The Pirate's Revenge

1.
The Maltese doublecross

2.
Stitches in time

3.
The black heart

4.
Speak of the Devil

5.
The Golden Grotto

6.
The hole in the island

7.
Prodigal son

8.
A very French revolution

9.
Rising up

10.
The Duchessa

11.
The inland sea

12.
Cast adrift

13.
A pitiless pirate

14.
Sail ho!

15.
Safe passage

Seafaring words of the Mediterranean

Author's note

Copyright

The
Mermaid
flew before the wind, her sails brimming and ropes shuddering with the strain.

There was no sign on the horizon of the hundreds of ships that only a week before had scattered across the sea. They were not hunting for us. By now, Napoleon Bonaparte and his army of thirty thousand Frenchmen would be making themselves at home in Malta, while his mighty navy sealed the ports and seized any ships in the harbour.

By now, the people of the islands, my friend Carlo among them, would be fighting for their lives. I could imagine him, sword in trembling hand, rushing into battle against the invaders, crying out the names of his father and his family and his saints. I remembered his face when we'd set him ashore: so pale, but with an anger and determination I'd never seen before. He would put up a fight, that much was sure.

I could imagine Hussein Reis in his blue robes, shouting orders and marshalling a makeshift navy of fishermen and pirates. But I didn't believe for a moment that anyone could defeat the French. They were just too many.

On the islands of Malta there would be great battles, frantic skirmishes on the dry plains, and many dead. There would be heroism and fear. There would be bloodshed and danger and defeat.

But the
Mermaid
fled west. It was not our war.

Each day was pretty much like the day before. We took turns to stand watch overnight, one person at the tiller, with another as lookout and to keep the helmsman awake.

The morning started early for the day watch. We rose at dawn, and I sparked up the embers in the galley to get the breakfast fire started. By the time I had water on to boil, I could hear men moving slowly about, thumping down out of their hammocks and splashing water on their faces.

It was hardly naval discipline, to be sure, but we all had our jobs to do. The deck had to be scrubbed and the sheets put in order. I had set the ship's course the evening before, and, unless the wind had changed, Jem always figured out his sail plan early so the boys could adjust the canvas to meet the breeze.

I served up porridge in great salty lumps, just the way they liked it. We all drank strong black tea followed by strong black coffee, with lots of sugar. Then the day really began. You might think a pirate's life would be lazy, but there was always something that needed to be done. Brasher was stitching a complete new set of sails, and sat out on the deck surrounded by yards of canvas. Miller and his gang were hammering away below decks, moving the bulkheads and creating more space for cargo in the hold. We also had to mend any of the lines that had
worn or frayed, tar the shrouds, then sand and oil the woodwork until it glowed. We loved that ship.

While there was fresh water, we'd wash our clothes every Sunday and hang them out to dry on the rigging until the
Mermaid
looked like a regatta yacht decked with pennants. If it was warm, I'd make Jem bring the sloop to a standstill so I could dive off the bowsprit and swim a few times around the ship.

But on that Sunday the
Mermaid
came about and began to cruise in long, slow circles like a great bronze shark. Moggia sniffed the air as if he was a hound out for blood. ‘They will come,' he said.

The other men nodded, knowingly. The next morning, Jem gave orders to clear for action, just in case, and sent Miller up the mast on watch. It was an ugly time, this waiting. Unease trickled down my spine with the sweat.

I thought we were on guard for the French. I should have known that even a fleet of four hundred ships wouldn't distract pirates from their work.

Miller called out his first sighting during one afternoon watch. ‘Sail ho! Trader, by the looks — nice and low in the water.'

‘
Iva
!' shouted Ricardo. ‘She is ours. Loaded up with riches.'

I hated this sort of thing. Someone was bound to get hurt. Perhaps, I wondered, I'm not really meant to be a pirate at all — after all, if you don't like attacking ships, you may as well just go fishing. But there was no time to think about it, amid the bellowing, the rolling of casks below deck, and the clattering of cutlasses being handed out. The men of the
Mermaid
were ready for battle, and there was no point getting in the way.

I retreated below to get the galley ready to deal with any carnage. If only I'd been kidnapped by a mob of pirates who were a bit better at their job, I muttered to myself. You couldn't ask for better sailors, but as fighters they were useless. I wondered if I should give them fencing lessons during the afternoon watch. I practised every day, learning the ways of my silvery scimitar, building the strength in my right arm that I needed to brandish the heavy curved blade. But the rest of the crew thought I was mad to waste time on swordplay. They'd rather sleep in the heat of the day.

Moggia was the only one who could handle a sword properly, though Jem was handy with a boarding axe, and Miller was quick with his fists. The Vella brothers just seemed to rush around and shout a lot. Max and Brasher got wounded in every single fight, and I was pretty sure that two of the gunners had stabbed one another by accident when we'd taken the
Mermaid
. But pure luck and good seamanship had won through that day, almost in spite of our crew. Perhaps it would again.

It did. The
Mermaid
had the wind on her side, and Jem brought her pointed prow close in, like a crocodile snapping at its prey. As the ship slowed down for the attack, I clambered back on deck to watch the battle. Our guns were few but fearsome, and Max had the men organised, for once. Some stood on deck, ready to make sail, shouting and brandishing their boarding axes as if they were Vikings of legend. The
fat carronade in our bows spat smoke and fire, and iron shot slashed through the trader's mainsail as if it were the softest silk.

The boys roared. Shouting is a very important weapon in a pirate's arsenal. If you sound ferocious enough, sometimes you don't need to fire a shot. It was the one form of attack in which the
Mermaid
excelled.

‘Take care with your aim!' Jem yelled over the ruckus. ‘We don't want to damage her.'

Max signalled that he'd heard.

‘Another one, low across her bows, boys,' he shouted to the gun crew. They dragged the big gun back into position, its muzzle peeping through the gun port. Ricardo crammed a charge into the barrel, then Francesco rammed it down into a deadly wad. Max squinted out to sea through a cloud of black smoke.

‘Fire!'

Miller touched the slow match to the gun and it exploded like a rocket, slamming back against the hawsers that held it fast. A huge spout of water erupted just below the bowsprit of the trading ship.

That was all it took. The trader had no guns, and no means of escape, so her captain hauled down her sail and signalled he was ready to surrender his ship. She was a beauty, too, a wide old scow with a beam as broad as an island and a name to match:
Corfu
. As she slowed to a crawl beside the
Mermaid
, the men danced around the deck with glee. Anyone would think we were at a wedding, I grumbled. But at least nobody had got hurt.

The two ships came together with a low groan of timber, and our prey was lashed fast. Within an hour, the
Corfu
's crew members were roped together and herded below, and all the passengers were lined up on the scow's deck, baggage heaped around them in pathetic piles.

There were about twenty passengers, and they were all women. I couldn't help but stare. It seemed a long time since I had seen any women at all, let alone in such fancy gowns. One had a parasol, and another hid behind a flutter of black lace. Several were weeping quietly. There were children, too, all much younger than me, clutching at hands and skirts and hiding their faces from these strange smelly men.

The men held back, gazing at these curious women with their long pale necks and coiled black hair.

‘They must be wealthy,' Francesco whispered to his brother.

Ricardo nodded. ‘And noble. Such soft hands. Look.'

‘This will make us rich as princes.'

Further down the deck, Jem was speaking with the captain of the
Corfu
. I moved closer to listen. The captain was a small brown man, with a hazelnut face and wrinkly bald head. He waved his hands wildly as he spoke.

‘Malta has surrendered. Valletta and the Old City have fallen,' he was saying. ‘The French have taken everything.'

Jem shook his head. ‘I never thought Valletta would yield so soon. It seems impregnable.'

‘It could have lasted a hundred years,' said the
captain. ‘We could have fought them all. But we were betrayed.'

‘French spies?' I asked, creeping in close to the two men.

The captain looked at me as if I had fallen from the sky. ‘Who are you?'

‘I'm Lily,' I said, ‘but the boys call me Cygnet.'

‘We're hoping one day she'll turn into a swan, but it ain't looking likely,' teased Jem. ‘Damn good navigator, though.'

‘Who are you?' I asked.

‘Joseph Caruana, captain and owner of
Corfu
.' He tugged at his cap gallantly. ‘You're right,
signorina
, there must have been spies on the islands for years. But it was the Knights who betrayed our islands. Did they fight? No. One or two of them fired from their towers for a day, but the rest gave us up.'

He shook his head in sorrow. ‘The Knights of Malta are no more. Malta is no more.'

‘I can't believe it,' said Jem. ‘Someone must have fought back.'

I knew he was thinking of Carlo and Hussein.

‘Some brave people did — some will fight to the death,' the captain nodded. ‘But now it is so much harder. The French hold all the ports and roads. People will fight back, I am sure of it. Each of these ladies has left behind someone who will go into battle when the time comes.' He waved at the group of women huddled, terrified, on the deck.

Jem squinted in the bright afternoon sunshine as he looked over towards them.

‘Where were you headed?' he asked.

‘Gibraltar, if I must,' said Captain Caruana. ‘This old barge isn't really built for a long voyage, but it may be our only option. We had to unload some cargo to fit the women aboard, but I just wanted to get them to safety.'

Jem was nodding sadly. I stared at the boards under my feet. These people were sailing to safe harbour, seeking refuge, and then they met the
Mermaid
.

A sudden scream shattered the quiet.

Moggia was wrestling something from one of the women. We ran over to them. It was the girl with the parasol and the sad eyes. She crouched on the deck, weeping, as Moggia looked closely at his prize. It was a silver locket, torn from a ribbon around her throat. In his other hand was a delicate ivory fan. He held it up in the light and grinned.

‘Bella!'

‘Give it back,' I murmured. Then louder: ‘Give it back to her.'

‘Don't be bloody stupid,' Jem told me. ‘It's a prize, Cyg, we're allowed to take what we want.' But he didn't sound very sure.

‘It's no use to you, Moggia,' I said. ‘What are you going to do with a fan? Prance around the deck like a girl?' The others laughed, and his face reddened, just as I'd hoped.

‘It'll fetch a pretty penny in Valletta,' he replied.

‘There is no Valletta any more.'

Ricardo and Francesco cried out in unison. ‘What has happened?'

‘The city has fallen,' Jem said. ‘The Knights have given Malta up to the French.'

‘No!' Ricardo groaned. ‘My islands.'

He looked at his brother. ‘We must go, quickly. Mama is in the hands of the French.'

‘Your mother can look after herself,' said Miller. ‘Don't worry.'

The boys exchanged glances tinged with pride, but they were not happy.

I turned back to Moggia, who was cradling his treasures in one hand. ‘Moggy, please, give it back.'

‘I can sell these in any port. They are worth many pieces of silver.'

‘There are no safe ports left to us,' I replied. ‘Bonaparte has taken them all.'

‘We've outrun the French before.'

‘Their eyes were on the land, not on us,' I said. ‘Now they are on the high seas, and the English will swarm to stop them.'

‘Then we'll sail to the Aegean,' retorted Moggia, defiantly.

‘But there are riches to be made here,' I suggested.

‘Pah,' he snorted, ‘make up your mind.'

‘We already have the cargo from this ship,' I said.

Miller came to my aid. ‘There's grain, olive oil and salt. That makes us the richest people for miles.'

‘Look around you, fool,' said Jem. ‘We're the only people for miles.'

‘He's gone soft, like the girl,' Moggia teased.

Miller's red beard rustled as he gritted his teeth. ‘The Cygnet might be soft, but she's smart,' he said, tousling my hair. ‘There are more naval patrols in these waters than there have ever been. We'll run into one of them, sure as God, and when we do, I'd rather
they thought we're traders, instead of vermin to be shot out of the water.'

He fixed his eyes on Jem's face. ‘You haven't been in a real war, but I have, and I've seen men trade a sackful of gold for one stringy chicken. I tell you, in a war — and this is going to be a war such as we've never seen — food is more precious than treasure, or ivory fans.'

‘Besides,' I said, ‘these people are ruined — they've lost everything.'

‘Now you
are
being soft,' Jem scoffed.

‘Maybe so, but it doesn't seem right.'

‘They do not deserve to keep their precious things — they should have stayed and fought the French,' Francesco said, accusingly.

‘They are women and children,' I pleaded.

‘You are both of those things, Cyg. You have made us see that it is possible for women to fight. Yet they fled.'