Birds of Prey (33 page)

‘Fire!’ Schreuder dropped his sword, and the next volley slashed into the wavering seamen. Hal flinched as a ball passed his ear so closely that the wind of it flipped a curl of his
hair into his eyes.

At his side Daniel gasped, ‘I am struck!’ jerked around like a marionette and sat down heavily. The volley had knocked over another dozen of the
Resolution
’s men and
wounded as many more. Hal stooped to aid Daniel, but the big boatswain growled, ‘Don’t dither about here, you fool. Run! We’re beaten, and there’s another volley
coming.’

As if to prove his words, Schreuder’s next orders rang out close at hand. ‘Third rank, present your arms!’

All around them the
Resolution
’s men who were still on their feet, broke and scattered in the face of the levelled muskets, running and staggering towards the gunpits.

‘Help me, Aboli,’ Hal shouted, and Aboli grabbed Daniel’s other arm. Between them they hauled him to his feet and started back towards the beach.

‘Fire!’ Schreuder shouted, and at that instant, not waiting for a word from each other, Hal and Aboli flung themselves flat to earth, pulling Daniel down with them. The gunsmoke and
the shot of the third volley crashed over their heads. Immediately they sprang up again and, dragging Daniel, ran for the shelter of the pits.

‘Are you hit?’ Aboli grunted at Hal, who shook his head, saving his breath. Few of his seamen were still on their feet. Only a handful had reached the line of gunpits and jumped into
their shelter.

Half carrying Daniel, they staggered on, while behind them there were jubilant cheers, and the green-clad musketeers surged forward, brandishing their weapons. The three reached the gunpit and
pulled Daniel down into it.

There was no need to ask of his wound for the whole of his left side ran red with blood. Aboli jerked the cloth from around his head, wadded it into a ball and stuffed it hurriedly into the
front of Daniel’s shirt.

‘Hold that on the wound,’ he told Daniel. ‘Press as hard as you can.’ He left him lying on the floor of the pit, and stood up beside Hal.

‘Oh, sweet Mary!’ Hal whispered. His sweat-streaked face was pale with horror and fury at what he beheld over the parapet. ‘Look at those bloody butchers!’

As the green-jackets came clamouring forward, they paused only to stab the wounded seamen who lay in their path. Some of their victims rolled on their backs and lifted their bare hands to try to
ward off the thrust, others screamed for mercy and tried to crawl away but, laughing and hooting, the musketeers ran after them, thrusting and hacking. This bloody work was quickly done, with
Schreuder bellowing at them to close up and keep advancing.

In this moment of respite Sir Francis came dodging down the line and jumped into the pit beside his son.

‘We are beaten, Father!’ Hal said, dispiritedly, and they looked around at their dead and wounded. ‘We have lost over half our men already.’

‘Hal is right,’ Aboli agreed. ‘It is over. We must try to get away.’

‘Where to?’ Sir Francis asked, with a grim smile. ‘That way?’ He pointed through the trees towards the lagoon, where they saw boats speeding in towards the beach, driven
by the oars of enemy sailors eager to join the fight.

Both the frigate and the
Gull
had lowered their boats which were crowded with men. Their cutlasses were drawn and the smoke of their matchlocks blued the air, trailing out across the
surface of the water. They were shouting and cheering as wildly as the green-jackets in front.

As the first boats touched the beach the armed men spilled out of them and raced across the narrow strip of white sand. Howling with savage zeal, they stormed at the line of gunpits in which the
empty culverins gaped silently, and the
Resolution
’s remaining crew cowered bewildered.

‘We cannot hope for quarter, lads,’ Sir Francis shouted. ‘Look at what those bloodthirsty heathen do to those who try to yield to them.’ With his sword he indicated the
corpses of the murdered men that littered the ground in front of the guns. ‘One more cheer for King Charley, and we’ll go down fighting!’

The voices of his tiny band were small and hoarse with exhaustion as they dragged themselves over the parapet once more and sallied out to meet the charge of two hundred fresh and eager
musketeers. Aboli was a dozen paces ahead, and hacked at the first green-jacket in his path. His victim went down under the blow but Aboli’s blade snapped off at the hilt. He tossed it aside,
stooped and picked up a pike from the dead hands of one of the fallen English seamen.

As Hal and Sir Francis ran up beside him, he hefted the long oak shaft and thrust at the belly of another musketeer who rushed at him with his sword held high. The pike-head caught him just
under the ribs and transfixed him, standing out half an arm’s length between his shoulder blades. The man struggled like a fish on a gaff, and the heavy shaft snapped off in Aboli’s
hands. He used the stub like a cudgel to strike down the third musketeer who rushed at him. Aboli looked around, grinning like a crazed gargoyle, his great eyes rolling in their sockets.

Sir Francis was engaged with a white Dutch sergeant, trading cut for thrust, their blades clanking and rasping against each other.

Hal killed a corporal with a single neat thrust into his throat, then glanced at Aboli. ‘The men from the boats will be on us in an instant.’ They could hear wild cries in their rear
as the enemy seamen swept over the gunpits, dealing out short shrift to the few men hiding there. Hal and Aboli did not need to look back – they both knew it was over.

‘Farewell, old friend,’ Aboli panted. ‘They were good times. Would that they had lasted longer.’

Hal had no chance to reply, for at that moment a hoarse voice said in English, ‘Hal Courtney, you bold puppy, your luck has just this moment ended.’ Cornelius Schreuder pushed aside
two of his own men and strode forward to face Hal.

‘You and me!’ he shouted and came in fast, leading with his right foot, taking the quick double paces of the master swordsman, recovering instantly from each of the swift series of
thrusts with which he drove Hal backwards.

Hal was shocked anew at the power in those thrusts, and it taxed all his skill and strength to meet and parry them. The Toledo steel of his blade rang shrilly under the mighty blows and he felt
despair as he realized that he could not hope to hold out against such magisterial force.

Schreuder’s eyes were blue, cold and merciless. He anticipated each of Hal’s moves, offering him a wall of glittering steel when once he attempted the riposte, beating his blade
aside then coming on again remorselessly.

Close by, Sir Francis was absorbed in his own duel and had not seen Hal’s deadly predicament. Aboli had only the stump of the pike-shaft in his hand – no weapon with which to take on
a man like Cornelius Schreuder. He saw Hal, his immature strength already spent by his earlier exertions, wilting visibly before the overwhelming force of these attacks.

Aboli knew by Schreuder’s expression when he judged his moment and gathered himself to make the kill. It was certain, inevitable, for Hal could never withstand the thunderbolt which was
ready to loose itself upon him.

Aboli moved with the speed of a striking black cobra, faster even than Schreuder could send home his final thrust. He darted up behind Hal, and lifted the oak club. He struck Hal down with a
crack over his ear, rapping him sharply across the temple.

Schreuder was amazed to have his victim drop to the ground, senseless, just as he was about to launch the death thrust. While he hesitated Aboli dropped the shattered pike-shaft and stood
protectively over Hal’s inert body.

‘You cannot kill a fallen man, Colonel. Not on the honour of a Dutch officer.’

‘You black Satan!’ Schreuder roared with frustration. ‘If I can’t kill the puppy, at least I can kill you.’

Aboli showed him his empty hands, holding up his pale palms before Schreuder’s eyes. ‘I am unarmed,’ he said softly.

‘I would spare an unarmed Christian.’ Schreuder glared. ‘But you are a godless animal.’ He drew back his blade and aimed the point at the centre of Aboli’s chest,
where the muscles glistened with sweat in the sunlight. Sir Francis Courtney stepped lightly in front of him, ignoring the colonel’s blade.

‘On the other hand, Colonel Schreuder, I am a Christian gentleman,’ he said smoothly, ‘and I yield myself and my men to your grace.’ He reversed his own sword and
proffered the hilt to Schreuder.

Schreuder glared at him, speechless with fury and frustration. He made no move to accept Sir Francis’s sword, but placed the point of his weapon on the other man’s throat and pricked
him lightly. ‘Stand aside, or by God I’ll cut you down, Christian or heathen.’ The knuckles of his right hand turned white on the hilt of his weapon as he prepared himself to make
good the threat.

Another hail made him hesitate. ‘Come now, Colonel, I am loath to interfere in a matter of honour. If you murder the brother of my bosom, Franky Courtney, then who will lead us to the
treasure from your fine galleon the
Standvastigheid
?’

Schreuder’s gaze flicked to the face of Cumbrae as he came striding up to them, the great blood-streaked claymore in his hand.

‘The cargo?’ Schreuder demanded. ‘We have captured this pirate’s nest. We will find the treasure is here.’

‘Now don’t you be so certain of that.’ The Buzzard waggled his bushy red beard sadly. ‘If I know my dear brother in Christ, Franky, he’ll have squirrelled the best
part of it away somewhere.’ His eye glinted greedily from under his bonnet. ‘No, Colonel, you are going to have to keep him alive, at least until we have been able to recompense
ourselves with a handful of silver rix-dollars for doing God’s work this day.’

W
hen Hal recovered consciousness, he found his father kneeling over him. He whispered, ‘What happened, Father? Did we win?’ His
father shook his head, without looking into his eyes, and made a fuss of wiping the sweat and soot from his son’s face with a strip of grubby cloth torn from the hem of his own shirt.

‘No, Hal. We did not win.’ Hal looked beyond him, and it all came back. He saw that a pitiful few of the
Resolution
’s crew had survived. They were huddled together
around where Hal lay, guarded by green-jackets with loaded muskets. The rest were scattered where they had fallen in front of the gunpits, or were draped in death upon the parapets.

He saw that Aboli was tending Daniel, binding up the wound in his chest with the red bandanna. Daniel was sitting up and seemed to have recovered somewhat, although clearly he had lost a great
deal of blood. His face beneath the grime of battle was as white as the ashes of last night’s camp-fire.

Hal turned his head and saw Lord Cumbrae and Colonel Schreuder standing nearby, in deep and earnest conversation. The Buzzard broke off at last and shouted an order to one of his men.
‘Geordie, bring the slave chains from the
Gull
! We don’t want Captain Courtney to leave us again.’ The sailor hurried back to the beach, and the Buzzard and the colonel
came to where the prisoners squatted under the muskets of their guards.

‘Captain Courtney.’ Schreuder addressed Sir Francis ominously. ‘I am arresting you and your crew for piracy on the high seas. You will be taken to Good Hope to stand trial on
those charges.’

‘I protest, sir.’ Sir Francis stood up with dignity. ‘I demand that you treat my men with the consideration due to prisoners of war.’

‘There is no war, Captain,’ Schreuder told him icily. ‘Hostilities between the Republic of Holland and England ceased under treaty some months ago.’

Sir Francis stared at him, aghast, while he recovered from the shock of this news. ‘I was unaware that a peace had been concluded. I acted in good faith,’ he said at last, ‘but
in any event I was sailing under a commission from His Majesty.’

‘You spoke of this Letter of Marque during our previous meeting. Will you consider me presumptuous if I insist on having sight of the document?’ Schreuder asked.

‘My commission from His Majesty is in my sea-chest in my hut.’ Sir Francis pointed into the stockade, where many of the huts had been destroyed by cannon fire. ‘If you will
allow me I will bring it to you.’

‘Please don’t discommode yourself, Franky my old friend.’ The Buzzard clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll fetch it for you.’ He strode away and ducked into the
low doorway of the hut that Sir Francis had indicated.

Schreuder rounded on him again. ‘Where are you holding your hostages, sir? Governor van de Velde and his poor wife, where are they?’

‘The Governor must still be in his stockade with the other hostages, his wife and the captain of the galleon. I have not seen them since the beginning of the fight.’

Hal stood up shakily, holding the cloth to his head. ‘The Governor’s wife has taken refuge from the fighting in a cave in the hillside, up there.’

‘How do you know that?’ Schreuder asked sharply.

‘For her own safety, I led her there myself.’ Hal spoke up boldly, avoiding his father’s stern eye. ‘I was returning from the cave when I ran into you in the forest,
Colonel.’

Schreuder looked up the hill, torn by duty and the desire to rush to the aid of the woman whose rescue was, for him at least, the main object of this expedition. But at that moment the Buzzard
swaggered out of the hut. He carried a roll of parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon. The royal seals of red wax dangled from it.

Sir Francis smiled with satisfaction and relief. ‘There you have it, Colonel. I demand that you treat me and my crew as honourable prisoners, captured in a fair fight.’

Before he reached them, the Buzzard paused and unrolled the parchment. He held up the document at arm’s length, and turned it so that all could see the curlicue script penned by some clerk
of the Admiralty in black indian ink. At last, with a jerk of his head, he summoned one of his own seamen. He took the loaded pistol from the man’s hand, and blew upon the burning match in
the lock. Then he grinned at Sir Francis and applied the flame to the foot of the document in his hand.