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He thought of Deighton, who apparently believed that such men as these had no right even to ask why they were being sent. And of his uncle, who thought it was all they did have.

He said, There is an enemy battery up yonder." He saw a couple of men stare at the ship's side as if it were as near as that. "It is not big, but, like a poacher and his piece, it is well-sited to wreak havoc amongst our people."

He looked up, caught off-guard as canvas cracked out like gunfire; for an instant he thought the wind had defied Borradaile's predictions and was rising. Perhaps it was safer to be like Barlow, the marine lieutenant. Borradaile was making more sail. The word moved in his mind again. Committed.

"You will be fed now, and there will be a good measure of rum."

He saw the grins, and thought again of his uncle, the pain in his eyes when he had said, "Is that all they ask for what they do?"

He nodded to Monteith, and ended simply, "Keep together, and fight bravely if you must. We shall have the sea at our backs."

He found Borradaile waiting for him by the compass box.

"West by north, sir. Holding steady on the starboard tack." He sounded satisfied.

Adam thought of the men he had just left, drinking their rum. If I began now I would never be able to stop.

He turned as he realised Borradaile had asked him something.

"My apologies, I am leagues away at present!"

Borradaile shrugged. "I was thinking, sir, about going ashore." He waited, perhaps expecting a rebuff. "After what happened to you, being a prisoner an' the like, how d'you feel about it?"

Adam looked at his gaunt shadow. "Not fear, my friend. Perhaps it gives me an edge." He thought suddenly of the boy Whitmarsh, and added, "It is my place."

After the close confines of Alfriston's hull, the air across the black, heaving water felt fresh, even cold.

Adam stood in the stern sheets of the barge, his hand on the coxswain's shoulder to steady himself as he strained his eyes to see the boat ahead. Five boats in all, oars rising and falling like dark wings, with only an occasional pale splash to mark a blade cutting against the inshore current.

The next boat astern was packed with marines, and he could see the white belts and pouches without difficulty. Like the noise, looms creaking in the row locks the stem thrusting toward the deeper darkness of the land. Surely someone must see or hear them?

He knew from experience that his apprehension was unfounded. The sounds of the sea and the moan of a steady breeze would muffle almost everything. Each oarsman was handpicked, some from Valkyrie, and others put forward by Borradaile. In the leading boat he had stationed one of his own master's mates, a veteran like himself, who was very aware of the responsibility he had been given.

No matter what happened they must keep together. If the boats lost sight of one another, the raid would become a shambles before it had begun.

He saw another faint splash, and knew that the first boat was using a lead and line simply to ensure that they were not wandering amongst the rocks he had noted on the chart. Some were as big as islets.

He felt the coxswain lean forward to gesture to the stroke oarsman. No words; they were too experienced to need more than a hint. What were they thinking? Like most sailors, probably anxious when Alfriston's, ghostly shape had faded into the darkness. Now, each man would be wanting to get it over and done with, to return to familiar surroundings, and their friends.

The lookout in the bows called in a hoarse whisper, "Jolly boat's comin' about, sir!"

The coxswain snapped, "Oars!" Another seaman shuttered a lantern just once toward the following craft, and Adam saw the untidy disturbance of spray as the blades backed water to avoid running them down.

The jolly boat circled round until it dipped and lifted in the shallows, and Lieutenant Monteith called out as loudly as he dared, "Ship at anchor, sir! Off the point! Brig or brigantine!"

Always the unexpected to raise the stakes, but Monteith sounded calm enough.

He could feel the coxswain's shoulder under his fingers, hard and tense. Waiting. They were all waiting.

Adam replied, "Take over the others, Mr. Monteith." He glanced at the pale faces of the oarsmen, watching and listening. How many times had he seen Keen brought to the ship in this barge, or pulled ashore to meet his lady? He thrust it from his mind. His new wife.

The jolly boat was too small, and by the time support could be organised even the sleepiest watch might have been roused. The unknown vessel had to be taken without delay. Any sort of alarm might bring troops, even a man-of-war hurrying to head them off.

He thought of Deighton. Another laurel for the family garland, for your uncle? He felt a grin breaking the fierce tension in his jaw. He could damned well think what he liked!

He said, "Boarding party, be ready! Cox'n, as soon as we sight the brig, or whatever she is, make for the chains where we can hook on!"

He stared around for the jolly boat, but it had already drifted clear and merged with the darkness. Monteith was left to his own devices, perhaps the first time he had carried out such a mission. If I fall, he will be on his own. He drew his hanger and said, "No shooting. You know what to do!"

"Give way all!"

The barge sighed into a low trough and gathered way again.

Perhaps the bearing was wrong? He glanced up, but even the stars were elusive. Some of the oarsmen were beginning to breathe more heavily: it had been a long pull with an overloaded boat; they were tired. All they had left was hope, and trust.

Something moved across the faint scattering of stars, like birds on passage. He gripped his hanger until the pain steadied him, and the birds hardened into shape, into the masts and yards of the anchored vessel. She loomed out of the night, so close that it seemed impossible that no one had yet sighted them.

"Easy, lads!" It was pointless to think of the other possibility: that the bulwarks were already lined with marksmen and swivels, that their carefully guarded secret was just another myth.

The coxswain hissed, "Oars!"

Adam groped along the boat, holding a man's arm here, another's ready hand there, until he was in the bows with the waiting boarders. Jago was one of them, and Adam guessed he had detailed the spare hands when he realised what was happening.

He watched the rigging rising above him. "Now!"

A grapnel flew over the bulwark and snared into place, and the gunner's mate, Jago, was up and over the vessel's side before anyone else could move. Adam found himself on a littered, unfamiliar deck, men hurrying past him, brushing him aside in their eagerness to get aboard.

There was a single cry, and Adam saw Jago drag a limp corpse down from the forecastle where the luckless seaman had been supposedly guarding the anchor cable.

Jago bent down and wiped his blade on the dead man's shirt and said between his teeth, "Never sleep on watch! Bad for discipline!"

Incredibly. Adam heard somebody stifle a laugh.

He said, "Rouse the others." He walked to the vessel's deserted wheel and glanced at the masts and furled sails. Brigantine. Small, and very useful in these waters.

A few thumps and startled shouts, and then it was over. There were ten of them; the others, including the vessel's master, were ashore.

Jago said, They'll give no trouble, sir."

Adam smiled. There was no point in telling Jago that the swivel guns on the brigantine's poop and foredeck were fully loaded and primed. But for the sleeping watchman, things would have been very different, and that would have left Monteith to make the biggest decision yet in his young life.

Tie them up. Tell them what to expect if they try to raise an alarm."

Another seaman, one of Borradaile's, as Adam did not recognise him, said, "She's the Redwing, out of Baltimore, sir. Carries stores for the army." He jerked his thumb towards the land. "To the battery. Their last visit, they tells me."

Adam did not ask how he obtained the information, but it was priceless.