"We sank some of their ships of the line, and wrecked some others," Bertrand Caradeuc said. "They may have decided they've had enough."
"If they have, we sail home and we fill up our forces again," Red Rodney Radcliffe said. "I know I'm not the only one who lost more than he wished he did."
The other captains all nodded. He'd been sure they would. He'd never known-he'd never imagined-a cannonading like that. He counted the corsairs lucky that Goldbeard Kennedy was the only major skipper missing here. To Radcliffe's surprise, de Grammont spoke up: "Can we fight them again on the sea?"
"Is anybody aiming to try, if they come south again?" Red Rodney asked.
No one said anything for a long time. At last, Brickyard Kennedy said, "We beat 'em. Cutpurse Charlie's right about that. They won't dare try to hit us again. They sailed away, after all. We didn't." He sounded like a man trying to convince himself as well as his comrades.
"If they sail south in the morning, and we fly before 'em, we didn't really win a damned thing today," Condent added.
"You're right," Red Rodney said. "And so?"
Cutpurse Charlie glowered some more. "And so you led us up here to beat them and drive them away. And if we didn't, why were we such a pack of damn fools as to follow you, eh? Answer me that, you sorry son of a dog!"
Rodney Radcliffe resolved that he would kill the other captain first chance he got. But that chance was not now. He sighed. "We had a chance of doing it. We may have done it even yet. What other choice did we have? Let them land by Avalon? Let them into Avalon Bay?"
"What are the forts for, if not to hold those bastards out?" Condent returned.
"If we don't do everything we want out here on the open sea, we can try something else later," Radcliffe said. "If we don't try anything out here and if the forts fail us, it's over. We've lost. And even if they do come forward now and have at the forts, they're weaker than they would have been if we didn't fight 'em here."
Cutpurse Charlie Condent didn't glare any more. He only rolled his eyes. "So are we," he said, and Radcliffe found no quick comeback for that.
William Radcliff did not order his captains-or even Piet Kieft, who had to rate as a commodore-to repair aboard the Royal Sovereign. He used signal lamps to order the fleet to stop, and arranged the smaller, faster ships in a circle around the surviving men-of-war and merchantmen. If the pirates came forward, the heart of the fleet would have warning.
"Will you not discuss our next move with the officers who needs must make it?" Elijah Walton asked him.
"I will not, or why am I admiral?" Radcliff returned. "Tomorrow, we fight again."
"And if the captains should refuse your order?" Walton persisted.
"I shall construe that as making a mutiny, and fire upon any ships failing in obedience," William said.
"Dear God in heaven," Walton said. "You are a man who will eat fire even if you must kindle it yourself."
"I am a man who will see the Hesperian Gulf cleared of pirates, Mr. Walton," William said. "I am a man who will see Avalon razed, its present populace captured or scattered to the winds, and the place settled with men of civil disposition. It could be a jewel in the British crown of Atlantis rather than a boil on his Majesty's arse."
"You show yourself a settler. No good Englishman would speak of his Majesty so."
"I am a settler," Radcliff said proudly. "I am loyal to London across the sea…in however dilatory a fashion London may show its loyalty to me. But I am also loyal to Atlantis, and I believe I have earned the right to hold that loyalty as well. My forefathers settled here two centuries ago. When two more centuries have passed, I expect Radcliffs to dwell here yet. And in two centuries London had better look to its laurels, for Stuart will grow up to rival it."
Elijah Walton laughed. William angrily clapped a hand to his pistol. The laughter cut off, and the admiral's hand fell away. "I do beg pardon for my show of mirth, but surely you must see the absurdity of your statement," Walton said. "London is…well, London. Stuart makes a very tolerable town for a settlement on distant shores, but…my dear fellow! Have you ever seen London? Do you know how greatly it outshines your home?"
"I took my baccalaureate at Cambridge-my father thought that would aid me, though we have colleges of our own on this side of the sea," Radcliff said. "So yes, I have seen London, and I do not say Stuart compares now: not in size, not in riches, not in wickedness. But Stuart grows faster. Time is on our side."
But for moonlight and distant lamplight, Walton's plump face was all shadows. "Even if you should prove right, I thank heaven I'll not live to see the sorry day."
"Nor shall I," William Radcliff said. "I work towards it nonetheless. Cleansing Avalon of its human wolves will move all Atlantis some distance in the desired direction."
"Amazing," Walton murmured. "Truly amazing."
William didn't know if that was compliment or objurgation. Nor did he care. He had other, more immediate worries. He called for a midshipman. One appeared like a genie from a bottle. "Tell the men at the lanterns to signal the Pride of Atlantis that I desire to speak to Marcus Radcliffe as soon as he may come to this ship."
"Marcus Radcliffe on the Pride of Atlantis. Aye aye, sir." The youngster trotted off.
William's distant cousin came aboard about half an hour later, clambering up on the starboard side. William waited near the rail. "Is that you, coz?" Marcus asked. "Almost as dark as a copperskin's heart here."
"It's me," William answered. "How are you and your men? Did you suffer badly in the fighting? Are you ready for more?"
"We had one dead and three wounded," Marcus answered. "One of the wounded can still fight. The other two are laid up, and we'll see how they do. So you aim to go on with it, do you?"
"I do," William Radcliff said without the least hesitation. "What do you think of that?"
"I think the pirates are praying you give it up and go home," Marcus replied. "How are they supposed to beat a fleet like this two days running? They'll be the ones running if you hit them again."
"You're a Radcliffe, by God, even if our lines aren't close," William said, laughing. "My only worry is, the bastard leading the other side-he's a Radcliffe, too."
Red Rodney Radcliffe was up before morning twilight grew very bright. He stood on the Black Hand's deck in the wan dawn light and peered north. For the time being, he didn't see anything. The longer he didn't see anything, the happier he got. Maybe the fleet from Stuart really had had enough. Cutpurse Charlie could take his sovereign and be welcome to it, even if he gloated later.
"Any sails?" Ben Jackson showed up on deck only a few minutes after his skipper.
"Not yet." Rodney sounded as hopeful as he could.
The mate grunted. "Good."
But just as the sun slid up over the eastern horizon, a shout came from the crow's nest: "Sails ho!"
Jackson and Red Rodney swore together, a scatological counterpoint. Radcliffe was dismayed enough to turn loose a question he knew to be foolish: "Are you sure?"
"No doubt, skipper." The answer floated down. "Sails in the north, heading this way. You'll see 'em yourself soon enough. Who else would they be but the buggers we fought yesterday?"
"What do we do now?" Jackson asked.
"We signal the other ships, in case they haven't seen 'em yet," Rodney answered, evading the mate's real meaning. "After that…Well, we have a little while to think." He still couldn't see the sails himself, though he knew he'd be able to before long.
Quint sent signal flags fluttering up the lines. Most of the other freebooters would already know the enemy was coming. Well, so what? You did what you could for everyone on your side. To Red Rodney the idea was new, and worth exploring further. That his cousin took it for granted never crossed his mind.