Something like a great sigh came from the motionless passengers as Bolitho and his companions placed their weapons on the deck. Two armed Spaniards ran along the starboard gangway, pistols trained, until they had climbed the poop ladder behind Bolitho, at a distance they could not possibly miss.

Witrand handed over the swivel gun’s lanyard to the other man and then walked slowly along the same gangway. Reaching the quarterdeck he gave a short bow.

“Paul Witrand, Capitaine. At your service.”

He was of medium height, square jawed, with the look of a soldier about him. There was recklessness too, something Bolitho recognised, and which he might have discovered in time but for the arrival of Pareja’s wife. Maybe she had come aft deliberately.

He said coldly, “I have submitted to save life. But in due course we will meet with my ship again. Even keeping me as hostage will not help you then.”

“Just one ship, Capitaine? Interesting. What could her mission be in waters dominated by France, I wonder?” He shook his head. “You are a brave officer, and I respect you for that. But you must accept this fate, as I accepted your sudden arrival aboard here. It would have been better for both of us had we never met.” He gave an expressive shrug. “But war is war.” He studied Bolitho for several seconds, his eyes almost yellow in the glare. “I do not doubt you would refuse to sail this ship for me.” He smiled gently. “But you will give me your word, as a King’s officer, not to try and retake her.” He picked up Bolitho’s sword. “Then you may keep this. As a token of my trust in that honour, eh?”

Bolitho shook his head. “I can give no such assurance.”

Meheux said thickly, “Nor I.”

“Loyalty too?” He seemed quite composed. “Then you will be taken below and put in irons. I am sorry of course, but I have much to do. Apart from myself there are just three French companions. The rest,” he shrugged with obvious contempt, “Spanish rubbish. I will be hard put to keep them away from the passengers, I think.”

He beckoned to the armed seamen and then asked, “Your ship, she is French built, yes?”

“She was the Tornade.” Bolitho kept his voice level, but his mind was almost bursting as he tried to think of a scheme, no matter how weak, which might give him back control. But there was nothing.

Witrand’s yellow eyes widened. “Tornade? Admiral Lequiller’s flagship!” He banged his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I was foolish not to realise it. You with your unpronounceable name. The man who took the Tornade in a mere seventy-four!” He nodded, suddenly serious. “You will be quite a prize yourself, if and when we ever see France again.”

The seamen jabbed them with their pistols and Witrand said sharply, “Go with them.” He looked at Allday, standing with his fists clenching and unclenching, his face still shocked at what was happening. “Is he one of your officers?”