‘“Another one opens”,’ said Marcus dutifully. ‘Yes. I know that one.’

‘Then I have a feeling that you have just made an entrance into my scheme of things.’

Marcus sat forward, as much as he could in the low chair in which he was almost slumped, chin in his hands, the glass tilting dangerously. ‘I really don’t think that I follow you, I don’t know what your scheme is, do I?’

‘If you are willing to put yourself in my hands, if you can give me your trust, your complete obedience, accept without question my decisions and my discipline, bow to my authority, become as it were, my common clay, then I am certain that I could make you my l’Aiglon!’

There was a moment’s complete silence in the cabin. Marcus thought it wisest to stay still, as if the tremendous impact of what had been said was taking time to register, and that when it did, whatever he said must sound real and completely spontaneous; for in truth he was only immediately aware that Minerva had been right. The ‘accident’ was, most probably, deliberate. He was, and he felt it very keenly, in the hot seat. He sat staring wide-eyed at the quietly smiling face looking down at him. Dominant position: naturally.

‘Goodness me,’ he said eventually in a voice of wonder. ‘I mean, well! You ask for a hell of a lot, don’t you?’

‘I offer dreams beyond dreaming.’

‘Yes, I see that. And that’s your scheme, is it?’

‘It is my scheme.’ He took up the bottle, replenished their glasses; Marcus held his as in a daze, apparently stunned by the glittering future presented to him, or the possibilities suggested, he lay back in the deep chair, staring up at the steel bulkhead and the wavering reflections of water sparkling through the porthole. How fine he looks, thought Grottorosso, confident that he had baited his hook well and that the fish was nosing around almost ready to take it. Virile, certainly, a fine head, firmer than l’Aiglon’s, a better jaw and mouth, strong throat, broad chest and fine legs. He would be a worthy adversary, someone with whom to enjoy the battle of wits; and strength. A simple youth, clear-eyed, according to Puglia probably virginal, certainly not experienced, nothing coarse or knowing. But capable of being trained; splendidly endowed, she had said, and apparently quite unaware of his tremendous potential, particularly in that direction. How astonishing to find such purity, such golden elegance, such clarity in a youth today, when the majority were either doped to the eye-balls or had indulged in carnal practices from the age of ten. And what immense satisfaction it would be to teach him: to train him, to open his eyes to the opportunities which could lie ahead. At the present moment he is obviously over-awed, unsure, lacking in confidence, but within time he will be fearless, bold, standing so high and so tall that he will need my chastisement, my correcting, and my humbling. The idea itself made him feel almost faint with pleasure, so that he sprang suddenly to his feet in order to retain his strength. Marcus looked up in mild surprise.