They had both purchased new clothes: breeches, shirts, and a swallow-tailed coat for James; high-waisted muslin gowns for Cordelia. James complained that the fit simply could not compare with London’s tailors, hardly surprising since they had to buy second-hand goods for want of time to order new. Cordelia was just happy to have what she regarded as normal garments, ribbons and ruffles instead of coarse homespun, and the glorious new hat with its wreath of white silk roses.
Her pleasure in her purchases began to fade as she contemplated the night ahead, sharing the chamber with James. They had enough money now to take a second chamber, but to do so would look most odd and they could not afford to arouse suspicion. What was the good of a new nightgown trimmed with lace if she did not dare put it on?
It didn’t seem fair to insist on his sleeping on the floor instead of in the first comfortable bed they had come across since Skoplje.
As they reached the inn, James said, “I believe I shall stroll on down to the harbour. It will be just as well in the morning to know exactly where to find the ship, and if Captain Pascoli is about, I shall pay him something on account. You go on up. I shan’t be long.”
Cordelia scurried up the stairs. In no time she was ensconced in bed, on the far side from the door. She had on her nightgown over her shift, and drawers underneath, and her cloak wrapped around her. With the quilt pulled up to her chin and the bolster carefully arranged down the middle of the bed, she turned her face to the wall, her back to James’s side.
When he came in, she was determinedly asleep. As the light of his candle shone pink through her eyelids, as his weight jounced the bed, as the bolster pressed firmer against her back, she did not stir a muscle.
He gave a tiny sigh. Then his breathing slowed and evened, Cordelia relaxed, and the next thing she knew was Jula knocking on the door to announce it was time to rise.
The eastern sky was just beginning to pale when Cordelia and James passed under the city walls by the arch leading to the harbour. Fishing boats were already sailing out of the narrow exit to the sea, others coming in with a night’s catch, unloading at the quayside.
Captain Pascoli welcomed them on board the
Donna Maddalena
, a small merchantman almost a twin to
Amphitrite
. Delighted to discover that Cordelia spoke fluent Italian, he congratulated her on coming from that corner of Slovenia which had been for so long a part of the Venetian Republic.
“But I do not go so far north, signora,” he said anxiously. “I told your husband, but I am not sure he understood. I sail to Bari.”
“Bari! Perfect.” She had not asked James whither they were bound, as crossing the Adriatic had seemed the most important goal at present. What a stroke of luck that they were to land within a few miles of Arventino! The count always spent the spring months on his country estate. Surely Zio Simone would be glad to see her and ready to help them on their way.
Captain Pascoli shouted orders to his men to cast off, then showed them to their cabin.
“Yes, one cabin,” said James wryly as the captain left. “I had to tell him you are my wife, as the inn servants were within earshot. Besides, as far as I could gather, he only has the one cabin for passengers. Don’t fret, I shall be in no condition to trouble you.”
By the light of a lantern, barely swaying as the
Donna Maddalena
reached the harbour entrance, Cordelia regarded him critically. “You already look unwell, and we are scarcely under way. Why don’t you lie down?”
“I believe I shall.” He thankfully subsided on one of the two bunks.
“Did the captain tell you how long it will take to get to Italy...Oh James, Italy! I knew there was something I ought to remember. Mama and I left Italy years ago, when I was only fourteen, and it had already been invaded. It’s ruled by the French!”
The only response was a groan.
Chapter 22
Cordelia soon ceased to worry about the French and started to worry about James. Hastily fetching the basin from the washstand, she held his clammy forehead while he lost what little breakfast she had persuaded him to eat. She wiped his face with a cloth damped with water from the ewer. There was a carafe of drinking water, too, so she brought that for him to rinse out his mouth.
He lay back weakly in the bunk, his eyes closed. “Thank you, it’s amazing how much a supporting hand helps.”
“Mama used to hold my head thus when I was a child.” She had almost forgotten those long-ago happy days when she uncritically adored her gentle, loving, beautiful mother—before she realized the meaning of the succession of temporary uncles.
“But you must not feel obliged to nurse me. I have survived before, however desperately I may wish to die, and I shall survive... Aagh!” He leaned over the bowl again, retching helplessly.
When the bout was over, Cordelia went off to make some tea for him with the dried mint she had bought in Dubrovnik. A sailor directed her to the tiny galley. Uncovering the brazier, she put a pot of water on to boil.
While she waited, she went up on deck. The
Donna Maddalena
was sailing northwards between the mountainous coast and an archipelago of small islands. Puzzled and uneasy, Cordelia gazed astern. A reddish streak between mountains and sea might be the roofs of Dubrovnik, but the walled city was no more than a blur. Surely they should be well out into the Adriatic by now.
Frowning, she returned to the galley, infused some leaves of mint, and took the brew to James. He drank a little. Though it came straight back up, at her urging he took a little more, which stayed down, at least temporarily.
She did not want to disturb him needlessly about the ship’s unexpected course. Pleading a desire for fresh air, she went in search of Captain Pascoli.
“Is Bari further north than Ragusa?” she asked, using the Italian name for Dubrovnik. She thought perhaps for some reason he had decided to sail up the coast before turning west so as to have a shorter distance across the sea.
“No, signora,” he said, surprised, “further south.”
“But we are sailing north.”
“North-west. I explained to your husband. Perhaps he did not understand.”
“Very likely.”
“So you will tell him, signora.”
“It depends what there is to tell,” said Cordelia, a trifle impatient. “He suffers badly from seasickness.”
“Ah, the unhappy signore! In my cabin I have mineral water, which is helpful for this affliction. Mineral water and dry bread is best, a little at a time.”
“Thank you, captain, but first, please tell me why we sail north when Bari is to the south!”
“Because of my cargo, of course, signora!” Captain Pascoli appeared astonished at her lack of comprehension. “I have wheat, the best Apulian wheat, some for Ragusa, some for the islands, some for Spalato. When it is all delivered, then we go home to Bari.”
“I see. How far is Spalato?”
He shrugged. “Three days, or four. It depends on the winds and on how fast we can unload at the islands.”
Armed with a bottle of mineral water, Cordelia went to break the news to James. “I have been talking to the captain,” she said brightly. “It seems we shall be stopping at several islands, and you will be able to go ashore.”
“Islands?” he mumbled weakly, a ray of hope in his eyes. “There are islands in the Adriatic?”
“Well, in a way.”
“In a way? Cut line, Cordelia. What’s the hitch?”
“The islands are actually along the Dalmatian coast,” she confessed. She explained the
Donna Maddalena
’s itinerary. “So I’m afraid the voyage will be lengthened considerably. But the first few days should not be too dreadful as we shall go ashore several times. Then by the time we set out across the Adriatic you will have grown accustomed to the motion, as you did on the
Amphitrite
.”
“If I don’t die first,” he moaned, and reached for the basin.
The mineral water helped a little. At least he kept most of it down, though it did not help the unrelenting nausea. Cordelia bought the captain’s other two bottles and hoped to find more in Spalato, if not on the islands.
James stumbled ashore on the first island with a sigh of relief. He managed to eat some soup and bread, but he lost it all an hour later, as soon as they returned on board. On the second island, Kor
c
ula, following Captain Pascoli’s advice, he ate only a little dry bread. They stayed on Kor
c
ula for nearly four hours, so he had a chance to digest it before the next bout of sickness. At Hvar, too, he had some bread, but as they approached Spalato Cordelia was growing very anxious about him.
He was not absorbing nearly enough nourishment, and he had been too thin when they left Dubrovnik. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes dull. Worse, they had been at sea three days, and instead of growing accustomed he was as unwell as ever. It seemed to her that the hours on solid ground, though bringing a brief respite, set him back to the beginning again.
At Spalato—Split to its Slavic inhabitants—Captain Pascoli had to load a return cargo and he promised them a full day ashore, from midday till the following morning. James looked forward to it with such pleasure, Cordelia hadn’t the heart to suggest he might be better off in the end staying aboard to be gently rocked on the placid waters of the harbour. At least she’d be able to get three good meals into him.
As soon as the
Donna Maddalena
tied up in the ancient port’s splendid harbour, Cordelia asked directions to the nearest decent eating-place. However, James still felt too queasy to do justice to the excellent food.
“I’m well enough to enjoy watching you eat, though,” he said, smiling. “You are beginning to lose the famished look.”
“Am I getting fat again?” she asked in alarm.
“Good lord, no! Not that you were fat before. It will take more than a sennight of guzzling to restore—”
“I’m not guzzling! Only I seem to get hungrier the more I eat. I wish you did, too. Won’t you try a bit more of this chicken with peppers? It’s simply delicious.”
He shook his head, a spasm of nausea crossing his pallid face.
A stroll through the town restored him somewhat. They found Diocletian’s vast palace, fifteen centuries old and still housing thousands. At the market in its courtyard, Cordelia bought tidbits, delicacies, and sweetmeats from every vendor. James consumed somewhat less than his fair share, but he began to look a trifle less wan. By dinnertime, he was ready to confess to a rapidly reviving appetite.
They dined at the inn where they had reserved two chambers. Over the meal, James for the first time expressed an interest in their destination in Italy.
“I didn’t understand much of what Captain Pascoli said,” he admitted. “I concentrated on the essentials: when he was sailing and how much money he wanted for the passage to Italy.”
“Oh James, I’ve been so worried about you, I’d forgotten again that Italy is under French rule!”
“I know, but there isn’t much we can do about it!”
“You don’t think we should wait here for a ship going somewhere safer?”
“We might wait forever, since Split is also under French rule. Travelling within the French Empire is reasonably safe, I daresay. It’s when we leave... What port did you say we are bound for?”
“Bari. It’s in Apulia, right down in the south, and oh James, such luck, it’s quite near Arventino.”
“Arventino? That sounds familiar. Why do I associate it with Achates?”
“I told you I read the Aeneid with the Conte di Arventino e Grassano. I’m sure he will help us.”
“How did you come to know him?”
Foreseeing humiliating explanations, Cordelia began to wish she had never mentioned Arventino. “He was...he was a sort of uncle to me, when I was a child.”
James frowned. “I cannot think it advisable to apply to someone who knows you are English.”
“He would never give us away,” she fired up in defense of Zio Simone.
“But the less time we spend in Italy the better. You are right, though, that we are lucky to be going to the south. From Bari I hope it will not be difficult to reach Sicily or Malta, which are under British occupation. What a relief that will be!” He yawned enormously. “Gad, I’m tired. I’m for bed.”
The misery which had kept him awake the past few nights had not spared Cordelia. She slept soundly.
So did James, as he declared over an enormous breakfast. “I’ve been at sea for three days now,” he said cheerfully. “I shall do very well now.”
Alas, Cordelia’s unvoiced misgivings proved justified. He lost his breakfast as they left the harbour, and was miserably sick throughout the following three days. When they reached Bari, he was so weak he had to be helped ashore by a couple of sailors.
A few French soldiers were visible, but none seemed interested in the return of an Italian vessel to her home port from another part of the French Empire. Cordelia hired a carriage. With the wretched James ensconced inside, his feet up on the seat and his eyes closed, she ordered the coachman to drive to Arventino.
Zio Simone would look after them.
In spite of her concern for James, Cordelia delighted in the once familiar landscape. At first their road ran along the flat shore. On one side the neat rectangles of salt-pans reflected the sky’s azure hue, or sparkled white, as if frosted with diamonds. On the other side lay the reed-beds and tussocky grass of the marshes which made the coast unhealthy.
They turned inland amidst groves, orchards, and vineyards. Everywhere fruit trees in pink and white bloom stood out against the silver-green of olive foliage and the emerald of fig leaves. The sweetness of orange and lemon blossom hung in the air. Cordelia recalled the Apulian spring as a brief but glorious time between the winter rains and the parched heat of summer.
The dusty road began to rise. Now they drove between drystone-walled pastures where newly shorn sheep grazed on rich green grass, all too soon to turn to straw, shrivelled by the fierce summer sun. Here and there stood
masseria
, farmhouses built around a courtyard used as a sheep-pen. The peasants lived in hamlets of
trulli
, whitewashed cones of unmortared stone, like giant beehives, Cordelia had always thought.