Down on the docks the voyagers were disembarking one by one, from the ship recently docked from Naples. While the sailors carried their trunks and luggage off the ship.
Miss Margaret Cindercroft steps onto the Docks and looked around the port, her eyes coming to rest on a tall man dressed in dark clothes. She gives him a long, appreciative glance, starting from his boots and working her eyes up, slowly.
Her sister, Lady Grubiella Foxglove follows her, gently crooning to the small dog in her arms.
He is quite handsome, that fellow over there, the one we travelled over with, don't you think, Grubiella?
Ohh Margaret, my poor little Princippe he really doesn't like the sea....he is quite off his feed! Look! He is still shivering...
You are right, Poor little "Princippe" he is indeed shivering.
Grubiella looks sideways at the tall Gentleman and whispers back.
But you are right about that man, though. He can pat my Pug any-time!
So forward sister! What will he think of us?
He will think whatever we want him to think....
Margaret gives the man another approving glance from his boots up, raising her eyes slowly and admiring his male form.
.and my forwardness has served us well in the past I seem to remember. What about that time you got into that tight spot with that French Captain at the barracks. continues Grubiella.
Tight spot, me? Margaret puts on her most innocent expression, while giving the tall man another admiring glance.
You were happy enough for me to be forwards that time, Grubiella gives Margaret a friendly hip push.
I seem to remember a friendly Frenchman, or two.Margaret smiles at the memory.
...or three or four...and they were all rather friendly I seem to remember. Grubiella giggles.

The tall Man, unable to ignore the Ladies, bows politely to them and introduces himself.
My name is Cesare Bertolini, from Mestre. At your service Signore.
Do you know this island, Signor Bertolini? Margaret smiles her second best smile.
I am afraid I don't. I too, am a stranger here. Cesare smiles back
I hope we meet again. Cesare bows again and walks towards the village.
I hope so too Signor. Margaret beams at his receding form.

Grubiella strokes Il Princippe and looks around.
I wonder what they will be like here?
Tanned and brown, I'm guessing...it's not like England here with all that dreadful rain. Margaret smiles.
I do still miss Ol'Blighty you know. Grubiella looks wistful for a very short moment. Will we ever return, do you think?
I don't know if England is on the cards for us, any time soon, Grubiella dearest. We have a job to do here, don't forget. For a fleeting second Margaret's eyes cloud over.
This is true. I don't forget. Grubiella nods seriously.
Margaret reaches over to pet Il Princippe warmly: There must be some sort of boarding house, where we can get some chicken stew for your little darling.
I certainly hope so, he hasn't eaten since Napoli.
I am sure there must be. Look around, it looks lovely here, and well appointed. Its not all huts and shacks. I think we should follow our noses for some food and drink, dear sister.
Grubiella nods in agreement: do you think the trunks and luggage will be safe here for the moment, or will everything be stolen?
I am sure they will be safe. This isn't Naples. Margaret waves to a local man in the distance, and signals him to come over: Pardon Signore? Can we safely leave our things here, while we look for lodgings?
He isn't bad either. Grubiella whispers to Margaret.

Welcome to Sorrentina Ladies. Of course you can leave your things here, they will be quite safe. Hugo bows to the two Ladies.
I couldn't help overhearing that you are looking for somewhere to refresh yourselves. There is an excellent coffee establishment, on your right down the walkway over there. Hugo points towards the walkway in the distance.
Bu-o-n-a se-r-a, Gi-o-va-n-o-tto. Grubiella tries her best Italian. Gr-a-z-i-e.
Hugo Bows again and strolls away.

A short while later, having found the Coffee house, Grubiella and Margaret savour their Coffee.
A most charming place, Marge. A lovely view, don't you think?
Very lovely, dear Grubiella. One really couldn't do this in England, without catching one's death.
Margaret pulls down her bodice a bit, just in case a man might pass by. A girl has to be prepared.
How much money do we have left? I imagine we will have to be a bit careful....you know these small places. Grubiella strokes Il Princippe, now fully revived, after tasting the local rabbit stew.
Do you want me to dig it out right now sister? Margaret looks around and giggles and thinks of the purse safely strapped to her upper thigh.
Don't be daft! I was just wondering how long before we would have to think about acquiring some more?
Not much, sister. We may well have to earn our supper soon. Margaret whispers.
That is what I was thinking. We shall have to see what the people are like here, and which of our methods will work best here. Grubiella continues.
I do wonder how many Men there might be on such a small island though... Margaret looks wistful.
It looks like an affluent place, so there may well be some men that will suit our needs. Grubiella narrows her eyes and looks around critically. ....Or Ladies with too many jewels... Grubiella continues.
We had best be polite then, to all we meet until the right opportunity presents itself. Margaret gives Grubiella a meaningful look.
I shall be politeness personified. I promise. I shall curtsey to everyone...ect...ect...not knive anyone...I know...I know
I do adore you Sister, and your wit. Margaret giggles. Have you hidden your dagger in a safe place?
Off course I have Dear Sister. Its strapped to my thigh. Its quite safe. Grubiella touches her thigh.

Deep in thought, the Conte took a sip of his Grappa. He savored the sharp taste, and its heat at the back of his throat, as he swallowed. He needed something to calm his nerves after the meeting with the Proffesore's friend Abu bin Malachi. His soul filled with bitter sweet memories of Istanbul, the Conte stared out of the window, as a peaceful sunset colored the quiet Port of Sorrentina, in shades of orange and pink.

It was obvious from their conversation, that the Ottoman envoy did remember him, and certainly knew his story. The Conte did not feel nervous that Abu bin Malachi would speak of it, or even share his knowledge with the Professore. He hadn't acquired the reputation of being the best Spy in the Ottoman Empire for being a gossip! The Conte, however, wouldn't have called what happened harmless trouble, but more a social scandal, which had ended in tragedy and had seen him sent back to Venice in disgrace to administer the estates at home, and an arranged marriage with Giovanna Mocellini.

He had been honest with Giovanna from the beginning. She, for her part, had been accepting and generous, and had given him six more children. With the passing of time they had grown fond of one another, and he had been genuinely heartbroken when she had died giving birth to their last child, Federico.

The Conte sighed and gazed out of the window at the port bellow. In the distance he could see Devi sitting dejected on the wall next to the entrance of the villa. He had let her linger on purpose, to see if she would manage to fit in, or not. It seemed, as he had suspected, that Devi had not managed to fit into life at Sorrentina. He hoped that she would come to her own conclusions and return to the north of her own volition. Observing her from his window, he was now in a quandary. Should he tell her what he had learnt about Achille's whereabouts, or was it kinder to leave her in ignorance, and let her conclude that Achille had abandoned her?

Devi liked the spot she had found. From here she could watch the port and all its comings and goings, without drawing attention to herself.

It had been several weeks now since Achille had disappeared without a word. She had spoken to the Conte, and as yet he had allowed her to stay, delaying his trip to the north and then Prussia, for some reason she didn't know, but she didn't really care why, for it had bought her some more time in Sorrentina, and the hope that Achille would return before she was forced to return north. It was obvious that the Conte knew more about the situation than he was telling her, and that Professore had proved a much tougher nut to crack for information, then she had originally thought. That nice, quiet Professore had smiled at her sweetly and feigned ignorance, and nothing she could do had worked. It hd been like extracting blood from a stone. Devi signed. The Conte had been right, life in Sorrentina wasn't going to be easy. She didn't know anyone, or the ways of this place. It was small and everyone knew one another and strangers like herself stood out like a sore thumb. Being neither servant or Aristocrat, Devi was finding it difficult to fit in.

The Fishermen were friendly enough, but although they knew Achille they could tell her nothing she didn't already know.

Sior Achille?...Si...Si...e andato via sulla piccola barca....

Achille had told her he ran the Taverna in Sorrentina, so she had gone there and had tried asking the surly Barmaid, Lizabetta, but at the mere mention of Achille's name, this one had gone from surly to aggressive, and had chased Devi out of the taverna, calling her a Dirty, Gypsy Slut! Which was most insulting, as she was neither dirty or a slut. As she wandered back through the port, Devi wondered who this Lizabetta was, and made a mental note that she would have to be replaced, when she took over as Achille's wife. A Barmaid like that was bad for business. Devi hoped that Lizabetta didn't turn out to be Achille's sister, or God forbid, his mother.

And so, Devi sat on the wall, staring aimlessly at the travelers disembarking from the most recent ship to arrive from the mainland.

Deep in thought, the Conte took a sip of his Grappa. He savored the sharp taste, and its heat at the back of his throat, as he swallowed. He needed something to calm his nerves after the meeting with the Proffesore's friend Abu bin Malachi. His soul filled with bitter sweet memories of Istanbul, the Conte stared out of the window, as a peaceful sunset colored the quiet Port of Sorrentina, in shades of orange and pink.

It was obvious from their conversation, that the Ottoman envoy did remember him, and certainly knew his story. The Conte did not feel nervous that Abu bin Malachi would speak of it, or even share his knowledge with the Professore. He hadn't acquired the reputation of being the best Spy in the Ottoman Empire for being a gossip! The Conte, however, wouldn't have called what happened harmless trouble, but more a social scandal, which had ended in tragedy and had seen him sent back to Venice in disgrace to administer the estates at home, and an arranged marriage with Giovanna Mocellini.

He had been honest with Giovanna from the beginning. She, for her part, had been accepting and generous, and had given him six more children. With the passing of time they had grown fond of one another, and he had been genuinely heartbroken when she had died giving birth to their last child, Federico.

The Conte sighed and gazed out of the window at the port bellow. In the distance he could see Devi sitting dejected on the wall next to the entrance of the villa. He had let her linger on purpose, to see if she would manage to fit in, or not. It seemed, as he had suspected, that Devi had not managed to fit into life at Sorrentina. He hoped that she would come to her own conclusions and return to the north of her own volition. Observing her from his window, he was now in a quandary. Should he tell her what he had learnt about Achille's whereabouts, or was it kinder to leave her in ignorance, and let her conclude that Achille had abandoned her?

Devi liked the spot she had found. From here she could watch the port and all its comings and goings, without drawing attention to herself.

It had been several weeks now since Achille had disappeared without a word. She had spoken to the Conte, and as yet he had allowed her to stay, delaying his trip to the north and then Prussia, for some reason she didn't know, but she didn't really care why, for it had bought her some more time in Sorrentina, and the hope that Achille would return before she was forced to return north. It was obvious that the Conte knew more about the situation than he was telling her, and that Professore had proved a much tougher nut to crack for information, then she had originally thought. That nice, quiet Professore had smiled at her sweetly and feigned ignorance, and nothing she could do had worked. It hd been like extracting blood from a stone. Devi signed. The Conte had been right, life in Sorrentina wasn't going to be easy. She didn't know anyone, or the ways of this place. It was small and everyone knew one another and strangers like herself stood out like a sore thumb. Being neither servant or Aristocrat, Devi was finding it difficult to fit in.

The Fishermen were friendly enough, but although they knew Achille they could tell her nothing she didn't already know.

Sior Achille?...Si...Si...e andato via sulla piccola barca....

Achille had told her he ran the Taverna in Sorrentina, so she had gone there and had tried asking the surly Barmaid, Lizabetta, but at the mere mention of Achille's name, this one had gone from surly to aggressive, and had chased Devi out of the taverna, calling her a Dirty, Gypsy Slut! Which was most insulting, as she was neither dirty or a slut. As she wandered back through the port, Devi wondered who this Lizabetta was, and made a mental note that she would have to be replaced, when she took over as Achille's wife. A Barmaid like that was bad for business. Devi hoped that Lizabetta didn't turn out to be Achille's sister, or God forbid, his mother.

And so, Devi sat on the wall, staring aimlessly at the travelers disembarking from the most recent ship to arrive from the mainland.

The Conte Liked to think of himself as an enlightened man. He had always enjoyed learning, and was fascinated by all the Sciences. His, was a curious and restless nature, always ready to pursue a mystery, always seeking to know more. He liked to work late into the night and often it would be dawn before he was ready to stop.

This Christmas Eve had been just such a night. When Midnight Mass was over, everyone had gone to their respective homes. He had found himself alone, far from his family, so it had been a perfect night to indulge his interests. Now the cold winter light of dawn was shining through the windows. The Conte felt tired, but satisfied with the nights work.

He liked this time of the night, when everything was quiet. He liked to stand and look out from his window at the port and Village of Sorentina, asleep bellow, sipping his home made Grappa.

As he gazed out of the window, as he had done on so many other nights he saw something very unusual. The Conte moved closer to the window to get a better look........Not believing his eyes he looked at the glass containing his latest batch of Grappa and put it down and looked again.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE !!!!!

Meanwhile back at Ravenna....

Devi had been kicking her heels for many days in Ravena, waiting anxiously for Achille to arrive. Sior Gandt had left immediately upon their arrival in Ravena, for his overland ride to Roma. She had felt relieved to see him go, but also had grave doubts. She pretty much expected him to disappear, and a good bit of work they had done for the Conte and the Professore would be utterly wasted.

But for now all she could do was to wait for Achille to show up from Venezia. She had even had time to visit the famous mosaics and admire the tomb of Galla Placidia. She smiled in spite of herself. It would be nice to spend some time with Achille...just her and the handsome tavern keeper, on one of the Conte's ships, heading down to Sicily and then up the other side of the peninsula to Rocca Sorrentina...it would be very nice, she dreamed.

As she continued her daily tour of the portshe noted that yet another ship had arrived in the harbour at Ravenna ...the harbour master said that yes, this indeed was a ship from Venezia...and sure enough after she was tied up at the wharf, and the gangway set up, she could see a familiar figure among the disembarking passengers. Devis heart did a little somersault!

Yes, there was Achille...he was coming down the gangway from the tall-sided merchantman...but his expression seemed a bit odd...slightly strained...

Devi moved towards him as quickly as she could, and then noticed he was not alone. Devis expressionbecame one of horror and surprise as she recognisedSior Francesco and Saturnines following Achille down the gangway.She looked at Achille raising her eyebrows questioningly. He responded with a weary look.

Where did you find THEM!!? she whispered to Achille as she watched them slowly make their way down the gangway.

Achille coughed They found me.......it seems the Contes father, Sior Francesco has a wish to take a holiday at Rocca Sorentina and introduce his new wife to his son.

His Wife!!!! it was then that Devi noticed a young woman following the men down the gangway.

Achille gave Devi a look that spoke volumes, and from their exchanged expressions she knew that he would explain everything later in detail, meanwhile all he just said You know them?

Yes, I have known Sior Francesco since I was a girl, and Saturnines also. I have not met the....errr...young lady. Devi quickly whispered back.

Sior Francesco smiled a broad smile as he stepped onto the paving stones of the port.

Ahhh but its good to have ones feet on terra firma. I may be Venetian but I dont like big ships....ahhh but is that my little Devi I see? Come and give your Granpa Foscari a big hug!

Devi had no choice but to let herself be embraced. Out of the corner of one eye she quickly looked the Wife over, then she noticed Achille making a Lets get this party on-board the ship to Sorentina as quickly as possible gesture, and gently disengaged herself from the old gentlemans grasp.

So my little Devi, you must tell me all about what you have been up to, since I last saw you. Are you married yet? Has Donna Augostina succeeded in marrying you off to one of your cousins? Or are you holding out for someone else? You are, arent you...I can see it in your face Sior Francesco continued with a knowing chuckle.

Devi could feel herself going the colour of a Napolitan Pomodoro, and had to put effort into resisting the temptation to impale Old Granpa Foscari on his own walking stick. Instead she smiled as sweetly as she could, as dreams of days alone with Achille on the ship to Sorentina faded.

When Elena had finished eating her breakfast she opened up the bundle she had brought with her, and unfolded the clothes she had Borrowed from Ezrah. She quickly slipped off her own dress and put the borrowed clothes on. Ezrah's clothes were off course way too big for her, but with some clever tucking and tying in strategic places they would be fine, and anyway no Peasant boy ever had clothes that fitted. She bound her breasts with a sash so that they would not be noticeable. Finally she pulled on her boots, put on the hat and went to look at her reflection in the pool nearby.

Elena felt more or less pleased with the results of her disguise. She would just about pass for an ordinary boy on a horse, except for her hair. Her braid was just too long and thick to be hidden under the hat. She would have to cut it. She hesitated. It would grow again she decided and cut her braid in half. She buried the piece she had cut off as Donna Augostina had taught her to do, and tied the remainder into a fashionable Queue and was now satisfied with her reflection.

Feeling safer, in her disguise, Elena bundled up her spare clothes and food, and packed them on the horse. She needed to be going. She knew she needed to put more distance between the camp and herself. Ezrah might just be annoyed enough to try and follow her, although it was unlikely he would do so for long.

As she rode she found herself thinking of the past. Her thoughts strayed to the time she had spent in Sweden, and how different her life would have been had he lived! At the time they told her that he had not suffered. That the fall from the horse had killed him instantly. And so, there had been no annulment, and therefore no marriage. When her father had come to fetch her home to Venice, he had been very kind and gentle with her. He had shown great understanding and had not blamed her. Instead he had bundled her into a carriage and they had begun that nightmarish journey through central Europe. They had been forced to stop in Poland, and she had been ill for weeks afterwards, and still remembered very little about that time, but when they had told her of the second death she knew that something inside her had also died, leaving a large gaping hole where hope had once been.

Elena forced herself to stop thinking of that time and to concentrate on her present situation. Not sure where she was going to go, she climbed higher into the mountains hoping to get her bearings from the landscape.

She knew that she could not go back into the Veneto, so reaching her Grandfather at the Malcontenta was out of the question, let alone going back to Venice! She could probably travel through Lombardy without too much trouble, and reach Milan, where she knew the Austrian governor, Archduke Ferdinand quite well. But from there where would she go? France? Maybe she could stay with her friend Olympe de Gouges, but Paris was weeks of travelling away. From Paris she could easily get to England, but England was even further away. On the other hand she did have friends in the south of France. So that was another possibility. Off course she could just make her way from Milan to Genoa, and find a ship sailing to Naples and Sorentina. She had enough gold with her carefully hidden away for that, so that was another option. Then again, if she went down on the other side of the mountains she would also be in Hapsburg territory, and she had friends in Vienna.

Pondering her choices Elena made her way up the mountain, where she planned to stop for the night.

(With thanks to The Misty Mountains in the Calas Galadhon Park)

Dear reader here is a possibility for you to be interactive with this story. Where do you think Elena should go???