Free Birds of Prey by Wilbur Smith

until Sir Francis can deal with them.’
    Silently the Lady Edwina steered in under the galleon’s tumblehome. Perhaps the Dutchmen were too busy to see her coming in under shortened sail for not a single head peered down
from the rail above as the two hulls came together with a jarring grinding impact. Daniel and his crew hurled grappling irons over the galleon’s rail, and immediately stormed up them, hand
over hand.
    Hal took only a moment to lash the whipstaff hard over, then raced across the deck and seized one of the straining lines. Close on Big Daniel’s heels, he climbed swiftly and paused as he
reached the galleon’s rail. With one hand on the line and both feet planted firmly on the galleon’s timbers, he drew his cutlass and clamped the blade between his teeth. Then he swung
himself up and, only a second behind Daniel, dropped over the rail.
    He found himself in the front rank of the fresh boarding party. With Daniel beside him, and the sword in his right fist he took a moment to glance around the deck. The fight was almost over.
They had arrived with only seconds to spare for his father’s men were scattered in tiny clusters across the deck, surrounded by its crew and fighting for their lives. Half their number were
down, a few obviously dead. A head, hacked from its torso, leered up at Hal from the scupper where it rolled back and forth in a puddle of its own blood. With a shudder of horror, Hal recognized
the Lady Edwina’s cook.
    Others were wounded, and writhed, rolled and groaned on the deck. The planks were slick and slippery with their blood. Still others sat exhausted, disarmed and dispirited, their weapons thrown
aside, their hands clasped over their heads, yielding to the enemy.
    A few were still fighting. Sir Francis and Aboli stood at bay below the mainmast, surrounded by howling Dutchmen, hacking and stabbing. Apart from a gash on his left arm, his father seemed
unhurt – perhaps the steel cuirass had saved him from serious injury – and he fought with all his usual fire. Beside him, Aboli was huge and indestructible, roaring a war-cry in his own
tongue when he saw Hal’s head pop over the rail.
    Without a thought but to go to their aid, Hal started forward. ‘For Franky and St George!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs, and Big Daniel took up the cry, running at his left
hand. The men from the pinnaces were after them, shrieking like a horde of raving madmen straight out of Bedlam.
    The Dutch crew were themselves almost spent, a score were down, and of those still fighting many were wounded. They looked over their shoulders at this latest phalanx of bloodthirsty Englishmen
rushing upon them. The surprise was complete. Shock and dismay was on every tired and sweat-lathered face. Most flung down their weapons and, like any defeated crew, rushed to hide below decks.
    A few of the stouter souls swung about to face the charge, those around the mast led by the Dutch colonel. But the yells of Hal’s boarding-party had rallied their exhausted and bleeding
shipmates, who sprang forward with renewed resolve to join the attack. The Dutchmen were surrounded.
    Even in the confusion and turmoil Colonel Schreuder recognized Hal, and whirled to confront him, aiming a cut, backhanded, at his head. His moustaches bristled like a lion’s whiskers, and
the blade hummed in his hand. He was miraculously unhurt and seemed as strong and fresh as any of the men that Hal led against him. Hal turned the blow with a twist of his wrist and went for the
counter-stroke.
    In order to meet Hal’s charge the colonel had turned his back on Aboli, a foolhardy move. As he trapped Hal’s thrust and shifted his feet to lunge, Aboli rushed at him from behind.
For a moment Hal thought he would run him through the spine, but he should have guessed better. Aboli knew the value of ransom as well as any man aboard: a dead enemy officer was merely so much
rotting meat to throw overboard to the sharks that