Marianne and the Rebels

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  Whereupon, closing the window firmly on the swooning night outside, Jolival led Marianne into the little rococo salon where supper awaited them.

  Part II

  PERILOUS ISLES

  CHAPTER SIX

  Currents

  At some point the bed started to sway. Only half-awake, Marianne turned over and buried her nose in the pillow, trying to shake off a disagreeable dream, but the swaying persisted and slowly her brain cleared, and she realized that she was awake.

  Then something creaked somewhere in the body of the ship and she remembered she was at sea.

  She considered the round brass porthole in the further wall with a jaundiced eye. The daylight that filtered through it was grey with big white patches that were dollops of sea water. There was no sunshine, and, outside, the wind was blowing strongly. The Adriatic, this stormy July, wore the colours of a dismal autumn.

  'Just the weather to begin a voyage like this!' she thought morosely.

  Contrary to Jason's original announcement, they had not left Venice until the evening of the previous day. The privateer had suddenly felt again the lure of the unofficial cargo which had nearly cost him so dear in France and he had spent the day loading a small consignment of Venetian wines. It consisted of a number of casks of Soave, Valpolicella and Bardolino from which he anticipated making a handsome profit on the Turkish market where there was not always strict adherence to the laws of the Koran, and where foreign residents were known to be excellent customers. The Grand Signior himself was said to possess a pronounced taste for champagne.

  'That way,' the privateer had explained to Jolival, who was inclined to be less shocked than amused at the deliberate vulgarity, 'I shan't have the voyage for nothing.'

  As a result, they had gone aboard at nightfall, just as Venice was lighting her lamps and making ready for her nocturnal revelry.

  Jason Beaufort was waiting at the head of the ship's gangway to welcome his passengers aboard. The bow he gave them was sufficiently formal to send a chill through Marianne's heart but at the same time acted as a spur to her anger, hardening her determination to fight back. Seeing that this was how he wanted it, she tilted her pretty nose insolently and considered him with an ironic concern.

  'Surely, Captain, we are a little later than arranged? Or am I mistaken?'

  'You are perfectly correct, madam.' Jason's voice was clipped but his evident annoyance did not go to the length of 'Serene Highnessing' her. 'I was obliged to delay our departure for commercial reasons of my own. I must ask you to excuse me, but you must remember, at the same time, that this brig is not a ship of war. If you wanted punctuality, you would have done better to apply to your Admiral Ganteaume for a frigate.'

  'Not a ship of war? Yet I see cannon there. At least twenty of them, surely? Do you employ them going after whales?' Marianne asked sweetly.

  From the set of his jaw and the whitening of his knuckles, this little exchange seemed to be putting a severe strain on the captain's nerves but his politeness did not falter, in spite of his very evident desire to send his passenger to the right about.

  'You may not be aware, madam, that, as matters stand today, even the smallest merchant vessel must have some means of defence.'

  But the lady appeared determined to push him to his limit.

  'There is a great deal I am not aware of, Captain, but if this is a merchant ship, then I'll be hanged! Even a blind man could see she's built for speed, not for lumbering about the sea with a hold full of merchandise.'

  'She is a privateer, certainly,' Jason said fiercely, 'but a neutral vessel. And if a neutral privateer wants to get a living these days, with your confounded Emperor's damned blockade, then there's nothing for it but trade! And now, if you have no more questions, allow me to show you to your cabin.'

  Without waiting for a reply, he led the way across the scrubbed decks, their brasswork gleaming in the lantern light, and in his haste almost knocked over a thin man of middle height, dressed in black, who was coming round the corner of the deck house.

  'Oh, is that you, John? I didn't see you there,' he apologized with a smile which did not quite reach his eyes. 'Come and be introduced. Princess, this is Doctor Leighton, our surgeon. Princess Corrado Sant'Anna,' he added, laying a slight, deliberate stress on the first name.

  'You have a medical man on board?' Marianne exclaimed in genuine surprise. 'You take good care of your men, Captain. I congratulate you. But how is it that you said nothing of there being a follower of Aesculapius on board?'

  'Because there wasn't. But the absence of a surgeon is a thing I have long regretted. So much so that I engaged the services of my friend Leighton some months ago.'

  Friend? Marianne studied the doctor's pale face to which the lantern light had imparted a yellowish tinge. He had light, deeply-sunken eyes of no very clearly defined colour, calculating eyes which seemed to be weighing her up in some cold scale of his own.

  Marianne thought with a little shudder that Lazarus might have looked like that when he rose from the dead. He said nothing but merely bowed, unsmiling, and Marianne had the sudden, instinctive feeling that not only did the man not like her, he disliked everything about her very presence on the ship. She made up her mind that she had better avoid Dr Leighton in future as far as possible. She had no wish to encounter that death's head. It remained to see, however, what degree of friendship really existed between Jason and this sinister little man.

  While Jolival went off to take up his quarters in the poop and Gracchus settled in with the crew forward, Marianne took up residence with Agathe in the deck house.

  On first entering her cabin, she had been conscious of a little pang: the room had so obviously been refurbished for a woman's occupation. The waxed mahogany floor was covered with a fine Persian rug; there was a toilet table adorned with a number of pretty knicknacks, and sea-green damask was used for the curtains over the portholes and the coverings on the soft feather bed. It all spoke so clearly of the tender care of a man in love that Marianne was touched. This room had been made ready for her, so that she should feel at home there, to be a frame for her happiness. Bravely she put the thought aside, although promising herself to thank the master of the vessel for his courtesy next day, for neither Marianne nor her maid left the cabin again that evening. They spent the time unpacking their trunks and settling themselves in, which was by no means the work of a moment.

  Agathe, for her part, took possession of a tiny cabin next-door to that of her mistress. It contained a bunk, a toilet table and a porthole, but its new owner was more than a little suspicious of it, being unashamedly terrified of the sea.

  Marianne lay in bed and stretched, yawned and finally sat up, wrinkling her nose. The inside of the ship had a strange smell, faint, it was true, but in some indefinable way disagreeable. She had noticed it when she came aboard and it had surprised her a little because the slight aroma, reminiscent of something ancient and unclean, seemed out of keeping with the holystoned appearance of the ship.

  She glanced at the clock set in the panelling, saw that it was ten o'clock, and considered getting up. Not that she particularly wanted to but she did feel very hungry, for she had eaten nothing before coming aboard the night before.

  She was still hesitating when the door opened to admit first a laden tray and then the person of Agathe, as prim and starched as if they were at home in Paris, followed in turn by Jolival in a dressing-gown. He appeared in excellent spirits.

  'I came to see how you had passed the night,' he said cheerfully, 'and how you were settling in. But I can see you lack nothing. Well, I never! Damasks and carpets! Our captain has looked after you very nicely.'

  'Are you not comfortable, Arcadius?'

  'Oh, I'm well enough. Much like himself, which is to say plain but wholesome. And the cleanliness of the ship is beyond praise.'

  'It's clean, I agree, but there's a funny smell… I can't precisely pin it down. Don't you notice it? Or haven't you got it where you are?'

>   'Oh, yes. I've noticed it,' Jolival said, seating himself on the foot of Marianne's bunk and helping himself to a piece of bread and butter and some cakes from the tray. 'I noticed it, although it is very faint… but I couldn't believe it.'

  'Not believe it? Why ever not?'

  'Because…'

  Jolival paused to finish his bread and butter before he went on with unexpected seriousness:

  'Because I have smelled something like it once before in my life, only much, much stronger, a truly unbelievable stench. It was at Nantes, in the harbour there… near a slave ship. The wind was blowing from the wrong direction.'

  Marianne's hand remained poised, in the act of pouring herself a cup of coffee. She stared incredulously at her friend.

  'It was the same smell? You are quite sure?'

  'It's not a smell you forget if you've once met it. I tell you, it haunted me all night.'

  Marianne set down the coffee-pot with a hand that shook suddenly, so that a large brown stain spread over the tray-cloth.

  'You aren't suggesting Jason is engaged in that frightful trade?'

  'No because then the smell would be much stronger, in spite of any amount of scrubbing and fumigating. But it makes me wonder if he hasn't had something to do with that kind of – of transport at some time or other.'

  'It's quite impossible!' Marianne cried vehemently. Don't forget, Arcadius, that six months ago the Witch was lying in Morlaix roads, where Surcouf took her and sailed her to our rendezvous. If Jason had been engaged in that foul trade, he would have smelled the smell, and I can't think he would have run the risks he did for the master of that sort of vessel. Anyway, when Jason does carry contraband, let me remind you, it's wine not human beings!'

  She was trembling with indignation, so that when she put down her cup it rattled nervously in the saucer. Jolival smiled soothingly.

  'No need to get so excited. In a minute you'll be accusing me of calling our friend a dirty slaver! I said nothing of the kind. Although, at the risk of disappointing you, if Surcouf had noticed anything, he wouldn't have objected. He's carried "black ivory" in his own vessels before now. A good shipowner can't afford to be over-nice. All the same, like you, I find this odd smell very surprising.'

  'Perhaps it's not what you think. After all, you only smelled it once.'

  'It's not the kind of thing you forget,' Arcadius said grimly. 'Nor the kind that can be got rid of by washing, and unless this vessel has had an epidemic of yellow fever aboard her—'

  'That's enough, Arcadius. You're upsetting me. You're probably imagining things. I expect it's just a dead rat somewhere. Where is Jason at the moment?'

  'Forward in the chart room. Are you wanting to pay him a call?'

  There was a faintly anxious note hovering somewhere at the back of the light, ironic voice but Marianne poured herself another cup of coffee calmly enough. The rich scent of the scalding beverage filled the tiny cabin, overcoming the insidious odour.

  'Should I?'

  'Not necessarily. Unless you want to edify the ship's company with another passage of arms like last night's. Our skipper would appear to be in an extremely bad temper. Before retiring to shut himself up forward he rocked the poop with an astonishing tirade on the subject of the defective stowing of a cask.'

  Marianne wiped her mouth with unusual concentration, a proceeding which enabled her to keep her long curling lashes prudently lowered, yet there was a lift to her brows that struck Jolival as more insubordinate than ever. However, her voice, when she answered, was miraculously soft and gentle.

  'Then I have no intention of putting myself in his way. All I want to do is stretch my legs on deck and get a breath of air.'

  'The weather's overcast, it's raining and there's a sea running.'

  'So I saw. But I must have air. We'll take a stroll together, Jolival, if you'll be kind enough to come and collect me here in half an hour's time. I can see by your face that you're going to find some other horrid reason to stop me going out – such as that Agathe and I are the only women aboard among a hundred men! Well, the last thing I mean to do is to spend all my time cooped up in this hole, particularly when I know quite well that Jason will never so much as cross the threshold. Am I right?'

  Jolival refrained from answering. Delivering himself of a fatalistic shrug, he began to steer an erratic course towards the door, negotiating the half-open trunks with their overflow of ribbons and furbelows.

  When he had gone, Marianne looked round for her maid but Agathe had disappeared. Her call was answered only by a feeble groan. Stepping quickly to the communicating door, she found the wretched Agathe collapsed on her bed, retching spasmodically into her starched apron. All her prim flirtatiousness had vanished and there remained only a little girl, very green in the face, who looked up at her mistress out of hollow eyes.

  'Good gracious, Agathe! Are you as ill as this? Why didn't you tell me?'

  'It – it came over me all of a sudden. When I was bringing your tray… I didn't feel very well and then, just as I got here… It must have been the smell of the fried eggs and bacon – oooooooh!'

  The mere mention of these items was enough to bring on another spasm and the little abigail disappeared again into her apron.

  'Well, you can't go on like this,' Marianne said firmly, substituting a basin for the apron as a start. There's a doctor on board this beastly vessel and I'm going to find him. He's a Friday-faced creature but surely he can do something to help.'

  She bathed Agathe's face briskly with cold water and eau-de-Cologne, gave her a bottle of salts and then, having first buttoned a close-fitting coat of honey-coloured cloth securely over her nightgown, she tied a scarf round her head and sallied forth in the direction of the companion-way leading up to the main deck. Climbing the steps to the deck proved something of a problem but eventually she emerged into the deck-housing between the mainmast and the mizzen.

  At that moment, the brig encountered a squall. The sea fell away from the bows and she had to cling to the steps to keep herself from sliding down again on her face. When she came out on deck she found the wind astern and the strength of it took her unawares. The loosely-tied scarf was whipped from her head and her long, dark locks writhed about her like some wild creeping plant. The empty deck rose and fell. She turned towards the poop and received the wind full in her face. The ship was running before the squall. There were white caps to the waves and all around was the singing in the shrouds and the crack and murmur of the sails. She saw the helmsman on the poop, which was reached from the lower level of the deck by a flight of steep, ladderlike steps. In his heavy canvas jacket, he looked like a part of the ship, standing there with legs braced wide apart and big hands anchored firmly on the wheel. Looking up, Marianne saw that the better part of the duty watch were perched on the yards, frantically engaged in taking in topgallants, topsails and mainsail, hauling down the main jib to bear away down wind under foresail and fore staysail, according to the orders that came booming through the loud-hailer from the poop.

  Without warning, a dozen or so barefoot monkeys dropped from above and began running about the deck. One of them cannoned into her so sharply that she was sent reeling towards the poop ladder. She flung out her hands and managed to grab hold of it in time to prevent herself from sprawling headlong, while the sailor pursued his way aft without a backward glance.

  'Your ladyship must forgive him. I do not think he saw you,' said a deep voice gravely in Italian. 'Are you hurt?'

  Marianne hauled herself upright, flinging back the hair that blinded her, and stared with a kind of shocked surprise at the man before her.

  'No,' she said automatically… 'no, thank you.'

  He moved away at once, with an easy gait that seemed to fit itself effortlessly to the irregular pitching of the ship. Marianne watched him go, petrified, for some reason she could not explain, but with a curious mixture of fear and admiration. Her season in hell was still too fresh in her mind for the sight of a black skin to inspir
e her with anything but alarm, and the sailor who had spoken to her, though not so dark as Ishtar and her sisters, was black, like them. Damiani's three slaves had been the colour of ebony whereas this man seemed to have been moulded in a kind of golden bronze, and despite an instinctive shudder based chiefly on the association of remembered fear and dislike, Marianne readily admitted that she had rarely beheld a more splendid figure of a man.

  He was barefoot, like all the crew, his lower limbs encased in tight canvas trousers, and he had the disturbing physical perfection of the great cats. To see him springing up the shrouds to stow a sail with all the lithe grace of a bronze leopard was an unforgettable experience. Nor did a brief glimpse of his face in any way disgrace the whole.

  She was still lost in these reflections when a hand grasped her arm and hauled rather than helped her up the steps to the poop.

  'What are you doing here?' yelled Jason Beaufort. 'What the devil do you mean by coming out in such weather? Do you want to be swept overboard?'

  He sounded furious but Marianne noted, to her private satisfaction, a note of real concern underlying the rebuke.

  'I was looking for the doctor. Agathe is dreadfully ill and must have help. She was very nearly sick bringing me my breakfast.'

  'Then why was she bringing it? Your maid has no business in the galley, Princess. There are servants on board, thank God, whose duty it is to attend to such matters. Ah, there is Toby, now. He has orders to see that you want for nothing.'

  Another black man had emerged from the galley regions, carrying a pailful of vegetable peelings. This one had a cheerful moon face surmounted by a circle of wiry, grizzled hair from the midst of which his bald crown rose in well-polished nakedness to confront the elements. His face split open in a beaming smile at the sight of his master, revealing a snowy crescent of white teeth.

  'Go and tell Dr Leighton there's a patient for him in the deck house,' Beaufort called.