The Bosun just watched the swinging lamp. Perspiration was pouring down his face and he blinked rapidly as some of it ran into his eyes.

Ramage touched him on the shoulder. "Don't forget you're not a packetsman now: you are in the Navy. You're subject to the Articles of War. They lay down the death penalty for threatening a superior officer. They lay down the death penalty for mutiny. They lay down the death penalty for murder. Just think, Bosun: murder, mutiny, attacking a superior officer. You're guilty of all three, Bosun."

He paused for several moments, fighting back the driving sense of urgency as he thought of Gianna in the mutineers' hands. Then, speaking slowly and quietly he went on, "You'll hang, Bosun; you'll be run up at the fore yardarm of one of the King's ships. As far as the Articles of War are concerned, Bosun, you're already a dead man. There's only one thing that might possibly keep your neck out of the noose, Bosun, and that's if the court let you turn King's evidence. That means you tell the court all you know. Do you understand?"

The man said nothing.

"I think you do," Ramage said. "But you don't understand me. The rest of your mutineers have kidnapped the Marchesa. She's your hostage. Let me tell you something about her. You see Jackson, Rossi and Stafford here? They were with me when we rescued the Marchesa from French cavalry in Italy. All my men on board - except Maxton, who joined me later - have sailed with the Marchesa in the Mediterranean. I don't think I'm exaggerating Bosun, when I say that every one of them - and that includes Mr Southwick and me - would give his life for her."

The three seamen growled their agreement, and Ramage's voice dropped to little more than a whisper when he said, "So as a mutineer, you're already dead as far as the Navy's concerned. If you don't tell me what the mutineers intended to do, you'll be dead as far as you are concerned, and within the next couple of minutes..."

"You'd never kill a wounded man," the Bosun muttered.

"Accidente!" Rossi hissed, leaping forward with a knife in his hand. "If the Marchesa is hurt, I killing you even if it make me a mutineer!"

Ramage's startled reaction and hurried, "Steady, Rossi!" was not lost on the Bosun, whose eyes were fixed on the knife blade.

"Let me have him, sir," Rossi pleaded. "Two minutes and he say everything!"

The Bosun's mouth was slack and trembling; the flesh of his face sagged as though every muscle had let go. A faint smell of urine told them the man had almost completely lost control of himself.

Ramage pressed his foot against Rossi's. "I think I will, Rossi: tell me, how will you start?"

"Testicles!" Rossi said eagerly. "First one, then the other. I show him them, sir. Then 1 cut the ligaments, so he can't move the legs or the arms. Then -"

"I'll tell you, sir," the Bosun said hoarsely, "only just keep that madman away from me!"

"He's not mad," Ramage said viciously, "he's just unimaginative. What I planned would have had you screaming for an hour. Now, talk!"

"T'was Harris's idea, sir. Seize you an' the Marchesa and get you both forward before Southwick realized what was happening. Then we'd hold you both and force Southwick to sail the ship to a Spanish port. Coruña or Ferrol. Just before we got there he was going to shoot the lot of you."

The man paused for breath. "That's about all, sir, so help me."

"What will the mutineers do now, with Harris in irons and only the Marchesa?"

"Dunno, sir. Probably carry on with the plan. Don't make no difference that I'm wounded and Harris in irons," he said. "They've still got the Marchesa. And don't make any mistake, sir," he added, his voice becoming ingratiating, as if the idea of turning King's evidence had at last sunk in, "they're desperate men. They'll kill her if you don't do what they say."

"If they do, they'll all hang."

"If you won't take the ship to a Spanish port, they're dead men anyway," the Bosun muttered, "so they've nothing to lose by killing the Marchesa."

"Nothing to gain, either," Ramage pointed out.

"Revenge, sir. They'll have settled their score with you. They hate you: you've ruined their lives."

Ramage looked across at Bowen. "You'd better be ready for more casualties. Don't waste too much time on this one."

Gesturing to Yorke and the seamen he strode out of the saloon and went to his own cabin. "You three go and join Captain Wilson," he told Jackson. "You'll be hearing from the mutineers soon: they don't know whether I'm alive or dead, and don't tell 'em. Pretend you have to report to Mr Yorke, but pass the word to me. Warn Captain Wilson about that."

"Supposing they try to rush me, sir?"

"I'm certain they won't, but if they do, don't open fire. Use belaying pins or handspikes. We've got to safeguard the Marchesa. The sound of shots might panic any of them left below..."

As Jackson left, Ramage sank into a chair. The large bloodstain on the deck was black in the lantern light, as though a caulker had spilled hot tar.

"Want a drink?" Yorke asked.

Ramage shook his head. "I've got to think clearly, and spirits won't help."

Yorke sat down. "This is where we were when it all started," he said miserably.

Ramage grunted. "I should have made her take the next regular packet."

"Don't talk nonsense. No one could have made her do that," Yorke said severely. "Stop blaming yourself: keep your mind clear to work on how to free her."

"Any ideas?" Ramage asked bitterly.

"Why not go and shout down the hatch - she may answer. That'll set your mind at rest that she's not been harmed."

"Why the devil do you think I'm sitting here?" Ramage demanded angrily. "I'm here just to make damned sure I don't shout to her. Those bloody mutineers would probably knock her out to stop her answering."

Yorke nodded, slowly realizing that Ramage was right and knowing the strain had sharpened his tongue. "We just wait," he said. "The next move is up to the mutineers."

"I know damned well what they'll do: the Bosun confirmed that. They'll demand we go to Coruña, and if we don't-" He broke off, as if unwilling to put the rest into words. "It's getting her out..." He paused and jumped to his feet as he heard Jackson calling as he came down the companionway.

"They're asking for the Captain, sir," Jackson reported grimly. "Mr Wilson told 'em he'll pass the word. They didn't ask for you by name."

Yorke turned to Ramage and said slowly, as though thinking aloud, "Let me talk to them. Better they think you're dead - or wounded, maybe, so the Marchesa isn't upset and doesn't do anything rash. I can tell 'em I'm in command. They won't think about Southwick."

Ramage thought for a moment. "That's a good idea. But even if she thinks I'm only wounded, Gianna might..."

"She will sir," Jackson said anxiously. "Perhaps Rossi..."

"Right, belay the talk and listen," Ramage said crisply, and quickly gave Yorke and Jackson their instructions. The three men then hurried up the companionway, Yorke and Jackson going forward while Ramage went aft to tell Southwick what was happening. The Master was sceptical at first but admitted, after a few moments' thought, that there was little choice.

Ramage hurried forward, where he could see the hatchway lit up by a lantern. Yorke was standing a yard or so to one side, the thick coaming shielding him in case a shot was fired from below. Wilson had placed his men forward of the hatch, so that any mutineers coming up the ladder would have to step into the ring of light from the lantern and be a perfect target. Jackson was whispering to Rossi, who was nodding vigorously.

After glancing round the deck for a place to hide out of sight but within earshot, Ramage finally ducked down on the after-side of the forward 4-pounder gun on the lee side.