As he peered forward he saw a sheen of dull silver on the dancing wavecrests, and knew dawn was nearby, but as yet the eastern horizon was still lost in spray and shadow. A few gulls drifted and shrieked above the topmasts, and he wondered whether eyes other than theirs had seen their careful approach. Careful for reasons other than surprise. Even as he considered the treacherous coastline so close abeam he heard the leadsman chant from the chains, his cry almost lost in the crack and thunder of the sails.

“By the mark seven!”

But Inch appeared satisfied, and Bolitho knew he knew his shallow hull better than Bolitho did.

Shadows around the bomb’s decks were already taking on strength and personality, and he saw the hands at work around the guns, while others moved restlessly on the forecastle where Mr Broome, Inch’s elderly gunner, was examining his mortars.

But mortars were not the only teeth in Hekla’s defences. Apart from a few swivels, she mounted six massive carronades. Altogether they would certainly find any weakness in her stout construction and timbers.

“By the mark five!”

Inch called, “Bring her up a point, Mr Wilmot!”

His first and only lieutenant walked straddle-legged up the slanting deck, and as the helm squeaked over he shouted “Steady, sir! East by south!”

“By the mark seven!”

Inch said to no one in particular, “Damme, it’s like a sailor’s lot hereabouts. All ups and downs!”

Bolitho set his teeth against the screech and scrape of a grindstone from below the foremast where some of the seamen were busily putting new edges to their cutlasses. How overcrowded the deck appeared, mainly because in addition to her normal complement the Hekla carried the survivors from the Devastation as well as the remnants of his own landing party.

Inch rubbed a hand across his wind-reddened face. “Won’t be long now sir.” He gestured aloft. “I’ve a good man to watch for Restless.”

Bolitho said, “There is supposed to be an inlet where this Messadi takes refuge. Shelter enough for his chebecks, and within reach of several villages for his needs.” He looked searchingly at Inch. “You will be able to fire the mortars without anchoring, I hope?”

“Aye, sir.” Inch frowned. “We have never done it before, of course.” He chuckled, all doubt gone. “But then we had never fired at a fortress either!”

“Good. Once you have awakened their nest, we will engage whoever comes out.” He looked at the sky. “Restless will close and give ready support once we have made contact.”

Inch eyed him soberly. “And if she is not available, sir?”

Bolitho shrugged. “Then she is not available.”

Inch grinned again. “It’ll be like stirring wasps with a stick!”

Another cry from the leadsman took him away again and left Bolitho to his thoughts.

He watched the land hardening and taking on its true form, and recognised the same bleak hills and desolation as they had found in Djafou. It looked uneven but as yet unbroken by any sign of a cove or inlet, but he knew from boyhood it was deceptive. Once when a mere child he had taken out a small boat from Falmouth and had been horrified to find himself carried away on a swift coastal current. There should have been a safe cove nearby, but as the light faded he could see nothing but those grim, hostile cliffs. With all hope and most of his courage gone he had suddenly found it. Almost hidden by an overlap of cliffs, beyond which the water was flat calm, and his relief had given way in a flood of tears.