'There are fifty prisoners on board L'Espoir that we are under orders to rescue. We won't know where those prisoners are being kept in L'Espoir; we don't even know if the captain will be desperate enough to threaten to kill them unless we let him go free. Of course we can't use our great guns for fear of killing the prisoners. Now, listen carefully.'

Quickly he outlined the plan, explaining how each group of twenty men would be under a particular leader and would have its own task. 'So you see,' he concluded, 'the frigate is a plank of wood, and the eight groups are the eight small axes. Has anyone any questions?'

Jackson stood up. 'Yes, sir. When do we expect L'Espoir?'

The Calypso's gunroom, occupying the after part of the lowerdeck, was just far enough forward to clear the end of the tiller as it moved from side to side in a great arc, responding to the lines led down to it from the barrel of the wheel, but not far enough to be out of range of the harsh squeaking of the pintles of the rudder blade grinding on the gudgeons which supported them. When the Calypso was under way the rudder moved constantly, but the noise was almost lost in the symphony composed of water rushing past the hull and the creaking of the whole ship working as she flexed like a tree in a strong wind to ride across the troughs and crests of the waves.

The gunroom was an open space between four large boxes on one side and three on the other. The boxes were in fact cabins formed by three walls, or bulkheads, made of painted canvas stretched tightly over battens, with the ship's side forming the fourth. Each had its door, and each door had a stone-ground glass window in the upper half. Over each door was a sign bearing a carefully painted rank - surgeon, first lieutenant, and second lieutenant on the starboard side, Marine officer, third lieutenant, master and fourth lieutenant on the larboard side.

A table and forms fitted most of the remaining space, though the object like a thick tree trunk at the after end was the mizenmast, while the hatch on the larboard side, between the table and the master's cabin, and on which everyone stubbed a foot at least once a week, was the scuttle to the magazine, a reminder if any was needed that the ship's officers lived just above several tons of gunpowder.

Forward of the gunroom were two smaller cabins on the starboard side (for the gunner and the carpenter) and two to larboard, occupied by the purser and the bosun. A large cabin forward of the bosun's box was the midshipmen's berth, built to be the home of up to a dozen who could range in age from fourteen or fifteen to fifty, but at present the sole inhabitant was Midshipman Paolo Orsini, who thus had more space than anyone else in the ship except the captain.

Forward of these cabins the Marines had their tables and forms, and at night slung their hammocks, and forward of them was what was usually called the 'messdeck', because the seamen forming the rest of the ship's company lived there, six or eight men to a table or 'mess' and slinging their hammocks at night.

Right in the bow, most of the time with a leg in irons, were the Calypso's half of La Robuste's prisoners, guarded by a couple of Marines with muskets. For a couple of hours in the morning the French prisoners were freed for exercise but, as Ramage had told Renwick, it was unlikely they would be kept on board for more than a few days; not enough to worry about them being in irons.

In the gunroom, with the day's work in the ship completed and only the anchor watch, lookouts and prisoners' guard to keep men from their hammocks and cots, the ship's lieutenants sat in their cabins or at the table.

The cabins were tiny and airless - there was room only for the cot, a canvas or metal bowl for washing, a trunk usually up-ended, a leprous mirror stuck in the best place to catch what little light squeezed through the skylight under the half deck, and a rickety canvas chair which usually collapsed when the ship rolled violently, forcing the occupant to retreat to the forms, which were bolted to the deck.

Kenton, the red-haired and freckle-faced third lieutenant, was the smallest of the ship's officers but his chair had recently broken completely and it was only the suddenness of the collapse that saved him trapping any fingers. Now, as he waited for a carpenter's mate to make him a new chair, he had to sit on a form, munching the last piece of fruit cake he had brought with him from home, and which was edible only after he had scraped off a thick layer of mildew.

William Martin, the fourth lieutenant and son of the master shipwright at Chatham, was in his cabin behind Kenton and softly played his flute. Kenton did not particularly like the tune that 'Blower' was playing and called to Aitken, who was sitting in his cabin filling in reports on provisions which should have been handed to the captain's clerk last week.

'When does the captain reckon L'Espoir will arrive?'

He rubbed his nose while waiting for a reply. Kenton, like Renwick, never tanned and the tropical sun meant his face was always scarlet and usually peeling. He had tried rubbing the skin with butter, goose grease (which was awful: his clothes reeked of it for days) and soap, but nothing helped.

'The captain doesn't "reckon". He can only guess, like you or me. He's hoping, obviously, but he's trying not to be influenced by the fact that one of the prisoners is a close friend.'

'Yes, what's that all about?' Kenton asked.

'I thought you knew.' Aitken was always careful to separate information that the officers should know from gossip. Sometimes the dividing line was thin.

'No, I've only heard what Southwick's said.'

'Well, the captain and Lady Sarah were on their honeymoon in France and staying with this friend, the Count of Rennes, when the British ambassador left Paris. Bonaparte's police arrested many Royalists before they knew the war had started again.'

'Why didn't they arrest the captain and Lady Sarah at the same time?'

'Oh, that's how we came to have those four Frenchmen on board: Gilbert managed to hide the captain and his wife; then with the other three retook the Murex.'

'Yes, I heard some of the seamen saying that her Ladyship shot dead a Frenchman.'

'She did. Saved all their lives, I gather.'

Kenton sighed, a deep sigh that seemed to go on as a descant to Martin's flute. 'What a lovely lady she is. The captain certainly finds 'em. I used to think the Marchesa was the loveliest woman I ever saw until Lady Sarah came along. I'm glad I didn't have to choose between them!'

'Keep your voice down; there's no need for Orsini to hear you going on about his aunt.'

'She went back to Italy, didn't she? Hey!' Kenton sat up suddenly. 'Do you suppose the French arrested her as well?'

'Arrested or assassinated?' Aitken said sourly. 'No one knows yet. She reached Paris and left for Volterra, but there's no proof she ever reached Italy.'

'I don't like this making war on women.'

'At least some of the women make war on the French,' Aitken commented. 'Think of Lady Sarah!'

'Yes. I'm sorry we missed that. That's the first time the captain's been in a scrap without us for a long time.'

'Ha, a long time!' Southwick rumbled from his cabin, where he was stretched out on his cot. 'You're a new boy! I've been with him since he was given his first command!'

'Yes,' Kenton said. 'That was the Kathleen cutter, wasn't it? Tell us about the first time he came aboard and what you thought of him.'

'Corsica, that's where it was,' Southwick said, a nostalgic note in his voice. 'Bastia. Nice harbour with all those fortifications. Commodore Nelson - well, he was only a commodore then - gave orders that -'

A hammering on the deckhead had all the officers grabbing their swords and pistols from the racks over their doors and hurrying for the companionway, Kenton muttering: 'I thought I heard a hail!'