There must be something special to guard inside the fortress, and that would not be Bonaparte's favourite canteen of cutlery. What could it be, apart from hostages?

Ramage could think of nothing else that would not be kept more safely in a castle or fortress scores of miles inland, not on the edge of the sea. Except that the Orsini Palace was just that, a comfortable palace but hard to defend, while Forte della Stella was simply a fortress and (like Castello on Giglio) relatively impregnable.

He looked at his watch. Eleven o'clock. A garrison of how many men? What duty was each sentry doing - four hours on and eight off? Or two on and four off? Anyway, two sentries on duty represented six men, not allowing for sickness. And guards for the prisoners. Say at least a dozen men, with a corporal, a sergeant, a cook, a lieutenant and a captain. Probably a groom or two for the horses. Nineteen - so say a minimum of twenty officers and men. After all, they were guarding hostages, not defending the fortress.

How many hostages? And where were they kept? Did they have a guard with them all the time - guards who, at the first sign of a rescue attempt, would treat them immediately as hostages, threatening to kill them unless the would-be rescuers withdrew?

"There was this contadino," Orsini said casually. "He helped."

"What contadino, and helped what?" Ramage demanded impatiently.

"Well, sir, as we left we saw a man making his way along a track about two hundred yards inland from the fortress. He was not worrying about being seen from the fortress - although in fact he was hidden most of the time by sage and thyme and juniper bushes. We wouldn't have seen him except that we were keeping a sharp lookout."

"Come on!" Ramage said, still holding his watch.

Rossi said: "I walked along the track so that I met him face to face. He was surprised to see me, of course, but as I was obviously an Italian he was not particularly alarmed.

"He had just come from Port' Ercole and was on his way to Sbarcatella - that's the small cape at the southern end of this bay and south-west of Isolotto."

Clearly Rossi was going to tell the story at his own speed, and Ramage realized that anyway it was difficult for some men to grasp the most important point in an incident: to them they had to begin at the beginning and carry on to the end.

"Well," Rossi continued, "this man has a small boat down there and some lobster pots, and he was going to row out and lift the pots."

"To whom does he sell the lobsters?"

"I was just coming to that, sir," Rossi said. "He used to sell them to the garrison at the fort, but it seems that after the first month they halved the price they would pay, so now he sells them in the village. He was very angry with the French. This only happened three weeks ago."

"So he started selling lobsters to the garrison seven weeks ago?"

"I was just coming to that," Rossi said again, finally adding, "sir", but carefully timing the gap. "According to this man the fort was standing empty until eight weeks ago. He remembers the date because it was a particular feast day and the French soldiers marching through the port interrupted a procession, which made the local people angry.

"Anyway, they went through the port and up the track leading from La Rocca, above the port, and on to the fort."

"Just soldiers?" Ramage interrupted.

"Just soldiers. About thirty of them, marching in four columns," Rossi said, hard put to keep the pride from his voice that the contadino could remember that. "Two officers, who were riding mules."

"No hostages, then?"

Rossi shook his head and then, in a typical Italian gesture, tapped the side of his nose knowingly with a forefinger. "Not then. They arrived a week later, with a special escort, and were taken to the fort. The special escort left again next day."

"So there's absolutely no doubt that the hostages are in the fort?"

"No sir," Rossi said blandly.

"Accidente!" Ramage exclaimed. "Why did you hold on to the information about this contadino for so long?"

Orsini took over the narrative, his manner defensive. "Well, sir, we didn't think you would believe us if we just said 'The hostages are there!' I thought you would need all the facts that led us to the conclusion."

Ramage sighed. These two mules were going to proceed at their own speed. "Go on, then. How many hostages?"

"The man didn't know because he did not see them: he was out fishing that day and his wife told him. Some women, some men. 'Many', the man said. But he could describe the inside of the fort."

"Wait a moment," Ramage said. "Why was this man so helpful? What stops him going to the garrison and reporting that there are two Italian strangers asking questions?"

Rossi gave a short and bitter laugh. "First, sir, he saw only me: Mr Orsini was hidden. Second, this man hates all Frenchmen. Apart from cheating him over the lobsters, two French soldiers tried to rape one of his daughters . . ."

"What happened about that?"

"Two of her brothers arrived, killed the Frenchmen and hid the bodies. The French commandant made the port pay a heavy fine because two of their men were missing. The Italians told the French captain the men had probably deserted."

"So now everyone in the port is angry with the French?"

"Yes, sir!" Rossi exclaimed, "but this happened four years ago, with soldiers stationed at the fort on the other side of Port' Ercole."

"Go on," Ramage said, "what did you find out about the inside of Forte della Stella, then?"

Orsini leaned forward and gave Ramage a folded piece of paper. "When I came back on board I drew this plan, based on what the man said. It's only a rough sketch. The guardhouse is here on the right, just inside the main gate. Then officers, two of them, have their quarters here. The soldiers and NCOs are here."

"And the hostages?"

"Here, sir," Orsini said, pointing to the north-west corner. "There is a corridor and leading off it are two very large rooms - almost like cellars. The men are kept in one, the women in the other. No privacy. When he delivered lobsters, the man saw a sentry on each door - he came usually in the late evening."

"How long did it take you to get up to the fort from the moment you landed from the boat at the foot of the cliff?" Ramage asked Orsini.

"Less than half an hour, sir. That includes ten minutes of crawling like snakes through the sage bushes to get close to the main gate - it was still daylight then. We had trouble with the macchia: it's thick and waist-high up to about thirty yards from the main gate but it's so dry that branches crackle every time you move: it's impossible not to snap them."

"And attacking the fort?"

Orsini thought for several seconds, and then glanced at Rossi, who remained staring down at the desk, obviously not wanting to commit himself. "It would be hard, sir. The only way in is through the main gate - or the little wicket door. There's smooth, open ground in front of the sentry, thirty yards or more, with gravel spread all over it (the French must use it as a parade ground) and the gravel makes a crunching noise if you tread on it."

"Coming back down the cliff to the boat," Ramage said, "could women get down that way?"

While Rossi shrugged his shoulders, with the comment: "It's the only way, sir, and it depends how old they are!", Orsini nodded. "Yes, sir. There's only one really bad place, and that's a climb of about fourteen feet, almost vertical. But we could secure a rope ladder from a rock just above it, so they could use that. We could rig knotted ropes along the rest of the route, above and below the ladder, which would give them something to hold on to, and guide them as well. A seaman here and there to help them - yes, it could be done. If there is a very old lady," he added as an afterthought, "a strong seaman could bring her all the way on his back."