Читать книгу The Sword of Islam - Рафаэль Сабатини - Страница 9

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THE nine galleys in line ahead, the capitana leading, were steering northwards through the Canal of Piombino, the narrow sea between the island of Elba and the mainland. A gentle wind from the south-east, which when it comes to blow with strength is known to Italian sailors as Libeccio and is held in dread, was bellying the big lateen sails and speeding the fleet smoothly on its way, the oars at rest, like pinions folded astern. To westward the sun was stooping towards the mass of the Monte Grosso, its mellowing light gilding the Massoncello and the green Tuscan hills to starboard.

The Signora, on which del Vasto and three other captives of Amalfi were now housed, was the penultimate galley in the line. The last was Lomellino’s Mora, from an oar of which Prospero Adorno had that morning been delivered. He had been given for his quarters a small chamber below deck astern, entered by a scuttle from the tabernacle. Del Vasto’s wardrobe had enabled him to restore himself to an appearance suiting his station. Of the choice del Vasto had sent him he had availed himself, as became a disciple of Castiglione, of a doublet of black damask thinly edged with sable and girdled by a black belt with a gold buckle. Black too were the hose he took, and the long boots of soft Cordovan leather, of which the Moors had left the secret with the Spaniards. A black bonnet covered his cropped head, the only lingering evidence of the condition from which he had been rescued.

With his rescuer, who came that afternoon to visit him aboard the Mora, he paced the narrow gang-deck, and heard at last the arguments by which Filippino had been brought to reason.

‘That was to prove a friend,’ said Prospero.

‘It was merely to display a conscience.’

They had reached the raised platform or forecastle known as the rambade, and del Vasto ascended the steps. ‘The air is purer here.’ He had been making play before his nostrils with a pomander ball, so as to exclude the strong odour of the slaves as they paced between their idle ranks. He left it now to dangle from his wrist, and took a full breath of the clean sea air. ‘I owe it to you and the news of Doria’s predicament which you gave us in Naples that I am able to gratify the Emperor’s most ardent wish. His Majesty perfectly understands that there can be no dominion of Italy for him without dominion of the Mediterranean, and in this sea Doria has shown himself the master, both by his address and by the powerful fleet maintained at his own charges.’

Leaning on the rail, his eyes on the white wave that curled away from the thrusting prow as earth curls from the plough, Prospero laughed softly. ‘It is very well. It could not be better. The world will now see Doria for what he is. When yielding to the lure of ducats he shall have sold his French master and transferred himself to the service of Spain, his name should stink in its true odours. That is very well.’

‘And that is all that matters to you?’

‘I have a sense of justice. It is gratified.’

‘I wonder. After all, his insistence upon the independence of Genoa was even greater than his insistence upon ducats. He made it clear that without this there could be no agreement, no matter what were offered him.’

‘Of course. For in that case nothing offered him would be of any value. He made the same condition when he took service under King Francis. Thus he gilds his venality.’

‘May he not have been sincere? And may not his change of sides result from France’s betrayal of him?’

‘So he will contend. But the world will not be deceived. It will supply a new motto for his house. Pecuniae obediunt.’

Del Vasto looked at him with speculative eyes. ‘That is merely what you hope?’

Prospero straightened himself. ‘I should be inhuman if it were not. My father died broken-hearted, an exile, driven forth by the enemies this high-souled Admiral loosed upon him.’

‘It may not have been in Doria’s power to restrain them. The Fregosi were frankly in the French interest——’

‘And Doria was in the Fregosi interest. Because it suited his ends. The Fregosi are of the material of which puppets are made. We Adorni are not, so Doria would have none of us. He would have exterminated us.’

‘Assumptions,’ said del Vasto.

‘Is it an assumption that this Filippino chained me to an oar like a felon, and would have delivered me up to the justice of the Pope?’

‘But Filippino is not his uncle. He pursues his own spite.’

‘I wonder that you trouble to defend Doria, Alfonso.’

Del Vasto shrugged. ‘I do not want to have it on my mind that I have hired for the Emperor a greedy adventurer who will betray him when there is greater profit elsewhere.’

‘Be at ease. The Emperor is rich enough to see that that never happens.’

‘I would have him sure of it on other grounds.’

‘You ask too much. Like me you should be content with what there is. Though I doubt if I’ve much reason for content. Now that you’ve contrived that the Pope is not to be used as the hired assassin of the Dorias and destroyed even Filippino’s chance of having me beaten to death at the oar, there will probably be a knife between my ribs one of these dark nights. In one way if not in another they’ll have my skin. Depend upon it.’

‘They would be made to pay dearly for it,’ swore the Marquis.

‘And flowers of vengeance will blossom on my grave. A sweet, consoling thought.’

‘I think not, Prospero.’ Del Vasto laid an affectionate hand upon his shoulder. ‘I do not trust a judgment that, like yours, is prejudiced by avowed enmity. But just as the Emperor’s shadow has frustrated your being sent in chains to Rome, so it shall continue to protect you. You are a captain in his service. I’ll remind the Dorias of that in terms that will convert them into your life-guards.’

As a pledge of friendship this was valuable, and Prospero prized it. As a prognostication he did not rate it quite so highly, nor did it turn him from the determination to take his own precautions.

A way to take them seemed to him offered by Lomellino. He remembered Lomellino’s snarl when Filippino had called for a whip that day on board the Mora: ‘Enough that you should wish to filch his ransom.’ And he remembered something else. Ironically, Prospero derived a curious advantage from the vindictive treatment he had received. Unlike the other prisoners of Amain, who had been honourably treated, he was bound by no parole. When his deliverance from the oar had followed, the matter had been overlooked. The only thing to prevent him from casting himself overboard at once and attempting to swim ashore was the certainty of being detected and recaptured. But it might with luck be done without detection on some dark night, whilst the galleys were in port at anchor. Or he might make a plea to Lomellino backed by a note of hand for the ransom that should be established.

These were the alternatives he weighed. As things fell out, the decision he ultimately took was a combination of the two, and this not until they had reached their destination, which, as it happened, was not Genoa at all, but the Gulf of Spezia. Here the Castle of Lerici, dominating a landscape of languid beauty in that evening light, reared its square, reddish mass that looked like a part of the promontory in which its enormous plinth was rooted. Into this fortress, which was his property, Andrea Doria had retired whilst waiting for his future to take definite shape.

Under that promontory the galleys came to anchor as the dusk of the summer day was deepening, and the order went forth from the capitana that the commanders should render themselves ashore, and that the officers taken at Amalfi should accompany them, to wait upon the Lord Andrea Doria.

Lomellino received his orders like the rest, and Prospero was amongst those to whom it was communicated. It was an unexpected turn of events, and it called for a quick decision. Prospero made it. He was with Lomellino at the entrance of the tabernacle when the captain ordered one of his wardens to man a six-oared barge.

Lomellino in preparation for going ashore had flung across his shoulders a scarlet cloak of ample folds, for the wind had suddenly turned chilly at sunset, and the captain was very sensitive to cold.

The three great lanterns on the poop had just been lighted, and glowed golden above and behind the tabernacle. This, however, remained in shadow, as did the vestibule deck immediately below it. In that shadow the two men were but darker shadows.

Prospero spoke softly, almost on a sigh. ‘I have a presentiment against going to Lerici.’

‘Why should you have? You’ll be given a proper bed tonight.’

‘And I should, therefore, sleep soundly. That’s it. An Adorno might sleep too soundly on a bed of Doria’s making.’

Lomellino sucked in his breath and turned to peer at him. But the gloom concealed the expression of his face.

‘That’s a monstrous fancy.’

‘Monstrous, perhaps. But is it fancy? Would the rancour that set me at the oar grow less because of the powerful insistence that delivered me?’

‘It would be curbed. That is, if it really menaced you. But the Dorias are not assassins.’

‘Not yet, perhaps. But they may be by tomorrow. I’ld sooner trust to you, Ser Niccolò. I am your prisoner, not Filippino’s. Why do you fear to claim your rights?’

‘Fear!’ growled Lomellino.

‘If you don’t, then name my ransom. Or shall I name it? Would two thousand ducats satisfy you?’

‘Two thousand ducats! Body of God! You don’t hold yourself cheaply.’

‘None ever shall. You accept, then?’

‘Softly, softly, my friend. Who is to pay this ransom?’

‘The Bank of St. George. You shall have my note of hand at once, before I depart.’

Lomellino laughed and sighed in one. ‘Faith, I’ld be glad of such a parting. But ... I must give you reason when you said I fear to claim my rights. One does not jest with Andrea Doria.’

‘You mean that you don’t. I must go to the castle, then?’

‘Alas! I see no help for it.’

‘A pity. But so be it. A moment.’ He stepped back into the cabin, as if for something that he had forgotten. From the deep gloom of the cavernous interior the captain heard him cry out in astonishment: ‘Why! What have we here?’

Lomellino followed him into the shadows. ‘What is it?’

‘I can’t find ...’ He did not say what it was he sought by groping, moving hither and thither.

‘Stay while I make a light.’

‘No matter.’ He was now behind Lomellino, and suddenly the captain of the Mora found his neck in the crook of Prospero’s arm, and one of Prospero’s knees at the base of his spine. ‘What’s to be done is done better in the dark.’

Wrenched backwards, and powerless in that master-hold which at the same time choked him, so that he could not so much as cry out, he felt Prospero’s free hand come under his cloak, questing for the dagger at his hip. Half-strangled, he sought vainly with his own hand to anticipate that theft.

‘It distresses me,’ Prospero was murmuring, ‘to appear so unfriendly. You should have taken the ducats. For whatever happens, I’ll not sleep at Lerici.’

He drew his victim farther back, and dragged him towards the scuttle that led to the chamber below, a scuttle which Prospero had opened as soon as he had stepped into the cabin. For some seconds that seemed endless where every second might bring discovery, he put forth all his strength to hold the desperately writhing man. Then, at last, suddenly, Lomellino’s body went limp, and sagged against him. Slackening at once his strangling grip, Prospero eased the unconscious body to the ground.

A moment he knelt over him, assuring himself that he still lived. Then, working swiftly, he removed the captain’s belt and sword, rolled him over to lie prone, pulled away and cast aside his cloak, and with his own girdle made fast his victim’s wrists behind him. He dragged the limp body to the gaping scuttle. To gag the captain would have taken too long, and he dared not delay. He must take his chance of the duration of the unconsciousness. Gently he lowered him along the ladder, then let him slide down the few remaining feet to settle in a heap at the base of it. He closed the scuttle, reached for Lomellino’s cloak and sword-belt, flung the cloak over his own shoulders, and buckled on the sword-belt as he went.

From beginning to end less than three minutes had been consumed.

The warden, waiting on the platform below, beheld a tall figure in a cloak and a flat cap emerge from the tabernacle and come at leisure down the steps. The cloak glowed scarlet as the light of the poop lamps caught it. One wing was worn over the left shoulder at a height that covered the lower half of the face.

The warden stepped to the entrance ladder. ‘All is ready, Captain.’

‘Forward, then,’ said a muffled voice, and a hand waved the subordinate peremptorily on.

The warden stepped down into the stern-sheets of the waiting barge, and took the tiller. Prospero followed to a place beside him.

The warden waited. ‘Messer Prospero?’ he enquired.

‘Give way,’ was the sharp command from the cloak.

The warden may have thought it odd. But it was not for him to comment.

The barge was pushed out from the galley’s side, the oars creaked on the thole pins, and they began to move through the water, heading for the shore. Midway thither, less than a quarter of a mile from the station taken by Filippino’s galleys, of which no more than the poop lamps were now visible against the night, the cloaked figure in the stern-sheets stretched forth a hand to grasp the arm of the warden at the tiller.

‘Put about,’ was the command.

‘Put about?’ echoed the warden.

‘That’s what I said. At once.’

He let the cloak fall from him. His face may have been no more than a grey blur in the gloom; yet something in the shape of it—the lack of beard, perhaps—made the warden lean forward to peer more closely. Then with an oath he was on his feet, which was as Prospero wanted him, for a standing man is easily knocked overboard. And overboard the warden splashed before he could add another word, whilst the amazed slaves stopped rowing.

Prospero, standing where a moment ago the warden had stood, was grasping the tiller and putting it hard over.

‘Now, my lads, pull away,’ he bade them. ‘Pull away for freedom. And bend your backs as you’ve never bent them yet; for presently there will be pursuit, and to be overtaken is to sleep in hell. So give way there with a will.’

It needed no more to explain the situation. There was a splutter of chuckles and some morphological oaths of amazement from six Spanish throats, for they were Spaniards all, and then they bent to their oars almost with frenzy, whilst Prospero put the boat about.

From the water, the swimming warden alternated curses with supplications. In return all he got from the slaves, exhilarated by the scent of freedom already in their nostrils, was derision.

‘Ply your whip now, you son of a dog.’

‘Swim for it, you carrion.’

‘Drown and be damned, you bastard.’

Thus until they were out of earshot of the swimmer, and pulling for the open sea.

Prospero looked over his shoulder. Aboard the Mora lanterns were moving like will-o’-the-wisps at play upon the deck.