"So Capraia never did get rid of her pirates?"

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "Probably not. We might find some there ..."

"Where do they come from, sir?"

"Most of them from the Barbary coast, I think. The local people just call them Saraceni. At one time nearly all pirates in the Mediterranean were Saracens, but now I suspect that quite a few of them are Algerines."

"There must be a good harbour there."

"No, it's just a small fishing harbour. The pirates only come there during the summer. That's why we aren't very likely to find any now - too early in the year: they don't want to get caught in a storm with no port to leeward."

By now Hill, who did not know the Mediterranean at all well, was intrigued at the idea of meeting pirates, and looked at the distant island once again with his telescope.

"What do these pirates do, sir?"

"Mostly raid towns and villages. Seize a few fishing boats, but mainly they're interested in targets on shore. They are not seamen; just Arab bandits with boats to get to the various islands. They even raid places on the mainland of Italy, looting, kidnapping men for their galleys and women for the brothels."

"I don't think I want to live around here," Hill said.

Half an hour later the lookout reported a small sail ahead, following up with a hail saying it was a fishing boat which had just altered course to cross ahead of the Calypso. Ramage pinched his nose. Altering course to cross ahead? That was unusual: normally, local fishing boats kept away from ships of war; they could be visited by pressgangs on the lookout for ablebodied men. It was not unknown for a party from a frigate to confiscate their entire catch.

"Send Jackson aloft with a glass," Ramage told Hill.

Jackson, rated one of the sharpest-eyed men in the ship, was soon shouting down to the deck that the fishermen were waving cloths, trying to attract the Calypso's attention.

What had the fishermen got to say? Surely they were not trying to sell their catch. Ramage shrugged: there was only one way of finding out.

"We'll heave to just to leeward of them," he told Hill. "Pass the word to Mr Rennick to have a dozen marines standing by at the entryport."

Rennick, the red-faced Marine lieutenant, would be only too glad of the opportunity to parade some of his men: he had about the most monotonous job in the ship. No, perhaps the surgeon did, since it was rare for any of the frigate's men to report sick.

At that moment Southwick came up on to the quarterdeck.

"Trouble, sir? I heard the lookout hailing."

Ramage shook his head. "No, just a fisherman up ahead who is trying to attract our attention."

"Probably wants to sell us some fish," Southwick said gloomily.

Ramage nodded. "That's what I thought. Still, some fresh fish would be welcome: our men don't seem to be having any luck with the lines we're towing astern!"

Southwick rubbed his hands together. "Yes, a nice tuna steak would not come amiss."

Ramage could see the fishing boat quite clearly now through the glass. It was quite large; he could make out eight or nine men on her deck, several of them waving cloths, probably their shirts.

Their little ship was flying no colours, but that was not surprising. They were almost certainly from Capraia, the island ahead.

Hill gave an order to the quartermaster, who passed it to the men at the wheel. The Calypso bore away a few degrees to larboard, so that the fishing boat was now ahead and under half a mile away.

She had once been painted red and blue, but now her sides were saltcaked and the nail sickness, the streaks of rust from the nails used in her planking, looking like dark tear stains. Her sails were so patched that there were more patches than original cloths, and as she pitched Ramage could see baskets on her foredeck, waiting for fish. Or maybe they held the catch they wanted to sell.

Ten minutes later the Calypso, her foretopsail backed, was lying stopped to leeward of the fishing boat and Ramage, the speaking trumpet reversed so that the mouthpiece was against his ear, was trying to understand what the fishermen, who seemed excited, were trying to shout to him.

Finally he put down the speaking trumpet. "It's no good, I can't make out a word," he told Hill. "Hoist out a boat and bring the captain over."

Southwick sniffed disapprovingly. "We're going to a lot of trouble for a pack of fishermen," he muttered. "Why not let 'em use the boat they're towing astern?"

"It'll be quicker using one of our own boats. And," Ramage said, "they're not trying to sell fish."

"You heard that much, then?"

"No, but all their baskets are empty - I can see them from here. So they're not selling fish. They may be reporting seeing some ships. Perhaps they saw the two French ships of the line and want to tell us about them!"

It took several minutes to hoist out a boat and then Jackson clambered down into it with a crew. The boat was rowed over to the fishing boat which, sails now lowered, rolled heavily.

The fishing boat's captain, when he came on board, was a tall man so thin his face was gaunt. He had several blackened teeth and very large hands on the end of extraordinarily long arms.

He saluted Ramage awkwardly and started off a long explanation in Italian which had a heavy local accent.

Ramage listened carefully, nodding from time to time, but otherwise standing with his head inclined forward while the Italian gesticulated frequently, holding up a finger to emphasize a particular point.

Finally the Italian finished his story, with Southwick, Aitken -who had come on deck as the Calypso hove-to - and Hill watching him impatiently, not having understood a word. They saw Ramage hold out a hand and the Italian shake it vigorously.

As the Italian went to the entryport to climb back down into the boat, Southwick looked at Ramage questioningly. Ramage looked puzzled and shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "It seems there are a lot of Frenchmen around these parts. He was reporting the two ships of the line but what really worries him is that there's a French frigate at anchor just outside the harbour at Capraia."

"Have they landed any troops?" Aitken asked.

"No, they marched some seamen through the streets - probably just to impress the local people - but that was all."

"And the frigate, she's still there, sir?"

"She was still there when that fellow sailed last night."

"So they're not interfering with the fishermen?"

"No, the fishermen are free to come and go. He couldn't think of any reason why the Frenchman is there."

"Just waiting for us to come and do him in," Southwick growled. "Two ships of the line and a frigate will make a good score."

Ramage nodded and rubbed a scar on his forehead. It was a gesture Southwick recognized at once, and knew there was no need for any more talk.

As soon as Jackson returned with the boat it was hoisted in. They watched the fisherman hoisting its lateen sail and draw clear, and then Ramage said: 'Very well, Mr Hill: let's get under way again. Steer direct for the island - you can just about lay it with this wind.''

Hill bellowed a string of orders through the speaking trumpet and the watch on deck hauled on the brace which swung round the foretopmast yard while other men hauled on the sheet, so that the sail filled and then curved into shape as wind filled it. From being dead in the water, stopped by the backed foretopsail's weight pressing against the thrust of the other sails, the Calypso slowly got way on: the water began chuckling under her stem, the men at the wheel had to brace themselves against the rudder's kick, and the ship came alive.

The frigate began to pitch as she beat up towards the island and Southwick spread a chart across the top of the binnacle and began to comment on what he saw.