The Rising Storm

Isabella flung her arms about his neck, and began to sob. 'My own! My loved one! 'Tis clear you have not the understanding of a child upon such matters. In Spain, a husband who believes he has been wronged does not consider himself called upon to expose himself to the blade of his wife's lover. He hires others to do his business. To return here as you suggest would be to expose yourself to the dagger of an assassin.'

Roger was no coward; but her tearful words shook him badly, and conjured up the most horrid visions. For weeks, and perhaps months, all might go well; he would lead that carefree sybaritic life he had visualized and discreetly enjoy Isabella's favours; then one dark night when he least expected it he would be caught off his guard, and die in the gutter with a bravo's stiletto plunged to its hilt between his shoulder-blades.

Yet his pride would not let him give way altogether, and they parted in the dawn, knowing that they would meet the following afternoon, but with nothing settled.

On the Tuesday it rained again; but not sufficiently heavily for King Ferdinand to forgo the public welcome that it had been arranged for him to receive on his return; and by eleven o'clock the clouds dispersed to let the sun come through. The streets were decked with flags; carpets, tapestries and gaily coloured rugs were hung over balconies and from windows. Just before midday Roger and Isabella met at the Francavilla mansion, to which a party had been invited to witness the procession.

Both the Neapolitans and their King loved a show, so half the army had been turned out to line the route; and, to keep the populace amused while they waited for the Sovereigns, a score or more of triumphal cars had been decorated and manned to drive up and down the main thoroughfares. These cars were a feature of Neapolitan public holidays and were always brought out in different guises for the great pre-Lenten Carnival, the summer Battle of Flowers, and other festivi­ties. Most of them were huge vehicles drawn by as many as twenty oxen, and they now moved up and down with their loads of bacchantes, mermaids and acrobats escorted by groups of absurd masked figures on enormous stilts. Meanwhile, bands played, cannon thundered and salvoes of musketry crashed out from the port.

At length the cavalcade came in view; trumpeters, outriders, cavalry; the King's favourite regiment, the Volontari della Marina, in their uniforms of green with scarlet facings and yellow buttons; then the great gilded coach of the Sovereigns, surrounded by the Guardia del Corpo.

As soon as Roger saw it in the distance he drew Isabella back from the balcony into the room. He had been waiting impatiently for that moment, knowing that his one chance to get a few words alone with her would be while the attention of the rest of the party was held by the high-light of the procession. Without wasting an instant, he said:

'If you are still unshakable in your refusal to allow me to return to Naples, will you, instead, elope with me?'

She drew in a sharp breath; then exclaimed: 'No, Roje! No! What you ask is impossible!'

He had gone very white, but he tried to control his voice, as he hurried on: 'I know that it is much to ask; but there is nothing impos­sible about it. You know that you can trust yourself to me, and that I would never desert you. When we reached England we could say that we had been married abroad. I swear that in all things I would treat you as my wife; and no one would ever know that we had not been joined in wedlock.'

'In time it would leak out,' she quavered. 'The Spanish and Neapolitan Ambassadors at the Court of St. James would be certain to hear the story of our elopement. I love you, Roje! Oh, I love you dearly! But to do as you wish would bring public shame on me, and mar your own future. We could not be received anywhere together once it became known that I was living with you as your mistress.'

'We would live very quietly in the country for a time, until . . .'

The cheers on the balcony had died away, and the guests were beginning to drift in to the refreshment buffet. Roger's last sentence was cut short by a fat, garrulous Abb6 coming up to them and inter­rupting their conversation with platitudes about how fortunate it was that the rain had cleared off for the procession. Two ladies joined their group, and in the half-hour that followed it proved impossible to resume their conversation. It was not until just as Isabella was leaving that Roger managed to get another few swift words alone with her.

'When shall I see you again?' he whispered.

'Tonight at the Opera. There is a gala performance. Everyone is going.'

'There will be no chance for us to talk in private. I beg you to come here again, later this afternoon.'

'I cannot. I have not seen my husband yet. He will expect me to be at home, so that he can tell me all that occurred during the royal visit to Sicily.'

'Tomorrow morning, then?'

'Yes, at twelve o'clock.'

'Can you not make it earlier? I may have to attend upon Their Majesties.'

'Nay I dare not. There is no possible excuse that I could give for leaving the house appreciably in advance of my usual hour.'

There was not time to argue, as neighbours of Isabella, who had brought her and were carrying her home in their coach, were already waiting for her on the stairs. So he could only kiss her hand and murmur: 'So be it, then. Here, at midday tomorrow.'

That evening he accompanied Sir William Hamilton to the fine new San Carlo Theatre, for the gala performance. The diplomat had his own box and he remarked to Roger that, much as he enjoyed his rolls in the Mediterranean and climbs up Vesuvius in summer, it made a pleasant change of diversion to come there any night he felt inclined when the real winter had set in, and there was ice in the streets of Naples. Roger found it difficult to imagine Naples under snow, but gave the matter little thought as he was anxiously scanning the other boxes for Isabella and her husband.

When he did catch sight of them he was disappointed, as the man he took to be Don Diego was seated towards the back of the box, and it was difficult to make out his features.

Soon afterwards the Sovereigns appeared in the royal box; there was a great shouting and clapping of hands, the flambeaux were doused and the show began.

However, ample opportunity was afforded Roger later that evening of seeing the man he instinctively hated, as the performance occupied five hours, including two intervals of nearly an hour each, during which the audience either strolled up and down in the foyer, or called upon their acquaintances in the boxes.

During the first interval Sir William went to make his service to the Queen, and Roger decided to make his first call on the beautiful Duchesa di Lucciana, who had given him a gracious smile from a box nearby. Having spent ten minutes with her party, he felt he might now pay his respects to Isabella, without having appeared over-eager to do so.

In her box he found the di Jaccis, the Ottobonis and the Abbe Guarini, so for a moment his entrance was not even noticed by Don Diego. He kissed Isabella's hand and with perfect aplomb she then presented him to her husband. The two men bowed formally and exchanged a few well-turned compliments; after which the Princess di Jacci reclaimed Don Diego's attention, so Roger discussed the perform­ance with Isabella and the Abbe1 for six or seven minutes, then bowed his way out.

As he made his way slowly towards the Sambucas' box for his next call he tried to sort out his impressions of El Conde Sidonia y Ulloa. Roger had in no circumstances been prepared to like the man but he had to admit that he was both handsome and possessed of a striking presence. Don Diego was slightly taller than himself, or perhaps only seemed so from his exceptionally upright carriage. He was very dark, with an olive skin and sparkling black eyes. His most outstanding feature was an aquiline nose so thin as to be almost knife-like. His mouth, too, was thin-lipped, but well formed, and when he smiled he showed excellent teeth. His face was narrow and his firm chin seemed to be permanently tilted up, which gave him an expression of extreme hauteur. Roger decided that, his own prejudices apart, Don Diego was not a particularly lovable person, and that his main preoccupation in life was to impress other people with the blueness of his blood and the ultra-aristocratic good looks with which nature had endowed him.

When Roger rejoined Sir William the diplomat said: 'I have spoken to Her Majesty of you and she wishes me to bring you to her in the second entr'acte'

Roger endeavoured to show suitable gratification at the announce­ment, but actually found difficulty in concealing his distress. His brain was now almost bursting with wild projects concerning Isabella, and so far he had failed to concert with her on even the basis of a plan for their future. He had been hoping that he would at least be granted until the next day before being called on to discuss his mission with the Queen; but here was the matter