By now more tartanes and captured boats were streaming into the port but, Ramage noted, there was no mad rush to get on shore: the boats were giving themselves plenty of room, and they manoeuvred as though they had plenty of time, too. There was no hurry to attack the port. The Saracens knew that they had overwhelmed the other ports by sheer weight of numbers, and Licata was simply another like the others.

As he watched closely through his telescope Ramage could see men securing the first tartane alongside, throwing ropes over the stone bollards. The second tartane had come alongside the first and was securing to it, and while it was doing that, the third tartane came alongside her, so they were three deep. The first galley went alongside the quay and the second secured next to it, followed by the third. Then, like giant ants, the other boats came in and went alongside. The strange thing was, Ramage noted, that none of the Saracens had gone on shore, apart from the men throwing ropes over the bollards. It was a curiously leisurely invasion.

Soon all twenty or so craft were secured alongside the quay and then, as if someone had blown a whistle or bellowed an order that everyone could hear, the men started climbing over the bulwarks on to the quay. Ramage tried a rough count-twenty, forty, sixty, a hundred: that covered the first three tartanes and the galleys. Twenty, forty, sixty - that was two hundred. Quickly he reached a total of four hundred standing about on the quay, and that seemed the end of the exodus from the boats.

The four hundred stood in a crowd, as though undecided what to do next, but Ramage guessed that their leader - or leaders - were just getting their bearings.

If only the crowd would stay together and move into the area he had called the killing ground, but they would probably split up into groups as they made their way towards the town. Was there one leader or did each craft have its own leader - a man who became the chief of his own men as soon as they landed? It did not really matter except it might have some bearing on whether the men stayed together or split into smaller groups.

Then, watched by a startled Ramage, all the men turned to the east and flung themselves on to the ground. And from down on the quay Ramage could just hear a faint wailing: rhythmic and persistent but high-pitched.

"They're praying, by God!" exclaimed Orsini. "Those damned heathens are praying!"

"Praying for the souls of the infidels they are about to disembowel or drag off," Ramage said drily. "Don't forget we often have a prayer before battle - it's the same sort of thing."

"Yes," said Orsini, who did not agree with the prayers, "it gets everyone into the right attitude for murder and mayhem, knowing that God is on their side. These fellows call him Allah, but the idea is the same."

Then the Saracens stood up, gave a bloodcurdling shriek while waving their scimitars in the air, and turned towards the town. But they did not run: they did little more than amble, breaking up into small groups as they made their way along the quay.

Ramage could imagine six triggerlines belonging to six carronades being tightened as the gun captains took up the first strain. In the houses seamen and Marines would be cocking their muskets and pistols. The second captains of the carronades, too, would have cocked their locks and stood back clear of the recoil. Every one of the Calypsos would be listening for the crackling of the rocket as they watched the advancing Saracens.

The horde of men had covered about fifty yards so far: they must be very confident of themselves because they were not hurrying. And indeed, why should they not be confident? As far as they were concerned Licata was just another fishing port, so placed to provide Saracens with ablebodied men for their galleys and nubile women for the brothels.

The Saracens had covered seventy-five yards by now, a shambling group of men who were doing little more than shuffling their way towards the town. But more important, they were heading directly for the killing ground. They were not bunched up enough to make perfect targets for the carronades: in fact it was hard to believe that such a casual crowd of men were a menace to Licata. Except, Ramage realized, for the glint of the sun on the scimitar blades. The men were walking along swinging their scimitars just as men out for a peaceful walk might swing at flowers with walking sticks - in England it would be dandelions, but Ramage realized he was not sure that they grew in Sicily.

He almost laughed at himself when he found he was thinking about dandelions while at the same time he watched the Saracens through his telescope. No, there did not seem to be a particular leader, or at least no one man was heading the crowd. They were now thirty yards from the edge of the killing ground, and Ramage said to Orsini: "Stand by with the slowmatch."

Orsini picked it up and blew on it so that it glowed red, and he moved close to the rocket as it stood in its tube canted over the town.

Then the first of the Saracens had reached the edge of the killing ground itself. Ramage could see that all of the men were dressed in robes with scarves or cloths covering their heads. And they all had beards; black beards which made them look fierce.

Now half of them were in the area, the rest of them shuffling along as though they had all the time in the world - which, as far as they knew, they had. Most of them, Ramage thought grimly, have very little time left in this world, although they were blissfully ignorant of the fact.

Ramage felt the excitement gripping him now: so far his plan was working out and everything depended on the timing of that rocket. If it was too soon, it would raise the alarm for the Saracens; if it was too late then many of them would be outside the target area before the guns fired.

He watched and waited, looking sideways to make sure that Orsini was ready at the rocket with the slowmatch. Yes, the slowmatch was glowing. And he found he could judge the position of the Saracens better with his naked eye: the telescope distorted the view by foreshortening the foreground.

Damn, he had to watch that the leading men were not out of the area before the ones in the rear had entered it. There, now was the moment!

"Fire the rocket!" he snapped at Orsini and a moment later the rocket hissed up in the, air over the town and exploded with a crackling noise as it sped over the quay.

Before the last of the rocket's noise was lost there was a series of deep coughs as the six carronades opened fire and the barrage was punctuated by the lighter banging of the boat guns and the popping of more than two hundred muskets and pistols.

The leading Saracens collapsed in piles, cut down by caseshot and musket balls as they walked, and the rest of the crowd froze, taken completely by surprise. Then the muskets crackled again as seamen and Marines fired the spare guns they had beside them. And Ramage could imagine the carronade crews desperately ramming home cartridges, wads and caseshot and then he wing away with handspikes to aim the guns again.

Again the carronades barked out, cutting down more Saracens, who were now beginning to crouch down, obviously puzzled where the noise and swathe of death was coming from. The boat guns joined in, like puppies barking, and many more Saracens collapsed: the bodies were beginning to pile up on the quay.

But to Ramage's surprise the Saracens did not run back to their craft alongside the quay: instead they seemed to bunch up together, shouting and waving their scimitars as though in defiance. As the third blast of fire from the carronades bit into the crowd, they started running towards the town and towards where most of the carronades were positioned. And Ramage realized he had made a mistake in keeping the guns and the seamen and Marines separate: there were no men to guard the guns; the carronade crews would be cut down by the Saracens, who did not fear death. In fact, he suddenly remembered, they regarded death in battle as a certain way to Paradise, so they were men without fear.