It was obvious that it was an idea that Arbuthnot had already discussed with Slade, and it was equally obvious what their conclusion had been.

"You think you might have a chance?" Arbuthnot asked, obviously startled by Ramage's reply. Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "One can but try, sir."

Arbuthnot seemed to decide that this sort of sparring could go on all afternoon; that he was not going to trap Ramage into saying something that he could relate to Admiral Rudd as confirming whatever decision he had made.

"You agree with me that a two-day start is an advantage we could never hope to overcome."

Again Ramage shrugged. "It's impossible to say, sir, because we don't know for sure that she is making direct for Toulon. She might have a rendezvous with another ship somewhere so that she could unload some of the survivors on board. She may be becalmed Who knows?"

Now it was Arbuthnot's turn to shrug his shoulders. "I consider that most unlikely, and so does Captain Slade."

"In that case, sir," Ramage said, "what are my orders?"

Arbuthnot again composed his face. "I intend taking the squadron back to Naples and reporting to Admiral Rudd," he said. "He will not be very pleased at the idea of losing so many prisoners."

And you and Slade are annoyed at losing so much head money. Ramage thought; how blatant can you be?

Down in the wardroom Martin was playing his flute and the red-haired Kenton was sitting in the doorway of his tiny cabin listening to him. Although they were physically very different types, both had family links with the Navy. Martin, known to the other lieutenants as "Blower" because of his flute playing, was the son of the master shipwright at Chatham Dockyard while Kenton. heavily freckled and with his face continually peeling from sunburn, was the son of a half-pay captain.

When Martin paused, Kenton said: "You know, Blower, we were damned unlucky that French frigate just happened to come along and rescue those survivors."

"I don't know, I wasn't looking forward to climbing over the island looking for them."

"No, but we lost a lot of head money."

"No, we didn't," Martin contradicted. "I heard the captain telling Southwick that the Admiral said all the head money would go to the Phoenix and the Intrepid because technically they would have captured the men."

"Why, that's monstrous!" Kenton exclaimed.

"All admirals are monstrous," Martin said lazily. "With the exception of Lord Nelson, and that was why he was killed. He was the only man who wasn't a monster ever to be made an admiral."

At that moment Hill came into the wardroom. "Come on Blower, start playing that thing."

"I've been playing for an hour. I was just telling our friend here that we didn't lose any head money over the prisoners."

"No," said Hill, "we had already been cheated out of it by the Admiral, judging from what I heard Mr Ramage tell old South wick. So our French friends have helped spread a little justice round: we get cheated out of head money, and then the Intrepid and the Phoenix get cheated out of it by the French frigate. No head money for anyone."

"Well, we earned it," Kenton grumbled.

"We certainly did, but unless we had carried all of the prisoners back for the Admiral to count, we ran the risk of losing it. You must get out of the habit of thinking there is any justice in this world."

Kenton acknowledged Hill's remark with a dismissive gesture that implied he was annoyed at being thought so naive. "We don't need the money, at least I don't," he said airily. "Thanks to prize money I shan't be reduced to shining boots when I'm retired on half-pay. Nor will Martin. You joined too late, George. Still, if you fall on hard times in the future I'll employ you as my valet. Would you make a good valet, George?"

"That depends on the state of your wardrobe. If you expect me for ever to be stitching stocks and darning stockings, then the answer is no. I shall only valet for the gentry - the rich gentry."

"By the way," asked Martin, putting his flute back in its case, "has anyone heard if we are going back to Naples?"

Hill shook his head. "I should think so, but I haven't heard anyone mention it. Why? Do you fancy a Neapolitan romance?"

"Orsini tells me the Neapolitan women are very beautiful," Martin said seriously, "but there's some difficulty with what I think Orsini said were cicisbeos." "You mean husbands?" asked Hill.

"No, as far as I can make out, a cicisbeo is a lady's recognized follower: the husband knows all about it and agrees: the cicisbeo acts as a combined escort and chaperone."

"If I was the husband I wouldn't agree to that," Kenton said.

"No, he escorts the lady to the opera or takes her for rides in a carriage: it is all very honourable."

"It wouldn't be if I was a cicisbeo" Kenton said firmly. "The husband would be a cuckold within the hour."

Hill said: "There's probably an old Neapolitan tradition among husbands that cicisbeos who overstep the mark get their throats cut within the hour, too!"

Martin snapped the catch of the flute case and said: "It all sounds too easy, so there's bound to be a snag. I can't see Neapolitan husbands, of all men on earth, making their wives freely available. On the contrary, I would say that of all places on earth Naples is where the wife's honour - or perhaps I mean the husband's honour - is the most closely guarded."

"I'll bear that in mind when I go on shore," Hill said lightly. "No married women!"

"The unmarried women will be guarded by mothers who can make a wild tiger look tame, you can be sure of that," Kenton said.

"You two aren't making Naples sound a very attractive place," Hill grumbled. "I must say that from seaward Naples Bay looks very romantic."

"Obviously we are going to have to question Orsini more closely," Martin said. "He just mentioned it in passing. I don't think he knows Naples very well - Volterra, where he and his aunt come from, is about a hundred miles north of Rome."

"Do they have cicisbeos in Rome and other places?" Kenton wondered.

"From the way Orsini spoke," Martin said, "they are peculiar to Naples. Don't forget that Naples is so far south that it is a very different city from Rome or those places in the north."

"Well," declared Hill, "we're going to have to wait and see. But thanks for the warning: it seems the innocent young English naval officer is in great danger from both the cicisbeo and the husband, and he has to beware the mother if the girl is a spinster."

CHAPTER NINE

The Calypso had been at anchor in Naples Bay for three days before the flagship hoisted her pendant number and the signal for captain. Both cutters were swinging at the boat boom, and as soon as he had changed to a fresh stock and buckled on his sword, Ramage set off.

From the time the Intrepid and Phoenix had arrived in Naples Bay with the Calypso in company, Ramage had heard nothing from Arbuthnot. Orsini had reported seeing Arbuthnot being rowed over to the flagship soon after they had anchored, and the Admiral had sent for him once. Otherwise, until now, Ramage had been left to himself.

Now what was the matter? He thought it seemed a long time had passed for the Admiral to want to rake over the Capraia affair. But it was hard to be sure: Admiral Rudd had not given him the impression of being a very stable sort of man: the more Ramage thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the Admiral could have spent three days brooding, working himself up into a temper, and now he was going to unleash it.

What could have caused it, though? The loss of head money, the fact that the French frigate had appeared on the scene, that the Calypso had not gone off in chase? No, the question of the Calypso going off in chase was Arbuthnot's decision; he had been the senior officer and Ramage could not have gone off without Arbuthnot's permission even if he had wanted to. So what was bothering the Admiral? Ramage shrugged his shoulders: it was impossible to guess, and anyway there was very little point in trying: he would know for .sure in ten minutes' time.