"Those officers," Southwick said. "Apart from Price . . ."

"Apart from the master they seem a weak-kneed crowd," Ramage said. "I wouldn't want to go into action with them, especially Ridley, who is a fool as well. But apart from keeping their mouths tight shut, they haven't done anything to harm us. Indeed, keeping their mouths shut isn't harming us; it's just puzzling."

"It's not my place to say this, sir, and I'm presuming on the years -"

"Oh, for God's sake," Ramage said impatiently, "out with it!"

"Well, sir, are you sure of your ground in putting Captain Shirley under an arrest? You were just saying about the Articles of War."

"What gave you the impression that Captain Shirley is under an arrest?" Ramage asked innocently. "I've no grounds for arresting him. No authority, rather. I may have, but I can't find any backing in the Articles of War or the Admiralty Instructions."

Southwick frowned, the wrinkles on his brow like a much folded leather pouch. "But when you spoke to him in his cabin and left Wagstaffe there, I thought you said ..."

"I know you did, and so did Aitken and so did Wagstaffe. More important, so did Captain Shirley. You all expected me to arrest him - and so you heard words I didn't actually say."

Southwick was by now grinning broadly. "Well, as long as Captain Shirley and that sorry collection of commission and warrant officers accepted it, and continue to do so until we reach Plymouth, we'll have no complaint."

"No, we just have to hope for an understanding port admiral at Plymouth. Once we have the convoy safely dispersed, everything should be all right."

"But if he talks to the wrong people in Plymouth?" Southwick asked.

"Half-pay for my officers, if they are lucky."

"But what about you, sir?"

"Best for you not to think about it."

Southwick shook his head and picked up his hat. "You said the Jason's station is a cable off our larboard beam?"

"She'd better stay a cable to leeward of us, unless she gets a signal to the contrary. Wagstaffe understands."

"Yes, I had a word with him before he went across. It was a good idea putting him in command. It'd be risky with Aitken."

"Yes, Aitken is too near being made post: if there's trouble, it could count against him."

"If there's trouble it'll count against you," Southwick said gloomily.

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "If I am dismissed the Service, I've plenty to keep me occupied, but it's Aitken's whole life. Though thanks to prize money, I doubt if he depends on his pay."

"Pay! Thanks to you no one in the Calypso now depends on his pay, even allowing for the villainy of the prize agents."

Ramage grinned at Southwick's forthright statement. "Still, I expect Aitken would like to get his flag eventually, so that when he retires to his estate in the Highlands, it'll be as Rear-Admiral Aitken. Perhaps even Vice-Admiral, with a knighthood."

"Could be," Southwick agreed. "He would if it just depended on merit. This stepping into dead men's shoes is no good. Promotion by seniority is just an insurance policy for the dullards. If you live long enough you're bound to end up the most senior admiral in the Navy."

"Providing you make that first jump on to the Post List," Ramage pointed out. "Unless he is a post-captain, he doesn't even put a foot on the bottom rung ..."

"That's understood, sir. Don't forget he's already refused one chance. Admittedly that was because he reckoned he wasn't ready, and would learn a lot more by staying with you."

"Yes, but now he's learned all he can from me. He's ready for the Post List, and I don't want anything like this -" he gestured in the direction of the Jason, "- getting in the way. Now, leave me to write up my journal. Between now and the time we reach the Chops of the Channel, I have to write a full report on all this business ..."

"Aye, and if you'll allow me to stick an oar in, sir, you'd be well advised to get signed reports from the Calypso's officers, and perhaps some of the senior petty officers."

"You are gloomy," Ramage commented.

"I just wonder who this Captain Shirley has for friends. As I see it, his friends are going to be our enemies, if all this business comes to trial."

Southwick was right, of course: whatever happened, it was all bound to come to a trial which would clear or condemn Shirley. It could even turn into a situation where clearing Shirley meant condemning Ramage . . . All the Calypsos were certain that Shirley was mad. Perhaps not permanently, but at least temporarily. Touched by the sun, perhaps. Anyway, Bowen was going to examine him tomorrow and would write a report, but all that would not stop Shirley getting a fair trial.

It was more likely, Ramage thought ironically, to bring odium and attacks down on the head of Captain Ramage, if Shirley had friends in high places and money to pay off the press and get lampoons and pamphlets sold in the streets. Ramage knew how vicious were the attacks made on his own father, when the Earl of Blazey was made the government's scapegoat for sending a fleet too weak and too late to deal with a French attack on the West Indies. And most shameful of all (perhaps the most shameful episode in recent British political history) there was the Byng affair: there a not-very-bright but honourable admiral had been accused of cowardice and shot to disguise the vacillating weakness and stupidity of the First Lord, Anson, and the prime minister, the Duke of Newcastle.

Stupidity? No, it was the very essence of politics: viciousness, self-interest, hunger for power and cowardice. In.the case of Admiral Byng the whole crowd of them, the Duke of Newcastle, the Earl of Hardwicke (and his son-in-law Anson) and most of the rest of the party were trying to cling to power in Parliament, and they were quite prepared to murder Byng (judicially, of course: why use a stiletto when you have the law to do it?). Byng was executed and they kept power. Byng, Ramage reflected, lost his life, but the government under Newcastle and the Admiralty under Anson lost their honour (without realizing what it was).

Ramage knew he should talk again to Shirley and his officers before drafting his report. Yet after talking to any of them he came away with the feeling that he had been dreaming; their answers were so incoherent or remote from reality that recalling them later was like trying to remember how you had behaved while drunk at a party.

Captain Shirley had never seen such grim-faced men sitting round his dining table, and he seemed more puzzled than alarmed. Both Wagstaffe and Aitken held pens and had to share the same inkwell as they wrote down the questions, and Shirley's answers, making him slow down or repeat an answer. The demands for repetition were frequent because many of Shirley's answers were difficult to credit.

The Jason was rolling her way along, astern of the convoy, in good weather. Wagstaffe had the big awning stretched over the quarterdeck and the captain's coach, cabin and sleeping place were cool. Ramage had thought deeply about making Shirley move down into one of the officer's cabins in the gunroom but had finally decided to leave him in his quarters and instead put Wagstaffe in the first lieutenant's cabin, making all the lieutenants shift round one.

As soon as Ramage had come on board and Wagstaffe had the frigate under way again (at the speed the convoy was making good, nothing was lost by heaving-to the frigate to avoid getting soaked by spray which would be thrown up if the ship had to tow the Calypso's boat alongside), Shirley - still in his long black coat - had walked over and greeted Ramage.

"Ah, my dear Ramage, how thoughtful of you to pay us a call," he had said in a completely sincere voice, rubbing his hands as though washing them. "Can I persuade you to dine with me this time? No - then a cup of green tea, or a glass of something stronger?"