The grenade began to splutter.

'Not much time, Tomas.'

Morgan held the grenade above his head.

'You decide.'

Sparks erupted from the grenade.

'What you want I do ... throw at natives or at you?'

The sparks turned blue.

Morgon hesitated then tossed the grenade to Tom.

'Catch.'

The missile exploded and burning sulphur spattered over Tom's padded jerkin. He pulled his helmet down and listened to the taunts of the tribesmen.

'He always wanted to burn bright.'

'He doesn't have much choice now.'

The voices continued to torment him as he fought to put out the flames. The burning sulphur clung to his jerkin and got worse as he tried to put it out.

'He could jump into the water.'

'Then he'd be a drowned offering.'

'What if Morgon gets him with his sword?'

'Then he'd be a bleeding offering.'

They roared with laughter then fell silent when Tom's sword flashed out.

'Don't any of you have a word of praise?'

'Praise?'

'That's right. I came amongst you and I gave myself to you.'

'You gave yourself to our women.'

'I won you a great victory.'

'You made a great name for yourself and our women flocked about you.'

'Is that all? Is that the best you can do?'

His eyes flitted amongst them, looking for support. All he saw was a blur of leering faces. Adrenalin pulsed through his veins. Burning sulphur oozed beneath his breastplate.

'A plague on all your houses.'

'What was that?'

'I'll show you what it is to play the ungrateful sod with me.'

His sword slashed through the ropes securing a stack of munitions. Incendiary bombs rolled out and burning sulphur engulfed the deck. Tom watched as tribesmen jumped overboard and a feeling of peace descended on him.

He was reminded of Samson after his betrayal by Delilah. The biblical hero didn't let his tormentors get away with what they'd done. Samson pulled down the temple and killed the ungrateful sods. He felt a common bond with all heroes.

There had been a succession of them. Great men who performed great deeds and were brutally murdered when they had served their purpose. He advanced on Morgon, determined to play the hero's role to the very end.

'Fight. You bastard.'

'No, Tomas.'

'Draw your sword.'

'No ... that stupid.' Morgon bared his chest. 'We not enemies. Natives enemies. You kill me if you want ... but I no fight you.'

Tom's hand went limp.

'You mean you won't fight?'

'No. Tomas.'




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