The Flag of Freedom (2 page)

This was something of an exaggeration.

Whilst the convent did possess a magnificent gaming room and the Sisters had been known to grant their favours to chosen admirers, some of the entertainments reportedly on offer were extremely fanciful. Suora Caterina prided herself on her high standards, in vice as in any other indulgence of the flesh. Under her guidance, the nuns of San Paolo di Mare would never be guilty of lapsing into the supreme sin of bad taste.

Though widely revered as a woman of fashion and distinc tion, Caterina had, in fact, risen from the most humble of begin nings. Her father had been a shepherd on the hillsides of Treviso in the Veneto, and their family name was not Caresini but Chodeschino – Sheep's Head. He had died of the ague when Caterina was ten years old, and her mother had sold what was left of his flock and contrived to keep the wolf from the door by practising as a herbalist. There were some who called her a witch – Strega Rosa. From her, it was widely believed, Caterina
had inherited an extensive knowledge of love potions and poisons. This was another nonsense. Caterina had not yet resorted to the use of poison and had no need of love potions to attract an admirer. Her face had always been her fortune and she had done what she could to make the most of it, initially as an actress in Verona where she had first announced herself to the world as Caterina Caresini – leaving Chodeschino back in the hills with her father's grave and the sheep. Her success had been spectacular. She had soon established herself as the most beautiful, the most famous actress in Verona. And the most notorious.

Scandal, of course, was grist to the actor's mill, but there had been one too many – Caterina had been less circumspect in those days – and the Inquisitors had become involved. Caterina had bribed her way out of a flogging or worse, but she could not obtain a complete remission. She was given the choice of prison or a convent.

Strange that she had needed to think about it. For in the event, the Church had proved even more lucrative than the stage. So much so that even after her recent troubles Caterina was in possession of a considerable fortune, the bulk of which was invested in the English banking house of Coutts & Company. But for travelling expenses – and she knew she might be travelling for some time – she carried about her a small purse of gold coins, and another of cut diamonds, cleverly set in wax and disguised as rosary beads. Having saved them from the French, she was not minded to hand them over to the Beys and Bashaws of the Barbary Coast, especially when such an event might so easily be avoided by flying a different flag.

Caterina was as well-versed as any Venetian concerning
the perils of the Barbary Coast. Named after the Berbers who had been its original inhabitants, it extended from Tripoli in the east to Morocco in the west, and since the time of the Crusades it had been ruled by a succession of Regents or satraps, nomin ally under the control of the Grand Sultan in Constantinople, but in reality answerable only to themselves and their warlike followers – and, of course, God and the Prophet.

In pursuit of their war against the infidel, these princes had given licence to a particularly rapacious breed of pirates known as the Barbary Corsairs, who had become the scourge of Christian shipping the length and breadth of the Mediterranean. The prizes were brought into the ports of Algiers and Morocco, Tunis and Tripoli, where the ship and its cargo were impounded – and the passengers and crew either ransomed or sold as slaves.

Naturally, this provoked a measure of protest – and in some cases violent retribution. The corsairs found it advisable to steer clear of vessels flying the flag of any nation possessed of a large enough navy to exact revenge for any transgression. And they bestowed immunity upon the ships of several other nations who were willing to pay them an annual subsidy. But for the rest it was open season – especially for those flying the flag of the United States, which was notoriously reluctant to pay the necessary bribes and had neglected to build a single ship-of-war to protect its maritime interests.

Thus it would have been expedient, in Caterina's view, to fly the flag of some other country, preferably that of France, Spain or England, which would give the marauder pause for thought. Having failed to impress the ship's
Master with this argument, however, she sought backing from her fellow passengers, not least the young woman with whom she was obliged to share her cabin, and who happened, coincidentally, to be the daughter of the American Consul in Venice.

Although Caterina would have preferred the cabin to herself, Louisa Jane Devereux was as amiable a companion as she could have wished. She was young, charming and lovely. She did not snore, she did not smell, and she did not take up too much room. And she showed Caterina almost as much respect and admiration as the novices at the Convent of San Paolo di Mare. Had Caterina still been Deputy Prioress there, she could have put her in the way of earning a considerable stipend.

Of course, being American and a Protestant, Louisa had little knowledge of the diversions available in the convents of Venice. She had, by her own admission, lived a sheltered life. Her mother had died within a few months of her arrival in Venice, and since then Louisa had rarely left the American Consulate, her only excursions being a weekly visit to the Lutheran church and the occasional trip along the Grand Canal to attend a concert at the house of Carlo Goldoni. The rest of her time was devoted to study and prayer – and providing a comfort to her poor father. She was just seventeen.

‘Bless you, my child,' sighed Caterina. ‘There are many nuns who do not live so reverent a life.'

Louisa was now bound for England to stay with a cousin, her father having deemed it safer for her than remaining in Venice during the present disorders. He would send for her when some measure of normality was
achieved, he promised; and if the turmoil continued, he would join her in London and they would return to Virginia where she had been born and raised.

Louisa did not seem overly impressed by this prospect. Her life in Venice, for all the restrictions placed upon it, had given her a taste for the exotic. She would like to see more of the world, she confided.

‘Be careful what you wish for, my child,' Caterina warned her – she had assumed an armour of propriety for the duration of the voyage, there being little else to amuse her – ‘or the Devil might be tempted to indulge you. There are parts of the world, not so very far from here, which are a great deal more “exotic” than you would care to imagine.'

But, of course, she then proceeded to supply the child with enough material for her imagination to run riot. So much so, that after listening with rapt attention to Caterina's tales of corsairs and slave-masters, eunuchs and concubines, and asking a great many supplementary questions concerning the conditions she might be expected to endure
should the worst happen
, Louisa was moved to voice her concerns to the ship's Master – a consequence which Caterina had foreseen and which had, to some extent, motivated her narrative. She considered that the gentleman in question might prove more receptive to the petition of an American Consul's daughter than he had been to the former Deputy Prioress of the Convent of San Paolo di Mare.

This proved unduly optimistic.

He did, however, deign to give Louisa a more fulsome explanation for his confidence, which she dutifully reported
to Caterina in the privacy of their cabin. The American government had apparently swallowed its pride and its principles to the extent of paying a subsidy to the worst and most dangerous of the corsairs. The remnant possessed nothing more startling than a few lightly armed galleys manned by starving slaves. The
Saratoga
could see them off with a stout broadside, he assured her. Besides which, her present course, down the western edge of the Adriatic and through the Strait of Messina, would keep them well clear of the danger zone. As for the practice of flying under false colours, this was a stratagem more to be expected of the English and the Venetians.

And so, much to Caterina's irritation, the Stars and Stripes continued to fly from the masthead. And for four days the
Saratoga
continued her steady progress towards the heel of Italy.

And then the wind changed.

This was not immediately apparent to Caterina, but she was informed by the first officer that it was no longer possible, with the wind in its present quarter, to navigate the Strait of Messina. Instead, they were obliged to sail much further south and would not be able to land at Naples as promised. Caterina and several of the other passengers would be put ashore in Sicily and obliged to find another vessel to take them to the mainland.

Caterina was sorely displeased by this information, but in the event she was spared the inconvenience it would almost certainly have caused her.

On the morning of the fifth day, she and Louisa were taking the air on deck when a sail was sighted some little distance to the south-west. This appeared to cause some
agitation among the officers and crew, and the Captain's steward shortly came over and advised them to return to their cabin. The approaching vessel was thought to be an Algerine, he confided, and ‘purely as a precaution', the Captain had determined to run for the port of Masala, some several leagues to the north-west. As the women were ushered below, they saw the guns run out.

They remained in the gloom and stench of the lower deck throughout the ensuing encounter, news of which was conveyed to them by the dull report of cannon fire, initially at some distance but growing increasingly closer. Louisa was now quite fearful, Caterina only slightly less so, though her annoyance far outweighed her apprehension.

‘Idiot,' she berated the Captain. ‘I'll give him an Ave Maria. I hope they bend him over one of his precious guns and take turns.'

Certainly the guns did not seem much use for any other purpose. Possibly the ship was heeling too far over for them to bear – a mishap of which her Admiral had warned her during one of his weighty expositions – but for whatever reason they remained silent. The only sounds that carried to the two women were the wails of their fellow passengers, the occasional drumming of feet upon the upper deck, and, of course, the distant guns of the enemy. They became less distant as time went by and finally there was another, sharper report, and the crash of something large and solid hitting the hull. Shortly after, the vessel made a violent lurch and appeared to stop dead in the water.

Caterina climbed irritably to her feet. ‘Be damned to this,' she said.

Among her possessions that were not stowed out of reach in the hold of the ship was a travelling bag containing a pair of pistols which had been given her by the English Ambassador shortly before his own flight from Venice. Caterina began to load them, ramming home the wadding, powder and shot with the tool provided for this purpose and distributing the required measure of powder into the firing pan.

Louisa observed these preparations with some astonishment.

‘What are you doing?' she enquired at length.

‘I am doing whatever may be necessary to defend our honour,' Caterina replied, more to shut her up than anything, for the loading of a pair of pistols required considerable attention.

‘You do not consider that a prayer would help?' Caterina detected the irony in this remark and was impressed.

‘It would do no harm,' she conceded, in a similar spirit, ‘if you feel the inclination.'

She cocked each of the pistols in turn and sighted along the barrels. Then she took one in each hand and led the way to the upper deck with Louisa following close behind.

She had reached the top steps when the hatch cover was thrown back and she saw a man staring down at her. His face was bearded and swarthy and he wore a turban. She raised one of the pistols and had the satisfaction of seeing the face withdraw.

Her satisfaction did not last long. There were shouted commands in a foreign tongue and the barrels of several
guns appeared over the edge of the hatch. Then she heard a voice she recognised.

‘Whoever you are, you must come on deck – and without your weapons.' It was the voice of the Captain, though somewhat more subdued than usual. ‘I regret to have to inform you that the ship has been taken.'

Caterina swore an oath.

‘What are we to do?' Louisa hissed in her ear.

‘There is not much we
can
do,' Caterina admitted. ‘Save to make the best bargain that we can.'

She mounted the last few steps of the ladder. In spite of Captain Fry's instructions, she kept the pistols with her.

To her considerable annoyance, she discovered the deck to be filled with men in beards and turbans, all staring at her and waving an assortment of weaponry. Their vessel was drawn up alongside. It was smaller than the
Saratoga
but more men lined the rails and clung to the rigging, all similarly attired and armed to the teeth.

Caterina caught the eye of the
Saratoga
's Captain. He looked suitably contrite. ‘I am truly sorry,' he informed her, ‘but to avoid bloodshed I have surrendered the ship. Do please give up your pistols.'

There was another man at his side. Though he wore a turban, his face was fair-skinned and his beard was reddish-blond. Caterina kept her pistols levelled.

‘Kindly inform him, in whatever language he speaks, that I am a nun,' she told the Captain. ‘A woman of God,' she added, in case it lost something in the translation. ‘And that I will be treated with respect – or I will blow his brains out.'

The man grinned widely. ‘A nun, is it? Then I am Sinbad the Sailor.' He turned and said something in a foreign tongue which caused some amusement among his fellows. Then, turning back to Caterina, he told her: ‘I'd be the more inclined to believe ye, lass, if you was to put those irons down and conduct yourself as befits a woman of God.'

Caterina frowned with displeasure, for she was not used to being laughed at.