Julian Stockwin - Artemis

'God be praised’ muttered Hobbes.

Powlett came to a decision. 'Ask this fellow’ indicating Goryo, 'where there is water. We take the opportunity to wood 'n' water while we can.'

It was a scene of tropic splendour. Kydd felt an uncouth intruder in his rough sea-clothes as he stepped out of the boat and into the sandy shallows of a sheltered bay on the inward side of the point.

'This is enchantment incarnate’ Renzi breathed, treading softly on the sandy beach, as they headed for the shade of the fringing palm trees.

There was a guilty thrill in stepping on to the soil of a Spanish colony - but a very real apprehension too, for if a Spanish man-o'-war suddenly rounded the point to dispute with Artemis, the small shore party would necessarily be abandoned. And apart from Goryo's assurances, there might be a Spanish fort over the jungle-topped cliffs further inland. At this very moment a party of soldiers could well be slashing their way towards them through the undergrowth.

Armed marines hastened to secure each end of the beach. Kydd was uneasily aware that, in the event of trouble, the most they could achieve would be a small delay. But that might be enough to enable them to return to the cutter, which now lay safely bobbing to a small anchor a dozen yards out, bows to sea.

The vivid island jungle, with its colour and noise, distracted Kydd. He keenly felt his new responsibility for his small party. 'Spread some canvas, then, you scowbunkin' lubbers!' he shouted, as much at Renzi as his own men, who stood about gaping at the profusions of nature. Renzi's party would fill the huge leaguer casks at the spring among the rocks after Kydd's party emptied them of old water remaining and rolled them up the beach, but at the moment Renzi was wasting time standing in admiration at the scene.

Reluctantly the men began the task, stagnant water bubbling out into the golden sand. Then the cask was bullied up the beach, under the enormous palms and to the rocks a little further along.

The leaguer would be a crushing half a ton in weight when filled, and therefore would need to be parbuckled on spars down the soft sand. There would be no laborious loading into the boat, however. Fresh water was lighter than salt and the huge casks would be gently floated out to the ship.

Kydd put his shoulder to the barrels with the rest and the work proceeded. He couldn't help darting uneasy glances at the dense foliage at the edge of the jungle, thinking of what might lie behind the thick verdancy. This land was exotic and subdy alien. It would be good to make it back to the familiar safety of the ship.

A preternatural disquiet seized him. Something round about him had changed, and he was not sure what. The hair on the back of his neck rose. The big barrel came to a stop, but the ill-natured mumbling trailed off when the men saw Kydd's face. He froze, trying to let his senses tell him. Then he had it. It was the quiet. The raucous racket of parakeets had subsided, their quarrels retreating into the distance and letting an ominous silence descend.

Kydd's eyes searched the thick undergrowth — was that the glint of an eye? An unnatural shaking of leaves? They were unarmed: if there was a sudden rush it would all be over in moments. His palms sweated as he considered what to do. Delay would only allow the hidden numbers to swell until they were ready to attack.

He yelled hoarsely at the nearest sentry, and picking up a cooper's iron stumbled towards the jungle path barely visible in the fringing growth. If he and the sentries could buy the others time . . .

Terrified squeals broke out, and into the open burst at least a dozen nut-brown children. They clutched at each other in fear, staring at Kydd with big black eyes.

'Fr God's sake!' he blazed, lowering the cooper's iron and letting his heart's thudding die down. His expression might have been suitable for crowding on to an enemy deck, but now . . .

He forced a smile. 'Y'r nothin' but a bunch of rascals, d'ye hear?' he called. They stood fearfully and Kydd's eyes were caught by the spasmodic tug of a small boy at his older sister's ragged dress.

'Come here, y' little weasels!' he said, holding his hands out and clicking his fingers.

Nobody reacted until the small boy stepped forward half a pace and called out boldly, 'Pini-pig!’ before swiftly assuming the safety of his sister's skirt.

The cry was repeated by others, and more, until a regular chant began, 'Pirn-pig! Pini-pig! Pini-pig!’

The other sailors had come up with Kydd at the sight of the children, but now they growled in exasperation. "Oo are they callin' a pig, then?' a tough able seaman snapped.

'Take a strap to 'em, I will,' said an older seaman.

Kydd advanced on them but they kept up their chant, baiting the sailors. Suddenly Pinto appeared, followed by Goryo. Kydd had not heard their noiseless approach in the bangkha.

'Tell 'em they're in f'r a hidin' if they keep it up,' said Kydd, but already Goryo was shouting at them, in a curious tongue, more like the babble of river-gravel in a stream. It had little effect.

Goryo turned to Pinto and spoke to him, sheepishly.

'He say, el ninos very rude to foreigner,' Pinto relayed on, 'an' he want t' apologise for them.'

The sailors glared.

'He say that when island traders come, they always give pini-pig, children think you are big, you have many pini-pig?

Pinto prodded further to discover that pint-pig was the basis of a much prized delicacy of Visayan children, dispensed in the form of a bamboo tube stuffed with pounded toasted young rice flavoured with coconut milk and palm sugar.

Laughing, Kydd unknotted his red kerchief. 'No pini -pigs,' he said softly, 'but this is f'r you.' He held it out to the older sister, who advanced shyly and accepted it with a bob, delightedly trying it on in different styles.

Goryo's face softened, and he murmured a few more words to Pinto, who looked at him sharply. 'He say - plis excuse, they are all excite because tomorrow Christmas.'

'You will, of course, be aware that this Spanish colony must be papist,' Renzi said. 'No heathens these.' As if in confirmation, the little ones' eyes sparkled and the chant changed to ' ' Chreestmaaas! Chreestmaaas!’

Kydd stared at the happy bunch: their careless joy was identical to what must be happening on the other side of the world, in England. Time had passed unmarked for Kydd, but at home there would now be the frosting of December cold, stark leafless trees and bitter winds. Here there was brilliant sun and exotic colour, outlandish feast-foods - and an unknown tongue.

When he turned to Renzi his eyes had misted. So much had happened in the year since he had been torn away from his own family by the press-gang, and he knew he could now never return to that innocent existence. He had changed too much. He cleared his throat and bawled at his men, 'Stap me, y' sluggards, I'll sweat some salt out o' y'r bones!'

'It's monstrous!' spluttered Hobbes. 'There is no time to lose, sir.'

Powlett rubbed his chin. 'It is clear, sir, you have no knowledge of the Sea Service. Before we may begin our venture upon the Great South Sea we must rattle down the fore-shrouds and, er, sway up the mizzen topmast.' He turned to the boatswain. 'That is so, is it not, Mr Merrydew?'

'Aye, sir,' he confirmed, bewildered.

'And this will take us until near sunset tomorrow,' Powlett went on.

'If'n you says, sir.'

'And therefore I see no reason not to grant liberty ashore to those hands not required.' He looked squarely at Hobbes. 'You may go ashore if you wish to, sir.'

Hobbes snorted and stalked off.

'Pass the word for the purser. We will see if fresh fish and greenstuff can be got while we have the chance.' 'Sir—'