So rake her: there was room enough to pass between the end of the headland and her stern as she lay head to wind. Much would depend on that first raking broadside.

Quickly he gave instructions to Aitken. "Clew up the courses and the t'gallants," he said. "We'll manoeuvre under topsails, and that'll fool the French a bit longer because it'll look as though we're going to anchor.

"Then we'll cut close "across their stern, firing the starboard broadside. Then we'll get clear, turn and come back to give 'em the larboard broadside. After we've done that a few times we might see them strike their colours."

"Aye aye, sir," Aitken said cheerfully, obviously delighted at the thought of going into action. He picked up the speaking trumpet to give the first of the sail orders.

Ramage gave fresh orders to the quartermaster and the Calypso bore away a point, sailing closer to the coast and now almost on a broad reach. There was a slatting of canvas as the men started clewing up the huge courses, and the Calypso slowed down. Ramage watched as the corners of the great sails were hauled in diagonally, and then the centre was drawn up vertically, as though folding a napkin. In the meantime men were scrambling aloft, taking the shrouds at the run, clambering up the ratlines like monkeys, and then working their way outward along the topgallant yards, stepping along the footropes.

From the deck the men seemed tiny, but these topmen were the most agile and well-trained in the ship, and they hauled the topgallants on to the yard and passed the gaskets that secured them.

Ramage nodded approvingly. "Quite a harbour stow," he said to Aitken. "I hope the French appreciate it."

Now he could make out the Tricolour flapping from the French frigate's stern in what was a little less than a strong breeze. A breeze that would mean the frigate was lying steady to her anchor cable and not yawing about. A breeze that meant raking her should be comparatively easy.

Ramage hitched his sword round so that it hung more comfortably at his side. If they were going to board, he would get a brace of Sea Service pistols loaded. The thought of pistols had obviously crossed Southwick's mind because he handed two, butt first, to Ramage. "You might be needing these, sir," he said. "I had a couple of brace loaded while you were collecting your sword."

Ramage noticed that the master had a pistol tucked into each side of his belt. What with the pistols and that great meat cleaver of a sword, obviously it would break the old man's heart if they did not board. Ramage shrugged to himself: they might end up boarding yet; a sea fight was more unpredictable than the weather.

Reduced now to her topsails, the Calypso was making less than five knots, with her bow wave making little more than a chuckling sound under her stem.

Then Orsini hurried up the quarterdeck ladder, saluted Ramage and reported: "Starboard side guns all ready to fire sir. But they are loaded with grape," he added anxiously.

"I know," Ramage said, and then, conscious that it was the only way that Orsini would ever learn, said: "We are going to rake her. Grape will cause more casualties."

Ramage noted that Aitken had sent the young midshipman round to the guns, instead of relying on a bellow through the speaking trumpet.

He looked across at the French frigate and at that moment Orsini snatched up a telescope: "She has just hoisted two flags, sir!" he said. "Probably the challenge for the day."

"Well, we don't have the answer so we'll ignore it. Make sure we have a couple of men ready to lower the French colours and hoist ours."

"I have a couple of men waiting at the halyards, sir," Orsini said.

Ramage nodded. Paolo was turning into a good young officer: if only Gianna could see him. He shook his head: this was no time to be thinking about her fate. Worrying about it, rather.

"Courses are clewed and t'gallants furled, sir," Aitken reported.

The anchor! Ramage realized that the Frenchmen would be Batching the Calypso through telescopes, and sharp eyes would notice that although she was reducing sail, her anchors were still catted.

"Send half a dozen men to the starboard bower," he snapped. "Tell them to look as though we're preparing to anchor."

Southwick swore and Aitken looked crestfallen as he shouted the order. He put down the speaking trumpet and admitted: "I didn't think of that.'

"Neither did I," Ramage said. "I hope the French haven't either."

The French frigate was now five hundred yards away on the starboard bow, with the short peninsula to larboard and the gap between them about six hundred yards wide: the French captain had anchored to give himself plenty of swinging room.

Just enough room, Ramage noted ironically, for an enemy frigate to wear back and forth across her stern. And if she cut her cable the wind would blow her straight on to the rocks at the foot of the peninsula. Her captain could not be blamed for that because with this wind the whole coast was a lee shore, and with her yards struck down on deck she could not move, although if the weather turned bad they could get the yards up again and under way in a few hours.

The wind was freshening: seaward there were the occasional whitecaps and the boulders at the foot of the cliffs were growing white collars of spray. Occasionally one of the topsails slatted, caught by an odd eddy of wind and enough to make the quartermaster glance aloft anxiously.

Now the Calypso was heading for the gap between the frigate's stern and the peninsula. Ramage guessed that the crews would be waiting for the guns to be run out. The second captain of every gun on the starboard side, after a quick glance through the port, was now preparing to cock the flintlock and then stand well back. The gun captains would be getting ready to take up the strain on their long lanyards, crouching behind the guns, left leg flung out to one side and sighting along the barrel, waiting for the target to appear.

Should he then switch to roundshot? He decided not; he wanted to kill men without damaging the ship: he had already decided that, so he would continue with grapeshot. It would be easy enough to change later on, when he could see the effect of the fall of shot.

He gave a helm order to Aitken, who passed it on to the quartermaster, and then another, a half point this time. Then, a couple of minutes later a quarter point. Now the Calypso was lined up precisely to go through the gap, passing the French frigate's stern about twenty yards off.

Now far the waiting. One could wait an hour for a postchaise to arrive at the next post inn; one could wait half an hour for one's wife to finish primping her hair and generally getting ready to go to a reception; but the last minute or two before going into action were as much as a man could bear: not because of nervousness but simply because of the tension mounting before the first gun fired.

She was Le Tigre: he could now read the name on her transom as she swung in the wind. Red lettering on yellow, a vivid slash of colour on an otherwise black hull. Guns not run out; fore and main yards down on deck. Through the glass he could see a group of officers watching the Calypso from Le Tigre's quarterdeck: no doubt waiting for the challenge to be answered and the Calypso to run up her numbers in the French Navy List.

They seemed to be in no hurry; there were three officers and a couple of seamen on the quarterdeck, and Ramage could see the sun glinting on a couple of telescopes, but there seemed no sense of urgency in the Frenchmen's stance; no indication that they regarded themselves as in any danger.

They were fooled by the Calypso's build and the fact that she was flying a Tricolour, a perfectly legitimate ruse de guerre, providing you lowered and hoisted your proper colours before opening fire.