Free Golden Lion by Wilbur Smith Page B

trice.’
    As he headed up to the quarterdeck, Hal’s mind snapped free of the bedchamber and concentrated instead on his captain’s duty.
    Two days earlier, a lookout had spotted a Dutch caravel, several miles off to starboard. For the rest of the day, the Dutchman had come in and out of sight as the wind and visibility changed, so that it had seemed as though the
Golden Bough
were being tracked. At a time of war, this would be an alarming turn of events. The caravel in itself was smaller than the
Bough
and no threat to her safety, but Hal would be bound to wonder what other, more powerful vessels might be lurking out of sight, over the horizon. But England and Holland had been at peace for over a year, so there was no cause to be worried. Furthermore, when dawn had broken the following day, the caravel had disappeared. Yet still a nagging suspicion had played at the back of his mind, a seaman’s instinct that told him to be on his guard.
    Now that same instinct had tugged at Hal again. Something told him, and for all the world he could not be certain what it might be, that the Dutchman was still out there. He would not be able to rest easy until he was sure of what the captain of that mysterious caravel was up to.
    Hal emerged on deck to be greeted by something close to serenity. The wind was little more than the most gentle of breezes, and the silvery light of the moon was reflected in the still, glassy waters. Across the deck lay the scattered, sleeping forms of the Amadoda warriors, who always passed the night in the open air rather than endure the filth and stench below decks. Ned Tyler was at the helm and he nodded a greeting to his captain. ‘What brings you up here so early, Cap’n?’ he asked. ‘Can’t believe you’re tiring of the company in your cabin.’
    Hal chuckled. ‘No chance of that. I just had a fancy that the Dutchman was still out there.’
    ‘There’s not been a sound out of young Tom, sir. And he’s a good lad. Not like him to sleep on duty.’
    Tom Marley was a spotty, jug-eared lad, the youngest member of the crew and the subject of much good-natured teasing. But Hal agreed he had the makings of a decent seaman. ‘Get him down here, if you will, Mr Tyler.’
    ‘Aye-aye, sir.’
    Ned looked up towards the top of the mainmast and gave a short, piercing whistle. Tom Marley immediately waved back, whereupon Ned gestured to him to get down on deck. Marley began descending the rigging with a fearless speed and agility that reminded Hal of the time, not so very long ago, when he was up and down to the crow’s nest at his father’s behest, several times a day.
    The lad reached the deck, ran across to where Hal and Ned were standing and stood straight up, his hands behind his back, looking nervous.
    ‘It’s all right, Tom, you’ve not done anything wrong,’ said Hal and the boy’s shoulders relaxed as the tension left his body. ‘I just want to know if you’ve spotted anything recently, like that Dutchman that was following us two days ago, for example.’
    Tom shook his head decisively. ‘No sir, I ain’t seen nothing like that Dutchman, nor any other ship neither. And I’ve kept my eyes open, Captain. I’ve not been dozing off or nothing.’
    ‘I’m sure you haven’t. Now, Cook should be up by now, you run along and get something to eat.’
    ‘But my watch ain’t finished yet, sir.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Hal said, suddenly feeling an urge to see for himself for once, rather than rely on others as a captain so often had to do.
    ‘You sure it’s a good idea you going back up there, Cap’n?’ Ned asked. ‘Been a while.’
    ‘Are you suggesting I can’t still get up there faster than any man on this ship?’
    ‘No sir, wouldn’t dream of it.’
    ‘Well, watch me and I’ll show you.’
    And with that, Hal ran to the mast, grabbed a rope and started clambering up the rigging, past the limp, windless sails towards the inky sky above.

 
     
     
     
    ett was hungry. Of