Secrets Under the Sun

by Nadia Marks

  ‘That would be marvellous, Eva. I shall talk to Hans and organize it,’ Martha decided, sure that her two young sons would be delighted by the adventure.

  ‘There are many stories and legends that would amuse the children,’ Eva continued. ‘We came across a place once, called Cape de Gatto. Apparently its name came from a breed of wildcats which still inhabit the area. They’re said to be descendants of cats imported by the monks of the Monastery of St Nikola in order to kill the poisonous snakes that infested the island in the Middle Ages. What do you think of that?’

  ‘How wonderful!’ Martha applauded the story. ‘Hans tells me there are still poisonous snakes on the island,’ she added, ‘but one just has to be careful …’

  Martha, like Eva, had an adventurous spirit and was determined that her stay on the island was not going to be spent sitting in her drawing room hosting ladies’ tea parties.

  ‘I have heard of a village called Lefkara,’ Martha told Eva conspiratorially as she leaned across to offer her friend one more loukumi, a Greek variation on Turkish delight, before helping herself to another. Filled with almonds and saturated with the essence of rose water and sugar they were, like so many other local delicacies, irresistible; they were her weakness and downfall though she was aware of the effect on her silhouette. Unlike tall and slender Eva, Martha was short and full-bodied and a woman who enjoyed the pleasures of life.

  ‘I have been told that the village of Lefkara is a marvel of artistry!’ she continued. ‘The local women make the most splendid embroideries and lace, and the men are master silversmiths.’

  ‘Where is it?’ Eva asked, her curiosity aroused.

  ‘It’s up in the hills,’ Martha replied eagerly, ‘and I gather it has a long history of craftsmanship. According to legend, Leonardo da Vinci himself visited the village during the Venetian occupation of Cyprus, and he took back with him a lace cloth for the main altar of the Duomo di Milano. They say it’s still on display there today … I think this place deserves a visit, don’t you agree?’

  No sooner had they discussed it than the two women started to plan their trip. Of course it would have to be made over several days, as the journey alone would take an entire day. Eva and Martha organized their trip to the last detail, deciding to take the children with them because, as they explained to their surprised menfolk, ‘it will be very educational’. With them also came an interpreter, two servants and, on the insistence of Hans, a consulate employee.

  The journey towards the hills, which started at dawn, was long and dusty but also picturesque. The wild rocky terrain, which at times dropped into deep ravines, was covered in shrubs and bushes such as sage – which the locals called mountain tea – thyme and capers, all perfect for the goats they saw, grazing precariously on the edge of the hills, much to the children’s amusement. The women also noticed how the rather barren flatland they were leaving behind was changing with the climb, and observed that wherever there was moisture, the ground produced a profusion of vegetation with mimosa, verbena and oleander lining much of the way.

  It was dusk by the time the party arrived and the surrounding mountains were already cloaked with the purple of the setting sun. Entering the village, they found the inhabitants, women, children and men, having been previously informed of the party’s visit, lining up by the side of the road to see them. They stood under fig trees and olive trees, watching silently as the procession of six xeni on mules, donkeys and horses passed noisily in a cloud of dust. The villagers followed the procession to the square, which was decorated for the occasion with the Austrian and Belgian flags. They were ceremonially met by the mouktar, the mayor, and a selection of distinguished villagers both Greek and Turkish, who then escorted the party to the inn where they would be staying for the duration. It soon became apparent that a feast had been prepared in their honour, and although they were exhausted from their journey they felt obliged to accept for fear of giving offence.

  ‘On no account should we insult them by refusing this honour,’ Martha said quietly to Eva, while they were being shown to their rooms by the mouktar’s wife and daughter. ‘Let’s make sure the children are taken care of, and then we can join them.’

  The truth was that while Martha was ready for a feast after their long journey with only short stops for refreshments on the way, Eva was longing for her bed.

  She agreed reluctantly – ‘Everyone is being so kind’ – and despite her fatigue she washed her face, brushed off the dust and joined the assembled company, soon to be revived by a glass of Commandaria, the local fortified sweet wine.

  ‘Apparently,’ the interpreter explained, ‘this wine was originally made on the island by the Knights of St John during the time of the Crusaders, and is now world famous.’

  ‘Well, I have rarely tasted anything so delicious,’ Martha exclaimed, raising her glass for a toast. ‘I don’t think its fame has reached Belgium yet but I will make sure it soon does!’

  They were seated at a long table covered with an exquisite cream linen tablecloth made by the local women in the tradition of the lace-making of Lefkara. The embroidered motif, as the interpreter explained, was the celebrated ‘Leonardo Cross’, which da Vinci himself designed and gifted to the village during his legendary visit. The cross became one of the most renowned motifs and continued to be used by the local women. On either side of the ladies sat the Greek chief of police and the Turkish mouktar, both dressed in the traditional attire, while the interpreter sat opposite them with the rest of the party on either side of him. No other women were present. They, as custom required, were all in the kitchen cooking and serving the food, which arrived at the table at intervals, several dishes at a time, allowing the guests to savour them at their ease.

  Although most of the food Martha and Eva were served was to their liking, they hesitated when a platter arrived at the table displaying the bodies of a dozen or so tiny birds. At the sight of them the interpreter’s eyes lit up with pleasure as he explained enthusiastically that in Greek the dish was called ambelopoulia, literarily translated as ‘vine-birds’, also known to foreigners as beccafico, which were considered one of the island’s great gastronomic treats. The little birds, he continued, were only found on the island at a certain time of the year during their migration.

  ‘As soon as they are captured,’ he told them, ‘these delicious little fat morsels are preserved in vinegar or in wine, to protect their delicate taste and be enjoyed all the year round.’

  Served whole on her plate, the bird, no larger than a small egg, appalled Eva, who was a tender-hearted nature lover. Martha, on the other hand, was willing to try them.

  ‘They are quite delicious, dear,’ she told her friend, after she was shown the correct way to eat them. She had been trying to dissect the bird delicately with her knife and fork, until she was instructed amid much laughter and joviality that the bird should be eaten in a single mouthful. But even Martha found crunching on the bird’s little bones somewhat unsavoury.

  The rest of the trip was as smooth and calm as the Cypriot seashores, with daily visits to the village silversmiths and the lace-makers, while the children were kept entertained by local boys and girls.

  The women of the village carried out their work in their homes and there was no household without at least one member working with the lace. As it was explained to Eva and Martha, the craft was passed down from mother to daughter and the same was true with the silversmiths, from father to son. Everyone did their best to explain and demonstrate their craft, and for years to come, the people of Lefkara talked about the nice foreign ladies who showed so much interest in their village.

  For their part, Eva and Martha left Lefkara with their heads full of ideas and schemes. Martha vowed to set up a little studio in the consulate building where she would continue her watercolours. Meanwhile Eva, having purchased quantities of linen and silk thread, had made up her mind to begin embroidering the minute she returned to Larnaka.

  ‘I fancy that some of my
botanic illustrations could easily be transferred to cloth with needlework,’ she told Martha when the idea first came to her.

  ‘What an excellent idea, Eva dear,’ Martha replied. ‘I look forward to seeing your handiwork.’

  Tentatively at first, Eva started to transfer some of her drawings onto linen, then to embroider them for cushions and pillowcases, practising her stitching and techniques. The first piece she made, once she considered herself skilled enough, was a gift for Martha. She embroidered a cover for a footrest, which she had mounted onto a little stool made of rosewood by a local carpenter. She took weeks to decide on the design, anxious to give her friend something special, something of meaning, something that, when their stay at the consulate was over and Martha and her family left Cyprus, would remind her of the island and their time together.

  She picked the motif with care, concluding that the most appropriate flower for the purpose was the violet. She had illustrated violets on many occasions, both in Austria and Cyprus, but on her arrival in Larnaka Eva had learned that the violet was considered by the townspeople as their emblem, growing as it did in abundance both in gardens and in the wild. Eva also learned that each of the four main towns on the island had a flower allocated to it. These, it was explained to her, were chosen according to the climatic conditions of each town. The rose was the symbol of Nicosia, the jasmine was Famagusta’s, for Kyrinia it was the geranium, and Pafos the fouli, which she found out was an aromatic white flower much resembling a gardenia.

  For the footstool, Eva chose to show the violets in little posies surrounded by their rich green leaves, which intensified the colour of the flower in a horizontal repeat pattern.

  ‘What I love about violets,’ she told Josef, ‘is that they are such a humble and discreet flower. They go unnoticed unless you look down to the ground for them.’

  ‘You are so right, my dear,’ he agreed. ‘You usually only know they are there by their heady aroma, which announces their presence before you’ve even seen them.’

  A few days after Eva presented her friend with the footstool, Martha came to pay her a visit accompanied by two of her male servants holding a large horizontal painting wrapped in a cotton sheet.

  ‘We must have had the same thought,’ Martha told her as the men placed the painting carefully against the wall. ‘I too wanted you to have a memento from our marvellous trip to Lefkara,’ she said, unveiling it.

  The painting Martha presented to Eva was a humorous representation of the banquet the village had hosted for them on their first night. The two ladies sitting in the centre were flanked by the village dignitaries, while the table covered in splendid Lefkara lace was full of delicious morsels including the small vine-birds.

  The cherished picture hung in the Linser dining room for generations.

  The trip to Lefkara fired up both women’s appetite for exploration. They had heard much about the numerous monasteries and Byzantine churches dotted around the island, which contained fine frescoes and exquisite icons. However, most of these were situated deep in the Troodos Mountains, far too remote and difficult to access.

  But one such monastery was situated in the capital, Nicosia. The great Kykkos Monastery, they were informed, which was buried deep in the Troodos forests, also maintained an annex in Nicosia, which the Holy Abbot used as his residence. Martha also learned from her husband that part of the monastery was now being occupied by the British administration as its temporary headquarters, and that if they so wished, their party would be accommodated as guests by the colonel during their stay. Since Nicosia was relatively accessible from Larnaka it was decided that that would be the destination for their next expedition, but without the children this time.

  ‘I gather that apart from the monastery, Nicosia offers much to be seen including other churches and a decent bazaar,’ Martha told Eva.

  The prospect of exploring a larger city and a bazaar, with the possibility of finding exotic treasures to buy, was thrilling.

  ‘We could do some shopping while we’re there, since the children won’t be with us,’ Martha enthused. ‘I have been in search of a Turkish carpet since I arrived. I’m always looking for fine things to take back to Belgium when we leave the island.’

  ‘Perhaps I could buy some more silk thread and fabric.’ Eva clapped her hands with joy at the prospect.

  The journey to Nicosia, which they made on horseback this time, with mules to carry their luggage, started early in the morning accompanied by almost the same entourage as on their previous trip.

  ‘Surely a representative from the consulate is unnecessary this time,’ Martha protested to her husband, wanting to keep their number to a minimum. ‘We will be met by the British Commissioner when we arrive and I am quite sure the colonel will look after us well enough.’

  Martha always had a way of convincing her husband and so on a fragrant early May morning the two friends set off with two servants, a local Greek coachman and the interpreter to explore the sights of Nicosia and surrounding area. The journey proved to be a much less dramatic or scenic affair than the ride up the hills to Lefkara a few months earlier. They had hoped to see flowers and lush vegetation as before, but the road to the capital lay mainly on the flat, crossing arid sunburnt plains between stony hills. Apart from small cornfields, some sorry-looking vineyards, and a few gardens in the villages they passed through, they saw hardly a trace of cultivation. They rode for many hours on difficult roads, sometimes encountering convoys of heavily laden camels and donkeys transporting goods. They stopped twice at village inns for refreshments before finally arriving on the outskirts of Nicosia just as dusk was falling. The city, surrounded by a high Venetian wall, gleamed in the bright moonlight.

  ‘It looks as if it has just been built.’ Eva gazed at the fort in awe. ‘One can hardly believe it is hundreds of years old.’

  ‘The legacy of the Venetians yet again, my dear,’ Martha told her.

  The wall had three magnificent gates as entrances into the city, but to their dismay they discovered that due to their late arrival they had all been locked up for the night.

  ‘The Commissioner is expecting us,’ Martha said, worry evident in her voice but maintaining her composure. ‘Surely someone will come and open for us?’

  ‘Perhaps we should have left earlier …’ Eva added, unable to hide her concern.

  Lucky for them it didn’t take too much shouting, pounding and banging for the Turkish night keeper to appear, lantern and keys in hand, to let the latecomers in.

  Once they entered, finding their way to their destination proved to be quite a different matter – and something of an ordeal as the city appeared to be deserted on account of the late hour. The moon shone brightly over the rooftops, illuminating a confusion of architectural styles, Greek, Turkish and Venetian, as well as mud houses, minarets and churches all jumbled up together.

  ‘Oh Martha, look how exotic it all appears under the night sky,’ Eva exclaimed. ‘It’s quite enchanting! The night becomes this city.’

  Lost in a labyrinth of narrow streets they wandered for what seemed like forever until they came upon a kafeneon, with an adjoining inn. The interpreter went in search of someone while the coachman blankly refused to move any further and proceeded to unharness the horses, insisting they should spend the night there to let the animals rest.

  On his return the interpreter reassured them that the monastery was five minutes away and before too long they were on their way again. After an hour, they realized that perhaps he had been a little liberal with the truth about the exact distance of the location, but by then Martha and Eva were so exhausted they had no breath for complaint.

  On arrival they were treated to a warm welcome by the colonel and his officers, and promptly shown into one of the monastery cells which the officers and monks alike had gone to great lengths to prepare for their stay, complete with a jug full of freshly cut roses from the monastery’s garden.

  ‘I’m sure I have never smelled such delicious f
ragrance before,’ Eva said as the heady aroma hit them on entering the room.

  ‘As much as I am rather hungry,’ Martha said to Eva feeling exhausted as they settled into their room, ‘I am very glad there is no banquet awaiting us.’

  Nevertheless a simple welcome dinner, with no local culinary surprises to deal with, had been prepared for them in the officers’ mess before they all finally took to their beds.

  The next morning upon waking up, Eva and Martha discovered a curious climatic phenomenon: they both woke feeling chilled to their bones despite the several blankets they had been supplied with. Apparently, in Nicosia during the night the temperature plummets to many degrees lower than what they were used to by the coast.

  ‘I must say,’ Martha told Eva, ‘I haven’t felt this cold since I was home in Brussels. I do hope it warms up.’

  Of course by mid-morning the temperature rose and they were plunged into the usual Cypriot heatwave. The two friends couldn’t decide what was worse.

  ‘We are either burning or freezing,’ Eva observed.

  ‘I will have to ask for more blankets tonight,’ Martha complained, ‘or I shall come down with influenza for sure.’

  After breakfast the two friends were informed that the Holy Abbot wanted to meet with them, so they strolled around the grounds of the monastery with the colonel while waiting to be received in his apartments.

  ‘His Holiness resides partly here, and partly in the main monastery in the mountains,’ the colonel explained, adding that were it not for his urgent duties and the emergency situation that seemed to prevail in the capital at this time, he would have liked to join them.

  ‘Unfortunately there is much to do,’ he went on. ‘There is an epidemic of typhoid fever on the island at the moment and some of our soldiers have come down with it. It is under control but it is worrying nevertheless. What about Larnaka? What is the situation there?’ he enquired.