As she settled herself in the cubby-hole prepared for her in the stern of the boat, Marianne's imagination was busy picturing the advantages which, with a little ingenuity, might be gained from the handsome fisherman. It should not be hard to twist him round her finger. Then he might be persuaded to overpower Giuseppe and afterwards land Marianne herself at some point on the coast whence she might seek a hiding place and get a message to Jolival, or make her way back to Florence. Besides, if he too was in the Prince's service, it ought to be possible to win his allegiance by using her status as the Prince's wife.
It certainly looked as though Giuseppe was taking a vast deal of trouble to preserve appearances. The fisherman must be aware that his lovely passenger was nothing more nor less than a prisoner on her way to judgement… and looking forward to it with less and less enthusiasm.
The truth was that if her natural honesty and courage urged her to a confrontation and a final settling of accounts, her pride could not brook the thought of being dragged to it by force and appearing before Sant'Anna in this humiliating state.
The tartane was not built to carry passengers, especially women, but a kind of berth had been fitted up for Marianne, where she could be comfortable enough. There was a straw mattress and a few crude toilet articles of rough earthenware. The handsome fisherman brought her a rug and she smiled at him, well aware of the devastating effects of that smile. This time it was instantaneous. The tanned face seemed to light up from within and the young man stood stock still, clutching the blanket to his chest, quite forgetting to give it to her.
Encouraged by this success, she asked softly:
'What is your name?'
'Jacopo, Excellenza,' Giuseppe broke in quickly. 'But you will find it a waste of time to talk to him. The poor fellow is deaf and almost dumb. It takes practice to make oneself understood, but if your highness desires speech with him I will interpret for you…'
'I thank you, no,' Marianne said quickly. Then she added, more softly, and this time perfectly sincerely:
'Poor boy. What a shame…'
Compassion came to her aid and helped to hide the disappointment she felt. She understood now the odious Giuseppe's apparent carelessness in embarking alone with his prisoner on board a ship whose single crewman seemed to be so susceptible to feminine charms. In fact, if he was the only person able to communicate with Jacopo, then it was exceedingly well contrived. But the man had not done speaking.
'You need not pity him too much, Excellenza. He has a house, a boat and is affianced to a pretty girl… and he has the sea. He would not exchange these for any more risky adventures.'
The warning was clear and told Marianne that her winsome smile had not gone unnoticed. It was better not to try anything risky, which would certainly be doomed to failure. Another round to the enemy.
Angry, tired and on the verge of tears, the unwilling passenger sat down on her mattress and tried to make her mind a blank. No point in brooding over one defeat: better to get some rest and then look for some other way of escaping from a husband who, she could not help fearing, had no intention of letting her go so soon – always supposing he had no worse punishment in mind for her.
She closed her eyes, obliging Giuseppe to withdraw. A slight breeze had sprung up and through her half-closed lids she saw him telling Jacopo, with a wide range of gestures, to hoist sail. The boat slipped down the canal and slowly out to sea.
Except for a slight squall which got up during the night, the crossing was uneventful, but late the following afternoon, as a pink line appeared, hovering capriciously, like a lacy scarf flung around the neck of the sea, on the bluish horizon, Jacopo began taking in sail.
As they advanced, the mirage seemed to fade and gave place to a long, low island, beyond which it looked as if there were nothing but a green desert. It was a dismal enough isle, bare but for a few trees, and made up for the most part of a long fringe of sand. The boat drew nearer, sailed along the shore for a little way and then, as the beach seemed to turn inland in a kind of channel, hove to and dropped anchor.
Marianne leaned on the rail, striving to recapture the mirage of a moment past. The island was hiding it from her, she knew. Their anchoring had taken her by surprise.
'Why have we stopped?' she asked. 'What are we doing here?'
'By your leave,' Giuseppe said, 'we shall wait until nightfall before we enter harbour. The Venetians are an inquisitive race and his highness wishes your arrival to be as private as possible. We shall cross the Lido channel as soon as it grows dark. Luckily moon-rise is late tonight.'
'My husband wishes my arrival to be private? Don't you mean secret, perhaps?'
'Surely they are the same thing?'
'Not to me! I dislike secrets between husband and wife! My husband seems very fond of them.'
She was frightened now and trying to hide it. The terror she had felt when she realized that she was in the Prince's power returned, irresistibly, despite all her efforts to fight it off during the journey. Giuseppe's words, his ingratiating, would-be reassuring smile, even the reasons he gave her, all added to her fears. Why all these precautions? Why this furtive arrival, if all that awaited her was a simple calling to account, unless she were condemned in advance? She could no longer fight off the thought that what she was to find at the end of this watery journey was a death sentence, summary execution in the depths of some cellar – those Venetian cellars which must have such easy access to the water. If that were so, then who would ever know? Who would even find her body? She had heard often enough that the Sant'Annas held the lives of their womenfolk cheaply!
All at once, unreasoning panic swept over Marianne, naked, primitive and old as death. To perish here, in this city which had figured in her dreams for so many months as the magical place where her happiness was to begin, to die in Venice, where love was said to reign supreme! What a grim jest of Fate! When Jason's ship entered the lagoon, he might sail, all unwittingly, over the very place where her body lay disintegrating slowly…
Appalled by this hideous vision, she flung herself forward in an almost convulsive movement, intending to jump overboard from the prow. This fishing boat carried her death, she knew that, she could feel it! All she wanted was to get away from it.
Even as she was about to plunge over the side, she was caught and held roughly by an irresistible force. Arms were round her body and she found herself held fast, in total impotence, against the broad chest of the fisherman, Jacopo.
'Tut, tut!' said Giuseppe's voice softly. 'How very childish! Does your ladyship seek to leave us? Where would you go? There is nothing here but grass and sand and water… whereas a luxurious palace awaits you…'
'Let me go!' she moaned, struggling with all her strength, her jaws grimly clenched to keep her teeth from chattering. 'Why should you care? You can say I hurled myself into the water – that I am dead! Only let me off this boat! I'll give you anything you want! I am rich—'
'But not so rich as his highness… and much less powerful. My life is a poor thing, Excellenza, but important to me. I do not want to lose it. And I am bound to answer with my life for your ladyship's safe arrival!'
'This is absurd! We are not living in the Middle Ages!'
'Here, in certain houses, we are,' Giuseppe said, suddenly grave. 'I know, your ladyship is going to mention the Emperor Napoleon. I was warned of that. But this is Venice, and the Emperor's power is exercised lightly and with discretion. So, be sensible…'
Marianne was sobbing now, still held fast in Jacopo's arms, her spirit broken and her resistance at an end. She was not even conscious of the absurdity of crying in the arms of a perfect stranger: she merely leaned against him as she might have done a wall, with one thought only in her mind: everything was finished. Now nothing could prevent the Prince from wreaking what vengeance he liked on her. She had only herself to rely on, and that was little enough.