Blue Horizon

by Wilbur Smith

  She was only just in time. With a sizzling rush the flames came shooting down the companionway, then checked in a cloud of blue smoke as they reached the gap she had made. She jumped upon them, stamping on the smouldering grains. Then she seized another bucket of seawater and emptied it over them. She made sure she had doused every spark before she ran up the ladder to the quarter-deck.

  “Father! This is madness!” Verity cried, as she stepped out of the smoke behind him.

  “I ordered you to remain in your cabin.” He rounded on her. “You disobeyed me.”

  “If I had not, you would have blown me and yourself to glory,” she shrieked at him, almost beside herself with terror at how close they had been to death.

  He saw how her clothing was scorched and blackened and sodden with seawater. “You treacherous, evil woman,” he screamed. “You have gone over completely to my enemies.”

  He struck her full in the face with a clenched fist, and sent her reeling across the deck until she crashed into the bulwark. She stared at him in horror and outrage. Since childhood she had been accustomed to the beatings with his riding crop across her legs and buttocks when she displeased him, but only twice before had he struck her with his fist. She knew in that moment that she could never let it happen again. That had been the third and last time. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glanced at the thick smear of blood from her torn lips. Then she turned her head and looked down on to the deck of the Sprite below her.

  The last grappling lines that held the two ships together parted and the Sprite’s sails filled with the night breeze. She began to bear away. Her deck was a shambles of shot damage, some of her crew were wounded, others scurrying to their gun stations, and still more were jumping back into her from the taller side of the Arcturus as the gap between them widened.

  Then she saw Mansur below her on the deck of the Sprite and, despite her injuries and her father’s rage, her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. During all the time since they had parted, she had tried to subdue her feelings for him. She had had no expectation of ever laying eyes upon him again, and thought she had succeeded in putting him out of her mind. But now, when she saw him again, handsome and tall in the light thrown by the burning rigging, she remembered the secrets he had imparted to her and the protestation of his feelings for her, and she could deny him no longer.

  In the same moment he looked up and recognized her. She saw his astonishment give way immediately to grim determination. He leaped across the deck of the Sprite to the wheel and shoved aside the helmsman. He seized the spokes and spun it in a blur back the opposite way. The Sprite’s turn away to port checked and then she answered her rudder, turning back slowly. Once more her bows collided heavily against the Arcturus’s mid-section, but she did not rebound for Mansur held the wheel over. She began to drag down the side of the larger vessel.

  Mansur shouted up at her, “Jump, Verity! Come to me!” For a long moment she remained frozen, and then it was almost too late. “Verity, in God’s Name, you cannot deny me. I love you. Jump!”

  She hesitated no longer. She came up on her feet as quick as a cat, and sprang to the top of the bulwark, balancing there for an instant with her arms outspread. Guy realized what she was about, and ran across the poop to her.

  “I forbid it!” he screamed, and snatched at her leg, but she kicked away his hand. He grabbed a fistful of her shirt, and she tried to pull free, but he clung on stubbornly. As they struggled, Mansur left the wheel and ran to the Sprite’s side. He was directly below her, holding his arms wide in invitation.

  “Jump!” he called. “I will catch you.”

  She flung herself out over the ship’s side. Her father did not release his grip, and her shirt ripped, leaving him holding a handful of cloth. Verity dropped into Mansur’s arms and her weight bore him to his knees, but he straightened and, for a moment, held her tightly to his chest. Then he set her on her feet and dragged her to safety. The crew’s bundled hammocks had been piled along the bulwark as some protection from splinters and musket balls, and Mansur pushed her down behind this barricade. Then he ran back to the wheel and spun it the opposite way.

  The two ships drew apart swiftly. The Revenge had also disentangled herself, and was under sail. The Arcturus was still ablaze, but Mansur saw Ruby Cornish striding down her deck, taking charge of the salvage. His men were swarming out of the hatchways again. Within minutes they had brought down the flaming canvas and doused it with seawater from the pumps.

  With her guns reloaded and run out, the Arcturus turned in pursuit of the Sprite once more, but her rigging was heavily damaged and Cornish had not had time to bring up new canvas from the sail lockers and bend it on to the bare, scorched yards. The Arcturus made slow progress through the water and both the Sprite and the Revenge drew away from her.

  Then, as swiftly as it had risen, the night wind died away. Almost as if they had anticipated the dawn, the clouds opened and allowed the paling stars to shine through. A hush descended on the ocean, the roiling surface seemed to freeze into a sheet of polished ice. All three of the battered ships slowed, then came to a gradual standstill. Even in the faint light of the stars they were within sight of each other, becalmed, swinging slowly and aimlessly on the silent currents beneath that glassy surface. However, the Sprite and the Revenge were out of hail of each other, so Dorian and Mansur were unable to confer and decide their next course of action.

  “Let the men eat their breakfast as they work, but we must repair our damage swiftly. This calm will not last long.” Mansur saw the work put in hand, then went to find Verity. She stood alone by the ship’s side, staring across at the dim shape of the Arcturus, but she turned to him at once.

  “You came,” he said.

  “Because you called,” she replied softly, and held out her hand to him. He took it, and was surprised by how cool and smooth her skin was, how narrow and supple her hand.

  “There is so much I want to tell you.”

  “We will have a lifetime for that,” she said, “but let me savour this first moment to the full.” They looked into each other’s eyes.

  “You are beautiful,” he said.

  “I am not. But my heart sings to hear you say it.”

  “I would kiss you.”

  “But you cannot,” she answered. “Not under the eyes of your crew. They would not approve.”

  “Fortunately, we will have a lifetime for that also.”

  “And I will rejoice in every minute of it.”

  The dawn broke and the first shafts of sunlight beamed through the gaps in the thunderheads and turned the waters of the ocean to glowing amethyst. It played full upon the three ships. They lay motionless, like toys on a village pond. The sea was glassy smooth, its surface marred only by the skittering flight of the flying fish and the swirls of the great silver and gold tuna that pursued them.

  The shot-torn sails hung slack and empty. From each ship the sounds of the carpenters’ hammers and saws rang out as they hurriedly repaired the battle damage. The sailmakers laid out the damaged canvas on the decks and squatted over it, long needles flying as they cobbled up the tears and rents. They all knew that this respite would not last long, that the morning breeze would rise and the next phase of the conflict must begin.

  Through the telescope Mansur watched the crew of the Arcturus extinguish the last flames, then send new spars aloft to replace the broken bowsprit and the yards that had been burned or shot away.

  “Is your mother aboard the Arcturus?” Mansur asked Verity.

  “Six weeks ago my father sent her back to the safety of the consulate in Bombay,” Verity answered. She did not want to think about Caroline now, or of the circumstances in which she had last seen her. To change the subject she asked, “Will you fight again?”

  “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  She turned to him. Her eyes were green and her gaze was direct. “That question is unkind.”

  “Forgive me,” he said at once. “I do no
t doubt your courage, for you proved it to me last night. I wanted only to know your feelings.”

  “I am not afraid for myself. But my father is aboard the other ship, and you are on this one.”

  “I saw him strike you.”

  “He has struck me many times before, but he is still my father.” Then she lowered her eyes. “More important than that, though, you are now my man. I am afraid for both of you. But I will not flinch.”

  He reached out and touched her arm. “I will do my utmost to avoid further battle,” he assured her. “I would have done so last night but my own father was in danger. I had no choice but to come to his aid. However, I doubt that Sir Guy will let you and me escape without he does everything in his power to prevent it.” He nodded grimly towards the distant Arcturus.

  “Here comes the morning wind,” she said. “Now my father’s intentions will be made plain.”

  The wind scoured the polished azure surface with cats’ paws. The Arcturus’s sails bulged and she began to glide forward. All her yards were standing, and bright new canvas had replaced much of that which had been scorched and blackened. The wind left her behind and she slowed gradually, then came once more to a standstill. Her mainsail flapped and drooped. The squall of wind came on and picked up the two smaller ships, carried them a short distance, then dropped them.

  Again stillness and silence fell on the three vessels. All their sails were set, and the upper yardmen were poised to make the final adjustments when the wind came again.

  This time it came out of the east, hard and steady. It caught up the Arcturus first and bore her on. The instant she had steerage way she put up her helm and charged straight towards the two smaller ships. Her guns were still run out and her intentions manifest.

  “I am afraid your father is spoiling for a fight.”

  “And so are you!” Verity accused him.

  “You misjudge me.” He shook his head. “I have already taken the prize. Sir Guy has nothing more that I want from him.”

  “Then let us hope that the wind reaches us before he does.” As Verity spoke it puffed against her cheek and blew a long strand of hair across her eyes. She tucked it back into the silk hairnet. “Here it comes.”

  The wind struck the Sprite and she heeled to it. Her canvas slatted and her blocks rattled as her sails filled and bulged. They could feel the force of it in the eager trembling of the deck beneath their feet and, despite the exigencies of the moment, Verity laughed aloud with excitement. “We are off!” she cried, and for a moment clung to his arm. Then she saw Kumrah’s disapproving expression and stepped back. “I need no chaperon aboard this ship for I have a hundred already.”

  The Sprite raced down towards the Revenge, which still lay becalmed, but then the wind reached her also. The two ships bore away together, the Revenge leading by two cables’ length. Mansur looked back over the stern at the pursuit.

  “With the wind coming from this quarter your father can never catch us,” he told Verity exultantly. “We will run him below the horizon before nightfall.” He took her arm and led her gently towards the companionway. “I can safely leave the deck to Kumrah now, and we can go below to find suitable accommodation for you.”

  “There are too many eyes here,” she agreed, and followed him willingly.

  At the bottom of the ladder he turned her to face him. She was only a few inches shorter than he was, and the thick, lustrous coils of her hair made the difference even less obvious. “There are no other eyes here,” he said.

  “I fear I have been gullible,” her cheeks blushed pink as rose petals, “but you would never take advantage of my innocence, would you, Your Highness?”

  “I am afraid you may have overestimated my chivalry, Miss Courtney. It is my intention to do exactly that.”

  “I suppose that it would be of no avail if I should scream, would it?”

  “I am very much afraid that it would not,” he said.

  She swayed towards him. “Then I shall save my breath,” she whispered, “for perhaps I will find better employment for it later.”

  “Your lip is swollen.” He touched it gently. “I will not hurt you?”

  “We Courtneys are a hardy lot,” she said.

  He kissed her, but softly.

  It was Verity who pulled him closer, and parted her swollen lips to him. “It hurts not at all,” she said, and he lifted her in his arms and carried her through into his cabin.

  Kumrah stamped three times on the deck above Mansur’s bunk.

  He sat up quickly. “I am wanted on deck,” he said.

  “Not as much as you are wanted here,” she murmured, with drowsy contentment, “but I know that when duty calls I must let you go for the moment.”

  He stood up and she watched him, her eyes growing bigger and her interest quickening. “I have never seen a man in his natural state before,” she said. “Only now do I realize I have been deprived, for ’tis a sight much to my liking.”

  “I could think of far better,” he demurred, and stooped to kiss her belly. It was smooth as cream and her navel was a neat pit in the taut sleek muscle. He thrust the tip of his tongue into it.

  She sighed and writhed voluptuously. “You must stop that at once, or I shall never let you go.”

  He straightened and then his eyes flew wide with alarm. “There is blood on the sheet. Have I injured you?”

  She raised herself on one elbow, looked down at the bright stain and smiled complacently. “It is the flower of my maidenhood, which I bring to you as proof that I have always belonged to you and to none other.”

  “Oh, my darling.” He sat on the edge of the bunk and smothered her face with kisses.

  She pushed him away. “Go to your duty. But come back to me the instant it is done.”

  Mansur ran up the ladder and it seemed that his feet were winged, but he stopped at the head of the companionway in alarm. He had expected to see the Revenge still far ahead of him, for in speed she had the edge on the Sprite, but she was almost alongside. He snatched up his telescope from its bucket beside the binnacle and strode to the side. He saw at once that the Revenge sat low in the water, and that all her pumps were manned. Seawater was spurting white over the side from the outlet pipes. As he watched in consternation, Dorian appeared on deck, stepping out from the hatch over the main hold. Mansur snatched up the speaking trumpet and hailed him. His father looked across, then came to the near rail.

  “What’s amiss?” Mansur called again.

  “We have taken a ball below the waterline, and we are taking in water faster than the pumps can discharge it.” His father’s reply was faint on the wind.

  So great was the disparity in speed between the two ships that in the short time that Mansur had been on deck the Sprite had gained a few yards on the Revenge. Already his father’s voice carried more clearly across the gap. He looked back over the stern and judged that the Arcturus had lost little distance in the hours that he and Verity had been below. She was making much better speed through the water than the crippled Revenge.

  “What can I do to assist you?” he asked his father. There was a long pause.

  “I have shot an angle on the Arcturus’s mainmast every hour,” Dorian called back. “At this rate she will be within cannon shot before nightfall. Even in the darkness we cannot hope to elude her.”

  “Can we repair the damage?”

  “The shot-hole is awkwardly placed.” Dorian shook his head. “If we heave to, Arcturus will be upon us before we can plug it.”

  “What, then, must we do?”

  “Unless something unforeseen happens, we shall be forced to fight again.”

  Mansur thought about Verity in the cabin below this deck, and had a picture of that perfect pale body torn to bloody tatters by round-shot. He forced the image from his mind. “Wait!” he called to Dorian, then beckoned to Kumrah.

  “What can we do, old friend?” They talked quickly and earnestly, but while they did so the Revenge dropped back a little further and M
ansur was obliged to order a reef in his main sail to slow the Sprite enough to keep his station with the Revenge. Then he hailed his father. “Kumrah has a plan. Conform to me as best you are able, but I will moderate my speed if you fall too far behind.”

  Kumrah brought the Sprite’s bows around another three points into the west until they were on a direct heading for Ras al-Had, the point of land where the gulf opened out into the ocean proper.

  For the rest of that morning Mansur kept his crew busy repairing the battle damage they had suffered, cleaning and servicing the guns, bringing up more round-shot from the orlop deck, filling the powder bags to replace that which had been fired away. Then, with block and tackle, they hoisted one of the guns up from the main deck to the poop where the carpenters had made a temporary gunport for it. Trained back over the stern the cannon could now be used as a stern chaser to bring the Arcturus under fire as soon as she drew within range.

  Almost imperceptibly the Revenge was settling lower in the water and losing speed as the men at the pumps battled to hold at bay the inflow of water through her pierced hull. Mansur closed in on her and they passed a line across. Then he was able to send over twenty fresh seamen to relieve the Revenge’s crew, who were exhausted from the unremitting work at the pump handles. At the same time he sent over Baris, one of Kumrah’s junior officers, a young Omani who was also a native of this coast and knew every rock and reef almost as intimately as Kumrah did. While the two ships sailed in such close company, Mansur explained to his father the plan he and Kumrah had devised.

  Dorian understood at once that this was perhaps their best chance, and he endorsed it without hesitation. “Go to it, lad,” he called back, through the speaking trumpet.

  Within the next hour Mansur was obliged to take in another reef so as not to head-reach on the Revenge during the night. As darkness fell he gazed back at the Arcturus and calculated that she had closed the gap between them to only a little over two sea miles.