The Bull of Mithros

by Anne Zouroudi

  The fat man raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture.

  ‘Please, forgive my trespassing, Captain,’ he said. ‘We met briefly yesterday. Hermes Diaktoros, of Athens. I wouldn’t intrude on military property, under normal circumstances, but I need to refill my flask before I walk back to Mithros, and – it may sound foolish and squeamish, I realise – but I cannot bring myself to drink from the well where that poor man died. It seems both unseemly and insanitary. So I was wondering if you would be kind enough to ask one of your men if they would fill it for me from your supplies, and I’ll get out of your way.’

  The captain looked at him for a long moment, then gestured at the sea, where the four soldiers were playing volleyball. From midriff-deep water, Gounaris leaped energetically sideways for the ball, punching it to Skafidis before going under.

  ‘My men, as you see, are doing their physical fitness training. Take a seat, if you like, until they’re finished.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the fat man, and did so.

  They watched Lillis mis-hit the volleyball, sending it flying high over Skafidis’s head. As Skafidis set off swimming after it, Gounaris and Kastellanos jeered and laughed at Lillis’s lack of skill.

  ‘Your men look so fit, don’t they?’ said the fat man. ‘Absolutely in the prime of life, and all muscle where some of us are becoming rather soft.’ He patted his belly, and shook his head. ‘It might make older men like us wish to turn back the clock, if our wiser heads didn’t know of youth’s shortcomings. And they have such energy! You do well to keep them under control. That energy might easily become aggression if not properly channelled.’

  ‘Hence the water sports,’ said Captain Fanis. ‘With luck, they’ll come out of there exhausted, and be docile this evening. They like to play cards – there’s not much else for them to do here, after all – but if they’re lively and raring to go, the card games descend into shouting matches and even, occasionally, into fist fights.’

  ‘Your job is a responsible one, a guiding hand between the apron-strings and the full autonomy of adulthood. I presume you practise your skills on your own children?’

  ‘I have no children. I’m not married.’

  ‘Really? You surprise me, greatly,’ said the fat man. ‘A handsome man such as yourself – I speak as would a father, or an uncle – must surely have had plenty of choice in that direction?’

  The captain shook his head.

  ‘I’m a confirmed bachelor,’ he said. ‘There was a woman, once, but she preferred someone else to me. And as for children – well . . .’ He indicated the young men in the sea. ‘To borrow your expression, I stand as father or uncle – or mother, often – to so many of them. They have no interest in soldiering, for the most part. Occasionally, when I get them, they’re close to middle age, having dodged the National Service draft for many years, and with them, it’s hard to build a rapport. They resent being here, they resent me and they resent my orders. But most are like these boys here, wet behind the ears and never been away from home. I do what I can with them, which in this place is limited to instilling a little self-discipline, and teaching them the rudiments of teamwork. Then I send them on their way. The problem I have now is that I am myself not far off being middle-aged, and it’s hard to command respect when even the least of them can outrun and outswim me, or in fact beat me hollow at almost anything they care to try. My strategy up to now has been not to compete with them. I stay on the sidelines, as I am doing now. And I can still outshoot most of them, except those who’ve grown up with a hunting rifle in their hands. But the truth is, my days in this outpost are numbered. The top dog in this pack is only top dog as long as he can beat all challengers, and I rely too much these days on my wits. I’ve an old dog’s wiliness, but this job needs a young dog’s strength, and I don’t have that. That’s not what the army’s about. These lads aren’t far off being my last recruits.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘I’m crossing my fingers for a desk job somewhere. It won’t be here. That much is certain.’

  ‘But don’t you have family, here in Mithros?’

  The captain looked down the beach. The approaching dusk made it difficult to make out the young men. One of them leaped, a silhouette, from the water, and slammed the ball down hard on to its surface, spraying the others and drawing shouts of laughing protest.

  ‘Gounaris,’ said the captain. ‘He gets the best of the others, every time. He’s a natural soldier, but his interests lie in other directions. He says he wants to be an architect.’

  ‘An admirable ambition,’ said the fat man. ‘Were you not saying yesterday that Gounaris lost something of value to that poor fellow who died?’

  ‘He lost a chain to him, yes,’ said the captain, guardedly. ‘Why do you ask?’

  The fat man smiled.

  ‘You are protective of your brood, Captain, and suspicious of my question, so perhaps I should explain. I am, by profession, an investigator.’

  ‘A policeman?’

  The fat man laughed.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘There is no police force in the land which would employ me. I work for a higher authority. Their interests are wide-ranging, and they would want me to take an interest in that man’s death. His name and origins seem to be in doubt, and there is no one, at present at least, who seems to mourn him. But I myself saw him fit and healthy yesterday – at least I believe I did so, though there was some distance between us – and now he’s died a bizarre and gruesome death. It is in my nature and my remit to look into the facts of the matter, and see if I can ascertain what has happened here.’

  ‘What does that have to do with Gounaris?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But when I saw the corpse this morning, it wore no chain. Now, it is my understanding you and your men found the body. If you tell me he was wearing the chain when you pulled him from the well, and that you took the chain from the corpse and returned it to Gounaris, then the mystery is solved.’

  The captain shook his head.

  ‘He wasn’t wearing any chain,’ he said.

  ‘And did you check the body at all? Search the pockets, anything like that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. It didn’t occur to me to do so. What for, after all? I knew who he was.’

  ‘Or who he said he was.’

  ‘Or who he said he was, yes. I expected Spiros to do all that. Spiros Tavoularis, the coastguard officer.’

  ‘Then I’m sure he will have done. But just to be certain on the point – you haven’t found the chain in any drawer, or anywhere in the room where this man slept?’

  ‘He left nothing in that room. He had nothing to leave.’

  ‘Except Gounaris’s chain.’

  ‘Except for that, I suppose.’

  ‘What did he call himself, by the way?’

  ‘He called himself Manolis, Manolis Chiotis. I have to say I was never sure that was his name. Such a famous name – it seemed to me he might have grasped it out of the air. But he came with nothing but a pair of shorts he was wearing when they threw him overboard.’

  ‘Hmm.’ The fat man became thoughtful. ‘Tell me about that incident.’

  ‘There’s little enough to tell. The boat he was on put in here, the men aboard played cards. They argued, the argument escalated, and his shipmates dropped him in the sea. I think he fully expected them to come back for him, but they never did.’

  ‘Not so far, at least.’

  ‘I suppose someone will come for his body,’ said the captain. ‘For his sake, I hope that they do. He should be taken home and buried with family. No doubt the coastguard have put the word out, and a description.’

  ‘No doubt they have. I wonder if I might ask you whether it has struck you as in any way unusual that it should be here, particularly, that this drama has played out.’

  Again, the captain looked at him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Only that such a quiet place as this should attract such dr
ama, not once, but twice.’

  ‘Twice?’

  ‘Did not a man drown here, some years ago, in the aftermath of a robbery – a robbery which was itself highly unusual for this part of the world?’

  The captain considered.

  ‘You mean Socrates,’ he said. He looked out across the blue water where the young men laughed and shouted, and a shadow crossed his face. ‘He’s still down there, somewhere. I don’t like to think of it.’

  ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘Yes, I knew him. He and I were close contemporaries. He was the same age as my brother.’

  ‘What did you think of him?’

  The captain gave an apologetic smile.

  ‘That’s difficult for me to answer,’ he said. ‘His memory should be respected.’

  ‘Please, be truthful with me, Captain,’ said the fat man. ‘There’s at least one connection between Socrates and Manolis: they both died in this place. I might go further, and point out that not only did they both die here, they both died at the hands of others.’

  The captain’s face showed doubt.

  ‘Really? Why do you say that about Manolis?’

  ‘Do you really believe he fell down that well all by himself?’ asked the fat man. ‘Tell me, then. In all the time you’ve been sending soldiers to that well for water, have any of them ever fallen down it? Or even come close?’

  ‘No. No, they haven’t.’

  ‘There is something else too, which I will tell you in confidence, and only to persuade you of the circumstances of Manolis’s death. Then I hope you will be honest with me about Socrates. When I heard about Manolis’s death, what troubled me about it more than anything was why no one had heard him shouting. I’m afraid he must have taken some hours to die – at least two, and probably more. There were a good number of people around that day – far more than is usual, here at Kolona – and yet nobody heard him cry for help. I don’t believe there’s any question he would have shouted for help if he were able. When I looked at the body, I saw no sign of any blow to the head which would have rendered him unconscious. And so I drew the inevitable conclusion – something stopped him shouting. When I looked inside his mouth, the object responsible was still there – a pebble, large enough to hold his tongue down, and too large to swallow.’

  The captain seemed shocked.

  ‘That’s horrible,’ he said. ‘Horrible, and . . .’

  ‘Horrible, and ingenious, I would say,’ said the fat man. ‘You didn’t notice it when you got him out?’

  The captain shook his head.

  ‘I didn’t look too closely at him,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t pretty to look at, as you no doubt know.’

  ‘How did you get him out?’

  ‘We lowered Lillis down by his legs, and he tied a rope around the feet. Even then, it wasn’t easy. The poor bastard was well wedged in there.’

  ‘With his arms by his sides.’

  ‘Yes, they were. How did you know that?’

  ‘Easily, from the abrasions on his upper arms. Yet anyone falling accidently, puts their hands out to save themselves, do they not?’

  The captain nodded, thoughtfully.

  ‘So, if you understand why I say his death was no accident, will you now give me your opinion of Socrates?’

  ‘I didn’t like him,’ said the captain. ‘He was cocky, full of himself. But I wouldn’t wish that death on anyone.’

  ‘Who do you mean?’ asked the fat man, with a half-smile. ‘Socrates, or Manolis?’

  The captain shrugged.

  ‘In truth, either, or both. You think there’s definitely some connection between them, then?’

  ‘I’m almost certain of it.’

  The light was almost gone, and the young men were tiring of their game. They left the water laughing and dripping; Lillis knocked the ball out of Skafidis’s hands and back into the water, and Skafidis, complaining, waded in to fetch it. Their feet were hardened against the beach stones, and they walked easily up the beach towards the captain and the fat man.

  ‘There was another thing,’ said the fat man, as they approached. ‘When you went up into the hills looking for the stranger Vassilis Eliadis saw, did you find anything?’

  The captain shook his head.

  ‘Nothing. We searched for a good half-hour, but it was a hopeless task from the first. There’re a thousand places a man might easily hide himself up there, amongst the scrub. We might pass within feet of someone, and if he kept still, we’d never spot him.’

  ‘Forgive me for saying this, but half an hour to search a hillside doesn’t seem very long.’

  ‘There were five of us. We covered plenty of ground. But it was hot, and there was a party going on down here. The boys don’t get much in the way of entertainment. It seemed unnecessary to keep them occupied up there for longer.’

  The fat man looked at him closely.

  ‘Is it possible,’ he said, ‘that you never expected to find anything?’

  ‘I have every respect for old Vasso,’ said the captain, carefully. ‘But he jumps at every shadow. Out of respect for him, we went to see what we could see. But in truth, I didn’t expect to find anything, no.’

  The soldiers were drawing close, exuberant and heckling, heads high with unselfconscious arrogance.

  ‘Which one is Private Gounaris?’ asked the fat man. ‘I wonder if I might speak to him for just a moment, before I leave you in peace?’

  ‘That’s up to him,’ said the captain, and called out to the soldiers, ‘You played like a bunch of women! Lillis, fire up the generator. Skafidis, take our guest’s flask and put fresh water in it. Gounaris, have a seat. This gentleman wants to talk to you.’

  Gounaris pulled a chair up to the table. Kastellanos headed to the bunkhouse.

  ‘We’ve been talking about Manolis,’ said the captain.

  ‘A world-class prick,’ said Gounaris. ‘A first-class malaka.’ With his fist, he made a crude gesture to match the insult.

  ‘I understand you two had a falling out,’ said the fat man. ‘Can you tell me about that?’

  Seawater dripped on to the terrace from Gounaris’s shorts. Kastellanos came from the bunkhouse with shampoo and a towel, and stopped to listen to what was being said.

  ‘We played cards,’ said Gounaris. ‘He cheated.’

  ‘Do you mean he won?’

  Gounaris sneered.

  ‘No one has that kind of luck without cheating. He cheated when he was on that boat and he cheated when he played here with us. We were stupid to let him sit down to our game in the first place. We should have dumped him on the coastguard and left him there.’

  ‘I hope you’re not questioning my judgement, Gounaris,’ said the captain. ‘What I agreed with the coastguard has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I am certainly not questioning your judgement,’ said the fat man, ‘but as it turns out, that would have been in his own best interests. Alas for him, events have played out as they have. The man is dead, and whoever – or whatever – he was, he deserves the truth around the circumstances of his death to be known. Do any of you remember anything unusual about his time here?’

  Skafidis returned with the fat man’s flask, and placed it on the table. In its shed, the generator was fired, and Skafidis threw the power switch, lighting the string of dim bulbs along the terrace.

  ‘There was someone in the hills with a rifle,’ said Kastellanos. ‘The old man spotted him.’

  ‘We talked about that,’ said the captain. ‘It was a wild goose chase.’

  ‘But there was someone here too,’ said Kastellanos. ‘I heard someone moving about whilst I was on watch.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the captain. ‘The incident you failed to record in the book.’

  ‘What did you hear, exactly?’ asked the fat man.

  ‘There was music. Sometimes there is. Weird music, really sad. But it was after that.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Two nights ago, three. At what
time, I don’t know. It’s so dark, once the generator’s off.’

  ‘And what did you do about this noise?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It might have been goats, or rats, or anything. I would’ve looked a real fool, waking everybody up for a goat.’

  ‘I heard something too,’ said Skafidis. He looked doubtfully at the captain. ‘I didn’t say anything. I thought it was . . .’

  ‘More goats?’ asked the captain. ‘Theé mou! What is the point of putting any of you on watch? They’ll slaughter us in our beds! You’re supposed to be soldiers, alert and responsive!’

  ‘Sorry, Captain,’ said Skafidis.

  ‘And when were you on watch?’ asked the fat man.

  ‘Two nights ago.’

  ‘So the night before Manolis died?’

  ‘It would have been, yes.’

  Gounaris was watching his feet.

  ‘There seems to be a bit of a mystery regarding the object that Manolis took off you in that card game,’ the fat man said to him. ‘What was it, a chain?’

  ‘A gold chain,’ said Gounaris. ‘My mother bought it for me.’

  ‘You were careless, then, to gamble with it,’ said the fat man. He held up the little finger of his right hand to show a ring with the glint of old gold – a plain band set with an unusual coin, whose visible face was stamped with a rising sun. ‘This ring was a gift from my own mother, and whilst I confess to having gambled with it in the past, I have only done so when I have had complete faith it would ultimately come back to me. You, on the other hand, accepted an element of risk, and you lost. That is unfortunate, of course. But what concerns me now, Private, is that your chain appears to be missing. It isn’t with the body, or in the room your visitor occupied, whilst he was here. In short, it is nowhere to be found.’

  ‘Maybe it fell down the well,’ said Gounaris.

  ‘Maybe it did,’ said the fat man. ‘And under different circumstances, we might let it go at that. Except that, as I have explained to your captain, I believe we are dealing here with the cruel killing of a man, and as such, we must leave no stone unturned.’

  ‘Killing?’ asked Kastellanos. ‘He was a malaka, we all know that, but who the hell would kill him?’