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.
'By God, that's better!' he sighed, stretching his long legs to ease their stiffness. Now, let's see if we can get out of here… Can you swim?'