The yards were on their slings and the courses and topsails bent on. The outer jib boom was out so that the forestay could be hauled aloft at a moment's notice. Harry gave the orders that had the men rushing to the capstan. Not neat and tidy like a well worked-up crew. They bumped into each other, and stood on each other's toes. There was a deal of cursing and shoving, but also the sound of laughter. Harry had told them, that the sooner they got to the quay side the sooner he could get a cook aboard to feed them a hot dinner. God help him if Brown had failed him there, for if he had, Harry Ludlow would find himself toiling over the coppers, cooking for the men himself.

  The men in the tops undid the bunts and the reefed topsails fell open, stretching out as the lower booms where pulled taut. The familiar cries rang out as they raised anchor, sailing right over the bower anchor to pluck it out of the slime. Only a scrap of canvas was raised, enough to allow Harry to back and fill, so as to carry out these manoeuvres. Now, with a gentle breeze steady off the sea, he dropped the main and fore course also well reefed, and with the boats helping to control the head of the ship, he conned her into the crowded quay side

  As soon as the Principessa was under way, the Count finally wilted, and consented to use the hammock that Harry had provided for him. He slumbered peacefully, oblivious of the hammering, sawing, and planing of the shipwrights and the continual cries as the ship was steered and warped through the crowded anchorage, to finally bump gently alongside the fenders on the harbour wall.

  Brown was there, surrounded by brawny loaders and piles of stores. He also, much to Harry's relief, had a one-legged fellow beside him who looked every inch a cook. He was the first aboard, closely followed by great bundles of wood, and the galley stove was lit in a trice, smoke billowing out of the chimney. Harry quickly ordered two vital casks brought aboard, one of rum, and the other of lime juice. The hands crowded round while he did the duty as master at arms personally, mixing the grog and dishing it out. He raised his eyes in surprise as he found himself filling a mess kit for Count Toraglia's mute servant, who'd had the good sense to fetch the sedan chair to a spot by the ship. He grinned at the man, a miserable soul, who failed to reciprocate. Even the Count, awake after his two-hour nap, was glad of a pitcher of grog, though Harry wondered what that, added to the exertions of the day, would do for him.

  Like a bad penny, no doubt attracted by the chance of a free drink, Crosby came aboard. Harry fought down the temptation to have him slung off the ship and poured him a measure. He then enquired what had brought him here, trying to sound as if he didn't know.

  "Why, you're the talk of the port, Captain Ludlow."

  "And Ma Thomas'?"

  "There too. I can't think that Bart is too pleased with you, but he's such a deep cove it's hard to tell. He's not one to shout when he's angered. Just the opposite. He goes ice cold when he's mad."

  "I'm not aware of having offended him, replied Harry, untruth fully. By rights the hands he had aboard this ship belonged to the Dido, and with Broadbridge dead they were his. He was damn sure that Bartholomew was offended.

  "Them that gives offence rarely are, said Crosby, tweaking his bent nose. Then he saw the look that remark brought to Harry's face, and he continued quickly, Not that he ain't a touchy bastard. It don't take much to get on the wrong side of him."

  That sounded as though Crosby had some experience, which didn't surprise Harry in the slightest. He'll be getting ready for sea himself, I dare say."

  "He is that. Off the day after tomorrow, by all accounts."

  "Any idea where he's headed?"

  Crosby looked at Harry, his soulless eyes wary. Then he drained his drink and offered his jug for a refill. Harry obliged. That's not the sort of thing he lets slip. I doubt even the other captains know, for sure."

  "I find that hard to credit, Crosby."

  "Perhaps Chittenden knows. He's like Bart's number two. He has the Mercury."

  Harry leant closer. He must have nice set of victims lined up. It's just occurred to me that there's a pretty penny going begging for someone who could beat Bartholomew to it."

  That was stretching the truth somewhat. It had occurred to Harry days ago. He knew, to some, it might smack of thieving, but to him all was fair in love, war, and privateering. He didn't owe Bartholomew anything, and in a game so loaded with chance anything that reduced the odds was welcome.

  Crosby frowned. Beat him?"

  "If he has a rendezvous, it wouldn't be too hard to guess where the shops he's after are coming from. Perhaps they could be taken up beforehand."

  "I wouldn't want to be close at hand if he discovered that."

  "Genoa isn't the only port around here."

  Crosby looked around the deck, his lip curling with distaste as he saw the amount of labouring being done. He tweaked his nose again, this time keeping hold of it to aid his thinking. Harry said nothing, content to let his offer work its way around the other man's mind. He didn't really want Crosby aboard, but if that was the price of easy success, so be it.

  "A pretty penny is one of them sayings that don't seem to amount to much, especially when it's a way off."

  "Money on the barrel now, and five per cent of the captures."

  For someone with such dull eyes, it was remarkable how much expression such an offer generated. And a berth if you want it."

  The nod was almost imperceptible, and Crosby followed Harry into the cabin. The frame of the bulkhead was in place and the shipwrights were starting on the panelling. Crosby watched as Harry counted out twenty gold coins on to his desk, scooping them into his hand and out of sight in one swift movement.

  Harry fixed him with a threatening look. I expect value for money, Crosby."

  "I don't doubt that, Captain Ludlow. Just as I don't doubt you'll get it."

  "Come aboard when you like, said Harry as they walked back on to the deck. Again the man looked around the deck and it was plain he didn't like what he saw.

  "Perhaps in a couple of days, Captain?"

  When all the work is done, thought Harry, but he managed a bit of a smile.

  If Harry had any doubts that he'd set tongues wagging, they were laid to rest quickly. As Crosby went down the gangplank, Doria came up, followed by his nephew. He had a confident manner, like a man who expected to be made welcome. This evaporated as he spotted Toraglia sitting in his chair by the stern rail, sipping the potent mixture of rum and lime juice from his jug. He stopped suddenly, looked at Harry, then back to the Count, his eyes narrowing as he sought to make sense of it. Then, almost as a way of recovering his dignity, the Admiral looked Harry up and down, alluding silently to the state he was in. Filthy, looking more like a tramp than a ship's captain.

  "You have bought the ship?"

  "Not yet. I intend to take her out for a cruise first."

  "Very wise. Doria nodded slowly, but his eyes took in the stores being loaded. He frowned, no doubt thinking that Harry was lying. Then he wagged his finger as though what he was about to say had just occurred to him. You mentioned the other day that you may wish to sail from here. Indeed I remember you sought my aid in the matter."

  Harry snapped back at him, for it was a definite hint that he would need to pay a bribe. If I was to do so under the same terms as Bartholomew I might be interested."

  Doria was too long in the tooth to react to the anger in Harry's voice. He looked as though the name was new to him. Bartholomew? Ah, yes. Perhaps when you have had your cruise we had better have a talk."

  "So it's possible?"

  Doria made a Latin gesture, hunching his shoulders and opening his hands. My friend, with care, anything is possible."

  With that he turned on his heel and marched back down to the quay side His escort, and his nephew, fell in behind him and he made his way back to the Customs Fort. Harry walked aft. We have just had a distinguished visitor, Count Toraglia."

  The Italian lifted his face enquiringly, then he showed a flash of distaste as Harry told him who had been aboard.

  "Admiral Stefano Doria, he said, is distinguished for only one thing, and that is his venality."

  That was a sentiment Harry completely endorsed. Sup up, my friend. Once my lads have had a drink, I'll detail them off to take you home in your sedan chair."

  They would be the lucky ones, for the others would be working flat out with whips from the yards, cranes on the quay, and sheer brute force to get the stores aboard the ship.

  The Count reached out, and Harry took his hand, ignoring the pain on his raw palms as the Count squeezed, for he was, through his disability, a tactile man. Thank you, Signor. I have had such pleasure from this. Why, I almost feel my old self again.

  Harry, looking at his grey, lined face, doubted the words. But he'd clearly enjoyed the day, for the sounds and the smells had taken him back to a happier time. I will fetch you at an hour before dawn, Count, and if the wind is fair we'll take her out into the bay and put her through her paces."

  "You must dine with me tonight."

  "I'm flattered, but ..

  "Come, Captain Ludlow. I brook no refusal. I have worked on rigging a ship myself, and I can, even without eyes, guess the state of your dress. I am also a man who now tells a great deal by touch,

  and as you took my hand just now, I felt that it was raw. You are not a common seaman. Hauling on a rope is not your normal occupation, and I fear you have suffered for it."

  "I think you require sleep more than you need a guest, sir.

  "Be assured I shall rest. But my slumbers are short and frequent. And I have something to ease your muscles and take the sting out of your hands, for I spent most of my life trading in the east, and I incline, like them, to the efficacy of warm-water baths, frequently used."

  "A Roman tradition too, sir, to which I am much attached."

  "Then that settles it. You shall return with me, to my house, for the night. You shall bathe and have a soothing salve for your hands. And then we shall dine together. Please indulge a man who loved society, but has been forced into loneliness by this crippling affliction."

  Harry still hesitated, so the Count continued. And if you cannot see your way to indulging me, think of my poor wife, deprived of all pleasure because of an ailing husband. Your company would amuse her, I'm sure.

  Harry wondered if that was really true. He called to Sutton, fishing in his pocket for the key to Broadbridge's room. Light along to Ma Thomas's. My clothes are in Captain Broadbridge's room. Fetch them back here so that I can lay out something to make myself presentable."

  He saw the man's eyes flicker at the mention of Broadbridge's name and Sutton jerked his head to indicate the rest of the crew, who up until now had been left with rumour.

  "Tomorrow, Sutton. I'll tell them tomorrow. For they will not be going ashore for a while once we sail. Speak to no one at the inn, dye hear?"

  Sutton nodded quickly, and grabbing a pair of hands set off down the plank and along the quay. Harry called to Lubeck. The blond giant, his scarred face streaked with grime, ambled over to where Harry stood.

  "I'm leaving you in charge of the ship tonight."

  Lubeck blinked, but made no reply. Perhaps he thought it some sort of test. Once the sedan chair party is back on board, no hands to go ashore. Can you do that?"

  "Ja, said Lubeck.

  "There's food a-plenty, and work to do until the small hours. Another tot of grog at the end, and I want everyone to sling their hammocks and get some sleep. Just an anchor watch, with you in charge. I shall relieve you in the morning, and you can have a couple of hours then."

  Lubeck looked at him for a long time. The Captain was going ashore, to sleep in a bed for the whole night, while he was been left to do the work. Harry wondered if the man was going to rebel. But Lubeck's craggy face broke into a smile, showing the gaps in his teeth. And the way he said Ay, ay, Captain, for all the heavy accent, left Harry in no doubt that he was flattered by the trust thus placed in him.

  "Any trouble, Lubeck, tell the men that they are on wages for today, and double if the work's complete."

  "Dockyard vages, said Lubeck, grinning, and Harry laughed, sharing the mariner's joke at the kind of money earned by the robbing bastards who built their ships.

  Toraglia sat in the cabin, behind the desk, running his hands over the top like a man finding an old friend. If he wondered at the noise of the two carpenters, putting the finishing touches to the new bulkhead, he said nothing. Harry was up to his elbows in turpentine when Sutton returned, stripped to the waist trying to get some of the more stubborn streaks of grease of his body. His shirt, filthy and torn at the sleeve, lay in a corner. The sea-chests were brought in, and Harry sent Sutton off to the galley in search of hot water. The other two men were instructed to put his chest in the coach for now.

  Harry was momentarily thrown when he saw two chests instead of one. Then, looking closer, he realized that one of the two belonged Broadbridge. Sutton returned as the men who'd brought them in went back on deck. He was about to say something about the extra chest when Harry, with a sharp flick of his head, indicated that Count Toraglia was present, and silenced him.

  Quickly he opened his own chest and removed his mahogany dressing case. Sutton, I am to dine with the Count tonight, and I will spend the night there. I want you in charge of the party carrying the sedan chair."

  He saw Sutton's face register shock. I'm not actually asking you to carry the damn thing, but I want you to shepherd our hands back to the ship, then see them there in the morning. Now light along to the cook, and find out what time he reckons the men's dinner will be ready."

  "How the fuck... Beggin your pardon, your honour, how can I do that, since the bugger don't talk no English?"

  Count Toraglia laughed, and the action shook his body as much as it cheered Harry's soul. For here was a man who'd not laughed in an age, and it didn't matter a damn if it was pleasure or grog. It was a good sound to hear.

  "Tell your man that I shall accompany him, if need be."

  He'd said this in French, but Sutton had protested in English. My dear Count Toraglia, am I to find I've been struggling away in French with a man who speaks fluent English."

  "No, my friend, I have a few words, that is all, and most of them the less polite examples of your language."

  The Count having found his tongue was talking away, the drink making him garrulous. Like any man his thoughts wandered and so did his subject. He talked again of the ship and his exploits, of his life before his illness which seemed to exist of an endless round of balls and entertainments interspersed with occasional trips to sea. He recalled women he'd known, not boasting in any way, but leading Harry to suspect that Toraglia, married and single, had put a few noses out of joint. He spoke less cheerfully about his illness which had struck without any prior warning, not even a feeling of tiredness. He praised his wife and the care she gave him, though the lament for a former life was there, in the tone of his voice, if not the words he used.

  Harry, busy with his toilet and really only half listening, cleaned himself, put on a fresh shirt and stock, then donned his good buff coat, carefully packing the other things he would need to be presentable. He took Count Toraglia's hand and led him on deck, still talking away. Harry locked the cabin door, glancing at the heavy key before he put it in his pocket. It bore the same heraldic device as Toraglia's door knocker. A bird of prey with a small mammal in its claws. He was just about to ask about it when the mute servant appeared to assist his master. The look he gave the freshly built bulkhead put all thoughts of keys and heraldry from Harry's mind. Harry took Toraglia's arm and between them they helped the blind man down the gangplank. Sutton called out to those he wanted for the sedan chair, which produced a furious bellow from Lubeck, who saw his authority being challenged.

  Harry kept out of the subsequent exchange, as Lubeck told Sutton, haltingly, but in no uncertain terms, that he would decide who undertook which duty. He knew if he interfered he'd undermine the man who would be his second in command. And right now he needed Lubeck a damn sight more than he needed Sutton. Once in the chair, the Count was off again, chattering gaily. Harry could see that he was happy, and that in turn pleased him. Yet he knew that they still had, at some point, to agree a price, and the thought entered his head that, added to the false position he already occupied, every piece of knowledge, and each laugh at every sally, was going to cost him money. God forbid they should finally disagree. He'd have to unload all those stores he'd taken on board. Harry shrugged at the thought. He'd made a decision, and time did not allow for any other course.

  He was tired himself when they arrived at the Count's villa. Harry leant out to repeat his instructions to Sutton, and was quite shocked at how pale the man looked. Harry had to call his name twice to attract his attention. Surely Lubeck's wigging hadn't upset him that much. He listened silently to Harry's orders, nodding absentmindedly. Soon they were through the gate and being lowered to the ground, the curtain, which hitherto had kept out the dust and smells of the road, was thrown back, and the Countess, her face anxious, leant in and examined her husband. She saw before her a man content, and her worries evaporated. Harry found himself on the receiving end of the most engaging smile.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Harry lay in the scented water, eyes closed, and let the warmth soothe his aching limbs. He had not laboured so hard for years, using muscles that had seemed to creak alarmingly before he got into this huge bath. Sunk into the floor, with room enough for ten men, it lay at the centre of a collonaded room. The water was heated on the Roman model, using hot stones, and so the temperature stayed high as it flowed in and out of the bath.

  The Countess had been an anxious woman when they returned, fussing over her husband and carrying him straight off to his bedroom to rest. She had then returned, and, no doubt on Toraglia's instructions, set about rubbing a soothing ointment into Harry's hands. It had been hard, being so close, and in physical contact. But again that air of innocence that she carried took any suggestion of sensuality from her actions. That and her questions about how her husband had coped with the strain of the day.