His legs brutally hit something solid. The rising breakers lifted him up and again his legs struck. Wild with hope, Kydd frantically kicked and fought. Suddenly he was slammed against an unmistakable, sturtly, moving surface. He was carried forward, his body losing its buoyancy as it slithered and floundered across the sand. In an instant, he was aware that his direction had reversed, and he felt himself being pulled back out to sea, back into the frenzy of deep water. In a fury of self-preservation he clawed at the sand, and suddenly found himself left high and dry by the receding wave. It returned before he could do anything, but he had been able to take long, tearing breaths and was ready for the rush of water. Painfully, he levered himself out of the sea, unable to stand, merely to drag himself above the line of waves, where he collapsed, spent.
He raised his head. A few yards along was a shapeless bundle. It was connected to him by a rope, and was very still. His mind refused to accept it at first, but then, with a roaring in his ears, he shouted hoarsely. He staggered to his feet, crossed to the body and fell on it, turning it over, needing to see its face.
Renzi vomited weakly, sea-water pouring from his mouth. He lifted his head to look at Kydd with dull eyes. A slow smile crossed his features and on the tiny beach the two shipwrecked mariners embraced.
A hand touched Kydd's shoulder. He jerked round in surprise and met the eyes of a foreign soldier. 'Nao se preocupe — sua vida esta salvo, pobre marinheiroj the man said softly.
Kydd struggled to his feet but Renzi's voice broke through weakly, 'I do observe, dear friend, that the presence of this man implies two things.' Coughing feebly, he continued, 'First, that this island is inhabited and we are spared an unfortunate death by starvation. Second, he speaks Portuguese -probably this is one of the islands of the Azores. They are our oldest ally and thus we may believe we will soon be homeward bound.'
Kydd hid his leaping happiness behind a dry smile. 'O' course, if there's any officer survived, why, there'll be a mort of explainin' he'll have t' do afore his court-martial,' he said with satisfaction.
'But in course, we shall be witnesses of the first order,' added Renzi, 'and therefore I fear our return to Guildford may necessarily suffer delay.'
Author's Note
At my desk is a length of rope from the 74 gun ship-of-the-line HMS Invincible that two centuries ago struck on the sands off Selsey Bill. The rope still smells of sea and Stockholm tar. I have other relics, too; a seaman's tankard, a gunlock flint, an Admiralty issue clerk's writing kit — each one bringing that far-away world straight into my consciousness. This I value above all things — as the one thing that I would most like the reader to take away from my book is a perception of the reality of Kydd's world.
Some have asked how real are the incidents in Artemis. There is an untold wealth in the histories — but the gold is found in the letters home of a pressed man, the diary of a gunner in Antigua, the musings of retired seamen. What lies in the pages of my book is how it happened as closely as I can render it for today's readers. Sometimes the facts are more amazing than any fiction — Artemis's desperate battle is based on that of the Nymphe and Cleopatre of the time. Maillot's (Million's) gallant act did take place, but in fact it was the Captain's own brother, Israel Pellew, who
personally laid and fired the fatal carronade shot that turned the tide.
Good fortune has played its part in allowing me to indulge my passion: the felicity of having a wife who can walk and talk the plot and characters with me, the enthusiasm of my publisher Hodder & Stoughton and the inspiration from Geoff Hunt's art. With the wider world of a naval scholarship to call upon, how can I not sit down and immediately begin the next book?
Julian Stockwin August 2001