Marianne and the Rebels

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  'Perhaps if I had seen her in another's arms, seen her give herself to another man… vile, and contemptible… perhaps then I should be able to believe it.'

  'Jason,' Marianne begged, almost in tears. 'Jason, stop… have pity!'

  She was trying to grasp his hands, to get close to him and penetrate the icy fog which lay between them, but he shook her off and the colour darkened in his face under the pressure of a fresh wave of anger.

  'I know,' he cried, 'I know how to combat the sirens' song! And I know how to destroy your power, too, she-devil!'

  He sprang to the door and dragged it open, calling in a powerful voice:

  'Kaleb! Come here!'

  In the grip of an irrational terror, Marianne hurled herself at the door and tried to slam it shut but he flung her back into the room.

  'What are you going to do?' she asked. 'Why are you calling him?'

  'You'll see.'

  The next moment, the Ethiopian entered the cabin and, despite her fear, Marianne was struck again by the splendour of that bronze face and body. He seemed to fill the narrow space with a kind of kingly majesty.

  Unlike the other coloured men he did not bow to the white master. In response to Jason's order, he closed the door and then stood with folded arms before her, waiting quietly, but his light eyes went quickly from the privateer to the white-faced woman.

  'Look at her, Kaleb,' Jason said, brutally, pointing. Tell me what you think of her. Is she beautiful?'

  There was a moment's silence before Kaleb answered gravely: 'Very beautiful. Very frightened also.'

  'A sham! That face is used to play-acting. She's an adventuress disguised as a princess, a singer trained to do anything for applause! She'll sleep with any man she fancies, but you're a handsome fellow – no reason why she shouldn't fancy you! Go on, take her! I give her to you!'

  'Jason!' Marianne cried, horror-struck. 'Are you mad?'

  The slave started and a quick frown creased his brows. Then his face hardened, giving him the look of some stern, basalt image of an ancient pharaoh. He shook his head and turned to go but pulled up short at a cry from Jason.

  'Stay where you are! That's an order! She's yours, I said, so take her – here and now! Look!'

  He reached out swiftly and snatched the cashmere shawl roughly from Marianne's shoulders. The light nightgown she wore was anything but concealing and a slow flush mounted to her cheeks as she crossed her arms over her breast to cover herself.

  No trace of emotion was visible on the impassive features of the Ethiopian as he moved towards her.

  Marianne shrank back, sensing a threat and terrified that the slave was going to obey. But Kaleb did not touch her. He merely bent and picked up the shawl as it lay on the deck. As he did so, his strangely blue eyes met hers for an instant. There was no bitterness in them, as might have been expected after the way she had recoiled from him, but only a kind of melancholy amusement.

  With a rapid movement, he replaced the soft woollen stuff round her shivering shoulders. Marianne seized it and hugged it to her as though to glue it to her body. Then, turning to the captain who had watched frowning, Kaleb said simply:

  'You gave me shelter, lord, and I am here to serve you – but not as your executioner.'

  Jason's eyes flashed wrathfully but the Ethiopian met them without flinching, without insolence either, but with a dignity which Marianne found impressive. Then Jason waved him to the door.

  'Get out. You're a fool!'

  Kaleb smiled briefly.

  'Am I? I'd not have left this room alive, had I obeyed you. You would have killed me.'

  It was not a question. Simply a statement of fact and Jason did not offer to contradict it. He let the seaman go without another word, only his frown deepened. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, glancing at the girl who had her back to him now so that he should not see her tears. She was deeply hurt by what had happened, for her pride as well as her love was wounded. A man's jealousy might carry him so far but to be abused like this left bleeding scars in the very heart's tissue, scars which might never fully heal.

  The sound of the door slamming violently told her that Jason had gone but there was small comfort to be had from the fact that it was followed by no click of the key turning in the lock. Now that he had judged her, Jason would hardly consider it worth while to lock her in. For one thing, the mere fact of being on a ship at sea constituted imprisonment enough, and for another, he must know that Marianne had no desire to leave him, that she was dreading the moment when the Athenian coast would rise above the horizon, bringing with it what looked like being an irrevocable parting. For whatever her grief, or possibly because of it, Marianne was determined not to utter another word in her own defence. The abominable treatment meted out to Jolival and Gracchus forbade it.

  The day dragged endlessly, with no other company than Agathe's. The only person to cross her threshold was Toby, who brought her meals, but the old negro seemed as out of spirits as the two women. His eyes were reddened, as though with tears, and when Agathe asked him gently what was wrong he only shook his head unhappily and muttered that the master was not himself, not himself at all.

  'He walk de deck all night long, like some sick wolf, and in de day, he don' seem to hear what no one say to him.'

  There was nothing more to be got from him but this observation, from a servant so devoted, was enough to make it clear how great was Jason's suffering, and Marianne thought with anguish that the discovery of her condition had unleashed forces for evil in him quite unsuspected even by those who had known him from childhood.

  Fortunately, Leighton's potion, which she continued taking in small doses, maintained its beneficent effects and, freed from the dreadful nausea, Marianne had at least the consolation of being able to think straight. It was a dubious advantage as she lay awake, with eyes wide open, staring into the shifting darkness, counting every hour by the ting of the ship's bell that timed the wretched progress of her thoughts.

  In her own corner, Agathe was not sleeping either. Her mistress could hear her praying softly and the occasional little sniffing sounds that showed that she was crying.

  When dawn came, it found them both equally pale and wretched.

  Even though the door was not locked on the outside, Marianne dared not leave the cabin. She was afraid that her appearance might provoke Jason to another of the unpredictable fits of rage which she had learned to fear. God alone knew what his state of mind might be by this time, or whether Jolival and Gracchus might not have to suffer for her imprudence. It was safer to stay where she was.

  But when Toby appeared, in a state of abject terror and shaking in every limb so that the breakfast things he brought clattered on the tray, Marianne forgot all these prudent resolutions. He told her that Kaleb had attempted to kill the doctor during the night and had been sentenced to a hundred lashes as punishment, to be witnessed by the whole crew.

  'A hundred lashes! But he'll die!' Marianne cried, appalled.

  The whites of Toby's eyes rolled. 'He mighty big fellah,' he pronounced. 'But one hund'ed lashes sho' is plenty. He go for to kill dat doctor, sho 'nuff, but ah ain't never known Massa Jason flog no poh darkie afoh!'

  'But, Toby, he can't have tried to kill the doctor! Why should he?'

  Toby nodded his woolly head. Fear had given his skin a curious greyish tinge.

  'Maybe yes. Dat doctor, he bad man. Trouble all de time evah since he come aboa'd! Nathan, he say he gwine sell Kaleb fo' a high price in de market at Candy.'

  'You say the doctor means to sell Kaleb? But Monsieur Jason found him and saved him when he was a runaway slave. He would never sell a man who had trusted him!'

  'Not in de o'dinar' way, no. But Massa Jason, not hisself no moh… He quite, quite diffe'ent! De bad times is comin' foh us all, ma'm! De good times is all gone now, all'long o' dat Doctor Leighton!'

  Toby dragged his feet wearily to the door, his head sunk between his shoulders, wiping away a tear on his white cotton sleeve
. There was something deeply moving about the old man's unhappiness. It must be dreadful to him to see a man whom he had loved and served all his life reduced suddenly to the state of a wild beast. Perhaps he even feared for himself…

  Marianne detained him just as he was going.

  'When – when is it to be?' she asked.

  'Now. De hands jus' comin' on deck now.'

  Marianne became aware of the patter of dozens of pairs of bare feet on the deck and of the boatswain's voice uttering unintelligible commands. Toby was scarcely out of the cabin before she had leaped out of bed.

  'Hurry, Agathe! Get me a dress and some shoes, and a scarf.'

  'Oh, my lady, what are you going to do?' the girl wailed, not moving. 'I'm sure you'd much better not get involved! Monsieur Beaufort's taken leave of his senses, my lady, and you must never cross a madman!'

  'Mad or not, I'll not let him kill a man who was only trying to defend his freedom, and perhaps his life! Least of all in this barbarous fashion! That Leighton creature isn't worth it! Hurry, now!'

  'But what if he's angry with you, my lady?'

  'As things are, Agathe, I don't think I've anything to lose! Besides, the two frigates are still with us, I suppose. I can have nothing to fear.'

  By the time Marianne came on deck, the crew was already drawn up, facing aft, in a silence broken only by the ghastly sound of the lash biting into unprotected flesh. Punishment had already begun. Swiftly she forced a way through the tight-packed ranks of men. The barrier they formed was almost impenetrable, but Marianne got far enough to see a sight which froze the blood in her veins. Kaleb was triced up to the mizzen rigging. Standing alone, between the rows of seamen on either hand, Pablo Arroyo, armed with a long whip made of thongs of plaited leather, was administering the flogging. In contrast to the assembled men whose faces bore witness to how little they relished the scene and who winced visibly at every stroke of the lash, the boatswain was quite evidently enjoying his revolting office. With his sleeves rolled back from his wiry arms, he was laying into his victim with all his strength, delivering his blows with a slow relish that was clearly aimed at inflicting the greatest possible degree of pain, while his face was twisted into a hideous expression of sadistic cruelty. He was not hurrying. He was savouring every moment, and now and then his tongue appeared between his teeth, as though the man were literally licking his chops.

  Blood was already dripping from the lacerated flesh. Kaleb's face, pressed against the wooden mast, was a mask of suffering. His eyes were closed but he did not cry out. Only the faintest groan escaped his set lips each time the lash bit. Drops of blood, bright red in the sunshine, were beginning to splash on to Arroyo's face, but Jason stood impassively on the poop, presiding over the punishment.

  He still wore the same, curiously blank expression and the lines in his face were graven deeper than ever. His left hand fidgeted nervously with his neckcloth, while the other was hidden behind his back.

  Leighton, at his side, affected a modest demeanour which was belied by the sheer triumph that shone through every line of his pale face.

  Suddenly it was clear that the victim was no longer conscious. His body slumped in its bonds and the muscles of his arms stood out with the strain, while his grey face drooped against the mast.

  'He's fainted,' said a voice which Marianne recognized as O'Flaherty's. It was harsh with indignation and it acted like a signal on Marianne.

  Spurred by the same sense of outrage, she threw herself forward, forging through the packed rows of the crew which parted to let her pass. So great was her impetus that she fetched up close to Arroyo and but for the lieutenant who dragged her sharply back, would have received the lash full in her face.

  '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 C
ythera, 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.