Chapter Thirty
The track leading up to the archaeological site had become overgrown. Where it skirted around the slope of a hill, the edge had collapsed in several places after the winter rains had coursed down and over the track. Little of it seemed familiar to Peter as the column advanced warily, the men constantly watching for signs of an ambush. He tried to recall the times when he had been driven up the track by his father. The memories flooded back and made his heart heavy. The man who had loved him and raised him to share his fascination with history was gone. The loss was still too raw to accept. So he shifted his thoughts to Eleni and Andreas and the occasions when he had walked this ground with his two friends. It seemed long ago, distant, and he felt an ache inside at the thought of them and the conflict that had separated them and turned them into enemies. It was a hard thing to consider Andreas and Eleni as such, and painful to reflect that they would now consider him to be a hateful foe. That much was clear from the reception that her parents had given Peter.
He tried to thrust the hurt of that evening aside and chided himself for being so sentimental. Perhaps Steiner was right. War changed everything. Only the weak and naive clung to the values of peacetime. And yet he shuddered at the image burned into his mind of the execution of the boy back in the village. So sudden, so shocking . . . so barbaric, as if all the beliefs he had once been raised to accept and cherish had been no more than a thin veil to be torn aside to reveal the bestial reality of human nature. Perhaps war was the real face of humanity, and peace was little more than a pretence of what human nature could be. No more than a mask dreamed up by idealists.
It was a terrifying thought, all the more so because Peter feared that it was the unadorned truth. In a world where bombers razed German cities to the ground and incinerated tens of thousands of civilians at a time, there was no place for compassion and mercy to be shown to the enemy whether they wore uniforms or not. All that mattered was the survival of Germany. He paused at that. How long ago was it since he had surrendered the notion of victory? Even if the Führer and his followers still spoke of victory and warned that it was treason to be defeatist, Peter knew he was far from alone in regarding the war as a fight for survival. The crushing defeat at Stalingrad could not be dismissed as a setback. Germany was being battered at the fronts while bombs rained down on the heartland. On that scale, what was one more death in a dusty square of an obscure village on an insignificant island?
Hauptmann Dietrich had stopped ahead and was waiting for Steiner and Peter to catch up. Dietrich fell into step with them and looked at his wristwatch before addressing the SS officer.
‘Sir, it’s already gone fifteen hundred.’
‘I thank you for that information,’ Steiner replied curtly. ‘So?’
‘We still have over two kilometres to march before we reach the site. I have no idea how long you propose to spend there, but we’ll need to leave in good time to return to the trucks before dark.’
‘We will return when I say so, Dietrich.’
‘Sir, it would be dangerous to have to blunder through these hills in the darkness. The andartes know the ground. We do not. If they set a trap for us then we could suffer heavy losses.’
‘Really? I thought the mountain troops were supposed to be an elite force. An officer of the Waffen SS would show no such anxiety in the face of a handful of renegades and brigands.’
Dietrich took the insult with an affronted expression but was wise enough to keep his tone neutral as he responded. ‘I would not presume to lecture an officer of the SS in his area of expertise, sir. In the same manner, I would expect a brother officer to respect the specialism of myself and my men.’
‘Even a brother officer of the SS?’ Steiner grinned. ‘I know how the Wehrmacht looks down its nose at us, Dietrich. But we train as hard as you, and our commitment to Germany and the Führer runs deep and makes us a force to be reckoned with. By our own men, as well as the enemy. If you understand my meaning.’
Dietrich swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then be a good fellow and resume command of your men.’
They exchanged a brief salute before Dietrich increased his pace and made for the head of the column.
‘I find his attitude tiresome in the extreme,’ Steiner mused a moment later. ‘I’m thankful that you are only an artillery officer, Muller. I could not tolerate having to deal with two prima donnas today.’
Peter pressed his lips together and bit back on his anger towards the SS officer. They continued a little further before Steiner spoke again.
‘Are you not excited by the thought of returning to the site of your father’s greatest work? If I am right about what we may discover there, then Dr Muller’s name will rival that of Schliemann.’
‘It is an appealing prospect, sir, and no more than my father deserves. He gave his life to uncovering the secrets of the ancient world.’
‘And I played no small part in his work,’ Steiner added. ‘And now you follow in his footsteps, as my assistant. Perhaps we shall share some of the fame that will be accorded to the doctor. That would be quite an honour, and one we shall both richly deserve. I should think that the Reichsführer will decorate us both if this works out as I hope. We shall be heroes.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Peter forced himself to return the other man’s smile even as he felt contempt for Steiner’s naked attempt to take the credit for the long years his father had given to his exploration of the Greek islands.
Ahead of them he could see the entrance to the valley, the steep slopes of the hills on either side crowding the track. If the andartes were planning an ambush, that was a likely spot for it to take place. Hauptmann Dietrich had seen it as well and a moment later he halted the column and set two squads of men to scout the slopes either side of the track. He allowed them a hundred-metre head start before he waved the column forward again. They passed through the gorge that had been formed by the torrents that rushed out of the valley, leaving gravel and large stones in their wake. Peter recalled that his father had often had to hire islanders to clear the larger stones away to permit vehicles to gain access to the site and the neglect of recent years had left the track almost impassable to vehicles. The gorge had once seemed a place of spectacle and beauty to Peter but now it felt gloomy and threatening and he was glad when they had passed through it and emerged into the valley beyond. Above the crests of the surrounding hills the sky was overcast and the sun was only visible as a pale disc. Soon it would have passed beyond the rocky skyline and the shadows would begin to creep into the valley.
The track climbed on to higher ground that overlooked the dig, the closest that vehicles could come to the site, and Peter quickened his pace until he stood amid the stunted shrubs on the edge of the rise. Below, the valley floor stretched out and on it lay the corrugated roofs of the sheds that had stored the archaeologists’ tools and less valuable finds. The long table was still there, and the benches, but there was little sign of the area that had been divided up into grids and carefully dug up over the years that the German team had worked on the site. Nature had crept back over the trenches and heaps of spoil and blanketed them in tufts of spiked grass and saplings struggling to take over the abandoned dig. It was a melancholy scene, made more so by the dull light and the cool and clammy breeze that blew softly through the valley.
‘I never thought I’d see this place again,’ Steiner broke into his thoughts. ‘Not once the war began, at any rate. My life has changed a good deal since the days when I took a consuming interest in the past. It’s the future I look to now.’
Peter smiled to himself. It seemed strange that so much store was put on the past and the future when really it was only the present moment that a person could ever truly know. The rest was little more than stories doomed to eventually fade, or dreams of what might be. A strange mood gripped Peter, evoked by his most vivid memories of his father, when he had seen him at his happiest. And it was also a time when he himself had been happy and to
o content to know that he was living a blessed existence on the island.
‘Come on.’ Steiner gestured towards the ground in front of the shed. ‘We haven’t got time to waste reminiscing. We can do that later when we have what we came for.’
The column descended and Dietrich posted sentries around the perimeter of the site and ordered the rest of his men to fall out. Steiner and Peter crossed to the table. The SS officer sat on a bench, set his sidebag down and unfastened the straps so that he could take out his notebook. He flipped it open and Peter could see diagrams of the site, neatly labelled and interspersed with what were clearly original notes, and newer comments in the margins, written in red ink.
‘Where do we begin looking, sir?’
Steiner tapped the notebook. ‘Your father mentioned a cave, yet I was never aware of any cave during my time here. How about you?’
Peter shook his head, then looked up and briefly scanned the landscape. The dig and the surrounding area were on generally even ground. To one side a cliff rose up for a hundred metres or so with a tree-fringed crest looming over the site. Opposite the site another boulder-strewn slope stretched up to a rounded peak that dominated the centre of the island. There was no sign of a cave, and nothing that he could recall that indicated the presence of one.
‘If this cave contains a tomb then it would be reasonable to expect that it would have a large enough entrance to be obvious, unless it was intended that it be concealed,’ said Peter. ‘I think we should begin our search along the foot of the cliff there.’
Steiner looked up. ‘I agree.’
He called Dietrich over and explained his intentions. ‘The Leutnant and I are seeking a cave. I want you and your men to be on the lookout for anything that might help us locate it. Even the smallest fissure or hint that something has been covered over. They are to report anything they find to me at once. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir. How long do you propose to search the site?’
‘As long as it takes me, Dietrich. When I am finished, I will let you know.’
‘I understand, sir, and we can secure the site overnight, if you wish. But there is the question of the trucks. I have left twelve men behind to guard them. They will be vulnerable if they remain where we left them overnight. I must send them back to Lefkada, or reinforce them before nightfall.’
Steiner considered a moment before he responded. ‘Send half of your men back to protect the lorries, Hauptmann.’
‘Yes, sir. I will give the orders at once.’
Steiner nodded in acknowledgement and then flipped his notebook closed and stood up. ‘Well, Peter, let’s go and make your father a famous man.’
He led the way across the site towards the thin screen of trees and shrubs that grew out from the base of the cliff. ‘You start here. I’ll begin at the other end and work back towards you.’
‘What about Dietrich’s men, sir?’
‘What about them?’
‘We could use some help.’
‘I don’t think they would be helpful. This is work for the trained eye. We know what to look for. We know the clues: a shard of pottery, a fragment of a sculpture, an unusual formation in the terrain. Things that Dietrich’s men would overlook. Besides, the honour of discovery belongs to us alone, no?’
‘Very well, sir.’
He saluted and Steiner responded with a curt nod before he turned away and strode over the clear ground towards the point where the cliff ended in a jumble of fallen boulders half a kilometre away. Peter watched him go with a sense of relief. He was finding the SS officer’s company a strain on his nerves, far more so following the shooting in the village. Steiner had a cold streak in him and was determined to let nothing stand in the way of him winning favour with his superiors. Peter was not fooled by his moments of bonhomie and sentimental reference to their shared past. Steiner was merely trying to curry favour so as to complete his task more swiftly. When it was over he would almost certainly discard Peter, and all his father’s work, and claim the full credit for himself.
Looking up at the sky, Peter guessed that there was little more than an hour of good light left before dusk settled over the island. Barely enough time to search the base of the cliff. After that he and the others would face a cold night in the open before resuming their search in the morning. The prospect did not appeal to him, even though the terrain around him reminded him of happier times with his father and friends. Then the search for the treasures of the ancients had been a noble pursuit, carried out to extend the understanding of the past. Now, it was merely a looting expedition conducted on the order of a party leader who knew little of the past, nor cared much about it. If the tomb was here then it would simply be a prize of war, not accorded the care and reverence that his father would have approached its discovery and unearthing. For a moment Peter was tempted by the notion of not revealing the tomb if he chanced on it before Steiner. It would be better that it was left alone until the war was over and the matter handled in an unhurried way by experts who did not have to look over their shoulders in fear of the andartes, or who worked under the guns of German soldiers . . .
Yes, he hoped that he would be the one to discover the tomb, and then have the courage to conceal his find from the SS officer.
Easing his way through the gorse bushes growing at the end of the cliff, Peter began to work his way along, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of an opening in the rocks, or an inscription carved into their surface. The failing light made the task more difficult and he had only gone fifty metres or so when he heard a distant shout and paused. It took an instant before he realised the defiant cry had been in Greek. Then a fusillade of shots crashed out, the sharp note of rifles and the harsh clatter of automatic fire. A moment later the first grenades exploded, the roar of their detonations echoing round the steep sides of the valley.
Chapter Thirty-One
At once Peter reached for his holster, snatched out his pistol and cocked the weapon. He lowered into a crouch and turned away from the cliff as the valley filled with the sounds of shooting and explosions. He scurried back through the thin belt of scrub and stunted trees and stopped just before the open ground to take stock of the situation.
The mountain troops had taken cover and some were returning fire as they began to locate the enemy’s positions, given away by faint puffs of smoke and muzzle flashes dotted across the slope of the hill opposite the cliff. Peter picked out one man slumped over a boulder, a slick of bright red blood spreading down the side of the rock. One of his comrades reached up and pulled him down, examined him briefly and then rolled him on to his back and emptied his cartridge pouches before crawling to a more secure firing position as divots of earth burst from the ground a short distance away. There was movement elsewhere as men darted about to find positions of greatest safety from where they could shoot back at the andartes. He could hear the shouts of Hauptmann Dietrich and his sergeants as they tried to take control of the sudden chaos.
Forcing himself to stay calm, Peter gripped his pistol tightly and looked out over the open ground between the base of the cliff and the sheds at the centre of the dig. Twenty paces away was an overgrown mound of spoil that would provide shelter from the enemy on the hill. He rose up slightly, braced his boots and then sprang out from the trees and raced into the open. Even though his instinct told him to run as fast as possible for the mound, he did as he had been trained to do and ran in an indirect line, swerving to the left and right to make it difficult for any enemy to draw a bead on him. He reached the mound and threw himself on to the ground behind it, heart pounding. He lay still briefly before crawling round so that he could see the enemy’s position, as well as the shed where he had last seen Dietrich. Then he recalled Steiner and looked away to his left, but there was no sign of movement towards the far end of the cliff. The SS officer might be taking shelter there, or he might be doing the same as Peter and trying to rejoin the others. Peter put thought of him aside and set his pistol down carefully before takin
g out his field glasses and training them on the slope of the hill opposite, in the area where he had seen a concentration of muzzle flashes a moment earlier.
Through the eye cups he saw a circular image of the hillside in crisp detail and began to pan over the rocks and shrubs carefully until he caught a flicker of movement and saw the head and shoulders of a darkly featured islander rise up over a rock and take aim swiftly with a sub-machine gun. Fire darted from the muzzle and Peter fancied he could pick out the rattle of the shots a moment later through the cacophony of battle raging in the small valley. He continued his search until he concluded there were no more than twenty of the enemy opposed to Dietrich’s half company. The Germans outnumbered the andartes more than two to one, and the odds would increase in their favour if the men who had been sent to guard the trucks heard the sound of firing and turned about to come to their comrades’ aid. He returned the field glasses to their case and prepared to move, picking an overgrown trench fifty metres from the shed. Taking his pistol up, Peter hunched behind the mound, tensing his body, ready to spring forward again. He waited a moment to allow the mountain troops’ return fire to build. Then the rapid brrrrr of a Spandau machine gun cut through the dusk and vivid streaks of tracer flashed across the valley floor and lashed the hillside.
Peter rose and ran forward again, zigzagging, praying that the enemy would be too distracted by the German fire and the targets they had already chosen to pay him any attention. Then he heard a sharp zip close by and saw fragments burst off the side of a small boulder directly ahead. An instant later he heard the crack of a rifle above and behind him and felt a stab of terror as he realised there were more of the enemy on top of the cliff, sniping down into the valley. There was no time to look back and he ran to the right for three paces then two to the left. Another shot zipped close by and the report of the gun followed it. Then he reached the trench and threw himself into it, pressing himself against the stones and dirt at the bottom. Too late he realised that this was the old latrine ditch at the dig, but there was no time for disgust and, in any case, the human waste had long since been washed into the ground. Crawling forward a short distance Peter hugged the side of the ditch closest to the cliff, breathing hard.
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