'You're not hurt?'
'Me? Not a scratch. In fact, I'm almost sorry it's all over so soon. Battles are good fun!'
Marianne allowed herself to be towed to the rail. The smoke was thinning now and, with a broad sweep of his arm, Gracchus indicated the three vessels which could be seen rounding the small islet of Samothrace. They were three frigates, their sails bellying in the sun, and looking as unreal as three icebergs advancing through the blue morning. Their colours fluttering gaily at their peaks. They were the Pauline, Capitaine Montfort, the Pomone, Capitaine Rosamel, and the Persephone, Capitaine Le Forestier.
All sails set, the three ships came swooping to the American's rescue, their sleek keels cleaving through the blue water.
On board the Sea Witch, the men greeted their appearance with a frantic cheer. Caps waved in the air.
But already the two English ships were drawing off, abandoning the fight. One after the other, they rounded the rocky coast of Phanos and, knowing themselves safe from pursuit in those dangerous waters, sailed away slowly into the morning haze, followed by a last, defiant broadside from the brig.
Marianne stared after them, frowning. It had all happened so quickly… far too quickly. The two ships appearing one at a time, as though they had been lying in wait behind their two islands, and then the fight which was over after a few shots fired: it was all very strange and unlikely. Above all, the question remained: how had the English learned of her presence on board an American brig and, more important still, of the secret mission given her by Napoleon? Hardly anybody knew, and those few could be trusted absolutely because, apart from the Emperor and Marianne herself, they were limited to Arrighi, Benielli, Jason and Jolival, all of whom were above suspicion. Who, then?
Jason meanwhile had embarked on an inspection of his ship. The damage, in general, was not serious and would be easily repaired when they came to port. There were some wounded lying on the deck with John Leighton already busy attending to them. Coming to where Marianne was kneeling by a young seaman with a splinter in his shoulder, the privateer bent down and took a quick look at the wound.
'That's nothing to worry about, my lad. Wounds heal fast at sea. Dr Leighton will deal with you soon.'
'Have we… any killed?' Marianne asked, too busy stanching the flow of blood with her handkerchief to look up, but conscious of his eyes on her.
'No, none. It's lucky. But I'd like to know who the bastard was who gave you away. Or have you been chattering indiscreetly, my dear Princess?'
'I? Chattering? Are you out of your mind? I'd have you know the Emperor is not in the habit of putting his trust in chatterboxes!'
'Then I can think of only one answer.'
'What's that?'
'Your husband. You escaped from him and he gives you away to the English to get you back. I can understand it, in a way. I'd have been capable of doing something of the same sort myself to stop you going to that damned country!'
'That's impossible!'
'Why so?'
'Because the Prince is—' Marianne stopped suddenly, realizing what she had been about to say, and turned a flushed face back to her patient before concluding: '… is incapable of anything so vile. He is a gentleman.'
'While I'm a brute, is that it?' Jason's lip curled. 'Very well. We'll leave it at that. And now, with your permission, I am going to welcome our rescuers and tell them we intend to put in at Corfu for repairs.'
'Is there much damage?'
'No, but enough to need attention. You never know, we may well meet up with a few more of my friend Prinny's ships before we get to Constantinople.'
A few minutes later, Captain Montfort, Commodore of the squadron, was piped aboard the Sea Witch. Jason, who had resumed his coat and stock, was waiting on the deck to greet him. There followed a brief, courteous exchange during which Captain Montfort assured himself that the American vessel had suffered no disabling injury or loss of life, and invited the privateer to accept his escort to Corfu where the superficial damage to the Witch's superstructure could readily be put right. Jason thanked him and expressed his gratitude for the frigates' prompt and unexpected intervention.
'It was a godsend, sir. But for your help we'd have been lucky to pull through.'
'Godsend nonsense! We were told to look out for you and to make sure your vessel negotiated the Straits of Otranto without interference. The English squadrons are on continuous patrol.'
'You were told? By whom?'
'By special messenger from the Italian foreign minister, Count Marescalchi, who is at present in Venice. He warned us that a noble Italian lady, the Princess Sant'Anna, a personal friend of the Emperor's, would be travelling on an American ship. We were to watch out for you and to provide you with an escort until you were through the Cerigo Channel and into Turkish waters. I dare say you may not know it but you are running a twofold risk.'
'Twofold? Apart from having to run the gauntlet of the English base at Santa Maura2…'
Montfort drew himself up, aware that what he had to say did not redound to his nation's credit.
'The English also hold Cephalonia, Ithaka, Zante and Cerigo itself. Our strength was insufficient for the defence of all the Ionian Islands which Russia ceded to us by the Treaty of Tilsit. But it is not only the English we have to fear. There are also the flotillas belonging to the Pasha of the Morea.'
Jason laughed.
'I think I have enough fire power to deal with a few fishing smacks!'
'Do not laugh, monsieur. The Pasha is the son of the formidable Ali Pasha of Yannina. He's a powerful man, as well as a shrewd and devious one. We can never be sure if he's for us or against us, and he's busy carving himself an empire behind the backs of the Turks. The Princess would be a nice prize for him, too, especially if she should chance to be beautiful…'
Jason made a sign to Marianne, who had been observing the commodore's arrival from a conveniently secluded vantage-point behind Jolival and Arcadius.
'Here is the Princess. Permit me to present Captain Montfort, to whom we owe, if not our lives, most certainly our freedom.'
'The danger is much greater even than I feared,' the captain said, as he bowed over her hand. 'No ransom on earth could wrest from Ali such a prize.'
'You are very gallant, Captain, but this pasha is a Turk, I suppose, and I am related to the Haseki Sultana. He would not dare—'
'He is not Turkish, madame, but Epirote, and he would undoubtedly dare. He conducts himself in this world as an independent monarch, knows no law but his own. As for his son's ships, do not scorn them, monsieur. They are manned by devils and, if they once succeed in boarding you, which they may do very readily because their small ships are able to slip close in under the guns, they will give your men such a fight as they will not easily repel. You will be well advised to accept our escort – unless slavery holds any charms for you.'
Two hours later, preceded by the Pauline and followed by the other two frigates, the Sea Witch entered the narrow northern passage between Corfu and the wild mainland of Epirus. On their right lay the long green island rising at its north-eastern end to the sun-drenched mass of Mount Pantocrator. It was later afternoon before the four ships entered harbour and dropped anchor in the shelter of the Fortezza Vecchia, the old Venetian citadel now transformed by the French into a strong modern fortress.
Standing on the poop deck with Jason and Jolival, wearing a cool dress of lemon-yellow jaconet and a Leghorn hat trimmed with wild flowers, Marianne watched Nausicaa's isle draw nearer.
Jason, bareheaded and dressed in his most respectable blue coat and a snowy shirt which emphasized his darkly sunburned features, had his hands clasped behind his back and was clearly brooding with deep and growing resentment on the realization that Napoleon had now left him no choice: like it or not, he was bound to carry Marianne to Constantinople. When she looked at him with eyes filled with tender hopefulness and murmured: 'You see, there was nothing I could do. The Emperor knows how to ensure his orders are obeye
d. There is no escape,' Jason had growled back through his teeth:
'There is, if you really want it. Dare you tell me that you do?'
'With all my heart! When I have accomplished my mission.'
'You're more stubborn than a Corsican mule!'
The tone was still aggressive but renewed hope had sprung up in Marianne's heart. She knew that Jason had too much honesty, where both himself and others were concerned, not to admit the inevitable. From the moment that Marianne's will ceased to be her own and became the prey of external forces, he was able to silence his masculine pride and return to her without losing face in his own eyes. Moreover, when her hand had brushed his, timidly, he had not withdrawn it.
Corfu harbour presented a smiling picture which went well with Marianne's new mood. The black hulls and gleaming brasswork of the warships of the French fleet mingled with the brightly painted Greek boats, decorated like antique vases, with their curiously shaped sails.
Beyond rose the flat white houses, shaded by ancient fig trees, lying within the circling arm of the Venetian ramparts, grey and hoary with age, which went none the less by the hopeful name of the New Fort. The old fort, the Fortezza Vecchia, was at the other end of the harbour, a heavily fortified peninsula attached to the mainland by a steeply sloping esplanade and looking frowningly out to sea. Only the tricolor flag flying from the keep provided a touch of gaiety.
The quayside was enamelled like a meadow in springtime with a cheerful motley crowd in which the brilliant reds of Greek costumes mingled with the light dresses and pastel-shaded parasols belonging to the wives of officers of the garrison. There was a joyous hubbub of talk, laughter and song and sporadic outbursts of applause from the throng, all backed by the mewing of the gulls.
'What a delightful place!' Marianne exclaimed softly, wholly won over. 'How happy they all look!'
'A bit like dancing on the edge of a volcano,' Jolival said. 'Too many people would like to get their hands on the island for the people to be quite as happy as they look. But it's a land made for loving, that I grant you.'
He helped himself to a pinch of snuff, then added, with elaborate casualness: 'It was here, wasn't it, that Jason – the Argonaut, I mean – brought Medea and married her after he had stolen her away from her father, the King of Colchis, along with the Golden Fleece?'
This apt allusion to classical mythology earned him a scowl from the American Jason and a short answer.
'That's enough classics for one day, Jolival,' Jason warned him curtly. 'I don't care much for legends unless they end happily. Medea was an atrocious female, murdering her own children in a fit of jealousy!'
The vicomte, elegantly flicking a grain of snuff from the revers of his cinnamon coloured coat, was unperturbed by the brusqueness of his tone, and merely laughed.
'Who can tell where jealousy may lead? Wasn't it St Augustine who said that the measure of love is to love without measure? Great words, and how true! As for legends, there is always a way round them. To have a happy ending it's often enough to want one – and to alter a few lines.'
The brig had no sooner come alongside than she was mobbed by a noisy, colourful throng who swarmed aboard, all anxious to get a look at the new arrivals from the other side of the world. It was not often that the American flag was seen in the eastern Mediterranean. Furthermore, the word had gone around that there was a grand court lady on board and everyone was eager to see her. Jason had to post Kaleb and two more of the strongest men in the ship's company at the foot of the poop ladder to save Marianne from suffocation.
He did, however, allow up one gentleman, elegantly attired in a coat of sky-blue superfine and fawn-coloured pantaloons for whom Captain Montfort was doing his best to make a way through the crowd, although even then the gentleman's magnificent cream-coloured neckcloth came very near to suffering irreparable damage. After them, like a splendid shadow, came the colonel of the 6th Regiment of the Line.
Shouting to make himself heard above the din, Montfort managed to present the newcomers, Colonel Pons, who came to welcome her on behalf of the Governor, General Donzelot, and Senator Alamano, one of the principal personages of the island, who had a request to make to her. In a flowery speech which lost much of its elegance through being shouted at the top of his voice, the senator invited Marianne 'and her suite' to go ashore and accept the hospitality of his house for as long as the Sea Witch remained in harbour for repairs.
'I assure your ladyship that you will find it vastly more comfortable than remaining on board ship, agreeably as I am sure you are accommodated, and offering much more protection from vulgar curiosity. If you remain here you will have neither rest nor quiet, and Countess Alamano, my wife, would be grieved to be denied the pleasure of entertaining your ladyship.'
'If I may add my word to what the senator has said,' Colonel Pons put in, 'I should add that while the Governor would be most happy to offer her the hospitality of the Fort, he feels that the senator's house is much more suited to the accommodation of a young and lovely lady.'
Marianne hesitated. She had no wish to leave the ship because that would mean leaving Jason, and just at the moment when he was showing some signs of weakening. On the other hand, she could not very well disappoint these people when they were giving her such a kindly welcome. The senator was a plump, smiling man whose bravely curling whiskers did their utmost to impart an air of ferocity to his good-natured face.
She glanced at Jason and saw him smile for the first time in many days.
'Loth as I am to part with you, ma'am, I believe that these gentlemen are right. While we are undergoing repairs – a matter of three or four days I should think – your life on board would be exceedingly uncomfortable, quite apart from the curiosity you would arouse. This will enable you to rest and relax.'
'You will come and visit me ashore?'
His smile broadened, lifting one corner of his mouth with the familiar irony, but the eyes which met hers had recovered nearly all their old tenderness. He took her hand and kissed it quickly.
'Most certainly. Unless the senator forbids me his house.'
'I? Why, my dear Captain, my house, my family and all I have are yours! You may move in for weeks at a time with your whole crew if you've a mind. It would make me the happiest of men.'
'Then you must be the owner of vast estates, indeed, sir,' Jason answered him, laughing. 'But I fear that would be to impose on you rather too much. If you'll go ashore, ma'am, I'll see that your maid follows with such baggage as you require. For the present, then, good-bye.'
A brief order, a twittering of pipes and the crew had cleared the deck for Marianne and her escort to leave. She took the senator's proffered arm and accompanied by Arcadius and by Agathe, who was evidently delighted at the prospect of setting foot on dry land again, made her way to the gangway to cross the plank linking ship to shore. The senator went first, holding her hand with the satisfied air of King Mark presenting Isolde to his people.
Marianne descended graciously to the cheers of the crowd delighted by her beauty and her smile. She was happy. She felt beautiful and admired and marvellously young and, more than all this, she did not need to turn her head to know that she was watched by one pair of eyes whose regard she had almost despaired of ever regaining.
And then, just as her foot, in its yellow silk slipper, touched the warm stone of the quay, it happened; precisely as it had happened before, one night at the Tuileries, over a year ago. Then it had been in the Emperor's cabinet, after that concert when she had braved his anger by walking off the stage right in the middle of a song, without a word of explanation… after the terrible quarrel which had taken place between herself and the master of Europe. Without warning, the white town, the blue sea and green trees and the multi-coloured crowd all merged into an insane kaleidoscope. Marianne's eyes swam and her stomach heaved wildly.
Just before she slipped into unconsciousness and the arms of the senator, who opened them in the nick of time, there was an instant's realizati
on that happiness was not to be, not yet. The evil consequences of her Venetian nightmare were not yet done.
* * *
Senator Alamano's house was situated not far from the village of Potamos, a couple of miles from the town. It was simple, white and spacious, and the surrounding garden was a perfect earthly paradise in miniature – a paradise in which nature, almost unaided, had played the role of gardener. Orange and lemon trees, citrons and pomegranates, bearing flowers and fruit together, alternated with arbours of vines, all tumbling headlong down to the sea. The heady scent of flowers was lightened by the freshness of a spring that tumbled down a bed of mossy rocks to form a tiny stream whose clear waters played mischievous hide-and-seek about the garden with the myrtles and the huge sprawling fig trees contorted with age. House and garden nestled in the hollow of a valley whose slopes were silvered over with hundreds of olive trees.
The woman who ruled over this miniature Eden, and over the senator as well, was small, busy and irrepressibly gay. Much younger than her husband who, although he would never have admitted it, was well on the way to a youthful fifty, Countess Maddalena Alamano had a real Venetian head of hair, made of fire and honey, and a true Venetian way of speaking, fast, soft and slurred, and by no means easy to follow until one got used to it. She was pretty rather than beautiful, with small, delicate features, an impudent tip-tilted nose, eyes bright with mischief, and the prettiest hands in the world. Besides being kind, generous and hospitable, she also possessed a busy tongue, capable of diffusing an incredible amount of gossip in the shortest possible space of time.
The curtsy with which she greeted Marianne on her jasmine-covered terrace was stately enough to have satisfied a Spanish camarera mayor, but she spoilt it immediately by running forward to embrace her with a spontaneity that was wholly Italian.
'I am so happy to see you,' she explained. 'I was so afraid that you would sail right past our island! But now you are here and everything is all right. It is such a pleasure… such a real happiness! And how pretty you are! But so pale… so very pale! Are you—'
[Marianne 4] - Marianne and the Rebels Page 20