Coertze had paid out all the nylon, a full forty fathoms, and Sanford began to behave a little better. The rope seemed to smooth the waters astern and the waves did not break as easily. I thought we were still going a little too fast so I told Walker to bring up some more rope. With another two lengths of twenty-fathom three-inch nylon also streamed astern I reckoned we had cut Sanford's speed down to three knots.
There was one thing more I could do. I beckoned to Coertze and put my mouth close to his ear. "Go below and get the spare can of diesel oil from the fo'c'sle. Give it to Francesca and tell her to put half a pint at a time into the lavatory, then flush it. About once every two or three minutes will do."
He nodded and went below. The four-gallon jerrycan we kept as a spare would now come in really useful. I had often heard of pouring oil on troubled waters -- now we would see if there was anything in it.
Walker was busy wrapping sailcloth around the ropes streamed astern where they rubbed on the taffrail. It wouldn't take much of this violent movement to chafe them right through, and if a rope parted at the same moment that I had to cope with one of those particularly nasty waves which came along from time to time then it might be the end of us.
I looked at my watch. It was half past six and it looked as though I would have a nasty and frightening night ahead of me. But I was already getting the hang of keeping Sanford stern on to the seas and it seemed as though all I would need would be concentration and a hell of a lot of stamina.
Coertze came back and shouted, "The oil's going in."
I looked over the side. It didn't seem to be making much difference, though it was hard to tell. But anything that could make a difference I was willing to try, so I let Francesca carry on.
The waves were big. I estimated they were averaging nearly forty feet from trough to crest and Sanford was behaving like a roller-coaster car. When we were in a trough the waves looked frighteningly high, towering above us with threatening crests. Then her bows would sink as a wave took her astern until it seemed as if she was vertical and going to dive straight to the bottom of the sea. The wave would lift her to the crest and then we could see the storm-tattered sea around us, with spume being driven from the waves horizontally until it was difficult to distinguish between sea and air. And back we would go into a trough with Sanford's bows pointing to the skies and the monstrous waves again threatening.
Sometimes, about four times in an hour, there was a freak wave which must have been caused by one wave catching up with another, thus doubling it. These freaks I estimated at sixty feet high -- higher than Sanford's mast! -- and I would have to concentrate like hell so that we wouldn't be pooped.
Once -- just once -- we were pooped, and it was then that Walker went overboard. We were engulfed in water as a vast wave broke over the stern and I heard his despairing shout and saw his white face and staring eyes as he was washed out of the cockpit and over the side.
Coertze reaction was fast. He lunged for Walker -- but missed. I shouted, "Safety line -- pull him in."
He brushed water out of his eyes and yelled, "Wasn't wearing one."
"The damned fool," I thought. I think it was a thought -- I might even have yelled it. Coertze gave a great shout and pointed aft and I turned and could see a dark shape rolling in the boiling waters astern and I saw white hands clutching the nylon rope. They say a drowning man will clutch at a straw -- Walker was lucky -- he had grabbed at something more substantial, one of the drag ropes.
Coertze was hauling the rope in fast. It couldn't have been easy with the drag of Walker in the water pulling on his injured shoulder, but he was hauling just as fast as though the rope was free. He pulled Walker right under the stern and then belayed the rope.
He shouted to me, "I'm going over the counter -- you'll have to sit on my legs."
I nodded and he started to crawl over the counter stern to' where Walker was still tightly gripping the rope. He slithered aft and I got up from my seat and hoisted myself out of the cockpit until I could sit on his legs. In the violent motion of the storm it was only my weight that kept Coertze from being hurled bodily into the sea.
Coertze grasped the rope and heaved, his shoulders writhing with the effort. He was lifting the dead weight of Walker five feet -- the distance from the taffrail to the surface of the water. I hoped to God that Walker could hold on. If he let go then, not only would he be lost himself but the sudden release of tension would throw Coertze off balance and he would not have a hope of saving himself.
Walker's hands appeared above the taffrail and Coertze took a grip on the cuff of his coat. Then I looked aft and yelled, "Hang on, for God's sake!"
One of those damnable freak seas was bearing on us, a terrifying monster coming up astern with the speed of an express train. Sanford's bows sank sickeningly and Coertze gave Walker another heave, and grasped him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him on to the counter.
Then the wave was upon us and away as fast as it had come. Walker tumbled into the bottom of the cockpit, unconscious or dead, I couldn't tell which, and Coertze fell on top of him, his chest heaving with the strain of his exertions. He lay there for a few minutes, then bent down to loosen Walker's iron grip on the rope.
As he prised the fingers away, I said, "Take him below -- and you'd better stay there yourself for a while."
A great light had just dawned on me but I had no time to think about it just then -- I had to get that bight of rope back over the stern while still keeping a grasp of the tiller and watching the next sea coming up.
It was nearly an hour before Coertze came back -- a lonely and frightening hour during which I was too busy to think coherently about what I had seen. The storm seemed to be building up even more strongly and I began to have second thoughts about what I had told Francesca about the seaworthiness of small boats.
When he climbed into the cockpit he took over Walker's job of looking after the stern ropes, giving me a grin as he settled down. "Walker's O.K.," he bawled. "Francesca's looking after him. I pumped the water out of him -- the bilges must be nearly full." He laughed and the volume of his great laughter seemed to overpower the noise of the gale.
I looked at him in wonder.
V
A Mediterranean gale can't last; there is not the power of a huge ocean to draw upon and a great wind soon dies. At four the next morning the storm had abated enough for me to hand over the tiller to Coertze and go below. When I sat on the settee my hands were shaking with the sudden release of tension and I felt inexpressibly weary.
Francesca said, "You must be hungry; I'll get you something to eat."
I shook my head. "No, I'm too tired to eat -- I'm going to sleep." She helped me take off my oilies, and I said, "How's Walker?"
"He's all right; he's asleep in the quarter berth."
I nodded slowly -- Coertze had put Walker into his own berth. That fitted in, too.
I said, "Wake me in two hours -- don't let me sleep any longer. I don't want to leave Coertze alone too long," and I fell on to my berth and was instantly asleep. The last thing I remembered was a fleeting vision of Coertze hauling Walker over the stern by the scruff of the neck.
Francesca woke me at six-thirty with a cup of coffee which I drank gratefully. "Do you want something to eat?" she asked.
I listened to the wind and analysed the motion of Sanford. "Make breakfast for all of us," I said. "We'll heave to and have a rest for a bit. I think the time has come for a talk with Coertze, anyway."
I went back into the cockpit and surveyed the situation. The wind was still strong but not nearly as strong as it had been, and Coertze had hauled in the two twenty-fathom ropes and had coiled them neatly. I said, "We'll heave to now; it's time you had some sleep."
He nodded briefly and we began to haul in the bight of rope. Then we lashed the tiller and watched Sanford take position broadside on to the seas -- it was safe now that the wind had dropped. When we went below Francesca was in the galley making breakfast. She had put a damp clo
th on the cabin table to stop things sliding about and Coertze and I sat down.
He started to butter a piece of bread while I wondered how to go about what I was going to say. It was a difficult question I was going to broach and Kobus had such a thorny character that I didn't know how he would take it. I said,"" You know, I never really thanked you properly for pulling me out of the mine -- you know, when the roof caved in."
He munched on the bread and said, with his mouth full. "Nee, man, it was my own fault, I told you that before. I should have shored the last bit properly."
"Walker owes you his thanks, too. You saved his life last night."
He snorted. "Who cares what he thinks."
I said carefully, getting ready to duck, "Why did you do it, anyway? It would have been worth at least a quarter of a million not to pull him out."
Coertze stared at me, affronted. His face reddened with anger. "Man, do you think I'm a bloody murderer?"
I had thought so at one time but didn't say so. "And you didn't kill Parker or Alberto Corso or Donato Rinaldi?"
His face purpled. "Who said I did?"
I cocked my thumb at the quarter berth where Walker was still asleep. "He did."
I thought he would burst. His jaws worked and he was literally speechless, unable to say a damn' thing. I said, "According to friend Walker, you led Alberto into a trap on a cliff and then pushed him off; you beat in the head of Donato; you shot Parker in the back of the head when you were both in action against the Germans."
"The lying little bastard," ground out Coertze. He started so get up. "I'll ram those lies down his bloody throat."
I held up my hand. "Hold on -- don't go off half-cocked. Let's sort it out first; I'd like to get your story of what happened it that time. You see, what happened last night has led me to reconsider a lot of things. I wondered why you should have saved Walker if you're the man he says you are. I'd like to get at the truth for once."
He sat down slowly and looked down at the table. At last be said, "Alberto's death was an accident; I tried to save him, but I couldn't."
"I believe you -- after last night."
"Donato I know nothing about. I remember thinking that there was something queer about it, though. I mean, why should Donato go climbing for fun? He had enough of that the way the Count sent us all over the hills."
"And Parker?"
"I couldn't have killed Parker even if I'd wanted to," be said flatly.
"Why not?"
Slowly he said, "We were with Umberto doing one of the usual ambushes. Umberto split the force in two -- one group on one side of the valley, the other group on the other side. Parker and Walker were with the other group. The ambush was a flop, anyway, and the two parties went back to camp separately. It was only when I got back to camp that I heard that Parker bad been killed."
• v.
He rubbed his chin. "Did you say that Walker told you that Parker had been shot in the back of the head?"
"Yes."
He looked at his hands spread out on the table. "Walker could have done it, you know. It would be just like him."
"I know," I said. "You told me once that Walker had got you into trouble a couple of times during the war. When exactly did that happen? Before you buried the gold or afterwards?"
He frowned in thought, casting his mind back to faraway days. He said, "I remember once when Walker pulled some men away from a ditch when he shouldn't have. He was acting as a messenger for Umberto and said he'd misunderstood the instruction. I was leading a few chaps at the time and this left my flank wide open." His eyes darkened. "A couple of the boys copped it because of that and I nearly got a bayonet in my rump." His face twisted in thought. "It was after we buried the gold."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm certain. We only joined Umberto's crowd after we'd buried the gold."
I said softly, "Maybe he could shoot Parker in the back of the head. Maybe he could beat in the back of Donato's head with a rock and fake a climbing accident. But maybe he was too scared of you to come at you front or rear -- you're a bit of an awesome bastard at times, you know. Maybe he tried to arrange that the Germans should knock you off."
Coertze's hands clenched on the table. I said, "He's always been afraid of you -- he still is."
"Magtig, but he has reason to be," he burst out. "Donate got us out of the camp. Donato stayed with him on the hillside while the Germans were searching." He looked at me with pain in his eyes. "What kind of a man is it who can do such a thing?"
"A man like Walker," I said. "I think we ought to talk to him. I'm getting eager to know what he's arranged for me and Francesca."
Coertze's lips tightened. "Ja, I think we wake him up now out of that lekker slaap."
He stood up just as Francesca came in loaded with bowls. She saw Coertze's face and paused uncertainly. "What's the matter?"
I took the bowls from her and put them in the fiddles. "We're just going to have a talk with Walker," I said. "You'd better come along."
But Walker was already awake and I could see from his expression that he knew what was coming. He swung himself from the berth and tried to get away from Coertze, who lunged at him.
"Hold on," I said, and grabbed Coertze's arm. "I said we're going to talk to him."
The muscles bunched in Coertze's arm and then relaxed and I let go. I said to Walker, "Coertze thinks you're a liar -- what do you say?"
His eyes shifted and he gave Coertze a scared glance, then he looked away. "I didn't say he killed anybody. I didn't say that."
"No, you didn't," I agreed. "But you damn' well implied it."
Coertze growled under his breath but said nothing, apparently content to let me handle it for the moment. I said, "What about Parker? You said that Coertze was near him when he was shot -- Coertze said he wasn't. What about it?"
"I didn't say that either," he said sulkily.
"You are a damned liar," I said forcibly. "You said it to me. I've got a good memory even if you haven't. I warned you in Tangier what would happen if you ever lied to me, so you'd better watch it Now I want the truth -- was Coertze near Parker when he was killed?"
He was silent for a long time. "Well, was he?" I demanded.
He broke. "No, he wasn't," he cried shrilly. "I made that up. He wasn't there; he was on the other side of the valley."
"Then who killed Parker?"
"It was the Germans," he cried frantically. "It was the Germans -- I told you it was the Germans."
I suppose it was too much to expect him to confess to murder. He would never say outright that he had killed Parker and Donato Rinaldi -- but his face gave him away. I had no intention of sparing him anything, so I said to Coertze, "He was responsible for Torloni's attack."
Coertze grunted in surprise. "How?"
I told him about the cigarette case, then said to Walker, "Coertze saved your life last night, but I wish to God he'd let you drown. Now I'm going to leave him down here alone with you and he can do what he likes."
Walker caught my arm. "Don't leave me," he implored. "Don't let him get at me." What he had always feared was now about to happen -- there was now no one between him and Coertze. He had blackened Coertze in my eyes so that he would have an ally to fight his battles, but now I was on Coertze's side. He feared physical violence -- his killings had been done from ambush -- and Coertze was the apotheosis of violence.
"Please," he whimpered, "don't leave." He looked at Francesca with a passionate plea in his eyes. She turned aside without speaking and went up the companionway into the cockpit. I shook off his hand and followed her, closing the cabin hatch.
"Coertze will kill him," she said in a low voice.
"Hasn't he the right?" I demanded. "I don't believe in private executions as a rule, but this is one time I'm willing to make an exception."
"I'm not thinking of Walker," she said. "It will be bad for Coertze. No one can kill a man like that and be the same after. It will be bad for his .. . his spirit."
&nbs
p; I said, "Coertze will do what he has to do."
We lapsed into silence, just looking at the lumpy sea, and I began to think of the boat and what we had to do next.
The cabin hatch opened and Coertze came into the cockpit. There was a baffled expression on his face and he said in a hoarse voice, "I was going to kill the little bastard. I was going to hit him -- I did hit him once. But you can't hit anyone who won't fight back. You can't, can you?"
I grinned and Francesca laughed joyously. Coertze looked at us and his face broke into a slow smile. "But what are we going to do with him?" he asked.
"We'll drop him at Tangier and let him shift for himself," I said. "We'll give him the biggest scare any man's ever had."
We were sitting grinning at each other like a couple of happy fools when Francesca said sharply, "Look!"
I followed the line of her outstretched arm. "Oh, no!" I groaned. Coertze looked and cursed.
Coming towards us through the tossing seas and wallowing atrociously was the Fairmile.
IX. SANFORD
I looked at it bitterly. I had been certain that Metcalfe must have lost us in the storm -- he had the luck of the devil. He hadn't found us by radar either, because the storm had made a clean sweep of the Fairmile's upperworks -- his radar antenna was gone, as also was the radio mast and the short derrick. It could only have been by sheer luck that he had stumbled upon us.
I said to Coertze, "Get below and start the engine. Franceses, you go below, too, and stay there."
I looked across at the Fairmile. It was about a mile away and closing at about eight knots -- a little over five minutes to make what futile preparations we could. I had no illusions about Metcalfe. Torloni had been bad enough but all he knew was force -- Metcalfe used his brains.
The seas were bad. When the wind had blown it exerted a discipline on the sea and the waves were regular and uniform, With the wind gone the sea was chaotic; ugly pyramidical lumps of water would heave up and disappear and Sanford pitched and rolled alarmingly.
The Fairmile was in no better shape, either. She staggered and wallowed as unexpected waves hit her and I could imagine the tumult inside that hull. She was an old boat, being war surplus, and her hull must have deteriorated over the years despite the care Metcalfe had lavished on her. Then there was the fact that when she was built her life expectancy was about five years, and war-time materials weren't noted for their excessive quality.
Bagley, Desmond - The Golden Keel Page 24