A Sea Unto Itself (41 page)

“Do you want a few of the marines?”

“Not this time,” Charles said. “I don’t think it will be necessary. I plan to inquire about completing our water and stores and liberty for the men while we’re in port.”

“Two ports of call in a row. They’ll hardly know what to make of it,” Bevan said.

“God knows what they’ll find to do. Speak with them about respect for the local women, if you will. I don’t want any incidents.”

Charles climbed down over the side and settled into the sternsheets of his boat. A glance told him that Augustus was at his place on the stroke oar. In spite of himself, he took comfort in having him close by. It was something he was becoming accustomed to. “Make for that near ladderway on the quay wall,” he said to Malvern.

“Out oars,” the coxswain ordered. “Push off.”

Charles looked up at the top of the wharf for Teresa to see if she might be watching. He found her right away, her side to him. She was listening to a man speaking volubly, gesturing urgently with his hands. The man turned for an instant to look at the approaching boat. Charles recognized the sun-darkened features of Gladfridus Underwood, the British representative at Mocha. “Put your backs into it,” he snapped at the boat’s crew.

They soon came alongside the ladderway, securing it with a boat hook and pulling close. “Augustus, come with me,” Charles said, stepping over the gunwale and starting quickly upwards.

Teresa came forward as Charles climbed onto the quay’s surface. “Capitan Edgemont,” she began.

Charles saw Underwood’s back, in the company of two others, hurrying away. “In a minute,” he said and started after them. “Wait,” he shouted. “I want a word with you.” Underwood’s pace quickened, aiming toward a second ladder with an open-decked dhow waiting below. Charles broke into a run. “God damnit, Underwood. Stop!”

The British representative reached the head of the ladder and paused to stare malevolently at his pursuer. The two men in his company turned. Charles saw they were the large doormen he had encountered at Underwood’s house in Mocha. He came to a halt in order to avoid running into them. Augustus arrived to stand beside him. The two bodyguards stood their ground. Underwood went down the ladder.

Charles moved to the edge of the wharf as the bodyguards followed their master into the boat. “I know your game, you bastard,” he called down. “It won’t work, do you hear? It’s a despicable thing to turn on an agent of your own country. It doesn’t matter what grudge you carry.”

At this Underwood looked up. “It would have been better for you to have followed orders and remained at Mocha, Captain Edgemont,” he said.

“I’m not finished with you,” Charles shouted back. “We have a score to settle.”

Underwood shrugged, then he gestured to the dhow’s crew to cast off.

Teresa caught up a moment later with the governor and several others close behind. Slightly breathless, she said, “Capitan, Carlo, what is this? Why have you so angered with Signore Underwood?” She laid her hands on his arm, alarmed by the confrontation. “He is you countryman, no?”

“Yes, he’s my countryman,” Charles said, his anger still high. “He’s also betrayed a man I’m responsible for. I am on my way north, all the way to Koss . . . ,” he caught himself, “. . . to Egypt, to take him on board. Underwood would rather I left him there to die at the hands of the French.”

“I didn’t know,” Teresa said. “What a very bad thing.”

Charles watched as the dhow came alongside a sambuk, larger than usual with two masts. Underwood boarded and went immediately below. The crew set about pulling her small bow anchor and loosening the sails. If Charles had wished to, he could have the craft stopped and the representative detained, but on what charge? He let the idea go. “Why was that man here?” he asked.

“He comes often on the affairs of trade,” Teresa said. “It is normale, no?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Charles said. He looked into her eyes and saw she was upset. “I apologize for my behavior. This is no way for a gentleman to call on one’s friends.” He noticed she was wearing a loose blouse, scooped modestly in front, and a full black skirt reaching down to her shoes. She looked altogether beautiful.

She took his arm in hers, pressing it against her side. He could feel the warmth of her body through the fabric of his jacket. “Come,” Teresa said. “For myself, I am very pleased you have come, but you must be respectable to Signore Bellagio.”

Charles saw the governor waiting impatiently a few paces away. The man glowered unhappily, but then he remembered Bellagio always seem unhappy. Teresa spoke at some length in Italian. Bellagio reluctantly half bowed; Charles half bowed in return. Bellagio spoke a terse sentence which Charles did not understand. He looked to Teresa.

“Governatore Bellagio welcomes you again warmly to our small colony,” she said. “Of course our hospitality is open to you. He asks how he may be of service.” She ended with a dazzling smile.

“Please thank the governor on my behalf, and on the behalf of my king, for his courtesy,” Charles said, searching for the correct diplomatic niceties.

Teresa translated.

Bellagio half bowed.

Charles bowed back. “We wish to complete our stores of water, a small part of our foodstuffs, and firewood. This was agreed on our last visit. We will pay, of course.”

This provoked an unexpectedly lengthy exchange between the governor and the woman, spoken in rapid staccato sentences. Bellagio seemed to be insisting on something which Teresa found unwelcome. In the end she nodded her acceptance. The governor’s expression softened. He almost smiled.

“We are most hopeful to serve your every need,” Teresa said to Charles. She seemed for a moment to be distracted, then spoke with a renewed smile. “Water is plentifully available by the aqueduct at the end of the harbor. Signore Bellagio is only concerned that time will pass before sufficient food can be obtained. What was the other?”

“Firewood for cooking,” Charles said. He wondered what the discussion had been about and what she might have agreed to.

“This will take a few days only,” Teresa said. “It must be gathered, you understand.”

“I will have my men do it.”

“No, no. We are pleasant to perform every service for you.”

“Thank you,” Charles said. “We will do it ourselves. I do not want to impose on you more than necessary.” He still wanted to get his men some time on the land under any guise. “I have one additional request.”

“Si?”

“Would it be permitted to allow my crew leave to come ashore? They would benefit from the experience.”

Her face reddened. “I have spoken before, we have no such facilities,” she said in a low voice.

“For seeing the local sights only,” Charles said. “They would come in small groups so as not to be disruptive.”

There was a brief exchange. The governor shook his head vehemently. “It is not possible,” she said. “We have concern for the honor of the women. I am sure you understand.”

“I will vouch for their behavior,” Charles said. “This is important to me. I would consider it a personal favor.” He was sure that at least a few of Massawa’s ladies would receive offers to which they were unaccustomed, no matter what he said to his men. Still, he thought no real damage would be done.

Teresa looked doubtful. Charles decided that Bellagio was simply being disagreeable. There was clearly no good reason to keep his men confined on board. If he decided to put them ashore anyway, there was little the Italians could do to stop him. “I must insist,” he said firmly.

She translated this at such length that additional arguments must have been made. Bellagio shrugged his approval. After a few additional bows, he and his lieutenants marched away. The two found themselves alone except for Augustus, standing resolutely close by.

Teresa stood silent for a moment, tight lipped. Then her expression softened and she turned. “Come, mio Carlo,” she said warmly, taking up Charles’ arm again. “Let us find a little shade, there is a place nearby. I have so many questions and so little news of the civilized world. We may have some time alone to speak intimamente. You must tell me everything.” Her eyes darted meaningfully at Charles’ steward.

“I would enjoy that,” Charles answered, pleased that he had her attention to himself. “Augustus, you may return to the ship. Please inform Lieutenant Bevan that he may begin the watering parties and that the men are allowed on shore. I will return in due time.”

“I’ll tell Mr. Malvern, Cap’n,” Augustus answered firmly. “Then I just stay close by.”

Charles did not want to argue with his servant in front of the woman. “Fine,” he said, "but not too close. Tell Malvern that he may return to the ship with the message for Lieutenant Bevan.” He could guess what Augustus was concerned about. The man had appointed himself Charles’ chaperone as well as bodyguard.

Momentarily alone, Teresa took his arm loosely in hers and guided him in the opposite direction down the waterfront until they came to the end of the buildings. There a pair of long benches were set among a stand of palms. It was a pleasant, quiet place with a view of the harbor and Cassandra riding placidly at anchor. They sat, she close beside him, still with her arm in his. “You must to tell me for how long you may remain with us. For my person, I am hoping a long visit.”

Charles answered, “Three days,” thinking that was the most he could wait before starting north to pick up Jones.

“Why must you leave so quickly? We are friendly, no? It is my wish to entertain you. What can be so important that you may not stay?” She squeezed his arm.

Charles felt flattered by her attention, welcome in her presence, and stimulated by her intimacy and closeness. He answered vaguely about having orders to sail to the north. He might return when that was complete. As they talked, the heat of the day diminishing quickly, she showed great interest in his career as a naval officer, the places he had been, and his battles with the Spanish and French. She often touched his hand when she spoke, to emphasize some point, or caressed his arm, or squeezed it against her side. Charles assumed these were her normal gestures. Italians were known to be expressive. He relished the contact between them. Augustus returned to sit on the second bench, a respectable distance away. Teresa did not ask if Charles was married (a question he had answered evasively on their first meeting) or refer in any way to his life in England. As the sun neared the tops of the mountains to the west, he realized that he must return sooner or later to his ship. He had already remained ashore, in full view of Cassandra’s quarterdeck, too long—a circumstance which he suspected would not go unremarked upon by certain of his officers.

“I must go,” he said softly, patting her hand.

“So soon?” She twisted to face him so that his arm pressed against the side of her breast, yielding and firm.

Charles’ heart pounded. He stood, taking her hands to help her up. “I’m sorry,” he said with a huskiness in his throat. “I must. My officers expect me to return. They won’t know what to do without me.”

“I am sure you are very commanding,” she said with a large smile. “And domani? May I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow,” Charles said. “I have duties to attend to. I will come in the afternoon when it is cooler.”

“That is good,” she said. “I will make for you a supper in my home. You will enjoy to be with me, no?”

“Yes,” Charles said, reflecting momentarily on the several possible meanings of the words, “to be with.” She pointed out the small building that was her residence. Reluctantly he parted from her and walked with Augustus back up the harbor front. Neither spoke, but Charles sensed his steward’s disapproval. The sun had gone, the last of the day lingering. He saw one of the ship’s cutters tied up to the ladderway. Bevan had not wasted any time; there were numbers of his crew wandering in threes and fours along Massawa’s few streets and alleys in hopeful pursuit of what they were unlikely to find. The town’s residents had closed themselves inside their buildings, locked the doors, and shuttered the windows. Armed men guarded the warehouses. Charles ordered one of the marines standing guard over the boat to find its crew to take him back to his ship.

Lieutenant Winchester stood at the entry port as Charles climbed on board, his expression one of suspicion and disapproval. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Stephen,” Charles said. “I haven’t done anything improper, nor do I intend to.” He did not want any discussion with his younger brother-in-law about what his intentions might or might not be. Winchester had already made his views on Charles’ deportment toward the Italian woman well known.

Winchester remained silent, his expression unchanged.