'You are not to go ashore. You are a prisoner of His Majesty's government, ma'am. Oh, no harm will come to you, of course. I shall simply ask Captain King to ensure that you remain below, in your cabin, during the hours he will remain in port. He will sail tomorrow morning for England, taking you with him under strict surveillance. Once there, you will become the most valuable, and the most charming, of hostages. If that's agreeable to you, Sir James?'
'Perfectly, your excellency.'
Marianne shut her eyes, fighting off the faintness that swept over her. This was the end. She had failed, hideously, on the very edge of success, and for the stupidest of all reasons: the vindictiveness of a pair of silly little men! But her pride refused to let her give way to weakness. Opening her great eyes very wide, she fixed them, sparkling with anger and suppressed tears, on the ambassador's bland face.
'Aren't you rather exceeding your powers, sir?'
'Not in the slightest, ma'am. It's quite within the rules of war – and we are at war. Allow me to wish you a pleasant journey home – for I should be glad to think that England might still feel even a little like home to you.'
'A little, sir. A very little. And now, Sir James, you had better do your duty and shut me up. Good day to you, Mr Canning.'
She turned from the ambassador, and glanced swiftly at the captain as she did so. The set look on his face killed any hope that still remained. Just as she had known when she first came aboard the Jason, James King would never let his private feelings interfere with his duty. Possibly he might even feel a certain natural resentment that she had used their old friendship to deceive him.
Sighing, she looked away to cast one final glance over the stern rail at the forbidden city. It was then she saw the Sea Witch.
At first she thought it must be an illusion born of her desperate longing to see the ship again, and she paused, brushing her hand uncertainly across her eyes as though unconsciously afraid to destroy the beautiful vision. But there was no mistake. The brig was Jason's.
She was riding easily at anchor, a few cables' lengths away at a little distance from the quay, and pulling gently at her moorings like a dog on a leash. A wave of joy swept over her, welling up from her heart and bringing a tightness to her throat and making her hands tremble as she made out her own image carved on the prow. There could be no further doubt: Jason was here, in this very port, where he had not wished to come but which to her in her abandonment, had been like the promised land.
But how could she reach him?
'Will you step this way, ma'am.'
Sir James's stiff voice brought her back to reality. She was not free to hurry to the man she loved. And, as a final reminder of the fact, two marines fell in on either side of her. She was a prisoner of war now, and that was all.
For a moment, she lost her nerve and gazed wildly up into the elderly captain's expressionless face.
'Where are you taking me?'
'Why, to your cabin, ma'am, as Mr Canning has suggested. Your – serene highness – ' his tongue stumbled a little over the unaccustomed words,' – will be asked to remain there, with a guard on the door. Did you think you would be put in irons? We're not in the habit of ill-treating prisoners – not even those who serve Bonaparte.'
Marianne turned her head away so that he might not see that he had wounded her. Her kind old friend had vanished utterly and in his place was now a stern stranger, a British officer who would do his duty even if it meant playing the part of gaoler. It even seemed to Marianne that, in the bitterness of his disappointment, he might not have been sorry to have dealt with her more harshly.
'No, Sir James,' she said after a moment. 'I did not think that. But I wish you would not think too hardly of me.'
Casting one last glance at the brig from which there came no noise or sign of life and which, as she looked, seemed to turn away from her indifferently, she submitted to being escorted back to her own cabin.
The sound of the key turning in the lock grated on her nerves like a file. It was followed by the shuffle of feet and the sound of musket butts striking the deck. From now on, at least so long as they remained in Turkish waters, there would always be a pair of marines on guard outside her door. England was not going to let any friend of Bonaparte's slip through her fingers.
She went slowly to the window and opened it, but leaning out she saw only what she knew already. Her cabin, situated next to the captain's own, was high above the level of the water. Perhaps, in her disappointment, she might even then have made up her mind to the hazardous dive, in a faint hope of escaping from her captors and the fate that lay ahead; but even that desperate course was denied her. All round the stern of the ship as she lay at anchor was clustered a mosaic of little boats, rowing boats, caiques and peramas, thronging round her, as they were round any other ship of any size, like so many baby chicks around their mother hens. More boats were plying back and forth across the water, ferrying passengers and goods from one shore to the other. To jump would have been tantamount to breaking her neck.
Marianne wandered miserably back to her cot and sank down on to it. It was not until then that she noticed they had removed the sheets. Apparently Sir James was determined to take no chances.
That reminded her of Theodoros, and she reflected rather bitterly that he must be a long way off by this time. He had been just in time to benefit from the captain's weakness for the little Marianne he remembered. No one would come and loose her bonds to let her escape.
The Greek had achieved his object. All that she had left was the faint, private satisfaction of having kept the oath that she had sworn on Santorini. In that respect, at least, she was free, if in no other.
The hottest hours of the day slipped by, one by one, each more oppressive than the last, and swifter. There was so little time left for her in Constantinople! And the nearness of the Sea Witch made the inevitable prospect of departure more desperate than ever.
Very soon now, with the coming of the new day, the British ship would hoist sail and carry off the Princess Sant'Anna to a dismal future, to be swallowed up in the fogs of England, without even the relieving spice of danger. They would simply put her away somewhere and that would be that. Unless Napoleon remembered her, she would probably be forgotten by all the world.
At sunset came the wailing cries of the muezzins, calling the faithful to prayer. Then darkness came and the tumultuous life of the harbour slackened and died, while the riding lights of the different vessels shone out one by one. With the darkness came a cold wind from the north, which blew into the cabin. Marianne shivered but she could not bring herself to close the window, because by leaning out a little she could still just manage to make out the bowsprit of Jason's ship.
A seaman came in bringing a lighted candle and was followed by another with a tray. These they set down without a word. Probably they were under orders. Their faces were so devoid of all expression as to have become curiously alike. Marianne said nothing, either by word or look, and they went away.
She cast her eye over the tray without interest. That they gave her food and light meant nothing to her. A prison is still a prison, however many comforts it contains.
Nevertheless, she realized that she was very thirsty and, pouring herself a cup of tea, she drank it and was in the act of pouring out a second when she heard a heavy thud which made her start and turn her head. There was something on the floor.
Bending, she saw that it was a jagged stone with a thin black thread tied tightly round it. The other end of the thread disappeared through the window.
She tugged it gently, her heart beating fast, and then more strongly. The thread yielded. More of it appeared and was followed by a stout rope knotted on to it. Realizing suddenly what it meant, Marianne hugged the hempen cord to her in a wild access of almost hysterical joy, pressing it to her lips and kissing it as if it were an angel of deliverance. She still had one friend at least!