He shook Ramage by the hand. 'Stout effort, m'boy. I'll tell 'em in Gibraltar. Of course, I'll be making a report to Sir John and the Commodore, too. Best of luck.'

Ramage went down into the boat knowing he was sulking like a schoolboy, and he knew Jackson was curious to know what was happening, but he was in no mood for talking.

Gianna met him as soon as he climbed on board the Kathleen.

'All went well?' she asked in Italian. 'They're pleased with you?'

'Yes - they are taking off the Spaniards and sending English seamen across to the frigate.'

'Oh good - we'll get her to Gibraltar yet!'

'The captain of the Apollo, a Captain Usher, is very concerned about your safety - and rightly so.'

Gianna looked at him suspiciously. She recognized the slightly pompous tone he used when he was about to tell her something he knew she would not like.

'And ...'

'And so you and Antonio will go in the Apollo to Gibraltar.'

'We shall not!' she retorted.

'Gianna - you must.'

'No. We stay with you. You have the Commodore's orders. You must obey them and take us to Gibraltar. I insist. Antonio insists, too. We both insist. I shall tell this Captain Ushair!'

'But Captain Usher can give me new orders in the circumstances. My job was to get you both to Gibraltar safely. Captain Usher can do that better. And,' he warned, knowing it was the only thing that would end her defiance, 'if he wanted to, he could get me into a great deal of trouble over the frigate. Instead he's writing a favourable report.'

Antonio, who had heard most of the conversation, took Gianna's hand. 'It's the best way,' he said reluctantly. 'We are a - a preoccupazione for Nico. He must concentrate on towing his prize; but with us here, he's thinking always of our safety.'

Southwick came up and saluted. 'Lot's of boats putting off from the Apollo and Heroine, sir. Look as if they are pulling for the Spaniard.'

Ramage outlined Captain Usher's orders.

'Ah - so we can sleep o' nights without worrying what the Dons are doing at the other end of the cable!'

Gianna said, 'I'll go downstairs and pack.'

'Down below,' corrected Antonio.

'Humour me,' she said, 'I'm doing my best to be obedient. But I am on the verge of mutiny.' She looked at Ramage and said coldly, 'This Captain Ushair - he is handsome? Yes, I am sure he will be. I think I shall enjoy myself.'

Every man of the Kathleen's crew missed Gianna's lively presence. The ship was as dead as if lying to a quarantine buoy at The Nore. Already the Apollo and Heroine had disappeared into the broad purple band of haze joining sea and sky on the western horizon and in an hour it would be dark. Astern the prize was towing in the Kathleen's wake like a docile cow following a dog back to the farmyard.

For the first time in his life Ramage discovered loneliness was a many-sided thing; not simply being alone. And its worst side was being parted from someone who - and he'd only just acknowledged it - was part of himself. Now she'd gone, he knew that without Gianna he was incomplete: there was no one to share the secret joys of a glorious autumn sunset; no one else who saw the usual, almost prosaic spray sliced up by the bow as flying diamonds forming the Kathleen's necklace; her excitement had exhilarated him and her zest had put new life into the ship's company.

As he watched La Sabina, Ramage saw a boat pull towards the cutter. Southwick must have completed his work, leaving behind the Kathleen's master's mate, Appleby, to the responsibility of his first command - if that was not too grandiose a description of being the senior of twenty men in a towed prize.

Southwick was soon reporting that in obedience to Ramage's orders all casks of wine and spirit in the frigate had been staved and the liquor poured over the side, to avoid the seamen getting drunk. There was plenty of water and ample provisions but, Southwick said with disgust, 'The state of the ship, sir! Don't think she's had a scrub for weeks. Not just scraps of food on the mess decks and the galley, sir, but chunks; just like a piggery!'

'Quite,' Ramage said hastily to interrupt the recital. He could visualize it and guess Southwick's reaction to a ship which was not spotless.

With that Ramage went to his cabin (at the bottom of the companionway he almost walked forward to his former temporary berth) and slumped in the chair, staring at the dim lantern. Weariness numbed him; he seemed to exist only in his eyes while his body remained remote and detached. Yet with Appleby away in the prize, he and Southwick would have to stand watch and watch about.

As the cutter rolled the cot slung from the beams overhead swung from side to side and he saw something dark lying on the pillow. It was a long, narrow silk scarf in dark blue embroidered with gold thread. The tiny patterns were all the same, delicately sewn designs of a mailed fist holding a scimitar. Instinctively Ramage touched the heavy gold ring which - from the time the two frigates came in sight - he wore slung by a piece of ribbon round his neck, beneath his shirt. The same design was engraved on it, Gianna's family crest. She had left him a memento - or, remembering her last remark and chilly farewell, had she just forgotten it? - and he wound it round his neck, half ashamed of his sentimentality, and sat back and thought of her and fell asleep.

Ramage paced up and down the quarterdeck in the darkness: ten paces forward, turn about, ten paces aft and turn again. He had taken the first watch, from 8 p.m. until midnight, slept soundly until 4 a.m. while Southwick stood the middle, and now with dawn not far off he was shivering with cold an hour or so through the morning watch.

The wind had backed until it was on the beam and the down-draught from the mainsail was chilly. Ramage's clothes felt damp and smelled musty - spray had so often soaked the material that it was impregnated with salt which absorbed the damp night air, and he made a mental note to get his steward to rinse them if there was enough fresh water.

He shook his head violently, banged his brow with his knuckles, but still sleepiness came in waves. Using the old trick of licking a finger and wetting his eyelids to refresh himself, he cursed as the salt in the spray which had dried on the skin made his eyes smart.

But with a tremendous effort he listened carefully because the distant shouts had finally penetrated his drowsiness. He heard them again: a series of calls, very faint and up to windward on the starboard beam. A seaman padded up to him in the darkness.

'Captain, sir,' the man whispered.

'Yes - who is it?'

'Casey, sir, lookout in the starboard chains. Reckon I just heard shouting to windward and some blocks squealing, like a ship was bracing up her yards. Though I'd better come aft instead of hailing you, sir.'

'Quite right. I've just heard it myself. Warn the other lookouts. And report anything else you hear - but keep your voices down.'

A ship close to windward - and the Kathleen advertising her presence by burning a lantern on either quarter and the prize three more.

Ramage turned to the quartermaster standing beside the two men at the tiller, 'Douse the lanterns, pass the word for Mr. Southwick, the bosun's mate and my coxswain, and send the hands to quarters. But be sure no one makes a sound. There's a ship close by up to windward. And sling a jacket over the binnacle to shield the light.'

He prayed the prize crew would hear the shouts and snuff out their lanterns as well.

It'd begin to get light in ten minutes or so. At that moment he heard another shout - to leeward this time, close on the larboard beam, and then a deep creak that could only be the rudder of a big ship working on its pintles. She must be very close for that to be audible. Southwick, Evans and Jackson arrived in quick succession and men were gliding past him barefooted on their way to the carronades, which were still run out.