The Anne-Laure was taken without a single cannon being fired, slightly north-west and ten nautical miles from Cayenne.

‘What would be the point of engagement?’ Captain Mènard had said, looking out at the three enemy ships sailing towards him. ‘There’s nowhere to escape, except to the bottom.’

‘Make a run for it, sir?’ his first officer said. ‘Back out to sea?’

‘Your enthusiasm isn’t matched by our abilities, Augustin. And we’ve only a day’s fresh water left, maybe two.’

Général Fourés agreed. ‘It would be a pointless risk.’ The frigates had long since left them and, besides, the British and Portuguese had already occupied the colony. The général shook his head, patted the captain on the back. ‘You got us here safely,’ he said. ‘Best we continue the course.’

‘Augustin,’ Captain Mènard said to the first officer, ‘strike the colours.’

The enemy ships held back and then a launch was sent over from the brig Vingança. Half-a-dozen Portuguese soldiers boarded the Anne-Laure. Their lieutenant was a short but erect man with a thin moustache, in riding boots and spurs. He approached Captain Mènard and saluted. In a loud, theatrical voice, he asked the captain to surrender his ship. Mènard did so, squaring up his shoulders, and then along with Général Fourés he led the Portuguese lieutenant into his cabin.

‘What happens now?’ Elisabeth von Hoffmann asked. It was very bright on deck and hot, and she shaded her eyes with her hand.

Christophe Bergerard said, ‘They take the ship and put a Portuguese flag on her.’

‘I mean to us.’

Bergerard shrugged.

When the three men emerged from the captain’s cabin a short while later, the Portuguese lieutenant called over two of his soldiers. They stood to attention on either side of Général Fourés. The général removed his sword and presented it in both hands to the Portuguese lieutenant, who bowed formally and took it. The général was then politely arrested as a prisoner of war and escorted across the deck by the soldiers.

Elisabeth hurried over to him.

‘Michel—’

‘It’s all right, ma chérie,’ the général said, trying to appear relaxed. ‘Just games we are obliged to play.’

He took her hand. Fourés was still pale, clammy and exhausted (it had been, in the end, fifty-nine days at sea), and he’d lost weight during the trip. He suddenly seemed much older to Elisabeth, frail and feeble in his loose-fitting uniform.

‘What should I do?’ she said.

‘Rest, be calm and wait for me. Captain Mènard will get you ashore and Christophe can take care of everything until I return.’

Elisabeth hugged the général tightly and whispered in his ear, ‘I love you.’

‘Wait for me,’ he said. ‘Yes?’