"Sir," he said. "Mr. Holt."
"Or Samuel. Sam for short."
"Yes. Samuel. Look, you must call me Will, and do forgive me if you think I'm a grumps, but it is hard for me, you know. This is my first ship for a damn long time, and my last one was the Welfare; you have heard of her no doubt, and of my uncle who commanded her. As you've been frank with me I'll tell you frankly that I go to sea, between us two, out of necessity. I have an older brother lives in Wiltshire who will inherit what I call my home. I have no other means of income, but I can do mathematics, and don't get mortal sick in ships. The Biter is a tender for the Press. She is ... it is not what.. ."
Holt made a harsh noise in his throat. Amusement.
"Not what you were bred to, William. No, I do well believe it! I have heard of Daniel Swift who has not? and know that he's your uncle, and the Biter's not his kind of ship, I'll warrant you. She is a collier, out of Sunderland I think, cut down because she's of a certain age. She's old and dirty and a little cranky, and she's on the Impress, which is a pain to other men than you and me. Nay, I am being far too open maybe, so are you, but to hell with it, we're shipmates and we'll stand or fall together, so keep it up, say I. We are due on Biter by tonight on pain of God knows what, but when we get there Lieutenant Kaye won't be on board, he'll be off whoring lord, there's frankness for you! So if you'll risk it, friend, we'll go for the young maids' bodies also, and the meat and drink even the feather beds if that's your preference! What say you?"
As he had spoken there had been a squall of wind, warm but unexpected, to batter fresh, heavy raindrops in their faces. First one and then the other turned the horses' rumps into the gust, huddling in their sopping cloaks. The beating rain made answer useless for the moment.
William, at last, said: "Samuel. It is not that I am being nice, but ... Truly, I have never even thought..."
In the dying gust, they both heard noises. Odd sounds, like a bellow and a scream. The horses heard it, lifting their heads into the falling drops, one flicking up its ears. The wind died, and the sounds died with it. The two young men glanced at each other, both quizzical. Then Holt pulled his horse round to face the northern road.
"Ah, whatever," he said, with a note as if regretting the frankness of his speaking. "She is a Press tender, men will hate us for the things we do, but we have to do our duty anyway, we must earn our meat and drink. The Biter is a fine ship, let us say, and I am proud to serve in her. So let us go and greet our lord and master."
The breeze blew, and a scream came, faint but clear. It was high and pure, a young scream, probably a girl's. Then a bellow, male and powerful, then a second screaming voice, that broke into a sob. The breeze died and they both dug heels in horses' sides. Outlined against the sky there was a dense black copse ahead. It was not far away, perhaps a quarter-mile or so, and the horses, as if sensing purpose in the movement, surged and snorted. The weak light through the breaking cloud held up, and when they reached the woodland they could see an entry through the undergrowth. As they slowed to go into the trees William caught a fire's glow a hundred yards inside, and a horse snickered when it caught their own mounts' scents.
The shouting and the screams were to the purpose now, bold and definite. One woman's voice was bawling loud abuse, the other howling. Among the deeper shouts they heard blows being struck. It was a mortal struggle.
"God, Will," said Holt. "Is it a tinker camp? Let's not stick our nose in anything of that."
They reined their horses to a halt while they considered. Had it been footpads or men of the highway, they would have gone in headlong, but a family quarrel, however violent, was a different thing. In the glow from the fire both could see the outline of a cart, a covered living van. Bentley touched the hanger at his side. There might be many of them; it was his only arm.
"Do you have a gun? They '
There came an awful scream, pain-filled and wrenched. The other voice screeched, "Murderer! Murderer! Help, he's killing us!" and both men spurred, all doubts forgotten. The horses, more circumspect, responded to the goad, but cautiously, feeling the ground before they put their weight on it. They came into the clearing not on a gallop but sedately.
The scene before their eyes was wild, however. In the darkness it was a question of shapes and shadows, but there was a man, a vigorous terrier of a man, in a black cloak, scuttling between two girls or women, pulling at them, nailing with an arm that held a cudgel. For a moment the three fought and struggled, moving round in circles between van and fire, the movement punctuated by grunts, by silence, and by screams.
"Hold!" shouted Samuel. And William added, "Enough! Enough, sir! Stop!"
The shock was startling. Immediately the three figures sprang apart and all noise ceased. Only for an instant, then the man roared incoherently, while one of the maidens let out a wail, lower than her cries of earlier, full of pain and misery. Then the man, as if with great intent, rushed at their horses, arm and club raised as if to strike, eyes glaring furiously. Will's horse, of its own volition, stepped back a foot or two, before he could control it.
"Go before I kill you!" roared the man. "Private business, private! Get off from here!"
In Samuel's hand there was a heavy Navy cutlass, the blade already hacked significantly. William struggled to get his sword out, but the horse was not for fighting, it was a master of retreat. The man ran up to Samuel's horse, then had to stop. The prattler did not move. The Navy blade reached forward past his horse's ears, pointing at the waiting throat. The throat was knotted angrily, the muscles worked.
"You go," invited Samuel, almost as if to a friend. "I do not like to see men threaten women. You go, sir. Go now."
But the women were the ones to run. One darted to the other, whose face was covered with her hands, and clapped an arm around her and tried to drag her off. As they moved, the cloaked man moved to stop them, and Samuel leapt neatly from his saddle and sent the blade over his head in a whooshing arc. At the edge of the clearing one girl fell, giving out a cry of misery, and the other stopped to help her.
Bentley was down now, sword out, trying to restrain his horse with a rein. The other horse was standing quietly, watching the old nag tethered to the cart. For a moment, there was just the sound of water dripping through the leaves. William noticed that no new rain was falling. It had stopped.
The cloaked man faced Samuel, but the wildness in his eyes was almost gone. He raised a hand, a sort of friendly gesture, or submissive, if half-hearted. Holt stepped forward, all aggression, the cutlass raised and ready.
"Drop it," he said.
"These women," the man began. "These two whores '
Samuel stepped once more, lowering the blade, its position very deadly.
"Drop it!"
With an imprecation that was lost in passion, the man threw the club not down but straight at Samuel's head and turned towards the women. With a burst of movement he scuttled across the clearing and levelled a great clout to the head of the stooped one, who fell across her friend in a jumble. Then he was gone, through the undergrowth into the trees. William Bentley and Samuel Holt stared at one another.
Slowly, the two young women rose to their feet. One, enveloped in a sodden cloak with hood, appeared to look at them. Her companion, however, did not. Her face remained covered. From beneath her hands came sobs and sounds of pain. William, the rein still in his hand, took two or three steps towards them, but imperceptibly they edged back