Game of Bones

by David Donachie

  ‘Back upriver to Bucephalas. Get a couple of hawsers ready in the bows in case we have to take up the tow with the centipedes. Then get over to Lothian and transfer Sir William Parker and the ladies to our ship.’

  ‘Captain Illingworth is bound to ask me why, your honour.’

  ‘No, Pender. As soon as he hears you ask that, he’ll know why. If he can’t break through with his weight, I intend to snag that boom on to his ship, fire it, and burn our way through.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money you’d be chucking away.’

  ‘It’s that or lose our own ship, Pender,’ Harry hissed, ‘which is not something I’m prepared to do.’

  ‘This should be the other way round, your honour,’ Pender insisted. ‘And pride, which is what’s at stake here, should be put aside. The Indiaman may not have many guns, but it’s got a couple, and it has sails aloft. With our crew aboard it would be a hard nut to crack—too much for a French barky full of holes.’

  ‘Burn my own ship under Tressoir’s eyes?’

  ‘With Lothian as a prize you’ll have enough money to buy another, Capt’n. Then you can come and blow the bastard to Kingdom come.’

  Harry dropped his head to look at the black water of the River Aure. He knew Pender was right, but that didn’t make agreement any easier. He’d lost a ship before, and knew that much as he loved his vessels it was an affection that could be transferred. But the loss of pride in finally conceding his ship to Tressoir was hard.

  ‘Ship up ahead, Capt’n,’ called the man in the bow, ‘set across the channel at the river join.’

  Harry moved to the middle of the boat and stood up. L’Hyène was where he’d expected it to be, moored head and stern, in tidal water. He could see where the strain lay on the cables, taut downriver and slack at the bows. That would reverse soon as the tide turned. High water was at eleven o’clock, which meant he had less than two hours to not only break through these defences but also make it down to the estuary and get over the sandbanks to the safety of some depth under his keel.

  Looking back, he could see that the Lothian’s progress was painfully slow. She had few sails to give her way, and was yawing across the channel. While the drag of her tow was checking that, it was also robbing her of pace. There would be little point in hitting that cable just drifting. The more speed Illingworth had the better, massively multiplying the force he could bring to bear, so it would be better to cast off Bucephalas, which would continue to drift downriver, albeit more slowly. If the boom was still intact he’d try to steer her away from Lothian, haul Tressoir’s cable up the side as soon as she touched, and set fire to his ship. Even a soaking wet rope would eventually part in such a conflagration. Once the fire was started there would be nothing Tressoir could do to stop it.

  He’d attack Lothian, of course, as soon as he saw what Harry was about. But every man he had would be on her by then, perhaps enough to repel his boarders, while the centipedes would still be available for a swift evacuation if things went against them. That would be a defeat, the third one in a row, but he’d fire the East Indiaman before he abandoned her, so Tressoir would watch his prize, as well as the ship he’d hoped to privateer in, burn down to the waterline.

  He looked at Bucephalas long and hard. Even under bare poles she was his ship, bought brand new, and incorporating several features he’d insisted on. The sacrifice would be enormous, and he searched for alternatives. He tried to recall from the previous night how high the cable had been on the bank compared to the higher water mark created by the tidal surge. Even taut, its own weight would keep it in the water midstream. But what would happen once Lothian struck it? The weight of her bows would carry it downstream.

  ‘Pender,’ he called, ‘carry out the orders I just gave you regarding the cables, but put them out of the hawse-holes.’ Seeing the look on his servant’s face, he smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I know you’re right about Bucephalas. But it might make a bit of difference if she arrives on that boom sooner rather than later.’

  There was a split second’s pause, while Pender contemplated asking what Harry was up to. But the look he got convinced him there was no time.

  ‘We’re going to get out of here, Pender, take my word on it.’

  ‘With one ship?’

  Harry grinned at him. ‘That depends on my luck, friend.’

  If Illingworth was curious why Harry asked him to cast off his tow he hid it well, aware perhaps that the men on the deck, even if they were few in number, were not really his to command. Besides, in a galley going at full tilt there wasn’t much time to converse with a fellow who was still giving orders.

  ‘If you can get up any more speed once you have done that I’d be obliged. I want you to stay in the centre of the channel and hit that cable with as much weight as you can.’

  Harry was out of earshot before the merchant captain had framed any of the dozen questions he wanted to ask. He gave orders for a party to go below and release the cable, then turned to watch as both galleys streaked towards Bucephalas. Pender had reached it first, shipping oars and swinging round, half his crew following him swiftly on to the deck.

  But he couldn’t watch for long, so didn’t see the first rope fly out of the hawse-hole. As soon as his tow cable ran out to splash astern, Lothian picked up a fraction of speed, and her main course, though hauled right round, began to take a modicum of wind. Easing the braces increased the speed a little more, especially when Illingworth put up his rudder to steer more towards the northern bank. The half-knot gain he employed to cross over the midstream where the current was strongest, where the yards were bowsed tight again to take maximum advantage of the breeze.

  To call it speed was a misnomer of the worst kind. But it was movement and by taking his ship nearer to the southern bank he was able to swing round so that he had more time with the wind playing on his sails. All the while, Flowers, one of Harry Ludlow’s men, kept him informed about what lay ahead, relaying information from that curious crescent-shaped face, and talking out of the corner of his mouth as though imparting a secret.

  Twice more Illingworth was able to use that manoeuvre, gaining yet another half-knot, now close enough to the enemy to listen to Flowers listing the damage the corvette had sustained. Aware that he was running out of room, he finally looked himself. Ahead, over the bowsprit, Tressoir waited for him. The sides of l’Hyène were a mess, with gaping holes where once the Frenchman had housed his guns. And she was low in the water with a steady stream of silver shooting over the side, evidence that at least a proportion of his men were forced to pump ship just to stay afloat.

  Looking left and right, the strands of rope, dropping from the riverbank into the water, were easy to see; a hawser thick enough to hold a ship-of-the-line at anchor in a gale, and showing no signs of any damage that he could observe. It was as if his looking at the cable had been the signal Tressoir had been waiting for. He fired off a signal gun, and Illingworth saw the hawser, no doubt attached to an onshore capstan, begin to lift.

  ‘What the hell’s the Capt’n about?’ said Flowers, who turned to tell Illingworth about the cannon he’d spotted on the riverbank, and in looking past him, had seen Bucephalas.

  Illingworth spun round as the first shots were fired from Tressoir’s new battery position, which forced him to look forward again, to observe the three 6-pounder balls that landed in a pattern right ahead of his bowsprit. The Frenchman was warning him, inviting him to drop anchor and avoid a fight, perhaps determined that such a valuable prize should not suffer any more harm. But he looked back upriver quick enough, not sure that what he had seen the first time was true.

  The two centipedes were out ahead of Bucephalas, the men in them practically standing up, so great was the strain on the oars. The privateer began to gain on Lothian, and the way the oarsmen were struggling that would continue. With no sails to bar his view the figure of Harry Ludlow at the wheel was plain, while Pender was in the bows, yelling at the boats to put in greater effort.


  ‘Cable’s nearly right up,’ said Flowers, forcing Illingworth to look forward again. Only the very centre of the hawser was still submerged, the remainder, now clear, dripping water from long strands of green weed. Illingworth trimmed the wheel, bringing his ship at right angles to the boom. No more guns were fired after that warning salvo, and it was clear that Tressoir intended to let him run into the cable, absolutely sure it would hold even the weight of a laden East Indiaman.

  A last glance over his shoulder showed that Bucephalas had gained a little more speed. The rowers were still straining like mad, trying to get her to go even faster, with Harry steering to pass by the Lothian’s starboard rail: and having overcome the initial inertia, they were having some success, even if it was slight. Those members of Harry’s crew he had aboard, even if they had no clue as to what their captain intended, were cheering them on, the galleys now nearly abreast of the Lothian’s stern casements.

  Illingworth shouted for them to man the braces, to be ready to swing the yards round so that if they broke through he could put up his helm to take the westerly wind over the quarter. He had to grab the wheel hard to stay upright as they hit the cable. There was a crack to starboard at the point where it had been half sawn through—but the boom checked their progress, enough to sway the masts towards the bows with only the preventer stays keeping them in place.

  Lothian slowed then stopped completely, her stern beginning to swing in the current, stuck in that momentary hiatus before the weight of the cable on his bows began to push her back. There was only one certainty. With a sinking heart Illingworth realised, as his main course began to blot out his view, that he had managed to break only a few fibres of Tressoir’s boom.

  The air was full of yells. Pender, now coming abreast, stood in the bows of Bucephalas calling for more effort, egged on by the men near the Lothian’s starboard rail. The bulk of his own ship denied Illingworth the same view as Harry Ludlow. The thick green slimy cable had been forced clear of the water across its entire length by the weight of his ship. By the bank it now stood several feet in the air. Intrigued by the screams of encouragement coming from Harry’s men, he staggered over to the rail, just in time to see both centipedes, still going at full-lick, slide under the raised cable, the ropes coming out of the hawse-holes low enough to allow them to keep the tow.

  Pender had leapt from the bows and was now running backwards to join his captain, a wise precaution since the prow of Bucephalas was no more than a few feet from Tressoir’s thick hawser. The ship hit it at speed and Illingworth looked up, expecting to see all three masts go by the board. Instead there was a mighty crack, louder than any gunshot he’d ever heard, and the hawser parted on the far side of Harry Ludlow’s ship like a piece of thin string on a parcel. The singing sound followed as it whipped across the top of the river, his bows forming the fulcrum point for a snaking, cracking, deadly rope, completely out of control.

  The guns on the riverbank opened up immediately, only to be silenced as the cable sliced over their heads, at a height that would have decapitated any man who stood up. It killed no one, but instilled such fear in the gunners that Illingworth could see them abandoning their pieces to dive for cover, lest that deadly rope whip back again.

  ‘Flowers,’ yelled Illingworth, ‘take a haul on those braces. Then once they’re secured man the guns.’

  Lothian had already begun to move on the current, but now able to swing his ship, the effect of the wind on the sails was palpable and immediate. Tressoir opened up with his own ship’s cannon, the few that fired clear evidence of the depletion he had suffered both in ordnance and manpower. Chunks of the forward bulwarks flew up in the air and splinters scythed across the foredeck, miraculously doing no harm to any of the crew.

  Harry Ludlow had cast off his tow lines and was using the speed he still had to steer for the main channel. But the boats, even if the oarsmen must be near exhaustion, were rowing in a wide arc, to come round on l’Hyène’s unprotected side, as though intent on boarding. Seeing that, Illingworth ported his helm, and aimed his bowsprit straight at Tressoir. The Frenchman was no fool. He knew that a ship of that size, with the damage he’d already suffered, might actually hole him so badly he’d sink. He fired off a second salvo, more ragged and less effective than the first, then sent his gunners to the shrouds, to run up and let fall his sails, while others were at the cables, swinging axes like madmen.

  ‘Stay still, you bastard,’ Illingworth said to himself, stepping away from the wheel. The sudden feeling that came over him caused by tension and his wounds was too much to bear, and he fell forward on to the deck. Flowers had him taken below, then grasped the spinning wheel. He’d never conned a ship this size before. But he was a sailor. With a steady wind coming in from the west, and a bowsprit that could only be aimed south, there was not much choice to make.

  The course brought him closer to Harry Ludlow and Pender, standing on the quarterdeck of Bucephalas, which was wallowing gently on the slight river-swell. Flowers let out a whoop, then grabbed a telescope from the rack, looped an arm round a spoke, and raised it up. Pender sprung into focus, grinning from ear to ear. But his captain, when Flowers swung the glass to his face, was looking past the Lothian, his countenance set hard. Then his lips moved.

  Harry Ludlow spent the next two minutes cursing the fact that he had no sails and no guns, each word spat towards an enemy just visible on his shattered quarterdeck.

  ‘One day, friend, I’m going to meet that bastard mid-channel, fully armed and rigged, in clear weather, when he’s too far away from home to run.’

  ‘You’ve beaten him, Captain,’ said Pender, happily.

  ‘Not yet,’ Harry replied, looking around the near-empty deck, dotted with turpentine barrels that had he failed would have been used to start a fire. He knew just how slim the margin had been, but that did little to dent his frustration. ‘Only when I’ve sunk him, or I tow his ship into an English port with my flag over his, will I have beaten him.’

  It was almost as if Tressoir heard him, and was trying to accept the challenge. He fired off a gun to attract Harry’s attention, then raised his hat, and in an extravagant gesture, performed a deep bow.

  The rowers in the centipedes had spun round to race back to Bucephalas as soon as they saw Tressoir’s men in the shrouds. Ropes were attached again, and soon they had her under tow, hard work at first, but one that eased as the tide peaked. Tressoir was in their wake, the same stream of water being pumped over the side. Harry and Pender were watching him anxiously, desperate to see what kind of speed he could muster.

  ‘If we can beat out to sea, Pender, I don’t think he will follow us.’

  ‘I hope you have the right of it, Capt’n.’

  ‘With the kind of water he’s shipping in a river, he’d be mad to take l’Hyène out into open water.’

  ‘I should think he’s mad, all right,’ said Pender with another heartening grin. ‘You just ruined his whole existence.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  RYKERT dropped his telescope, rubbed his eyes, then raised it again. It was a theatrical gesture designed to amuse everyone on the Amethyst’s quarterdeck, but there was no doubting that what he’d observed was singular.

  ‘Do you recognise the hull, Mr Levenson?’ he demanded.

  The midshipman, who’d been with the officer of the watch, and had actually fetched the captain from his cabin, was dreading the question, fully expecting that he would be subjected to another bout of ribbing from his fellows for what had happened off St Helen’s. He didn’t actually want to say the name, but with a direct question from his commanding officer, he could hardly avoid it.

  ‘Bucephalas, sir.’

  ‘You’d never know her by her sail plan, that’s certain. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a get-up aloft, even on an Arab dhow.’

  Harry was watching him too, wondering the very same. Rykert had many traits that made him uneasy, but he could not be faulted as a sailor or a disciplinarian. He r
an a tight ship, something which had been obvious from his previous visit, when called to explain himself in the company of Illingworth. He knew he’d have to go aboard again, even if the naval officer didn’t demand it of him. In some senses that made matters easier. There would be less need for explanation with Rykert than any other King’s ship.

  ‘You have a singular way of going about your business, Ludlow,’ Rykert said, indicating he should sit down. ‘The last time we met you were short of a bowsprit and foremast, but this is even more remarkable. You look as though you’re flying Mother Riley’s washing.’

  Harry wondered how many of his officers Rykert had tried that joke on, since it had a very rehearsed quality. But, though annoyed, he made a great effort to appear to take it in good part, determined to extract what he needed quickly, and be on his way.

  ‘Gimcrack ain’t it, Rykert. But I had a little dust-up with that same fellow who did for me in the Channel. He took my ship, and I was obliged to make him give it back again.’

  ‘Is this a tale that will last over dinner?’

  ‘It’s decent of you to ask,’ Harry replied, reaching into his coat to pull out a letter, ‘and I’m happy to give you a swift account. But I am on pressing business, as this will tell you.’

  Rykert leant over to take the letter, deep suspicion evident in his eyes. That changed to wonder as he read it, those same eyes expanding in amazement.

  ‘How do you do it, Ludlow?’ he demanded, waving it. ‘The first time I haul you up you’ve got exemptions signed by Dundas. And now you present me with orders that oblige me to leave you be from Sir Peter Parker.’

  ‘I offer them only to save time. I’m so short-handed that you’d be exceeding your authority to take a single one of my men.’

  Rykert drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk, then stood up and walked over to the wine cooler. ‘I’m not going to let you depart without some kind of explanation, sir. And I suggest we accomplish that over a glass of port.’