Isabella Awakening Ch. 04

Isabella slept soundly and woke warm and refreshed just as the sun started to rise above the little promontory at the mount of the harbour. She was aware of noises on the dock outside her porthole and of the men above going about the normal routine on the main deck. She stretched and washed her face and allowed herself to feel the power and wisdom she had absorbed yesterday course through her body. She moved to the porthole to gain a glimpse of the outside world. She could see the dockworkers moving barrels and large crates, swinging them up to the second floor of the warehouses opposite the ship. Other men were wrestling the cargo into the warehouses and calling to their fellows below. As she was about to open the glass window and take in the salty morning air, she noticed a single horse-drawn cart making its way along the cobbled dockside. Two people sat on the cart's plank seat and the driver appeared to be a woman.

As it got closer to the ship, Isabella recognized Father Thomas as the passenger. To her surprise, the driver was Carla, Beatrice's serving girl and she appeared to be handling the horse and cart like a professional, her skirts tucked between her knees and using the reigns and her voice to guide the bay gelding through the clutter of the dock.

When they reach shipside, Isabella withdrew from the window, far enough not to be seen spying she thought, but she could still see Thomas stand beside Carla and call something to someone on deck. He held up two fingers and pointed to the cart behind him.

He then looked around, bent down and kissed Carla on the mouth before jumping down. Two rough looking sailors from the Della Virago joined him on the dock and he supervised their unloading of two large parcels from the rear of the cart. They were both roughly rectangular objects, wrapped in oiled canvass and tied with rope. Isabella saw each man struggle with his parcel, hoisting onto his shoulder with a grunt and then making his way towards the gangway.

Thomas farewelled Carla with a bow and a kiss to the back of his hand and he too walked towards the gangway. Isabella felt a little guilty at having watched this little scene, and a little jealous of Carla too, she admitted to herself. Her growing attachment to Thomas was a source of some annoyance to her, wanting to remain aloof and in control. She smiled to herself at her undiminished capacity for girlish infatuation; especially silly, she reflected, in the light of her passionate, intimate and very adult coupling with their now mutual friend Beatrice yesterday. Isabella collected herself and made her way up on deck, determined to maintain her poise and position and not to betray either her knowledge or her feelings regarding Thomas.

Simon met her at the hatchway and took her hand as she climbed the ladder to the main deck.

"Thankee, marm," he said quietly.

Isabella realized he was speaking of her cover-up of his drunkenness yesterday in the town.

"Our secret, Simon," she said, moving past him and checking the wheel deck for the Captain, or of Thomas.

"Perhaps I should go to breakfast," she said, more to herself than to Simon.

"Er, marm, the Captain says I should bring you sumping on the foredeck. Er, the officers an' him an' the padre is got some business to do in the cabin."

"Oh," Isabella said, "yes, please Simon, that would be fine. Could you see if the cook could find a pot of coffee and some pastries for me. I do miss my coffee in the morning."

"Yes'm," he responded, running back down the ladder to find the cook.

Isabella made her way to the bow of the ship, up on to the little raised foredeck. She found a coil of rope and made herself comfortable. She wondered again at Thomas's strange early morning arrival at the dock and, indeed, went over in her mind the many inconsistencies in his behavior and demeanor she had noticed over the past week.

Simon soon returned beaming from ear to ear, struggling with a coffee pot and a basket that he set down on a barrel beside her. He retrieved a large steel mug from the basket and poured her a cup of warm, strong, sweet, milky liquid from the pot. It certainly smelled like coffee, but her first mouthful told her that it contained much more. She coughed and spluttered.

"Simon!" she cried, when she had recovered her breath, "What is this?"

Simon's smile wavered, but he recovered quickly, saying, "It's the cook's special, missus. He calls it Sicilian Coffee – I thinks it's the Amaretto you're tastin' there."

Isabella took another sip, slowly this time. She certainly noted the flavour of almonds overlaying the dark coffee taste. She smiled.

"It's lovely, Simon. Tell your friend the cook that he has a magic touch. But perhaps a lady should not take strong liquor." She smiled. "At least, not before lunch." She added, winking at Simon.

Simon left, no doubt to spread the news of Isabella's introduction to the cook's special coffee, and Isabella settled back to enjoy the pastries from the basket, and a second cup of coffee. She was contemplating the sky, watching the wheeling seabirds and envying their freedom, when she heard a noise from the maindeck. Rising, she saw the three officers emerging from the hatchway and calling orders to the surprised crew. From what she could understand of their shouted instructions, the ship was to get underway immediately.

Following his officers up the ladder, the Captain emerged from the hatchway, looking around with a concerned look on his face. He spotted Simon and called to him. Simon tugged his forelock, a traditional salute in the merchant navy, and pointed to Isabella, partly obscured by the foremast, standing in the bows. The Captain leant to Simon's ear and then returned down the hatchway. Simon ran to Isabella, clearly under direct and urgent orders.

He tugged his forelock to her, bowed and said, "Marm, the Captain requests you join him immediately in his cabin for urgent consul... constellations, no, um, missus, he needs to talk wif you right now." He blushed at his stumbling and took her arm to help, or usher, her to the lower deck.

Isabella entered the cabin and the door was closed behind her. The Captain and Father Thomas sat at a small central table covered with nautical maps. The captain looked worried but Father Thomas gave nothing away.

"Captain, I trust nothing serious has happened?" she said, mirroring his concerned expression.

"I am sorry to worry you Signora Silverto, and no, nothing serious has yet happened. But we must act quickly to avert trouble. Please sit down and I will explain."

Isabella did as she was instructed, looking to Thomas for some indication of the nature or extent of the trouble the Captain mentioned. He simply looked at her and gave a polite smile.

The Captain arranged some papers in front of him and cleared his throat. "We have learned this morning," his eyes making a momentary sideways movement towards Thomas, "that our proposed course to Barcelona via Sardinia has become somewhat .... er ...less secure. It seems that the French have authorized privateers to ply the Sardinian and Corsican coasts with the intention of harassing or taking by force any ship serving the Bourbon's or their new possessions. This is not a declared war, you understand, but it would appear that the French intend to weaken Bourbon trade and thus subvert what they see as Spanish expansionism in the central Mediterranean."

Isabella nodded, trying to absorb the Captain's tortured explanation and understand its implications. Before she could respond, he went on.

"I have come to the decision to sail immediately directly to Barcelona, keeping well south until we can enter Spanish waters at least risk."

"South, Captain?" Asked Isabella. "Will that not take us towards the Barbary Coast?" Isabella, like every Neapolitan, had a deeply ingrained fear of the pirates who worked the southern coasts of the Mediterranean from Algiers to Cairo. Their raids on the shipping and the islands, and even the ports of Southern Italy, were legendary and to be greatly feared. To a young woman raised on stories of their violent pillage, looting and rape, the very thought of venturing voluntarily into pirate waters was almost incomprehensible.

Captain Bertrand seemed surprised at Isabella's quick deduction of their plight and he looked again to Thomas for some sign or support.

"That is correct, Isabella." It was Thomas who now spoke. "The Captain has to make a decision that places the ship, its crew and its cargo – and of course, its passengers – at least risk. That decision is not without consequence, or risks of its own, and that is why he has called on us – to explain his decision."

"Yes, I understand." Said Isabella to both men. "But surely the risk of plunder by the French, however unwelcome, would be preferable to .... an attack by Algerines?"

"I understand your concern, Signora," said Bertrand, sweating a little, "but in truth the choice is not so clear. Were we to fall in with a French ship, a Sloop or fully rigged Man O' War, we would have no chance and, I am afraid to say, that despite popular views, French privateers are as ruthless and craven as any that ply these waters. On the other hand, the Algerines, as you so politely call them, are rarely able to outrun a Caravel such as the Della Virago and, in the unlikely event that we find ourselves in their clutches, they are far more likely to negotiate, at least for the lives of the crew and passengers, than are the bastard French."

The Captain's explanation made sense to Isabella, despite her lack of understanding of the shipping involved, and she saw Thomas nodding sagely as the Captain spoke.

"On a related matter, Signora, I must advise that I may well have to ask you to stay below at the time we ... enter Barbary waters. Sailors are brave but simple men and they have certain superstitions. Luck is everything to them and a woman, a beautiful woman, aboard at times of uncertainty is considered an ill omen indeed. Anything that I can do to maintain their spirits and their attention to the ship, I must do. I hope you will understand."

"You have our assurances, Signora, that every precaution will be observed and that your own safety is my highest priority. I have instructed my officers to take the ship directly to sea to avoid news of our change of course being sent ashore where evil ears may take advantage." Captain Bertrand bowed.

"I thank you, Captain Bertrand, both for your candor and your assurances," she replied. "I am confident that you will preserve both the Della Virago and all who sail in her – and hopefully my father's cargo as well. And of course I shall obey any instruction from you or your officers as if I was one of your crew myself. Please have no hesitation in directing me." She smiled and stood, preparing to leave the men to their charts – although she still wondered what a priest could offer Captain Bertrand in the way of navigation or strategic skills.

"You are very kind, Isabella. Please stay here and enjoy some fresh tea while I consult further with my officers." Bertrand bowed again, took up his hat and left the room, leaving Isabella and Thomas to the maps.

Thomas spoke first. "You know that the Captain has your best interests at heart in this," he said.

"Thank you, Thomas, but I cannot help feeling unsettled by this development. I have heard stories of ...."

"Yes, I'm aware of the reputation of the Barbary pirates, but please let me assure you that their bark, and their reputation, is much worse than their bite – and our chances of avoiding them completely are really quite high."

"Again, I am reassured. Thank you. Is there anything I can do?"

"When we reach Barbary waters, I will advise you further. But please rest easy. The danger is really very slight and you will be well protected. And sometimes in this life, a risk must be taken to reach a reward."

Isabella genuinely felt more relaxed and assured by Thomas, his calmness and authority and steady voice reaching into her and laying her deep, unspoken fears to rest. When he leant forward and placed a hand on hers, she felt an even greater surge of comfort, as well as a confirmation of her attraction to him as a man.

Sitting there at the Captain's table, hands touching, their eyes met and a thousand words and feelings passed between them in an instant, a powerful and unexpected joining of minds. Isabella suddenly became aware of a deep goodness and grace within Thomas, that he was there for her, knew her deepest secrets, would protect her, even at risk of the ultimate cost to himself, and that anything, anything she desired, was possible. A single word escaped her soul and lodged in her mind – Trust. At that moment, she knew that all her doubts and questions about this man were but shadows, behind which lay a powerful and timeless certainty, an eternal verity, a deep and abiding truth. Whatever happened from this point on, she knew there was one person in the world in whom she could trust, absolutely and without thought.

It was only a few seconds that they sat like that but, to Isabella, it seemed an age. A sudden jerk as the ship's sails unfurled and filled with wind, brought her back. She rose, unsteadily, perhaps because of the movement under her feet or maybe the Cook's Sicilian coffee was having an effect. Her head was feeling light and she had difficulty finding her balance. She steadied herself with a hand on the edge of the table and simply said "Thank you, Thomas" before making her way carefully to the stateroom door.

There was no sailor standing guard this time and Simon was nowhere to be seen. From the sounds all around her and on the main deck above it was apparent that every hand was engaged in the work of sailing the ship. Rather than intrude on their busy workplace, Isabella made her way along the forward corridor to her cabin.

Once there, she locked the door behind her. From her porthole she could see Palermo harbour, now in the distance, and an informal flotilla of small boats, mostly fishing vessels returning to port after a night at sea. The Della Virago's pace was almost leisurely, cutting calmly through the light swell towards the shipping channels at the mouth of Palermo harbour. Isabella sat on her bunk, not really knowing what to do next and reflecting on her meeting with the Captain and Thomas.

She went over their conversation in her mind. Thomas's role in all this still puzzled her, but the deep reassurance she felt when he touched her still lingered. She also felt his presence as a man. It was, she realised, more than three years since she was last with a man who could in any way meet her physical needs. Not counting her wonderful day with Beatrice, and the many evenings she spent alone with her imagination and her whale horn friend, Isabella had spent the past three years, and indeed the ten years of her marriage to Henri, almost alone in both body and soul. For a woman who had such a strong sensual nature, such isolation and denial was both physical and emotional torture. Thomas's presence, and Isabella's knowledge of him as a sexual being, was enough, she thought, to tip her over the edge of reason into a state of agitation and lustfully wanton behaviour. She was determined to resist the urge to seduce him. She also wondered whether that would even be possible with a man such obvious depth and will.

The gentle movement of the ship and Isabella's introspective mood combined to lull her into a kind of half sleep in which her thoughts of seduction and neediness took her back to a series of encounters with strangers. It was during Henri's long absences on so-called military duty, or when he visited his mountain pastures in the summer months, that Isabella occasionally let slip her marital vows and took a lover. Sometimes, driven by simple lust or boredom or loneliness, she would seduce a stranger, a workman or a traveler calling at the house for alms or directions, sometimes simply abandoning herself to him in her own house or in the barn. These encounters were rarely completely satisfying. Isabella rediscovered the general incompetence of men in matters of passion. But she did usually manage to slake her immediate need to be touched, tasted or filled before turning her victim back onto the road.

One year, she did find a lover who could satisfy her. Not with his cock, which was small and thin, but with his mouth and his tongue that she taught him to use in ways he had never imagined. He was a young mason, eighteen years old and apprenticed to a tradesman contracted to rebuild the fallen steeple on a local church. Isabella had first noticed him working in the churchyard as she passed on one of her weekly visits to the town market.

He was breaking stone, tall, shirtless and sweaty. His brown skin and the young lean muscles of his chest, arms and shoulders glistened in the early summer sun. He looked up as Isabella passed the churchyard gate. Their eyes met momentarily and he smiled shyly but he quickly went back to his task. As she walked on, Isabella believed she could feel his eyes appraising her and she instinctively swayed her hips and walked tall as she made her way down the hill to the market. Once there, she mingled and chatted with the townswomen and picked over the early season fruit and vegetables, buying dates and figs and a bag of the small, sweet oranges brought in from the south. A bottle of local wine completed her purchases and she farewelled the women and made her way back up the dusty hill towards home.

As she approached the church, she could see her young apprentice sitting with his master under a cork oak at the front of the little cemetery. She decided to approach and make contact. It was the master, a stocky, large nosed man, perhaps sixty, who spoke first.

"Good morning, Signora."

"Hello to you both,' replied Isabella with a smile, approaching the wooden railed fence near their tree. "It is a hot day for such heavy work," she added, pointing with her free hand to the massive pile of roughly cut stone a few yards away towards the church.

"Indeed it is, Signora, and I would not even attempt it without Octavo here. My old bones would melt if it was me doing the breaking and the cutting", he said, rising and walking towards Isabella. "I'm Giardo Pallachi, stonemason from the precinct of Suda Roma," he said, reaching for her hand and bowing slightly.

"I am pleased to meet you Signore Pallachi. And you too, Octavo," she said to the boy, who now also rose and moved to her.

They chatted amiably for several minutes during which time Isabella learned that Pallachi was a cousin of the local priest and had secured the job of mending the steeple through him. They had traveled from Rome a week ago with the intention of staying locally for the few months it would take them to complete the job. Octavo had been apprenticed to Pallachi's family business only six months ago and this was his first visit to the Naples area. Pallachi spoke of him as if he was a child, and an idiot child at that. Octavo, he said, had been raised in a monastery since he was orphaned at the age of six. According to the Master, the monks had expelled him because he was too stupid to take vows.

"Too stupid even to be a monk!" was how Pallachi described him, laughing.

During this exchange, Octavo stood mute, head down, obviously embarrassed.

"But Signore Pallachi," said Isabella quietly, "surely it takes more brains to be a stone mason than a monk?"

The question took Pallachi by surprise and he had to think carefully before responding. In the meantime, Isabella noticed a smile spread across Octavo's still down-turned face. He looked up briefly and caught her eye, as if to congratulate or thank her on taking the Master down a peg or two.

Before Pallachi could think of a response, Isabella spoke again.