Hawkwood used the pistol to parry the downward blow. Sparks flashed as the hatchet blade caught the side of the flint and drove down against the pistol’s lock plate, knocking the weapon from Hawkwood’s hand. Before the axe could rise again, Hawkwood drew the knife from his right boot and drove it into the attacker’s thigh. A scream pierced the cabin as the blade sank in and Hawkwood felt the warm rush of blood across his wrist and forearm. Releasing the knife hilt, he scrambled to where he thought Stagg’s pistol had fallen. But as he turned he sensed the hatchet cleaving towards him for a second time.

The axeman, grievously wounded and losing blood, was already off balance. Hampered by his injury, he missed his target. The blade shaved Hawkwood’s arm by a hair’s width and thudded into the table. Hawkwood kicked out again, felt the hard edge of his heel connect with something pliant and was rewarded with another ghastly shriek.

As the axeman fell away, a cry of alarm rang out from the pair who’d remained on deck. A clatter of boots sounded as, alerted by the commotion below, one of the two men left his mate on the tiller and raced towards the open hatchway.

A scraping sound came from just above Hawkwood’s head. Fearing it was the axe on its way down again, he lifted his arm in a futile attempt to ward off the blow and felt something solid strike his shoulder. For one awful moment he thought it was the blade, but then he realized it was the discarded musket sliding from the tabletop. Pulling the weapon towards him, he pawed back the hammer. A crouching shape loomed into view: the smuggler whose pistol shot had broken the lantern. Hawkwood rammed the musket into the crewman’s chest and pulled the trigger.

A flash and another loud report and the man was punched backwards, limbs flopping.

Several violent thuds and a stream of muttered invective came from the other side of the cabin.

“Major!” Hawkwood called, as a fresh shadow arrived in the well beneath the hatch: the topside man coming to his captain’s aid.

“Here!”

“Stairs!” Hawkwood yelled.

There was a sharp crack and a pistol ball thudded into the bulkhead at the base of the ladder. Splinters flew. The crewman swore, ducked out of sight and retreated back on deck.

Hawkwood, his eyes now adjusted to the gloom, rose cautiously to his feet, musket in hand.