Marianne and the Rebels

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  Apparently the youth disliked the idea, because he began to shriek alarmingly and wriggled himself further down among his cushions as though defying his master to dislodge him, giving vent to a stream of words, uttered in a shrill tone that grated on Marianne's ears like a rasp, the gist of which was unmistakable: the delicate creature was refusing to sully his hands with anything so repulsive as a woman.

  Marianne, who reciprocated his dislike to the full, had a momentary hope that his refusal might earn him a box on the ears, but Kouloughis merely shrugged and smiled, an indulgent smile that sat ill on his face. Then he turned back to Marianne.

  Her attention deflected by the little scene, she was not expecting this new attack, but he made no further attempt to open her dress, being content merely to run his hands swiftly over her body, lingering a little over the breasts and acknowledging their firmness with a satisfied grunt. This treatment was not at all to Marianne's liking and she responded by dealing the slave-driver two resounding slaps.

  For a brief instant, she tasted the fierce joy of triumph. Kouloughis stood stock still, rubbing his cheek mechanically, while his little friend seemed ready to faint with shock and indignation. But it was only for an instant. A second later, she saw that she would have to pay dearly for her gesture.

  The corsair's sallow face seemed to turn dark green before her eyes. The fact that he had suffered this humiliation before the eyes of his minion made him wild with rage and, staring with dilated eyes, he suddenly seemed to her a creature less than human.

  Urged on by the boy, who was now screaming excitedly in the nasal whine of a maniac muezzin, Kouloughis seized hold of Marianne and dragged her bodily out of the cabin.

  'You'll pay for that, daughter of a bitch!' he snarled. 'I'll show you who's master!'

  'He's going to beat me,' was Marianne's terror-stricken thought as she was jerked towards one of the carronade's that formed the polacca's armament, 'or worse!'

  In a trice she found herself bound to the breech. Two men had covered it first with a tarpaulin but not, it was soon clear, with any idea of sparing her unpleasant contact with the metal.

  'The meltemi is coming,' Kouloughis told her. We'll have a storm and you shall remain out here on deck until it's over. That may cool your temper. When you're cut loose, you'll have thought better of trying to strike Nicolaos Kouloughis. You'll go down on your knees and lick his boots to spare you further tortures! If you're still conscious!'

  It was a fact that an ominous swell was getting up and the ship was beginning to roll. Marianne could feel a queasiness inside that intimated sickness to come, but she forced herself not to blench. She was not going to show this brute that she was ill. He would only think she was afraid. Because of this, she chose to attack instead.

  'You're a fool, Nicolaos Kouloughis. You don't know your own interests.'

  'My interest is to avenge an insult dealt me in front of one of my men!'

  'That? A man? Don't make me laugh! But that's beside the point. You're going to lose a lot of money.'

  In no circumstances could anyone utter the word money in Nicolaos Kouloughis's presence without arousing his interest.

  'What do you mean?' he said, automatically, disregarding both the fact that only a few moments before he had been on the verge of strangling this woman and the undoubted absurdity of entering into this kind of argument with a prisoner lashed to the breech of a gun.

  'It's perfectly simple. You said, didn't you, that you were going to hand Theodoros over to the pasha of Candia and sell me in Tunis?'

  'I did.'

  'That's why I tell you you are going to lose a lot of money. Do you think the pasha of Candia will pay you as much as the prisoner's worth? He'll try and bargain with you, give you something on account and tell you he needs time to get the rest together… whereas the Sultan will pay much more, and on the spot, in good solid gold! For me too. If you won't believe who I really am, or listen to reason, you will at least admit I'm worth more than the grubby harem of some Tunisian bey! There isn't a woman in the Grand Signior's harem to match me for beauty,' she declared brazenly.

  Her plan was a straightforward one. If she could once get him to alter course for the Bosphorus, instead of taking her off to Africa where she would be lost beyond recall, and the very thought of which appalled her, she knew that this in itself would be something of a victory. The important thing, as she had decided once already in Yorgo's boat, was to get there, no matter how.

  She studied the corsair's crafty face anxiously to gauge the effect of her words. She knew that she had touched him on the raw, and very nearly breathed a sigh of relief when he muttered at last:

  'You may be right…' But in a moment the meditative tone had changed to one of anger and resentment. 'But you've deserved your punishment!' he cried. 'And you shall suffer it none the less. When the storm is over you shall know what I have decided – perhaps!

  He went away forward, leaving Marianne alone on the empty deck. Was he going to alter course? Marianne had the feeling suddenly that something was wrong. She had seen how Jason's men had acted during the storm the Sea Witch had run into after leaving Venice, and it bore no resemblance to the behaviour of Kouloughis' crew.

  The seamen on the brig had taken in all sail, leaving the yards bare of everything but the jib and staysail. The men on the polacca were gathered in the bows in what appeared to be some kind of conference, broken now and then by the roars of their captain. Some, the bravest probably, began taking in the more accessible canvas, without enthusiasm, glancing uneasily at the topsails to see how they were standing up to the weather. No one showed the slightest inclination to brave the perils of the shrouds that were now swinging and lashing with the pitching of the ship.

  Marianne, for her part, was feeling increasingly unwell. The ship was tossing now like a cork in boiling water and the ropes binding her were beginning to bite into her flesh. She gasped as a wave broke right over her and ran away, foaming, into the scuppers.

  All the same, when Kouloughis staggered past her on his way aft, she could not resist jibing at him:

  'A fine lot of seamen you've got! If this is how they behave in a storm…'

  'They put their trust in God and the saints,' the corsair flung back at her. 'The storm is from heaven; it is for heaven to decide the outcome. All Greeks know that.'

  This talk of God was the last thing that might have been expected from a renegade pirate, but Marianne was beginning to form her own idea of the Greeks. They were a strange people, at the same time brave and superstitious, ruthless and generous, and for the most part hopelessly illogical. Consequently she merely raised her eyebrows a little and observed:

  'I imagine that is why the Turks find them so easy to defeat. Their method is rather different – but I daresay you must know that, from having decided to serve them.'

  'I know. That's why I am going to take the helm, even if it does no good.'

  Marianne was prevented from answering this as another dollop of salt water slapped over her, sweeping the deck from end to end. She was choking for breath, coughing and spluttering to free her lungs. When she could see anything again, she caught sight of Kouloughis gripping the wheel with both hands and glaring wildly at the raging sea. The helmsman was crouched under the lee of a bulwark, clutching his beads.

  Daylight had crept up slowly, a grey daylight that revealed a gloomy sea. Like a wanton woman doing penance, it had put off its blue satins for grey rags. The waves were mountainous and the air full of flying spume. For all Kouloughis' efforts at the wheel, the vessel was driving forward blindly on a course known only to herself and perhaps to the Devil, however illogically the pirates might persist in seeing the hand of God in it.

  The renegade seemed to regard the prayers of his crew as perfectly normal, and it may have been that he himself was leaving it to the storm to decide the outcome of his private dilemma, whether to continue towards Crete or alter course for Constantinople.

  A jib was torn off, its
sheets frayed and parted, and sailed away into the murky sky like a drunken bird. It did not seem to occur to anyone to do anything about replacing it; but the clamour of invocations to heaven was redoubled, except when drowned by the spray that came on board or by the howling of the wind. The mastheads were dipping and dancing madly against the clouds.

  But soon Marianne was past noticing anything. Soaked to the skin, blinded by spray and deafened by the roar of the water, with the wet ropes tightened cruelly and bruising her flesh, she was discovering that her punishment was worse than anything she had imagined. She longed to lose consciousness but could not, and this rough treatment had at least the advantage of making her forget her sickness. On the other hand, the risk of death by drowning was becoming more real every minute and it was beginning to seem to Marianne that she was bound to die where she was, like a rat in a trap.

  The slave-trader may have thought the same, or feared to see his profit slipping through his fingers if he prolonged the ordeal, because when there came a slight lull in the storm he locked the wheel and came slithering down from the poop to cut the ropes that bound her.

  It was not before time. Marianne's strength was almost exhausted and he had to put both arms round her to keep her from falling on to the steeply tilting deck as the vessel pitched sharply. Half-carrying and half-dragging her to the hatch, he opened it and lowered her down, letting in a fair amount of water at the same time.

  The foetid atmosphere of between-decks and the overpowering stench that filled the place succeeded where the onslaughts of the sea had failed, and Marianne was violently sick. The spasms of retching were painful and prolonged, but when it was over she felt better. She groped her way in the semi-darkness to the sacks where she had lain before and stretched herself out on them.

  What with the water that had entered below decks and her own sopping wet dress, the sacks were soon in a fair way to being as wet as the deck above, but Marianne told herself that she must bear her troubles patiently. At least she was no longer cold: in fact it was as hot as an oven down there.

  Gradually she came to herself again, assisted by a grinding headache. In that enclosed space the sound of the sea against the hull was like the banging of a drum and it was a little while before she realized that not all the thuds that seemed to go right through her head were made by the storm. At the other end of the deck, someone was knocking.

  Suddenly she remembered Theodoros and began to make her way awkwardly, more often than not on all fours because of the rolling of the ship, towards the place from which the knocking seemed to come. There was a door made out of great baulks of timber loosely nailed together, but it was fastened by a massive lock.

  Marianne put her ear anxiously to the door, clinging as best she could. After a moment, the sound came again and she felt the door shake under her hands.

  'Theodoras!' she called. 'Are you there?'

  She was answered by an angry voice that seemed to recede slightly as the vessel climbed, hurling her forward against the door.

  'Of course I'm here! The dogs have bound me so tightly that I can't hold on! Every time this misbegotten hulk rolls I'm flung up against this damned bulkhead! If it doesn't stop soon I'll be smashed to pulp!'

  'If only I knew how to open the door… but there's simply nothing here that I can use.'

  'What? You're free to move about?'

  'Yes…'

  In a few words, Marianne told her companion all that had passed between her and the corsair. Once, she heard him laugh, but his laughter ended in a curse as once again the bulkhead shuddered under the impact of its involuntary human battering ram. Yet it seemed that the collision had been lighter.

  'Seems to be easing off a bit,' Theodoras commented after a moment. 'But take a thorough look around the place you're in. There may be something lying about that I could use to free myself. There's room to slip a piece of metal, or a blade or something under the door.'

  'My poor friend, I'll do my best, but I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed.'

  She was still on her knees, embarking on a detailed exploration of her dimly-lit quarters, when the Greek's voice reached her again.

  'Princess!'

  'Yes, Theodoras?' It was the first time he had called her that, and it surprised her a little. Up to then, he had not found it necessary to call her anything at all.

  'I just want to say… I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. You're a brave woman… and a good comrade! If we get out of this… I'd like to be friends. Will you?'

  In spite of the hopelessness of their position, Marianne found herself smiling and a little rush of warmth made her heart beat faster and buoyed up her courage. The manly offer of friendship, a friendship which she knew would not fail her, was the very thing she needed most. From that moment, she felt that she was no longer alone and, unexpectedly, she wanted to cry.

  'Yes, Theodoros, I will,' she said, with a catch in her voice. 'I can't think of anything I'd like better.'

  'Now then, courage! You sound as if you would burst into tears!… We'll get out of this, you wait and see.'

  A thorough, if uncomfortable, search of the space between decks yielded nothing, and Marianne returned disconsolately to tell Theodoros that she had failed.

  'Never mind,' he sighed. 'We'll just have to wait. Something may turn up. These dogs will have to give us something to eat when the storm dies down. We'll think again then. Meanwhile, you'd better try and get some rest. See if you can wedge yourself into a corner and sleep.'

  Marianne did her best but it was not easy. However, as the storm died away, she did manage to doze off.

  By evening both wind and sea had subsided. The deck on which she lay was once more reasonably horizontal and she had a moment's peace.

  There was not a sound to be heard from the other side of the door and she thought that Theodoros must be asleep. It was now pitch dark between decks. Light was no longer penetrating through the deadlights. The air had grown colder, though, and dank.

  Marianne was just wondering if they were not going to be forgotten altogether until the ship reached Candia, or wherever else it was bound, for she now had no means of knowing, when someone opened the hatch.

  In the light of a lantern, a pair of legs clad in sea boots and canvas trousers appeared, surrounded by swirling vapour. Outside, the storm had been succeeded by a mist, long trails of which came creeping down the steps like ghostly tentacles.

  Marianne, lying stretched out on the deck not far from the steps, did not move. She remained lying in the attitude of a woman in the last stages of exhaustion, hoping that the new arrival would disregard her and so enable her to watch what he was going to do, especially if he went anywhere near Theodoros.

  As it turned out, he was carrying two earthenware jugs and two lumps of some dark substance which was probably bread. Kouloughis, it appeared, did not believe in feeding his prisoners too delicately. But behind the seaman, Marianne saw through half-closed eyes, another pair of legs descending, and these were enveloped in the ample folds of a pair of silken trousers which seemed oddly familiar.

  What was the fair Stephanos doing between-decks, she wondered?

  She did not have to wonder long. While the sailor's heavy tread receded in the direction of the door at the far end, the light footfalls of his companion stopped quite close to the ladder. Without warning, he delivered a vicious kick between the girl's ribs. She let out a low cry and opened her eyes, to see him standing over her, foot poised for another blow. He was stroking the blade of a long, curved knife and he smiled, a smile at once so stupid and so cruel that Marianne's blood froze. His eyes stared at her, the pupils shrunk to minute black specks no bigger than a pin. He had come, so far as she could tell, to deal with a creature he considered abject but possibly dangerous in the way he felt that she deserved.

  She did not pause to think. She simply gathered herself, as though shrinking from the second blow, and then sprang, panther-like, for his throat. The movement, half-instinctive reflex,
half sheer hate, was irresistible. The youth was taken wholly by surprise. He tried to draw back, bumped into the steps and fell. Instantly, she was on him, grasped his head in both hands and banged it against the ladder with such deadly effectiveness that her exquisite adversary was very soon unconscious.

  Marianne seized the dagger as it slipped from his hand and clutched it to her with an extraordinary feeling of triumph and power. Her reflex had been due much more to the sight of the weapon than to the kick. Turning to look along the deck, she saw the seaman had hauled open the protesting door and was about to go inside.

  It had all happened so quickly that he had heard nothing, beyond the sound of the fall which had evidently not alarmed him. In a flash, Marianne knew that door must not be allowed to close again.

  Gripping the knife in her hand, she ran towards the opening, which showed clear in the light of the lantern. The man was tall and strong, and he was already bending to enter when, with the speed of lightning, she leaped for his back and struck home.

  The sailor made a gurgling sound and dropped like a stone beside the lantern, carrying Marianne with him.

  Staggered at what she had done, she got to her feet and stood staring dazedly at the bloodstains on the knife. She had just killed a man, with no more hesitation than on the night she had brained Ivy St Albans with a candlestick, after wounding Francis Cranmere in a duel, leaving him, too, as she had then believed, for dead.

  'The third time…' she muttered to herself. The third…'

  She was roused from her stupor by the voice of Theodoros, torn between delight and admiration.

  'Magnificent, Princess! You're a real amazon! Now cut me loose, and hurry! There's no time to waste. Someone may come.'

  Mechanically, she bent to pick up the lantern and by its light saw the giant lying flat on the deck, trussed like a chicken. For all the bruises on his face, which showed what he had endured, and the stubble beard, his eyes were frankly hilarious. Marianne dropped on her knees beside him and set about cutting the ropes that bound him. They were stout and thick but she worked with such a will that it was not long before the first one yielded. After that, it was easy and in a few seconds more, Theodoros was free.