Gentleman Captain (39 page)

He saw me at that moment, and seemed to smile. I lifted my voice trumpet, and shouted, 'Give fire!'

The after half of our larboard battery fired. It was better than our dumb-show practice off Islay. Our fire was almost together, and a grey cloud of smoke drifted back over us. The shroud parted a little, and Roger d'Andelys called out eagerly.

'You have hit her, Captain! Bravo,
mes braves!
'

But Kit Farrell was studying the
Republic
too. 'A little damage to her rigging. Some shot through her mainsail. A couple of balls in the hull. She's hardly scratched, Captain.'

I could see Godsgift Judge with his sword raised. I looked down at my deck, at the men of my ship. They, and I, were about to die. Judge's sword arm fell, and with one almighty roar, the gates of Hell opened.

I was blind a moment before I was deaf, and that a moment before I was dead.

The
Republic
's starboard broadside, fired all in unison, was truly a thing from Hell. Flame and smoke bellowed from twenty-two great guns. The roar of their fire outdid any thunderclap I have ever known. I felt the breath of God, rushing past my face. There was pain as my ears perished, sending their death throes burning down my throat. My senses fled. I could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. This was death, and I was gone. The arms of two angels were bearing me to heaven.

A bald, familiar angel said, 'He's not hit.'

A French angel said, 'Stunned by the ball, Monsieur Musk. Missed him by a breath.'

The angels carefully lifted me and leaned me against a saker. Slowly, my vision cleared. Musk stood over me,
le comte
beside him. Behind them, I saw nothing but carnage. Our maintopmast leaned at an impossible angle. Much of our rigging was torn. I looked down, and through the smoke I could see our larboard rail broken. There were great holes in the upper deck. At least three guns were gone. The deck was red with fresh, thick blood. Polzeath and Treninnick were attending to Trenance, or what was left of him, for I recognized only the head and torso of the tall, thin man who had once helped save my life. James Vyvyan stood amidst it all, bloodied from a great gash in his head, giving orders.

I propped myself up a little higher, and through the largest gash in the decking peered down into the steerage. Half the whipstaff was gone, and the helmsman with it. Kit Farrell held what remained of the whipstaff, and cried that despite all, including Penbaron's forebodings, our rudder still answered. I saw an arm lying in its own blood, a little way from a severed leg.

Musk noticed my gaze. His voice was muffled–for my ears refused to hear as they had–but I could make out the words. 'All that's left of Master Landon, God rest his canting soul.' Thus were realized Malachi Landon's dire forebodings from his reading of the heavenly charts.

I stood, staggered a little as my balance returned, and called out to my lieutenant, who was ordering men to clear fallen rigging and thus free our battery.

'Mister Vyvyan! Return their fire, each gun as it bears!'

Julian Carvell's gun crew responded to the command at once, along with two guns on the deck below. I heard Stanton screaming exhortations to the men and thanked God that my officers proved themselves better in a fight than they did over the dinner table. But they were the only guns that fired from the
Jupiter,
and Godsgift Judge had his sword raised once more. We could not bear another broadside, not so soon...

Republic
fired again.

There was the same stench of gunpowder, the same great flash, the same thunderous noise. But no shot came close to me. The
Republic
had made a little headway since her previous broadside, and this next was fired on her downroll as she rocked a little in the breeze. The best part of twenty-two cannon balls struck our hull lower down, at the main deck.

I sent a boy to report on the damage, but he did not return. I cried my next set of orders to Vyvyan, then ran down to the main ladder from the steerage to the main deck.

If my immortal fate is to spend all eternity there, then I have no fears of Hell. For I have seen worse.

The main deck of the
Jupiter
was a world torn asunder. Four or five great holes had been smashed through the hull, and the wood thus displaced had turned into the most hellish of weapons. A man staggered toward me, a great shard of oak protruding from his throat. He fell, and blood gushed at my feet. Beyond him, I could see only dimly through the smoke, but I could hear the groans of the dying and the wounded. Men called for help, for their mothers and sweethearts. Cannon lay across the deck at unnatural angles. Trapped beneath the nearest one I could see three men; or parts of them, anyway. Hands and heads lay in pools of blood. Entrails spread across the deck. One of Stanton's mates came to me, saluted properly, reported that the entrails belonged to the gunner, and burst into tears.

I vomited onto the deck.

A carpenter's mate came up, saluted, and reported that we were holed more than once between wind and water. Penbaron had men at the pumps, but someone would have to go overboard to stop the leaks with a plug doused in oakum and tar. I recovered myself and sent the man back with his captain's word that when the fight was done, and a man could be spared, the leak could be plugged. Inwardly, I was not confident that in an hour there would be any men left to spare, nor any ship to mend.

Francis Gale appeared at my side, I know not whence. He was streaked with blood and dirt, but his bearing gave off strength and purpose and I was glad to see him. 'We have still enough men standing to fight this deck, Captain. But another broadside or two, and we'll be finished.' He was all warrior now, sword in hand; Gale was fighting his enemy once again, and glad he was of it.

I nodded and tried to summon the breath to say something, but he was already gone from me, barking commands at our gunners as though he had been born to the task. Just then, one of Malachi Landon's servants ran up to me, gave me Mister Farrell's compliments, and passed on his suggestion that I should return to the quarterdeck.

I climbed back into daylight.
Republic
was alongside us, perhaps fifty yards away. She had backed her sails and dropped her anchor. Her guns were still inboard for reloading, but when they ran out again, she would surely fire until there was nothing left of the
Jupiter
or her men. At any moment, we would face another of her murderous broadsides.
Only one thing you can do,
Kit Farrell had said to me, when we had talked of this situation–but it was already too late for that...

I looked around the quarterdeck. For some reason, Farrell, d'Andelys and Phineas Musk were all looking astern, not at the
Republic.
I joined them at the remains of our stern rail, above which our ragged ensign still flew. The smoke from the
Republic
's last broadside was still thick, for in light winds and in that sheltered channel it lingered about us like a shroud. I could not see what it was that they stared at.

Then the smoke parted a little. There, turning into the channel on the same course that the
Republic
had taken, was my mystery ship. Black-hulled and tall, the great vessel tacked towards us. Men sheeted home her sails with a speed and precision that not even Judge's crew had managed. Only the Dutch could do such a thing. The Dutch, our enemies, as my treacherous lady, the Countess of Connaught, had told me. So a second ship in her cause, bearing down to join Godsgift Judge and finish us off...

But she had been as shocked as I when we sighted the black ship.

Not all of the Dutch were our enemies. That had been my argument to the Lady Niamh, and now it was the final, best argument to her lover, the father of the child that was meant to be a king.
Thou givest not away the battle to the strong...

An ensign ran up the staff of the black ship. They were colours I knew well, for I had lived under them for long enough. They were the colours I had seen when Cornelia and I came out of church after our wedding. There they flew, the red, white, blue of the province of Zeeland. At the mizzen flew the black-white-black flag of a town I knew so well, the town that had once been my home.

She was the
Wapen van Veere.

It was Cornelis.

On the deck of the
Republic
I could see Judge, watching and weighing up this new opponent. His men were already moving to run out the larboard guns. Why should he concern himself with the shattered and dying
Jupiter
? Dispose of Cornelis first, then finish us off at leisure. He would have known of the other ship, of course; his lady would have told him of it. I thought of Judge's words to me, the first time I dined with him. He had faced the Dutch before, and beaten them. The
Wapen van Veere
would hold no terrors for him. Perhaps, safe in his fanatical arrogance, he would look on her as a worthy opponent. A better enemy by far than the poor, feeble Cavaliers on the
Jupiter
and their raw, ignorant young captain.

Four guns of the
Republic
's starboard battery fired at us, and did some damage to the forecastle. Enough to keep us entertained, Judge would assume, while he tackled his true enemy. I turned to Kit and James Vyvyan, whose head wound had been staunched with a bandage. Musk, ever at my side with his pistols, drew closer to listen.

'Well, Mister Farrell,' I said, almost light-heartedly, 'you remember what we discussed yesterday? How the captain of an inferior ship can turn this situation around? And Mister Vyvyan–you remember what you told me of the fighting method that your uncle and his men preferred? Gentlemen, I take the advice of you both. It's time to chastise Captain Judge for betraying his king and murdering Captain Harker.'

James Vyvyan nodded at my acknowledgement of his uncle's fate. 'But, sir,' he said, 'are we certain that the Zeeland ship is with us? And even if she is, will she have enough searoom to engage
Royal Martyr
?'

'As for that, Lieutenant, I leave it to her captain. But yes, he's with us, or else he'll have to answer the lash of his sister's tongue. His sister, my wife.'

For the first time in all the years that I knew him, Phineas Musk looked at me in utter astonishment.

Wapen van Veere
came on. Cornelis's course seemed to be set for the other shore, opposite Ardverran. If he had enough depth of water there, he could come up on
Republic
's larboard side and fight it out broadside to broadside.

'Captain! They're loosing their sails!' cried Kit, then. I saw it. The men in the Vere's yards were letting her sails flap free. Even I could see that she would lose momentum long before she came up alongside the
Republic.
'No. No, no ship would do that,' continued Kit, looking on with an anguished expression. 'No captain would order that–he doesn't have the sea room for it, the channel's too tight. It's the blackest madness. She'll run onto the lee shore...'

Despite the chaos and pain, it seemed that everyone on board the
Jupiter
stopped to watch, holding their breaths. Slowly, slowly, the bow of the
Veere
began to point towards the Ardverran shore. Like all large ships, she took an age to turn. Like all large ships, she was vulnerable as she did so. The
Veere
was doubly vulnerable, for with her sails loose Cornelis could steer only by his rudder. His ship would be out of control. She would come up short of the
Republic
and run aground, or else her vulnerable bow, swinging round so painfully slowly, would be exposed to the full force of Judge's larboard broadside.

The four guns of Judge's starboard battery fired on us again, and shattered our bowsprit. Whatever Cornelis intended, or whatever mistake he had made, we had to make our move. We still had a little headway, and it was time to give orders.

'Mister Vyvyan!' I cried. 'Arm the men for boarding! Mister Farrell! Port the helm!'

Slowly, slowly, the
Jupiter
began to answer the remnant of her whipstaff. Judge's murderous fire into our hull had at least spared enough of our sails and rigging to keep our momentum. Slowly, we closed the gap to the
Republic.
Judge must have realized our intent, for his four starboard guns began to fire more briskly. Two more guns joined in. As I watched our men on the upper deck take up cutlasses, half-pikes and knives, a shot took the head clean off the last of the master's mates. His body stayed upright for a moment, then fell to the deck.

We inched closer to the
Republic.
Judge had put his helm to larboard, too, and she was starting to move away.

Too late. The
Veere
had completed her turn. Cornelis had judged his distances, the wind and the tide, with greater science than ever old Newton employed. The Dutch ship came in hard and close behind the
Republic,
full across her stern, forming a 'T'. No, Cornelis had made no mistake. He was running out his double anchors. His own sails were turned as far as they could go to starboard, backing him down even closer towards the
Republic.