Rapscallion

good for the buggers.'

Hellard stood up.

As the lieutenant moved out from behind the desk a knot formed in Hawkwood's stomach. Aligning himself with Lasseur had seemed like a good idea. Now, because of the privateer's crusade to rescue some wet-behind- the-ears cabin boy and his own irrational sense of obligation, Hawkwood's assignment was unravelling at a rate of knots. In fact, it was probably safe to say it was beyond unravelling. It was lying in tatters around him.

Hellard pursed his lips. It looked worryingly as if he was giving Thynne's suggestion serious consideration.

Thynne, from the window, intoned, 'Regulations -'

'Thank you, Lieutenant,' Hellard interrupted tartly without turning. 'I'm aware of the Regulations.'

Thynne flushed. Hawkwood watched as the lieutenant's expression changed. There was no mistaking the acrimonious look that Thynne directed towards his commanding officer's back. Hawkwood sensed it wasn't only because of Hellard's acerbic put-down. The animosity ran deeper than that and, judging from Hellard's demeanour, the resentment was mutual. Hawkwood wondered why that was. There could have been any number of reasons, though, from the needling reference to the Regulations, it was clear that Thynne considered himself to be the better man and therefore more suited to be in charge.

Hawkwood wondered about Thynne's background. Like the army, the navy needed its best men at the war front. It didn't assign competent officers to oversee the running of decrepit prison ships in remote backwaters if it could be helped. Somewhere along the line Thynne, like Hellard, must have blotted his copybook. Either that or Thynne had sought to avoid the heat of battle by securing a lieutenancy as far away from the fighting as possible, only to find his bid for command of the hulk usurped by a disgraced officer of equal rank but seniority in years. Hawkwood had to admit to himself that the latter scenario seemed unlikely. Whatever the reason, there didn't appear to be much love lost between the two lieutenants.

Hellard said, 'From prisoner Fouchet's statement and by your own admissions, I'm inclined to give you both the benefit of the doubt that your actions were out of concern for the boy's welfare. You will be spared the attention of the hangman.'

'Sir?' Thynne went to take a step forward.

'However,' Hellard said, holding up a hand, halting Thynne in his tracks, 'the deaths of Matisse and his men cannot - indeed, will not - go unpunished. That would go against Regulations, and it would be remiss of me if I did not render chastisement commensurate to your crimes. The Admiralty will expect it. My decision is also governed by the fact that there is little doubt your actions have bestowed upon you a deal of notoriety. I suspect there are those who'd have you assume the Corsican's mantle. I would deem that singularly unacceptable. You will both, therefore, be transferred to the prison ship Sampson, currently moored in Gillingham.'

Lasseur gave a sharp intake of breath.

The privateer's reaction was understandable. Every prisoner on Rapacious had heard of the Sampson, no matter how long he had been on board. It was the ship set aside for the prisoners considered to be trouble-makers. Rumour had it that conditions on Sampson were so harsh they made the regime on Rapacious look like a church fete.

'You'd rather I hang you with the rest of them, Captain?' Hellard said.

A smug smile broke out across Thynne's face.

Lasseur did not reply. His face remained carved in stone.

'Regrettably, you will not be making the transfer immediately,' Hellard said. 'I've received word there's been an incident on board the Sampson. Some prisoners have led an insurrection to protest at their rations. The commander ordered his men to fire on the demonstrators and a number have been killed. There will be a delay while things calm down. I am not an inhumane man. Until your transfer, therefore, as the punishment cells are now full and it would be unwise to incarcerate you with what remain of Matisse's cohorts, you will both reside in the sick berth under armed guard, where at least your wounds can be attended by the surgeon. I suggest you use the opportunity as a period for reflection. Naturally, Captain Hooper, your participation in this debacle means that your eligibility for parole has been revoked. I understand you're due to appear before an assessment board. That has been postponed indefinitely, pending subsequent reports on your behaviour. I venture it will be some considerable time before either of you see your homeland again, a state of affairs for which you only have yourselves to blame.' Hellard nodded to the guards. 'That's all. Take them down.'

CHAPTER 10

'It would have been better,' Lasseur said despondently, 'if we had been cut up and fed to the crabs.'

'Better than being fed to the Rafales,' Hawkwood said. He felt a warm dampness on his side. His wound had begun weeping again.

'Do you really think what Murat told us was true?' Lasseur asked. The muscles around his mouth tightened.

'Maybe,' Hawkwood said. 'They say eating human flesh turns you mad. There's certainly madness in this place.'

Lasseur went quiet. Then he said softly, 'Many years ago, I was third mate on a schooner in the South China Seas when we came across an open boat. There were four men on board. Three were barely alive. The fourth was dead. His body was badly mutilated. Two of the survivors died, the third lived. He said that seabirds were responsible for the wounds on the fourth body, but he was not believed. It was thought that he and the others had feasted upon the dead man to save their own lives. Otherwise why had they not rid themselves of the corpse at the time of death? When the last survivor was finally able to walk, he tied himself to a length of chain and threw himself overboard. We assumed he was overcome with remorse at having consumed human meat. Either that or the act had driven him insane.' There was a pause, then Lasseur said joylessly, 'I hear it tastes like chicken.'

'I heard it was pork,' Hawkwood said.

Lasseur shuddered and fell silent. A short time passed and then he said, 'How did Matisse and the rest of them cover up the loss? The discrepancy would have showed up at roll call. How did they get past the head count?'

Hawkwood had been wondering the same thing. He said heavily, 'Maybe they didn't.'

Lasseur shifted on his cot. 'Then how would they explain the missing men?'

'By letting Hellard and the guards think there'd been an escape.' Hawkwood waited for the implication to sink in.

It took a while before Lasseur said, 'Oh God.'

The half-formed thought had been nagging away at Hawkwood since they'd left Hellard's cabin. It was only after he was back in his cot that it had become whole.

'If there have been no genuine escapes,' Lasseur said, 'it means Murat deceived us from the beginning.'

Hawkwood said nothing.

'If I find it to be so, I'll kill the two-faced bastard,' Lasseur said, eyes blazing.

'They will hang you, then,' Hawkwood said. 'Maybe you should stop while you're ahead.'

'Christ's blood!' Lasseur cursed. 'We've been played for fools!'

The privateer sank back in despair.

Could that be true? Hawkwood wondered. Perhaps Ludd had got it all wrong and there had been no genuine escapes, only disputes and the settling of arguments, with the dead men's remains disposed of through the ship's heads or in the Rafales' mess tins.

But that wouldn't have accounted for all the missing men, surely?

What was it Matisse had said? That it had been a while since they'd enjoyed a diversion, implying it had been some time since the last duel. And Ludd had told Hawkwood and James Read that escapes had occurred quite recently. Perhaps men had actually made it off the ship after all, alive and whole, rather than in pieces through the