Ramage

So if I was the frigate's captain I'd tack out to sea before  dawn with the Port’ Ercole prizes; wait today out of sight over the horizon, sorting out prize crews and prisoners; then tack in again after dark with the land breeze and deal with an unsuspecting Santo Stefano tonight.

 Taking it a stage further, how would I attack? Well, since I've already tackled Port' Ercole with its three fortresses, obviously I wouldn't be worried by a single fortress at Santo Stefano. And I can see from the chart that a cutting-out expedition needn't risk the fortress's guns until the last moment.

 Although the Fortress is well placed to defend ships anchored immediately in front of it, the chart shows its one massive blind spot - Punta Lividonia, jutting seaward and masking its fire at the approach to the port.

 Ramage retrieved the chart from Smith to refresh his memory. Yes — if he was going to cut out those ships, he'd heave-to the frigate there - a mile or so north-west of Punta Lividonia. The Point would hide the ship from the Fortress, and he'd also be down-moon, with no danger of being silhouetted from the shore.

 He'd order the cutting-out boats to steer south-east until they were close under the Point; then they'd row round it and on to Santo Stefano, keeping just far enough off the beach to avoid anyone on shore hearing the oars, yet safe from the Fortress's guns because the twists and turns of the coast would block their fire until they were about half a mile from the anchored ships.

 The sun sets this evening about seven o'clock; it will be almost dark by seven thirty; and the moon rises only a few minutes later. The frigate will take at most three hours to sail in, which will bring her off Punta Lividonia at ten thirty. The boats would be off the point by eleven. And that's about the most perfect timetable I could wish for.

Where's the snag? What have I forgotten? Ramage could think of nothing and glanced down at the chart again. From where he was at the moment in Cala Grande, the northern tip of Punta Lividonia was just over a mile away. If he waited with the gig there - just off the Point - the boats of the cutting-out party should pass him on their way in to attack. Even if he  missed them in the darkness, he'd be able to follow them back to the frigate after the attack, when they wouldn't be worrying about being quiet.

 Supposing the frigate went to Giglio or Talamone instead? Well, from off Punta Lividonia he could watch both ports, and although he'd never reach the frigate in time if she attacked either, the gunfire would tell him his guess was wrong and he could still reach the rendezvous off Giglio before dawn, having gone only a couple of miles out of his way. He had nothing to lose by chancing it; in fact everything to gain, since the Bosun might not have reached Bastia, or a frigate might not have been available to send to the rendezvous.

 At that moment a shadow fell over him and he glanced up to see Jackson standing there.

'Well?'

'Thought you'd like to know, sir: he's got the ball out. A small one. From a pistol.'

‘How is she?'

'A bit shaky, sir; she fainted once or twice, but she's got plenty of pluck. Old Sawbones seems to know his stuff.'

'Has he finished?'

' 'nother ten minutes - I'll let you know, sir.'

 Jackson strode off and Ramage saw Smith was also helping the doctor, who was kneeling beside the couch. In his imagination he could see forceps and probes digging deep into that great punctured bruise. He shivered and looked back at the chart, but the lines of the coast, the neatly written names, the tiny figures showing the soundings, all became a blur; the black ink spread across the paper until Argentario was a great bruise set in the Tyrrhenian Sea.

 'It has gone well,' the doctor said, holding a handkerchief in a bloodstained hand and mopping the perspiration from his face. 'Very well indeed: the bullet was lodged deep in the muscle and fortunately did not carry many fragments of cloth with it into the wound. Most fortunate, most fortunate.'

Ramage felt his head swimming.

'My dear sir, are you all right?'

'Yes - just tiredness.'

 The doctor looked at him quizzically. 'Well, you've nothing to worry about — at least as far as the lady is concerned. For you I prescribe a siesta.'

Ramage smiled. 'I'll just have a word with her.'

 Jackson and Smith walked away as he approached, to leave them alone.

'The doctor tells me all went well.'

'Yes, he was very gentle.'

 God, her voice was weak and she was pale: those glorious brown eyes - which looked at him so imperiously when her pistol was aimed at his stomach - were full of pain, and the soft skin below them dark with exhaustion.

Yet she looked even more beautifuclass="underline" the pain emphasized how exquisitely carved were the brow, the cheekbones, nose, chin, the line of her jaw ... Her mouth - yes, the lips were just a little too sensuously full to make her features classical. He suddenly noticed the lips were shaping themselves into a tired smile.

 'May I ask, Lieutenant, what you are looking at with such concentration? Has this rather frail vessel some defect in its design which a sailor finds displeasing?'

 He laughed. 'On the contrary: this sailor was admiring the vesseclass="underline" he hasn't had much opportunity to examine her closely before.'

'Do your orders include flirtation, Lieutenant?'

Irony? A sly dig at his sour 'We have our duty, Madam' remark earlier in the day, or mischievousness?

'The Admiral would expect my behaviour to be that befitting a gentleman!'

'You have considerable latitude, then,' she said. 'But on a more serious note, Lieutenant, how much does one pay this doctor?'

'I'm afraid I have no money.'

 'Then would you take my purse' - she offered it with her left hand - 'and pay him what he asks.'

 'Yes, certainly. I must go and discuss a few details with him.'

 He found the doctor still mopping his brow, but he had washed the blood from his hands.

 'Now, Doctor, how strong is the patient, and when will she need further treatment?'

 'Considering all things, the patient is strong. Much depends on what your plans are. Further treatment? Well, she should be seen by a surgeon within a day or two to inspect the sutures.'

'Can she be moved, I mean?'

‘Where to? And by what means?'

'To - to a port many miles away. In this boat.'

'It is a long way: the boat is smalclass="underline" the sun is hot ...'

 'Doctor, please be precise. The longer we stay, the more chance of capture, and the longer we must retain you. I have to decide which is the lesser risk.'

 'The lesser risk     ' The doctor was talking to himself.'... I  have applied the necessary ligatures, which must be removed in seven days ... There is much contusion but not enough to interfere with the natural healing processes. Yet - yet one must watch in case suppuration begins, because if it does ...' He gestured with his hand, as if cutting his throat. 'Some time in an open boat, the hot sun, poor food, to be weighed against the dungeon of Filipo Secondo ... She is young, well nourished and healthy...'

 He looked up at Ramage. 'My friend: there must, of course, be considerable risk if you take her in the boat. But providing she receives professional medical attention within thirty-six hours, then that is the lesser risk. The lesser of two evils, you understand: not the best course to follow. When do you propose leaving?'

'At nightfall.'

The doctor burrowed into a waistcoat pocket and took out an enormous watch. 'Then you'll have an extra eight hours if I examine her again just before you leave.'

 'I was hoping you'd suggest that, Doctor,' Ramage said, and thought, isn't that relief on the little man's face?

 'Tell me, Doctor, when I brought you down here did you think you would live to see tomorrow?*

‘To be frank, my young friend, no.'

'But I gave you my word.'