As he ate, hardly noticing what it was, the admiral reviewed his thoughts. In the light of what he knew about Ramage's orders, and the views of Earl St Vincent, who had drawn them up, he should persuade Ramage to give up any attempt to rescue the wives: the second party of hostages, in other words. Because Ramage was under Admiralty orders, he could not order him, but by telling him (in writing) that in his view he should leave for Gibraltar at once, that would cover Ramage.
Sir Henry mentally shrugged his shoulders. From what he had seen and heard of Ramage, the youngster would do what he considered correct, cover or not. He had stood up to Cargill without knowing (or caring about) the opinions of three admirals and a lieutenant-general, and he did it because he had confidence in himself.
Sir Henry looked across the table at Ramage as Silkin began serving the next course. "A very creditable meal, Ramage. We must be dealing your livestock a crippling blow! So let's regard this feast as something special to celebrate our release, and from now on we take our chance with hard tack!"
The marquis looked startled. "I don't quite understand, Sir Henry: is this not the usual Navy fare?"
"Indeed not! The splendid mutton came from one of Ramage's own animals, killed for the occasion: likewise the fowl. And, of course, all the wine. The Navy lives on salt pork and salt beef; if captains want better, they buy it themselves and carry it on board. You commented to me earlier about hearing a sheep bleating. Well, you've probably just eaten the bleat! And although the seamen get wine twice daily in the Mediterranean, it isn't of the quality Ramage is serving you. The seamen call their tots 'blackstrap'. But Ramage, you seem to have drunk little or nothing."
Ramage looked embarrassed. He rarely drank wine and never spirits, but he had learned to keep the fact to himself because too many people regarded a man who never drank as a reproach to themselves.
Cargill belched contentedly and wiped his face with a napkin. "Wine's for women," he said contemptuously. "No guts to it. As much use as small beer to a drayman."
"I'm sorry sir, I haven't offered you gin."
The Earl of Innes glanced at Cargill, but the remark - an insult if Cargill understood its significance - had gone right over his head. Gin was cheap; it was rated the drink for fallen women, debtors and servants: it brought most relief from life's cares for the fewest pennies. Cargill merely belched again and shook his head.
"My steward will look after you now, gentlemen," Ramage said. "If you'll excuse me, I must see what is happening on deck."
"I'll join you," Sir Henry said. "I'm beginning to feel sleepy after such a fine meal."
As the two men began pacing the quarterdeck, both noted that the wind was whining in the rigging and the wave crests were beginning to tumble and break, while the horizon to the south was now joined by haze to the paler sky. Argentario was no longer a sharp mountainous outline but a blurred hump to the east while the mainland was almost indistinguishable.
Sir Henry waved an arm forward, to the south. "No mistaking that, Ramage: stand by for a scirocco!And it's going to last three days, just as it always does."
"Not all of them, sir," Ramage said cautiously.
"This one is going to, though. Just look at that cloud streaming to leeward from the peak of Argentario . . . and it's so damned clammy. The Arabs have the right idea about the scirocco."
Ramage raised his eyebrows, and Sir Henry said: "If an Arab murders his wife when there's a scirocco blowing, he's not blamed. How about that, eh?"
"I'd heard that, sir, but since an Arab has a harem with several wives, it mightn't be the advantage that Christians think."
"Hmm . . . never thought of it like that," Sir Henry said. "Anyway, it'll be knocking up a sea below Forte della Stella..."
"The fishermen don't leave Port' Ercole when there's a bad scirocco. Those caught out usually make for Santo Stefano and wait there in the lee for it to blow out. There's a fish market..."
Sir Henry guessed that Ramage was talking only to avoid the main problem. "It means we can't do a dam' thing for three days - more, if we have to wait for a heavy swell to ease down."
"Yes, three or four days, sir."
"And you should be making for Gibraltar, not hanging round here to collect wives."
"Hostages, not wives," Ramage said gently.
"Lord St Vincent won't like it if anything goes wrong as a result of your waiting."
"My orders cover it, sir," Ramage said.
"Wives?"
"No, 'hostages' sir. My orders, signed by four members of the Board, are to rescue the British hostages at Pitigliano. However, I found they weren't there. Instead half were at Giglio and the other half are - we hope - at Port' Ercole."
"If anything goes wrong, they'll flay you and use your skin as parchment," Sir Henry said. "You realize that, don't you? I couldn't help you: I'd be an involved party. In fact my skin might be nailed up alongside yours." He thought for a moment. "Were the hostages named?"
"Some of them. But neither of us can leave this coast with the wives still in Forte della Stella, or wherever they are, can we sir."
Sir Henry recognized it as a comment, not a question. "Not that many wives," he said bleakly. "Mine, the Earl of Innes's, the other two admirals' (tho' I think Admiral Keeler doesn't feel the separation as strongly as the rest of us), and the wives of the marquis, our two earls and the viscount."
"But not General Cargill's wife?" Ramage asked carefully.
"He's not married - or, at least, his wife wasn't with him when he was arrested," Sir Henry said. "Odd, I don't know for sure whether he's married or not."
"Eight wives," Ramage said. "Not a large party. I'm surprised the French kept you apart."
"Oh, I think there are more than eight hostages in that party," Sir Henry said, "and I don't think they're all women. It's just a feeling I have, but I've always considered our wives simply to be part of a second group of hostages."
"You mean, sir, that there could be other naval and army officers?"
Sir Henry shook his head. "No, I think the hostages referred to in your orders (however you interpret the wording) are the ones you have rescued. I know that because I know which flag officers left the country when peace was signed - as you well know, no serving naval officer can go abroad in peacetime without the Board's permission. Same goes for the soldiers: they have to ask the Horse Guards, and the earl knows who applied. So any men held hostage with our wives must be civilians - people like the marquis."
"Why were the marquis and the others separated and put with you then?" Ramage mused.
"The French probably have a scale," Sir Henry speculated grimly. "After all, there's a scale both countries use when exchanging prisoners: a post-captain equals six lieutenants; a lieutenant equals ten midshipmen, and so on."
"And a marquis?"
Sir Henry laughed. "This one is probably the first the French have ever taken. Obviously they don't value them too highly because he's been put in with admirals, generals, earls and a viscount!"
"The marquis is lucky," Ramage said. "In France before the Revolution, the title was not ranked as highly as in Britain. There are many more of them, of course, and the French didn't have earls."
Sir Henry's thoughts returned to Port' Ercole. "You have to waste three days, perhaps more . . ."