He stood up and held her tightly as she burst into tears. This was the first time he had seen her break down and he felt particularly helpless. Somehow she seemed to grow remote in her grief. But he knew it was because he felt guilty at leaving her.

"I shan't be away long," he murmured. "Just off Cadiz. It's not as if I'm going to the West Indies, or the East Indies. Or to the Isla Trinidade," he added, hoping to make her smile.

She stopped weeping and tried to laugh. "Look what happened to you when you went there!"

"Just a pleasant cruise, or so I thought. Little did I know that a scheming woman was waiting for me in an East India Company ship . . ."

"But now you've married her, you're deserting her!"

Sarah was getting control of herself but he was deserting her, in a way, and the dreadful thing was that he was excited at the prospect of getting to sea again in the Calypso. That pleasure was all mixed up with his feeling of guilt at leaving her, and now he knew what many married officers went through. Now Lord St Vincent's stern comment that "an officer who marries is lost to the Service" seemed more reasonable, though harsh.

There was no reason why serving in the Navy should condemn a man to a monkish existence, yet how else could the Navy be run? More generous leave, perhaps - but every ship that could swim was needed at sea, which meant she spent as little time in port as possible, just long enough for provisioning and any necessary repairs. The regulations, strictly kept, said that a captain must always sleep in his ship in port unless he had Admiralty permission to remain on shore . . .

"You'll go riding with your father?" he asked, realizing as soon as he spoke what a damned silly question it was, but it served its purpose: Sarah stood back, wiped her eyes, gave a faint hiccup and said:

"Thank goodness we have some decent horses. And Raven will be pleased to see us use the harness he polishes with so much love."

"I'll soon be back," Ramage said, and could have bitten off his tongue the moment later: it was a particularly stupid remark to make to Sarah, of all people.

"If only I could be sure you'd remember what your father said about frigates not being line-of-battle ships, and if I didn't know that Lord Nelson's fleet is about half the size of the French and Spanish, I'd smile and say 'Of course you will, darling' like any other dutiful wife, but one of the disadvantages of marrying a Ramage and being the Marquis of Rockley's daughter is that I know far too much to take comfort from such platitudes. It's going to be a desperate business, darling; it always is where you or Lord Nelson are concerned."

He held her tightly and kissed her. Words simply brought more trouble.

Ramage was again sitting in the drawing room reading the Morning Post and noting the obvious relief that the newspaper expressed that Nelson was back in England and, presumably, consulting with the ministers on the question of defeating the Combined Fleets of France and Spain and Bonaparte's plans for invading England. As if defeating the enemy was only a matter of consulting with ministers . . .

If anything, he thought, battles were won in spite of ministers - Mr Pitt seemed to listen to some strange companions, particularly that drunken scoundrel Henry Dundas, the recently created Viscount Melville, reckoned to be as corrupt as he was impetuous. Certainly Dundas's advice when Secretary of State at the War Department had led to thousands of soldiers and sailors dying of vile diseases while garrisoning or guarding the wretchedly useless spice islands of the West Indies. Dundas must be getting some hefty bribes from the West India Committee - unless he himself owned some big plantations out there.

Still, Ramage was content. Upstairs were his orders for the Calypso: in another couple of days he would leave for Chatham ... He gave a start as Hanson tapped on the door and interrupted his musings: at that moment he realized he had heard a carriage draw up outside. Who was expected? Probably one of mother's friends, calling to discuss something of no consequence and therefore, to her, of enormous importance.

"My lord, there's a Captain Backlog wanting to see you urgently ..."

Backlog? Sailor or soldier? Ramage folded his newspaper. "Show him in."

Ramage stood up and reached the door just in time to meet a burly figure with curly hair and the ruddy complexion of a farmer, but an incongruous aquiline nose and suntanned features fitted well with the gold-trimmed uniform of a post-captain whose two epaulets showed he had more than three years' seniority.

Ramage did not know him but guessed who he was just as the man, hat tucked under his arm, said apologetically with the trace of a soft Irish accent: "Henry Blackwood. I'm sorry to intrude like this, but I've a message from His Lordship - from Lord Nelson, I mean."

Ramage noticed the badly creased uniform, grubby stock and red-rimmed eyes: Blackwood had been travelling in a postchaise for hours and he had come from a sunny climate. And the thin white lines of salt in the creases of his high boots showed he had not had time to change since he was at sea.

Blackwood, Ramage then remembered (wasn't he said to be the son of an Irish peeress and an English baronet?), had served for a long time with Lord Nelson in the Mediterranean, and was commanding the Penelope frigate when he met a French ship of the line, the 86-gun Guillaume Tell, and set about her with his puny thirty-six guns with such spirit that he disabled her long enough for two of Nelson's ships of the line to come up and engage her. After fighting for several hours she surrendered - and it was discovered that she was bearing the flag of Rear-Admiral Decrès, now Bonaparte's Minister of Marine.

Now, if Ramage's memory served him, Blackwood was commanding the frigate Euryalus. And at that moment Ramage realized how weary the man must be.

"Do sit down. Have you eaten recently? A hot drink?"

Blackwood shook his head but sat down thankfully, obviously painfully stiff. "I'm a little weary, so forgive me if I don't make much sense: I arrived in Lymington village late last evening, after losing the wind at the back of the Wight and having to be rowed in. I managed to post up to Town - I kept those horses at a good gallop - and reached Lord Nelson at Merton at five o'clock this morning, and after giving him the news, posted on to the Admiralty to tell Lord Barham."

The man was almost asleep - certainly dazed with weariness. "What news?" Ramage asked gently.

"Sorry, I was thinking of Lord Nelson's message for you. What happened was, we understood the Combined Fleet was in Ferrol and Coruña - they'd bolted there when His Lordship chased 'em back across the Atlantic. But I was off Cape St Vincent with the Euryalus when I suddenly met them all at sea, steering south, either for Cadiz - most likely - or the Strait.

"I guessed they were making for Cadiz to join the rest of their brethren, so I chased them long enough to be sure. Then I steered for the Channel to raise the alarm. I met Rear-Admiral Calder with eighteen line-of-battle ships and warned him, and while he went south after the enemy I carried on for the Channel. Took me ten dam' days with contrary winds before I got up as far as the Isle of Wight and lost the wind altogether.

"I had myself rowed ashore in the dark - and a wretched muddy place Lymington creek is, I can assure you - and managed to hire a 'chaise to London: it's going to cost Their Lordships £15 9s - if they agree to pay the charge."

He rubbed his eyes. "Shake me if I fall asleep on you: the drumming of the hoofs and the clatter of the wheels are still in my head. Anyway, I reached Merton and told His Lordship, and then went on to raise the alarm at the Admiralty. Lord Barham may be well over eighty years old, but he wakes up a deal faster than I do!