Hearts of Stone

by Scarrow, Simon

  It was tempting to remind Steiner of the attacks carried out on the cities of Britain a few years earlier, but Peter resisted the impulse. In war one atrocity always failed to balance another.

  Steiner took a sip of coffee and his cup clinked lightly as he set the saucer down on his thigh. ‘Most of his papers were destroyed by the same blast. Some were salvaged and taken to the university. I looked them over but I could find nothing that related to the extraordinary claim he made that night. I thought he might have told you something, or that you know where he might have kept other records.’

  Peter shook his head. ‘I knew nothing of this. This is all quite a surprise to me, sir. I had no idea.’

  ‘A pity . . . Do you know of any papers he might have left at any other location that might reveal more?’

  ‘No.’

  Steiner frowned. ‘I feared you would say that. But while you are here you may remember something that could help me in my search for your father’s discovery, when you are not assisting the Oberstleutnant, of course.’

  He exchanged a nod with the garrison commander.

  ‘Pardon me, sir, but are you saying that you were sent to Lefkas to find the tomb, or whatever it is my father discovered?’

  ‘Of course. Why else would I be here? We have had men on the island even under the noses of the Italians while we searched for the site. I myself have only been here for a few weeks. It was my idea to send for you.’

  Peter frowned slightly. ‘I still don’t understand. Why go to such an effort in the middle of a war?’

  Steiner drained his cup and set the saucer down on the desk. ‘It’s a fair question. Perhaps I should explain that I am part of a special unit set up by Reichsführer Himmler. For many years now he has taken an interest in historical artefacts. Some are religious in nature, others simply of archaeological interest. But all such things have a value, a certain . . . aura that they bestow upon the nation that possesses them. I happened to mention my discussion with your father to my superiors and they were very interested to see if there was anything in it. Imagine, a legendary king’s tomb, filled with treasures looted from Troy. You can understand why Himmler would want them to be claimed by Germany. No?’

  The thought of the contents of the tomb of Odysseus being revealed to the world momentarily inspired Peter. And then he was struck by the sheer fancifulness of Steiner’s absurd mission. A war was raging across Europe, and the wider world, and yet there was time to allocate much-needed resources to hunting down ancient tombs and seizing their contents. This was a manner of madness exhibited by the Nazi hierarchy that he had not encountered before.

  ‘Forgive me, sir, but it seems far-fetched. I don’t know what my father said to you, but from what I can recall of our expedition, we found no trace of any tomb.’

  Steiner flicked a loose thread off his trousers. ‘That’s because your father did not take either of us into his confidence at the time. I imagine he wanted to keep his discovery to himself until he was able to return here and uncover the tomb.’

  ‘Then why would he break his silence to tell you?’

  Steiner shrugged. ‘Maybe he was afraid he might not survive the war and that his discovery would die with him. And since the island had come under our control there was a chance that an approach to the relevant authorities might lead to a new expedition.’

  Peter considered this for a moment, and felt wounded that his father had not felt able to confide in him – if what Steiner said was the truth.

  ‘In any event,’ Steiner continued, ‘your orders are to assist our efforts here, and that includes helping me. I shall look forward to having the esteemed Dr Muller’s son working alongside me. Just like old times, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then we’ll waste no time in getting started.’ He stood up and crossed the room to the map and indicated a village a few kilometres from the site of the dig. ‘Two companies of mountain troops will be driving up to Alatro early tomorrow morning. They will conduct a patrol of the hills north of the village to try and flush out some of the resistance bands. It’s part of the ongoing campaign to rid this island of the andartes. We’ll go with them, Leutnant. They will provide cover for us while we go about our work. A squad has been assigned to my command to help search the site of the excavation. Your father provided me with a few details that should help direct our search. If we find nothing, then we’ll come back when the next sweep is organised and look again. We will find that tomb however long it takes, and when we do, you can be confident that your father is given his share of the credit for the discovery. Of course, I will be sure to acknowledge your help in the matter as well.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Steiner smiled. ‘Then our business is finished here. Unless the Oberstleutnant has anything to add?’ He turned deferentially to the other officer who had been listening. Salminger leaned back and crossed his arms.

  ‘You know my views on this wild goose chase of yours.’

  Steiner’s expression hardened. ‘I am sure that the Reichsführer would be interested to know that you consider it as such.’

  ‘The Reichsführer is in Berlin. My men and I are here. Our priority is to stamp down on the resistance. Be that as it may, I have my orders to assist you, and I will do so as long as it does not interfere with my primary purpose.’

  ‘With respect, sir, you will assist me whatever your primary purpose may be.’

  The garrison commander sniffed and waved towards the door. ‘You will have the men you need. Just don’t get yourselves into any trouble. Now, as you say, our business is finished. Muller, wait outside in the corridor. I’ll have one of my orderlies take you to your billet. As for you, Sturmbannführer, I dare say we’ll see each other at dinner. Dismissed.’

  The others stiffened to attention and Steiner snapped his right arm out as he clicked his heels. ‘Heil Hitler.’

  Peter followed suit and with a brief look of irritation Salminger casually raised his hand halfway in response.

  Then Peter turned and followed Steiner from the office.

  * * *

  As night closed over Lefkada, Peter emerged from the baker’s house where he had been assigned a room. Another officer had already been accommodated there but had not returned from his duties by the time Peter had unpacked his kitbag, washed in the steel tub in the small yard behind the bakery, and put on his best uniform. He checked his hair in the mirror then stood back and gazed at his reflection. His face had filled out since he had been a teenager and his shoulders were broader. He still wore spectacles of the same design, round with steel frames, and he disliked the bookish look they conferred on him. He appeared more like a student than a soldier, he decided glumly. In truth, that was how he saw himself. Had it not been for the war he would have continued his studies at the university and been embarking on his doctorate. He ran his hand over his hair one last time and left the bakery and headed off into the heart of the old town. The streets were quiet now that the curfew imposed on the islanders had come into effect. Peter passed a handful of soldiers patrolling the streets but otherwise there was an eerie stillness to the dimly illuminated streets and alleys of Lefkada.

  He paused outside the entrance to Inspector Thesskoudis’s house. The shutters were closed and only a thin glow from within illuminated the wooden slats. Peter strained his ears but could not make out the sound of any voices from within. Taking a deep, calming breath he walked up to the door, removed his cap and knocked twice. There was no response. He waited and then knocked again. This time he heard a muted exchange and footsteps shuffling within. A moment later the bolt slid back and the door opened a crack and a face peered round the edge, silhouetted by the dull glow of a lamp inside.

  ‘Who’s that?’ the woman demanded.

  Peter could not help smiling as he recognised Eleni’s mother. He cleared his throat and answered in Greek. ‘It’s Peter Muller.’

  There was a beat when the stillness of the town seemed to press in on the
little scene and then the door opened a fraction wider and a dull loom fell upon the visitor, revealing his features.

  ‘Peter Muller?’ she muttered and then gave a gasp. ‘Peter?’

  He bowed his head. ‘Hello, Mrs Thesskoudis. May I come in?’

  ‘What . . . What are you doing here?’ She glanced over his uniform and her eyes widened in anxiety. ‘Peter?’

  ‘Who is it?’ the policeman called from inside. ‘Rosa, who is it?’

  ‘It’s Peter. Peter Muller.’

  ‘Nonsense! I’m in no mood for games. Tell me.’

  She hesitated long enough for her husband to join her and stare in surprise at the tall soldier standing at their door.

  ‘By the Holy Virgin,’ Thesskoudis exclaimed. Abruptly he leaned out of the door and glanced both ways along the street before urgently ushering the German inside. ‘Come in, my boy. Quickly.’

  Peter stepped over the threshold and the door was closed swiftly behind him. A single electric bulb illuminated the main room of the house and the furniture cast dark shadows across the floor and walls. Thesskoudis recovered from his surprise and extended his hand cautiously.

  ‘It’s good to see you again . . . Welcome. Welcome!’ He smiled and steered Peter towards one of the chairs by the large table that also served as his desk. The remains of a meal were at one end and a small pile of papers and forms at the other. Only two places had been set, Peter noted as he sat down.

  ‘Rosa, fetch a bottle of raki and some glasses. We have an honoured guest!’ He laughed in that familiar way that Peter had almost forgotten and he could not help another smile. When all three had a glass to hand, Thesskoudis raised his and thought a moment before he gave the toast. ‘To friendships that stand the test of time and circumstance! Eviva!’

  They drained their glasses and set them down sharply. Thesskoudis licked his lips and leaned towards his visitor. ‘So, Peter, what are you doing here? Part of the garrison I expect, yes?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve been assigned to headquarters as a translator.’

  ‘I see. Translator. And I expect your knowledge of the island might have also informed their choice.’

  ‘Yes. I was happy when I heard that I was to return. So happy. It’s been a long time and the island and my friends have never been far from my thoughts. And now I am here again.’ He paused and gestured at his uniform. ‘Though I wish it was under different circumstances. But I want you to know that I still consider you my friends. I hope we can be that, even if . . .’

  Rosa Thesskoudis clicked her tongue. ‘The war has changed things, my dear. I wish it were not so.’

  ‘Enough,’ Thesskoudis intervened gently. ‘Not now. For the sake of our friendship with Peter and his father, eh?’

  His wife cocked her head to one side but said nothing as her husband continued. ‘And how is dear Dr Muller?’

  ‘My father was . . . He died,’ he said simply.

  ‘I am sorry to hear that. He was a good man. A great pity. It saddens me.’

  His wife nodded in agreement. ‘Yes. A pity. Just like Katarides.’

  Peter’s ears pricked up. ‘Mr Katarides is dead?’

  ‘Yes. He died this spring. He had been ill for some time, then seemed to reover for a brief spell before he collapsed one evening. His heart had given out,’ she explained. ‘A great loss. His poetry was loved by many. Though I could not read it. I never learned. Eleni read it to me some nights.’ She smiled fondly at the memory for a moment. ‘I think his heart could not bear the tragedy that has befallen his people. The war, the starvation and the struggle between the andartes and the enemy.’

  Thesskoudis coughed and his wife blinked and fixed her gaze on Peter. ‘I am sorry. You are not our enemy, I think.’

  He felt a stab of pain. ‘I do not consider myself to be. I do not wish it.’

  The policeman shook his head. ‘What we wish for is something of a luxury these days, my boy. We are victims of fate and we must do what we can to survive until this madness is over.’

  Peter felt the policeman’s sadness and then asked, ‘What of Andreas Katarides? What became of him?’

  Thesskoudis deliberately avoided meeting his wife’s sharp glance as he replied. ‘He joined the navy. I recall he told you before you and your father left us.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘He was on a submarine when the war began. That’s the last we heard of him.’

  ‘Oh.’ Peter felt the loss keenly, but was not surprised. The German forces had easily swept all before them during the invasion of Greece. Tens of thousands had perished defending their homeland. And it seemed more than likely that Andreas was amongst the fallen. No doubt his father had come to the same realisation and that had contributed to his death. He frowned. So much tragedy. Then he fixed his host with an anxious stare.

  ‘And Eleni?’

  ‘She is well,’ said her mother. ‘And no doubt she will be glad to know that you have returned safely.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In Nidhri. She lives with a friend’s family. They give her work from time to time to earn her keep. There was nothing for her in Lefkada. No work, and food has been scarce for years now.’

  ‘Nidhri,’ Peter mused. ‘If you give me her address I will look for her as soon as I have the chance to go there.’

  There was a brief silence before Thesskoudis folded his hands. ‘Perhaps it would be better not to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Peter, you are a German. A German soldier. Your people waged war against us and invaded our land, our home. It is not something a friendship can easily endure. Eleni will be glad you are alive, but like all the islanders, we have suffered at the hands of Germany. Eleni has not taken it well. It’s not an easy thing for me to say, but we are enemies. It is not my choice or yours. Others did that to us. But we are enemies all the same. In my heart I have nothing but hatred for those who have done us harm.’

  ‘That is why you brought me inside so quickly.’

  ‘Of course. Do you think we wish to be thought of as collaborators by our neighbours? But we have played the part of good hosts and shared a drink. Now, my boy, it pains me to have to ask you to leave us. Before anyone notices you are here.’

  ‘Leave?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why should you care about what others think? I can arrange for you to be protected. I can make sure that you have enough food. Enough even to support Eleni so that she can come home. I can do that for you. For the sake of our friendship.’

  This time Rosa answered. ‘We do not want your food. We do not want your protection. You are the enemy. While German boots are on our soil you can never be our friend. Please go.’

  ‘Yes, go.’ Thesskoudis nodded. ‘And do not come back.’ He stood up and crossed to the door.

  Peter stared from one to the other helplessly. ‘It does not have to be this way. I came to you for the sake of our friendship.’

  ‘And for the sake of our friendship I have explained our position.’ Thesskoudis drew a breath and gritted his teeth. ‘Leave us.’

  Peter’s expression hardened as he rose to his feet. ‘I should have known better. I remember how stubborn the Greeks are. How proud.’

  ‘Then you should understand.’

  He replaced his cap and made for the door, pausing on the threshold. ‘Tell Eleni I would like to see her. I hope she is more amenable to reason than her parents. Perhaps she will be ashamed by the way you have treated me tonight.’

  Thesskoudis smiled thinly. ‘I think not.’

  Peter stared at each of them briefly and then left the house. He heard the door shut firmly behind him, cutting off the light, and he was swallowed up by the darkness in the street as he picked his way back to his billet.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A cool northerly breeze was blowing across Lefkas as the column of soldiers approached the village of Alatro. They had left the trucks four kilometres down the track that wound its way through the h
ills to the earth road leading to Nidhri. Although it was autumn in the Mediterranean the climate still provided tolerable enough conditions for the German mountain troops. They carried food and water for the day, in addition to their weapons and spare ammunition. Even so, the climb up to the village had been strenuous, sweat streaked the men’s faces and they were breathing hard as they fanned out into the olive groves on either side of the track and cautiously approached the nearest buildings.

  The church bell began to ring and the men instinctively stopped and crouched, anticipating that it was a signal, warning of their approach. Peter glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was just after midday and he surmised that there was nothing sinister in the sound of the bells. They soon stopped, leaving the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze and the occasional plaintive bleat of goats.

  On either side of him the men assigned to the sweep stretched out in a line under the trees. Steiner and his squad followed on ten metres back. The Sturmbannführer had changed into a field uniform and wore a holstered pistol which was attached to his belt. The company commander, Hauptmann Dietrich, had crept a short distance ahead of his translator and now turned to wave his men forward and they continued up the gentle incline. Like the SS officer, Peter was armed with a pistol and carried his water bottle, rolled cape, binoculars and a small sidebag for the day’s rations besides. He felt tense as he crept forward over the stony soil, fully expecting to hear a shot ring out at any instant. Dietrich had briefed them at first light, telling the men that the resistance fighters were well-armed and motivated as well having the advantage of knowing the ground. As a result, they would be sure to want to teach the Germans a lesson if the opportunity arose. If it came to a fight, then the mountain troops must be ready to respond at once, with aggression, and turn the tables on their opponents.

  Fine in principle, Peter reflected as he watched Dietrich carefully make his way through the last of the olive trees and out on to open ground. But he feared that his first instinct would not be to take the fight to the enemy. Until he faced battle for the first time he had no idea how he would react. Much as he desired to do his duty for his country he was a reluctant warrior and was more afraid of shaming himself through cowardice than of being wounded or killed. The latter fate actually seemed preferable to a crippling, disfiguring wound, or the knowledge that he lacked the moral fibre to stand alongside his comrades in battle. Absurd, he told himself. No rational man would consider death the least worst option, but in matters of courage and self-respect, rationality always fared poorly.