Honour Be Damned by David Donachie

respond; to change course and wear away from their assailant. Markham had grabbed his coat, hat and sword, and was running for the companionway, yelling for Rannoch as the salvo struck home. Not well aimed, it was a ragged affair. But the cannon were of large calibre, and what shot did strike, all of it before the mainmast, inflicted significant damage.
    The sloop shuddered as though slapped by a great hand, some shot striking the hull. Other cannonballs wrecked the forward bulwarks. One gun was dismounted, the breechings parting so that the carriage slewed across the sloping deck. Wood flew across the forecastle, great splinters dislodged, shaped like spears. Blocks fell from above to add to the mayhem, and before they’d hit deck or exposed head, the enemy had got off another salvo.
    It was only the quality of the crew that got them clear. Hard bargains they might be, but they were King’s Navy, proper seamen by trade, who’d been serving for over a year in the Mediterranean.They went about their tasks with a deliberation that was admirable . There was no panic; just clear orders from petty officers, competently obeyed. The men on the guns, while their pieces bore, fired at will, and once they no longer had a target they housed them and immediately went to help with the sails and rigging. The yards were hauled round to take the wind, and being a swift sailer, Syilphide was soon out of the zone of maximum danger.
    Germain had stood rigid in position, while all around him men struggled to effect emergency repairs, the bones on his face standing out because of the way he was clenching his jaw. His voice, when he spoke, had that same tightly drawn quality. But it was calm, a very necessary trait at a time like this.
    ‘Mr Booker, please oblige me by returning to the deck. Mr Fletcher, I will be coming about to pursue. Please make sure that all the guns are fully manned.’
    ‘You intend to continue the action?’ asked Aramon, who hadn’t moved from the spot where he stood. His dark complexioned face looked more outraged than surprised.
    ‘You, sir, should have gone below deck. This is no place for a man of the cloth.’
    Germain glared at Aramon, to very little effect. He then issued the orders that brought the sloop round into the other vessel’s wake. Immediately the gap began to close. The enemy ship was making no attempt to put on speed. Indeed she was busy taking in her maincourse and mizzen gaff, reducing to topsails only. This was, Markham knew, the proper thing to do in a sea fight, fire being a huge risk with the lower sails still loose. Germain was ignoring that danger, setting sails one after the other, and with the wind now astern, coming up hand over fist.
    ‘Can she be a merchantman, sir,’ said Booker, fresh from the masthead. ‘The guns were fully manned and as they fired their first salvo more came up from below.’
    ‘A privateer, I should think,’ Germain barked, so loud the youngster recoiled. ‘And, what’s more, Mr Booker, one who knew very well that Calvi has fallen.’
    ‘I would be happier if you tell me what you plan to do, Captain,’ said Aramon.
    Germain gritted his teeth, and hissed his reply. ‘Not that it is any of your concern, Monsignor. But it is my intention to lay alongside that damned vessel, give her several broadsides, and board in the smoke.’
    ‘I am no warrior,’ Aramon said, in a smooth, infuriating way. ‘But it seems they have heavier guns that you, and they certainly have a more numerous crew.’
    ‘I have faith in my country, and the God that protects it.’
    Aramon snorted. ‘I think you will find some of that same sentiment over yonder, young man, on that other ship. Which means at the very least God is neutral.’
    ‘Your God may be, sir.’
    ‘Is there any place that I can be of use?’ asked de Puy.
    Germain blinked, almost as if he didn’t recognise the speaker, before responding. ‘As a soldier, sir, I would say you would be best placed assisting