'Why so?'

'Because the Prince is—' Marianne stopped suddenly, realizing what she had been about to say, and turned a flushed face back to her patient before concluding: '… is incapable of anything so vile. He is a gentleman.'

'While I'm a brute, is that it?' Jason's lip curled. 'Very well. We'll leave it at that. And now, with your permission, I am going to welcome our rescuers and tell them we intend to put in at Corfu for repairs.'

'Is there much damage?'

'No, but enough to need attention. You never know, we may well meet up with a few more of my friend Prinny's ships before we get to Constantinople.'

A few minutes later, Captain Montfort, Commodore of the squadron, was piped aboard the Sea Witch. Jason, who had resumed his coat and stock, was waiting on the deck to greet him. There followed a brief, courteous exchange during which Captain Montfort assured himself that the American vessel had suffered no disabling injury or loss of life, and invited the privateer to accept his escort to Corfu where the superficial damage to the Witch's superstructure could readily be put right. Jason thanked him and expressed his gratitude for the frigates' prompt and unexpected intervention.

'It was a godsend, sir. But for your help we'd have been lucky to pull through.'

'Godsend nonsense! We were told to look out for you and to make sure your vessel negotiated the Straits of Otranto without interference. The English squadrons are on continuous patrol.'

'You were told? By whom?'

'By special messenger from the Italian foreign minister, Count Marescalchi, who is at present in Venice. He warned us that a noble Italian lady, the Princess Sant'Anna, a personal friend of the Emperor's, would be travelling on an American ship. We were to watch out for you and to provide you with an escort until you were through the Cerigo Channel and into Turkish waters. I dare say you may not know it but you are running a twofold risk.'

'Twofold? Apart from having to run the gauntlet of the English base at Santa Maura…'[2]

Montfort drew himself up, aware that what he had to say did not redound to his nation's credit.

'The English also hold Cephalonia, Ithaka, Zante and Cerigo itself. Our strength was insufficient for the defence of all the Ionian Islands which Russia ceded to us by the Treaty of Tilsit. But it is not only the English we have to fear. There are also the flotillas belonging to the Pasha of the Morea.'

Jason laughed.

'I think I have enough fire power to deal with a few fishing smacks!'

'Do not laugh, monsieur. The Pasha is the son of the formidable Ali Pasha of Yannina. He's a powerful man, as well as a shrewd and devious one. We can never be sure if he's for us or against us, and he's busy carving himself an empire behind the backs of the Turks. The Princess would be a nice prize for him, too, especially if she should chance to be beautiful…'

Jason made a sign to Marianne, who had been observing the commodore's arrival from a conveniently secluded vantage-point behind Jolival and Arcadius.

'Here is the Princess. Permit me to present Captain Montfort, to whom we owe, if not our lives, most certainly our freedom.'

'The danger is much greater even than I feared,' the captain said, as he bowed over her hand. 'No ransom on earth could wrest from Ali such a prize.'

'You are very gallant, Captain, but this pasha is a Turk, I suppose, and I am related to the Haseki Sultana. He would not dare—'

'He is not Turkish, madame, but Epirote, and he would undoubtedly dare. He conducts himself in this world as an independent monarch, knows no law but his own. As for his son's ships, do not scorn them, monsieur. They are manned by devils and, if they once succeed in boarding you, which they may do very readily because their small ships are able to slip close in under the guns, they will give your men such a fight as they will not easily repel. You will be well advised to accept our escort – unless slavery holds any charms for you.'

Two hours later, preceded by the Pauline and followed by the other two frigates, the Sea Witch entered the narrow northern passage between Corfu and the wild mainland of Epirus. On their right lay the long green island rising at its north-eastern end to the sun-drenched mass of Mount Pantocrator. It was later afternoon before the four ships entered harbour and dropped anchor in the shelter of the Fortezza Vecchia, the old Venetian citadel now transformed by the French into a strong modern fortress.

Standing on the poop deck with Jason and Jolival, wearing a cool dress of lemon-yellow jaconet and a Leghorn hat trimmed with wild flowers, Marianne watched Nausicaa's isle draw nearer.

Jason, bareheaded and dressed in his most respectable blue coat and a snowy shirt which emphasized his darkly sunburned features, had his hands clasped behind his back and was clearly brooding with deep and growing resentment on the realization that Napoleon had now left him no choice: like it or not, he was bound to carry Marianne to Constantinople. When she looked at him with eyes filled with tender hopefulness and murmured: 'You see, there was nothing I could do. The Emperor knows how to ensure his orders are obeyed. There is no escape,' Jason had growled back through his teeth:

'There is, if you really want it. Dare you tell me that you do?'

'With all my heart! When I have accomplished my mission.'

'You're more stubborn than a Corsican mule!'

The tone was still aggressive but renewed hope had sprung up in Marianne's heart. She knew that Jason had too much honesty, where both himself and others were concerned, not to admit the inevitable. From the moment that Marianne's will ceased to be her own and became the prey of external forces, he was able to silence his masculine pride and return to her without losing face in his own eyes. Moreover, when her hand had brushed his, timidly, he had not withdrawn it.

Corfu harbour presented a smiling picture which went well with Marianne's new mood. The black hulls and gleaming brasswork of the warships of the French fleet mingled with the brightly painted Greek boats, decorated like antique vases, with their curiously shaped sails.

Beyond rose the flat white houses, shaded by ancient fig trees, lying within the circling arm of the Venetian ramparts, grey and hoary with age, which went none the less by the hopeful name of the New Fort. The old fort, the Fortezza Vecchia, was at the other end of the harbour, a heavily fortified peninsula attached to the mainland by a steeply sloping esplanade and looking frowningly out to sea. Only the tricolor flag flying from the keep provided a touch of gaiety.

The quayside was enamelled like a meadow in springtime with a cheerful motley crowd in which the brilliant reds of Greek costumes mingled with the light dresses and pastel-shaded parasols belonging to the wives of officers of the garrison. There was a joyous hubbub of talk, laughter and song and sporadic outbursts of applause from the throng, all backed by the mewing of the gulls.

'What a delightful place!' Marianne exclaimed softly, wholly won over. 'How happy they all look!'

'A bit like dancing on the edge of a volcano,' Jolival said. 'Too many people would like to get their hands on the island for the people to be quite as happy as they look. But it's a land made for loving, that I grant you.'

He helped himself to a pinch of snuff, then added, with elaborate casualness: 'It was here, wasn't it, that Jason – the Argonaut, I mean – brought Medea and married her after he had stolen her away from her father, the King of Colchis, along with the Golden Fleece?'

This apt allusion to classical mythology earned him a scowl from the American Jason and a short answer.

'That's enough classics for one day, Jolival,' Jason warned him curtly. 'I don't care much for legends unless they end happily. Medea was an atrocious female, murdering her own children in a fit of jealousy!'

The vicomte, elegantly flicking a grain of snuff from the revers of his cinnamon coloured coat, was unperturbed by the brusqueness of his tone, and merely laughed.

'Who can tell where jealousy may lead? Wasn't it St Augustine who said that the measure of love is to love without measure? Great words, and how true! As for legends, there is always a way round them. To have a happy ending it's often enough to want one – and to alter a few lines.'

The brig had no sooner come alongside than she was mobbed by a noisy, colourful throng who swarmed aboard, all anxious to get a look at the new arrivals from the other side of the world. It was not often that the American flag was seen in the eastern Mediterranean. Furthermore, the word had gone around that there was a grand court lady on board and everyone was eager to see her. Jason had to post Kaleb and two more of the strongest men in the ship's company at the foot of the poop ladder to save Marianne from suffocation.

He did, however, allow up one gentleman, elegantly attired in a coat of sky-blue superfine and fawn-coloured pantaloons for whom Captain Montfort was doing his best to make a way through the crowd, although even then the gentleman's magnificent cream-coloured neckcloth came very near to suffering irreparable damage. After them, like a splendid shadow, came the colonel of the 6th Regiment of the Line.

Shouting to make himself heard above the din, Montfort managed to present the newcomers, Colonel Pons, who came to welcome her on behalf of the Governor, General Donzelot, and Senator Alamano, one of the principal personages of the island, who had a request to make to her. In a flowery speech which lost much of its elegance through being shouted at the top of his voice, the senator invited Marianne 'and her suite' to go ashore and accept the hospitality of his house for as long as the Sea Witch remained in harbour for repairs.