Ransom, the provost marshal, who had been standing against the taffrail, came up to Ramage.
"Come on, back to your cell."
"Cell?"
"Cabin, then."
"Do you have to be so obviously crude and unpleasant? I've not been found guilty yet."
"You will be," Ransom sneered.
"If I'm not, you'd better watch yourself," Ramage said angrily. "You're behaving more like a jackal than a gentleman. Just make sure the body's dead before you get to work."
"Carrion," Ransom said viciously, "all carrion!"
At that moment someone called Ransom's name. The voice was contemptuous, and it sounded familiar. Ramage looked round to see Captain Croucher standing watching, his eyes glittering like a lizard's under the jutting eyebrows. He looked angry and Ramage turned away so that neither man should think he was trying to eavesdrop. Croucher made no particular attempt to keep his voice low, however, and Ramage heard a few words here and there.
"... think you're doing? ... you can at least try ... gentleman ... only accused ... even if condemned ... might ... your turn one day..."
A chastened Ransom came back. Croucher had frightened him.
"My lord," he said, "we'd better go below."
"I don't use my title," Ramage snapped. "You know that!"
"Er - yes, as you please."
Ramage went down to the cabin puzzled by Croucher's behaviour. Clearly the man had overheard Ramage's exchange with Ransom, but why was Croucher, of all people, concerned about the way Ramage was being treated by the acting provost marshal? He was not a man to do another a good turn unless he had a reason. Had Goddard's behaviour in the hurricane brought about a change of heart?
An hour later the Lion's yawl was alongside the Arrogant and Ramage climbed up the side and stood watching as Ransom scrambled after him, carrying both their swords. When he finally managed to get on board without falling, Ramage could not resist saying: "Next time you're appointed a provost marshal, don't let the prisoner surrender his sword until you're both on board the ship where the trial's being held. You might drop it and find yourself being sued for a hundred guineas for a new one."
The Marine lieutenant flushed, and one of the Arrogant’s lieutenants, obviously the officer of the day, said unsympathetically, "He's right, you know; only a fool goes up a ship's side with two swords, and you seem to be clumsier than most!"
He turned to Ramage.
"The presence of our military friend here makes me think you are probably the unfortunate fellow inscribed on my list as Lieutenant Ramage, the prisoner'."
Ramage grinned and gave a mock bow. " 'Lieutenant Ramage-the-Prisoner' at your service."
The lieutenant marked his list and turned to the provost marshal.
"And you, my nimble friend, are probably the King's bad bargain herein listed as 'Lieutenant Ransom, acting provost marshal upon the occasion', and if you'll but nod your head, I'll bestow a tick against the name as a slight token of my approval."
Ransom nodded dumbly, overwhelmed by the lieutenant's bantering manner.
"Well," the lieutenant continued, "you have committed the ultimate social solecism by arriving too early for the ball. Numerous brave and distinguished post captains must first board us, not to mention an admiral named God Ard, or should it be 'ard God?, and dance the opening minuet before you'll be allowed to blunder on to the floor and fall flat on your face because you've got your sword caught between your legs. Ah me," he said, with a delicate yawn, "what pitfalls face an acting provost marshal. You'll have earned your four shillings a day by the time the sun sets."
He turned to Ramage: "If you're planning to escape, be pleased to wait until after the end of my watch: t'would be a pity if my remarkably promising career was brought to an untimely end for failing to stop you. The Navy can't afford to lose brilliant young men like me."
"How could you possibly think I'd be so thoughtless?" Ramage said. "Only a bounder would escape before the forenoon watch."
"I'm glad you see things my way," the lieutenant said, "such a pleasure to deal with a gentleman: we seem to be getting such a poor class of fellow these days, don't you agree?"
"Indeed," Ramage said gravely. "Very poor."
"Yes, a sad business. What did you say your name was?" he asked the Marine suddenly.
"Alfred Ransom."
The lieutenant turned to Ramage in mock despair. "Alfred - you see what I mean? And where the devil did you get that surname? Was your grandfather a kidnapper? Or just a plain moneylender whose rates of interest made his unfortunate clients think of ransom?"
Before the Marine had time to answer the lieutenant waved him away. "Go and walk round the belfry - here come some of Mr Ramage's judges. Captain Ormsby, closely followed by Captain Robinson of the Valiant, are about to grace us with their presence."
Ramage and Ransom walked the Arrogant's deck for more than half an hour as the captains arrived from their ships. Rossi was acting as coxswain of La Perla's little boat and brought over Southwick, Appleby, Jackson and Stafford. As the Italian called out orders for the boat to leave the Arrogant's side he caught sight of Ramage and, still looking ahead, said loudly in a broad Neapolitan accent, "Sta tranquille, comandante!"
Ramage smiled down at him, and then looked over at Jackson and Stafford. It was unlikely that they had ever been so smartly turned out before; Ramage had the feeling that everyone on board La Perla must have sorted through his wardrobe to find the best shirts and trousers for the two men.
The court martial was due to open in fifteen minutes, and Ramage saw the Lion's launch coming from the shore. The fat figure in the stern sheets was unmistakable.
The lieutenant at the gangway turned to Ramage and, waving at the launch with his list, said: "The last guest invited to your reception."
Ramage nodded. "Thanks for your help. You have an invitation?"
"No, but I may drop in."
"Do, it passes away an idle hour or so."
With Rear-Admiral Goddard waddling aft and entering the great cabin, the court was within moments of assembling.
"Come on, Ramage, they've passed the word for us."
The seven captains ordered to the trial had gone into the great cabin and read out the dates of their commissions. Captain Napier, commanding the Arrogant and appointed president of the court, had seated them round the table in order of seniority. Syme, the fussy little deputy judge advocate, would have all his papers sorted out, quills sharpened, inkwell full, spectacles polished and Bible and Crucifix ready for administering the oath. Rear-Admiral Goddard was in there, with his faithful Hobson, ready to act as prosecutor. Croucher was there too, among the witnesses.
It was supposed to be a big day for Goddard. As far as he was concerned it would be the end of a vendetta, the end of a very long-drawn-out act of revenge against Admiral the Earl of Blazey. The night before, Ramage had wondered how he would feel walking these last few feet into the cabin. What he felt was anger. Anger that had come in the past few moments when he reflected that Goddard was not attacking him but his father. By attacking the Earl's son he was dealing the old man a blow against which he had no defence. Goddard was an assassin moving out silently in a dark Neapolitan street and striking with a stiletto ... A cowardly blow, an unnecessary blow and perhaps a lethal blow. Goddard hoped that getting the son hanged for cowardice would shame the father into an early grave - the mother, too. Death before dishonour, or if not before, then dam' soon after. Every man's weakest point, his Achilles' heel, was his family. That was something Goddard had known all along.