1 The Assassins' Village

by Faith Mortimer

  And, even better he was finished with the project here and could turn his back on a situation that could become embarrassing. Oh what joy, back to civilisation!

  Chapter 29. Leslie.

  O, full of scorpions in my mind, dear wife!

  Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 2.

  To say Leslie was selfish was perhaps an understatement. He’d been brought up as an only child by a doting mother who foolishly let her handsome son walk all over her as soon as he left the cradle. As he grew older and more perceptive, his attention seeking and demanding nature was replaced by something much more disturbing. When he wanted something, he simply flopped down to join Mama on the chaise-lounge (where she spent most of her day), and gave her some sob story about being horribly in debt at art school, due to some devilish character who had taken advantage of his generous nature and run off with all his funds. Pouring his mother another of her morning ‘medicinal’ tots, she would tut tut about his misfortune, believe every word that slipped from his sugared lips, and hand over a wad of notes.

  Leslie’s idle life and pampering continued, until one day, it became apparent that ‘Dearest Mama’ couldn’t support him forever. The matriarchal purse had shrunk to almost nothing. Medicinal tots and Leslie’s rapacious appetites had seen to that. He needed to find some means to help feed himself.

  As fate would have it, mama’s older brother was not taken in by what he considered his, ‘manipulative, arty-farty snivelling fop of a nephew’ one little bit. Leslie’s uncle, a full Colonel in the British Army, did what in normal circumstances could have been described as indecent haste. He had his nephew interviewed, signed up and in uniform before a startled Leslie could come up with any excuses. Uncle William considered he had done his best to help his sister. He’d finally got Leslie off her hands and hopefully, out of her depleted purse. The Army could do the rest and put some strong moral fibre into his parasitic nephew. There were plenty of small wars and skirmishes around the world to keep him busy.

  Despite the discipline of Army life, Leslie remained as selfish and arrogant as when he had sponged off his hapless mother. He had however, matured to the state where he could disguise his character with some rather superb stories. His uncle had been correct in his earlier conjecture of his nephew’s manipulative abilities. Leslie was wasted in the regular Army.

  Now, as Leslie cleared his desk of files, his thoughts turned idly to the past. He always enjoyed female company; not so much for the stimulus of his brain, but for the adoration that certain females seemed to want to give. Their adulation, as they sat enthralled listening to his stories, he found utterly irresistible. He simply revelled in their admiration.

  His first wife Beth had been no exception. They met during his second year in Art College. She was fairly good looking, with fine eyes and shapely legs. Possessing an easy-going manner, she was not over endowed with brains and she’d tried hard to please him. If only she’d not been so, pleasant. There was only one word to sum her up. Dull. Dull and she let herself worry over the most trivial of things. After a few dates he finally got her to agree to go to bed with him. He was chuffed to discover he was the first, and selfishly never thought to enquire as to whether she was taking any precautions. A month or two later, she approached him.

  ‘Darling, I’m afraid we’ve got a problem.’ To his credit he hastily agreed to marry her. His career would have suffered had he ignored his indiscretion.

  Leslie never stopped taking lovers. Within two months of their nice, but dull little wedding in her hometown of Worthing, he caught the eye of a flirty little WRAC with generous breasts, and was soon happily banging away in the cramped confines of his car. The little Army girl was the first of many delightful fucks during his lustreless marriage to the dull but faithful Beth.

  As soon as their two children came along Beth enthusiastically switched all her love and attention to them. Leslie guessed she knew she was going nowhere in her life with Leslie. Her outpouring of devotion towards her children possible eased her obvious craving for love and attention. At first Leslie wasn’t bothered. It had all been easy, and Beth never seemed to notice his comings and goings; his frequent trips away. He relished lying in the arms of numerous beautiful women.

  Unfortunately his appetite was insatiable. As the children grew and became aware of their father’s absences, they too began to sense that all was not right in the family home.

  Then one day, when Leslie was in the Middle East on a short posting, he met someone who was entirely different from all the other women.

  Sonja was a loner, albeit she was attached to someone from the British Consulate. Her engagement was long standing, and something of a joke in her small circle of friends. They teased her about time passing by and that she’d never set the date. Although preferring her own company, she did attend the regular bashes in the Officers’ Mess, but once there stayed on the edge of the crowd. She appeared much happier to watch the antics of all those around her, and consider whether she could be bothered to join in.

  When Leslie first saw and appraised the willow-thin Scottish girl with her mass of long dark, thick hair and sooty eyebrows, he had met with a cool reception in those pale eyes. His fellow officers laughed when he failed to penetrate her horny armour. Leslie had annoyed too many of his peers for them to let his apparent comeuppance pass lightly. As far as they were concerned, he was getting his just desserts and many laid bets as to how good his chances were. He tried all his usual tricks to get Sonja interested in him; gallant talk and unstinting attention. Nothing won Sonja over and he became increasingly frustrated.

  Not a classical beauty by any account, but Sonja definitely had something. And Leslie wasn’t getting anywhere near that something. The more she resisted the more determined he became. Little Miss Sonja with the disdainful stare and unyielding body was Leslie’s biggest challenge to date.

  One evening, just when a dispirited Leslie was thinking of turning in for an early night, things took a surprise turn.

  Everyone in their usual gang supped that night at a new restaurant in town. The whole raucous party had drunk far too much, while watching the antics on the stage of a snake charmer and a couple of voluptuous belly dancers. The local brandy sours slipped down parched throats very easily during the stuffy hot evening and Leslie found himself next to an extremely tipsy Sonja.

  He’d never before seen her in such a state. Her hair, that earlier had been drawn up in a carefully arranged chignon had lost most of its pins and was threatening to cascade down her back. Her eyes glittered with the rare intoxication. It was highly apparent that Sonja was in no fit state to be left on her own or to see herself home. Most of the noisy revellers were moving on to a favourite bar with live music and dancing. Sonja’s female companion of the evening unexpectedly found some old friends and had disappeared. Sonja was about to move off, stating that she was perfectly capable of getting home by taxi. She stood unsteadily by her chair as she gathered up her evening bag and wrap.

  ‘Night all. See you in the week.’ She wobbled in her spindly high heels by the table.

  Leslie’s wife Beth was back in England with the children, this Middle East tour being an unaccompanied one. As usual, he was desperate for female company. After weeks of pursuing Sonja, he saw at last, a glimmer of a chance.

  Slurring the last of her goodbyes to the few remaining diners, Sonja staggered out into the warm night to flag down a taxi. Muttering his goodbyes Leslie followed her planning to share her ride.

  Sonja would have fallen flat on her face when she misjudged the kerb height, if Leslie had not been right beside her. After that, it was easy bundling her into the first available taxicab and taking the almost comatose woman back to his small bungalow. He would settle her into his own bed.

  There was no way she could look after herself. For once Leslie thought about the person by his side. It would have been dangerous letting her go back to her own quarters, or risk taking a cab alone down the darkened streets of Cairo.

  Onc
e they had arrived at his place, he thrust some small notes at the driver who happily cackled away at his own good fortune. Taking hold of Sonja beneath the armpits, Leslie dragged her out of the back of the car. Sometime during the journey one of her shoes had come off and this he retrieved, stuffing it in the pocket of his jacket. With a grunt, he heaved her up onto his shoulder like a sack of onions, and carried her over to his front door. Eventually, after some fumbling he found his key and stepped inside.

  Despite her slender body she was a dead weight on his shoulder. He crossed through to his bedroom and gently laid her down onto his bed. Leslie watched the sleeping woman for a moment while he decided what best to do. He listened to her gentle snores as he rolled her over to remove her shoe and dress. There was no way she was going anywhere for a few hours at least. Neither would she be aware of him or anything else for that matter. He tucked a cotton sheet around her, a flask of water and glass by her side, and left her to sleep it off.

  Walking back into his living room Leslie eyed the short sofa with some disdain. Sighing he removed his own evening clothes and lay there staring at the flickering shadows on the darkened walls. Things had not quite worked out as he had expected. Sleep was a while in coming as he listened to the sounds from his bedroom. She was going to have a ghastly headache tomorrow that was certain. She was also going to be furious. He gave a chuckle, turned over on his uncomfortable bed and slept.

  ~~~

  With a start, Leslie awoke some hours later to a strange clatter coming from his galley-like kitchen. The sun was up, streaming hot and bright through the chink in the cheap and badly fitting curtains. He cast a jaded eye around at the tawdry surroundings of his room and wondered where he had put his trousers last night. His mouth was dry and sour and he felt the tell-tale niggle of a headache beginning in his temple.

  A curse on all cheap alcohol, he mused. As he sat up, the previous evening’s events came flooding back to him, and he wondered how Sonja was feeling. As she was already awake, up and moving, she was obviously doing better than he had thought. He was rewarded by the sight of her coming out of the kitchen with two steaming cups in her hands. Despite all that she had drunk the night before, she looked relatively wide-awake and composed.

  ‘Good morning. Is tea all right for you?’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Leslie struggled to get into a better sitting position as she handed him a cup. He pondered on her amused smile as she sat down in an armchair opposite his sofa, her legs curled under her. Her hair was completely down, covering her shoulders.

  ‘I didn’t put any sugar in it, as I wasn’t sure how you took it,’ she said taking a sip while holding his gaze over the rim of her cup.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ he replied trying not to stare. She looked much younger with her hair unruly around her face. She even appeared approachable. After all those weeks of trying and now she was here, in his billet, wearing his old maroon-silk dressing gown! The flimsy material clung to her body, moulding itself around slim angular curves of breast, hip and thigh. She displayed very sexy ankles and calves, well-toned muscle. He shifted his weight wondering whether she had realised that it was he who had removed her dress before putting her to bed. His headache was completely forgotten but his mouth remained dry.

  ‘How clever of you,’ she murmured. There rang a trace of laughter in her voice, her cup before her face.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I said, how clever of you to get me here.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he lied.

  ‘Leslie you saw the moment and took it. You’ve been chasing me for weeks.’

  ‘Oh. That.’

  He gave a small chuckle recalling her snoring earlier.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Nothing, it’s just that, you’re here and I’m here and yet?’

  ‘Oh you mean nothing happened? Are you disappointed?’ She gave a teasing laugh in return at his discomfort. She was aware of his reputation. How disappointed and ridiculous he must be feeling.

  ‘Well yes, that is no -. Oh, of course not! You were completely and hopelessly blotto last night!’

  There was a pause as she met his gaze with candour. She tilted her head slightly to one side as if considering her words. When she spoke it was with a husky voice.

  ‘Well, I am perfectly sober now.’

  Leslie looked on with astonishment as she stood up and placed her cup onto a side table. Untying the sash at her waist, Sonja let the silk gown slide down her shoulders to pool on the floor at her feet. She was thin, as thin as a reed. Her hips were boyish and angular, and she owned the smallest of breasts with tiny pink nipples. Perhaps most amazing of all was the thick bush of dense, sooty black pubic hair. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked slowly, hips gently swaying, towards the bedroom.

  Open-mouthed with disbelief, Leslie downed his cup and followed.

  ~~~

  Once becoming lovers, Sonia broke off her long engagement to the chin-less wonder at the Consulate and began to spend some of her nights with Leslie. They had to be careful as Leslie was married, and affairs were sternly frowned upon. Sonja had only one stipulation. Having had a previous long engagement she wanted a promise of marriage, now.

  ‘I want your promise, that you’ll marry me as soon as you can. I don’t want to wait another five years like before,’ she said quite calmly.

  For the first time in his life Leslie was besotted. Maybe it was because she had held him off for so long. He found he wanted Sonja as he had no other, and was left with no choice. His hormones were ruling his head.

  Within months Beth sued for divorce. There were floods of tears, threats from her aged father, and in the middle of it all, two bewildered children. Leslie and Sonja became engaged, and eventually there was an acrimonious divorce back in England. Leslie claimed limited means when it came to support his ex-wife and children. The courts looked at the bitter estranged couple and made a ruling over Leslie’s army pay. They decided what was fair and just.

  And so, Leslie and Sonja were married. They say that a leopard doesn’t change his spots. Despite a heavy restraining hand from Sonja, his lustful, lascivious eye was already roving. In later years his devotion to sex would be called an illness; an addiction.

  The years passed.

  Chapter 30.

  O, treachery! Fly, … fly, fly, fly!

  Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 3.

  The last remaining Army truck finally rumbled out of Agios Mamas. As it changed down a gear to chug up the steep hill, Antigone watched half-hidden behind a dry-stone wall. Leaning back against the wall she closed her eyes. She had felt numb inside ever since she panicked and fled from Leslie.

  After her brother’s savage attack, she had locked herself in her bedroom. Curling up for comfort, her body ached from the cuts and bruises. She lay in the gloom, clutching at the coverlet her mother had made for her when she was a small child. She stroked the soft cotton, sensing the cool touch of her mother’s hands on her sweaty brow, telling her to forget this episode, get on with her life.

  Later, she prayed to her little icon above her bed. Neither of the men had come home after the soldiers had finally gone from their village; father and son were probably rejoicing in a bar.

  She knew now that Leslie had taken her for a little fool, never cared for her. He was worse than the village boys, with all their clumsy fumbling approaches. At least they were honest. They did not cover up their lusting with pseudo courtship.

  The evening darkened around her the blackness falling like a soft cocoon. Her trembling subsided.

  Taking the little icon from the wall, Antigone held it reverently in her hands. She made a vow, never to be deceived again. Not by a silver-tongued Englishman, or a brother that was more beast than man. Indeed, she would not be fooled by any man. She would never marry. The thought of lying close to a man every night until she died made her flesh crawl and want to vomit. Even the thought of her own father and brother filled her with repugnance.
What could she do?

  As she lay through the dark hours listening to the night sounds, a solution presented itself. Her mother had left her a small house, on the outskirts of the village. It consisted of only one room for living and sleeping, but it included a yard ideal for cooking on the primus stove or in the kleftiko oven. The outside privy had its own cesspit, and she could keep animals; a few goats, chickens and her donkey in the lean-to shed. There was no electricity but she could manage with paraffin lamps.

  She would live there on her own. Oh, what a thrill not to be under the hand of her father and brother. She knew they would complain and try to prevent her going; after all who would cook and clean for them? Well, she would do the minimum; an evening meal and maybe some washing. There were plenty of other women around.

  Antigone would feed herself by making and selling cheese. Her thoughts were in an excited spin. She could rear chickens for eggs and meat; in the cooler months she would grow a few vegetables. From time spent with her goats as they browsed the bushes, she’d gained invaluable knowledge of the wild herbs and greens that grew in profusion. She would not starve.

  To throw off her misery she made plans for her future independence. She could foresee family rows; Cypriot women usually did as they were told in the 1970s. Gradually, she would withdraw from village society to a solitary life.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, wincing as she again felt her bruised and battered body. At last, as the thin grey-light slipped over the rim of the hills Antigone fell into an exhausted slumber.

  Chapter 31. Summer turns to autumn and winter.

  But now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in to saucy doubts and fears.