'What's that woman doing there?' barked Jason, whom the sight of Marianne had apparently roused from his torpor. 'Take her back to her cabin!'
'Not before I've told you what I think!' she screamed, struggling in O'Flaherty's arms. 'How can you stand there and watch a man being done to death before your eyes!'
'He is not being done to death. He's receiving well-deserved punishment.'
'Hypocrite! How many blows like that do you think he can bear and live?'
'He attempted to kill the doctor. He deserves to hang. My only reason for not hanging him is that Dr Leighton interceded for him.'
Marianne gave a crack of laughter.
'Interceded for him, did he? I'm not surprised! I daresay he thought it a shame to kill a man who'd fetch a good price in any of your loathsome markets in human flesh!'
Jason's face darkened with rage and he was about to make a violent reply, when Leighton's cold voice cut in like a knife:
'Precisely. Such a slave is worth a fortune and I am the first to deplore this punishment.'
'I did not bring him from Venice to sell him again,' Jason snapped. 'I'm only carrying out the law of the sea. If he dies of it, so much the worse. You may go on, Arroyo.'
'No! I won't let you! Coward! You're nothing but a coward and a bully! I won't let you!'
The boatswain was already raising his whip again but uncertainly. Anger had given Marianne an added strength which made it almost impossible for the lieutenant to hold her. Around them the men stood staring, fascinated by the raging, wild-eyed woman, too dazed to intervene.
Jason, beside himself, was already springing down from the poop to go to his lieutenant's assistance, when the voice from the masthead cried:
'Captain! The Pomone is asking what's amiss. What'll I tell her?'
'Punishment, tell'em!'
'They must have heard the Princess screaming,' O'Flaherty muttered breathlessly. 'With a telescope they can see all that's going on here. Better belay, Captain. Short of knocking her unconscious, we can't keep her quiet, and it's not worth risking a fight, two against one.'
'It's not that I don't want one,' Jason snarled, clenching his fists. 'How many lashes now?'
'Twenty-five.'
Sensing victory within her reach, Marianne had stopped struggling, and was conserving her breath to scream the louder if Jason did not give in.
For a moment, their eyes met, both filled with an equal rage, but it was the privateer's that were the first to fall.
'Cut him down,' he ordered curtly, swinging on his heel. 'But put him in irons. If Dr Leighton is willing to attend him, he can have him.'
'I hope you're proud of yourself, Jason Beaufort!' Marianne cried scornfully. 'I don't know which I admire most: your hospitality or your sense of honour!'
Jason had already turned away, but he paused beside the mizzen-mast where two men were engaged in cutting down the Ethiopian's motionless figure.
'Honour?' he said, with a weary little shrug. 'It's not a word you know the meaning of! As for my hospitality, as you call it, I'd have you know that on board this ship it's called discipline. Those who flout the common law must take the consequences. And now, go back to your cabin. You have no business here, and I may yet forget that you're a woman.'
Marianne turned without a word and laid her hand with dignity on the arm which O'Flaherty was holding out to her uneasily, waiting to escort her to her cabin.
As they went, she saw that the ship was now sailing past a dark and desolate-looking coast, in sombre contrast to the bright blue sea and sparkling sunshine. It was a land of stark, black rock, bare hills and sharp, menacing reefs. In the clear Greek light it seemed a place designed for storms and darkness and shipwreck. A place for murder, too. The thought made her shiver a little and she turned to her companion:
'Do you know what land that is?'
'The island of Cythera, ma'am.'
Marianne exclaimed in surprise:
'Cythera! You can't mean it? Surely, you are joking? Cythera? Those gloomy, barren rocks!'
'Yes, indeed it is. The island of love! It's a sad disappointment, I agree. I can't imagine anyone wishing to embark for such a dismal spot.'
'No… but isn't that just what we all do? We embark, full of joy and eagerness, for our dream Cythera, only to arrive here, on a harsh rocky isle where everything is smashed. That's what love is, Lieutenant. It's a trap, like the fires lit by wreckers on an empty shore to entice lost ships in to shatter themselves on the cruel rocks. Love is a shipwreck, a wreck made all the worse because it happens just when you think a haven is in sight.'
Craig O'Flaherty drew in his breath. His naturally cheerful face bore a look of distress that sat uneasily on it. He was silent for a moment and then said quietly:
'You mustn't despair, ma'am. You aren't wrecked yet.'
'No? In two or three days we'll reach Athens. What can I do then but take passage on some Greek vessel going to Constantinople, while you set a course for America.'
There was another silence. The lieutenant appeared to be having some difficulty in breathing but, as Marianne glanced in surprise at his flushed face, he seemed to make up his mind with an immense effort, like a man reaching a decision he has been putting off for a long time.
'No,' he said abruptly. 'Not for America. Or not at first, at any rate. We're bound for Africa.'
'Africa?'
'Yes. For the Gulf of Guinea. We're expected on the island of Fernando Po, in the Bight of Biafra, and – and the slave depots of Old Calabar. That is why the doctor was so much against this voyage to Constantinople – and your own presence on board.'
'What are you trying to tell me?'
Marianne uttered the words in a strangled shriek and O'Flaherty grasped her hastily by the arm and hurried her onward, casting uneasy glances around him.
'Not here, ma'am! Go back to your cabin. I have my duty.'
'But I want to know—'
'Later, I beg you! When I am free – this evening, for instance. I'll come to your door and tell you everything then. In the meanwhile, try not to blame the captain too much. He has fallen into the clutches of a devil who aims to drive him mad.'
They had reached Marianne's door by now. O'Flaherty was bowing briefly and, much as she longed to know the truth about the things that had been kept from her, she realized that for the present it was useless to insist: better to wait and let the lieutenant tell her in his own good time.
Yet, as he turned to go, she called him back:
'Mr O'Flaherty, just one thing more. How is the man who was flogged?'
'Kaleb?'
'Yes. I know the thing he did was very bad but – that terrible punishment…'
'He was spared the greater part of it, thanks to you, ma'am,' the lieutenant said gently, 'and a man of his strength doesn't die of twenty-five lashes. As for the thing he did – well, I know two or three more'd be glad to do the same. Until this evening, then, ma'am.'
This time, Marianne let him go. She entered the cabin thoughtfully, to be greeted with something not far short of rapture by Agathe who had evidently been expecting Jason Beaufort to hang her mistress at the yard-arm for daring to interfere.
Marianne told her in a few words what had taken place and then withdrew into a silence which lasted until evening. Her brain whirled with such a confused multitude of thoughts that it was all she could do to sort them out. There were so many questions that she did not give up until her head was aching. Overcome at last by weariness and the pain in her temples, she decided to try and sleep.
It would help to build up her strength and, in any case, sleep was quite the best way of making the time pass quickly when one was consumed with curiosity.
She was roused from her sleep by the sound of gunfire which sent her dashing breathlessly to the porthole, fearing an attack. But it was only the frigates of their escort firing a farewell salute. Cythera had vanished. Westwards, the sun was low in the sky and the two warships, their mission accomplished, were g
oing about for the return journey to Corfu. They could not go any farther for fear of offending the Sultan, who was not friendly to France. The British squadrons were equally cautious, to avoid damaging the recently improved relations between their own government and the Sublime Porte. In the normal way of things the Sea Witch should have been able to make Constantinople without further trouble – if her captain had not decreed that the voyage was to end at Piraeus, whence he would set a course for Africa.
It was this mention of Africa that tormented Marianne more even than her own predicament. O'Flaherty, if Marianne had understood him correctly, had implied that Jason intended to sail for the Bight of Biafra to pick up a cargo of slaves. Yet that could not possibly be true, since Jason's one object in going to Venice had been to meet the woman he meant to make his wife and take her with him to Charleston. It was to be a lovers' trip, almost a honeymoon. A cruise on board a slave ship could scarcely be expected to appeal to a young woman, and certainly no man worthy of the name would inflict such a voyage on the woman he loved. Then, what?
She remembered suddenly what Jason himself had told her on their first day out. Leighton was not to make the whole voyage with them. They were to put him ashore somewhere. Was it only the sinister doctor who had business at Old Calabar – or was it Jason who had not dared to tell her the whole truth? The bond between him and Leighton was not one of friendship, or not of friendship alone. There was something else. Pray God it was not a plot between them!
As the afternoon drew on to evening, Marianne waited for O'Flaherty with growing impatience. She prowled about her cabin, unable to sit still, and continually asking Agathe what time it was. Still the lieutenant did not come, and when she tried to send her maid for news, she found that this time she was really a prisoner. Her cabin door was locked on the outside. A fresh period of waiting began, a time of nervous fears that grew worse with every hour that passed.
Still the lieutenant did not come. Nerves stretched to breaking point, Marianne could have screamed, banged, clawed, anything to relieve the anger and alarm which threatened to choke her. There was no reason for it that she knew but, like a wild creature, she sensed the approach of some new danger.
What came, at last, when dawn was not very far off, was the sound of the key being turned in the newly-mended lock. John Leighton entered, with a group of seamen at his back amongst whom Marianne recognized Arroyo, carrying a lantern. Contrary to his usual habit, the doctor was armed to the teeth, and an extraordinary expression of triumph, which he seemed unable to hide, shone through his livid countenance, giving it a sinister vitality. Clearly this was the great moment of his life, a moment for which he had been waiting for a long time.
Marianne reacted instantly. Reaching for a wrapper she slid out of bed and faced them.
'Who gave you leave to enter here?' she demanded with dignity. 'Oblige me by getting out at once!'
Ignoring this, Leighton came further into the cabin. The seamen crowded into the doorway, craning their necks eagerly to get a glimpse into the unfamiliar prettiness of the women's cabin.
'I'm desolated to disturb you,' the doctor said, with heavy sarcasm, 'but I fear that it is you who must get out. You must leave this ship at once. A boat awaits you.'
'Leave the ship? In the middle of the night? Are you mad? Where do you expect me to go, may I ask?'
'Where you like. We are in the Mediterranean, not the Atlantic. Land is not far off, and it will soon be dawn. Prepare yourself.'
Marianne folded her arms, hugging her wrap more closely round her, and looked at him, unmoving.
'Fetch the captain,' she said. 'I am not stirring until I hear it from his own lips.'
'Indeed?'
'Yes, indeed! You have no authority, Doctor, which entitles you to give orders on board this ship. Least of all such orders as that.'
Leighton's smile grew, acquiring an added venom.
'I fear,' he said, with horrid smoothness, 'that those are the captain's orders. Unless you wish to be put into the boat by force, you will obey at once. I repeat: make your preparations. Put on a dress, a cloak, what you will, but do it quickly.' He glanced round the cabin. 'You cannot, of course, be permitted to take your trunks, or your jewels. You will not need them at sea and they would only be useless clutter in the boat.'
There was a pause while Marianne digested this astonishing speech. What did it all mean? Was she to be robbed of all her baggage and set adrift on the open sea? It was incredible, horrible and unimaginable, that Jason should have decided suddenly to get rid of her, in the middle of the night, after relieving her of everything she possessed. It was still more inconceivable that he should have chosen Leighton for his messenger. It was so unlike him… it must be so unlike him, surely? Yet even as she asked herself the question, the seeds of doubt were planting themselves in her anguished mind, reminding her of another night, long before, the dreadful night of her wedding to Francis Cranmere, when Jason had left Selton Hall, taking with him every penny of Marianne's fortune.
Seeing that the man before her was showing signs of impatience, she turned her rage on him.
'I thought this vessel was an honest privateer,' she said, with all the scorn at her command. 'I see now that I have fallen among thieves! You are no better than a common pirate, Doctor Leighton, and the worst kind of villain, for you attack defenceless women with force. Well, I'm too weak to oppose you. Pack our things, Agathe. That is, if this gentleman will kindly tell us what we are allowed to take.'
'I did not say,' Leighton countered blandly, 'that you might take your maid. How should you need an abigail in a boat? Any more than you will need your fine dresses? Whereas she may be useful here. You look surprised? Did I omit to tell you that you were to go alone? I must ask your serene highness to forgive me.' Then, with an abrupt change of tone, he added: 'Jump to it, you men. We've wasted too much time already. Take her away!'
'Villain!' Marianne screamed wildly. 'I forbid you to lay hands on me!…Help!…Help!'
But already the men were swarming into the cabin, transforming it in an instant into a miniature hell. Marianne fought bravely, hemmed in by eyes that gleamed like red-hot coals, foul breath that reeked of rum and greedy hands that pawed at her furtively under the guise of dragging her away, but resistance was useless. Yet she redoubled her efforts at the sound of frantic screams from Agathe who was being held down on the bed by two seamen while a third ripped off her nightgown. There was a gleam of plump, white flesh that quickly vanished into the curtained recesses of the bunk, hidden beneath the body of the man who, urged on by his companions, was now energetically raping her.
Meanwhile, although she kicked and scratched with all her might, Marianne was overpowered and with a gag thrust in her mouth to stifle her cries, was manhandled out on to the deck.
'You see,' Leighton told her piously, 'this is what comes of not being sensible. It is your own fault that we have been obliged to use force. Nevertheless I hope you will do me the justice to admit that I have held my men in check. I might easily have let them deal with you as they have with that girl of yours. These good fellows do not love you, Princess. They blame you for changing their captain into a spineless weakling, but they'd be quite willing to enjoy your dainty person, all the same. So thank me properly, instead of spitting like a wild cat. Away with her, you men!'
If sheer blind rage could kill, the doctor would have dropped dead on the spot, or else Marianne herself might well have died. Driven half out of her mind by the sound of Agathe's shrieks, feebler now but still audible, so beside herself with anger as to be scarcely conscious of what was happening to her, Marianne fought with such fury that they had to tie her hands and feet to carry her to the side. There a rope was slung under her armpits and she was lowered with a bump into the open boat bobbing gently on a line from the ship's side. As she made contact with the wooden thwart, uttering an involuntary cry of pain, someone severed the line. The sea carried the boat away at once and, looking up, Marianne saw, far above her
, a row of heads gating down. Leighton's voice sounded mockingly in her ears:
'Happy landings, your highness! You'll have no trouble freeing yourself. The ropes are not too tight. And there are oars in the bottom of the boat, if you can row. You need not worry about your friends and servants – I'll take care of them!'
Sick with fury, with a burning head and a sharp pain in her back, Marianne watched the brig sail past her boat, veer gently and then draw away, still hardly able to realize what had happened to her.
Soon, before her wide, tear-drenched eyes, appeared the graceful, brightly-lit stern windows, surmounted by their three lanterns. Then the vessel went about and altered course. Gradually the tall pyramid of sails receded and was lost in the surrounding darkness, until it was nothing but a vague shape marked by tiny twinkling lights.
Only then did Marianne begin to grasp the fact that she was alone on the wide sea, set adrift without food or water, practically without clothes, and doomed, coldly and deliberately, to die unless a miracle occurred.
There was the ship, hull down on the horizon, taking her only friends with it, the ship that belonged to the man she loved and to whom she had sworn to devote her life, and who not so long ago had vowed that he loved her above all else. Yet he had not been able to forgive her for concealing her misery and shame from him.
CHAPTER NINE
Sappho
True to Leighton's mocking assurance, Marianne was able to free her hands and feet and get the gag from her mouth without a great deal of difficulty but, except for the small satisfaction to be gained from the unrestricted use of her limbs, she did not find herself very much better off.
All round her was the empty sea. It was still dark, with the awesome, impenetrable blackness of before dawn, but it was a moving darkness, lifting and tossing her as a child plays with a toy in its hand. She was cold as well, for her thin cambric nightgown and light wrapper offered little protection against the early morning chill. A white mist was gathering, thick, penetrating and horribly clammy.
[Marianne 4] - Marianne and the Rebels Page 26