The captain and his men were too busy to show James and Cordelia to their quarters. James sat hunched on a coil of rope, hugging his middle, while Cordelia stood at the rail admiring the western sky.
Turning away from the sunset, she looked back at the ancient city with its fortress, cathedral, and episcopal palace. “Zio Simone told me Taranto began as a Spartan colony,” she said in an effort to distract James from his unhappy insides. “The Romans and Carthaginians fought over it, then Lombards, Saracens, Greeks—let’s see—and Normans, Austrians, Spaniards, and doubtless a few I’ve forgotten.”
“And now it belongs to the Kingdom of Naples, reigned over by Joachim Murat, the son of a French innkeeper and, to give the devil his due, a brilliant cavalry commander.”
“Oh heavens,” cried Cordelia, “here come some of his cavalry now!”
The thunder of hooves on cobblestones resounded through the gathering dusk as a troop of soldiers galloped out of the narrow, twisting streets and onto the quay. James pulled Cordelia down behind a windlass. They huddled there as the French officer bellowed, “
La Bella Drusilla, halte-là!”
The gap of smooth, dark water between the yacht and the pier continued to widen. Captain Rutigliano came to the rail with his speaking trumpet.
“Impossible,” he shouted in Italian. “I take my orders from
Sua Eccellenza, il Conte di Arventino e Grassano
, and he wishes me to sail to Bari. Perhaps we shall meet there.” Turning away, he ordered his men to raise more canvas.
A few more yells followed them, but no bullets, though James made Cordelia stay crouched behind the capstan for several minutes more. Perhaps the Frenchman was impressed by the count’s title, or he was not sure enough of his quarry to fire, or he simply thought it futile to shoot at a ship fast disappearing into the night. Cordelia hoped Captain Rutigliano would not find trouble waiting when at last he reached Bari. She supposed she would never know.
“At least we did not go dashing across the countryside for nothing,” she said.
“And the excitement took my mind off my interior.”
“How do you feel now?”
“Not too bad,” James said cautiously. “Do you think that last ghastly voyage has cured me?”
“Very likely,” Cordelia encouraged him, forbearing to point out that they were still within the harbour basin.
The captain came to usher them to their luxurious cabins—two, as the count had told him they were brother and sister. One of the sailors would act as their steward when not needed on deck, he explained. This would relieve Cordelia of the unpleasant tasks associated with James’s sickness, but she had every intention of nursing him through his torments.
However, though queasy he was not desperately ill, and he was even able to eat a little as long as he walked about the deck for an hour afterwards. The narrow-beamed Bella Drusilla cut smoothly through the glassy waves with a minimum of pitch and roll. By the third day, James had found his balance, and on the fifth he was beside Cordelia at the rail as they sailed into the beautiful harbour at Syracuse.
On the citadel, beside the flag of the Two Sicilies, the Union Jack flaunted its red, white, and blue. Cordelia’s heart lifted at the sight. For the first time since infancy, she was about to step onto...well, not quite British soil, and it was still a long way home. But at least she did not want to hide from the scarlet-tunicked soldiers on the dock!
There were British sailors, too, in blue pea-jackets. James pointed out two frigates and a sloop flying the White Ensign, the Royal Navy’s flag with its red cross of St. George and a small Union Jack in one corner.
“Do you suppose we might sail on that, all the way to England?” Cordelia said longingly.
“Too much to hope for, though I daresay we’d be shockingly uncomfortable on her. The navy isn’t set up to carry passengers. I see several merchantmen among the fishing boats. Perhaps we shall be able to leave before I lose my sea-legs again, but first I must speak to whoever is in charge here.”
In that he had little choice. A sergeant examined Captain Rutigliano’s papers minutely, and politely invited him to take himself and his crew back to the mainland
subito
. With equal polite minuteness he studied Cordelia’s papers, somehow preserved through thick and thin, with the ink running a little in places. Over these he nodded his approval. Then he came to James and discovered he had no papers at all.
“I’m afraid I’ll ‘ave to take you to see the Major, sir,” he said. “You sounds like English gentry orl right to me, but I can’t take it on meself to let you pass. Never fear, sir, I’ll ‘ave one o’ me men escort madam to a respeckable inn.
Albergo
, these ‘ere Eyeties call it.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said James.
“But had I not better look about for a ship to take us onwards?” Cordelia protested.
“Don’t you fret ‘bout that, miss,” the sergeant advised her. “The Major’s got everything you could want to know ‘bout every vessel in the ‘arbour. ‘E’ll direct Mr. Courtenay right, never you fear.”
“Mr...?” Cordelia looked at him blankly for a moment, before she realized he had reached a natural conclusion. She and James claimed to be brother and sister, and her papers declared her surname as Courtenay, so obviously he must be a Courtenay too. They had used so many names, that complication had never crossed her mind, nor James’s, judging by his equally blank look.
The soldier’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Cordelia hastened to give him the first explanation that came to her lips.
“Oh, this is Mr. Preston. We are half brother and sister, you see.”
“Beg pardon, Mr. Preston, sir, I’m sure,” said the sergeant, but his doubts had been aroused. He sent James off between a corporal and a burly private, under surveillance if not precisely under guard.
Cordelia nearly insisted on following. However, James appeared unworried. Her presence at his interview with the major was as likely to raise awkward questions about their relationship as to help. Besides, she reflected, she really knew remarkably little about his past, and what little she knew in his favour could always be told later if he ran into trouble.
A local porter was summoned to carry their baggage, and a young private was detailed to escort Cordelia to the inn. He blushed to match his scarlet tunic, making visible a youthful moustache so fair it was previously almost invisible against his fair skin.
“Please to step this way, miss,” he said shyly.
Private Eddings seemed uncertain whether to lead the way, walk beside her, or fall back a few feet like a servant. Cordelia adjusted her pace to keep him at her side, enchanted to have a real Englishman for her guide after all the swarthy, black-haired foreigners.
“Is it long since you left England?” she asked.
“Nay, miss, ‘tis just six months sin’ I took the King’s shilling, and then there were marching drill an’ rifle drill an’ that afore we was shipped out.”
“Took the King’s shilling?”
“Enlisted, like, miss. They gives a bloke a shilling to enlist. ‘Tis a sight better nor being pressed to the Navy.”
“Pressed? Forgive my ignorance, it is a long time since I was in England.”
“Don’t make no matter, miss,” he muttered, blushing furiously. “The press gang goes out taking men for the Navy, see, and you don’t get no choice to go or not.”
“How dreadful!”
Private Eddings shrugged. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be no one to man the King’s ships, miss. ‘Tis a hard life, much worser nor the army. This way, miss, if you please.”
As they turned a corner into a narrow, crooked alley, Cordelia saw a jeweller’s shop. A good deal of the proceeds from the Dubrovnik jeweller had been spent on their passage to Bari and tips for the count’s servants and crew. There was no knowing when she would have another opportunity to replenish their funds.
“I should like to go in to that shop,” she said, then remembered that her wares were swathed around her waist. “Oh no, I must go to the inn first. Will it be difficult to find my way back?”
“No, miss, but you didn’t ought to walk about the streets alone, a lady like you,” the soldier said anxiously. “These Eyeties, they haven’t got a mite o’ respect for decent females.”
They blushed at each other as Cordelia recalled that once, in a crowded Naples street, her mama had been pinched on the bottom by an overenthusiastic unknown admirer.
“Then will you be so kind, sir,” she said, “as to wait just a minute or two and escort me back?”
“That I will, miss.”
“The sergeant will not scold you for being gone over long?”
“I’ll tell him you was tired an’ walked desp’rate slow.”
They exchanged a grin of complicity and hurried to catch up with the porter.
The jeweller turned out to be a Jew who had done business with Aaron of Istanbul, though he had never met him. Among the Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese gold coins he gave Cordelia for her diamonds were several English guineas. She examined them with interest, feeling more and more as if she were nearly home though in miles at least two thirds of the journey still lay ahead.
“I have given you one American gold dollar as a make-weight,” the jeweller told her, “but if you prefer I shall exchange it for silver.”
“American? How did you come by that?”
“For several years, you English let the American navy use Siracusa as a base for fighting the Barbary pirates. Now, alas, you are no longer friends. It is bad for commerce when friends fall out and enemies go to war.” He shook his head despondently, then cheered up, adding, “But lovely ladies will always wear diamonds. I shall have no difficulty disposing of these, signorina.”
At a good profit, no doubt, Cordelia thought, but she did not really mind. Somehow she had never quite regarded the proceeds of selling the diamonds as real money to be scrimped to the last penny.
Her soldier-lad had insisted on waiting outside the shop to shepherd her back to the inn. He refused a tip.
“I were only doing my duty,” he said, the ready scarlet rising in his cheeks like a reflection from his uniform. “‘Sides, ‘tis an honour to walk wi’ a pretty lady.”
She thanked him and, as he turned reluctantly away, enquired of an inn servant whether her brother was come. The man was quite sure no Englishman had arrived.
“Oh dear!” she exclaimed aloud in English, beginning to worry about James.
Private Eddings at once turned back. “What is it, miss?” he asked eagerly. “Is summat wrong?”
Cordelia was not sure what to do. If the British Army, in the shape of his commanding officer, was detaining James, then the young soldier could not be relied upon as a friend. On the other hand, he had risked his sergeant’s displeasure to guard her from indelicate advances, and he was the only friend she had.
She wanted James. She needed him—how could she ever have been so foolish as to believe she could manage the journey on her own? But more than his assistance, she wanted his presence, merry, serious, plaguesome, or even in the ghastly throes of
mal-de-mer
. If she had to lie like a trooper to convince the major of his respectability, then lie she would.
“My brother is not yet come,” she told Private Eddings. “I must go and find him. Will you direct me to the major’s?”
“I’ll take you, miss,” he said firmly.
As they walked, she wondered just what lies would best suit her purpose. Then she wondered what James had told the major, and how she might find out so as not to contradict his story. It seemed impossible, and she began to envision James being clapped up in irons or even shot at dawn. She was working herself into high fidgets when they turned a corner to see James and a scarlet-coated officer strolling towards them, laughing.
Relief was succeeded by fury. Marching up to James, she snapped, “Where have you been all this time?”
“Has it been long? I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting,” he said soothingly.
“I thought...I was afraid...” She bit her lip.
“Allow me to introduce Major Saunderson. Major, my sister, Miss Courtenay.”
“How do, ma’am.” The stalwart officer made a flourishing bow and preened his flourishing moustache. “Beg pardon for keeping your brother. He’s been telling me a bit about your adventures. B’Jove, ma’am, you’ll be glad to get aboard an honest Portuguee merchantman.”
“We are in luck, the
Flor do Campo
leaves tomorrow, bound for Lisbon,” James explained. “That’s well on our way. I came to tell you before going back to the harbour to book passage.”
“I shall go with you,” said Cordelia decidedly, not about to let him out of her sight again so soon. “Major, I should like to commend Private Eddings, who has been a most kind and zealous escort.”
Stiffly at attention, his face crimson, the young soldier gave a smart salute.
“At ease, Private. Eddings, is it? I’ll make a note of your commendation, ma’am. Back to your duty now, lad.”
Casting a glance brimful of gratitude at Cordelia, Private Eddings departed on the double.
“You have won a heart there,” James observed.
“Yes indeed, haw haw,” Major Saunderson chortled but he continued gallantly, “Only to be expected with such a beautiful young lady. May I tell my wife, ma’am, that you and Preston here will dine with us this evening?”
James nodded, so Cordelia accepted with due gratitude, and they parted from the jovial major.
“Do you think it wise?” Cordelia asked as they headed for the harbour. “There is so much we must conceal.”
“He did not doubt my word. Just leave the talking to me.”
As it turned out, James and Cordelia had no need to guard their tongues since the intrepid Mrs. Saunderson was too eager to relate her own adventures in India to want to hear theirs. They left soon after dinner and went aboard the Portuguese merchantman,
Flor do Campo
.
Though the ship remained tied up in the harbour, James passed an uneasy night. When they set sail next morning, his hopes of having retained his sea-legs were dashed. The merchantman was a clumsy, lumbering tub which wallowed in each trough and rocked on each crest before plunging sickeningly to wallow again as the wheat it carried shifted. Once again, he wanted to die.