Ramage swore. Three frigates in the area within such a short time.

"In which direction did the frigate go?"

"To the north, sir."

"Hmm, going northabout to Toulon, I suppose."

"With all those men on board, she'd want to get into a French port fairly quickly."

Paolo was right about that: she would have many more than double her normal complement and may well have run short of water and provisions. Ramage suddenly wanted to laugh: the errant French frigate had done Arbuthnot and Slade out of their head money!

"Who did you speak to ashore?"

"At first fishermen on the quay, but when I heard what they had to say, I made them take me to the mayor. He confirmed it. He's a fisherman too and his boat was commandeered to help take out the French, so he saw the name of the frigate: the Marie." "There's no doubt that all the French were taken off?"

"None at all, sir: the mayor had counted them up from the number of boats that were used. His figure is within a dozen or so of ours."

Ramage thought for a moment or two. Martin, Kenton and Rennick could wait: right now he had to go over and report to Arbuthnot.

"Wait here: I want you to take me over to the Intrepid." Ramage hurried down to his cabin to collect his sword and straighten up his stock. He came back on deck and sent for Aitken telling him where he was going and why.

Then he' climbed down the ship's side after Orsini and settled down in the sternsheets. He felt very cheerful at the news he was going to give Arbuthnot, not because he gave a damn whether the French were still on the island or not but because he felt a spiteful delight that there was no head money. He found that Admiral Rudd's decision over the head money was what really rankled; it was a petty piece of twisting the King's Regulations and Admiralty Instructions so that the Calypso's men were cheated after a particularly hard-fought battle against Le Jason. Ten minutes later Ramage was sitting opposite Arbuthnot in his cabin. The senior captain had pedantically stopped Ramage making his report on the quarterdeck; instead he had insisted that Ramage follow him down to his cabin, where he had carefully seated himself at a desk, waving Ramage to a chair opposite.

"Well, Ramage, what have you to report?" Arbuthnot fiddled with his stock, as though it had suddenly tightened. "I see that all but one of your boats are still at the quay."

"The French have gone," Ramage said bluntly. "All of them. They have left the island."

"Don't be absurd!" Arbuthnot said angrily. "You are just trying to dodge having to search."

Ramage shook his head wearily: it was disheartening when someone behaved exactly as expected, and so far Arbuthnot was conforming to the patterns with depressing precision.

"No, sir: they were taken off two days ago by a French frigate, the Marie. They were counted by the mayor of Capraia and his total came to within a dozen of ours."

"But that's three French frigates!" Arbuthnot protested feebly.

"And two ships of the line," Ramage reminded him, trying to keep the malice out of his voice.

"But how did this Marie know about the prisoners?"

"I'm sure she didn't sir. She may have had a rendezvous with one or both of the other two frigates, and when she didn't find them here she may have sent a boat on shore to get news and found the two crews there."

Clearly Arbuthnot was now puzzled what to do next: should he give chase or return to Naples? That was obviously a question to which for the moment he had no answer.

"When did you say this frigate arrived?"

"Two days ago. The day after I landed the prisoners."

"And which way did she go?"

"To the north. The wind would have been from the southwest."

"To the north, eh? Then she could have rounded Capraia and made for Toulon."

"She could have done," Ramage agreed. "Especially if she was short of water or provisions."

"Two days on her way to Toulon . . . no, we'd never stand a chance of catching her."

Ramage said nothing: it was Arbuthnot's decision, and with this kind of man if he was blamed by the Admiral he would mention that Ramage had agreed with him, even if all Ramage had done was rub his nose. No, Ramage decided, if Arbuthnot wanted any second opinion, let him get it from Slade, in the Phoenix: Slade was second-in-command of the little squadron, and was a devil of a sight higher up the Post List than Ramage.

"You can return to your ship," Arbuthnot said. "I will talk to you later."

Yes, Ramage thought, you'll give me orders after you have had time to talk it over with Slade. You are scared of Admiral Rudd: responsibility does not sit easily on your shoulders.

As soon as Ramage was back on board the Calypso he sent Orsini on shore with instructions for Kenton, Martin and Rennick: they were to return with their men at once.

The signal for Ramage to return to the Intrepid was not made for two hours, during which time Orsini reported that Captain Slade had visited the Intrepid and returned to the Phoenix. Arbuthnot, Ramage thought to himself, has got his second opinion. It was ironic that a man who dodged responsibility would get promotion to admiral - providing he lived long enough - simply because of seniority. Ramage did not know Arbuthnot's number on the Post List, but (like Ramage himself) he was advancing up it as those captains above him died off or were killed and new ones appeared below him, to help push him up the List.

That was the fault of promotion in the Navy: once one had made the final step - through influence or merit, because they were the only two things that could do it - of being made post (which was a complicated way of saying that you had been given command of a ship that had to be commanded by a post-captain) then becoming a admiral was simply a matter of staying alive and accumulating seniority: promotion to rear-admiral, the first rung on the nine steps of admiral, came when you reached the top of the list of post-captains and one of the rear-admirals died. Then you survived as a (ear-admiral until you reached the top of the list and you became a vice-admiral when one of them died and made a vacancy. And having got thus far, you hoped to stay alive so that you became full admiral by the same process. Nor did one have to be serving at sea because promotion was automatic: an admiral, be he rear, vice or full admiral, could be retired and drawing a pension for longer than he had served at sea. Indeed, there was one notorious case of an admiral ninety-nine years old who had been retired for forty-nine years after serving at sea only forty years, when his highest rank had been post-captain. Forty-nine years an admiral and no

never commanded a fleet; indeed, had never commanded more than a 74.

Arbuthnot would like that, Ramage thought sourly; he would not mind that the only people that called him admiral were the domestics and the people in whichever village he chose for retirement. He wondered for a minute what sort of man Captain Slade was: did he like being a second opinion? Perhaps he liked the responsibility. Perhaps he did not.

Again Arbuthnot went through the ritual of taking Ramage down to his cabin and seating him in the chair opposite the desk.

Arbuthnot clasped his hands together and composed his face into what he clearly thought was a stern and confident look.

"I have given the situation my attention," he told Ramage, "and I have come to the conclusion that it would be a pointless waste of time and quite beyond the scope of my orders to search for this frigate. By now it is probably halfway to Toulon."

Ramage was clearly expected to make some sort of comment.

"Very well, sir," he said.

"I could of course send you in chase," Arbuthnot said. "What do you think about that?"

Ramage decided that two could play at this game. "If you think there is any chance of me catching her, sir, I would be happy to try."