Жюльетта Бенцони - Marianne and the Rebels

'How dare you! Are you mad?'

He stirred with difficulty and passed a shaking hand over his bearded chin, but his eyes still stared at the place in the now empty bed where the girl's body had lain an instant before.

'I'm sorry…' he managed to say at last. 'I did not know – I didn't think—'

'I'm not interested in what you thought. I gather you have come in search of me? Well, what is all this about? Are we leaving now?'

'Yes – at once. The ship is waiting. Athanasius came to tell me.'

'This is ridiculous! It's the middle of the night! What time is it?'

'Midnight, I think – a little after.'

He was still standing in the same place, speaking like a man in a dream. From her refuge behind the bedcurtains, Marianne watched him uneasily. He seemed to have forgotten his haste. Almost he seemed to have forgotten why he had come there, but there was a softness about that ferocious countenance which Marianne had never seen there before. Theodoros was in the process of succumbing to a kind of witchcraft that must be dispelled at once.

Without quitting her refuge, she reached out towards a small brass bell that Athanasius had left with her in case she should need anything in the night, but she was still reluctant to wake the echoes of the sleeping house.

'Go back to bed,' she advised. 'It is an excellent thing that the boat has come, but we can hardly leave like this, without telling anyone.'

Before the Greek could answer, even supposing that he was going to, Athanasius crept softly round the half-open door. He took in the scene before him at a glance. It was certainly an unusual one: the Princess huddled behind the bed curtains with only her head and her bare shoulders showing, and Theodoros staring at the bed as though about to fall into it.

'Well?' Athanasius said in a reproachful whisper. 'What are you doing? Time is short.'

'Then it's true what this man says?' Marianne asked, not moving. 'We are leaving now?'

'Yes, madame, and you must do so quickly if you would avoid serious trouble. The risk we run here, with the Turks, is nothing compared to it. The master of the polacca sent from Hydra has heard that three vessels belonging to the Kouloughis brothers, renegade pirates, are on a course for Naxos. If they sight the island before you have left it there is a good chance that you will never reach Constantinople but end up in Tunis, where the Kouloughis' sell their slaves.'

'Sla—! I'm coming! Only get Theodoros out of here so that I can get dressed. He seems to have been turned into a pillar of salt!'

There were some words capable of making Marianne rise above herself, and slavery was one of them. When Athanasius had dragged Theodoros bodily out of the room, she dressed herself hurriedly and joined the others on the dark landing outside the bedroom. By the time she appeared, carrying the candle, Theodoros seemed to have recovered his wits. He threw her a smouldering glance, suggesting that it would be a good while before he forgave her for being the cause of his moment of weakness, or what he regarded as such.

Athanasius, however, smiled encouragingly and took her hand to help her down the stairs.

'I don't like leaving like this,' Marianne objected. 'So furtively, like a thief! What will the Count say?'

The little servant's eyes met hers above the candle flame.

'Why, nothing. What can he say, other than "very good" or "an excellent notion", when I tell him your highness has gone to explore the island in the company of the Countess Fiorenza? It is as simple as that.'

Guided by Athanasius, who seemed to have cat's eyes, Marianne and Theodoros made their way down through the maze of narrow streets leading to the harbour. When they reached the waterfront, they went on, making for the side nearest the isle with the ruins of the little temple.

A big three-master with a tapering prow, like a swordfish, was at anchor off the spit of land. Her impressive rigging was an odd mixture of fore and aft and lateen sails. No light was showing on board and she looked like a ghost-ship floating on the calm waters of the harbour.

'The longboat is waiting just here, close by, in front of the chapel of the Knights of Rhodes,' whispered Athanasius.

The nearer they got to the vessel, the sulkier Theodoros seemed to become.

'That's not Miaulis's ship, or Tombazis',' he growled. 'It's not even a true polacca. Whose is this vessel?'

'It belongs to Tsamados,' Athanasius said, a trifle irritably. 'It is, in fact, a polacca-xebec, his latest prize and very fast, it seems. What difference does it make to you? It's the ship Hydra has sent. Of course, if you don't want to go aboard—'

The giant's big paw came down soothingly on the little steward's shoulder.

'You are right, friend, and I apologize. I'm more nervous than I've ever been.' He showed his teeth. That's what it is to travel with a woman.'

The ship's longboat was waiting by a short flight of stone steps. Two dark figures loomed up from it: the figures of the two seamen sent to ferry the passengers aboard.

In spite of herself, Marianne could not help tightening her grip on Athanasius' hand. She felt suddenly that all was not well, although she could not have said why. Perhaps it was the dark night and the unknown vessel but she felt that in saying good-bye to her guide she would be leaving her last remaining friend and plunging into a strange and menacing new world. The thought chilled her.

The steward must have sensed her alarm because he whispered to her:

'Do not be afraid, your highness. The men of Hydra are fine, brave fellows. You will have nothing to fear with them. All that remains for me to do is to thank you for visiting us and wish you a safe journey.'

Calmed by those few words, she answered:

'Thank you, Athanasius. Thank you for everything.'

The farewells were brief. With the help of one of the seamen, Marianne slithered and groped her way down the steep steps, expecting every moment to pitch head-first into the harbour. However, she arrived safely in the dipping wooden boat and Theodoros leaped in after her. Someone fended the boat off with a gaff and then they were away, with the oars, wielded by two pairs of powerful arms, dipping soundlessly into the dark water. On the quay, Athanasius' dumpling figure dwindled, and soon even the houses had receded.

Not a word was spoken on the way out to the ship. Theodoras stood in the bows, one foot on the gunwale, clearly burning with impatience to get aboard, and almost before they touched he had swung on to the companion ladder and, swarming up it with an agility almost incredible for one of his giant size, had vanished over the side.

Marianne followed more slowly, but with sufficient ease and agility to need no help from the seamen, and, when she reached the top, strong hands took hold of her to lift her on to the deck. Only then did it suddenly occur to her that something was dreadfully wrong.

Theodoros was there, standing facing a dark, silent knot of men who seemed to her menacing because of their very silence; they reminded her too much of the shadowy figures standing on the deck of the Sea Witch, watching without a word as she was lowered into the boat in which Leighton had doomed her to die.

Theodoros was speaking in the Romaic tongue she did not understand, but there was an odd break in his voice, which was that of a man accustomed to command, suggesting that there was fear somewhere, underlying his anger. He was the only person speaking and that in itself was alarming, for not a soul answered him.

The two sailors from the longboat had climbed up after her and Marianne could feel them close behind her, so close that she could hear them breathing.

Then, without warning, someone uncovered a dark lantern and held it by a face, so that it seemed to spring out of the darkness in the shadow of the mainmast. It was that of a sallow-skinned, strong-featured man, his nose jutting arrogantly above a bristling, horizontal moustache and his eyes hard under the high, deeply-lined forehead. But what was most terrible of all was that the face was laughing, laughing still in silence but with a cruelty that made Marianne shudder.

On Theodoros the apparition of this demonic head had acted like the vision of a gorgon. He uttered one cry of sheer fury and then turned to Marianne a chalk-like countenance on which, for the first time, she could read fear.

'We are betrayed!' he said. This ship belongs to the renegade Nicolaos Kouloughis!'

He had no time to say more before the silent crew of pirates seized them and thrust them down into the bowels of the ship.

The last thing Marianne saw, before she was swallowed up by the terrifying black hatchway, was a bright star shining, high up through the ratlines. Then a sail was hoisted suddenly, blotting it out, as a hand might cover a gigantic eye to hide its tears.

Between decks it was dark and stiflingly hot, with a stench of filth and rancid oil.

From the bottom of the ladder, Marianne had been flung into a corner, without ceremony, while Theodoros was dragged away somewhere else. She had fallen on to something rough that might have been an old sack and had huddled there, not daring to move, half deafened by the row that was going on all round her.

The oppressive silence that had reigned earlier was shattered and, to judge by the din the pirates were making now, the amount of shouting and excited chatter drowning the furious bellowing of their prisoner, it seemed likely that the silence which had struck them on the deck was due in a large measure to sheer astonishment. It was rather as though they had not expected such a prize.