Жюльетта Бенцони - Marianne and the Rebels

Marianne slept at last, exhausted, after refusing the food offered her by Giuseppe – for this she learned was her kidnapper's name. She was in too much anguish of mind to swallow a bite.

Daylight woke her, and the sudden jolt as the berlin pulled up for fresh horses outside a small hostelry smothered in vines and climbing plants. They were on a hillside at the top of which a little red-walled town clustered round a squat castle, its towers almost hidden behind the red roofs. The sun revealed a landscape of neat rectangular fields, intersected by irrigation ditches on the banks of which a variety of fruit trees served to support great swags of vines, while far in the distance, beyond a broad band of darker green, a sheet of silvery blue spread to the horizon. The sea.

Giuseppe, who had got out when the coach stopped, now poked his head in the door.

'If your ladyship cares to descend for refreshment, I should be happy to be your escort.'

'Escort me? It does not occur to you, I suppose, that I might prefer to be alone? I wish, yes, I wish to restore my appearance a little. Surely you must see that I am covered with dust?'

'There is a room in the house where your ladyship may retire for that purpose. I shall be satisfied to remain outside. The window is very small.'

'In other words, I am a prisoner! Hadn't you better admit it openly?'

Giuseppe bowed with exaggerated courtesy.

'A prisoner? There's a nice word for a lady in the care of a devoted servant! My duty is merely to see that you reach your destination safely, and it's for that reason only that I have orders not to leave you for any cause whatsoever.'

'Suppose I shout and scream?' Marianne exclaimed with exasperation. 'What will you do then, master gaoler?'

'I should not advise it, Excellenza. In the event of any shouts and screams my orders are clear… and far from pleasant.'

Marianne was outraged to see the black muzzle of a pistol gleaming in her so-called servant's plump hand.

Giuseppe gave her a moment to ponder this before tucking the weapon back unconcernedly in his waistband.

'In any case,' he went on, 'screaming will do no good. This place belongs to his highness. The people would not understand why the Princess should be calling for help against the Prince.'

Giuseppe's face was as bland as ever but Marianne knew from the cruel glint in his eye that he would not hesitate to kill her in cold blood in the event of a struggle.

Beaten, if not resigned, she decided that for the present her best course was to submit. For all the undoubted comfort of the coach, her body ached from the bad roads and she was longing to stretch her legs.

With Giuseppe, in his role of faithful family servant, close behind her, Marianne went inside the house. A peasant girl in a red petticoat and bright blue kerchief made her best curtsy, and later, when Marianne had withdrawn for a moment to the room he had mentioned, to wash and comb her hair, the girl brought her brown bread, cheese, olives and onions, and sheep's milk, on all of which the traveller fell hungrily. Her refusal of food the night before had been largely a gesture of bravado, mixed with sheer temper, but had been foolish because she needed all her strength. Now, in the fresh morning air, she discovered that she was famished.

Meanwhile fresh horses had been harnessed, and as soon as the Princess declared herself ready the coach resumed its way down to a low, level plain which seemed to go on for ever.

Strengthened and refreshed, Marianne elected to wrap herself once more in lofty silence, despite the questions which burned on her lips. In any case, she had no doubt that she would soon arrive at her destination, when her questions would be answered. They were heading straight towards the sea, without turning aside to right or left, so that the place they were making for must be on the coast.

At about midday they came to a large fishing village, its low houses clustered along the banks of a sandy watercourse. After the cool shade of the thick belt of pines through which they had just passed, with its tall dark wide-spreading trees, the heat seemed much greater than it really was and the village more forsaken.

Here was a realm of sand. As far as the eye could see, the shore was a vast sandy beach, patched here and there with clumps of marram grass, while the village itself, with its crumbling watch-tower and occasional fragments of Roman wall, might have emerged directly from the encroaching sands.

Alongside the houses, great nets hung drying on poles in the still air, like giant dragonflies, and a handful of boats lay at anchor in the canal which served as a harbour. The largest and smartest of these was a slender tartane. A sailor in a stocking cap was busy setting the red and black sails.

The berlin drew up on the edge of the water and the fisherman beckoned with a sweep of his arm. Once again, Giuseppe invited Marianne to descend.

'Have we arrived?' she asked.

'We have reached the port, Excellenza, but not the end of our journey. The second stage is by sea.'

Amazement, alarm and anger were stronger than Marianne's pride.

'By sea?' she cried. 'Where are we going? Do your orders include keeping me in ignorance?'

'By no means, Excellenza, by no means,' Giuseppe responded, bowing. 'We are going to Venice. This way the journey involves less discomfort.'

'To Ve—'

In other circumstances Marianne might well have laughed at the way the jewel of the Adriatic seemed to have the lodestone drawing all and sundry. It was certainly important to Napoleon that she should take ship from Venice, even if his reason had been partly kindness, and now here was the Prince, her husband, also selecting Venice as the place in which to make his wishes known to her! But for the nameless dread which hung over her, it would have been funny…

She got out and took a few turns beside the water to calm herself. The little sand-locked harbour was lapped in a profound peace. In the absence of a wind, nothing stirred, and everything in the village seemed asleep except for the sound of the cicadas. Apart from the fisherman who had jumped ashore to meet the travellers, there was not another human being in sight.

'They are having a siesta and waiting for a wind,' Giuseppe remarked. 'They will come out in the evening. All the same, we shall go aboard at once to allow your highness to settle in.'

He preceded Marianne across the plank joining ship to shore and helped her over the swaying bridge with all the respect of the perfect servant, while the coachman and the other servant bowed and turned back to the coach, which soon vanished with them into the pines.

To any casual observer, the Princess Sant'Anna would have presented the total appearance of a great lady travelling peacefully. The casual observer, however, would not have known that the devoted servant carried a large pistol in his belt, and that this pistol was not intended for possible highway robbers but for his mistress, should she take it into her head to resist.

For the moment, though, the only observer was the fisherman. Yet Marianne caught his eye as she stepped aboard, and the look of admiration it held. He was standing by the gangway, watching her come aboard with the wondering expression usually associated with supernatural visions, and he was still in his daze a good minute later.

Marianne studied him in her turn without appearing to, and her examination led her to some interesting conclusions. Although not tall, the fisherman was a fine figure of a man, with the head of a Raphael painting on the body of the Farnese Hercules. His yellow canvas shirt was open to the waist, revealing muscles which seemed carved in bronze. His lips were full, his eyes dark and brilliant, and the hair that curled thickly from under his tilted red stocking cap was black as jet.