Ramage could hardly breathe as he waited for the reply.

"But Major, they are well enough. I feed them properly and let them exercise. Why, I've even given them playing cards, and they gamble and drink wine like - well, like my soldiers."

Gilbert turned to Ramage. In a few moments the whole position had changed. Was the commandant still half asleep? It was worth a chance. Ramage stepped forward and began speaking to the commandant in Italian, mixing in enough halting French that Gilbert would be able to repeat once he had grasped the idea.

"The orders .. . they said a frigate with other hostages would - how do you say - collect your hostages to take them all away, to Toulon. Look!" He turned and, with as much drama as he could summon without laughing, gestured towards Aitken and his men. "There you have some of the cream of the English aristocracy who were in Italy when the Emperor went to war again, and whom I'm exercising. You have some here. At Toulon are many more caught in France. I do not know what the Emperor intends, but he wants them all assembled in Toulon.

"Which is why we arrived in the frigate. Clearly you have not even noticed that a frigate waits just off the harbour. Where are your sentries - asleep in the clouds?"

The commandant had understood perhaps a quarter of what Ramage had said and looked appealingly at Gilbert, who repeated everything in rapid French.

The commandant finally took his hat from the corporal and put it on. "Major, I have not received any orders, but we are a long way from Florence and it is not unknown for messengers to be delayed. But I understand what the Emperor intends, and I will prepare my hostages at once for the voyage. You won't want provisions for them, will you?"

Gilbert, seeing the man's greedy eyes already calculating for how much he could sell the food to the villagers, shook his head. "No, we have provisions enough on board."

"It is hot out here," Ramage grumbled in Italian. "Let us get into the shade. A drink would be welcome."

Gilbert translated, and the commandant led the way into the square. The streets were narrow with the houses crowding each other. It was, Ramage saw, still a medieval town: nothing had changed in the last four or five centuries, except the stucco peeled and was never repaired, paint flaked off. Tiles were replaced after a storm - though judging from a few houses some people did not bother. On one side of the square there was a shallow stone bath used as the laundry place; close by, a well had a cranked handle for winding up the bucket, which looked worn enough to be the original. Beside many doorways were eyebolts for tethering donkeys and, he guessed, where there were no piles of manure, the owners of the houses owned strips of land on the slopes.

There was the butcher's shop, an open-fronted house with two strings of dead wild birds hanging up for sale. Birds whose feathers were red and black, green and yellow, their beaks revealing they were finches and caught in traps. Two doors further down was the verdura, but not much produce was on display - half a dozen cabbages, the outer leaves yellowing, and strings of garlic (regarded by Italians as the best protection against the Evil Eye). At the far side of the square, draped over a brick wall but facing the sun, were what looked like hundreds of short lengths of white string: the pasta made early that morning and now hung out to dry in the sun. Spaghetti has the same importance to Italians as potatoes to the poor in northern France and Britain. The difference being, Ramage reflected, that the Italians had the good sense to disguise the taste with various sauces.

A raucous screaming suddenly froze everyone except the commandant who, after finding himself walking on alone, turned back and explained. "It's Monday so the garrison's butcher is slaughtering a pig."

"Of course," Gilbert said, "I was thinking it was Thursday."

They followed the little commandant to the far end of the town, where a sentry sat on a chair inside a crudely made sentry box.

"The hostages live in the last five houses in this row. I commandeered them because there was nowhere else suitable. My soldiers live in billets, of course."

"The owners of the houses will be thankful we are taking the hostages away," Ramage said in atrocious French.

"So shall I," the commandant said fervently. "It is a grave responsibility. English generals and admirals, nobility - supposing they escaped! I would be a private soldier again - if I was not shot!"

Ramage nodded his head judiciously. "So now you will have the opportunity of being a field marshal . . ."

"Just leave me alone, I am quite content," the commandant confided. "Giglio has good wine and is far enough from Florence . . ."

"But your wife ...?"

"It's far enough from Paris, too," he said with a wink. He banged the side of the sentry box and woke the soldier, who without being asked and showing no curiosity about the strangers behind the commandant, handed over a large bunch of keys.

"None of the houses had locks on the doors, so we had to fit them," he explained. "At least, those were my orders. But no one can escape from this island. Still, I made the owners of the houses pay me, and Florence sent me locks for ten houses." He winked again.

"Tell him to parade his hostages here," Ramage said to Gilbert. "Keep talking to him: I don't want him to wonder why we marched our hostages up the hill for exercise when we could have had them running around on deck."

"He's so thankful to be rid of them I don't think he'd do anything," Gilbert said. "As long as we sign his receipt, he'll be quite happy."

By now the commandant was unlocking the door of the first house and shouting orders to the people inside. Then he went on to the other houses, and by the time he reached the last the hostages were emerging from the first.

They all gathered at the sentry box, obviously conforming to a drill established when they first arrived. Ramage looked at them carefully. Yes, they were well dressed, though here and there breeches and coats were patched, clearly sewn by the owners, because the stitching was more workmanlike than neat. Boots and shoes - clean, though not polished, but it had not rained for three or four weeks so all they needed was a flick of a cloth to remove dust.

And all the hostages looked fit. Three or four men, although portly and red-faced, had obviously benefited from a year's frugal wine ration in place of unlimited brandy and port, and a more frugal diet than they had previously enjoyed. Only one man walked with a stick though, Ramage guessed, from habit rather than disability because the stick was a Malacca cane with a gold top: anyone with a walking problem used a stick with a handle.

It was devilish difficult to distinguish between the admirals and generals, since they were not in uniform. Certainly the one man who stood so erect he might be tied to a post must be a general, and those two might be admirals, while that foppish fellow would come under the commandant's description of an aristocrat.

Only one of the hostages, coming from the last house, showed the slightest interest in Ramage's men. Or, Ramage corrected himself, only one man revealed any interest. The admirals and the generals had long ago learned the art of apparent disinterest: it was not easy to watch the world tumbling about one's ears and merely comment: "By Jove!"

Finally the commandant came back, returned the bunch of keys to the sentry, and with a stentorian "Messieurs!"gestured towards Gilbert. Obviously, with the hostages about to be taken off his hands, he was not going to strain himself trying to explain things in English - or even in French, which a good half of the hostages probably spoke.

Ramage beckoned to them, muttering to Gilbert to wait until they were gathered round. Then, with the commandant talking to the sentry, who was still seated in his box, Ramage began speaking to the hostages in Italian. With every fifth or sixth word English and together making complete sentences, he explained that they were being rescued but must act as though they were about to be transferred to France. Above all, they must show no excitement. "Fall in behind those men, who are also acting as hostages," Ramage said, the English words interspersed with what was another long burst of Italian.