Realm of the Pagans

by Anne Hampson

  She had come from the bathroom wrapped in a huge bath sheet and was drying herself when the communicating door opened and Luke was there, his dark blue satin dressing gown tied loosely with a matching cord. Her swift, perceptive glance assured her that he was naked beneath its covering.

  'What on earth have you been doing?' he wanted to know, his black eyes stripping the towel from her still damp figure. 'You've been moving about for over an hour. What's the matter with you?'

  'Nothing.' She clutched at the towel as if expecting him to drag it from her. 'I—I was just going to—to bed.'

  Luke's black eyes narrowed perceptively and he came into the room, closing the door behind him. Martine's nerves tightened.

  'So you've changed your mind about wanting to be alone on your wedding night,' he commented dryly. 'Haven't I always maintained that females are perverse?'

  'I—please go away—'

  'If you wanted your husband so much then why the devil didn't you knock on the door? I'd have come willingly.' His voice carried a ring of humour not unmingled with confidence. Mar-tine felt her temper rise but the denial that leapt to her lips was crushed before a word was uttered. She was breathless when he released her, breathless and half-willing for him to make love to her. But she fought to retain the towel, and even when it was removed she continued to struggle until Luke threatened to put her across his knee. Only then did she desist, confident that it was no idle threat he uttered.

  His dressing gown was open and their bodies, warm and supple, blended as one and almost immediately a sort of aching delight swept through her as she succumbed to the possessive exploration of his hands. Nor was his mouth idle; it pressed moistly against the hollow of her throat, sensitive to the wild pulsation of a nerve. It wandered down to press kisses on her honey-gold skin; it captured and held the dark and swollen peak of her breast.

  She gave a little moan as rapture spread through her veins, digging her fingers into his back, arching her body in a wild and primitive desire for the fulfilment of a need that threatened to make her a suppliant, pleading for the ecstasy that seemed to be only a breath away. Luke was murmuring in his own language but Martine scarcely heard, affected as she was by the exquisite pain of long sinewed fingers teasing her breast while Luke's other hand pressed very different curves, compelling her to feel the virile strength and hardness of his thighs.

  Every nerve-end, every cell in her body was affected, and every sense. The musky smell of his skin mingling with a severely masculine talc, the warmth of his hard frame against the softness of her own, the tactile exploration of her own eager hands… All compounded to send spasms of sheer bliss spreading with explosive force through her body and with a whisper of entreaty she murmured huskily, desperate for total fulfilment, 'Love me… I need you…'

  With a throb of excitement and relief she felt herself lifted into his arms, knew the sensual rhythm of his movements as he bore her over to the big bed and laid her down.

  He stood over her, sinewed and naked, shaking his head in a gesture of admonishment. 'I knew there would be a need for decisive action.'

  She merely nodded, lifting her arms in a tender invitation. But for a moment he continued to look down at her, beautiful and seductive in the gentle rose-pink glow from the single lamp on the cabinet by the bed. Her long silky lashes fluttered down, casting adorable shadows on to her cheeks. His mouth curved and a glitter entered his black eyes—the manifestation of the power and the triumph which he knew were his. He lay down beside her, his hands instantly taking possession of tender places. She closed her eyes, her breathing as ragged as his… and then suddenly she belonged to him, rapture indescribable sweeping through her after the first agonising stab of pain, rapture in all the glory of exquisite mating, rapture that carried her to the very heights of heaven… and beyond.

  It was less than a fortnight later that she realised something had gone amiss in the affair between Kelvin and Sophia. She had been seeing them together, strolling among the temples of the Sanctuary or walking hand in hand along the tree-lined lane which led from her father's house to the villa where Kelvin lived and worked. But one day Martine saw Sophia walking in the ruins on her own, saw her sit down and then rise again as a young. Greek approached. Sophia stretched forth her hands; they were taken and brought to the young man's lips. The incident had naturally set Martine thinking but she did not mention it to her husband.

  But when she happened to come across Kelvin as she emerged from the chemist's shop in the village she could not resist asking, 'How are things between you and Sophia these days?'

  His face was a study of dejection. 'She's rotten!' he exclaimed bitterly. 'It was just a bit of fun for her and now she's repeating the performance with another fool!'

  'Repeating the performance? Why, is he engaged?'

  'There's no need for sarcasm! No, he's not, but he does have a girl friend—or he did. Sophia's one ambition seems to be the breaking up of other people's romances.'

  'How is the book progressing?' inquired Mar-tine, feeling it better to change the subject.

  'It's not progressing. You know very well I can't type.'

  'Anyone can type if they try.'

  'My time ought to be more profitably employed than in the simple task of typing,' he returned impatiently. 'I happen to be the creative one; the typist merely puts my thoughts and findings on paper.'

  'You make it sound as if my contribution had not been of much importance at all.' Martine fingered the package she was carrying, a brown paper bag containing her favourite soap which she had been pleasantly surprised to find available in the chemist's shop.

  'Of course it was important,' contradicted her ex-fiancé. 'You and I worked together in a way that was unique.' He paused and all his anger seemed to melt. 'I miss you,' he said slowly. 'I miss you like the devil.'

  She averted her face, unwilling to ask herself if she felt the same way, if she missed him. 'Well, there's nothing to be done about it now,' she murmured with an unconscious sigh. 'You'll find someone else—'

  'Never. I know now that I made a mistake, so much so that I'm beginning to distrust all my judgements—even where they concern my work.'

  A tense silence followed before Martine said, 'Are you sure that Sophia's really interested in this other man? She certainly appeared to be very attracted to you at the time—'

  'She's fickle and you knew it from the first. It was I who was blind.' Martine said nothing and after a pause Kelvin went on, 'You and—and that Greek… you can't be in love with him. You married him for spite, didn't you?'

  She could not deny that it had been something of the kind—well, partly it had been spite, as she had mentioned to Luke, spite and revenge. But there had been something more, something which was unrelated… desire. She had wanted Luke as a lover and she was thankful that he had offered her marriage, for she knew that she would otherwise have ended up as his mistress because the pull of his magnetism would have proved too strong for her.

  Kelvin was speaking again, repeating the assertion that she was not in love with her husband, that she had married him to spite himself.

  She looked up, her mouth quivering. He was still as handsome in her eyes, still someone to be admired even though she had discovered flaws in his make-up. Everyone had flaws, she thought, admitting that she had plenty herself.

  'I admit I didn't love him,' she said at last.

  'You couldn't very well deny it, could you?'

  She shrugged. 'You said I'd been having an affair with him while I was engaged to you,' she could not help reminding him.

  'I was angry. I didn't mean it; you must have known that.' He looked at her and she saw all the old familiar admiration in his eyes. Regret registered there, too, in the shadowed depths of his concentrated gaze. Martine swallowed the hard little lump that had lodged in her throat and it came as a sudden shock to her to realise she would put back the clock if she could, put it back before her wedding day. It was all so illogical, though, since she could
not truthfully deny the fact that the physical pleasure she derived from her marriage was all-important to her.

  'How long will it take to finish your book?' she asked, needing to cut the silence which was beginning to stretch too far.

  'I can't say. Concentration's so difficult—' He stopped and there was a small hesitation before he said, 'Martine—would you do the typing for me?'

  She shook her head even while her brain was considering the possibility.

  'No—Luke would not allow it.'

  'Allow?' he snapped. 'That is not a word I'd have expected you to use so casually!'

  'Luke's—well, a little—er—bossy.'

  'Domineering, you mean?' through his teeth. 'A typical Greek, is he? Lord of all he surveys, especially his womenfolk?'

  'I'm not discussing my husband with you,' she said curtly. 'I had better be going anyway. It's getting towards lunch time.'

  'And you dare not keep your husband waiting?' Sarcasm in the tone which would have angered Martine but that she was sorry for him.

  'It isn't good manners to keep people waiting,' was all she said, but when she turned to go Kelvin fell into step beside her.

  'I'm going your way,' he said, 'so we might as well walk together.'

  It so happened that Luke saw them through the window of his bedroom and his face was stern and set when Martine entered the dining-room where lunch was being served.

  'I saw you with Kelvin.' His voice was clipped, his mouth compressed.

  'We met in the village and walked up together.'

  'I'd rather you didn't walk with him. The affair's finished; you're married to me. It'll cause gossip in the village if you and he are seen together too often.'

  Her eyes sparkled. Surely he did not intend to dictate to her to that extent! 'It isn't often. It was just today.'

  'Then let it be the last time.' He held out a chair and she sat down, anger bringing colour to her cheeks.

  'He's very upset,' she began, then stopped, reluctant to disclose that the affair with Sophia had ended so abruptly. But it transpired that Luke already knew. He, too, had seen Sophia with this other man.

  'It's only what he deserves,' he declared, taking a seat opposite his wife. She looked at him, aware of his anger and guessing that he was wondering what she and Kelvin had been talking about. But, to her relief, he did not ask and so she was not forced to tell him any lies.

  The following afternoon she met Kelvin again, this time on the site where he was walking about with a notebook in his hand. He saw her before she could retreat and so she strolled over and joined him by the Temple of Hera, built in the 7th century B.C. He smiled, but carried on with the taking of notes. She said, 'Hello,' feeling awkward, and it seemed years instead of a few short weeks since they had parted.

  'Hello. I'm just writing a description of the scene here. You'll notice that pines and other trees have rooted among the ruins, so I suppose one could describe the area as a sort of park?'

  'It certainly has a park-like appearance,' she agreed, her awkwardness dissolving as if by magic as she fell into his mood. For this was like old times and she knew a lightness of heart as she and Kelvin talked about the site and the history of one of the most famous places in Greece—in the entire world, in fact.

  She glanced around her, appreciating the setting, with the Arcadian Mountains forming an impressive backdrop at one side of the valley, while to the other side was the coastal plain bordering enchanting lagoons where gaily-coloured caiques could often be seen, their owners taking full advantage of the presence of the fish that inhabited the calm, aquamarine waters. It was late summer now and the reeds were high, interspersed with castus bushes and delicate oleanders, sweet-scented, their clusters of white and cerise flowers adding magic to the scene. The sun was high but not too hot, and filmy clouds swirled about like veils of gossamer lace.

  'I'm going over to the gymnasium now.' Kelvin looked at her questioningly. 'Are you coming?'

  'I don't know,' hesitantly. 'I merely came out for a walk, then found myself crossing the bridge and—well, here I am.'

  There were few people on the site and they had this particular area to themselves. Kelvin looked at her, noting the rare beauty of her skin, its peach-bloom transparency, smooth and glowing with health. Her hair shone in the sunlight and she looked so young, he thought, young and very lovely. She had the figure of a nymph and she was as light-footed—sometimes he used to think she walked on air… Happy memories, sad thoughts. He saw her looking at him with an expression of inquiry and smiled in the old familiar way that had always brought a response. But today there was no response; she was serious but he felt she was not too unhappy— certainly she was not as unhappy as he.

  'Are you coming?' he asked again and this time she said yes, she would come with him.

  They walked slowly, passing the Prytaneum, the place where, in ancient times, exalted guests were entertained, guests who included the victors at the Games who were given a glorious banquet in their honour. Reaching the Gymnasium they stopped and Martine found herself looking up, towards the Villa Cladeos, and her heart gave an involuntary jerk at the possibility of her husband being able to see her. But she felt that, even were he on the terrace, he would not be able to see her so far away, here among the bushes and trees.

  'Would you like me to take some notes for you, Kelvin? I might as well, seeing that I'm here.'

  'I'd be grateful for any help you'd care to give.' He handed her the book in which he had been writing and pulled another from his pocket.

  She took the pencil and began to make notes. 'You merely want descriptions?'

  'Yes—the atmosphere as you feel it, standing here, with the warm sun on your face and the river flowing and glistening in its rays.'

  She began to write, forgetful of all but the work in hand. And although she wrote only descriptions and impressions her mind was partly in the far distant past when the full glory of Greece was at its zenith, when the Olympic Games were a sacred truce which brought all wars to an end, when the aggressive, brawling tribes gathered together to engage in athletics and to worship the sacred Olympian deities. The competitors came from near and far—from Italy and Asia Minor, from Egypt, and in fact from every part of the known world. To the Greeks a virile, healthy body was of paramount importance because they believed it made for an equally healthy mind. It was here at Olympia, before man competed against man, that the gods fought one another—Zeus wrestling with Kronos, his father, to gain the kingdom of the world, and the son of Zeus, Apollo, competing with the god Hermes in a very special race which the Sun god eventually won.

  'How are you getting on?' Kelvin's voice was close; she felt his breath on her cheek.

  'I'm doing fine, I think.' She moved away, remembering that in days not too far gone she would have turned to Kelvin, offering her lips for his kiss.

  'You seemed to be a long way off.'

  'As a matter of fact, I was. Somewhere around seven hundred years before Christ.'

  He managed a laugh then and said, 'The Olympiads.'

  'I have just remembered that women were totally barred from the Games. It earned them the death penalty if they even entered the site.'

  'But one managed to take on the disguise of a trainer and was for a long time undiscovered.'

  'Yes, I remember! But she wept when one of her sons won a race.'

  'Her tears gave her away.'

  'But she was pardoned because she had so many victors in her family.'

  'That's right. Though after that the judges decreed that all trainers and athletes had to be naked.' He grinned at her. 'That effectively put a stop to any intrusions by women.'

  She laughed but reminded him that women were, later, allowed to compete. Ten minutes later she looked at her watch and gave a little gasp. 'We've been here for more than an hour and a half! It seems more like twenty minutes!'

  'Time flies when you're content.' He had moved close again and he took her hand in his. 'Martine, what are we to do?'r />
  'There isn't anything—'

  'You don't love Luke and he doesn't love you.' He paused, as if undecided, but then added resolutely, 'I know why he married you, and I suppose you do too?'

  She nodded after a small pause and said yes, she knew why Luke had married her. 'We were two people drawn together by a grudge,' she admitted. 'He had a grudge against Sophia's sister and I had one against you.'

  'What a basis for marriage! I said you were mad.'

  'Who told you about Luke's reason for marrying me?' she asked, ignoring the outburst. 'Was it Sophia?'

  'Sophia did mention it first, but—I've seen Odette. Sophia introduced me to her.'

  'Odette?' Martine felt her nerves tense. 'Is she here in Olympia?'

  'She's on a prolonged visit to her father. She normally lives in Athens, in a luxury apartment just outside the city.'

  Odette here… 'Odette told you she'd once been engaged to Luke?'

  'Yes, and she admitted she'd made the mistake of her life when she threw him over. This other man she married seems to have been a near brute.'

  'I've met Odette, too,' Martine informed him. 'She was in the hotel where we were dining.'

  'She did mention it,' he said.

  Martine shot him a glance, her eyes intent. There was something strange about him all at once; it was if he were affected in some way by the turn the conversation had taken. Something made her say, 'Have you seen Odette just the once?'

  He hesitated and then, 'I've spoken with her several times.'