In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe

idle for too long and were in need of repair. The papal fleet itself was weak, which meant that the Spanish had most of the power.

      A man called Marcantonio Colonna had overall command of the fleet, but, despite his skill at diplomacy and his personal courage, it was proving almost impossible to hold the different factions together. Colonna wanted to go after the enemy at once, but another commander, Gia-nandrea Doria, had so far resisted. As one of the principal galley owners, he was concerned for the fate of his ships.

      ‘We are not yet strong enough,’ Doria said at one of the eternal meetings. ‘We must wait.’

      ‘I believe they will argue for ever,’ Lorenzo said to Michael, his patience exhausted when he learned that the decision to disperse for the winter had been taken late in September. ‘What of our people on Cyprus? Are we to abandon them to their fate?’

      Doria had decided to take his ships to Sicily for the winter, but Lorenzo would take his fleet to Rome.

      ‘I see no point in wasting months in idleness when we might be more profitably employed,’ he said. ‘There are repairs to be made and they will be better done in Rome than Sicily.’

      ‘So we return to Rome at once?’

      ‘Yes, to Rome.’ Lorenzo’s eyes were distant, his thoughts clearly far away.

      Michael returned to his own command to give the orders. Lorenzo frowned as he stood staring out to sea. Would he have chosen to winter in Sicily if it were not for Kathryn?

      His thoughts had been with her these past weeks, and he felt a deep, instinctive pleasure at the prospect of her waiting for him, a sharp desire forming in his loins as he anticipated their meeting. He had not forced her to submit on their wedding night for it would not have been right. She had married him because she had no choice, but he would teach her not to fear his lovemaking. In time he believed that she would welcome him to her bed.

      A shout from one of his men alerted him. ‘Six galleys to the leeward, sir!’

      Lorenzo looked in the direction the man was pointing. As yet there was some distance between them, but he could see that the oarsmen were pulling hard as they tried to catch up to him. He needed no one to tell him that they were the galleys of his enemy. He had been thwarted in his desire to beard the Turks in their den, but at least the chance of revenge was in sight. Rachid meant to attack them. His personal galley was at the forefront of the small fleet. It was the first time that Lorenzo and his enemy had met like this and they were evenly matched, for Lorenzo had five galleys with him. What Rachid did not know was that another six were not more than half an hour behind him.

      He felt a sense of exhilaration, of destiny. It was the confrontation that he had always known must come one day, and it seemed that luck was on his side.

      The battle lasted for two hours or more, but the Corsairs were outnumbered when the rest of Lorenzo’s fleet caught up with them, and now, at last, it was over. Two of Lorenzo’s galleys were damaged, but still afloat and able to limp home. Two of Rachid’s galleys had been sunk, another three were crippled. Rachid’s own galley had left when the battle was at its hottest, abandoning the rest of the galleys because it was clear that the Venetian was winning.

      ‘Shall we take prisoners?’ Michael asked as they saw that the flags on the Corsair ships had been hauled down and the men had surrendered their weapons.

      ‘One of the galleys—that most of need in repair—may be left to those who wish to continue in Rachid’s service,’ Lorenzo said. ‘They may save themselves if they can and we shall not hinder them. We shall take the other two as our prize. Any men aboard any of the galleys who wish to serve with me may transfer to the ships we take with us. Any who resist will be killed.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ Michael was about to leave to see that his commands were carried out when they became aware of a commotion on board one of the captured galleys.

      ‘See what that is about,’ Lorenzo instructed, frowning.

      Michael shouted to their own men who had boarded the stricken pirate galleys and then came back to report. ‘It seems that Rachid’s oldest son Hassan has been taken prisoner. What shall we do with him?’

      ‘Bring him to me.’

      Lorenzo felt a strange excitement. At last he had the means to punish his enemy for all that he had suffered at his hands. He could repay Rachid for his cruelty a thousand times over by taking the life of his son. Coming on top of the loss of five of his best galleys, it might be a blow from which the Corsair would never recover.

      He had his back turned when they brought the prisoner. Lorenzo tensed, then swung round to look at the son of the man he hated, his eyes moving over the youth. He let his eyes dwell on Hassan’s face for some minutes, discovering to his surprise that his overriding emotion was pity rather than hatred. The youth could be no more than sixteen and was plainly terrified.

      ‘Down on your knees, dog!’ one of Lorenzo’s men growled.

      ‘No,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Let him stand. He is a man, not a dog, whoever his father may be.’

      ‘Kill me,’ the youth said, trying to act bravely, though he was shaking with fear. ‘Let death come quickly, that is all I ask.’

      ‘I shall not take your life, for it would not profit me,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes narrowed, cold. ‘Your father is my enemy. I do not make war on boys or innocents. You shall be ransomed.’ He turned to Michael, giving him his instructions.

      Michael looked surprised and then nodded. ‘It shall be as you command, Captain.’

      Lorenzo glanced at the youth again, for he had spoken to Michael in Italian and the Corsair did not understand. ‘You are to be exchanged for the captive woman Maria, daughter of Don Pablo Dominicus. My captain Michael dei Ignacio will rendezvous with your father off Sicily and the exchange will take place at a given time. If Rachid brings more than one galley to escort him, you will die.’ He nodded to Michael. ‘Take him with you.’

      ‘And the girl?’

      ‘Bring her to me in Rome. Her father owes me for Kathryn’s abduction. He shall pay a ransom to have his daughter back.’

      Michael smiled, understanding the cleverness of his captain’s mind. ‘It is good,’ he said. ‘A life for a life and still we have our prize.’

      ‘We need more galleys,’ Lorenzo said. ‘This war with the Turks has been delayed but it will come—and it will cost us much.’

      He watched as the men took Rachid’s son away. Many of them would have killed him without a second thought, but they would not disobey their captain, and when they learned of the ransom they would smile and see the logic of their commander’s thinking. There was no profit to be had from a dead Corsair.

      Despite the damage to his own fleet, this had been a good day, Lorenzo thought grimly. He would repair one of the captured galleys and paint it with his own colours. The other would be sold and the money shared between his men. The captive slaves would be given the choice of serving as free men or, in some cases, questioned before being either ransomed by their families or given their freedom. Any who betrayed their surrender terms would be killed at once. The first thing that Lorenzo demanded of any man was loyalty.

      However, he had not forgotten his promise to Kathryn. He would continue to question all those who were taken, seeking information about the long-lost Richard Mountfitchet. It was possible that Lord Mountfitchet had been killed on Cyprus, but Kathryn was still alive and he would keep his word no matter what.

      As for the dreams that had begun to haunt his sleep of late, he would dismiss them as nonsense. It mattered little who he had once been. He was Lorenzo Santorini and his purpose in life was…He frowned as he realised that he was no longer certain of his purpose.

      He had spared the son of his enemy out of pity for a youth who surely did not deserve a cruel death. Yet that did not ease the hatred he felt for Rachid or the bitterness that had burned inside him like a candle flame for so long,