Nelson might be physically very small, but already Ramage could feel the strength of the little man's personality: he was taut as a violin string, yet perfectly controlled: his face seemed to betray excitement, yet a moment later Ramage realized the features were in fact quite calm. The man was like a coiled spring.

 The Commodore pointed to a chair at the foot of the small cot.

'Please sit down.'

 Was he conscious of his size? Ramage wondered. It seemed an obvious move to put Ramage at a disadvantage. Why, incidentally, was the interview taking place in the sleeping cabin?

'Now, Mr Ramage, why have I sent for you?'

 The question was so unexpected that Ramage looked up quickly, thinking the Commodore was joking; but the single blue eye was frosty and unwavering.

 'Any one of half a dozen reasons, sir,' Ramage said with­out thinking.

'List them.'

 'Well - abandoning the Sibella ... Trying to carry out the orders to Captain Letts to rescue the refugees.'

'That makes two.'

'And - well, Count Pisano's complaint against me; and the trial, sir.'

'Four.'

 Ye gods, thought Ramage, I've jumped out of the Goddard into the fire.

'Oh yes, the Belette operation, sir.'

'And the sixth?'

'I can only think of five, sir.'

 'Well, now what do you suppose my judgement will be on each of these escapades?'

 His voice now had an icy edge to it and Ramage was tired and utterly defeated. Not because he was frightened, but because of all the captains and junior flag officers in the Mediterranean - in the whole Service in fact - he had been most impressed by what he had heard of Commodore Nelson. He suddenly realized he'd secretly hoped, after the trial was in­terrupted, that if the Commodore only knew all the facts he would clear him of any blame.

 But that cold, almost off-hand tone: Commodore Nelson's manner showed that, at best, he had an unpleasant task ahead  of him and did not relish doing it and, at worst, he was taking over where Goddard and Croucher had left off.

 'I don't know what it will be, sir, but I know what it ought to be.' Ramage's voice was bitter and, unintentionally, almost insolent.

'Go on, then, out with it,' Nelson said impatiently, 'and be brief.'

 'The Sibella - we couldn't fight on, sir, and we couldn't treat the wounded because the surgeon and his mate were killed. She was sinking so fast the French'd never keep her afloat long enough to patch her up. What I did meant medical attention for the wounded, as well as giving the unwounded time to escape in the boats.'

 'The idea of being a prisoner of the French frightened you into escaping after you had surrendered?'

 There was a sneer in the Commodore's voice which made Ramage flush with an anger that he could only just control.

 'No, sir! I didn't surrender myself: I deliberately left the ship before the wounded surrendered her. An officer who allows himself and his men to be taken prisoner when he can escape and serve again ought to be tried as a traitor - well, almost a traitor. It's that kind of a man the - the Articles of War are aimed at.'

 'Well spoken!' said Nelson with an unexpected laugh. 'That occurred to me when I read your report. An excellent report, incidentally, which is already on its way to Sir John Jervis with my covering letter. Now then, what about rescuing the refugees?'                                               _

‘We did our best, sir.'

'What made you risk it with just a gig?'

The voice was cold again, and Ramage's heart sank.

 'It seemed the lesser of two evils, sir. First, if there was any delay in the rescue, there was the danger the French would capture them. Second, if I tried getting them away, there was the danger we'd run into a gale with an overloaded boat.'

 'So you considered a rescue attempt using the boat offered the refugees the best chance of survival?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Why?'

‘Well, if they stayed on shore they might be betrayed by peasants. I couldn't do anything to prevent that. But if I took them off in the boat I was reasonably certain I could weather a gale somehow or other.'

'Very well. Now for Count Pisano's complaint.'

'There's nothing much to say, sir. I went back and found his cousin dead, but Pisano doesn't believe that'

‘You've no witnesses.'

 'No, sir.. Oh yes, I have, though!' he exclaimed, realizing the Belette operation had driven all thought of Jackson's revelation from his memory.

Who is he?'

 'The Sibella's cox'n, an American named Jackson. I didn't know he'd seen the body after me. He didn't know of Pisano's allegations and didn't realize he had evidence of any importance. Anyway, sir, the Diadem's arrival interrupted his evi­dence.'

'When did you find out all this?'

‘We were talking on our way up to the Belette.'

 'A conspiracy? No,' the Commodore said, waving a hand to stop Ramage's protest 'I'm not saying you two were conspiring. I'm just pointing out that it could be said. Why do you suppose Count Pisano made the complaint against you?'

'To cover himself,' Ramage said bitterly. 'If he accuses me of failing in my duty by not going back, everyone forgets to ask him why he didn't go himself.'

'Not everyone,' Nelson said shortly. 'Now - what about the Belette? You've lost a lot of men?'

'Yes, thirteen dead and fifteen wounded. An error of judgement on my part, sir.'

'In what respect?'

 'I decided to rake the Belette and then wear round before her guns could bear.'

'And—'

‘We raked her all right, but I found I couldn't wear round in time: we were raked ourselves by her aftermost guns -1 didn't allow enough for the curve on her quarter.'

'And what do you think will happen to you now?'

 'To begin with, I imagine the court will reconvene and finish my trial, sir.'

 'You seem remarkably ignorant of the Court Martial Statutes, Lieutenant, and remarkably unobservant.'

 Ramage looked puzzled and the Commodore said, 'Once a court has dispersed, it can never be reconvened. And you have failed to notice that the Trumpeter is not in the anchorage.'

'Well, I suppose you'll order another trial, sir.'

 'Perhaps. Follow me,' he ordered, walking through the door and into the great cabin.

Gianna was standing against one of the great stern lights. She was wearing her usual black travelling cloak thrown back over the shoulders to reveal the red lining, and a high-waisted pearl-grey dress. She was watching him anxiously, her lips moist and slightly parted.

 On her left a heavily built man with a short, square beard sat in a chair, clasping a walking stick between his knees. The stick was thick - he must be lame, Ramage thought, and then noticed that the left ankle appeared to be in plaster. The man was handsome, but the finely cut features did not hide that he was hard, tough and possibly ruthless. He was Italian: that much was certain from his face, but the clothes he was wearing - a dark grey coat, yellow waistcoat and pale-grey breeches -were not his, or else he had a bad tailor.

At that moment Ramage, speechless with surprise, looked at Gianna and saw she was glancing at the man with affection, almost adoration. The man was smiling at her with love in his eyes.

 The shock was, for Ramage, almost physical: this must be a fiance. Where the devil had he come from? Gianna had never mentioned him - yet there was no reason why she should, he thought bitterly.

 The Commodore, apparently blissfully unaware of the tension gripping Ramage, was talking. He'd apparently introduced the seated man, who made an attempt to stand up, but Ramage motioned him to remain seated and walked over and shook his hand. The grip was firm; the smile on the face was friendly and genuine.