With Giuseppe, in his role of faithful family servant, close behind her, Marianne went inside the house. A peasant girl in a red petticoat and bright blue kerchief made her best curtsy, and later, when Marianne had withdrawn for a moment to the room he had mentioned, to wash and comb her hair, the girl brought her brown bread, cheese, olives and onions, and sheep's milk, on all of which the traveller fell hungrily. Her refusal of food the night before had been largely a gesture of bravado, mixed with sheer temper, but had been foolish because she needed all her strength. Now, in the fresh morning air, she discovered that she was famished.
Meanwhile fresh horses had been harnessed, and as soon as the Princess declared herself ready the coach resumed its way down to a low, level plain which seemed to go on for ever.
Strengthened and refreshed, Marianne elected to wrap herself once more in lofty silence, despite the questions which burned on her lips. In any case, she had no doubt that she would soon arrive at her destination, when her questions would be answered. They were heading straight towards the sea, without turning aside to right or left, so that the place they were making for must be on the coast.
At about midday they came to a large fishing village, its low houses clustered along the banks of a sandy watercourse. After the cool shade of the thick belt of pines through which they had just passed, with its tall dark wide-spreading trees, the heat seemed much greater than it really was and the village more forsaken.
Here was a realm of sand. As far as the eye could see, the shore was a vast sandy beach, patched here and there with clumps of marram grass, while the village itself, with its crumbling watch-tower and occasional fragments of Roman wall, might have emerged directly from the encroaching sands.
Alongside the houses, great nets hung drying on poles in the still air, like giant dragonflies, and a handful of boats lay at anchor in the canal which served as a harbour. The largest and smartest of these was a slender tartane. A sailor in a stocking cap was busy setting the red and black sails.
The berlin drew up on the edge of the water and the fisherman beckoned with a sweep of his arm. Once again, Giuseppe invited Marianne to descend.
'Have we arrived?' she asked.
'We have reached the port, Excellenza, but not the end of our journey. The second stage is by sea.'
Amazement, alarm and anger were stronger than Marianne's pride.
'By sea?' she cried. 'Where are we going? Do your orders include keeping me in ignorance?'
'By no means, Excellenza, by no means,' Giuseppe responded, bowing. 'We are going to Venice. This way the journey involves less discomfort.'
'To Ve—'
In other circumstances Marianne might well have laughed at the way the jewel of the Adriatic seemed to have the lodestone drawing all and sundry. It was certainly important to Napoleon that she should take ship from Venice, even if his reason had been partly kindness, and now here was the Prince, her husband, also selecting Venice as the place in which to make his wishes known to her! But for the nameless dread which hung over her, it would have been funny…
She got out and took a few turns beside the water to calm herself. The little sand-locked harbour was lapped in a profound peace. In the absence of a wind, nothing stirred, and everything in the village seemed asleep except for the sound of the cicadas. Apart from the fisherman who had jumped ashore to meet the travellers, there was not another human being in sight.
'They are having a siesta and waiting for a wind,' Giuseppe remarked. 'They will come out in the evening. All the same, we shall go aboard at once to allow your highness to settle in.'
He preceded Marianne across the plank joining ship to shore and helped her over the swaying bridge with all the respect of the perfect servant, while the coachman and the other servant bowed and turned back to the coach, which soon vanished with them into the pines.
To any casual observer, the Princess Sant'Anna would have presented the total appearance of a great lady travelling peacefully. The casual observer, however, would not have known that the devoted servant carried a large pistol in his belt, and that this pistol was not intended for possible highway robbers but for his mistress, should she take it into her head to resist.
For the moment, though, the only observer was the fisherman. Yet Marianne caught his eye as she stepped aboard, and the look of admiration it held. He was standing by the gangway, watching her come aboard with the wondering expression usually associated with supernatural visions, and he was still in his daze a good minute later.
Marianne studied him in her turn without appearing to, and her examination led her to some interesting conclusions. Although not tall, the fisherman was a fine figure of a man, with the head of a Raphael painting on the body of the Farnese Hercules. His yellow canvas shirt was open to the waist, revealing muscles which seemed carved in bronze. His lips were full, his eyes dark and brilliant, and the hair that curled thickly from under his tilted red stocking cap was black as jet.
Appraising him, Marianne caught herself thinking that Giuseppe's plump and oily person would be no match for such a man in a fight.
As she settled herself in the cubby-hole prepared for her in the stern of the boat, Marianne's imagination was busy picturing the advantages which, with a little ingenuity, might be gained from the handsome fisherman. It should not be hard to twist him round her finger. Then he might be persuaded to overpower Giuseppe and afterwards land Marianne herself at some point on the coast whence she might seek a hiding place and get a message to Jolival, or make her way back to Florence. Besides, if he too was in the Prince's service, it ought to be possible to win his allegiance by using her status as the Prince's wife.
It certainly looked as though Giuseppe was taking a vast deal of trouble to preserve appearances. The fisherman must be aware that his lovely passenger was nothing more nor less than a prisoner on her way to judgement… and looking forward to it with less and less enthusiasm.
The truth was that if her natural honesty and courage urged her to a confrontation and a final settling of accounts, her pride could not brook the thought of being dragged to it by force and appearing before Sant'Anna in this humiliating state.
The tartane was not built to carry passengers, especially women, but a kind of berth had been fitted up for Marianne, where she could be comfortable enough. There was a straw mattress and a few crude toilet articles of rough earthenware. The handsome fisherman brought her a rug and she smiled at him, well aware of the devastating effects of that smile. This time it was instantaneous. The tanned face seemed to light up from within and the young man stood stock still, clutching the blanket to his chest, quite forgetting to give it to her.
Encouraged by this success, she asked softly:
'What is your name?'
'Jacopo, Excellenza,' Giuseppe broke in quickly. 'But you will find it a waste of time to talk to him. The poor fellow is deaf and almost dumb. It takes practice to make oneself understood, but if your highness desires speech with him I will interpret for you…'
'I thank you, no,' Marianne said quickly. Then she added, more softly, and this time perfectly sincerely:
'Poor boy. What a shame…'
Compassion came to her aid and helped to hide the disappointment she felt. She understood now the odious Giuseppe's apparent carelessness in embarking alone with his prisoner on board a ship whose single crewman seemed to be so susceptible to feminine charms. In fact, if he was the only person able to communicate with Jacopo, then it was exceedingly well contrived. But the man had not done speaking.
'You need not pity him too much, Excellenza. He has a house, a boat and is affianced to a pretty girl… and he has the sea. He would not exchange these for any more risky adventures.'
The warning was clear and told Marianne that her winsome smile had not gone unnoticed. It was better not to try anything risky, which would certainly be doomed to failure. Another round to the enemy.
Angry, tired and on the verge of tears, the unwilling passenger sat down on her mattr
ess and tried to make her mind a blank. No point in brooding over one defeat: better to get some rest and then look for some other way of escaping from a husband who, she could not help fearing, had no intention of letting her go so soon – always supposing he had no worse punishment in mind for her.
She closed her eyes, obliging Giuseppe to withdraw. A slight breeze had sprung up and through her half-closed lids she saw him telling Jacopo, with a wide range of gestures, to hoist sail. The boat slipped down the canal and slowly out to sea.
Except for a slight squall which got up during the night, the crossing was uneventful, but late the following afternoon, as a pink line appeared, hovering capriciously, like a lacy scarf flung around the neck of the sea, on the bluish horizon, Jacopo began taking in sail.
As they advanced, the mirage seemed to fade and gave place to a long, low island, beyond which it looked as if there were nothing but a green desert. It was a dismal enough isle, bare but for a few trees, and made up for the most part of a long fringe of sand. The boat drew nearer, sailed along the shore for a little way and then, as the beach seemed to turn inland in a kind of channel, hove to and dropped anchor.
Marianne leaned on the rail, striving to recapture the mirage of a moment past. The island was hiding it from her, she knew. Their anchoring had taken her by surprise.
'Why have we stopped?' she asked. 'What are we doing here?'
'By your leave,' Giuseppe said, 'we shall wait until nightfall before we enter harbour. The Venetians are an inquisitive race and his highness wishes your arrival to be as private as possible. We shall cross the Lido channel as soon as it grows dark. Luckily moon-rise is late tonight.'
'My husband wishes my arrival to be private? Don't you mean secret, perhaps?'
'Surely they are the same thing?'
'Not to me! I dislike secrets between husband and wife! My husband seems very fond of them.'
She was frightened now and trying to hide it. The terror she had felt when she realized that she was in the Prince's power returned, irresistibly, despite all her efforts to fight it off during the journey. Giuseppe's words, his ingratiating, would-be reassuring smile, even the reasons he gave her, all added to her fears. Why all these precautions? Why this furtive arrival, if all that awaited her was a simple calling to account, unless she were condemned in advance? She could no longer fight off the thought that what she was to find at the end of this watery journey was a death sentence, summary execution in the depths of some cellar – those Venetian cellars which must have such easy access to the water. If that were so, then who would ever know? Who would even find her body? She had heard often enough that the Sant'Annas held the lives of their womenfolk cheaply!
All at once, unreasoning panic swept over Marianne, naked, primitive and old as death. To perish here, in this city which had figured in her dreams for so many months as the magical place where her happiness was to begin, to die in Venice, where love was said to reign supreme! What a grim jest of Fate! When Jason's ship entered the lagoon, he might sail, all unwittingly, over the very place where her body lay disintegrating slowly…
Appalled by this hideous vision, she flung herself forward in an almost convulsive movement, intending to jump overboard from the prow. This fishing boat carried her death, she knew that, she could feel it! All she wanted was to get away from it.
Even as she was about to plunge over the side, she was caught and held roughly by an irresistible force. Arms were round her body and she found herself held fast, in total impotence, against the broad chest of the fisherman, Jacopo.
'Tut, tut!' said Giuseppe's voice softly. 'How very childish! Does your ladyship seek to leave us? Where would you go? There is nothing here but grass and sand and water… whereas a luxurious palace awaits you…'
'Let me go!' she moaned, struggling with all her strength, her jaws grimly clenched to keep her teeth from chattering. 'Why should you care? You can say I hurled myself into the water – that I am dead! Only let me off this boat! I'll give you anything you want! I am rich—'
'But not so rich as his highness… and much less powerful. My life is a poor thing, Excellenza, but important to me. I do not want to lose it. And I am bound to answer with my life for your ladyship's safe arrival!'
'This is absurd! We are not living in the Middle Ages!'
'Here, in certain houses, we are,' Giuseppe said, suddenly grave. 'I know, your ladyship is going to mention the Emperor Napoleon. I was warned of that. But this is Venice, and the Emperor's power is exercised lightly and with discretion. So, be sensible…'
Marianne was sobbing now, still held fast in Jacopo's arms, her spirit broken and her resistance at an end. She was not even conscious of the absurdity of crying in the arms of a perfect stranger: she merely leaned against him as she might have done a wall, with one thought only in her mind: everything was finished. Now nothing could prevent the Prince from wreaking what vengeance he liked on her. She had only herself to rely on, and that was little enough.
Yet at the same time, she was aware of something odd happening. Jacopo's arms were little by little tightening round her and his breath was growing shorter. The young man's body, pressed against her, was beginning to tremble. She felt one hand move surreptitiously upwards from her waist, seeking the curve of her breast…
Suddenly it was borne in on her that the fisherman was trying to take advantage of the situation, while Giuseppe had moved a yard or two away and was waiting, with an air of boredom, for her to dry her tears.
The fisherman's caress acted on her like a tonic, restoring her courage. If this man's desire for her was strong enough to make him take such an insane risk right underneath Giuseppe's nose, then he might be prepared to take still more risks for the promise of another reward.
Therefore, instead of slapping Jacopo's face, as she would have liked to do, she pressed herself more closely against him. Then, making sure that Giuseppe was not looking, reached up on tiptoe and brushed the boy's lips swiftly with her own. It was only an instant, then she pushed him away, at the same time gazing into his eyes with an expression of earnest entreaty.
As she moved away he watched her with a kind of desperation, evidently struggling to understand what it was she wanted of him, but Marianne had no means of expressing her wish. How could she convey to him by gestures that she wanted him to knock Giuseppe down and tie him up securely, when Giuseppe was at that moment moving towards them? A hundred times in the course of the last twenty-four hours she had hoped to find some implement on the boat which might have enabled her to do the thing herself. After that, to reduce Jacopo to a state of total obedience would no doubt have been child's play. But the servant was no fool and took care of himself. Nothing was left lying about on board that might have served as a weapon, and he scarcely ever let Marianne out of his sight. He had not closed his eyes all night.
Now was there anything within reach that could be used to write with? It was not even possible to scratch a message to the fisherman on the side of the boat, asking for help. Besides, he probably could not read.
Daylight faded and still Marianne had found no way of communicating with her unusual admirer. For an hour or more, Giuseppe sat on a heap of ropes between the two of them, turning his pistol round and round in his hands, as though he guessed the threat which hung over him. Any attempt would certainly have proved fatal to both.
With a sinking heart, Marianne watched as the anchor was hauled up and the tartane slipped out into the channel in the dusk. In spite of the terror which gripped her, she could not help a gasp of wonder, for the skyline had been transformed into a fantastic fresco of blue and violet colours, intermingled with lingering traces of red gold. It was like a fantastically ornamented crown lying on the sea, but a crown already fading into the dark.
Night fell quickly and by the time the tartane had rounded the Isola di San Giorgio and entered the Canale della Giudecca the darkness was almost complete. She sailed close-reefed, feeling her way, seeking perhaps to attract as little atten
tion as possible. Marianne held her breath. She felt Venice closing round her like a clenching hand, and gazed with painful longing at the tall ships which, once past the white columns and gilded Fortune of the Dogana di Mare, rode sleepily with riding lights aglow, off the airy domes and alabaster volutes of la Salute, awaiting for tomorrows of salt winds to carry them far from this perilous siren of water and stones.
The little vessel tied up away from the quay, beside a group of fishing boats, and when Giuseppe momentarily turned his back at last to lean over the side, Marianne seized the opportunity to move quickly to where Jacopo was furling the sails and lay her hand on his arm. He trembled and looked at her then, dropping the sails, made as if to draw her to him.
She shook her head gently and with a fierce movement of her arm towards Giuseppe's back, endeavoured to make him understand that she wanted to be rid of him… at once!
She saw Jacopo stiffen and glance first at the man whom he no doubt considered his master, then at the woman tempting him. He hesitated, clearly torn between conscience and desire… His hesitation lasted a moment too long, for already Giuseppe had turned and was making his way back to Marianne.
'If your ladyship pleases,' he murmured, 'the gondola waits and we should not delay.'
There were two more heads visible now over the side of the boat. The gondola must be close alongside the tartane and it was too late: Giuseppe had allies.
With a scornful shrug, Marianne turned her back on the young sailor. She had completely lost interest in him now, although a moment before she had been ready to give herself to him as the price of her freedom, with no more hesitation than St Mary the Egyptian to the boatmen she had need of.
A slim black gondola lay waiting alongside. Escorted by Giuseppe, and without a single backward glance at the tartane, Marianne took her place in the felze, a kind of curtained black box in which the passengers sat on something like a low, broad sofa. Then, sped by long oars, the gondola slid over the black waters. It nosed its way into a narrow canal beside the church of la Salute, whose golden cross still watched silently over the health of Venice as it had done ever since the great plague in the seventeenth century.
[Marianne 4] - Marianne and the Rebels Page 5