One man crouching low and moving fast to make a surprise move? It would probably work. "Very well, but don't fire twice from the same place, otherwise you'll get musket balls falling on you like bird shot."

Stafford was off and halfway across the open space before Ramage had time to say anything more: the Cockney went off like a hare breaking cover - and, like a hare, he was jinking before disappearing into the macchia.

From behind, Ramage heard the thud of Southwick's pistol, followed a minute later by Jackson firing. Ramage glanced across the open square, looking where Stafford had vanished, but the pistol flash when it came was several yards to the left, nearer to the French. He guessed the Cockney was hoping to make the French think he had merely joined (taking orders to?) a group hidden in the macchia solely to cover the gateway.

That poor French commander, Ramage thought, must think he is almost surrounded. He was still chuckling when a row of red flashes beyond and to the right of the French sent the two files of soldiers rushing to the fort's wall so that it protected their rear while they grouped into a half-circle to defend themselves against more attacks.

Ramage fired his pistol at the group, not that he expected to hit anyone but the muzzle flash would show Hill (for obviously it was him with his bucket men) where some of his shipmates were. Stafford fired again, from a different position, then Southwick's pistol barked, followed by Jackson's.

Where were the hostages now - at the cliff top? Embarking in the boats? Ramage cursed because he had seen only the men. They seemed spry enough, but what about the women? Was there a rheumaticky and querulous old dowager among them, arguing the toss all the way to the cliffs? Well, even if there had been half a dozen, Aitken and Rennick had enough sturdy men to piggyback them to the cliff top.

His watch showed that, surprisingly, time was now racing instead of slowing down: the hostages had been gone a good twenty minutes. Another crackle of pistol fire and red dots, like bloodshot fireflies, showed that Hill knew what he was about and was now closer to the French.

Nevertheless, Ramage decided that they had delayed possible pursuit by the French for long enough: now was the time for all the remaining British to disappear into the darkness, making sure only that the French had no idea of the direction they took. To the French the Calypso must remain a French frigate quite innocently anchored in the lee of Isolotto, unaware of a dastardly attack on the fort by - well, Italian guerrillas probably, since they had only pistols, not muskets. . .

Would Hill hear a hail at this distance? Did any of these Frenchmen understand English? While he thought of a phrase that Hill would understand, Ramage called to Jackson, Stafford and Southwick: "When I give the word, run inland until you pick up the track that went on to Port' Ercole. Turn left along it and run for the clifftop."

He took a deep breath, made a trumpet of his hands and bellowed: "Hill! Can you hear me?"

"Very well, sir!" Hill's voice answered from barely forty yards away. "I'm over here with Stafford. My men are looking after themselves!"

"You've all done a good job. Now back to the cliff top and down to the boats. Take your men back along the cliff, but put the flames between you and the French before you make the turn. We'll be coming along the Port' Ercole track. When you hear me barking four times like a dog, you'll know we're on our way. Now get back to your men."

Hill's voice acknowledged and a minute later Stafford fired just as Hill's men let off another fusillade. Southwick and Jackson, obviously not wanting to be left out, fired again.

Ramage, cursing at having told Rennick and his men to guard the hostages, looked at his watch and this time did not bother to tuck it back in his fob pocket: there were enough pistols firing to keep the French huddled where they were - and probably dreading the dawn that would reveal them to their unknown enemies waiting like a row of sitting ducks.

Three minutes .. . more pistol shots.. . two minutes, and as soon as they were back on board the Calypso Southwick would be complaining bitterly that there had been no real fighting ... One minute ... he eased the hammer of his pistol, and made sure it was on half-cock before tucking it into his waistband. He slid the watch into his pocket, picked up his cutlass, and called to the three men: "Right, now make for the track. Don't rush - we don't want to let the French know what we're doing."

Then he barked four times and Jackson's giggle started Southwick laughing, followed by Ramage. "A sea dog," Ramage explained, "with a sore throat."

The four men reached the top of the cliff above the rope ladder just as Hill was lining up his men and roundly cursing one of them for having lost his bucket. As Ramage peered over the edge of the cliff, he saw that there was no one climbing down: the Calypso's cutter was waiting a few yards from the bottom, near the rocks that formed a natural jetty, and the men were resting on their oars. All the hostages must be safely on board.

As he looked back over his left shoulder at Forte della Stella he marvelled at the beauty of the sight: already one of the most handsome fortresses Ramage had ever seen, part of its star shape was burnished to a coppery red on the seaward side, and the flickering shadows from the burning macchia softened any harsh lines.

"Hill, get your party started down the cliff. The cutter will come in as soon as they see us climbing down."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ramage climbed on board the Calypso to find Sir Henry and the other two admirals waiting for him, with Aitken standing respectfully to one side. Sir Henry stepped forward, right hand outstretched. "Ramage, my dear fellow, all the hostages have asked me to give you their thanks. I ... I ..."

Ramage realized that the man's eyes were glistening with tears, and both the other admirals were standing sideways, so that the lantern did not show their faces.

"I... well, none of us ever expected to see our wives again, so ..."

"It worked, sir, that's all that matters!" Ramage said briskly. "I hope the galley fire is alight so that they can all have a hot meal. I suggest we wait for the morning for formal introductions."

"Ah, quite so, quite so, and thank you, my boy . . ."

Sir Henry turned away, wiping his eyes, and the other two admirals followed him. As soon as they had disappeared down the companionway, Aitken said: "Kenton wants to see you, sir: he's waiting here -" he gestured to the Calypso's second lieutenant.

Damnation, Ramage thought to himself: he felt tired, his wrists and face afire with mosquito bites, and sticky from cobwebs which seemed to be strung between every damned bush. From the smell of it, the knees of his breeches were caked with goat droppings. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "Isn't it something you can deal with?" he asked Aitken wearily.

The Scotsman shook his head. "No, sir," he said gravely. "It's a matter for you."

Ramage turned to Kenton and said impatiently: "Come on, then, what's the matter?"

"It's one of the hostages, sir. Waiting in your cabin to see you."

"More blasted complaints, eh? Oh, all right. Here, take these." He handed Kenton the cutlass and pulled the pistol from his waistband. "That's loaded, so be careful."

Hell, his whole body seemed to be on fire from mosquito bites, nevertheless it was good to be back on board again. The ship was rolling slightly and the squeak of a particular block aloft reminded him of the "quark . . . quark" of the nightjar. Already the whole night's activities seemed unreal, as though he was recalling a tale told by someone who had taken part in it.