boom seemed to be prodding her larboard quarter like a lance. A few stabs of fire above her shattered stern showed where marksmen had taken fresh positions, and Bolitho saw two of his marines drop like red fruit from the foretop, their cries lost to the mounting wind.
Mudge said worriedly, 'We may lose our sticks when we comes round, sir!'
Bolitho ignored him.
'Ready lads!'
He watched the sea rising and breaking against Argus's opposite quarter, the mounting pressure against her yards.
'Now!'
He gripped the rail as the helm went over and the bows started to pull towards the-enemy. He saw Argus trimming her yards, the hull tilting steeply as she followed Undine's turn.
Sunlight flashed on her quarterdeck, and then her side exploded in a line, of great flashes, the air rent apart with the savagery of her broadside.
Bolitho almost fell as the massive weight of iron crashed into the hull or screamed and tore through the rigging overhead. He was choked by swirling smoke, his mind reeling from the combined noises of screams and yells, of musket fire from all angles.
Somehow he dragged himself up the angled deck and peered towards the Argus. Smoke was drifting from her last broadside so fast that Undine seemed to be moving abeam to meet her. The illusion told him Mudge had been right, and as he watched Argus's sails bellying out towards him, he also saw her gunports awash as the wind thrust her over. Thank God for the
wind.
'Fire!' He had to repeat the order to make himself heard.
'Fire!'
Undine's disengaged gunports were also awash, and her runout battery was pointing almost towards the sky as each captain jerked his lanyard.
Even above the roar of cannon fire and the wail of the wind Bolitho heard the chain-shot whimpering through the air and ripping into Argus's fully exposed topsails and braced yards. He heard, too, the immediate clatter of severed rigging, the louder explosions of bursting stays and shrouds as foremast and maintopmast swayed together like great trees before booming and splintering into the smoke.
Bolitho waved his sword above his head. 'Hold her steady, Mr. Mudge! She'll be alongside directly!'
He ran to the gangway, and then stopped dead as the wind sucked the smoke downwind and away from the two drifting hulls. Dead and wounded lay everywhere, and as the marines ran to their places for boarding Bolitho saw Shellabeer mangled beneath a gun, and Pryke, the carpenter, pinned across a hatch coaming by a broken length of gangway, his blood linking with all the rest around him. And Fowlar, could that thing really be him?
But there was no more time to regret or to think. Argus was here, alongside, and as Soames led his men across the bows Bolitho shook his sword and yelled hoarsely, 'Over you go, lads!'
The French seamen were struggling to free themselves from the great tangle of spars and rigging, the broken cordage lying in heaps like giant serpents.
But the steel was ready enough. Bolitho crossed swords with a petty officer and then slipped in some blood, the breath driven from his body as the Frenchman pitched headlong across him. He felt the man jerk and kick, saw the awful agony in his eyes as Carwithen pulled him away, a boarding axe locked into his collar bone.
On every hand men were fighting and yelling, the pikes and bayonets waving above the more desperate work of sword and cutlass.
Davy was heading for the quarterdeck ladder, shouting to the men at his back, when a rally of French seamen left him momentarily isolated and alone. Bolitho watched his contorted face above the thrusting shoulders, saw his mouth shaping unheard screams as they cut him down, their weapons not still even after he had dropped from sight.
Midshipman Armitage stood shaking on the gangway, his skin like chalk as he shouted, 'Follow me!' Then he, too, was dead, pushed aside and trodden underfoot as the two opposing groups surged together again.
Bolitho saw it all as he fought his way aft towards the main quarterdeck ladder. Saw it, and recorded it in his mind. But without sequence, like a nightmare. As if he were a mere onlooker.
He reached the ladder and saw the French lieutenant facing him, the one named Maurin, who had an English wife. The rest seemed to fade into a swirling, embattled fog as the two swords reached out and circled each other.
Bolitho said harshly, 'Strike, Maurin! You have done enough l'
The Frenchman shook his head. 'It is not possible, m'sieu!'
Then he lunged forward, taking Bolitho's sword on the hilt, and deftly turning it towards the sea. Bolitho let himself fall back to the next step, seeing the desperation on Maurin's face, knowing, without understanding why, that this man alone stood between victory and senseless slaughter.
'Le Chaumareys is deadl' Bolitho tested the next step with his left foot. 'Am I not right?' He had to shout at the top of his voice as more of Undine's men burst yelling on to the gun deck and attacked the French crew from behind. They must have climbed through the shattered stern, Bolitho realised dully. Again it was more of a reaction than anything. He added coldly, 'So for God's sake strike!'
Maurin hesitated, the uncertainty plain on his face, and then made up his mind. He sidestepped and raised his hilt almost level with his eyes before lunging towards Bolitho's chest.
Bolitho watched him with something like despair. Maurin had been too long in the one ship, had forgotten the need for change. It was easy. Too sickeningly easy.
Bolitho took his weight on his foot, parried the blade as it darted towards him, and struck. The lieutenant's weight was more than enough, and Bolitho almost had the sword wrenched from his grip as Maurin fell gasping to the deck below.
A pigtailed seaman raised his boarding pike, but Bolitho shouted, 'Touch him, and I'll kill you myself!'
He saw Herrick walking between the French seamen who were throwing their weapons on to the bloodied deck, the fight over. Their strength going at the sight of Maurin's last gesture.
He thrust the sword into its scabbard and walked heavily up the last few steps. He knew Allday was behind him, and Herrick took his place at his side as together they stood in silence looking at Le Chaumareys' body where it lay beside the abandoned wheel. He looked strangely peaceful, and amidst so much carnage and horror, almost unmarked. There was a dark stain below his shoulder, and a small trickle of blood from a corner of his mouth. Probably one of Bellairs' sharpshooters, Bolitho thought vaguely.
Bolitho said quietly, 'Well, we did meet, Captain. Just as you said we would.'
Lieutenant Soames knelt to unfasten Le Chaumareys' sword, but Bolitho said, 'Leave it. His was a bad cause, but he fought with honour.' He turned away, suddenly sick of the watching dead, their pathetic stillness. 'And cover him with his flag. His proper flag. He was no pirate!'
He saw Davy's body being carried to the gangway, and added, 'A moment longer and he would have seen Argus taken. Enough prize-money even for his debts perhaps.'
As they climbed across the trapped water between the drifting hulls Bolitho turned, startled, as some of the seamen gathered to cheer him. He looked at Herrick, but he shrugged and gave a sad smile.
'I know how you feel, sir, but they are glad to be alive. It is their way of thanking you.'
Bolitho touched his arm. 'Survival? I suppose it is a fair cause for battle.' He forced a smile. 'And for winning.'
Herrick picked up his hat and handed it to him. 'I'll set the people to work, sir. The pumps sound too busy for my liking.'
Bolitho nodded and walked slowly towards the stern, his shoes catching at splinters and broken cordage. By the taffrail he paused and looked wearily along his command, at the broken planking and stained decks, the figures which were picking their way amidst the debris, more like survivors than victors.
Then he leaned back and loosened his neckcloth, and shook open his best dress coat which was torn and slashed in a dozen places.
Above his head the flag was flapping more easily, the sudden squall having passed on as quickly as it had arrived to save them from Argus's great guns. But for it…
He looked round, suddenly anxious, but saw Mudge in his place near the helm, cutting at a piece of cheese with
