Artemis

There were scores of bodies in the water now, tumbled and rolled by the contemptuous seas. Released by the breaking hull, these had been the ones asleep below; death had been forced on them instantly. They would have had not the slightest warning of the streaming black rocks that had brutally broken in on them.

The after part quickly receded, sinking as it did so. The few remaining souls leaped or fell into the water. They had no chance at all; smothered by foaming seas, battered by the pieces of black wreckage spewing obscenely from the innards of the ship, they were swept into the outer darkness.

Kydd tore his eyes from the sight and seized hold of his courage. He resumed his scramble forward, crying with grief at the hideous end of his ship and the loss of his friends. Artemis was now a dismembered corpse, lying distorted and still, her bowsprit and rags of headsails spearing up poignantly, pointing at the distant shore. He reached the knot of men on the fo'c'sle. There was no sign of recognition, they were nameless figures working despairingly on the wreckage with their knives. They were trying to bind gratings and planking with ropes to make a raft, but with only their seamen's knives they could make little progress. Kydd did not have his knife, as iron implements were not permitted near the compass. He fell back and hung from the forebitts in utter despair, looking across the white-streaked, rampaging seas rolling shorewards.

A hand clutched at him from behind, and he turned ready to fight off a mindless soul, but found himself staring at Renzi. He gripped his friend for long moments, aware of Renzi's wild, disordered state. Emotion cascaded through him.

Renzi leaned forward and shouted at him, 'Lash ourselves - wait until daybreak!' Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded, and accepted the fall of a clewline cut off by Renzi. The new day would not change things, but at least they could face directly whatever was due to them.

The night wore on in a daze of cold and fear, but at about four, just as a reluctant cold dawn hinted at light, the carcass of Artemis shifted, grinding around to a new angle. The movement destroyed the temporary feeling of security that her motionless wedging on the rock ledge had provided, and at an hour before dawn it was clear that the end would not be long delayed.

Kydd unlashed himself — there was no point in being dragged down by the sinking wreckage — but Renzi pulled him round to face him. 'We must jump,' he said. His voice was strong and even, although his body shuddered with the cold. 'I would take it kindly, dear friend, if you would consent to taking the end of this line.' He was requesting that they be linked by a rope when they made their final leap. Kydd's eyes stung, a lump in his throat at the unfairness of it all, the unreadable harshness of fate, but he took the line and secured it to himself. 'We have shared . . .' began Renzi, but did not finish. Kydd nodded and looked away.

A long, grinding rumble sounded beneath them, and the deck juddered and moved. A sudden lurch came, which sent Kydd staggering, and it was time. They slid to the ship's side, clambered to the rail — and leapt into the sea.

The water closed over Kydd, rushing and roaring in his ears, the sea strangely warm out of the cold blast of the gale. He kicked and flailed, then broke surface, briefly aware of the black bulk of Artemis close by, then was whirled away, spluttering and helpless. There was no question of swimming; he could feel himself in the grip of strong waves that surged and pulled at him. He became entangled in the rope that joined him to Renzi, but it was too chaotic even to know if Renzi was still attached. The tops of waves swept over him without warning and he choked on sea-water. His clothes began to hang as a dead weight, and he knew that he was going down. Thrashing desperately at the water, he breathed in the salty foam, his throat raw and burning as he began to sink.

His legs brutally hit something solid. The rising breakers lifted him up and again his legs struck. Wild with hope, Kydd frantically kicked and fought. Suddenly he was slammed against an unmistakable, sturtly, moving surface. He was carried forward, his body losing its buoyancy as it slithered and floundered across the sand. In an instant, he was aware that his direction had reversed, and he felt himself being pulled back out to sea, back into the frenzy of deep water. In a fury of self-preservation he clawed at the sand, and suddenly found himself left high and dry by the receding wave. It returned before he could do anything, but he had been able to take long, tearing breaths and was ready for the rush of water. Painfully, he levered himself out of the sea, unable to stand, merely to drag himself above the line of waves, where he collapsed, spent.

He raised his head. A few yards along was a shapeless bundle. It was connected to him by a rope, and was very still. His mind refused to accept it at first, but then, with a roaring in his ears, he shouted hoarsely. He staggered to his feet, crossed to the body and fell on it, turning it over, needing to see its face.

Renzi vomited weakly, sea-water pouring from his mouth. He lifted his head to look at Kydd with dull eyes. A slow smile crossed his features and on the tiny beach the two shipwrecked mariners embraced.

A hand touched Kydd's shoulder. He jerked round in surprise and met the eyes of a foreign soldier. 'Nao se preocupe — sua vida esta salvo, pobre marinheiroj the man said softly.

Kydd struggled to his feet but Renzi's voice broke through weakly, 'I do observe, dear friend, that the presence of this man implies two things.' Coughing feebly, he continued, 'First, that this island is inhabited and we are spared an unfortunate death by starvation. Second, he speaks Portuguese -probably this is one of the islands of the Azores. They are our oldest ally and thus we may believe we will soon be homeward bound.'

Kydd hid his leaping happiness behind a dry smile. 'O' course, if there's any officer survived, why, there'll be a mort of explainin' he'll have t' do afore his court-martial,' he said with satisfaction.

'But in course, we shall be witnesses of the first order,' added Renzi, 'and therefore I fear our return to Guildford may necessarily suffer delay.'

Author's Note

At my desk is a length of rope from the 74 gun ship-of-the-line HMS Invincible that two centuries ago struck on the sands off Selsey Bill. The rope still smells of sea and Stockholm tar. I have other relics, too; a seaman's tankard, a gunlock flint, an Admiralty issue clerk's writing kit — each one bringing that far- away world straight into my consciousness. This I value above all things — as the one thing that I would most like the reader to take away from my book is a perception of the reality of Kydd's world.

Some have asked how real are the incidents in Artemis. There is an untold wealth in the histories — but the gold is found in the letters home of a pressed man, the diary of a gunner in Antigua, the musings of retired seamen. What lies in the pages of my book is how it happened as closely as I can render it for today's readers. Sometimes the facts are more amazing than any fiction — Artemis's desperate battle is based on that of the Nymphe and Cleopatre of the time. Maillot's (Million's) gallant act did take place, but in fact it was the Captain's own brother, Israel Pellew, who

personally laid and fired the fatal carronade shot that turned the tide.

Good fortune has played its part in allowing me to indulge my passion: the felicity of having a wife who can walk and talk the plot and characters with me, the enthusiasm of my publisher Hodder & Stoughton and the inspiration from Geoff Hunt's art. With the wider world of a naval scholarship to call upon, how can I not sit down