“Drop your weapons,” he said, in heavily accented Italian. He tightened his grip on Jane, lifting her on to her toes to assert his point.
“Sir, release the lady.” The gentleman wet his lips and stepped forward, sword held at the ready.
One of the others stalked into the cabin and, with a single twist of his scimitar, disarmed the man. With the next stroke, he clubbed him upon the head. The gentleman dropped to his knees, stunned but not unconscious. He struggled to rise.
The scimitar felt as though it would stop Jane’s speech but she forced the words past. “Sir—please. No more. Do not resist them.”
He nodded and stayed on his knees.
“Good.” The pirate who had struck him gestured to the others. He issued some order in a rippling language that Jane did not recognise. In response, his men herded the small group of passengers out the door.
At every step, Jane was certain the blade at her throat would slide across her skin. The fichu of lace seemed inadequate to the task of protection. The corsair relaxed his grip only when they came to the ladder leading back on to the deck.
Jane was under no illusions that he was any less vigilant for this relaxation. She climbed the ladder without protesting or attempting to spring away. Where would she go?
After the dim confines of the passage below, the sun stung Jane’s eyes. She winced, wishing for an idle moment that she had not left her bonnet below—but of what import was that? Propriety, and her complexion, were matters for another day.
As her eyes cleared, she peered around the boat. The corsairs’ captain strode up and down the deck—his height made him obvious, even if his bearing did not. He wore a long moustache on his otherwise clean-shaven face. The ends hung below his chin and accented his shouts with their movement. He carried a brace of pistols tucked into his waistband. The wind whipped the ends of his bright sash through the air like blood in water.
A group of sailors sat along the rail, guarded by corsairs who held pistols at ready. Vincent lay crumpled next to the sailors, as though he had been tossed there like a rag doll. Utterly limp.
Jane darted forward, only to be snatched by the corsair behind her. Now she twisted in his grasp to no effect. He shook her and raised the scimitar. Jane struggled to control herself. It would help no one if she were to be made an example.
With an effort, Jane steadied her breathing and pointed to Vincent. “My husband. Please?” The pirate grunted and walked her across the deck. He growled something to his fellows, of which Jane only caught the word, “Glamourist.”
With a shove, he hurried her the last several feet toward Vincent. Jane stumbled on the hem of her dress and dropped to her knees beside her husband. She lay a hand on his chest.
Through his waistcoat, the strong beat of his heart gave her a relief beyond measure. She could now look at him for injury. Blood clotted the hair at the back of his head, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. Jane undid his cravat and loosened the high collar of his shirt to give him more air.
With the cravat, she dabbed at the wound on the back of his head, heedless of what went on around them. He groaned and shifted at her touch.
Jane lifted her head and looked to the closest sailor. “Have you any spirits?”
He looked at her without comprehension, so Jane repeated the question in Italian, and then her poor French. He continued to stare at her without any sign of understanding. A hand appeared on her right, holding out a silver flask. Jane turned to thank the person for the offer, and discovered it was the older gentleman from below. The other passengers had also been herded to the rail to sit with the sailors, and the pirate who delayed her had apparently only been committing another small act of cruelty.
“Thank you.” She poured a small measure of liquor on to Vincent’s cravat and spared the gentleman a glance. “Are you injured, sir?”
“My vanity only.” The gentleman shifted to lean against the rail. They had taken his sword cane, and he stretched his leg out gingerly in front of him now.
Jane granted only a nod of acknowledgement, for the greater part of her attention was fixed upon her husband. Dabbing carefully, she cleaned the blood away as best she could. When he stirred again, she passed the flask under his nose, in lieu of smelling salts. Vincent coughed and his eyes fluttered open.
“Thank God.” Jane replaced the lid on the flask and returned it to the gentleman. In English, she said, “Vincent? Love. Can you hear me?”
“Muse?” He lifted a hand to his head. “I fear I have overdone glamour again. The room is spinning wretchedly.”
“Not glamour this time.” For a moment, she was caught in the memory of the excess of glamour that had nearly killed him. The vision of Vincent’s heels drumming the floor in a seizure almost overwhelmed her. She pressed his free hand in hers, as she had not been able to then. “Our ship was set upon by pirates. You have sustained a blow to the head.”
His eyes widened at that. Vincent struggled to raise himself to his elbows, but fell back. “Pirates?”
“Barbary corsairs.”
He looked past her, brow creasing. “Dear Lord.”
“You were very valiant and tried to resist them.”
“Rash is more accurate.” He rolled onto his side. “Help me sit.”
Jane eased him into a sitting position. “Have a care. You have quite the lump.”
“It seems more bearable if I am sitting.” But he sat hunched, with his head held between his hands as though it would burst.
Jane sat beside him, rubbing the base of his neck, which was all the comfort she could offer in the circumstances. The pirate captain paid them little notice at first, seeming content to leave them along the rail. The other passengers had been assembled with the sailors. The young man from below insisted, to every corsair that passed him, that he was a nobleman and must be released at once.
They paid him no mind.
In short order, the corsairs pulled each passenger up and searched them for valuables without regard for age or sex. The captain stood behind them holding a rough canvas bag into which the valuables were deposited. With some he discussed ransom, and, when the terms were agreeable, he sent them to stand beside a boat. Vincent squinted at the action as though he had trouble focusing. “Muse … they may separate us. If they do … I will come for you, no matter what happens.”
“And I you.”
He lifted his head and offered something that was almost a smile. “That I know.”
When the pirates came to them, Jane stood, and they took her wedding ring, the topaz cross at her throat, and the brooch that fastened the lace fichu about her neck. The captain took the lace as well and tied it around his own neck, laughing. Even with her cooperation, he still took the opportunity to lay his hands all over her person. Jane kept her gaze fixed on Vincent.
A muscle pulsed at the corner of his jaw, and his complexion slowly turned a furious red, but his brown eyes steadied her.
When the pirate released her, Jane stepped swiftly to the rail. Her skin crawled beneath her clothes, and she wished, very much, for a basin of hot water and a stiff brush.
The pirate barked at Vincent, clearly telling him to stand. Vincent rose to his knees and seized the rail to pull himself to his feet. His face turned an alarming green as he rose. Closing his eyes against the motion of the ship, he swayed in place. Jane steadied him as best she could. She wrapped her arm around his waist and tried to get her hip under his weight.
The corsair rattled out another sharp line of command.
Jane’s temper snapped. “He is injured. Can you not see that?”
“I am well enough for their purposes.” Vincent slowly straightened, though she was not at all certain that he could remain on his feet much longer. With care, he emptied his pockets, giving over his watch and its seal, his pocketbook with the monies for their journey, down to the last florin. The pirate dropped each item into the rough canvas bag. Vincent looked past him to the group by the lifeboat. “May we offer a ranso
m as well?”
The captain sneered and spoke in Italian that was heavily accented, even to Jane’s ear. “You—you are British and your country is notorious for breaking their treaties. You are strong, and will fetch a good price.”
The older gentleman from below limped clear of the group by the small boat. “One moment, sir. May I speak with you?”
Pursing his lips, the captain’s eyes raked the gentleman up and down as though calculating his worth. “For yourself?”
“About ransom for those women and children who require it.” He hesitated. “And for this lady’s husband.”
“That is an expensive proposition you make.” The captain nodded to one of the young girls. “She would fetch a pretty price. Are you certain you can afford it?”
“I am Giacomo Sanuto, a senior officer at Banco de Giro. I assure you, I can.” His words were bold, but a trickle of sweat ran down his temple. They began to haggle, numbers flying so quickly that it seemed the pirate captain had more than a little experience with this. Signor Sanuto matched him, though, and they had soon come to an agreement of three hundred pounds per woman and one hundred per child.
The pirate turned then to Jane and grunted. “This one is distinctly unpretty, and I’m not likely to sell her. One hundred and fifty pounds.”
Jane could not bring herself to be injured by the comment on her appearance. Signor Sanuto nodded with clear relief at the figure, though it had been her allowance for a year before she married Vincent. “And her husband?”
“He’s strong. The captain of this ship tells me he is a glamourist, so useful, too. One thousand pounds.”
Jane gasped. Signor Sanuto swallowed. “But he is English, as you noted, and they are notoriously intractable. Five hundred.”
“Nine hundred.”
“You are not allowing for his injury, I think. He will require care before being fit to work. Surely knocking that off his price would be fair. Seven hundred and fifty?”
The captain stroked his long moustaches. “Done.” He turned to one of the pirates and rattled off a command in his native tongue.
The pirate pulled them from the rail and added them to the group of passengers waiting by the ship’s boat. Vincent offered Signor Sanuto his hand. “Thank you, sir. When we are ashore I shall make arrangements to reimburse you.”
“Please do not trouble yourself.” The signore shook his head. “It was the Christian thing to do, and I doubt that an artist has anywhere near that figure.”
“While I do not generally care for titles, I want to reassure you that you will be repaid. I am Sir David Vincent.” He cleared his throat. “I am the Prince Regent’s glamourist.”
The gentleman’s eyes widened. “I am glad they did not know that, or they should have asked a higher price for you.”
“Still. We are in your debt.” Jane offered him her hand. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“Do not thank me until we are safely in Venice.”
Three
Noble Influence
The port office in Venice was vast and echoing and stank of fish. In the distance, the great clock in Piazza San Marco chimed, the two mechanical Moors atop it striking the bell eleven times. Each gong reverberated through the office, reminding Jane of how long their small boat had been adrift at sea. By good fortune, they had been picked up by a sailing vessel and carried into the port, but all of them were weary and sunburnt. The victims sat in different parts of the hall talking to various clerks who were attempting to manage the consequences of the pirate attack.
The clerks used crates, which were awaiting registration and approval as extemporized office furniture. The space was never meant to handle this sort of event. Jane shifted on the hard wooden crate she had been offered as a seat and stared with some envy at the folding chair that had been produced for Signor Sanuto. It had no padding, but even something with a back would be welcome. The voyage in the small boat had done no good for Vincent’s dizziness, causing him to empty his stomach repeatedly into the ocean. He now sat sagged on a box, facing one of the port’s clerks. Jane was not certain that he was wholly conscious.
For what seemed as though it were the fifth time, she finished the recital of their story. Being required to do so in Italian made the entire process that much more trying.
The clerk slicked his lank hair back from his face. “I am sorry, sir and madam. But without your papers, I cannot allow you into the city.”
Jane made every endeavour to keep her voice level. “But I have explained that they were taken by the pirates. We have nothing.”
“So you have said.” The clerk shuffled papers on his desk. “If there were someone who might vouch for you, it would be a different matter.”
They had come round to this again. Jane repeated what she had already told him. “We were to stay with Lord Byron.”
“So you have said. It is a pity that his landlord reports that he has left the city.”
“He is expecting us,” Jane said, with less patience than she had before. “The landlord must be mistaken.”
He picked up the note that had come in response to their request for assistance from Lord Byron. “No. No … Signor Segati is quite clear. He has gone to an assignation in La Mira.”
Jane tried to put on her most reasonable tone, the one she used for calming her mother. “If you could simply release us, then we could apply at his house ourselves. He has surely left instructions with his staff.”
The clerk simpered. “Ah, but who then would pay the entrance fee you owe?”
Jane rubbed her brow. Across the room, she saw the mother with the daughters stand to leave. The woman met her gaze briefly and offered a small wave; then she was gone.
They had arrived safely in Venice, but were now destitute. The pirates had taken all of their funds, and it would take a month or more to contact their banker in London. When Vincent had handed over their funds aboard the ship, Jane had been in too much shock to fully comprehend the consequences. If Lord Byron was not in town to vouch for them, she hardly knew what they would do. They were utterly without resources. Jane had expected that there would be some sympathy for their plight, but there had instead been this endless round of questions from a man who seemed to have no power save that of keeping them in this drafty room.
“Is there a British consul in Venice?”
“Of a certainty.”
Jane waited for him to draw the connexion, but he simply looked at her coolly. “Then may we not speak to him?”
He looked puzzled. “Ah—but he is a good friend of Lord Byron. Surely you know that, as you are yourselves such friends of Lord Byron’s. They are gone together to La Mira.”
Jane sat back on her box, astonished and annoyed. “How might you know that?”
“It is common gossip, madam. I do not wish to shock you, but it is well known that Lord Byron keeps a mistress in every port.” He slicked his hair back again. “You must understand that invoking his name is … well. It raises certain questions about your character.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open. “My character? Sir. I have been waylaid by pirates. Are you now implying that it was somehow my fault? Because if you are, allow me to assure you that when our circumstances are altered, as they will no doubt be, I shall not forget your treatment of us.”
He drew himself up in his chair. A strand of hair escaped and trembled along his nose. “I do not take kindly to veiled threats, madam.”
Nor had he taken kindly to reason, but Jane managed to hold her tongue about that. She glared across the room and saw Signor Sanuto rise to leave as well. His back was to them, but she could tell that it bore none of the frustration that she felt. A manservant had arrived for him with a new walking stick and a greatcoat, which made Jane feel her own grime all the more. Signor Sanuto was shaking hands with his clerk, laughing, even. She let her breath out slowly and tried again with the man assigned to them. “Please tell me what we might do to be allowed to leave here.”
“Well. You ar
e without your papers, but I might overlook that irregularity, for certain considerations.”
Vincent ground his teeth audibly together, proving that he was at least a little awake. In English, he said, “I thought we had left the pirates at sea.”
Jane put her hand on Vincent’s arm, though his words exactly matched her feelings. “As we are without funds, would you accept a promissory note?”
“Here we return again to the fact that you are unknowns in our city.” He shrugged and held up his hands, as though to say that the decision was not in his control.
Signor Sanuto put on his greatcoat, on the point of departing. Jane knew one person in this city. She stood. “Signor Sanuto!”
He turned round at his name and frowned; then he limped across the vast room toward her. His infirmity seemed more pronounced on dry land.
Vincent sat up. “Jane, we cannot ask him for money.”
“I do not intend to.”
The signore came within speaking distance. “Lady Vincent. Is something the matter?”
“I do hate to impose, again, but our papers were on the ship and this gentleman needs someone to vouch for our identity.”
Very quietly, he said, “Why are my friends being detained after the trial we endured today?”
“Signor Sanuto, sir! I was only—” Flushing, the clerk cleared his throat and drew a paper toward him. He began to scribble upon it with sudden focus.
As he did so, the signore turned to Jane and Vincent. “My apologies. I did not expect that you would have such difficulties. I believe we have the confusion straightened out.”
The clerk cleared his throat again. “Sir David? May I ask you to sign a few papers, please?” His attitude was so markedly improved that Jane had to wonder with whom they had allied themselves.
Vincent excused himself and went to the desk, leaning heavily against it. Jane took his place at Sanuto’s side. “I owe you thanks once again.”
Valour and Vanity Page 3
