they knew they would not escape, so that personal safety had become all important. To lay evidence against a man they had once called a friend, to face prison rather than a gibbet. Some would even now be hoping to be freed altogether by using lies with no less skill than their cruelty.
Bolitho stood at his brother's shoulder on the Virago's deck, watching the cowed faces, feeling their fury giving way to fear, like the blood that had faded away in the blown spray.
Sir Henry Vyvyan would probably be able to plead for some special privilege even now, he thought. But Hugh's victory was complete all the same. The ship, her cargo and enough prisoners to make Mounts Bay safe for years to come.
'Where is Sir Henry?'
A small man in a gilt-buttoned coat, obviously the sloop's master, pushed towards them, his forehead badly cut by flying wood splinters.
'Worn't my fault, sir!'
He reached out to touch Hugh Bolitho's arm but the sword darted -between them like a watchful snake.
So he backed away, while Bolitho and the others followed him towards the poop, which had taken the full brunt of the falling mast.
Sir Henry Vyvyan was pinned underneath one massive spar, his face screwed into a mask of agony. But he was still breathing, and as the sailors stood over him he opened his one eye and said thickly, `Too late, Hugh. You'll not have the pleasure of seein' me dance on a rope.'
Hugh Bolitho lowered his sword for the first time, so that its tip rested on the deck within inches of Vyvyan's cheek.
He replied quietly, `I had intended a more fitting end for you, Sir Henry.'
Vyvyan's eye moved towards the glittering blade and he said, `I would have preferred it.'
Then with a great groan he died.
The sword vanished into its scabbard, the movement final, convincing.
`Cut this wreckage away.' Hugh Bolitho sounded almost untouched by the events and the sights around him. `Pass the word to Mr Gloag. We will require a tow until a jury-rig can be arranged.'
Only then did he look at his brother and Dancer.
`That was well done.' He glanced at the flag which was being run up to the Virago's peak, the same one which, although torn ragged by wind and gunfire, still flew above his own command. `The best Christmas gift I have ever been given!'
Dancer grinned. `And maybe there will still be something left at Falmouth to celebrate with, eh, Dick?'
As they made their way back to their own vessel, Bolitho paused and looked aft towards the great heap of wreckage.
His brother was still standing beside the trapped body in the long green coat.
Perhaps, even now, he was thinking that Sir Henry Vyvyan had beaten him?
