A Sea Unto Itself (31 page)

Charles felt his pulse quicken in spite of himself. “Thank you, Signorina,” he said, using one of the few polite Italian words he knew. “May I know your name?”

“I am Signora Teresa di Correglia, and you?” She smiled prettily, which for her was not difficult. Her voice had a husky, strangely rhythmic quality. He made note of her emphasis on the term ‘signora’ rather than ‘signorina’-—she was, or had once been, married.

“Captain Charles Edgemont of His Majesty’s navy, at your service, ma’am,” he said and bowed stiffly. He wondered if he were expected to kiss her hand. He wouldn’t mind.

The woman merely bobbed her head in reply. “You are English, not so?” She pronounced it “Eeenglez.”

Charles nodded. He noticed that the three men accompanying her watched closely. The eldest, the one who had spoken first, coughed discreetly.

Signora di Corriglia turned and said something in her language, then introduced “Capitan Edgemont” to her companions. Bows were made, no hands offered or shaken. Bellagio, Charles recalled his name, was a stocky, muscular figure with a thick moustache and an unhappy expression. He wore a cavalry saber as his gentlemen’s sword. The names of the other two were given and forgotten. They wore no swords, but each had a pistol in his belt. In all, they were a hard-looking, cautious group in their late thirties or early forties.

In his turn, Charles introduced his officers. More bows were exchanged. The woman spoke to her companions. Bellagio answered at length, somewhat insistently, Charles thought. As to what they said, he had no idea. The word “Inglese” he noticed was repeated several times, and once “Mocha,” which he understood. The atmosphere appeared to lighten to the extent that the governor’s expression transformed from scowl to frown. The woman nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“You would be welcome to enter our poor house to relieve the heat of the day,” Signora di Correglia said, turning with a charming smile to Charles. “Regrettably, we can offer only coffee for refreshment, we have no tea. So few visitors such as yourself arrive to this place that I am afraid our manners are quite deficit.”

Charles stated his acceptance. He then turned to Ayres, “Stand your men down, but keep them vigilant. I don’t expect to be long.” The cluster of onlookers on the quay parted as he, Winchester, Bevan, and Ayres, with Augustus following, started toward a larger building facing the waterfront. As he passed, Charles noticed that most of those in the crowd were men. The great majority were of military age, and almost all were armed in one fashion or another. They tended to keep their distance while watching intently.

The signora walked closely beside him. “You have transported all the way from England?” she asked. “Or have you come from India?”

“England,” Charles answered. “We sailed almost six months ago.”

She touched his arm with her finger tips and looked up into his eyes. “Such a long time. And you have a family I would think, a wife perhaps? It must be hard for you to be away so long.” Not entirely against his will, the touch sent a shiver through him.

“I have family,” he answered reluctantly. He knew it was an ambiguous answer and could be interpreted in different ways, but he left it at that. For some reason he hesitated to bring up Penny or their possible child. To change the subject, he said, “And you, signora? Where is your husband?”

The Italian woman’s face took on a pained expression. “My Antonio died several years past. He was of the resistance to the French. We were young and not yet blessed with children. For this I will always hate the Frenchmen.”

Charles’ heart went out to her. It must be terrible to lose a loved one so young. He was too acutely aware that she was a handsome woman, very much in her prime. Unbidden, it passed across his mind that she must suffer certain frustrations.

The door to the building opened and they passed inside to a large room with a long table served with benches. The space was much cooler than the rapidly rising temperature outside. The English officers were shown to places at the table, the signora seating herself beside Charles. Governor Bellagio and several other Italians sat themselves near the table’s head. Augustus, Charles noticed, stood against the wall between two armed Italian men near the entrance. Once seated, Bellagio clapped his hands and shouted instructions toward a back room. He turned without smiling to Charles, “Perche siete venuto qui?”

“The governor welcomes you to Massawa warmly,” Signora di Correglia translated. “He asks what brings you to your happily visiting us?”

Charles was prepared for the question but unsure of how much he should reveal about his mission. He decided to tell them what they already knew. “My ship observed a French frigate in pursuit of one of the merchant ships in your harbor. We have fought this warship, but she escaped in the night. I thought it possible she had come here.”

The woman spoke in a short burst of rapid Italian. Words were exchanged among the men before Bellagio spoke at length. Signora di Correglia listened carefully; when he finished she turned to Charles.

“I am most sorry, but we know nothing of the whereabouts of this enemy. No French have come to this place as of yet. It is true that one of our innocent trading boats was chased after and almost captured by the ship you speak of.” She took a deep breath before continuing. Charles stared almost involuntarily as the fabric of her blouse stretched across a surprisingly ample bosom, then averted his eyes before anyone would notice. “The governor has asked me to express his bottomless gratitude for your intervention,” Teresa said seriously. “Our little colony is in constant fear that the hated French will attack us even here.” She spoke so earnestly, her eyes unwavering in their focus on his, that Charles knew he must do what he could to protect her and her companions. This little outpost of civilization in an untamed land would easily be overrun by the French for use as a way station for their descent on India. He told himself that he could not imagine the outrages that might be visited on the signora and the other women of Massawa, should they fall into enemy hands. Then, in the briefest of intervals as he gazed at her, he realized that he could imagine it quite easily. He felt beads of sweat under his uniform coat.

Bellagio spoke several forceful sentences, his fingers rapping out his points on the table’s top. The woman shook her head in the negative. The governor spoke again. This time she answered him tersely. Bellagio fell silent. Signora di Correglia laid one hand on Charles’ arm. “The governor is grateful for your protection,” she said. Charles felt his heart race. “We wish to make to you welcome here.”

Several servants appeared from the back room bearing trays with steaming cups of coffee and plates with biscuits and fruit. With the diversion, questions began to form in Charles’ mind, one on top of the other. How long had these people been at Massawa? Why did they come, and why to this place? He’d seen no fields for crops or pastures for cattle—all the land he could see to the edge of the mountains was desert—how did they survive? He assumed there were some sort of relations with the local tribes, since he’d seen African laborers helping to construct the port facilities, and black servants were much in evidence, but what about the Arab settlement on the island; and, for that matter, what about the Turks? Massawa was supposedly an enclave of the Ottoman Empire; what had happened to them?.

And there was the woman. Who was she? How did she come to be, alone and unattached, in such a place? Did she, or had she, had a lover here? She certainly must have attracted attention. He thought this very interesting indeed.

The refreshments were placed around the table. Charles saw that the coffee was almost a light tan in color. He tasted the liquid and found it hot and richly mixed with milk. “How do you make this, Signora?” he said. He knew how it was done, but he wanted to extend his conversation with her.

She smiled at him, free for the moment from her duties as translator. “But please, you must address me as Teresa, not as Signora di Correglia. We may have friendship, no?” She emphasized this by running a fingertip across the back of his hand.

“Then you may call me Charles,” he answered, acutely aware of the contact between them.

“Carlo,” she said softly. “I will call you Carlo when we are speaking intimamente.” She removed her hand. “But I will answer your question. This we call caffelatte. It is one part the local coffee from the mountains and one equal part of the milk. Both are made heated before mixing together. It is how we prepare this drink in Genoa. It is the one pleasure which remains of my native land.”

Since she was speaking freely, Charles decided to ask about some of the other things of which he was curious. “Tell me about this colony of yours—how did you come to be here?”

“Oh, it is no secret,” she said, sipping at her drink then touching her lips with a cloth. “One year ago and a half we came from Genoa in the three boats you see in the harbor. We wish only a new life with freedom from the domination of the French, and to bring civilization to the savages. We are having with them economico . . . what do you say, tradings. We are a small number of simple peoples wanting to be prosperous in peace with all humanity. This place was nothing when we came, only the few heathens on the island. After hard labors and many obstacles, we have already achieved much. The fine harbor here is nearly completed, and we have made an industry for the salt manufacture behind the town. In the hills before the mountains there is much agriculture and pastures. It is very beautiful and the air is sweeter and cool. We have great plans for our future. Already we have achieved good trade up and down the sea. Everything is possible for us.”

Charles saw that she was clearly proud of what had been accomplished. It must have been a struggle against harsh odds. And now she and her companions would have the added difficulty of the arrival of their old European enemy. “Are you not worried by the appearance of the French warship in these waters?” he said. “They are in Egypt and have established a foothold at the north end of the Red Sea.”

She made such a charming expression of distress that Charles smiled. “They are a hateful, low people who seek only to subjugate all the world,” she said forcefully. “The French Generale Bonaparte now in Egypt is the same that ravaged my homeland. He has pillaged all he desired in Genoa as he passed across, even to the very virtue of the women. There is much fear he will come here. We have no army and no navy. We can do nothing.”

“I am no friend to the French,” Charles said confidently, his mind captured by the thought of the pillaged virtue of the women, or at least this woman. “I mean to fight them whenever they are. If it will reassure you, I have had some success in the past.”

“I am certain that you are very capable in such things,” she said, her eyes on his. “But, do you not think they will attempt to come south? Many are hopeful that they have no reason to do so.” Her voice turned to despair. “It cannot happen. The malletto French would destroy everything we have built, everything we have hoped for.”

The governor spoke out, interrupting their conversation. From his tone, Charles thought he was asking questions, which Teresa promptly answered in an unemotional, matter-of-fact manner. Charles watched the two and listened carefully, comprehending few of the words and none of the meaning, as the man’s expression changed from inquiry to authority. The woman answered twice, once with an impatient, “Si, si,” followed by a longer sentence or two. The second reply was more animated, her breast rising and falling as she spoke quickly, almost angrily. Charles wondered what the disagreement had been about.

“The governor has asked me to offer an invitation to you to dinner,” Teresa said, regaining her composure. “He has also said that all the facilities of our little colony are of course available to you, such as to food and water or whatever your needs. He hopes you to call often to our harbor and asks only your protection from our mutual enemy.”

Charles heard Winchester, seated on his other side, cough discreetly. He turned and asked, “What is it?”

“The boat’s crew and the marines have been out in the sun this past hour,” Winchester said under his breath. “Also, if you will forgive my saying so, you have no orders to protect this place. You do have orders to transport Jones and his party. May I suggest that we get that accomplished and dally later.”

Charles thought Winchester to be impertinent. He saw a disapproving look as his brother-in-law glanced past him at the Italian woman. The implied accusation irritated him. There was nothing improper in his behavior toward Teresa. Any such suggestion was absurd on the face of it. But he also knew the lieutenant to be correct—he had no business remaining in Massawa any longer than necessary, no matter how pleasant it might be. Of course, he could always return, to resupply for example.

“I hope you will accept my deepest apologies,” he said, nodding to the governor, but speaking to the woman. “I have orders to sail north which cannot be avoided. My mission is to prevent the French from progressing southward.” His eyes met hers. “This I will do with every resource available to me, you may rest assured.”