"I cannot bring myself to believe that, Madame."

  "Are all Englishmen so immediately gallant, Signor? Your brother was very forward. The Count, I'm afraid, remarked upon it."

  She leant forward to pick a grape from a dish on the table, and Harry had to turn away to avoid being caught looking down her cleavage. Could she be so completely unaware of the effect she was having? She behaved as though the attributes that God had given her were of no account. He felt he must change the subject, lest his desire to be something more than gallant get the better of him.

  "I was struck by the portrait in the hall, Madame."

  "How I would love to remove it, she said, frowning. It does Alfonso no good, having his vistors gaze on an image of his former self. Some are so crass as to actually allude to the difference."

  Harry looked at the wasted figure asleep on the divan. He agreed with her. Yet he didn't want to say so, didn't want to seem incapable of independent thought. It was with a feeling of deliberate contrariness that he replied.

  "Perhaps such reminders help to fortify him, Madame, to raise his spirits. Any sick man would long to return to his former health."

  For the first time Harry saw a trace of impatience. If anything she looked even more beautiful, with a definite hauteur sharpening her features. For all his previous intentions Harry continued quickly, not wishing to be thought of as her enemy. Mind, with you to sustain him, he needs little else."

  She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement, but her features didn't soften. Harry spoke again, fearing that she would lapse into an angry silence. How did his illness come about?"

  "Suddenly. Like a bolt out of the blue. One day the handsomest man in Genoa, surrounded by blushing maidens at every ball we attended. The next, near death's door, and only saved by providence. He lay in a coma for days."

  Harry had the slight feeling that she was mocking him. Perhaps it was just the rehearsed tone of an oft-repeated phrase. Her face softened again and her smile returned. But he has the constitution of a bull, Signor Ludlow. He could hold nothing in his stomach and he was reduced to a skeleton. Yet he survived. I only thank the Gods that I attended him myself, with the household servants of course."

  "And doctors?"

  "Doctors! she snapped. I wonder if they make more out of death than they do out of life. What would they have done? Bleed him? An already weakened man and a physician takes away that which gives him strength. And I was right. His attack would have killed anyone else. Not Alfonso. He lived, blind, and depending on me for everything. Now he wavers. Sometimes I think he will recover. At other times I am set to call the priest to administer last rights. But never will I entrust him to a doctor."

  The Count moved slightly, and in a flash his wife was up, crossing over to kneel by his side, a concerned look on her face. Gently she rubbed both her hands on his furrowed brow, then opened them to circle the prominent temples. The mouth, set in the relaxed posture of sleep, changed into a smile, as the Count, waking from his slumbers, raised his hand in the air. His wife immediately took it and squeezed, and Harry, in no way a sentimental man, felt a pricking at the back of his eyes to see such mutual regard in a situation in which one of the lovers was doomed.

  "We have a visitor, she said softly, placing her hands on his lips. The Count's head turned, a habit from when he had his sight. Signor Ludlow."

  The Count looked confused for a moment, his brow furrowing again.

  "The Englishman we met yesterday, who wants to buy the Principessa.

  The man's face showed all his emotion, first the smile and nod at the mention of an Englishman, and the subsequent change to a glum expression when he recalled that his ship was for sale.

  "Have you looked at her?"

  "I have, Count Toraglia. And may I say that I like what I see. If she'd been rigged I think I would have upped anchor without permission."

  Toraglia smiled. You have a crew, Signor?"

  "Yes, said Harry softly. And I admit to a degree of impatience. I've taken the liberty of putting the leading hands aboard to look over the ship as well."

  That was somewhat less than the truth, of course. But it would suffice till he was on more intimate terms. The Count sat up, swinging his sightless eyes in Harry's direction. He sat silently for a moment, his face gloomy, which accentuated the premature ageing caused by his illness. Harry held his breath, wondering if he was about to receive a wigging for his effrontery.

  "I realize that I should greet you with cries of anger, and seek to play the cunning vendor. Yet I understand. This is sad for me."

  Harry relaxed, letting his breath out slowly. Giacomo Guistiani told me how important she is to you, Count Toraglia. I too understand."

  The Count's face cleared again, but he could not bring himself to smile. His hand waved in a weak gesture, meant to ease Harry's concerns. Then perhaps you are a true sailor, Signor Ludlow."

  "I would esteem that a compliment should I ever be worthy of it."

  The Countess, who had been kneeling beside him, took both his hands in hers. It has to be, Alfonso. The longer the ship lies idle, the greater the cost."

  "I know my dear. But you have not stood on her deck with the wind on her quarter, and felt her cutting her way through the water, studding sails aloft and kites out, with the log showing fourteen knots. And now I must send someone to show this Inglese how to sail her. Will he buy? I know he will. No one could resist the purchase of that ship."

  Harry wondered for a moment if he was playing the cunning vendor after all, but then he cursed himself for a heartless wretch, and tried to remember how he'd felt when he'd lost his ship. There was no explaining it to a landsman, just as a man who never owned a horse or a dog could not see why the loss of them should be an occasion for real sorrow.

  Harry had some trouble with the mixture of French and Italian as the Count continued. Talking about his ship had lifted his spirits, making him seem more youthful. The enthusiasm was clear in his husky voice as he started to outline her qualities.

  "And she sails amazingly close to the wind, Signor. You must stow her a bit by the stern, of course, or she'll not answer her rudder right..."

  His wife, with a worried look, put her hand on his cheek and he stopped talking, the face again falling into the visage of an old man.

  "Alfonso, you must not tax yourself."

  He gave a rueful smile. I shall not do so because you do not wish it, but in truth, my love, what have I to save my energy for?"

  Harry suddenly realized the implications of something the Count had said a few minutes ago. He mentioned sending someone aboard with Harry. That would never do, for he could not hide the missing watchmen, nor the condition of the ship, let alone the men he'd left aboard probably behaving as if he owned it already.

  "Madame, I know your husband is a sick man, but can you not see how talking of his ship raises his spirits?"

  Her features sharpened again. Plainly any interference in the care of her husband was unwelcome. Harry continued quickly. I'm no medical man, but I would strongly advise you to include the vital spark in his treatment, for I have often observed that a sick man can show amazing powers of recovery, given that they had something to care for."

  The Count gave his wife's hand another pat. I have something to care for, Signor."

  "Yet I observed just this very moment, sir, how your spirits lifted at the mention of rigging a ship. Why I would swear that to take part in the rigging of the Principessa again would raise you up no end..."

  "Signor Ludlow, said the Countess, with a look of alarm, but Harry kept talking quickly.

  "I would esteem it an honour if you would accompany me back to the ship in person. There you could advise me on the best way to dress her, for I'm sure you'd want me to see the ship sail her very best. I realize that this is likely to cost me a pretty penny, but I'm bound to repeat, sir, that having already had a close look at the Principessa, I like what I see."

  The Count had brightened again, but his wife looked properly agitated. Harry kept talking still, as the best hope of getting through to the man. And I would also esteem it an honour if you would sail with me on my cruise, and we could then exchange our views on the way she handles. It would save time to have aboard the man who knows the way to coax the best out of her. And before you plead that it could prove injurious, I have often heard the greatest physicians recommend a sea voyage for the restoration of health."

  Now she was really angry. I cannot allow this."

  Harry was quite emphatic, and completely ruthless, for her husband was nodding in agreement. Madame, allow me to say that it's worth a try. Why, it may set your husband on the road to a complete recovery.

  The corner had been turned, for the Count could hardly contain his enthusiasm for the idea. His wife took Harry's arm and led him away slightly. She spoke quietly, using the sound of the fountain to cover her voice. There she objected that they had insufficient servants to

  carry the sedan chair. Harry, registering that they had indeed sunk to near penury, countered her objection with the fact that he had sailors waiting to perform that very duty, and that he would undertake to return the Count at the first sign of a decline in his health.

  She spoke loudly now, so that her husband could hear. No, Signor Ludlow. I fear I must forbid it."

  Toraglia stood up, leaning heavily on his cane. His face was firmly set and though the words he used were addressed to Harry, they were aimed at his wife. Signor Ludlow. I will most happily do as you request."

  Harry turned just in time to see the look of flaring anger on the Countess's face as she bowed her head in submission. Regardless of his health, her husband was openly exercising his right to be master in his own house.

  Aware that his action had bordered on humiliation, Toraglia set out to mollify his wife with repeated assurances that he would be in good hands. Her suggestion, one that alarmed Harry, that she attend on him, was overborne by the Count him seW who said that a ship being rigged for sea was no place for a lady. And as for the morrow, my dear, let us see how we fare today before undertaking a cruise.

  She mistook his meaning for she stated emphatically that the idea of a cruise held no pleasure for her, since she was a terrible sailor, constantly sick from the moment she set foot aboard until the time she left. In the end, it was the expression in her husband's face that finally won her reluctant approval. Harry had never realized how little the eyes counted when you wanted something badly enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Another pair of hands was provided to add to Harry's three sailors, though there were sour looks when his men found they had to carry a double sedan chair. They tried to engage Toraglia's man in their general dissatistaction, waving their hands and yelling scraps of the local argot. He merely met their moans with a blank stare which angered them even further. Opening his mouth wide, he pointed, and they observed that he lacked a tongue. Their angry tone immediately changed to one of embarrassed contrition, with murmured apologies.

  On the way to the harbour, Harry tentatively mentioned Broad-bridge, alluding to his interest in the ship. As far as he could tell, Toraglia's look of utter mystification was genuine as he made Harry repeat the name.

  "The gentleman is not known to me, Signor. But I cannot speak for the Guistianis. He may well have approached them, though I doubt they would make the sale public so soon."

  "If they're acting properly on your behalf they should seek as many buyers as possible."

  Toraglia caught the drift of the remark and gave Harry a thin smile. Do not fear, Signor Ludlow. I will not stage an auction. If you like the ship, and we can agree a price that satisfies us both, I shall look no further. And by your actions so far I think you have demonstrated, perhaps unwisely, that you are taken with the Principessa."

  Harry answered rapidly, fully admitting that the liberty he'd taken of putting a few of his men aboard left him in a weak position to drive a hard bargain, whilst also reassuring the Count that there was a price beyond which he wouldn't go. He excused his actions on the grounds of haste, adding yet another lie to his tally by claiming intelligence of a rich French convoy that which would be at his mercy if he could get to sea on time. It sounded transparently false to him, but the Count was in such high spirits that he merely nodded with complete understanding. The man was so clearly pleased at the prospect of going to sea in his ship that he would have agreed to his guest stripping the copper off her bottom if he'd been asked. Toraglia began to recount some of his adventures from previous wars, talking as if they were old shipmates. Harry, engaged in dissimulation himself, tarred him with the same brush, wondering how much all this bonhomie was going to cost.

  Toraglia was helped into the boat and rowed out to the Principessa, leaving the mute ashore to guard his chair until it was time to return home. They sat him in a captain's chair at the stern rail, and rigged a hammock in the sleeping cabin in case he should get tired. But the Count seemed to have taken on a new lease of life. All the way across the anchorage he had listed the Principessa's little vices, talking about her like a doting parent. And Harry had listened carefully, for this was the experience of years distilled into hours. It would save him endless time, for he only had to check Toraglia's statements against the behaviour of the ship to know if they still held.

  On board, Harry had positively puffed with pride at the way he'd handled things. Toraglia couldn't see the bulkhead, with its great gashes all round. Nor the deck. There was no hands as yet to priddy the planking and remove the black bloodstains from last night's affray. Lubeck had provided a list of requirements as soon as they came aboard.

  To that he would add his own. He sent his boat over to the Dido to begin the job of ferrying the men over, and had words with his leading hands so that they could sort out who they wanted in each division. That, he knew, was something that would require adjustment, but at this stage he was prepared to let them sort it out for themselves.

  Luckily, Lubeck had some French and was able to communicate with the Count. Harry, on the cutter's first return with twenty of his new crew aboard, grabbed a couple of the more disreputable-looking types and had himself rowed to the quay side hard by the dockyard.

  * Santorino Brown greeted him like a long-lost brother, and the length of the list in Harry's hand only served to raise his excitement. Harry dashed that by telling the man how quickly he wanted these stores.

  Glumly Brown examined the two sheets of paper. But done it cannot be, Signor."

  Harry took back his own list, leaving him with Lubeck's. I'll settle for everything on this list by dawn tomorrow, plus rations and water for two days. And I'll need something better than this to provide a good dinner tomorrow afternoon. I want the rest of the stores and water ready to be loaded aboard the ship tomorrow evening. But most important of all, I need a cook."

  Brown threw up his hands, and the haggling started. Harry knew it was possible, just as he knew that Brown's objections were just a method of ensuring a high price for his chandling. Harry had done this in ports all over the world. It was a familiar dance, and if Santorino Brown thought he was driving a hard bargain, then Harry felt he should introduce him to some of the Indian traders he'd had to deal with in his time. The only point where he came unstuck was in the matter of ordnance.

  Powder and shot were available, indeed plentiful. But the Council of State, no doubt fearing an uprising, had a tight grip on the Arsenal. You could only purchase guns from them. Brown told him mournfully that they charged extortionately and moved slowly. He would be lucky to get even two of the cannon he wanted within a month.

  There was nothing Harry could do about that. He wondered about approaching Bartholomew regarding the guns on the Dido, but he knew instinctively that to do so would only court a refusal. He and Brown struck their bargain, with the victualling agent throwing in a berth at the quay side hard by his warehouse to speed the loading. Harry wrote a note for Brown's messenger to take the Guistianis, for the victualling agent did not repose enough trust in Harry Ludlow to act as chandler to his ship without money down on the barrel.

  His final request was for the immediate dispatch of a pair of shipwrights and a quantity of the finest oak, both in boards and panel, for he had no intention of sailing out of Genoa, in what he now considered to be his ship, with the bulkhead to his cabin in disrepair. On the return to the Principessa he cast his mind to the other places that he might purchase some decent ordnance. The guns on the Principessa were too light for comfort. Nothing closer than Gibraltar came to mind, and he doubted that he would capture anything carrying the nine-pounder cannon he felt he required. In truth he was wary of approaching anything at sea that carried that calibre of gun.

  Back aboard ship, he found that all his hands had come over, and after being afforded a decent, if cold, breakfast, were working away with a will. Toraglia and Lubeck were in their element. The Italian's face had a healthy look, with a colour in the cheeks more akin to the man in the portrait. He'd avoided the hammock all the time Harry had been absent. Sutton stood by the stern rail, his face unhappy as he cast his eyes about the rigging, full of men reaving and roving. Harry decided that forcing him to do that kind of work would only sour the man. He set him to putting the cabin to rights, with a kind of watching brief over the shipwrights, who'd come aboard in double-quick time, laden with prime seasoned oak, stain and varnishes, assured by Brown that they would be handsomely paid for their efforts.

  Harry, who liked to toil as much as anyone, threw off his coat, and ignoring the effect that his labours had on his shirt and breeches, set to himself. Soon he was covered in grease, tar, and muck, and his hands, which hadn't hauled on ropes for an age, were raw. But none of this dented the pleasure he took in the work.