Bolitho stood back to look at the ship while two groups of men began to slide the boat through the lively surf. There had been five in the boat before, and never more than six. He watched as the selected seamen clambered into the hull, thrusting out the oars and muffling them in the rowlocks with food sacks and pieces of clothing. He saw Miller rip off the dead man’s shirt and pass it into the boat, one foot planted on the corpse to steady himself as he did so.
Miller, probably more than any other here, was in his element. He had come through the war and had survived cutting-out expeditions, cannon fire and every other sort of risk without a scratch. As a boatswain’s mate he was above average. But in a hand to hand fight he was something else again. A killer.
Allday said, “I’ll take the helm.” He looked at Bolitho. “Ready, Captain?” He spoke so casually he might have been suggesting a stroll.
Bolitho knew him so well that he could see past the calm voice. Like himself, Allday was stretched like a halter. Only when they were finally committed would he show his true self.
The boat lifted and splashed in the shallows, the men on either side easing it into deeper water as more of the boarding party clambered into her and flattened themselves on the bottom boards like corpses.
“Enough.” Bolitho looked for Quare and Midshipman Swift. “Keep the rest of the men out of sight if you can. If any more ‘pirates’ come from the headland, you know what to do.”
He nodded to the sergeant. The work of the marines was over, and if things went wrong Quare and his little group would have to hide and wait for Herrick to come for them.
He climbed into the boat very carefully, his sword bared against his chest.
“Shove off!” Allday crouched forward. “Easy, you noisy bugger!”
The clouds had thickened even in the time taken to get this far. It might mean a tropical downpour, but not for some while. Bolitho drove the doubts aside. If he waited for rain to deaden his approach, he might wait forever. He looked at the panting oarsmen. They had pulled only a few yards and were already finding it hard work with so many inert passengers. If he stopped the attack now he doubted if he could rouse them to fight again.
Keen whispered, “Shall I tell the swimmers to leave now, sir?”
Bolitho nodded, and saw two figures, their naked bodies shining in the filtered moonlight, rise up and then slide over the gunwale with barely a ripple.
It had all sounded so dangerous and difficult when they had discussed it on the island. Now it seemed impossible.
He tore his eyes from the two swimmers and concentrated on the ship. How large and near she looked now. Surely somebody would challenge them soon? Maybe they had already been seen for what they were, and the loaded guns were being quietly depressed towards them.
Bolitho heard one of the oarsmen curse and then gasp as something rolled between the boat and the dipping blades. It was a corpse, turning over loosely as a man will do in bed. The one they had seen cast overboard, caught and carried by the current, unable to free itself from the bay.
“Easy on the stroke, Allday.”
Bolitho felt the pistol in his belt. They must give the swimmers time to reach the anchor cable and haul themselves aboard without discovery. It was all too easy, but then, why not? The pirates, or whoever they were, had bluffed their way past a British man-of-war and had sent away a boarding officer convinced of their identity. At anchor in a safe bay, with sentries posted ashore, why should they not feel secure?
The challenge when it came was loud and startling.
“Boat ahoy?” An English voice.
Allday dragged two empty bottles from between his feet and hurled them into the bottom of the boat, throwing back his head and roaring with laughter as he did so.
Bolitho heard other voices from the ship, but no further challenge. The empty bottles were more convincing than any password.
“I saw one of the men on the beakhead, sir!” It was Miller straining his head above the gunwale. “They’re aboard, by God!”
The boat was very near the side now, and Bolitho saw the entry port, two dark figures watching their slow approach. He could even smell the ship, the familiar tang of tar and hemp. One of the men by the port swung towards the forecastle as a figure appeared in a shaft of moonlight swaying from side to side and snatching at rigging for support.
Allday hissed, “That’s Haggard, Captain! A better actor than topman by the looks of him!”
But the seaman called Haggard had the full attention of the watch on deck, as with sudden dignity he reeled and fell over the side with a violent splash.
Two things happened almost at once. The watch left the entry port and disappeared towards the bows, imagining that one of their own had fallen over the side. And then out of the darkness came a terrible thrashing sound, like something being hauled through water at a great speed.
They all heard Haggard yell, “My leg!”Then he screamed, the sound cut short as he was dragged bodily under the surface.
Bolitho’s mind accepted all these things even as he dashed towards the bows of the boat, and a grapnel soared up and over the Eurotas’s bulwark. He had not thought about sharks, had never imagined they would enter the bay. The drifting corpse must have attracted one, and Haggard had been seized and crushed to bloody pulp in those great jaws.
He heard himself yell, “Up, lads! Let’s be at them!”
The spell snapped, and the horrified seamen were all at once on their feet, fighting like wild things to reach the steps to the entry port.
A pistol exploded from the gangway and a ball sang past Bolitho’s face as he hauled himself on to the deck. The two men on watch were caught in the pale light, one looking at Bolitho, the other still gaping towards the forecastle as if expecting to hear another scream.
Seamen surged on to the deck, knocking each other aside in their eagerness to reach the two men. Cutlasses swished in the air, and the men fell with barely a sound.
From the poop came more shouts, and it sounded as if others were clambering through the forward hatch towards the forecastle.
But Keen and his men were already dashing along the gangways, firing into the hatch and towards the starboard cathead where a man had been clinging to get a view of the shark, or to hide.
Bolitho ran wildly towards the poop, almost falling as a figure loomed from behind a companionway and barred his path. He ducked aside and cut out with his sword, feeling it jar against steel as the man met his attack. Hilts locked they lurched towards the wheel, while seamen charged past, and others paused, feverishly trying to reload their weapons.
In the far distance Bolitho heard the crackle of musket fire and knew Quare was dealing with the sentries from the headland. He could feel nothing but cold hatred for the unknown man who was pressed against him. It was like being somewhere else. An onlooker. The man’s breath, strong with brandy, the heat of his body, were all part of the unreality.
Bolitho felt the heavy thrust of the man’s forearm. He stepped back, catching him off balance and swinging him round against the bulwark. Something flashed past his eyes, and he heard the sickening crunch of steel in bone as Allday sent the man pitching down a ladder. Allday spun round again, reaching out with the cutlass, as a dark figure ran from the poop, saw him and hesitated just too long. Allday, his legs carrying him across the deck like a charging bull, hacked the man across one shoulder, and as he fell shrieking finished him with a heavy blow on the neck.
Another was on his knees, babbling and pleading in a language which might have been almost anything, although the meaning was clear enough.
Miller seized him by the hair and then drove one knee into his face before lifting him bodily and pitching him over the rail. The attendant thrashing and bursting spray alongside showed there were other sharks hurrying to an unexpected prize.
Light flowed from a door below the poop, and Bolitho saw a man framed in it, crouching as he peered blindly towards the din of steel and yelling seamen. Bolitho dragged out his pistol and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened, so he hurled it at the door and ran straight for it, the speed of his charge almost dragging the sword from his grip as he plunged it into the man’s body.
He half turned, hearing cries and more shots, seemingly from the water itself. Someone was getting away in a
