The Ramage Touch

By the time Martin finished that and two more tunes, the French officers were shouting for the tziganes to come and drink, and Ramage and Paolo adopted a pose of nervous shyness so that the officers shouted even louder and the i

Ramage paused for a moment, indicating that he wanted to whisper something to the i

"Mama mia" exclaimed the i

"Any scraps from the kitchen," Ramage murmured as he let himself be led to the tables, "would be very welcome; we are very hungry and have walked a long way today."

"Of course, of course." The i

"My name?" Ramage repeated stupidly. "Why, we all have the same name!"

"I know, 1 know! But what is it?"

"Buffarelli. From Saturnia."

"I thought as much," the i

The i

"Sulphur!" he said petulantly, then repeated it several times with a whimper in his voice as he followed the i

Ramage managed to time it so that his outburst ended just as they arrived at the colonel's table, leaving the i

In contrast to Ramage, who was trying to look both furtive and indignant, the i

The colonel nodded, as though accepting on behalf of the regiment, if not the commanding general, these routine greetings.

"The flûtiste is this man's son?"

The i

When the i

The i

"A meal!" he said in a voice which would have carried well down the aisle of a great cathedral. "For the three of them. Here, at my table - I have never before spoken to Italian tziganes. But until the meal is ready, the flûtiste shall give us his music - music to pay for their supper, eh?"

Several officers applauded their colonel as the i

The other officers clapped and one of them cleared a nearby table, with a sweep of his arm that sent the bottles and glasses crashing to the ground, then indicated that Martin should stand up on the table and play. The young lieutenant gave an idiotic grin and climbed up, immediately begi

In the meantime a waiter set down more glasses and a bottle in front of the colonel, who indicated that he should fill all three. The colonel then snapped his fingers at Ramage and pointed to two of the glasses. Ramage picked up one with carefully assumed nervousness and sipped, and then signalled to Paolo, and clumsily raised his glass to the colonel.

He wanted to avoid having to sit alone with the colonel. If he did there would be no conversation, because the colonel assumed he spoke no French. He dared not admit otherwise because a gipsy in Orbetello speaking French would arouse suspicions. He wanted a couple of other officers to come to the table; then they would gossip with the colonel and, with luck, reveal scraps of information.

"The colonel enjoys the music," a voice said in French-accented Italian, and Ramage looked round to find a young officer standing there, smiling - at the colonel, rather than Ramage, and explaining to the colonel in French what he had just said. He was obviously the colonel's aide, and he listened as the colonel explained that the tziganes had learned French tunes and come in from the hills to play a farewell.

"Farewell, sir?" the young captain asked sharply. "How did they know we were going anywhere?"

"Ask him," the colonel said, obviously too tipsy to care very much.

"You have come to say goodbye to us," the young captain said to Ramage amiably. "We appreciate it."

"Goodbye?" Ramage repeated, trying to look owlish. "But we have come to say hello. We practise the French tunes. They tell us there are French officers in Orbetello, so we come here - a long way," he added plaintively. "Too far to come to say goodbye. Why? Are you going home?"

"Not home," the captain said with a relieved grin, and turned to the colonel.

"They had no idea we were going anywhere, sir," he said. "I expect that i

"We might wish we had them to cheer us up, considering where we are going," the colonel said bitterly. "Still, no need for alarm, eh? You're always seeing spies under the bed, Jean-Paul. Sit down and have a drink. Where's the major?"