Marianne and the Rebels

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  There was a faint frown in Marianne's eyes and she was unable to stop herself asking: 'Have you many negroes on board?'

  'Why? Don't you like them?' Jason snapped back, for her look had not escaped him. 'There are plenty of them where I come from. I thought I had told you that my own nurse was black. It's not something people in France or England are accustomed to, I grant you, but in Charleston and anywhere in the South it's perfectly normal and natural. But, to answer your question: I have two, Toby and his brother Nathan. No, I was forgetting. I've three, now. I took on another at Chioggia.'

  'At Chioggia?'

  'Yes, an Ethiopian. The poor devil had been a slave of your friends the Turks and had escaped. I found him adrift in the port when I was taking on water. You can see him up there astride the tops'l yard.'

  A creeping chill which had nothing to do with the weather, though it was cool for the time of year, stole over Marianne. The man whose appearance had made such an impression on her – was she dreaming, or did he really have light eyes? – was a runaway slave. And, runaways apart, what of the other two, the servants Jason had spoken of? Jolival's words returned unbidden to her mind, and because she could not bear the smallest cloud on her love she could not help asking the question that rose to her lips, although she phrased it with a little circumlocution:

  'Yes, I had noticed him. Your "poor devil" is a fine-looking fellow – and very different from him.' She nodded at Toby, now engaged in emptying his bucket overboard. 'Is he another runaway slave?'

  'There are as many different races of blacks as there are whites. The Ethiopians claim descent from the Queen of Sheba and her son by Solomon. Their features are in general finer and more aquiline than those of other Africans, and they have a fierce pride which does not take easily to slavery. Some of them are much lighter-skinned, too, like this one. But why should you think Toby and Nathan are runaways? They were born into my family's service. Their parents were very young when my grandfather bought them.'

  The chill turned to ice. It seemed to Marianne that she was moving into a new and unfamiliar world. It had never occurred to her that Jason, a free American citizen, might regard slavery as something perfectly normal. She knew, of course, that the trade in 'black ivory', as Jolival had called it, illegal in England since 1807 and frowned on, although not actually banned, in France, still nourished in the American south where the country's wealth was largely built on black labour. She knew, too, that as a southerner, born in Charleston, Jason had been brought up among the negroes of his father's plantation. He had talked to her once, with some affection, about his black nurse, Deborah. But the problem which faced her now, in all its brutal realism, was one that she had not previously considered except in an abstract, almost disembodied light. Now she was looking at Jason Beaufort, slave-owner, discussing the buying and selling of human beings as dispassionately as if they were cattle. Obviously, this state of affairs seemed perfectly natural to him.

  As things stood between them just then, Marianne might have been wiser to conceal her feelings, but she had never learned to resist the impulse of her heart, especially where the man she loved was concerned.

  'Slaves! How strange to hear that word on your lips,' she murmured, instinctively abandoning the superficial, hurtful formality which had subsisted between them. 'You have always seemed to me the very image and symbol of liberty. How can you even bring yourself to say it?'

  For the first time that morning, she beheld a genuinely arrested look in the faint widening of the blue eyes turned on her, but the smile which followed that unguarded expression was sardonic as ever, and neither candid nor even remotely friendly.

  'I should imagine your Emperor can say it readily enough. He reintroduced slavery and the slave-trade as First Consul, after it had been abolished by the Revolution. He shuffled off the best part of the problem with Louisiana, I grant, but I've never heard that the folks of San Domingo had much cause to bless him for his liberalism.'

  'Let's leave the Emperor out of this. I am talking about you and only you.'

  'Are you condescending to criticize my way of life, and the ways of my people? That's rich! Well, let me tell you something. I know the blacks better than you. They're fine fellows for the most part and I like them, but you can't alter the fact that they're still no more sophisticated than children. They laugh and cry as easily, and they have the same unpredictability and the same warmth of heart. But they need guidance.'

  'With a whip? With chains on their legs and treated worse than cattle! No man, whatever his colour, was put on this earth to be a slave. I wonder what the Beaufort who left France under Louis XIV, after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, would have thought of your reasoning. I daresay he knew freedom was worth any sacrifice!'

  A certain tightening of the lines round Jason's mouth might have warned Marianne that his patience was wearing thin, but she herself was spoiling for a fight. She would a hundred times rather face up to a good row between them than this frigid politeness.

  There was a black look in the privateer's eyes and a scornful curl to his lip but he answered with no more than a shrug:

  'My poor idiot, it was that very ancestor who started our plantation at La Faye-Blanche and bought the first slaves. But the whip has never been in use with us, and our blacks have had no cause to complain of their treatment. Ask Toby and Nathan! If I'd tried to give them their freedom when the estate was burned they would have lain down and died at my door.'

  'I didn't say that you were bad masters, Jason—'

  'What did you say then? Was I dreaming when I heard you referring to chains and men treated like cattle? Not that I'm surprised to find you such a staunch supporter of liberty! It's not a word much in use among women of your kind. The majority prefer, I might even say insist on a form of sweet servitude. You don't like the word? But then you, perhaps, are not altogether woman! You're quite at liberty, though, madam! At liberty to ruin everything, to smash everything around you, beginning with your own life and other people's! Oh, there's nothing to touch a truly liberated woman! She's capable of anything! Give woman freedom and they turn into dear little puppets, clinging like crazy to their crowns and peacock feathers!'

  The arrival on the scene of Jolival cut short this diatribe. Jason, now quite beside himself, was shouting loudly enough for the whole ship to hear him. He had contained himself too long and now his pent-up anger was released. Catching sight of the little vicomte's amiable features, he barked furiously:

  'Take this lady back to her cabin. Treat her with the respect due to a free ambassadress of a liberal Empire! And don't let me see her here again. The quarterdeck is no place for a woman, however liberated! Nor am I obliged to endure her. I too am free!'

  And turning on his heel Jason went swiftly down the ladder and strode forward to shut himself up in the chart room.

  Jolival made his way to Marianne who was gripping the rail with both hands, struggling with the wind and a violent desire to cry.

  'What have you done to him?'

  'Nothing! I was only trying to explain to him that slavery is an abomination and how shocking it is that there are poor wretches on this ship without the right to call themselves men! And you saw how he spoke to me!'

  'Oh, so now you're fighting about the condition of mankind, are you?' Jolival said helplessly. 'Good God in heaven, Marianne! Haven't you enough to quarrel about, you and Jason, without adding things that are no concern of yours? Upon my word, anyone would think you actually enjoyed tearing yourselves to pieces! He's dying to take you in his arms and you're ready to throw yourself at his feet, yet put you together and you're at each other like a pair of fighting cocks. And in front of the hands!'

  'But, Jolival, have you forgotten the smell?'

  'Did you mention that to him?'

  'No. He didn't give me time. He got angry straight away.'

  'And just as well! My dear child, what do you think you're doing? When will you learn that men have their own lives and will live them a
s they think best? Come along now, let me take you to your cabin. I'm damned if I'll let you out alone again!'

  Marianne went with him meekly, accepting the arm he offered to escort her back to the deck-house. This time they had to make their way past the members of the crew who had now descended from the shrouds. The wind being aft had enabled them to follow the quarrel with interest, and Marianne caught a number of broad grins, which covered her with confusion. However, she pretended not to notice them and to be absorbed in conversation with Jolival who was discoursing fluently upon the weather.

  They were about to descend the stairs leading below when she saw the dark-skinned fugitive leaning against the mainmast. He had seen her, too, but he did not smile. His eyes, actually of a kind of bluish tint, held a rather melancholy expression. Half-unwillingly, Marianne took a step towards him.

  'What is your name?' she asked, a little nervously.

  He abandoned his indolent pose and stood up to answer her. Once again, she was struck by the savage beauty of the man's face and the strangeness of his light eyes. Except for his dark skin, the runaway slave had nothing at all negroid about him: the nose was finely chiselled and there was no thickening about the firm, well-shaped lips. He bowed slightly and said softly:

  'Kaleb… at your service.'

  A profound pity, the outcome of her recent dispute with Jason, swept over Marianne for the poor wretch who was, after all, no better than a hunted animal. She tried to find something to say to him and, recalling what Jason had told her, she asked:

  'Do you know that we are going to Constantinople? I am told that you have escaped from the Turks. Are you not afraid—'

  'Afraid of being recaptured? No, madame. If I do not leave the ship, I have nothing to fear. I am a member of the crew now and the captain will not allow anyone to touch one of his men. But I thank you for your kind thought, madame.'

  'It was nothing. Was it in Turkey that you learned to speak Italian?'

  'Just so. Slaves there are often given a good education. I speak French also,' he added in that language, after only the faintest hesitation.

  'I see.'

  With a little nod, Marianne at last followed Jolival down the dark companion ladder.

  'If I were you,' Jolival remarked humorously, 'I should be careful how you talk to the men. Our dear captain is quite capable of deciding you are inciting them to mutiny, and probably clapping you in irons without more ado.'

  'Quite capable, I agree. But, Arcadius, I can't help feeling sorry for that poor man. A slave – and a runaway slave at that – it's so dreadfully sad. And it's terrifying to think what might happen to him if he were recaptured.'

  'Oddly enough,' Jolival said, 'I don't feel in the least sorry for your bronze sailor. Possibly on account of his physique. Any master, however cruel, if he had the smallest regard for his money, would think twice about killing such a valuable property. Besides, he told you himself, he has nothing to fear. He has the American flag to protect him.'

  As Marianne entered her cabin, the smell caught her by the throat. There was no doubt about it, Agathe was very ill indeed. However, as she came in, Dr Leighton was in the act of closing the door to the maid's tiny chamber.

  He told Marianne that, closed to the eyebrows with belladonna, the girl would sleep off her miseries, and went on to add that she should not be disturbed. Marianne, however, did not like his tone, any more than she liked the look of her cabin.

  Soiled towels were strewn about everywhere and right in the middle of her dressing table was a basin part-full of a yellowish liquid which slopped to and fro uninvitingly. The smell which greeted her left Marianne in no doubt of its contents. All this was quite clearly deliberate and gave her a very good idea of what kind of cooperation she might expect from Dr Leighton.

  'The stench in here!' Jolival exclaimed, hurrying to open the porthole. That's the best way to get seasick.'

  'Sickness is very rarely agreeable,' Leighton retorted sourly, making for the door. Marianne stopped him with a gesture to the damask curtains round her bed.

  'I trust you had enough towels, doctor,' she said with heavy irony. 'You appear to have missed these, and my dresses, too.'

  The thin, parchment-coloured face was rigid but there was a cold glint in the man's eyes and an extra tightness about his lips. In his dark clothes, with the lank hair falling to his collar, John Leighton was as stern and unbending as a Quaker. Perhaps, indeed, that was what he was, for the look he bestowed on the elegant Marianne bordered on revulsion. She wondered again how such a man could be Jason's friend. He would have got on much better with Pilar!

  Furiously Marianne thrust away the disagreeable thought of Jason's wife. It was bad enough to know the woman was still alive, even though in the depths of some Spanish convent, without having to think about her!

  Leighton, meanwhile, had mastered his evident spurt of anger. He bowed with, if possible a greater coldness and contempt than before and went out, followed by a look from Jolival suggestive of feelings strongly divided between laughter and indignation. In the end he shrugged it off and merely remarked:

  'Can't say I'm much taken with that fellow. I hope to God I shan't need his services. Being doctored by him can't be much fun. To think we've got to face that at mealtimes!'

  'Not me!' Marianne declared. 'Since I'm forbidden to set foot on the quarterdeck, I'll not enter the cabin either! I shall take my meals here… and I shan't object if you do the same.'

  'I'll see. In the meanwhile, come and take another turn on deck. I'll send for Toby to clean up this mess, or else your appetite will suffer. But, if I were you, I'd not go to earth. You won't get anywhere by skulking in your tent, you know. Show yourself! Let him see you in all your glory. The sirens never went back to their caves until they'd made sure of their victims.'

  'You may be right. But how can I make myself look beautiful when I'm being shaken about like a cork in a saucepan of boiling water?'

  'It's only a summer squall. It won't last.'

  He was right. Towards the end of the day, the wind and the sea subsided. The gale became a pleasant breeze, just enough to swell the sails. The sea, which had been so grey and turbulent throughout the day, was now smooth and flat as shimmering satin, laced with little white flecks. The tall blue lines of the Dalmatian coast were now to be seen in the distance, while in the foreground lay a chain of islands coloured green and amethyst in the light of the setting sun. It was warm outside and Marianne indulged in the melancholy luxury of musing alone at the rail, watching the changing shore and the red-sailed fishing boats heading for home.

  For all the beauty of the evening, her heart felt heavy, sad and lonely. Jolival was somewhere else, probably in the company of the first-officer, with whom he seemed to have struck up a friendship.

  The first-officer was a convivial soul, an Irishman by birth, whose red nose betrayed a fondness for the bottle and who could not have been a greater contrast to the chilly Leighton. Since he knew something of France and a good deal more about the produce of her vineyards, it did not need many words to assure him of the vicomte's regard.

  But it was not the absence of Arcadius which troubled her, as Marianne privately admitted. Her temper had subsided with the squall and she felt in her heart a vast longing for peace and quiet and tenderness.

  From where she stood, she could see Jason standing on the poop, next to the man at the wheel. He was smoking a long clay pipe, as tranquilly as though there were no lovely woman in love with him on board his ship. She wanted, oh so very much, to go to him! Already, earlier in the day, when the bell had rung for luncheon, it had cost her a struggle to stay firm in her decision to eat alone, solely because there would have been nothing between them but the width of the table. Her throat had ached so that she could barely touch the meal Toby had brought to her. Tonight it would be even worse. Jolival was right. It would be nice to make herself beautiful and then to take her seat opposite him and see if she could still exercise some power over that unshakeable
will. She was burning to go to him but her pride refused without a formal invitation. After all, he had banished her from his private territory and in such a way that she could scarcely go to him now without loss of face.

  A foreign body interposed itself between her and the happy poop. She had no need to turn her head to know that it was Arcadius. He reeked of Spanish tobacco and Jamaica rum. Perceiving that she was still wearing her day dress, he clicked his tongue reprovingly.

  'Why aren't you changed?' he asked quietly. 'The bell will go soon.'

  'Not for me. I am staying in my cabin. Tell Toby to bring my dinner to me.'

  'This is nothing more than a fit of the sullens, Marianne. You are simply sulking.'

  'Perhaps I am but I shan't budge from what I told you before. I'm not setting foot in there – not unless I'm asked as clearly as I was thrown out.'

  Jolival laughed.

  'I've often wondered what Achilles did in his tent while all the other Greeks were away fighting the Trojans. And especially what he thought. It looks as though I'm going to find out. Very well then. Good night, Marianne. I shan't see you again because I've promised that fire-eating young Irishman I'd teach him how to play chess! Do you want me to carry your ultimatum to the captain, or will you?'

  'I forbid you to mention me to him! I am staying in my cabin. If he wants to see me, he knows where to find me. He knows me well enough – and he's no coward! Good night, Arcadius. And don't fleece your young Irishman. He may drink like a fish but he looks as green as a girl.'

  To say that Marianne slept well would be an exaggeration. She tossed and turned in her cot for hour after hour. How many hours, she had no difficulty estimating, thanks to the regular chiming of the ship's bell. She felt stifled in the narrow space, filled with the sound of Agathe's snoring penetrating the thin partition which divided them. It was almost dawn before she fell into a dreamless sleep from which she woke to dismal reality and a cracking headache round about nine o'clock, when Toby tapped discreetly on her door.