Caryl Brett eventually pulled herself free from the dead seaman’s body and dragged herself up to the bows. With wide, terrified eyes she stared along the boat’s length. Men lay in horrible twisted attitudes of the dead and dying. One man lay across the gunwale, his empty eyes staring at the sky. The machine gun had cut him in two, so that his entrails lay across his lap in a grey, pulsating mass. The second mate sat by the tiller, his lifeless hand still pointing at the place where the enemy had dived.

  A figure stirred amongst the carnage, and Simon Gelb rose up from the bottom of the boat like a great shaggy dog. Seeing the girl, her blood-spattered fur coat half up around her waist, he began to wade through the carnage, his face heavy with anxiety. ‘Are you well? Are you hit? Hold on, my dear!’

  A few feet from her he halted and peered down. A tear ran down his fat cheek. ‘Poor bloke! He got his war in the end!’ Mather lay curled up on a thwart, his tiny body broken by the force of the bullets as he had tried to protect the half-drowned girl.

  Gelb reached her and pressed her to his chest in a great bear-hug. ‘Don’t cry, my child. See, another ship is coming! Soon we will be safe!’

  She twisted her head and stared towards the other ship. It seemed huge from the small boat. It was heading straight for her, the sharp stem throwing up the white water with contemptuous ease. If only it would hurry. I cannot hold out much longer . . . Safety. Away from this horror. She retched uncontrollably. The scarlet against the grey of the sea The staring eyes and gaping wounds. This was what Arthur had sneered at. This was that other world she had only half understood. With shocked eyes she watched the great black ship slow down, and saw the boat being lowered down its tall side Safety. Above her now she could see the towering riveted side and the proud Norwegian flag on the plates. And the name. Stella Polaris, bold and clear.

  She forced herself to look again at the lifeboat and its crew of flayed men. Before she fainted she was conscious of a strange unwillingness to leave them.

  * * * * *

  Simon Gelb staggered against the hard gunwale of the lifeboat as the girl went limp in his arms. Her head hung back and he saw that her lips were blue with cold. This was terrible, a nightmare indeed. He could feel his heart pounding in his thick chest like a drum, and was reminded of his own state of shock. I am very out of condition too, he thought. Only forty-five, yet my arms are tearing from their sockets with the weight of this poor girl. He forced himself to look straight across the girl’s head towards the fast-moving boat, which had been smartly dropped into the water by the newcomer. He watched it thoughtfully. He had spent most of his life travelling either to the Continent or to America for his firm, and, to ease the boredom of enforced inactivity which travel brought him, he had trained his eye to notice and observe all that went on around him, unrelated to the world of business. These sailors, for instance. They were not like what you would expect merchant seamen to be in a rowing boat. They pulled so smartly, and their officer seemed too well dressed for a mere deck officer. It was all so very odd. But then nothing had gone right from the moment they had left New York. Re-routed first to the north and then farther south, marking time while the convoy was checked and reassembled countless times. Then the terrible storm, and his own discomfort in a tiny cabin shared with Mather. He had inwardly sneered at Mather when he had told him of his reason for returning to England. To be blinded by some vague ideas of glory or saving the country seemed ridiculous to Gelb. He had always been brought up on the understanding that nothing was worth a thought unless it provided the substance for making money. Now he lay there just behind him. Ridiculous in death, as in life, His little legs drawn up to his chin, and his false teeth giving him an idiotic grin as they gleamed above the splintered remains of his mouth. Poor little man. What a way to die. Gelb wondered if he and the girl were the only survivors. What of her high-minded husband? Had he been killed too? The girl was very interesting, as well as being beautiful. It was quite unreasonable to expect her to stick with a pompous prude like Arthur Brett. He groaned as the sharp gunwale dug into his ample buttocks. What a life.

  He realised that she had opened her eyes and was staring up at him without recognition. He rested her carefully against the side of the boat, but retained his hold on her. He would not allow her to suffer the horror of the boat’s inhuman contents again. ‘Keep still, my child. There is a boat almost here.’

  There was a sharp, guttural order, and the oars stopped rising and falling. The smart white hull swung alongside, and a boat-hook struck down upon the waterlogged lifeboat.

  Gelb swallowed hard, the words dying in his throat. It was too hard to understand. The uniforms, he knew them now. The seamen in their blue caps with the long trailing ribbons. And the name in gold on their cap-bands, S.M.S. Vulkan. What ship was she?

  The young officer, his face grey beneath the smart peak of his cap, shouted across at him, ‘Can you climb over to this boat?’

  Gelb eyed him uneasily. ‘Please, I have a girl here. She is near to collapse. Give me some assistance!’

  Gelb was careful to speak in English, although he spoke better German than some of the seamen who were now within feet of him. They were a wild-looking bunch, who stared past him at the torn bodies, like hounds scenting blood for the first time.

  The officer was rapping out orders. ‘Gottlieb, get that girl aboard. Be careful with her! Schoningen, there’s a man movin in the stern, see to him at once. His legs have gone, I think!’

  Gelb saw the seaman detailed pull a short Mauser rifle from the boat and climb across to the bloody corpse in the stern. He blanched, and then pressed the muzzle against the man’s skull. There was a muffled crack and the man moved slowly along the boat, his boots already smeared with blood. He came to the suitcase, and, without changing his set expression, threw it to Gelb. He indicated with his rifle. ‘Boat! Get in! Understand?’

  Gelb nodded and scrambled after the girl, who was being passed with something like awe from hand to hand until she lay beside the young officer.

  Gelb spoke shakily, aware for the first time of the nausea within him. ‘Why did you shoot that man? Who are you?’

  ‘Orders. We have no doctor aboard. We could only prolong his agony.’ He seemed to jump as a thin drawn-out cry, followed by more shots, sounded across the water. ‘I am an officer of the Imperial German Navy. You are to go aboard the Vulkan, where you will be looked after.’

  Gelb sat down shakily beside the girl. Five pairs of eyes regarded him as the oarsmen bent back to their pulling. The seaman called Schoningen sat in the bows, his rifle at the ready. Twice more he fired into the water, and once Gelb saw a bloodied hand rise from the sea like a final denunciation of the human race.

  A German ship. That was something he could not understand. She was probably a blockade-runner, and yet these were naval men. A raider, then? Yet he had heard that such things had been finished with a year earlier.

  Caryl Brett pressed against him, her lifeless lips moving with difficulty. ‘What are these men? They do not smile. Are they not pleased to find us?’

  Her voice was very low, and Gelb said quietly: ‘They are Germans. I am afraid we are prisoners of war!’ He kept his voice level, yet the effect of the words was electrifying.

  She jerked herself to her feet, her eyes blazing with green fire. ‘Germans? Did you say Germans?’ Her voice rose to a scream. ‘Let me look at one of them!’ She swayed towards the Sub-Lieutenant, who stared at her with alarm. ‘Let me see what a hero looks like!’

  ‘Please, fräulein! It was not our ship which did this thing!’ He held up his hand to steady her, but she jumped clear.

  ‘Don’t touch me! You loathsome creature! How can you bear to be a German? Answer me!’

  The officer looked awkwardly at Gelb. ‘I make you responsible for her until we are aboard! Keep her under control, if you please!’

  Caryl Brett slumped down again on the seat and began to sob uncontrollably, and the officer stripped off his greatcoat. He held it out to Gelb. ‘Please put it on her.’

  Gelb nodded, and slipped it over her shaking shoulders. His eyes gleamed. Perhaps there was hope after all. The important thing was to say little, and keep your head.

  A harsh, metallic voice floated down from the sky. ‘Get that boat alongside! Hurry, man!’

  The officer stared up at the tiny megaphone on the high bridge. ‘Very good, Captain!’

  His voice sounded cracked with strain and emotion, and Gelb looked up at him with interest. Young and inexperienced. He asked carefully, ‘Is your ship a raider?’

  The officer regarded him warily. ‘Yes. Now be silent. I have work to do!’

  They approached the black hull and the swaying boat-falls. The seamen hooked on to the blocks, and within seconds they were moving jerkily aloft until the boat drew level with the ship’s deck.

  The deck space seemed jammed with uniformed figures, and many hands reached out to pull him across the yawning gap. Another boat was being hoisted on the other side, and Gelb saw Arthur Brett and three seamen from the Iolanthe being assisted aboard.

  Another German officer jumped lightly from that boat and ran across towards Gelb. He was a slim, wild-eyed lieutenant, with the same sort of good looks as Arthur Brett. In German he said to the Sub-Lieutenant: ‘Well, well, a woman, eh? How many more of the swine did you pick up?’

  The ship trembled and began to move clear of the floating wreckage while the men were still securing the boats.

  The young officer indicated Gelb. ‘Just him. God, did you ever see such slaughter?’

  ‘That is war! He stared at him with a fanatical gleam in his eyes. ‘There will be more of that before we are done!’

  Caryl Brett hung on to Gelb’s arm, staring at the ring of excited faces. She gasped as a seaman opened the sodden suitcase and pulled some of her clothing on to the deck. He held up a petticoat and grinned. Gelb stepped forward and then collapsed on the deck, his face controted with pain. The Lieutenant had struck him a full blow in the stomach. ‘Stand still! I’ll teach you manners, you swine!’

  The girl helped him to his feet, her face filled with anger and contempt. ‘Why not hit me? Your bravery knows no limit, surely?’

  There was a sudden hush on the wide deck and the men fell back uncertainly. She turned to watch as a slight figure in a salt-stained bridge-coat stepped between the sailors and moved towards her. His short beard did not hide the pain on his face, and he stood looking at her for several seconds. Then, in careful English. he said: ‘I am sorry for what you must have suffered. I have given orders that you are to be well looked after.’

  ‘Are you the Captain?’

  He nodded. ‘I am. Korvetten Kapitän von Steiger.’

  ‘I shall remember that name, Captain. I shall be careful never to forget what you and your countrymen are capable of!’

  For a second she saw the agony mask his remote, gold-flecked eyes, and then a shutter seemed to fall.

  ‘Lieutenant Kohler, take the men to their quarters. Damrosch. Escort this girl to my cabin. I shall not be needing it. See that she has all that she needs.’

  ‘Captain?’ Arthur Brett stepped forward. ‘She is my wife. Perhaps I could be permitted to look after her?’

  Von Steiger regarded him coldly. ‘You will kindly do as I say. Get below!’

  Caryl Brett watched the others being led away and felt a hand on her arm. Damrosch looked past her towards his captain. ‘Shall I put a guard with her?’

  Von Steiger held the girl’s eyes with his own. ‘She has great courage. She also has intelligence, I think. She will not be any trouble.’ He clicked his heels and turned back towards the bridge.

  She allowed herself to be led into the sheltered warmth of the superstructure. The Captain’s quarters weer spacious, yet gave the impression of being unlived-in.

  Damrosch shut the door behind them and indicated the door on the far side. ‘Bathroom, fräulein. A hot bath will do you good. Your clothes have been taken to the boiler-room to dry. When you are ready the Captain’s own steward will bring you food. You will please press that bell there.’ He glanced around the cabin and swayed slightly. ‘The steward does not understand English. Is there anything else you require?’

  She stared at him in shocked amazement. The ship moved smoothly and steadily beneath her, and there was an air of order and security which had been lacking aboard the Iolanthe. This officer looked as if he was going to be sick. He, too, had been shocked by all that he had seen. She did not trust herself to speak, and shook her head. Damrosch nodded, and left the cabin in silence.

  She walked dazedly around the cabin floor. There was a wide bunk and several comfortable chairs. A picture of the Kaiser glared down at her, and over the oak sideboard there was a smaller picture of a little boy waving a toy boat.

  She swayed towards the bathroom and stood looking at herself in the tall mirror. Her hair was plastered to her face and flecked with salt. Her bare legs were caked with dried blood, and the fur coat was also deeply stained in several places. She switched on a tap and watched the steam rising. It was all a weird dream. She would awake in a minute. Or perhaps she had been drowned?

  She slipped off the coat and tore away the last strips of her nightgown. For a long time she stood looking at her naked body in the mirror, shrouded in steam like a pagan goddess. If only Arthur and not Gelb had run to help her, had attacked the man who rifled her suitcase. But no. He had approached the German captain as if nothing had happened. Almost apologetic, even friendly.

  She thought of the Captain, and tried to recall where she had heard of him. Von Steiger. Then she quivered. Von Steiger. She remembered now, the man the New York papers had described as the Sea Tiger. So this was the great raider.

  With her mouth set in a sharp line to stop herself breaking down again, she lowered herself into the cleansing water. She paid great attention to her bath, knowing it was only that which was keeping her sane.

  How simple life had become. Warmth, security and a hot bath. What had she expected? Rape, or sudden death, perhaps? She shied away from the thoughts which surged through her mind.

  After carefully drying her bruised body she put on the long bathrobe which hung from the back of the door, and tied her hair back from her ears with a piece of cord.

  In the cabin she found the white-coated steward, waiting as promised. He bowed and indicated a chair by the table. ‘Eat,’ he said shortly.

  As he moved again through the door she caught a glimpse of a mounted machine gun, and shuddered. It would have been better to have died with the others, she told herself. That she could have understood. She felt unclean in spite of the hot bath, and empty in spite of the food.

  Through the thick scuttle she could see the empty sea far below her and the creaming wake pushed back from the bows.

  These Germans are like wild animals, she thought. They kill and apologise. They give freely, and then take what they want. She thought of von Steiger’s cold eyes and began to shiver uncontrollably.

  * * * * *

  Two decks below his wife, Arthur Brett was escorted with Gelb into a long rectangular compartment, which appeared to have been constructed from a section of cargo hold. It was filled with crudely carpentered bunks, each of which contained a straw-filled mattress and one blanket. Steampipes lined the compartment and filled it with a kind of sweating heat, which in turn mingled with the stench of oil and bilge-water.

  As the two men entered, the sole occupant rose from a wooden stool and stared at them curiously.

  Lieutenant Heuss, who accompanied Brett and Gelb, gestured towards the old man on the stool. In English he said: ‘This is Captain Simpson, of the Cardiff Maid. He will be glad of your company no doubt. He will also tell you what is required aboard this ship in connection with security and your own comfort while you are here.’

  Gelb looked around the bleak space. ‘Does that mean that we might not be aboard very long?’

  Heuss seated himself at the table. ‘Perhaps. You are extra mouths to feed, and as civilians will be entitled to repatriation under my Captain’s conditions, if and when we meet a suitable ship for your transfer.’

  Brett felt the officer’s eyes on his briefcase, which he had retained throughout the terror-filled moments in the lifeboat, These are papers in connection with education. You would not be interested.’

  Heuss sighed wearily. ‘We both know that I am going to see them, so put them on the table. Then turn out your pockets also.’

  Heuss ignored the mingled anger and suspicion in their faces. He was thinking of the drifting lifeboats, and the smell of death which stayed with him. Had his people been changed so much by war? He could not forget the defiance and hatred in that girl’s face, either. She had been right. What did it matter which officer had given the order? It had been carried out with fiendish relish. He had found Damrosch vomiting in the heads. He had waited until he had recovered sufficiently to talk and then pulled him quickly to his cabin. His own hand had shaken as he poured a full measure of schnapps. ‘Here, Max. Drink this.’

  Damrosch nodded dumbly and drank without protest. At length he stammered: ‘It was horrible! I was so wrong about everything. I never dreamed such brutality was possible.’

  Heuss turned the flask over in his hands. ‘I, too, was ashamed to be a German. But, he stared at the other man, his eyes dark, ‘what if we were ordered to fire on helpless survivors?’ He watched the horror on Damrosch’s pale features. ‘I will tell you what I believe, Max. I think that we, too, would obey!’

  Damrosch ran his fingers across his face. ‘I looked into that lifeboat and saw the girl amongst all that broken flesh and blood! I nearly collapsed in front of the men!’ He grasped the edge of the table. ‘That was the weird thing, the men took it better than I.’