Almost running down the steep streets that skirted the barracks, the two of them reached the harbor in a very few minutes. At this time of night it was quiet and all but deserted. Only a gypsy violin wailed somewhere behind the closed shutters, making a weird background to the sounds of cats quarreling over a pile of fishheads. Already, the dark walls of the castle were looming over the fugitives.
"I hope they'll agree to set them free at this hour of night," Jolival ventured to say uneasily.
Marianne put out her hand peremptorily to silence him. Then she was hurrying toward the sentry, who stood leaning half-asleep against his box, keeping his balance with the ease of long practice. She shook him fiercely and when the man at last opened one sleepy eye, waved the paper under his nose so that he could make out the governor's signature by the light of the guttering lamp above his head.
It was unlikely that the man could read but the imperial arms on the paper were enough, together with the young lady's energetic pantomime indicating clearly that she wished to enter the castle and be taken to the commandant.
Little as she cared to admit it, Marianne was at least as uneasy as Jolival. The commandant might easily refuse to release his prisoners in the middle of the night and if he were a difficult man or a stickler for the rules he could equally well insist on having the order confirmed. But it seemed that the gods were on Marianne's side that night.
The sentry made no difficulty about hurrying into the citadel, taking the paper with him. Not only that, but he summoned no replacement and the two visitors were able to follow him into the courtyard which was as dark as the bottom of a well. No sound came from the guardroom and it seemed as though everyone were asleep. Now that the war with Turkey was over, everyone could relax.
Marianne and Jolival were left alone for a moment, standing close together at the foot of the stairs leading up to the commandant's quarters. Both their hearts were thudding and the same thought was in both their minds: were they going to see their friends appear or a posse of soldiers to escort them to the commanding officer for further questioning?
But that night the commandant was delightfully if energetically engaged with a pair of pretty Tatar girls whose company he had not the smallest wish to abandon, even for a moment. He opened his door a crack at the sentry's knock, cast a glance over the paper which the man held out to him while still standing rigidly to attention, cursed fluently but, recognizing the governor's signature and the fact that there seemed to be no fault to be found with the document, gave the order to release the men from the American ship at once. It did not occur to him that there was anything more he needed to know.
Only too glad to be rid of lodgers who had proved remarkably expensive and uncooperative, he hurried into his office, not even pausing to put on his clothes, and in that state of nature put his hand to the order without more ado. Then he barked some orders at the soldier, adding that he did not wish to be disturbed again that night, and hastened back to his private paradise.
The soldier clattered down again to the courtyard and, making a sign to the two foreigners to follow him, trotted away toward the iron grille giving access to the prison courtyard, which looked particularly grim in the flaring light of two torches. There he made them wait again while he summoned two men to work the winch to raise the grille.
Ten minutes later he was back with two figures behind him, and at the sight of the taller of the two Marianne's heart beat faster. A moment later, overcome by a joy she could not control, she had cast herself on Jason's chest laughing and crying at once, and his arms had closed automatically around her.
"Marianne!" he exclaimed with stupefaction. "You, here? It can't be! Am I dreaming?"
"No, you are not dreaming," Jolival broke in, thinking that this was not the moment for mutual congratulations. "Nor is there time for it. We must get out of here, and quickly. The governor has released you but the danger is not over yet, far from it."
Nevertheless he himself was more moved than he cared to admit, and he submitted to a warm embrace from Craig O'Flaherty while the sentry looked on indulgently at a reunion of which he probably comprehended very little. Marianne and Jason meanwhile were locked in one another's arms, oblivious of all the world.
The two prisoners wore long beards and were filthy dirty but Marianne did not care. The body pressed to her belonged to Jason, the mouth crushing her own was Jason's mouth and she asked nothing better than to lose herself with him in a kiss which, if each had had their way, would have lasted for an eternity.
But Jolival decided that it had gone on long enough and parted them.
"Come," he told them gruffly. "That will do. You'll have time enough for kissing when we are on our way, but for the present let us be away from this place. I do not like it."
Craig's cheerful laugh rang in his ears. "Nor we, faith! Let's find a decent tavern! I'd give my right arm for a bumper of good old Irish whiskey."
Marianne came back to earth and stared at the two men with some bewilderment.
"But—are there only the two of you? Where are the others? Where is Gracchus? The governor gave orders for the release of all the crew—"
"Precisely," Jason answered her. "And all the crew means us—all that's left of it, at least. This governor of yours doesn't seem to have much idea of the ways of soldiers, my pet. The commodore of the fleet that captured us saw no reason why the prison authorities should be at the charge of maintaining all the riffraff of the Mediterranean. He let the crew go as soon as we got ashore to go to the devil in their own way. Only Craig and I had the honor to be made prisoners of war."
"But Gracchus? Where is he? Did they free him too?"
Seeing that she was really worried, Jason tightened the arm that he had slipped around her waist as they walked.
"Gracchus is French, my love, and that being so, in more danger than either of us. These devils would have shot him without mercy. He played stupid while we were still at sea, but he's an enterprising lad and when we came into the bay just before dawn, he jumped into the sea and swam ashore."
"Good God! He may be dead!"
O'Flaherty gave a shout of laughter.
"You don't know him! Gracchus is quite the most astonishing broth of a boy it's ever been my luck to meet. Do you know where he is at this moment?"
As they talked they had crossed the ancient drawbridge with its rusty chains which had not been raised for more than a century, and now, at the foot of the rocky outcrop on which the citadel was built, the cluttered maze of the harbor lay before them. O'Flaherty pointed to the squat shape of a little synagogue.
"Do you see that Greek tavern in between the synagogue and the big grain warehouse attached to the distillery? Gracchus got himself taken on as a waiter there. He talks a weird mixture of Greek and Turkish that he learned in Constantinople and doesn't manage too badly, especially as he's picked up a fair smattering of Russian since his arrival."
"But how do you know where he is?"
"Because we've seen him. When he'd been there a few days he took to hanging around the citadel and whistling French sea songs. Our prison looked out over the rock that side and so we were able to communicate with him. Sometimes…" He paused and heaved a deep sigh that testified to the real depth of his gratitude. "Sometimes the dear lad even managed to smuggle us in a bottle or so to comfort us. Unfortunately, we couldn't get out by the same way the bottles came in. The window was too narrow, and the walls too thick."
The night was growing cooler and a light wind had sprung up off the sea. It caught at the four hurrying figures and the two seamen breathed in the smell of seaweed with delight.
"God, but it's good to be free!" Jason sighed. "At last we can put to sea again. Do you hear how it's calling us, my sweet? Oh, for the feel of my own deck under my feet again!"
Marianne shivered a little, knowing that the difficult moment had come. She opened her mouth to tell Jason the truth but Jolival, guessing how hard it was for her, spoke first.
"You are free
, Jason," he said deliberately, "but your ship is not. In spite of all that we could do, the Duc de Richelieu refuses to give her up."
"What?"
"Try to understand, and above all do not lose your temper. It's wonderful enough that we were able to get you out of that rat hole. The brig is a prize of war and is now the property of the Russian navy. There is nothing that the governor can do about it."
Marianne felt Jason's fingers harden against her side. His voice remained very nearly level, but there was a disturbing note in it, as if he were very tense.
"I have stolen her once before. I can do it again. It's becoming something of a habit."
"Have no illusions. That is not possible here. The brig is anchored out there, near the end of the long mole, and there are Russian vessels all around her. And besides, if it were daylight you could see that there are men at work making some alterations in her. What is more to the point, we have to leave this place without delay."
"Why so? Have I or have I not been released on the governor's orders?"
"Yes. But you must be out of Odessa before sunrise. That is the order. If you are found here you will be imprisoned again and then neither we nor anyone else will be able to get you out. Not only that, Marianne is not precisely on the best terms with the governor. He was inclined to be rather more—er—friendly than she cared for. So make up your mind. Stay and try to recover your ship and you will be running the risk of prison for yourself and the governor's bed for Marianne. I think our wisest course will be to leave as soon as possible."
With Jason's arm about her, Marianne held her breath. At that moment she wanted to laugh and cry at once and she could have kissed her old friend for managing to put the matter in such a way as to avoid awkward questions. Jason was not an easy man to deceive, and he knew how to cross-examine as skillfully as any experienced lawyer. She could feel his heart beating more quickly under her hand, and a wave of pity, mingled with acute anxiety, swept over her. At that moment he was going to make his choice between her and the ship, which she had often accused him of loving more than her, more indeed than anything in the world.
Jason took several deep breaths. Then his arm tightened spasmodically, almost fiercely around her, and Marianne knew that she had won.
"You are right, Jolival. Indeed, you are always right. Let's go. But where to? It will be daylight in an hour."
There was a brief silence and Marianne guessed that Jolival was picking his words, choosing those least likely to provoke a stormy reaction from the hot-tempered American. He made up his mind at last and murmured reflectively like a man thinking aloud: "I think our best course… will be to travel farther into Russia… to make for Moscow, for example. We heard on our arrival here that the Grand Army had crossed the Lithuanian frontier and was marching on the Russian holy city. Our best chance is to make contact with it and then—"
The reaction came, but it was less violent than Marianne had feared.
"Make contact with Napoleon! Have you gone mad, Jolival?"
"I don't think so. Isn't he responsible for the mess that you and Marianne have been in this past year? He owes you something. Even if only a ship out of Danzig or Hamburg to carry you to America."
This time he had spoken the magic words. Jason's fierce grip on Marianne loosened gradually and his voice was almost cheerful as he said: "That's not a bad idea. But I have a better."
"What is it?" Marianne asked softly, sensing more trouble ahead.
"I've no truck with Napoleon but you're right, I do need a ship to get back home and play my part in the war. We'll go not to Moscow, or only in passing, but to St. Petersburg."
"You want to cross the whole of Russia? Do you know that's something like two thousand miles?"
The American's broad shoulders, in the torn and much-abused coat he wore, lifted slightly.
"What of it? It's only a couple of hundred more, unless I'm much mistaken. Will you come with me, sweetheart?" he added, turning tenderly to address the girl at his side.
"I'd go with you to Siberia if you wanted me. But why St. Petersburg?"
"Because my father, who was a great traveler in his youth, had a friend there, a rich shipowner for whom he once did a favor. We never asked for any repayment of the debt, indeed there was none in my father's eyes, nor would I claim any, but we have had news of the Krilovs from time to time and I know that they will help me. And I would rather ask help from a friend than from the man who condemned me to the convict chain."
Only a brief glance passed between Jolival and Marianne, but they understood one another. They both knew Jason's stubborn nature of old and his near inability to forgive an injury. Better, they felt, to say nothing of the tsar's letter and agree to Jason's plan. The road to St. Petersburg passed by Moscow, after all, and so they lost nothing by it. And then luck might be on their side and once the letter was in Napoleon's hands there would be nothing to prevent Marianne from going with the man of her choice at last.
That he should have given in so easily was more than they had hoped. Knowing his almost physical love for his ship, Marianne had expected something of a fight. But she saw, too, as they made their way down to the Greek tavern to seek out Gracchus, that Jason's eyes turned continually to the far end of the great mole. Gradually he began to walk more slowly. She urged him on affectionately.
"Come, we must hurry if we are to be out of the town in time. Dawn is not far off."
"I know. But you don't need me to rout out Gracchus."
He let go of her suddenly and she saw him run toward the site of the new arsenal. He came back holding an unlighted lantern.
"Have you got a light?" he asked Jolival.
"Of course. But do we need one?"
"No. I know. Only lend me flint and tinder and wait for me. I shouldn't be long but if I'm not back in, say, half an hour, then go without me."
"Jason!" Marianne cried, struggling to keep her voice down. "Where are you going? I am coming with you."
He turned and took her hand and squeezed it tightly before putting it in Jolival's.
"No. I forbid you. What I am going to do is my business. She is my ship."
The Irishman already understood.
"But I am coming with you," he said firmly. "The rest of you, wait for us. Rouse Gracchus and try to find some kind of vehicle for the journey. We can't walk to St. Petersburg."
In another moment he was running after the dark figure of Beaufort, who was making for the small beach where some boats lay drawn up out of the water.
"This is madness!" Jolival cried, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. "We won't find one, except at the post house by the Kiev gate, and for that we must climb the hill again to the other side of the town. And even then we may have trouble—"
Craig paused for a moment and they heard him laugh.
"Sure and you may have somewhat less trouble if we are successful. The folk hereabouts will have enough doing at the harbor to keep them busy awhile. They'll not be troubling themselves about the likes of us. Now hurry."
A moment later Marianne and Jolival saw with a sudden chill a small boat put out from the shore and creep slowly and silently over the dark water.
"What are they going to do?" Marianne whispered fearfully. "They surely wouldn't—"
"Yes. They are going to set fire to the Sea Witch. I was expecting something of the sort. A man like Beaufort could never have consented to leave his ship behind… Come, we too have work to do. You can say your prayers later," he added, not without a touch of irritation, as he became aware that Marianne was murmuring softly over her clasped hands.
The house of which the Greek tavern occupied the ground floor was small and square with only a single upper floor. There was one large window enclosed with a latticework balcony in the Arab style and next to it another, much smaller one, closed by a single wooden shutter. Feeling that there was a strong likelihood that this would be where young Gracchus slept, Jolival picked up a stone and threw it hard against the shutter.
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He had guessed right, for after a moment a hand pushed the shutter open with a faint creak and a tousled head looked out. Before he could say anything, Jolival called up softly: "Gracchus! Is that you?"
"Yes, but who—"
"It's us, Gracchus," Marianne said, "Monsieur de Jolival and—"
"Mademoiselle Marianne! By all the saints! I'm coming down."
The next instant Gracchus-Hannibal Pioche dropped quite literally into their arms and hugged them both with the utmost enthusiasm, seeing them in that moment not as his employers but as friends miraculously restored to him. They returned his greeting just as warmly, but Jolival saw to it that their transports did not last too long.
"Listen here, my lad," he said firmly, breaking in on the young man's exclamations of delight, which even in whispers were still penetrating enough. "We aren't here for a reunion. We need your help."
Leaving Jolival to explain hurriedly what had been happening,
Marianne made her way back to the waterfront. Already it was less dark. The forest of masts stood out more clearly, and so did the white crests of the small choppy waves. A sudden gust of wind whirled around her, filling the wide cloak she was wearing and making it clap like a flag. She stood with every sense on the alert, straining her ears to catch the slightest sound of oars amid the rattle of small bits of wood blown by the wind, and peering out into the shadows of the harbor.
It seemed to her that Jason and Craig had been gone for hours and his last words reechoed in her mind: "If I am not back in half an hour…" It was too dark for her to see her watch, but according to the pendulum of her heart that half hour must have been up weeks ago.
Suddenly, just when she could bear it no longer, and was on the point of setting out along the mole whose long stone causeway lost itself in shadow, she saw a tongue of fire leap up in the darkness ahead, lighting up a thick cloud of smoke shot with a red glow along its underside. At the same moment she saw two vagrants jump up like rats fleeing a sinking ship from behind the pile of casks, where they must have sought refuge for the night, and run toward the houses uttering some harsh cries she could not understand but which could no doubt have been translated as "Fire! Fire!"
[Marianne 5] - Marianne and the Lords of the East Page 28