Marianne and the Lords of the East

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  His situation was quite difficult and complicated enough without making things even more difficult for himself and risking trouble with Napoleon by requesting a passport for the niece of the late Lord Chatham. It made his hair stand on end even to think of the imperial frown at such an untimely request.

  At that moment the thorn in the ambassador's flesh was collecting a crowd almost as large as that gathered around the American brig, to which, in point of fact, she bore no small resemblance. She was very tall, even for an Englishwoman, and was dressed in a peculiar half-masculine, half-feminine attire, consisting of a black ferej lavishly trimmed with gold and swathing a figure which would have done credit to a Roman matron. But instead of enveloping herself completely in this garment, she wore it with the hood flung carelessly back over her shoulders, revealing a proud head with a finely chiseled profile, a haughty nose and sensuous red lips, and swathed in a voluminous white turban.

  In this array, which borrowed those aspects of both male and female dress which suited her best, she was confronting a Greek sailor considerably smaller and more excitable than herself. From time to time she let fall on his hairy head a few cool words which seemed, nevertheless, to have the power to send the little man into a frenzy.

  Marianne and Dr. Meryon, watching the scene in some amusement, saw the Greek cross himself frantically three or four times, calling heaven to be his witness with rolling eyes and waving arms, then tear off his cap and hurl it to the ground and jump on it, then pick it up again and put it back on his head liberally coated with dust. At last, quite suddenly, he seemed to calm down and something that was undoubtedly a gold coin gleamed in his grimy, outstretched hand.

  "God help us!" Meryon groaned. "She's closed with that pirate—"

  "Closed? What bargain is she striking? Why has she given him that gold piece?"

  "Because we are leaving here, my lady, and for the ends of the earth, I think. Lady Hester has given up her idea of traveling in France but she is determined not to spend a second winter in Constantinople. She was too cold last year, she says, and so she means to go to Egypt. And she's not too nice about the means, as you can see. Finding no honest Christian vessel that would take her, she has turned to these God-forsaken pirates—"

  "Oh, come, Doctor, surely not! The Greeks are as good Christians as you and me. Different, perhaps, but that is all."

  "I don't care if they are. The fact is that I'm fated to die a thousand deaths on board the hideous discomfort of a polacca in midwinter. I'd prefer a Turkish xebec, even."

  "Then you'd certainly be on a heathen ship, my doctor," Marianne observed, hiding her amusement at his tragic tone in the high fur collar of her wide moss-green cloak. But in another moment she was crying: "But my dear friend, are you going away and leaving me all alone? What will become of me without you to take care of me?"

  "That is exactly what I have been trying to impress on Lady Hester! I have a great many friends and patients here who are going to miss me very much, for my own sake as well as for my professional services. I've a duty to remain until after your confinement. And I don't know what the noble Turkish dames will say to my sudden departure. I am thinking particularly of the Kapodan Pasha's lady—"

  Marianne had been thinking of her also, and again she had to hide a smile, for rumor had it that Dr. Meryon's services to the Ottoman admiral's wife were somewhat more than purely medical. There were other Turkish ladies, too, who placed great confidence in the young English physician and he made no secret of his pleasure in the company of these silken, twittering birdlike creatures.

  "And what did Lady Hester say?"

  Meryon shrugged. "Nothing—or as good as. She won't listen because she wants to go to Egypt and nothing will do for her but to go at once."

  "What? But I thought she was so anxious to meet Monsieur de Latour-Maubourg? Has she given up? I'd never have thought it of her."

  The doctor coughed and glanced discreetly about him. "That's just it," he murmured. "She has seen him—"

  "She has! Well, here's a piece of news! But where? When? Tell me quickly! The suspense is killing me!"

  "Last week, at Bebek, on the shore of the Bosporus not far from where we were staying in a friend's yali.[5] Your ambassador agreed to a private meeting because Lady Hester had been threatening to call at the embassy openly, in broad daylight, and ring the bell until he let her in. Hush! Here she comes!"

  Lady Hester was approaching them with the long, mannish stride that had prompted Lady Plymouth to remark that it was a pity women were not eligible for the Grenadier Guards. In another moment she had joined them and was sketching a slight, humorous bow, touching her fingers to her forehead, lips and breast.

  "Salaam aleikum," she said. "Something tells me, Marianne dear, that my poor Charles has been pouring the tale of his wrongs into your sympathetic ears. You must pity him, I know."

  "My pity is for myself, Hester, not for him. He tells me you mean to deprive me of my doctor and of my friend. I've a good mind to add my complaints to his."

  Lady Hester laughed. "The French are past masters at the art of flattery disguised as something else—and vice versa, too! But I hope you weren't taken in by his piteous account of all the poor creatures who'll be languishing at death's door on account of his leaving them? The truth is that all his patients enjoy the best of health, but he is going to miss the lovely ladies Water Lily, Tulip and Morning Star—not to mention your beautiful self, my dear—"

  She paused and, dropping her light, bantering tone, continued seriously: "The truth is, also, that I must go." She lowered her voice a little. "Has Meryon told you that I saw Latour-Maubourg?"

  "He was just saying so—"

  "When my arrival interrupted him. Our encounter was agreeable, but unproductive. The ambassador made it quite clear that there is no possibility of my being able to visit France. Indeed, I knew it already, long before, only it amused me to put the fear of God into that poor man—" She broke off and glanced around, frowning to see a pair of kavas[6] hovering so close that they were practically hanging on her words. She took Marianne's arm. "Surely there is somewhere else where we can talk? I want a private word in your ear."

  "Would you like to come back to the Morousi Palace? The princess is at her house at Arnavut Koy, so we can be quite comfortable."

  "I'm never comfortable in Greek houses. There are always people listening at every keyhole."

  "Then I can think of only one other place. Come with me."

  "Where?"

  "Here," Marianne said, leading the way to the Sea Witch. "No one will disturb us on board." And after all, she told herself privately, what could be more natural than for her to go aboard her own ship?

  Her pleasure in the use of that pronoun was immense. Yet in coming down to the quayside that morning, she had not meant to go aboard. It had seemed to her that Jason's ship should remain inviolate until her master's return, waiting, as it were, to be brought to life again by the ring of his boots on her decks. But now she told herself that this was foolish and that the Sea Witch, built with Selton money and purchased anew by Nakshidil, was as much hers as Jason's. And suddenly she wanted very much to stand once more on the deck where, for good or ill, so much had happened to her.

  Leaving Dr. Meryon to stroll gloomily up and down the quayside, the two ladies crossed the gangway and, with a wave of the hand to Jolival, who was chatting with Achmet on the poop, they made their way to Marianne's old cabin, now tastefully restored."

  "There," Marianne said with a little sigh, making her friend sit beside her on the bunk. "We couldn't have a better place. No one will overhear us here. You may say what you like."

  Lady Hester, however, seemed in no hurry to speak. She was looking about her, frankly curious.

  "Does this ship belong to you?" she asked at last. "I saw that she was flying your family's crest. I was not aware that you were shipowners—"

  Marianne laughed. "My family is somewhat limited, my dear Hester, and no one goes in for sh
ipping—least of all myself. No, the Sea Witch belongs to a friend of mine, a very dear friend. The ship was captured by the Turks and Her Highness, the Valideh Sultan, who is, as you know, a distant cousin of mine, purchased her and made me a present of her. The flag is a pretty gesture but I can't really think of her as mine—only as in my care for a while."

  "Who is her master?"

  "Do not ask me that," Marianne said quickly. "I cannot tell you." Then, to soften the abruptness of her words, she smiled and added: "Call it a kind of superstition. I'd rather not mention his name until he comes—"

  "And when will that be?"

  "I don't know. Tomorrow, perhaps, or not for another six months. He has been very ill and is recovering slowly, a long way from here. But that's enough of that. Tell me about yourself."

  But once again it seemed that Hester Stanhope had lost interest in the important communication which had demanded such secrecy to impart. Ever since first setting her high-arched, aristocratic foot on board the Sea Witch, her gray eyes had brightened and her nostrils flared "like a hound on the scent," Marianne thought, watching her. So that it came as no great surprise when Lady Hester took a deep breath and, regarding her companion with a mock severity, said: "Do you mean to say that this ship, which ought to be riding the high seas, is going to stay cooped up in harbor, empty and unused, with her sails stowed, until the problematical arrival of a captain who might be anywhere?"

  "Yes, that is precisely what I mean."

  "Then let me tell you it's absurd. And dangerous. You'd do much better to engage a trustworthy captain on the spot, let him get together the best crew you can find and then give orders to set sail."

  "Set sail? But I don't want to. And wherever to?"

  "Egypt. With me. I have to go as soon as possible and I need a ship. In the absence of anything better, I was resigning myself to a wretched polacca, but this brig is a godsend!"

  Marianne frowned. She had always known of the English passion for the sea but this time she thought that her friend was going too far.

  "I'm sorry, Hester. I don't like to disappoint you, but it's out of the question. Quite apart from my condition, which makes it most inadvisable for me to put to sea, the ship does not really belong to me, as I have said, and she does not sail without her master."

  She had spoken almost curtly, expecting argument, but nothing of the kind was forthcoming. Hester's voice held no trace of annoyance as she answered smoothly: "I said that I must leave, my dear—but you, too, would be well advised to quit Constantinople—or else run the risk of serious trouble."

  Marianne blinked and stared at her friend as if she had taken leave of her senses. Yet there was no indication of insanity on that arrogant, handsome face, only determination and a slight anxiety.

  "What did you say?" Marianne demanded, "I should do well to leave? And why, may I ask?"

  "I'll tell you. Charles has told you, I suppose, about my interview with your ambassador?"

  "Yes, but I can't see—"

  "You will." Passing swiftly over the details of a meeting which, as it had ended in failure, no longer held any interest for her, Hester went on to describe the sequel to her romantic excursion to the remote yali. On the following day she had received a summons to present herself at the British embassy. Mr. Canning wished to see her.

  Somewhat disconcerted by this sudden desire for her company, she had gone at once and Canning had not been slow in coming to the point.

  "Lady Hester," he had demanded, almost before she was well into the room, "where were you yesterday?"

  But Hester Stanhope was not a woman to allow herself to be browbeaten without hitting back and for sheer rudeness her reply was equal to the question.

  "Why? Have your spies not told you?"

  After this beginning, the interview had soon developed into a battle royal. The ambassador informed his intractable countrywoman that he was tired of her continued intimacy with members of the French ambassador's suite, that he considered the previous day's clandestine meeting as the last straw and that she might thank her position as Pitt's niece that she was not called upon to endure the consequences of her irresponsible behavior—as she surely would be if she did not break off her outrageous friendship with "one of Bonaparte's mistresses, and a notorious spy in the bargain."

  "So I told young Mr. Canning that I was quite old enough to choose my own friends and requested him to mind his own business. He did not like that at all, you may be sure, and still less when I reminded him that you were a kinswoman of the sultana's and deserved to be spoken of with more respect. I thought he would have had a fit! 'Lady Hester,' he said to me, 'either you give me your word to break with these people, and with that woman in particular, altogether, or I will have you expelled from this city and put aboard the first boat for England. As to that pinchbeck princess of yours'—I'm sorry, my dear, but those were his words—'I'll soon persuade the sultan to send her back where she came from and then, once her ship has left the Bosporus, we shall be able to get our hands on her and see to it that she causes no more trouble.' "

  Marianne gasped and could not speak for a moment. She was both angry and indignant but she kept her temper and even managed a contemptuous smile.

  "Surely Mr. Canning is deceiving himself a little about his influence with the Porte? Have the sultana's cousin dismissed like a housemaid! Unthinkable!"

  "Less than you might think. Canning means to make you the subject of a secret clause in the treaty he will be concluding with Mahmoud, a condition, as it were. And for once Mahmoud will not be asking his mother's advice about it. You will be expelled with the utmost discretion and put quietly on board ship, so that by the time the sultana asks for you, you will be far away and she will have no choice but to forget all about you."

  "But what is this treaty? Do you know?" Marianne asked, feeling the color drain from her face.

  "Not precisely, but I have an idea. The rumor is that a Russian fleet is approaching the Bosporus and the Turks are powerless to prevent it sailing right through and bombarding Constantinople if it has a mind to. Canning has asked the Admiralty for assistance and an English fleet under Admiral Maxwell is on its way here at this minute. Do you imagine the sultan will hesitate between the lovely Princess Sant'Anna and half a dozen ships of the line?"

  "I thought England and Russia were allies. Or is that only when it comes to fighting Napoleon?"

  "Something of that, perhaps. But then there will be no question of the two fleets engaging one another. The mere presence of the English ships should be enough to deter the Russians from going too far against a country under British protection, especially since that country is already prepared to make peace. And so your only chance is to leave with me, you see?"

  Marianne rose without answering and went to the brass-rimmed portholes that lit the cabin, where she had stood so many times in the past. But she was not looking at the scene they framed. She had no eyes for the busy harbor and the exotic crowds. She had the curious feeling of being trapped inside a block of ice and her only feeling was a kind of sick and weary disgust.

  So the man's world of politics was still harrying her, even after she had abandoned all desire to play the smallest part in it. She was discovering that it was not enough to give up and live as quietly as she had done for the past two months, carrying the child which was her pledge for the future. Even then they would not leave her in peace.

  Canning, who from the moment of her arrival in Constantinople had dreamed of sending her back to England as a prisoner to molder her life away in captivity, had not been softened by her condition or the discreet retirement of her days spent in her friend's house. He probably saw it only as a screen for further intrigues, a convenient base for threatening his own standing with the Porte. Marianne Sant'Anna, secret agent, had disguised herself as a pregnant woman in order to spin her somber web more busily than ever…

  And he was actually going so far as to make her removal a secret condition of an important diplomatic a
greement! It would have been extremely flattering if it had not been so absurd. But it was worrying as well, because to achieve his ends the twenty-eight-year-old ambassador was prepared to make light of the protection of a queen.

  Marianne's position was all the more dangerous because it would not be hard for a small group of determined men to enter the Morousi Palace secretly at night, carry her off and smuggle her on board ship. For all its medieval battlements, the palace was utterly unguarded. Its doors were ever open and the servants almost without exception were as old as their mistress. Moreover, its main entrance gave directly onto the Phanar waterfront. The captive could be carried from her bed to a boat while she was still half asleep.

  Marianne felt the ship move gently under her feet, tugging at her moorings with a small creaking sound that was like an unobtrusive call, or perhaps an answer. It seemed to be begging her to set sail. After all, why not? Why should she not put to sea in her ship, with her friends? Not for Egypt, no. There was nothing for her there. But for the Morea… Why not go to meet Jason and save him from the necessity to come to this city he had hated instinctively and did not want to see?

  "Well? Have you decided? Shall we go?"

  Hester spoke a little anxiously, reminding Marianne abruptly of her presence. She gave a little shiver and glanced around quickly, shaking her head.

  "No. I can't. Whatever the danger, I must stay here."

  "You're mad!"

  "Possibly, but there it is. Don't be cross with me, Hester, and please don't think I don't appreciate what you have done for me. I am truly grateful to you for the warning—"

  "But you don't believe a word of it! You're very much mistaken if you think Canning threatens idly. I know him too well to doubt that he will do precisely as he says—to both of us."