Harry was pulled out again, and the door was slammed, plunging the rats back into darkness. Beldeau pushed his swollen face close up. Harry could smell his breath as he spoke. Mustn't get em too worked up, eh, Ludlow. Else there be nowt left for you to fight."

  Bartholomew laughed. Are you a novice, Ludlow, or did you indulge in this sport as a youngster in the West Indies?"

  Harry fought to keep his voice even. I'm not frightened of the odd rat, Bartholomew, if that's what you mean. Just as I'm not frightened of you. Just untie me, and I'll show you. I'll take all of you if you like."

  That amused the man even more. The odd rat? He offers us the odd rat, then says he'll fight us all. I fear you see yourself as a tyro, Ludlow. Put his nose close to theirs, Beldeau, and let's see what kind of hero he is."

  They flung the door of the barrel open again, and this time, as they shoved him through the opening, they lifted his legs so that his head was pointing to the floor. Tinker shoved the light in again, and Harry fought to shrink his body away from what he saw. His head was within inches of the bottom of the barrel, practically amongst the teeming rodents. As the light panicked them again they started to run, but sensing this intruder as the cause of their distress they all tried to bite him. Beldeau and the other man holding him pushed him down till his head hit the floor. Harry felt the teeth start to sink into his neck, head and shoulders. He screamed out in fear, and they hauled him up and out again. Bartholomew was laughing, and as he looked around the grinning faces of the others, Harry's heart sank. There was no mercy in any of the eyes.

  "A novice, I think, Beldeau, don't you? said Bartholomew.

  "Ay, ay, Captain.~ "We'll start him on four. He waved an elegant arm to his rear. We've got a special arena prepared for this, the largest barrel we could find, cut in half so that we can watch. We'll be just above your head if you stand up. I wouldn't do that if I were you, of course, since I for one will almost certainly fetch you a buffet if I can."

  Bartholomew's voice went suddenly ice cold. He was full of hate for Harry Ludlow, though he and God alone knew why.

  "Shall I tell you the terms, Ludlow? We shall put you in the barrel with four rats to start, and you will be allowed the ten minutes to kill them. If they are not dead in the time, I'll string you up from the first hoist I find on the quay side

  "And if they are? Harry croaked.

  "Then you shall have a rest. And after your rest, you shall fight five. Then another rest, and you'll fight six. Then seven, eight, and nine. And if you can still see and are still alive we'll try you on ten."

  "Why should I bother, since you intend to kill me anyway?"

  "You'll bother, Ludlow, he snarled. It is in the nature of man to cling to life. And perhaps I shan't kill you. Perhaps Beldeau's rats will win."

  Bartholomew's voice was filled with mockery. A promise, Ludlow, that I swear I'll keep. If they do win, and you are blinded, I shall let you live. You've had your sport, you bastard. Now I intend to have mine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  They'd slung him in another empty barrel, his hands still tied, while they prepared for their sport. Harry sat in the dark searching his mind for a motive in Bartholomew's behaviour. Perhaps the man was mad. And what did he mean when he said he would string him upon the nearest hoist? That was what had happened to Howlett.

  He had tried to find the door of the barrel as soon as they put him inside, but with his hands tied behind his back that was difficult. Also, in the darkness, he could go round and round the thing without ever knowing when he'd gone full circle. What had happened to the men he'd had with him? Where were they? And what about those on the ship? Would they wonder where he was, or would they just assume he was still at Count Toraglia's villa? They didn't know him well and he hadn't taken them into his confidence about his plans. If he didn't show up, they'd just sit there, eating their way through his stores, and waiting for him to return.

  No one else had any cause to realize he was missing, since he'd transacted his business with the Count. Perhaps if he hadn't sent Pender away. But then, if he kept him around his servant would have been with him tonight, and possibly killed before he came out of the villa. Or worse, captured and in the same predicament as his master.

  Reluctantly he turned his mind to the immediate future. Harry had seen rat-fights on board ship. The usual practice was for a man to poke his head down the hawse hole, and try to do them one at a time as they climbed the cable. Only once had he seen it done the way they operated in the tap-room, and that had been in the West Indies. Bartholomew's slight twang sounded as though it could be his birthplace. That set off another train of thought. Harry's father had held the command in the West Indies for three years, and had enjoyed a degree of success in suppressing the actions of the Caribbean privateers, who, out of sight of authority, behaved more like pirates. Was Bartholomew one of them, for he was of an age with Harry, who'd been a midshipman when his father held that post?

  He tried to remember every word that Bartholomew had said, every look and every gesture. He could recall no overt enmity. But then would Bartholomew expose it if it was there? He'd been rude to James, much more than he had to Harry. Was that because he disdained to be polite to an obvious lubber, or was it the Ludlow name?

  It was too much of a coincidence surely, that someone Harry's father had harmed twenty years ago should be seeking revenge on the son. Then his mind turned to Broadbridge. Did Bartholomew think Harry had killed him? Again Harry ran the events of the last two days through his mind, desperately searching for a motive, for if he could find it, he could plead his innocence. Then, perhaps, he could persuade them to let him go.

  Sounds outside the barrel forced his mind back to the rats. It was the kind of thing youngsters talked about in the midshipman's berth, pretending an ability they didn't possess. But he'd had it from some of the older hands. He knew, hands tied, there were only two ways to kill them. One by tossing them like a terrier, thus breaking their necks. The other needed sheer brute strength to crush them between your teeth. Neither prospect was very inviting. Yet, for all Beldeau's boasting, rats were timorous creatures unless cornered, preferring to run rather than engage anything larger. Harry had caught enough of them as a lad. He'd fattened them up and eaten them. Sometimes he'd sold them to his messmates, to assuage the endemic hunger that afflicted every youngster aboard a man-of-war. But trapped rats could be vicious, and he was sure that Beldeau knew, from experience, how to make a rat feel that sole means of escape was to fight.

  The door, which turned out to be right by Harry's right arm, was flung open. As the head came through Harry butted the man. He felt a sharp pain, and wondered if he hadn't done himself more damage than his opponent. But the other fellow yelled, grabbed his head, and pulled it back out of the barrel, leaving the door ajar. Harry was through in a flash, scrambling out, tripping over the step at the bottom. He fell heavily and rolled, trying to get to his feet. The boot caught him just behind the ear as he got to his knees, and he was knocked sideways, his head reeling. Another boot caught him in the ribs, before hands got hold of him to drag him to his feet.

  "Let's not be too violent, gentlemen, or we will deny our rats a worthy opponent.

  Bartholomew's words calmed the men holding him, and they pushed their charge towards the sound of the voice. Harry shook his head to clear his brain, before looking up. Bartholomew, along with a dozen others, was standing on a raised platform which ran round the outside of a huge wine barrel. They pushed him up on to this step, so that he could see inside. It had been cut in half, and the bottom formed a compact arena.

  "We have provided you with a good quantity of sand, said Bartholomew. After all, we would not wish you to suffer from pained knees."

  Everyone else in the room laughed at this, and Harry heard the sound of coins as they placed their bets on him succeeding or dying. He looked at Bartholomew, whose eyes had returned to their half bored, half amused way of drooping indifference.

  "Why?"

  "You don't know, Ludlow?"

  "No, I don't. And I would dearly like to."

  The place fell silent, as though Harry wasn't the only one waiting for an answer. Bartholomew leant forward, and spoke to Harry alone. No, Ludlow. Now now. But rest assured, just before you die, I shall whisper it very softly in your ear.

  He raised his voice. Now come, and have a good look at your opponents.

  Harry looked down into the arena. Four large rats scurried about, fruitlessly looking for somewhere to hide. Their panic seemed to increase with the noise around them, as all those in the room crowded on to the step to see.

  "Beldeau assured me that they're famished. You can of course refuse to take them on. I shall start my watch and give you the command to jump in. If you don't and the ten minutes elapse, I shall, regardless of how it disappoints my fellows, take you out into the street and hang you."

  Harry pushed himself up on to the edge. Hands still held him and he pressed back against them, using that to keep himself upright. He saw Crosby across the other side of the barrel, and the malignant grin that he gave in return was enough to convince Harry that he was looking at the cause of his misfortune. Crosby made a show of exchanging money with his neighbour. Harry's own money! Fairhairn stood behind him, making no attempt to peer into the arena. He looked ill, but, there again, he always did.

  The men behind, still holding him, were grinning, sensing his fear, and were quite happy to hold him there for a while. But they wouldn't do it once Bartholomew started his timing, and if Harry didn't jump, they'd probably push him. He looked down at the rats. Two of them had stopped running, and instead were scrabbling in the sand trying to find a place to hide. Perhaps they sensed danger too. Who could tell?

  "On the count of three, Ludlow. Bartholomew tallied off the number, and Harry, after he had said three, hesitated for a fraction of a second then leapt into the barrel, straight for the burrowing rats. He tried to get two of them but one was too swift, scurrying away from his foot. But the other, intent on digging, sensed his approach too late and he landed on it with his right foot, the entire weight of his body crushing the creature beneath him. He knew he had to be bold, to take the initiative, for it was a major challenge to kill three rats in ten minutes, and he didn't doubt Bartholomew's words. The man would hang him. Staying alive was imperative. There was always the chance of escape, but the end of a rope was no way out of this. He dropped to his knees and went straight for the rat he'd missed, calculating that it was the least ferocious, since it had tried digging to escape the noise above.

  The barrel was a problem, because he really needed a corner where he could box them in. The others had got as far away from him as possible, and he dived across the sand pit to try and pin his target, cracking his head on the side of the barrel. He felt the fur of the animal slip through his teeth, but he just managed to get a grip on its tail as it tried to escape. The rat spun round and bit at his cheek,

  but Harry pulled himself up and swung the rat at the side of the barrel trying to stun it. It took him four attempts and he suffered four painful bites before he got it right. The rat went limp, dazed but not dead. He could hear the yelling of the crowd in his ears, some egging him on, others braying for the rats to go for his throat. He stood up and stamped on the dazed rat as it lay in the sand, crushing its head. Almost at the same moment he was boxed around the ears, only remembering as he fell Bartholomew's strictures about standing.

  As Harry crawled across the pit on his knees, towards the two remaining rats, they didn't run. They stood their ground, their small glittering eyes holding his. He went for the one on his left, thumping his head on the barrel again as he missed. It didn't try to escape. Instead the rodent bit into his chin and held on. Harry shook his head like a terrier, trying to dislodge it. He managed at cost of half an inch of skin, and as it fell he followed it down, his mouth closing around its neck. Again he shook his head like a dog, and he heard the bone break and the animal go limp. A perfect kill.

  There was no time to feel triumphant. He set off after the other one. It ran around the barrel, occasionally turning to confront him, but always slipping away as he attacked. He made a false lunge, and as it ran off he threw his whole body at it, trying to trap the creature between his back and the wood. Success, but at the cost of more flesh and blood, as the rodent trapped beneath him sought to escape. He pressed hard, forcing his body against the barrel despite the pain. Then he rolled over to attack. The rat, weakened by the crushing it had endured, was too slow to get away. It was in his teeth, but he'd missed the vital neck. Harry bit down hard, and he felt the warm blood run over his mouth and the rat struggled frantically in its death agony. When it was still, he stood up, and spat the creature at Bartholomew.

  If he'd hoped to dent the man's malice he was sadly disappointed. Bartholomew merely looked at. his watch, and pronounced that Harry had seen off the four rats in six minutes. Some cheered, others groaned. What upset Harry, as he looked through the haze that covered his eyes, was the way Beldeau was smiling at him. That lopsided grin told him that the rats he'd just fought were not his best. He would have stronger, bigger, and perhaps hungrier rats to come.

  "I think decency allows for a short break, Ludlow. We shall return you to your abode, while we go and have a wet."

  Harry was back in the dark again, and he heard the sound of voices fade away. He dragged his mind away from thoughts of the wounds he'd suffered, though they nipped like the devil, trying instead to think of ways to get out of this trap. But on another level his mind was also working on ways to kill rats, for he had no doubt he'd be back in the pit before long, and this time with five rats to fight. He wouldn't get the chance to kill the first one in the same way. He knew they wouldn't allow him the opportunity. But that action with his body had proved a success, and if he could get them by the tail he had the chance to dash their brains out.

  Again he cast his mind back, trying to recall if he'd ever heard anyone telling him how to do this. People talked of such things without ever having experienced it, so their information was, at best, second-hand. But it was generally held that there was a way of fixing rats with a stare, a method that froze them just long enough to give the man a decided advantage. But he had a vague memory that this was accompanied by a serious risk, for if you fixed the rat with your eyes, when they attacked, that's the part they went for. So be it. For he had to survive, and however many rats he fought and killed, and however many bites he sustained, that was paramount.

  The sound of voices coming back alerted him, and he wondered how long they'd been gone. Not long enough for him to achieve anything in the way of an escape. He had no way of calculating the time. But it must be the middle of the night. It had been after midnight when he left the di Toraglia villa. Surely that was a couple of hours ago? These men, regardless of how much they liked this sport, had to sleep sometime. If he could just get through to that point, it would at least give him a longer period of peace. Then he might be able to do something about getting away from here. A slim hope, but in such a situation you grasp what you can.

  The door was opened again, this time cautiously. Harry waited for them to come and get him, resisted them as they dragged him out, and made his way as slowly as possible towards the pit. He was glad to see that his audience was in no hurry. They were still drinking, placing their bets, examining him, then looking into the pit before exchanging odds. Bartholomew stood in the same place, his watch in his hand. Harry climbed up on to the step, making a great show of weariness.

  "I insist upon a fair contest, he said.

  Bartholomew raised his eyebrows in surprise, as though Harry was in some way insulting his integrity. Given what he was about, Harry wondered if the man was sane. I have no way of knowing if you watch is accurate.

  Bartholomew gave a small laugh. If I didn't despise you, I'd admire your effrontery, Ludlow. I wonder how Mr. Hunter of Bond Street would take it, hearing you questioning the accuracy of his timepiece."

  "You say it's a Hunter? snapped Harry.

  "Do you doubt it? Bartholomew shoved the watch under Harry's nose, which allowed him to see that it was near three o'clock. At best, he calculated that the first fight, from taking him out of his confinement, to the start of this one, must run at near an hour. If he could drag them out, it would be daylight before he had to fight seven rats. With the drink and the smoke in the room, plus the time, there was some hope that his audience would tire. Then he realized with a shock what that meant. He would have to fight one more rat than the negro, and that fellow, an expert, took eight minutes to dispatch six of them.

  "Given your undoubted talents at this sport, Ludlow, we've decided to bring matters forward a little."

  Harry turned away from Bartholomew~ s smile and looked down into the pit, which had been cleared of the dead rats, and raked over to hide the blood. Now it contained seven rats, much bigger than the ones he'd already killed. Was his imagination exaggerating their size? More to the point, they were still, watching each other rather than the crowd above. It was the stillness of a threatened attack, not of fear, and Harry knew that these were some of Beldeau's finest. Large, vicious, and already cannibals of their own kind. He also knew that protest would be useless.

  The level of sound was rising as the wagers were agreed. Harry was hoisted on to the barrel this time, and thrown in as soon as Bartholomew gave the signal. He went straight down on his knees to avoid the blows being aimed at his head by those who'd bet against him. That wasn't the only thing different. These creatures didn't wait. Three of them, starving and smelling blood, went for him right off, one catching him in the arm, and another on the back as he bent forward to engage the third. This rat froze and stared at him. Harry could feel the pain as the other rats bit him repeatedly, but he ignored it and held the gaze of the one he was facing. Two seconds can seem like a lifetime at a moment like this, and they gazed, the man and the rodent, into each other's eyes. The rat suddenly leapt for his left eye. Harry jerked his head, and with what could only have been luck, caught the animal. He didn't stop moving and the jerk of his head that broke its neck was one continuous action.