‘They’d planned to trap us,’ gasped Harry.
Pender looked over his shoulder. ‘They might just do it at that.’
‘That’s their plan, man. Can’t you see? They just want to hold us here.’
Harry swore heartily and pulled out of the crowd to look back towards the Ariel. She was coming up hand over fist, and at this rate she’d be alongside before Harry achieved anything. The fight, if you could call it that, was slackening even more as his men lost their enthusiasm. Lubeck was trying to do something, swinging an axe mightily, but it was being parried by any number of men. He heard Bartholomew shout, and the line of men in front of him abandoned defence and suddenly thrust forward to engage. The crew of the Principessa were happy to oblige.
The clash of metal on metal filled the air, interspersed with the cries of wounded men. Bartholomew was trying to hold him till Ariel could join. Harry looked further south expecting to see that the other two, Cromer and Bella, had come about and were also heading to join in the battle. Not so, they were still heading away at a steady pace.
‘The man’s a damn fool,’ cried Harry, some of the spirit returning to his voice as he pointed to the oncoming ship. He had no time to give an explanation to Pender, who looked as though he was hoping for one.
Ariel was heading for Bartholomew’s larboard side to reinforce him, instead of attacking the Principessa. That was the final mistake that made Harry decide to stay where he was; Frome was as much of a dunce as the others, giving up the chance to catch Harry between two fires in favour of the security of landing his men on the side of the ship that Bartholomew occupied. The crew of the Principessa would be outnumbered, sure. But if the worst happened and they looked like being overwhelmed, Harry still had an ace up his sleeve.
‘Pender,’ he called urgently. ‘Get back aboard the Principessa. Those cannons are still full of grapeshot. If we start to fall back, wait until we’re clear, and let Bartholomew and his men have the lot.’
Pender grinned, and ran off to obey. Harry kept his eye on the Ariel to make sure that he had judged correctly. She made no attempt to steer for his ship, and he could see clearly that the starboard side was lined with men ready to come to the aid of their friends. Harry threw himself into the fray, calling to Lubeck to redouble his effort. Axes swung harder, pikes jabbed with more venom, and Harry himself swung his sword to deadly effect, going after Tinker since Bartholomew was still safe behind his pikemen.
He heard, rather than saw, the Ariel crunch alongside. The yells seemed to increase for a moment as the two crews united. Then the crowd of sailors before Harry’s men just melted away. They dropped their weapons and leapt onto the deck of the Ariel. Suddenly Harry found he had no one to fight. They had all gone and Frome’s ship was fending off. He hadn’t shortened sail at all, just loosened his brace to take away the force of the wind. Harry had missed that he hauled them tight again, and with the wind coming it on his quarter, and his helm hard down, they started to draw away immediately. The Ariel quickly opened the gap between herself and the Daedalus.
Harry was dumbfounded. He could see no reason for this, for it flew in the face of all logic. Bartholomew leaned over the side of the Ariel and shouted to him, ‘I can’t give you my life, Ludlow. But I leave you my ship. I hope you enjoy your capture.’
Then Bartholomew laughed, and he was joined by the combined crews of the two ships as the Ariel pulled further away. Harry was rooted to the spot, for Bartholomew had achieved the one thing that Harry Ludlow praised above all others in battle. Complete surprise. So total that no one uttered a sound.
He woke up quick enough. He saw the cutter rowing away from the stern, trying frantically to catch the Ariel. They were desperate to get away from the Daedalus, having jumped out of the sternlight windows. Why had they been in there and why had they waited until everyone else had departed to make their escape? Harry’s nose twitched at the familiar smell, knowing it had indeed been a trap. Bartholomew had brought him on, using his own ship to do it, sensing that the mere sight of him would blind Harry Ludlow’s judgement. He yelled for his crew to get back aboard the Principessa, wondering if, in his torpor, he’d left it too late. Men, bemused, were slow to follow. As a matter of course they’d lashed the two ships together as they came a longside. Harry picked up a boarding axe on the run, reached the side of the Daedalus, and started to hack at them with all his might.
‘Pender. Get everyone below,’ he screamed.
Lubeck, not sure why, was hacking at the lashings as well, and they were soon parted. Nothing was happening and Harry looked aloft. Some of Bartholomew’s men had lashed the yards together. He screamed again, this time at the topmen to get aloft and cut them free, and they rushed to obey. His crew behaved quickly, obeying a man they trusted, a man who didn’t think he had time to explain. They might just make it. He was aboard the Principessa himself now, and his heart lifted as he saw the ropes aloft part and the blue water appear between the two hulls as the ships drifted apart.
‘Make sail,’ he yelled, and again he was promptly obeyed. More men rushed up the shrouds to loosen the clewed-up sails. Harry was to regret that command more than anything. For as they reached their stations he heard the first dull boom. He only had time to yell an incoherent warning before he flung himself to the deck. The remaining barrels of gunpowder went up. The side of his ship by his head disintegrated. The blast, coming from below decks on the Daedalus, took the force of the explosion, and all the things it had destroyed, upwards. The Principessa nearly turned turtle as she was blown over on her beam ends. She righted herself, but the counteracting swing was just as bad. Harry had to grab onto a ringbolt in the deck to avoid going over the side. Barrels of gunpowder were still going off. The world was a mass of explosions and flying wood. Blocks and pulleys rained down and the ship was rocking back and forth. Then a sudden silence. Harry hauled himself to his knees. Bodies, and bits of bodies, lay everywhere. His carronades had been blown across the deck and had gone clean through the bulwarks on the other side, leaving huge gaps.
He looked forward, still dazed. His jib and staysails had gone, so had his courses, blown clean out of their bolts and now a tattered mass of holes. He looked up. There was nothing left of his masts above the cap. His topmasts and all the rigging were gone. The men sent up there to set the sails had gone with them. He looked over the side. Not difficult, for there was no side to speak of. The Daedalus was no more, just a hollow hull, like a canoe, slowly sinking into the foaming sea.
Then, as bits of wood continued to fall into the sea and rain onto the deck, the screaming began. Men who’d been stunned by the explosion regained consciousness. Harry looked beyond the remains of the Daedalus to the Ariel, sailing away to the south to join the other ships. The sound of cheering came across the water. He was too wounded to curse Bartholomew. Not physically, for the explosion, going upwards, had passed over his head. But he felt his heart would break to hear some of the screams coming from his mangled crew. And as he looked at his poor ship, he was near to weeping. Standing, he saw Lubeck’s trunk, the axe still tightly gripped in his hands. His head was nowhere to be seen, and Harry, remembering his dream of home and how he played with the children, felt the tears coursing freely down his cheeks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THEY WERE lucky to make the bay. The Principessa was taking a lot of water through a great gash in her side. Harry steered her in towards the sandy beach, conning her round so that she would broach to on her undamaged side. He felt her grind sideways, siding gently into the soft sand. She would settle here if he wasn’t quick. The air was rent by an unholy scream. Fairbairn was down below, up to his elbows in blood, as he tried to treat the wounded. The bodies of the dead had been left where they lay. Saving the ship was paramount. Pender had been sent ashore with a few able-bodied men and a cable, running from the stump of the mainmast, to attach to the nearest thing that would hold the ship in place. Once secure, Harry got two cables out from the stern and the bows, ru
nning at an angle to hold her fast.
The pumps clanked constantly, fighting hard to keep the level of water down. Harry’s first priority was to heave her over so that the gash was above the waterline. Once that was covered, by a tarred sail if necessary, she could be dried out, raised up the beach if she floated, heaved over again, this time with her stores shifted, and the hull properly repaired. And there was always the chance that the Principessa had suffered serious structural damage. A check on that would have to wait until the hold was cleared.
His main problem was a lack of hands. He’d lost a third of his men, and some of the most nimble at that. Most of those remaining had some kind of wound. He found the three eunuchs still ashore, and despite their squeals of protest, he put them to labour on the pumps. To get the Principessa half over, he attached the original cable to a point higher up the broken mainmast, ran it ashore round the base of a well-greased tree, then brought it back to the capstan. Everyone heaved: Harry himself, the three eunuchs, and anyone whose wound had left them with one good arm or leg. The only upright person not involved was the surgeon, still toiling below.
When Harry looked over the side, he realised just how lucky he’d been. With his holds full, the blast had stove in the side, but the planking had run up against a packed shot locker. The metal had held, preventing the water from forcing the seams even further apart, something that would have sunk his ship well out in the bay. A temporary repair was all he wanted for the moment. With the ship further up the beach he could careen her properly, and then, using planking from the squat merchantman still sitting in the harbour, he could effect proper repairs.
The men were exhausted. They needed rest and medical attention. Harry set off for the merchantman, taking the jolly-boat and Pender. He’d rushed below when ordered and had escaped with nothing more than a few bruises. They climbed aboard the deserted vessel and immediately went below. The whole ship reeked of powder. Blankets, which when the ship had been loaded hung wet between the barrels, flapped dryly in the warm air. This was where they’d acquired the means to make their bomb vessel. By the look of the decks and the cabin, the ship had been taken by force, for they were marked with dark bloodstains. Bartholomew must have cleared his hold to accommodate the amount of gunpowder this ship could carry.
But he hadn’t bothered to clear the normal stores out of the merchantman. The sail locker was half full, and there was a good supply of spare timber. They’d taken the food, the drink, and the cargo, but left everything else. Harry went back on deck and looked at the masts. They were not like the ones he’d lost, being shorter and rather stubby, but they would suffice. The Principessa wouldn’t handle like her old self, but she would sail, and right now that was what he required.
Pender had been silent all the while, knowing that his captain was not in the mood to answer questions. But his curiosity finally got the better of him. Being no sailor, he was at a loss to know what their true situation was. ‘How’re we doin’, your honour?’
Harry looked across the bay at the copper, showing clean on the bottom of his stricken ship. ‘He damn near did for us that time, Pender. I underestimated him. If we hadn’t got that bit of air between us and the Daedalus, we’d have ended up at the bottom of the ocean alongside her.’
‘What about now?’
Harry waved his arms to indicate the ship they were on. ‘A choice. We can sail out of here in this. But she’s a bit of a tub, and if we wanted to catch up with Bartholomew …’
Pender couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. ‘Catch up!’
‘Why, yes,’ said Harry, as if any other conclusion was impossible.
His servant sounded like a man trying to control his anger. ‘I’m not one to question your orders, Captain …’
Harry smiled as he interrupted, for the first time since the explosion. ‘Yes you are, Pender. And I’m grateful for it.’
Pender smiled too, showing that set of perfect even teeth. ‘Sometimes you are. But what if I was to question them now?’
‘I still have a score to settle with Bartholomew. If the damage to the Principessa is too great, then we will have to settle for this. But if she can be repaired she’ll get us back to Genoa with more speed. I have to assume that’s where he’s headed.’
‘Seems to me our ship took a right hammering, your honour.’
‘She did. But you’d be amazed at how resilient a wooden ship is. And remember, she’d just had a refit before we bought her, so everything below decks was as sound as a bell. We can rip this ship apart to provide the necessary timber, and though the yards ain’t perfect, they’ll do for a jury rig.’
Fairbairn was bent over Sutton when Harry went below to see him. He’d lost his right arm. The surgeon had removed it and slung it in the barrel to join the other limbs he’d been forced to amputate. Sutton lay, white-faced and sweating, and Fairbairn tied up the ends of the stump.
‘I’m sorry, Sutton. Truly sorry.’ Harry turned to Fairbairn. ‘How many more?’
‘This is the last of the serious ones. I left him because I thought I might save it. But it was shattered completely. As to the rest, we’ve got no end of splinters and other wounds to deal with. I was going to ask if I can get the casualties ashore. That dormitory that held the children looks like just the place to set up a hospital, and being off the ship will help a lot.’
Harry needed as many men as he could muster. But he could not deny that his wounded deserved attention. With a genuine element of compassion he agreed. ‘Make it so, Mr Fairbairn. The boats are at your disposal, as a priority.’
Sutton spat out the leather strap from between his teeth, put there to stop him biting his tongue off in his agony. His voice croaked as he spoke. ‘Not much use now, am I? No bloody arm. I can’t be a dipper or a sailor!’
Harry didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He made his way to his cabin for the first time since the battle. It was in chaos and Pender had just started to clear it up. Papers lay everywhere. Harry saw that Broadbridge’s chest, which had been in the coach, had been blown apart, scattering his bogus share certificates all over the place.
‘What do you want me to do with these?’ asked Pender, holding up a sheaf.
Harry looked at the copperplate writing, and the inviting drawing of a busy, profitable canal. ‘They’ll do to heat the tar. Burn the damn things. And his chest.’
Pender bent down and picked up the pistol and a key. ‘What about these?’
Harry, tired and somewhat dispirited, was quite short with him. ‘Do what you damn well like, man. Throw them over the side for all I care.’
Then he saw the key in Pender’s hand as his servant turned to toss them out of the hole where the sternlight windows had been.
‘A second, Pender. That’s the key to the cabin door.’
‘It ain’t,’ said Pender, with genuine surprise. He looked at it closely, recognizing the heraldic crest on the grip. ‘How the hell did it get over here?’
Harry took it off him. ‘Strange things happen in an explosion, Pender. Look at me, I was on deck, right by the bulwark, and I haven’t even got a scratch.’
Harry walked across to the cabin door. He bent down to replace the cabin key, but it was still in the lock. He stayed bent, casting his mind back to Ma Thomas’s inn. ‘Pender, when we opened Broadbridge’s chest, it had a key in it. Do you remember?’
‘Can’t say I do, your honour. I don’t recall ever looking in his chest after I opened it.’
‘It did, I distinctly remember, though I didn’t pay it much heed.’
Harry stood upright and held up the key in his hand. His servant looked towards the door. ‘So it’s not the door key after all.’
Harry took the key out of the cabin door, laid them both in his palm, and pushed his hand towards his servant. They were of a different size, but not by much. In all other respects they were identical.
‘It’s not this door key, but look. Do you recognise the device?’
Pender n
odded doubtfully. ‘Only ’cause I’ve seen it here in the cabin. I’d no mind to give it attention otherwise.’
‘Did you ever get a look at the knocker on the door of Toraglia’s villa?’
His servant looked totally mystified, so Harry explained. ‘It has the same crest as the key to this cabin.’
Pender and Harry looked down together. Both keys had the heraldic crest of a bird of prey taking a small mammal in its talons. ‘What would Broadbridge be doing with a Toraglia key in his chest?’
‘Does it fit any of the doors in here?’ asked Pender, looking round.
‘Only the main door has a lock, Pender. And look at them. They’re not the same shape. They were made for different locks.’
‘Well if’n it’s the bloke who owned this barky, then he must have given it to him?’
‘They never met. I asked him about Broadbridge. He didn’t have the faintest idea what I was talking about.’
‘So where did it come from?’
Harry was silent for a moment, as a whole host of thoughts filled his mind. Sutton’s words rang in his ears. ‘Did you know that Sutton had lost an arm?’
Pender was surprised by the change of subject. ‘Sutton? Has he, poor sod? Mr Fairbairn had some hopes of saving it.’
‘You said he was a good thief.’
‘Aye. Very nimble fingers. But it’s a dangerous game, that. You stand more chance of getting caught dipping than any other form of thieving. Stands to reason since you’re standing right beside your mark.’
‘He was a pickpocket?’
‘I thought you knew that,’ said Pender.
Harry just shook his head, and put the keys in his pocket. ‘Fairbairn wants the wounded ashore. He’s going to set up a hospital in that dormitory. Let’s leave this and muster who we can. The sooner we get them ashore, the sooner we can get to work shifting the stores.’
Dying Trade Page 35
