by Gavin Scott
“I need help, Duncan,” he said. Forrester grabbed the largest pine branch he could find, thrust it under the pediment and began to lever the massive marble block up, allowing Alexandros and Sophie to pull Stephanides free. The General examined his friend with the swift efficiency born of years on the battlefield.
“His head is injured, but I think the skull is not crushed,” said Alexandros after a moment. He felt Stephanides’s arm. “His shoulder is broken, but a moment ago he could move his feet, so I think not the spine. But we need to get him to the monastery as soon as possible.”
“I’ll rig up a stretcher.”
Alexandros nodded, and began to take off his jacket; Forrester went in search of more branches. Sophie knelt down in his place.
“How did it happen?” she said.
“Giorgios found me here while I was waiting for you and Duncan,” said Alexandros briefly. “There was an explosion and the shrine collapsed.”
Forrester began to slide the branches through the arms of the jacket and shirt to create the stretcher.
“Waiting for us? Why?”
“Because of your message,” said Alexandros.
“There was no message from me,” said Forrester as he worked. “We were on the other side of the island, searching for the stone at Limani Sangri.”
“A shepherd boy brought it. He said you sent him.”
Together, they slid the unconscious man onto the improvised stretcher.
“Then somebody wanted to lure me here,” said Alexandros.
“Well, it wasn’t us,” said Forrester. “Ready to lift?”
Giorgios groaned as the two men raised the stretcher. Then, with Alexandros at Stephanides’s head, Forrester at his feet, Sophie following behind carrying everything the two men had had to put down, they set off for all the world like some ancient funeral procession.
Behind them, silence returned to the clearing, the goddess looked out from the remains of her ruined temple, Stephanides’s blood began to soak into the pine needles, and the evening midges came out to hover in the glade.
* * *
The previous night the Abbot and Chrystomatos had seemed somewhat comic figures to Forrester, but as he and Alexandros carried Stephanides in through the massive wooden gates of the monastery, they were all calm efficiency. The Abbot gave the orders, half a dozen monks came running, and within minutes Stephanides was lying on a wooden table in the monastery’s hospital, his bloodied clothes being gently cut away by a surprisingly calm, unhurried Chrystomatos as Brother Thersites, the monastery’s resident doctor, examined the wounded man’s injuries and instructed other monks to bring his surgical instruments, to heat water, and to begin preparing certain herbs.
The Abbot beckoned them away and gestured for them to follow him through a labyrinth of vaulted corridors until they reached his spartan, whitewashed study, its window looking out over a bay now being steadily gilded by the setting sun.
“Sit,” he said, and began pouring four glasses of liqueur from a stone bottle. Without further words, he handed the glasses round and raised his solemnly towards them, as though conferring a blessing.
“To your comrade’s survival,” he said to Alexandros. “He is in good hands.”
“I know, Vasilios,” said Alexandros.
“What happened, Ari?” asked the Abbot, and as they spoke Forrester began to realise they knew each other much better than either of their formal positions would suggest.
“I received a message asking me to meet Captain Forrester and his lady at the shrine,” said Alexandros. “While I was waiting Giorgios found me there and began a conversation. Then there was a small explosion and the shrine collapsed. I ducked out of the way but Giorgios was closer – the pediment struck him as it fell.”
“We sent no message,” said Forrester. “Somebody else wanted Ari there.”
“To bring Maia’s shrine down on top of you?”
“So it would seem, my friend,” said Alexandros.
“So the question is,” said the Abbot, looking hard at Alexandros, “who would do such a thing?”
There was a pause.
“Who indeed?” said the General.
* * *
An hour later, when Brother Thersites had finished his operation and Stephanides was asleep in the infirmary, Alexandros, Forrester and Sophie left the monastery and began to walk along the path that skirted the edge of the woods back towards the kastello.
“Do you think this is to do with ELAS?” said Forrester.
Alexandros shot him a dark look. “It had better not be,” he said.
“Elas?” said Sophie. “I’ve forgotten, who is Elas?”
“ELAS is the army the communists are putting together,” said Alexandros. “They want me to lead it. Needless to say there are those who would go to any lengths to prevent me.”
“Have you decided?” said Forrester.
“Greece has seen far too much bloodshed. I have no desire to plunge it into another civil war,” said Alexandros.
“Then why might anyone think you would?” asked Sophie.
Alexandros gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Because they know I have been frustrated and isolated since I returned to my official position,” he said. “My fellow officers hate me because when they surrendered I fought on against the Nazis. They fear me because many of the brave men with whom I campaigned against the Germans are the same men who are putting ELAS together today. And because they know I despise most of the politicians who are now sinking their talons into Greece. These are the reasons why people might think I would accept the offers ELAS has been making.”
“But you’re not going to?” said Forrester.
Alexandros turned and fixed him with a hard stare. “If whoever destroyed that beautiful shrine did so in order to prevent me from joining my old comrades in their struggle, they are making a very bad mistake. They might achieve exactly the opposite of what they want. Or the Americans want. Or the British.”
Forrester met his eyes. “Ari, let’s be clear about one thing: whatever has happened, it has nothing to do with me. Whoever lured you to that clearing simply used my name to deceive you, that’s all.”
“But the British are desperate to prevent Greece falling into communist hands – and you work for the British government, do you not?”
“No,” said Forrester. “I’m here on an archaeological expedition, as I told you.”
“Paid for by the British government.”
“Funded by the Empire Council for Archaeology, which is not the same thing.”
“But you have been working with Major Archibald MacLean since the war ended.”
Forrester hesitated: he hadn’t realised Alexandros would be so well informed. But when he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Of course, Soviet intelligence in London would have passed news of his reconnection with MacLean to the communists in Greece – the very people who had been trying to recruit Alexandros.
“I worked with Archie MacLean to help save a colleague who was wrongly accused of murder. I’m not employed by the War Office or MI6 or any other organisation. Besides, I’m your friend. You don’t seriously think I’d try to kill you, do you?”
“No.” Alexandros shook his head. “I don’t know. Truth is, I don’t know who to trust any more, Duncan.”
Forrester turned to face him, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Well, you can trust me, Ari. Deep down, you know that. You saved my life at least twice during the war; I probably did the same for you.”
“Beyond a doubt you did,” said Alexandros.
“What you decide to do about ELAS is not my business, though I won’t pretend I’ve any time for the communists or that I think another civil war would do Greece any good.”
“Believe me, neither do I,” said Alexandros. “That’s what makes this whole thing so crazy. If they’d just leave me alone—”
“They may be leaving you alone,” said Forrester. “This may have nothing to do with ELAS.”
�
�Constantine Atreides is here,” said Alexandros. “Is that a coincidence?”
“Connie?” said Forrester. “Can you see Connie murdering anyone?”
“He wants to bring the king back, and all the fascist swine who lorded it over us in the thirties.”
“But seriously, Ari – Connie?”
“I know, I know. But we have a whole boatload of British here – Durrell, Runcorn, Venables, Beamish—”
“To say nothing of some fiery Greeks like Helena Spetsos and her lover.”
“Helena would never—”
“Would never try to kill you? Are you kidding, Ari? She practically caused a shipwreck to get here and she smashed half the relics on the island to stop you remarrying Penelope.”
“I never divorced Penelope, it was—”
“Yes, we understand. But the point is the woman is capable of anything.”
“So what should I do?” asked Alexandros.
“Make sure you stay alive,” said Forrester simply.
“Which is hard when I don’t know who is trying to kill me.” They walked on for a moment in silence, and then Alexandros turned to Forrester. “Would you try to find out who it is, my friend?”
Forrester glanced at Sophie. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll do anything I can.”
“Thank you,” said Alexandros. “It is good to know you are on my side. By the way, did you find anything at the wreck?”
“Nothing,” said Forrester. “Except a bloody octopus.”
“I’m sorry,” said the General. “So your stone is lost at sea?”
“So it would seem,” said Forrester, but even as he spoke, he began to wonder.
16
BITTER HERBS
There was a lot of explaining to do when they got back to the kastello, but Forrester left that to Alexandros and concentrated on watching the reactions. They were gathered in the big lamp-lit room overlooking the bay, almost as they had been when Helena Spetsos’s collapse had disrupted the ceremony the night before.
“This is appalling,” said Lawrence Durrell. “You think somebody deliberately blew up that lovely shrine in order to kill Colonel Stephanides?”
“Why should anyone even want to kill the colonel?” asked David Venables. “I don’t understand.”
“No one wanted to kill Giorgios,” said Alexandros. “I believe the target was me.”
“Colonel Stephanides was just there by chance,” said Forrester. “It was Ari who’d been lured up there with a note saying I’d asked him to meet us there.”
“Are you sure it didn’t just collapse of its own accord?” asked Runcorn.
“I heard the explosion,” said Alexandros. “Not a big one, but enough to cause the pillars to fall.”
“And Giorgios? What about him?” demanded Penelope.
“He will live,” said Alexandros, shortly.
“If I find out who did it, I will kill them myself,” said Penelope.
“I was sketching in that grove half the day,” said Keith Beamish. “I didn’t see anything. Needless to say, to save anyone the trouble of asking, I had nothing to do with it. I’m as horrified as everyone else.”
“Who sent you the message to wait in the grove?” asked Helena Spetsos. “Because whoever did that is the one to blame.” There was a sudden silence in the room. She stared around defensively. “Why are you all looking at me like that? I had nothing to do with it. Why would I want to kill Giorgios?”
“You probably wouldn’t,” said Penelope Alexandros. “But you are quite capable of wanting to kill my husband when you found you couldn’t have him for yourself.”
For a moment no one said anything – and then Helena smiled. “What makes you think I can’t have him?” she said. “We have been through much more together than you and he ever have. We faced death together, we survived defeat together, we led men and women into battle and brought victory to our nation. Ari knows it was destiny that brought us together – not just our destiny, but the destiny of Greece. He has grown beyond you, Penelope, and he knows it. Last night’s little ceremony would have been no more than a charade. I think you know that.”
Hardly had she finished speaking than in one swift movement Penelope Alexandros swept up the oil lamp from the table and flung it with deadly accuracy across the room. Only the younger woman’s reflexes allowed her to duck neatly away as the lamp smashed into the wall – but before she had straightened up Penelope strode across the room and slapped her violently across the face.
“You know nothing about Ari, you whore,” she said, “and you know nothing about me. Ari has finished with you. And so have I. Perhaps that’s why you tried to kill him, and bungled it.”
Alexandros stared at his wife, as though frozen in place by her fury – as Ariadne Patrou stepped in between the two women. “That’s enough!” she said, firmly. “She doesn’t need your husband, she doesn’t need any of you. She has me.”
Pulling himself together, Alexandros turned to his wife. “Let’s get you upstairs, my love.”
Penelope glared at him, her eyes bright with fury. “Are you mad?” she said. “I’m going to the monastery.”
“The monastery?”
“To be with Giorgios,” said Penelope. “Or had you forgotten about him?”
* * *
“Well,” remarked Lawrence Durrell, after Penelope and Alexandros had gone, “this will make a splendid story for the Aegean Times.”
“I hope you’re joking, Larry,” said Charles Runcorn. “It’s a shocking state of affairs, and a private matter as well.”
“Of course I’m joking,” said Durrell, though Forrester wasn’t at all certain he had been. He suspected that even if the journalist in Durrell could be restrained for a moment, the writer knew a good dramatic situation when he saw one. “I’m as upset as the rest of you by what’s happened. But Alexandros is a public figure. It’s going to be very hard to keep something like this quiet.”
“That rather depends on us, doesn’t it?” said Constantine Atreides. “I think this should remain private, and surely it’s up to us to do it.”
“I have been accused of murder,” said Helena Spetsos. “And until that accusation is withdrawn I have no intention of remaining silent.”
“Penelope spoke in the heat of the moment,” said David Venables. “Nobody took her seriously.”
Helena looked at him speculatively. “For that matter, perhaps she tried to kill Ari herself when she realised he was going to come to me instead of her.”
“That sounds like wishful thinking,” said Keith Beamish.
“There’s no wishful thinking about it,” Helena snapped back. She turned on Ariadne. “And as for you, I had no need of your protection from Penelope Alexandros or anyone else. I’ll thank you to let me fight my own battles in future.”
“She wanted to kill you,” said Ariadne sullenly. “I wasn’t going to let her.”
“We’ll discuss this in private,” said Helena. “But if the rest of you want to go on speculating who might have wanted to kill Aristotle Alexandros, perhaps you should concentrate on Constantine Atreides.”
And with that she left the room with Ariadne in her wake. Atreides looked around with bewildered ignorance.
“How could she accuse me?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“Because you are afraid General Alexandros will join ELAS, old chap,” said David Venables, “as a result of which the communists will take over Greece and your precious king will never dare show his face here again.”
“That’s a lie,” said Atreides. “Why would I think Alexandros would ever start a civil war?”
“He might not want to start one,” said Venables, “but if one is coming might he not want to make sure the right side wins?”
Runcorn looked at him quizzically, with a curious half-smile on his lips. “What makes you so certain the communists are the right side, Venables? Don’t tell me you want to see Stalin running Greece as well as the rest of Eastern Europe?”
“I th
ink the communists would be preferable to a bunch of fascists and collaborators,” said Venables, “and I don’t accept that if the communists took over in Greece Stalin would dominate. Look at Tito in Yugoslavia – he’s independent enough.”
“My dear fellow,” said Durrell, “how long do you think Tito will be able to stand up to the Kremlin? Months, if I’m any judge of it. And the same would apply to Greece if the communists take over.”
Venables shrugged, and poured himself a glass of ouzo. “You could be right. It’s not my fight. I’m just upset because someone has tried to kill a good man.”
“And succeeded in nearly killing another one,” said Keith Beamish. “Was Stephanides badly injured, Forrester?”
“Yes,” said Forrester briefly. “He’ll recover but it’ll be some time. You really didn’t see anybody skulking around the temple while you were there?”
“I did not,” said Beamish. “I was sketching till about noon and I can assure you that if anybody had been trying to booby-trap that shrine I would have noticed.”
“Did you see anyone going in that direction as you came back to the kastello?” asked Charles Runcorn.
“I did not,” said Beamish, “otherwise I would have said so.”
“Naturally,” said Runcorn.
At which point Socrates came in and announced that supper was about to be served. It turned out to be Forrester’s octopus.
17
THE TRIO
As the party broke up after the meal Forrester spoke quietly to Yanni Patrakis. “Can you meet us down by the waterfront in about a quarter of an hour?” he said. Then, in a lower tone: “And it might be as well if nobody noticed you leaving.”
Forrester and Sophie slipped away from the others as soon as they could discreetly do so and made their way down through the village streets towards the water. The scent of jasmine hung heavy in the air and through the open doorways they could see families finishing their evening meals and preparing to retire. It was all profoundly peaceful, and yet Forrester knew, less than a year ago these islands had been at the mercy of German troops quite prepared to torture and kill as it suited them. It was extraordinary how the human need for peace could reassert itself; how the horrors of the past could be forgotten – or at least confined to the vault of memory.
