"Hard life for the Italians, though," Ramage said. "Ask the first hundred people you meet when they last tasted meat, and the answer will probably be months ago - and that was a tough old goat which had dried up and gave no more milk. Fish, artichokes, bread made from the flour they grind from the bit of wheat they manage to grow (as long as a colpo di vento didn't knock it flat just before harvesting time). But no flour means no pasta and no bread. Ask them about dentice, polpo, mormora, triglia and seppia - they're the fish they catch and live on - but don't look for meat."

"I fancy some fresh fish," Southwick said.

"We'll get you some polpo,"Ramage promised.

"What's that?" Southwick asked suspiciously.

"Octopus. A great favourite. Good if you're hungry - you can chew it for hours, like tanned leather."

"Do we hoist a Tricolour, sir?" Aitken asked.

Ramage thought a moment and then shook his head. "If they look down at us from Castello they won't even notice we're not flying any colours. They'll assume we're that other frigate, since we look alike. That is, if the first frigate ever came here." He eyed Southwick. "You haven't convinced our first lieutenant yet that the French Navy aren't quite as fussy as the Royal Navy about day-to-day routine."

"I don't want them setting him a bad example," Southwick explained. "Anyway, now we're at Giglio what do you propose doing, sir?"

Thinking he wished he knew, Ramage closed his telescope with a snap and turned to look back eastward, where the sun was beginning to lift over the mainland, a golden orb in a clear sky. It was almost in line with the peak of Argentario which, being less than a dozen miles away, stood out dark and almost menacing, its western sides streaked black and grey with shadow. To the right in the distance the land was flat, the Maremma marshes. To the left of Argentario was Talamone, distinguishable only because of the mountains behind it and, fading northward into the distance, Punta Ala, with more mountains. But the peaks near the coast were small compared with those inland, the distant ones merging blue grey into the horizon - the Apennines, which reached across into western Tuscany. Monte Amiata, Monte Labbro and Monte Elmo, near Pitigliano, were high, but mere anthills compared with those around Arezzo. And that, he told himself, is a useless survey of Tuscany's geography, and neither Aitken nor Southwick will have failed to notice that you do not have a plan waiting on the tip of your tongue.

"Giglio is like Pitigliano except it's surrounded by water," Ramage said casually, speaking in a deeper tone than usual, as though making a wise comment.

"Indeed it is, sir," Southwick said, his politeness just skating round the edge of sarcasm. "Yes, indeed. To get to one you march along dusty tracks; to get to the other you walk on the water."

"Yes," Ramage said, ignoring the sarcasm. "We won't have to walk on the water because we have boats, but the routine will be the same. We'll march our 'prisoners' up to the top of the hill (to Castello) to help our bluff and with luck we'll march 'em down again, with the hostages."

Both Aitken and Southwick looked up at Ramage and the first lieutenant said: "But sir, if they have the hostages up there, surely they'll have a bigger garrison?"

Ramage walked to the taffrail and the other two men followed. "It doesn't really matter how many French there are if they have the hostages."

When he saw the puzzled look on the faces of both Aitken and Southwick he explained evenly: "Just consider the word 'hostage'. Supposing we had a squadron and could land five hundred seamen and Marines and storm Castello. If you commanded the French garrison and guessed Bonaparte wouldn't listen to excuses if you let his hostages be rescued, what would you do?"

Aitken nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. Hostages. I'd tell the commander of the British force that if he didn't go back on board his ships and sail away again, I'd hang the hostages one at a time from the battlements."

"Exactly," Ramage said. "Which leaves us back with our only weapons, guile, cunning and deception. We're in the same position as a married woman's lover: it's all right to cuckold the husband but he must never find out - or at least not until long after the affair is over. I'm talking from the lover's point of view, of course."

"And because I don't speak French or Italian, and because I'm a bit broad in the beam these days, sir, I suppose -"

"You suppose correctly, my dear Southwick: you and Kenton and Martin are going to be left behind to look after the Calypso."

"And if you don't come marching back again," Southwick grumbled, "I suppose those of us left behind will have to come storming up the hill to rescue you all."

Ramage nodded. "Yes, we'd appreciate that. But if you see bodies hanging by their necks from the battlements don't bother: just sail away again. I'm sure any survivors would prefer to remain prisoners in Castello than corpses hanging outside it."

"When do you intend starting off, sir?" Aitken asked.

How one's choice of words changed with promotion. A lieutenant making a suggestion to a senior officer (his captain, for example) would "propose" doing something, leaving the captain free to say no. But when the captain was telling the lieutenant, or the lieutenant was asking for the captain's orders, "intend" was the word.

Captains intend, lieutenants propose. That was a good rule of thumb, and of course captains "proposed" to admirals, while admirals "intended" (unless they in turn were writing to the Board of Admiralty). And the Board of Admiralty, of course, neither intended nor proposed; they disposed.

"We might as well start early and make a day of it," Ramage said lightly. "Tell the French and Tuscan armies to get dressed in their appropriate rigs as soon as they've finished breakfast, and have the prisoners ready, looking suitably chastened. You expecially," he said to Aitken, "you don't look as though you've been a hostage for very long!"

"I thought I was the laird of thousands of acres, sir, and just visiting Florence so that I could listen to the boring conversation of the English visitors who prefer Rubens to Raeburn."

"Surely talk of Leonardo or Michelangelo - or even where you tasted the best Chianti - must come as a welcome change from all that mist covering the glens, or chasing a reluctant stag only to have your musket flash in the pan."

Aitken shook his head sadly. "All those foreign painters - why, any self-respecting Scot would have his portrait done by Raeburn. I remember that Captain Duff - he commands the Mars now, I think - used him. Fine Scottish family, the Duffs."

"Raeburn's a painter? Damn me, I thought a raeburn was like a brae or a loch or a glen: somewhere a stream trickled or a stag lurked."

Aitken grinned. "I also remember Captain Duff saying he reckoned one of Raeburn's finest works was a portrait of Admiral the Earl of Blazey."

"Ah yes, I remember, it's hung where we hang the game ..."

"That," Aitken said solemnly, "might be more of a reflection on your father than on the artist, surely sir?"

As soon as he heard that the selected men were dressing up in their uniforms, Rossi requested to see the captain. Aitken had told him he would not be going on this expedition and then listened patiently to the Italian's protests. Normally he would have said that the first lieutenant's word was final, but because the Italian was so distressed at being left behind, he mentioned it to Ramage.

"But what good could he do if he came?" Ramage asked. "His arm is in a sling, and a mile or so's marching up a steep hill over a rocky track will just about finish him off. We'd end up carrying him."

Aitken, however, was having second thoughts. "Perhaps it depends on what he's supposed to do, sir. Did you take him to Pitigliano because he's Italian and speaks the language, or because he's quick with a pistol and sword?"