offing.
They are unarmed and no danger to us,' Mansur told Cornish. 'Let them go. We can run them down later. First we must deal with the war dhows.' He left Cornish, and went forward to take command of the boarding party. The five war-dhows had kept their positions at anchor. They were too large and ungainly to risk the dangerous manoeuvre of trying to clear the lee shore in the face of such a powerful enemy. They had no option but to stay and fight.
The Arcturus ran straight at the largest. Mansur stood in the bows and surveyed the deck of the other ship as the gap between them closed. There he is!' he shouted suddenly, and pointed with his sword. 'I knew he must be here!'
The ships were so close that Kadem heard his voice and glared back at him. The shaft of pure hatred that passed between them was almost tangible.
'One broadside, Captain Cornish,' Mansur looked back at the quarter579
deck, 'and we will board her over her bows through the smoke.' Cornish waved acknowledgement and steered his ship in.
The direction of the wind held Kadem's dhow with her bows pointing out to sea, her stern towards the beach. Although the Omani crew ran out their guns defiantly, they could not bring them to bear. Cornish crossed the bows of Kadem's dhow to rake her at point-blank range. The Arcturus stood higher out of the water than the dhow, and her guns were able to fire down on her. Cornish had loaded with grape-shot, and the broadside crashed out. A thick bank of grey gunsmoke shot through with lumps of burning wadding billowed out and obscured her open deck. The wind blew it aside and revealed a scene of utter devastation. The timbers of the dhow's deck had been ripped as though by the claws of a monstrous cat. The gunners were piled in bloody heaps upon their unfired weapons. The splintered scuppers ran crimson with their blood.
Mansur looked for Kadem in the carnage. With a small jolt of disbelief he saw that he was unharmed and still on his feet, trying to muster the stunned survivors of that terrible blast of iron balls. Skilfully Cornish let the hulls of the two ships kiss, then held them together with a delicate play on the helm. Mansur led his boarders across in a rush, and Cornish toyed with the wheel and disengaged. Leaving Mansur and his men to seize the dhow, he sailed on down the line of anchored ships to attack the next war-dhow before it could escape out to sea. He had a respite of a few minutes to look round and see how the other two ships were faring.
After battering them with unrelenting broadsides at close range, the crews of the Revenge and the Sprite had boarded their chosen adversaries. Three more of the troop transports had drifted into the surf and capsized; some of the others were still at anchor. Cornish counted six more who had avoided the attackers and were clawing desperately out to sea. Then ; he looked back over his stern and saw the bitter fighting that surged over the deck of Kadem's anchored dhow. He thought he saw Mansur in the front of the battle, but it was so fluid and confused that he could ' not be sure. The prince might have done better to let me give them a few more doses of grape, before he boarded, he thought, and then with admiration, but he is a hot blood Kadem ibn Abubaker murdered his mother. Honour allows him no other course than to go after him, man to man.
The Arcturus was coming down fast on the next war-dhow in the line, and Cornish gave her all his attention. 'The same medicine, lads, he called to his gunners. 'A goodly draught of the grape, and then we will board her.'
Ariough the grape-shot had killed or wounded half of the men on the deck of Kadem ibn Abubaker's ship, the moment Mansur's boarding party swung across from the Arcturus, Kadem shouted the order and the rest of his crew came pouring out of the hatchways from the lower decks and launched themselves into the fight.
In numbers boarders and defenders were almost evenly matched. They were so closely packed that there was scarce enough space in which to swing the sword or thrust with the pike. They surged back and forth, slipping on the bloody decks, shouting and hacking at each other.
Mansur looked for Kadem in the ruck, but almost immediately lie was confronted by three men. They came at him in a rush. Mansur hit one low in the chest, driving his point up under the ribs. He heard the air hiss from the man's punctured lungs before he toppled to the deck. Mansur only just had time to recover his blood-smeared blade and come back on guard before the other two were upon him.
One of these was a wiry fellow whose long arms were roped with stringy muscle. His naked chest was tattooed with a sura from the Qur'an. Mansur recognized him: he had fought beside him on the ramparts of Muscat. He feinted, then cut overhand at Mansur's head. Mansur blocked him and locked his blade. He swung him round like a shield to hold off his comrade, who was trying to intervene.
'So, Zaufar! You could not wait for the return of al-Salil, your true caliph,' Mansur snarled into his face. 'Last time we met I saved your life. This time I shall take it from you.'
Zaufar leaped back in consternation. 'Prince Mansur, is it you?' In reply Mansur pulled off his turban and shook out his copper golden hair.
'It is the prince,' Zaufar screamed. His comrades paused and drew back. They stared at Mansur.
'It is the son of al-Salil,' one cried. 'Yield to him!'
'He is the spawn of the traitor! Kill him!' a pot-bellied rogue bellowed, and forced his way through their ranks. Zaufar turned and sent a thrust deeply into his bulging gut. In a moment the enemy was divided against each other. Mansur's men rushed forward to take advantage of the confusion.
'Al-Salil!' they shouted, and some of the dhow's crew took up the cry, while the others yelled back defiantly, 'Zayn al-Din!'
With so many of Kadem's men changing sides, those still loyal to him were outnumbered and they were swept back down the deck. Mansur led the charge, his face and robe splattered by the blood of his victims,
his eyes ferocious. He searched for Kadem in the rabble. As he fought his way forward more of the enemy recognized him. They threw down their weapons and grovelled on the deck.
'Mercy in the name of al-Salil!' they screamed.
At last Kadem ibn Abubaker stood alone at the stern rail of the dhow. He stared across at Mansur.
'I have come for retribution,' Mansur called to him. 'I have come to purge your evil soul with steel.' He started forward again and the men between them shrank out of his way. 'Come, Kadem ibn Abubaker, meet me now.'
Kadem reared back, then swung forward and hurled his scimitar at Mansur's head. The curved blade, clotted with the blood of his victims, cartwheeled through the air with a vicious whirring sound. Mansur ducked under it and it went on to thud into the base of the mast.
'Not now, puppy. First I will kill your dog-sire, then only will I have time to deal with you.'
Before Mansur realized what he was about, Kadem pulled his robe over his head and threw it to the deck. He wore only a loincloth round his waist. His torso was lean and hard. Under his arm was the raised purple scar of the sword-thrust that Mansur had inflicted on him on the quay at Muscat harbour. Kadem turned to the rail and leaped far out. He hit the water, went under, then surfaced and struck out strongly for the beach.
Mansur ran down the deck to the stern, stripping off his own clothing as he went. He dropped his sword, but thrust the curved dagger still in its gold and silver sheath into the back of his loincloth where it would not hamper his swimming stroke. He knotted it there securely. Then, with hardly a check, he dived head first over the rail. Both Mansur and Jim had learned to swim in the turbulent waters of the Benguela current that sweep the shores of Good Hope. As mere lads the two had kept the household of High Weald supplied with abalone and giant crayfish. They took these not by pot or net, but dived for them in the deep waters of the reef. At the end of many hours spent in the icy waters they would race each other back to the shore dragging the bulging sacks of their catch through the water with them.
Mansur came to the surface and, with a shake of his head, flicked his sodden mane out of his eyes. He saw Kadem fifty yards ahead of him. From experience, he knew that, even though they were accomplished seamen, few Arabs learned to swim, so he was surprised by how strongly Kadem forged through the water. Mansur struck out after him, swinging into a powerful overhead rhythm.
He heard the cries of encouragement from his men on the dhow, but
he ignored them and put all his heart, sinew and muscle into the effort. Every dozen strokes he snatched a glance ahead and saw that he was slowly closing in on Kadem.
As they drew nearer to the beach the swells started to hump under them. Kadem reached the break-line first. The tumbling white surf caught and smothered him, then threw him up again, coughing and disoriented. Now, instead of going with the current, he fought against it.
Mansur looked behind him, and saw the next set of waves rearing their backs against the blue of the sky. He stopped swimming and hung in the water, treading gently and paddling with his hands. He watched the first wave come down to him, then let it pass under him. It lifted him so that he had a clear view of Kadem only thirty yards ahead. The wave went on and dropped Mansur into its trough. The next wave came at him, taller and more powerful.
The first a piddle, the second a fountain, the third will wash you up the mountain.' He almost heard Jim call the doggerel to him as he had so often before while they played together in the surf. 'Wait for the third wave!'
