Renouf decided that the eyes were disconcerting: they seemed to look right through you. The two scars over the right eyebrow must be sword cuts - one newer than the other. He held his left arm as though the muscles were slightly wasted. He must be recovering from a wound. Renouf always warned his men that if you had a wound in a limb, you could say goodbye to it. At least this fellow had escaped the surgeon's saw.

This frigate, Renouf thought, was not one of the two that were supposed to meet him at Porto Ercole since the Captain knew nothing of his orders. Curious that there should be a third frigate in such a small area. Perhaps this fellow was trying to catch him out; trying to make a case against him for wasting time? No, there was no doubt about the Captain's surprise when he read the second set of orders.

Renouf was startled by a double knock at the door, which had been left open. He heard uneven footsteps coming down the companionway and a moment later the lieutenant commanding the Brutus entered. The fool was drunk; Renouf spotted that immediately although someone who did not know Michelet so well might take a few minutes to realize it.

Renouf stood up at once. "Captain," he said hastily, "may I present Citizen Jean-Pierre Michelet, commanding the Brutus, who is not only a fine seaman but a man of considerable skill in the use of the mortars."

Renouf had not fooled the Captain, who nodded towards a chair and said sarcastically: "Citizen Michelet had better sit down: he finds the ship is rolling rather heavily at the moment."

Certainly Michelet had walked in as though trying to keep his feet in a rough sea, and now he turned and headed for the chair. Renouf guessed that Michelet could see three chairs and hoped he would sit down in the middle one. But the drunken lieutenant must have seen four and sat on the third because a moment later he fell over backwards. The startled look on his face before he hit the deck made Renouf think of a man who found himself falling over a precipice.

The Captain did not move, did not smile and did not start cursing. Nor did he threaten Michelet. In fact he did not even look down at him as the man struggled to his feet.

"Does he often do that?"

The eyebrows were slightly raised and the question might be facetious, or it could be serious. The voice was quiet enough. Renouf knew it could bode ill for the two bomb ketches, because commanding officers had been court-martialled for much less. Travelled in a tumbril for less, because Michelet was on duty, and sleeping or being drunk on duty was punishable by death.

"Er, no sir." He had not intended to say "sir", but the Captain had an odd effect on him. Renouf thought of him as "sir" and the old phrase had slipped out. "No Citizen, but we have had a long voyage and I'm afraid we all celebrated last night."

Renouf tried a conspiratorial grin and hoped that the Captain would not smell the fresh wine on Michelet's breath nor appreciate that Lieutenant Renouf shared the responsibility for Michelet's condition, even though he was himself now sober. There was a noticeable tremor of the hands, a redness of the eye, a queasiness of the stomach, but he was sober, the smell of wine on his breath being old and stale from last night's wine. Admittedly he had been pulling a cork when a seaman shouted into his cabin that there was a frigate alongside, and then he vaguely remembered a conversation with someone on board a strange ship the previous night.

"Citizen Michelet reeks of fresh wine; in fact the front of his shirt is still damp from where he spilled it."

Again, Renouf was puzzled because the Captain's voice was a straightforward observation and gave no indication of his view of Michelet's absurd behaviour. The Captain was in fact talking to Michelet through him, as though Michelet when drunk spoke a foreign language only understood by Renouf, who was expected to translate.

"Has the lieutenant brought his orders?"

Renouf relayed the question by repeating it and hurried across the cabin to collect them as Michelet wrested them from his pocket.

The strange captain opened both sheets, glanced over them to make sure they were the same as the others, and handed them to Renouf, who went back to return them to Michelet and made sure he accidentally stood on the man's foot, hoping the sharp pain would help sober him, but Michelet swore violently, and there was little doubt that the Captain saw what had happened. Nor did the episode help sober up Michelet, who now he was sitting properly in a chair looked pop-eyed, like a freshly landed cod.

"When was the lieutenant last drunk while in command of the Brutus?"

What a question, Renouf thought, as he tried to think of an answer. Michelet was very drunk at least every other day, fine weather or foul, and slightly drunk all the time, and of course a captain was always in command of his ship, unless he was away on leave or official business. Because they had left Brest four months ago, Michelet must have been drunk one hundred and twenty times, if not more, because anniversaries of great victories, birthdays and even landfalls were good enough reasons for him to have extra celebrations. The worst of it was he forced some of his officers and petty officers to join him. One petty officer who came from Caen (which, being the centre of Calvados, meant the man was hardly a stranger to liquor) had finally gone off his head, leaping over the side one night screaming that the guns had broken loose and were running after him. That had been hushed up and described in the log as an accident in which the petty officer had been killed by a fall down a hatchway.

"I don't know, sir - I've never been on board his ship."

"But you are his senior officer; the two ketches form a squadron."

"Yes, Citizen, but . . ." he could not think of a "but" and realized that Michelet's head was drooping; his chin was resting on his chest and he was dribbling, his whole body shaken every minute or two by a prodigious hiccup.

There was no point in trying to save Michelet now; anyone who was not only fool enough to come on board a senior officer's ship drunk but then allowed himself to fall asleep (or drop into a drunken stupor) while being questioned deserved whatever punishment came his way. But in all honesty it might have been me, Renouf thought.

Now the Captain was looking at Renouf as though he could read his thoughts and it was like staring at the muzzles of two cannon. That fool Michelet had scuttled the pair of them. If the Captain started questioning Fructidor'smen about their commanding officer there were two or three who would be only too willing to exaggerate and say Renouf drank too much, just because he had flogged them a few times. No doubt the same went for Michelet.

"Neither of you will be drinking wine again for a long time ..."

He will have to court-martial us, and no court has yet sentenced a man not to drink, Renouf thought.

". . . because of course you are now both prisoners of war."

What was that? Renouf repeated the sentence to himself. It had been spoken clearly enough. The accent was indeed Parisian - "because of course you are now both prisoners of war".

"Prisoners, Citizen? How can we beprisoners?"

"This is a British ship of war."

A joke! Not a very good one, but now was the time to laugh, and he had to laugh for Michelet as well. The Captain was not laughing. Not even smiling. In fact he looked serious and might even be sneering.

Now he was calling an order. Was it in English? Mon Dieu, it sounded like it! Renouf had heard English spoken by fishermen before the war. Through the door came the sentry, holding a cutlass and a pistol. Not a French design of pistol. And the man was gesturing that he should go to the door.

"This man is going to take you up on deck so that you can see this ship is flying British colours . . ."