of the island flocked down to the beaches to welcomethe return of Prince Abd Muhammad alMalik from the Omani capital ofMuscat.

The Prince stepped ashore to the boom of cannon from the battlements ofthe fort, the ululations of the women and shouts of adoration from themen. They fired their long-barrelled jezails into the air, while thedrums beat and the fifes waited.

Dorian was with the grooms, who were holding the horses at the head ofthe beach. He had helped to burnish the tack, and polish the turquoisegemstones that adorned the Prince’s saddle and the cheek pieces of thebridle. As an adopted royal son, the head groom had accorded to Dorianthe honour of leading al-Malik’s stallion forward and holding him forthe Prince to mount.

Dorian watched the Prince coming up the beach, the crowds openingbefore him and his subjects prostrating themselves, trying to kiss thehem of his robes as he passed by. It was over a year since he had lastseen him, and Dorian had forgotten how tall and regal he was in hissnowy robes with the great jewelled dagger at his waist, its hilt ofpolished rhinoceros horn glowing with the soft lustre of amber. Theheadband that held his keffiya in place was of twisted gold wire. Hestrode towards where Dorian waited for him, smiling and returning thegreetings of his subjects with the elegant gesture of blessing,touching his heart and his lips.

“Salaam aliekum, great lordV Dorian bowed. Even though his voice waslost in the tumult of the crowd, the Prince looked into his face andDorian saw, from the pleased expression in his dark eyes, that herecognized him.

The Prince inclined his head slightly, then swung up into the saddlewith the grace of an expert horseman and rode away towards the fort.

The Prince sat with his closest courtiers on the terrace of the palace,sipping coffee and listening to the reports of the men who hadadministered the islands and colonies in his absence.

“There have been many Frankish ships calling at Zanzibar,” his viziertold him.

“More each month now that the kusi wind brings them in from the south.They all seek to trade for ivory and slaves.” The sultanate ofZanzibar was part of the Prince’s domains, and a share of the profitsfrom its markets found its way into his treasury. He could be surethat his subservient sultan would mulch the infidel for every rupeethat the trade could stand.

“All Muhammad must warn the infidel captains that I will not toleratetheir presence north of Zanzibar. I most strictly forbid it.”

The gold and goods that the infidels brought with them were welcome,but al-Malik knew full well the avarice and ruthlessness of theFranks.

They had already established factories and bases in the empire of theGreat Mogul. Once they had a foothold they were impossible to budge.

They must not be allowed to come as far north as Lamu.

All Muhammad is fully aware of your commands. If any infidel shipventures into these waters he will send report to Your Excellency byswift dhow.” The Prince nodded.

“If the call for ivory is so great, how plentiful are our sources onthe mainland?”

“Ivory is every year more scarce, and the call of the infidel for morealways greater.” In a great part, the markets on Zanzibar and Lamurelied on the pagan black tribes of the interior to supply their needs.The tribes did not have muskets with which to hunt the giantpachyderms. Their method was to set primitive pitfalls, lined withsharpened stakes, into which they tried to sTampede the herds. Therewere a few intrepid hunters among them who were capable of bringingdown the elephant with bow and arrow, but their harvest was meagre.

“Perhaps we should sell muskets to the chiefs to help them to gathergreater quantities?” a courtier suggested cautiously, but the Princeshook his head vehemently.

“That is too dangerous,” he said.

“It may encourage them to revolt against our authority. We would beopening the door of the lion’s cage.” They discussed the question atlength, and then the Prince turned his attention to the slave trade.

“As we harvest the slaves from coastal areas, they are driven furtherinto the interior.

Like the elephants, they become wilder and more wary. Each season thenumbers we are able to obtain fall off.” As with the ivory, the Arabsrelied on the more warlike chiefs of the interior to fall upon theirneighbours and to capture slaves from their traditional tribal enemies,then to bring them to the gathering points on the shores of the greatlakes.

“We might consider sending our own warriors into the forests to captureslaves,” someone proposed.

The Prince stroked his beard thoughtfu Ily.

“We would have to send good men and bold. We cannot know what theywill encounter out there in the wilderness. We can only be sure thatit will be dangerous and hard.” He paused to consider the suggestionfurther.

“I will give you my decision on this later, but in the meantime draw upa list of the names of fifty men who might be relied upon to lead suchan expedition.” He dealt with each of these matters concerning trade,but before he went on to other more serious topics, he dismissed theleast important members of his council, and kept only five of his mostsenior and trusted men with him to hear the outcome of his visit toMuscat.

This was perilous ground, which reeked of conspiracy and treachery.

The Caliph, alUzar ibn Yaqub, was older than the Prince by forty years,born of one of their father’s wives when he was a young man.

Al-Malik was the child of his father’s dotage and his father’s lastfavourite, but as every horseman knew, “An old stallion and a youngmare breed the finest foals.” The tiny Omani empire was under gravethreat from the conquering Ottomans, that mighty empire that had itscapitals in Istanbul and Baghdad, and which sprawled across most of theArab world. The only states that had so far resisted them were a fewsmall principalities beneath the notice of the Turkish caliphs in thenorth, or those who had succeeded in defending themselves from thedepredations of the Ottomans.

Oman was protected by its strong fleet against attack from the sea. Anyaggressor who tried to come at it overland from the north would beconfronted by the ferocious sands of the Rub Al Khali, the EmptyQuarter, and by the desert warriors who made up the small Omani army,and for whom the desert was home.

Oman had defied the Ottoman conquerors for a hundred years, and coulddo so for another hundred, if only it were led by a strong andresourceful man. Ibn Yaqub was not that man. He was past seventyyears of age, and given to convoluted political intrigue andconspiracy, rather than the rig ours and hardships of war. His chiefconcern was always to safeguard his own position of power, rather thanhold together and protect his small nation. In the process he had lostthe respect of his tribes, for the Omani were made up of many, eachunder its own sheikh. Without firm direction these hard desert menwere losing their sense of purpose and resolve, they were beginning tosquabble among themselves, resuscitating ancient tribal blood feuds,and spurning the rule of the vacillating, cruel and scheming old man inMuscat.

Ibn Yaqub’s authority still held only close to his stronghold, but asit reached out into those burning deserts and across the endless watersof the Ocean of the Indies it ew ever more dilute and insubstantial.The desert sheikhs grand the dhow commanders would follow only a manthey respected.

Already some had sent secret emissaries to al-Malik, for he had provedhimself a mighty man and a warrior without peer. They all knew thatthe Caliph had banished him to the outpost of the empire at Lamubecause he was fearful of his half-brother’s influence andpopularity.

The messengers promised that if he returned to Arabia, to the Omani,and headed a revolt against his brother then they would rise behindhim. With him at the helm of the state they would once more uniteagainst the Ottoman.

“It is your duty and your God-given right.

If you come to us then the mullahs will declare jihad, righteous war,and we will ride behind you to overthrow the tyrant,” they promised.

These were dire matters, and fraught with terrible perils. If theyshould fail, none of the six men seated on the terrace could doubt whatthe consequences would be for them personally. They sat long, debatingthe chances of success, and the justice of their cause.

When the council began, the dhows on the beach below them had beenstranded by the ebb, high and dry and heeled over. Long lines ofslaves had wound out across the exposed sand to unload their cargoes.

While the council talked, the tide began to flood, and gradually theships righted themselves and floated free. They spread their mattingsails and tacked out into the channel. Fresh arrivals from themainland, heavily laden with cargo, came in to moor above the beach.

Still the six men on the terrace talked and debated, and the tidereached high t slack, then began its ebb.

All this time alMalik listened, and spoke little, while he allowed eachof the others to say what was in their hearts without check orrestraint. Carefully he sifted the gems of wisdom from the dross.

They reviewed the order of battle of those forces on which they couldrely, and made lists of those sheikhs who were uncommitted or doubtful.They compared these to the powers that ibn Yaqub commanded.

Only when he had heard all they had to say did al-Malik make hisdecision.

“It will depend upon the tribes of the deep desert, the Soar, the Dahm.and the Karab. They are the greatest warriors of all the Omani.

Without them our cause cannot prosper.

Yet we have not heard from them. We do not know in which directionthey will point the war lance.” His councillors murmured agreement,and al-Malik said softly, “I must go to them.” They were silent for awhile, considering this bold course Of action, and then al-Allama said,”Your brother the Caliph will not allow it. If you insist, he willsmell danger on the wind.”

“I will make the haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, taking the ancientdesert route to the Holy Places, the road that passes through theterritory of the tribes. The Caliph cannot forbid a pilgrim, underpenalty of eternal damnation.”

“There is great risk,” al-Allama said.

“There is never great gain without great risk,” al-Malik replied, “andGod is great.”

“Allah akbar!” they replied.

“Surely, God is great.” Al-Malik made a graceful gesture of dismissal,and one by one they came to embrace him, kiss his hand and take theirleave. Al-Allama was the last, and at-Malik said, “Stay with me. Itis the hour of Maghrib, the prayers at the setting of the sun. We willpray together.” Two slave-girls brought pitchers of pure sweet wellwater and the two men performed the ritual purification, washing theirhands in the water that the girls poured for them from the silverpitchers, rinsing their mouths three times, snuffing water cupped inthe right palm three times and blowing it out of the nostril with thefingers of the left hand, then going on to bathe their faces, arms andfeet.

The slave-girls left and al-Allama stood and faced the Kabaa in Mecca,thousands of miles to the north. Cupping his hands behind his ears, hebegan the call to prayer in a loud voice.

“God is great. I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of God.Come to prayer!

Come to your own good!” Below them in the courtyard and under the palmtrees along the head of the beach, hundreds of robed figures assembledquietly and took up the posture of reverence, all facing in the samedirection.

“The prayer has begun!” chanted al-Allama.

When it was ended, al-Malik gestured for the mullah to take a seat onthe cushion close to his right hand.

“I saw the boy, al-Anihara, on the beach when I arrived. Tell me howhe has fared in my absence.”

“He grows like a tamarind tree, strong and tall. Already he is a finehorseman. He has a quick mind and a ready tongue, sometimes tooready.

He is often prone to lack respect for his elders and betters. He doesnot take readily to criticism or restraint. And when he is angry orthwarted, his choice of invective would make a sea captain pale,” alAllama said primly.

Al-Malik hid his smile behind the rim of his coffee cup What he heardonly made him like his infidel son the more.

He would make a leader of men.

A Al-Allama went on, “He has come to manhood, and been properlycircumcised by Ben Abram. When the time comes for him to accept Islam,he will be ready.”

“That is good,” the Prince said.

“And tell me, holy father, have your teachings borne fruit in thatdirectional “He now speaks our language as though born to it, and hecan recite long sections of the Holy Koran from memory.” Al-Allamalooked uneasy and evasive.

“Has he made any progress towards submitting himself to God?”

alMalik insisted.

“Without that the prophecy can have no effect.

“The Prophet Himself has said that no man can be forced to convert toIslam. He must come to it in his own way and in his own time.”

“So your answer is no?”

“He glories in argument. Sometimes I think the only reason hememorizes the Koran is the better to argue with me. He glories in thereligion of his own people and boasts that one day he will be inductedinto some Christian religious order, which he calls the Knights of theOrder of St. George and the Holy Grail, like his grandfather and hisfather before him.”

“It is not for us to question the ways of Allah,” atMalik said.

“God is gread” Al-Allama endorsed his assertion.

“But there is more to tell concerning the boy. We have had an enquiryfrom the English consul in Zanzibar concerning him Al-Malik leanedforward earnestly.

“I thought that the consul in Zanzibar had been murdered over a yearago?”

“That was the man named Grey. Since his death the English have sentanother to take his place.”

“I see. What form did this enquiry from the new man take?”

“He describes the boy accurately, his age and colouring.

He knows that al-Amhara was captured by al-Auf, and that he was soldinto slavery. He knows that he was bought My Your Excellency. Heknows the name that we have given him, al-Amhara.”

“How has he learned all this?” Worry lines creased alalik’s brow.

(I do not know, except that Ben Abram has told me much about the boy’slineage. He met and spoke to at, Amhara’s elder brother when theFranks captured him at al-Auf’s base.” The Prince nodded.

“What does the doctor know concerning the boy?”

“His family is noble, close to the English King. Despite his youth,al-Amhara’s brother is a formidable fighting mariner, and he has sworna mighty oath to find and rescue his younger brother. Perhaps it isthis family who is behind these enquiries from Zanzibar. We do notknow this for certain, but it would be wise not to ignore thesequestions.” Al -Malik pondered this, then asked, “The English arebuyers and owners of slaves. How can they object to the same practicein others? What can they do to force us to their will? Their land isfar away, at the end of the earth.

They cannot send an army against us.”

“Ben Abram says that the Franks have perfidious ways of making war.They issue fir mn to the captains of their armed merchant ships againsttheir enemies. These men are like sharks, or barracudas. They comefor plunder.”

“Would the English King declare war on us over one child?”

“Ben Abram fears that he might. Not only for the sake of the child butalso for the excuse to send their ships into Our waters, to seize theterritory and the riches of the Omani.”

“I will think on all that you have told me.”

Al-Malik dismissed him.

“Bring Ben Abram and the boy to me here tomorrow after the Zuhrprayers.” arian came to his audience with the Prince consumed by bothtrepidation and excitement at the prospect.

When he had first met the Prince, Dorian had been possessed of no suchqualms: al-Malik had been only another Mussulman, an enemy and a paganchief However, he had learned much since he had been under theinstruction of al-Allama and Ben Abram. He now knew that the Prince’sclaim to royalty stretched back as far as that of the English King, heknew of his exploits as a sailor and a warrior, of the reverence hissubjects felt towards him. In addition to this, the spiritualumbilical cord that bound Dorian to England and Christianity wasunravelling and eroding with time and great distance.

These days he never had opportunity to speak his own language, hethought in Arabic, and had difficulty recalling the English words foreven the simplest ideas. Even his memories of his family werefading.

He thought of his brother Tom only on occasion, and all ideas of escapefrom Lamu had been abandoned. He no longer thought of his state hereon the island as one of captivity. Slowly he was being absorbed intothe Arab world and the Arab way of thought.

Now, confronted with the Prince again, he was overcome with awe andreverence.

When he knelt before al-Malik on the coral stones of the terrace andasked for his blessing, his heart ran faster with surprise and pleasureat the form in which the Prince returned his greeting.

“Come and sit beside me, my son. We have much to discuss.” This regaland impressive man had reaffirmed him as his son in front of thesewitnesses. Dorian felt proud, then experienced a sharp pang ofguilt.

He had a fleeting image of his true father, but the picture in his mindof Hal’s face was blurring.

I will always be true to my real father, he promised himself staunchly,but he obeyed al-Malik’s invitation.

promptly and gladly.

“In my absence you have become a man.” Al-Malik studied him keenly.

“Yes, my lord,” Dorian replied, and had to stop himself addingautomatically, “By the grace of Allah.”

“I can see that this is so.” Al-Malik picked out the outline of firmyoung muscle and breadth of shoulders beneath the kanzu that Dorianwore so naturally.

“And it is therefore fitting that you should relinquish the name of thechild and take in its stead the name of the man. From henceforth youshall be called al-Salil.”

“It is the will of Allah,” al-Allama and Ben Abram said together. Theyboth looked proud and pleased with this honour that the Prince hadaccorded their protege. It redounded to their credit, for the name thePrince had chosen was a propitious one: it meant the Drawn Sword.

“Your beneficence is like the rising of the sun after the dark night,”Dorian replied, and al-Allama nodded his approval at the choice ofwords and their inflection.

“It is also fitting that you should have your own lance–bearer.

“Al-Malik clapped his hands and a young man stepped out onto theterrace with a long, raking stride, like that of a racing camel. Hewas probably fifteen years older than Dorian, in his late twenties, anda warrior by his dress and when. He wore a curved scimitar at hiswaist and carried a round bronze shield on his shoulder.

“This is Batula,” the Prince told him.

“He will make his oath to you.” Batula came to Dorian and knelt infront of him.

“From this day forward you are my liege lord, he said in a strong,clear voice.

“Your enemies are my enemies. Wherever you may ride, I shall carryyour lance and your shield at your right hand.” Dorian put his handupon Batula’s shoulder in acceptance of the pledge, and Batula rose tohis feet. The two young men looked each other in the face, andinstinctively Dorian liked what he saw there. Batula was not handsomeof features, but his face was broad and honest, his nose large andhawkish. When he smiled his teeth were even and white. He wore histhick dark hair oiled with ghee and twisted into a braid over one wideshoulder.

“Batula is an exponent of the lance,” al-Malik said, “and a warriortried in battle. There is much he has to teach you, al-Salil.”

The lance was the weapon of the true Arab horseman. Dorian had watchedthe novices at practice on the field of arms, and had thrilled to thecharge of pounding hoofs, the steely flash of the lance-points as theypicked a suspended brass finger ring out of the air at full charge.

“I shall be a willing pupil, “Dorian promised.

Al-Malik dismissed Batula. When he had left the terrace the Princeresumed, “Very soon I shall undertake another long journey to thenorth, the pilgrimage to Mecca through the sands and the wilderness ofthe deserts. You will accompany me, my son.”

“My heart rejoices that you choose me, great lord.” Al-Malik made thegesture of dismissal, and when Dorian had gone he turned back toal-Allama and Ben Abram.

“You will send a message to the Sultan in Zanzibar on for him to passto the English consul there.” He paused to collect the words, thenwent on, “Tell him that Prince alMalik indeed purchased al-Amhara fromal-Auf. He did this to take the boy under his protection and to shieldhim from harm. Tell him that, despite all al-Malik could do to protecthim, al-Amhara fell sick of a pestilence and that he died a ye or ago.He is buried here on the island of Lamu. Tell him that al-Malik hasspoken thus.” Al-Allama bowed.

“It shall be as you command, Your Excellency.” He was impressed bythis ingenious solution.

“Al-Amhara is dead,” al-Malik went on.

“You will erect a headstone in the cemetery with that name on it. Al,Amhara is dead.

Al-Salil lives on.”

“By God’s grace. “Al-Allama acknowledged the order.

“I shall take the boy with me into the desert and leave him with theSoar to hide him. There in the sands he will learn the warrior’s way.In time the Franks will forget that he once existed.”

“This is a wise decision.”

“Al-Salil is more than a son to me, he is my living talisman. I shallnever yield him to the demands of the Franks,” he said, softly butfirmly.

The Swallow came up the channel, then tacked into the roads ofZanzibar. Ahead there were ten sail of square-rigged ships lying inthe anchorage, besides a mass of Arab dhows. Tom Courtney looked themover carefully. They flew the flags of some of the great tradingnations of the northern hemisphere, with a preponderance of Portugueseand Spaniards.

“Not a Frenchie in sight, Mr. Tyler,” Tom announced, with relief.

He did not relish the complications of sharing a neutral port withships of the enemy.

“No,” agreed Ned.

“But there is at least one East Indiaman.” He pointed out the tallship, a princess of the ocean, displaying the majesty of the Company.

“They will offer us an even frostier welcome than the Frenchies wouldhave done.” Tom grinned recklessly.

“I give not a fig for them,” he said.

“They can do nothing to us outside the courts of England, and we willnot be back there for a while.” And added, under his breath, “Notuntil they drag me there in chains.” He glanced up at his ownmasthead, devoid of any flag.

He had not wanted to announce his nationality.

“As soon as we anchor, I will go ashore to pay a visit to the newconsul,” he told Ned.

He had spoken to the captain of another English ship in Table Bay whenthey broke their long voyage at Good Hope. The captain had told himthat Grey had a successor in the consular office in Zanzibar.

“He is some young fellow sent from Bombay, after Grey was murdered, totake over the consular duties for the Fever Coast, and, of course, moreimportantly, to see to the interest of John Company in those seas.”

“What is his name?” Tom had wanted to know.

“I don’t recall. I’ve never met him, but by all accounts he is surlyand difficult, enchanted by his own importance.” Tom watched as Nedtook the Swallow into the bay, and they dropped the anchor in water soclear they could see the multicoloured fish swarming over the coralheads four fathoms under the keel.

“I will take Aboli ashore with me,” Tom said, as soon as the longboatwas launched.

The two landed on the stone jetty beneath the walls of the oldPortuguese fort and made their way into the narrow streets.

The heat and the stinking bustle were all so familiar that Tom couldhardly credit that it was almost two years since last he had comeashore here. They asked for directions from the Arab harbour master.

“No, no,” he told them.

“The new consulate -is no longer in effendi Grey’s old house in thetown. I will send a boy to show you the way.”

And he picked out one of the ragged urchins from the swarm who werepestering the ferenghi for alms. “This son of Shaitan will guideyou.

Do not give him baksheesh of more than one anna.” The boy dancedahead, leading them out of the jumble of narrow alleys and ramshacklebuildings into the palm groves. Along a sandy road, a mile or morebeyond the last hovel, they came to a large villa behind high walls.

Although the house seemed old, the outer wall had been repairedrecently and painted with burnt lime wash The roof of the main housethat showed above the top of the wall was freshly thatched with palmfronds. There were two brass plaques on the gate. One was engraved:”His Majesty’s Consulate. “Below that was the Company’s emblem oframpant lions and the legend: “Office of the United Company ofMerchants of England Trading to the East Indies.” A servant answeredTom’s ring at the outer gates in the wall, and Tom sent him with a noteto his master. After a few minutes the man returned. Tom left Abolito wait for him in the courtyard and followed him.

The main house was laid out around gardens and fountains in theOriental style of architecture. The ceilings were high but the roomssparsely furnished. There were, however, vases of tropical flowers inthe rooms through which the servant led Tom, and these floraldecorations and the arrangement of cushions on the austere hardwoodfurniture suggested a feminine hand. At last the servant led Tom intoa large room with stone floors and bookcases lining the walls.

“Please to wait here, effendi. The master will come soon.” Left tohimself, Tom looked up at the slowly revolving fan and the arrangementof lines and pulleys that led through a hole in the wall to where aslave pulled rhythmically on a line to keep the fan turning.

Tom walked to the writing-desk in the centre of the floor, and glancedat the quill stand and ink-pot, set out precisely, and at the piles ofdocuments bound with red ribbon and stacked with military precision.Then he turned from the desk and wandered along the bookshelves, tryingto divine from their contents the character of the man he had come tomeet. The shelves were filled with heavy ledgers and bound reportswith the Company emblem embossed on al nature on display the spine.There was nothing of a person the room had a soulless feel to it.

and He was alerted by a footstep on the flags on the terrace courtyard,and he turned outside the entrance to the inner c just as a tall, leanfigure appeared in the doorway. The bright tropical sun was behindhim, so Tom did not recognize him. the consul stopped and let his eyesadjust to the at once gloom of the room after the brilliant sunshineoutside. He as dressed in a sober black serge costume with a whitelace w collar.

Then he stepped into the room and removed the wide brimmed black hatfrom his head . Tom saw his face clearly for the first time. For along moment his astonishment was so intense that he could neither movenor speak. Then he laughed and started forward.

“Guy” Is it really you?” ImPulsively he opened his arms to embrace histwin brother.

it was obvious that Guy Courtney’s surprise was as great as Tom’s. Ahost of differing emotions showed briefly on his as and stiff, andface, then were gone. His features became cold he stepped back fromTom’s embrace.

“Thomas,” he said.

“I had no idea that it was you. You signed a false name on yournote.”

“Neither had I any idea that it was you,” Tom said, and let hiswelcoming arms fall to his sides. He avoided the accusation of using afalse name. He had deemed it wise not to use his real name here, incase by some strange chance a warrant for the murder of William hadreached Zanzibar ahead of him. He watched Guy’s expression for somesign that this had happened, and judged that he could not rely on histwin to shelter him from justice.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute, which seemed to Tomlike all eternity. Then Guy held out his right hand. With relief Tomtook it.

Guy’s grip was limp and his flesh as cool as his expression.

He dropped Tom’s hand after only a brief contact, then turned away tohis desk.

“Please be seated, Thomas.” He indicated the -high-backed chair acrossthe room, without looking directly at his brother.

“I

trust that you have not d to these waters to indulge in any form oftrade. The returne fact that you use an assumed name makes me thinkthat that t once, he went may be the case. “When Tom did not reply aon,”I must warn you that my first loyalty is to the Company,” he madeit sound as though he was invoking the name of land I will immediatelysend a report to London.” God, feeling his anger boil up swiftly.

Tom stared at him, “Merciful heavens, Guy, is that your first concern?Are we not brothers? Do you not want to know about Father andDorian?”

“I am already aware of Father s death. The Company ship that lies inthe harbour this day brought me a letter from Lord Childs and from ourbrother William in England,” Guy replied. Tom felt a surge of reliefat this confirmation that he had not yet heard of William’s death.

Guy replaced the quill in its holder, and went on, “I have mournedFather’s passing in my own s nothing more to say on way so there i thatscore.” His mouth hardened.

“Besides, you were always his favourite. I meant little to him.”

“That is not true, Guy. Father loved us all equally,” Tom burst out.

“So you say.” Guy shrugged.

“As for Dorian, I heard that he was lost at sea, drowned and dead.”

“No, he was not.” Tom made no effort to keep his voice down.

“He was captured by the Mussulmen and sold into slavery.” Guy laughedwithout humour.

“You were always one for a wild tale. I assure you as His Majesty’sconsul in these territories I have access to the most reliable sourcesof information.” Despite his denial, Tom thought he detected ashiftiness in his expression.

“I was there, damn you, Guy. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Guy seated himself behind the desk and fiddled with the quill, strokinghis own cheek with the plume.

“Ah, you actually saw him sold into slavery? How surprising that youdid nothing to prevent it.”

“No, you puffed-up jackanapesP Tom bellowed. (I know that he was inthe power of the Mussulman pirates, captured and not dead or drowned. Ialso know for certain that he was sold into slavery.”

“What proof do you-” Guy started, but Tom strode to the desk andslammed his hands on the top so that ink spurted up and splattered thepiles of documents.

“The testimony of the Arabs we captured at Flor de la and proof of myown eyes and senses. Dorian is alive, I tell you, and it is your dutyas a brother and an Englishman to help me find him.”

Guy leaped to his feet. His face was icy pale, his eyes blazing.

“How dare you come here into my house, into my territory, in your oldoverweening, blustering style and dictate to me what I must do?” hescreamed at Tom, drops Of spittle flying from his lips.

“Sweet Christ, Guy, don’t tempt me further. I’ll whip the hide offyour craven back if you don’t do your duty by our little brother.”

“Those days are long past, Thomas Courtney. I am the master here, thechosen representative of His Majesty and of the Company. You will findyourself thrown into prison, your fine ship seized and confiscated ifyou raise a hand to me.” He was shaking with rage.

“Don’t you dare preach to me, not after what you did to Caroline!” Hisvoice rose to a shriek at her name, and Tom recoiled As though struckin the chest by a musket-ball.

At the same time Guy stepped back, clearly appalled by what he hadallowed to slip past his tongue in anger. @ Tom was cast intoconfusion by the accusation, which had struck home. They stared ateach other speechlessly, and in the silence a small sound made themboth turn to the door that led in from the garden.

A woman stood there. She was dressed in a pale green dress of Chinesesilk, with slashed sleeves and high neck.

Her full skirts covered her ankles and only the toes of her slippersshowed. She was staring at Tom as though at her ghost. One handclutched her throat, the other held

OIAM

the hand of the child who toddled beside her.

What are you doing here, Caroline?” Guy roared.

“You know well that you may not come here when I have O visitors.”

“I heard voices.” Caroline faltered. Her hair was piled high in curlsupon her head and ringlets hung down on her cheeks, but Tom saw thatshe was sallow of countenonce, as though she had recently risen from asick-bed.

“I

heard my name called out.” She was still staring at Tom.

The child was in a smock and ribbons. His head was covered with blondcurls and Tom had the impression of an angelic little face and perfectpink lips.

The Monsoon

“Who’s that man?” said the infant, and pointed at Tom with achuckle.

“Take Christopher out of here” Guy shouted at Caroline.

“Immediately!”

Caroline seemed not to have heard him.

“Tom?” she said, in a wondering, bemused tone.

“I never thought to see you again.” Christopher hung on her hand andtried to take an unsteady step towards him, but she pulled him backgently.”How are you, Tom?”

“In good health,” Tom replied awkwardly, “as I trust you are.”

“I have been ill Caroline whispered, staring at him.

She moistened her lips.

“Since the birth of our-” She paused, blushing and thrown intoconfusion.

“The birth of Christopher.”

“I am sorry.” A shadow of regret passed over Tom’s

Your family. How are your parents and your sisters?” He had to thinkof their names.

“Agnes and Sarah?”

“My father was appointed Governor of Bombay. He arranged the post ofconsul here in Zanzibar for Guy.” She glanced nervously at herhusband, who was still glaring at her.

“My mother died of the cholera a year ago.”

“I am so sorry,” Tom interjected.

“She was a delightful lady.”

“Thank you.” Caroline inclined her head sadly.

“My sister Agnes married in Bombay.” WI “But she was so young!” Tomprotested, remembering those two tomboy sisters from the Seraph.

“She is no longer a child. She is seventeen,” Caroline corrected him.They were silent again, and Guy sank down into his chair, no longertrying to assert his authority over his wife.

Involuntarily, Tom looked down at the child who clung to Caroline’sskirts.

“He is a beautiful child.” He raised his eyes back to her face.

She nodded, as though to a question that had not been uttered.

“Yes,” she said.

“He is like his father.” Tom had an almost irresistible urge to go tothe laughing infant and pick him up.

Instead he stepped back a pace to prevent himself doing so.

“Caroline!” Guy intervened again, even more forcibly.

“I have business to conduct. Please take Christopher away.”

Caroline seemed to droop, and a desperate look came into her eyes asshe studied Tom’s face.

“It was good to see you again, Tom.

Perhaps you will be able to visit us while YOU are in Zanzibar. Couldyou come to dine with us here at the consulate one evening?” There wasa wistful note in the question.

“I do not think Thomas will be here long enough to make social calls.”Guy came to his feet again, and frowned at her, as if to silence her.

“That is a great pity,” Caroline said.

“Then I will say farewell now.” She picked up the little boy.

“Goodbye, Tom.”

“Goodbye, Caroline.” Carrying Christopher, she went through the doorwith a swish of silken skirts. The child looked back solemnly over hismother’s shoulder at Tom.

For long after they had gone, both brothers were silent.

Then Guy said, in a controlled, cold voice, “You are to keep away frommy family. I will not tolerate you speaking to my wife again. Ichallenged you to a duel once before. I will again, if you provokeme.”

“It would give me little pleasure to have to kill you.

You were never a swordsman, Guy,” Tom said, and he thought of William.The guilt was still a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“I have no wish to intrude on your private life. From now on, we willtouch only on matters of business. Can we agree on that?”

“Distasteful as I find any contact with you, I agree, Guy replied.

“And the first matter of business is for me to repeat my question. Doyou intend to indulge in any form of trade in these waters? I havereports from the harbour that your ship is heavily laden. Do you havea trading licence from the Company? Do you carry trade goods?”

“We are eight thousand miles from London. We are beyond the line, sir,and I do not recognize your authority in English law to interfere withme or question my intentions.” Tom kept his temper under control withan effort.

“My first concern is only with Dorian. Have you made enquiry with theSultan of Zanzibar concerning him?” Guy became agitated.

“I have had no reason to approach the Sultan on the subject, and Iforbid you to do so. I have managed to establish cordial relationswith him.

He is now favourably inclined towards England and the Company. I donot wish to have that state of affairs disturbed by anyone makingaccusations against his sovereign lord, Prince al-Malik.” Tom’sexpression changed abruptly.

“How did you know that al-Malik was the one who bought Dorian as aslave? I never mentioned that name.” Guy looked confused, and wassilent for many seconds as he searched for a reply.

“Al-Malik is the sovereign overlord of this coast. It was natural forme to assume-2

“By God, Guy! It was not natural for you to assume anything! You knowsomething about what has happened to Dorian. If you don’t tell me, Iwill go to the Sultan myself.”

“You will not!” Guy sprang to his feet.

“I will not have you destroying all my work here.”

“You cannot stop me.”

“Listen to me.” Guy changed his tone.

“Very well, I will tell you the truth. I also heard these rumoursabout a white boy with red hair in the hands of the Arabs.

Naturally I thought of Dorian, so I made enquiries of the Sultan.

He promised to send a messenger to Prince alMalik to find out thetruth. I am waiting to hear from the Prince.”

“Why did you lie to me?

Why did you not tell me this at once?” Tom demanded.

“Why did I have to force it out of you?”

“Because I know you well. I did not want you rushing in andantagonizing the Sultan. My dealings with him are very sensitive.”

“How long ago did you make these enquiries?” Tom demanded.

“I want you to keep out of this.” Guy sidestepped the question inspite of Tom’s insistence.

“I have the whole business in my own hands.”

“How long ago?”

“Some time ago.” Guy looked down at his desk.

“Dealings with the Arabs take time.”

“When?” Tom came to him and thrust his face to Guy’s.

“When I first arrived here on the island,” Guy admitted.

“A year a2o.”

“A year ago?” Tom shouted.

“A year ago! Well, believe me, I will not wait that long. I will goto the Sultan this very day, and demand an answer.”

“I forbid it!” Guy cried.

“I am the consul!”

“Forbid all you will, Guy,” Tom told him grimly.

“I am on my way now to the fort.”

“I will send a full report of your behaviour to Lord Childs in London,”Guy threatened desperately.

“The Company ship in the harbour now will sail within days for England.Lord Childs will bring the full wrath of the Company down upon you.”

“There is no threat you can make that will stop me searching forDorian. Send all the reports you wish, Guy, but it will be a year andmore before you receive a reply.

By then I will be a thousand miles away, with Dorian in my care.”

“Leave this house at once, sir!” Guy shouted.

“And don’t dare set foot on my threshold again.”

“That is an invitation very much to-my taste, sir. “Tom crammed hishat back onto his head.

“I wish you good morrow He strode to the door without looking back, andsmiled as Guy yelled after him, “I forbid you to go near the Sultan@spalace. I shall send word to him at once that you are an interloperand do not have the protection of His Majesty, the Company, or thisoffice.” Tom strode back along the sandy path towards the harbour, andAboli had to step out to keep up with him. Aboli had had no reply tohis initial questions so he was silent as he followed Tom.

Tom was in a black rage. He wanted to storm into the Sultan’s fortabove the harbour, take the heathen swine by the throat and choke theanswers out of him. But he was at least able to recognize that hisemotions were out of control, that once again he was on the verge ofcommitting some violent act that could bring disaster on hisenterprise.

I must get back on board the Swallow where I can do no more harm tomyself, and talk to Aboli and Ned before I act, he told himself, buthis hand strayed to the hilt of the blue Neptune sword, and his angerflew off on another tack. By God! If, to save Dorian, I have to takethe little Swallow in against the whole Mussulman fleet, I will notflinch.

There was a shout behind him, so faint that at first it did notpenetrate his rage. Then there was the sound of galloping hoofs andthe shout came again.

“Tom! Wait!

Wait for me! I must talk to you.” Tom swung round and glared backdown the track.

The horse came racing towards him, the rider leaning low on its neck,white sand spurting from under the hoofs.

“Tom!” This time he realized that it was a woman’s voice. As thehorse came closer he saw skirts billowing out behind and long hairblowing on the wind. His rage was forgotten in an instant, and hestared at her in astonishment.

She was riding astride and bareback, and he saw the flash of pale legsgripping the horse’s flanks, naked to well above the knees where herskirts had tucked up. She lifted one slim arm and waved at him.

“Tom!” Despite her use of his Christian name, he did not recognizeher. She brought the bay mare to a plunging halt beside where hestood, and in a rustle of skirts swung down to the ground. She tossedthe reins to Aboli.

“Hold her, please, Aboli,” she said. The big man roused himself fromhis shock, and grabbed the reins.

“Tom! Oh, Tom!” The strange girl ran to him, and threw her armsaround his neck. I thought I would never see you again.” She huggedhim tightly, then stepped back and seized both his hands.

“Let me look at you.” She stared into his face, and he stared back.

Her long hair was a soft brown, but her face was not beautiful the jawtoo strong, her mouth too wide, especially when she smiled, as she wasnow. Her eyes were bright English blue, sparkling at him through longlashes.

He saw at once that her skin was her main ornament. It was withoutblemish, but lightly touched by the tropical sun to an unfashionablegolden brown. She was almost as tall as he was, her eyes lookingstraight into his, and she held herself easily and confidently with aboyish thrust of the hips and set of the shoulders.

“You don’t recognize me, do you, Tom?” She laughed at him.

He shook his head dumbly. He found her face riveting, her eyes full offun and alive with intelligence.

“Forgive me, madam,” he faltered.

“You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Madam indeed!” she chided him.

“I am Sarah.” She shook his hands.

“Sarah Beatty, Caroline’s little sister. You used to call me thegadfly.

“Why are you always buzzing around my head like a gadfly, Sarah?”" shemimicked.

“Now do you remember?”

“Sweet heavens, how you have changed!” he exclaimed in astonishmentand, despite himself, looked down at the shapely swell of full breastsunder her bodice.

“As you have, Tom. What happened to your nose?” He touched the end inembarrassment.

“It was broken.”

“Poor Tom.” She made a face of mock sympathy.

“But it suits you well enough. Oh, Tom, it’s so good to see you.” Shelinked her arm through his and led him down the track towards the town.Aboli fell in behind them at a respectful distance.

“I heard your voice when you were shouting at Guy. I could not believeit was yours, although I recognized it immediately.” She gave him aroguish sideways glance.

“So I listened outside the door. Guy would have beaten me if he hadcaught me at it.”

“Does he beat you?”

Tom bristled protectively.

“We will see to that.”

“Oh, shush, don’t be a booby. I can look after myself But let’s notwaste time talking of Guy. I can only stay a moment. They will missme, and send the servants to look for me.”

“Sarah, there is so much we have to discuss.”

Tom felt strangely bereft at the thought of parting from her so soon.

Her arm through his was strong and warm. There was a light fragrancearound her, like an aura, that stirred something deep inside him.

“I know. I heard you talking to Guy about little Dorian.

We all loved Dorian. I want to help you.” She thought quickly.

“There is an old ruined Jesuit monastery near the south point of theisland. I will meet you there tomorrow, at two bells in the afternoonwatch.” She laughed at him”

“You see? I remember all the sailor’s things you taught me Will you bethere?”

“Of course.” She released his arm, turned back to Aboli and embracedhim.

“Do you remember how we used to play horsey, Aboli? You carried me onyour back.” A smile lit Aboli’s face, transforming it.

“Miss Sarah, you have grown beautiful!”

She took the reins from him.

“Hand me up!” He cupped a huge palm and when she stepped into it heboosted her easily onto the mare’s back.

She flashed a last smile at Tom.

“Don’t forget” she warned him.

She wheeled and slapped her heels into the mare’s flanks.

Tom watched her gallop away.

“No,” he said softly.

“I won’t forget.” flendi, my master the Sultan is indisposed. He isnot able to receive any visitors, not even those as important as yourexalted self.” The vizier sneered at Tom. The harbour was filled withthe ships of the Franks, all of their captains clamouring for anaudience with his master, all seeking favours, licences to trade,permission to visit the forbidden territories further to the north.

“When will he see me?” Tom demanded.

“The vizier pursed his mouth with disapproval at such a crass, unsubtlequestion. He knew that this young infidel commanded a tiny vessel thatcould carry little in the way of goods for trade, and he did not havethe smell of gold about him.

He was hardly worthy of serious attention. Yet he was unusual: hespoke good intelligible Arabic, and understood the etiquette ofbusiness, he had offered suitable gifts to smooth the path to theSultan.

“That is in the hands of Allah.”

“The vizier shrugged gracefully.

“Perhaps a week, perhaps a month, I do not know.”

“I will be back here tomorrow morning, and every day thereafter untilthe Sultan agrees to see me,” Tom assured him.

“And I will wait for your return each day, as the drought, struck earthawaits the rains,” said the vizier blandly.

Aboli was waiting for him at the gates of the fort, and Tom raised aneyebrow in reply to his unspoken question.

He was too angry and frustrated to speak. They retraced their stepsthrough the spice market, where the air was filled with the aroma ofcloves and pepper, past the whipping-block in the slave market wheresome incorrigible woman was chained with the flesh of her back hangingin bloody festoons, down the street of the gold merchants, to the stonequay of the harbour where the longboat waited.

As he took his seat in the stern sheets Tom glanced up at the sky tojudge the angle of the sun, then pulled the silver Tompion watch fromhis pocket and flipped open the cover.

“Row me around to the south point of the island,” he ordered. He hadchecked his chart the previous night, and found that the ruins of theold Jesuit monastery were marked upon it. A small cove close by shouldprovide a landing.

As the rowers pulled down the channel, close in to the coral reef thatshowed its teeth through the snoring surf, Tom felt his ill@ humourevaporate in the gay sunshine at the prospect of his rendezvous withSarah.

Ahead of the longboat he saw the swells of the open sea beating withmore force on the unprotected south point of the island. When he stoodup and studied the shore ahead, he could pick out the course of thefresh, water stream marked by lush green vegetation as it ran down intothe lagoon. There was always a pass through the reef where the sweetwater inhibited the growth of the coral. As they came level with thestream he made out the deeper water of the pass and steered through it.The beach was deserted and there was no mark of a keel upon it. Tomjumped from the bows onto the hard white sand without wetting hisboots.

“I will be back in an hour or SO,” he told Aboli.

“Wait for me.”

He found an overgrown path that ran beside the stream, and forced hisway along it, moving inland until it came out into the open groves ofthe palm trees. He saw the ruins of the monastery ahead. He increasedhis pace,

and as he came under the tumbled walls he called out sharply, “Sarah?Are you there?” There was a shriek as a flock of parakeets explodedout of the upper branches of a ho tree, whose roots were embedded inthe tumbled stone blocks, but no other sound.

He continued on around the base of the walls, then heard a horse whinnyjust ahead of him. He ran forward, unable to restrain himself fromshowing his eagerness, and found the mare tied in the fallen gateway.Her saddle was stacked at the base of the wall, but there was no signof , her rider.

He was about to call again but thought better of it, and went oncautiously through the gateway. The building was roofless, overgrownwith weed and newly germinated valm shoots from fallen coconuts.Blue-headed lizards scurried away among the stones, and butterflieswith brilliant wings floated above the tops of the flowers.

He stood in the centre of the ancient courtyard, and placed his handson his hips. He remembered her mischievous ways from long ago. It wasclear that she had not improved, that she was hiding from him.

“I am going to count to ten,” he shouted, as he had when she was just ashrimp, “and then I am coming to get you.” Once that threat had beenenough to send her and her sister squealing for cover.

“One!” he counted, and her voice came from high above him.

“Guy says that you ravish young virgins.”

He spun round and saw her perched high on the arch of the gateway, herlong legs dangling over the edge, her calves exposed beneath the hem ofher skirts and her feet bare. He had walked right underneath her.

“He says that no decent Christian girl is safe when you are on theprowl.” She put her head on one side.

“Is that true?”

“Guy is a fool.” Tom grinned up at her.

“Guy does not like you very much. No brotherly warmth in his heart.”Sarah started to swing her legs, and he stared at them. They weresmooth and sha ely.

“Is Christopher truly yours?” Tom almost reeled at the directness ofher question.

“Who told you that?” He tried to recover his composure.

“Caroline did,” she replied.

“She hasn’t stopped crying since she saw you yesterday.” Tom stared upat her, and all she had told him in those few sentences left him inconfusion. He could think of nothing to say.

“If I come down, will you promise not to pounce on me and give me ababy also?” she asked sweetly, and stood up.

He felt a tremor of concern as she balanced easily on top of therickety wall, and found his voice.

“Have a care.

You will fall.” As if she had not heard, she ran along the narrow topof the wall, jumping down from tier to tier until she could hop downthe last few feet to the ground. She was as nimble as an acrobat.

“I brought a picnic basket for us to share.” She walked past himfurther into the ruins, and he followed her to one of the ancientmonks” cells, which although roofless and open to the sky was shadedfrom the slanting sun. She pulled out the basket from where she hadhidden it under a pile of palm fronds. She seated herself, twisting upher legs beneath her in that double-jointed feminine attitude that hefound so appealing. She arranged her skirts artlessly, giving himanother heart-stopping glimpse of those lovely calves.

She opened the basket and, as she set out the contents, she asked, “Didyou go to see the Sultan?”

“He refused me.” Tom sat down facing her, leaning his back against oneof the blocks and crossing his legs.

“Of course! Guy sent word to him to warn him you were coming.”

She changed the subject with bewildering rapidity. I helped myself toa bottle of wine from his cellar.” She held it up like a trophy.

“It’s French, and came on the last ship from home.” She read thelabel.

“Carton Charlemagne.

Is that good?”

“I don’t know,” Tom admitted, “but it sounds impressive.”

“Guy says it’s superb. My brother-in-law fancies himself a greatconnoisseur. He is terribly proud of it. He would be furious if heknew we were drinking it. I am allowed only half a glass at supper.

Will you open it?” She passed it to Tom, and set out platters of piesand cold meat.

“I was truly sorry to hear about the death of your father,” she said,and her face was sad suddenly.

“He was so kind to me and my family on the voyage out to Good Hope.”

“Thank you,” Tom replied, as he popped the cork out of the bottle,turning away to hide the shadow that passed across his face.

She sensed his sorrow and smiled to cheer him again.

“If my own father hadn’t arranged the post of consul for Guy, he wouldstill be a clerk in Bombay. He isn’t such a Lord High and Mighty as heimagines he is.” She put on a solemn expression that was so faithfulan imitation of his brother that Tom’s mood changed and he grinned, asshe mimicked Guy’s pompous tone and inflection. “”I am the youngestconsul in the service of His Majesty. I shall have a knighthood beforeI am thirty.”" Tom guffawed. She was a delight to be with.

Then swiftly she changed again and became serious.

“Oh, Tom, what are we going to do about poor little Dorian? Guydoesn’t really care. All he worries about is the Company’s trade withthe Arabs, and Lord Childs in London. He won’t do anything to offendthe Sultan and the Prince.” Tom’s expression again became grim.

“I

will not let Guy or the Omani divert me. I have a fine, fast ship, andif they force me to it, I shall use it.”

“I know exactly how you are suffering, Tom. I feel as though Dorian ismy own brother. I will do everything I can to help you. But you mustbe ca refill Guy says that the Prince has forbidden any Christianships to go further north than Zanzibar, under penalty of seizure. Hesays that the Arabs will sell the crews into slavery if they transgressthis decree.” She leaned across and placed her hand on his forearm.Her fingers were long and tapered. They felt cool against his skin.

“It will be terribly dangerous. I couldn’t bear it if anythinghappened to you, dear Tom.”

“I can look after my ship and my crew,” he assured her, but her touchwas distracting.

“I know you can.” She withdrew her hand, and sparkled at him.

“Pour Guy’s wine.” She set out two pewter cups.

“Let’s see if it is as good as he boasts.” She took a sip.

“Mmm!”

she murmured.

“You had best keep the bottle beside you. Caroline says that ravishersply their innocent victims with strong drink before having their waywith them.” She widened her eyes.

“And I don’t want a child like Caroline. Not today, at least.” Shehad a way of keeping him off-balance. The blouse she wore had slippeddown to expose one shoulder, but she did not seem to have noticed.

“Agnes has a baby now too.

She married a Captain Hicks in the Company army at Bombay. It seemsboth my sisters are brood mares. It may run in the family, so I haveto be very careful. You aren’t marr led, are you, Tom?”

“No.”

His voice was husky. The skin on her shoulder and arm was smooth andsun-gilded and there were colourless hairs on her forearms, fine assilk, that caught the sun.

“That’s good. So what are we going to do about Dorian? Do you want meto spy on Guy and find out everything I can? I don’t think he willtell you much himself”

“I would be most grateful for your help.”

“I can go through all his correspondence and eavesdrop on hisvisitors.

There is a hole in the wall where the ropes for the fan go through.

It makes a fine confessional.” She looked mightily pleased withherself.

“But, of course, we will have to meet here regularly so that I canreport to you.” Tom found that prospect far from distasteful.

“Do you remember the concerts we used to have in the evenings on boardthe Seraph?” she asked, and burst spontaneously into the chorus of”Spanish Ladies’. Her voice was true and unaffected, and Tom,tone-deaf as he was, was stirred by it.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he was sorry when shestopped.

“What happened to Master Walsh, our teacher?” she asked.

“He was such a funny little man.”

“He is with me on the Swallow.” And he went on to tell her about allthe crew she remembered from the Seraph.

She wept when he told her how Big Daniel Fisher had died, and he wantedto take her in his arms to comfort her. Instead he changed thesubject, and told her about how they had captured the Swallow, andabout the long voyage out.

She listened raptly, wiped away the tears, and applauded his courageand ingenuity. Soon she was chatting easily again, flitting fromsubject to subject, as though she had stored up a hundred questions forhim in the years they had been apart.

Tom was intrigued. The longer he studied her face the more he decidedthat his first appraisal had been in error.

Perhaps her features were not pretty, her nose and mouth were toolarge, her jaw too square, but put together with the animation andspirit that lit them he decided she was almost beautiful. Her eyescrinkled when she laughed, and she had a little trick of lifting herchin when she asked a question, which he liked.

The shadows moved out across the courtyard as they talked.

Suddenly she broke off in the middle of a hilarious description of herfamily’s arrival in Bombay, and their reaction to the unfamiliar,exotic new world.

“Oh, Tom, it’s late. The time went so quickly. I have stayed too longHastily she gathered up the plates and empty wine cups.

“I must go. Guy will be furious if he even suspects where I havebeen.”

“Guy is not your master.” Tom frowned.

“He is the master of our household. My father placed me in his carewhen Mother died. For Caroline’s sake, I have to humour him. He takesout his ill-temper on her.”

“Are you happy living with Guy and Caroline, Sarah?” He felt that evenin the short time they had spent together he knew her well enough toask such a delicate question.

“I can think of other circumstances which would please me better” shesaid, almost inaudibly, without looking up from the picnic basket.

Then she pulled on her discarded shoes and jumped to her feet.

Tom picked up the basket and she placed one slim hand on his arm as ifshe needed to steady herself over the uneven ground. It was only ashort time ago, though, that he had seen her dancing along the top ofthe high wall.

“When will you come again to give me report of what Guy is doing?”

Tom asked, as he lifted the pannier basket onto the mare’s back.

“Not tomorrow, I have promised to help Caroline with Christopher, butthe next day, at the same time.” He placed his hands on her waist andlifted her up into the saddle. He hoped she realized the strength thatthat simple act had required for she was no delicate lily of a girl.Today she was riding side-saddle.

She hooked one leg around the horn, and he helped her arrange her longskirts. Then she looked down at him 4 .1 as he stood by her stirrup.

“Oh, Tom,” she said impulsively, “it’s been such fun. Life on theisland is so restricted and boring.

Guy won’t even let me go into the town on my own. I cannot lastremember when I enjoyed myself so much.” Then she seemed overcome byembarrassment at her lack of restraint. Without waiting for hisresponse she urged the mare away, and raced off down the sandy paththrough the palm groves. She sat tall and regal in the saddle.

s Tom came up the causeway from the harbour and passed below theportcullis of the fort, he saw Ltwo men coming towards him, deep inconversation. He caught a snatch of their words as they passed him,enough to be sure that they were speaking English, and he turned backafter them.

“God love you, gentlemen,” he called, “it’s good to hear the Christiantongue spoken in this heathen land. May I introduce myself? RobertDavenport.” He used the pseudonym he had chosen to protect himselffrom the murder warrant that he knew must follow him.

The two Englishmen turned to face him, their expressions guarded.

Only then Tom recognized them as the captain and one of the officersfrom the East Indiaman in the harbour. He had seen them rowed ashorefrom the ship earlier in the day.

“I hope you have enjoyed a good voyage thus far?” Tom asked, when theyhad reluctantly introduced themselves and shaken hands, still stiff andreserved.

“I presume that you are coming from an audience of the Sultan?”

“Yes.” The captain nodded curtly. He did not volunteer furtherinformation, and Tom had to fish again.

“What is the fellow like? This will be my first meeting with him.

Does he speak any English?”

“He speaks only his own God-forsaken lingo,” the man replied.

“I wish you luck in your dealings with him.

He is a crafty devil, and you will need all the luck you can muster.”

He bowed.

“And now if you will excuse me, sir ..

Tom strode into the fort, his anger bubbling over. He now had proof ofwhat Sarah had told him. At the instigation of Guy, his own brother,the vizier was fobbini, him off.

A servant of the vizier tried to delay him in & antechamber, but Tombrushed past him: he knew his way to the inner cabinet. He jerkedaside the thick silk curtains that covered the doorway and bargedthrough.

The vizier was seated on the low platform at the left side of the room.The room stank of incense and hashish.

There was a writing-tablet in front of him and a secret an beside him,offering documents one at a time for his signature. The vizier lookedup, startled by Tom’s precipitate entrance.

“A minute ago I spoke to the English captain who was coming from anaudience of His Excellency,” Tom announced.

“I was pleased to hear that the Sultan has recovered so swiftly fromhis indisposition,” he went on, in Arabic, “for this means that he isnow able to meet me, and respond to my petition.” The vizier scrambledto his feet, but Tom brushed past him, making for the doorway beyond.

“You cannot go in there!” he cried fearfully, but Tom ignored him.

“Guard!” the vizier shouted.

“Stop that man.” A big man in a long robe and half-armour appeared inthe doorway and blocked Tom’s way. He had his hand on the pommel ofthe sheathed scimitar on his belt. Tom stepped up to him, and seizedhis sword arm at the wrist.

The guard tried to draw his weapon but Tom held his arm, and crushedhis wrist in a vicious grip that made him wince, looking ever hisshoulder into the room beyond.

“Greetings, mighty lord,” he called to the man who reclined on a moundof cushions.

“I call down all the blessings of Allah upon you, and offer you myhumble and dutiful respects. I beg to address you on a matter ofmercy.

As the Prophet Himself has said, the small child and the widow aredeserving of our compassion.” The Sultan blinked at him, and satupright. He wore a jacket of heavily brocaded silk over scarlet pantaa st loons, gathered at the waist with a girdle of gold filigree.

His turban was scarlet to match his trousers, and his beard was bushyand thick. He tugged at it nervously. He had not expected to beconfronted by this barbaric Frank, quoting the sacred words of theKoran at him.

The vizier had run after Tom. Now he thrust himself between them.

“Forgive me, lord, I tried to stop him. This is the mean and worthlessunbeliever of whom I told you.

I will call the guard to have him removed.”

“Let him be,” the Sultan said.

“I will listen to what he has to say.” Tom released the guard’s wristand pushed him aside.

“This mean and worthless unbeliever thanks the mighty Sultan AllMuhammad, and presents his humble respects.” His words were so much atodds with his behaviour that the Sultan smiled.

“Speak to me, then, on this compassionate matter,” he invited.

“I seek a child, my own brother. He was lost two years ago. I havegood reason to suspect that he is being held captive in the territoriesof the Omani.” The Sultan’s expression became guarded.

“My brother is a subject of His Majesty King William the Third.

There is a treaty between your Caliph and our King which forbids theenslavement of their subjects.”

“I know who you are.” The Sultan held up his hand to silence Tom.

“I have heard from the English consul concerning you. I have alsoreceived enquiries from the consul about this child. These matters arebeing investigated. There is nothing more I can tell you until Ireceive a reply from the court of the Caliph in Muscat.”

“It is a year and more since,” Tom began angrily, but the Sultanstopped him.

“I am sure that you must realize the folly of arousing the displeasureof the Caliph by importuning him on such a trivial matter as this.”

“It is no trivial matter,” Tom protested.

“My family i!

noble, and wields much influence.”

“To the Caliph, it is a trivial matter. However, His Majesty is a manof great compassion. We can rest assures that we will hear from him ifhe can tell us anything about the boy. He will reply to these querieswhen he have something to tell us. In the meantime we must wait uponhis grace.”

“How long?”

Tom demanded.

“How long must we wait?”

“As long as is necessary.”

The Sultan made the gesture Of dismissal.

“Next time you burst in upon me like an enemy I will treat you as one,Englishman he warned coldly.

When Tom had been led away, the Sultan summoned his vizier and the manprostrated himself before him.

“Forgive me, mighty lord. I am dust before you. I tried to preventthat mad Frank-” The Sultan silenced him with a wave of his hand.

Send word to the English consul that I wish to speak to himimmediately.” Guy went down to the fort yesterday. The Sultan sentfor him,” Sarah told Tom.

“When he came back he had a black dog on his back. He beat one of thegrooms senseless, and shouted at Caroline and me.”

“He didn’t beat you?” Tom asked.

“I swear I will thrash him into a pulp if he raises a hand to you.”

“He tried that only once.”

Sarah laughed, and shook out her hair so that it danced in the monsoonwind.

“I doubt he will do so again. I broke one of his precious Chinesevases over his head. It didn’t bleed much, but he behaved as if he wasdying. But enough of that! I was giving you my report.”

“Stand by aboud” Tom interrupted her, and she jumped to the mi zenhalyard of the little felucca. She was learning the ropes quickly andwas already a handy crew.

Tom had hired the craft in Zanzibar harbour for a few rupees a day, andthey laid her on a tack to round the south point of the island. ThenSarah came back to sit beside him.

“So, after throwing the entire household into pandemonium, Guy spentthe rest of the afternoon in his room.

At supper he spoke hardly a word, but drank two bottles of port, andanother of Madeira. It took two servants to help Caroline and me carryhim up to bed.”

“So my twin has become a sot?” Tom asked.

“No, it was most unusual, the first time I have seen him drink himselfinto a stupor. You seem to have a strange effect on people.”

She made the double-edged remark with such insouciance that Tom was notcertain how to interpret it. She went on lightly, “After we had tuckedhim up, and Caroline was beside him in the bed, I went down to hisoffice, and found he had written a sheaf of letters. I made copies ofthose that concern us.” She pulled out the folded pages from thepocket of her skirt.

“This one is to Lord Childs, and this to your brother William.” Shehanded them to him and the sheets fluttered in her hand.

“Take the tiller.” He handed it to her, and Sarah perched up on thetransom, her skirts pulled up to her knees to let the sun and wind playon her skin. With an effort Tom averted his eyes from those long,strong limbs and focused his attention on the papers. He frowned as heread the first letter, and as he continued the frown turned into a darkscowl.

“The treacherous bastard!” he exclaimed, then was immediatelycontrite.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to use rough language.” She laughed,crinkling her eyes.

“If Guy is a bastard that makes you one also. We had better chooseanother description. How about toad or bunghole?” Tom felt himselfblush, he had not expected to be outdone in the use of invective.Hurriedly he switched his attention back to the letter to William. Itwas an eerie feeling to read words directed to the man he had killed.

When he finished reading he tore both letters to shreds and threw themup into the air. They watched them fly away like white gulls on thewind.

“So tell me about your audience with the Sultan. Every last detail,”Sarah demanded.

Before replying Tom stood up and went to the foot Of the mast. Helowered the lateen sail, and immediately the motion of the feluccachanged: she no longer plunged and wrestled with the wind, but gaveherself to it like a lover, with a gentle swoop and climb. He wentback and sat close to Sarah, but not quite touching her.

“I had to force my way into his inner cabinet,” he said, “but I hadarmed myself with a quotation from the Koran.” He described themeeting to her, repeating the exchanges word for word, and she listenedsolemnly, not interrupting once, which he realized even from theirshort acquaintance was unusual.

Once or twice during the recital Tom lost the thread and repeatedhimself. Her eyes were wide-set, and the whites were clear and sowhite that they seemed to be :”I@, tinged with a faint bluish radiance,like those of a healthy infant. Their faces were so close togetherthat he could trace that elusive fragrance to her breath. When he hadfinished speaking they were both silent, but neither made any move topull apart.

Sarah broke the silence.

“Are you planning to kiss me, Tom?” She stroked the long tendrils ofhair back from her face with one hand.

“Because if you are this is a good time for it. There is no one to spyon us.” He moved his face towards hers, then stopped with only an inchbetween their lips, overcome by an almost religious sense of awe andsacrilege.

“I don’t want to do anything that will give you offence,” he croaked.

“Don’t be a booby, Tom Courtney. Despite the insult her voice washusky, and her eyes closed slowly, the thick dark lashes interlacing.

She ran the pink tip of her tongue over her lips, then pursed themexpectantly.

Tom felt an almost irresistible urge to seize her and crush her bodyagainst his own. Instead he touched his lips to hers as lightly as abutterfly settling on a petal. The moisture on them tasted faintlysweet, and he felt that he might suffocate with the pressure in hischest. After a moment he drew back.

Her eyes flew open. They were startlingly green.

“Damn you, Tom Courtney,” she said.

“I have waited so long, and that was the best you could do.” You areso soft and beautiful,” he stammered.

“I don’t want to hurt you or make you despise me.”

“If you don’t want me to despise you, then you must do better thanthat.” She closed her eyes again and leaned towards him. He hesitatedonly a heartbeat longer then seized her, wrapped her in his arms, andcrushed her mouth with his.

She made a small mewing sound of surprise and stiffened with shock atthe unexpected power of his embrace, then flung herself forward,meeting his kiss with such abandon that their lips were forced open,their teeth clashed together, the softness and wetness of their mouthsmelded and their tongues entwined.

A larger wave hit the side of the drifting felucca and tumbled themfrom their perch on the transom. It did not break their embrace andthey fell to the deck, oblivious of the smell of the bilges and of thedried fish scales that covered the hard planks beneath them.

“Tom! Tom!” She was trying to speak without lifting her mouth fromhis.

“Yes! So long! I never thought, oh, yes, you are so strong.

Don’t stop now.” He wanted to devour her, to engulf her completely.

The lining of her mouth was slippery, and her tongue was a maddeninggoad. His senses swam, the universe closed in upon him until this warmfragrant body in his arms was all of existence.

At last they had to free their mouths to breathe. It was only for amoment, just long enough for her to gasp, r”

“Tom.

Oh, Tom. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. All theseyears I thought I had lost you.” Then they flew at each other again,moaning and clawing at each other, her arms locked about his neck,bruising their lips against each other’s mouth and teeth.

Blindly he groped for her breasts, and when he found them their shapeand elastic weight made him cry out aloud as if in pain. He fumbled atthe fastening of her bodice, but he was clumsy and inexpert.

Impatiently she pushed away his hands and undid the ribbon. Shereached in and scooped out one of her breasts and pushed it into hishand, closing his fingers over it.

“There,” she said, into his mouth, “it’s yours. Everything is yours.”He kneaded her flesh, and though she whimpered she exulted in thepain.

“Oh, I have hurt you.” He pulled away.

“I’m sorry.

Truly, I’m sorry.”

“No, no!” She reached for his hands and replaced them on her bosom.

“Do it. Do whatever you want.” He stared at the breast in his hand.It was as white as though it had been freshly carved from ivory, butwith the pink marks of his rough fingers on it.

It filled his cupped hand. The nipple was engorged and hard, dark withblood.

“So beautiful. I have never seen anything so beautiful.

He bowed his head and placed his lips on the nipple.

She arched her back, thrusting her chest up to meet him.

She reached up with both hands, twisted and entwined her fingers in thethick, springing curls at the back of his head, guiding his mouth. Whenat last he lifted it to look at her face, she locked her mouth on hisonce more.

He was on top of her now, and suddenly she realized what that hardnesswas that he was pushing against her thighs and belly. She had neverfelt it before, but often she and Caroline had discussed it, and shehad wheedled every detail out of her elder sister. As the realizationstruck her, she stopped breathing and stiffened with shock.

Immediately Tom tried to break away again.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. We should stop now.” The threatterrified her. She was desperate at the thought of being deprived ofhim and the hardness of his body.

She pulled him back.

“Please, Tom, don’t go away!” Almost timidly he embraced her again,but he arched his lower body away from her. She wanted to feel him agoin, that wondrous man-thing hard against her.

She reached around behind him and locked her hands over his buttocks,pulling him in and hunting for him with straining hips.

“Yes!” She had found him.

“Oh, yes.” She was in a transport, her emotions tumbling and twistinglike a twig caught in a whirlpool. She felt him tugging at herclothing, reaching down between them, and she realized what he wastrying to do.

She raised herself on her shoulders and heels, arching her bottom offthe deck, and reached down to help him, pulling her skirts over herthighs, then as high as her navel.

The monsoon wind was cool on her naked belly, and Tom was kneeling overher, plucking frantically at the fastenings of his breeches. Sheraised herself on her elbows, wanting to see him. Caroline’sdescriptions had been graphic, but she wanted to see for herself. Tomwas taking so long, she felt she could not wait longer. She wanted tohelp him and stretched out her hand.

Then, with one movement, he wrenched his breeches down to his knees,and she gasped aloud. Nothing her sister had told her had prepared herfor this. Staring at him, she fell back on the hard deck and her legsfell apart weakly as if she had no control of them.

A long time later he lay heavy and inert on top of her.

He was gasping like a man rescued from drowning. Droplets @ of hissweat had fallen upon her like rain, and wet the front of her bodice,her face and her bare breast. She had locked her legs around him, andshe held him still. The felucca under them rocked them like infants inthe cradle.

Tom stirred and tried to rise, but she tightened the grip of her armsand legs to prevent him leaving her. He sighed raggedly and slumpedback on top of her. She felt a strange sense of triumph and.

possession, as though she had achieved something of almost mysticalimportance, something beyond mere flesh. She could not find the wordsto describe it to herself, but she stroked his head and murmured gentlebut incoherent endearments to him.

With infinite regret, and a sense of aching loss, she felt him shrivelinside her, and though she ached where he had forced his way into her,she tightened her muscles and tried to hold him in, but he slippedaway, and she had to let him sit up. He looked about him with abewildered expression.

“We have drifted a league out to sea.” She sat up beside him,smoothing down her skirts, and saw that the island was a blue line onthe horizon. Tom came up on his knees, pulling up his breeches, andshe watched him. She felt maternal and protective, as though she hadmiraculously become a full woman, as though she had put her girlhoodbehind her, that she was now the strong one and he the child who mustbe fostered and cherished.

Tom staggered to the halyard, unsteady on his feet, raised the sail andput the felucca on the wind. Sarah straightened her clothing andretied the ribbon of her bodice, then rose from the deck and went tosit with him at the tiller. He put his arm around her shoulders andshe snuggled close to him. They were halfway back to the island beforeeither of them spoke.

“I love you, Sarah Beatty,” he said.

She rejoiced to hear him say it and tightened her embrace.

“As I said before, I have loved you since the first day I laid eyesupon you, Tom Courtney. Even though I was only a child, I prayed thatone day I would be your woman.”

“That day has come,” he said, and kissed her again.

They met as often as Sarah could escape the vigilance of Caroline andGuy. Sometimes the intervals between their meetings were two or threedays, but then their passion was inflamed by the delay.

These trysts were always in the afternoons, for in the mornings Sarahhelped her sister run the household, or looked after littleChristopher. Neither could Tom leave the Swallow and his crew: theship had suffered extensive storm damage to her hull and rigging afterleaving Good Hope, and this had to be repaired, the ship made fullyseaworthy again.

Most mornings Tom was up at the fort, for he was desperate to have newsof Dorian from Muscat, and he was still waiting for his licence totrade. Although he lavished flattery and baksheesh on the vizier, hewas still in bad grace and the vizier punished him with flowery excusesand apologies for the delay. Without the Sultan’s firman in his handsTom could not deal in the island markets.

Those precious hours when Tom and Sarah could be together sped by tooswiftly for both of them. Some afternoons they lay in each other’sarms, not bothering to touch the delicacies that Sarah had brought withher, making love as though it were for the last time. In the intervalsbetween they talked, breathless in their need to say everything theyfelt for each other, making fantastic plans for the future, for thetime when they could escape the island together and, with Dorian, sailaway in the swallow.

On other days they took the felucca and sailed to the outer reefs,anchoring over the coral and fishing with hand lines, laughing andshouting with excitement as they dragged up the lovely creatures fromthe depths, kicking on the lines, sparkling like great gemstones in thesunlight as they were swung inboard.

One afternoon Sarah brought the box of duelling pistols her father hadgiven her when they parted in Bombay, for her protection in this landof wild animals and wilder men.

“Papa promised to teach me to shoot, but he never found time,” she toldhim.

“Will you teach me now, Tom?” They were magnificent weapons. Thegrips were carved from lustrous walnut, and the locks and long-rifledbarrels were chased with gold and silver. There were ramrods of horn,and powder flasks of silver. Fitted into the case was a screw@ toppedpot containing fifty lead balls that had been selected to ensure thatthey were perfectly round and symmetrical. The patches were of oiledleather.

Tom loaded -with half-measures of powder to reduce the recoil.

Then he showed her how to place her feet, and address the target,turned half away, presenting her right shoulder. Then with her leftfist on her hip, to bring up the weapon with a straight right arm, pickup the foresight bead in the notch of the back sight and fire as sheswung through the target, rather than trying to hold her aim until herarm ached and shook.

He set up a coconut on top of one of the low walls of ” the monastery,fifteen paces away.

“Knock it off!” he said, and called her misses.

“Low! Still low! Right!” He reloaded swiftly, and she changedpistols. With the fourth shot she Agent the nut spinning and sprayingmilk. She squealed gleefully, and soon she was hitting more often thanshe missed.

“I should be given a prize for each hit,” she demanded.

“What sort of prize did you have in mind?”

“A kiss might be appropriate.” With this incentive, she hit five nutsin succession, and Tom told her, “Clever girl, you have won the grandprize.” He picked her up in his arms and carried her, protestingweakly and insincerely, through the gateway, into their secret place inthe ruins.

A few days later he brought one of London’s best muskets with him inthe felucca, and showed her how to load and fire it. Tom had purchasedfour of these extraordinary weapons before they sailed from England. Hecould not afford to buy more, for they were staggeringly expensive.

The cheap military muskets were smooth-bored, and the ball did not fitsnugly in the barrel, so spin was not imparted to it as it driventhrough the lands. Because they were not stabilize ds the balls flewerratically.

However, with this rifled weapon the accuracy was startling. Tom couldbe sure of hitting a coconut with every shot at a hundred and fiftypaces. Sarah was tall and strong enough to be able to level the heavymusket from her shoulder without difficulty, and once again she provedshe had the quickness of hand and eye to make her a natural marksman.Within an hour of practice she was able to claim her reward from himafter almost every shot.

“I suppose the next thing I shall have to teach you is sword-play,” Tomremarked, as they lay together on the plaited sleeping mat with whichthey had now furnished their secret roofless cell in the monastery.

“You have done a fine job of that at already.” She grinned wickedly,and reached down his body.

“Here is my trusty sword and, sir, I know already full well how to playwith it.”

In serious mood, they discussed their plans for when

Tom had succeeded in rescuing Dorian.

“I will come back for you,” he said, “and take you with me, away fromZanzibar and Guy.”

“Yes.”

She nodded as though she had never doubted that.

“And then we will sail back to England together,

wOn’t we, Tom?” She saw his expression change.

“What is it, my darling?” she asked anxiously.

“I can never return to England,” he said softly.

She scrambled to her knees and stared at him in dismay.

“What do you mean, never return Tom?

“Listen to me, Sarah.” He sat up and took both her hands in his.

“Something terrible happened before I left

England, something I never intended.”

“Tell me,” she pleaded.

“Anything that touches you, touches me.”

And so he told her about William. He started at the beginning,describing their childhood, and the growing tyranny the elder brotherhad exerted over the younger ones. He recounted many small incidentsof heartless cruelty that William had inflicted.

“I think the only time that Dorian, Guy and I were happy was when wewere free of him, those times when he was away at university,” hesaid.

Her expression was filled with sympathy.

“I did not like him when I met him at High Weald,” she agreed.

“He reminded me of a serpent, cold and poisonous.”

Tom nodded.

“I had almost forgotten how vindictive he could be when I was away fromhome, on the voyage of the Seraph. But when we took Father home afterFlor de la

Mar it was all brought back to me with a vengeance.”

He told her how William had treated their father when he was dying, andhow he had repudiated his oath to help find Dorian after Hal’s death.

The Monsoon

“We fought,” he said.

“We had fought before, often, but never like this.” He paused and thepain of the memory was so plain to see that she tried to embrace him tomake him stop the recital.

“No, Sarah, I have to tell you everything. You have to listen, so thatyou can understand how it happened.” Sometimes halting, at other timesin a fierce rush of words, told her about that fight on his last nightat High aid.

“You asked how I broke my nose, and I could not tell you then.” Hetouched the lump.

“Billy did that.” He described the battle in simple words that were sovivid and affecting that Sarah paled and clutched his arm, sinking hernails into his flesh.

“In the end I could not kill him, though he deserved it a hundredtimes. I was moved by Alice, as she stood there with the baby in herarms, pleading for his life, and I could not kill him. I put up mysword and rode away, thinking that that was the end of it.

But I should have known my brother better than that.”

“There is more?” she asked in a small, frightened voice.

“I don’t think I can bear to hear more.”

“I have to tell you all of it, and you must listen so that you canunderstand.” He came at last to the fatal meeting on the river landingbelow the Tower of London.

He described the fight with the band of hired cut-throats. His voicesank lower and lower, and there were long pauses as he searched for thewords to describe the terrible climax.

“I still did not know it was Billy. It was dark. He wore a wide hatand his face was covered. I thought he was the boatman, and I ran tohim, asking him to ferry us away. I was thunderstruck when he drew outthe pistol. He fired and the ball struck me here.” He lifted hisshirt and displayed the long pink scar across his ribs beneath hisarm.

She stared at it, then reached out to trace the raised, twistedcicatrices with her fingertips. She had noticed the scar before, butwhen she had questioned him, he had been evasive and dismissive. Nowshe knew why.

“He might have killed you,” she breathed in awe.

“Yes, I thought he had. But, luckily, the ball struck my ribs andglanced away. It knocked me off my feet, and Billy stood over me andaimed the second barrel. That shot would have finished the business.

The sword was in my hand. I was afraid, terrified. I threw with allmy strength, and it hit him full in the chest and went through hisheart.”

“Oh, merciful God.” Sarah stared at him.

“You killed your own brother.”

“I did not know it was Billy, not even then. Not until I lifted thehat from his head and saw his face.” They were silent a while.

Sarah looked horrified. Then she rallied.

“He was trying to kill you,” she said firmly.

“You had to do it, To in to save yourself.”

She saw the desolation in his eyes, reached out, took his head andpulled it to her bosom, holding him there, stroking his hair.

“There is no blame.

You had to do it.”

“I have told myself that a thousand times.” Tom’s voice was muffled.

“But he was my brother.”

“God is just.

I know that He forgives you, my darling.

You must put it behind you.” He lifted his face, and she knew thatthere was nothing she could say to ease the pain. It would haunt himif he lived a hundred years. She kissed him.

“None of it makes any difference to us, Tom. I am your woman for ever.If we can never go back to England, then let it be so. I will followyou to the ends of the earth. Nothing matters but you and me, and ourlove.” She drew him down onto the sleeping mat, and offered him thecomfort of her body.

till the Swallow waited in the harbour. They had completed the repairslong since, and she was once more sleek and lovely. Her hull glistenedwith new paint, but her canvas stayed furled and she snubbed restlesslyon her anchor cables, like a falcon at hate.

Her crew were growing restless. There had been a number of ugly fightsamong them, their nerves rubbed raw by inactivity, and Tom knew hecould not hold them much longer in idleness, like prisoners on theirown ship.

More and more Tom was tempted to defy the Sultan’s decree and sailnorth into those forbidden seas where he knew Dorian was held captive,or to take the Swallow across to the mainland and search for thosehidden places in the mysterious interior where the ivory, gold and gumarabic were harvested.

Aboli and Ned Tyler advised patience, but Tom rounded on themangrily.

“Patience is for old men. Fortune never smiled on patience.”

The monsoon fell away, into the breathless period of the doldrums, thenswung right round the compass and whispered almost inaudibly out of thenorth-east, those first gentle breaths that herald the change ofseason, harbinger of the big rains of the kaskazi.

The kaskazi gathered strength, and the heavily laden trading ships inthe harbour hoisted their anchors, spread their canvas to the fresh newwind and bore away southwards to round Good Hope.

The Swallow waited in the almost empty harbour.

Then, on one of Tom’s regular visits to the fort, the vizier areetedhim as though he were newly arrived in the port, and offered him a seaton a brocaded cushion and a thimble cup of thick, sweet black coffee.

“All my efforts on your behalf have borne fruit. His Excellency, theSultan, has looked favourably on your petition for a licence to tradeHe smiled disarmingly, and produced the document from the sleeve of hisrobe.

“Here is his firman.” Tom reached for it eagerly, but the vizierslipped back into his sleeve.

“The firman is restricted to the islar” of Zanzibar alone. It does notentitle you to sail fur th north, or to call at any port on themainland. If you do so your ship will be seized and the crew with it.”Tom tried to hide his irritation.

“I understand, and I am grateful for the generosity of the Sultan.”

“A tax will be levied on any goods you acquire in the, markets, whichmust be paid for in gold before the goo!” are loaded aboard your ship.The tax is one fifth part of the value of all goods.” Tom swallowedhard, but kept on smiling politely “His Excellency is generous.” Thevizier held out the document, but as Tom reached for it, he againwithdrew it, and exclaimed at his own forgetfulness.

“Ah! Forgive me, effendi. I have overlooked the small matter of thelicence fee. A thousand rupees in gold and, of course, another fivehundred rupees for my own intercession with His Excellency.” With theroyal fimwn at last in his grasp, Tom could visit the markets. Eachday he came ashore at dawn, bringing Master Walsh and Aboli with him,and he returned to the ship only at the hour of Zuhr, the earlyafternoon prayer, when the merchants closed their stalls to answer thecall of the muezzin to their devotions.

For the first few weeks he made no purchases, but each day sat forhours with one or other of the merchants, drinking coffee andexchanging pleasantries, examining their wares without any show ofenthusiasm, striking no deals, but comparing price and quality. Tomhad believed at first that his bargaining power would be strengthenedby most of the other European traders having sailed already with thekaskazi, and that there would be little competition for the goods onoffer.

He soon found that this was far from the case. The other traders hadpicked over the goods, and selected the best. The ivory tusksremaining in the market were mostly immature, few any longer than hisarm, many deformed and discoloured. There was nothing even approachingthat mighty pair his father had purchased from Consul Grey on theirfirst visit to the island. Despite the poor quality, the merchantswere already fat with profits and they maintained their prices,shrugging indifferently when he protested.

“Effendi, there are few men who hunt the beasts. It is dangerous work,and each season they have to travel further to find the herds.

Now it is very late in the season. The supply of ivory has been takenup by the other Frankish traders,” one of the merchants explainedsmoothly.

“However, I have a few fine slaves for your consideration.”

With all the grace he could muster, Tom refused the offer to examinethese human chattels. Aboli had been captured as a slave in childhood,but every detail of the horrors inflicted upon him had remained starklyclear in his memory. Before he had ever sailed from the shores ofEngland Tom had grown up with his descriptions of the heinous trade.

During his many voyages Tom’s father had ulated first-hand knowledge ofthe trade, and he had accurn helped inst il in the young Tom anabhorrence of its inhuman practices.

Since he had first rounded Good Hope, Tom had come in regular contactwith the slavers and their victims.

During their long wait in Zanzibar Roads there had always beenslave-ships anchored close to them, near enough for the stink andheartbreaking sounds to carry clearly to where the Swallow was lying.

Each day now he walked with Aboli through the slave compounds, and itwas more difficult to ignore the misery all around them: the wailing ofchildren torn from their parents” arms, the weeping of bereavedmothers, and the dumb suffering in the dark eyes of young men and womendeprived of their free, wild existence, chained like animals, abused ina language they did not understand, spreadeagled on the whipping-block,flogged with the vicious hippo hide kiboko until their ribs showedwhite in the wounds.

The very thought of making a profit out of the torment of these lostsouls made the bile rise in the back of Tom’s throat.

Back on the Swallow he discussed their predicament with his ship’sofficers. Although the foremost object of the voyage was to findDorian, and Tom never wavered from that goal, he had a duty to his crewand he had inveigled many of them aboard with the promise of reward.

So far there had been no rewards and there was little prospect of anyprofit to share with them.

“There are few bargains to be had hereabouts Master Walsh confirmedlugubriously. He opened his notebook, adjusted his gold-rimmedspectacles on his nose, and quoted the list of the ivory and gum arabicprices he had compiled before they left England.

“The price of spices is more favourable, but still leaves little profitwhen we take into account the hardships and expenses of the voyage. Thecloves and pepper, now, there is always a ready market for them, and toa lesser extent for cinnaMon and, of course, the cinchona bark is indemand in America and in the Mediterranean countries afflicted bmalaria.”

“We must have a few hundredweight of cinchona for our own use,” Tom cutin.

“Now that the big rains are beginning there will be much fever amongthe men.” The boiled extract from the bark was bitter as gall but, acentury ago, the Jesuit monks had discovered that it was a sovereignremedy for the malarial fever. It had been the fathers who had firstintroduced the cinchona trees to this island.

Now it grew here profusely.

“Yes,” agreed Aboli softly.

“You will need the cinchona.

Especially if you’re going inland to search for your own ivory.”

Tom looked at him sharply.

“What made you think I would be so foolhardy as to flout the decrees ofthe Sultan and John Company, Aboli? Even you have counselled mestrongly against such a course.”

“I have watched you sitting in the bows each evening and staring acrossthe channel at the African mainland.

Your thoughts were so loud that they almost deafened me.”

“It would be dangerous.” Tom stopped short of denying the accusation,but his head turned instinctively towards the west, and a dreamy lookcame into his eyes as he stared across at the hazy outline of the landfading into the dusk shadows.

“That has never stopped you before,” Aboli pointed out.

“I would not know where to begin. It is a land unknown, terraincognita.” He used the caption from the charts in his cabin that hestudied so avidly.

“Not even you have travelled out there, Aboli. It would be folly to gowithout a guide to lead us.”

“No, I do not know this northern land,” Aboli agreed.

“I was born much further south, near the great River Zambezi, and it ismany years since I was last there.” He paused.

“But I know where we can find somebody who could lead us into theinterior.”

“Who?

Tom asked, unable to hide his excitement.

“Where will we find this man? What is his name?”

“I do not yet know his name or his face, but I will recognize him whenI see him.”

When they went ashore the next morning, the first chained files ofslaves were being led to the market from the barra coons where theyhad,] been incarcerated overnight.

Like all the other commodities at this late season their ranks werethinned, and fewer than two hundred specimens were on offer. when theSwallow had arrived, there had been several thousand for sale. Most ofthose remaining were old or frail, thin with sickness or scarred fromthe kiboko. Buyers were always chary of @j whip-marked slave, for itusually meant that he or she was incorrigible, not amenable totraining.

Previously, when passing through the market, Tom had averted his gaze,had tried to avoid studying them, their repugnance and Pity tootroubling. But now he and Abili took up a position at the main gate ofthe slave-market from which they could watch the sorry columns beingherded past. They scrutinized every individual as he came level withthem.

There were two or three black men in the ranks who seemed to Tom to beof the type they were seeking, tall and strong and heroic despite theirchains. But when he touched Aboli’s arm and glanced at him in enquiry,Abol i shook his head impatiently.

“Nothing?” Tom asked quietly, despondent. The last of the slaves werefiling past, and Aboli had shown no interest in any of them.

“Our man is there,” Aboli contradicted him, “but the slave-masters werewatching us. I could not point him out.

The slaves were led to their stalls around the square and each waschained to his post. The masters took their seats in the shade,wealthy men, complacent, rich IA dressed, attended by their personalslaves who brewed” coffee for them and lit the hookahs. Eyes hoodedand sly, they watched Tom and Aboli as they made a slow circuit of themarket.

Aboli stopped at the first stall and examined one of the slaves, a bigman and a warrior by his looks. The slave, master pulled open hismouth to show his teeth, as though he were a horse, and palpated hismuscles.

“Not more than twenty years of age, effendW the Arab said.

“Look at these arms, strong as a bullock. There is another thirtyyears” hard work in him.” Aboli spoke to the slave in one of thedialects of the forests, but the man stared back at him like a dumbanimal.

Aboli shook his head, and they passed on to the next stall, to repeatthe routine.

Tom realized he was slowly working his way towards the man he hadalready selected. He looked ahead, trying to guess which he was, andthen, with sudden certainty, he recognized him.

He was naked except for a brief loincloth, a small man, with a thinwiry body. There was no fat or soft flesh on him. His hair was athick, unkempt bush, like that of a wild animal, but his eyes werebright and piercing.

Gradually Tom and Aboli approached the group in which he was tethered,and Tom was careful to feign disinterest in the one they had chosen.They inspected another man and a young girl, then, much to the slavemaster chagrin, made as if to move on. As if in afterthought, Aboliturned back to the little man.

“Show me his hands,” he demanded of the slave-master, who nodded to hisassistant. Between them, they grabbed the slave’s wrists, and thechains clanked as they forced him to extend his hands for Aboli’sscrutiny.

“Turn them over, Aboli ordered, and they turned them palm uppermost.Aboli concealed his satisfaction. The first two fingers of both theman’s hands were calloused to the extent of being almost deformed.

“This is our man,” he said to Tom in English, but his inflection madeit sound like a rejection. Tom shook his head as if confirming hisrejection. They turned away, leaving the disappointed slave-masterstaring after them.

“What is it about his hands?” Tom asked, without looking back.

“What is it that has marked them that way?”

“The bowstring,” Aboli said curtly.

“Both hands?” Tom stopped with surprise.

“He is an elephant hunter,” Aboli explained, “but keep walking and Iwill explain it to you. The elephant bow is so stiff that no man candraw it from the shoulder. The hunter creeps close, that close.” Hepointed out a wall ten paces away.

“Then he lies on his back, both feet on the stock of the bow. He laysthe tip of the arrow between his big toes and he draws with both handson the string. Over the years of hunting the bowstring marks hisfingers like that.” Tom had difficulty visualizing a bow of thatpower.

“It must be a formidable weapon, this bow.

“It can shoot an arrow clean through the body of an ox, from shoulderto shoulder, and go on to kill a man standing on the other side,” Abolisaid.

“That man is one Of the small intrepid brotherhood who live by huntingthe great beasts.” They completed their leisurely round of the market,then casually returned to where the little man stood.

“He is double chained, at ankles and wrists,” Aboli pointed out inEnglish.

“And look at his back.” Tom saw the half healed scars thatcrisscrossed the dark skin.

“They have beaten him savagely, trying to break him to their will, butyou can see by his eyes that they have not succeeded.” Aboli circledthe little man slowly, peering at his muscular frame, and saidsomething to him in a language Tom did not understand. There was noreaction from the slave. Tom watched his eyes and saw that they weresullen and uncomprehending. Aboli spoke two words in another of theforest dialects. there was still no sign from the little man that heunderstood.

from knew that, besides his mother tongue, the language Aboli hadtaught him when he was a child, Aboli spoke at least a dozen otherlesser dialects of the far interior. Now, he switched again. Thistime the little man started and turned his head to stare at Aboli inconfusion and amazement. He replied with a single word.

Fun diP

“That is his name,” Aboli explained to Tom, still in English.

“He is of the Lozi. A fierce warrior tribe. His name means theAdept.” Aboli smiled.

“He probably merits it.” Tom accepted the slave-master’s invitation todrink a cup Of coffee, the essential accompaniment to any civilizedsession of bargaining. Within a very short time, Tom sensed that theslave-master was eager to rid himself of his small but truculentmerchandise, and he was able to press the advantage. After an hour ofhaggling, the slave-master threw up his hands in despair, “My childrenwill starve, You have ruined me with your intransigence.

You leave me a pauper, but take him! Take him and my very blood andbones with him.” When they had Fundi, the Adept, on board the Swallow,Tom called for the blacksmith and had the chains knocked off his anklesand wrists. The little man rubbed the galled flesh and stared at themin astonishment. Then his eyes turned westward to the shadowy outlineof the land from which he had been torn so cruelly.

“Yes.” Aboli read his thoughts.

“You can try to escape and flee back to your home. But can you swimthat far?” He pointed across the forbidding blue expanse of water.

“Out there are sharks to greet you, larger than the greatest crocodilesyou have ever seen, with teeth longer and sharper than the point ofyour arrows. If they do not eat YOU, then I will catch you and beatyou so that you will think the blows of the Arabs were but the timidtouch of a young virgin. Then I will chain you again like an animal.”Fundi glared at him defiantly, but Aboli went on, “Or if you are wise,you will tell us about the land from whict you have come, then lead usback there without chains walking ahead of us like a warrior once more,a slayer of great elephants, free and proud.” Fundi went on staring athim, but despite himself his expression changed, and his dark eyeswidened.

“How do you know that I am a slayer of elephants? How do you speak thelanguage of the Lozi? Why do you offer me my freedom again? Why doyou wish to journey to the land of my fathers?”

“All these things I will explain to you,” Aboli promised.

“But for now think only that we are not your enemies.

Here, there is food for you.” Fundi was half starved, and he gorgedhimself on the bowl of rice and goat stew that Aboli placed beforehim.

Gradually the food in his belly and Aboli’s gentle questions lulledhim, and he answered through a mouthful of half chewed meat.

Aboli translated for Tom.

“He does not know how far it is, for he does not count distance as wedo. But his land is distant, many months of travel. He says he livesbeside a great river.” It took time for Fundi to tell them all hisstory, but over the days that followed he filled in the details, andintrigued them with his description of lakes and mighty plains, ofmountains crowned with shining white, like the heads of old men.

“Snow-capped mountains?” Tom was perplexed.

“Surely it is not possible in these tropical climes.” He told them ofimmense herds of strange beasts, some of them larger than thehump-backed Zebu cattle of the Arabs, black and monstrous with sickleshaped horns that could rip the guts out of a black-maned lion with asingle thrust.

“Elephant?” Tom asked.

“Ivory?” Fundi’s eyes shone when he spoke of the mighty beasts.

“They are my goats,” he boasted to Aboli, and showed him the callouseson his fingers.

“My name is Fundi, the great slayer of elephants.” He held up both hishands with his fingers spread, and ten times closed them into doublefists then flashed them again.

“This is how many elephants have fallen to my bow, shot through theheart by my arrows, every one of them a mighty bull with teeth longerthan this.”

He stood on tiptoe and stretched his arm up as high as he couldreach.

“Are there still many elephant in his land?” Tom asked.

“Or has the mighty hunter, Fundi, killed them all?” When Abeli put thequestion to him Fundi laughed, and his face became impish.

“Can you count the blades of grass on the great plains? How many fishare there in the lakes? What is the number of duck in the flocks thatshade the sky in the season of the big rains? That is how manyelephant there are in the land of the Lozi.” Tom’s excitement fed uponthese intriguing tales, and he lay awake at night in his hard, narrowbunk, dreaming of the wild land the little man described to them. Itwas not only the promise of wealth and profit; he wanted to see thesewonders with his own eyes, and pursue the mighty beasts, see thewhite-capped mountains and voyage on the wide, sweet waters of thelakes.

Then the wild flights of his imagination were checked by thoughts ofDorian and Sarah, and his commitment to them: Sarah has alreadypromised that she will come with me wherever I travel. She is not likeother girls. She is like me. She has adventure in her blood. Butwhat of Dorian?

He thought of Dorian as he had not in all the years since they hadparted. In his mind’s eye he saw him as he had been on that fatefulnight when he had climbed to the window of his cell on Flor de la Mar,a little helpless child.

It took an effort to break his mind out of the rut in which it hadtravelled so long. What will he be like now?

Has he been changed by the hardships he has been forced to suffer?

Is he still my little brother, or a different man from the boy I onceknew? he wondered, alarmed at the thought of a stranger having takenDorian’s place. One thing I am sure of. he will never have changed asGuy has, There will still be the fire in him. He will want to comewith me on this new adventure. The bond between us must still bestrong. I am certain of it.

It seemed as though he had thrown down his gauntlet at the feet of thegods of chance, for the answer he sought came sooner than he expected.In the dawn light of the following morning a dirty little BUm-boatrowed across from the stone quay of the harbour to where the Swallowlay at her moorings. When the boatman was still half a pistol shotfrom the ship’s side, he stood on the thwart and hailed them.

“Effendi, I have a paper for you from the English consul!” He held thedocument aloft and brandished it.

“Come alongside!” Ned Tyler gave him permission.

In his cabin Tom heard the shouts and had a strange premonition thatsomething portentous was about to over, take him. In his shirtsleeveshe hurried up on deck, just in time to snatch the letter out of theboatman’s hands.

He saw that the address on the folded sheet was in Guy’s handwriting.It had changed little since they had practised together under MasterWalsh. The missive was addressed to Captain Thomas Courtney, aboardthe Swallow, Zanzibar Roads.

When Tom tore it open hurriedly, the message it contained was terse:”The Sultan has commanded both of us to an audience at noon this day. Ishall meet you at the gate to the fort ten minutes before the hour.G.C.” Predictably, Guy was precisely punctual. When he rode up withhis syce in attendance his greeting was cool.

He merely nodded, dismounted and tossed the reins to his servant.

Then he glanced in Tom’s direction.

“I would not have troubled you, sir,” he said, distantly, not meetingTom’s eyes, “but His Excellency insisted that you be present at thisaudience.” He drew his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat, glancedat it, then strode in through the gates without looking back.

The vizier greeted them with expressions of the greatest respect,bowing and smiling ingratiatingly, and backing away before them intothe presence of the Sultan where he prostrated himself Guy bowed butnot too low, conscious of his dignity as representative of His Majesty,and offered polite greetings. Tom followed his example. Then his gazewent to the man who sat at the Sultan’s right hand: he looked well fedand his robe was of the finest quality. The hilt of his dagger was ofgold and rhino horn. He was a high-ranking and dignified personage, ofobvious importance, for even the Sultan deferred to him. He wasstudying Tom with more than ordinary interest, as though he knew who hewas and had heard reports of him.

“I call down the blessings of Allah on you,” the Sultan said, andgestured to the cushions placed ready to receive them. Guy satawkwardly, finding it difficult to manage his sword while he did so.

Tom had spent many hours with the merchants in the markets and wasaccustomed to this position. He placed the scabbard of the Neptunesword across his lap.

“I am honoured to welcome to my court the holy mullah of the mosque ofPrince Abd Muhammad al, Malik, the brother of the Caliph of Oman.” TheSultan inclined his head towards the man who sat beside him.

Tom stiffened and felt his breathing come faster at the name of thePrince, the man who had bought Dorian from the corsair. He stared atthe mullah, as the Sultan went on, “This is the holy al-Allama. He hascome from the Prince.” Both Tom and Guy stared at him. Al-Allama madea graceful gesture. His hands were small and smooth, like a girl’s.

“May you find favour in the sight of God and His Prophet,” he said, andthey bowed in acknowledgement.

“I trust that you have had a pleasant voyage, and when you left yourhome all was well in your household,” Tom said.

The mullah replied, “I thank you for your concern.

The kaskazi bore us kindly, and Allah smiled upon our enterprise.”

Al-Allama smiled.

“I must congratulate you on the excellence of your Arabic. You speakthe sacred language as if born to it.” The compliments passed back andforth, but Tom found the long, complicated ritual of greetings and wellwishes hard to endure. This man came with news of Dorian: there couldbe no other reason for this audience.

He studied al-Allama’s face, trying to divine the nature Of his tidingsby the little signs, the twist of his lips, the inflection of hisvoice, and the expression in his eyes, but the mullah’s face was bland,his manner urbane.

“Your trading in the markets of Zanzibar has been profitable?”

the mullah asked.

“The Prophet approved of the honest merchant.”

“my main reason for visiting the domains of your Caliph was not toindulge in trade,” Tom told him, relieved to have an opening to addresshis real concerns.

“I come on a mission of compassion. I seek a dear one who is lost tome and my family.”

“My lord, the Prince al-Malik, has heard of your quest, M”

and has received the petition you have addressed to him al-Allamareplied. His tone was still expressionless, his face inscrutable.

“I have heard that your lord is a mighty man, but filled withcompassion for the weak and that he is strong for justice and thelaw.”

“Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik is all these things.

That is the reason why he has sent me in person to deal with yourconcerns, rather than sending a message that could not express thedepth of his feelings for your loss.” Tom felt a chill on his skin,even in the closed room and the hot incense-laden air. The mullah’schoice of words was ominous. He felt Guy stir beside him, but he didnot look at him. He waited for the mullah to speak again,

cately at his coffee, and looked down at his lap.

dreading what he had to say. But al-Allama sipped deli At last Tom wasforced to press him, “I have waited three years to have word of mybrother. I beg you not to prolong my suffering.” The mullah set downhis cup and wiped his lips on the folded cloth that a slave handedhim.

“My lord prince bids me speak thus.” He paused again as if gatheringhis thoughts.

“It is true that, some years ago, I purchased a young Frankish boy. Hewas named al-Amhara for his hair, which was a marvelous shade of red.”Tom released a long, hissing sigh of relief.

They had admitted it. There was to be no denial and subterfuge tobattle against. Dorian was in the hands of the Mussulman Prince.

“Your words have lifted a great stone from my soul, a stone thatthreatened to crush the life out of me,” he said, and his voice waschoked. He thought he might lose control and break down. Suchweakness would be a terrible loss of prestige, and invite the scorn ofall those present.

He took a deep breath and lifted his chin to meet the mullah’s eyes.

“What terms has your Prince set for the return of my brother to thebosom of his family?” The mullah did not answer at once, but strokedand smoothed his beard, rearranging the perfumed braids on his chest.

“My lord ordered me to speak thus.

“I, Abd Muhammad al-Malik, took the boy al-Amhara under my protection,paying a princely ransom for him, in order to protect him from the menwho had captured him, and to ensure that no further hardship wasinflicted upon him.”"

“Your Prince is a mighty man and merciful,” Tom said, but he wanted toshout, “Where is he? Where is my brother? What price do you want forhis release?”

“My lord the Prince found the boy to be comely and well favoured. Hetook him to his heart, and to show his favour and shield him from allevil he declared al-Amhara his adopted son.” Tom started to rise fromthe cushion, his face displaying his alarm.

“His son?” he demanded, and foresaw the terrible obstacle that thishad placed in his path.

“Yes, his own son. He treated him like a prince. I am given the taskof educating the boy, and I also found him worthy of love.”

Al-Allama dropped his eyes and for the first time showed emotion.

“I rejoice that my brother has found such favour in high places,” Tomsaid.

“But he is my brother. I have the right of blood. The Prophet of Godhas said that the tie of blood is as steel and cannot be sundered.”

“Your knowledge of the Holy Words of Islam does you credit,” the mullahsaid.

“My lord the Prince acknowledges your right of blood and offers you thepayment of blood money for your loss.”

Al-Allama summoned a servant who came forward carrying a small ebonychest inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl. He knelt in front of thetwo white men placed the box on the tiles and opened the lid.

Tom had not moved, and now he did not even look down at the contents ofthe chest. However, Guy leaned forward and stared at the golden coinsthat filled the box to overflowing.

“Fifty thousand rupees,” said al-Allama.

“A thousand of your English pounds. A sum that takes into account thatal-Amhara was a prince of the royal house of Oman.” At last Tom foundhis voice again and the power of movement. He started up, his hand onthe hilt of the Neptune sword.

“There is not enough gold in Arabia to buy me off,” he roared.

“I came here to find my brother, and I shall not leave until he isdelivered to me.”

“That is not possible,” said al-Allama, and his voice was low and heavywith regret. Your brother is dead. He died almost two years ago ofthe malarial fever. There was nothing any man could do to save himthough, Allah knows, we who loved him tried.

Al-Amhara is dead.” Tom dropped back on the cushion, his face blanchedwith shock. His eyes were haunted as he stared at alA llama

He did not speak for a long time, and the only sound was the buzzing ofa fat blue fly that bumped against the ceiling.

“I do not believe what you tell me,” he whispered, but his voice washopeless, his expression desolate.

“I swear to you, as I love God and pray for his salvation, that I haveseen al-Amhara’s name on his tomb in the royal cemetery in Lamu,”at-Allama said, with infinite sorrow in his voice, so that Tom could nolonger doubt him.

“Dorian,” he whispered.

“He was so young, so full of life.”

“Allah is kind. We can be sure that there is a place for himhereafter. My lord the Prince offers you consolation.

He shares your sense of loss keenly,” the mullah offered.

Tom rose to his feet. it seemed to require a great effort to make sucha simple movement.

“I thank your master,” he replied.

“I beg your forbearance but I must leave you now, to be alone to mournmy brother.” He turned to the door.

Guy stood and bowed to the two Arabs.

“We thank your lord the Prince for his compassion. We accept his offerof blood money.” He stooped, closed the lid of the chest and picked itup.

“All debts between Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik and our family aredischarge ding full.” He followed Tom to the door, hampered by theweight of the chest.

sarah was on her usual perch high on the walls of the old monastery,from where she could spot Tom as soon as he appeared on the path thatled up from the beach.

“Tom!” she called, and waved gaily, coming to her feet and runningdown the crumbled walls with her arms spread wide to balance herself.

“You are late! I have been waiting for hours. I had almost given youup.” She jumped down to the ground and raced, barefoot, down the sandypath. Ten feet from where he stood she came up short and stared intohis face.

“Tom, what is it?” she whispered. She had never seen him like thisbefore. His features were haggard, and his eyes filled with a terriblesorrow.

“Tom, what has happened to you?” He took an uncertain step towardsher, and held out his arms like a drowning man. She flew to him.

“Tom! Oh, Tom! Wwhat is it?” She held him with all her strength.

“Tell me, my darling. I want to help.” He began to shake, and shethought he was sick, overcome by some terrible fever. He made achoking sound, and tears streamed down his face.

“You must tell me!”

she pleaded. She had never imagined that he could succumb like this.

She had always thought him strong and indomitable, but here he was inher arms, broken, devastated.

“Please, Tom, speak to me.”

“Dorian is dead.” She went cold and still.

“It can’t be, she breathed, it just can’t be. Are you certain. Isthere no doubt?”

“The man who brought the news is a mullah, a boll man. He swore on hisfaith,” Tom said.

“There can be no doubt.” Still holding each other, they sank togetherto their knees, and she was weeping with him.

“He was like an own brother,” she said, pressing her cheek against hisso that their tears mingled, bathing their faces. After a while shesniffed, and wiped her face on the sleeve of her blouse.

“How did it happen?” He was still unable to speak.

“Tell me, Tom,” she insisted. She knew instinctively that she mustmake him talk about it: like a surgeon, she had to lance the boil, letthe pus and poison out. At last he began the story, the words cominghard, seeming to tear his throat as he forced them out. It took a longtime, but at last he had told her everything, and she knew it must betrue.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked, and stood up. She kepttight hold of his hands, and forced him to his feet. She had to stophim giving in to the dark waves of sorrow into which he was sinking.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“I know only that Dorian is dead, that I could not save him. It was myfault. If only I had come to him sooner!”

“It is not your fault,” she said angrily.

“I will not even let you think that. You did all you could. No mancould have done more.”

“I don’t care any more,” Tom said.

“Yes, you do. You owe it to yourself and to me and the memory ofDorian. He always looked up to you. He knew how strong you were. Hewould not want this from you.”

“Please don’t berate me, Sarah. I am exhausted with grief. Nothingelse matters.”

“I will not let you give up. We must plan together.” She demanded,”What are we going to do now?”

(I

don’t know, he repeated, but he straightened his shoulders and dashedaway the tears.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We cannot stay here, and we can’t return to England. Where, Tom?”

“Africa,” he said.

“Aboli has found a man to guide us into the interior.”

“When do we leave?” she asked simply, not questioning the decision.

“Soon. A few days from now.” He had steadied himself, for the momentthrown off the debilitating sorrow.

“It will take that long to refill the water-barrels, to buy freshprovisions and to make the final arrangements.”

“I will be ready,” she said.

“It will be hard. A dangerous journey without end. Are you sure thatis what you want? You must tell me now if you have any doubts.”

“Don’t be a big booby, Tom Courtney,” she said. “of course I am goingwith you! When she left the monastery, Sarah took a circuitous routeback to the consulate, riding firstly along the track she haddiscovered that led to one of the small villages on the seaward side ofthe island.

She had gone only half a mile when she was seized by a certainty thatsomeone was following her. She thought she heard hoofbeats on thetrack behind her so she reined in and swivelled in the saddle to lookback.

The path was hemmed in on both sides by thick vegetation, the twistedsterns and glossy leaves of the velout ia and clumps of lantana.

She could not see further than the last turning in the path only a fewpaces behind her.

“Tom?” she called.

“Is that you!” There was no reply, and in the silence she decided thatshe was starting at ghosts and shadows.

“You are being foolish,” she told herself firmly, and rode on.

When she reached the village she bought a basket of vegetables from oneof the old women there, her excuse for her long absence, then rodealmost to the port so that she could return to the consulate along themain road.

She had much to occupy her thoughts. Her mood swung from excitedelation, at the prospect of the adventure ahead of her, to deep sadnesswhen she faced the necessity of leaving Caroline and littleChristopher. She loved them both dearly. Caroline had come to rely onher strength and fortitude in the dark unhappiness of her marriage toGuy, and Sarah looked upon baby Christopher as though he were herown.

She worried how they would fare without her.

“Could they not come with us?” she wondered, and almost immediatelyknew that she was silly even to think it.

“I have to leave them.” She steeled herself.

“I love them both, but Tom is my man, and I love him more than lifeitself I must go with him.” She was so preoccupied with these thoughtsthat she rode into the stableyard without noticing Guy until he calledto her sternly from the shade of the long veranda.

“Where have you been, Sarah?” She looked up in confusion.

“You startled me, Guy.”

“Guilty conscience?” he accused.

“I’ve been buying vegetables.” She touched the basket tied to the backof her saddle.

“I am about to elope with a cabbage!” She laughed merrily, but Guy didnot smile.

“Come to my office!” he ordered, and she noticed his syce hovering inthe doorway of the stable. The boy was Guy’s creature, a sly,pock-marked little fellow. His name was Assam. She had never liked ortrusted him, and even less so now that she saw his grin was knowing andgloating.

With a sinking feeling, Sarah wished she had taken more care to coverher tracks when she went to her assignation with Tom, and that she hadgiven more weight to her feeling that she had been followed thatafternoon.

“I wish to bathe and change for dinner,” she told Guy, trying to brazenit out, but he scowled and slapped his riding-crop against his boot.

“This will not take long,” he said.

“As your guardian, I must insist that you obey me. Assam will takeyour mare.” With resignation she followed him down the veranda andinto the cool gloom of his office. He closed the doors behind them andleft her standing in the centre of the floor as he took his seat behindhis desk.

“You have been meeting him at the old monastery,” he said flatly.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Do not bother to deny it,” he said.

“On my instructions, Assam followed you.”

“You have been spying on me,” she flared at him.

“How dare you?” She tried to whip up her indignation, but it was notconvincing.

“I am pleased that you do not insult my intelligence by denying it.”

“Why should I deny the man I love?” She drew herself up, tall andtruly angry now.

“You have made yourself into a sailor’s whore,” he said.

“Once he has had all he wants from between your legs, he will laugh andsail away, the way he did with your sister.”

“When he sails away, I will go with him.”

“I am your guardian, and you are only eighteen. You will go nowherewithout my consent.”

“I am going with Tom,” she said, “and nothing you can say or do willstop me.”

“We will see about that.” He stood up.

“You are confined to your rooms, and you will not leave them againuntil after the Swallow has sailed from Zanzibar.”

“You cannot treat me like a prisoner.”

“Yes, I can. There will be a guard at the door of your quarters, andothers at the gates.

I have given them their orders. Now go to your room. I will have yourdinner sent up to U. Tom was so occupied with readying the Swallow forsea that he paid scant attention to the square rigged ship that limpedinto the harbour after sunset. Even in the poor light he saw that shehad been damaged by storms. It was the season when the cyclones sweptdown the Indian Ocean, and she must have encountered one of these devilwinds.

The name on her transom was the Apostle. She flew the tattered flag ofthe East India Company at her masthead, and once she had anchored Tomsent Luke Jervis across in the longboat to ask for the news.

Luke returned within the hour, and came to Tom’s cabin, where he waswriting up the ship’s log.

“She is outward-bound from Bombay with a mixed cargo of cloth and tea,”Luke reported.

“She ran into a storm north of the Mascarenes. She intends to make herrepairs here before resuming her voyage.”

“What news?”

“Most of it is stale, for the Apostle sailed from the Company dockmonths ago but the war against the French is going well. William iswhipping their backsides. He is a good fighter, our Willy.”

“Great newsP Tom jumped up.

“Tell the crew and issue a good tot to every man to drink King Willy’shealth.” What Tom could not know was that, apart from the news of thewar, the Apostle carried a packet of letters and documents, sealed in atarred canvas bag, from the Governor of Bombay and addressed to HisMajesty’s Consul at Zanzibar. The captain sent the packet ashore thefollowing morning, and Guy Courtney opened it at the luncheon table onthe long veranda of the consulate. Caroline sat opposite him, butSarah was still locked in her own quarters.

“There is a personal letter from your father,” Guy told Caroline, as hepicked it out of the assortment of gazettes and sealed papers.

“It is addressed to me,” Caroline protested, as he broke the wax sealand began to read it.

“I am your husband,” he said complacently.

Suddenly his expression changed and the sheet shook in his hands.

“By God! This passes all belief!”

“What is it?” Caroline laid down the silver spoon in her hand. Itmust be momentous news indeed to have that effect on her husband: Guyprided himself on his cool composure in even the most tryingcircumstances.

He was staring at the letter, and slowly his expression changed fromconsternation to jubilation.

“I have him now!”

“Who? What has happened?”

“Tom! He is a murderer. By God! Now he will pay the price on thegallows. He has murdered our dear brother, William, and there is awarrant out for his arrest. I intend to do my duty, and it will giveme the greatest pleasure to cut him down to size-” Guy leaped to hisfeet, knocking the teapot off its stand. It shattered on the tiles,but he scarcely glanced at it.

“Where are you going, Guy?” Caroline stood up, her face white withshock, swaying on her feet.

“To the Sultan.” he said, and shouted to the servants, “Tell Assam tosaddle the grey, and to hurry.” He turned back to Caroline, andpunched his fist into the palm of his other hand.

“At last! I have waited for this for so long. I will ask the Sultanfor men from his guard. After the trouble Tom has caused him, he won’tquibble. We will arrest Master Thomas and seize the Swallow. When wesell the ship, she should bring in two thousand pounds at the veryleast. I deserve a reward for bringing a dangerous criminal tojustice.” He laughed triumphantly.

“Master Tom will have a free berth on the Apostle back to London, inchains.”

“Guy, he is your brother! You cannot do this to himP Caroline wasdistraught.

“Billy was Tom’s brother also, yet the swine ran him through in coldblood. Now he will pay a high price for all his arrogance.” She ranto him and clutched at his sleeve.

“No, Guy, you cannot do this!”

“So!” He rounded on her, his face darkening and seeming to swell withrage.

“You plead for him. You still love him, don’t you? In a minute, youwould pull up your skirts and open your legs for him like the dirtylittle slut you are.”

“That’s not true.”

“You would love him to plant another bastard in your belly.” He struckher across the face, sending her reeling back against the low wall ofthe veranda.

“Well, your lover is going to make no more bastards.” He strode awaydown the terrace, bellowing for his horse.

Caroline leaned heavily against the wall, clutching the angry red wealt on her cheek, until she heard his horse gallop away through thegates and down the track towards the harbour and the fort. Then shedragged herself to her feet.

When Guy had first told her of the liaison between Tom and her youngsister, she had been horrified and torn with jealousy. Then last nightshe had gone to Sarah’s room and spent nearly two hours with her.

Slowly she had come to realize how deeply her sister was in love.

She had long been aware that her own feelings for Tom were hopeless, soshe had thrust them aside, and though the pain of the sacrifice wasintense, she had kissed Sarah and promised to help her and Tom toelope.

“I have to warn them,” she whispered aloud, “but there is so littletime.” She picked up a tray from the sideboard, loaded it with a plateof food for Sarah, and carried it down the veranda, past the nurserywhere Christopher was sleeping, to the last door. One of Guy’swatchmen was squatting there, half asleep in the drowsy afternoon heat,with his musket across his lap. He started awake as she came towardshim, then scrambled to his feet.

“Salaam aliekum, Donna.” He bowed.

“The master has given strict orders that no one should pass this door,coming or going.”

“I have food for the lady, my sister,” she said imp enously.

“Stand aside.”

He hesitated; his orders had not covered this eventuality. Then hebowed again.

“I am as dust under your feet,” he said, drew the big iron key from thefolds of his robe and turned it in the lock.

Caroline swept past him, but as the door closed she dropped the tray onthe first table and ran through to Sarah’s bedchamber.

“Sarah, where are you?” Her sister lay on the bed under the tent ikemosquito net. A light sheet covered her, and she seemed to besleeping, but as soon as she heard Caroline’s voice she threw it backand sprang from the bed, fully clothed and wearing riding boots underher long skirts.

“Caroline! I am so glad you have come. I did not want to leavewithout saying goodbye to you.” Caroline stared at her, and Sarah ranto her and embraced her.

“I am leaving with Tom. He is waiting for me on the beach below theold monastery, but I am late already.”

“How will you escape past Guy’s guardsP Caroline asked.

Sarah reached under her skirts and drew out the duelling pistols.

“I will shoot anyone who tries to stop me.”

“Listen to me, Sarah.

A letter has come from Father in Bombay. Tom is accused of the murderof his elder brother, and there is a warrant issued for his arrest.”

“I know that. Tom told me.” She pulled away.

“You cannot stop me, Caroline. It makes no difference, I know he isinnocent and I am going away with him.”

“You don’t understand.” Caroline seized her arm again.

“I have already promised that I will help you and Tom. I am not goingback on my word. I came to tell you that Guy has ridden to the fort toinform the Sultan. They are going to arrest Tom, and send him back toEngland in chains, to his trial and execution.”

“No!” Sarah stared at her sister.

“You have to warn him, but you will not escape unless I help you.”

She thought quickly.

“This is what we will do.” She spoke rapidly, filling out the plan asshe went along.

“Do you understand?” she asked, when she had finished.

Sarah nodded.

“I am ready. I have made all my preparations, but hurry, Caroline. Tomwill believe I am not coming. He will tire of waiting, and leave.”Caroline went to the door, and called to the guard to open up. Whenshe left, he locked the door behind her.

Caroline went directly to the stables and shouted for Assam.

“Saddle my mare.” When the groom hesitated, she sTomped her foot.

“At once! Or I will have you beaten,” she snapped.

“I am in haste.

I have promised to meet the master at the fort.” Within minutes Assambrought out the horse and Caroline took the reins from him.

“Go to the gates and tell the guards to open up. I am coming out.”Thoroughly intimidated by now, Assam ran to obey.

Trying not to hurry, or show her agitation, Caroline led the saddledmare across the lawns to the end of the veranda. The guard at Sarah’sdoor stood to greet her, and she proffered the letter from herfather.

“Give this to my sister immediately,” she ordered. He slung the musketover his shoulder and took the letter from her. He went to the doorand knocked upon it.

After a moment Sarah called from within, “What is it!”

“A letter, Donna.”

“Give it to me.” He unlocked the door, and swung it open.

Sarah itepped out, and thrust the pair of pistols into his startledface. The hammers were cocked and her fingers were curled around thetriggers.

“Lie down on your face,” she ordered, but instead of obeying the guardsnatched the musket from his shoulder and tried to cock the hammer.Calmly Sarah lowered the aim of the pistol in her right hand and, atpoint-blank range, shot him in the knee. He squealed and collapsed onthe tiles of the veranda, the shattered leg twisted under him. Sarahkicked away the fallen musket.

“Fool, you should have done as I ordered,” she told him harshly.

The Monsoon

“The next ball will be in your head.” She touched the muzzle of theother pistol to his forehead.

He covered his face and cowered at her feet, and Sarah thrust the firedpistol into her belt, then stepped back into the doorway. She pickedup the leather bag into which she had packed her most treasuredpossessions and dragged it out onto the veranda.

In the meantime Caroline had run forward to help her hoist the bag ontothe saddle. Then the two sisters embraced swiftly but passionately.

“Go with God, my darling Sarah. I wish you and Tom all joy of eachother.”

“I know that you love him also, Caroline.”

“Yes, but he is yours now. Treat him kindly.”

“Kiss Christopher for me.”

“We will both miss you, but go now! Hurry!” Caroline made a step forher with her linked hands and boosted Sarah up into the saddle.

“Goodbye, my sister,” she called as Sarah urged the mare into a gallopand sped away across the lawns.

Assam saw her coming, and shouted to the other guards to close thegates, but Sarah rode straight at him and he had to throw himself asideto avoid being knocked down by the driving hoofs. The mare flewthrough the open gates and out into the forest. Sarah turned her ontothe path that led southwards, through the palm groves to the ruinedmonastery.

“Please wait, Tom,” she whispered, and the wind flung away the words,and sent her long hair streaming out behind her like a flag.

“Please wait for me, my darling, I am coming.” She pushed the mare tothe top of her speed and the holes of the palm trees streamed past herin a blur.

At the gates of the monastery she pulled the mare down from full gallopto a plunging halt. The animal fidgeted and threw her head, sweatingnervously, unaccustomed to such rough treatment.

“Tom!” Sarah screamed, and the echoes from the ancient walls mockedher.

“Tom!” He has gone, she thought. While the mare backed and circledunder her, she leaned out of the saddle and searched the soft ground.She picked out Tom’s fresh footprints coming up from the beach, and thetrampled area in front of the gateway where he had paced back andforth, waiting for her. Then, his patience clearly exhausted, thestring of his footprints headed back towards the beach.

4Tom!” she shouted in despair, and put the mare at the narrow trackthrough the undergrowth. The branches whipped against her legs as theyraced down beside the stream and at last burst out onto the white coralsands, with the limpid water of the lagoon in front of her.

She saw the mark that the keel of the felucca had left at the water’sedge, and then she looked up and saw the tiny craft. It was movingslowly towards the gap in the reef, half a mile away. Tom was in thestern with the long bamboo pole in his hands, punting her over theshallow flats.

“Tom!” she screamed and waved.

“Tom!” But the wind fretted in the palms and the surf boomed andboiled on the outer reef, smothering her cries. The tiny felucca movedaway doggedly, and Tom did not loot back.

She urged the mare into the water, and though at first she baulked, shewas a game little horse and she plunged forward, leaping and lungingthrough the deeper holes, until the water reached halfway up hershoulders, and Sarah’s boots and skirts were soaked. But the feluccawas moving faster, drawing away from them.

“Tom? Sarah called in agony. Then she pulled the second pistol fromher belt, pointed it at the sky and fired.

The report was an insignificant pop in the immensity of sea and wind.

“He has not heard!” It took a long second for the sound to carry, thenshe saw Tom’s distant figure start, and he looked back at her.

“Oh, praise God!” She almost wept with relief.

With an expert thrust of the pole Tom spun the felucca about, and sentit gliding back across the lagoon.

“Where were you? What has happened?” he shouted across as he camewithin hail.

“Guy has found out about you and William,” she called back.

“He has gone -to the fort to raise the guard. They are going to seizeyou and your ship.” She saw his expression harden, but he said nothingas he brought the boat alongside the mare. Then he threw down the puntpole, reached across to seize her around the waist and lift her fromthe saddle. He set her down on the deck.

“My bag!” she panted. He pulled the dirk from the sheath on his beltand cut the thong that tied it to the pommel.

He dragged it on board, slapped the mare, and she turned and flounderedback towards the beach. Tom grabbed the bamboo pole and aimed the bowsof the felucca at the pass once more.

“How long ago did Guy go to the fort?” he asked.

“How much time do we have?”

“Not much. He left the consulate well over two hours ago.”

“Stand by the halyard,” he ordered grimly.

“We will have to hoist the sail, and take a chance on the coral.” Thelateen sail flapped and snapped, then filled with the monsoon wind. Thefelucca heeled sharply, and raced towards the gap in the reef Sheskimmed through and as soon as the water turned blue under her keel Tomstood at the tiller and brought her round on a heading for the harbourwhere the Swallow lay at anchor.

“Tell me everything,” he ordered. She came to him and put her armsaround his waist.

“How did Guy find out?”

“A ship came in last night.”

“The Apostle,” he exclaimed.

“I should have expected this.

He listened intently as she related all the details.

When she had finished, he murmured, “God grant we are in time,” andlooked ahead as the harbour of Zanzibar opened before them, and he sawthe little Swallow lying tranquilly at her anchor.

“Thank God! They have not seized her yet,” he said fervently, but atthat moment they both saw the flotilla of a dozen small boats that hadleft the stone quay below the fort and were streaming across the baytowards the ship.

Tom shaded his eyes, and stared across the mile of water that separatedthem from the leading boat. He recognized the tall lean figure in theplumed hat in the bows.

“Guy is keen as a hound with the smell of the fox hot in his nostrils.”The barge was riding low in the water under the weight of the armed mencrowded into it. All the other craft in the flotilla were similarlyladen.

“He has a hundred of the Sultan’s rascals with him, least,” Tomcalculated.

“He is taking no chances. He glanced up at the masthead, and judgedthe strength and direction of the wind on his cheek. He had sailed thecraft enough by now to know all her foibles and how to squeeze everyfoot of speed out of her.

“Hard’;” her up a little,” he called to Sarah, who ran forward to theboom sheet. The felucca liked her touch and surged forward under theirfeet.

“It will be a near-run thing Tom eyed the leading boat, and calculatedthe difference in speed and course, They had the advantage of the wind,on a broad reac Guy was close@ hauled making heavy weather of it withthe overloaded hull deep in the water. Tom doubted that the other boatcould reach the anchored swallow on a single tack. On the other hand,the felucca must cut right across the bows of Guy’s dhow.

Tom narrowed his eyes as he judged the converging course.

“We are going to pass within easy musket shot of the leading boat,” hetold Sarah.

“Pile those nets and fish boxes along the starboard rail and lie flatbehind them.”

“What about You?” she asked anxiously.

“Didn’t I tell you? I am immune to musket-balls.” He grinned.

“And, be-sides, all Arabs are poor shots.” If she had not loved him somuch, she might have been more impressed by his disregard of danger.

My place is at your side,” she said stubbornly, trying to match hisshow of courage.

“Your place is where I say it is.” His expression became bleak andcold.

“Get down, woman.” She had never seen him like this before, and ittook her off-balance. She found herself obeying meekly, and only whenshe was lying flat on the smelly deck, protected by the nets and heavywooden boxes, did she begin to recover her sense of independence.

I must not let him get the upper hand so soon, she warned herself, buther thoughts were interrupted by a faint shout. The Arabs in theleading dhow had spotted the little felucca racing across theirquarter. The vessel heeled dangerously as they crowded to the rail tostare across the gap, jabbering and gesticulating, cocking andbrandishing their long-barrelled jezails.

“Stop!” Guy’s voice was faint on the wind, but they were close enoughnow for Tom to see clearly his dark, furious expression.

“Heave to, at once, Tom Courtney, or I will order my men to fire uponyou.”

Tom laughed and waved cheerily.

“Piss into the wind, dear brother, and get it all back into your face.”They were less than a hundred yards apart, a pistol shot, and Guycalled to the Arab musketeers who crammed the open deck of the dhowand, with his drawn sword, pointed across at the felucca. In responsethey levelled their muskets and, despite his braggadocio, Tom felt aqualm of fear as he looked into the line of weapons aimed across thegap at him.

“Fire!” Guy yelled, with a sweep of his sword. There was a blast, anda bank of thick white powder smoke briefly obscured the dhow.

The air around Tom’s head was filled with the whir and buzz of passingshot, the heavy lead balls kicked spurts of spray from the surface ofthe water all around the hull of the felucca and thudded into her side,knocking white splinters from her timbers.

Tom felt something pluck at the sleeve of his shirt, and when heglanced down there was a tear in the cloth, and a thin trickle of bloodfrom the shallow wound across his biceps.

“Are you all right, Tom?” Sarah asked anxiously, from where she lay athis feet. He laughed again and turned half away so she could not seethe blood on his sleeve.

I told you they’re poor shots.” He lifted his hat and with it gave Guya mocking salute. But at the movement a few drops of scarletsplattered the dirty deck at his feet.

Sarah saw the blood, and her face blanched. Then, without hesitation,she sprang to her feet and rushed back to the stern.

“Get back!” Tom snapped.

“Those are real musket-balls.

You could be killed.” Sarah ignored him, and placed herself foursquare in front of him, shielding him with her own body. She threwback the shawl from her shoulders and shook out her hair so that itflew out like a banner on the wind.

“Shoot!” she screamed across at the barge.

“Shoot me, if you dare, Guy Courtney!” They were close enough to seethe frustration and fury on Guy’s face.

“Get down, Sarah,” he yelled at her.

“If you are hit it will be your own doing.” Tom tried to push her downon the deck but she flung both arms around his neck and clung to him.Her face was bright with fury as she glared across at the barge.

“If you want your brother, you will have to kill me first,” sheshrieked at Guy.

Guy’s expression changed from triumph to uncertainty.

He looked back at his men. The musketeers were reloading frantically.Tom saw the tips of their ramrods pumping up and down as they drovefresh balls down the long barrels.

It took even a good man fully two minutes to reload, and by the timethe next volley was ready the two craft were as close as they wouldever be as the felucca crossed the bows of the barge.

The quicker and more expert of the musketeers finished loading andpriming. Four of them cocked and raised their jezails in unison,sighting over the long barrels at the pair in the stern of thefelucca.

Still Guy hesitated, but then his grim expression crumbled, and with asweep of his sword blade he knocked up the weapon of the man besidehim, and shouted in Arabic, “Stop! Do not fire! You will hit thewoman.” One man ignored the order and fired. There was a spurt ofblue smoke from the muzzle of his jezail and the ball thudded into thetiller bar in Tom’s hand.

“StopP Guy yelled in fury, and slashed the sword down on the man’swrist. There was a flash of bright blood and the man clutched hisinjured arm and staggered away across the deck.

“Stop!” Guy turned on the other men and, reluctantly, one at a time,they lowered their muskets. The felucca head-reached on the barge,then drew away from her.

“You haven’t won yet, Tom Courtney!” Guy shouted after them.

“From now on, every man’s hand is against you.

One of these days you will pay what you owe in full, I will see tothat. I swear id” Tom ignored his brother’s fading shouts of anger,and looked forward. The Swallow was now lying only a cable’s lengthahead, but the musket fire from the barge had alerted her crew. Theywere swarming over her deck and climbing into her rigging. Ned Tylerwas not waiting for orders to get the ship under weigh.

Sarah hugged Tom around the waist, and looked back at the swann ofsmall boats that ploughed along behind them.

“That was exciting,” she said, and her eyes were sparkling.

“Don’t you dare look so pleased with yourself, you little hussy.”

Tom hugged her.

“You disobeyed my direct orders.”

“You had best accustom yourself to that.” She grinned up at him.

“For it may happen again, some day.” Then she became businesslike andwith his dagger she cut the torn sleeve from his shirt. She used thecloth to bind up the flesh wound in his arm and staunch the bleeding.In the meantime they were coming up fast on the Swallow, and Tom toldher, “sharply.” Belay that, and get ready to jump The capstan wasclanking on the foredeck of the sloop as Ned Tyler hauled his anchor,and as the flukes pulled free of the bottom, the sloop paid off andbegan making stern way. Sarah pulled up her skirts and tucked theminto her belt so that her legs were bare and free, and crouched by therail.

Tom saw Aboli’s head at the rail above him. As the hulls touched andTom dropped the sail, Aboli jumped down like a great black pantherambushing a gazelle from the branch of a tree. His bare feet thuddedon the deck as he landed beside Sarah. He swept her up in his arms.

She shrieked in protest but in the same movement he sprang back, caughthold of the boarding ladder that dangled down the sloop’s side andcarried her up onto the Swallow’s deck.

Tom snatched up Sarah’s leather bag from where it lay on the deck ofthe felucca and jumped across the narrow gap of water that separatedthe hulls, allowing the felucca to drift free, and he followed Aboliup. As he swung one leg over the rail, Ned Tyler saluted him solemnlyfrom the helm.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Tyler. I can think of no reason why we should lingerhere any longer. Get the ship on the wind, if you please.” He droppedSarah’s bag on the deck and strode to the stern. As the Swallow cameround, the dhow with Guy her bows was two hundred yards dead astern,but the sloop drew away from it so swiftly that it seemed to be atanchor.

Guy’s bare sword hung at his side, his shoulders were slumpeddejectedly, and his face was contorted with frustration and hatred.

When they saw Tom the men around him could no longer restrainthemselves, and they opened a furious fusillade, banging away withtheir muskets, but Guuy seemed oblivious to them- All his attention wasconcentrated on his twin brother.

They stared at each other as the two vessels drew swiftly apart.

Sarah came to stand beside Tom. Hand in hand they watched the shape ofthe barge dwindle until they could no longer make out Guy’s tallfigure. Then the Swallow rounded the point and the harbour of Zanzibarclosed behind them and the dhow was lost to sight. Dorian Courtneystood up. He had been on his knees praying to the God of his fathers.He wandered along the edge of the cliff, then stooped to pick up apebble that had caught his eye. He wet it with his tongue then held itto the sunlight. It was pink agate striated with soft blue layers) andcrowned with crystals of diamond clarity. It was beautiful.

He leaned out and let it drop from his fingers, then watched it fallfive hundred sheer feet down the cliffs. It disappeared before it hitthe surface dwindled in size and of the sea far below. It left neithersplash nor ripple upon the surface, no sign of anything so lovely everhaving existed. Suddenly, for the first time in almost seven years hethought of little Yasmini, who had vanished from his life in the sameway.

The wind tugged and his robe streamed out behind him, but his feet wereplanted wide and he felt no fear of the drop that opened at his feet.At his right hand the gaunt red rock cliff that stood so tall above thesea was riven by a narrow valley. In its depths, clinging precariouslyto the shore, were the palm groves, roofs and white domes of thevillage of Shihr. Dorian’s men were encamped among the low acaciaThorn trees and palms further up the valley. The blue smoke of theircamp-fires rose in oily tendrils, straight into the air until it caughtthe eddy of the wind over the summit of the Cliffs and streamed awaytowards the forbidding hills and dunes of the desert.

Dorian shaded his eyes and looked out to sea. The ships were closernow. Four stately dhows with high poops and matting sails, theflotilla of Prince al-Malik. They had been in sight since dawn, butthe wind was against them forcing them to tack and tack again.

Dorian narrowed eyes, judging their progress, and he saw that it wouldmany hours still before they could enter the bay and anchor off thebeach.

He was impatient and restless. It was so long since last he had seenthe Prince, his adoptive father. He turne] away from the edge of thecliff, and started back along the path that led to the ancient tomb. Itstood on the crest of this rocky promontory, its dome bleached by thedesert suns of a hundred years.

Al-Allama and the sheikhs of the Soar were still at prayer, their rugsspread in the shadow of the tomb, turned in the direction of the holycity that lay hundreds of miles to the north across this burning land.Dorian slowed his pace, not wishing to arrive while they were still attheir devotions.

The Soar did not know that he was not of Islam. On the instruction ofthe Prince, he had concealed that from them during all the time he hadlived among them. IF they knew that they would never have taken him soreadily into the tribe if they- had guessed the truth, that he was aninfidel. They believed that he was under a vow of penance not to Prayin the community of believers, but to make his devotions to Allah insolitude. At the hour of prayer he would always leave them and wanderaway into the desert.

Alone he prayed to the God of his fathers, kneeling in the wilderness,but the words were becoming more difficult as time passed and hisdevotions more perfunctory. Gradually this strange sense of havingbeen deserted by his own

God was overcoming him. He was losin his childhood faith, and he feltbewildered and bereft.

He stopped on the crest of the hill and watched the men kneeling andprostrating themselves in the shade of the mosque. Not for the firsttime he envied them their immutable faith. He waited at a distanceuntil they had finished and begun to disperse. Most mounted up andtrotted down the cliff path to the village below. Soon there were onlytwo men left near the tomb.

Batula, his lance-bearer, was with the two camels, squatting withinfinite patience in the patch of shade the animals threw. The bronzewar shield was tied to the saddle of Dorian’s riding camel, and in theleather boot were his jezail and long lance, its point bright in thesun and the green pennant fluttering. These were all the accoutrementsof the desert warrior.

Al-Allama was also waiting for him, seated out of the wind, on anoutcrop of red rock. Dorian turned towards him and strode up thepath.

The first streaks of grey now showed in the mullah’s beard but his skinwas still unlined, and despite the months of hard riding and leanrations, his girth had not shrunk. He inclined his head to one side ashe watched al-Salit, the Drawn Sword, come towards him.

Al-Salil was tall now, and under the long, swirling robes he was leanand hard, his flesh pared down and tempered by the desert. He came onwith a swinging gait, like the pace of a racing camel, and there was anair of authority and command in the set of his shoulders and thecarriage of his veiled head.

“His name was well chosen,” al-Allama murmured to himself. When Dorianreached him, he made a sign of invitation and the young man droppeddown beside him on the rock. His legs curled under him, he sat likeone of the Soar, gracefully at ease, the curved sword in its silver andleather scabbard across his knees. Only Dorian’s eyes were visible:the rest of his face was covered by the tail of his headdress, whichwas wound loosely over his nose, mouth and chin. The eyes werepiercing, green and bright, and despite the desert sand and glare theywere not shot with blood. Slowly Dorian unwound the cloth that coveredhis face and smiled at the mullah.

“It is good to have You back. I have missed you, holy father,” hesaid.

“Nobody to argue with, my life has been dull indeed.”

“Dull?” Al-Allama hid a smile.

“It is not what the sheikhs have told me of your stay with them.Sixteen of the enemy to your own lance.” Dorian stroked his beard,which sprang into curls under his fingers, crackling in the dry desertair, bright as newly forged copper.

“The Ottoman are easy to kill,” he said deprecatingly, but the smileremained on his lips.

He is still as winsome as the child I first met on the , island of DoorAl Shaitan. Al-Allama studied his face: the high, thoughtful foreheadof the scholar offset by the hard line of mouth and jaw that bespokethe warrior and the leader of men.

“Why have you brought me here, old father?” Dorian asked, leaningforward to look into his face.

“You always have a reason for what you do.” I Al-Allama smiled andsoftly asked a question in reply Do you know whose tomb this is?”Dorian glanced up at the weathered dome and Crumbling walls.

“That of a holy man,” he said. There were many such ancient tombs,some guarding the scattered oases of the interior, others on the cliffsand rugged hills along the Omani coast of southern Arabia.

“Yes,” al-Allarna agreed.

“A holy man.”

“I cannot read the name,” Dorian said, for most of the inscriptions onthe wall had been abraded by the sand laden winds. There were many,some quotations from the Koran but others Dorian did not recognize.Perhaps they were the words of the dead man himself.

Al-Allama rose to his feet and circled the tomb, pausing to read any ofthe inscriptions that were still legible. After a moment Dorian stoodup and followed him.

“There is a quotation from the saint who lies within.

Perhaps it is of interest to you.” Al-Allama pointed high up thewall.

Dorian deciphered some of it with difficulty. “”The orphan who comesfrom the sea,”“ he read aloud, and al Allama nodded encouragement.””With the tongue and the crown of the Prophet, ..”" Dorian stopped.

“I cannot read the next line. it is too faded.”

“

“With the tongue and the crown of the Prophet, but with darkness in apagan heart,”" at-Allama helped him.

closer to the wall, peering up at it.

Dorian went “on “When the light fills the pagan heart, he will bringtogether the sands of the desert that are divided, and his on the backof the just and pious father shall ride upon the elephant.”" Doriancame back to al-Allama’s side.

“What is it?” I do not recognize it from the Koran. As a poem, itrhymes, neatly. but it makes no sense,” he said.

“What are the an orphan tongue and crown of the Prophet? How can havea father? Why the back of an elephant?” and, of “The Prophet wascrowned with red hair course, his tongue was Arabic, the sacredlanguage,” al, Allama pointed out, and stood up.

“In the palace of Muscat stands the Elephant Throne of Oman, carvedfrom mighty tusks of ivory. I will leave you to consider the rest ofit, even such a dull prophecy. If he applies himself to student asal-Salil should be able to find a solution to the riddle of the holyTaimtaim.”

cTaimtaim!” Dorian exclaimed.

“This is the tomb of the saint?”

He stared at the eroded inscription, and now the saint’s name appeared,like a figure seen through a dark mist.

“This is the prophecy! These are the words that have shaped my life.”He felt a sense of awe, but it was mingled with anger and resentment,that he had been deprived of so much, and been made to suffer for thesefew mystic words, written so long ago and now only barely legible. Hewanted to challenge them, to Protest and to refute them, but al-Allamawas halfway down the path into the valley, leaving him in this desolateplace to confront his destiny.

Dorian remained there for many hours. Sometimes he paced angrily alongthe walls of the tomb, searching the other inscriptions for any furtherfragments of knowledge.

He read them aloud, testing the sound of the words rather than thesense, trying to divine the hidden meanings that, lay behind them.

Sometimes he squatted and studied single word or phrase, then he sprangto his feet again or returned to the inscription that al-Allama hadpointed out to him.

“If I am indeed the orphan you speak of, then you are wrong, old man.It can never come to pass. I am a Christian. I will never acceptIslam.”

He defied the ancient saint.

“I shall never bring together the sands of the desert, whatever yourmeaning there.” Tom!”

Batula’s voice broke into his meditation, and Dorian stood up.

“The ships.” Batula gestured down the cliffs.

“They are entering the bay.”

Batula had the camels up and moving towards the head of the path.

Dorian broke into a run, catching them easily before they starteddown.

He called to his own beast as he came loping up alongside her.

“Ibrisam! Silk Wind!” At the sound of his voice, she turned her headand looked down at him with those great dark eyes with their doublefringe of lashes, and roared softly, lovingly, to welcome him.

She was a noble full-pointed Sherari. He swung up into the high saddleseven feet above the ground with a single effortless movement.

He touched her neck with the tip of the long riding wand, and shiftedhis weight forward in the saddle, which was cushioned with the finestNeid leather and hung with luxurious trappings, tassels and straps dyedwith shades of red, yellow and blue, woven carrying-nets embroideredwith silver stars and metal tissue.

Ibrisam. responded to his touch and movement, stretching into thatelegant, comfortable gait that once had carried her beloved master atten miles every hour for eighteen hours without check, from the tongueof Wadi Taub across the grisly plain of Mudhail, strewn with the whitebones of lost caravans, to the brackish waters of the oasis of MaShadid.

She loved Dorian like a faithful dog. After a full day’s journeythrough the terrible places of the sands, she would not sleep in thedesert night unless he lay down beside her.

No matter how fierce her thirst or hunger, she would break off fromdrinking or grazing to come to him and nuzzle him, begging for hiscaress and the comfort of his voice.

They flew down the path, overtaking Batula before he reached the floorof the valley. The entire encampment was in turmoil, camels roaring,men shouting and ululating, firing joy shots into the air as theypoured down through the groves towards the beach. Ibrisam carriedDorian to the head of this wild procession, and across the golden sandsto the water’s edge.

When Prince al-Malik stepped ashore, Dorian was the first to runforward to greet him. His face was unveiled and he fell to his kneesand kissed the hem of the Prince’s robe.

“May all your days be golden with glory, lord. Too long my eyes havehungered for sight of your face.” The Prince lifted him to his feetand gazed into his face.

“Al-Salil! I would not have known you, but for the colour of yourhair, my son.” He embraced Dorian, holding him to his breast.

“I can see that all the reports I have had of you are true. You havebecome a man indeed.” Then the Prince turned to greet the sheikhs ofthe Soar, as they also pressed forward and surrounded him.

When he had embraced them, the Prince moved slowly up the valley in atriumphal procession. The desert warriors strewed palm fronds at hisfeet, called blessings upon him, kissed the hem of his robe and firedtheir jezails in the air.

A leather tent, large enough to cover a hundred men, had been set upbeside the well in the shade of the grove.

The sides were open to allow the evening breeze off the sea to waftthrough, and rugs and cushions covered the sandy earth. The Princetook his seat in the centre of the floor and the sheikhs gatheredaround him. Slaves brought pitchers of well water for them to washtheir hands. Then they presented huge bronze platters of food, piledhigh with yellow rice swimming in melted camel-milk butter, andfragrant stews of mutton and spices.

Al-Malik took a morsel from each dish delicately in his right hand.Some he tasted himself, other tit bits he fed to the men around him.This was an honour he was bestowing, a mark of his favour, and thesehard-bitten, hawkish warriors who could not count the war wounds thatscarred their faces and bodies treated him with the respect andaffection of loving children for their father.

When they had eaten, the Prince gestured for the still brimmingplatters to be taken out to the ranks of common warriors who squattedin the open, that they might share the banquet.

The red sun wheeled down behind the hills, and the stars prickedthrough the darkening desert sky. They washed their hands again, andthe slaves lit the hookahs.

The sides of the leather tent were lowered, the sheikhs clusteredcloser around the Prince and passed the ivory mouthpieces from hand tohand. The thick, curlin clouds of Turkish tobacco smoke billowedaround their heads. In the yellow light of the lamps they began totalk.

The first to speak said, “The Porte has sent an army of fifteenthousand men to take Muscat. Yaqub has opened the gates of the city tothem.” The Sublime Porte was the might and authority of the TurkishOttoman empire, its seat in distant Istanbul. Al-Malik’s elderbrother, al-Uzar Ibn Yaqub, the weak and dissolute Caliph of Oman inMuscat, had at last capitulated to the Ottomans without offeringbattle. Allah alone knew what bribes and assurances he had received,but he had welcomed the occupying army of the Porte into his city, andnow the freedom and independence of all the desert tribes was in themost terrible jeopardy.

“He is a traitor. Allah is my witness! He has sold us into slavery,”one of the other sheikhs said. They growled like a pride of lions, andlooked to al-Malik.

“He is my brother, and my Caliph,” said the Prince.

“I am oath-bound to him.”

“By God, he is no longer a ruler of Oman,” a sheikh protested.

“He has become the plaything of the Porte.”

“He who has sodomized a thousand boys has become the BURN whore of theTurks,” agreed another.

“By his treachery you, and all of us, are released from our vows offealty.”

“Lead us, mighty lord,” urged another.

“We are your men. Lead us to the gates of Muscat and we will help youdrive out the Ottoman, place you on the Elephant Throne of Oman.” Oneafter another they spoke, and all said the same thing.

“We have pleaded to you to come to us. Now we plead for you to leadus.”

“We the Soar, are your oath-men. We can raise three thousand lances toride at your back.”

“What of the other tribes?” the Prince asked, not rushing into such adire decision.

“What of the Awamir and the Bait Imani? What of the Bait Kathir andthe Harasis?”

“We of the Soar cannot speak for them , they answered, for there areblood feuds between us and many of them.

But their sheikhs wait for you in the sands. Go to them and, Godwilling, they will raise the war lance and ride with us to Muscat.”

“Give us your decision,” they begged.

“Give us your decision, and we will give you our oath.”

“I will lead you,” said the Prince softly and simply, and theirweathered brown faces lit with joy. One by one they knelt before himand kissed his feet. When he held out his curved dagger, they touchedthe steel with their lips. Then they took his hands, lifted the Princeto his feet and led him out of the tent to where the warriors waited inthe moonlight.

“We give you the new Caliph of Oman,” they told their men, who shoutedtheir allegiance and fired their muskets into the air. The war drumsbegan to beat, and the eerie blast of the rams” horns echoed from thedark cliffs above the grove.

In the joyous commotion, Dorian came to his father and embraced him.

“I and my men are ready to take you to meet the sheikhs of the Awamirat the wells of Muhaid.”

“Then let us ride, my son,” the Prince agreed. Dorian left him andstrode away through the grove, calling to his men, “Saddle up! We rideat once!” They ran to their camels, calling them by name, and soon theentire valley was in uproar as they broke camp.

The camels bellowed and roared as they were loaded with the leatherwaterskins, and the tents were collapsed and packed.

Before the rise of the new moon, in the cool of the night, they wereready to ride, a long column of robed, veiled men on their tall beasts.The Prince’s camel was a creamy yellow female. When he had seatedhimself in the saddle, Dorian commanded her to rise. With a groan shelurched to her feet. AI@Malik sat her easily: born in the desert and awarrior from boyhood, he made a noble picture in the first rays of therising moon.

Dorian sent a vanguard of twenty men ahead, and a rear guard to come upbehind. He rode close beside the Prince as the column started up thevalley, and headed out into the desert.

They went swiftly, all racing camels and, but for the waterskins,lightly burdened. They climbed up and out of the valley and the desertstretched ahead, infinite and still, purple and dark hills of rock andshining dunes of silver sand stretching away to the north. Above thewinding serpent of men and beasts, the stars were a dazzling field,like banks of wild white daisies after rain. The sand muted the fallof the camels” broad pads, and the only sound was the creak of leatherand the occasional soft murmur of a voice warning, “Beware! Hole.”

Dorian rode at ease, lulled by lbrisam’s rhythmic gait, and the harshdesert miles unwound beneath him. The dark hills formed strange,wondrous shapes around them, filled with shadows and mystery, and thestars and the crescent moon of Islam lit their way through the night.

He gazed up at the sky, not merely to navigate through the darkness andthe broken wilderness, but caught up in the mesmeric thrall of theancient patterns of light and their inexorable march through theheavens.

Strangely, this was the time when he felt closer to his past, when heseemed to feel the presence of Tom still near to him. They had spentso many nights together under the starry firmament when they were ladsaboard the old Seraph, perched up in the rigging. It had been Aboli,Big Daniel and Ned Tyler who had taught him the names of all thenavigational stars, and he whispered them aloud now. So many hadArabic names: Al Nilam, Al Nitak, Mintaka, Sail… Riding in thecompany of the man who had become his father, and these wildfalcon-fierce warriors whom he commanded, Dorian pondered the ancientprophecy of St. Taimtaim, as he had seen it written on the crumblingwalls of the old sage’s tomb. Slowly he was overcome with an almostreligious sense of some immutable destiny awaiting him here under thesedesert skies.

They stopped after midnight, when the great Scorpion lay low on thestony hills. One of the sheikhs of the Soar came to the Prince to makehis farewells and to reiterate his vows.

“I go to raise my levy,” he told al-Malik.

“Before the full of this moon I will meet you at the wells of Ma Shadidwith five hundred lances at my back,” he promised.

They watched his camel pace away swiftly into the east until it waslost in the purple shadows, then they went on. Twice more in the nightother sheikhs detached themselves from the main column and, after theyhad sought the Prince’s blessing, slipped away into the sands, leavingwith the promise to meet again at the wells of Ma Shadid in the full ofthe moon.

They went on until they discovered a field of lush zahra, which hadsprung up where, months before, a thunderstorm had drenched a tiny partof the desert. They stopped and let the camels graze, while they cutbundles of the flower’, for this was the finest of all camel foods andhighly prized. When they had loaded it onto their mounts they rode onuntil the dawn turned the eastern horizon orange and pink.

They stopped again, this time to camp, couched the camels and fed themon the garnered zahra. Then they made coffee and cakes of meal oversmoky fires of dried camel dung. When they had eaten, they lay down,wrapped in their robes. They slept through the hours of quivering heatwhen the rocks danced in the mirage. Dorian lay close beside lbrisam,in her shadow, and the sound of her belches and the grinding of herjaws as she chewed the cud was familiar and lulling.

He slept well and woke in the evening, when the air cooled.

While the column roused itself and prepared for the long night march,Dorian sent a small patrol under Batula to scout ahead along theirintended line of march. Then he mounted lbrisarn, and rode back tosweep their back trail, making certain that they were not beingfollowed.

This was the way of this hard, hostile land, where the tribes lived ina perpetual state of blood feud and war, where raids for camels andwomen were part of desert life, and vigilance was the centre of everyman’s existence.

Dorian found that the back trail was clear. He turned back, urgedlbrisam into a swinging trot and soon caught up with the main column.

After midnight they reached the bitter wells at Ghail ya Yamin. Asmall encampment of the Soar was already there, and they came out oftheir tents and surrounded the Prince’s camel, ululating and firing joyshots in the air.

They camped for two days under the straggly date palms at Ghail yaYarnin, where the water in the wells was so brackish that it could onlybe drunk when mixed with camel’s milk. The men had to climb down deepinto the earth to reach it, and they carried it up to the surface inleather bags to water the camels. After the long, waterless journeythe camels drank with relish. lbrisam drank repeatedly and sucked uptwenty-five gallons during the next few hours.

The last of the sheikhs of the Soar left the column here and scatteredout into the wilderness to find their people, leaving Prince al-Malikwith only Dorian@s small force to guide and protect him on the last legof the journey to meet the Awamir at the wells of Muhaid.

It took them three nights of travel to cross the salt flats before thehills of Shiya. Even in the moonlight the flats were white as asnowfield, and the pads of the camels left a dark path over the shinysurface. On the third morning they saw the hills rise far ahead ofthem, a pale blue line, serrated like the fangs of a tiger sharkagainst the dawn. They camped for the day in a shallow wadi where agrowth of thorny ghaf trees gave them some shelter from the sun.Before he lay down to sleep, Dorian climbed to the lip of the wadi tostudy the line of hills that lay ahead.

The red, rugged rock was highlighted by the rising sun.

The hills of Shiya marked the boundary between the territories of theSoar and the Awamir. Dorian picked out a peak shaped like a castleturret. The Soar called it the Witch’s Tower. It marked the passthrough the range that would take them into the domain of the Awamir.

Dorian smiled with satisfaction that he had led the column across thetrackless plains directly to the pass, then stood up and went down intothe wadi to find shade and rest for the day.

That evening when the column was ready to continue the march Dorianrode back as usual to sweep the back trail. Half a mile from the camphe cut the spoor of a strange camel. By now he had grown so adept inthe ways of the desert that he could recognize the tracks of everybeast in their column. These tracks showed that the unknown rider hadcome out of the west and crossed their trail. Dorian read how the manhad dismounted to examine their trail, then remounted and followed itfor almost two miles, before sheeting off and riding to a low shalebank that rose like the spine of an elephant out of the salt-whiteplain. Behind this cover he had left his camel and crawled to the topof the ridge. His snake-like drag marks were clear for Dorian toread.

When Dorian followed these to the crest of the ridge he found that heoverlooked the camp among the ghaf trees where the column had spent theday. Dorian saw that the ac stranger had lain on the ridge for awhile, then drawn back and run down to where he had tethered hiscamel.

He had ridden off, making a wide circle around the encampment, thenheaded directly towards the hills of Shiya and the Witch’s Tower abovethe pass. The spy had at least eight hours” lead on the column andwould have reached the pass by now.

The implications were sinister. The news of the arrival of al-Malikand his journey through the desert to meet the leaders of the tribeswould almost certainly have reached the Caliph in Muscat and hisOttoman allies. They might have sent a force to intercept him, and thelogical place to set up an ambush would be at the pass of the Witch’sTower.

Dorian took only minutes to decide his next action.

He swung up onto lbrisam’s saddle and urged her into a run. They spedaway across the white flats and within a short time he saw the columnahead, dark shadows on the shining earth. The rear guard challengedhim as he came up, then recognized lbrisam.

“It is al-Salil, by GaR “Where is Batula?” Dorian shouted, as he camewithin hail.

His lance-bearer galloped back to him. As he reached Dorian’s side hethrew back his veil and uncovered his face.

“You come in haste, master, there is danger?”

“A stranger rides in our shadow,” Dorian told him.

“He has watched us from afar while we camped, then he rode off towardsthe pass, perhaps to warn the men who are waiting there.” Quickly heexplained to Batula what he had found, then sent him out with twocompanions to follow up the tracks of the stranger.

He watched them ride away and urged lbrisam on to catch up with thePrince.

Al-Malik listened intently while, Dorian made his report.

“There are many enemies. Almost certainly these are the servants ofthe Ottoman or of my brother the Caliph. Allah knows, there are manywho would prevent me reaching the tribes of the interior. What do youplan, my son?” Dorian pointed ahead. The dark hills of Shiya were anunbroken barrier, rising five hundred feet above the salt flats.

“Lord, we do not know how many of the enemy there are. I have thirtymen, and can laugh at twice or thrice that number of enemy.However, if the Ottoman have got wind of your journey they may havesent an army to find U. “That is likely.”

“The pass at the Witch’s Tower is the main and swiftest route throughthe hills to reach the Awamir, but there is another lesser pass furtherto the west.” Dorian pointed across the silver plain.

“It is known as the Pass of the Bright Gazelle, and to reach it willtake us many leagues out of our way, but I cannot risk riding into theWitch’s Tower and being trapped in its gut by a large force of theOttoman.” Al-Malik nodded.

“How far to this other pass? Can we reach it before daybreak?”

“No,” Dorian replied.

“Even if we drive the camels hard we will not be there before themiddle of the morning.” Then let us ride,” said al-Malik.

Dorian called to his men of the vanguard and ordered them to changedirection towards the west. They closed up and, with the Prince in thecentre of the line, every man alert for an ambush, they pushed thecamels harder. The beasts were still fresh and strong and the saltcrystals crunched under their pads. A soft white dust cloud rose upand sparkled behind them in the still night air as they sped forward.

They halted for a short while after midnight, to let the camels blowand to drink a cup of water mixed with camel’s milk, then went on.

In that darkest hour of the night, four hours before dawn, there was ashout of alarm from the riders ” from the rear guard of the column.

Dorian turned his camel and raced back.

“What is it?” he began, then broke off as he spotted the dark clump ofcamels coming towards them out of the night. There were few, but theymight be the outriders Of an army.

“Close up the ranks!” he ordered, and loosened the butt of his lancein its leather boot. Swiftly the column evolved into a defensiveformation, with the Prince in the centre where they could protecthim.

Then Dorian urged Ibrisam. forward and challenged the approaching menwith a shouted question.

“Al-Salil!” The response was immediate, and he recognized Batula’svoice.

“Batula!” He rode to meet his lance-bearer. They came together at agallop then Dorian turned lbrisam to run alongside Batula’s mount sothey could talk.

“What news?”

“A war party, many men,” Batula replied.

“They were waiting at the Witch’s Tower.”

“How many?”

“Five hundred, perhaps more.”

“Who?”

“Turks and Masakara.” The Masakara were the tribe from the coastallands around Muscat and Sur. Dorian had no doubt that they were theCaliph’s men, especially if Turks were with them.

“Encamped?”

“No, they are riding hard in pursuit of us.”

“How do they know we have changed direction?”

“I can only guess that they must have many scouts watching us, and wesaw your dust cloud from many miles.

it shines like a beacon fire in the moonlight.” Dorian looked up andsaw it obscuring half the sky above them.

“How far are they behind you?” Batula threw back the cloth from hisface and grinned in the starlight.

“If it were daylight you would be able to see their dust cloud clearly.Loosen your lance, al-Salil.

There will be good fighting before the sun sets tomorrow.

They raced onwards all that night, until the dawn flushed the easternsky and the light grew stronger.

“Ride on!” Dorian called to the Prince, turned Ibrisam aside andheaded for a pimple of dark lava that rose abruptly fifty feet out ofthe flat white plain to their left.

When he reached it he jumped down from the saddle and scrambled to thetop of it.

The dawn flared before his eyes, and the light came swiftly, thatmiraculous birth of the desert day. The wild hills of Shiya stood talland serried ahead of him; their colours were as gorgeous as those ofsome tropical bird, bright gold and red with bars of purple andbuttresses of crimson. He could clearly see the Pass of the BrightGazelle, a dark blue cleft that split the sheer, rugged cliffs from topto bottom. The white sands were piled up at the base of the hills in asloping ramp, and the wind had carved the soft dunes below the gaudyrock face into weird, fantastic shapes.

Then Dorian looked back the way they had come and saw the dust cloud ofthe Turks, billowing up from the glistening plain close behind him. Atthat moment the rising sun shot its first arrow of light through a gapin the crest of the hills. Although Dorian was still in shadow, theplain behind him was lit, and he saw the sunlight sparkle on the lanceheads of the approaching riders.

“Batula was wrong, he whispered, as he saw their multitudes.

“There are many more than he counted. A thousand, perhaps.” They werespread out over a wide front, many squadF, tons, some obscured by thedust of those ahead.

“There must have been a traitor,” Dorian mused.

“They would not have sent this vast array had they not known forcertain that the Prince was coming this way.” The closest squadron ofthe enemy was near the centre of the line, a small band that hadoutstripped the main body, leaving them floundering along behind. Theywere so close that he could see the shapes of the camels and the riderson their backs through the gossamer sheets of rolling dust. He couldnot count them but he guessed there were two hundred in this group and,judging from the way in which they rode, they were hard-fighting men.

He narrowed his eyes as he tried to estimate their speed and compare itto the pace of the fleeing column of his own men. Those camels outthere were fresh and fleet, while his own beast had run all night. Theenemy were outrunning them, and it would be a close race to reach thePass of the Bright Gazelle.

He ran down to where lbrisam stood and leaped up onto her back.

She sprang away at the touch of his riding wand and fled in pursuit ofthe column. As he emerged from behind the cover of the rocks, thepursuers spotted him and he heard their faint but warlike criescarrying in the cool morning air. Dorian swivelled in the saddle andlooked back just in time to see the puffs of gunsmoke as the riders inthe leading ranks fired at him.

The range was too long, and he did not even hear the flight of themusket-balls. Ibrisam, the Silk Wind, ran on untouched and caught upwith their own band at the start of the sand ramp that led up to thefoot of the cliffs. This was a slithering slope of loose, crystallineparticles that gave under the weight of the camels and ran back likewater beneath their pads.

The column struggled upwards, sliding back half a pace for every onethey gained, and the camels moaned with fear at the treacherousfooting. One of the leading animals went down on its haunches, lungingwildly to regain its feet, then rolled backwards, crushing its riderunder the saddle. Dorian was close enough to hear the screams and thecrackle of the bones as both the man’s legs snapped. Then the heavybeast slid back in a tangle to the foot of the ramp, leaving the slopebehind it littered with waterskins and broken equipment, dragging itsrider down with it, caught in the traces.

Dorian jumped down and, with his sword, cut the injured man free.

Batula saw what he was doing and turned back to help him. His mountslid down the slope in sheets of flying sand, and at the bottom hejumped down beside Dorian. Between them they lifted the injured man,his shattered legs dangling, up onto Ibrisam’s back.

The tail of the column was already halfway up the slope. The Princeand the vanguard had reached the lot of the rocks and were disappearinginto the dark cleft of the pass through the hills.

Dorian seized Ibrisam’s halter, dragged her head round and started herup the dune. He glanced back over the plain and saw the pursuitbearing down upon them. Their mounts were stretched out at full run,the dust boiling out behind them, the riders on their backs brandishingtheir weapons, howling war cries into the wind, robes streaming outbehind them, racing in to cut them down while they struggled up thetreacherous slope.

Abruptly, from high above, came the blast of musket fire. The Princehad rallied the men as they reached the mouth of the pass, and thecrash of the volley echoed and boomed along the cliff face. Dorian sawat least three of the onrushing riders knocked from the saddle by theheavy lead balls, and one of the camels must have been struck in thebrain, for it dropped so suddenly that it cartwheeled, haunches overhead, flinging its rider high as it sprawled on the hard-baked earth.The charge lost speed and impetus, and as Dorian and Batula toiled upthe soft slope another volley of musket fire swept over their heads.

It was answered by a rattle of rolling fire from the foot of the duneswhere the enemy were dismounting and turning their jezails on thestruggling pair exposed on the ramp above them. Lead balls kicked upspurts of sand around Dorian’s feet, but there seemed a charm ofprotection over him, for despite the rain of shots he and Batulabattled on.

Running with sweat and gasping for breath, they dragged the camels overthe top of the sand ramp and onto the stony ledge at the mouth of thepass. Dorian looked around him swiftly as he heaved and panted forbreath.

The Monsoon

The other camels had been led into shelter behind the first turn of thehigh stone walls, and his men had couched them there then run back totake up positions among the rocks from where they could fire down onthe enemy.

Dorian looked out across the plain below and saw the ottoman squadronsstrung out over miles of the pale earth, but all headed in hisdirection. He made a swift count of their numbers.

“Certainly close to a thousand!” he decided, and wiped the stingingsweat from his eyes with his head cloth Then he examined lbrisamquickly, running his hands over her flanks and haunches, dreading tofind blood from a bullet wound, but she was unharmed. He tossed thehalter rope to Batula.

“Take the camels to safety,” he ordered, “and have the injured mancared for.” While Batula led the beasts deeper into the gut of thepass, Dorian went to find the Prince.

Al-Malik squatted, musket in hand, unharmed and composed, quietlydirecting the musketeers among the rocks. Dorian crouched besidehim.

“Lord, this is not your business. It is mine.” The Prince smiled athim.

“You have done well thus far. You should have left that clumsy fellowto fend for himself. Your life is worth a hundred of his.”

Dorian ignored both the rebuke and the compliment.

He said quietly, “With half the men I can hold the enemy here for manydays, until our water is spent. I will send Batula and the other halfto escort you through the pass and on to the oasis of Muhaid.”

The Prince looked into his face, his expression grave.

The odds would be twenty against a thousand, and though the positionwas strong, they could expect the enemy to be determined andresourceful. He knew the sacrifice Dorian was offering.

“Leave Batula here,” he said, “and come with me to Muhaid.” The toneof his voice was a question, not an order.

“No, my lord.” Dorian rejected it.

“I cannot do that, My place is here with my men.”

“You are right.” The Prince rose to his feet.

“I cannot force you to neglect your duty, but I can command you not tofight here to the death.” Dorian shrugged.

“Death makes his own choices. He brooks no argument from us.”

“Hold them here for the rest of the day and the night,” al-Maliksaid.

“That will give me time to reach Muhaid and rally the Awarnir. I willcome back for you with an army “As MY lord commands, said Dorian, butthe Prince saw the battle lust in his green eyes, and it made himuneasy.

“Al-Safil,” he said firmly, and gripped Dorian’s shoulder to reinforcethe words, “I cannot tell how long it will take for me to return withthe men of the Awarnir. Hold them here until dawn tomorrow, no longerthan that. Then run to join me as fast as lbrisam will carry you. Youare my talisman, and I cannot afford to lose you.”

“Lord, you must leave at once. Every moment is precious.” They wentback together to the camels and Dorian gave swift orders, dividing themen into two groups: those who would stay to hold the pass and thosewho would ride with the Prince. They shared out what remained of thewater and food, a fourth part for the Prince and the remainder forDorian’s party.

“We will leave all of our muskets with you, the five barrels of blackpowder and the bags of lead shot,” the @ Prince told Dorian.

“We will put it to good employment,” Dorian promised.

Within minutes it was done and the Prince and Batula mounted at thehead of the departing party. The Prince looked down from the saddle atDorian.

“Allah be your shield, my son,” he said.

“Go with God, my father,” Dorian replied.

“That is the first time you have called me that.”

“it is the first time I have felt it to be true.”

“You do me honour,” said al-Malik gravely, and touched his camel’s neckwith the riding wand.

Dorian watched them wind away down the narrow passage between the highrock walls and disappear around the first turn. Then he put all elsefrom his mind except the coming battle. He strode back to the entranceto survey the plain and the cliffs with a soldier’s eye. He consideredthe height of the sun. It was only a little past noon. It was goingto be a long day and an even longer night He picked out the weak spotsin his defence which the enemy would exploit, and made his plans as tohow he would counter each move they made. First they will try a directassault, straight up the slope, he decided, as he looked at themmassing below him on the edge of the plain. He went among his men,laughing and bantering with them, moving them into the best defensivepositions among the rocks, making certain that each had full powderflasks and shot bags.

He had not finished setting out the last of his pickets before he hearda distant blast of a horn from the bottom of the slope, followedimmediately by the beat of war drums and a swelling shout from thefirst wave of attackers, who rushed forward and started up the slope.

“Steady!” Dorian called to his men.

“Hold your fire, brothers of the warrior blood.” He slapped theshoulder of a man with long dark locks of tangled hair spilling overhis shoulders and they grinned into each other’s face.

“The first shot will be the sweetest, Ahmed. Make it tell.” He wenton down the line.

“Wait until they are staring down your barrel, Hassan.”

“I want a clean kill from you with your first bull Mustapha.”

“Let them get so close that even you cannot miss, Salim.” Though helaughed and joked he was watching the attackers come up the slope.These were Turks, he aVler men than the birdlike Arabs of the desert,with long moustaches and round bronze helmets with nosepieces, and gilets of chain armour over their robes of striped wool.

Heavy gear for the desert, Dorian thought as they toiled up the ramp ofloose sand, the first wild rush slowly becoming a laboured climb.Dorian walked out onto the lip of the slope as if to welcome them, andstood with his hands on his hips grinning down at them. Not only didhe want to inspire his men by his example, he also wanted to makecertain that none could disobey his order and open fire while he wasstanding in front of them.

One of the Turks below paused and threw up his musket. His face wasshiny with sweat and his hands shook with the effort of the climb.

Dorian steeled himself, and the Turk fired. The ball hissed pastDorian’s head and the Wind flipped a lock of his red-gold hair acrosshis cheek and lips.

“Is that the best you goat-lovers can do?” He laughed down at them.

“Come up here. Come and taste the hospitality of the Soar.” Histaunts gave the leaders fresh wind, and they broke into a clumsy,lurching run up the last few yards of the ramp. Dorian stepped backinto the ranks of his own men.

“Ready now, brethren,” he said quietly, and cocked the hammer of hisjezail.

A line of Turks- came shoulder to shoulder over the lip. Their faceswere flushed darkly, bathed in sweat, as they staggered on to thelevelled jezails of the Soar. Most had discarded their own musketsduring the climb. Now they brandished their scimitars and, with ahoarse yell, threw themselves on the defenders.

“Now!” shouted Dorian, and the Soar fired together, twenty muskets ina single prolonged blast of gunsmoke and ball. It swept through theline of Turks Dorian saw his own shot punch a gap in the yellow teethof a burly, moustached Turk in front of him. The man’s head snappedback. Blood and brain tissue burst out of the back of his skull andthe sword flew from his hand. He fell back into the man who teeteredon the crest of the slope behind him, throwing him off-balance so thatthey fell together and rolled down the sand ramp, knocking down anothero were climbing up it, sending them all to three men the bottom.

“Take the blade to them now,” Dorian called, and they sprang out frombehind the rocks and charged into the milling throng of Turks on theledge. That murderous charge drove the Ottomans back, stumbling overtheir own dead, and over the edge of the ramp. The ledge was cleared,and the Soar met the men who were still struggling up towards them.They had the advantage of height, and the Turks were almost exhaustedby the time they came within sword-play.

The struggle was swiftly over, and the attackers broken, dead andwounded. Those who had not been hurt slipped and slithered back down,ignoring the angry shouts of their captains, running over them andcarrying them away in the rout.

The Soar danced on the ledge, beards and robes swirling, hurling tauntsand obscene insults after the enemy. Dorian saw at a glance that hehad not lost a single man, either killed or wounded, while at least adozen Turkish corpses were half buried in the fine sand of the e of thebanquet.” dune below.

“That was only the first cours He controlled his own jubilation. Nomore than a hundred Turks had come at them in that rash charge.

“They won’t try that again.” He strode among his men, shouting to themto reload the muskets, but it took him some time to get them undercontrol again.

“I want ten men up in the cliffs.” He picked them out by name, andsent them climbing up the rock walls to where they could observe thewhole front of the hills and any move the enemy made. He guessed thatthey would now send men to climb the sand dunes on each side of themouth of the pass, out of musket range of Dorian’s men, then they wouldregroup on the ledge and close in from both sides. Combined withanother frontal attack, this would be more difficult to resist.

Dorian knew that his men must eventually be driven back into the gut ofthe pass, and it was there in the narrow passage that they would beforced to make their final stand. Relying on the men he had postedhigh in the cliffs to give warning of the next attack, he took six meninto the pass to select the best defensive position.

It was almost three years since he had last travelled this way, but heremembered that there was a narrow place where the rock pinched in.When he found it again the gap was barely wide enough for a loadedcamel to pass through. Beyond it was a rockfalls and at his orders thessix Soar laid aside their weapons and used the loose rock from thefall to fortify the gap, building a san gar across it, behind whichthey could shelter.

The camels were couched deeper in the pass beyond the next twist of thepassage and Dorian went to check that they were saddled and ready for aquick escape when the enemy broke through the san gar

lbrisam groaned with love when she saw- him, and he caressed her headbefore he left her to go back to the mouth of the pass.

The men he had sent to climb the rock walls were in position above him,and the others were spread out along the ledge. They were loading theextra muskets that the Prince had left with them, and setting theseclose at hand.

That would give them an extra shot when the fighting was heavy.

Dorian squatted on the ledge and looked down upon the enemy. Eventhough the sun was high now and the heat becoming fierce, the whitesalt flats swarmed with activity. Troops of mounted men were stillcoming up to swell the ranks of the enemy, and Turkish officers wereriding back and forth along the foot of the sand dunes, studying thelie of the land. Their helmets and weapons sparkled, and the whitedust hung in a shimmering curtain over them.

Suddenly there was an even more agitated movement among the troopsdirectly below where Dorian sat, and a ounded a fanfare. A small partywas approaching, horns crrying: banners of green and scarlet, the theoutriders ca could be little doubt colours of the Sublime Porte. Therethat this was the command party of the enemy force. As they drewcloser, Dorian studied them with interest. He picked out two figuresin the centre of the group who, judging by their splendid dress and therich caparisons of Turk, their camels, were high-ranking officers. Onewas a for he carried the round bronze shield and wore the helmet withsteel nosepiece. The ottoman general, Dorian decided, and turned hisattention to the second man, an Arab. Even at this distance there wassomething vaguely familiar about him, and Dorian stirred uneasily. Hewas swaddled in fine woollen robes, but Dorian could see he was a bigman. The band of his headdress was of gold filigree and the scabbardof the curved dagger on his waist shone with the same lustrous metal.

There were even gold sandals on his feet. The man was a dandy.

Damn me, but I know him. Dorian’s sense of recognition grew stronger,and he racked his memory to try to put a name to him.

The command party drew up at the foot of the dunes, well out of musketshot of Dorian’s men on the ledge, and the Turkish commander lifted atelescope to his eye and peered up at the mouth of the pass.

He completed a leisurely survey of the cliff face, then lowered theglass and spoke to his officers, who were grouped obsequiously behindhim. Immediately they wheeled away, and began to give orders to thesquadrons of waiting troops.

There was another burst of activity. They were doing exactly whatDorian had anticipated: within a short while hundreds of heavily armedmen were climbing the slope on both sides of the mouth of the pass.

They were keeping well out of musket shot of the little group ofdefenders, but Dorian knew that when they reached the ledge they wouldcreep in, then try to rush the entrance to the pass.

“Al-Salil! The dung-eating Turks are coming up to us again.”

Dorian’s lookouts on the cliffs above called their observations down tohim. From their vantage-points they could see more than he, and theywarned him when the first of the enemy reached the ledge and began tomove along it towards the centre.

“Shoot any who come within range,” Dorian shouted back, and immediatelya fusillade of musket shots echoed along the cliffs. The Soar werefiring down upon the ledge, and the Turks were returning their fire.Occasionally there came a scream as a man was hit, but the shouts fromthe lookouts warned that the enemy were gradually working into aposition from which they could launch their first assault on the mouthof the pass.

Even though he was distracted by action all around him, Dorian keptwatching the gold-bedecked Arab who rode beside the Turkish general. Atlast a train of baggage camels came up from the rear, and from thesewere offloaded a painted leather tent. Twenty men unrolled it, set itup on the white plain and spread rugs and cushions in its shade. TheTurkish general dismounted and went to take his place on the rugs. TheArab dandy couched his camel also, and clambered down awkwardly fromthe saddle. He followed the Turk to the tent, and now Dorian could seethe breadth of his shoulders and the swell of his belly under thewoollen robe. He had not taken more than a few paces when Doriannoticed the limp: he was favouring his right foot. It was enough tojolt his memory. He remembered their fight on the steps of the oldtomb in the garden of the zenana at Lamu, and the fall that had brokenthat foot.

“Zayn!” he whispered.

“Zayn al-Din!” it was his old enemy from childhood days, now costumedlike a prince of Oman and riding at the head of an army.

Dorian felt all the old hatred and antagonism return in full flood.Zayn was the enemy once again. But what is he doing here, hunting hisown father? Dorian puzzled.

Does he know that I am here also?

He tried to make sense out of this strange, unlooked for circumstance.Zayn had been at the court of Muscat for so long that he would havebeen caught up in the cOnvOluted maelstrom of royal intrigue, probablytrained and encouraged by his uncle the Caliph.

Unless Zayn had changed greatly from the boy Dorian had known, he wouldhave taken readily to the conspiracies of the court. It was clear thathe had become another pawn of the Sublime Porte. Perhaps he was at thecentre of the capitulation of Oman to the Ottoman.

“You traitorous swine,” Dorian muttered, staring down at him withloathing.

“You would sell your country and your people, even your own father.What was the price?

What reward have the Porte offered you, Zayn? The throne itself, astheir puppet in Muscat?” Zayn al-Din took his seat beside the Turkishgeneral in the shade of the tent fly, and a slave placed a cup in hishand. He sipped from it, and Dorian saw that he had grown a thin,straggling beard but that his cheeks were smooth and plump. He staredup directly at Dorian, who pulled off the headdress and shook out hisshining gold curls. The cup slipped from Zayn’s fingers as herecognized him.

Dorian waved gaily at him. Zayn made no reply, but seemed to CrouAi alittle lower, hunching down like a bloated toad. At that moment therewas a sudden heavy burst of firing along the cliffs on the right, andDorian turned away to bolster the defence on that side of the pass.

“Beware, al-Salil,” one of the lookouts called.

“They are coming!”

“How many?” Dorian shouted back, and dropped behind the rock withAhmed.

“Many!” came the reply.

“Too many On this side, the cliffs formed a jagged buttress that turnedback upon itself so that they could not see more than twenty pacesalong the open ledge, but they could hear the voices of the men beyondthe corner of the cliff and their footsteps as they pressed forward,the clatter of a bronze shield on rock, the creak of leather thongs onbreastplate and scabbard belt.

“Steady!” Dorian called softly to his men.

“Wait for them. Let them come close.” Suddenly, a rank of Turkscharged around the corner of the cliff, straight at them. The ledgewas only wide enough for three at a time, but others pressed closebehind them, right on their heels.

“AVah akbar!” they howled.

“God is gread’

There was a tall pockmarked man in the front rank, with a steel Saracenhelmet on his head, chain- il ma covering his torso and a double,bladed battle-axe in his hands. He jumped out ahead of his comradesand singled out Dorian, locking eyes with him and charging straight athim with the axe held in both hands above his head.

He was an arm’s length away. The muzzle of the long jezail almosttouched his face as Dorian fired. The ball hit the Turk in the throat,and he dropped to his knees clutching the wound- A severed arteryPumped out blood between his fingers in thick glutinous jets, and hefell forward on his face.

Dorian dropped the empty musket and snatched up the loaded one that layat hand and cocked the hammer.

Another man jumped over the dying Turk and Dorian shot him in thechest. He went down kicking and twitching on the rock ledge.

Dorian threw down the empty musket and drew his sword. He steppedforward to block the ledge. Ahmed was on his right and Salim on theleft, their shoulders touching.

The enemy came at them in a mob, three at a time but with others closebehind, ready to step into the gaps left by the men who fell.

Dorian loved the feel of a good blade in his hand. This weapon he heldnow had been a parting gift from the Prince when he had sailed fromLamu. It was of Damascus steel, limber as a willow wand and sharp asthe tooth of a serpent.

He killed the first man who came at him cleanly, lunging under the rimof his helmet into his dark eye, skewering the eyeball like a sheep’skidney on a kebab, and sending the steel on into his brain.

Recovering swiftly, Dorian disengaged the blade and let his victimdrop. Then the others rushed forward behind their bronze shields, andthere was no longer space nor pause for fine sword-play.

Shoulder to shoulder in the pack and surge, they hacked and stabbed andshouted, swaying back and forth and side to side, across the narrowledge.

The warning cry from the Soar lookouts in the cliff face was almostdrowned by the shouting, the clatter of steel on steel, the tramplingand shoving.

“On the left side and the frond” Dorian heard it, and cut down anotherman before he jumped back from the fight, letting Mustapha, who wasbehind him, move up into his place in the line.

He looked about him and saw that, while he had been fighting on theright, the Turks had launched a series of attacks at every other point.Five of his men were fighting desperately to hold the far side of theentrance, where the enemy were pressing forward along the ledge.

At the same time two hundred Turks were coming directly up the sandslope to their front. In the few moments that it took him to make thisappraisal, two of his men were killed. Salim had half his head cutaway by the swing of an axe blade and Mustapha took a sword thrustthrough the lungs and dropped to his knees” belching bright gouts ofblood.

Dorian knew he could not afford these losses, and the Turks coming upthe slope had almost reached the ledge.

The men he had placed in the cliffs had not waited for his order butwere scrambling down to join the fighting. He was grateful when theyjumped the last ten feet onto the rock beside him. By now both hisflanks were buckling under the pressure, and at any moment a wave ofthe enemy would come roaring over the front of the ledge.

“Back to back!” Dorian yelled.

“Cover each other! Back into the pass.” They formed a tight,defensive ring, and the Turks bayed around them as they fell backquickly into the mouth of the pass, but they lost more men to theflashing blades and musket-balls fired at close range.

“Now!” Dorian gave the order.

“Run!” They spun round and pounded back deeper into the pass, draggingtheir wounded with them, while the enemy jammed in the entrance,obstructing each other by their numbers as they tried to pursue.

Dorian was in the -lead as they raced round the bend in the rockpassage and he shouted to the six men behind the walls of the san gar”Hold your fire! It is us!” The rock wall of the san gar was chesthigh and they had to scramble over it. The men waiting behind the wallhelped to drag the wounded over the top.

As the last of the Soar fell over the wall the enemy came roaring downthe rock passage close behind him. The six men who had not taken anypart in the fighting so far were desperate to join in: they had loadedall the remaining muskets and stacked them along the side of the cliff,and they had planted the long lances in the earth, close at hand forwhen the Turks breached the san gar

The first volley into the front rank of the Turks brought them upshort, and there was confusion and dismay as those in front tried toretreat and their comrades coming up behind pushed them forward.

Another close quarter volley with the second battery of reloadedmuskets tipped the balance, and the remaining Turks fled back down thepassage to disappear around the bend in the rock. Although they werehidden by the curved rock wall, the voices of the Turks were ma ifiedby the surrounding walls, and Dorian could hear every word as theycursed the Soar and urged each other to attack again. He knew thatthere would be only a brief respite before the next assault.

“Water!” he ordered.

“Bring a waters king The heat in the pass was like a bread oven, andthe fighting had been heavy and hot. They gulped down the foul,brackish liquid from the bitter wells at Ghail ya Yamin as though itwere sweet sherbet.

“where is Hassan?” Dorian asked, as he counted heads.

“I saw him fall,” one of his men replied, “but I was carrying Zayid andI could not go back for him.” Dorian felt the loss, for Hassan hadbeen one of his favourites. Now he had only twelve men still able tofight.

They had dragged back five of their wounded with them but others hadhad to be left to the mercy of the Turks.

Now they carried the five wounded back to where the camels werecouched, then Dorian divided the survivors into four equal groups.

The wall of the san gar was wide enough for only three of them to manit at a time. Dorian positioned the three other groups behind theleading rank, after each volley they would fall back to reload and theother ranks would step up to take their turn. In this fashion he hopedto maintain a steady fire into the Turks as they came forward to theattack. He might be able to hold them off until dark, but he doubtedthat they could survive the night.

So few of the Soar were still on their feet, and the Turks had areputation as terrible and doughty fighters. He knew they would beresourceful enough to find some strategy to thwart their best effortsof defence. All he could hope for was to buy time for al-Malik, and inthe end they would have to try to fight their way out with lance andsword.

They settled down behind the san gar in the hushed, heated air of thepass, husbanding their strength.

I would trade my place in Paradise for a pipe of kheef now.”

Misqha grinned as he wrapped a strip of filthy swear soaked clotharound the sword@ cut in his upper arm. The heady smoke of the herbmade the smoker fearless and oblivious to the pain of his wounds.

“I will make one for you and light it with my own hands when we sit inthe halls of Muscat,” Dorian promised, then broke off as somebodycalled his name.

“Al-Salil, my brother!” the voice echoed and resonated from therock.

“My heart rejoices to see you again.” It was high-pitched, almostgirlish.

Although the timbre had changed, Dorian recognized it.

“How is your foot, Zayn al-Din?” he called back.

“Come, let me break the other for you, to balance your duck waddle.”Out of sight behind the bend of the passage, Zayn giggled.

“We will come, my brother, believe me, we will come, and when we do Ishall laugh while my Turkish allies lift the skirts of your robe andbend you over the saddle of your camel.”

“I think you would enjoy that more than I would, Zayn.”

Dorian used the feminine form of address, as though he were speaking toa woman, and Zayn was silent for a while.

“Listen, al-Salil,” he shouted again.

“This is your blood brother Hassan. You left him behind when you ranlike a cowardly jackal. He still lives.” Dorian felt a chill of dreadblow down his spine.

“He is a brave man, Zayn al-Din. Let him die with dignity,” he calledback.

Hassan had been his friend since the first day he had come to liveamong the Soar. He had two young wives and four little sons, theoldest only five years of age.

A terrible scream came down the passage, a scream of mortal agony andoutrage, which descended into a sobbing moan.

“Here is a gift for you from your friend.” Something small, soft andbloody was lobbed around the corner of the passage. It rolled in thesandy earth and came to rest in front of the san gar wall.

“You are in need of another pair of balls, al-Salil, my brother,” Zaynal-Din called.

“There they are. Hassan will not need them where he is going.” TheSoar growled and cursed, and Dorian felt tears sting his eyelids. Hisvoice choked as he shouted back, “I swear, in the name of God, that Iwill do the same for you one day.”

“Oh, my brother,” Zayn called back, “if this dog of a Soar is so dearto you, I will send him back to you. But before I do I wish to look athis liver.” There was another terrible scream, then Hassan was thrustout into the open and sent staggering down the passage towards the sangar He was naked, and between his legs was a dark hole, mushy withblood. They had ripped open his belly and his entrails dangled aroundhis knees, slippery and purple. He reeled towards Dorian, his mouthopen. He made a cawing animal sound, and his mouth was ablood-drenched cave. Zayn al-Din had cut out his tongue.

Before he reached the san gar wall he collapsed and lay wrigglingweakly in the dust. Dorian leaped over the wall with the musket in hishand. He placed the muzzle at the back of Hassan’s head and fired.

His skull collapsed like a rotten melon. At the sound of the shot theTurks came pouring down the passage, like a wave of storm water.

Dorian jumped back over the wall.

“Fire!” he shouted to his men, and the first volley of musket-ballsslapped like thrown gravel into the front rank of the attackers.

The fighting raged back and forth for the few hours of daylight thatremained. Gradually the passage clogged with the enemy dead, they werepiled almost as high as the rock wall, and a thick fog of gunsmokefilled the depths of the pass, so that the air was hard to breathe andthey panted and gasped as they fired and reloaded. The smoke mingledwith the metallic smell of blood and the gas from the torn intestines,and in the heat the sweat poured down their bodies and burned theireyes with its salt.

Using their own dead as an assault ladder, the Turks managed to climbover the top of the wall three times, and three times Dorian and hisSoar hurled them back. As darkness fell there were only seven Arabsstill able to stand beside him and all were wounded. In the lullbetween each attack, they dragged their dead and wounded back to wherethe camels were couched. There was no one to tend the injured men, soDorian placed a waters king beside those who still had the strength todrink from. it.

Jaub, who was nicknamed the Cat, had had his right shoulder shatteredby the blow of a battle axe and Dorian could not staunch the pumpingarterial bleeding.

“It is time for me to leave you, al-Salil,” Jaub whispered, as hestruggled to his knees . “Hold my sword for me.”

Dorian could not refuse this last request: he could not leave thiscomrade of a dozen battles to the Turks. With ice in his heart, he setthe hilt of the sword firmly in the sand and placed the point of thecurved blade in the notch below the sternum, aimed up towards theheart.

“The blessing of Allah and his Prophet on you, my friend,” Jaub thankedhim and fell forward. The blade slid full length and the point,smeared with blood, came out in between his shoulder-blades. Dorianstood up and ran back to the wall just as another rush of Turks camehowling down the gut of the pass. They hurled them back at last, buttwo more of the Soar had gone down. I had hoped to hold them longer,Dorian thought, as he leaned heavily on the blood-soaked wall. I hadhoped to give my father more time to raise the Awamir, but there aretoo few of us left and it is almost over now.

It was becoming very dark in the passage. Soon the Turks would be ableto creep up to the foot of the wall unseen.

“Bin-Shibam,” he croaked to the man beside him, for his throat wasswollen with thirst and strained with shout” bring the last waters kingand the bundles of firewood from the camel loads. We will drink andlight the night with our last fire.” The leaping flames lit the rockwalls of the pass with a ruddy flickering light, and at intervals oneof the Soar threw a burning brand over the wall to dispel the shadowsin which the Turks might crawl forward.

There was a lull now. They could hear the Turks talking beyond thebend, and the groans of the wounded and dying were hideous, but stillthe next attack did not come. They sat in a small lonely huddleagainst the wall, drinking the last of the water and helping each otherbind up their wounds. All of them were hurt, but although Dorian hadbeen in the thick of the fighting all that day his injuries were theleast grave. There was a deep cut on the back of his left arm, and asword-thrust through the same shoulder.

“But I still have my right arm to wield a sword,” he told the man whowas fashioning an arm sling for him from a length of rope from thecamel tack.

“I think we have done all we can here. If any of you wishes to leave,take a camel and ride with my thanks and blessings.”

” This is a good place to die,” said the man beside him.

“The hour is of Paradise will be sad that we disregard their call,”another refused Dorian’s offer.

Then they all looked up in mild alarm as a pebble clattered down fromhigh above, bouncing from wall to wall, striking tiny sparks from therock.

“They have climbed the cliffs and are over our heads.” Dorian jumpedto his feet.

“Douse the fire.” The flames would light them for the men high aboveto see their position. His warning came too late.

Suddenly the air around them was filled with a thunderous roar, likethat of a great waterfall, and a bombardment of rocks came hurtlingdown upon them. Some of the boulders were the size of powder-kegs,others only as large as a man’s head, but there was no shelter fromthis lethal rain in the gut of the pass.

Three more men were crushed in the first few moments and the othersstruck down as they ran back along the passage to the camels.

Dorian was the only one to get through. He reached lbrisam’s side andthrew himself into the saddle.

“Hut! Hut!” he urged her to her feet, but as she rose the bombardmentof boulders ceased abruptly and the Turks swarmed over the wall behindhim. They stabbed the wounded Arabs then, with barely a pause, rushedforward to surround lbrisam.

Dorian hit one of them in the chest with the lance, driving the steelhead in deeply against the clinging resistance of living flesh, but theshaft snapped off in his hand and he hurled the stump into the face ofanother Turk and drew his sword. He slashed at the heads of the menwho were trying to pull him down from the saddle, and drove Ibrisamback down the passage. She kicked out at the men who stood in her way,clashing her huge yellow teeth, biting all the fingers off one man’shand and crushing another’s ribs with a single blow from her forefoot.Then she bounded forward and broke through their ranks.

Dorian clung to the pommel of the saddle with his good hand as lbrisamran free, following the bends and convulsions of the pass. Thebloodthirsty yells of the Turks dwindled behind them.

The pass ran a mile or more through the hills, a dry water-courseformed when a softer stratum of rock had been washed out by storm-waterover the millennia. Once they were clear of their pursuers Ibrisamshifted into that smooth-pacing trot that covered the ground swiftlyand had given her the name Silk Wind.

Dorian fell into a trance from thirst) exhaustion and the stiffeningpain of his wounds- The walls of the pass streamed past him endlessly,mesmerizing him further. Once he almost toppled from the saddle, butlbrisam felt him slump and came to an abrupt halt. This roused Dorianand he sat more firmly in the saddle when she went on.

Only then did he become aware that her gait was hampered, but he wasconfused and dazed, barely able to keep his seat. The effort requiredto dismount and check her condition was too much for him.

Once again he dozed and when he started awake he found that they hademerged from the far end of the pass and were out into the open countryof the Awamir. He could tell from the height of the moon and theposition of the stars that it was after midnight.

The night was icy cold, a cruel contrast to the burning heat of theday. The blood and sweat that soaked his robe chilled him further andhe was shivering and light-headed.

lbrisam was moving strangely under him, her pace short and her backhunched. At last he summoned the strength and resolve to order her tohalt and couch.

He tested the waters king that hung over her withers,

and found that it contained less than a gallon of the stinking waterfrom Ghail ya Yamin. He took his thick woollen shawl out of thecarrying-net and spread it over his shoulders. Still shivering, heexamined Ibrisam to find the cause of her distress.

He saw at once that her rump was wet and shining in the moonlight, anddiscovered that she was scouring heavily. The liquid dung she waspassing was dark red with blood. Dorian felt a plunge of dismay. Hisown injuries and misery forgotten, he palpated her sleek, smooth flanksbut when he touched her belly, just forward of her back legs, shemoaned softly and his hand came away wet and shining with blood.

A thrust from a Turkish lance had cut deep into her belly and rupturedher bowels. She was mortally wounded, and it was a miracle of love anddetermination that she had carried him this far. Dorian was so weakand sad that his tears welled. He untied the leather bucket from theload and filled it with the last of the water from the skin.

He drank half a pint of the filthy liquid, then went to kneel atlbrisam’s head.

“My brave darling,” he said, and gave her to drink of what remained inthe bucket. She sucked up the water eagerly, and when it was finishedshe snuffled the bottom.

“There is nothing more I can do for you,” he told her, as he strokedher ears. She loved him to do that.

“You will be dead by morning,” he said, “and I with you, unless you cancarry me a little further, for the Turks will follow closely.

Will you carry” me for the last time?” He stood up and called to hersoftly, “Hut! Hut!” She swung her head and looked at him with thosegreat dark eyes swimming with agony.

“Hut! Hut!” he said, and she groaned, roared and heaved herselfupright. Dorian dragged himself up into the saddle.

She went on at that cramped painful gait, following the tracks that thePrince and Batula had left through the broken hills and deep wadis.Dorian almost toppled again, but he rallied and used the emptycarrying-net to tie himself into the saddle. He dozed, jerked awakeand dozed again, slowly sinking into a coma. He lost all track oftime, speed, direction, and they wandered on, the dying beast and theman.

An hour after dawn, just as the cruel flail of the sun scourged themonce again, lbrisam went down for the last time. She died on her feetstill trying to struggle forward.

With a last low moan, she fell heavily, throwing him from the saddle tosprawl on the rock-strewn earth.

Dorian crawled to his knees then dragged himself into the shade ofIbrisam’s carcass. He forced himself not to think about the death ofhis beloved beast, or the loss of so many of his men. He had toconcentrate all his strength and wits on staying alive until Batulacould lead the Awamir back to rescue him.

He saw the heavy tracks of many camels in the loose earth ahead of him,and realized that even in her death throes Ibrisam had still faithfullyfollowed the route that Batula and the Prince had taken towards theoasis at Muhaid. That might yet save his life, for when they returnedthey would come back along their own tracks.

It was the rule of survival in the desert not to leave a place ofsafety and wander off into the wilderness, but Dorian knew that theTurks were following him. Zayn al Din would not let him go soeasily.

The enemy must be close, and if they found him before Batula returnedhe could expect the same treatment that Zayn had given to the woundedhe had captured at the Pass of the Bright Gazelle.

He must go on to meet Batula and he must try to keep ahead of thefollowing Turks for as long as he had the strength to remain on hisfeet. He stood up shakily and looked down at the load that lbrisam.

had carried. Was there anything that might be of use to him? Heunhooked the waters king shook it, then held it high with both hands, 2the spout to his lips. A few bitter drops slid reluctantly into hismouth and he swallowed painfully, his throat already swelling.

Then he dropped the empty skin.

Weapons. He looked to what he had with him. There was his jezail inthe leather scabbard, and the powder flask and shot bag. The buttstock of the musket was inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, the lockchased with silver. It weighed almost seven pounds, too heavy tocarry. Leave it.

His broken lance had been left at the pass, and the sword would weighhim down, its weight would seem to double with every mile he walked.Sadly, he unbuckled the belt and let it drop. He kept the dagger, hewould need that at the end. The edge was keen. He had honed it untilhe could shave the red-gold hairs from his own forearm with it. Whenthe Turks closed in, he would fall on it, choosing a clean death,rather than emasculation and disembowelment.

He looked down at Ibrisam and said, “There is one last thing I ask youfor, my darling.” He knelt beside her and slit open her belly with thedagger. From her stomach he took handfuls of the contents and squeezedout the liquid between his fingers and drank it. It was bitter withgall, and he had to control the urge to vomit it out again, but he knewit would give him the strength to survive a few more hours under thecruel sun.

He rebound his wounds, found that the bleeding had stopped, and thatblack scabs had formed. Then he tightened the straps of his sandals,and spread the shawl over his head to fend off the brutal sunlight.Without looking back at Ibrisain he struck out along the tracks of thePrince’s party, towards a horizon that was already wavering with theblue heat mirage.

An hour or so later he fell for the first time. His legs seemed toturn to water under him and he went down face first. His open mouthwas filled with dry chalky earth, and he almost choked as he tried tospit it out. There was no saliva left in his mouth, and the dust wassucked into his lungs as he panted for air. He struggled into asitting position, coughed and gasped. The effort saved him fromsinking into coma. He wiped his face with the tail of his headdressand there was no spittle on his lips or sweat on his face. He forcedhimself back on to his feet. Though he lurched and staggered, almostfell again, he kept himself upright and some little strength returnedto his legs.

He walked on and the sunlight burned deep into his eyes, seeming tocook the contents of his skull. He felt his dry. lips tear likeparchment as he tried to swallow, and there was the slow metallic weepof salty blood into his mouth.

thirst slowly receded, and he entered The pain and that dreamlike statewhere there was no feeling. He heard music, sweet and melodious.

He stopped and looked about him blearily, saw Tom and Yasmini standingtogether on the crest of the slope he was climbing. They were bothwaving and laughing.

“Don’t be a baby, Dorry!” Tom shouted.

“Come on, Dowle.” Yasmini danced like a dainty elf beside him,swirling her skirts. He had forgotten how pretty she was.

“Come with me, Dowle, I will take you down the Angel’s Road again.”Dorian broke into a shambling, unsteady run, and the pair on the hillturned and waved at him before they disappeared over the crest. He feltas though each pace he took was through deep loose sand, and hestumbled over a rock, had, to windmill his arms to prevent himselffalling, but he reached the crest and looked down into the valleybeyond.He stared in amazement, for the valley was filled with green treesladen with ripe, red fruit, and there were fields of lush English grassleading down to a lake of sparkling

Al

water. Tom had gone, but Yasmini stood naked at the edge of the lake.Her body was sleek and slim, her skin a lovely golden shade and herhair, with its silver blaze, rippled down to her waist. Her littleapple-shaped breasts peered shyly through the shimmering curtain of herhair.

“Dowle!” she called, and her voice was as sweet as the dawn call of adesert thrush.

“Dowle, I have waited for you so long.” He tried to run down to her,but his legs gave way again and he fell. He was too weary to lift hishead.

“Just let me sleep a little, Yassie,” he pleaded, but no sound camefrom his swollen throat, and his tongue seemed to fill his mouth andcleave to the roof.

With another huge effort he opened his eyes, and with a terrible senseof loss he realized that Yasmini and the lake were gone.

There was only the harsh, burning wilderness below him, rock, thorn andsand. He rolled over to look back down the hill and saw the patrol ofOttoman cavalry. They were coursing along his back track, fifty men onracing camels, still two sea miles behind him, but coming on apace. Heknew that they, at least, were not phantoms.

He crawled a short way on hands and knees, then launched himself to hisfeet. His knees buckled but he fought off the weakness, and staggeredover the crest of the hill. The gradient helped him to run on.

He heard the music again, but now it filled the heavens: hundreds ofvoices were singing. He lifted his eyes and saw the heavenly choir, athrong of angels clustered around the sun, so glorious that theystarred his vision like the reflections from the facets of a greatdiamond.

“Come to God!” they sang.

“Surrender yourself to the Will of God!”

“Yes!” he mumbled, and the sound of his own voice was strange in hisears, coming from a great distance.

“Yes, I am ready.”

As he said it, a miracle occurred. God appeared to him. God was tall,he wore a robe of blinding white and the rays of the sun behind hishead formed a golden nimbus. His countenance was beautiful, noble,handsome and filled with great compassion. God lifted his right handin a gesture of blessing, and his eyes were filled with love as helooked down at Dorian. Dorian felt as though God’s strength wasflowing into his body, charging his soul with an infinite sense ofholiness and reverence. He fell to his knees and used this newstrength to shout aloud, “I bear witness that there is no God but God,and Muhammad is His Prophet” God’s beautiful face shone withbenevolence. He strode forward, lifted Dorian to his feet and embracedhim, kissed his blackened, bleeding lips.

“My son!” God said, but he spoke with the voice of Prince Abd Muhammadal-Malik.

“Your acceptance of the one true faith fills my heart with joy. Nowthe prophecy fulfils itself, and I give thanks to God that we havefound you in time.” Dorian sagged in the Prince’s arms and al-Malikshouted to the men who followed him closely, “Water!

Batula, bring water.” Batula squeezed cool, sweet water from a spongebetween Dorian’s lips and lifted him onto the litter they had preparedfor this moment. A dozen men of the Awamir raised it onto the back ofone of the baggage camels.

High on the swaying litter, Dorian rolled his head and, throughbloodshot eyes, between swollen lids, saw the hordes of the Awamircoming across the plain.

Then, on the skyline above, the Turkish patrol appeared and reined intheir camels in their own dust cloud

They gazed down in astonishment, and sudden trepidation, on the army ofthe Awamir.

A great shout of “Allah akbar!” went up from the ranks of the Awamir,they couched their long lances, and swept forward to battle.

The Turks turned and fled before them.

Dorian sagged back on the litter, closed his eyes and let the darknessoverwhelm him.

here were almost six thousand fighting men in the column of Awamir thatstreamed back through the Pass of the Bright Gazelle. The salt flatsbeyond the pass were clear of the enemy. Their scouts had reported theapproach of the Prince’s army and they had fled back into the northtowards Muscat.

Al-Malik paused at the pass to give decent burial to the broken bodiesof the Soar who had died there. Dorian was still too weak and sick torise from his litter, but he had Batula and four others carry him tothe graveside, and for the first time he prayed as a Muslim in thecommunity of other believers as they recited the prayer for the dead.

Then the army went on across the salt flats to the bitter wells atGhail ya. Yamin, where the warriors of the Soar had already assembled,adding another three thousand lances to the Prince’s array.

The sheikhs of the Soar came to the tent where Dorian lay that night,crowded around his litter and demanded that he tell them every detailof the fight at the Pass of the Bright Gazelle. They interrupted therecitation with exclamations of wonder as he told them how each of theSoar had died, the fathers and brothers of the dead men weeping withpride.

“By Allah, a fight in which Hassan would have been happy to die!”

“In God’s Name, Salim was a man.”

“Allah will prepare a place in Paradise for my son, Mustapha.” Theywere fierce for war and revenge, for the blood feud could be settledonly in blood, and they spat in the sand and swore their oaths ofretribution against Zayn al, I Din and the Turks. In his heart Dorianswore the same oaths with them.

Then each noon and evening that the army camped at Ghail ya Yamin theycame again to his tent to hear the story repeated, and they correctedDorian if he left out a single detail, pleading with him to rememberevery blow and shot, and exactly what each of the Soar had done andsaid before he died.

from Ghail ya Yamin, the army set out north on the next leg of the longjourney to Muscat. At each well and pass through the mountains theother tribes came to join them, the Balhaf and the Afar, the BaitKathir and the Harasis, so that by the time they reached Muqaibara theywere fifteen thousand lances together, a mighty host that spread backten miles across the desert.

Batula whispered the story of Dorian’s conversion to one of hiscompanions. No Arab could keep a secret, certainly not one as poignantas this, and the tale was told around every camp-fire, and the warriorsrepeated the prophecy of the ancient St. Taimtaim, for many had readthe text of it on the walls of his tomb. They debated it endlessly andswore in God’s Name that al-Salil was verily the orphan of theprophecy, and that with him in their company the victory was assured.

Before Ramadan came again, they would install Prince Abd Muhammadal-Malik on the Elephant Throne in the halls of Muscat.

In the weeks that it took the army to travel from Ghail ya Yamin toMuqaibara, Dorian’s injuries healed cleanly, for in the desert thereare no evil humours to make wounds corrupt and mortify. When he wasready to take his place in the ranks once more, the Prince sent forhim. As he strode through the encampment every tribe cheered him andfollowed him to the tent of the Prince.

They massed around the open doorway as Dorian knelt before al-Malik andasked of him, “Give me your blessing, Father.”

“You have my gratitude and my blessing, son, and much more besides.”Al-Malik clapped his hands, and Batula led forward four beautifulthoroughbred racing camels. Each was richly caparisoned and carriedlance, sword, and jezail in the scabbards on their backs.

“This is my gift to you, to repay in a small coin what you lost at thePass of the Bright Gazelle.”

“I thank you for your generosity, Father, though I look for no rewardfor what was only my duty.” Al-Malik clapped his hands again, and twoheavily veiled old women of the Soar came to Dorian and laid a bundleof folded silk at his feet.

“These are the mothers of Hassan and Salim, who died at the pass,” thePrince explained.

“They have begged me for the honour of sewing and embroidering yourbattle pennant.” The women spread out the banner upon the floor of thetent.

It was six feet long, of azure blue silk, and embroidered upon it, insilver metal thread, was the prophecy of St. Taimtaim. The elegantscript flowed and swirled upon the silken ground, like the currents andwhirlpools in the surface of a swift blue river.

“Father, this is the pennant of a sheikh,” Dorian protested.

“And that is what you are now Al-Malik smiled fondly at him.

“I

have raised you to that rank. I know that you will bear it withhonour.” Dorian stood up and held the banner high above his head, thenran with it out into the sunlight. The crowds opened before him,shouted their acclamation and fired their muskets in the air. Thebanner streamed out behind Dorian, like a blue serpent on the wind. Hecame back to the Prince’s tent and prostrated himself before him.

“You do me too much honour, lord.”

“In the coming battle, you shall command the left flank, Sheikhal-Salil,” the Prince told him.

“I shall place four thousand lances under your pennant.” Dorian sat upand looked gravely into the Prince’s eyes.

“Father, may I speak to you in secrecy?” Al-Malik gestured for theleather sides of the tent to be lowered, for al-Allama and his retinueto retire and leave the two of them together.

“What more do you ask of me, my son?” Al-Malik leaned closer to him.

“Speak, and you shall have it.” In reply Dorian spread the azurebanner and traced with his finger the words of the prophecy.

The Monsoon

“”He shall bring together the sands of the desert which are divided,”"he read aloud.

“Continue,” the Prince ordered, frowning.

“I do not know your meaning.”

“It seems that the holy saint placed a further duty upon me.

It comes to me that when he speaks of the sands of the desert, thesaint was speaking of the tribes who are divided and at war with eachother.” Now the Prince nodded.

“This may well be true,” he admitted.

“Although most of the tribes have come to us, the Masakara, the Harthand the Bani Bu Hasan still beat the war drum for Yaqub and the SublimePorte.”

“Let me go to them under this banner,” Dorian pleaded.

“Let them see the colour of my hair, and I shall debate the prophecywith them. Then, if Allah is kind, I shall bring over another tenthousand lances to your side.”

“No!” Al-Malik started up in alarm.

“The Masakara are treacherous. They will disembowel you and peg youout in the sun. I cannot allow you to run such a risk.” I have foughtagainst them,” Dorian said softly.

“They must accord me the respect of an honourable foe. If I came tothem alone and placed myself in their power as a traveller, then theydare not go against the teachings of the Prophet. They must listen towhat I have to say to them.” The Prince looked unhappy, and strokedhis beard in agitation, but what Dorian had said was true. The Prophethad placed a duty of host on his believers. They were obliged toprotect the traveller in their midst.

“Still, I cannot allow you to place yourself in such jeopardy,” he saidat last.

Dorian argued, “One life at risk, but ten thousand lances as the stake.Father, you cannot deny me this chance to fulfill my destiny as it iswritten.” At last the Prince sighed.

“How can the Masakara prevail against your eloquence? I cannot. Youmay go to them, al-Salil, as my emissary. But I swear on the red beardIt, of the Prophet that if they harm you in any way there will be sucha lopping of heads as will gorge every vulture in Araby until theycannot fly.”

At sunset the following evening the Prince sat alone on a rock on thecrest of a low hill beyond the oasis. Four camels slipped out of theencampment of the army and rode past his hilltop, heading northwardsinto the purple shadows. Dorian rode the first, leading the second ona long rein. Batula followed him, also leading a second camel. Bothmen were veiled. When he looked up at the Prince, Dorian dipped hislance in salute and the Prince lifted his right hand in blessing.

Then Abd Muhammad al-Malik watched them ride away into the wilderness,his expression sad and bereft. it was dark and the stars were a blazeof glory overhead when at last he rose from the rock on which he wassitting and went down towards the glow of the camp-fires that filledthe wide valley of Muqaibara.

n the cool season, when the winds came off the sea, in the month beforethe feast of Ramadan, the army of al-Malik lay before Muscat andwatched the Ottoman and the host of tribes loyal to the Caliph come outin battle array to meet them.

Al-Malik sat with his staff under a leather awning on a promontory thatjutted out into the plain, his own army drawn up beneath him. Heraised the long brass telescope to his eye and studied the formationsof the enemy as they evolved before him. The Turks were in the centre,their cavalry squadrons in the van, and their camel men behind.

“How many?” he asked the men around him, who argued as though theywere counting goats at a market.

“Twelve thousand Turks,” they decided at last. The centre glitteredwith bronze and steel, the green banners of the Sublime Porte waved andflapped in the sea breeze, the cavalry squadrons cantered forward thensettled into a solid phalanx ready to advance to the attack.

“And the Masakara?” the Prince asked.

“How many?” They were on the right flank, a milling throng of camelmen, restless as a flock of starlings.

“Six, seven thousand,” said a sheikh of the Harasis.

“At least that many,” said another.

“Perhaps more.” Al-Malik looked to the other flank of the enemy wherethe black veils and headdresses marked them as the Bani Bu Hasan andthe Harth. They were the wolves of the desert and there were as manyof them as there were of the Masakara.

Al-Malik tasted once again the bitter gall of disappointment in theback of his throat. They were outnumbered almost two to one.

Al-Salil had failed in his attempt to bring over the northern tribes:al-Malik had heard nothing of him since he had vanished into the desertalmost two moons ago. He knew in his heart that they hadmiscalculated, that he should never have sent al-Salil to them. Everyday he had dreaded receiving a gift from the Masakara, the severed headof his red-haired son in a leather bag. Although the grisly trophy hadnot arrived, the proof of his failure was out on the plain: almostfifteen thousand rebel lances drawn up against him.

Suddenly there was a disturbance along the centre of the Turkish line.Despatch riders galloped forward with orders from the Ottoman staff,and the horns sounded the advance. The Turkish cavalry moved forward,rank upon rank, rippling with sunlight off their accoutrements, but theArab formations on the flanks held their positions, and allowed gaps toopen in the front. This was unusual, and through his telescope thePrince watched with a sudden, keener interest.

There was another commotion among the enemy, and this time the staffgallopers sped out from the Turkish command in the centre, waving theirarms, clearly urging their Arab allies to join in the general advanceand close the dangerous gaps in the front.

Then at last the Arab formations began to move, but they wheeled rightand left, towards the centre, where the Turks stood uncertainly,confused by this unexpected evolution.

“In the sweet Name of God,” whispered al-Malik, and he felt his heartswell so that his breath came short.

In the centre of the front rank of the Masakara he saw a strange newbanner unfurl, carried by a tall rider on a honey-coloured thoroughbredcamel. He turned his glass upon this warrior and saw that the bannerwas azure blue, t shot through with gleaming silver script, and as hestared in wonder the rider threw off his headdress and couched hislance. His hair was red-gold and his lance was aimed at the Turkishflank.

“Allah! All praise to Allah! Al-Salil has done it. He has turned therebel tribes to our cause.” As he stared in wonder, the Arabformations on either flank of the Turks started forward, catching theOttoman in enfilade, closing upon them like a fist of steel.

The Prince roused himself, gave the order, “Advance” Charge at them,”the war drums boomed and the horns sounded an urgent, strident note.

With the Soar and the Awamir in the centre, the army of the southrolled forward, raising a towering cloud Of dust to sully the high bluesky.

of the line, and his heart Dorian rode in the centre was singing.

Right up to this last moment, he had not been certain that the sheikhsof the Masakara would hold true to their undertaking to turn upon thein pulled ahead of the Ottoman. The fleet beast under him riders oneach side of him, and only Batula could match him, riding hard alance-length behind.

Ahead the Turks were in confusion, most still looking down the valleyto where Prince al-Maliks army was rolling forward; only those closestto the right flank had seen the danger and were turning to meet thecharge.

With a clash and shock, of body to body and shield to shield, theystruck the Ottoman flank, and ripped through it. Dorian selected a manfrom the ranks, bulky in his chain-mail and bronze helmet, dark facecontorted with rage and dismay as he struggled to control his plungingsteed. Dorian dropped the tip of his lance and leaned low in thesaddle. Under Batula’s training he had learned to pick a thrown desertmelon out of the air at full gallop.

Now he aimed for the opening in the Turks chain-mail shirt, into hisleft armpit.

The lance jolted in his hand as the tip found the opening unerringlyand slipped through the man’s chest until it struck the chain-mail onthe far side, then the impact lifted the Turk clean out of the saddleand he hung on the supple lance, kicking.

Dorian dropped the tip and let him slide off the steel and roll in thedust, then he raised the lance again and picked out his next victim.This time the lance shattered in his hand at the force of the blow, butthe steel head was firmly lodged in the throat of the man he had hit.The Turk gripped the stump with both hands and tried to pluck it out ofhis flesh, but he died before he could do so, then slipped down fromthe saddle to be dragged away by his fear-crazed horse.

Batula. tossed the spare lance to Dorian, who caught it neatly and inthe same movement couched the long shaft and dropped its bright head tothe level of the next man’s belly.

In the first few minutes of the charge the ranks of the Ottoman wereripped wide open, charged from both flanks, and while they still reeledthe main army of the south crashed into their disordered front.

The locked armies revolved like a mass of debris caught up in thevortex of a whirlpool, and the uproar was deafening as men hacked andshoved, shouted and died. It could not last longi for the conflict wasone@ sided and the fury of the attackers too fierce. Caught in flankand front, outnumbered at every point, the Ottoman line bulged andbegan to give. The Arabs sensed the victory and pressed forward, likewolves around a dying camel, tearing, howling, ripping into them, untilat last they’ broke and the battle turned into a bloody, brokenshambles.

Dorian’s first charge had carried him deep into the mass of the enemyand, for a desperate while, he and Batula were cut off and surrounded.The second lance broke in his hands, so he drew out his sword andfought until his right arm was daubed with Turkish blood to theshoulder.

Then abruptly the fury of the enemy around him abated and they brokeaway, turning the heads of their mounts towards the rear. Dorian sawmen throw down their weapons as the Arabs came racing through the gapsin their front. The Turks whipped their mounts into a gallop andfled.

“Full chaseP Dorian yelled.

“Chase them!

Cut them down.” Mingled like oil and water, the two armies streamedback across the plain together, the Arabs were ululating and swingingtheir bloody swords, shouting their war-cries as the battle turned intoa rout and the fleeing Turks made little effort to defend themselves.Some threw themselves from their horses and knelt in the path of theattackers, begging for mercy, but the Arabs lanced them casually asthey rode by, then wheeled back to strip the corpses of gold andbooty.

Dorian fought his way through to the rear. Ahead he saw that theOttoman staff had long ago abandoned the battle, and were also indesperate flight across the plain.

The general and every one of his officers had grabbed a horse or acamel and were fleeing back towards the city. In all this multitudethere was only one man Dorian wanted.

“Where is Zayn al-Din?” he shouted to Batula. Dorian had seen himearlier that morning as the army had debauched through the gates ofMuscat. Zayn al-Din had been with the Turkish staff, riding behind theOttoman general, wearing half-armour and carrying a lance as though hewere eager for the fight. With him had been Abubaker, his old cronyand henchman from the zenana at Lamu. Abubaker had grown tall andlean, with long moustaches, and he also was dressed in theaccoutrements of a warrior. Although his two old enemies had riddenwithin two lance-lengths of Dorian, neither had recognized him amongthe ranks of the Masakara, for Dorian had been mounted on a strangecamel and his face and red hair had been swathed in the folds of ablack turban.

“Where is he?” he shouted to Batula.

“Can you see him?” He jumped up and stood tall on the wooden saddleframe of the running camel, a careless feat of skill, and from theheight he scoured the open plain ahead, which was covered not only withthe fleeing enemy but also with bolting loose horses and unmountedcamels whose riders had been hacked down.

“There he is!” Dorian shouted, dropped back easily into the saddle andurged his mount forward. Zayn al-Din was half a mile ahead, mounted onthe same bay stallion that Dorian had seen that morning.

His plump body was unmistakable, as was the golden head-rope around hisblue headdress. Dorian pushed his camel to the top of its speed.

He overhauled and passed many other Turks, some high ranking officers,but he ignored them and, like a cheetah coursing the gazelle of hischoice, bore down swiftly on Zayn al-Din.

“Brother!” he called to him, as he ran close behind the baystallion.

“Stay a while! I have something for you.” Zayn looked back over hisshoulder. The wind plucked off his headdress and his long dark hairand his beard fluttered. Terror turned his face the colour of rancidcamel butter as he saw Dorian close behind him, saw the long curvedsword in his hand, his face all speckled with other men’s blood, hisgrin savage and merciless.

Zayn al-Din seemed paralysed with fear, clinging to the pommel of hissaddle, his eyes fixed on Dorian as he came alongside and raised thescimitar on high. Then, with a shriek, Zayn released his grip and fellout of the saddle.

He struck the hard ground and rolled like a boulder down a steephillside, until he lay still at last in a dusty heap, like a pile ofold clothing.

Dorian wheeled his camel and stood over him as Zayn crawled up on tohis knees. His face was white with dust,

and there was a raw graze down one cheek. He looked up at Dorian andbegan to blubber.

“Spare me, al-Salil. I will give you anything.”

“Throw me your lance,” Dorian called to Batula, without taking his eyesof Zayn’s abject face. Batula tossed it across to him. Dorian loweredthe point and placed it on Zayn’s chest. Zayn began to weep, and thetears cut tunnels through the dust that powdered his face.

“I

have a lakh of gold rupees, my brother. It is all yours, if you spareme, I swear it.” His mouth was slack and his lips quivered and drooledwith fear.

“Do you remember Hassan at the Pass of the Bright Gazelle?”

Dorian asked grimly, leaning out from the saddle to stare into hisface.

“God forgive me,” Zayn cried.

“It was in the heat of the fighting. I was not myself. Forgive me, mybrother.”

“I wish only that I could bring myself to touch you, then surely Iwould cut out your testicles as you did to my friend, but rather wouldI touch a poisonous snake,” Dorian spat with disgust.

“You do not deserve the warrior’s death by the steel of the lance, butbecause I am a compassionate man I shall give it to you.” He pressedforward with the long shaft and the bright point pricked Zayn al-Din’sfat chest.

Then Zayn saved his own life. He found the only words that could avertDorian’s implacable wrath.

“In the name of the man who is our father. In the love of al-Malik,grant me mercy.” Dorian’s expression changed, his gaze wavered, and hewithdrew the lance tip an inch.

“You ask for the judgement of the father you have betrayed. We bothknow it must be the garotte of the executioner. If that is the deathyou choose, over the clean death I offer you, so be it, then. I grantit to you.” Dorian put up the lance, and rammed the butt down into theleather bucket behind his heel.

“Batula!” he called, and when his lance-bearer came up he ordered him,”Bind the arms of this eater of swine flesh behind his back and place anoose around his neck.” Batula slipped down from the saddle andswiftly trussed Zayn’s arms, then dropped a running noose over hishead. He passed the end of the rope up to Dorian, who made it fast toone of the loops on his saddle.

“On your feed” Dorian barked, and gave the rope a yank.

“I am taking you to the Prince.” Zayn lurched upright, then staggeredafter Dorian’s camel. Once he lost his balance and rolled on theground, but Dorian did not slacken the pace or even look back, and Zaynstruggled up again, his robe ripped and his knees bloody. Before theyhad covered a mile of that sanguinary plain, on which the corpses ofthe Turks lay like seaweed on a storm-lashed beach, the golden sandalshad been torn from Zayn’s feet and his soles were raw. His face wasswollen and black as the rope half choked him and he was so weak hecould no longer call for mercy.

Prince Abd Muhammad al-Malik rode up to the gates of Muscat at the headof his retinue, the citizens of the city and the courtiers of theCaliph al-Uzar ibn Yaqub threw open the gates and came out to greethim. They had torn their garments and poured ash and dust over theirheads as a sign of repentance, and they knelt in front of his horse,pleading for their lives, swearing allegiance to him and hailing him asthe new Caliph of Oman.

The Prince sat impassively on his horse, a noble, magisterial figure,but when the vizier of his brother Yaqub came forward bearing a stainedsack over his shoulder, alMalik’s expression turned to sorrow for heknew what it contained-.

The vizier emptied the sack into the dust of the roadway and Yaqub’ssevered head rolled to the feet of the Prince’s mount, and stared up athim with dull, glazed eyes.

His grey beard was matted and filthy, like that of a street beggar, andthe flies settled in a humming cloud on his open eyes and bloodylips.

Al-Malik gazed down on him sadly, then looked up at the vizier andspoke softly.

“You seek to win my approval by murdering my brother and bringing methis sad broken thing?” he asked.

“Great “lord, I did only what I thought would please you.” The vizierblanched and trembled.The Prince gestured to the sheikh of the Awamir at his side.

“Kill him!” The sheikh leaned from the saddle and, with his sword,split the vizier’s skull down to the chin.

“Treat my brother’s remains with all respect and prepare him for burialbefore the setting of the sun. I shall lead the prayers for his soul,”said al-Malik. Then he looked at the cringing citizens of Muscat.

“Your city is now my city. Its people are now my people,” he toldthem.

“By my royal decree Muscat is exempt from plunder. Its women areprotected by my word of honour from rape and its treasures frompillage.” He lifted his right hand in blessing and said, “After youhave sworn the oath of fealty, all your trespasses and crimes againstme shall be forgiven and forgotten.” Then he rode on into the city, tothe halls of Muscat, and took his place upon the Elephant Throne ofOman, carved from great ivory tusks.

A hundred noblemen clamoured for the new Caliph’s ear, and a hundredpressing affairs of state awaited his attention, but one of the firstmen for whom he sent was Sheikh al-Salil. When Dorian prostratedhimself before the throne, al-Malik stepped down, lifted him to hisfeet and embraced him.

“I had thought you dead, my son. Then when I saw your banner flying inthe ranks of the Masakara my heart shouted aloud with joy. I owe youmuch, I shall never know just how much, for if you had not brought inthe northern tribes under my flag the battle might have gone hard forus. Perhaps I might not be sitting on the Elephant Throne this day.”

“Father, during the battle I took a prisoner from the army of theOttoman,” Dorian told him, and made a sign to Batula, who waited amongthe noblemen at the back of the throne room. He came forward, leadingZayn al-Din on the rope.

Zayn’s attire was ragged and filthy with dust and dried blood, his hairand beard white with dust and his bare feet raw and bloodied like thoseof a pilgrim. At first al-Malik did not recognize him. Then Zaynstumbled forward and threw himself at his father’s feet, and wept andwriggled his whole body like a whipped dog.

“Father, forgive me.

Forgive my stupidity. I am guilty of treason and disrespect.

I am guilty of greed. I was led astray by evil men.”

“How is this so?” the Caliph asked coldly.

“The Sublime Porte offered me the Elephant Throne if I would turnagainst you, and I was weak and stupid. I regret this with all myheart and if you should order me killed, I will shout my love for youto the heavens as the life flies from my body.”

“You richly deserve such a death,” the Caliph said.

“You have had nothing but love and kindness from me all your life, andyou have repaid me with treachery and dishonour.”

“Allow me another chance to prove my love to you.” Zayn slobbered onhis father’s sandals and mucus streamed from his nose as the tearspoured from his eyes.

“This glad day has already been marred by the death Of my brother,Yaqub. There has been enough blood spilled,” said al-Malikthoughtfully.

“Stand up, Zayn al Ding I grant you pardon, but in penance you mustmake the pilgrimage to the holy places at Mecca and ask forgivenessthere also.

Do not show me your face again until you return with your soulcleansed.” Zayn lumbered to his feet.

“All Allah’s blessings upon you, Majesty, for your benevolence and yourcompassion.

You shall find my love to be like a mighty river that flows oneternally.” Still grovelling, bowing and mouthing protestations ofloyalty and duty, Zayn backed away down the length of the throne room,then turned and pushed his way through the crowds and out of the tallcarved-ivory doors.

Ten days after the triumphal entry into Muscat, and a week before thecommencement of Ramadan, the coronation of the new Caliph wascelebrated in the halls of Muscat and the streets of the city. Most ofthe tribal warriors had drifted back into the wilderness to theirvillages around the tiny oases scattered down the length of Oman, forthey were desert dwellers and unhappy behind the walls of a city. Theyswore their oaths of fealty to al-Malik, then rode away on theircamels, laden with the spoils of the Ottoman army that they haddestroyed.

Those who remained joined the celebrations in the streets of the citywhere whole carcasses of camels and sheep were roasted on the bonfiresin every sauk and square. The rams” horns sounded, the drums beat andmen danced in the streets while veiled women watched from the upperfloors of the huddled buildings.

The new Caliph walked in procession through the crowded streets,stopping every few paces to embrace one of the warriors who had foughtin his army. The crowds ululated, fired joy shots in the air and fellat his feet.

It was well after midnight when the Caliph returned to the palace ofMuscat, and Sheikh al-Salil was still at his side where he had been allthat day.

“Stay with me yet a while,” the Caliph ordered, when they reached thedoor of his bedchamber. He took Dorian’s arm and led him through andout onto the high balcony, which overlooked the sea and the streets ofthe city. The music and the shouts of the revellers carried faintly upto them, and the flames of the bonfires reflected off the walls and litthe dancers.

“I owe you an explanation for pardoning Zayn al-Din,” said the Caliphat last.

“You owe me nothing, Majesty,” Dorian protested.

“It is I who owe you everything.”

“Zayn deserved harsher punishment. He” was a traitor, and I know howhe treated your comrades at the Pass of the Bright Gazelle.”

“My concerns are nothing,” Dorian replied.

“It is what he did to you, and what he will one day do to you again,that angers me.”

“You think that his repentance was a sham?”

“He lusts for the Elephant Throne,” said Dorian.

“I would have been happier if you had taken a scorpion into your bosomand a cobra into your bed.” The Caliph sighed sadly.

“He is my eldest son. I could not begin my reign with his murder. ButI have placed you in great jeopardy, for his hatred of you isimplacable.”

“I am able to defend myself, Father.”

“That you have proved.” The Caliph laughed softly.

“But now to other matters. I have another task for you, a dangerousand difficult one.”"You have only to command me, Majesty.”

“Our trade with the African interior is most important to theprosperity of our people. We, who once were only poor desert nomads,are becoming a nation of seafarers and traders.”

“I understand that, Father.”

“Today I received a messenger from the Sultan of Zanzibar.

Our African trade is under a new and grave threat, the very existenceof our bases at Zanzibar and Lamu is at stake.”

“How is this possible?”

“A band of marauders is savaging our caravan routes between the FeverCoast and the Great Lakes. Our African trade is in jeopardy.”

“Are the black tribes rising in rebellion?” Dorian asked.

“Perhaps this is the case. We know that there are black tribesmenamong the marauders, but there are also rumours that they are led byinfidel Franks.”

“From which country?” Dorian asked.

The Caliph shrugged.

“This is not known. All that is certain is that they are ruthless intheir attacks upon our slave caravans. We have lost almost the entireyear’s revenue from the sale of slaves, together with immensequantities of ivory and gold out of the interior.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dorian asked.

“I will give you a fiman of authority, a commission as a general in myarmies and as many fighting men as you need, a thousand, two thousand?I want you to sail south to Lamu then cross the channel and marchinland to put an end to these depredations.”

“When do you wish me to leave?”

“You must sail with the new moon that ends the fast of Ramadan.” Theflotilla of Sheikh al-Salil, the Drawn Sword, anchored off the beach ofthe island of Lamu in the full of the moon. It comprised seven largeseagoing dhows, carrying twelve hundred troops of the caliphate.

Dorian went ashore in the dawn to call upon the governor, to presenthis fimian and to make arrangements for the reception and resupply ofhis army. He needed quarters for his men ashore to recuperate from thelong voyage down the coast, and supplies of fresh food, horses andbaggage animals.

The camels of the desert would not survive long on the humid, pestilentcoast, and neither would Arabian horses from the north.

Dorian needed animals that had been reared on the coast and haddeveloped an immunity to the African diseases.

It took three days to get all his men and his baggage train ashore, andDorian spent much of this time at the landing or in the newly builtcamp above the beach. On the evening of the third day he was walkingback through the streets of the town, accompanied by Batula and threeof his captains. They were almost at the gates of the fort when heheard his childhood name called.

“Al-Amhara!” He spun round, for he recognized the voice, though he hadnot heard it in many years, and stared at the hearily veiled woman whocrouched in the doorway of the old mosque across the narrow lane.

“Tahi? Is that you, old mother?”

“Praise be to God, my child, I thought you might not remember me.”Dorian wanted to rush to her and embrace her, but it would be a gravebreach of decorum and etiquette to do so in a public place.

“Stay there, and I will send someone to bring you to my quarters,” hetold her, and walked on.

He sent Batula back to bring her through the gates of the fort to thewing that the governor had placed at his disposal.

As soon as Tahi stepped through the door, she threw back her veil andrushed to him. She was weeping, almost incoherently.

“My little boy, my baby, how tall you have grown! The beard and thefierce eyes like a falcon, but I would have known you anywhere. What agreat man you have become, and a sheikh also!” Dorian laughed, heldher and stroked her hair.

“What is this silver I see here, old mother? But you are stillbeautiful.” 4I am an old woman, but your embrace makes me youngagain.”

“Sit down.” He led her to the pile of rugs on the terrace, then sent aslave for sherbet and a platter of honeyed dates.

“There is so much I want to hear from you.” She reached across tostroke his beard and his cheek.

“My beautiful baby, who has become a beautiful man! Tell me everythingyou have done since you left Lamu.”

“That would take a day and a night,” he protested, smiling fondly atthe old woman.

“I have the rest of my life to listen,” she said, so he answered allher questions, in the meantime holding back his own, although it tookall his restraint.

At last he came to the end of the recital.

“And thus the Caliph has sent me back to Lamu and the Fever Coast, andI praise God that he has for now I am able to look on beloved faceagain.” Her face was deeply lined with your care and hardship, and herhair steely grey, but he loved her as much as he ever had.

“Tell me how you have fared since I went away.” She told him how shehad stayed on in the zenana, “At least I given menial duties by thehead eunuch, Kush.

have had shelter and food in my mouth, for that I praise God’s Name.”

“You shall come to live with me now,” he promised her, “and I shall beable to repay all the love and kindness that you lavished upon me.” Shewept again with happiness. Then, trying to make it sound casual, heasked the question, and waited for the answer he dreaded.

“What news of little Yasmini? She must be a woman by now, and long agohave been sent to India to marry her Mogul princeling.”

“He died of the cholera before she could go to him,” Tahi said, andwatched his face shrewdly.

He tried to disguise his feelings from her, and sipped at the cup ofsherbet.

“So they found another noble and important husband for her?” he askedsoftly.

“Yes,” Tahi agreed.

“The Emir of the at-Bil Khail in Abu Dhabi, a rich old man with fiftyconcubines, but only three wives, the eldest having died two yearsago.” She saw the hurt and resignation in his green eyes.

“When was she married?” he asked.

She had to take pity on him.

“She is betrothed but not yet married. She will sail to meet herbridegroom when the winds change and the kusi blows again. In themeantime she waits sadly in the zenana here on Lamu.”

“Yasmini is still here on Lamu?” He stared at her.

“I did not know.”

“I was with her in the garden by the fountain this morning. She knowsyou are here. Everyone in the zenana knows it. You should have seenYasmini’s eyes when she spoke your name.

They glowed like the stars of the great cross. She said, “I loveal-Amhara, as a brother and more.

I must see him one last time before I become an old man’s bride anddisappear from the world for ever.”" Dorian jumped up from the rug andstrode to the end of the terrace. He stood there, gazing over the baywhere his dhows rode at anchor. He felt a strange sense of elation, asthough the wheel of his destiny had made another turn.

During the hard years in the desert his memories of Yasmini had growndim, but he had refused the offers of the sheikhs of the Soar to findhim a wife from among 4 their own daughters. He had not known untilnow that he had been waiting for something or someone else, for thememory of the little monkey-faced girl with the mischievous smile.

Then he felt a touch of dismay. There was so much that stood in theirway. She was imprisoned in the zenana and betrothed to another man. Inthe eyes of Allah she was his sister, and he knew that the penalty forincest was a hideous death. If he violated a royal virgin and defiledthe sanctity of the zenana, even the Caliph could not save him fromdeath by stoning or decapitation. And what would they do to Yasmini? He shuddered as he remembered the tales, repeated in whispers, ofKush’s treatment of any of his charges who strayed. They said that onegirl had taken four days to die and that her screams had preventedanyone in the zenana from sleeping during all that harrowing time.

“I cannot let her take the risk he said aloud, and hugged shoulders,torn by emotions that swung him first one way then the other.

“And yet I cannot resist my heart’s urging.” He turned and smashed hisbunched fist into the wall of rough coral ragging and revelled in thepain.

“What shall I do?” He strode back to where Tahi squatted patiently onthe rug.

“Will you take a message back to her?”

“You know I will. What shall I tell her, my son?”"Tell her that at moonrise tonight I will be waiting at the end of theAngel’s Road.”

He would not let Batula accompany him, but at nightfall he took a horseand, heavily robed and veiled, rode out of the town towards thenorth.

He remembered every track, stream, clump of forest and stretch ofmangrove swamp.

He circled back through the palm groves and saw the walls of the zenanaahead, tall, massive and dark before the moonrise. He found the oldruin and tethered his mare in a patch of bush near by, where she wouldbe hidden from anyone using the woodcutter’s track. He did not expectany islander to be abroad at this hour, for they were superstitious andterrified of the forest djinns.

He climbed over the piles of fallen masonry and pushed his way throughthe thicket of bush and scrub until he stepped down into the hiddensaucer in the centre. The entrance to the tunnel was overgrown and hecould see that no one had used it in all the years that had passed.

He found a seat on a block of coral where he could watch both theentrance to the tunnel and keep an eye open for intruders. He did nothave long to wait for soon the moonglow filled the eastern sky, andthen, as it rose above the tops of the palms, it struck down into thesaucer with a silver light.

He heard a soft sound, light footstep and a whisper from the entranceof the tunnel.

“Dowle? Are you there?” Her voice was more husky than he remembered,and goose pimples rose along his forearms, stirred the fine hairs atthe back of his neck.

“I am here, Yassie.” The branches that screened the entrance partedand she stepped out into the moonlight. She wore a simple white robeand a cloth over her head. He saw at once that she had grown inchestaller, but her body was still slim and supple as a vine, her stepquick and alert as a frightened gazelle. She saw him and stopped dead,then slowly reached UP and drew aside the veil that covered her face.

He gasped. In the moonlight she was beautiful.

Although no longer a child, her face was delicate and still elfin inquality, with high cheekbones and huge dark eyes.

When she smiled her lips were full, her teeth white and even.

He stood up, and pulled back his own veil. She started.

“You have grown so tall, and the beard-” She broke off and stood,uncertain.

“And you have grown into a lovely woman.”

“Oh, I have missed you so,” she whispered.

“Every single day—2

Suddenly she ran to him, and he held out his arms.

She was trembling and sobbing softly against his chest.

“Don’t cry, Yassie. Please don’t cry.”

“I am so happy,” she sobbed.

“I have never been so happy in all my life.” He drew her down on thecoral block and she stopped weeping, pulled back at arm’s length togaze into his face.

“I have heard news of you even in the zenana, how you have become amighty warrior, how you won a great fight in the desert and rode withour father to Muscat and won another fierce battle there.”

“Not single-handed.” He smiled and traced the line of her mouth withhis fingertip. They talked quickly and eagerly, breaking in upon eachother and leaving much only half said, before flitting on to anotheridea.

“What happened to your pet monkey, Jinni?” he asked.

Tears welled up into her eyes, sparkling in the moonlight.

“Jinni is dead,” she whispered.

“Kush found him in his precious garden and beat him to death with aspade. He sent his little body to me as a gift.” Dorian changed thesubject then, distracting her with other more pleasant childhoodmemories and soon she was laughing again. Then they both fell silent,and she lowered her eyes shyly. Without looking at him she whispered,”Do you remember how you took me to swim in the sea when we werechildren? That was the first time I ever remember leaving thezenana.”

“I remember.” His voice was gruff.

“Will you take me again tonight?” She looked up at him.

“Please, Dowle.” They went down through the trees hand and hand, andfound the beach deserted and glistening in the moonlight. The shadowsof the palms were purple-black on the sands and the water shone withthe oily luminescence of a black pearl.

Since last they had been here, the cave in the sandstone had beenexcavated deeper by the wave action of the high tides. They paused atthe entrance and turned to each other.

“Is what we are doing a sin?”

she asked him.

“If it is I do not care,” he replied.

“I know only that I love you and that being with you does not feel tome like a sin.”

“I love you also,” she said.

“I could not love anyone or anything more, though I live a hundredyears.” She untied the ribbon at her neck and let her shift drop ontothe sand. She wore only pantaloons of silk.

Dorian could not breathe as he gazed at her. Her breasts had swelled,and the tips were dark and pointed.

Her skin was smooth and gleamed like the lining of an oyster shell.

“You used to tease me that I looked like a monkey,” she said, halfdefiant and half timid, fearing his rejection.

“Not any more.” He had caught his breath.

“I have never seen anything more beautiful.”

“I was so afraid I would not please you. I want you to like me, Dowle.Tell me that you like me, please.”

“I

love you,” he said.

“I want you to be my woman and my wife.” She laughed with joy, tookhis hands and placed them on her breasts. They were warm and pliant,and the nipples hardened as he rolled them gently between hisfingers.

“I am your woman. I think I have always been your woman.

I do not know how it is done but I want to be your wife heretonight.”

“Are you sure, my darling? If others learned of this, it could meandisgrace and a terrible death.”

“To be without you would be a death far worse than anything that evenKush could contrive. I know that it cannot be for ever, but give methis one night to be your wife.

Show me how, Dowle, please, show me how.” So he spread his robes onthe sand and laid her down upon them, and slowly, with infinitegentleness, small sounds of love and wonder, gasps of surprise and, inthe end, a single long shuddering spasm of pain that was soon lost inthe transport of joy that followed, they became lovers.

ver the days that followed, Dorian was embroiled in the planning of hiscoming campaign on the mainland across the channel. He purchased mostof the draught animals and horses that were available on Lamu, and sentone of his captains with three dhows south to Zanzibar to do the samething there. He also bought up much of the available grain stocks andtrade goods in the markets.

Then he spent hours each day talking to the caravan masters, and theArab traders who had been in the caravans the marauders had attackedand looted. He tried to find out the identity of the bandits, theirnumbers, how they were armed and the methods they used to carry out theattacks. He tallied the losses these men had suffered and the totalsshocked him. Over three lakhs of gold dust had been stolen,twenty-seven tons of new ivory and almost fifteen thousand freshlycaptured slaves. The Caliph had every reason to be worried.

As to the marauders themselves, the reports were vague andcontradictory. Some said there were white men, Franks, with blackarchers and spearmen. Another said they were but savages who foughtwith spear and arrow.

One said that they carried out their raids only during the night whenthe caravans were encamped. Another told how they ambushed his longfiles of slaves and porters during the day, and murdered all the Arabescorts, and that he alone escaped. Another merchant told how they hadspared him and all his men and set them free after stripping them ofall their possessions. Dorian realized that there was no agreement asto who they were, and no clear pattern to their methods.

Only one thing was clear: the marauders appeared like forest djinns outof the southern wilderness and disappeared back the same way.

“What do they do with the slaves they capture?” he asked, and theArabs shrugged.

“They must sell them somewhere?” he insisted.

“They would need a fleet of large ships to transport such numbers.”

“There has been no sighting of such a fleet along the Fever Coast,”they told him, and Dorian’s puzzlement increased.

He had so little certain information on which he could base his plans.All he could concentrate on was protecting the caravans and gettingthem moving again, for the trade had almost dried up. Faced with suchheavy losses, few of the Arab merchants on Lamu and Zanzibar would takethe risk of financing further expeditions.

His other planning revolved around taking the war to the bandits,following them into their fastnesses, tracking them down like the wildanimals they were and destroying them. For this purpose he recruitedall the scouts and caravan guides who had been left idle by thecessation of trade.

He could not begin the campaign until the weather on the mainlandchanged, for this was the season of the Big Wet, when the coastallowlands were inundated with the rains and the Fever Coast lived up toits fearsome reputation. However, he must be ready to sail as soon asthe rains ceased and the kusi wind started to blow again.

Thinking of the start of the kusi always brought his mind back toYasmini. That same wind would carry her ship north to the Gulf and hermarriage. The thought made his guts sour with anger and frustration.

He thought of writing to the Caliph in Muscat and asking him to cancelthe marriage plans. He even considered confessing his love to hisadoptive father and asking him for dispensation to marry Yasmini.

They met each evening after dark, but when he broached this idea toher, Yasmini was terrified and trembled with fear.

“I think not about myself, Dowle, but if our father even suspects thatthere is the love of a man and a woman between us, no matter how muchhe loves you, he will be honour-bound to place your case before themullahs to be judged by the Shari’ah laws. There could be only oneverdict for both of us. No, Dowle, there is no escape that way. Ourdestiny is with God, and He is not always merciful.”

“I will take you away,” Dorian declared.

“We will take one of the dhows and a few of my best men and sail away,find some place where we can live out our love.”

“There is no such place, Yasmini told him sadly.

“We are both of Islam, and there would be no place in Islam for us. Wewould be outcasts and wanderers for ever. Here, you are a great man,soon to be greater.

You have the love and respect of our father and of all men. I will notlet you throw all that away for me.” They spent much of their precioustime together discussing their terrible predicament. They lay in eachother’s arms in the moonlight and whispered endlessly.

When they saw that there was no escape or release for them, they madelove with an almost savage passion, as though to divert the fate thatloomed before them.

Before dawn each morning, Dorian led her back to the entrance tunnel,where she kissed him as if for the last time, and took the Angel’s Roadback into the zenana.

During the days the girl who had once been playful and happy, loved byall in the zenana, was now pale, silent and lethargic. Her friends andall the servants gradually became alarmed. And there was nothing thathappened in that little enclosed world that did not come at last to theears of Kush.

Their flawed idyll of love and desperation lasted through the monthsleading up to the change of the monsoon winds. The expeditionary forceto the mainland was almost ready to sail, and the final preparationsfor Yasmini’s wedding were complete. Her dowry had been sent fromMuscat to her bridegroom in Abu Dhabi, her trousseau was packed andready to go aboard the dhow that would carry her away to her new homethousands of miles to the north, and the confines of another royalzenana, in which she would pass the rest of her life.

“I cannot let this happen,” Dorian told her.

“I will rescue you from that, even if I have to forsake everything inthis life.”

“No, Dowle, I will not let you do it. You will have many other wivesin the years ahead, and you will win glory and happiness without me.”

“No,” he said.

“I do not care about the rest. I care only for you.”

“Then I can never come out to you again along the Angel’s Road. Unlessyou promise me to put this madness out of your mind, this will be thelast time we will meet, Dowle. You must swear to me.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Then I will never see you again.” He saw that she was determined.

“Please, Yassie, you cannot be so cruel to both of us.”

“Then make love to me for the last time.”

“Yassie, I cannot go on without you.”

“You are strong. You will go on. Make love to me.

Give me something to hold on to, to remember through the years ahead.”So they parted at the entrance to the tunnel, and Yasmini ran backthrough the narrow passage, blinded with her tears. As she clamberedout of the opening above the tomb of the saint, a huge hand closed onher arm and lifted her off her feet.

As she struggled and kicked, Kush giggled into her face, holding hereasily.

“I have waited many years for this, my little harlot. I knew that oneday you would place yourself in my power. You were always too bold andheadstrong.”

“Leave me!” she screamed.

“Put me down.”

“No, Kush replied.

“Now you are mine. Never again will you flout my rules. The otherwomen will listen to your screams and they will quail in their beds,and think about the price of sin.” My father” she cried.

“My future husband. They will make you pay dearly if you harm me.”

“Your father barely knows your name. He has many other daughters, andnone of them is a whore. Your future husband would never accept rottenhalf-chewed fruit into his zenana. No, my little one, from now on youbelong to Kush alone.” ush carried her to the little cell beside thecemetery, in the rear of the gardens, screened from the rest of thezenana. by a hedge of flowering thorns.

Two of his assistants were waiting there, eunuchs also, big men, goneto fat, but powerful. They had performed this punishment many timesbefore, and they had made all the preparations.

Kush laid Yasmini on the hard wooden frame and carefully took off herclothing. All three were grinning with anticipation, stripped toloincloths but already sweating in the small hot cell. They touchedher body as it was revealed, stroking her smooth limbs, sniffing herhair, pinching her small glossy breasts. Then, when she was naked,they strapped her wrists and ankles with leather thongs until she layspreadeagled and pinioned. Then Kush stood between her legs and smileddown at her, in an almost avuncular fashion.

“You have been taken in harlotry. We know the man, but it spites methat he is grown too powerful to bring to justice. His punishment willbe to hear of your fate. The rest of the world beyond these walls willhear that you died of a fever. Many do, at this season of the year.However, I will make certain that your lover has the truth whispered inhis ear. For the rest of his life he will live with the knowledge thathe was responsible for your strange, particular death.”

Still smiling he leaned forward and placed his fat hand on her privateparts, gently stroking the soft nest of fine dark hair between herthighs.

“I am sure you have heard what happens to all the bad girls who havecome to this room. But, in case you are uncertain, I will explain itto you as we go along.” He nodded to one of the other eunuchs, whocame to stand beside Kush holding a wooden tray. On it lay two smallpackets. They were wrapped in fine rice-paper, fish shaped as long asa finger and tapered at both ends. They gleamed in the lamplight, forthey had been heavily greased with sheep fat.

“These each contain five ounces of chilli powder. I grow the podsmyself in my little garden. They are of the fiercest variety. Thejuice from my fruit will BURN the skin and flesh from the mouth of aMogul, fed all his life on the strongest curries. I have to weargloves of dogs king to protect my hands when I grind the powder.”

Suddenly he thrust his fat forefinger deep into her.

“One for this pretty perfumed little hole in front.” He grinned downat her as she screamed with shock, pain and humiliation. Then hepulled out his finger, and thrust it in again further back.

“And the second packet for this other, darker cavern at the rear.” Hewithdrew his finger, sniffed it, wrinkled his nose and pulled a face atthe other two eunuchs. They tittered with delight.

He picked up one of the packets from the tray. Yasmini stared at it inhorror and struggled against her bonds.

“Hold her legs,” he grunted at the other two. One of them forced herknees as far apart as they would go. Kush spread the silky fur and thesoft lips beyond.

Then, with the expertise bred of practice, he slipped the greasedpacket into her body.

“See how al-Amhara has opened the way for me and made my task easier,”he said, then stood back and wiped his fingers on his loincloth.

“The front end done. Now for the rear,” he said, and picked up theother packet. His assistant reached under Yasmini’s body and took oneof her small round buttocks in each hand and drew them rudely apart.

She was gnawing her lips and her teeth were stained pink with her ownblood. She whipped her lithe golden body back and forth as far as herbonds would allow, and tears ran back into her hair.

With his free hand Kush groped between her buttocks.

“Open it wider!” he told the other man.

“Yes, that’s better.

So sweet and tight.” Yasmini’s sobs ended with a sharp high squeal.

“Ah, yes,” Kush gloated.

“That’s it. All the way. As far as I can reach.” He stepped back.

“Shabashl It is done. Bind her ankles and her knees together so thatshe cannot expel the sweetmeats.” They worked swiftly, then stood backand surveyed their handiwork with satisfaction.

“Now go out and finish digging the whore’s grave.” They went out intothe cemetery, and soon there came the sound of their spades biting intothe sandy earth, their jovial banter as they worked.

Kush came to Yasmini’s side.

“Your bier is ready, and the sheet to cover you when we lower you intothe earth.” He pointed them out to her against the far wall.

“And see, I have even carved your headboard with my own loving hands.”He held it up for her to read.

“It has the date of your death, and tells the world that you died offever.”

Yasmini was silent now, her body rigid. Her eyes, wide and glitteringwith tears, were fastened on his face as he bent over her.

“You see, the chilli powder is so virulent that it will eat its waythrough the rice-paper, while from the outside the juices of your ownbody will moisten and weaken it further. Soon the packet will dissolveand the powder will be released into your secret places.” He strokedher hair back from her forehead, then with his thumb wiped the tearsfrom her eyelids with feminine gentleness.

“At first you will feel a tiny stinging, which will grow into a fire, araging fire that will make you long for the lesser heat of hell. Ihave watched many whores die upon this wooden bed, but I do not thinkthere are words to describe their suffering. It will eat out your womband your bowels like a hundred rats burrowing into your softness, andyour screams will carry to every woman in the zenana. They willremember you when next they are tempted to sin He was breathing heavilynow, and his expression was rapt, deeply aroused by the picture ofsuffering he was painting.

“When will it begin?” he asked rhetorically.

“We cannot be sure. In an hour, or two, or even longer, there is noway of telling.

How long will it last? I cannot tell you.

I have seen the weak ones die in a day, and the strong ones last fourdays, screaming to the end. I think you are one of the strong ones,but we will see.” He went to the doorway and called to the men whowere digging the grave, “Are you not finished yet? You cannot come andwatch the fun until you are finished.”

The Monsoon

“Soon.” One paused and leaned on his spade. Only the top of hisshaved head was visible above the rim of the excavation.

“We will be finished before the first packet bursts open.” Kush wentback into the hut, and settled his bulk comfortably on the benchagainst the far wall.

“The waiting is the interesting part,” he told Yasmini.

“Some beg for mercy, but I know you are too proud for that. Sometimesthe brave ones try to conceal from me the moment when the paper breaksopen. They try to deny me my enjoyment, but not for long.” Hegiggled.

“Not for very long.” He folded his arms across his soft, womanlybreasts, and leaned back against the wall.

“I will be beside you to the end, Yasmini, to share each exquisitemoment with you. And I shall probably shed a tear at your graveside,for am a man of sentiment, and softhearted.” The word that Kush hadtaken another girl to the little hut beside the graveyard spreadswiftly through the zenana, and the instant that Tahi heard the rumourshe knew with dreadful certainty who the girl was.

She also knew exactly what she must do. She did not hesitate but threwon a shawl and veil, and picked up the basket in which she alwaysbrought back her purchases from the town when she was sent on errandsby one of the royal wives or concubines. As an ancient free woman, shecould pass without check between the zenana and the open world beyondthe walls, and among her duties was the daily trip into the markets.

She left her dingy room at the rear of the kitchen block, and hurriedalong the cloisters. She was terrified that one of the eunuchs wouldstop her before she reached the gates.

A deep, unnatural silence hung like a pall over the zenana and thegardens, and the cloisters were deserted.

No child laughed, no woman sang, and the fires in the kitchen were deadand cold. Every inhabitant of the women’s world had locked herself andher offspring in her own quarters. It was so quiet that, when Tahistopped to listen, all she could hear was her own blood pulsing in herears.

Only one of the eunuch guards was on the gate, but he knew her well. Hewas so distracted by the hushed air of drama that he hardly glanced ather face as she drew back her veil to identify herself. He waved herthrough with one pudgy, be ringed hand.

The moment she was out of sight of the gate, she flung away the basketand broke into a heavy run. Within a mile her heart felt so swollenwith fatigue that she could hardly breathe. She fell on the verge ofthe track and could not force her legs to carry her another step. a Aslave-boy came out of the fields, driving two donkeys ahead of him,laden with bundles of mangrove bark, for tanning leather. Tahistaggered to her feet and hunted under her robes for her purse.

“My daughter is dying,” she called to the boy.

“I must fetch the doctor to her.” She held up a silver rupee.

“Take me to him and there will be another coin for you when we arriveat the fort.” The lad ogled the coin then nodded vigorously. Heuntied one of the bundles of bark and let it fall on the verge. Heboosted Tahi onto the donkey’s back then whipped the little animal intoa trot and ran behind it, laughing and calling to Tahi, “Hold on tight,old mother.

Rabat is swift as an arrow. We will have’ you at the port before youhave time to blink twice.” 4 arian sat on the terrace with Ben Abramat his side. They were drinking cups of black tarry coffee and wereengrossed in compiling a list of the medical supplies that would beneeded by the expedition to the mainland. The pair had joyouslyrenewed their friendship at almost the same minute that Dorian hadstepped ashore on the beach at Lamu. Every day Ben Abram had come tojoin him in the morning prayers, and afterwards they sat long togetherin the pleasant, easy conversation of old friends.

“I am too old to leave the island,” Ben Abram was protesting atDorian’s insistence that he join the expedition to care for the healthof the soldiers.

“We both know that you are as strong and as spry as the first day wemet,” Dorian told him.

“Would you let me die of some horrible disease in the interior? I needyou, Ben Abram.” Dorian broke off as he heard a commotion at the endof the terrace. He stood up and shouted irritably at the guards, “Whatis this uproar? You have my strict orders that I am not to bedisturbed.”

“I am as dust under your feet, great sheikh. But there is an old cronehere who kicks and scratches like a rabid wildcat.” Dorian exclaimedwith annoyance, and was about to order them to send the woman off witha swat across her buttocks, when she screeched, “Al-Amhara! It is me,Tahi!

In the name of Allah, let me speak to you of someone we both love.”Dorian went cold with dread. Tahi would never have been so indiscreetunless some terrible disaster had over, taken Yasmini.

“Let her pass,” he shouted to the guards, and hurried to meet the oldwoman as she tottered down the terrace, far gone with fatigue andworry.

She collapsed at his feet and clung to his knees.

“Kush knows about you and the girl. He was waiting for Yasmini as shecame back to the zenana and he has taken her to the little room besidethe graveyard,” she blurted out.

From his own sojourn behind the zenana walls, Dorian knew about thelittle room. Although it was strictly forbidden, the small boys of thezenana had dared each other to creep beyond the thorn hedge and go intoit to touch the dreadful wooden frame. They terrified each other withhorror stories of what Kush did to the women he took there. One of themost chilling memories of all Dorian’s days within the zenana were theshrieks of a girl named Salima who had been taken there, after Kush haddiscovered her love for a young officer of the governor’s guard.

Those cries had lasted four days and three nights, growing slowlyweaker all that time, and the silence at the end was more harrowingthan the shrillest scream had been.

For long moments he was unmanned by Tahi’s warning. He felt thestrength go out of his legs so that he could not move them, and hismind went blank, as though trying to hide from the horror of it. Then,with a shudder, he threw off the weakness and turned to Ben Abram. Theold doctor had come to his feet. His expression was filled with alarmtempered with compassion.

“I should not have heard those words, my son. You must have beenfoolish, mad, beyond any reason. But my heart breaks for you.”

“Help me, old friend,” Dorian pleaded.

“Yes, I have been foolish and I have committed a terrible sin, but itwas the sin of love. You know what Kush will do to her.” Ben Abramnodded.

“I have seen the fruits of his monstrous cruelty.”

“Ben Abram, I need your help.” By the sheer intensity of his gaze,Dorian tried to will him to it.

“I cannot enter the zenana,” the old man said.

“If I bring her out to you, will you help us?”

“Yes, my son. If you can bring her out to me, I will help you, if itis not too late.”

Ben Abram turned to Tahi.

“When did he take her to the little room?”

“I know not. Perhaps two hours ago.” Tahi sobbed.

“Then we have very little time,” said Ben Abram briskly.

“I have the instruments I need with me. We can go at once.”

“You will never be able to keep pace with me, old father.” Dorianstrapped on his sword-belt.

“Come after me as fast as you can ride. There is a secret way underthe walls on the east side.” Swiftly he described how to find theentrance to the tunnel.

“I have ridden past there, and remember the old ruins,” Ben Abrammurmured.

“Wait for me there,” Dorian said, then raced down the staircase, threesteps at a time, and into the courtyard. As he ran to the stables, hesaw that one of the grooms was leading out his black stallion to curryit in the yard. The horse had a halter on its lean Arabian head, andwas one of the fleetest in Dorian’s string of fine animals that theCaliph had pressed on him as a parting gift when he left Muscat.

He snatched the single rein out of the startled groom’s hand andvaulted onto the stallion’s bare back. As he hammered his heels intothe horse’s flanks the stallion jumped away, and before they reachedthe gates of the fort he was at full gallop.

They raced through the narrow streets, scattering chickens, dogs andterrified people from their path. As they burst out of the narrowlanes into the open country, Dorian lay flat along the stallion’s neckand pushed him to the top of his speed.

“Go!” he whispered in his ear, and the stallion flicked back his earsto listen.

“Run for the very life of my love.” There was a short-cut through themangroves.

Dorian turned the horse off the main road and they splashed through themud for a hundred yards until they hit firm ground again then spedthrough the palm grove on the far side, saving almost half a mile.

The high walls of the zenana were white through the holes; of thepalms, and he sheered off towards the beach to keep out of sight of thegate. Once he was clear, he swung back again and galloped along thebase of the wall.

He saw the mound of ruins just ahead and leaped down ith one arm aroundthe stallion’s neck, his feet skimming the earth. He let go before thehorse had stopped and used the momentum to hurl himself up the side ofthe tumbled ruins and down into the saucer beyond.

He dragged aside the trailing branches and ran into the dark opening.The interior was narrower and lower than he remembered it, and it waspitch dark. When the uneven floor started to rise under his feet healmost fell.

At last he saw ahead the dim light from the exit hole and could go oneven faster. He jumped up, caught the rim of the opening and with asingle movement heaved himself through and out onto the sunlit terracewhere, long ago, Yasmini and her little friends had played with theirdolls.

It was deserted. He crossed it with long strides and dropped down thestaircase on which Zayn al-Din had injured his ankle into the gardenbelow.

At the bottom he paused to take his bearings. A pall of silence hungover the zenana and the gardens. None of the female slaves tended theflower-beds and fountains, no person moved, and there was no birdsong.In the hush the very breeze had dropped, as though all nature held itsbreath. The palm fronds drooped silently and not a leaf stirred on thehigh tops of the Casuarina trees.

He drew his sword, knowing that he would kill without hesitation any ofthe eunuchs who tried to stop him, and went towards the north end ofthe enclosure, towards the mosque and the cemetery.

He ran down the narrow lane between the outer wall and behind themosque. Ahead was the thorn hedge that surrounded the cemetery. Heducked through the well remembered gap and looked across the burialground. Each grave mound had a headboard set above it and some of thenewer graves were still decorated with faded ribbons and flags.

The hut was on the far side, and the thorn hedge had almost overgrownand smothered it in the years since he had last seen it. The door wasopen and Dorian held his breath as he listened for any sound ofsuffering coming from the interior. The quiet was suffocating andominous, seemingly charged with evil.

Then he heard voices, the high feminine chatter of a castrated man. Hehid the sword under a fold of his robe and slipped forward silently.There was a gust of giggles and he saw one of the eunuchs sitting onthe edge of a newly dug grave, his feet swinging into the hole, therolls of his belly fat hanging into his lap. Dorian stepped up behindhim. He could see the knuckles of his spine through the fat, as theman leaned forward to speak to somebody in the pit beneath him.

Dorian drove the needle point of the long curved blade of his scimitarthrough the joint between two vertebrae, separating the spinal cordwith a surgeon’s stroke. The eunuch died without a murmur, collapsedand slid into the hole, his weight pulling him off the blade.

He fell like a sack of lard on the man beneath him.

Trapped under his weight, the other man squealed with outrage andstruggled to free himself.

“What are you doing, Sharif? Have you gone mad? Get off me.” Hepushed off the corpse and rose to his feet. The top of his head wasjust below ground level, and he was still peering down at the dead manlying at his feet.

“Get up, Sharif. What game are you playing?” The top of his shavenhead looked like an ostrich egg.

Dorian raised the sword, then slashed down, splitting his skull neatlyin half down to the level of his teeth. With a twist of his wrist helevered the blade from the crisp bone of the skull and turned to thedoor of the hut.

He ran to it, and as he reached it Kush appeared before him, blockingthe door with his huge bulk. They stared at each other for only afleeting moment, but Kush recognized him. He had been among the crowdon the beach when Dorian had stepped ashore on his arrival with theflotilla from Muscat.

With astonishing speed and agility for such a gross creature, he leapedback into the room, and snatched up a spade that stood against thewall. With another leap he put the heavy wooden frame on which Yasminiwas stretched out between himself and Dorian, and raised the spade highover the girl.

“Stay back!” he screamed.

“With a single blow I can burst the bags inside her and release thepoison.” Yasmini lay naked under his threat, her long slim legstrussed tightly together at ankle and knee, and her arms stretched outover her head, pulling her tender golden breasts out of shape. Shelooked up at Dorian, but even her huge eyes were not large or deepenough to contain all her terror.

Dorian launched himself across the room, just as Kush started to bringdown the spade with all his strength behind it. Dorian came in underthe blow before it struck Yasmini in her tender midriff, spreading hisbody over hers, shielding her. The spade struck his back and he felthis ribs crack. Pain flared through his chest.

He rolled over the frame, forcing himself to ignore the pain, carefulnot to place his weight on her body and break the fragile sacks. Kushlifted the spade again and this time aimed at Dorian’s head. His fatface was a mask of fury, and his great belly bulged forward over hisloincloth.

Dorian’s whole left side was numb from the blow, and he was down on oneknee, unable to rise in time to meet the next.

He still had the sword in his right hand. He reached out with theblade and drew the edge across Kush’s belly from side to side at thelevel of his navel, opening him up the way a fishwife splits thestomach of a grouper. Kush dropped the spade, which clattered on thestone floor. He reeled back against the far wall and, with both hands,tried to hold the lips of the long wound closed. He stared down at itwith an air of astonishment, and watched his own entrails bulge outbetween his fingers in slippery ropes. The hot, fetid stink of hisruptured gut filled the little room.

Dorian dragged himself to his feet. His left arm dangled at his side,numb and useless, and he leaned over Yasmini.

“I prayed that you would come,” she whispered.

“I did not think it was possible, and now it’s too late. Kush has putterrible things inside me.”

“I know what he has done,” Dorian told her.

“Don’t talk.

Lie still.” Kush gave a high, keening cry, but Dorian barely glancedat him as he slumped forward on his face then kicked and struggledweakly in the mess of his own guts.

Dorian slipped the blade of his scimitar between Yasmini’s ankles andcut the leather thongs. Then he did the same for those at her knees.

“Don’t try to sit up. Any contraction might burst the bags.”

With a touch of the razor edge he cut the bonds that held her wrists,then dropped the sword and massaged his paralysed left arm.

With a surge of relief he felt it begin to tingle and the strengthflowing down it to his fingertips.

He slipped his arm under Yasmini’s shoulders, lifted her carefully offthe wooden frame and set her on her feet.

“Squat,” he ordered, “slowly. Make no sudden movement.” He helped herdown.

“Now spread your knees apart and push gently as though you were atstool.” He knelt down beside her and placed his arm around hershoulders.

“Gently to begin with, then harder.” She took a deep breath and boredown, her face contorted and darkened with blood. There was a suddenspluttering sound and one of the packets was driven out of her bodywith such force that it hit the floor between her feet and burst open,spilling the red powder across the flagstones. The acrid chemicalsmell of chilli mingled with the stink of Kush’s faeces, and stungtheir nostrils.

“Good!

Well done, Yassie.” He held her tighter.

“Can you do the same with the other sack?”

“I will try.” She took another breath and strained again.

But after a minute she gave a sharp sigh and shook her head.

“No, it will not move. I can’t do it.”

“Ben Abram is waiting at the end of the Angel’s Road,” he said.

“I am taking you to him. He will know what to do.” Gently he liftedher to her feet.

“You must not try to walk. The least movement might burst the bag.Slowly now, put one arm around my neck. Hold on.” He slipped his goodarm under her knees and lifted her easily. As he strode to the door,Kush was moaning and blubbering, “Help me. Don’t leave me. I amdying.” Dorian did not look back.

He skirted the open grave in the bottom of which lay the two deadeunuchs. He went quickly, dreading meeting another for he had left hisscimitar on the floor of the hut, and he did not yet have full use ofhis injured arm. Much more, he dreaded jolting or squeezing Yasmini.

He had to try to balance speed against caution, and he whispered softreassurance to her as he went, trying to calm and comfort her.

“It will be all right, my little one. Ben Abram will be able to ridyou of it. It will soon be over.” He crossed the lawns with a smoothstride that cushioned his precious burden, and he climbed the staircaseto the terrace of the saint’s tomb one step at a time, treadinglightly. He lowered her through the opening into the tunnel, and whenhe scrambled down beside her he peered anxiously into her face for anysign that the movement had triggered something unspeakable within hertender womanhood.

“Are you all right?” he asked. She nodded, and tried to smile.

“We are nearly there now. Ben Abram is waiting.” He lifted her again,and had to bend almost double to clear the low roof as he started downthe tunnel.

He saw the light ahead and almost involuntarily took a longer step. Afragment of loose coral rolled under his foot, and he stumbled andalmost fell, bumping her into the wall.

“Ah!” Yasmini gasped as she was jolted, and Dorian felt his heartconstrict.

“What is it, my darling?”

“It stings inside me,” she whispered.

“Oh, Allah, it burns!” He ran the last few paces and carried her outinto the sunlit saucer among the ruins.

“Ben Abram!” Dorian shouted.

“In God’s Name, where are you!”

“Here, my son.” Ben Abram stood up from where he had been waiting inthe shade and hurried to them, lugging his bag.

“It has begun, old father. Make haste.” They laid her on the ground,and Dorian gasped out an almost incoherent explanation of how Yasminihad rid herself of one packet.

“But the other is still inside her, and it has begun to leak.”

“Hold her knees up like this,” Ben Abram said, and then, to Yasmini, “Iam going to hurt you. These are the instruments I use in childbirth.”They glittered in his hands.

She closed her eyes.

“I submit myself to the Will of God,” she murmured, and dug herfingernails into Dorian’s forearm as Ben Abram went to work.

The evidence of her pain rippled across her lovely face, and tightenedand twisted her lips. Once she made a small mewing sound, and Dorianwhispered helplessly, “I love you, flower of my heart.”

“I love you, Dowle,” she gasped, “but there is a burning fire insideme.”

“I am going to cut you now,” Ben Abram said.

A moment later Yasmini cried out and her whole body stiffened.

Dorian looked down and saw blood on Ben Abram’s hands as he took up asilver instrument, shaped like a double spoon. A minute later he satback on his heels, with the blood-smeared, sodden, half-disintegratedpacket captured between the spoons.

“I have it” he said.

“But it has leaked the spice into her. We must get her down to thewater quickly.” Dorian snatched her up, his injured arm and the painof his cracked ribs forgotten. He ran with Yasmini’s naked bodyclutched to his chest. Ben Abram hobbled along behind them, losingdistance as Dorian tore away between the palm trees. He ran down thebeach and into the ocean, plunging Yasmini into the cool green water.

Ben Abram came in after them with a brass enema syringe in his hand.

Dorian held Yasmini’s lower body beneath the surface while Ben Abramrepeatedly filled the tube of the syringe with sea-water and forced itinto her. It was almost half an hour before he was satisfied andallowed Dorian to carry her out of the water and up the beach.

She was trembling with shock and pain. Dorian wrapped her in hiswoollen shawl and they laid her in a shaded place under the trees. BenAbram took a large bottle of salve from his bag, and anointed herinjuries.

After a while her shivering abated, and she told them, “The pain ispassing now. It still burns, but not as badly.”

“I was able to remove most of the poison in the spoons.

I think I managed to- flush out the rest before it did much damage. Ihad to cut you to reach the sack, but it is a clean cut and I willstitch it up now. The salve will heal the wound swiftly.” He smiledat her encouragingly as he prepared a needle and catgut.

“You have been lucky, and you have Tahi and al-Salil to thank forthat.”

“What will we do now, Dowle?” She held out one hand to Dorian.

He took it and squeezed it.

“I can never go back into the zenana.”

She looked like the little monkey-faced girl again, pale and huddled inthe shawl, bedraggled wet hair hanging limply over her shoulders, eyesunderlined with purple shadows of pain.

“You are never going back into the zenana again, I give you my oath onit.” Dorian leaned across and kissed her bruised, swollen lips.

Then he stood up and his expression turned grim.

“I must leave you here with Ben Abram while he finishes his work,” hesaid.

“I also have work to do, but I will return very soon, before is done.Be brave, my love.” He strode back through the trees, jumped down intothe saucer and went along the tunnel under the walls of the zenana. Heclimbed out cautiously onto the terrace of the saint’s tomb, and took aminute to listen and watch.

All was still deathly quiet, so he dropped down the stairs and crossedthe lawns. He paused behind the thorn hedge of the graveyard andsatisfied himself that the corpses of the eunuchs had not beendiscovered or the alarm raised.

Then he went forward cautiously.

At the door of the hut he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to thegloom after the strong sunlight. Kush was curled up on the floor inthe position of an unborn child in the womb. His bloody hands werestill clutching his open stomach, and his eyes were closed. Dorianthought he was dead, but as he stepped up to the eunuch he opened hiseyes. His expression changed.

“Please help old Kush,” he muttered.

“You were always a good boy, al-Amhara. You would not let me die.”

Dorian stooped and picked up his sword from the floor.

Kush became more animated.

“No, don’t kill me. In the name of Allah, I beg you for mercy.” Dorianslid the blade into the scabbard on his belt, and Kush whimpered withrelief, “I said you were a good boy.

Help me onto the litter.” He tried to crawl towards the bier that hewould have used to take Yasmini to her grave, but the movement openedthe great wound in his belly. Fresh blood trickled out, and hesubsided again, clutching himself.

“Help me, al-Amhara. Call others to help carry me to a surgeon.”Dorian’s expression was merciless as he stooped and seized Kush’sankles, then leaned back and dragged him across the floor towards thedoor.

“No! Don’t do that! You will open the wound further,” Kush squealed,but Dorian ignored his protests.

There was a long slippery mark of blood and gastric juices on the flagsbehind Kush. Dorian hauled him feet first through the doorway into thesunlight.

Kush moaned and grabbed the jamb of the door, hanging on to it with thestrength of a drowning man. Dorian dropped his legs and in onemovement almost too swift for the eye to follow he drew and swung hisscimitar, lopping off the three fingers of Kush’s right hand that wereclawed around the doorpost. Kush howled and held his mutilated hand tohis chest. He stared down at it in horrified astonishment.

“You have maimed me,” he stuttered.

Dorian sheathed the sword, seized the eunuch’s ankles again, anddragged him through the dirt of the cemetery towards the open grave.

They had covered half the short distance before Kush realized what heintended. Now his screams were high and girlish, and he rolled andstruggled so that his dangling entrails flapped and twisted in thesand.

“The women listening to your caterwauling will think your foul packetshave burst in Yasmini’s belly,” Dorian grunted.

“Sing on, you great bag of pig fat.

“There is no one to help you now, this side of the devil in hell.” Withone last heave he tipped Kush into the grave, on top of the other twobodies, and looked down at him, standing with both hands on his hipswhile he recovered his breath, and waited for the pain in his brokenribs to subside a little. Kush read his own death in those greeneyes.

“Mercy!” He tried to rise, but the agony in his guts was too great andhe drew up his knees to his chest, and huddled against the side wall ofnew-cut earth.

Dorian went back and fetched the spade. When he returned and took upthe first spadeful of earth, Kush screamed, “No, no! How can you dothis thing to me!”

“As easily as you performed your unspeakable cruelties upon thedefenceless women in your charge,” Dorian replied.

Kush screamed and pleaded until the earth smothered his cries.

Dorian worked on doggedly, until the grave was filled in over the threebodies. Then he sTomped it down and shaped the mound neatly.

From the hut, he fetched the headboard with Yasmini’s name carved onit, and planted it on the mound.

He tied a burial ribbon around it with the prayer for the deadembroidered on it. Then he replaced the spade in the hut, gathered upthe pieces of severed leather thongs and took down Kush’s robes fromwhere the eunuch had hung them on a peg in the wall. He rolled theminto a bundle and tied it with a length of leather thong.

Before he left the room, he glanced around to make certain that all wasin order, and smiled grimly.

“For the next hundred years the poets will sing of the disappearance ofthe three eunuchs after they had murdered and buried the lovelyPrincess Yasmini. Perhaps the devil himself came to escort them downto hell. Nobody will ever know.

But what a fine legend it will make for posterity.” Then he left thezenana for the last time along the Angel’s Road.

When Dorian returned to where he had left them, Ben Abram had finishedstitching Yasrn@ni’s injuries, and was binding them up with a wad ofcotton.

“It is well done, al-Salil,” he assured Dorian.

“Seven days from now I will remove the stitches and within a month shewill be completely healed, as though it never happened.” Dorianwrapped Yasmini in Kush’s soft robes of finest wool, then helped hergently onto the stallion’s back, holding her across his lap, so thatthere was no pressure on her wounds. They started back at a sedatepace towards the fort. She was so completely swathed in the voluminousrobes that no inquisitive person they passed on the road would be ableto tell if she were man or woman.

“No one outside the zenana has ever seen your face before. They willnever recognize you as the Princess Yasmini, for she lies under herheadboard in the graveyard of the zenana.”

“Am I really free, Dowle?” she whispered with difficulty, for despitehis care the stitches were pulling painfully.

“No, you silly little baggage. You are now the slave boy who belongsto the great Sheikh al-Salil. You will never be free.”

“Never?” she asked.

“Promise me that I will be your slave for ever.

That you will never let me go.”

“I swear it to you.”

“Then I am well content.” She laid her head on his shoulder.

or many weeks thereafter strange rumours were whispered in the souks ofLamu about the disappearance of Kush, the eunuch. He had been wellknown in the islands, feared and hated even outside the walls of thezenana. Some said that while walking on the road by night he had beentaken by the forest djinns. In another version of the same story theabductor was Shaitan himself. The more pragmatic believed he hadstolen from his master, Caliph al-Malik, and that, fearful of discoveryand retribution, the eunuch had hired a dhow to take him across thechannel and had fled into the interior of Africa. To give substance tothis theory, the Sheikh al-Salil issued a warrant for the arrest ofKush and offered a reward of ten thousand rupees for his capture.

After a month or so when nothing further was heard of the eunuch, theidlers in the souks lost interest in the case.

The new topic of discussion on the island became the cessation of thekaskazi winds, the beginning of the kusi, and the opening of a newtrading season. Also, the imminent departure of the expeditionary armyof Sheikh al-Salil for the mainland diverted interest from threemissing eunuchs.

Among the sheikh’s large retinue few took much notice of the newslave-boy, Yassie. Though the lad was remarkably pretty and gracefulof body, even in his ankle length robes, at first he seemed in illhealth, shy and uncertain of himself. However, the servant-woman Tahi,the childhood nurse of the sheikh and herself a newcomer to thehousehold, took the boy under her protection. Yassie shared herquarters, and soon his beauty and pleasant ways won o ver all the otherservants and slaves.

Yassie had a trilling unbroken voice and played the sistrum with rareskill. )Sheikh al-Salil sent for him every evening to sing to him inhis private chambers, soothing away the worries and cares of the day,none of the household thought it strange. Within weeks Yassie hadobviously found special favour with his master, and was made one of thesheikh’s body-servants. Then the sheikh ordered Yassie to spread hissleeping mat in the tiny curtained alcove off his sleeping chamber,within easy call of al-Salil’s own bed, so that he could minister tohis needs during the night.

On the first night of this new arrangement, al-Salil returned late fromthe war council with his dhow captains on the terrace. Yassie had beendozing while he waited for him, and sprang to his feet as al-Salilentered the chamber, attended by Batula. Yassie had pitchers of hotwater ready on the brazier, and after Batula helped the sheikh stripdown to his loincloth, Yassie poured the water over al-Salil’s head andbody so that he could bathe. In the meantime Batula hung his master’sweapons on the pegs beside his bed, sword and dagger honed, shieldburnished, then came to kneel for his master’s pleasure.

“You may leave me now, Batula, but wake me in the hour before dawn, forthere remains much still to be done before we sail.” As he spoke,al-Salil dried himself on the cloth Yassie handed him.

“Sleep well, Batula, and may the eyes of God watch over your slumbers.”The moment the curtains fell over the doorway behind Batula, Dorian andYasmini grinned at each other, and he reached out for her.

“I have waited too long,” he said, but she danced back out of reach.

“I have my duties to complete, noble master. I must dress your hairand oil your body.” She knelt behind him while he sat on a silk rugand, with a cloth, she rubbed his hair until it was almost dry, thencombed it out and plaited it into a single thick braid down his nakedback. While she worked she gave small murmurs of admiration and awe.

“So thick and beautiful, the colour of gold and saffron.” Then shemassaged his shoulders with perfumed coconut oil, and touched the scarson his body.

“Where did this happen?”

“At a place called the Pass of the Bright Gazelle.” His eyes wereclosed and he submitted to the skilful touch of her fingers, for in thezenana she had been taught the arts of pleasing a future husband. Whenhe was lulled and almost asleep, she leaned forward.

“Are you still so ticklish here, Dowle?”

And she thrust her tongue deep into his ear.

It galvanized him, and he gasped in protest. Goose-pimples rose on hismuscled forearms, and he reached back and grabbed her around thewaist.

“You must be taught more respect, slave.” He carried her to the bed,dropped her on it and knelt astride her, pinning her arms above herhead. For a while they laughed into each other’s face, then thelaughter stopped. He bent his head and laid his mouth on hers.Her lips opened warm and wet to receive him, and she whispered, intohis mouth, “I did not know that my heart could hold so much love!”

“Thou hast too many clothes,” he murmered, and swiftly she wriggled outof them, arching her back to let him draw them out from under her andthrow them onto the floor.

“Thou art beautiful beyond the telling of it he said, considering thesilky golden length of her, “but is thy body healed?”

“It is, completely. But do not take my word for it, master, prove itto thine own satisfaction, and to mine.”

” When the kusi wind blew steady and strong down the channel, and theskies were burning blue, devoid of thunderheads, the flotilla of Sheikhal-Salil sailed from Lamu, and three days later made its landfall onthe African mainland.

Under the waving silk of the blue banner they disembarked, and the longlines of armed men and draught animals wound away from the Fever Coast,marching inland along the slave road into the interior.

The sheikh rode in the van, and close behind him followed theslave-boy, Yassie. Some of the men remarked at adoration andhero-worship with which the lad looked at his master, and smiledindulgently.

For the long months after their escape from Zanzibar Tom Courtneyexplored the coast of the mainland.

He kept well south of the Arab trade routes, avoiding any encounterwith the Omani, either on land or sea. They were looking for the rivermouth that Fundi, the elephant hunter, called the Lunga.

Without the little man’s help they might never have found the entrance,for the channel doubled back upon itself, forming an optical illusion,so that from the sea the land seemed unbroken, and a ship might sailpast without suspecting the existence of the river mouth.

Once the little vessel was safely into the channel, Tom launched thetwo longboats. In them he sent Luke Jervis and All Wilson to followthe main channel, and guide the Swallow through. There were many falsechannels and dead ends among the papyrus beds, but they threaded theirway along them. Many a time they were forced to turn back when thechannel they were following pinched out. It took them days ofsearching and gruelling labour to warp the Swallow through, and Tomgave thanks for her shallow draught. Without it they would never havebeen able to cross the numerous sandbars and shallows. Eventually theycame out into the main flow of the river.

The papyrus beds were infested by villainous-looking crocodiles andgrunting, bellowing river-horses. Over them hung a canopy of swarminginsects. Vast flocks of shrieking, bleating wildfowl rose from thereeds as they passed.

Abruptly the reed beds fell away, and they sailed through stretches ofmeadow like flood plains, and stands of open forest on either bank.Here, herds of strange animals lifted their heads from grazing andwatched the little vessels pass bI then snorted with alarm andsTampeded away into the forest. Their numbers and variety werebewildering, and the sailors crowded the ship’s rail to stare andmarvel at them.

There were graceful antelope, some the size of English red deer, othersmuch larger, with strange, fantastic horns, scimitar-shaped or lunateor corkscrewed, not antlered like the deer they knew from home.

Each day they went ashore to hunt these animals. The game wasconfiding, obviously never having seen white men with firearms, so thatthe hunters were able to approach within easy musket shot and bringthem down with a well-placed lead ball. They never lacked for meat,and they pickled and dried what they could not eat immediately.

Once they had butchered the kill, gutting and quartering the carcasses,even stranger creatures came to scavenge the bones and offal they lefton the riverbank. The first to arrive were carrion birds, undertakerstorks and vultures of half a dozen species, which filled the sky abovewith a dark, revolving cloud then swooped in to settle.

Graceful and majestic in flight, they were grotesque and gruesome inrepose.

After the birds came spotted dog-like creatures that whooped and wailedlike banshees, and little red foxes with black backs and silver flanks.Then they saw the first lions. Tom did not need Aboli to tell him whatthese great maned cats were: he recognized them from the coats-of armsof kings and noblemen in England, and from the illustrations in ahundred books in the library at High Weald. The roaring and monstrousgrunting of these beasts in the night thrilled the men as they swung intheir hammocks, and Sarah crept closer into Tom’s arms in the narrowbunk in their little cabin.

In the forests and glades they searched for sign of elephant, theirintended quarry, whose tusks would repay for all this effort andendeavour. Fundi and Aboli pointed out great pad marks moulded rockhard in the sunbaked clay.

“These were made last season in the Big Wet,” they told Tom. Then theycame across trees in the forest that had been cast down as though by amighty wind, stripped of their topmost branches and bark. But thetrees were dried out, and their injuries long ago withered.

“A year ago,” said Fundi.

“The herds have gone on and might not return for many seasons.” Theland became hilly and the Lunga river twisted through the valleys, becon-Ling swifter, flawed with rapids.

Soon they could force their way through only with difficulty, forboulders and sharp black rocks guarded the channel, and each mile theywent put the little Swallow in deeper peril.

In the end there was a place where the river formed an ox bow around alow, forested hill. Tom and Sarah went ashore and climbed to the top.They sat together on the brow and Tom surveyed the land below themthrough his telescope.

“It’s a natural fortress,” he said at last.

“We are surrounded on three sides by the river. We need only build apalisade across the narrow neck, and we will be secure from man andanimal.” Then he turned and pointed out a small bay with smooth rocksides.

“There is a perfect mooring for the Swallow.”

“What will we do here?” Sarah asked.

“For there are still no elephants.”

“This will be our base camp,” he explained.

“From here we can press on into the interior by longboat or on foot,until we find the herds that Fundi has promised us.” They built apalisade of heavy logs across the neck of the ox bow They took ashorethe cannon from the Swallow and mounted them in earthen emplacements tocover the glacis in front of the palisade. Then they constructedwooden huts and plastered the walls with mud, and thatched them withreeds from the riverbank.

Dr. Reynolds set up his clinic in one of the huts and laid out hissurgical instruments and medicines. Each day he forced every member ofthe party to swallow a spoonful of the bitter grey quinine powder hehad purchased in the markets of Zanzibar, and though the drug madetheir ears sing, and they protested and cursed him for it, there was nofever in the camp. Sarah became his willing apprentice, and soon shecould stitch up the gash in a foot caused by a carelessly swung axe oradminister a purge or bleed a sick man with as much aplomb as herteacher.

Sarah chose the site for their living hut at a discreet distance fromthe others. It had a fine view over the river valley to blue mountainsin the distance. She used cotton cloth from the bolts of trade goodsto sew curtains and bedclothes. Then she designed the furniture andhad the ship’s carpenters build it for her.

Ned Tyler had a farmer’s instincts, and to augment the diet of venisonand biscuit, he started a vegetable garden with seeds he had broughtfrom England. He watered them through irrigation ditches he dug on theriverbank. Then he fought a never-ending war with the monkeys and apesthat came to raid the green sprouts as they pushed out through thesoil.

Within a few months the camp was complete, and Sarah named it FortProvidence. A week later, Tom loaded the longboats with trade goods,powder, muskets and shot.

With Fundi to guide them, he set out on a hunting and exploringexpedition further upstream in search of the elusive elephant herds,and of the native tribes with whom they could open trade.

Ned Tyler was left, with five men, in charge of Fort Providence.

Sarah remained with Ned also, for Tom would not allow her to make thejourney upstream until he knew what dangers lay ahead. She would takeover Dr. Reynolds’s duties from him in his absence, and she had plansto continue her home-building work. She stood on the landing and wavedto Tom until the longboats disappeared around the next bend in theriver.

Three days” travel beyond the fort, the longboats moore d for the nightat a confluence with a smaller stream.

While they gathered firewood and built shelters of thorn branches tokeep out nocturnal predators, Fundi and Aboli scouted the banks of thestream. They had been gone for only a short while before Fundi camescurrying back through the trees. His eyes were dancing withexcitement as he poured out a flood of gabbled explanation. When hecame to the end, Tom had understood only a few words.

He had to wait for Aboli to come into camp to hear the full report.

“Fresh sign,” Aboli told him.

“A day old. A big herd, maybe a hundred, and a few big bulls withthem.”

“We must follow them at once.”

Tom was more excited than the little hunter, but Aboli pointed to thesun, which stood only a finger’s width above the treetops.

“It will be dark before we have gone a mile. We will start at firstlight in the morning. Such a herd will be easy to follow. They aremoving slowly, feeding as they go, and they will leave a road throughthe forest.”

Before darkness fell, Tom had planned the expedition.

There would be four musketeers to attack the great beasts, himself andAboli, All Wilson and Luke Jervis. Each hunter would have two men tocarry the spare guns, to reload and to hand him a freshly chargedmusket after each discharge. Tom checked the weapons himself. Theywere the rifled muskets that he had purchased in London. He madecertain there were spare flints for the locks, that the powder flaskswere filled and the bullet bags bulged with antimony-hardened leadballs for the ten-bore firearms.

Ten-bore signified that ten of the lead balls it threw weighed onepound. While he worked on the weapons, Aboli filled the waterskins andmade certain they had biscuit and dried meat for a three-day journey.

Even after the long day of rowing and dragging the boats through theshallows, everyone in the party was too excited to sleep. They satlate around the fires, listening to the strange sounds of the Africannight, the whistle and hoot of the night birds, the idiotic giggling ofthe hyena and the rumbling roars of a pride of lions hunting the farhills.

Often in the short time he had been with them, Tom had listened to thestories of Fundi as he told of the hunt for the mighty grey beasts, buthe asked the little man to repeat them now. Aboli translated when Tomcould not follow, but his own knowledge of the Lozi language wasburgeoning, and he could understand much of what Fundi said.

Fundi explained again how the elephant had very poor eyesight, butpossessed a sense of smell that could warn him of a hunter a mile ormore upwind.

“He can suck up your scent out of the air and hold it in the bonecavities of his head, run with it for a great distance and blow itthrough his trunk into the mouths of his companions.”

“Into the mouths?” Tom questioned him avidly.

“Not the nostrils?”

“The smell of the Nzou is in the top lip,” Fundi explained. His namefor the elephant denoted a wise old man, not an animal, and he used itwith respect and affection, expressing the feeling of the true hunterfor his quarry.

“There are pink buds in his mouth, like the flowers of the kigiliatree. With these he tastes the air.” With a stick Fundi drew theoutline of the beast in the dust and they craned forward in thefirelight to watch as he explained where a man must place his arrow tobring down one of the giants.

“Here!” He touched a spot behind the shoulder of his drawing.

“With great care not to strike the bones of the leg, which are liketree trunks. Deep! Drive the iron in deep, for the heart and thelungs are hidden behind skin this thick.” He showed the span of histhumb.

“And muscle and ribs.” He held out his arms.

“You must go in this deep to kill the Nzou, the wise old grey man ofthe forest.” When Fundi stopped talking at last, Tom implored him tocontinue, but he stood up with dignity.

“It will be a long, weary way tomorrow, and it is time to rest now. Iwill teach you more when we are on the spoor.”

Tom lay awake until the moon had almost completed its circuit of theheavens, excitement boiling in his blood.

When he closed his eyes the image of the quarry appeared in hisimagination. He had never laid eyes on the living beast, but he hadseen hundreds of their tusks piled in the markets of the Spice Islands,and he remembered again the mighty pair that his father had bought fromConsul Grey in Zanzibar, which now stood in the library at HighWeald.

“I will kill another beast like that one,” he promised himself, and inthe hour before the dawn he fell into a sleep so deep and dark thatAboli had to shake him awake.

Tom left two men to guard the longboats, and in the first chillyglimmer of dawn they struck out along the trail that the elephant herdhad left down the riverbank.

As Aboli had told him, the sign was clear to read and they movedforward steadily. As the light strengthened they went faster, and thetrees they passed were smashed and stripped of bark and branches. Hugepiles of yellow dung littered the forest floor, and troops of monkeysand flocks of brown partridge-like wild birds were scratching in it forundigested seeds and fruits.

“Here!” Aboli pointed to one of these piles.

“This is the dropping of a very old bull, one that might carry heavytusks. The ivory never stops growing until the beast dies.”

“How do you tell his dung from that of a young animal?” Tom wanted toknow.

“The old man cannot digest his food properly. “Aboli dug his toe intothe pile.

“See, the twigs are still whole, and the leaves entire.

Here, the nuts of the ivory palm, with half the flesh still on thepip.” Tom considered the first scrap he had been thrown of the tore ofthe hunt.

In the late morning they reached the point where the herd had left thestream and turned west towards the hills.

Here they crossed an area where the surface was of fine talc dust.

In this medium the imprint of the elephant pads was so detailed thateach crack and wrinkle was faithfully preserved.

He reP Aboli pointed out a string of pad marks.

“This is the spoor of the great bull. See the size of each footprint,the front foot round and the back foot more oval in shape.” Aboliplaced his own arm beside one of the tracks, using its length from thetip of his finger to the elbow as a “yardstick. So long means that heis a in ty bull, and see how his pads are worn smooth? He is of greatage. Unless his tusks are worn or broken, this will truly be an animalworthy of the chase.” They crossed the first line of hills, and in thelush valley beyond Fundi and Aboli divined from the sign that the herdhad fed and rested the previous night.

“We have gained many hours on them,” Fundi exulted.

“They are not far ahead.” But Tom was to learn that day that Fundi’sidea of distance did not coincide with his own. By nightfall they werestill on the herd’s tracks, and Fundi was still assuring them that theywere not far ahead.

All the white men in the party were nearing exhaustion, for sailors arenot accustomed to covering such distances on foot. They had hardly thewill left to eat a biscuit and a stick of dried meat, to swallow a fewmouthfuls of water from the skins, before they fell asleep on the hardearth.

The next morning while it was still dark they were away again after theherd. Before long it was clear from the sign that they had lost muchof their gain of the previous day, for the herd had kept movingwestward in the moonlight while they had slept. For most of the whitemen the march became an endless torment of thirst, aching muscles andblistered feet. Tom was still young and tough and eager enough to makelight of the hardship, forging along behind the trackers, with theheavy musket over his shoulders.

“Close! We are very close now.” Fundi grinned with malicious glee,and the gruelling miles dropped behind them. By now the waterskinswere almost empty, and Tom had to warn the men with dire threats not todrink without permission. Tiny black flies swarmed around their headsand crawled into their ears, eyes and nostrils. The sun beat down likea hammer on an anvil and reflected up from the stony ground. Thehooked thorns clawed at their legs as they passed, ripping theirclothing and leaving bloody lines on their skin.

At last they found where the herd had stopped in a patch of denseforest, had spent many hours resting, dusting themselves, and breakingdown branches, before it drifted on again, and the hunters finally madea real gain upon it.

Aboli pointed out to Tom how the dung that the herd was now droppinghad not had time to dry, and when he thrust his finger into one pile hecould feel the residual body heat. Clouds of brightly colouredbutterflies hovered over the warm turds, to drink up the moisture. Withrenewed strength in their legs they increased the pace, and climbedanother line of hills.

On the rocky slopes grew strange trees with swollen trunks and crownsof leafless branches on their tops, fifty feet above the ground.

At the base of one tree huge furry seed-pods were heaped. Abolicracked one open- the black seeds inside were coated with a yellowpithy layer.

“Suck the seeds,” he said.

“The pleasant sour taste made their saliva flow again, and relieved theburning thirst of the march.

The line of hunters, burdened by their weapons and waterskins, toiledon up the hill. Just below the crest their heads went up. An awfulsound came to them on the heated air, distant but stirring as the blaston a war trumpet. Though Tom had never heard the like before, he knewinstinctively what it was.

Quickly he ordered the column to halt below the crest of the hill.

Most of the men collapsed thankfully in the shade. He, Aboli and Fundicrept up to the skyline. They used a tree trunk to break theirsilhouette as they peered over into the valley beyond, and Tom’s heartleaped against his ribs like a caged beast.

Down the length of the valley below them was strung out a line ofsparkling green pools, each surrounded by lush reed beds and spreadingshade trees. The elephant herd was gathered around the pools, some ofthe huge animals standing in the shade, fanning themselves with theirears, which seemed to Tom as wide as the mainsail of the Swallow.

The Monsoon

Others were standing on the yellow sandbanks that surrounded the pools,dipping their trunks into the green water and sucking up gargantuandraughts, then curling their trunks into their mouths and sending ithissing down their throats with the force of a ship’s bilge pump.

Younger animals crowded into the pools. Like rowdy children theyfrolicked and splashed, beating the water white with their trunks,shaking their huge heads and flapping their ears. Their wet bodieswere black and shining. Some lay flat then rolled on to their sides,disappearing entirely below the surface, leaving only their trunkswrithing above the surface like a sea serpent.

Tom went down on one knee and raised his telescope to his eye.

This first sighting of the legendary beasts was so far beyond anythinghe had imagined that he was lost in wonder. He delighted in everydetail. One of the youngest calves, not much bigger than a large pigbut mischievous and bumptious, charged out of the water and, withswinging trunk and murderous trumpeting, chased the white egrets thatwere perched on the edge of the pool. The birds rose in a gratifyingwhite cloud, and the small elephant swaggered back into the water,slipped almost immediately in the mud and trapped itself under asubmerged log.

Its now terrified squeals brought every protective female withinearshot rushing to the rescue, convinced that the calf had been takenby a crocodile. It was dragged out of the water, its dignitydestroyed, and it fled, chastened, to hide between the legs of itsmother, and suckle for comfort at the milk-swollen udders between herfront legs. Tom laughed aloud, then Aboli touched his shoulder andpointed out a group of three huge animals that stood aloof from theraucous behaviour of the cows and calves.

They were in a patch of dense bush on the far side of the water,standing shoulder to shoulder, ears flapping lazily. Occasionally onepicked up a load of dust in his trunk and dashed it over his head andback. Apart from that they seemed to be sleeping on their feet.

Through the lens, Tom studied this towering trio, which dwarfed everyother animal in the herd. He examined the long ivory shafts theycarried, and saw at once that, though they were all massive, the bullin the centre carried tusks that protruded beyond his lip almost thelength of a boat’s oar, and were the girth of Sarah’s slim waist. Hefelt the pulse of his hunter’s blood pound in his ears at each pump ofhis heart. This was the bull he had dreamed of, and his instinct wasto seize the musket he had propped against the tree beside him and rushdown to do battle with the giant. But Aboli sensed his mood and laid arestraining hand on his shoulder.

“These are sage and wary creatures,” he warned Tom.

“It will not be easy to come up to that bull down there. His femaleswill guard and protect him. It will call for all our cunning andcaution to outwit them.”

“Explain to me what we must do,” said Tom, and Aboli and Fundi lay oneach side of him and planned the hunt.

“The wind is the key,” Aboli told him.

“We must always keep below the wind.”

“There is no wind,” Tom said, and pointed to the leaves that hunglifelessly from the top branches of the trees in the heated noonday.

“There is always wind,” Aboli contradicted him, and let a handful ofdust trickle through his fingers. The fine golden motes floated in thesunlight, then drifted slowly away. Aboli made a delicate gesturedescribing the movement down the valley.

“When they are alarmed they will always run with the wind in theirfaces, then they will circle to come above the wind and take thescent.” He made another gesture to illustrate this manoeuvre.

“We will place All and Luke there and there.” He pointed out thepositions.

“When they are in place, you and I will come down there.” He pointedout the path of their stalk.

“We will creep in close. When we fire, the bulls will be driven on tothe others.” Tom gestured for All and Luke to come up beside him onthe ridge. Once they had recovered from their initial amazement at thefirst sight of the quarry, he gave them their orders, sending them tocircle out behind the ridge, and cross it a mile further down thevalley where they would be out of sight and below the wind of theherd.

It was almost an hour later that, through the telescope, he made outthe two parties of hunters moving up the valley into the positions hehad assigned them. It was good to have men under him who knew his mindand could carry out his orders so faithfully.

Aboli leading, they slipped quietly over the skyline, using the treesand scrub to screen their crossing. The great beasts were not sodim-sighted that they could not pick up alien movement. They creptdown towards the pools with painstaking stealth, taking care not to runinto one of the females scattered among the trees. Tom could barelycredit how such a huge animal could become virtually invisible when itstood still among the thick bush, grey on grey, even its legsresembling the tree trunks. Slowly they closed in on the trio ofbulls. Although they were still invisible, the hunters were guided bytheir deep rumblings.

Tom whispered to Aboli, “Is that the sound of their bellies?”

Aboli shook his head.

“The old men are speaking to each other.”

Occasionally they saw a cloud of dust rise above the tops of the bushas one of the bulls dusted himself. It guided them through the thickundergrowth. Step by cautious step they went forward, once having topull back and circle around a young cow and her nursing calf in thescrub between them and their quarry.

At last Fundi stopped them with a gesture of his pink palm, thenpointed ahead. Tom went down on one knee and, looking below thehanging vines and branches, made out the massive grey forelegs of thenearest bull. The sweat of excitement was trickling into his eyes andstinging like sea-water. He wiped it away with the bandanna knottedaround his throat, and checked the lock and flint of his musket. Abolinodded at him and he drew back the hammer to half cock. They began tocrawl forward.

Slowly, more of the nearest beast came into view, the droop of hisbelly, the baggy grey skin hanging in folds around his knees, then thelower curve of one thick, yellow tusk.

They crawled in closer still, and Tom saw that the tusk was stainedwith the juices of bark that the bull had stripped from the foresttrees. Closer still and he could see every crease and wrinkle in theskin, each wiry hair in the stubby tail. Tom looked at Aboli and madethe gesture of firing, but Aboli shook his head vehemently, and signedto him to move in closer still.

The bull was rocking gently on his feet, and then to Tom’s amazementsomething extraordinary began to issue from between its back legs. Itwas thicker than a man’s thigh and seemed to extend endlessly, until itwas dangling almost to the ground. Tom had to make an effort toprevent himself laughing. Drowsy and contented, the old man wasletting his member dangle out and engorge.

Again Tom glanced at Aboli for instruction, and again Aboli scowled andurged him forward, but at that moment the bull stepped back and reachedup with his trunk to pluck a bunch of leaves from the branches abovehim. The movement revealed the other bull, which he had been screeningwith his bulk.

Tom drew breath with a soft hiss as he saw how much larger was the oldpatriarch than his attendant. His enormous head was drooping, and hisears flapped gently. They were tattered and worn like the sails of astorm-battered ship. His small eyes were closed, the thick pale lashesmeshing, and the ooze from the gland behind his eye ran down his cheekin a long damp smear.

The bull’s head was propped on his tusks. Tom marvelled at the lengthand girth of those ivory curves, which reached down to the earth. Theywere so thick and heavy that there was hardly any taper from the lip tothe blunt tip. He could see the bulge under the grey skin where aquarter of the length was buried in the skull. They must be an onerousburden for even such a mighty animal to carry throughout all the daysof its life, he mused.

Tom was so close now that he could clearly see a metallic blue flysettle on the bull’s eyelashes. The elephant blinked to drive itaway.

At that moment Tom felt a light touch on his arm, and turned his headslowly to see Aboli nod at him. He turned back and focused his gaze onthe outline of the bones of the bull’s shoulder under the wrinkled,eroded skin. He picked out the exact spot Fundi had described to him,just behind the shoulder and two thirds of the way down the mightybarrel of the chest.

He raised the musket and slowly drew back the hammer to full cock,muffling the click of the mechanism with his hand. Looking down thelong barrel, he saw that the muzzle was almost touching the bull’sflank. There was no need to use the pip of the foresight. Gently hetook up the pressure of the trigger and the hammer dropped in a burstof blue@ white sparks over the pan. There was that moment of delaythat seemed as long as infinity, but was the smallest part of a second,then the heavy weapon bellowed and pounded into his shoulder, knockinghim back on his haunches, and blinding him with a cloud of white powdersmoke, which obscured the body of the elephant.

A moment after his shot he heard Aboli fire. All around him thetranquil forest erupted in a rush of mighty bodies. Trumpeting andsquealing, the herd plunged through the undergrowth, and trees swayedand crashed down under the onslaught.

Tom dropped the empty gun, reached back, seized the second musket fromthe man behind him and sprang to his feet. He ran into the thick cloudof smoke. As he emerged on the far side he saw the plunginghindquarters of the bull disappear as the scrub closed behind him.

“Chase him!” Aboli shouted at his shoulder, and they raced after thefleeing bull. All around they heard the cows and squealing calvescrashing through the undergrowth.

Thorns and branches tore at Tom, but he ignored the ripping of hisclothing and the scratching at his skin and ran on along the pathwaythat the bull had riven through the scrub.

He burst out on to the open bank of one of the pools, and the beast wasfifty feet ahead of him, his ears spread and the curves of his tusksshowing yellow on each side of his baggy hindquarters as he boredirectly away from Tom at full run. His stubby tail tuft was heldhigh, and Tom could see the knuckles of his spine running down thecurve of his back to join the tail.

He swung up the musket and fired at the spine, the bull dropped into asitting position on his haunches, and skidded down the bank.

But the ball must have grazed the spine rather than smashed it: he wasparalysed for but a second. As he reached the bottom of the bank hecame up on all four legs again and splashed through the head of thepool and up the far bank.

Aboli ran alongside Tom and fired across the pool.

They both saw the ball raise a puff of dried mud from the back of thebull’s skull, but he shook his head, clapping his ears against hisflanks, and disappeared into the dense bush on the far side. Tomgrabbed his third musket from the panting sailor who handed it to him,and plunged down the bank in pursuit of the bull.

Aboli ran beside him, and they could see the course the bull wasbreaking through the forest, the treetops were shaking and there was arustling, crackling wake through the bush, like that of a breachingwhale beneath the surface of the sea.

Suddenly there was a thudding outburst of musket fire out on the rightflank where the other hunters were hidden, and Aboli grunted, “Theother bulls have run into All and Luke.” Running together, theyskirted the edge of the pool and plunged into the bush on the farside.

The path the bull had torn through was closing behind him, and theystruggled on with difficulty, losing cloth and skin to the thorns.

“We will never catch him now,” Tom gasped.

“He will run clear away from us.” But when they burst out into aclearing at last, they both shouted with triumph as they saw the greatbull only a pistol shot ahead. He was hard hit. His run had beenreduced to an unsteady walk, and his head was hanging, his tusksploughing long furrows in the soft earth, and pale frothy blood wasbubbling from the tip of his trunk.

“Your first shot was a lung hit!” Aboli shouted, and they ran forwardwith renewed vigour, swiftly overhauling the wounded beast.

Ten paces behind him, Tom dropped on one knee. He was gasping for air,his heart pounding and his hands shaking, as he tried to take a bead onthe swaying hindquarters, aiming once again for the spine.

He fired and this time the ball flew true from the rifted barrel.

In the instant before the smoke obscured his vision, he saw it ploughinto the wide grey back, shattering the vertebrae above the tail. Thebull dropped on to his haunches once again. Tom scrambled to his feetand ran out to one side so that he could see around the smoke bank.

The elephant was sitting facing him, shaking its head with fury andagony, the great tusks held high, blowing a carmine cloud of blood fromthe tip of its trunk. Its death squeals seemed loud enough to splitTom’s skull and burst his eardrums.

Aboli fired at the head and though they both saw the ball strike on thedomed forehead, it could not penetrate the fortress of bone in whichthe brain was buried. The maimed beast tried to drag its crippled backlegs behind it and reach its tormentors.

Both men ran back, well out of reach of the swinging trunk and, withunsteady hands, poured powder into the muzzles of their muskets, roddeddown the wadding and the balls, then crept forward, circling to find anopening, to get in close before firing into the barrel of the chest.

Again and again they ran back to reload, then came forward to fire.Gradually the strength of the beast leaked out of him from the mouthsof twenty running wounds, and with a last groan he fell over on hisside, stretched out those fabulous tusks and was still.

Tom went forward cautiously. He reached out and with the muzzle of themusket touched the tiny eye, fringed with pale lashes and brimming withalmost human tears. It did not blink. The bull was dead at last. Hewanted to shout his triumph, but instead he found himself over, whelmedby a strange, almost religious melancholy. Aboli came to stand besidehim, and when their eyes met, Aboli nodded in understanding.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“You have learned what it means to be a true hunter, for you haveunderstood the beauty and the tragedy of what we do.” between them,All and Luke had brought down one of the other bulls, but the third hadescaped the ambush, and had run off unscathed with the rest of the herdinto the forest. Tom wanted to follow him up but both Fundi and Abolilaughed at him.

“You will never see him again. He will run for twenty miles withoutstopping, and then he will walk another fifty miles faster than youcould run.” That evening they dined like princes on tough, rankelephant cheek meat, roasted on green-stick skewers over the coals, anddrank the muddy pool water, tainted with elephant urine, as though itwere the finest claret. They slept like dead men beside the fire.

Over the next two days they drew the tusks from the two bulls, choppingthem out of the skull, taking infinite pains not to mark or mar theivory. Fundi showed them how to free the long conical nerve from thecavity in the butt of each tusk and stuff the hole with green grass.Then they used bark rope to secure the four huge tusks to carryingpoles. When they set out on the long march back to where they had leftthe boats, it took four men to carry each tusk.

When they reached the river again, they cached the tusks on the bank,burying them so deep that even the hyena could not dig them out andchew them to splinters.

Then they went on upstream in the longboats. Each day they found freshelephant sign more plentiful, and they followed on foot, sometimeskilling within a few miles. At other times they were forced to marchfor days to catch up with the herds.

Within a month they had harvested enough ivory to make a full load forboth longboats. All the white men were ragged and exhausted. The fathad been burned off them, their bearded faces were gaunt and theirbodies skeletal. Only Aboli and Fundi seemed unaffected by thehardships of the hunt. There was general rejoicing when Tom announcedhis decision to turn back to Fort Providence.

That night at the campfires Aboli and Fundi came to where Tom satstaring into the dying flames, thinking of Sarah, anticipating theirreunion. They squatted on each side of him and he considered theirdark faces thoughtfully before he spoke.

“This is grave business,” he said, with certainty.

“I can see that you mean to spoil my contentment and my pleasure at thereturn to Fort Providence.” He sighed with resignation.

“Very well, what is it?” Tundi says that we are very close to thelands of his people, the Lozi.”

“How close?” Tom asked suspiciously. By now he spoke the Lozilanguage with confidence and he had learned what Fundi considered veryclose.

“Ten days” travel,” Fundi said confidently, but when Tom stared at himaccusingly, he dropped his eyes.

“Or perhaps a very little further,” he admitted.

“So Fundi wishes to return to his own people?” Tom asked.

And I will go with him,” said Aboli quietly.

Tom felt a stab of alarm. He stood up and led Aboli out of thefirelight, then turned on him almost angrily.

“What is this?” Tom asked.

“Do you wish to leave me, and go back to Africa?” Aboli smiled.

“I leave you only for a while. You and I have become branch and vineof the same tree. We can never be put asunder.”

“Then why do you go without me?”

“For many years the Lozi have been hounded by the slavers. If theycaught a glimpse of your white face .. .” He shrugged expressively.

“No, I will go with Fundi. We will take trade goods with us, as muchas we can carry.

Fundi says that his tribe has a store of ivory, from the elephant theyhave taken in their pitfalls and from the carcasses of those oldanimals they have found dead in the forest. With Fundi to calm theirfears and with samples of our goods to show them, perhaps I can open upa road of trade with the Lozi.”

“How will I find you again?”

“I will come to you at Fort Providence. Fundi says that I can buy acanoe from his tribe. Perhaps my canoe will be loaded with riches whenwe meet again.” Aboli placed an avuncular hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“You have shown that you are a mighty hunter in these last days, butnow it is time for you to rest. Go back to the woman who waits for youand make her happy. I shall return before the season changes and theBig Wet begins.” The next morning Aboli and Fundi lifted the heavybundles of trade beads, copper wire and cloth onto their heads,balancing them easily so their hands were free to hold their weapons,and set off westward along the riverbank. Tom walked a little waybeside Aboli, then stopped and watched his old comrade disappear amongthe tall riverine forest trees before he turned away sadly and wentdown to where the longboats were loaded and moored against the bank.

“Shove off,” he ordered, as he took his seat at the tiller Aof theleading boat.

“Take us back to Fort Providence.” And they cheered him as they bentto the oars and ran down with the current towards the east.

The lookouts on the hill above Fort Providence spotted the longboats assoon as they rounded the last bend upstream, and Sarah was dancing withexcitement on the beach when Tom stepped ashore. She rushed into hisarms, but after the first embrace drew back and stared into his face,appalled by what she saw.

“You are starved!” she said.

“And dressed like a scarecrow, in rags!” Then she wrinkled her nose.

“When last did you bathe?” She led him up the hill, but would not lethim into the little cottage.

“You will stink out all my hard work.”

First she filled the galvanized hip bath, which stood under the wildfig tree in the backyard, with steaming water. Then she undressed him,set aside his rags for later washing and mending, and sat him in thebath as though he were a little boy. She sponged away the accumulateddust and filth of the weeks of hard hunting, combed out his thick blackhair, and braided it into a sailor’s pig-tail.

With her scissors, she trimmed the shaggy bush of his beard into theneat, pointed style that King William had made fashionable. Sheanointed all the scratches and cuts that covered his legs and arms witha salve she fetched from Dr. Reynolds’s surgery. Tom revelled in theattention.

At last, she helped him into fresh, lovingly ironed shirt and breeches.Only then did she take his hand and lead him into the cottage. Proudlyshe displayed everything she had done in his absence, from the easychair that the carpenters had made especially for him to the broaddouble bed in the back room and the mattress she had sewn and filledwith dried kapok from the silk-cotton trees that grew along theriverbank.

Tom eyed the bed with a wicked grin.

“It looks to be a fine piece of work, but I’d best test it before Igive a firm opinion,” he said, and chased her giggling twice around itbefore she allowed herself to be captured and lifted onto theembroidered covers.

Afterwards they lay and talked while the sun set, and then long intothe night. He told her of all he had done and seen. He described thehunting to her, and the new strange lands they had found, the forestsand the far blue mountains, and the marvelous animals and birds theyhad discovered.

“It is so big, and endless and beautiful and wild,” he told her, andheld her close.

“We never saw another man, nor any sign of one in all our journey. It’sall ours, Sarah. Ours for the taking.”

“Will you take me with you next time?” she asked, jealous of hisattention, wanting to share the wonders of it all with him. Somehowshe never doubted that there would be a next time. She saw that he hadfallen in love with this land, as much as he was in love with her. Sheknew that from now on they were both a part of it.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Next time you shall be with me to see it.”

There was so much to tell and to discuss that it took more than onelong night. Over the lazy weeks that followed, while the men restedand recuperated from the hunting, Tom and Sarah spent hours alone eachday. He read to her from the journal he had kept during the expeditionso that he overlooked no detail, and when he had told it all to her,they discussed- and planned the future.

“We have been lucky to discover this Lunga river or, rather, to haveFundi show it to us,” Tom told her.

“The old Portuguese explorers must have overlooked it, and the Arabsalso. Fundi tells me that the Arab trading routesi the slave road, isa long way further to the north.” He smiled ruefully.

“If Fundi says it is a long way, you can believe it is a hundred milesor more. With luck, neither the Omani nor John Company will ever findus here. Fort Providence is a perfect entrept to the interior. Theelephant herds hereabouts have never been hunted, and if Aboli andFundi can make contact with the tribes, we can open up trade with themand have it all to ourselves.”

“But where will you sell the ivory?” she asked.

“Not in Zanzibar or any other Arab port, nor any place where theCompany has a factory.

Brother Guy will never let you rest if he finds where you are. We cannever go back to England.” She tried not to sound wistful, and hurriedon, “Where can we sell our goods, and buy the necessities, powder andshot, medicines and flour, candles and oil, rope and canvas andpitch?”

“There is such a place close at hand,” Tom assured her.

“As soon as the long rains begin, the Big Wet, we will pull out of hereand sail down to Good Hope. The Dutch at the Cape will be hot for ourivory, and even hotter to sell us all the goods we can pay for.

Best of all, they won’t give a brass guilder or- a morsel of their oldcheese for the warrant of arrest placed on me by the Lord Chancellor ofEngland.” There was much to keep every man in the fort busy during theweeks when they waited for Aboli to return.

All the ivory had to be cleaned, weighed and packed with dry grass toprevent it being damaged during the voyage.

Then the little Swallow had to be careened on the beach below the fort,her bottom scraped clean of weed. The ship-worm that had taken hold inher planking had to be burned out with boiling pitch. Once she wasafloat again, they repainted her, stitched the rents in her canvas andmade small changes to her rigging so that she would not be recognizedas the ship in which they had escaped from England. It was a sailor’ssuperstition that it was bad luck to change a ship’s name, but therewas no help for it. They scraped the old name from her transom, andpainted the new one over it.

When they relaunched her, Sarah broke a bottle of brandy from theship’s stores over her bows.

“I rename this ship Centaurus,” she intoned.

“May God bless her and all who sail in her.” Then the ivory was takenaboard the Centaurus and carefully loaded into her holds.

They refilled her water casks and made all ready for the voyagesouthwards.

Now each afternoon the thunderheads began to build up along thenorthern horizon, mountains that reached up into the heavens. Thesunset turned the cloud ranges purple and sullen scarlet, the lightningflickered in their bellies and the far thunder muttered the threat ofthe coming wet season.

The first rains burst upon them, sweeping across the hills in trailingrobes of grey. For three days and nights, thunder bombarded them andthe air was filled with water, as though they lay beneath a mightywaterfall. Then the storm clouds opened, and in that lull a dozen longdugout canoes came fast down the swollen waters of the Lunga river. Inthe lead canoe stood Aboli, tall and scar-faced.

Tom shouted with joy and ran down to the beach to welcome him ashore.

Fundi was in the last canoe, but the oarsmen were all strangers.

The bottom of each craft was stacked with elephant tusks, none as largeas those that Tom’s expedition had taken but valuable none the less.

The oarsmen were all of the Lozi tribe, kinsmen of Fundi. Despite hisassurances, they were terrified of the strange white men of FortProvidence. They expected to be taken as slaves, chained together andmarched away as had happened to so many of their tribe. Gone, never tobe seen or heard of again.

They were mostly old men, grey and bent, or uninitiated striplings.They huddled together on the beach, not to be reconciled or comfortedby any of Tom’s reassurances in Lozi.

“They have come with us only because Bongola, their chief, ordered themto do so,” Aboli explained.

“When he saw the trade goods we brought with us, his greed surpassedhis fear of the slavers. Still, he would not come himself to trade,but sent the least important members of the tribe in his stead.” Theybrought the ivory ashore from the canoes and weighed it, then discusseda fair price for it with Fundi.

“I do not want to spoil the trade by overpaying them,” Tom explained toSarah, “but neither do I want to bilk them, and kill the trade beforeit begins.”

In the end the bags of Venetian trade beads, bolts of cloth, crates ofhand-mirrors and axe-heads, and bales of copper wire were loaded intothe canoes, and the rowers were sent home. Their little flotilla shotupstream against the current, propelled by men so thankful to haveescaped with their lives that they rowed with the strength of demons,hysterically chanting their gratitude for their escape to their tribalgods and ancestors as they disappeared around the first bend.

“They will be back next season,” Aboli prophesied.

“Bongola will see to that.” Fundi and three of the bolder Lozi, whohad remained with him, agreed to stay on at Fort Providence during theBig Wet and protect the buildings and gardens against the ravages ofthe weather and wild animals. The rest Of the party loaded the last ofthe ivory and went aboard the Centaurus. As the full onslaught of therains washed over them, they let the swollen river and the monsoon winddrive the little Centaurus downstream and out into the Ocean of theIndies.

“The course to clear Madagascar and make for Good Hope is southeast bysouth. Mark it on the traverse board, if you please, Mr. Tyler,” Tomordered.

“South-east by south, it is, Captain.”

“Full and by, Mr. Tyler,” said Tom, who took Sarah’s hand and led herto the bows. They stood together and watched the flying fish explodefrom the surface of the Mozambique Channel and spin away in silveryblurs, like new-minted coins tossed across the blue current.

“If I can find a priest at Good Hope, will you marry me, Sarah Beatty?”he asked.

“That I will, Thomas Courtney.” She laughed and hugged him closer.

“That I will.” The little Centaurus anchored in Table Bay on a sunnymorning in which the southeaster chopped bursts of white off the topsof the wavelets. They went ashore under the towering mountain whoseflat top was covered by the famous tablecloth, a stationary bank ofroiling white cloud.

The settlement had grown in size since last they had visited the Cape.The strictures of the Dutch East India Company against foreignersowning land or taking up residence in its territory were every bit asdraconian as those of its English counterpart. However, Tom soondiscovered that, for a few golden guilders placed in the hands of theright official, these laws could be waived.

Once they had paid their dues, the welcome they received from theburghers was convivial, especially as the Centaurus was well burdened,and the Dutch merchants smelt profits in their visit.

They planned to stay in the Cape until the rains on the Fever Coast hadpassed. As their quarters aboard the Centaurus were cramped, and themotion of the ship at anchor was uncomfortable, Tom found lodgings forhimself and Sarah in one of the little guest-houses below the Companygardens run by a manumitted Malay woman, who was a wonderful cook andhostess.

In the first week Tom visited all the merchants whose warehouses linedthe waterfront, and was delighted to find that the demand for ivory wasstrong. He struck several good bargains for the sale of their cargo.The crew were given their first pay and share of the profits since theyhad sailed from England. Over the next few months most of them spenteverything they had earned in the ale shops and bawdy-houses of thetown, but Ned Tyler and Dr. Reynolds used theirs to purchase smallholdings of land in the Constantia valley on the far side of themountain.

Tom and Aboli used nearly all of their share to buy the necessarystores for another season at Fort Providence, and a goodly stock of thetrade goods on offer in the warehouses of the colony.

Tom gave Sarah fifty pounds from the prize, which she used to assembleher trousseau. It included a small harpsichord and a baby cradle onwooden rockers, which she painted with floral wreaths and choirs ofcherubs.

The entire crew were in the congregation of the little church in thegardens when Tom and Sarah were married, and after the ceremony theycarried the newly-weds on their shoulders down the street to theirlodgings, singing all the way and pelting them with handfuls of rosepetals.

In one of the waterside taverns Aboli found a sun, wizened littleDutchman named Andries van Houten, who had been brought out fromAmsterdam as a gold-finder for the Dutch East India Company.

“I have scoured the mountains as far as Stellenbosch,” van Houten toldAboli after the third tankard of ale had slid effortlessly down hisgullet, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his red wrinkled throat.

“There is no gold in this devil-damned colony, but I can smell it inthe north.” He sniffed the air.

“If only I could find a ship to take me up the coast.” And he lookedat Aboli hopefully.

“But I don’t have a guilder in my purse to pay my passage.” Abolibrought him to see Tom, and they talked every evening for a week. Inthe end, Tom agreed to purchase all the prospecting equipment that vanHouten needed and take him to Fort Providence when they sailed.

Those pleasant days at Good Hope passed too swiftly, and they were soonreloading the Centaurus, taking great care with Sarah’s harpsichord andthe cradle. As the season changed, and the oak trees that lined thestreets dropped their leaves, they hoisted the anchor and sailednorthwards around Cape Point and into the Mozambique Channel again.

When they entered the mouth of the Lunga river and forged their wayupstream, they saw the high-water mark on the banks, and the debrishanging in the branches of the trees that showed just how strong hadbeen the flood during the months of the Big Wet. When they reached thehilly country, the forest was green and burgeoning with new growth.

Faithful to the trust they had placed in him, Fundi met them at thelanding below Fort Providence, and proudly showed Tom how well he hadcared for everything in their absence. They set to re thatching theroofs of the huts, and repairing the weak spots in the palisade. Sarahhad her new harpsichord installed in the front room of their cottage,and played and sang for Tom every evening after dinner.

She placed the painted baby cradle beside their bed in the back room.The first night Tom eyed it as he sat on the bed and pulled off hisboots.

“I take that as a challenge, Mistress Courtney,” he told her.

“Shall we see what we can do about filling it?” They did not have muchtime to devote to the task, for within weeks Tom was ready to take thefirst hunting party upriver.

Van Houten was in the leading boat, sitting on his @,” wooden box ofchemicals with his gold pans stacked at hand. He prospected everygravel-bed and sandbank they passed. When they went ashore to hunt theelephant herds, van Houten did not join them but wandered away with histwo Lozi helpers to search the hills and streams for traces of theprecious metal.

The hunting was good this season. Within a month they had filled theboats with ivory, and set out to retrace their steps to FortProvidence.

Sarah accompanied Tom on the second expedition, bringing with her thepaintbox she had bought in Good Hope. She filled the pages of hersketchbooks with images of the journey.

They followed the river further than ever before, and at last reachedthe country of the Lozi. At the first village the entire populationfled into the forest, and it took several days before they camecreeping out timidly from among the trees. After Fundi and Aboli hadovercome their initial fear and suspicion, they began a friendlyrelationship with the tribe.

They found that the Lozi were generally a pleasant and cheerful people.Though small in stature, they were well formed and handsome. Some ofthe women were beautiful, with fine Nilotic features. They went barebreasted and their carriage was graceful and proud.

Aboli had a long, serious discussion with the village elders, and theoutcome was that, for a few rolls of copper wire and a small bag ofglass beads, he acquired two of the prettiest, plumpest virgins aswives. The girls were named Fallo. and Zete. It was difficult totell who was better pleased with the bargain, the bridegroom or thelittle brides, preening in the new finery Aboli had given them as artof the bride price and gazing at their husband with aw and reverence.

Dr. Reynolds, with Sarah to assist him, successfully treated many ofthe sick Lozi, which sealed the good relations with the tribe. Whenthe expedition went on upriver to the capital kraal of the Lozi, thedrums carried ahead of them the news of their coming. Their paramountchief Bongola, came down to the landing to welcome them and lead themto new huts that had been built especially in their honour.

Bongola’s village was a cluster of several hundred thatched huts builtalong the riverbank and on the slopes of the hills. Each hut was setaround with a shamba of mango and plantain trees and manioc plants.

Kraals of logs housed the scrubby cattle and goats of the tribe, andkept them safe from the nocturnal forays of leopard and hyena.

By this time Tom and Aboli were both fluent in the language, and theyheld long indabas with Bongola each day of their stay. Bongola was anaturally garrulous little man and he related the recent history of thetribe to Tom.

The Lozi had once held rich lands on the banks of the great freshwaterlake to the north, but then the slavers had arrived and fallen uponthem, like the cheetah on the gazelle herds of the plains.

The survivors had fled southwards, and for almost two decades now hadevaded further depredations. But each day they lived in terror of theslavers whom they knew were slowly driving their raiding columns deeperinto the interior.

“We know that one day we will have to fly again,” Bongola told Tom.

“That was why we were filled with such alarm when we heard of yourarrival.” Tom remembered Aboli’s stories of how he had been capturedby the slavers when he was a child. He remembered also thoseunfortunates he had seen in the slave.

markets of Zanzibar, and felt once again that deep abhorrence of thetrade, and anger at his own inability to ease the plight of thesepeople.

The trading was profitable with Bongola, who brought out many fineivory tusks from his hoard to sell. Then van Houten came in from oneof his forays into the wilderness and proudly showed Tom five porcupinequills, each stoppered at one end. When he removed the stopper fromone and poured the contents into the bowl of his gold scale, Tom staredat the tiny pile of metallic flakes and granules, which gleamed yellowin the sunlight.

“Gold dust?” he asked.

“I have heard tell of the fool’s gold.

Are you certain this is not it?” Van Houten bridled at the slur on hisprofessional integrity, and showed Tom how to test the flakes with acidfrom his box of chemicals.

“The acid will eat any of the base metals but not the noble one,” heexplained. They watched it bubble and fizz as he dipped the flake intoit but when he brought it out the metal was bright and unscarred.

He took Tom to the place where he had panned the dust, and showed himthe string of gravel-beds and sandbars along the course of a streamdown one of the valleys.

At Tom’s request Bongola sent them fifty women of the tribe:

traditionally the men would not engage in such menial labour as workingin the field or digging holes in the stream bed.

Van Houten gave each of the women a pan and showed her how to use it,dip and swing, swirling the gravel in the pan and letting the drossflow away over the lip, until only the gleaming tail remained. Swiftlythe women learned the art and Tom promised them a measure of glassbeads for each quill of the noble dust that they brought to him.

Van Houten’s alluvial gold field proved so rich that a hard-workingwoman could fill a quill in less than a day, and soon gold panning wasthe preferred activity of the tribe. When some of the men wanted tojoin in such a profitable pastime, the women drove them awayindignantly.

The rains threatened, and it was time to head downriver again.

The longboats were low in the water under their cargoes of ivory, andTom had almost a hundred ounces of gold dust locked in the ship’sstrong-box.

When Aboli told Fallo and Zete that he was leaving them with theirfamilies until he returned next season, they burst into distraughtwails and fountains of tears.

Sarah remonstrated with him at such treatment.

“How can you be so cruel, Aboli? You have made them love you, and nowyou are breaking their little hearts.”

“They would die of terror and seasickness on the voyage down to GoodHope, and even if they survived they would pine for their mothers everyday they were away. They would make my life as miserable as theirown.

No, they must stay here, and wait for me, as good wives should.”

The desolation of the two girls was miraculously relieved by theparting gifts of beads, cloth and hand mirrors that Aboli bestowed onthem, enough to make them the richest wives in the village. Both girlswere bubbling over with giggles and smiles as they waved farewell tohis tall figure at the tiller of the leading longboat.

When they returned to Lozi Land at the beginning of the following dryseason, both Fallo and Zete were huge with child, their glossy blackbellies bulging out over their loincloths and their breasts big as ripemelons. They gave birth within days of each other.

Sarah acted as midwife and delivered two baby boys.

“By God!” said Tom as he examined the infants.

“There is no doubt that they are yours, Aboli. The poor little devilsonly lack a tattoo to be as ugly as their father.” Aboli was a changedman. Gone was his dignified reserve and regal bearing when he held achubby drooling son on each knee. The scarified visage that had struckterror into a thousand enemies became benign and close to beautiful.

“This one is Zama,” he told Tom and Sarah, “for he will be a mightywarrior. And this one is Tula, for he will be a poet and a wise man.”That night, in the darkness of their hut, Sarah laid her cheek on Tom’sand whispered into his ear, “I want a son also. Please, Tom. Please,my darling, give me a baby to hold and love.”

“I will try,” he promised.

“With all my heart, I will try.” But as the years passed, part of eachspent at Fort Providence or travelling in the wilderness of Lozi Land,the other part spent in the Cape of Good Hope, Sarah remained slim” andtall and flat-bellied, with nothing to swell her womb or puff out hershapely bosom.

Both Zama and Tula grew swiftly into strong little boys, taking aftertheir father, tall for their age and natural leaders of the other boysof their age group. They spent their days in the forest and on thegrassy plains along the river, tending the communal cattle herds of thetribe, and learning to handle bow and spear, coming to know the ways ofthe wild creatures of the forests. In the evenings they sat at Aboli’sfeet at the fireside, and listened wide-eyed to his stories of the sea,of battles and adventures in faraway places.

“Take us with you, Father,” Zama pleaded. As Aboli had predicted hewas the taller and stronger of the brothers.

“Please, honoured father,” Tula piped.

“Take us and show us these wonders.”

“You must stay with your mothers, and tend your duties here until youhave been circumcised and initiated into manhood,” Aboli promisedthem.

“Then Lord Klebe and I will take you with us into the world beyond LoziLand.” The elephant hunting was good in Lozi Land, and van Houtendiscovered a new alluvial gold field three days” march to the north ofthe original one, which brought in a steady trickle of gold dust toFort Providence. Both the tribe and Tom prospered, and each season ofthe big rains the Centaunts took a full cargo down to the Cape.

An Amsterdam bank of good repute had an office on the Heerengrachtabove the waterfront. Tom already had two thousand pounds depositedwith them, and after this season the amount was doubled. At last hewas a wealthy man.

He had to face one bitter disappointment. When the time came to sailnorth again, Ned Tyler declared himself too old to undertake anothervoyage. By now his hair was as fine and white as new-picked cotton,his back was bowed and his once clear eyes were clouded and rheumy.

“Leave me on my little farm here in the Constantia valley,” hebegged.

“Let me tend my chickens and vegetables.”

“I am going to stay with Ned,” Dr. Reynolds decided, “I have hadenough adventure to last my lifetime.” Only when he looked carefullyat the surgeon’s red, bluff face did Tom realize how he had aged alongwith Ned.

“I have had all I want of bandaging and stitching up your rascals. Iwant to plant a few vines, perhaps make a good wine before I die.”

“But who will look after us?” Tom protested.

“You cannot send us out to die of malaria in the wilderness.”

“You have a fine little surgeon with you,” the old doctor replied.

“I have taught Mistress Sarah all I know about setting a broken leg ormixing a potion. I place you in her good hands and, like as not, youwill be better off.

Lord knows, she is prettier than I am, and has a kinder heart.”

All Wilson took over as first officer of the Centaurus, and he had thehelm as they pushed into the mouth of the Lunga river at the beginningof the next hunting season.

Every man and woman aboard was consumed with excitement on these annualreturns to Fort Providence. They were all eager to see how Fundi hadtaken care of the settlement during the rains, to learn if the elephantwere still plentiful upon the hills of Lozi Land, and to find out howmuch gold dust the women had collected in their absence.

Aboli tried unsuccessfully to conceal his eagerness to be reunited withhis wives and children again: by this time Fallo and Zete had addedgenerously to their brood. There were two small daughters and anothertwo sons.

As always, Fundi met them on the landing below the fort, and welcomedTom and Sarah ashore. All was well in the fort, and there was littlerain damage to be repaired.

Sarah unwrapped the canvas cover from her harpsichord, played a chord,then smiled when the notes were true. She launched into the chorus of”Spanish Ladies’.Aboli demanded from Fundi the news of the tribe and his family, butthere was none for the rains had been heavy that season and the rivernot navigable. No canoe from Bongola’s village had reached the fort.Aboli fretted through the time that it took to unload the cargo fromthe Centaurus, to repair the fort and to make the final preparationsfor the expedition upstream to Lozi Land. He was at the tiller of theleading longboat when they were ready at last to leave FortProvidence.

The first intimation of something seriously amiss came when theyreached the outlying villages of the Lozi, and found them alldeserted.

Though they searched the area around each cluster of huts they found noliving soul, nor any clue as to what had happened to the inhabitants.

Dreading what they would find there, they went on towards Bongola’svillage as fast as they could row, dragging the boats through theshallows and keeping going as long as there was light enough to makeout the banks on either side and steer around the rocks in thechannel.

They came to it in the early afternoon. A dreadful hush hung over thehills, no sound of drum or horn or shouted welcome. They saw at oncethat the outlying gardens were overrun with weed. Then they passed thefirst hut on the bank. The roof thatch had been burned and the wallsstood gaunt and bare, the mud plaster washed away by the rains.

Nobody in the boats spoke, but as he pulled with all his strength onthe long oar, Aboli’s face was a terrible mask of despair. They staredat the ruins of the village as they passed, the burned huts, neglectedgardens and empty cattle pens. The top branches of the trees werelined with rows of roosting vultures, grim silhouettes, hunch-backedand hook-billed. The sickly sweet stench of death and putrefaction wason the air.

A single canoe lay on the beach of the landing, but its bottom had beenstaved in. The fish racks on which the men dried the catch had fallendown, and the nets were abandoned in untidy heaps. Aboli jumped overside when the water was waist-deep, waded ashore and ran up the beachto the overgrown path that led to the huts of Fallo and Zete.

Tom followed him but did not catch up with Aboli until he came to thesmall cluster of huts surrounded by a boma of thorn branches.

Aboli stood in the open gateway, staring at the burned-out huts of hiswives and children.

Tom stopped beside him, but neither man spoke. Then Aboli walkedforward and knelt. From the soft blue ash, he picked up a tiny humanskull and held it cupped in both hands as though it were a sacredchalice. The cranium had been crushed by a heavy blow. He stared intothe empty eye sockets, and the tears washed down his scarred face.

Yet his voice was steady as he looked up at Tom and said, “The slaversalways kill the babies for they are too young to survive the march tothe coast. Their weight only weakens the mothers who are forced tocarry them.” He touched the deep dent in the dome of the tiny skull.

“See how they held my little daughter by the ankles and dashed her headon the doorpost of the hut? This was my beautiful baby, Kassa,” hesaid, lifted the skull to his mouth and kissed the ghastly wound.

Tom could not watch his sorrow. He looked away, and saw that somebodyhad written on the wall of the roofless hut with a stick of charcoal inArabic script, “God is great.

There is no God but God.” That made certain the identity of theperpetrators of this atrocity. He stared at the legend while he triedto compose himself. When at last he spoke, his voice was stifled withhorror.

“When did this happen?” he asked.

“Perhaps a month ago.” Aboli stood up.

“Maybe a little longer than that.”

“The slave columns must move slowly?” Tom asked.

“With the chains and the women and children?”

“Yes,” Aboli agreed.

“They move very slowly, and it is a long weary road to the coast.”

“We can catch them,” Tom’s voice grew surer and stronger, “if we startat once and march hard.”

“Yes,” said Aboli, “we will catch them. But first I must bury my dead.Make the preparations for the march, Klebe, and I will be ready toleave before noon.” Aboli found two more tiny skeletons among theruins and weeds. The bones were scattered and chewed by the carrioneaters, but he identified his babies by the bead bracelets he had giventhem, which were still entwined with the small bones. They were of histwo youngest sons, not yet two years old. He gathered up their remainsand placed them in a tanned leather cloak.

He dug their grave in the floor of the hut in which they had beenconceived, and buried them together. Then he opened a vein in his ownwrist, dribbled his blood on to the grave and prayed to his ancestorsto receive the souls of his children kindly.

When he came down to the landing he found that Tom had almost completedthe order of march. From years of experience in hunting the elephantherds, each man knew his duty. There were three bands of five meneach.

They were commanded by Tom, All Wilson and Luke Jervis. Three sailorswould be left to guard the boats.

Each man of the expedition carried his weapons, powder and shot, hiswaters king and blanket, and enough food for a week. That was a fullload of sixty pounds in weight, and once it was expended they wouldlive off the land.

“You must stay here with the boats,” Tom told Sarah, as he unwrappedthe blue sword from the canvas roll in which he kept it. He did notcarry the long weapon on the elephant hunts for it hampered his gait,but he would need it now.

“There will be fighting and danger,” he explained, as he belted thescabbard around his waist.

“That is why I must go with you. There will be many wounded and hurt,and none to minister to them. I cannot stay here,” she replied, and hesaw the determination in her set expression, the cold light in hereyes. She had already packed her medicine chest and blanket. He knewfrom long experience it would serve no purpose to argue with her.

He gave in.

“Keep close to me. If we run into danger, do as I tell you, woman, andfor once do not stop to argue.” Led by Aboli and Fundi, they went insingle file through the remains of the village. They passed many moreskeletons along the path, all that remained of the old men and womenand small children judged too weak by the slavers to survive the marchto the coast. It was a relief to leave behind this scene of death anddesolation, and to follow the trail left by the shuffling lines of Loziprisoners as they were driven northwards into the hills.

The Monsoon

Aboli and Fundi set a killing pace. Fundi carried his great elephantbow over one shoulder and a quiver of poisoned arrows over the other.He, too, had lost his family in the slaughter and the pillage.

By Tom’s reckoning they covered ten miles in that first march, and hedeclared a halt only after the moonless night became too dark to allowthem to make out the ground under their feet. He slept only fitfullywith Sarah beside him under their blankets. Soon after midnight hesprang to his feet as a ghostly cry echoed from the summit of the hillabove them. It was a human voice, calling down to them in the languageof the Lozi.

“What manner of men are you?”

“I am Klebe, your friend,” Tom shouted back.

“I am Aboli, husband of Fallo and Zete.” Aboli threw more wood on thefire, which flared up brightly.

“I am Fundi, the hunter of elephants. Come down to us, men of theLozi.” They appeared among the dark trees, moving shadows in thefirelight that materialized into human shapes. There were less than ahundred survivors of the raid, many of them women, but over fiftywarriors who still carried their weapons, throwing spears and the heavyelephant bows with quivers of poisoned arrows.

They squatted in a dense mass around the fire and one at a time theelders described the attack that had caught the village by surprise,the massacre and the slave-taking that had followed.

“Some of us were able to run into the forest, and others were outhunting or gathering roots and wild honey, so we escaped,” theyexplained.

“What of my family,” Aboli asked.

“They have taken Fallo and Zete, and your sons Zama and Tula,” theytold him.

“We saw them in chains when we spied upon the slavers” caravan fromafar.” They sat all the rest of that night, reciting the long roll ofthose who had perished and those who had been captured.

In the dawn, when it was time to resume the pursuit, Tom ordered theold men and the women back to the ruined village to bury the dead andplant crops to ward off the famine that must inevitably follow thisdisaster.

“Some of my men are there. They will hunt game to feed you until thecrops are ripe.” They went back obediently, and Tom assembled theremaining Lozi warriors. He knew most of them by name, and had huntedwith some.

“We are going after the caravan. We will fight to free those who havebeen captured,” he told them.

“Will you join us?”

“We wanted to follow them, but the Arabs have fire sticks, and we wereafraid,” they said.

“But you also have the terrible fire sticks, so we will come with you.”Fundi picked out the most intrepid, skilful hunters among them, andsent them to scout ahead, to discover any ambush or snare the slaversmight have set. When they started out again, he kept the rest of theLozi with them, following the well-worn slave road into the north.

They marched hard from first light of day until dark, and though thesigns of the slave caravan were too old and eroded for even Fundi andAboli to read accurately, they knew that they had covered in a day thesame ground that it had taken the long files of chained slaves six daysto make good. During the day they had passed the rudely thatchedshelters and dead camp-fires of that number of overnight camps.

The next day they were away again at first light, and before noon theycame upon the remains of the first casualties among the slaves.

There were only a few bone chips and blood-caked scraps of loinclothlying beside the path, for the Arabs had removed the chains from thecorpses and the forest scavengers had devoured the rest.

“These were the weak ones, Fundi said.

“They died of weariness and broken hearts. We will find many morebefore we catch up with the caravan.” On each day’s march now the signbecame fresher and clearer to read. Always the road was marked by theold camps where the caravan had passed the nights, and by the remainsof those who had not survived the rig ours of the journey.

Ten days out, and they came upon the junction of the roads, where theslave column from Lozi Land in the south joined up with another morenumerous column coming in from the country of the great freshwaterlakes in the west.

Fundi and Aboli examined the abandoned site where the two caravans hadcamped the first night after they had met.

“There are now over two thousand slaves in the column. I have countedtheir sleeping places.”

Aboli showed Tom where the slaves had flattened the grass when they laydown for the night.

“Most are carrying heavy loads, some made up of food supplies, grainand dried game meat.”

“How do you know that?” Tom demanded.

“Their deep heel prints in the dust show that they are burdened.

Then they have discarded a few of the empty food baskets beside thecooking-fires, and left a few kernels of grain and scraps of meat inthem, Aboli explained.

“But they are also being forced by the Arabs to carry many ivory tusksas well.”

“Ivory?” Tom’s interest was piqued.

“Where would they find ivory?”

“The Arabs have plundered it from the villages they have raided, andthe Omani are also hunters, as you are.”

Fundi had joined in the discussion.

“How can you tell this, about the ivory?” Aboli took him to the farside of the camp-site, and pointed to marks in the earth.

“This is where they stacked the tusks while they rested for the night.”The long curved imprints in the earth were clear for even Tom toread.

“There are about a hundred and sixty Arab guards and merchants with thecaravan.” Aboli led him to the thatched bomas of Thorn branches thathad housed the guards for the night, and pointed out the mattresses ofcut grass on which they had slept.

“One for each man, and I have also counted the footprints.”

“How can you tell the footprints of Arab from those of slave?” Tomwanted to know.

The Arabs wear sandals. Many have big dogs on leashes, here you cansee the pad marks. They use them to frighten the slaves, and to catchthe runaways.”

“We have wasted almost an hour here,” Tom cut in.

“We know how many enemy there are to deal with. Let us go after them.”This huge agglomeration of heavily burdened men and women moved evenslower than before, and the much smaller file of pursuers, hardened byyears of hunting the elephant herds, gained on them rapidly.

In the middle of the morning of the seventeenth day since leavingBongola’s village, two of the scouts came running back to the head ofthe Pursuit column, where Sarah marched beside Tom, matching him stridefor stride on her long legs.

“We have seen the smoke from their camp-fires ahead,” they shouted,before they reached the head of the column.

“Stay with Luke and All,” Tom ordered Sarah, and he beckoned to Aboli.The two moved forward, falling into the steady trot they used to closein on the elephant herds in the final stage of the hunt. The Loziscouts guided them to the top of a small granite hill from which theyhad a good view over miles of the country ahead.

The smoke from hundreds of small cooking-fires was scribbled againstthe cloudless blue of the sky not more than a few miles ahead.

“We have them now,” Tom exulted, and led the others down the hill atthe same ground-eating trot.

Within the hour they reached the deserted encampment and the fires werestill smoking. The wide pathway beaten by thousands of bare feet woundaway among the trees, and they ran along it.

They stopped involuntarily to a distant sound: a mournful dirge sung bya thousand voices, soft in the harsh midday sun but heartbreakinglybeautiful. The slaves were singing a lament to a lost land, to thehome and loved ones they would never see again.

Tom surveyed the land ahead.

“We will circle out to the right.”

He pointed.

“We must get ahead of the column and watch as it passes so that we knowthe exact numbers and the formation they are keeping.”

They came out of the edge of the trees and before them lay an openplain that reached to the horizon, the pale yellow grassland shimmeringwith mirage in the sunlight.

Isolated kopjes lay like small islands on the wide expanse, and hereand there stood a flat-topped acacia tree. Herds of game werescattered across the open plain, zebra, wildebeest and gazelle.

Giraffe stretched up their stately necks to feed on the top leaves ofthe acacia, and here and there a rhinoceros stood, massive, homed anddark, against the pale grass.

Two or three miles out on their left flank a fine mist of dust markedthe position of the slave caravan, and Tom and Aboli agreed quickly ontheir next move. One of the conical granite hills stood fairly in thepath of the distant column.

its summit would afford an ideal vantage-point, but they had to moveswiftlyi They left the Lozi scouts hidden in the trees, and the twobroke into a full run across the plain.

They were almost blown by the time they reached the foot of the littlehill on the opposite side from the approaching caravan, and they threwthemselves on the ground and struggled for breath. As soon as they hadrecovered sufficiently to sit up, they drank a few mouthfuls from thewaters king Then they pulled themselves to their feet and climbed therocky side of the hill.

Just below the summit they threw themselves flat once more, and peepedcautiously over the top. The head of the slave caravan was a miledistant across the grassland, and would pass close to the foot of theirhill.

Thousands of tiny figures were strung out in a straggling file,reaching back almost three miles to the edge of the forest. It wasexactly as Tom had pictured it from Aboli’s reading of the sign. Atthe head of the column rode an impressive figure on an Arab stallion.He was dressed in long green robes, and his head and face were coveredin a flowing turban of the same colour. Only his eyes were leftuncovered. Two stark naked black female slaves trotted beside thehorse, holding a large tasselled sunshade over the rider.

The other Arabs were marching on the flanks of the column.

Through the telescope Tom counted a hundred and fifty-four of them alltold. A hundred and thirty-six were foot soldiers, and the others weremounted. They were all robed and heavily armed. The mounted men rodeback and forth along the column, urging it on.

The slaves were too numerous to count accurately, but Tom saw thatAboli’s initial estimate of two thousand must be close to the mark.

Most, both men and women, were naked. A few wore scraps of leather orragged trade cloth around their waists. They were all fettered.

“The children were tied together in groups of five or six, with ropesof plaited bark or rawhide around their necks. The slavers had notused up on them their supply of chains.

The heads and bodies of all the slaves were coated grey with dust,through which sweat had streaked giving them an unearthly appearance.

They were all carrying something; even the children had gourds or grainbaskets balanced on their heads. The women held the bedrolls andpossessions of the slave masters, or baskets and waterskins.

The men brought the ivory. Through the lens of his telescope Tom sawthey had hundreds of tusks between them. A few were so large that ittook four men to carry one.

Closer and closer the column crept to the foot of the hill on whichthey lay and they could make out more details and hear the mournfulsinging. One of the women near the head of the line dropped the basketfrom her head and slumped to the ground, pulling down the three otherswho were chained to her. Those around her tried to lift her to herfeet again, but she was too weak to stay upright.

The disturbance brought four of the slave-masters running. Theygathered around the fallen girl, and Tom could hear their angry shoutsas they tried to get her up again Then one of them laid into her with akiboko. He swung from on high, aiming first at the back of her legsand, when that had no effect, raining cutting blows across her back andbuttocks. The sharp clap of the lash on bare skin carried clearly inthe heated air.

At last the guards resigned themselves to the loss of another piece oftrade goods. One knelt and unlocked the shackles from the girl’swrist, then he seized her ankles and dragged her body off the path. Hiscomrades urged the halted column forward, and they left the girl’snaked, dusty body where it lay.

Now the column was passing so close to the kopje that they could makeout the faces of the slaves with the naked eye. Suddenly Abolistiffened and grasped Tom’s arm. He pointed to the centre of the lineand it took Tom a moment to see what had excited him. There, anotherfile of children marched, boys and girls mixed indiscriminately, linkedtogether with a long light rope around their waists.

Each child carried a bundle or basket balanced on his or her head, thesize and weight of each load graduated to the age and strength of theone who carried it. The boy at the head of the file was the tallest.He walked proudly and lithely where the others slumped with wearinessand despair.

“Zama,” said Aboli.

“My eldest son. And that is Tula behind him.” His voice was level buthis eyes held a great, burning anger.

“There are Zete and Fallo also, in the rank behind them.” The twowomen were naked, chained at the necks, their breasts heavy and full ofthe un sucked milk left by their massacred infants.

Tom had nothing to say for his old friend’s comfort, so they layquietly and watched the sorry procession wind past them. So slow wasthe pace that it took almost two hours, but the slave-masters drovethem on with shouts and flicking whips.

In the wake of the column a pack of hyena and jackals followed.

They gobbled up the excrement left on the veld by the dysentery-rackedslaves and any other discarded waste and offal. Tom thought that theabandoned slave-girl must have died but he was wrong.

When the hyena gathered around her in a circle, giggling and hootingwith greedy excitement, she struggled up on one elbow and tried to riseto her feet, but the effort was too much. She collapsed and drew upher knees to her chest, covering her dusty head with bare arms.

The hyena pack drew back a little, but then edged forward again,circling her. One stretched out its neck and tried to sniff herfoot.

The girl picked up a stone, threw it, and the beast backed away.

Then another of the huge doglike animals rushed at her from behind andsank its fangs into her shoulder. she rolled and kicked in the dust,it worried her, shaking its massive head, until it had bitten out alump of her flesh, which it swallowed, while the girl collapsed sobbingon the dusty earth. The smell of fresh blood was too much for theothers to resist. Another hyena darted in and seized her foot. It ranoff with her, dragging her like a sledge on her back. Tom jumped tohis feet, ready to rush down the hillside to save her, but Aboli pulledhim down again.

“The Arabs are still too close.” He pointed at the tail of the columnhalf a mile away.

“They will see you. There is nothing we can do for her.” Aboli wasright, of course. Tom slumped down again and watched another hyenarush in and bite into the girl’s stomach, leaning back against the dragof the first animal.

They had her stretched out between them, and her wild screams carriedto the men on the hilltop. Then a dozen other beasts joined in,ripping her apart, crunching her bones with their great jaws, wolfingdown her flesh while her struggles weakened, then ended.

Within minutes there was nothing left of her but the wet and bloodypatch of earth. The pack loped on after the disappearing slavecaravan.

Tom and Aboli climbed down from their vantage point and followed afterthem, shadowing the caravan while the day dwindled away and the suncrept down towards the horizon. When the slavemasters ordered thenight halt and the column went into bivouac, they crept even closer.

Using the cover of a grove of acacia trees, they assessed the layout ofthe camp, carefully noting the horse lines and the bomas of theArabs.

When the sun set and darkness fell they left the camp and hurried back.Within the hour they met up with the rest of their party coming upbehind them. They built a screened fire to cook the evening meal, andwhile they ate hurriedly Tom held his war council and gave each of hislieutenants their orders for the night attack on the Arab camp. Assoon as they had finished eating, they moved forward again.

They could see the glow of the camp-fires from two miles away acrossthe plain, and moved in. Tom and Aboli placed each of the Lozi archersin his allotted position, and repeated their orders so that there couldbe no misunderstanding. Then they moved into their own positions andbegan the long wait. Tom wanted to attack in that darkest time betweenmidnight and dawn, when the spirits and vigour of the Arabs would be attheir lowest ebb.

Slowly the camp-fires of the caravan flickered lower, then burned downto puddles of red ash. The great Scar@ pion of stars, tail held high,crept down across the sky above them then sank towards the horizon. Thevoices and the singing of the slaves died away, and a profound silencesettled over the encampment.

“It is time,” Tom said at last, and stood up. They moved in closer andmade one last inspection of the encampment, making certain that nothinhad altered.The only fire still burning brightly was the one at the horse linesamong a grove of acacia trees on the near side of the camp.

Against the flames they saw three of the Arab guards sitting together,drinking coffee and talking quietly. They were staring into the fire.That will blind them, Tom thought grimly, and then whispered to Aboli,”Take the one nearest you.” They moved in until they were at the edgeof the circle of firelight. Both had kept their swords covered sothere would be no reflection of firelight to alert a sentry.

“Have at themF Tom slipped his blade from the scabbard and ran lightlyup behind the seated Arabs. He killed the first cleanly, with a thrustin the back of the neck. Across the fire Aboli killed another. Thedead man fell face forward into the fire and his turban and long bushyhair burst into flames and flared like a torch.

The third Arab let out a startled shout and started to his feet, butTom stabbed him in the throat. The blue sword slid in sweetly and thenext shout drowned, gurgling, in the man’s own blood.

Tom and Aboli crouched over their victims” bodies, listening for thealarm, but the horse lines were set apart from the main camp and thedying Arab had made no more noise than a sleeping man in a nightmare.All was still. They moved to where the horses were tethered Anotherdark shadow came to meet them from among the trees.

Tom challenged with a low two-toned whistle, the call of a night-jar.

The recognition signal came at once and Luke Jervis stepped forward.

“All secure!” he murmured, letting Tom know that the other Arabs inthe horse lines had been taken care of.

Tom ran to one of the horses. He had picked out the bay stallion theArab leader had ridden that day, and marked its position in the lines.Now he untied its halter and spoke to it softly, stroking its forehead,gentling it with hand and voice. Then he swung up onto its bareback.

Aboli had chosen another horse, and when he was mounted Tom whistledsoftly to Luke.

Luke ran back to where his men had surrounded one of the sleeping bomasof the Arab guards. Almost immediately there came thudding volleys ofmusket fire all around the periphery of the camp and spurts of muzzleflame pricked the darkness as the sailors fired into the sleeping Arabsat close range. A low buzz ran through the camp as it came awake, andquickly built up into a screaming, shouting uproar.

The Arab slave-masters came stumbling out of the bomas, half asleep andfumbling with their weapons to be met by volley after volley of musketfire and flights of whistling Lozi arrows.

The slaves were unable to move, for they had been chained down to theiron stakes that the slave-masters had driven into the hard earth.

They lay where they were fettered and wailed and howled with terror,adding to the confusion.

Some of the Arabs were firing back, and a determined resistance wasmounting. Tom galloped down the line towards the boma of thornbranches where, at sundown, he had watched the caravan leader takeshelter. He carried a burning brand from the guards” camp-fire in onehand, and now he hurled it on to the thatched roof of the hut. Itcaught quickly and the flames soared up, showering sparks and lightingthe night for a hundred yards around. Driven out by the heat, the Arableader came running from the hut with a jezail in one hand. He waswithout a turban and his oiled grey hair fell to his shoulders. Hisbeard was in tangled disarray. Tom wheeled the horse and chargedstraight at him. The Arab stood to meet him, and threw up thejezail.

Tom lay along the stallion’s neck and drove it on straight into themuzzle of the musket.

The Arab fired and in the bloom of powder smoke Tom heard the ball whirclose past his head. He expected the old man to turn and run once hisweapon was fired.

Instead he stood proudly, helpless and unarmed, but with head up andfierce eye to meet his death. Tom felt a pang of admiration andrespect as he leaned out and drove the glittering blue blade throughthe man’s heart with such force that the Arab was lifted clean off hisfeet and died before he struck the ground again. Tom rode back andlooked down at him. Moved by the night breeze, his silver beardfeathered across his chest. Tom might have felt remorse, but then heremembered Aboli’s massacred children, the girl who had been eatenalive by the hyena pack, and his guilt withered stillborn.

He wheeled away and, from the back of the stallion, looked down theline. At two places the slave-masters had taken cover and groupedtogether in small pockets of resistance. Tom called urgently to Aboli,”We must break them up. Ride with me.” They stormed down upon them,swords bared, and, yelling with the furious ecstasy of battle, they cutthem down. The Arabs who survived broke up under this onslaught. Theythrew down their empty muskets and ran out into the darkness.

“Let them go!” Tom stopped his men from pursuing them and consoledhimself.

“They will not get far and I will send Fundi and his archers after themas soon as it is light.” In the fighting he had become separated fromAboli.

He rode down the slave lines, searching for him. The fighting wasover, but the encampment was a shambles.

Many of the slaves had pulled up their stakes and were stumbling aboutin the firelight shouting and howling. The din was deafening, and Tomcould not make his orders heard. When he tried to beat sense into someof the slaves with his scabbard, it only made them more witless withterror. He gave up any effort to quieten them and rode on looking forAboli. He saw his horse, but with no rider. He felt a painful stab ofconcern that Aboli had been shot off its back. He urged his own horseforward, but then in the crowd he saw Aboli on foot, carrying two smallboys in his arms, hugging their naked dusty bodies against his chest.

“They are unharmed, Klebe, both of them,” Aboli shouted to him, and Tomwaved and wheeled back to find Sarah. He knew she would be somewherein this sea of black bodies trying to minister to those who needed herhelp, and he felt real concern for her in this dangerous, volatileatmosphere: she could easily be trampled by the mob or run into anescaping Arab who carried a curved dagger on his belt.

He saw her golden hair like a beacon in the firelight, and pushed thestallion through the throng to reach her.

He bent down, slipped an arm around her waist, lifted her up onto thehorse’s withers in front of him and kissed her.

She threw both arms around his neck and hugged him so hard that ithurt.

“You did it, my darling. They are free.”

“And there is a fine load of Arab ivory to pick up.” He grinned.

“You base creature.” She smiled back at him.

“Is that all you can think of in this glorious moment?”

how.

“My father taught me, “Do good to all men, but at the end remember tocollect your fee.”" It took the rest of the night to restore orderamong the hordes of slaves. Most were still in chains, but as soon asit was light they began the work of freeing them.

Tom found an enormous bunch of keys on the belt around the waist of theold Arab headman he had killed. The keys fitted the locks, and as theywere released, Tom ordered the slaves to be placed in separate groups,divided by tribes and villages. Then he made them the responsibilityof their own chieftains and headmen.

Sarah tended first to Aboli’s family. The two boys were unhurt andstill healthy. Zete and Fallo were beside themselves with terror butAboli spoke to them sternly) and they quietened. When Sarah wascertain they no longer needed her help, she went among the others.

First she picked out the children who needed medical attention.

Many were smitten with dysentery and she dosed them with a bindingpotion, then treated their chain and rope galls with healingointment.

Though she worked tirelessly through the night and into the followingday, she could not do enough with her small medicine chest for thehundreds who called to her for help.

While this was going on Tom sent Fundi and his band of archers afterthe fleeing Arabs who had escaped during the night. They had not gonefar, and most were unarmed.

Fundi’s men hunted them down quickly, and finished them off with thewickedly barbed arrows. The poison turned the flesh around the entrywounds purple, then ran through the blood like liquid fire. It was nota kind death, but when the hunters brought back the severed heads oftheir victims as proof of the kill, Tom looked upon themdispassionately. The deeds of the dead men were fresh in his mind, andhis anger was not yet appeased.

Under their officers the sailors ransacked the camp, and piled thespoils in a heap for Tom to count and enter in his log book. Apartfrom the mountain of ivory, they lzi found a small iron chest in theashes of the caravan master’s hut. It had withstood the heat of theflames, and when they broke it open they found it contained gold dinarcoins worth almost three hundred pounds.

“That adds up to fair profit for a day’s work of good deeds, Tom saidto Sarah, with satisfaction.

They gathered up the food baskets and the muskets, the kegs of powderand the bars of lead for casting shot, bales of trade cloth, sacks ofbeads and mounds of other valuable equipment.

“How are you going to carry all this back to Fort Providence?”

Sarah wanted to know.

“You may be forced to leave it here.”

“We will see to that,” Tom promised grimly, and had Fundi and Abolibring all the headmen of the released slaves to him. He explained tothem that he would divide up the food stores between the people fromthe different tribes, and that the women and children were free toreturn to their villages. However, in exchange for their freedom everyone of the men must act as porter to carry the spoils down to LoziLand.

After that, they would be free to follow the women back to theirhomes.

He explained to them that they would be paid in trade goods for theirlabour. The chieftains were delighted with this arrangement, fornaturally all the wages of their subjects would come directly tothem.

Until that moment they had not realized that they were free again, andhad believed that they had merely exchanged one set of slave-mastersfor another.

It took several days to share out the food and make up the splintercaravans before Tom was able to send the women on their way home. Theywent singing their thanks and praises to the white men who had savedthem. Then the heavily burdened caravan of men started into the south,with Tom and Sarah, mounted on captured Arab horses, at the head of thecolumn.

Tom left Fundi and twenty of his most intrepid hunters to patrol theslave road during the rest of the dry season. As soon as they spottedthe approach of another Arab caravan Fundi had his orders to sendrunners to Fort Providence to alert Tom.

When they reached Fort Providence, Tom realized that he had more than afull cargo of ivory for the little Centaunts.

“We will not be forced to hunt again, for this season at least,” hetold Sarah.

“I will be able to concentrate all MY efforts on freeing more of thesemiserable slaves from the clutches of the wicked Mussulmen.” Hisexpression was pious and virtuous, but she saw the twinkle in his eyesand was not taken in.

“I wish those were honest sentiments, Thomas Courtney, but I know youtoo well. You are in this for the ivory and the fun of a good fight.

“You are too harsh a judge, my pretty darling,” he protested, with agrin, “but why should you quibble? It’s those brats you care about,and I am giving them into your care. This way we both have our heart’sdesire.”

“It won’t be as easy next time,” she warned him.

“The Arab merchants will be expecting you.”

“Ah! But I also have a few ideas on that score.” They had capturedalmost two hundred Arab muskets, and a goodly store of powder and lead.Instead of elephant hunting, Tom and his crew trained fifty Loziwarriors as musketeers. They had picked the most promising men, but

NOLA

even these had difficulty in mastering a weapon so alien to theirculture. They never truly overcame their fear and awe of the firearm,or the instinct to close their eyes tightly in anticipation of thedischarge. Tom soon realized that they would never be marksmen. Heaccepted this, and instead drilled them to fire massed volleys at closerange, loading the jezails with a handful of specially cast buckshotthat would spread, rather than a single ball.

Within weeks, one of Fundi’s runners had come into Fort Providence fromthe north with news of another slave caravan coming down from the lakecountry.

“Time to see if my new strategy works,” Tom said to Sarah.

“I don’t suppose I can prevail upon you to remain here at FortProvidence out of harm’s way?” For answer she smiled and went to packher medical stores.

When at last they came up with the caravan, they found that it was evenlarger and richer than the first, but more heavily escorted with Arabinfantry and mounted men. Tom’s men were outnumbered by almost two toone.

He and Aboli shadowed the Arabs for days while the worked out a plan toattack them.

Very soon it became clear that the Arab slave-masters

Al had learned of the fate of the first caravan. They were very muchon the alert. On the march they threw out a screen of scouts, and atthe first sign of trouble pulled back into defensive formations inbusinesslike style. They went into carefully constructed defensivebomas when they halted at night, and kept a vigilant cordon of sentriesaround their encampments to guard against a night attack.

Tom and Aboli scouted ahead of the column and found the ford of a wideriver where the slave caravan would be forced to cross. They movedtheir own force up and concentrated all their men in the dense riverineforest on the far bank.

When the slave caravan reached the river, the long unwieldy columnbegan the crossing. Tom allowed the head of it to cross unmolested.

Then, when half of the slaves and their escorts were across, he cutthem off and fell on the head of the column.

From their carefully concealed positions, the Lozi musketeers firedmassed volleys at point-blank range into the Arab guards. Using thespread of small shot, even they could not miss and the effect wasmurderous. For a while the fighting was fierce but the Arab advanceguard was outnumbered and shot to pieces by those first volleys.

When their comrades on the far bank tried to cross the river toreinforce them, they were forced to wade almost chest-deep through thecurrent, and were driven back in confusion by the accurate fire ofTom’s sailors.

By nightfall the fighting on this bank was over. Tom’s men hadcaptured the head of the caravan and wiped out all the Arab guards.

They had also captured the entire Arab stores of black powder.

Tom now had the advantage of numbers, and the remaining Arabs on thefar bank were desperately short of ammunition.

Tom moved his men across the river, and launched a series of lightningraids on the Arab positions, forcing the slave-masters to defendthemselves and use up the last of their powder. Once their musketswere empty he attacked in earnest and shattered the Arab line.

With the last of their powder gone, the defenders were wiped out indesperate hand-to-hand fighting in which the Lozi used their shortstabbing spears to savage effect. The last of the Arabs was driveninto the river where, drawn by the scent of blood in the water, thecrocodiles had gathered.

In the aftermath of the fighting, Tom freed over three thousand slaves,and marched south to Fort Providence with a long file of porterscarrying vast booty.

Although Fundi’s scouts maintained the watch on the slave roads, thatwas the last caravan to try to win through to the Fever Coast duringthat dry season.

“We must pray for better business next time,” Tom said to Sarah, asthey stood together on the quarterdeck of the little Centaurus as sheran downriver to the ocean at the beginning of the Big Wet.

“If business grows any better, you will sink the ship under us, shetold him.

“I cannot even use my cabin because it’s stuffed so full of elephanttusks.”

“It’s all these children of yours that weigh us down,” Tom saidaccusingly.

Sarah had not been able to resist taking into her care four of the mostappealing orphans from the released slave caravans. She lavished hermaternal instincts upon them, and now they clustered around her,dressed in the clothes she had sewn for them, sucking their thumbs andclinging to her skirts.

“Thomas Courtney, I do declare you are jealous of a few littlebabies.”

“When we reach Good Hope I will buy you a pretty bonnet to win backyour love,” he promised.

She opened her mouth to tell him she would prefer a baby son, but thatwas a painful subject for both of them.

Instead she smiled.

“And a pretty dress to go with it. I have lived in rags these pastmonths.” She hugged his arm.

“Oh, Tom, it will be so good to reach civilization again. Even for soshort a time.” The Caliph of Oman, Abd Muhammad at-Malik, was dying inhis Muscat palace, and not even the wisest of his physicians couldfathom the cause of the mysterious disease that had assailed him. Theyhad purged him until blood dribbled out of his anus. They had lancedthe veins in his arms and bled him until his gaunt face was sallow,with plum-coloured eye-sockets. They had blistered his chest and backwith hot irons to BURN out the sickness, all to no avail.

The disease had begun to manifest itself shortly after Prince Zaynal-Din had returned from the long pilgrimage to Mecca and the holyplaces of Islam that his father had ordered him to undertake as apenance for his treachery.

On his return to Muscat, Zayn al-Din had once again made the mostabject petitions to his father. He tore his fine raiment and slashedhis cheeks and chest with a sharp knife. He poured ash and dust on hishead and crawled on his hands and knees into his father’s presence,wailing for forgiveness.

Al-Malik had stepped down from the ivory throne, lifted him to his feetand, with the hem of his own robe, had wiped away the blood and dirtfrom his son’s fat face.

Then he kissed him on the lips.

“You are my son, and although once I had lost you, now you are restoredto me.” he said.

“Go and bathe yourself, change your apparel. Put on the blue robes ofa royal Omani and take your seat on the cushion at my right hand.” Soonafter this the terrible headaches began, which left the Caliph confusedand drowsy. Then he was attacked by fits of convulsions and vomiting. His stomach ached and his stools were black and tarry, his urine darkred with blood.

While the physicians treated him and looked for improvement, thedisease worsened. His fingernails turned blue. His hair and his beardfell out in tufts. He drifted in and out of coma and his flesh meltedaway, so that his bald and hairless head resembled that of a cadaver.

Knowing that the end was near, thirty of his sons gathered around hisbed in the dark, shuttered, airless bedchamber. The eldest, Zaynal-Din, sat closest to his bed and led the chanted prayers for theintervention of Allah in their father’s suffering.

Once, in the pause between prayers, Zayn al-Din lifted his tear-filledeyes and looked sorrowfully across the chamber at his half-brother. Ibnal-Malik Abubaker was the son of one of the lesser concubines. He hadalways been Zayn al-Din’s trusted companion from their childhood daysin the zenana on Lamu island. Because of his lowly status in the royalhousehold Abubaker might have dropped into obscurity. However, thereis a saying in the desert that every man needs a camel to carry himover the sands. Zayn al-Din was Abubaker’s camel. On the back of hiselder half brother Abubaker was determined to ride one day to power. He knew also that Zayn al-Din needed him, for Abubaker was the faithfulservant, shrewd and resourceful, committed to his brother. He had beenat Zayn al-Din’s side at the battle of Muscat, and had tried to protecthim when the Ottoman Turks had been routed, but in the he had beenlanced in the chest and thrown from his horse.

After the battle he had recovered from his wound, and received a pardonfrom the new Caliph; al-Malik was always benevolent and generous to hissons. Instead of being grateful for this mercy, though, Abubaker wasfiercely resentful. Like Zayn al-Din, he was ambitious and devious, aborn conspirator, and greedy for power. He knew that, despite hisfather’s expression of forgiveness, his treachery would be rememberedfor the rest of the Caliph’s life. May that be short, he thought, ashe looked across the crowded bedchamber fogged with incense smoke, andcaught the eye of Zayn al-Din, His brother gave him a barelyperceptible nod, and Abubaker lowered his eyes then smoothed hismoustache as a sign that he had understood.

It was Abubaker who had provided the bitter white powder that was doingthe business for them. One of the physicians tending the sinkingCaliph was Abubaker’s man.

Administered in tiny doses, the poison accumulated in the body of thevictim- so that the symptoms became gradually more acute. SilentlyAbubaker agreed with his brother that it was time to give the Caliphthe lethal dose that would end it.

Abubaker covered his face with the black head cloth as if to hide hissorrow, and smiled. By this time tomorrow his elder brother Zaynal-Din would be seated on the Elephant Throne. He, ibn al-MalikAbubaker, would be commander of the armies and fleets of Oman. Zaynal-Din had promised him that, and the rank of imam and two lakhs ofrupees from the royal treasury. Abubaker had always seen himself as amighty warrior, and he knew that at last his star was rising andbeginning to BURN brightly.

“All thanks to my sainted brother, Zayn al-Din. May Allah shower tenthousand blessings upon his head,” he whispered.

At dusk the physicians gave the Caliph a potion to help him sleep andto strengthen him against the assaults of the night demons.

Although al-Malik coughed, dribbled the medicine down his chin androlled his head away, the doctors held him gently and spooned everylast drop down his throat.

He lay so still and pale on the cushions that twice during the long,hot night the doctors opened his eyelids, held a lamp in front of hisface and watched for the shrinking of the pupils.

“In the love and kindness of Allah, the Caliph yet lives,” they intonedeach time.

Then, as the first coppery rays of dawn light pricked through thefretwork of the shutters of the east window, the Caliph started upsuddenly and gave a strong, clear cry.

“God is great!” Then he fell back on the sweat-soaked cushions of hisbed, and a slow trickle of blood ran from his nostrils and down hischeeks into the bed-linen.

The doctors rushed forward, forming a circle around the body, andthough all his sons craned for a glimpse of their father, he was hiddenfrom them. The chief surgeon whispered to the vizier of the court inlugubrious tones.

Then the vizier faced the rows of seated princes and intoned, in avoice of heavy portent, “Abd Muhammad alMalik, Caliph of Oman, isdead.

Allah receive his spirit!”

“In God’s Name,” they replied in solemn chorus, many faces raddled withgrief “In accordance with his father’s wishes, Zayn al Ding is thesuccessor to the Elephant Throne of Oman.

May Allah bless him and grant him a long, glorious reign.”

“In God’s Name!” they repeated, but none showed any joy at theannouncement.

They knew that dark days were ahead.

Outside the city walls, jutting out into the sea, was a rocky headland.The cliffs on the point fell sheer into deep water, so clear that everydetail of the coral below was etched like a marble mosaic.

The new Caliph had ordered a pavilion of polished pink granite blocksbuilt upon the lip of the precipice. He named it the Palace ofRetribution. From his seat in the shaded colonnade he could look downto the surface of the sea and watch the long, dark shadows of thesharks gliding over the reef far below. There had been no sharks whenfirst the palace was built, but now there were many, and they were wellfed.

Zayn al Ding was eating a ripe pomegranate when they brought another ofhis father’s officers barefoot before him.

They had shaved his head and beard, and placed a chain around his neckas -a symbol of condemnation.

“You were unkind to me, bin-Nabula,” the Caliph said, “when I was indisgrace and out of my father’s favour, may Allah bless his saintedsoul!” He spat one of the pomegranate pips, which hit the proud oldman in the face. He did not even blink but stared back coldly at histormentor. Bin-Nabula had commanded the former Caliph’s army andfleet: he was a soldier proud.

“You called me the fat puppy.” Zayn al-Din wagged his headsorrowfully.

“That was very cruel of you.”

“It was a name that fitted you well,” the condemned man re plied.

“And since then you have grown wider in girth and more repulsive inwhen. I give thanks to Allah that your noble father cannot know what aplague he has visited upon his people.”

“Old man, you were always garrulous, but I have a certain cure for thatvice.” Zayn al-Din nodded to the new general of his army.

“My little friends down there are hungry. Do not keep them waiting.”

Abubaker bowed. He was dressed in burnished half, armour with a spikedhelmet and embroidered silk neck flap. When he straightened he wassmiling. The smile on that narrow face, with the snaggle teeth of abarracuda, was dreadful to look upon but bin-Nabula did not flinch.

“Many good men have gone along this road ahead of me,” bin-Nabulasaid.

“I prefer their company to yours.” The executions had been conducteddaily over the last months since the accession of the new Caliph.Hundreds of once powerful and important men had gone over the cliff tothe waiting shark pack. Zayn al-Din had a long memory for a slight oran insult and neither he nor General Abubaker tired of the sport.

“Remove the chain,” Abubaker ordered his men. He did not wantbin-Nabula to sink too swiftly. They lifted the heavy links from hisneck, and led him to the block.

“Both feet,” Abubaker commanded, and they placed his legs across theblock. Abubaker had refined the punishment: with his feet gone, thecondemned man could splash on the surface but not swim to the shore,and the blood in the water would rouse the shark pack and drive it intoa feeding frenzy.

He drew his sword and slashed the blade through the air abovebin-Nabula’s legs, smiling at him with those uneven teeth. The oldgeneral looked back at him steadily, without any sign of fear.

Abubaker could have delegated this duty to any of his men, but he tookpleasure in doing his brother’s work himself. He laid the edge of thecurved blade against the old man’s ankle, judging his stroke withnarrowed eyes.

“A single clean stroke,” Zayn al-Din encouraged him, or I shall claim apenalty from you, my brother.” Abubaker lifted the blade, paused atthe top, then swung down. The steel hissed in the air, then slicedthrough flesh and bone and thudded into the wooden block. The whitefoot with its blue veins dropped on to the polished granite floor, andZayn al-Din clapped his hands.

“A fair stroke indeed. But can you do the same again.

Abubaker wiped the blade on a square of silk that a slave handed him,then lined up on the other ankle. Hiss and clunk, the steel sank deepinto the wood of the block.

Zayn al’ Ding hooted with laughter.

The soldiers carried bin-Nabula to the edge of the cliff, leaving a wetred trail across the pink polished granite flags. Zayn al-Din jumpedup from his cushions and limped to the low parapet that protected himfrom the drop. He leaned over the wall and looked down.

“My little fishes are waiting for you, bin-Nabula. Go with God.”

The soldiers threw him over the edge and his robes ballooned around himas he fell, but he made no sound.

Some of them screamed all the way down, and Zayn al Ding enjoyed that.Bin-Nabula struck the surface and was driven deep by the impetus of hisfall. Then the disturbed water cleared and they saw him float up tothe surface. He floundered there, trying to keep his head above thewater but the water clouded red around him.

The reP Zayn al-Din pointed down with a trembling finger and shriekedwith excitement.

“Look at my lovely fish.”

The dark shapes moved with agitation, speeding up as they rose towardsthe surface, circling the struggling old man.

“Yes, my little ones, come! Come!” Then the first shot in andbin-Nabula was plucked below the surface. But the water was so clearthat Zayn al Ding could follow every detail of the banquet he hadset.

When the sport was ended and there was nothing further to watch, hereturned to the pile of cushions under the silk canopy and called forcold sherbet to drink. Then he beckoned his brother to come to him.

“That was well done, Abubaker, but it is more satisfying when theyscream.

I believe the old shaitan remained silent merely to diminish myenjoyment.”

“Bin-Nabuta was always an obstinate old goat,” Abu@ baker agreed.

“There were six hundred and twelve names on the list you gave me. Itis sad, Majesty, but bin-Nabula was number six hundred. We are almostat the end of the list “No. No, my dearest brother, we are not nearlyat an end One of the chiefs of all our enemies has not been dealt withyet.”

“Give me the rascal’s name.” Abubaker showed his uneven teeth in agrimace that was too savage to be a smile.

“Tell me where to find him, and I will seek him out for you.”

“But, MY brother, you know him well. You also have a reckoning withhim.” Zayn al-Din leaned forward, his belly sagging into his lap, anddrew up the hem of his robe.

Tenderly he massaged the deformed joint of his ankle.

“Even after all the years my foot still aches when there is thunder inthe air.” Understanding dawned in Abubaker’s dark eyes, and Zaynal-Din went on softly, “I did not enjoy being dragged on a rope’s endto the gates of Muscat.”

“Al-Salil.” Abubaker nodded.

“The red-headed green eyed devil. I know where to find him. Oursainted father, Allah bless his memory, sent him to Africa to reopenthe trade routes for our caravans.”

“Take as many ships and men as you need, Abubaker.

Go to Africa. Find him and bring him back to me, broken, if you wish,but not dead. Do you understand me?”

“Broken, but not dead. I understand you perfectly, Majesty.” as miniwaded out from the shore.

She sucked in her already flat belly at the cold, and raised her handsabove her head. Dorian lay on the crisp white sand A and watchedher.

Although they had made love only minutes before, he never tired oflooking at that cream and ivory body. She had bloomed since leavingthe stultifying bounds of the zenana walls. Now she bubbled withinterest and excitement for all the wonders around her, and when theywere alone her sense of fun and mischief enchanted him.

Waist-deep in the lake, Yasmini scooped a double handful of the sweetwater and raised it to her lips. As she swallowed, a few dropletsspilled from between her fingers and dribbled on to her chest.

They caught the sunlight and sparkled like a diamond necklace on hersmooth skin.

Her nipples puckered at the chill and stood out crisply.

She turned and waved at him. Then, with a shudder of protest at thecold water, she lowered herself until only her head showed. Her hair,shot through with the silver blaze, floated in a dark cloud around herlotus face.

“Have courage, master Come in!” she invited, but he waved a lazy handin refusal. This respite was so delightful after the months of hardmarching up from the coast.

“Is the great sheikh, the mighty warrior and victor of Muscat, afraidof a little cold waterPshe mocked.

He smiled at her and shook his head.

“I do not fear the water, but you have exhausted all my strength, Obrazen one.”

“That was my purpose!” She tinkled with laughter, and suddenly rose upand splashed a sheet of the cold water over him.

“Wicked woman!” He sprang up.

“You have exhausted my forbearance also.” He charged into the lake ina storm of spray and, though she tried to escape, he seized her andplunged both of them below the surface. They came up clinging togetherand spluttering with laughter.

After a while, her expression became solemn.

“I fear that you have not been truthful with me, lord,” she said.

“I am holding in my right hand that which proves your strength is farfrom exhausted.”

“Is it enough that I ask your forgiveness for deceiving you?”

“No, it is not nearly enough.” She placed both slim Harms around hisneck.

“This is how the fish and crocodiles punish their mates when they err.”She hopped up and beneath the surface gripped his hips in the scissorsof her legs.

A while later they waded back to the beach, still clinging together,and laughing breathlessly. They flopped down at the edge of the water,and Dorian looked up at the height of the sun. He murmuredregretfully, “The morning is almost spent. We must go back now,Yassie.”

“Just a little longer,” she pleaded.

“Sometimes I grow weary of playing the slave-boy.” Come” he ordered,and pulled her to her feet. They went to where their clothing lay inan untidy heap, and dressed quickly. The little sailing dhow was drawnup on the sand, but before she stepped on board Yasmini paused andlooked about her slowly, taking leave of this wondrous place where foran hour they had been happy and free.

On the top of the tallest tree of the island perched a pair ofsnowy-headed fish eagles, their sleek bodies black washed withcinnamon. One of the birds threw back its head and uttered a yelpingchant.

“I will never forget that cry, Yasmini said.

“It is the very voice of this wild land.” The hills on the far side ofthe lake were just an outline, paler blue than the water. A long lineof pink flamingo flew low along the far shore. The head of the flightrose on a thermal of warm air then dropped again.

Every following bird rose as it reached the same point in the air andthen dropped exactly as the bird before it had.

The effect was extraordinary, as though a long, pink serpent undulatedabove the azure waters.”Nor will I ever forget such beauty,” Yasmini whispered.

“I would like to stay here for ever with you.” This is the country ofGod, where man counts for nothing,” Dorian said.

“But come.

We cannot afford such a dream. Duty has me in its iron grasp.

Tomorrow we must leave this place and begin the march back to the FeverCoast.”

“Just a moment longer, lord,” she begged, and pointed to a strange darkcloud, a mile out from where they stood, that rose from the surface ofthe lake, five hundred feet straight into the unsullied blue of theAfrican sky.

The Monsoon

“What is that? It is as though the water is on fire and sends smokeinto the air.”

“Tiny insects,” Dorian told her.

“They breed on the bottom of the lake in their multitudes then rise tothe surface and spin tiny sails of gossamer. On these sails they floatinto the air and are carried away.”

“The ways of Allah are wonderful,” she murmured, eyes shining.

“Come, he urged again, “and remember that you are once more Yassie, theslave-boy, and that you must show me duty and respect.”

“Yes, master.” She bowed low with her palms together touching herlips, and her entire demeanour changed. She was a consummate actress,and when she straightened up she held herself like a servant, not aprincess, and moved like a boy as she pushed the dhow out into the lakeand scrambled in over the bows.

They sat apart as the tiny craft rounded the end of the island and camein full view of the village on the mainland a league away across thewater. Even at that distance many eyes would be watching them.

Although these waters were so expansive as to seem like the oceanitself, they were months of travel from the Fever Coast, and theclimate was drier and healthier up here on the high plateau of thecontinent. The village of Ghandu was spread along several miles of thelakeshore, for this was the centre of all Omani trade with theinterior.

From here the long slave road wound down to the coast.

in sight now were a dozen or more canoes and sailing dhows, plying intowards the port of Ghandu. They had voyaged down hundreds of miles oflakeshore, and they carried cargoes of dried fish, ivory, slaves, hidesand gum arabic they had gathered from the vast wilderness.

As Dorian and Yasmini sailed in towards the village, she wrinkled hernose with distaste. The sweet air was tainted with the stench of thefish racks and the slave barra coons When Dorian stepped ashore Bashiral-Sind, his chief lieutenant, was there to meet him with the rest ofthe army staff. Yassie hung back self-effacingly while Dorian wasplunged immediately into the duty and responsibility of his command, aduty he had escaped for those few precious moments on the island withYasmini.

“The women have arrived, lord,” Bashir told him, “and the merchantshave gathered to listen to your orders for the march.” Dorian strodethrough the village, between the seething barra coons where the slaveswere penned, through the squalor and misery that was in such bittercontrast to the beauty and serenity he and Yasmini had experienced ashort while before. In the main sauk, seated on their cushioned stoolsunder their gaudy silk sunshades, surrounded by his own entourage ofrobed guards and house-slaves, the five merchants awaited him. Thesemen controlled all trade coming through Ghandu. They were d and theall pious, learned men; their speech was culture compliments they paidhim were florid. Their deportment was dignified and noble, and theywere exceedingly rich.

Yet Dorian had come to despise them in the short time he had been atGhandu and exposed to the savagery of the trade that supported them.

Dorian had been a slave once, but al-Malik had never treated him asone. Slavery had been a constant fact of his adult life, but for thisreason he had given it little thought.

Most of the slaves he had ever known were tamed or born into captivity,resigned to it and, in almost every case, treated kindly as valuablechattels. But since arriving here Ghandu he had been confronted by theraw, brutal at reality. He had been forced to witness the bringing inof the freshly captured people, and it had not been a comfortablelesson.

He found himself torn by his own humanity, and his love and duty to hisadoptive father, the Caliph. He understood how the prosperity andwell-being of the nation depended on this trade. He would not shirkthe duty of protecting it, but he took no pleasure in what he had todo.

It was the hour of the midday prayers, so they made their ablutions.Yassie poured water for Dorian to wash, and he prayed with themerchants as they knelt in a row on the silk rugs, facing the holyplaces in the north. When they resumed their seats under the sunshadesDorian felt a strong desire to forgo the elaborate opening speeches ofthe merchants, the further exchange of compliments, and to come to thebusiness that had to be discussed. However, he was now so Arabic inhis ways that he could not bring himself to such gaucherie. The sunwas well past its zenith before one of the merchants mentioned, almostin passing, that they had two hundred female slaves ready for him as hehad requested.

“Bring them to me,” he ordered, and when the merchants gave the ordersthe women were paraded before him. Dorian saw at once that they hadfobbed him off with the oldest and most sickly. Many would neversurvive the gruelling march to the coast. He felt his anger stir. Hehad come here to save these men from ruin. He had a fin wing from theCaliph commanding their obedience, and now they were niggardly andobstructive. He controlled his anger. The condition of the women wasnot vital to the success of his plans. He intended to place them inthe caravan merely to lull the marauders into attacking. A slavecolumn composed entirely of men must excite suspicion.

Out of hand Dorian rejected fifty of the women, the weak old crones andthe women far gone in pregnancy.

The rig ours of the march would kill the old and bring those pregnantinto labour long before their time, and Dorian could not take on hisconscience the inevitable deaths of their infants. For the same reasonhe had refused the offer of children the merchants made.

“When we leave Ghandu, I want your lightest marching chains on thesewretches,” he warned the merchants. He rose to his feet as a signalthat the meeting was ended.

It was a relief to leave the odious village and to go up into the hillsabove the lake where the air was sweeter and cooler, the view glorious.Dorian had sited his camp upon the slopes. He had learned from his ownexperience that his men remained healthier if they were kept away fromcrowded villages, if the latrine pits were built away from the watersupply and if the hal al laws Of food preparation were strictlyobserved. He had often wondered if the ritual washing before prayersalso contributed to healthier troops.

Certainly there were fewer diseases in his camps than his father hadexperienced on the crowded little English ships on which Dorian hadsailed as a child.

Although it was late afternoon by this time, his work was not yetfinished for the day. There would be an early start tomorrow on thefirst leg of the march, and he had to review the order of hiscaravan.

Five hundred of his own men, together with the female slaves, were tomake up his decoy. The coloration of the captured slaves was almostpurple-black. Not even the darkest-complexioned of his Arabs were thatcolour, so Dorian had used the infusion of tanning bark, in which thelake fishermen soaked their nets, to dye their bodies to a more naturalAfrican shade. It was still not perfect, but he depended on the dustand grime of the march to make the deception more effective.

He had encountered hwffier difficulties: none of his religious modestymen would strip naked in public forbade that, so he was forced to allowthem to wear loincloths, although he made certain these were filthy andragged. They had also baulked at shaving their heads, but no Africanslave had flowing locks and Dorian had insisted sternly.

They would wear light chains, but these would not be locked and couldbe cast off in an instant. With very poor grace the five merchants ofGhandu had contributed a hundred elephant tusks to sweeten the bait.

These were small and light, so that the men could carry their weaponsin bundles on their heads along with the ivory.

Dorian would lead the column, mounted, robed and veiled, just as themarauders would expect. He would keep Yassie close at hand. She hadlearned to ride astride on the march up from the coast. He would havea small detachment of Arab guards flanking the column, not so weak asto excite suspicion, but not so strong as to deter an attack.

Bashir al-Sind would bring up the rear guard with another thousandfighting men, keeping two or three leagues back so that his dust wouldnot be visible to the enemy scouts. The signal that the vanguard wasunder attack would be a red Chinese rocket. At the signal Bashir wouldrush up and surround the attackers, while Dorian and his men would pinthem down until Bashir could get his forces into position.

“It’s a simple plan,” Dorian decided, after he and Bashir had gone overit together for the tenth time.

“There will be many things we cannot foresee, but those are the chancesOf war, and we will counter each as it arises.

Perhaps the fisi will not come at all.” Fisi was the Swahili word forhyena, and that was what they had called the marauders.

“They will come, al-Salil,” Bashir predicted.

“They have the taste for Omani blood now, and they are addicted toit.”

“Pray to Allah that you are right,” said Dorian, and went to his owntent where the slave -boy, Yassie, had his evening meal prepared forhim.

here is something about this that troubles me,” said Aboli, as hestudied the distant caravan through the lens.

“Share your anxiety with me,” Tom invited, with scarely veiledsarcasm.

Aboli shrugged.

“Those men are small-boned, delicately built.

They walk with a strange grace, light-footed as cats. I have neverseen slaves march like that.” Three miles from where they lay in wait,the Arab caravan was descending the escarpment of the hills, windingdown it like a serpent.

“They have been marching only a few weeks since leaving the lakecountry,” Tom explained, for himself rather than for Aboli.

“They are still fresh and strong.” He did not want to accept anyevidence that might counsel against carrying out the attack.

This was the first caravan of the dry season that they had been able tointercept and he had feared that the source and wellspring of theirfortunes had dried up. He was determined that this prize would notslip through his net.

“Yes, the men are young and strong, but look at the women.” Tom tookback the telescope, and studied them.

He felt a little stir of unease in his guts. The women were differentin skin tone, age and body structure from their men.

“They are of a different tribe,” Tom said, with more confidence in histone than he felt.

“There are no children,” said Aboli.

“Where are the children?”

“God love you, Aboli!” Tom was exasperated.

“Sometimes you could make a fresh-plucked rose smell like a wet fart.”They were both silent for a while. Tom swung the glass to the head ofthe caravan.

The Arab headman rode on a grey dappled mare with rich trappings. At aglance Tom saw that he was a fine horseman, probably young. He rodetall and at ease in the saddle. He carried his long jezail slung overhis back, and his shield on his shoulder.

A lance-bearer rode at his right hand, ready to pass across the weapon,and a young boy rode at his other hand. A hand-slave or a favouriteBUm-boy, Tom guessed. The Arab wore the blue turban of the royal houseof Oman, and the tail of the cloth was wound over the lower part of hisface so that only his eyes were exposed.

“I would like to test his steel.” Tom forced himself to ignore his ownmisgivings.

“By God, he looks as though he could give good account.”

“The ivory is small and, by the ease with which they carry it, light,Aboli said softly.

Tom rounded on him.

“I have come a hundred miles to gather in that ivory, light or heavy,and I mean to have it. I will not slink home again because you havehad a bad dream, I should never have told him about the dream, Abolichided himself, then said aloud, “I have followed you into every wildand reckless venture you have ever conceived, Klebe. Perhaps it is anold man’s folly, but I intend to die at your side. So then, if youinsist, let us go down and take these rich and easy pickings.” Tomsnapped the telescope shut and grinned at him.

“Let’s not talk of dying on such a glorious day as this, old friend.”He stood up.

“First we will cast their back trail, then go ahead of the column tofind a good place to transact the main business.” They went down towhere Fundi held the horses at the base of the hill.

attila rode up to the head of the long column as it wound through theopen forest, and made his salute to al-Salil.

“The fisi are sniffing along our back trail,” he reported.

Dorian swung his horse out of the file. It skittered and threw itshead.

“When?”

“After we had gone into bivouac yesterday evening.

Two horsemen came up from the south, followed by two others on foot.”

“What else did you make of them?”

“When they dismounted to study our spoor, both riders were shod withleather. Though they have savages with them, I think that these areFranks. They walked back and forth, then remounted and followed us.From a hill they overlooked our camp, then turned back into thesouth.”

“Did it seem that they had become aware that Bashir al-Sind isfollowing behind us?”

“No, lord, it seems to me that they are unaware.”

“In Allah’s name, it begins,” Dorian said, with satisfaction.

“Make the signal to warn Bashir al-Sind that the fisi are near, andthat he can close up.” Three innocent-looking cairris of stones,placed in a certain pattern in the road behind them, would mean nothingto anyone except alSind. Batula rode back to the tail of the caravan.When he returned he told Dorian, “It is done as you ordered, lord.”

“Now, take three men with you and ride ahead to find the place wherethey will most likely come at us,” Dorian ordered.

“Ride openly, and make no suspicious move.” It was afternoon whenDorian saw the patrol returning.

Batula rode up calmly.

“Lord, ahead of us there is such a place as favours the design of ourenemies.” Dorian waited for him to continue. Batula went on, “Ourhead will reach the place in an hour.

The road goes down another escarpment, winding through a narrow placebetween broken ground. Bowmen can lie concealed close on each hand.

Halfway down there is an even steeper place. Here the path descends,like a ladder, down natural stone steps. This is a place where theycan cut our column in half.”

“Yes.” Dorian nodded.

“I

remember this place from when we marched up from the coast. There is ariver in the valley below, with a pool where we rested for fourdays.”

“It is the same place,” Batula confirmed.

“That is where they will make their attack,” Dorian said, withcertainty, “for beyond the river is a wide plain of many days” marchthat does not suit their purpose so well.” have the natural stoneladder hung a crenellated buttress of red lichen-painted rock, ahundred feet high and rotten. It was split by deep, vertical cracksand overhung the narrow pass below. Tom sat on the edge, swinging hisfeet over the drop, and looked into the narrow passage. He haddiscovered and made a note of this place two years earlier, after theirfirst success against the slavers.

No more than five horses can pass abreast, he estimated, and it’s toorugged to ride them up or down it.

They will have to dismount and lead them. That was good, because theLozi archers had proved unreliable in the face of a cavalry charge.

However, they were formidable fighters in confined hand-to-handencounters. There was not another place along all the hundreds ofmiles of the entire slave road that lent itself so perfectly to anambush and the kind of fighting in which his men excelled.

Under the supervision of Luke Jervis, ten men were toiling over thebroken ground behind where Tom sat.

Each carried a fifty-pound keg of black powder on his back.

Tom stood up and went to direct them to the mouth of the crack in therocky buttress. They stacked the kegs, then threw themselves down torest.

Quickly Aboli fashioned a crude boatswain’s chair from a plank and acoil of rope. With three of the men belaying the rope’s end, helowered himself into the crack.

When he reached the bottom they sent the powder-kegs swaying down tohim. Tom knew that Aboli could do this kind of work better than any,so he left him to it and made another circuit of the cliff’s edge tocheck his dispositions, and assure himself of their escape route if theattack failed. Sarah would wait with the horses in a bush, chokedgully well back from the fighting, but close enough if all turnedagainst them and they were forced to make a run for it.

When he returned to the mouth of the crack, he found that Aboli hadfinished placing the explosive and was being hauled up again. I havelaid three separate fuses,” he told Tom, and pointed to the long whitesnakes dangling down the rock face, “in case one might fail.”

“Two hundred and fifty pounds.” Tom grinned.

“That will open their eyelids and loosen their teeth for them.” Theywent back across the high broken ground to a vantage-point from whichthey could overlook the approaching slave caravan. They saw the dustcloud long before the column came into view among the trees of the openmiombo forest. Tom studied the head of it through the lens, but coulddetect no change in the speed or composition of the column. The slavesstill marched three and four abreast, their chains dangling andclanking.

The Arab guards flanked them, and the blue-turbaned headman still rodeat the point.

“There is no singing,” Aboli remarked.

It was true, Tom realized. Always before there had beenslave-singing.

“They must be a gloomy lot.” The slave-masters never use the whip onthem,” Aboli went on.

“Think of another clever reason for that, Klebe.” Tom rubbed the lumpof his broken nose.

“We have come across the only kind-hearted Mussulmen in Araby.

You waste your breath, Aboli, and test my patience. These !” aremine, and I will have them.” Aboli shrugged.

“It is not your fault, Klebe. Your father was a stubborn man, and yourgrandfather before him. It runs in the blood.” Tom changed thesubject.

“Do you think they will camp tonight at the mouth of the pass or comestraight in?”

Aboli considered the height of the sun.

“If they attempt to make the passage this day, it will be dark beforethey are through.”

“Darkness will suit our plans well enough.”

“Put away your spyglass now, Klebe.

They are close.

The angle of the sun could send a flash of light down to them, andstartle the game.” Dorian reined in his horse, and stood in the saddleto survey the mouth of the pass. It opened gradually, the sidesgrowing deeper and steeper as the ground fell away. He remembered theterrain clearly: he had memorized its perils when first he passedthrough it. it was the perfect place for an ambush. He felt the skinprickle at the nape of his neck, the premonition of danger, which hetrusted from long experience.

“Batula, take two men with you and go down the pass to scout it.” Thatwas what any prudent caravan master must do.

“Make a show of searching for sign, but if you discover any do not callthe alarm. Come back to me. Before you reach me shout loudly that theroad is clear and all is safe.” Batula dipped his lance-tip, rode intothe pass and disappeared beyond the first turn.

Dorian dismounted stiffly, and behind him the long column shuffled to ahalt, the slaves sank to the earth and set aside their loads. Theslave-boy, Yassie, set up a sunshade for the sheikh then blew on thecoals in the copper brazier that he carried on the back of hissaddle.

When they burst into bright flame he placed the coffee pot over them.

The coffee bubbled, and Yassie drew a thimble of it then knelt to offerit to his master.

“Stay close to me when the fighting begins,” Dorian whispered toYassie.

“Under no circumstances pick up a weapon or make any warlike gesture.If you are menaced by an enemy, throw yourself down and scream formercy.

If you are captured do not let them know you are a woman, lest they useyou as one.”

“As you command, master. But with you at my side I am not afraid ofanything.”

“Know that I love you, little one, and that I shall always love you.”

“As I love you, master.” A shout from the mouth of the passinterrupted them.

“The road is clear, and all is safe.” Dorian looked up to see Batulawaving his lance back and forth, the blue pennant fluttering at itstip.

Dorian mounted and stood in the stirrups to give the forward command.That was all that was needed, for every one Of his men knew his duty.Ponderously the caravan rolled down into the maw of red rock.

“The walls of stone closed in upon them. This was one of the oldelephant roads, and over the ages the pads of the great pachyderms hadworn the rock floor smooth.

Dorian wound the blue head cloth tighter over his mouth and nose and,without leaning forward to make it obvious, he examined the ground forrecent sign of the marauders.

The stone was clean, but that meant nothing: these were dangerous menand they would not have been so careless as to in ark the path.

As the pass narrowed, the ranks of slaves and guards were compresseduntil they marched with shoulders touching. There was no talking inthe column, no singing, for none of the Arabs could imitate the cadenceand rhythm of wild Africa.

High on the wall of the pass, Dorian saw a flicker of movement, a tinyflash of grey. His heart skipped and beat faster. Then he saw that itwas only a tiny klipspringer, one of the hare-sized gazelle that livedamong the rocks. It stood poised on the crest of a boulder, all fourminute hoofs held together, its straight horns and ears pricked,watching the men below with large, startled eyes.

Halfway down the escarpment the steep pitch began as the pass squeezedbetween high portals of weathered, eroded rock, then dropped down aflight of natural stone stairs. Dorian swung off the saddle of thegrey, and led it down the treacherous footing. From the bottom helooked back up the pitch. His soldier’s instincts crawled to see hismen in such a cramped, perilous situation: they were confined in thenarrow stone gut, so cramped that they would only be able to swing anedged weapon or aim a musket with difficulty.

He drew the horse off the path and they squeezed against the wall tolet the files of slaves and guards pass.

Now he searched the walls on either side, looking for the flash ofgunmetal, the movement of a human head against the sky. There wasnothing, and half the column was down the stone ladder. The secondhalf of the caravan was squeezing through the red rock portals. Itmust come now.

He judged the moment: they were fairly in the trap. He glanced back atYassie. She had stopped close behind him, and pulled her own horse offthe track. She had wedged herself against a large boulder to let thefiles of men pass her.

Dorian looked back at the sky. A single vulture was sailing in thetall blue on widespread pinions. It was a funereal black with a baldred head and hooked beak. It turned its head and looked down on themass of men as it circled.

Patience, foul bird, Dorian thought grimly. This day we will lay sucha feast that will satiate even your lust for flesh.

Before he could complete the thought, the air was driven in upon hiseardrums with such force that he reeled backwards. It seemed as thougha mighty vice had closed upon his chest, and the solid rock jumped andshivered beneath his feet.

He saw a tower of smoke, dust and red rock fragments shoot into the skyas high as the circling vulture. Then the earth was riven open, thebuttress of rock split apart. The cliff shuddered, then swungoutwards. It moved so slowly that he had time to think as he watchedit. Black powder!

I should have guessed it. They have blown out the buttress.

The collapsing cliff fell more swiftly, rumbled, ground and roared. Thescreams of the men beneath it were puny and thin. It fell upon themand snuffed out their fruitless calls to God. The pass was blocked,and the long caravan cut in half like the body of a python divided by asingle sword-cut.

While Dorian still clung to his horse’s neck, his ears ringing andsenses whirling, he saw the first flights of arrows dropping on to hismen like clouds of locusts, and volleys of musket fire crashed downfrom the walls of the pass. Spurting powder smoke fogged the hot,still air, and he heard the lead shot splattering like hail on stoneand living flesh alike.

A hundred or more of his men had been crushed under the avalanche.

Less than fifty of his warriors had escaped below the stilldust-smoking ruins. The rest of his force was cut off in the top endof the pass. In an instant, he saw that the attackers had wrested theadvantage, and he knew that in the next instant they would charge in tofinish the bloody work they had begun so well. He swung up into thesaddle and drew his scimitar.

He and Batula were separated, but that was of little consequence forthe press was too close for lance-work. It would be the sword anddagger when the fisi came down.

The slaves had thrown themselves flat, as he had ordered.

As they crouched against the stone floor in simulated terror, they wereslipping off their chains and drawing out

IL

their weapons from the -bundles they had carried on their heads.

From the saddle he saw the fisi leap up from the ambush, and storm downthe steep sides, black men in war feathers, brandishing light shieldsof raw hide, bounding from rock to rock, howling some savage war-cry.They carried short spears and heavy clubs. Then, with astonishment,Dorian saw a white man in the van, then another and a third.

“God is gread” Dorian roared.

The crouching half-naked Arabs sprang up to meet the charge, scimitarsin hand, and answered his cry.

“God is great! Allah akbar! l Dorian spurred forward to reach aposition from which he could command the battle, but a heavy leadmusket ball took his horse in the shoulder with a thump and it wentdown in a tangle of kicking limbs and equipment.

Dorian jumped clear, and landed lightly on his feet. All around himwas uproar, but through it he heard a single voice sing out: “Have atthem, lads! Chop out their pagan bungholes!” It was an English voice,rich with the earthy burr of Devon, and it shocked Dorian more than theexplosion of gunpowder.

“Englishmen!” He had not heard the language spoken in many a longyear. Suddenly all those years were brushed away. These were hiscountrymen. He found himself caught up in a whirlpool of dividedemotions. He looked about him for a way in which to halt the battle,to save the lives of his own troops and his countrymen, who were pittedagainst each other.

But the war-lance was sped and it was too late to change its flight. Helooked for Yassie, she was still cowering under the shelter of herboulder. But she shouted a high warning and pointed beyond him.

“At your back, lord!” Dorian whirled to meet the man who rushed athim.

He was a big, square-shouldered rogue, with a twisted nose and acurling bush of black beard. His face was deeply tanned by sun andwind, but there was something about his eyes, that green sparkle, thattouched a deep chord in Dorian’s memory. There was not a moment forhim to dwell on it, for the man came at him with a speed and poise thatbelied his size.

Dorian caught the first thrust, but it was so powerful that it thrilledhis right arm to the shoulder. He went into riposte, fluid andgraceful, and the Englishman met him, caught his blade high in thenatural line and swept it into the classic prolonged engagement,rolling their two blades together so that the steel shrieked andsang.

In that instant Dorian realized three things: that the Englishman wasthe finest swordsman he had ever faced, that if he tried to break hewas a dead man, and that he recognized the sword that had trapped hisown blade. He had last seen it hanging at his father’s side as hestood on the quarterdeck of the old Seraph. The blue steel and thegold inlay shimmered and dazzled the eye. It was un, mistakable.

Then his opponent spoke for the first time, his voice hardly blunted bythe effort he was extending to keep Dorian’s blade in check.

“Come, Abdulla, let me slice another inch off your bald prick head foryou.” He spoke in Arabic, but Dorian knew that voice.

Tom!” he wanted to shout, but the shock was so intense that his voicechoked in his throat and no sound reached his lips. The muscles in hisright arm went soft, and he dropped the point.

No man living could afford to drop the point when Tom Courtney had himlocked in prolonged engagement, and the killing stroke came like aflash of lightning out of a sunny blue summer sky. At the last momentDorian twisted aside, disturbing his brother’s aim by a bare thumb’swidth but then he felt the hit, high right in the chest, and the longslide of steel into his flesh. The scimitar spun from his nervelessfingers and he went down on his knees with the blade still in him.

Tom!” He tried to call his name again, but no sound came. Tom rearedback, plucking the steel out of his chest with a soft, sucking sound,like an infant releasing the teat.

Dorian toppled forward on to his face. Tom stepped over him andsighted down the blade to finish it. Before he could make the killingstroke, a small body hurled itself between them, covering Dorian’s bodyprotectively.

“Damn you,” Tom shouted, but held the stroke.

“Get out of this!”

The boy, who was using his own body as a shield, was a mere child, andthe act of sacrifice touched Tom even in his battle rage. He couldhave killed them both with a single thrust, through and through. Buthe could not bring himself to do it. He stepped back and tried to kickthe youth off the Arab headman’s supine body, but the little fellowclung to his master like an oyster to a rock.

He was screaming pitifully in Arabic.

“Mercy! In the name of Allah, mercy!” At that moment Aboli shouted awarning: “At your back, Klebe!” Tom spun round, his point high, tomeet the rush of two half-naked men. For an instant he thought theywere slaves who had been released miraculously from their chains andwere now attacking him with scimitars they had conjured up from whoknew where. Then he saw that their features were not negroid, butArabic. By God, they were not slaves at all but fighting Mussulmen. Hecountered right and left, bringing them up short, then killed one andsent the other staggering away with a slash across his bare shoulder.

Wlebe, it is a trap!” Aboli roared again, and Tom had a moment to lookaround. Every one of the erstwhile slaves was free of his chains, andarmed. They were swift and purposeful in their counter-attack.

Already the Lozi spearmen were breaking up before their onslaught andmost were in flight, scrambling back up the sides of the gorge in wilddisarray.

From the front of the column Tom saw a red Chinese rocket whoosh intothe sky on a long qdl of white smoke, and knew that it must be a signalto bring Arab reinforcements swarming down on them.

Over the tumbled wall of raw red rock that blocked the back section ofthe pass came a wave of more Mussulmen, some in robes, the others inloincloths, rushing down to join the fight. Aboli and the little bandof English seamen were already far outnumbered. Within minutes theywould be cut off and overwhelmed by this fresh tide of warriors.

“Get out, Klebe! It is lost. Get out!”

“On me!” Tom bellowed.

“On me the Centaurus.” He called the others to him. All Wilson andLuke Jervis broke through the enemy ranks and ran to his side. WithAboli and all the remaining seamen they formed a circle of steel, andretreated in the formation they had practised so often.

With their headman down and out of the fighting, the Arabs seemedsuddenly indecisive and reluctant to press themselves on to the hedgeof swords. Tom reached the point at the foot of the cliff from wherethey could begin the climb back, and snapped, “Away with you, lads.

Every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.” They climbedhand over hand, sweating and cursing and panting. Before they reachedthe top the Arabs below had rallied and sent the first volleys ofmusket fire thudding into the rocks around them, loose chips showeringon their heads, and the ricochets humming away. One of the Englishseamen was struck: the ball caught him in the back. He arched out andloosened his grip, then went sliding and rolling down the face.

Tom glanced back and the moment his man reached the bottom he saw theArabs swarm over his body and cut him to pieces.

“Nothing we can do for poor Davie. Keep climbing,” he grunted.

men

Tom and Aboli scrambled over the crest together and were shielded fromthe fire below. They paused to draw breath and rally the others aroundthem.

The sweat was streaming down Aboli’s scarified face, and when he lookedat Tom he shook his great bald head, needing no words to express hisfeelings eloquently.

“Do not say it, Aboli. You have proved once again that you are as wiseas God, but somewhat older and not so beautiful.” Tom laughedraggedly, still out of breath.

“Come on, lads. Let’s get back to the horses.” Sarah was holding themin the dense bush of the gully.

She took one look at their faces as they came scrambling back, draggingtwo wounded men with them, and asked no questions. Most of them werecut and bleeding, and all were drenched with sweat. There were notenough mounts for all, so Tom took Sarah up behind his saddle.

Luke had one of the wounded with him, All Wilson the other, while therest of the seamen grabbed a stirrup leather each and were draggedalong as they headed back into the south.

The Lozi warriors had scattered long before into the bush.

“We have brought the whirlwind down upon ourselves.

They will send an army after us,” said Aboli.

“Our days at Fort Providence have come to an end,” Tom agreed, ridinghard beside him.

“Thank God, the Centaurus has no cargo to carry. The river is low butshe will ride light, and we can be away downriver, before the Mussulmencan catch up with us.” Dorian lay where he had fallen in the gut ofthe pass. Ben Abram, the old surgeon, would not allow them to move himuntil he had placed a compress on the wound, and bound it up tightly tostaunch the bleeding.

“It has missed the heart and the lung,” he said grimly, “but he isstill in mortal danger.” They made a litter out of lance-shafts and aleather tent-fly, and eight men carried him gently through the shamblesof the battlefield, where the other wounded groaned and called forwater.

Yasmini walked beside the litter. She had wound her head cloth tightlyover her face to stifle her sobs and hide her tears.

When they reached the grove of tall shade trees beside servants hadalready recovered the sheikh’s tent from the river pool at the foot ofthe escarpment, the camp among the scattered baggage and set it up.

They laid alSalil on his sleeping mat and propped him on the silkcushions. Ben Abram gave him a draught of the poppy, and he sank intoan uneasy doze.

“He will not die?” Yasmini pleaded with Ben Abram.

“Please tell me he will not die, old father.”

“He is young and strong. With God’s grace, he will live, but it willtake time for him to recover, and to regain the use of his rightarm.”

“I will stay by his side and will not rest until he does.”

“I know you will, child.”

Within the hour, there were loud voices outside the tent. Yassie flewout to protect her lord and drive them away. But even in his druggedstate Dorian’recognized the voices of Bashir al-Sind and Batula.

“Let them enter!” he called weakly, and Yassie had to stand aside.

Bashir bowed at, the entrance.

“Lord Sheikh, I call down Allah’s protection upon you.”

“What of the enemy?”

“We came up as soon as we saw the rocket but we were too late. Theyhad escaped.”

“How many of the enemy were killed?”

“Many black kaffirs, and three Franks.”

“Was one of the Franks a big man with a black beard?” Bashir shook hishead.

“None of them. Two were small and thin, one bigger infidel had a greybeard.” Dorian felt a surge of relief Tom had escaped. Then Batulaspoke unbidden, his voice sharp and eager.

“Lord, I have followed the sign of those fisi who fled thebattlefield.

They had horses hidden close by, and are running south, moving fast.But give the order and we will follow them.” Bashir cut in as eagerly,”Al-Salil, I have a thousand men ready and mounted, eager to hunt themdown. I wait only for your order and then, by Allah, none willsurvive.”

“No!” The exclamation was torn from Dorian in pain, and Bashir blinkedat the strength of his refusal.

“Forgive my impertinence, great lord, but I do not understand. It wasthe centrepiece of our plans that we hunt down the infidel bandits.”

“You are not to follow them. I forbid it.” Dorian mustered all theforce he had left to emphasize the order.

“If we do not follow at once they will get clear away!” Bashir saw thechance for glory snatched from him, and glanced across at Ben Abram.

“Perhaps the severity of your wound has clouded your judgement, mightylord.” Dorian struggled up on one elbow.

“In the name of Allah, I swear this! If you flout my orders, I willcarry your head on the point of my lance, and bury your body in apigskin.” There was a long silence, then at last Bashir spokesoftly.

“Will the great lord, al-salil, repeat these orders in front of thesenior officers of the staff, that they may bear witness that it is notcowardice on my part that kept me in hate while the beaten enemyescaped?” The four senior officers came to the tent and Dorianrepeated his command in front of them, then sent them away. WhenBashir made to follow them Dorian stopped him.

“There are matters here so deep that I cannot explain to you, Bashir.Forgive me that I seem to disparage you.

Know only that you are still high in my favour.” Bashir bowed, touchedhis heart and his lips, but his expression was cold and aloof as hebacked out of the tent. Outside they heard him shouting angry ordersto his troops to stand down.

Dorian seemed to sink into a deep sleep. The silence in the tent washeavy, and Yasmini wiped the sweat from his brow with a damp cloth.

After a long while, Dorian stirred and opened his eyes. He lookedfirst at her and then at Ben Abram.

“Are we alone?” he asked, and they both nodded.

“Come closer, old father. There is aught I must tell you.” WhenYasmini made as if to rise and leave the tent, he laid a hand on herarm to restrain her. As they both hovered over him, Dorian saidquietly, “The man who struck me down was my brother. That was why Icould not send Bashir after him.”

“Is this possible, Dowle?” Yasmini stared into his eyes.

“Yes.” Ben Abram spoke for him.

“I know this brother and it is possible.”

“Tell her, please, old father. I find it tiring to speak.

Explain it to her.” Ben Abram took a minute to gather his words, thenbegan to speak softly so that no one outside the tent could hear him.He told Yasmini how Dorian had been captured as a child and sold intoslavery; how al-Malik had bought him from the pirates and adoptedhim.

“I met him face to face, this brother of al-Sahl. I came to know himwell on the island after he had destroyed the lair of the pirates.

His name is Tom. I was- his captive, but he set me free and sent mewith a message to al-Salil. He promised that he would never give upsearching for him, and that one day he would find him and rescuehim.”

Yasmini looked to Dorian for confirmation, and he nodded.

“Then why did he not hold to his oath to free you, this loyal brotherof yours?”

she asked.

Dorian looked abashed.

“I cannot answer that,” he admitted.

“Brother Tom was never one to take his oath lightly. I suppose, in theend, after all the years, he simply forgot me.”

“No,” said Ben Abram.

“There was something you never knew and that I could not tell you.

Your brother came back to Zanzibar, searching for you. The Princeal-Malik would not surrender you. He sent the mullah al-Allama with amessage to your brother. He told him that alAmhara was dead of thefever, and they had placed a marker in the cemetery with your name uponit.”

“That was when my father changed my name to alSalil.” Dorian’s voicebecame stronger and sharper as he understood.

“It was to hide the truth from Tom. No wonder my brother gave up thesearch for me.”

He closed his eyes and was silent. Yasmini thought he had fallen intocoma, but then she saw a single tear squeeze out between his closedlids. Her heart contracted with pity for him.

“What will you do, my love?” She stroked his fiery red head.

(I know not,” he said.

“It is all too cruel. I feel a sword dividing my soul.”

“You are of Islam now,” Ben Abram said.

“Can you ever go back to your origins?”

“Would your brother believe that you are alive, after you have beendead to him all these years?” Yasmini asked.

“And can you embrace him now, when he is the sworn enemy of yourfather, the Caliph al-Malik, and of your God and your people?” BenAbram twisted the knife in his heart.

Dorian had no answer for either of them. He turned his face to theleather wall of the tent and took refuge in his weakness from thewound. Yasmini never left his side while he drifted in and out Ofconsciousness, tormented by physical pain and by the emotional forcesthat tore at his heart and threatened to rend it apart.

The army stagnated for days in the camp below the escarpment whiletheir sheikh lay sequestered in his tent.

Under Bashir’s direction, they gathered in the wounded and builtthatched shelters for them beneath the shade trees. Ben Abram tendedthem. They buried their dead, but left undisturbed those-who werealready interred beneath the red rock of the avalanche. They repairedthe smashed equipment and resharpened their weapons. Then they waitedfor further orders. None came. Bashir alSind strode angrily throughthe camp, lashing out at any man who crossed his path, and the menshared his frustration.

They burned for a chance to avenge their comrades who had died in thenarrows of the pass, but they could not move without the orders ofal-Salil.

Ugly rumours spread through the camp, that Bashir would rebel and takeover command from the ailing sheikh. That the sheikh had died, that hehad recovered, that he had sneaked away in the night and left them totheir fate.

Then another, stranger rumour flared through the ranks, that a secondgrand expeditionary force under the command of a prince of the royalhouse of Oman was marching up from the coast to join them. With thiscombined force, they would be allowed at last to pursue the infidelinto his lair. This rumour was only hours old when they heard the lowthump of distant war drums, at first so soft that it seemed to be thebeating of their own hearts. The Arab soldiers crowded the high groundto look out across the plain, and thrilled to the blast of a ramshorntrumpet. They saw a splendid host approaching, with a staff ofhigh-ranking officers riding at the head.

They gathered in awe as these strangers rode into the camp. Theofficer who led the cohorts wore half armour in the ;@urkish style witha pot-shaped helmet, spiked on top and with a padded neck flap. Fromthe back of his horse this splendid figure addressed them in ringingtones.

“I am Prince ibn al-Malik Abubaker. Men of Oman, loyal soldiers andtrue, I bring you sad tidings. Abd Muhammad al-Malik, my father andyour Caliph, is dead in the Muscat palace, struck down in his prime bythe sword of the black angel.” A groan went up from the ranks, formost of them had fought at Muscat to place al-Malik on the ElephantThrone and they had loved their Caliph. They threw themselves down ontheir knees, and cried out, “May God have mercy on his soul.” Abubakerlet them give expression to their sorrow, then he held up a gloved handfor their silence.

“Soldiers of the Caliph, I bring you salutations from your new ruler.

Zayn al-Din, beloved elder son of al-Malik, who is now the Caliph.

He bids me call you to swear allegiance and loyalty to him.” Theyknelt in rows with Bashir al-Sind at the head of the army and swore theoath of fealty, calling on God to witness it. By the time the ceremonywas over, the sun was setting. Then Abubaker dismissed the men andcalled Bashir to him.

“Where is that coward and traitor) al-Salil?” he demanded.

“On behalf of the Caliph, I have urgent business with him.” Dorianheard the pronouncement of his adoptive father’s death while he lay onthe sleeping mat in his tent, for Abubaker’s voice carried clearlythrough the leather side wall. It seemed that all the foundations ofhis life were being torn out one at a time.

He felt too weak and sick to surmount these shocks and hardships.

Then he heard Zayn al-Din’s name, and the news of his accession to theElephant Throne, and realized that his predicament was even worse thanhe had fancied. With a vast effort he put aside his sorrow for hisfather and his own debilitating physical suffering, took Yasmini’s handand drew her closer to his bed. She was shaken by the news ofal-Malik’s death, but not as deeply as Dorian, for she had hardly knownher father as a man. She recovered from her sorrow swiftly when heshook her.

“We are in great danger, Yassie. Now we are both completely in Zayn’spower. I do not have to tell you what that means, for Kush was a saintin comparison to our brother.”

“How can we escape him, for you cannot move, Dowle?

What can we do?” He told her what she must do for them, speakingsoftly and urgently, making her repeat every detail.

“I would give you a written letter, but I cannot write with this arm.You must carry my message by word of mouth alone, but learn it well forotherwise it will not be believed.” She was quick-witted and, even inher confused state, she memorized it all perfectly at the firstattempt, although she had difficulty in enunciating some of the wordshe taught her.

There was no time for her to perfect them.

“That will do. He will understand. Now, go!” he ordered her.

“I cannot leave you, lord,” she pleaded.

“Abubaker will recognize you if you stay by me. In his clutches, youwill be no help to either of us.” She kissed him once, tenderly andlovingly, then rose to leave him, but there came a heavy tramp outsidethe tent and she shrank back into a corner, covered her head andshoulders with her shawl. At that moment the tent flap was thrown openand Bashir al-Sind stepped in. Ben Abram tried to intervene, andprevent him approaching the bed on which Dorian lay.

“Al-Salil is sorely wounded and must not be disturbed.” Bashir pushedhim aside contemptuously.

“General Abubaker, the emissary of the Caliph, approaches!” he warnedDorian, and his expression was cold and malicious.

Dorian knew that he had changed allegiance and was no longer his loyalfriend and ally.

Behind him, Abubaker stepped into the tent, and stood with his hands onhis hips.

“So, the traitor yet lives.

That is good. Al-Salil, who was once al-Amhara in the zenana at Lamuwhere we were playmates.” He sniggered sarcastically.

“I have come to take you to the Caliph to answer capital charges oftreason.

We will march for the coast tomorrow at dawn.” Ben Abram intervenedagain.

“Noble Prince, he cannot be moved. His wound is grievous. It willendanger his very life.” Abubaker stepped close to the bed, and lookeddown at Dorian.

“A wound, you say. How can I be certain he is not shirking?” Suddenlyhe reached down and grasped the padded dressing that covered Dorian’schest. With one brutal gesture he ripped it away. The fresh-formedscab was stuck to the bandage, and as it came away Dorian stiffened andhissed with agony. Fresh blood started from the wound and trickleddown his chest. In the corner of the tent Yasmini whimpered withsympathy, but none of them took notice of her.

“It is but a mere scratch.” Abubaker gave his opinion as he pretendedto examine the open wound.

“Not enough to keep a traitor from justice.” He grabbed a handful ofDorian’s thick red hair and dragged him from the bed.

“Get on your feet, traitor pig.” He pulled Dorian upright.

“See, Doctor, how strong is your patient. He has been duping you.There is little wrong with him.”

“Noble Prince, he will not survive such treatment, or the long march tothe coast.”

“Ben Abram, you doddering old goat, if he dies before we reach thecoast I will have your head. Let it be a contest between you and me.”He smiled, and showed all his uneven teeth.

“You must do your best to keep alSalil alive. For my part, I will domy best to kill him by degrees.

We shall see who wins.” He threw Dorian back onto his sleeping mat,and turned to stride out of the tent. Bashir followed him.

Yasmini sprang up and rushed to Dorian. Although his face wascontorted with agony, he whispered to her fiercely, “Go, woman. Wastenot another moment. Find Batula and ride.” Tom and his band reachedFort Providence in three days of hard riding, and immediately startedto make preparations to abandon the settlement.

Aboli sent Fundi and three of his men upriver to fetch his family.

“I cannot sail without them,” he told Tom simply.

“I would not expect that,” Tom replied.

“But they must make haste. We can be sure the Mussulmen are hard onour tracks.” Tom sent out pickets to cover all the approaches to thefort, so that they would have warning when the Arab forces appeared.Then, in haste, they began to load the Centaurus for her departure downthe Lunga river. They fetched the light nine-pounder cannon from theemplacements on the stockade wall and placed them in their carriages onthe upper deck.

There was no ivory to take with them but they reloaded all the tradegoods they had brought up from. Good Hope at the beginning of theseason. Sarah gathered all her treasures and brought them aboard, thelinen and cutlery, pots and pans, medical stores and books almostfilling their tiny cabin. Tom argued about the harpsichord.

“I will buy you another,” he promised, but when he saw that peculiarexpression of hers he knew he was wasting his breath. With poor gracehe allowed two seamen to carry it up the gangplank and sway it downinto the hold.

It was strange, but still there was no sign of pursuit from the north,and Tom sent out Aboli to make certain that the pickets covering thenorthern trails were alert and at their posts. This calm wasunnatural. Surely retribution must come soon.

The days passed. Then, at last, Fundi returned down river from LoziLand with two dugout canoes carrying Zete and Fallo the two boys Zamaand Tula, and the new babies. Sarah took them all under her wing.

Tom sent an urgent messenger after Aboli, bidding him bring in thepickets for all was at last in readiness for the departure.

Two days later there was a shout from the sentry on the watchtowerabove the fort.

“Riders coming from the north!” Tom climbed up the ladder, telescopein hand.

“Where away?” he demanded, and when the sentry pointed, he focused thetelescope.

Sarah climbed up to the top of the tower beside him.

“Who is it?” she asked anxiously.

“It’s Aboli, bringing in the pickets.” He whistled softly with reliefand satisfaction.

“And no sign of pursuit. It looks as though we might get clear awaywithout a fight. I had not thought that possible. I cannot understandwhy the Mussulmen have let us off so lightly. Get all your littlebrats on board. We will shove off downriver as soon as Aboli steps ondeck.” She started down the ladder, but he stopped her with anotherwhistle.

“Aboli is bringing in two strangers. Arabs, by God. Prisoners, by thelook of it, for Aboli has them well trussed up.

He has bagged himself a couple of enemy scouts. Like as not they willbe able to tell us where their main force is.” Tom and Sarah werewaiting for them when Aboli marched his captives aboard theCentaunts.

The Monsoon

“What fine fish are these you have netted, Aboli?” Tom asked, as heeyed them. By their apparel they were Arabs, one a warrior, and adangerous one by the look of him.

The other was a slip of a boy, a pretty lad with big dark eyes who wastimid and fearful.

“An unlikely pair,” Tom said.

The boy seemed encouraged by his easy tone.

“Effendi, you speak my language?” he asked softly, and his voice wassweet and unbroken.

“Yes, boy. I speak Arabic.”

“Your name is Tom?”

“Damn you, you little scamp.” Tom frowned and stepped towards himthreateningly.

“How did you know that?”

“Tom, wait!” Sarah stopped him.

“She is a girl.”

Tom stared hard into Yasmini’s face, then laughed. He snatched off herhead cloth and her long dark hair tumbled around her shoulders.

“So she is, and a mighty pretty one too. Who are you?”

“I am the Princess Yasmini, and I bring you a message from Dowle.”

“From who?”

“From Dowle.” She looked desperate.

“Dowle! Dowie!” She repeated it with different inflections, but Tomshook his head, puzzled.

I think she is trying to say Dorry,” Sarah intervened, and reliefrushed across Yasmini’s face.

“Yes! Yes! Dowle! Dowle! Your brother.” Tom’s face turned ugly,swelling with dark blood.

“You come here to mock me. My brother Dorry has been dead these manyyears. What are you playing at, you little bitch!”

Is this a trap?” he shouted into her face.

Her eyes welled with tears, but she drew herself up and began to sing.Her voice was hesitant at first, but then it steadied, became sweet andtrue, but she sang in the semi-quavers of the Orient, alien to theEuropean ear. The tune was twisted and the words were a parody of theEnglish language. They all stared at her, in total incomprehension .

-Sarah gasped, “Tom, it’s “Spanish Ladies”. She is trying to sing”Spanish Ladies’T She rushed forward and embraced Yasmini.

“It must be true. Dorian is alive, and the song is his sign that thisgirl comes from him.”

“Dorian! Is it possible? Where is he?” Tom grabbed one of Yasmini’sarms and shook it violently.

“Where is my brother?”

It came out in a garbled rush of words. Yasmini started anothersentence before she had finished the one that preceded it, trippingover her tongue in her haste to tell it all, and leaving much out, sothat she had to go back and start again.

“Dorry needs help.” Tom picked out the essentials, and turned toAboli.

“Dorry is alive, and in dire straits, and has sent them to fetch us.”

“The horses are still saddled,” Aboli said calmly.

“We can ride at once.” Tom turned back to Yasmini, who was stillgabbling out her story to Sarah.

“Enough, girl!” he stopped her.

“There will be time later to tell the rest of it. Can you take us toDorry?”

“Yes!” she said vehemently.

“Batula and I can lead you to him Tom leaned down from the saddle togive Sarah a final hasty kiss.

For once she had not insisted on accompanying this expedition.

Tom should have realized by this unusual behaviour and by her recentreticence that something was afoot, but he was so distracted that hegave it not a thought.

“Make sure All Wilson keeps everyone aboard, and all secure. When wereturn we will be in great haste, like as not with half of Araby hardon our heels.” He gathered the reins, lifted his horse’s head andlooked around for the others.

Yasmini and Batula had already started, and were halfway up the firsthill above the Lunga river. Luke and Aboli were hanging back, waitingfor Tom to catch up with them. Everyone was dressed in Arab robes andled a spare horse on a rein. Tom clapped his heels into his horse’sflanks, and waved back at Sarah as it bounded forward under him.

“Come back soon and safe!” Sarah called after him with one handpressed lightly to her stomach.

It had taken them four days, riding hard, changing horses every hour,using every glimmer of light from dawn to the brief African dusk, tocatch up with the Arab column.

Tom had ridden beside Yasmini all the way, and they had talked untiltheir throats were dry with the dust and the heat. She had told himeverything that had happened to Dorian since she had first met him inthe zenana until his arrest by Abubaker only days before. This timeher story was coherent and lucid, touched with humour and pathos, so attimes Tom laughed with delight and at others was moved to the brink oftears. She showed him what type of man Dorian had become and made Tomproud.

She told him of her and Dorian’s love for each other, and in theprocess won Tom’s affection and liking. He was enchanted by her prettysparkle and her sunny nature.

“So now you will be my little sister.”

He smiled at her fondly.

“I like that, effendi.” She smiled back.

“It makes me very happy.”

“If I am to be your brother, you must call me Tom.” When she remindedhim of the fight in the pass, and explained how he had cut down his ownbrother, nearly run her through too, he was smitten with remorse.

“He never showed his face! How could I know?”

“He understands, Tom. He loves you still.”

“I might have killed both of you. It was as though something outsideme held my hand.”

“God’s ways are marvelous, and not for us to question.” She led himthrough the complicated maze of royal Omani politics, explained howthey had been caught up in them, and the consequences to Dorian of Zaynal-Din’s accession to the caliphate.

“So now Abubaker takes him back to Muscat to face the spite andvengeance of Zayn,” she said, and the tears ran down her dusty face.

He leaned across and patted her arm like a brother.

“we will see to that, Yasmini. Please do not weep.” They cut the widedeep spoor of the marching Arab and closed in on it until they couldmake out the army dust cloud above the forest. Then Batula went aheadwhile the rest hung back and waited until night fell. He would be ableto infiltrate the loose mass of veiled riders without drawing attentionor suspicion.

just as the sun was setting he returned along the back trail.

“Praise God, al-Salil is still alive,” were his first words.

To Tom, the use of Dorian’s Arab name still sounded strange.

“I

have seen him from afar, but did not try to reach him. They bear himon a drag litter behind a horse.”

“How strong did he seem?” Tom demanded.

“He can walk a little,” Batula replied.

“I saw Ben Abram help him from the litter and lead him to the tentwhere they have him now. His right arm is still in a sling. He movesSlowly, stiffly, like an old man, but he carries his head high. He isstronger than when we left him.”

“Praise God’s Name,” whispered Yasmini.

“Can you lead us to his tent, Batula?” Tom asked.

Batula nodded.

“Yes, but they guard him well.”

“Have they put chains on him?”

“No, effendi. They must consider his wound enough restraint.

“We will bring him out this very night,” Tom decided.

“This is how we will do it.” They approached the camp from upwind sothat their horses would not smell those of the Arabs and whinny tothem. They left Yasmini to hold them, and went forward to the edge ofthe forest. The camp was as murmurous as a beehive and the air wasblue and thick with the smoke of hundreds of cooking-fires. There wasconstant movement grooms and slaves coming and going from the horselines, men drifting into the surrounding bush on personal business andreturning to their sleeping mats, the cooks bearing steaming rice potsthrough the camp and doling out the evening meal. Few sentries wereset, and little order enforced.

“Abubaker is no real soldier, Batula said contemptuously.

“Al-Salil would never allow such lack of discipline.” Tom sent Batulainto the camp first, and the rest followed him singly at intervals,moving casually, veiled and robed with their weapons concealed. Batulawent towards a hollow in the centre of the encampment where a leathertent had been set up in isolation from the others.

In the firelight Tom saw that the scrub around it had not been cleared,but that at least three guards were posted around it. They squattedwith their weapons across their laps.

Batula settled down under a twisting-branched morula tree, a hundredyards from the prison tent. The others came up casually and joinedhim, squatting in a circle and spreading their robes around them until,in the semidarkness, they seemed like any of the other small groups ofOmani soldiers scattered about, talking softly, drinking coffee andsharing a pipe.

Suddenly there was a stir as a group of three splendidly apparelledArabs came striding towards them, followed closely by their bodyguards.Tom felt a flutter of panic, certain that somehow their presence hadbeen discovered, but the men passed close by them and went on towardsthe tent.

“He with the blue head cloth and gold rope is Prince Abubaker, the oneI told you of,” whispered Batula.

“The other two are al-Sind and bin Toti, both fierce soldiers and liegemen of Abubaker.” Tom watched the three enter the tent in which Dorianlay prisoner. They were close enough to hear the murmur of voices frombehind the leather walls.

Then there came the sound of a blow and a cry of pain. Tom half roseto his feet, but Aboli reached out a hand and drew him down.

There was more talking within the tent, then Abubaker stooped outthrough the fly and paused to look back.

“Keep him alive, Ben Abram, that he may die with more passion.”Abubaker laughed and came back, passing so close that Tom could havetouched the hem of his robe.

“Salaam aliekum, mighty lord,” Tom murmured, but Abubaker never glancedin his direction, and went on to where his own tent stood in the centreof the encampment.

Slowly a hush settled. Voices died away, and men curled up in theirshawls around the fires and the flames burned down to ash. Tom and hismen lay down around the small fire Batula had built, and covered theirheads but did not sleep. As the fires died, the darkness deepened.

Tom watched the stars to judge the passage of time. It went infinitelyslowly. At last he reached across and touched Aboli’s back.

“It is time.” He stood up slowly and moved towards Dorian’s tent.

He had been watching the sentry who sat at the rear. He had seen hishead droop, then come up with a jerk, only to droop again.

Tom walked up softly behind him, leaned over him and struck him acrossthe temple with the barrel of his pistol. He felt the thin bone breakand the man sagged forward without a sound. Tom squatted in his place,assuming the same position with the man’s musket across his lap.

He waited for a long minute to make certain that there was no alarm.

Then he eased himself forward on his haunches until he was close to therear wall of the tent.

He had no way of knowing if they had posted a guard inside the tent atDorian’s bedside. He wet his lips, drew breath, then softly whistledthe opening bar of “Spanish Ladies’.

Someone stirred behind the leather wall, and then came a voice he didnot remember. It was not the voice of the child Dorian had been whenthey had parted. It was the voice of a man.

“Tom?”

“Aye, lad. Is it safe within?”

“Only Ben Abram and me.”

Tom slipped out his jack-knife and the leather wall of the tent fellapart beneath the blade. A hand reached out to him through the gap,pale in the starlight. Tom seized it, squeezed hard, and Dorian drewhim through the gap into the tent where they embraced, kneeling chestto chest.

Tom started to speak, but his voice was choked. He hugged Dorian withall his strength, and drew another breath.

“God love you, Dorian Courtney. I know not what to say.”

“Tom!” Dorian reached up with his good hand and seized a handful ofthe thick dust-stiff curls at the back of his brother’s head.

“It’s so good to see you.” The English words were alien on his tongue,and he was weeping, overwhelmed by the weakness of his wound and by atowering joy.

“Don’t do that, Dorry, or you’ll set me off,” Tom protested, and pulledaway to wipe his eyes on the back of his arm.

“Let’s get you out of here, lad. How badly are you hurt? Can you walkif Aboli and I help you?”

“Aboli? Is he here with you?” Dorian’s voice trembled.

“I am here, Bomvu,” Aboli rumbled beside his ear, “but there will betime for all this later.” He had dragged in the fallen sentry throughthe cut in the tent wall. Now Tom and he rolled the Arab onto thesleeping mat, and covered his body with Dorian’s woollen blanket.

In the meantime Ben Abram was helping Dorian into his robe, coveringthose shining red curls with a turban.

“Go with God, allsalil,” he whispered, and turned to Tom.

“I am Ben Abram. Do you remember me?”

“I shall never forget you and your kindness to my brother, old friend.”Tom gripped his arm.

“All God’s blessing be upon you.”

“You have kept your oath,” Ben Abram said softly.

“Now you must gag and bind me, else Abubaker will treat me cruelly whenhe finds al-Salil gone.” They left Ben Abram trussed up and tookDorian through the back wall. Outside the tent they lifted him to hisfeet and supported him between them. Then they started slowly throughthe sleeping camp. Batula and Luke Jervis went ahead, moving like darkghosts, and they skirted one of the camp-fires. A sleeping Arabstirred, sat up and stared at them as they passed close to where helay, but let them go unchallenged, sank down to the earth again andcovered his head again.

“Bear up, Dorry,” Tom whispered in his ear.

“Nearly out of it.”

They went on towards the edge of the forest and, as the trees closedaround them, Tom almost exclaimed aloud with relief, but at that momenta harsh voice challenged them in Arabic from close at hand.

“What manner of men are you? Stand, in God’s Name, and deliveryourselves.” Tom reached for the sword under his robe, but Doriancaught his hand and replied in the same language, “The peace of Allahon you, friend. I am Mustapha of Muhaid, and I am devoured by thedysentery. My friends take me to a private place in the bush.”

“You are not alone in your suffering, Mustapha. There is much of thissickness in the camp,” the sentry sympathized.

“Peace upon you, and on your bowels also.” They moved on slowly.Suddenly Batula appeared again out of the night.

“This way, effiendfl” he whispered.

“The horses are close.” They heard the stomp of a hoof, and suddenlyYas, mini’s small figure detached itself from the darkness and raced toDorian. They clung to each other, exchanging embraces and soft, lovingwhispers until Tom drew them gently apart and led Dorian to thestrongest horse. Between them Aboli and Tom boosted him into thesaddle, where he swayed unsteadily. Tom tied his ankles together witha leather thong stretched under the horse’s belly, and they swungYasmini up behind him.

“Hold him steady, little sister,” Tom told her.

“Do not let him slide off.” He mounted his own horse, and took thelead rein of Dorian’s mount.

“Take us home, Aboli,” he said, and looked back through the treestowards the sleeping camp.

“We will not have more than a few hours” start at best. Then they willbe after us like a swarm of hornets.” They used the horses cruelly.The animals had been driven hard on the ride up from Fort Providence,given almost no rest and time to graze, except during the brief nighthalts. Now the treatment was the same on the ride back. It was bakinghot at noon and the stretches between water were long. The hard groundand flinty stones ripped into the animals” hoofs.

They lost the first horse before they had gone twenty miles. It wasthe mount carrying Dorian and Yasmini. It went stone lame in all fourhoofs, and could barely hobble.

Tom turned it loose, knowing in his heart that lions and hyena wouldhave the brave beast that same night. They put Dorian up on one of thespares and went on at the same pace. By the third day they had burnedup all the spare horses and had only those they rode. As they wereabout to mount again after the brief noon stop at a muddy waterhole,Aboli said quietly, “The muskets will be no use to us against an army,and the weight is killing the horses.” They abandoned their firearmsand powder flasks, shot bags and every stick of baggage, keeping onlytheir edged weapons and the waterskins. Tom turned his back so thatnone would see what he did, and slipped one of the loaded pistols intohis belt below his shirt.

It was a double-barrelled weapon. He knew from what Yasmini had toldhim of the fate that awaited her and Dorian if the Arabs caught up withthem. The pistol was for them, one barrel each.

“God give me the strength to do it when the time comes,” he prayedsilently.

Though they had drastically lightened the load, they lost another twohorses that day. Luke, Aboli and Tom took turns trotting beside themounted men, hanging on to the stirrup leathers to keep up with thedriving pace of the march.

That evening, for the first time, they spotted the pursuing column ofArabs. They were crossing another line of those hills that ran withthe grain of this wild country.

When they looked back they saw the dust cloud rising three leaguesbehind them.

That night they stopped only for an hour, then went on by starlight,following the high beacon of the great cross in the constellation ofCentaurus. Despite this long night march, and that the Arabs must beburning up their mounts even as they were, they discovered when thedawn broke that they had gained no ground on the pursuit. In the earlysunlight the dust cloud rose, red as blood, on the horizon still threeleagues behind them.

During the night marches, even Aboli had lost all sense of distancecovered and their exact position in this wilderness of forest andbroken, hilly country. That evening they crossed another line ofhills, hoping to see the shining waters of the Lunga below them, buttheir hopes were dashed as ahead rose yet another line of greenhills.

They struggled across the intervening valley, the horses almostfinished, and all of them nearing the limit of their endurance. EvenAboli was suffering, trying to conceal the limp caused by a strainedligament in his knee. His face was dry and dusty grey with all themoisture sweated out of him. Dorian was gaunt, his body skeletalbeneath his robe, his wound weeping fresh blood from under the filthydressing. Yasmini had almost exhausted the last of her strength tryingto hold him in the saddle. The last horse staggered under theircombined weight.

It fell just below the crest of the hills, going down as though it hadtaken a musket-ball through the brain. Tom cut the thong that heldDorian’s ankles to ether and dragged him out from under it.

“It’s shanks’s pony from here, lad. Can you go on?” he asked him.

Dorian tried to smile.

“I can go on as long as you can, Tom.”

But when Tom tried to lift him, his knees gave way under him and hesagged to the stony ground.

Close behind them the red dust cloud rose in the valley they had justcrossed. They cut a short pole and Aboli and Tom took the ends.

They sat Dorian in the middle of it, placed his arms around theirshoulders and staggered down the side of the hill into the valley,carrying him between them.

They stopped during the night for a few minutes at a time, then pickedup Dorian on his pole and carried him forward until they could not takeanother pace and sagged to the ground for another rest. It took themall that night to cross the wide valley. They could only hope that thepursuit had halted in the dark behind them, unable to follow theirspoor.

Dawn caught them toiling up the slope on the far side of the valley.When they looked back the Arabs were so close that their lance@ tipscaught the early light and twinkled merrily.

“They have halved the distance,” Tom gasped, as they lowered Dorian tothe ground for another rest.

“At the speed we are making they will be up to us in an hour.”

“Leave me here, Tom,” Dorian whispered.

“Save yourselves.”

“You are mad!” Tom cried.

“The last time I turned my back on you, you were gone for years. I’llnot take that risk again.” They hoisted him, and set off again.Yasmini was walking a few paces ahead. Her leather sandals were rippedand torn almost off her feet, and her heels were bleeding where theblisters had burst open. She fell before they reached the crest, andthough she crawled to the nearest tree and tried to use the trunk topull herself upright, she was too weak to regain her feet.

“Luke, take my place here! You, Batula, help him.” Tom handed overthe end of the carrying pole to them and went to where Yasmini crouchedagainst the tree, sobbing softly.

am a stupid, weak woman,” she wept as he stooped over her.

“Yes,” he agreed, “but much too pretty to leave behind.” He liftedher, and though she was fragile and bird-like, the effort strainedevery sinew and muscle in his aching back and shoulders. He held herto his chest, and braced himself to take another step upwards.

There was a faint shout far behind them, and he looked back over hisshoulder. The outriders of the Arab pursuit column had reached thefoot of the hill below them. One raised his jezail and powder smokespurted from the long barrel. Seconds later they heard the thud of theshot. But the range was still too long, and the ball came nowhere nearthem.

“Almost at the top,” Tom sang out, trying to sound cheerful and gay.

“One more tilt at it, lads.” He stepped out on the top of the hill,blinded by sweat. He knew he could go no further. He lowered Yasminito the ground and wiped his eyes, but his vision was still blurred andstarred with bright lights. He reeled on his feet, looked back at theothers, and saw that they, too, were finished. Even Aboli had used upthe last of his giant strength. He could hardly take the last fewsteps onto the crest.

This is where we will die, Tom thought. I still have the blue sword tomake a decent fight of it, and in the end I will have the pistol forYasmini and Dorian. He fumbled under his shirt and touched the butt.

Then, suddenly, Aboli was beside him, shaking his arm, unable to speak,pointing down into the valley ahead.

For a moment Tom thought it must be a mirage, but then he realized thatthe dazzle that hurt his squinting eyes was the sunlight off the widesurface of the Lunga river, and that the little Centaurus was mooredagainst the bank.

They were so close that they could see tiny human figures on the opendeck.

Tom felt new strength flow into his legs. He drew the pistol fromunder his shirt and fired both barrels in the air.

There was a sudden stir on the ship, and Tom saw the flash of atelescope lens as it was aimed up at them. He waved wildly, and thetall figure of All Wilson waved back.

Tom turned and looked behind him. The Arab outriders were coming on ata gallop, already halfway up the hill.

Without another word, Tom picked up Yasmini and launched himself downthe slope towards the river. Gravity took hold of his legs, and hecould hardly keep up with them. Each pounding step jarred his spine,as the ground flew past under his feet. He heard Aboli and the otherscoming down after them, but he could not look back. It took all hiswits and strength to stay on his feet. Yasmini closed her eyes infear, and clung to him with both arms around his neck.

Suddenly there was a shout from behind them and a volley of musketfire. The Arabs had reached the top of the hill. A musket-ballknocked a slab of bark and a burst of wet white splinters from the holeof the tree close beside Tom. He could not keep up the pace and, withYasmini’s weight, he could not stop. He felt one of his legs give wayunder him and he fell. He and the girl rolled in a tangle together,until they slid into a boulder and lay stunned.

Aboli came past them, with Dorian on his back, bouncing and staggering,Batula and Luke Jervis trying to keep up with him. Aboli’s legs werebeyond his control.

He could not stop to help Tom, but Luke grabbed Tom’s arm and draggedhim up, while Batula lifted Yasmini in his arms and took a few moreunsteady paces down the hill.

There was the rumble of hoofs as the Arabs charged their mounts downupon them. They had already couched their lances and Tom could see theexpressions of triumph on their dark faces. Then he heard Sarah shouthis name.

“Tom! We’re coming!” He spun round and saw that she was astride abay, dragging two spare horses on lead reins behind her, comingstraight up the hill at full pelt. All Wilson was a length behind her,on a black mare from their herd. He also had two spares. Sarah reinedin beside him and Tom snatched Yasmini out of Batula’s arms and almostthrew her light body over the withers of Sarah’s mount. Sarah grabbedher and prevented her from slipping over the other side of the horse.

“Go!” Tom gasped.

“Get her out of here!” Sarah said not a word, but tossed him the reinsof the spare horses and wheeled away down the hill with Yasmini bumpinglike a wet sack before her.

Tom left one horse for Luke and Batula, and threw himself onto the backof the other. He caught up with Aboli swiftly and plucked Dorian’sbleeding, battered body off his back.

“Take a mount from All!” he shouted at Aboli as he swept past, andtore down the hill after Sarah. He heard Arabic howls and drivinghoofs close behind him, and expected a lance thrust into his back atany instant.

But he could not spare a backward glance, he was too busy clutchingDorian. In despair he felt him slip from his grasp and could not holdhim. Then, suddenly, Aboli was riding beside him. He leaned acrossand pushed Dorian upright so that Tom could get a fresh grip around hisshoulders.

When they hit the level ground of the riverbank, Tom and Aboli wereriding knee to knee, hard behind Sarah, who still held Yasmini.

Next came All, Batula and Luke in a group. Close behind charged theArab cavalry. They were gaining, reaching forward eagerly with thelong lances.

Sarah did not hesitate when she reached the river.

She pushed her mount straight on. It leaped out from the high bankthen hit the water in a burst of spray and went clean under. Tom andAboli followed her over the edge without checking their gallop, thenthe others jumped almost on top of them. They came up swimming besidetheir straining mounts, heading out into the stream towards where theCentaurus lay.

Behind them, the Arabs reined up on the bank in a swirl, trying to drawtheir ezails out of the boots as their horses reared and plunged.

The first blast of grapeshot from one of the Centaurus’s nine-pounderscaught them, and half went down in a bloody, broken tangle of men andanimals. The rest wheeled away in panic and tore back up the hill asanother broadside from the Centaurus shattered the trees around them.

The swimming horses reached the ship’s side, and the seamen dragged theriders on board. As soon as he reached the deck, Tom ran straight toSarah and the two embraced, with water streaming from hair and soddenclothing.

“In a fix, you are worth ten men to me, my beauty.” Then he pulledback from her.

“Dorian is sore hurt. He will need all your care. Yasmini is done inalso. Look to them while I get the ship away.” He strode to the helm,and glanced up at the rigging.

All Wilson had everything shipshape and ready.

“If you please, Mr. Wilson, will you get us under way downriver?”

Tom ordered, then sought out Aboli.

“We are going to need the horses to drag the ship through the shallows.Take them down to the south bank, on the far side of the river from theMussulmen. You should be able to keep pace with the ship.” Abolicalled to his sons, Zama and Tula, “Now I have man’s work for you. Comewith me.” They followed him over the ship’s side to help round up theherd.

Tom felt the ship come alive under his feet, and swing out into thecurrent. The banks started to stream past on either hand. He lookedto the south bank and saw that Aboli and his boys had the horsesgathered into a compact herd and were bringing them along the bank at acanter.

He swung round and looked to the north, just in time to see thevanguard of the main Arab army come over the crest, and start downtowards the river in a solid stream of glittering armour, lances andmusket barrels. Tom snatched the telescope from All Wilson’s hand andfocused it on the head of the advancing column. He picked outAbubaker’s Turkish helmet and al-Sind’s yellow turban riding besidehim.

“I think we will have an honour guard all the way downriver,” he toldAll grimly.

“They won’t be able to trouble us much until we reach the shallows.”Before they reached the sea, they would have to negotiate the shallows,where the river spread out and slowed its plunge towards the ocean.Here the sand bars were always changing depth and position. With thepresent height of the water there would be barely enough to float theCentaurus through. He could expect Abubaker and alSind to follow themdown and harass them all the way.

Tom had only hours before they reached this treacherous stretch, and heset all hands to making the preparations for warping the ship over thebars and for defending her from enemy attack while she was mostvulnerable.

He seized a moment to visit the cabin where Sarah had taken Dorian andYasmini. With relief he found his brother resting easily in the littlebunk. Sarah had changed the dressing on his wound, and she nodded atTom to let him know all was well. Yasmini had recovered enough to helpher, and she was feeding Dorian from a pewter bowl of soup. Tom spentonly a minute with them before he hurried on deck again.

The first thing he saw as he stepped over the coaming was the longcolumn of Omani cavalry streaming down the north bank after them.

“Five hundred or more,” he estimated, and All Wilson agreed.

“Enough to do us some mischief in a straight fight, Captain.”

“We best not let it come to that.” Tom smiled with more confidencethan he felt.

“How long before we reach the shallows?”

“Two hours at this speed.”

“Right, then. We’re going to lighten the ship. Throw everythingoverboard that is not essential to our voyage,” he ordered.

Then he lowered his voice so that it would not carry to Sarah in thecabin below: “You can start with that harpsichord.” With splash afterhigh splash they jettisoned the cargo.

After the harpsichord they sent over the bales of trade goods, leftthem bobbing in the wake as they bore down swiftly on the sand bars.Most of the powder-kegs went over the side and all the iron round shotTom kept just enough powder and grape to fight during an hour of heavyengagement.

“Drain half the water from the barrels. Leave just enough to allow usto reach Good Hope on short rations,” Tom cried. That would be aterrible hardship for the women and children, but capture by the Omaniwould be a lot worse, he consoled himself.

“WVhile the crew worked, Tom kept an eye on the following cavalry.Where the current sped through the narrows the Centaurus pulled aheadof the Omani column, but when it slowed up and the wind became fluky inthe middle of the day, the sails flapped lazily, and the Arabs regainedall the ground they had lost.

Tom loaded one of the stern cannon with a double charge of powder and ahatful of grapeshot. When the head of the column came within extremerange he fired at it. He did little damage but the horses bucked anddanced, and the Arabs fell back respectfully.

Aboli and the two boys leading the horses on the south bank werekeeping up well. Their herd was rested and strong, while the Arabmounts had been worn down by the long pursuit, and could not matchthem.

They came down a last chute of racing water, steering the wooden hullbetween outcrops of ugly black rock, then all the speed and power wentout of the current and they idled down to where the sandbanks almostchoked off the river with their yellow humps of gravel.

“Get the women and children into the longboats,” Tom ordered.

“Every pound of weight will make a difference to our draught.”

Dorian was too weak to be sent ashore, and Yasmini stayed to take careof him.

Sarah took the helm to free a man for the heavy work of warping.

All the other passengers were taken across to the south bank and placedin Aboli’s care. Then the longboat came back and stood by ready totake the ship in tow if she went aground.

Tom stood by the helm, and an anxious silence fell over the littleCentaurus as she ran down on the first meandering bend where they couldsee the shape of the bottom through the clear green water. The Arabcavalry column seemed to sense their opportunity, and closed upeagerly. Tom cast a glance at them, but although they were now withineasy shot, he was too busy to serve the little cannon and he had to letthem come on.

The Centaurus swept easily into the bend, and Tom let out his breathwith relief. But it was premature. Suddenly she jarred and lurchedunder their feet as she touched the bottom, then shook herself free andslid on down the green river.

“Close call,” Tom breathed, and then to Sarah at the helm, “Hold herfair in the green channel.” The next turn came up and the ship wasmoving slowly now. The Arabs were half a musket shot back, canteringin formation down the flat, sandy north bank, lances glittering andhead cloths blowing in the wind of their ride.

The Centaurus hit the sand with her keel and slid to a halt so suddenlythat they were almost thrown to the deck.

Tom grabbed at the binnacle to steady himself. The Centaurus wasgrounded solidly.

I “Boats away!” Tom yelled, and every man aboard scrambled down intothe longboats. Tom shouted to Sarah, “Keep the helm centred!”

Then he left her to it, and dropped down into the longboat.

The coxswains in the stern of each longboat picked up the ends of thetow lines, which were lying ready, and made them fast. Then, therowers hauling with all their strength, the two boats raced out aheadof the Centaurus until the lines came up hard. They strained at thelong sweeps and tried to drag her off the clinging sand.

From the south bank, Aboli charged his horse into the water and pickedup the end of the long line Sarah tossed to him. He swam his horseback with it and as his mount lunged out of the river onto the bank, hehitched the end of the line to the team of waiting horses.

“Yal Ya! Haul away!” He cracked his whip over their backs and theytook up the strain, then threw their full weight against the traces.

The Centaurus grated forward over the gravel, then stuck fast again. Onthe bank the Arab horsemen broke into a gallop and swept forward,deploying as they came on. As they drew level with the stranded ship,the first rank wheeled and couched their lances. They struck the riverin a wall of white spray and came straight at the men in thelongboats.

The water reached the bellies of the horses then rose up to theirshoulders. Now the leading horses were swimming, but their riders hadthe lances poised as they reached the leading longboat, and swarmedaround it like a pack of sharks around a dead whale.

The seamen fired their pistols into the Arabs at close range then stoodup to beat them off with the long sweeps.

But the boat was rocking wildly, and must soon capsize under the sheerweight of the enemy.

On the north bank the next rank of cavalry wheeled into position forthe charge, lining the edge of the sand bar in a solid mass.

Abubaker was in the centre of the line, his cuirass and spiked helmetshining. He brandished his scimitar, and led his horsemen forward, ata trot that broke into a canter then into a wild gallop.

Sarah could not leave the wheel. Over the bows she saw the longboatssurrounded by struggling masses of horses and men. Tom was standing inthe stern with the blue sword in his hand, hacking at the heads of theArabs in the water. Some of the Arabs were trying to cut the tow ropeat the stern, sawing at it with their scimitars. Other were throwingtheir full weight and that of their steeds on to the gunwale. The boatwas canting over until the water poured in over the side. It wouldsoon swamp.

Abubaker’s squadron charged into the river, and even Sarah could seethat it would soon be over. She was helpless to intervene. Until nowshe had not seen Dorian come up from the cabin, Yasmini’s shoulderunder his armpit to support him. Using her as a crutch, he hobbledpainfully to the nearest cannon. He seized the marlin spike totraverse the stubby black barrel. Then he grabbed the A smokingslow-match out of the sand tub and pressed the end to the touchhole.

The weapon crashed back on its tackle, and a storm of grapeshot hit thefront rank of the charging Arab horsemen just as they reached thewater’s edge. Clinging to the wooden ship’s rail, Yasmini staredacross the channel. She saw a two-ounce ball of lead strike Abubakerfull in the mouth. His teeth exploded out from between his lips insparkling chips, then the ball burst through his jawbone and outthrough the back of his skull. His spiked helmet was lifted from hishead and spun high in the air.

The men around him were torn from the saddle, and the ranks buckled andturned back from the water’s edge.

Dorian stumbled to the next cannon and laid the aim. The horsemen sawthe muzzle of the cannon turning towards them and spurred away inpanic. The buzzing cloud of grapeshot caught them in enfilade and adozen horses went down. In seconds the ranks were reduced to chaos.

They had all seen General Abubaker’s head shot away, and now Bashiral-Sind was down too, his horse killed under him.

The fight went out of them. They broke and galloped away to avoid thenext devastating blast of grapeshot.

Yasmini grabbed Dorian’s arm as he tottered and almost fell, then ledhim to the next cannon. As it fired the Centaurus heeled slightly tothe recoil and slid reluctantly over the sand. The Arabs around thelongboats saw their comrades on the bank riding away, leaving themunsupported. They turned their horses back towards the shore.

“Pull! Pull to burst your guts!” Tom shouted at his crew, and theyfell to the oars again. The Centaurus crept forward and touched again.Dorian fired another cannon shot, and as the ship rocked Aboli lashedthe horse team in the traces. Slowly and reluctantly, the Centaurusslid over the sand and floated free in the deep channel beyond.

“Back on board!” Tom roared triumphantly.

“Get the women and children back on board.” Aboli piled his wives andall their offspring into the longboat as its keel touched the beach.Then he cut the traces of the horses and slapped their rumps to sendthem galloping into the forest. He ran back and jumped over thegunwale of the boat as the rowers pulled after the Centaurus.

The ship was floating away swiftly downstream, and they had to pullhard to catch her.

“It’s a clear run down to the mouth from here,” Aboli told Tom, as hecame to where he stood beside the helm.

They both looked back at the shattered Arab force on the north bank.They were making no effort to regroup and continue the pursuit.

“Stand the men down, Mr. Wilson,” said Tom.

“And give them all a double tot of rum for their trouble.” All Wilsontouched his cap.

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but you threw the rum barreloverboard.

Do you want to put the ship about and go back to fetch it?” His tonewas serious but his lips twitched.

“I think the men will have to wait for it until we reach Good Hope,”Tom replied, as solemnly.

Tom stood at the stern rail as the Centaurs made her offing and thedark mass of the African mainland slowly merged with the gatheringnight far behind. There was a light step on the deck beside him, andhe reached out to pull Sarah in front of him so that her back waspressed against his chest. He hugged her hard to him, and reached overher shoulder to kiss her ear. She shuddered deliciously as his beardtickled the back of her neck.

“Dorry is asking for you,” she said.

“I will go to him presently,” he answered, but made no move to leaveher.

After a long silence she asked, “What happens now, Tom?”

“I know not, lass. Good Hope first, and after that, let come aswill.”

“Well, one thing only is certain. I shall have a little surprise foryou once we reach Good Hope.”

“Ah!” He sounded interested.

“What is it?”

“If I tell you it will be no surprise.” She reached behind her, tookboth his hands and placed them firmly on her stomach. It took him amoment to understand. Then he let out a roar of delighted laughter.

“Jesus love you, Sarah Courtney. I know not what to say.” She knewthat that was his most extravagant expression of joy.

“Then hold your peace, you great booby, and give me a kiss instead.”

<BookMark>

Table of Contents

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 26

Part 27

Part 28

Part 29

Part 30

Part 31

Part 32

Part 33