Golden Lion (33 page)

ot for the first time, Hal had put his trust in the hands of a man who, until recently, had been his enemy. And once again Tromp proved worthy of that trust, impressing Hal with his seamanship and guiding them through the sandbars and reefs from memory alone. It was high tide and the dangers were for the most part hidden, but Tromp had the memory of a fox returning to its lair. Guiding Mr Tyler at the helm, he took them in whilst Hal and John Lovell kept an eye on the wind in their sails, constantly glancing up to where the Amadoda hung high up at the mast tops ready to take in what little canvas the
Bough
still showed to the wind.

The rest of the crew held their breath, and held their tongues also, their ears straining for the ominous scrape of the
Bough
’s keel on a coral reef. Likewise the soles of their feet on the deck were still as spiders on their silken strings, ready to sense the slightest vibrations that would alert them to the grounding of the hull.

But there was no rumble of thunder from the bowels of the ship. Nor any tremor in the timbers, which had Hal and the officers exchanging relieved looks and nodding to each other in appreciation of that feat of seamanship. These were dangerous waters and it was little wonder that Rivers and his crew had made their base here in the lee of this spur of the island which protruded into the shoals.

‘Ten fathoms, Captain!’ one of the sailors called, hauling the lead back up from the depths and making ready to swing it again.

‘By the mark, seven, Captain!’

‘That’s as far as we go, Captain,’ Tromp said, coming up to Hal and wiping nervous sweat from his forehead. ‘It’s the longboats from here on in.’

‘Thank you, Mr Tromp,’ Hal said, then turned and gave his orders. ‘Get those topsails furled, lads!’ The Amadoda raced out along the yards, as nimble as squirrels in an oak tree.

‘Mr Tyler, drop the anchor. We are as close as we want to be.’ Some two cable lengths of clear, turquoise water lay between them and the white strand, and beyond the beach, no higher than seven feet above sea level, stood a screen of lush vegetation. The settlement, such as it was, must be beyond that.

Hal could not but help admire the choice of such a lair. ‘A passing ship might see that brigantine,’ he admitted, ‘but were she not at her anchorage, this Ilha Metundo would appear as deserted as any of the other islands in the Quirimbas.’

As the
Delft
, too, furled her sails, the
Golden Bough
slowed, her momentum lost so that she began to rock on the easy swell. The anchor splashed into the warm water and the chain sang as it spooled out. The ship
swung gently round before snubbing up on the end of the line and those of her crew that were not employed went over to the larboard rail to get a good look at those folk gathered on the beach ogling the
Bough
.

‘That’s their little armada, eh?’ Hal said, eyeing the handsome brigantine sitting at anchor beside three large dhows and several smaller craft in the sheltered bay.

‘The
Achilles
,’ Tromp said. ‘She might not look the kind of ship to have sea captains shaking in their boots, but she has taken more than her share of prizes.’

‘I’ll take your word for it, Mr Tromp,’ Hal said. ‘I’ll wager she’s fast.’

‘
Ja
, as an arrow,’ Tromp agreed. ‘And her gunners service those demi-culverins and sakers as well as any crew afloat.’

The
Achilles
’s guns were not the eight-foot-long ship-killers of the
Golden Bough
but neither did they need to be. More often than not they would be loaded with grapeshot rather than round shot. ‘It’s in the boarding that Captain Rivers earns his gold,’ Tromp said. ‘His men are devils, Captain Courtney.
Ja
, most crews would sooner jump overboard than fight them.’

Hal considered the pirate captain whom they had come to meet. He knew the name Rivers. Other captains, friends of his father, had mentioned the man. He was a renegade, a Civil War survivor who had fled England and now stalked the Indian Ocean from the Cape of Good Hope to the East African shore north of Madagascar, preying upon merchantmen and slavers as the monsoon winds allowed, regardless of the flags under which they sailed.

‘He’s a killer, Sir Henry,’ Tromp warned him.

‘So I have heard,’ Hal nodded thoughtfully. He was now more dubious than ever about the wisdom of dealing with a cutthroat, an enemy of the English crown no less.

‘But I have an understanding with the man,’ Tromp assured him.

‘Aye, you’re pirates, both,’ Hal said, giving him a flinty eye.

Tromp shrugged it off like water off an oiled sea coat. ‘That thing that two men have in common often becomes the grease that helps turn the wheels of trade.’ Then, seeing Hal’s discomfort, Tromp smiled. ‘Nevertheless, I can see that to you, an honourable English baronet, the idea of dealing with such a man is, what can I say? Distasteful.’

Hal sighed, watching the pirates thronging the beach. He was half tempted to yell at Ned Tyler to weigh anchor, spread the canvas to the wind and take the
Bough
back out into the good, deep, honest water.

‘I cannot help but wonder what my father would think of it,’ he agreed.

‘Leave this business to me, Captain.’ Tromp was trying not to smile. ‘I will deal with Captain Rivers and you will keep your hands clean of the whole thing.’

Hal shot him a sceptical look and Tromp raised a placating hand.

‘Nearly clean, anyway,’ the Dutchman corrected.

Hal looked back to the beach.
We are here now
, he thought,
so let’s get on with it.
But he would do it his way.

‘Mr Lovell, prepare the pinnaces!’ he called. Tromp could place his faith in this Pirate Rivers, but Hal would not trust him one bit. He would not row ashore, into this nest of pirates, in a damned longboat. No, he would go in a pinnace, upon whose gunnels were mounted swivel-guns and in whose thwarts men armed with muskets and lit matches stood ready.

‘Is that him, Mr Tromp?’ Hal asked, though he knew he needn’t have wasted his breath. There was no doubt in Hal’s mind that the tall man with the long greying hair tied back was Rivers. He wore canvas petticoats and a cotton shirt, like almost every other man there, but it was his face and bearing, even from that distance, that betrayed him.

‘
Ja
, that is him.’

‘He will not be pleased with you for bringing a ship like this into his lair. Not only have you shown me the way through the reefs, but at this range I could pummel his
Achilles
to splinters should I so choose.’

‘He might not be pleased with me,’ Tromp admitted, ‘but a vial of the Virgin’s tears will make up for it.’ His eyes sparkled. ‘Such a treasure will sell for a hundred pounds, or gold and silver rupees enough to fill one of your boots.’

Hal gave a sceptical grunt then looked towards his coxswain. ‘Master Daniel, I want forty good men and muskets. And bring up the barrels we took from the
Delft
. Every one, if you please, for I will be glad to see the back of them.’

‘Captain!’ Big Daniel affirmed, then set about choosing the shore party and ordering the Amadoda down to the hold to fetch the reputed relics.

‘Mr Tyler, have the gun crews stand by and keep my telescope to hand. At the first sign of trouble I want you to sink that brigantine and open the gates of hell for those pirates.’

Ned Tyler gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘If any of them rogues and rascals so much as looks at you funny, just fire your pistol and the next thing you’ll see is bits of that ship pouring from the sky like bloody rain, Captain.’

‘Very good,’ Hal acknowledged, and with that he turned and strode across the deck past the busy men to his cabin in order to dress in clothes befitting a baronet, a captain of a frigate as fine as the
Golden Bough
, and a man loyal to the crown of England. And if, by God, this Pirate Rivers played them false then he would pay for it with his life.

‘So, Tromp, why come ye here, then, eh?’ Rivers gestured at a lad who hurried over with his master’s broad-brimmed hat on which lay a white-feathered plume. ‘And in such a fine-looking ship, by God.’ He put the broad hat on so that he no longer had to squint against the sun and its reflection off the sea behind Hal and his party.

Most of the
Bough
’s men stood with the waves lapping their ankles, but four remained on the half-beached pinnaces, manning swivel-guns filled with grapeshot. Aboli stood at Hal’s right shoulder gripping a wicked-looking boarding axe and it was not lost on his captain that the African would look very much at home amongst these rogues and renegades of every colour and creed.

‘She’ll be for me, is she, Captain?’ Rivers asked.

‘Ha!’ Tromp laughed. ‘Even were she mine I would never part with her.’ As Hal held back, biding his time, the Dutchman strode forward to shake hands with the pirate. ‘And captain no more,’ he added without any discernible scrap of embarrassment. ‘I am now second mate of the
Golden Bough
.’ He turned to Hal
.
‘May I introduce our captain, Sir Henry Courtney?’

Rivers turned his blue eyes on Hal, measuring his worth before offering his hand. Hal was reluctant to shake it, for fear that he would dishonour himself and his blood by doing so. He felt Tromp beside him tense, heard his men behind him blowing on their slow match to keep the coals red hot in case the whole thing should go sour.

‘Gundwane,’ Aboli murmured under his breath.

Hal stepped forward and took the pirate captain’s hand. ‘You are infamous, Captain Rivers,’ he said.

The pirate was completely undisturbed by the slight. ‘In my business a bad reputation is worth its weight in ivory, gold, slaves, you name it. A merchantman that does not recognize my ship or my ensign might foolishly decide to make a fight of it.’

He glanced at Tromp. ‘It is rare but it happens. A captain suddenly values his honour above the lives of his men. That is usually the last mistake he ever makes.’ He frowned. ‘But I have heard your name too, Captain. You must be Franky Courtney’s pup. Why’s he not captaining that magnificent ship of yours? Got one even bigger, has he?’

‘My father was killed,’ Hal said. ‘The Dutch settlers at Good Hope falsely accused him of piracy then tortured and murdered him.’

Rivers pointed the stem of his pipe at Tromp. ‘The Dutch killed your father and yet here you are in league with one of them?’

‘Tromp was never involved in my father’s death.’

‘Too busy causing mischief elsewhere, I dare say. Isn’t that right, Mijnheer Tromp?’

The Dutchman shrugged and smiled. ‘Ach, you know me too well, Rivers.’

‘That I do … so why don’t you tell me what brings you here, before I get to worrying that you might be up to mischief now and take those ships of yours for myself?’

‘Do not even think of attempting so rash a manoeuvre, Rivers. My ships’ guns are all loaded, and their crews are standing by them with lit matches in their hands.’

‘You are young, Captain Courtney,’ Rivers said, without the slightest sign of concern. ‘For a boy like you to have a ship like that, well, it’s very impressive. And now I come to think of it, I’ve heard the Arabs moaning about the havoc you wreaked on them in the Red Sea during the Ethiopian War. What was it they named you? El Tazar, meaning Barracuda, wasn’t it?’

‘I fail to see what that has to do with our current situation.’

‘Nothing at all. Just that even a fish like the barracuda, with all those sharp teeth in its mouth, gets caught in a net from time to time. Trapped you might say. Just as you are now?’

‘What do you mean?’ Hal exclaimed, as the boom of one of the
Bough
’s culverins carried across the water.

Hal turned with a start to look at his ship and the smoke plume drifting off from a gun port amidship. Ned Tyler had fired a warning shot and now the reason for it was obvious. A small fleet of dugouts had come round the headland that sheltered the bay and now they were coming up on the
Golden Bough
’s larboard, their crews paddling furiously. Hal counted four canoes, each carrying five or six men, as well as one of the large, heavy, flat-bottomed canoes that the Spanish called a
piragua
crowded with perhaps twenty-five more sailors.

‘They are coming in under our guns,’ Aboli murmured, ‘so Mr Tyler cannot fire on them.’

Hal cursed. Those canoes had come from nowhere and the men in them were armed with muskets whose long barrels were all trained up at the rail of the
Bough
, ready to pour a deadly fire upon her crew. He turned back round to see that Rivers had stuck a massive, basket-hilted sword in the sand so that it stood upright in front of him still quivering slightly. What the pirate said next struck Hal like a kick in the stomach.

‘My quartermaster, Mr Dowling, and his men carry grenades, Sir Henry, and will happily lob them into your ship.’

Either cast-iron balls or glass bottles filled with black powder and lit by a fuse, these exploding bombs would shock, blind and burn the
Bough
’s crew, and Hal shared a look of alarm with Aboli.