'But we succeeded, so Their Lordships won't worry.'

Southwick gave one of his more - in - sorrow - than - in - anger sniffs, and Ramage said: 'I'm just going down to have a word with that French first lieutenant. Pass the word, please, Mr Aitken, I want him brought to my cabin. And don't be too hard on the French. I wonder if we could have resisted poking our noses in, if we'd seen a small schooner towing a frigate . . .'

CHAPTER TEN

Bazin could hardly 'believe his eyes when, a few moments before La Perle's bow crashed into the Calypso's quarter, the prize frigate suddenly began to move over to starboard, as if deliberately moving over so that La Perle could come alongside without a collision.

At the same moment a seaman by the mainmast began shouting at the quarterdeck something about the Calypso's gun ports, and Bazin saw that they were opening, and her guns were being run out. It is all very strange, he thought; first they drop the Tricolour and now they run out the guns. And here is Roget, the second lieutenant, his face as white as a sheet and shaking him by the shoulder and screaming at him, his teeth bared like a mad dog. But the words are slurred - by fear, though there's no need to be scared now, there will be no collision. 'Control yourself, Roget; speak slowly.'

Roget swallowed hard, took a deep breath - and Bazin gave him credit for the way he controlled himself - and then said, very distinctly: 'It's a trap. She's English.'

'Don't be stupid I She made the correct challenge. And all the signals!'

'She's English, I tell you - she's dropped the Tricolour, there's just the English flag now. Look, you fool! It was a ruse de guerre.' At that moment the two ships touched, hull against hull, like a fat couple walking down a narrow alley, and the second lieutenant turned and ran to the quarterdeck rail, shouting at the seamen to stand by to repel boarders, but even as Roget shouted Bazin saw grapnels flying through the air on the end of ropes, and as the crunching and banging ended with La Perle stopped alongside the Calypso, he also saw the bulwarks of both ships suddenly become alive with men: seamen from the Calypso, waving cutlasses and pistols, and wielding long boarding pikes, and shouting weird cries.

It is indeed a trap, Bazin realized, his brain in a fog, and someone is hailing in French from the Calypso's quarterdeck. Surrender? Of course he surrendered; how could he fight? He turned to tin cleat on which the halyard of the Tricolour was made up, but Roget was already undoing the figure of eights made by the rope and a moment later the flag came down. What will Captain Duroc say, he wondered. Where is he? Why didn't he shout a warning?

And men Bazin found himself staring at the point of an enormous sword held by a red - faced Englishman with a big paunch and flowing white hair. Not an officer, because he wore only a shirt and trousers. Then he remembered everyone on the Calypso's quarterdeck was wearing shirts and trousers, which was another reason why he had fallen into the trap.

The Englishman was shouting something in English - aw rendre?. That made no sense, but the man was sheathing his sword as if in disgust, and waving to men in blue uniforms. These must be the famous English Marines.

Bazin felt it was all a dream as he was taken across to the Calypso and lined up with his two officers on the quarterdeck. There was that fat man with white hair, looking very pleased with himself. And a pale - faced officer, who would never tan. And this other man, obviously the captain.

An aristo, too, that was certain; one had only to look at him, the slightly hooked nose, the high cheekbones, the tanned face, the dark hair bleached by the sun, the arrogant way he stood there, just looking at his prisoners. He too wore a shirt and trousers, but it was all part of the trap. Then Bazin looked carefully at the man's face and found himself staring at deep - set brown eyes that seemed to bore into him. He had to glance away because he knew those eyes would set him trembling. For the first time, Bazin realized, he was facing an aristo who could kill him. For years he had lived in an atmosphere where aristos - or men simply accused of being royalists - were hunted down like sheep and killed. Now a live one was looking at him - and, he realized, speaking in French and giving his name, Ramage. That word meant the song of the birds. The music of birds, rather. A pleasant word. Then he pronounced the name the English way, with a hard 'g', Ram - aidge, and he suddenly felt dizzy: this was the man, the famous English milord, Lord Ramage, although he had just given his first name, not the title. The Lord Ramage, the mad English aristo whose most recent escapade had been to capture two frigates off Diamond Rock only a few weeks ago, and sink two more, and seize the entire convoy on which Martinique was depending.

And Bazin suddenly knew why the Calypso had seemed familiar, a French ship. She was one of the frigates this milord Ramage had captured at Martinique. And that schooner towing her - Bazin remembered that two French schooners from Fort de France had been captured by this assassin a few days before the convoy arrived.

This milord was looking at him curiously. Oh yes, he had to surrender his sword. He was careful to hand it hilt - first, just in case one of those Marines thought he was threatening the captain.

'Et le vaisseau,' this milord was saying.

Had he the authority to surrender the ship? Yes, of course; there was no one else to do it, now Captain Duroc was not here.

'Oui, et le vaisseau, milord.'

Now Lord Ramage was turning to Roget, and Bazin realized that several times he had said 'milord', using the English word. It was the first time he had ever called any man 'lord', and here he was, only too anxious to say it to a foreigner. He knew he wanted to do anything to please this man, but he was not quite sure why, except that it was not only a desire to please. In France they guillotined the aristos, but here, under this blazing tropical sun, with English seamen aloft in La Perle, furling the topsails, it was not France; here the aristos could guillotine him - or order it with a snap of finger and thumb.

They were marched down to the lowerdeck, and made to stand by the mainmast, and all that fool Roget could say was: 'I told you so.'

Told me what, cretin?'

That it was a trap!'

'Ah yes, the moment before we crash alongside you scream at me like a girl defending her virginity. It would have helped if you had made that discovery five minutes earlier.'

'You were in command,' Roget retorted.

"I can't be watching everything!' Bazin snarled.

'You have to, if you're the captain.'

'You know who that man was?'

The one with the eyes?'

'Yes, the captain,' Bazin said.

'Why should I know who he is?'

'You've heard of milord Ramage?'

Roget went pale. That's him? I didn't recognize the name when he said it.'

That's him! He pronounces it differently.'

'He'll have us shot. . .'

'Probably,' Bazin said. 'Duroc's already dead.'

'How do you know?'

'I just know. These aristos - as soon as they get their hands on a true republican it is like that!' He made a chopping motion with his hand.

Roget, the colour coming back to his face, shrugged his shoulders. 'I suppose it's only fair.'

'What's fair?' Bazin asked suspiciously.

The aristos killing republicans. After all, every aristo I've ever seen was hauled off to the guillotine, or shot.'

That's different.' Roget irritated him; Bazin was the first to admit that. Only a fool like Roget could make that sort of argument.

'Sometimes I think you are a royalist at heart, Citoyen Roget.'