Herault continued to throw lumps of offal to them until he had half emptied one of the baskets, then the Vicomte checked him by crying: "Enough! We must not take the edge off their appetites. You can give them the rest of their meal afterwards."
But now they had been excited by the food the great reptiles did not settle down. Eager for more they splashed and wallowed, snapping their jaws, lashing their tails, and in this disappointment turning on one another. As Roger watched them with horrified fascination he wished for the twentieth time since the capture of the Circe that he had been caught six months earlier with Athenaxs, and suffered with her the clean swift death of the guillotine.
De Senlac gave Jean Herault's arm a gentle pat, nodded towards the gibbet and said with the smile of an elderly roue giving a present to a young woman he wishes to please: "For you, dear boy, I have reserved the pleasure of fastening the harness upon him. But take care that the straps beneath his arms are tight; otherwise he might slip out of it, and deprive me of my full revenge by making a quick end of himself."
As the tall youth walked past the Vicomte to the gibbet, the man behind Roger untied the cord that bound his wrists. It had been tied so tightly that for a moment his hands hung numb and useless. Flexing his fingers, he glanced wildly round. Amanda and Jenny were on their knees praying for him. Clarissa stood with bowed head and one arm thrown across her face. Georgina, white as a sheet under her tan, was staring at him, all the love that she had borne him through her life in her big eyes. Neither Tom nor Dan was anywhere to be seen.
Jean Herault turned the pivot of the gibbet so that its long arm swung towards the pool's edge. At Roger's side the Vicomte stood watching the graceful movements of the young sangmele with a doting leer. As he reached for the harness Roger acted.
Taking one pace back he brought his right knee up with all his force. It struck de Senlac a violent blow on the bottom. With eyes starting from their sockets and mouth agape he lurched forward. For a second he tottered, his arms flailing wildly, on the very edge of the pool. Then, unable to recover his balance, he pitched headforemost into it.
His terrified yell was cut short as he hit the water. With the speed and strength exceeding that of tigers the caymans leapt upon him, tearing him limb from limb, until his blood made a great red streak across the heaving surface of the pool.
Roger did not see his enemy's ghastly end. His desperate stroke had given him an outside chance to break away through the ring of spectators and plunge into the forest. If he could succeed in that the dense vegetation would swallow him up. Even a penetration of a dozen yards might be enough to enable him to escape recapture; but it was now or never.
The instant de Senlac jerked forward on to his toes Roger swung about. He had deliberately refrained from using his hands, in order that he might have his fists already clenched. One stride brought him within a yard of the man who had just untied him. His right fist caught the man beneath the jaw and sent him sprawling. He was flat on his back even before the sound of the splash made by the Vicomte's body cut short his yell.
Roger's actions had been so swift that only the nearer members of the crowd had yet grasped the full significance of them. While they remained motionless and gaping in astonished silence he seized the opportunity to shout with all the power of his lungs:
"Dan! Tom! Old Circe men! Help!" Then he yelled in French: "Slaves! Free yourselves! The Tyrant is dead! Take courage! Rally to me!"
His last words were drowned in a pandemonium of shouting, yells and curses. As though the tension had been released by a spring, every figure in the clearing leapt into motion. The younger Herault whipped out a knife and ran at him from one side, the elder from the other. Catching the sangmele’s wrist he gave it a violent twist. The knife slipped from his grasp and fell with a clang upon the rock. He let out a screech of pain; but his father had seized Roger round the waist in a trained wrestler's grip and, with surprising strength for a man of his age, threw him off his balance.
As he went down he caught a glimpse of the women. Amanda and Jenny were on their feet again. The former was clawing the eyes out of her guard and his cheeks were scored with bloody furrows, where her nails had gashed them. The latter was still struggling with hers and beating at his face with her clenched fists. Clarissa had broken free and was running towards him. Georgina had snatched a knife from her guard's belt and was stabbing with it at his stomach.
Roger hit the ground with a thump. Next moment, despite the gallant diversion created by the women, he thought the game was up. Both the Heraults were about to throw themselves upon him and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Cyrano brandishing a cavalry sabre.
When the melee started de Senlac's Lieutenant had been talking to some men half-way along the ridge of boulders. As his back was turned he had not seen Roger knee the Vicomte into the pool, and owing to the agony he was suffering from his knee he had made poor speed in recrossing the clearing. Yet now he was only a few yards off, his long curved sword held high ready to deliver a deadly stroke. Roger, prone on his back, could do nothing to evade the flashing blade. His bid for freedom had started so well, but it seemed he had made it in vain.
Help came from an unexpected quarter. The report of a musket rang out above the shouting of the crowd. Cyrano's eyes started in his head, his jaw went slack. Shot through the back, he crashed forward on to his face, his right arm still outstretched so that the tip of his sabre struck a spark from the rock only six inches short of Roger's head.
It was Dan who had saved him. The ex-smuggler and Tom were lying hidden in the undergrowth on the edge of the low cliff above the boulders. Thinking it certain that Roger's hands would be untied before he was bound up afresh in the harness attached to the gibbet, Dan had been waiting for that moment intending, as soon as Roger once more had the use of his fists, to shoot the Vicomte. But Roger had forestalled him with de Senlac so he had to hold his fire until he could aim at a worthwhile target without risk of hitting his master.
Again the element of surprise stood Roger in good stead. As Cyrano fell within a few yards or them, both the Heraults took their eyes from him to stare round in swift apprehension, wondering whence the shot had come, and fearing to be the next target.
Rolling over Roger jumped to his feet, struck Jean a glancing blow with his fist and kicked the older man in the groin. With a screech pere Herault doubled up and staggered back clutching at his genitals. His son landed a kick on Roger's thigh which again sent him sprawling.
Two more pirates were running to the young man's assistance but once more Roger was saved by a new diversion. A bang like that of a small cannon sounded above the din. Tom had discharged a blunderbuss loaded with old nails and scraps of iron into a tightly packed group of pirates and their molls on a flat-topped boulder just below him.
At such close range every fragment from the terrible weapon found a lodgment in human flesh. Screams, curses, groans rent the air. Next moment Dan and Tom, cutlasses in hand, leapt down on to the ledge and were laying about them among the survivors. Those up on the boulder offered no resistance and, scrambling down on to the flat floor of the clearing, the two stalwarts began to hack then-way towards Roger.
But the fight was far from over. Seizing Jean by the ankle Roger lugged at it and brought him down. Shooting out a hand he grabbed Roger by the hair. Next moment they were grappling wildly. One of the pirates who had run up held a pistol. Aiming at Roger's head he fired, but at that second Roger gave a violent jerk to free his hair. The bullet missed him and smashed the sangmele’s elbow. In an instant Roger had struck him in the face and he rolled away now hors de combat.
Their struggle had brought them to the edge of the pool. As Roger scrambled to his knees, both pirates came at him together, and a third was now close on their heels. The nearest aimed a heavy kick at his face, with the intention of sending him over the edge. Roger jerked his head aside so that the man's foot went over his shoulder. Throwing himself forward, he flung his arms round th
e leg upon which the man was still standing. With a terrific heave he lifted the weighty body straddled above him, then let go. For a moment it was suspended on his back head down and feet in the air. He gave another heave and the man slithered off behind him, with his arms threshing the empty air three feet out from the pool's rim.
The second pirate had clubbed his pistol, but seeing his comrade's desperate situation flung it at Roger's head, then seized the first man's foot in an endeavour to save him. Roger dodged the pistol, scrambled up, and as the third man rushed upon him was just in time to trip this new adversary.
He was gasping as though his lungs would burst; but now after days of helpless despair, he was his old self again. None of these lumbering brutes was his match for quick wits and agility and he felt that only numbers could overcome him.
The last of the three to go down was a mulatto, and in his hand he still held a short sword. He had hardly hit the ground before Roger brought a heel down on his wrist with such force that both of them heard the bone crunch. Stooping, Roger tore the sword from the nerveless fingers. Of all weapons it was the one he would have chosen for such a fight. He plunged it into the side of the pirate who was trying to drag his comrade back from the pool's edge. The wounded man gave a horrible gurgle, flung back his head, and let go; the other flopped into the pool with a resounding splash, came up to give one howl that echoed through the clearing, and was dragged under by the caymans.
The mulatto with the broken wrist scuffled off as swiftly as he could. Jean Herault was some way away moaning over his shattered elbow. His father had collapsed and lay writhing on the ground. Cyrano, paralysed from the waist down by a smashed spine, could now only curse feebly between bouts of vomiting blood. But the man whom Roger had knocked unconscious with a right to the jaw was coming round. Stepping forward, he kicked him hard on the side of the head and put him out again.
Now, for the first time since the murderous affray had started, Roger had a chance to get a full look round. The whole of the open space had become a scene of wild confusion and desperate fighting. Several major melees and a score of individual combats were in progress. Whites and blacks, slaves and pirates, men and women, were all embroiled in life or death struggles. Some were slashing or stabbing at one another, others locked chest to chest strove grimly to strangle or trip their antagonists; a group of negresses had attacked two of the coffee-coloured molls, and were dragging them by the hair towards the pool. Feet stamped, steel clanged on steel, and every moment a pistol shot rang out or a woman gave a piercing scream.
Roger had been facing slightly towards the boulders, and in that direction he saw Dan and Tom. They had half a dozen pirates against them, but were fighting gamely, and had been joined by two of the Circe's men. Looking quickly to his other side he saw Fergusson slicing with a razor-edged machete at a big negro.
Monsieur Pirouet and Jake had been in the plot with Dan. Their part had been to free the other prisoners. The chef had brought, concealed under his jacket, a weighty meat chopper. He had been waiting for Dan's shot as the signal to act, but on seeing Roger deal with the Vicomte he had waited no longer. With two swift strokes of his chopper he had cleaved the necks and the jugular veins of the two guards behind whom he had stationed himself. As they fell Jake had dived forward knife in hand and cut the cords that bound the hands of the Doctor and the Supercargo. Fergusson had grabbed the cane-cutting machete from a nearby slave, and was still making good use of it; but young Wells lay dead with a knife through his chest
Amanda too had gone down, but a man named Catamole from the Circe was standing over her with a pike and beating off two of the Porto Ricans, who had evidently decided for the second time to throw in their lot with the pirates. Georgina must have been stunned or wounded, as Monsieur Pirouet was carrying her towards the plank bridge over the deep gully while Jake and Jenny protected his back. For a moment Roger could not see Clarissa, then he caught sight of her some way from the others. Marlinspike Joe had her by the wrist and was dragging her off into the bushes.
In less than a minute Roger had taken in the whole ghastly tangle of slaughter. Racing towards the group fighting above Amanda he drove his sword into the small of the nearest Porto Rican's back. As he intended, it pierced the kidney, from which a blade can be withdrawn with ease instead of becoming muscle-bound. Whipping it out, he left Catamole to deal with the other, and dashed after Clarissa.
Marlinspike Joe had pulled her into the dense vegetation but her cries told Roger whereabouts they were. Crashing his way through the undergrowth and forcing the low branches aside with his free hand, he plunged deeper in until he came upon them. On catching sight of Roger the ruffian let go of Clarissa and attempted to draw his cutlass, but she gamely hung on to his sword arm. That made him easy meat, and without the faintest scruple Roger delivered a lunge that pierced him through the windpipe.
Choked by the rush of his own blood, the lecherous mutineer made a sound like a premature death-rattle, slipped to his knees and, still gurgling, fell from sight through a screen of creepers. Wrenching his point free, Roger took Clarissa by the hand, drew her back into the open and, pointing at the plank bridge, cried:
"Quick! Make for the bridge. Look! They're carrying Georgina across it. Tell them to take her farther up the path into the forest. I'll join you as soon as I am able."
As she set off at a run, he gave another swift look round. Amanda was on her feet She was swaying dizzily, but Fergusson was supporting Iter and leading her towards the bridge, while Catamole still battled with the remaining Porto Rican. Roger had hoped that after being deprived of their leaders, and with the slaves raised against them, the pirates would lose heart, panic and scatter. But things did not seem to be going at all that way. Surprise had enabled him and, his allies to inflict a dozen casualties on them in the first few minutes of the struggle, but now they had recovered from the unexpectedness of the attack they were putting up a stout resistance. They were better armed, more used to handling weapons, and of tougher fibre, than most of their opponents. Moreover, as far as he could judge, only five or six of the Circe's men and less than half of the slaves had responded to his shouts to turn against the pirates.
Many of the slaves were now fleeing down the path towards the bay. All the other molls had come to the rescue of the two the negresses had attacked and it was now the black women who were being dragged screaming towards the pool. At least forty pirates were still unscathed, and a dozen of them had driven Dan's party back to the boulders. One of the Circe's men who had joined up with him had been cut down; the other, a big fair fellow named Kilick, was on his right, and Tom was on his left. But Tom had received a nasty cut across his forehead and blood was streaming down from it over his face.
Charging across the open space Roger flung himself into the fray. Now, he had the chance to use the short sword with maximum effect. It was much thicker than a rapier, so strong enough to parry a stroke from a cutlass without risk of snapping off; yet it enabled him to use the tricks of fence of which he was a pastmaster.
Hearing the pounding of his feet behind them, three of the pirates turned to face him. Leaping from side to side, he feinted—lunged, feinted—lunged, feinted—lunged with incredible rapidity, his point darting hither and thither like lightning. It ripped through the forearm of one man, tore open the cheek of another and pinked the stomach of the third, while the frantic slashes they made at him with their heavier weapons met only empty air and threw them off their balance.
None of the wounds was serious, but quite nasty enough to make all three men hastily draw back, thus breaking the semi-circle that had enclosed Dan and his two companions. Roger shouted to them:
"Come on! Now's your chance! Have a care for your backs and make for the bridge."
There was a moment of wild, confused fighting, then they were through. But Tom, faint from loss of blood and half blinded by it, tripped and fell. Kilick smashed the hilt of his cutlass into the face of the nearest pirate, stooped, seiz
ed Tom by the arm with his free hand and dragged him to his feet. Staggering but still game Tom lurched along beside him while Roger and Dan laid about them furiously to cover the retreat.
Twilight had begun to fall, and as they backed towards the bridge Roger prayed that night might come quickly; for the pirates now had the upper hand and as long as the light lasted it would give them a better chance to pursue into the forest a party hampered by wounded.
There followed three more minutes of savage cut and thrust, then a new peril threatened the retreating party. Monsieur Pirouet and Jake had got all the women safely across the bridge, while Fergusson and Catamole remained on its near side defending it from a group of pirates who sought to cross it and recapture them. Now three of this group abandoned the attempt, to turn and attack Roger and his companions in the rear.
Their progress towards the bridge was checked no more than a dozen yards from it; but they could get no farther, and with the half-fainting Tom in their midst were compelled to fight back to back. Surrounded and outnumbered as they were, it seemed certain that they must be overwhelmed. Kilick's long reach enabled him to keep his attackers at bay. Dan fought like a demon. Roger's blade snaked 5 in and out constantly menacing the eyes and throats of those who assailed him. But their exertions had already been terrific, and all of them were now near spent
Help came only just in time. Their friends had seen their plight and were doing their utmost to come to their assistance. Pirouet, Jake, Jenny and Clarissa had run back across the bridge. The two men joined Fergusson, Catamole and a ragged dark-haired stranger who had just emerged from the forest to fight beside them. Led by Fergusson, they all fell upon two pirates who were still trying to force the bridge, killed one and drove the other off with a great gash in his sword arm.
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