"Barbaric, he said. Fetch me some clean water and some cloths. If there are any spirits about fetch them too, we must clean up these wounds."

  Pender disappeared to search the ship. Harry passed out, and slept through Fairhairn's ministrations, just as he slept through the arguments on the deck of the Principessa when the Dido came alongside. Lubeck threatened to throw a couple of the least willing over the side, but it was the moment when Pender floored Sutton that turned things, for he'd been the most vocal in his objections.

  They got the Dido under way again, heading out for the open sea. The Principessa was up with them in no time, and the two ships headed out into deep water. The land dropped away behind them and they sailed on through the morning, at no great speed for their pace was set by the slower ship. Harry slept on, unaware that Fair-hairn, having raided the sail maker locker, was busy stitching him up. Pender, seeing the needle in the surgeon's hands, was no happier to watch this being done to someone else, so he removed himself.

  Harry woke just before noon. His throat was as dry as a bone, and when he tried to speak no sound emerged. Fairhairn must have heard something for he came into the cabin. He held a cup to Harry's lips, letting him drink slowly.

  "We're at sea?"

  "Yes. We lost sight of land about an hour ago."

  Harry started to sit up. Is anyone in pursuit?"

  The surgeon, his hands on the patient's shoulders, shook his head. You need to rest, Captain Ludlow. I have rarely seen anyone in such a state of collapse. You didn't even move when I stitched the skin over your eye. There are others to take care of the ship."

  Harry pushed the surgeon's feeble arms aside. Rest? I've no time for that, Mr. Fairhairn."

  As he moved to get out of the cot, all the aches and pains seemed to well up together. Forcing himself to sit up, Harry swung his feet on to the floor with a look of pain and ran his hands over his face and neck. He felt the stitches that Fairhairn had used, touching them gently.

  "Thank you. I must have been quite a sight."

  "You were at that. In fact you still are. Fairhairn almost smiled. Funny how the attempt made him look sad.

  "I owe you my life, said Harry.

  "Had I known those fellows were about, I could have safely left you. Now he did look miserable, shaking his head slowly. I didn't mean to actually kill him, you know."

  Harry put his hand on the surgeon's arm so as to pull himself to his feet. It was no more than he deserved, sir. I wouldn't give it a second's thought."

  "But then you're not me, Captain Ludlow. My job is to save life, not take it."

  "Then the slate is even, Fairhairn, for as I say, you saved mine. Harry made his way out of the cabin on to the sunlit deck. He looked over the rail and saw the Principessa sailing easy on the larboard quarter. If he needed anything to raise his spirits that was it. That and some sustenance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The two ships were lashed together, with the pumps clanking away on the Dido to rid her of the water in her hull. They shifted most of her stores into the Principessa, especially the powder and shot. That had raised her slightly, but she was in such a state she was making water whilst stationary. Harry had been down in the hold to have a look at her knees and cross bracings. They were so rotten that he could poke his finger through the wood. It made what he proposed to do both a necessity and a pleasure.

  Shifting the guns took till mid-afternoon. They struck the four-pounders down to the hold, replacing them with the Dido's twelve-pounders, and located the four carronades amidships. Given the weight of metal proportionate to the Principessa's hull, too many broadsides could damage the ship. But Harry had in mind a more staggered form of attack, never firing more than one carronade at a time. Yet he knew if he got close enough to Bartholomew he'd let the whole lot go and damn the consequences. Every time Harry conjured up that face in his mind his blood boiled and he had to divert himself with something physical to calm down.

  Did Bartholomew and his fellow captains know about these guns? If not, he would have a distinct advantage, for the carronades, known as smashers, fired a large ball over a small distance. At the right range they were lethal to a ship the size of those he intended to engage. He would soon know by the way they behaved. His first priority was to weld his crew into a half-decent fighting machine. They cast off the Dido and let her drift away to leeward.

  He was short of hands, but Bartholomew was shorter still; even distributing the hands from the Bella left him with fewer men per ship than Harry mustered on the Principessa. Each of the twelve-pounders, nine feet long, required eight men to fire them. One side alone took up forty men, with five men each to man the two carronades, leaving precious few people to sail the ship, supply the guns with powder and shot, carry out emergency repairs, and remove the wounded. If Harry had been sailing fresh from home, he would have more than doubled the crew.

  First he had them run the guns in and out, and practise loading them. This allowed each man to become familiar with his team, and by moving men about Harry took what started as a farce and produced some semblance of order. The nimblest men were on the carronades, since he had one simple plan. To get close to his enemy, do as much damage with his cannon as possible, disable the others, then board and take Bartholomew's ship.

  Men get bored with pretence; they like to hear the sound of real gunfire. Harry obliged, letting them fire away as much as they pleased. With what he'd loaded himself, added to the large quantity of shot he'd taken out of the Dido, he had more than he could decently store. Only in the balls for the carronades did he need to show caution. But he'd put the best men on those, and they needed the least practice.

  The guns roared out one at a time, and Harry watched the men as they reloaded, stepping in to advise them of ways to speed it up. Having done this with each gun he moved on to rolling broadsides. It was no good expecting people to manage this by sound, because in battle they wouldn't hear any shouted orders. The gun captain had to time his fire to the man before him, with Harry or Lubeck giving the order for the first gun to fire its second shot.

  The sea around the Principessa boiled as round after round was fired into it. Harry then made up a target on a raft so that they would have something to aim at. After a period of firing from a stationary position, he tried firing on the move. The men were now black from head to foot and smoke rolled over the ship as she bore down on the raft and fired. It wasn't perfect, for the target still floated, but they had got close enough to satisfy him. Harry hove to, for it was time to make a speech.

  "Gentlemen. We don't know each other. But I've watched you today, and you've had a proper chance to look me over. I expect rumours are flying about because of what happened last night, so I'd better tell you what I intend. For reasons I can't fathom, Gideon Bartholomew wants me dead. He chose a way of doing it that lacked any Christian feeling. Any of you that have spoken to the lads that got me out will know what I mean."

  A shudder of fear and disgust rippled through the assembled hands.

  "I don't know what Bartholomew is about. All I know is that he's making a mint of money. I intend to take it off him, and I won't lie to you, I intend to kill him as well. It would be nice to pretend that the odds mean nothing, but that would be a downright falsehood. I will say this, though. I'll take a wager that I'm as good a sailor as any in that little fleet, and I'll also wager that this ship, the Principessa, can out sail the lot of them."

  "So you intend to fight them all?"

  Heads turned and Harry looked to see who'd spoken. It was Sutton. He had a badly swollen black eye where Pender had clouted him, and Harry's servant made to move forward again. Harry couldn't understand what had happened to Sutton to change him so, for he'd seemed willing enough to join early on, though he'd proved work-shy. Now he seemed to be making every effort to undermine him.

  "I won't fight them all at once, Sutton."

  "They might not give you any choice.~ Harry smiled. I'm not fool enough to leave them the option."

  "So you say, Sutton sneered.

  Harry looked slowly around the assembled faces, full of doubt. ~What if we can take just one of them, and find out what they're about? If we could get to their rendezvous before them, we could steal their money from right under their noses."

  That pleased his crew, for there was much grinning and digging in the ribs. But Sutton wasn't to be mollified. Seems to me that you're more bent on getting Bart. Seems to me that you'll get us all killed just for that."

  Harry decided it was time to gamble. They were either with him or they weren't. If not, he'd rather have them off the ship. Anyone who wants to, can leave the ship. The Dido is over there. She might be a tub, but she'll float long enough to get you to where you want to go.

  It was subtle, for in truth they had nowhere to go but back to the Navy. Harry made his final pitch. Those who're going get over to the entry port. Those who are staying best get below for their dinner."

  There was much murmuring and quiet argument, as people traded the prospect of Harry's offer. Money and the risk of death, against what they could expect from the Navy, which was the risk of death and no money. Harry could see that he was winning. Sutton looked set to speak again. Harry called to him to cut him oW swinging his arm to indicate the Dido.

  "I think your ship awaits you, Sutton."

  The man walked towards the entry port. He'd boxed himself into a corner which no one wanted to share, and Harry admired the way that, left with no choice, he didn't plead or whine, but took the only decision he could. Time to get the poor sod off the hook.

  "You'll have a devil of a job sailing it by yourself. And I better warn you that I intend to use it for target practise in about half an hour. And if it's any help to you, Sutton, I would like you to stay."

  Someone laughed, but it wasn't derision, for a couple of other grabbed him, jostled him playfully, and dragged him below. Pender smiled at him. Neat, your honour. Very neat."

  They put the Dido under topsails and lashed the wheel. Harry stood on the deck of the Principessa as the ship came about for its run in. Not the real thing, with no return fire. But it would cheer up the men no end, and when they came to face a real enemy, he hoped that their spirits would be as high as they were at this moment.

  The Principessa bore down on the Dido. Harry gave the order to open the gun ports, load, and run out. All went smoothly, and the men leant over their guns with a keen air. As they came abreast Harry gave the order to fire on the upward roll. The nearest gun went off, and there was loud cheer as the ball smashed into the side of the Dido. Then the second gun, which missed its timing. Cries of derision erupted as it sent a spray of water over the Dido's side. This was followed by the first carronade, and one of the Dido's gun ports disintegrated. The ball carried on, just missing the mast, and taking out the bulwark on the other side of the deck as well. The second carronade put a ball clean through the hull. The Dido staggered as though some great hand had grabbed it, and they could hear the sound of tearing timbers below decks, even at two cables. Wood flew off the mainmast from the next shot, more of the side was damaged by the next, and the last one, poorly aimed, went past the bows.

  Harry put the ship about once they'd head reached the Dido, and the men rushed to the other side to repeat the manoeuvre. Shot after shot went home. Holes appeared in the side, and after several passes the bulwarks were a jagged mess. Next he had them shooting bar shot at the rigging, and that was in tatters after two passes. The Dido wallowed in the swell, with no way left on her.

  No more carronades, she wouldn't stand it. He kept up the firing with the twelve-pounders, pass after pass, shot after shot. The Dido started to settle in the water, every shot into her hull opening a dozen seams. The guns were hot and the men were tired, with the sun dipping into the western sea. Still she floated. He decided on one more pass. Then he would house the guns for the night.

  He bore down, bringing his ship in close. This time he did include the carronades. The rolling broadside was now well practised, though far from the perfection he loved. But what he had was enough. The balls crashed into the other ship sending wood flying in all directions. Then the carronades spoke. This time they must have hit something mortal, for the Dido split in two. The men cheered as if they'd just won a great fleet action. Harry ordered all to be made secure, as he put his ship about, and leaving the wreckage of the Dido littered across the ocean, headed back for the approaches to Genoa.

  "I wonder if it would be possible for you to put me ashore somewhere?"

  Harry looked up from his plate at Fairhairn. The surgeon was in a terrible way. He hadn't touched his food. His gaunt face had a hunted look, and every so often he would clutch at his stomach as if in the grip of some deep pain. He was desperate to feed his opium habit, and the means to do so lay back at Ma Thomas's. Harry would have been reluctant to let him go anyway, for he was heading into a fight, and a surgeon aboard was a great comfort to the hands. But he had no intention of putting him ashore so that he could head right back to the inn, driven by his habit. For a man like Fairhairn, in the grip of something so cruel, secrecy would be sold for a taste of opium. But it wasn't just that. He owed Fairhairn his life. The man had killed to save him, causing himself great distress in the process. Perhaps there was something Harry could do to return the compliment.

  "No, Mr. Fairhairn. I cannot put you ashore. I don't have either the time, nor the inclination."

  "You must, he gasped.

  "No. I have a fight on my hands, Mr. Fairhairn. The surgeon grabbed his stomach again, and his lank fair hair fell over his face and he shot forward in pain. So it seems do you. Let's pray that we both win."

  Harry sat with him that night, holding his hand and talking to him. He gave him some tobacco to chew, which helped a little. At times Harry had to hold him physically on the cot, and for someone so thin and wasted he showed surprising strength. In the end, much against his will, he had to strap him down, so that he could get some sleep himself. As he came into the main cabin, Pender poured him a cup of coffee.

  "It will get worse. I don't want to restrain him, but I'll have to tonight. From now on we take turns."

  "God forgive me for saying it, Captain, but what he needs is something to do."

  Fairhairn lay in the coach tortured by his obsession, screaming for relief, while Harry in the sleeping cabin dreamt of rats trying to tear out his throat, and the unholy cries from his nightmare were every bit

  as unnerving as those of the surgeon.

  Yet Harry Ludlow was clear-eyed enough at sun-up the next morning. He sat on the foremast cross trees his telescope trained on the distant harbour of Genoa. They beat to and fro all morning, watching ships heading in and out of the port, speaking none, and ignoring all enquiries. They'd have to risk Bartholomew picking up news of his presence. But Harry reckoned if he had a rendezvous, then he would keep it. After all, he outnumbered Harry Ludlow by five to one.

  They'd just turned the glass on the afternoon watch when he spied his quarry, all five of them coming out of the roadstead in an untidy line. He turned his glass on to the Bella, easy to spot with her single long mast, genuinely amazed that she been made ready to sail. Harry had the impression that she was labouring. He took them in turn, watching each. ship for a while to see how they handled. Bartholomew's ship Daedalus was in the centre, for all the world like a commodore, and ably handled. The wind was foul and they had to tack out of the bay, a manoeuvre Bartholomew carried out better than his consorts. Looking at the sails, he could see that Daedalus was the fastest ship. He had reefs in his courses and topsails where some of his fellows had none, sailing more slowly than he needed to to maintain the line.

  It was plain to see that the Bella, second in the line, was keeping them back. She had sails going in and out every few minutes, as she sought to increase her speed a fraction, and a steady stream of water shot from her side, evidence that the pumps were working flat out. The ship ahead of her was not faring much better, despite being undamaged, and Harry, looking at her lines, and the setting of her sails, marked her out, for she was capable of better. It was her captain that let the ship down, for his ship-handling was a mess. He guessed, from what he'd been told, that she must be Cromer. Apparently her captain, Pilton, was a buffoon. The ones astern of Bartholomew, Mercury and Ariel, looked to be much better sailors, and much better ships.

  They were well out of the lee of the land now, and as they turned south the wind favoured them and they increased speed. Harry, knowing he would now be able to see them from the deck, slid down the backstay and gave the orders to set more sail, bringing his ship round on to a converging course. They must have had a lookout on him, for Harry heard the sound of a gun, and he saw a puff of smoke from Bartholomew's ship. They edged closer together, to afford each other more protection.

  Harry grinned. Bartholomew couldn't realize how much he had ( revealed. They weren't going to commence any action, leaving him the initiative. Bartholomew would reckon on Harry going for the slowest ships, which is why he'd placed them ahead. As Harry engaged he could come up to assist, helped by those astern of him going wide, hoping to catch Harry in a trap from which there would be no escape.

  But Harry didn't want to attack his slowest ships, and that was another thing Bartholomew had inadvertently told him. If he'd brought out the Bella, slowing his whole line to accommodate her, that meant that he needed the ship for some reason. Very well, let him keep her, for the very lack of speed would be to Harry's advantage. These men sailing in convoy was one of the things that had nagged at him.

  Whatever they were about to do required all their ships. And if that need was strong enough, Bartholomew would stick with it. If he did, Harry Ludlow would have an easier task picking off his best ships. For one thing was certain. If those two lead captains tried to come about to engage him when he attacked the rear ships, they would probably miss stays. Given their rate of sailing compared to Harry's they would most certainly miss the battle. The odds had fallen from five to one down to three to one. Harry fully intended that before the day was out he'd have reduced them further.