Betrayal by Julian Stockwin Read Free Book Online Page A

the blessed depths of the Indian Ocean.
    Kydd watched in satisfaction. On return to
L’Aurore
, he would personally see that the men at the oars spliced the mainbrace – an extra grog ration, even if here it was Stellenbosch wine rather than rum—
    There was a sudden thud that was more felt through the deck than heard. Seconds later there were baffled shouts from forward and Gilbey turned to bawl disbelievingly, ‘The tow’s parted!’
    It was impossible. Kydd pounded up to see. This was why a bridle was in place at the end of the thick anchor cable: if any one boat-tow parted the rest would be preserved. It could only imply that the massive anchor cable itself had given way.
    At the fo’c’sle he looked ahead: the boats were at all angles, men retrieving oars where they had lost them when the heavy tension had suddenly released, sending them headlong into the bottom of the boat. He looked down over the cathead to the hawse, expecting to see the catenary of the big cable curve away into the water – but it had vanished.
    Kydd then realised it could mean just one thing: that it had parted inside the hawse after it had left the riding bitts where it was belayed. But this had no meaning! Bellowing an order to Poulden to keep his heading, he flew down the fo’c’sle ladder to the deck below. Then, wheeling round, he ran to the riding bitts – where things became all too clear. Sprawled on deck under the frayed strands of the cable was the blood-soaked body of the captain, a fire-axe flung nearby.
    In great pain the man must have crawled up from the sickbay and severed the cable, bringing about the destruction of his own ship. With a crushing sense of finality, Kydd ran aft and up the ladder to the quarterdeck.
    ‘Not answering th’ helm, sir,’ Poulden said. In his hands the wheel was spinning uselessly.
    They were now drifting; there was far too little time to rouse out another cable and all it needed was for a counter-flaw in the current at one end of the ship . . . and there it was. Her head fell off and she began a slewing across the river that got rapidly faster. With the softest of sensations her bow caught in the muddy bank. The colossal mass of water from up-country began taking the ship broadside, an irresistible force, which sent the other end immovably into the opposite bank.
    Instantly the water piled up on the upstream side in an unstoppable flood – the deck canted over and racking timber groans from deep within sounded as death throes.
    Gilbey came aft, raving impotently at the situation. Kydd cut him short: ‘All boats alongside. Get the wounded out, then see what movables we can take.’ He gave a wintry smile. ‘And don’t delay, we’ve not got long.’

Chapter 2

    K ydd squinted down the deck to where the fo’c’sle party, in streaming oilskins, were preparing the bower anchor for their mooring, a wet and perilous exercise in the filthy weather from the north-west. Another ponderous roll of thunder echoed back from Table Mountain and, ahead, ships jibbed nervously under the bluster of autumn wind and grey, fretful seas.
    From the fo’c’sle Curzon’s arm shot up and Kydd acknowledged. They were ready to take their place and let slip the anchor past the throng of merchant shipping among the naval squadron at the outer part of the Table Bay anchorage. And the captain of
L’Aurore
’s first duty was to pay his respects to Commodore Popham, the senior naval officer, Cape Colony.
    Although he had lost the corvette he had returned with something much more precious. ‘You have the deck, Mr Curzon. I’m going below to shift rig before I report.’ It was a straightforward moor in the open roadstead, and Gilbey was on hand, but his second lieutenant glowed at the trust.
    It was a bucketing, bruising pull to
Diadem
, the flagship, even in the launch that Kydd had called upon in place of his slighter-built barge. Walls of rain sluiced across, and despite boat-cloak and oilskins, he was soaked