by Anne B. Cole
“Sleeping,” the old woman announced.
Anya nodded in agreement, wondering if she would be the next to ‘sleep’.
Luda faced Anya. “The boy’s wound will heal.”
Anya’s eyes widened in wonder. “Go. You’re being followed. It’s not time for you to meet your pursuer. Follow the trail down to the fields, avoid the ridge. He will be unable to follow on that path. Do not look back.”
Anya obeyed, rushing out of the cave. She took a trail that meandered in and around the boulders, pressing on for several minutes before she realized she left without asking for the poultice. She nearly turned back when she remembered Luda’s warning.
A bird chirped and flew to a group of nearby rocks. She watched it hop onto a small bundle of brown cloth. Anya glanced around for the person who was supposedly following her then grabbed the bundle. The aroma made her heart skip a beat. She knew that scent better than anyone.
Anya ran the entire way back to the store. Even though she didn’t know this man, Lorenzo, she knew it was imperative that he recover. Kneeling beside him, she took his rough, calloused hand into hers. When he didn’t squeeze, she placed her head upon his chest, straining to hear a heartbeat.
“He’s alive,” Yia Yia stated, heading to the fire.
“Anya, please go to the house,” Mama encouraged.
“Anya?” Lorenzo murmured.
Fingers tightened around hers, filling her with hope. Anya wiped his face with her sleeve, then watched her grandmother bury the blade of a bone-handled knife deep in the hot coals.
“Drink.” Mama spoke with authority as she raised Lorenzo’s head and held a cup to his lips. He obeyed. Mama nodded to Alec, who was behind Lorenzo, holding a pistol.
“No,” Anya cried as Alec struck the back of Lorenzo’s head with the butt of the gun. He fell unconscious. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Hold him down,” Yia Yia ordered, without turning away from the fire. “It must be done, child.”
Anya felt Alec’s heavy hand on her shoulder. She shrugged away from his touch, not letting go of Lorenzo’s hand. Alec sighed, then bound Lorenzo’s legs together with rope. When they were secure, he took a position at his left side, Mama on his right. Yia Yia began chanting a prayer as she removed the blade from the fire.
Anya could not bear to watch, yet she refused to leave. She didn’t know what was worse—the hissing sound of burning flesh or the smell. She gripped his hand tighter and closed her eyes. In her mind, she began to count. One, two. Lorenzo flinched. Three, four. They opened their eyes at the same time. Fully conscious, Lorenzo began to scream as the blade seared his wound. Alec and Mama pinned him firmly to the dirt floor while Yia Yia worked the knife. Five, six, seven. Anya cradled his head between her hands, knowing his pain, wanting to take it from him. Eight. His body continued to writhe. Nine, ten. Yia Yia removed the blade and examined the charred wound. Satisfied, she bandaged the poultice in place. Lorenzo drifted into unconsciousness, dropping Anya’s hand.
“Anya?” Mama’s voice sounded far away.
Anya swayed as she placed Lorenzo’s head back to the floor. She stood and then bolted out the door. The air felt fresh and cool, yet memories suffocated her. Anya gasped, fell to her knees, and retched. She felt her mother gently smooth back her hair.
“His wound will heal,” Mama began. “The infection was not as deep as yours.”
Anya flinched. Remembering the searing pain, she glanced at the scar on her own arm. Giorgio. She buried her face into her mother’s shoulder. Lorenzo was about the age her brother, Giorgio, would have been.
Yia Yia opened the door. “He’s asking for you,” she announced.
Mama sighed and stood.
“No, the boy is asking for Anya,” Yia Yia corrected.
Anya’s heart pounded so hard she worried her mother would hear. She wiped her tear-stained face and silently requested permission to tend to him.
Mama frowned, then nodded. Anya fled inside before her mother could change her mind.
Chapter 10
No Talk
“Lorenzo, you have a visitor,” Alec’s booming voice woke Lorenzo from a peaceful sleep.
Sliding into his trousers, Lorenzo scanned the room for his shirt. He winced with pain as he lifted the drape back from the window. The first traces of dawn had begun to creep into the eastern sky.
The door burst open. “Hello, my American friend,” Peter bellowed, taking a step into the room.
“Friend?” Lorenzo accused. “You said you would come after me if I didn’t return.”
“I see you met Alec.” Peter raised one eyebrow.
“You forgot to mention you owed him money,” Lorenzo accused, looking all over the room for his missing shirt.
“Slipped my mind.” Peter avoided his stare. “Alec’s a good man.” He tested the sturdiness of the bed with his hand then made himself comfortable upon it.
“Good enough not to kill me when I mentioned your name,” Lorenzo fumed. Giving up on his shirt, he grabbed socks out of his boots.
“Settle down, Enzo. I came after you and found you with not one woman but three.” He drew a silver flask out of his coat and took a swig. Peter hiccupped then shook his head. “Thought you were dead, but the old lady told me you would mend. How’s the shoulder?”
“Alec never mentioned you were here,” Lorenzo mused.
“I told you he does not like Americans.” Peter laughed. “I went to Athens for a new sail.” Peter eyed the bandage on Lorenzo’s shoulder and waited for a response to the unanswered question.
“Much better.” Lorenzo snatched Peter’s flask, took a drink, then handed it back.
“Think we can start searching for the Warren?”
Lorenzo fumbled with a boot, stalling for time to think. In the past few days, the pain had subsided enough for him to enjoy Anya’s constant company. Returning to the navy had not crossed his mind. “I haven’t been up and around much.”
Peter pursed his lips. “Enzo, we have trouble. Lubber is back on the sea, alive and very—” He paused, looking for the right word. “Disturbed.”
“Lubber?” Lorenzo clenched his fists.
“Aye. On my way back from Athens, I saw him on a small boat with a huge slave. He recognized my ship.” Peter leaned closer before whispering. “The devil is in him, I swear it.”
“He wants the ship back.”
“He wants us dead.” Peter warned. A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Please, come in.” Lorenzo’s eyes sparkled, knowing it was Anya.
“I need to sell my ship and buy another.” Peter growled as Anya entered, carrying a shirt and a tray of tea, cheese, and biscuits.
“Thank you.” Lorenzo’s fingers lingered on hers when she handed him a cup. “Anya, this is Peter.”
Stumbling to his feet, Peter took Anya’s hand, kissed it dramatically, and then spoke at length to her in Greek. Lorenzo shuffled his feet, irritated he could not decipher many words. Two were very clear: ‘American’ and ‘anoitos,’ the Greek word for ‘fool’
Peter rambled on dreamily with Anya’s hand in his. It appeared she welcomed him to stay. Peter responded again, weaving ‘anoitos’ close to ‘Enzo’.
Anya’s face dropped. Hurt poured from her beautiful brown eyes. She froze, staring at Peter, who droned on in a hushed tone.
“Hey,” Lorenzo interrupted fiercely. Peter sighed then kissed Anya’s hand, mumbling a final word before letting go. Anya hurried out of the room without turning back.
“What did you say to her?” Lorenzo demanded, keeping his clenched fists from punching Peter.
“I told her you’re a fool to go back to your navy. She’s beautiful.” Peter turned his attention to the cheese and biscuits.
“I haven’t discu
ssed my intentions with her,” Lorenzo admitted.
“Good food, too.” Crumbs of biscuit caught in his beard. “We go to my ship today. You get your gold so I can sell the ship and buy another. I’ll return for you in two weeks.” Lorenzo took a sip of tea as Anya reentered the room. She didn’t look at either of them.
“Eat,” Peter encouraged.
Anya approached Lorenzo without taking her eyes off the floor. Placing his cup down, he sat on the bed. Anya carefully removed the bandage from his shoulder. Peter ate Lorenzo’s share of the food.
“Ah, you would be happy here, Enzo. No need to find your navy ship. You get your gold, stay with this beautiful girl, and I sail away.” Peter stuffed his mouth with the last of the cheese.
Lorenzo watched Anya, wondering how much English she could understand. Her limited vocabulary seemed to have grown considerably over the past few days. “I must fulfill my naval duty.”
Anya applied a clean cloth to the healing wound, binding it in place with a little more force than usual. Lorenzo stiffened from the pain and Anya’s comprehension of his intent.
“You would give this up?” Peter inquired, eyeing Anya from head to toe.
The thought of leaving her tore into the core of his being. It hurt like nothing he had ever felt before. She refused to look at him, as she continued wrapping the bandage. Her fingers trailed across his skin, driving the need for more than her touch. Anya critically assessed her work and then tied off the bandage. He reached out to turn her face toward him, to reassure her of his gratitude, of his feelings for her, but his hand would not move. It took a moment for him to realize why.
Peter roared, “Milos, her beauty cannot be surpassed. Neither can the strength of her women.”
Lorenzo turned to Anya. A flash of her beautiful, dark eyes revealed success in capturing his attention. Anya began untying the bandage, allowing his blood to circulate. As feeling returned to his arm, sadness crept back into her eyes. Please don’t cry.
“You’re correct,” Lorenzo responded to Peter, without taking his eyes off Anya. “Milos is beautiful: the sea, the hospitality, the—”
“Women,” Peter interjected, nudging Lorenzo.
More blood returned to Lorenzo’s arm, along with the piercing sensation of a thousand invisible arrows. His hand gripped hers when she finished retying the bandage.
“America offers much: freedom, land, opportunity.” Lorenzo paused when he noticed Peter ogling Anya’s backside. Lorenzo kicked Peter’s shin. “I must fulfill my duty.”
Anya picked up Lorenzo’s shirt without reaction to his words. She eased his left arm into the sleeve before holding out the other side for him. Lorenzo began fumbling with the buttons. She shook her head and undid the one Lorenzo fastened, readjusted the shirt to correctly align the buttons, then began fastening them herself.
“I will return to Milos,” Lorenzo whispered, placing his hand over hers.
Peter scowled. “When you are gone, a young, strong Greek boy will steal her heart.” He reached for the flask in his coat but could not find it.
Lorenzo smirked, holding it up. “Then I shall steal her back.” He tossed the flask to Peter, waving an imaginary sword at him in jest. “I will fight anyone for Anya.”
“Stick to your fists, boy. You’re certainly doomed with a sword.” Peter stood, slapping him on the back. Lorenzo caught his breath from the sudden jolt before rising to his feet.
Anya stood still. Lorenzo stuck his foot in one boot, attempting to balance. Expecting her help, he reached out but she kept her distance and watched him struggle before he staggered to the floor.
She stifled a laugh, then scrutinized his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Lorenzo blurted, a bit more harshly than he intended. Anya stepped back, looking to the floor. Lorenzo tugged one boot on and then the other. Glancing up, he saw her pressing her lips together, struggling to keep from laughing or crying. He couldn’t tell. He hurt her, not with words, but with his intentions of leaving. “Sorry. This is all happening so fast.” Without help, he stood beside her.
“Come with me.” Lorenzo touched the underside of her chin. Anya’s eyes widened as he took her hand.
“She will not go,” Alec bellowed from the open doorway.
“Sir,” Lorenzo dropped her hand. “I merely intended to show her Peter’s ship.”
Alec’s eyes narrowed into slits as he looked from Lorenzo to Anya. His face softened as he conversed with her in Greek. Anya nodded with the same sad expression as before.
“She will see the ship. I will come,” Alec declared.
“Thank you, sir.” Lorenzo began breathing again. Alec continued to glare at him as they left the building.
“Alec,” Peter cried out. “Know anyone wanting to buy a ship?”
The two began speaking in Greek. Lorenzo hung back a few steps, then offered his arm to Anya. She blushed, taking it timidly.
In the market, a young woman sold fresh cut flowers from a small cart. She held out a white daisy as they approached.
“How much?” Lorenzo asked, pointing to the cart. The woman’s brow wrinkled. Anya tilted her head with a puzzled expression.
“You want?” Anya asked, pointing to a goat that was standing behind the cart.
Lorenzo laughed. The last thing he wanted was a goat. He picked up a yellow rose, slipping a coin to the woman. He watched Anya’s face light up as he handed her the flower.
“Beautiful.”
Anya held the flower to her nose, breathing in its fragrance. “Beautiful,” she repeated the English word.
Lorenzo shook his head. “Anya beautiful.” He grazed her cheek with the back of his hand, then placed hers back on his arm.
After a few steps, Lorenzo inquired, “Alec. Is he family?”
“No,” Anya paused, searching for the correct word. “You, Peter.”
“Friends?”
“Yes, friends. Papa, navy, dead.”
Lorenzo felt her pain, understood her concern.
Anya wasn’t finished. She pointed to herself. “Brother, Giorgio, dead, pirate.” Her eyes flickered to her arm and then back to him.
“Pirates killed your brother?” Lorenzo frowned.
“Yes.” Anya’s grip on Lorenzo’s arm tightened. He gently pushed her sleeve up, revealing the scar he had seen before.
“Pirates hurt you?” Hatred swelled inside of him.
Anya closed her eyes and nodded once before pulling the sleeve down.
Lorenzo’s mind wandered to what else the pirates had done to her and the potential of future danger. No wonder Alec was protective. He tightened his hold, pulling her close enough that her skirt brushed his leg as they continued on.
Alec and Peter waited for them near a small rowboat. The ship was anchored a few hundred meters off shore. Peter rowed them out and helped them board.
On the deck, Lorenzo caught Peter’s arm. “Can you get me some time with Anya, alone?” He nodded in Alec’s direction.
Peter chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder. “Consider it done, my friend.” Lorenzo cursed as pain rippled through his shoulder. “Sorry, Enzo. Go get your gold.” Peter quickly moved toward Alec and Anya.
Lorenzo made his way down the steps to the cell where he had been held prisoner. With a key from his pocket, he unlocked the chain. The second floorboard from the side wall was easily removed, revealing his bag of gold. Lorenzo stashed the loot in his coat and then locked the cell. He placed the key back in place on the rusty nail before starting up the stairs. Halfway up he took in a deep breath as the steps and walls grew blurry.
“Stupid American.” A menacing voice filled Lorenzo’s head. Standing over him was Old Benny. Behind the fierce man, Lubber held Anya, struggling in his grip. Old Benny laughed as he dragged Lorenzo up on deck. He t
hrashed in an attempt to break free. Anya’s voice cried out to him.
Lubber held her firmly as Old Benny growled into his ear, “Pathetic American.” Lorenzo desperately struggled to escape. His vision clouded and then failed completely.
“Lorenzo,” Anya called from the darkness. He reached out and somehow found her hand. A blue sky appeared with three faces looking down at him. Anya dabbed his forehead dry with her apron as Peter’s face lit into a grin.
“I give you three weeks to heal.” Peter turned to Alec, who muttered something in Greek.
“You okay?” Lorenzo asked Anya as he leaned closer to her.
“I okay?” She shook her head as she helped him sit.
“I saw you and Lubber . . .” Lorenzo tried to make sense of what happened.
“You, no okay.” Anya touched his forehead with concern then placed her hand tenderly against his bandaged shoulder.
Lorenzo shook his head. It seemed too real to be a hallucination. The lingering memory of Anya being held by Lubber burned in his mind.
Peter handed Lorenzo a skein of water. “Alec and I are going to shore to pick up goods for my trip.” Lorenzo watched the three disappear. He attempted to get up but fell back to the deck.
“I’ll return for you, my friend,” Peter called from out of sight.
Lorenzo’s heart sank as oars splashed. He leaned his head miserably against the rail, closing his eyes. “Anya.”
“Yes?” An angelic voice answered. Lorenzo’s eyes popped open and fell upon Anya kneeling close, sunshine illuminating her face. He closed his eyes and reopened them. “I here,” her voice sang softly.
Lorenzo touched her face. She was real. “Alec, Peter?” Lorenzo asked. Anya pointed to the shore, then sat next to him. “I will protect you,” he vowed, cupping her chin in his hands.
