Жюльетта Бенцони - Marianne and the Rebels

It was said quite simply, not boasting. Merely a statement of fact.

It was Jason's turn to pale. He made as if to go to her but checked himself and bowed slightly, without a word. Then, crossing the room in a few swift strides, he opened the door and called:

'Lieutenant Benielli.'

The lieutenant appeared promptly, accompanied by Jolival, whose eyes went straight to Marianne. She avoided his anxious glance. Signor Dal Niel's grappa had evidently been to the lieutenant's taste. His face was noticeably more flushed than on his previous appearance, although he had lost none of his rigidity.

Jason studied him from his superior height with a cold and barely contained anger.

'You may return to the Duke of Padua with a quiet mind, Lieutenant. I sail at dawn tomorrow for the Bosphorus where I shall have the honour to convey the Princess Sant'Anna.'

'I have your word on that?' the other said, without emotion.

Jason's fists clenched in a visible effort not to drive them into the little Corsican's arrogant face, which must have recalled, all too clearly, another that was out of reach.

'Yes, Lieutenant,' he ground between his teeth. 'You have. And you can have something else, as well. A piece of advice. Get out of here before I give way to my inclinations.'

'Which are?'

'To throw you out of the window. It would not be good for your uniform, your fellows or your own comfort on the journey. You've won. Don't try my patience too far.'

'Oh, please, go!' Marianne breathed, terrified that the two men would come to blows.

Jolival was already laying a discreet hand on Benielli's arm. The lieutenant, while clearly dying to hurl himself at the American, had the sense to look closely at the faces of the other three. He saw that Marianne was on the verge of tears, Jason tense and Jolival anxious, and he realized that something was seriously amiss. His stiffness showed the faintest relaxation as he bowed to the young woman.

'I shall be privileged to report to the Duke that the Emperor's trust was not misplaced. May I wish your serene highness a successful voyage.'

'Accept my good wishes for your own journey. Good-bye, monsieur.'

In a moment she had turned back, imploringly, to Jason but even before Benielli had quitted the room, Jason too was bowing coldly.

'Your servant, madam. My ship will weigh anchor at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, if that suits you. It will be ample time if you are on board half an hour before that. Allow me to wish you a good night.'

'Jason! Have pity…'

She held out her hand to him, begging for him to take it, but he was encased in his anger and resentment and either did not or would not see it. Without a glance, he strode to the door and went out, letting it swing shut behind him with a bang that echoed in the very depths of Marianne's heart.

Slowly her hand fell and she threw herself sobbing on the sofa.

There, a moment or two later, Jolival found her, half-choked with tears, as he came hurrying back, sensing disaster.

'Good God!' he cried. 'Has it come to this? Whatever happened?'

With much difficulty, a good many tears and hesitations, she told him while he busied himself with a handkerchief and some cold water in trying to calm her sobs and restore her face to something like the appearance of a human being.

'An ultimatum!' Marianne hiccupped at last. 'A – a beastly b-bargain! He told m-me – told me I m-must choose… And he said it was… for my own good!'

She turned suddenly and clung to Arcadius's lapels, saying beseechingly:

'I can't… I can't bear it! Oh, my friend, for pity's sake, go and find him. Tell him…'

'What? That you've given in?'

'Yes! I l-love him… I love him s-so very much… I c-can't…' Marianne was beyond knowing or caring what she was saying now.

Jolival gripped her shaking shoulders with both hands and forced her to look at him.

'Yes, you can. I am telling you that you can, because you are right. Jason is abusing his power by offering you such a choice, because he knows how much you love him. Not that, from his point of view, he isn't right. He has little enough cause to love the Emperor.'

'He – he doesn't love me!'

'Of course he loves you. Only, what he hasn't understood is that the woman he loves is you, as you are, with all your inconsistencies and follies, all your enthusiasms and revolts. Change, make yourself into the cool, submissive person he seems to want and I wouldn't give him six months to stop loving you.'

'Truly?'

Gradually, by dint of much persuasion, Jolival was beginning to penetrate to the slough of despond where Marianne was floundering, letting in a little air and daylight to which, unconsciously, she was already turning.

'Yes, truly, Marianne,' he said seriously.

'But, Arcadius, think what will happen at Constantinople! He'll leave me. He'll go away and I shall never see him again, never!'

'It's possible… but before that you will have lived with him, almost on top of him, in the confined space of a ship's quarters for quite a long time. If you aren't able to drive him out of his mind in that time, then you're not Marianne. Play his game for him. Let him enjoy his bad temper and the blow to his masculine pride. If anyone goes through hell, it won't be you, I promise you.'

As he talked, the light came back, little by little, to Marianne's eyes, while that other light of hope was reborn within. Meekly she drank the glass of water with a little cordial in it which he held to her lips, then, leaning on his arm, she managed to walk as far as the window.

It was dark by this time but everywhere lights shone like points of gold reflected in the dark water. A smell of jasmine floated in, along with the sound of a guitar. Down below, by the waterside, couples were drifting slowly along, pairs of dark shapes, moving close together, that melted into one. A decorated gondola passed by, steered by a lithe figure like a dancer. Light streamed golden from behind the drawn curtains, and with it came the happy note of a woman's laughter. Away beyond the Dogana di Mare, the masthead lanterns of the anchored ships swayed gently.

Marianne sighed and her hand tightened a little on Jolival's sleeve.

'What are you thinking?' he asked softly. 'Feeling better?'

She hesitated, not quite knowing how to phrase her thought, but with this one faithful friend she had no need to dissemble.

'I was thinking,' she said, somewhat regretfully, 'that it is a beautiful night for love.'

'That's true. But remember that one night lost may add to the joys of others still to come. The nights in the east are unrivalled, my child. Your Jason doesn't know yet what he is in for.'

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

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.'