The carpenter inspected the spar with South wick, and then reported to Ramage: "A day's work to repair it and the foreyard and sway them up again, sir."

"Very well," Ramage said. "Have as many men as you want. What about the damage below?"

The carpenter shrugged his shoulders. "We can't do anything about the damage from our broadsides, sir: that's a dockyard job. I'll just check the steering and the foot of the mizenmast, and sound the well. But that's all I can do."

"A day, eh? So we can get the ship under way in two days."

"Unless I find the steering damaged, sir, or something unexpected."

"Good. All I want is to get her under way; she need not be in fighting trim, but she must sail."

He then sent for Hill, and talking to him from amid the wreckage of the captain's cabin he said: "You are going to be the prize-master, with Orsini as your second-in-command. From now on you will live on board and start getting the ship ready for sea. I'll send you twenty-five men, and as soon as you can you'll have the rigging fitted and the mainyard and foreyard crossed."

"Aye aye, and thank you, sir," Hill said. "Where do I make for?"

"Naples. You'll sail in company with the Calypso, but get what charts you might need from Southwick and copy them: we might be separated by bad weather."

Having given his orders, Ramage took the carpenter back to the Calypso to collect the tools he needed and the carpenter's mates. Ramage told Aitken to choose twenty-five men to go across and put themselves under Hill's command. "There should be plenty of provisions and water," he said, "but pass the word to Hill to check them."

Fishing the two yards and plugging the worst shot holes took the full day that the carpenter had estimated, but in the meantime Hill's men had lowered the topgallant and foresails and overhauled them, before sending them up again. Hill had the maincourse spread out over the deck and overhauled, several patches being stitched in where there was chafe. Finally, the two yards were hoisted up and fitted in place.

Later that afternoon Jackson and Stafford were standing on the Calypso's fo'c'sle with Rossi and Gilbert. The sun was still high, there was little more than a gentle breeze from the south-west -giving the two ships a lee from Capraia at last- and the clouds were rounded into fantastic shapes, reminding Jackson of Trade wind clouds and making him nostalgic for the West Indies.

"Yer know," Stafford said, "I can't see 'ow all those prisoners from the two frigates are going to survive on that island. There can't be much more food than the local people need . . ."

"I can guess who is going to go without," Jackson commented.

"Yus, so can I, but it don't seem fair."

Jackson shrugged his shoulders. "It wouldn't be fair to have 350 French prisoners on board us, either. They'd outnumber us by a hundred or so, and with a few chaps like that fat man they'd soon try to take the ship. Probably succeed, too: sheer weight of numbers."

"All right, all right. I'm persuaded Jacko," Stafford said. "But what d'you think, Gilbert?"

"I think Mr Ramage was right. It wouldn't matter to me if Capraia was a desert island with no water: I wouldn't keep those men on board as prisoners. They'd turn on us and cut our throats."

'What's Mr Ramage going to do with the fat man?" Stafford asked Jackson.

"How should I know? If it was up to me I'd throw him over the side, but I suppose he'll be brought to trial, or something."

"I thought I'd fall down laughing when he fainted," Stafford said. "I quite believed Mr Ramage when he said 'Death!' - it's about (he only French word I understand. I expected the Marines to shoot him there and then."

"So did I," Gilbert admitted, "and it's a pity they didn't. That man is evil."

"Well, he's down below in irons now," Jackson said.

"Yus, that's all very well, but he could have been the death of Mr Hill and the Marines. Mr Ramage was all ready to rake 'em again!"

"I wonder," Jackson said. "He wanted the fat man to think so, and the only way to do that was to sail across his stern. But don't you reckon he was bluffing?"

"There's no way of telling," Rossi said. "If he was bluffing, well, it worked, and that's all that matters."

"Gave Mr Hill a bad five minutes, though."

"Gave everyone a bad five minutes," Jackson said, "including Mr Ramage. If his bluff hadn't worked, he'd have had to open fire, and can you imagine how he'd have felt, firing on his own men?"

"Not half as bad as the men," Stafford said ironically. "But you're probably right, Jacko; he was bluffing, and he guessed right that the fat man's nerve wouldn't hold out."

"It wasn't Mr Ramage's first bit of bluff today," Gilbert pointed out. "That was bluff when he steered across the bow of that ship of the line."

Jackson shook his head.

"I don't agree with you there, Gilbert. No one knew the Frenchman would turn away, and I'm damned sure Mr Ramage wasn't going to. It's just that the French captain lost his nerve."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Gilbert, showing excitement for the first time that Jackson could remember. "The French captain's nerve broke before Mr Ramage's, just as the fat man's did. That's where Mr Ramage is so clever, he knows the French so well. He knows exactly when they will break."

Jackson shook his head again, only this time it was because of near incredulity. "I believe you are right, Gilbert. I never thought of it like that but, as you say, it's the second time today."

Gilbert nodded contentedly. "Yes, to understand Mr Ramage's mind, you have to think like a Frenchman."

"He's right, Jacko," Rossi said. "He understands the French mind. The Italian, too: you remember all the tricks he played when we've been in Italy."

"Well, he speaks Italian and French: they're very much alike, and perhaps speaking the language gives you an insight into the way they think."

"Try and think of another explanation," Stafford said. "There isn't one. Not unless you want to believe in magic and voodoo."

"I tell you someone else like Mr Ramage," Gilbert said, "and that's Mr Orsini."

"You're right!" Jackson exclaimed. "He would have stayed almost alongside that frigate this morning if I hadn't steered us away without orders. I thought then he was just excited and forgot to get us out of range, but I think you're right; he knew Mr Ramage was bluffing."

"He's a bright young lad, that's for sure," Stafford said. "It's a pity the Marcheeza can't see him."

"Marchesa," said Jackson. "She's dead by now," he added lugubriously. "Boney's men will have murdered her."

"I don't see why," Stafford said.

"Don't be stupid!" Rossi said explosively. "You don't think Bonaparte would let her go back to Volterra, do you? Why, if she suddenly arrived just about everyone would rally to her and revolt against the French."

"Yus, but he can put her in prison in Paris."

"That's not Bonaparte's way. He'd be afraid she would escape. No, he'd kill her. Then there's no risk of her escaping and no risk of her marrying and having children, which would mean heirs."

"She was a wonderful woman," Stafford said. "What times we had with her on board. I always reckoned Mr Ramage would marry her."

"Religion," Jackson said laconically. "She was Catholic, he's a Protestant. Anyway, she was very hot-tempered, you know; I don't reckon she would have suited Mr Ramage over the long haul. I reckon Lady Sarah suits him in every way. A fine woman, Lady Sarah."

"I'm not saying she isn't," Stafford said hastily. "I was just thinking about the Marcheeza. It's horrible to think of her murdered. She was so young - and so, well, alive."

"Well, you'd better get used to the idea that she's dead," Jackson said quietly. "I'm sure both Mr Ramage and Mr Orsini think site's dead. Not that they have any way of knowing one way or another."