Ramage (23 page)

‘His Lordship seems impressed, and old Sawbones hasn’t stopped talking about her.’

‘Any female patient would make a change from a row of venereal seamen.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Dawlish, disappointment showing in his voice. ‘But the chap with her – who’s he?’

‘A cousin, name of Pisano.’

‘Well, you watch him: he had the old man up half the middle watch calling you every name under the sun.’

‘I know.’

‘Been misbehaving yourself?’

‘No.’

‘Kept calling you a coward.’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re being very cagey, Nick.’

‘So would you be! Don’t forget I surrendered one of the King’s ships – admittedly to a 74-gun Frenchman. But size doesn’t matter: one Englishman equals three Frenchmen, so a frigate should deal with a French line-of-battle ship without inconvenience. And now I’ve got this damned fellow Pisano yapping at my heels. As if that isn’t enough, I hear Goddard’s at Bastia.’

‘I know,’ said Dawlish sympathetically. ‘At least, he was when we left.’

When Dawlish went out, Ramage sat down at the gunroom table, thankful that the owners of the cabins on each side were busy about the ship: he was in no mood for questions.

Probus, Dawlish – both were sympathetic; neither tried to make light of the danger of Goddard’s enmity and the consequences if he was still at Bastia when the
Lively
arrived in a few hours, since it would be his duty to order the trial.

The fact both Probus and Dawlish thought he was in a dangerous situation showed he was not being childish and worrying unnecessarily. Maybe he’d soon be regretting a shot from the
Barras
hadn’t knocked his head off…

Ramage began to realize how lonely one was at a time like this, and began to understand better his father’s cynicism: the old man had said that when trouble comes, friends melt into the shadows, unwilling to risk giving a hand, yet ashamed to admit it; making polite conversation, yet staying at arm’s length.

And the enemies stayed in the shadows, too, using their circle of sycophants to do their dirty work for them.

Neither Probus nor Dawlish owed anything to Goddard’s ‘interest’; but that didn’t mean either would risk Goddard’s enmity: he was acknowledged as one of the Navy’s most vindictive and politically powerful young flag officers. His power rested on the fact that his own and his wife’s families, with their friends, controlled twenty or more votes in the House of Commons. In the last year or so, according to the gossip from London, Goddard had added another name to his list of enemies, that of Commodore Nelson, who seemed to be a protégé of Admiral Sir John Jervis and now an object of Goddard’s jealousy. Did it mean Goddard and Jervis were enemies? Or likely to become so? Ramage thought not.

‘Old Jarvie’ was one of the few admirals who had taken a fair stand over his father’s trial. He was not directly concerned in it, but apparently made no secret of his disapproval of the Ministry’s behaviour.

Still, Ramage thought to himself, before Sir John reads my report – he was based at San Fiorenzo Bay, on the other side of Corsica, and would probably be at sea anyway – the trial will be over and sentence passed…

A midshipman was knocking on the gunroom door, as if for the third or fourth time.

‘Captain’s compliments, sir: the lady wishes you to visit her.’

He found Gianna propped up in the cot, leaning against a bank of cushions. She had been crying: even now a sob shook her, and she winced as the involuntary movement gave her a spasm of pain. She motioned him to shut the door quickly.

‘Oh,Nico…’

‘What’s the matter?’

He hurried across the room and knelt beside the cot, reaching for her hand.

‘My cousin – he came to see me.’

‘And–?’

‘He is making the trouble for you.’

‘I know, but it’s nothing: he’s overwrought.’

‘No –
è molto serioso
. Lord Probus thinks so, too.’

‘How do you know? Did he say so?’

‘It was what he did not say that worries me. My cousin insisted Lord Probus came with him to see me, and he asked me many, many questions.’

‘Probus or your cousin?’

‘My cousin.’

‘About what?’

‘That night at the beach beside the
Torre di Buranaccio
.’

‘Well, that’s nothing to get upset about: just tell them what you know.’

‘But what
do
I know?’ she wailed. ‘He says you deliberately left our cousin Pitti behind; he says you are a coward; he says–’ she was sobbing now and, finding it difficult to continue talking in English, lapsed into Italian ‘–he says your father was…was accused of cowardice…’

Our cousin
: the tie of blood: the divided loyalty. No, Ramage thought bitterly, not even divided, since both men were her cousins, but where he was concerned, she’d probably just been indulging in a mild flirtation.

‘Pisano is quite correct: my father was accused of cowardice.’

‘
O, Madonna aiutame!
’ she sobbed. ‘What am I to do?’

She was in both mental and physical agony, and Ramage suddenly thought that perhaps it was not a mere flirtation for her. But nevertheless they’d reached a crisis in their brief relationship. How detached he was: as he knelt watching her sobbing he seemed to hear another person inside him whispering, ‘If she has any reservations about you; if she thinks you could leave Pitti like that, then you’re better off without her… How can she think you’d quit him after all the risks you’d already taken to get to Capalbio?’

The cold-blooded other self was still in control when, watching her closely, he said in a low voice, ‘I’ve already told you your cousin was dead. Why do you still think I left him wounded?’

She was looking down at the cot cover, and when he saw her right hand, despite the shoulder wound, plucking distractedly at the material, he realized he was still holding – gripping, in fact – her left hand, and he released it.

‘I do not think you left him wounded! I do not think anything! I dare not think anything! What can I think?’ she continued. ‘You say he was dead; my cousin says when we were in the boat he heard him crying for help.’

‘Did Pisano say
how
he knows his cousin wasn’t dead? Did he go back and look? If so, why didn’t he help him?’

‘How could he go back? The French would have caught him too! And anyway it was not his duty: he says it was
your
duty to rescue
us
.’

Ramage stood up: she’d said that once before: again he’d run into the barrier of the different code, the muddled logic. He could understand her difficulty in deciding whether to believe him or Pisano; but he couldn’t understand why Pisano should be exempted from helping his own cousin.

Even as he stood looking down at her he saw himself facing the court martial. If this girl – who appeared to have some affection for him – had difficulty in believing what he said, what chance did he stand against Goddard and his men? What chance in the face of the surrender of the
Sibella
, followed immediately by Pisano’s accusations?

There wasn’t one witness he could call to defend himself: he was the only one who saw that faceless corpse. Pisano had all the advantages of the accuser: the court would be bound to take the Italian’s word – after all, he was one of the people considered important enough to send a frigate to rescue.

Gianna was looking up at him: those deep brown eyes – twinkling an hour ago, but now sad and bewildered – were a window through which he glimpsed her agony of mind. She was holding out both hands (what pain it must be causing her even to move the right hand), pleading with the eloquence with which only Italian hands can plead.

‘Madam,’ said a strange strangled voice he did not recognize, though it came from his mouth, ‘we arrive in Bastia in a few hours. Within a day or two a court martial will decide whether or not I did my duty, and punish me if it thinks I failed.’

‘But Nico – I do not want you to be punished.’

‘You anticipate the court’s verdict.’

‘No! I did not mean that. You twist my words! Oh,
Dio Mio
! Please, Nico, do not stand there a hundred miles away. Have you no heart? Have you suddenly become a dummy stuffed with your awful English porridge?’

Great sobs were shaking her; she was clutching her wounded shoulder with her left hand to lessen the pain. And he could do nothing: a ruthless stranger seemed to control him.

‘Nico… I want to believe you.’

‘Then why don’t you?’ he demanded brutally. ‘I’ll tell you. If you believe me, you think you have to admit that Pisano is a coward. Other people won’t think that, but it doesn’t matter. Neither of you realize no one would expect Pisano to go back; that was our job: that’s why we are sailors. But Pisano is doing all this needlessly to save his
bella figura
. We were there to save your lives. The same bullet can kill an American sailor like Jackson or a – well, a peer of the realm like myself. Yet we came together to help you all. Death is very egalitarian, you know,’ he sneered. ‘Why, the same court martial can hang a seaman or a lieutenant, even if he is a peer of the realm.’

‘Hang?’ She was horrified: instinctively her hand went to her throat.

‘Yes. Sometimes they agree to shoot officers, particularly if they are peers,’ he added bitterly. He felt cold: his skin was contracting as if too tight for his body: his eyes were focusing more sharply than they’d ever done before: on the cross-stitch embroidery of the cot cover: the tiny blue veins on the backs of her hands: the softness of her mouth. Yet someone else had spoken: surely he couldn’t have said all that? Yet – ‘If you’ll excuse me, Madam.’

‘Nicholas…’

But he was at the door: a hand – his hand, though it seemed to act of its own accord – reached out, turned the handle and pulled the flimsy door towards him. Some hidden force drew him from the cabin and closed the door behind him, and a moment before it shut he heard her crying as if her heart would break. His own heart was either broken or turned to stone.
Honi soit qui mal y pense
: evil be to him who evil thinks. But why did one deliberately crush a lovely flower? Because it was lovely?

When he reached the top of the quarter-deck ladder he saw Probus, who indicated with a nod of his head that he should walk with him to the taffrail.

‘I suppose I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Pisano made me be a witness while he questioned the Marchesa.’

‘Yes, sir, she’s just told me.’

‘She knows nothing about the beach episode.’

‘But she believes him.’

‘Why?’ asked Probus flatly.

‘They are blood relations – that counts for a lot.’

‘You are not hiding anything are you, Ramage? You did go back, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, he was dead; but I was alone and it was dark. To defend yourself against a charge of cowardice you need witnesses. No one saw me. It’s a question of who takes who’s word for what, and Pisano’s story sounds a likely one.’

‘The Marchesa told me earlier she wants to believe you, but you won’t tell her anything she can use to force her cousin to stop making these damned accusations. She thinks you’re hiding something.’

‘But I’m not. What can I tell her, sir, except that I went back? That’s all there is to it.’

‘Believe me, Ramage, you can’t afford to have both of them against you. Otherwise Goddard’s got you and you’re done for.’

‘I realize that, sir.’

‘And there’s the
Sibella
.’

‘There are witnesses enough for that.’

‘Of course: I only meant you’ve enough canvas set already and the glass is falling. Anyway, you realize I’ve spoken to you as a friend, not as a senior officer?’

‘Yes, sir, and I appreciate it,’ said Ramage, saluting before he turned away.

As a friend, not as an officer: Probus could mean just that; but he might mean, ‘Don’t get me involved because I shan’t risk anything for you.’

The gulls increased their frantic mewing and closed in on the ship, waiting for the cook’s mate to throw scraps over the side. With all her canvas furled or clewed up, the
Lively
slowly lost way, and at a signal from Dawlish an anchor splashed into the water and the cable snaked out through the hawsehole, smoking as friction singed the fibres of the rope.

While the prize brig anchored close by, Lord Probus’ barge was hoisted over the side and his bargemen, rigged in red jerseys and black straw hats, rowed him briskly across to report on board the 74-gun
Trumpeter
, whose captain was the senior officer present in Bastia. Ramage noted with relief that Admiral Goddard must be at sea. There were two other line-of-battle ships and four frigates in the anchorage.

One of the
Lively’
s quarter boats was lowered and the bosun climbed down into it, to be rowed round the ship to make sure all the yards were squared: that they were all hanging absolutely horizontally.