"Later they discovered why. They found him dead in his bed. He was a sick old man who had a separate room and who had died alone. That was why he did not attend the roll call. And us? You might well ask. We were left to bury our dead. I tell you, Major, and I say it without fear: the commandante responsible for those Inglesi prisoners was a wicked man. An assassin!"

"Be quiet, Anna you've said more than enough!" her husband said, pushing her back towards the front door. He had not attempted to stop the woman, Ramage noticed until she had completed her account. Yes, people of Pitigliano obviously had little reason to trust or help the French.

"Be sensible," Ramage snapped. "The moment I know where the rest of the Inglesi prisoners are being kept, I shall march my company out of Pitigliano and you'll never see us again."

The mayor thought for a moment and his wife, who was listening just inside the door, called: "Tell him, Alfredo. Anything to make them leave us alone!"

"Orbetello," the mayor blurted, as though he could not withstand the agonizing pressure of thumbscrews any longer. "Orbetello first, but I think only to stay there for a day or two. Then I think - but this is just a guess - they were going to take them on a long journey."

"Thank you," Ramage said, and held out his hand, which the startled mayor shook.

"You understand my position?" the mayor muttered.

"Perfectly. You've told me all I need to know. I bid you farewell. My respects to your wife."

Within five minutes Ramage was leading his column down the steep hill out of Pitigliano, explaining to Hill on one side and Aitken on the other, what the mayor had told him. Paolo, marching just behind, said: "That explains that strange look the contadino on the road to Manciano gave us. You remember, sir, you asked him if there were French troops in Manciano, and then - implying we were going to Orvieto - if there were any in Pitigliano. He must have seen the Pitigliano garrison marching the prisoners to Orbetello . . ."

"Do we go there and look?" Aitken asked.

"The mayor said he thought they would only stay there a few days before starting on a long journey," Ramage said. "I suppose we have to follow - if we can."

"Mamma mia" Rossi muttered, "more marching. I worry about the Marine whose boots I'm wearing. How do I explain I wore them out?"

As Ramage marched he thought first of the Admiralty orders, then of the hostages. Why were the French moving them? Taking them to more comfortable quarters, or to a place where they would be more secure? He had only guessed that the French were satisfied with the security of Pitigliano. Yes . . . there might even be yet another prison where important prisoners were being kept as hostages, and the French were now collecting them all together. But where? And why?

As the column passed through Manciano on the last leg of its journey back to the coast, it seemed to Ramage that he had spent his life marching, and coughing as white dust swirled up from the track like fog and made his throat raw.

Orbetello was a walled town, and the Via Aurelia on its way to Rome passed just to the east. A town with a big jail - he, Jackson, Stafford and Paolo had become familiar with the piazza at the time they attacked Port' Ercole with the bomb ketches. Yes, Orbetello could provide temporary lodging for hostages and their guards if they were on their way to Rome. Or perhaps not so far - Tarquinia, maybe, which was just short of halfway to Rome. And the port of Civitavecchia was less than halfway between there and Rome. But why go all that way to find a port when within ten miles of Orbetello there was Santo Stefano at one end of Argentario and Port' Ercole at the other? It made no sense, and Ramage realized that he was not thinking clearly, as though the thudding of his heels on the hard track was numbing his brain.

As if understanding his problem, Paolo said:."Why Orbetello, do you suppose, sir? I can understand the French using the town jail to punish people, but it's a bad place to keep important hostages. They're likely to die of prison fever. I should have thought that Pitigliano and the Orsini Palace were just right."

As they marched along the track the setting sun was ahead of them, glaring in their eyes. Now Paolo had rounded it all off. Why Orbetello? It was convenient for Santo Stefano or Port' Ercole, and that was that. Ports meant ships.

Except . . . yes, except that Santo Stefano had the large Fortezza di Filippo Secundo. That would be a good place to lodge hostages. And Port' Ercole had at least two suitable fortresses. But... the more Ramage considered the merits of either place the more the "but" intruded. Two of them, in fact. The first was, "But why move them from Pitigliano?" and the other, "But why Orbetello?"

Paolo said: "Perhaps they wait in Orbetello until a ship arrives at Port' Ercole or Santo Stefano."

"I've thought of that," said Ramage, "but to take them where? If the French wanted them up in the north they'd make them march - they probably haven't enough ships to spare to carry them to Genoa by sea. Or down to Civitavecchia, come to that. There'd be no point in taking them to Corsica or Sardinia: the bandits and guerrillas make enough trouble already."

"The islands off the coast?" Paolo ventured.

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. "If it was Elba, the French would have marched them north to Piombino, not Orbetello, and put 'em on board the ferry. Giglio? That's possible and only a few hours' sail from Santo Stefano. A small, mountainous island, small harbour, at least one fort... but enough room to house the hostages and their guards? Vulnerable, too: don't forget the Barbary pirates still raid such places, and I don't think the Emperor would be very pleased if his valuable hostages became galley slaves.

"That leaves Montecristo - yes, possible: sticks up out of the sea like a back tooth, just like Pitigliano in the valley. Then Pianosa and Capraia to the north. All vulnerable to pirates."

He shrugged his shoulders again as he marched. "Who the devil knows: we're looking for logical moves, but generals and admirals and emperors are usually more quirkish than logical. Damn and blast this sun; the glare makes my head ache."

"We're not due back at the beach to meet the Calypso's boats until tomorrow night, sir," Paolo reminded him.

Which meant, of course, that now they were clear of Manciano they could stop and, after a meal from the provisions he had commandeered in the town, rest, starting again tomorrow when they had the whole day for the march. It would be wiser to halt well this side of the Via Aurelia, crossing it and getting to the river mouth only an hour or so before the Calypso's boats arrived. Providing the Calypso had not been trapped and sunk or captured by a couple of French frigates which happened to be passing . . . I'm very tired, he told himself; as soon as it is dark the ghost of Hamlet's father will appear from among the dark green cypress to tell me ever sadder stories of death and duplicity.

He took a few quick paces to get ahead of the column, turned to face it, and held up his hand. As soon as the men halted he pointed to the row of cypress just back from the road and told the men to fall out for the night.

While Jackson and Stafford and Rossi issued the rations, Ramage sat with his back to a tree, Aitken, Hill, Rennick and Orsini sitting in a half-circle round him.

"Before we start, sir, I'd like to ask Orsini a question."

Ramage nodded to Aitken, and Paolo looked startled.

"That Orsini Palace in Pitigliano - is that your family?"

"A distant branch of it," Paolo said just as Ramage realized that he had not connected Paolo with the palace.