Levkas Man (Mystery)

by Hammond Innes

  His voice faltered and his body sagged again with weariness. "It's just a dream," he murmured. "But if I had a boat, a few months . . . there was nothing in Asia Minor or Russia, nothing that proved anything—definitely. What I wrote then . . ." He was leaning forward, intent, his words coming slowly, as though by speaking his thoughts aloud he could clarify his mind. "Theories—nothing more. And I was guilty, like the rest of them, of twisting facts to prove what I believed to be true. But there comes a point when you know the facts don't fit. Then you can only sit back and re-think your theories. I did that one whole winter in Amsterdam, arguing it out on paper. A new thesis—negative, rather than positive. If Homo sapiens, as represented by Lartet's Cro-Magnon type, did not come from the east, via Russia, or up through Mesopotamia, then either he evolved on the spot—there is a theory that each Ice Age produced its own natural development of our species—or else he must have come north from Africa." "Is that the book you sent to a British publisher?" "Yes. I knew the Russians wouldn't print it. . ." He looked at me, suddenly puzzled. "You know about it? How? I never told Adrian. I never told anybody." And then he became very excited as I told him about Holroyd's visit and how the book had come to be rejected. "I knew it. I knew he must be involved." His eyes were blazing, his body literally trembling. "Holroyd used it in a book of his own—published quite recently—my theories, my own words. And no acknowledgment. None." Those hands of his, those big hands, were clenching and unclenching, as though he were going through the motions of throttling the man. He smiled to himself, his teeth bared, and his face had changed. It was wolfish and there was something in his eyes. A crafty look. The trembling had stopped and there was a stillness about him now. I was conscious suddenly of evil. I can't explain it—the dunes maybe, the heat; but something had invaded us. And yet his words were ordinary enough, his manner practical:

  "You're going back—to Despotiko? You'll see Holroyd?" I nodded, not saying anything, appalled by that unreason-

  ing sense of evil. A cold shiver ran down my spine, for the evil stemmed from him. I was certain of that. It wasn't the dunes or the heat—it was there, deep inside him, and it scared me.

  "Last year ..." his voice was tense, the words beating into my brain with the glare of the heat refracted from sand and stone. "I discovered something in a cave-dwelling on Meganisi. By an island called Tiglia in the channel between Meganisi and Levkas. Some bones. I sent them to Adrian. I asked him to get them dated. Human bones—pieces of a skull-cap, part of a jaw, some teeth. Also fragments of animal bone, part of a woolly rhinoceros."

  "There's a letter from him on your desk."

  "Does he give the dating?"

  "About thirty-five thousand b.p."

  He nodded as though it confirmed what he already knew.

  "He also made the point that you had no right to keep the location of such an important find to yourself."

  "Good!" He seemed pleased. He was smiling. "When something like that is sent in for dating . . ." The smile had bared his teeth again, the eyes cunning, that wolfish look. "They talk. They pass it on. Soon everybody knows, and then the vultures gather." He laughed, but only as an emphasis to bitterness. "You're staying at the camp, are you? You'll be there when Holroyd arrives?"

  I nodded, wondering what was in his mind. His face had smoothed out again, an expression of innocence. "Perhaps Adrian is right. The individual in the field is unimportant. What is important is the corporate knowledge of the scientific world as a whole. That's what they say, isn't it? That's their excuse." His hands clenched again. "But what happens if the scientific world doesn't believe you? How do you make them understand if they reject, not the truth, but the man himself?" He was speaking in a whisper, his eyes lowered as though communing with his feet. "Then you must use other methods. I've been thinking about that, all the time I've been alone. And now you come here, young, thoughtless, full of energy and vitality . . ." He stopped suddenly, his head cocked on one

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  side, listening. I heard it then, the faint sound of a bell. "Sheep," he said. "Every few days that bell-wether leads the flock across the dunes to grazing on the far side. There's a shepherd with them." His head had turned towards the shaft of stones that was his refuge and he began to get to his feet. The bell was jangling now and he paused, his hands still on the ground, his body crouched, and that hunted look back in his eyes. "Something has disturbed them. They're running."

  Faint on the wind I heard the distant sound of a human voice, a man shouting. It came from the far side of the dune, from the way I had come, and I thought I heard a dog bark. I was on my feet then, running along the dune top, and where it fell into the ravine of which I had climbed to have my lunch, I saw the sheep in a huddle, facing away from me, their eyes on the dog. It was an Alsatian, and the soldier who held it on its leash was arguing with the shepherd. Beyond them was Kotiadis, in his shirt sleeves, his jacket over his arm and his tie hanging loose.

  I turned and ran back, out of sight below the crest of the dune, the sound of the shepherd's voice raised in anger fading behind me. The old man was on his feet when I reached him and I grabbed the rucksack and thrust it into his hand. "Quick!" I said. "Down there." And I pointed to an area of rock exposed by erosion. There was just a chance. "It's Kotiadis with a tracker dog. But he's following my tracks, not yours. Lie flat and keep your head down."

  I didn't wait to see whether he understood. There wasn't time. I back-tracked along the ridge, and where the dune ended, I saw the dog again pulling the soldier along on a tight leash, Kotiadis close behind them. They were circling the flock now and for a moment I was in full view of them as I slid down the side of the dune. But they were so intent on the trail, and on keeping their footing in the loose sand, that I got away into a hollow in the dunes without being seen. I was in the floor of the ravine then, the dune between me and the parallel ravine, the old shaft-head out of sight.

  I kept to the floor of the ravine, following a line of old

  sheep droppings. It led me to the end of the dune country, and as I climbed the last slope of sand, I heard the sheep bell again, far away and sounding quietly. The dog was silent. By then I had put the better part of a mile between myself and the place where I had left him. There was no point in going on, and where the sand ended, giving way to rock and a sort of maquis scrub interspersed with patches of poor grass, I sat down to recover my breath.

  About five minutes later they came into view, the dog with his nose down, still following my trail. The soldier saw me first, standing and pointing excitedly, the dog straining at the leash. "Are you alone?" Kotiadis called up to me. He could see I was alone and he said something to the soldier, and then came panting up the slope. "Where is Dr. Van der Voort?"

  "I didn't know you were following me," I said.

  "Of course, I follow you. What do you expect?" He was hot and angry at finding me alone. "Where is Dr. Van der Voort?" he repeated. "He is somewhere here. I am sure of it." He was out of breath and a whiff of garlic came to me on the hot air. "Why else do you come here?"

  I began to tell him about the geological significance of the dunes. But he hadn't come here with a soldier and a tracker dog to be lectured on the last Ice Age. "Where is your rucksack? You have a rucksack when you get on to the bus."

  "Have you been following me since seven o'clock this morning?"

  "But of course."

  I was annoyed with myself for not realizing the trap he had set for me.

  "Where is your rucksack?" he repeated.

  "Somewhere around," I said. "I put it down when I had lunch, but these dunes are confusing."

  He sat down beside me. "Now you answer my questions please. Why do you come here?"

  Patiently I started in again on the strange nature of the dunes. But he refused to be side-tracked. He was still hot and angry, impatient for something to justify the time and energy

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  he had expe
nded. The interrogation was not a success. Finally he said, "Okay, we look for your rucksack now."

  But of course we didn't find it. He'd given the dog the wrong briefing and only once did the animal take us anywhere near the shaft with its shadowed cavity. Finally I suggested the shepherd might have picked it up and that took us a good mile from the dune country and wasted almost an hour. In the end he gave it up and we went down to the road where the soldier had parked his army truck.

  The sun had set and it was almost dark by the time we got back to Despotiko. They were just settling down to their evening meal. "You will stay in the camp now," Kotiadis said. "You are not permitted to leave it—any of you."

  It was dark under the trees and their faces, as they listened to him, were lit by the glow of the fire. "What about the cave?" Cartwright asked. "I take it you're not stopping us from continuing our work?" And as Kotiadis hesitated, he added quickly, "I think I should tell you that Professor Hol-royd of London University is in Athens. I had a cable from him last night. He'll be at the General Direction of Antiquities today. That's under the Prime Minister's Office. And then he'll be coming on here to examine the cave-dwelling himself."

  "You are not permitted to leave the camp. That is all I have said." Kotiadis moved towards Cartwright. "And now a word with you please."

  Cartwright put his plate down and got to his feet. They went off together and Sonia said to me, "You must be hungry. Would you like some stew?" I think she expected me to be leaving with Kotiadis, for her eyes beckoned me to the fire, and as she handed me a plate, she whispered, "Did you find him?"

  "Yes," I said. "He's all right—for the moment."

  "Thank God!" she breathed.

  I started to tell her what had happened, but she shook her head. "Not now."

  Cartwright was leading Kotiadis to the old man's tent. She

  followed them with her eyes, the ladle poised over the stew-pot. The old man's things were in there and I bent down, my head close to hers. "They've got a tracker dog." Her hair touched my cheek as she nodded. "Better eat this quickly," she said, pouring the contents of the ladle onto my plate.

  But she was wrong in thinking Kotiadis would take me with him. He came out of the tent with a bundle under his arm wrapped in newspaper, and after talking a moment with Cartwright, walked over to where I sat stuffing the food hurriedly into my mouth. "Mr. Cartwright has promised that he and his companions will not leave the camp. You will give the same promise please."

  I looked up at him. "Why should I? You've got soldiers here."

  "You are not being co-operative."

  "Of course not." The plate was shaking in my hand, anger sweeping through me. Why the hell couldn't they leave him alone? "Do you think I don't know what you've got under your arm?"

  The firelight glimmered in the pupils of his eyes. "Perhaps if we have some of Dr. Van der Voort's clothes today . . ." He gave his habitual little shrug. "But it does not matter. You have indicated where we must search and tomorrow we try again." He was so sure of himself he was actually smiling. "And now I will do as you suggest. I will order the soldiers to watch you. So please do not try to leave the camp. They have guns and they will shoot."

  He left then, and shortly afterwards the soldiers arrived with their tent. The corporal sited it on the path leading to the village, and after it was erected and a guard posted, he and the rest sat around watching us. Under surveillance like that, the atmosphere in the camp was strained and there was little conversation until the meal was over. Whilst the others were washing up, Cartwright moved over to where I was sitting. "Mind if I join you?"

  I didn't say anything. It was his camp and he could sit where he liked. He pulled out a pipe and sat down, chewing

  at the curved stem of it. Finally he said, "I don't know how long you will have to stay here. But since we're forced into each other's company like this, I think I should tell you that I'm not responsible for what Kotiadis is doing. I knew, of course, that Dr. Van der Voort had been in Russia, that he had had books published there and that he spoke the language. By inference, I suppose, you could say that I knew he was a Communist. But I did not inform the authorities."

  It was a categorical statement and I did not doubt for a moment that it was true. "Then why did he attack you?"

  He hesitated, his owl-like eyes staring straight at me. "That evening—" He began to fumble for his tobacco pouch. "I had to telephone Athens—an archaeological friend, Leo Demotakis. I made the call from the taverna and was in bed shortly after nine. Dr. Van der Voort had gone off on his own —he often walked alone at night. But he was in the taverna around ten o'clock and by then somebody from the Public Order Ministry had phoned Andreas to check on the expedition and the identity of its leader. He's the village headman. The enquiry was political and he admits that he warned Dr. Van der Voort." He began to fill his pipe. "It's not easy to explain. Dr. Van der Voort and I—" He hesitated. "You know Professor Holroyd sponsored this expedition. I'm his assistant and Dr. Van der Voort hated Bill Holroyd—a quite unreasoned, pathological hatred. I found that out very early on, when we were still in Macedonia. Anyway, when Andreas told him I had phoned Athens earlier, I suppose he leapt to the c-c-concl-clusion . . ." He turned to me suddenly. "I wasn't given a chance to explain. He seemed driven by a f-fury of rage, words pouring out of him—" Hans called to us that tea was ready and he got quickly to his feet as though glad of the opportunity to escape. "I thought you ought to know. That's all." And he added, "I can tell you, it was a most unpleasant experience."

  He went over to the fire then, and I sat there trying to understand my father's behaviour, the violence of his reaction. Cartwright's explanation of what had happened had been

  quite direct. I didn't like the man, but I was certain that what he had told me was the truth.

  "Here's your tea."

  Sonia stood there, holding an enamel mug out to me. It steamed in the cool night air. I took it and she hesitated, as though about to say something. I wanted to have a talk with her, but alone, not in front of the others. Our eyes met for a moment, then she turned abruptly and went back to them. The fire had died to embers, the glow of it on their faces, and behind them, and all around, the olive grove was dark in shadow. Somewhere a bird, or perhaps it was a frog, repeated and repeated its single fluting note, regular as a metronome, while I continued to sit there, withdrawn and alone, thinking of that tired old man preparing to make his nightly journey to the reservoir for water. And tomorrow Kotiadis would pick him up and that would be the end of all his dreams, all the years of wandering and searching. It would finish him. I felt that very strongly, and when eventually I went to the tent and crawled into his sleeping bag, it was with a feeling of resentment, almost a physical sickening, at the way the pattern of both our lives was being drawn inexorably closer.

  So far my involvement in my father's affairs fiad been largely accidental, and in writing about what happened during that hot summer in the Mediterranean, I find it difficult to decide exactly when and how I stopped fighting against the inevitable and decided to let myself become engaged emotionally in his affairs. Certainly Holroyd's arrival in the camp at Despotiko was a decisive factor. It personalized the old man's struggle for recognition and made me realize for the first time the powerful forces he had to contend with.

  Holroyd was a member of the academic Establishment. It was typical of him that, instead of coming straight out to the scene of operations, he had spent a whole day in Athens first. And when he did arrive, it was in an official car and accompanied by one of the directors of the General Direction of Antiquities. They had stopped the night somewhere on their way up from Athens and Holroyd had taken the trouble to telephone ahead to say he would be arriving at eleven o'clock.

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  Levkas Man

  As a result, nobody went up to the dig that morning and Cart-wright fussed around the camp, making certain that everything was in order. The folding table and the two canvas chairs were brought out from the
mess tent, mugs laid ready, a bottle of ouzo, glasses. They had even purchased some mocha coffee from the taverna. Hans dug a new latrine and then appeared, transformed in blue trousers and pale shirt, with his fair hair slicked down with water. Sonia put on a short white dress and Cartwright a tie to go with his grey flannels and elbow-patched sports jacket.

  It was a little before eleven that Holroyd came into the camp. He had his pipe in his mouth and he was smiling, his round, babyish face looking pink and newly scrubbed. Cart-wright went forward to meet him, holding himself very erect in an effort to conceal that slouching, gangling walk of his. I almost expected him to salute. It was all very old-fashioned and English, the two of them in grey flannels and sports jackets formally shaking hands against the exotic background of the olive grove, and the Greek official standing beside them, neat in a dark blue suit and dark glasses.

  I now knew a little more about Holroyd's background, for the night before Sonia had settled down on the grass outside my tent and we had talked for nearly an hour. He was the son of a Bradford spinning mill operator and all through the early 'thirties, when he had been growing up, his father had been unemployed. He had been newspaper boy, errand boy, and then his father had got part-time work at another mill and they had moved out to Cleckheaton. Through voluntary work at a local library he had managed to bring himself to the notice of one of the founders, a rich mill owner, who had supplemented his scholarships and seen him through grammar school and then university. Anthropology was not a very popular subject at the time, and with the war just over, he had got himself appointed to a department of the Allied Military Government in Germany that was dealing with papers and documents of scientific interest.