“We should be twenty leagues south,” he said, “or it may be more, but not much.”
“Then we are near trapped. The Flying Hawk is in the hands of the Moors, as it has been from when it sailed into Aldea Bella bay. Hassan, Dragut’s son, has the command, so it is said. He is leading us to where the Algiers fleet lies await.”
Antonio stood with his legs well apart. He threw up his head, and his jaw set, so that he looked pleased, in a grim way.
“Then you would say it is time to run. Shall we put about, with no foe in sight, or what will you have us do?”
He looked up at the quiet gravity of the man who held a command which he would have been glad to have, thinking that he would soon know of what sort he would prove to be.
Ramegas looked down at him. “We must sink him first, if we cannot lay
