We had barely set out the few things we had chosen to unpack at this stage when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of a servant with hot water and towels, and the promise that he would return in fifteen minutes to show us the way to the Officers’ Mess.
I will forego a description of the evening’s proceedings. One formal meal in the company of strangers is much like another, unless something singular occurs, which was not the case here.
Captain Bentley struck me as a very young man to hold such a responsible position, but he had very gentleman-like manners, as did his lieutenant and ensign. The garrison being but a single company, the officers were on this occasion distinctly outnumbered by the guests, and even by the ladies, whom they spent the evening entertaining with extravagant compliments.
Nothing was said of any consequence, but we all retired to bed content with our lot.
The morrow was to begin Wickham’s inspection, and we saw nothing of him after breakfast. Kitty and Golightly were in conference with the company chaplain, as was Morland with the garrison surgeon, who regarded him with scarcely concealed awe. In Meryton we quite forget our good fortune in having one of the lions of the profession to poultice our boils and prescribe our purges, but everywhere else the name of Morland makes medical men’s ears prick up.
Mrs Morland announced her intention of sketching the view from the battlements, so that I inherited the task of keeping both Mrs Bennet, Lydia, and Kitty amused. The complete absence from the island of theatres, assembly rooms, drapers, trinket merchants and milliners made for arduous work, especially as Lydia had taken it into her head to fret about her children, whom she had willingly abandoned to the care of their nursemaid almost as soon as an outing had been proposed.
Now she alternated between supposing them laid low with a fever and running riot without her supervision.
“I am sure Arianna will not control them properly,” she said, scarcely more than a dozen times before we were out of the fort. “They are always so wild when she releases them to me. I was saying so to George just the other day, but he never listens to me. I do wish you would have a word with him, Papa.”
As it happened, Wickham had himself spoken to me on the subject the previous evening.
“I cannot help wishing Kitty had a little of our Arianna’s method with the children. They are quite different creatures with her. But to be sure, in general they are so spoilt! It is a pity you cannot put your daughter in the way of managing them. They are as fine healthy children as ever were seen, poor little scrubs without partiality; but Kitty knows no more how they should be treated--! How troublesome they are sometimes! I assure you, Mr Bennet, it prevents my wishing to see them so often as I otherwise should, though they are my own children. I believe Kitty is not quite pleased with my not making much of them oftener; but you know it is very bad to have children with one that one is obligated to be checking every moment; "don't do this," and "don't do that;" or that one can only keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for them."
Lydia by now had passed on to her state of health, having convinced herself that Wickham’s abandonment of her for the day had, or would, bring on a headache.
"I do believe if George were to see me dying, he would not think there was anything the matter with me. I am sure, Papa, if you would, you might persuade him that I really am very ill--a great deal worse than I ever own.”
“I dare say I could, my dear, easily persuade him that you are very given to fancying yourself ill, as is but reasonable for one who has lived upside down at the antipodes for so long as you both have. Such an existence must have its effect on the humours. But what I believe would have an even greater, and more acceptable effect on the humours today would be a good walk, and I propose that we take a stroll down to the harbour and pay a call upon Captain Price.”
“Should we not call for donkeys? We came on donkeys, after all.”
“So we did, and I find myself in no great hurry to repeat the experience. Besides, it is downhill now, and the exercise will do us good. Perhaps we may indulge in a donkey-ride coming back.”
“Captain Price is so agreeable. I should like to tell him about our room here, with the funny cupboard in the wall with the hole in the floor. George called it a garderobe, and said it was a mediaeval relic, but I could not help thinking what would be the use of a wardrobe with a hole in the floor? Anything one put in it would be in danger of falling right into the ditch.”
The walk set us to rights, as I had hoped, and dinner that evening found us all in much better spirits – all, that is, except for Wickham and Captain Bentley, who both seemed distant and preoccupied.
I had intended to consult Wickham on his low spirits while we sat over the port, or rather, over a Greek version of port, but we were interrupted by the arrival of a message.
Harvey, who, as officer of the day had left us after pudding, came in bearing an elaborately sealed cover.
“A courier brought this in just now, sir,” he said. “From the mainland. Standing Orders…”
“Yes, Mr Harvey, I know exactly what Standing Orders say. I drafted them myself. Leave it with me and be off about your business.”
The young gentleman having saluted and handed over the packet before departing, the captain removed a pair of pince-nez from his pocket and scrutinized them through it.
“You will forgive me gentlemen,” he began, “but in these times of such unrest ….However, I find it is not for me at all. It is addressed to you, sir.”
And he handed the missive to Wickham. From where I was sitting I could see the superscription –
Monsieur le Général Wickham
“By your leave, gentleman,” said Wickham, tearing open the cover.
He did not, however, read out the contents, or even read them to himself, but shrugged and adopted a wry grin.
“I hesitate to fall back on the old saw,” he said, “but this is all Greek to me.”
“Shall I call the company interpreter, sir?”
“Thank you, Captain Bentley, but I had rather not involve a servant until I have some idea of what this document is about. Can you make anything of it, sir?”
So saying, he handed it to me.
It was, indeed, all Greek. What was more, it was in Greek that I found I could read, quite unlike the everyday argot that had surrounded us for months.
“Whoever the sender is, he writes a fair hand at Greek. It is not quite Periclean, but it is perfectly understandable.”
“I already know who the sender is,” said Bentley, “I saw the seal, and I doubt if he writes at all. It will have been written for him by his priest. Many of them cannot write, either, but nothing but the best will do for him.”
“What do you make of it, Golightly?” I asked passing the paper across the table.
“Good Lord,” he exclaimed. “It is Koine, the Greek of the New Testament. Compared to Attic, it is much less exact language, lacking both the dual and the optative and…”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Wickham. “We are not here for a grammar lesson. What does it say.”
“Perhaps that might be better coming from Mr Bennet,” replied the clergymen, with a distinct air of turning the other cheek.
So it was that I found myself reading aloud the letter that was to change the fate of nations.
“To the excellent Lord Sir Wickham, renowned General of the ever-victorious army of his Illustrious Majesty King George, from his humble brother in Christ Petros Mavromichalis, greeting.
Words cannot express the joy that overwhelmed me when I heard that such a distinguished personage had come to the island of Cerigo, so near to my own shore. My joy would be complete if only your excellency would consent to honour my humble dwelling with your presence, so that we might meet as true brothers in arms and I might impress upon you my love and admiration for your great sovereign. We might also discuss matters of mutual interest and advantage.
A line to me will bring an escort to meet you, which, while it
cannot possibly be adequate to your exalted standing, will at least suffice to ensure your safety.
In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost.”
There follows a squiggle I cannot make out, but I presume it is meant to be a signature.
“Let me see it,” said Bentley. “It is a kind of Tughra, the Sultan’s official signature. I have seen it on Turkish despatches before. Petrobey gives himself airs.”
“Who is this Petros Mavromichalis person?” enquired Wickham.
“He is a rascal,” replied Bentley. “All Maniots are rascals, and he is the biggest rascal of the lot. They say that a word from him will bring two thousand pallikaria – that is to say, bully boys, and heavily armed bully boys at that – to his side by next morning, and ten thousand by the morning after that. They say….Oh, they say all sorts of things, some of which may even be true. What can be relied upon is that the Turks are so wary of him that they made him Bey, that is to say, lord of the Mani to save the trouble of putting him down.”
“It would appear that he wants something from me, from the extravagant flattery in his letter. I wonder what it is. I shall have to take thought how to answer it.”
“We must give it no notice,” said Bentley. “Standing orders are that we are not to enter into negotiations of any kind with the Greeks of the mainland.”
“I am quite aware of what your standing orders say, Captain Bentley. I believe I had a hand in their drafting. They also say that communications such as this should be passed on to higher authority without delay. You have done your duty in handing it to me. I believe I do not need any instruction in my duty from you.”
Captain Bentley reddened.
“I am sorry, sir,’ he began, but Wickham held up a hand.
“Let us say no more about it. I will meet you at the South Bastion in half an hour, and let us see what we can do with these dilatory labourers.”
It was Mrs Bennet’s turn for a headache that day, and, as she resolutely refused to be talked out of it, both Lydia and Kitty were kept occupied ministering to the invalid’s needs.
Thus left to my own devices, I spent a very pleasant day wandering among the olive groves that surround the town, engaging in genial and incomprehensible conversations with the natives that I met. Once I had said ‘Kali Mera’ and been given the response ‘Cherete’ there was very little we could say to each other, but there was invariably a chapel nearby with an icon to be displayed and marvelled at, or a convenient ruin to be exclaimed over, and I believe neither side was disappointed with these dialogues. The islanders all seemed perfectly content with their lot, and happy to be under English protection. Even the modern Greeks have not mangled the phrase ‘Anglos kalos’, ‘English good’ beyond recognition.
Wickham seemed more thoughtful than ever when I met him that evening.
“Forgive me if I bore you for a while,” he said, “but I find I need to think aloud in the presence of someone whose sense and discretion I can rely upon. Shall we take a turn around the battlements?”
“Captain Bentley is a sound fellow,” he continued as we came up to the South bastion, “and a first rate soldier as far as I can tell, speaking as a General who has never seen a shot fired in anger. He is sorely puzzled, however, by his Maltese masons working on the stonework, and his accounts are in shocking order. I am reluctant to write a report that might blight his career, but every day I discover something more, and if I stay much longer I will be obliged to do something. Tell me, what do you say to a run up-country? I have it in mind to accept Mr Mavromichalis’ invitation.”
“I forget where that gentleman is to be found,” I replied.
“It is somewhere in the depths of the Mani, the peninsula opposite us, on the way to Kalamata.”
“Kalamata? Is that not near Pylos, Homer’s sandy Pylos, the domain of Nestor? Who knows what relics might be there for the finding? Perhaps an outing might be arranged? This Mavromichalis seems eager to oblige.”
Wickham laughed.
“I knew you would set me clear,” he said. “Here is what I propose to do.”
The public part of his proposals, Wickham announced over dinner that evening, to a mixture of delight and perturbation among the ladies.
“How exciting!” exclaimed Kitty. “A real foreign country at last. And real Greeks, wild ones, that is, not the tame ones you see here and in Corfu. Will there be banditti? Will there be Turks? Shall we all be carried of to a harem?”
“Certainly not,” her husband replied, “ and why you should think so I cannot conceive. We have a safe conduct from the local governor, and we shall be quite considerable enough a party to deter casual thieves.”
“Ah, but you must consider, Golightly,” Wickham remarked, perhaps a shade too brightly, “that guarantees hereabouts are not always to be relied upon, and thieves are anything but casual. And we may not count on an escort from the garrison here, as that might be construed as interference in local politics. Which reminds me, there are matters on which I need to confer with Captain Bentley. By your leave, ladies and gentlemen.”
So saying, he left the room, with a rather shame-faced looking Bentley following on, and we were left to consider the coming adventure, and what we should need for it.
Chapter twenty-one To Sandy Pylos – or Not?
Morning came, and found us all up betimes.
Wickham drew me to one side before breakfast.
“I hope you still have your little friends that you had in your pockets at Hartlepool,” he observed.
“What?” I replied, “Do you think we shall need them?”
“I hope not. I believe not, but it is just as well to be on the safe side. My holsters will be filled, I assure you, and if you could persuade Morland and Golightly to do likewise it will do no harm. You are to consider that we shall be travelling through a country where the residents habitually go armed to the teeth, and the unarmed are looked upon as easy prey.”
“But if the undertaking is so dangerous, are we justified in exposing the ladies to it?”
“I repeat, I expect no danger, but better safe than sorry is what they say. And, speaking of the ladies, it might be as well if they could be persuaded to take thought of their defence in the last resort.”
“You are practising upon us, surely?”
“Perhaps. But a little anxiety might save a deal of grief.”
“Well, I should hesitate to trust Mrs Bennet with so much as a muff pistol, and Kitty no more. You must speak for your own wife, of course, although when she was but my daughter…”
“Of course, of course, we must all confer on this point. Now, here is what we shall do today. I told Bentley last night that I would take a little holiday on the mainland, and by the time I get back I shall expect to see progress on the repairs and a clean set of accounts. I made it very clear to him what he needed to do to attain those ends. I also requisitioned practically every horse the garrison possesses, for it will not do to arrive on donkies, and we shall need pack animals, too. I have no faith in Turkish roads for wheeled vehicles. Everything is in train, and I hope to be off before the heat of the day. The hardest part was finding, or, rather, creating sidesaddles for the ladies, and the company artificers were up all night stitching and cobbling. I hope their work answers, but we shall soon see. We shall leave as soon as is convenient after breakfast. I expect to be joined by Petrobey’s escort soon after we land, but until then we must put on a brave face.”
We had calm weather for the crossing, and found our horses and baggage waiting for us on the other side, Captain Bentley having taken the precaution of sending them across in advance to give the beasts time to settle down after the voyage.
I confess to feeling a certain surreptitious thrill when my feet first touched the soil of the veritable Peloponnese, on a spot where taking a turn to the left would bring me ere long to Sandy Pylos, while the opposite turning would see me even sooner in Sparta itself.
It was just as well this consolation was avail
able to me, as the actual landing place was as miserable a collection of hovels as any I can remember seeing. Ragged individuals of indeterminate sex sat in their doorways, making the most of the shade, and staring at us with supreme indifference.
It was Corporal ‘Awkins who saluted to Wickham and said,
“Baggage train all ready as ordered, sir,” he said.
“You salute the uniform, not the man, corporal,” replied Wickham. “I am a civilian here. This visit is unofficial. But I will inspect your work before we go.”
“It is all nonsense,” he said to me after the soldiers had left us, “but they expect you to take an interest, and sulk if you do not.”
The riding horses, it turned out, had all been equipped for military use, with a pair of great big dragoon pistols in the saddle holsters, and, for the gentlemen, a fowling piece slung from the saddlebow in place of a carbine.
“Ha-ha!” cried Lydia. “Here we are in ancient Greece at last, and I see that we are all to become Amazons. What monsters shall we fight, Papa?”
“Ignorance and sloth, naturally,” I replied. “I trust these are all we shall have to deal with.”
“Then perhaps we had better deal with our ignorance of how to use these new toys, if, that is, we are not to be slothful about using them.”
“All you need to know is that you are not to use them, except in the very last resort, and in that case, you point it and pull the trigger. If the time ever comes when you need to know more than that, then all is over.”
“Oh, Papa, how you do love to make our blood freeze! I remember those stories you used to tell by the fireside on dark winter’s nights when we were all in short petticoats. For I know you would not have brought us into danger, nor would my George.”
“You are quite right, my dear. The ignorant soldiers merely provided the horses with military equipment, thinking no more of it. Pray ignore these tools of their trade, and keep the holsters well fastened.”
“I am very glad that is all it is, Mr Bennet,” my lady wife joined in, “for otherwise I should have been obliged to be anxious about our circumstances, and I find anxiety so wearing, and so very disagreeable.”
Our Neighbours' Sport Beyond the Seas Page 14
