Nor did Bartholomew. He looked into his tankard with some distaste. This is a poor brew for a gentleman, Ludlow. If you'd care to join me in my rooms, I think I can offer you something better."

  The contrast between Bartholomew's rooms and the accommodation afforded to Captain Broadbridge could not have been greater. Nothing cramped here, Bartholomew had a sitting room, a bedroom, and a personal privy. The place was panelled in dark oak, aged over the years till it was almost black. The floor was the same, with twelve-inch boards, and Bartholomew had furnished it to match, with pieces that could have been out of any English country house built at the time of the Stuart kings. High-backed chairs and divans were laid out around a huge stone fireplace. And it was as if Bartholomew himself had adopted the same style. With his dark curly hair, worn long, and the open-necked shirt with a lace collar and cuffs, he looked every inch the Jacobean. In fact, quite the Cavalier.

  "This wine is from a region to the north of here, said Bartholomew, tipping the cane-covered bottle and filling three huge pewter goblets. I think you'll find it compares favourably with the better clarets."

  Harry picked up his goblet and took a deep draught of the wine, nodding his approval as he tasted it. James did likewise, but while Bartholomew hung on Harry's reaction, he seemed intent on ignoring James's, not even glancing in his direction to witness his appreciation.

  "It is unfortunate that your first impression of Genoa should be one of unbridled licence, he said, sitting down opposite Harry. Given the depth of the winged armchair, this cut him off from James's view. Did you glean anything about your attackers?"

  "Only that they knew what they were about. For one thing they were dressed in black, and were hardly visible."

  "An odd thing, said James. They didn't speak at all."

  Bartholomew leant forward so that he could see James beyond the side of his chair. His voice was as cold as his look when he replied: Why is that odd?"

  James Ludlow was not a man to be treated so. Natural authority and grand surroundings were not enough to subdue him. If you, sir, cannot see something odd in that, then I am at a loss to explain it, for it is as plain as day."

  Bartholomew sat back, leaving James looking at the side of his chair, and addressed Harry. Nothing you have said identifies them to me. They could have been any one of a number of the gangs that plague this part of the world."

  "Perhaps they were not from this part of the world, said Harry.

  Bartholomew raised a dark eyebrow, inviting Harry to elaborate. Come, Captain Bartholomew. There is a French ship in the harbour. An officer of His Majesty's Navy was recently murdered in these very streets. I don't know if you are aware of that."

  Bartholomew gulped his wine, looking at Harry's dark blue coat before replying. You think they mistook you for English officers?"

  "Or perhaps English privateers, said Harry. He'd meant it as a joke, but he suddenly realized that his blue coat looked remarkably like Broadbridge's. Bartholomew nearly smiled, but it was only a fleeting impression that was soon replaced by a look of blank passivity.

  Harry sat forward in his chair. In the opinion of those who ought to know, this officer, Captain Howlett, was murdered by the French. Why would they do that?"

  Bartholomew did smile this time. I'm sure you're about to enlighten me."

  "Let us suppose that's true, said Harry, keen to develop a recent thought, for if he could convince Bartholomew that he too was threatened, then he might be more forthcoming. What's to stop them trying the same thing on English privateers? After all, you will be doing as much damage to the French as our Navy. Perhaps more right now. And they could have well suspected that someone like Broadbridge would be out tonight, hunting for deserters."

  For once Bartholomew was startled out of his composure, sitting forward. Broadbridge was out tonight! He recovered quickly, sinking back into his chair. I can see that he has not been entirely discreet."

  "It's not something I need Captain Broadbridge to tell me."

  "Captain Broadbridge? James looked at Harry, wondering if he'd noticed the way Bartholomew emphasized the word captain "He had sailors from the Sw~ftsure in his party when he rescued us. They recognized me, and I'm afraid I recognized them."

  "You were not tempted to inform the Navy of this?"

  "I'm not tempted to meddle in affairs that are none of my business."

  James took a deep drink of wine to cover his smile. His brother, to his mind, suffered from an excess of curiosity, and like most people with a failing, he was entirely unaware of it.

  "Not even for so lofty a patron as Admiral Hood?"

  "Sailors run, Captain Bartholomew. You know that as well as I do. Though I might add that if it gets out of hand, you may find this place surrounded by marines one night. Hood is no more of a fool than you are. If his losses exceed the norm, he'll soon smoke where they are."

  There was a slight hint of steel in Bartholomew's voice as he replied, expressing the same thought which had probably troubled Broadbridge. He might have it from you."

  "I doubt it, said Harry, sitting back and crossing his legs. After all, I could suffer myself."

  Bartholomew waved his hand dismissively. We sail under Genoese colours."

  That produced a humourless smile from Harry. I'm at a loss to know which court you'd apply to for redress, if the Navy took matters into its own hands."

  A silence followed as Bartholomew digested this. Then a sharp tap at the door had him swiftly out of his chair. He opened the door a fraction and had a quiet conversation with someone who remained outside. Neither Harry nor James could see to whom he spoke. Harry was left to mull over what he'd just said, sure that Bartholomew knew, just as he did himself, that you couldn't ever sail a ship, especially a privateer, without having aboard someone who'd deserted from the King's Navy. Not unless you wanted to crew your ship with landsmen.

  Bartholomew finished his conversation, and after filling Harry's goblet, returned to his chair. Do I detect from what you've just said your intention to sail from these parts yourself?"

  Harry avoided the real point of the question. I had not expected to find Englishmen sailing from this port."

  "Leghorn? asked Bartholomew, smiling at Harry's nod. Tell me, sir. What did you make of Broadbridge?"

  "Make of him? asked Harry, slightly taken aback by the question. James had stood up and lifted the bottle off the table. If Bartholomew was not going to offer him another drink, he felt he should help himself. This brought him back into sight of their host, and he answered for both of them. I have nothing but praise for him, sir. Both his timing and his hospitality are of the highest order."

  "We would not be here now, if it wasn't for Captain Broadbridge, said Harry.

  Bartholomew ignored James, and changed the subject back to the previous point. Does Leghorn still attract you?"

  "I cannot say till I have been there and had a look."

  James, reseated, spoke up again, determined to be included in the conversation. According to our information, you are faring somewhat better than the good sailors of Leghorn."

  Our information? Bartholomew made the possession of information about him sound like a sin.

  "Yes. The people in Leghorn petitioned the Admiral to curtail the Navy in its prize-taking. Here, you obviously didn't feel the need."

  Harry intervened. James was in danger of saying too much. It's all luck, James."

  "Nonsense, Harry, said James sharply. It was bad enough Bartholomew ignoring him. He would not take it from Harry as well.

  Bartholomew flicked back his curly hair. Your brother is right, Ludlow. It would be a foolish thing, merely to trust to luck."

  "I accept that you have to be in the right place, of course. But you can do that and still finish up empty-handed. I mentioned that very thing to Broadbridge."

  "I am a firm believer in making your own luck. Bartholomew leant forward to top up Harry's glass. In the case of Broadbridge, I'm afraid he gets the quantity of luck he deserves and that certainly doesn't rise to the level we expect."

  There was a pause of several seconds. James broke the silence. Are you issuing us with an invitation, Bartholomew?"

  He leant forward again, this time gracing James with his mocking smile. What we have here, sir, is a syndicate. The rules are that we share our luck . That reduces the element of chance quite considerably. If however there is a weak strand in the cable..

  He shrugged and stood up, leaving James's question unanswered. However, we must not get ahead of ourselves. You have only just arrived. Look around, and if you like what you see, we may talk further."

  Harry wasn't finished. May I ask you, Captain Bartholomew, if you know anything of the death of Captain Howlett?"

  "I had heard of it. But you would do well to heed your own counsel in these waters, Ludlow. I cannot stress how dangerous Genoa is. Murder on the streets is not uncommon."

  "I merely wondered if you incline towards the suggestion that the French were to blame?"

  "I believe that he still had his valuables about his person."

  "He did."

  "Then it must be the French. There's not a local, rich or poor, who would do that. Bartholomew laughed softly, without the slightest hint of humour.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "I wouldn't have Crosby aboard my ship if he was the last available sailor in port. He's a liar, a cheat, and though I couldn't prove it, a thief to boot."

  They were back in their room, having checked on Pender, who was now snoring fit to wake the dead. James was lounging on the makeshift bed staring at the ceiling.

  "I observed that you were less than delighted to see him. That was quite an impressive display of fisticuffs, Harry. All that boxing at the local fairs has not been wasted. Not exactly gentlemanly behaviour, mind."

  Harry grinned. I've had more practice at sea, James. I haven't always had the luxury of a flogging to keep the hard cases in check. No matter how good a crew are, someone is bound to get out of hand, especially when they're in drink. And as for gentlemanly behaviour, I'm a dab hand with a marlin-spike from behind."

  "All your skills will be in demand, brother. We've been ashore for less than four hours, and already we've been in two scrapes.

  "It's a good job we left that strongbox aboard the Sw~flsure. I don't think we'd have that now if we'd brought it ashore."

  "Damn the money. I doubt we'd be alive. James dropped his eyes and looked at Harry. So, how does the plan proceed?"

  "Plan?"

  "I believe you tend towards the expression, fine calculation of chances Has it occurred to you that Admiral Hood may be entirely wrong?"

  "More than once."

  "What does that do to the fine calculation of chances?"

  "Gould we adopt another expression, James? That one strikes a very jarring note."

  "Would that I could think of one that fits the bill, brother, but that would tax the limits of the lexicographer's art."

  Harry responded sharply, stung by his brother's irony. James. I want my exemptions. Hood can give them to me. I assure you that if it is in my power to shift that French sloop, shift it I will."

  "And the murder of Captain Howlett?"

  "A means to an end, snapped Harry.

  "I doubt that's wholly true. But at least you have, in your nautical way, hoisted your colours."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's a bad idea to keep me in the dark, Harry. I know you are used to the solitary exercise of command, and it must come hard to you to share your thoughts with anyone. But be warned, as long as you exclude me, I shall exert a wholly negative influence on your efforts."

  "James. He was stung by guilt, reaching over and touching his brother's arm affectionately. I thought you, of all people knew."

  "Knew what?"

  "My fallibility, I suppose. This air of certainty is a habit, worn at sea. It's vital everyone thinks you know exactly what you're about."

  James favoured him with a look of mock alarm. Are you trying to tell me I've been sailing with a poltroon, a novice?"

  "No. It's all experience. And luck. But I'm no different to most men. Often I have only the foggiest notion of what I'm about."

  "Even such candour, Harry, does not entirely reassure me. But James was still smiling. He followed this with a yawn. I don't think Bartholomew was overly impressed with our theory."

  "Which one?"

  "That the French were responsible. Mind, he strikes me as a man not given to over-reaction."

  Harry's mind was elsewhere. If Broadbridge bribed those boatmen

  "He didn't actually say he had."

  "Pender could ask that fellow Sutton."

  James yawned again, and settled back on his makeshift pillow. It will have to wait until morning. He nodded towards the comatose servant. Do you think we'll be able to sleep with that going on?"

  "It won't trouble me, said Harry, putting a chair under the door handle. But with the reception we've had so far, I think I need this."

  The sun was high up in the sky when they woke, though little of it filtered through the shutters. Pender stood beside the desk with a tray bearing coffee and bread, still warm and fresh from the bakery.

  "How is your head? asked Harry, sitting up and reaching for the beaker of coffee. His whole body felt stiff after a night on the floor.

  "A mite sore, your honour, said Pender.

  "On the inside or the outside? said James, yawning and stretching.

  "Bit of both, Mister James. Pender smiled and narrowed his eyes slightly to acknowledge the hangover. Then he shuddered. That needle, with thread hangin off it."

  Harry got to his feet, stretching painfully, and making much of the aches so that his brother should feel remorse. James responded with a smile. He peered at Pender's bandage, as if trying to see through it.

  "Rest assured he did a neat job, which did surprise me. From what I could see his hand was none too steady."

  "Have you had a look round? asked Harry, sure that his servant would have done so.

  Pender nodded. And I've had a good talk with Carey Sutton."

  "I seem to be the only one without a friend here already, said James. Pender looked curious. My brother has found one of his old shipmates here."

  "A man called Crosby, said Harry.

  "I met him. Little fellow with a bent nose. You have him to thank for this. He indicated the breakfast. He started asking about you, while I was talking to Carey."

  Harry stiffened slightly, but his servant just favoured him with a

  slight smile. From what Carey let slip, I don't think that we've got many secrets to worry about."

  "Is Sutton a friend?"

  "Not close. But we've known each other, on an off, for years. Let's say we've done each other the odd good turn, without ever needing to do each other a bad one. He knows me well enough to be sure that I won't split on him, or his mates. Pender pointed to his bandaged head. I asked him about this, but he didn't have a clue who it might be."

  "How many of Sw~flsure's did they bring in last night?"

  "Quite a few, though Carey wouldn't say exact. Funny thing, Crosby had a bit of a go at Sutton, asking him what the hell they were doin out lookin for hands, when they've got more'n enough already."

  "Then I'm damned if I know where they all are, said Harry.

  "An then he starts on about Broadbridge goin on a cruise. He and Sutton were yelling at each other at the finish."

  "Sutton sailed with him?"

  "He did that, and a right bloody mess it was by all accounts. He didn't get very far, and he came back empty handed."

  "He told us he wasn't really trying. It was more a case of working up his crew."

  "Not accordin to Crosby. They was after prizes all right. And since he didn't make anythin he's stuck for a shilling, I think."

  "That must have been what he meant last night, said James. Harry looked at him, trying to recall what his brother was on about. When you hinted he was short of hands, Broadbridge said he had other problems."

  "Anything else? asked Harry, taking a refill of coffee from Pender, thinking that Broadbridge had painted a somewhat rosy picture the previous night.

  "Chapter and verse. Nothin like two blokes arguing to have em both let on more'n they should. Broadbridge wants to buy another boat. The one he's got is near useless for privateerin'. A right slab-sided barky with a rotten hull that leaks at anchor. Even worse at sea when the seams are workin', which is what made his cruise a waste of time. He wallowed up and down off Marseilles. They didn't see much, and what they did spot they couldn't catch. That's why I reckon he's hard up. I suppose he's sunk so much money into buyin his share of this place that he's left himself short for the purchase. And all the while he's having to pay his hands so they won't just disappear. Poor bugger's in a right bind, it seems. Sutton reckons the man who heads the syndicate will bail him out. Crosby had a right laugh at that."

  "Bartholomew? asked James.

  "That's the one. Top dog with this bunch. And he and his mates are coming it. If Broadbridge can just get the loan, for which he can put up his share in this place, he can get to sea in something sound and set things to rights."

  "It seems straightforward, said James. Especially if the other members of the syndicate have the money to oblige him."

  "It's down to Bartholomew. For all the syndicate is supposed to vote, it's usually what he wants that prevails. An I had that from the pair of them. It's about the only thing they agreed on, so it must be right. A nod from him would do. Trouble is, if Broadbridge don't get that nod, he might go down completely."

  "He could always sell his share in the syndicate."

  "Harry! said James.

  "Just thinking aloud."

  James turned back to Pender. You said earlier that Carey let certain things slip about us.

  "He knows we're well heeled, gold included. He'll have got that from the deserters they picked up last night."

  "And a ship?"

  "One secret tends to follow another."

  "Where's Sutton now?"

  "Gone back aboard the Dido."

  Apart from the Ludlows, the tap-room was empty, with no trace of the activities that had taken place the night before. The dead rats were gone, and the sand in the rectangular pit was raked clean. The whole place had been scrubbed and the shutters were open, allowing a pleasant warm breeze to waft through the room, taking with it the smell of drink and stable tobacco, as well as the odour of the vinegar used to overcome it.