Marianne and the Rebels

'Let's leave the Emperor out of this. I am talking about you and only you.'

'Are you condescending to criticize my way of life, and the ways of my people? That's rich! Well, let me tell you something. I know the blacks better than you. They're fine fellows for the most part and I like them, but you can't alter the fact that they're still no more sophisticated than children. They laugh and cry as easily, and they have the same unpredictability and the same warmth of heart. But they need guidance.'

'With a whip? With chains on their legs and treated worse than cattle! No man, whatever his colour, was put on this earth to be a slave. I wonder what the Beaufort who left France under Louis XIV, after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, would have thought of your reasoning. I daresay he knew freedom was worth any sacrifice!'

A certain tightening of the lines round Jason's mouth might have warned Marianne that his patience was wearing thin, but she herself was spoiling for a fight. She would a hundred times rather face up to a good row between them than this frigid politeness.

There was a black look in the privateer's eyes and a scornful curl to his lip but he answered with no more than a shrug:

'My poor idiot, it was that very ancestor who started our plantation at La Faye-Blanche and bought the first slaves. But the whip has never been in use with us, and our blacks have had no cause to complain of their treatment. Ask Toby and Nathan! If I'd tried to give them their freedom when the estate was burned they would have lain down and died at my door.'

'I didn't say that you were bad masters, Jason—'

'What did you say then? Was I dreaming when I heard you referring to chains and men treated like cattle? Not that I'm surprised to find you such a staunch supporter of liberty! It's not a word much in use among women of your kind. The majority prefer, I might even say insist on a form of sweet servitude. You don't like the word? But then you, perhaps, are not altogether woman! You're quite at liberty, though, madam! At liberty to ruin everything, to smash everything around you, beginning with your own life and other people's! Oh, there's nothing to touch a truly liberated woman! She's capable of anything! Give woman freedom and they turn into dear little puppets, clinging like crazy to their crowns and peacock feathers!'

The arrival on the scene of Jolival cut short this diatribe. Jason, now quite beside himself, was shouting loudly enough for the whole ship to hear him. He had contained himself too long and now his pent-up anger was released. Catching sight of the little vicomte's amiable features, he barked furiously:

'Take this lady back to her cabin. Treat her with the respect due to a free ambassadress of a liberal Empire! And don't let me see her here again. The quarterdeck is no place for a woman, however liberated! Nor am I obliged to endure her. I too am free!'

And turning on his heel Jason went swiftly down the ladder and strode forward to shut himself up in the chart room.

Jolival made his way to Marianne who was gripping the rail with both hands, struggling with the wind and a violent desire to cry.

'What have you done to him?'

'Nothing! I was only trying to explain to him that slavery is an abomination and how shocking it is that there are poor wretches on this ship without the right to call themselves men! And you saw how he spoke to me!'

'Oh, so now you're fighting about the condition of mankind, are you?' Jolival said helplessly. 'Good God in heaven, Marianne! Haven't you enough to quarrel about, you and Jason, without adding things that are no concern of yours? Upon my word, anyone would think you actually enjoyed tearing yourselves to pieces! He's dying to take you in his arms and you're ready to throw yourself at his feet, yet put you together and you're at each other like a pair of fighting cocks. And in front of the hands!'

'But, Jolival, have you forgotten the smell?'

'Did you mention that to him?'

'No. He didn't give me time. He got angry straight away.'

'And just as well! My dear child, what do you think you're doing? When will you learn that men have their own lives and will live them as they think best? Come along now, let me take you to your cabin. I'm damned if I'll let you out alone again!'

Marianne went with him meekly, accepting the arm he offered to escort her back to the deck-house. This time they had to make their way past the members of the crew who had now descended from the shrouds. The wind being aft had enabled them to follow the quarrel with interest, and Marianne caught a number of broad grins, which covered her with confusion. However, she pretended not to notice them and to be absorbed in conversation with Jolival who was discoursing fluently upon the weather.

They were about to descend the stairs leading below when she saw the dark-skinned fugitive leaning against the mainmast. He had seen her, too, but he did not smile. His eyes, actually of a kind of bluish tint, held a rather melancholy expression. Half-unwillingly, Marianne took a step towards him.

'What is your name?' she asked, a little nervously.

He abandoned his indolent pose and stood up to answer her. Once again, she was struck by the savage beauty of the man's face and the strangeness of his light eyes. Except for his dark skin, the runaway slave had nothing at all negroid about him: the nose was finely chiselled and there was no thickening about the firm, well-shaped lips. He bowed slightly and said softly:

'Kaleb… at your service.'

A profound pity, the outcome of her recent dispute with Jason, swept over Marianne for the poor wretch who was, after all, no better than a hunted animal. She tried to find something to say to him and, recalling what Jason had told her, she asked:

'Do you know that we are going to Constantinople? I am told that you have escaped from the Turks. Are you not afraid—'

'Afraid of being recaptured? No, madame. If I do not leave the ship, I have nothing to fear. I am a member of the crew now and the captain will not allow anyone to touch one of his men. But I thank you for your kind thought, madame.'

'It was nothing. Was it in Turkey that you learned to speak Italian?'

'Just so. Slaves there are often given a good education. I speak French also,' he added in that language, after only the faintest hesitation.

'I see.'

With a little nod, Marianne at last followed Jolival down the dark companion ladder.

'If I were you,' Jolival remarked humorously, 'I should be careful how you talk to the men. Our dear captain is quite capable of deciding you are inciting them to mutiny, and probably clapping you in irons without more ado.'

'Quite capable, I agree. But, Arcadius, I can't help feeling sorry for that poor man. A slave – and a runaway slave at that – it's so dreadfully sad. And it's terrifying to think what might happen to him if he were recaptured.'

'Oddly enough,' Jolival said, 'I don't feel in the least sorry for your bronze sailor. Possibly on account of his physique. Any master, however cruel, if he had the smallest regard for his money, would think twice about killing such a valuable property. Besides, he told you himself, he has nothing to fear. He has the American flag to protect him.'

As Marianne entered her cabin, the smell caught her by the throat. There was no doubt about it, Agathe was very ill indeed. However, as she came in, Dr Leighton was in the act of closing the door to the maid's tiny chamber.

He told Marianne that, closed to the eyebrows with belladonna, the girl would sleep off her miseries, and went on to add that she should not be disturbed. Marianne, however, did not like his tone, any more than she liked the look of her cabin.

Soiled towels were strewn about everywhere and right in the middle of her dressing table was a basin part-full of a yellowish liquid which slopped to and fro uninvitingly. The smell which greeted her left Marianne in no doubt of its contents. All this was quite clearly deliberate and gave her a very good idea of what kind of cooperation she might expect from Dr Leighton.