Wrinch came to say his farewells. He addressed Griffiths who was still in his huge nightshirt. 'It is all arranged Madoc. I had sufficient gold. Your artillery was a powerful persuader. Nathaniel is fully aware of the precise nature of my intentions. As for yourself, Madoc, I entreat you not to be quixotic. That you have come is sufficient. Let Nathaniel here lead the attack.'
'I am a naval officer, not a mawkish schoolgirl to be cozened,' growled Griffiths. In a milder tone he added, 'be off with you. Give us your blue light when y're ready and you'll not find us wanting.' He held out his hand.
'Let us hope that we may toast our success in this Santhonax's cabin stores before long.' Wrinch extended his hand to Drinkwater.
'Good luck, Strangford. I hope Allah wills our little enterprise.'
Wrinch had hardly disappeared before the Hellebores were bundled below and Yusuf ben Ibrahim called his drugged crew to order. With no apparent ill effects the sambnk slipped seawards and two hours after sunrise was beating northwards through sparkling seas. Aware that for the moment he was a passenger Drinkwater slept like a child.
By mid-morning they had left Rayikhah Island well astern and turned north-east to raise Ras Murabit. They began to fish as they closed the shore again and by the afternoon were in company with two other native craft similarly employed. At about four o'clock with the mountains of the Hejaz well defined against a sky of perfect blue and the low, paler dun-coloured coastal plain still shimmering in the heat, they made out the frigate, tiny at first, but growing larger as they sailed closer, in company with the other boats returning after their day's fishing to the sharm Al Nukhra. As they approached they could see the vessel was upright and lying head to wind with her yards crossed. They must have completed their maintenance work, for the ship had all the appearance of being ready for sea.
As the wind died towards evening their pace slackened. Once again the Hellebores were sent below, only the officers with Arab dress being permitted to keep the deck. Looking pale and drawn Commander Griffiths remained, his eyes fixed upon the enemy frigate.
The French ship lay in a sharm which formed a spoon-shaped indentation in the coastline. A few scrubby mangroves were visible on the foreshore and the square shapes of low, mud-brick houses squatted among palms. At the head of the sharm the dried up watercourse wound inland, the wadi that Wrinch would use to cover his own approach.
Boldly, and with the setting sun silhouetting them, the sambuk of Yusuf ben Ibrahim accompanied the boats from Al Mukhra, his crew exchanging shouted comments about the paucity of fish off Rayikhah and blaming it upon the anger of Allah that the infidel had overrun Egypt. The men from Al Mukhra were clearly of the same opinion. They pointed to the French frigate and made obscene gestures. Their women, they said, were being contaminated by the heathen French who had been anchored too long and were hornier than goats with their drunkenness and their lusting. Indeed Allah must have turned his face from the faithful of Al Mukhra who were among the most wretched of men. All this was perfectly comprehensible to Drinkwater, accompanied as it was by universally accepted gestures. It was clear that though Santhonax might have bought the local headmen with gifts and gold, the humbler people who dwelt here had no love for the French.
Drinkwater tried to concentrate on the approach to the sharm storing up knowledge for later use but it seemed to be well chosen, for the approach was wide and deep and clearly Santhonax relied upon the fear of reefs more than their actual presence. Drinkwater found himself thinking more of Santhonax himself and knew intuitively that that was what preoccupied Griffiths. The tall, handsome Frenchman with the livid scar, whom they had chased the length and breadth of the English Channel and pursued along the sandy coast of Holland, seemed drawn towards them by a curious fate. Drinkwater thought of the extraordinary circumstances that had led them to the grey afternoon off Camperdown when, in a Dutch yacht, they had taken him prisoner. And there had been his mistress too, the beautiful auburn-haired Hortense, who had fooled the British authorities for months, living as an emigree in England. He wondered what had become of her, whether Santhonax knew that he, Drinkwater, had released her, turned her loose on a French beach like an unwanted bitch.
He shook his head and drew his glass from under his robe. Careful not to catch the sun upon its lens he levelled it at the French frigate. Half an hour later they anchored off the beach and settled to wait for nightfall.
The fish-hold of the sambuk presented a bizarre spectacle. Crammed into its odoriferous space the Hellebores, faces blackened with soot, prepared for battle. The two lieutenants checked the men and struggled aft to where Griffiths waited, sitting on a coil of rope. He had hardly spoken since they had left Daedalus Reef.
'We are prepared sir. I am almost certain that she is not fully armed yet, her draft is too light and there is still a large encampment ashore. A boat came off just after we anchored but pulled ashore again. The land breeze is already stirring and we will need only a little sail to cover the two cables 'twixt us and the enemy.'
'Da iawn, Mr Drinkwater, well done. You will want to be leaving soon, is it?'
'Aye, sir, in a moment or two.'
'Did you observe our friend at all?'
'Santhonax? No sir.'
Griffiths grunted. 'Very well, good luck. I hope Wrinch told this blackamoor not to move till he saw the signal.'
'Yes sir. I do not think Yusuf will move without a fair chance of victory. He is not the kind to embark on forlorn hopes.'
'Off you go then, bach, and be careful.'
Drinkwater went on deck. The small dinghy was bobbing alongside and Rogers waited to see him off. Yusuf ben Ibrahim was also on deck, smoking hashish with his wild-eyed crew. The moon was up, a slender crescent, an omen of singular aptness thought Drinkwater pointing it out to the Arab. Yusuf grinned comprehend-ingly. 'In'sh Allah' he breathed fervently, drawing a wickedly curved sabre that gleamed dully in the starlight.
'Good luck, Drinkwater,' said Rogers offering his hand. ''Tis a damned desperate measure but if it don't succeed…' he left the sentence unfinished.
'If it don't succeed, Samuel, we can all kiss farewell to a prosperous future.' Nathaniel took the man's hand, searching for the blackened face in the night. Rogers was much chastened since wrecking the brig and Drinkwater found himself liking the man for the first time since leaving home. 'Good luck, Samuel.'
He descended into the little boat. Drinkwater squatted aft and saw where Kellett and Tregembo each took an oar. The third topman, named Barnes, settled himself in the bow. Drinkwater struggled out of his galabiya as they pulled away from the dhow and made a wide detour round the stern of the frigate as she pointed landwards, head to the offshore breeze. When they had worked round to a position on her starboard bow they began to pull quietly in towards her and, three quarters of an hour after leaving, Barnes caught the boat's painter round the heavy hemp cable of the frigate. Kellett and Tregembo brought their oars inboard and all four men sat in silence under the stem and figurehead of the ship. They had achieved total surprise. Perfection of the plan now depended upon Wrinch.