'My master,' he announced, bowing as low as his stomach would permit, 'is eager to offer your most serene highness the hospitality of his palace. He begs you to forgive him for not coming himself to greet you, on account of his great age and rheumatism.'
Her most serene highness thanked Count Sommaripa's steward, thinking meanwhile that she must be giving the poor man a very strange idea of grand Franco-Italian ladies in general. At present she would look distinctly out of place in a nobleman's residence. All the same, she could not help looking forward to a temporary return to the comforts and luxuries of an aristocratic household, and it was with a lighter step that she set out with the obliging Athanasius for this promised paradise, Theodoros following at her heels.
They passed through a maze of steep cobbled alleys, where the big round stones were painful to the feet, through strange medieval streets, tortuous and evil-smelling, and by vaulted passages that offered a brief, welcome coolness, until at last they reached the summit of the hill and the Venetian quarter built around the citadel and the ancient ramparts. Here there were indeed some western religious houses, showing the Roman cross: the Brothers of Mercy side by side with the Ursulines, together with an austere cathedral that seemed oddly out of place, and one or two noble facades that still displayed some dim reflection of the former glories of the dukes of Naxos and the Venetian court. The once-lordly houses with their crumbling armorial bearings seemed to crowd up against the ramparts as though in search of some last reserves of strength, but as she crossed the worn threshold of the Sommaripa palace, with its Latin inscription, Marianne realized that the worthy Athanasius' notions of what a real palace ought to be were not so very well-formed either.
This was only the ghost of a palace, an empty shell where echoes lived and, by amplifying the smallest sound, attempted to bring back some semblance of life to the place. Marianne stifled a regretful sigh: it was not here that she would find the comforts of civilization.
An old man appeared in the doorway of a huge empty room which was furnished only with stone benches and a vast cedar-wood table, with a red geranium spilling out of a round earthenware pot on the sill of a dear little arched window. He should, she felt, be the familiar spirit of this timeless place. He was a tall, blanched individual with a vacant gaze, and his flowing garments looked for all the world as if they had been woven out of the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. He was so pale that he might have lived for years in a cavern underground, away from light and air. He must have lived long in the shadow of these ancient stones, turning his back on reality. He could never have felt the touch of the sun or the sea winds.
He, too, seemed unconscious of Marianne's appearance. He bowed over her hand with all the dignity of a Spanish grandee receiving an infanta, assuring her of the honour done to his house, and proffering a hand as knotty and wrinkled as an olive kernel to lead her to the apartment set aside for her.
It might be the siesta hour, but the passage of two ragged strangers through the streets of Naxos had not gone unobserved by the Turkish watch, and the Count was just leading Marianne towards the uneven stone staircase when a dozen soldiers in red leather boots and red and blue striped turbans marched into the porch. Commanding them was an odabassy wearing a kind of white felt mitre with a green crown. His rank corresponded roughly to that of artillery captain, but he also had authority over the inns on the island. The new arrivals seemed to interest him.
He was waving a fly-whisk, languidly, and his evident bad temper betrayed clearly enough the irritation he felt at having been dragged out of the cool shade of the fortress just when the afternoon was at its hottest. It showed, too, in the tone he used to address Count Sommaripa, which was that of a master to a disobedient servant.
Possibly because there was a woman present, and a foreign woman at that, the old man appeared to rouse himself. He gave a round answer to the odabassy's contemptuous speech and, although Marianne did not understand a word of the Ottoman language, she was still able to grasp the gist of what was being said. She heard her own name mentioned several times, and the name of Nakshidil Sultan, and gathered that the Count was informing the Turkish officer, with some hauteur, of the identity of the unfortunate traveller and the importance of leaving her in peace.
The odabassy showed no disposition to persist. His sneer was transformed into a smile and he bowed to his Empress's cousin as agreeably as he knew how, before departing with his troop.
The rebel, Theodoros, had remained standing rigidly, three steps behind his supposed mistress, while all this perilous explanation was going on. In all that time, he had not flinched, but judging from the long breath he let out as they turned back to the staircase at last, Marianne guessed that he had suffered a nasty moment, and smiled to herself, thinking that, for all his great size, the mighty warrior was only human after all and subject to the same anxieties as ordinary men.
The room to which the old Count led Marianne could not have been in use since the days of the last dukes of Naxos. A bed that could have sheltered an entire family behind its curtains of faded brocade reigned in splendid isolation between four walls proudly adorned with tattered and rust-spotted banners, while a selection of broken stools huddled together in the corners of the room. But there was a magnificent mullioned window with a view of the sea.
'We were not prepared for such an honour,' the old Count was saying apologetically. 'But your servant shall bring you what you need and we will send to the Mother Superior of the Ursuline convent for a suitable gown – since our own size is somewhat different…'
The use of the plural form was bizarre but no more so than the rest of the Count's person or his rather toneless voice and Marianne did not dwell on it.
'I should be most grateful for the dress, my lord Count,' she said, smiling, 'but for the rest, I beg you will not put yourself out. I am sure that we shall have no difficulty in finding a ship—'
The old man's curiously vacant gaze seemed to light up at the word.
'The larger vessels do not often call here. We live in a forgotten land, madame, a land passed over by the hubbub and the glory and the recollections of the great ones of the earth. It is enough to keep us alive, fortunately, but you may find that your stay is longer than you imagine. Come with me, my friend.'
The last words were addressed to Theodoros, who had already been drawn to the window, as though to a lover, and was gazing out hungrily at the empty sea. He dragged himself away unwillingly and followed the Count, as befitted his role of the perfect servant. He returned in a short whole with Athanasius, the two of them carrying a heavy table which they placed in the window. This was followed by a variety of toilet articles and linen, slightly but not impossibly worn.
While he busied himself making the room more or less habitable, Athanasius chatted away, thoroughly enjoying the sight of new faces and the opportunity of having a foreign lady to serve, but the more expansive he became, the more Theodoros withdrew into his shell.
'Almighty God!' he cried at last, when the little man urged him to come and help in making up the bed, 'we are only staying a few hours, brother! One would think from the way you are going on we were to stay for months! Our brother Tombazis in Hydra should have got the pigeon and the ship may come at any moment now.'
'Even if your ship were to appear at this minute,' Athanasius responded peaceably, 'it would still be advisable for madame to play her part – you and she have been shipwrecked. You must be tired, exhausted. You need at least one night's rest. The Turks would not understand it if you flung yourselves on board the first vessel, without so much as pausing for breath. Odabassy Mahmoud is stupid – but not as stupid as that! Besides, it makes my master happy. Madame the Princess's coming here is to him a reminder of his youth. He has travelled in the west, you know, long ago, and visited the doge's court in Venice and the king of France.'
Theodoros gave a disgusted shrug.
'He must have been rich then! He doesn't seem to have much left.'
'More than you might think,' said Athanasius with a smile, 'but it is not good to tempt the enemy's greed. The master has known that for a long time. Indeed, it is the only thing he does remember clearly. And now,' he finished, beaming at Marianne, 'I am going to the Ursulines for a gown. It would be best if you came with me. No servant worthy of the name would remain with his mistress when she desires to rest.'
But the giant's patience was evidently at an end. With a furious gesture he flung the faded silk counterpane, which he had just taken off the bed, across the room.
'I was not made for this!' he shouted. 'I'm a klepht! Not a lackey!'
'If you shout like that,' Marianne observed coolly, 'every soul in the place will soon know it. You not only agreed to play the part – you actually asked for it. Personally, I should be very glad to part with you. You are a thorough nuisance!'
