— Will your vengeance never end?
— It is not vengeance. I am at war with the King of France. Hoist the foresail! Make fast the outer jib! This King who cripples France with taxes, to wage wars that bleed his people dry. I am against galleys, against torture, against slavery and against despotism.
— Yes, but you are alone.
— No. I am simply the first.
— Be so good as to leave the cabin so I may dress.
— You're not at Court now, Madame. This is a ship captained by a man whom the King condemned to death.
— Like a thief.
— Yes. And because of a woman like you. She made me steal from the treasury. She took the spoils before denouncing the thief. And I loved her.
— Why are you telling me?
— You're a woman.
— You're drunk.
— No, I'm mad! I'll make you pay for all those who suffered for your beauty, who wished for a glance from you, who prayed God that you would drop your kerchief, that they might pick it up from the dust in your wake.
— There are Christians here!
— Don't count on those scoundrels. Candia is a town built on slavery. And you are Escrainville's spoils of war. No one will help you.
— Not even the Knights of Malta?
— Not with their swords.
— But with gold?
— Only within the compass of the law.
— And they're warrior monks!
— Candia is a powder keg caught between Islam and Christianity. One false move and it'll go up!