Ramage

Even by candlelight he could see the finely chiselled features: high cheekbones, large, widely spaced eyes, a small, slightly hooked nose. The mouth - it was a little too wide, with lips a fraction too full, for classic perfection. It was as though a sculptor had deliberately carved a sensuous goddess. Yes! Except for the nose, she might have been the model for - he searched his memory, Siena - no, Florence: Ghiberti's beautiful carving of 'The Creation of Eve' on the east doors of the Baptistry. Had she the naked Eve's same bold, slim, body, the same small, jutting breasts, the same glorious shoulders, flat belly and rounded thighs? The girl's face was certainly a little fuller and more sensuous. Ramage glanced down at her breasts; but the cape ... she might as well be wrapped in a parcel.

'It was fortunate I did not shoot you, Lieutenant Ramage,' she said calmly.

Goddess! he thought, jerked suddenly back to reality. Diana the Huntress, maybe; not one of the peaceful kind. But she was self-possessed and her mind worked like lightning: Ramage realized there had been a moment's hesitation before calling him 'Lieutenant’: she knew an earl's son might have a courtesy title even if not one in his own right; and although he had introduced himself without using it, she was obviously trying to avoid a mistake in the way she addressed him.

'It was doubly fortunate,' he replied, 'since my man had his cutlass at your back.'

'Very well, Lieutenant,' she said, indicating formalities were over. 'This man' - she indicated Nino - 'will fetch the others, and then we will sail in your ship for England.'

The impulsive but self-possessed child had not changed in the transition to womanhood, and Ramage knew that he must grab the initiative from her to avoid the next few days being extremely difficult.

'Madam, there are details to explain before we start.'

"Very well, but please be brief, because we have waited a long time: you are very late.'

Her tone was so patronizing that as anger flooded through Ramage, he realized he now had both the chance and the wish to reduce this girl to more manageable proportions. He indicated the chair beside the table: 'Will you please be seated: I repeat - there are some things to explain.'

He waited until she gathered the cape round herself, nonchalantly placed the pistol in her lap as though it was a peacock-feather fan, and then looked up at him coldly, as if he was a tiresome servant. Then he spoke in a voice that surprised him for its bitterness.

'Madam, to enable me to be here tonight - late as I am - more than fifty of my men have been killed; another fifty have been wounded and taken prisoner by the French; and fifty or more are now rowing for their lives towards Corsica...'

'Yes?' her voice was cold, polite and utterly impersonaclass="underline" it was as if the cook was proposing the menu for the day.

'Of less importance,' he said bitterly, 'is the fact that I have been forced to surrender one of His Majesty's ships.'

'That can hardly be your fault: you are too young: your Admiral should not trust the command of a ship to a youth.'

He struggled with his temper, aware of the warning signs for one of his blind rages: he was blinking quickly, rubbing the scar on his brow, and in a moment he'd be fighting to avoid mispronouncing 'r’.

'In fact my Admiral did place three officers over me, but they've all been killed. No doubt he will consider the loss of life so far a small price to pay for your safety. I mention all this pettifogging detail only to explain my lateness - and why you and your friends are not going direct to England.'

The girl lowered her head, turning slightly away from the candle, so that her face was in shadow. She was smaller, more frail even, than he'd first thought, and his anger passed quickly, spent like a shout echoing down a valley. For all her outward calm, she was young and probably very frightened and now he was embarrassed at his bitter outburst.

'May I ask why some of the men in your party are not here?'

'There was no need. The peasant was satisfied you were not French, but the message was garbled. We thought it just possible you were trying to identify yourself to one of the party by referring to a past meeting. Obviously "alabaster" could only mean the mines at Volterra, or the Volterra family; but I remembered nothing of a small boy and "L'amor che muove ile sole".'

'Why did you come then, not one of the men?'

'Because the Volterra family were concerned,' she said impatiently. 'As soon as I heard you explaining to Nino I realized you thought my mother was still alive. After that, this man' -she nodded towards Jackson - 'startled me.'

'You did not fear a trap?'

'No, I trusted the judgement of the peasant - his family have worked for us for generations and this' - she waved her hand - 'is my land. Anyway, it would have been difficult for you to trap me because on the way to us he searched all this

area.

'But he didn't find my men!'

'Oh yes he did! You have a boat hidden among the rushes and your sentry is just above, on top of the dunes. He was asleep, incidentally, and so were the five men in the boat.'

Ramage glanced at Jackson, who was clearly making a mental note to deal with the man - and, from the look on his face, obviously wished he could deal with the girl as well.

'If you didn't think it a trap, I hope you trust me now.'

She smiled as if offering an olive branch, and said lightly, 'I do: I hope the rest of the party do, too. Such men are used to the intrigue of Court life: they find it hard to trust anyone, even among themselves.'

'Well, they've no choice: they'll have to trust me; and what's more, they'll be under my orders,' he said grimly, to avoid any misunderstanding over the extent of his authority; and to tide him over the uncomfortable silence that followed he added, 'Madam: I am very tired, so forgive me for being short-tempered and a little aspro. I meant that I have my orders concerning their safety and will carry them out as best I can.'

The girl, her olive branch brushed aside, was cold again. ‘You have surrendered your ship. What can you do with this little boat?'

'If your party will forgo comfortable cabins and servants to wait on you, it will take us to meet a ship off Giglio, or failing that, to Bastia. There is water and plenty of bread. By bread, I mean ship's bread, which is a type of hard biscuit. The boat will be crowded: will you explain this to your party?'

'Supposing we are seen by a French warship and captured?

'There's a risk, but not very great.'

'But there is a risk.' It was a statement, not a question.

'Of course there is a risk, madam: of gales, too. Perhaps as much of a risk as being caught by Bonaparte's men if you stay here.'

He found it hard to avoid sounding contemptuous when he added: 'If your companions wish to continue their journey in the boat, I am at your service.'

'And if they do not wish? If they do not like the idea of such a long voyage in such a small boat?'

There was nothing in his orders concerning that - except the Admiral regarded these people as very important, which in a way covered the point.

'The only alternative is for me to leave you here and try to arrange for a warship to pick you up later, but I can't give any guarantee.'

'I will explain this to them,' said the Marchesa. The patronizing tone had gone from her voice; but the self-assurance remained. 'When do you wish to leave?'

'Tomorrow night, as soon as it is dark — I mean tonight, of course: dawn's not far off. By the way, do you know anything about French troops round here?'

'Very little: a few cavalry patrols pass along the Via Aurelia - some have been searching the villages for us.'

'And the political situation?'