Swords From the Sea (65 page)

Beyond the oven loose stacks of wheat lay against the wall; and above them Paul noticed the barrels of muskets projecting. Sacks by the rear door looked much like soldiers' packs. And at the door itself, chewing bread and garlic, he found a Greek sergeant.

Once past the Greek, Paul reflected that the marching detachment had stored its gear in the Devil's Coffee-House, and that a new band seemed to be gathering from the street.

The sun had left the cemetery height, and Paul thought he saw shapes rising up from the graves and moving toward the pillar. Whatever Eugene was doing, in whatever guise, he was surely collecting men and weapons about him, in the dusk of evening. And the boy quickened his pace through the narrow alley, determined to risk making an offer of a bribe to the Tyrolese to guide him to the man he wanted to meet.

Paul did not heed the carriage hurrying toward him. The other occupants of the alley shrank against the wall to escape the wheels. Paul was aware of a woman in the open seat, and of a man in a zebra-striped cloak who stood up to shout at him angrily. Then he grasped at the reins of the horses, feeling himself borne back, and gaining a footing, jerked the team to a stop.

Instantly a horseman pushed past the carriage, a turbaned rider swinging up a staff. Paul was struck over the eyes and would have lost his footing except for his grip on the reins. Blood dripped into his eyes, and he turned blindly to grapple with the outrider who had struck him.

Then the woman's voice cried out. Hands pulled at Paul's shoulders, half lifting him into the seat of the carriage. When he could wipe his eyes clear with his sleeve, the chaise was in motion again, away from the cemetery. The man who had shouted at him had vanished, and the woman beside him was exclaiming in rapid French, her fingers touching his injured head anxiously.

She was scolding him prettily for venturing into the street afoot after sunset-instead of in a carriage, or at the least on horseback. Her servants had not realized that he was an American gentleman.

Paul, with his scarred forehead throbbing, wondered fleetingly how she had realized he was an American. Strangely, he sensed that he had encountered the twain in the carriage before. The vanished escort had looked like the elegant Eurasian who loitered outside the gate of the coffee-house, while the voice of the contrite lady seemed to be that of the girl who had wandered the beach.

When he stared at her, she pulled the dark mantle back from her head. Close to him, her eyes looked full into his. Graceful she was, poised alertly like the girl of the peacock-embroidered scarf; yet her throat was rounder and she seemed somehow older-smiling at him like one who had smiled often at men. Her fingertips falling from his head, brushed his hand. "Permit me, I pray," she said softly, "to repair the damage my servants have done."

Even the words were a caress, as she gave her name, Hortense D'Aliermont. The carriage, she explained, was that of the legation of Spain. "When you are bandaged, and you have forgiven us," Hortense added swiftly, "it will take you wherever you wish to go."

That might prove to be an aid to Paul. Moreover he might possibly gain information from the Spaniards, who, as allies of Napoleon, had an ear to all that passed on the Mediterranean. And he had dire need of help, from any source.

Chapter Three

A candle guttered on a dusty iron table, lighting the stained shield of arms over the gaping door. A black man draped in white salaamed to the lady. "Pray rest here," she bade, formally. "I will send you wine, Monsieur Davies, and a better nurse than I."

Draped again in the mantle, Hortense D'Aliermont showed none of the familiarity of the carriage on the terrace of her house. That house, behind blind barred windows, was astir with sound. Darkness closed in on the candle's gleam.

A light step quickened in the doorway. A tray with wine decanter, glasses, and a roll of linen cloth was laid on the table beside Paul. He recognized the younger woman who brought it more by her silence and the quick turn of her head toward him than the peacocks on the shawl, or her worn slippers.

"My sister Marie Anne," Hortense called down from the gallery overhead. "If you will pardon me-" that same cool courtesy of voice-"for a quarter-hour, the little Marie will attend you."

The little Marie glanced impersonally at Paul's forehead. Quickly her slim hands gathered up the linen. She wore only one bit of jewelry, a ring set with moonstone, carved into the semblance of a flying bird. "It has stopped bleeding," she said, "and I have no boiled water. This cloth-" She shrugged a shoulder. "What about your arm?"

"Forget my arm," Paul assured her, rolling up his stained sleeve. "Did you find passage on a vessel?"

Blood flushed the girl's skin beneath the eyes. Her fingers tightened on the clumsy bandage, as if she would gladly have gagged him. "No," she said softly, her lips shaping the word.

Although obviously attended by a bevy of servants here, Marie Anne had been alone on the beach. She stood by the table silent, as if longing to run from it.

She seemed to be listening. From the door stepped a man clad in fashionable black, a set smile on his full face, his glance roving from Paul's sleeve to the girl's head.

"Platina," her low, husky voice explained, "secretary to His Excellency the imperial envoy. Monsieur Davies."

The secretary made much of pouring the wine affably, his manner a reproof to the girl. "You are from the American brig-the Argus, is it not?"

Paul let the question go unanswered, having no desire to explain his arrival to a stranger. Then he remembered quickly that Marie Anne had seen him debark from the Neapolitan craft. But the girl, sitting passive between them, kept silent.

The secretary, Platina, made no secret of his curiosity about Paul. As he eyed the boy's stained shirt, his questions grew sharper. Was it true that the heavy American frigates, the Constitution and Constellation, had arrived at Syracuse? What was the feeling in the American Republic as to a possible war with the Barbary States-with Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli? Was it not true that Monsieur Jefferson, the President now elected for a second regime, had no mind toward war of any kind?

Platina pronounced the strange names badly and indifferently. His questions might have been only casual politeness-the inevitable questions of Europeans regarding the inexplicable happenings in the barbaric young republic that had rebelled against the authority and the protection of England. But Paul's guarded answers provoked a gesture of impatience. "Satan and all the saints, your American business in the Mediterranean will soon be settled, Monsieur Davies! Have you not heard that His Majesty the Bey of Tripoli will agree to a peace, and release all your captive seamen for half a million of your American dollars?"

Paul had not heard it. It was like a lash across the head. A half million dollars. Before he thought, he echoed the words of his brother's letter: "We'll give the Barbary powers nothing more, except the fire of our frigates!"

His boast had a brittle sound. Platina cocked his oiled head, as if at an unexpected sound. "I seem to recall that your new vessels of war have already fired their guns twice against Tripoli, without effect."

Silently Paul acknowledged the truth of that ... The guns had not broken down the massive stone walls ... His own gunboat had drifted dismasted, yet continuing to fire with the twelve-pounder ... He set his teeth, determined to say nothing more. Platina, pleased, savored the boy's uneasiness and asked gently: "Will those same frigates fire on Tripoli again, where more than three hundred of your seamen are captive? The Bey has good hostages against attack. Will your frigates endeavor to run themselves up on the coast, again? I think not, Monsieur Davies."

When Paul made no answer, the secretary regarded him thoughtfully. "I believe His Excellency will wish to talk with you at supper. I shall provide you with a suitable coat and neckcloth." And with a word to Marie Anne, he retired past the bowing doorman.

"You are very ignorant," Paul heard the girl say, "but you could be more courteous to those who might aid you."

Hortense had been solicitous about him; her brat of a sister seemed bent on tormenting him.

"When empires are at stake-" she mimicked the slurring rapid French of Platina-"and Egypt is a prize to be won, you expect us to be concerned about a handful of tobacco-growing Yankees and the trade of their sea captains!"

Paul exploded: "Your Platina was concerned enough! "

"To gain information, yes. He earns his pilaf and wine efficiently." She prodded the word at Paul. "Moreover, Monsieur Davies, tonight Hortense complains that lawless soldiery is astir in the Arab quarter. Naturally, we wish to be informed about that."

From the doorway sauntered a half-dozen servants, heavily armed as the bashi-bazouk who had struck down Paul. Below the steps they separated, moving out into the darkness of the garden.

As Paul watched them, the girl taunted him again. "Alors, have you not heard that in France before the beginning of the spring campaign, Napoleon's jeunes braves have all assembled at the Channel resorts, such as Boulogne?"

"Napoleon's-daring young men?"

"Ah, you take interest! Yes." Marie Anne counted on her fingers demurely. "The marshals, Murad, Berthier, Massena, Ney-and I forget the others. But where they go, the Grand Army will follow. Do you perceive the meaning of that?"

Napoleon's army assembling on the Channel! Would even the Emperor dare invade England? Surprised, he stared at her, and she nodded as if to a child who had mastered a lesson. "Now you perceive that the life of one foolish stray Yankee is worth less than one tiny bit of information-in His Excellency's garden."

If she had wanted to anger him, she had succeeded in doing so. "In this same garden, Mademoiselle D'Aliermont, do they habitually post an armed night guard?"

It was her turn to be surprised. Her fingers tensed on the wineglass no one had thought to fill for her. "No," she said at last, softly.

"Thank you for that."

This terrace, then, was a trap, baited by the comely elder sister, who seemed to serve as the eyes of the Spaniards. Under the bare pretense of hospitality, his hosts meant to use him as suited them best. So Paul reasoned-not thinking that the taunts of the odd girl had led him to reason so. When he stood up, measuring the distance to the nearest guards, she watched him curiously and shook her head.

Twisting the ring on her finger, as if chatting intimately with him, Marie Anne warned him: "Do you want your head broken again? These blacks have their orders, and even in the street they would track you down. I do not think Platina has made up his mind about you. Perhaps they will let you go. Perhaps they will keep you and entertain you with hashish in the wine you drink, so your stupid head will be filled with fine fancies, and your stubborn tongue will be loosed. Platina suspects you are no chance traveler." Amused, she laughed up at him. "So do I. Paul, you know best what you are."

She waited judging him silently.

"You have relieved your conscience," he assured her. "Good-bye."

Before he could step from the table, Marie was up with her hand on his arm. "If you want to leave, I will show you a way. I promise."

Again she waited, not urging him. Thinking that she, at least, had been honest, Paul nodded. "If you will."

Walking a little before him to guide him, yet holding to his arm, Marie Anne seemed to move unwillingly as if carrying out a duty imposed on her-past the servitor at the door, past the others who carried candelabra and dishes in the long hall, up the winding stair, from one dim cor ridor to another above. They were observed, Paul knew, but no one interfered with the girl.

Somewhere near in the dimness a woman snickered. Pushing open a door, Marie Anne drew him after her and closed the door. A heavy bolt rasped. "Platina wanted me," she whispered, "to coax and flatter you into a better mood. They will think I am very successful."

There was a lilt of gladness in her voice. Under a cross on the bare wall a small candle glimmered in red glass. Picking up something bulky from the clothing hanging behind a curtain, Marie stopped abruptly before the candle.

"Holy Mary of the Seas, give aid to me," she whispered, and put out the candle. Then in the darkness she pulled at his hand.

He found that in truth she had a way of leaving, unseen. Across the matting of a veranda, over the railing, and down the twisted tentacles of an aged bougainvillea-not so difficult a descent as the swaying shrouds of a brig-through a narrow door in the mud-brick wall of the garden that she locked after them, tossing the key back over the wall.

Out in the crowded alley she no longer led Paul; dropping behind, she directed him where the robed figures and veiled women moved, into a covered way where fires burned and voices clamored in argument, stray soldiers elbowing Moslems. Sighting stalls on either hand where the folk knelt on clean rugs to inspect lengths of cloth or bits of jewelry, Paul thought this labyrinth to be the souk, the market. A good place to hide his tracks ... At a stand where meat sizzled on spits over glowing coal, he felt the ache of hunger.

For the first time in the crowd Marie stepped to his side. She had turned her shawl, with the dark side out, covering her head and face. On her shoulder she bore a small bundle. In that fashion she had followed him, as women followed their men, attracting no attention.

"If you are hungry," she cried, "we can eat here. Wait."

Still gripping her bundle, she selected a loose slab of bread from a stand, taking a handful of rice from another, adding bits of smoking meat to the pile, tossing back copper coin in payment. They had an hour, she explained, before His Excellency would descend to the diningroom, and Platina and Hortense would go look for them. After that, it would be hard for them, because the Spaniards might send searchers into every alley and mosque of Alexandria.

It seemed to Paul that she was arguing against her own anxiety. Al though she took some rice and sugared fruit, she only pretended to eat. By now he appreciated how skilled she was at pretending.