Curtis looked at the compass, his eyes distant. `I see. Very well, we’ll get on with it now. Before there’s anything else to worry us.’

  The sergeant hurried back to the hold, beckoning as he did so to two seamen.

  Curtis stared at Jervis. `Give him a hand, Ian.’

  Jervis stood by the lee rail as the seamen unlashed the bodies and laid them in readiness. The extra one was hurriedly wrapped in a length of worn canvas, and an old seaman, his face a mass of tiny wrinkles, like a piece of hardened leather, began to sew the ends together with twine.

  A bar of gold light mounted the ship’s rail and spilled on to the deck, lighting the seaman’s bent head and his thick mass of grey hair. There was little warmth in the gentle ray, yet already the decks had lost their coat of spume and spray, and even the sounds of the sea seemed lulled.

  The sun glinted on the man’s needle, as with a jerk he broke the thread and raised his eyes, their watery brilliance telling nothing to Jervis, who stared fascinated at the soldier’s boots which still protruded from the end of the canvas.

  He shook himself and looked quickly at the hold, aware that some of the soldiers had come on deck and were standing in a silent group by the hatchway, their bandages white against their sunburned faces, and their tattered khaki clothing clashing with the dark green and silver of the sea.

  Sergeant Dunwoody glared round and nodded to Curtis. `Ready, sir!’

  Curtis stared in silence at the five bundles which had once been men.

  `Have you a British flag aboard?’ He faced the captain, suddenly angry.

  `No, signore. We have just the usual signal flags.’ He pointed at the locker by the mainmast. `I am deeply sorry, but we have no use, you understand.’

  Curtis walked ed quickly to the locker and wrenched open the lid. He could feel all eyes on him as he pulled the untidy bundle of flags on to the deck in a tangled mass of colour.

  He had intended to drop the soldiers over the side during the night, but now that he had seen the sergeant’s face and those of the other wounded, he was glad he had waited. Whatever lay waiting for them in the path of the sun, and however wasted his efforts might be, he suddenly felt that this thing was terribly important. His fingers closed over the International Code flag V. It was a white flag with a bright red diagonal cross. That would have to do, he thought, and beckoned to Jervis.

  `Spread this over them,’ he said, `it’s all I can find.’

  Over his shoulder he said curtly, `Stop the engine!’ He heard the long lever grate over, and seconds later, the engine coughed and died away.

  The engine-room hatch banged open and Taylor’s heatreddened face appeared over the coaming.

  “Ere, what the ‘ell d’you think you’re doin’?’ He glared at the captain, who pointed quickly to Curtis and laid a fat finger across his lips. Taylor blinked wearily. `Sorry, Skipper!’ He then leaned across the coaming, his chin on his forearms, his eyes distant.

  Curtis looked round the watching faces, and wondered what he was going to say. He had never seen a sea burial before, let alone conducted one.

  A squeaking block distracted him, but when he turned angrily towards the sound, he saw the captain hauling the Italian tricolour to the position of half-mast. He had removed his greasy cap and his bald head gleamed in the sunlight like a brown egg.

  His eyes fell on the girl and her father, who had also appeared on the poop. Signor Zecchi looked old and crumpled, but the girl at his side stood proudly against the stiff breeze,

  her thin dress pressed against her slender body, her gaze fixed upon Curtis. He noticed vaguely that her hair was loose, and some of the severity seemed to have left her, as with each breath of wind she put up her hand to brush the hair from her face.

  Curtis tore his eyes away. The ship lolled heavily in each trough, and started off a fresh set of noises. Ropes creaked and blocks clattered as the rigging bit at the spiralling masts, while at the waterline the water gurgled impatiently, as if hungry for what was to come.

  ‘We came together by accident,’ began Curtis, his gaze fixed on the wavering bowsprit, `and I don’t know these men as well as you do. But I know that I am speaking for all of you when I give them God’s blessing.’ He stopped. The words sounded foreign and stilted, and he looked quickly at the men. Their faces were set and grim, yet some of the tension seemed to have gone. `We will now commit their bodies to the deep.’ He finished, his mind empty. `Carry on, Mr. Jervis!’

  The planks were hoisted by the seamen, and Curtis set his teeth, as one of the bodies began to slide towards the edge.

  Suddenly the sergeant’s voice crashed on his ears. ` `A’ Company, ‘shun!’

  The soldiers lurched to attention, and Curtis was thankful, knowing that the sergeant and all the others had felt as he. They did not need his words. They were saying good-bye in their own way and tomorrow, if it came, they would speak with friendly ease of these five men.

  The seamen placed the planks carefully on the deck, and one of them rolled up the flag. It was over.

  `Thank you, Sergeant. You can carry on to breakfast now.’

  `Sir.’ He wheeled to leave and paused. `A nice neat job, sir, if I may say so.’

  Curtis nodded to Taylor. `Full throttle, George!’ His head vanished, and Curtis breathed with quiet relief as the engine rumbled into life.

  The captain had put another seaman on the wheel, and wiped his hands across his trousers. `I will see that my men carry out your orders. You can trust me, signore. I have never liked working for the Germans.’ He spat accurately over the rail. `They have no humour, you understand!’

  Curtis smiled, and the captain spread his hands with obvious delight. `See, signore, you at least agree with me on that!’ He ambled forward, humming to himself.

  Signor Zecchi turned up the collar of his thin jacket, and glanced from Curtis to the empty sea.

  `Where are we this morning?’ .

  The girl interrupted with a soft laugh. `Does it matter, Papa? We are his prisoners!’ She smiled sadly at Curtis, her teeth gleaming through the dark veil of her blown hair.

  Curtis shrugged. `What difference indeed,’ he answered. `You will be safe aboard this ship, but who knows what is happening on the mainland by now. Perhaps the Germans have started to shoot some of your countrymen by now!’

  `Never! We hate war, but we are loyal to our allies!’ But there was less conviction in his sunken eyes.

  The girl shivered, and her father took her arm. `Come below, Carla. There will be breakfast soon. You will become ill in this wind.’

  Her eyes played across Curtis’s face. `I will wait a little longer, Papa. You go below now. I will watch the sun drive away the night.’

  He sighed and left them together at the rail.

  `I liked the way you spoke to your men, Lieutenant. It was a bad thing you had to do.’

  `I’ve had to do worse. Thank God there weren’t more of them.’ He looked sideways at her firm chin and slender throat. `If they had been left down there without attention, many more would have died.’ He watched a small pulse beating beneath her throat. `As it is, I can’t be sure yet.’ He left his fears unsaid.

  `You have done what you thought you had to,’ she said gravely. `If you had followed my plan, you could have been safe in a good hiding place.’

  `Then we could have waited with your father for the British Army; then he and his social position would be restored, is that it?’

  She kept her face averted, but he saw her shoulders toss

  with impatience. `Would you not do that for your own father?’

  Curtis laughed aloud, and she stared at him in a mixture of rage and despair. `You are mocking me, Lieutenant!’

  He laid his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. `I am sorry, signorina. I apologize for laughing, but I am afraid you do not know my father!’

  He fell silent, and she lowered her eyes to his hand, which still rested across her shoulder. `I think I will go below now.’

  He dropped his hand, conscious of the warmth in his palm. `Perhaps you will be good enough to help with the wounded again?’

  ‘Is that what you really wanted to ask, Lieutenant?’ She smiled at the discomfort on his face, and walked to the hatch. `I will help.’ With a wave to Jervis who hovered eagerly nearby, she ran lightly down the ladder.

  `What a girl, Skipper! I’ve never seen anyone like her!’ Jervis scratched his head, as if the right words would come from there. `Why, she’s lovely!’

  Curtis examined his pipe and began to fill it. `What would your father have to say about her, I wonder?’

  Jervis drew himself up and inserted one hand melodramatically into his jacket. `Looking at girls, Ian? Disgustin’! What’s her phone number?’ Jervis stopped the imitation and grinned with embarrassment. `Well, something like that anyway.’

  Curtis stared at him in amazement. It was as if the boy had suddenly taken on a new personality, or a fresh lease of life. `Well done, Ian!’ he said, knowing that if he had treated him better he would have behaved like this before. `I’m sure your old man would say nothing of the sort!’

  He loosened his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair. The air was humid, in spite of the wind, and the clouds seemed to be holding the heat steady over the sea, while the sun dipped and wavered across its surface, plunging it into dark shadow for one minute, and opening up the rollers into barriers of green glass the next.

  He felt his rough chin as he watched a seaman place a tray of coffee and hot sausage on the deck by the wheel.

  `After that, I’m going to have a shave, Ian, and a bath if I can manage it.’

  `Shall I call Steve to relieve you, Skipper?’

  He smiled briefly at the boy’s pink face. `You’re the navigator. You can manage by yourself, eh?’

  Jervis grinned. `I think so, in fact, yes, Skipper!’

  The morning wore on, the schooner’s course taking her further and further from the mainland, until it seemed to all aboard that they had been sailing purposefully towards the horizon for days instead of hours.

  Curtis had stripped to his trousers, and was busy shaving with the captain’s razor in the cabin. His skin, washed and briskly towelled with a sheet from the bunk, glowed pleasantly, and he smiled at his reflection in the small mirror as he remembered the captain’s own towel. It was hardly the thing to touch, let alone use.

  Duncan sprawled in the bunk, snoring with relaxed ease, and from across the passage he heard the girl talking to her father.

  He paused with his shaving and rested his hand on his own shoulder. He met his own gaze in the mirror, as he remembered how she had looked at him.

  An urgent tapping overhead on the glass skylight made him glance up, ashamed of being discovered with his thoughts. Jervis was stooping over the sill, squinting through the dirty glass.

  `Skipper! Another ship! Fine on the starboard bow!’

  Curtis dropped the razor and kicked at Duncan’s outflung arm. All the peace and security which had lulled him during the dawn fell away in a second, and he felt that he and the ship had been laid bare and open by his weakness.

  Duncan rolled off the bunk and landed lightly on his feet, reaching automatically for his pistol belt, and glancing up at Jervis’s face as he did so.

  `What’s up? A riot or somethin’?’

  `A ship, Steve!’ Curtis threw his jacket across his bare shoulders and wrenched open the door. `Keep down as we go on deck, and make sure all our people stay hidden!’

  ‘D’you aim to fight it out?’

  Curtis paused at the top of the ladder and looked downwards, his face a mask. `Fight? With what?’

  Duncan grunted and pulled the belt tight around his waist. `Well, I don’t aim to end up in any stinkin’ grave, not without a scrap, anyroad!’ He glared belligerently.

  Curtis laid the telescope on the hatch coaming as Duncan squeezed past him, and dropped uncomfortably on to his knees. `Remember the wounded, Steve!’ He hissed the words after Duncan’s bent shoulders. ‘D’you want to get them shot up, too?’

  Duncan did not answer but ran crabwise towards the hold.

  Curtis sighed and steadied the telescope against the pitch of the ship. The wavetops loomed distortedly in the lens, and with difficulty he trained it round until he saw the sudden movement of the other vessel.

  Silver-grey in the feeble sunlight, it moved purposefully across his line of sight, a white bow-wave slashing from either side of the high sharp stem as it cut into each roller and sheared the green water into a seething chaos of spray.

  He watched the ship’s silhouette with practised eye, his heart heavy. A Dardo class destroyer, he thought, and one shell from her battery of four-point-sevens would put a quick end to all his hopes with no effort at all.

  She was still about two miles away, yet even as he watched, she grew larger in the lens, until he could clearly discern the white caps on the high bridge, and the long, slender gun barrels on the fo’c’sle.

  The captain padded up the ladder and paused uncertainly by the wheel, his eyes following the other ship.

  Curtis snapped the telescope shut and looked up at him. `Have you seen her before?’

  The captain shrugged vaguely. `Maybe, signore. Who can, say? We often meet the patrol ships, but I do not come as far south as this in normal times!’

  Duncan crawled along the deck, keeping his powerful body hidden beneath the bulwark. He slithered to a halt opposite the wheel, and supported his chin in his hand.

  `All snug an’ quiet, Ralph. How’s the visitor gettin’ on?’

  `She’s moving in,’ he answered slowly. `She’s bound to ask us who the hell we are.’

  As he spoke, a light flickered from the destroyer’s bridge, and some of the bow-wave dropped away, as the ship slowed down.

  `She’s flashing.’ Curtis spoke in almost a whisper, his throat dry. `Make your reply, Captain.’

  Duncan tossed the small code book across the deck to land within Curtis’s reach.

  `It gives the recognition signals in there, Ralph, and all the right dates for this month.’

  He pulled the long diver’s knife from his belt and jabbed it into the deck. It quivered in the planking like an obscene crucifix, and Duncan smiled lazily at the watching captain.

  `Make sure you give the right signal, sport! We don’t want any accidents, do we?’

  The captain tore his eyes from the knife and spoke quickly to the seaman at the wheel, who ran to the flag locker. He took over the wheel and jerked at the spokes uneasily, until two flags soared to the schooner’s gaff and broke stiffly into the breeze.

  Jervis stood in full view by the rail, his hands clasped behind his back, as if he was Officer of the Watch in a peacetime battleship. He stared fascinated at the graceful destroyer, feeling that each pair of binoculars was trained upon him, as it might well be, and tried to keep the appearance of bored irritation which he had already seen used by German officers.

  A harsh metallic voice boomed across the water, the Italian words hardened and distorted by the loud-hailer, and the captain reached wretchedly for his battered megaphone.

  `What’s he saying?’ Curtis barked, maddened by the stillness which had engulfed the schooner. `What do they want to know?’

  `They wish to know where we are bound. But I think they are otherwise satisfied!’

  `Tell them we are making for Bari. To evacuate wounded personnel.’

  He drummed his fingers on the deck as the captain yelled

  across the narrowing gap. It seemed fantastic that the patrol ship should be satisfied, and yet why not? He tried to put himself in the destroyer captain’s place. No doubt they encountered countless schooners and other coastal craft in these waters, and there was enough to worry about already, what with the invasion and the increased sea traffic, without bothering with a vessel so obviously under the control of the German Navy. He watched, holding his breath with relief as the other ship’s screw whipped the sea into a fury, and drove her steadily on a diverging course.

  Jervis stood stiffly at attention and saluted the tiny figures on her armoured bridge.

  Duncan laughed. `Well done, Ian! Proper little Nazi you are!’

  Jervis looked down at Curtis and smiled shakily. `Gosh, Skipper, that was a near thing!’

  `We’ll alter course as soon as the destroyer’s hull down,’ answered Curtis thoughtfully. `She may report our position by radio, although I doubt it. But we can’t afford to take chances. Get below, Ian, and start on your chart. I want to keep more to the eastward if possible, though it’ll be a longer way round. We can’t afford to cross swords with that sort of thing!’

  Jervis watched the destroyer’s shape shorten as she turned away, a soft plume of smoke drifting from her squat funnel. `I wish we were in something like her, Skipper. Why, we might even-‘ He broke off, his eyes wide with alarm. `Look out! Hold her, for God’s sake!’

  The girl burst through the hatch, her leg brushing away Curtis’s hand, as he reached vainly to stop her. Before anyone could move to intercept her, she had reached the taffrail, and stood silhouetted against the sky, her long hair streaming behind her.

  Even as Curtis hurled himself across the deck, she lifted her arms high and waved with wild desperation after the destroyer.

  Curtis pinioned her arms to her sides and pulled her down to the deck, so that their faces were inches apart. He stared at her wild, blazing eyes and her lips parted yet soundless, as she met his gaze with all the fury and venom of a trapped animal.

  `You little fool! What the devil are you trying to do?’ He tightened his hold as she wriggled madly under his body. `I should, have realized that you’d try something like this!’

  Duncan sprawled against one of the open wash ports, his eyes narrowed while he followed the other ship. He relaxed slightly and turned his head. `She’s still goin’. They didn’t notice a damned thing!’

  She suddenly went limp, and Curtis released his hold, his face a mixture of anger and weariness. ‘Go below,’ he ordered, `I’ll talk to you in a minute.’

  She stepped slowly on to the ladder, her face turned towards the ship. It was already well clear, and its outline had begun to shimmer with indistinct beauty.