Realm of the Pagans

by Anne Hampson

  But it was the sacred lions, silhouetted against the azure Grecian sky, that Martine remembered most vividly. Sixteen of these Naxian marble monuments had once existed, flanking a terrace and guarding the sacred lake where the ancients obtained their water. Sadly, only five lions now remained.

  'It was wonderful,' sighed Martine, when at last they were on their way back to the boat. They had climbed Mt. Cynthus, had wandered among countless fragments of temples and houses, while from the bushes birds sang and from among the grasses came the soft, sweet tinkle of sheep bells, for the farmers of Mykonos sometimes brought their sheep here to graze. 'Thank you, Luke, for bringing me.' She smiled up at him, yet there came the unbidden image of Kelvin, who would love this place, because, like her, he had let himself become steeped in the history of ancient Greece.

  'It's been a pleasure.' Luke took her hand; she felt his thumb caressing her smooth, honey-gold skin and a quiver shot through her at his action. Undoubtedly the physical aspect of their relationship was as vital to her as it was to him. Yet what must be the end of it? she wondered, feeling there could not possibly be any permanency in the marriage. One or the other of them would decide there was too much lacking once the newness of the physical attraction had worn off, which it must, she thought, without anything to support it.

  They were back on Mykonos for lunch, which they took in one of the tavernas along the sea road in downtown Mykonos and afterwards they spent a few enjoyable hours on the beach at Aghios Stephanos, where they alternately swam and sunned themselves and talked of the trip they had made to Delos.

  The following day they took a trip to Ano Mera where the famous Tourliani Monastery was situated. Its steeple was of sculptured marble, gleaming in the sun. A monk came to them as they entered the monastery and insisted on showing them an icon supposedly painted by St Luke.

  'It ees of the miraculous,' he asserted from behind his long flowing beard. 'It cures many kind of illness—no?'

  Luke put some money in the box and they left, much to the disgust of the monk, who had been exceedingly interested in Martine's figure, appearing to be quite unable to take his eyes off her curves, especially her breasts. His eyes seemed to be glued to them and she found herself blushing, while her husband's eyes glinted and his mouth went tight.

  'Greek monks are all the same,' he snapped as they left. 'Why the devil they even become monks in the first place has always been a mystery to me!'

  Martine had to laugh, but when this produced an even broader scowl on Luke's face she instantly became serious again.

  Woe betide her, she mused with an involuntary shiver, if she should ever give this Greek husband of hers cause for jealousy.

  Chapter Six

  Martine stood on the terrace watching Luke's Mercedes as it travelled smoothly along the road. It was soon out of sight and she turned, half wishing he had asked her to accompany him to Athens. Yet on the other hand she was experiencing a strange excitement at her freedom for a few days… freedom to go back to her apartment, and to see Kelvin and perhaps clear up the neglected typing he had mentioned. Luke had said he would be away for about three days but he would phone her anyway, to let her know when he was hoping to be back. From what little he had mentioned he had several meetings to attend and various other business to see to, so Martine estimated he would be away for the better part of the week.

  She went immediately to the villa where Kelvin lived and found him in, sitting in a rather forlorn pose on the verandah, a notebook and pencil in his hands. His eyes lit up when he saw her and he rose instantly, dropped pencil and book on the table and held out both his hands.

  Slowly she put hers into them, feeling uneasy and yet at the same time glad she was here. It was all so illogical; she could not understand herself. It seemed that she desired the spiritual love she had shared with Kelvin and the physical pleasure provided by her husband. She felt almost immoral!

  'You look lovely, my dear.' Kelvin's voice held all the old familiar admiration, but it was tinged with regret, too, and his mouth quivered slightly.

  'Thank you.' As on the other occasion, she felt awkward and spoke swiftly in an effort to ease the situation. 'I thought, that as Luke's away for a few days, I'd come down and see what I could do to help you.'

  'He's away—for a few days?'

  'That's right.'

  'I'm glad you've come. I tried to phone you but was told you were away from home.'

  'We went to Mykonos—oh, Kelvin, you'd be in your element in Delos! It's one incredible archaeological site—the whole island, I mean! No one lives there except the people who care for it. You'd be in your element,' she said again, eyes bright with the memories of all she had seen.

  'I've already decided to include it in my book.' He paused and Martine asked him what he had wanted to see her about. He hesitated, and somehow she felt it was for effect rather than what it was purported to be—uncertainty as to how to begin. 'Well, it—it was about something Odette told me a few days ago—'

  'Odette? You've, seen her again?' Naturally her mind flew to the scene which both she and Luke had witnessed, when Kelvin and Odette had been talking on the site, and both Martine and her husband had had the same impression —that there seemed to be a conspiracy afoot.

  'I've seen her once or twice recently,' he admitted. Another pause and then he added, looking away, towards Mt. Kronian, the wooded hill rising above the site, 'She told me how your— husband got that scar.'

  'Yes?' Martine felt her nerves tighten as she waited for him to continue.

  'You'll not like what you're going to hear,' he prepared her and she felt her skin prickle along her spine.

  'But you want me to hear it all the same?'

  'I feel you should.'

  'Then why the delay?'

  'It's not as though you love your husband…' Kelvin was muttering to himself, his eyes still avoiding hers. 'So it'll not hurt you in any way.'

  'Shall we get it over and done with?' Her voice was calm, but her nerves were tensed within her, creating an uncomfortable tightness around her heart.

  'He got the scar in a brawl, a brawl with two men who attacked him—' Kelvin broke off and paused; again Martine had the impression that it was all for effect. 'The men were brothers of a girl he'd seduced—a peasant girl living here, in Olympia—'

  'A girl Luke had seduced?' broke in Martine swiftly, quite unable to imagine her husband conducting his amorous affairs so near home.

  'Yes. Her name's Litsa Katsellis. Her son is eight years old.'

  'Her… son?' Martine's voice was hollow, her eyes disbelieving. 'You mean—Luke's son?'

  Kelvin nodded. 'It was after hearing about that that Odette threw him over—although she now wishes she hadn't. She admits it was a mistake.' Kelvin met her eyes at last. 'I feel she was right, though. It's disgraceful—and terribly embarrassing for a wife to know that one of her husband's children—illegitimate children, mind —lives so close. Perhaps you've even seen the child, many times and not known who he is. Odette was in ignorance at first, until someone told her the story. Did you never ask how he got the scar?'

  'No—it didn't seem the thing to talk about.' Luke's son, living in the village… Martine frowned and shook her head. 'I don't believe this story,' she decided, looking straight at him. 'It can't possibly be true!'

  'Are you suggesting your husband was a celibate until he married you?'

  She blushed and her frown deepened. 'No Greek could be. I know he has had women, but it isn't feasible that he'd bring a village girl into disgrace. Why, every man knows what that poor girl would suffer. If she has a child then it must be someone else's!'

  'What about the scar?'

  'There could be a dozen ways in which he got it!'

  'He got it, Martine, in the way I described. Odette wouldn't lie—I'm sure of it.' Again he looked away, to the lizards sunning themselves on the hot concrete floor of the verandah.

  'I still don't believe it. You say Odette wouldn't lie? Well, I can't
agree with you there, Kelvin. I disliked her the moment I met her and I believe she would lie, though for what reason I cannot possibly imagine, unless it is spite against Luke for marrying me. She had asked him if he would have her back—'

  'And so he married you. He had to safeguard himself against falling for her again.' A twisted, humourless smile hovered on his lips. 'As for your not being able to find a reason why Odette should lie—well, there just isn't one, is there?'

  'I mentioned spite,' she reminded him.

  'Odette isn't like that, Martine, no matter what your first impression of her was. She's a charming girl and I can very well understand Luke falling madly in love with her. I guess it wouldn't take much to make him fall in love with her again.'

  Martine was silent. She felt a deep dejection of spirits at what Kelvin had said. 'I guess you're right; it wouldn't take much to make him fall in love with her again.'

  Odette certainly was beautiful; this Martine could never deny. But surely Luke could see that the beauty was no more than a thin veneer? Luke… Was it possible that he had seduced that village girl? Martine could not ask him, but she could ask the girl herself.

  Kelvin was speaking, saying he hoped she was not too upset by the story. 'It can't hurt, seeing that you don't love Luke, but it's embarrassing—'

  'You had no need to tell me,' she cut in almost angrily.

  'You'd have heard it in the village sometime,' he stated. 'And I felt it would be better coming from me. What are you going to do about it?' he queried after a pause.

  'Do?' She intended to seek out this girl and by some subtle means ask the question which just had to be asked. But Martine had no intention of letting Kelvin know what was in her mind. 'What would you expect me to do?'

  'Martine…' He took her hands again. 'You and I—we love each other, need each other. Come back to me, darling, and stay forever.'

  Bitterness curved her lips. 'I've already said it's too late.'

  'But you don't want to remain with Luke now that you know what a rotter he is. That scar's going to be a constant reminder of his wickedness. I know and understand you, Martine, and so I know that what I say is true: that scar won't let you forget even if you wanted to, which probably you don't, seeing that you have no love for the man.'

  She looked at him and for an unguarded moment fell in with his mood, comparing a future with Luke and one with Kelvin. She and he had been so happy, loving deeply no matter what Luke said to the contrary. Yes, they had really loved, had planned a wonderful future. Then Kelvin had had one small lapse… She sighed, wondering why she was willing to call it a small lapse when it had caused such heartache and had been the cause of her marrying without love on either side. Love… She saw that it was very possible that Luke would fall for Odette again, just as Kelvin had suggested he might.

  'Darling,' he said softly, drawing her to him and enfolding her in his arms, 'come to me. Ask your husband for a divorce—'

  'Kelvin, I can't! We're only just married—'

  'So much the better. End it before a child comes. It would be much more difficult then.'

  She shook her head, wishing she could think more clearly. But being close like this, knowing the familiar warmth and comfort of his body, the gentleness of his arms… she found she did not want to think about anything but the love she had for him, and the love he had for her. What was one small slip? Sophia was so lovely and appealing that she would turn the head of any man, just as her elder sister would.

  Kelvin bent his head and kissed her on the lips, murmuring as he drew away at last, 'Dearest Martine, let me love you…' His voice trailed off strangely and the next moment he had thrust her away, his eyes dark with anger. Swiftly Martine shot about—and stood facing the nymph-like figure of the girl who had been in her thoughts.

  'Sophia!' she gasped, hot colour rising in her cheeks. 'How long have you been there?'

  'Long enough,' with what could only be described as a quirk of triumph. 'So you two are back to square one—but now you have a husband, Martine. What are you going to do about that?'

  'Get out!' ordered Kelvin, white fury in his face. 'What the devil are you doing here anyway?'

  'I came to see you,' she answered with a pert smile. 'I never expected to break in on a little love scene like this. I—er—wonder what Luke is going to say—'

  'You wouldn't tell him!'

  'I might.' She threw him a challenging look. 'Why shouldn't I tell him of his wife's amorous exploits when he's away?'

  Martine could only stare in contempt, remembering what Kelvin had said about Sophia's desire to ruin other people's lives. But fear was present, too, causing Martine's heart to throb wildly against her ribs and moisture to ooze from her forehead and the palms of her hands.

  Yes, she was agonisingly afraid of what her husband would do if Sophia should decide to tell him of this little scene.

  And Martine felt almost sure that she would tell him…

  Better to go away with Kelvin, if he was willing to take her away, which she felt he would be, under these present circumstances.

  'You'd not be so rotten, Sophia!'

  'Kelvin, darling, of course I'd be so "rotten" as you call it. I don't think it rottenness, though; I believe I would be doing Luke a good turn for, after all, why should he remain in ignorance of his wife's infidelity?'

  Kelvin took a step towards her, wild fury in his gaze. 'Don't you dare use that word! There was no question of infidelity—'

  'You were asking Martine to let you make love to her, and from what I could see she'd not have needed much persuasion.'

  Martine's colour increased but she did not intend to enter into a slanging match with this girl who, not being satisfied with breaking up her engagement, was now contemplating breaking up her marriage.

  Well, let her. Martine was suddenly aware of a draining within her, a deflation of spirit. Fate would decide what was to be the outcome of all this, and nothing could combat Fate.

  Martine went down to the village after walking from the verandah, leaving the other two to talk it out if they wished. Kelvin had called after her, then followed for a few yards. She had begged him to leave her; she wanted to be alone to think. He had obeyed her wish but said he would phone her later.

  The cafeneion was busy with tourists and locals but Martine managed a word with Marco, the proprietor. He looked at her strangely when she asked him where Litsa Katsellis lived.

  'You want to talk with Litsa, no?'

  'I do, yes, Marco.'

  Marco gave that elaborate shrug of the shoulders which was now so familiar to Martine. It seemed to speak volumes and yet she often wondered if it meant anything at all or was merely a habit, like the twirling and clicking of the worry beads.

  He gave her Litsa's address and she left the cafe. She knew the lane and he had said it was the third house on the left, the one with the bougainvillaea round the door.

  The house seemed lost, unoccupied, except that there were the usual conglomeration of tins and other containers with flowers spilling out of them. Martine knocked and when she received no answer she went round to the back. Lemons shone green and bright among the darker green of the leaves; a goat was tethered to a post, the ground all around it bare and sandy. In a small clearing among the lemon trees a tired-looking donkey brayed and pawed the bare ground. Poverty seemed to characterise the whole sad place, and yet when the girl, Litsa, arrived from somewhere in the perivoli she was smartly clad in a printed cotton dress with a blue sash to match the cornflowers on her dress. Very dark, with expressive brown eyes and gleaming black hair, she possessed an appeal which, though very different from that of Sophia or of Odette, would certainly catch a man's attention.

  'Do you know who I am?' questioned Martine when the girl, having reached her, put down the pail she had been carrying and which Martine saw was half filled with lemons—green lemons because in Greece a yellow lemon is a 'sick lemon' according to the people who grow them.

  'You are the wife of Mr. L
eoros.' The girl lowered her long lashes as she spoke and Mar-tine was reminded somehow, and for no reason she could have explained, of the way in which Kelvin had avoided her eyes earlier when he was telling her about the girl and her child.

  'That's right.' Martine glanced around. 'Are you alone?'

  'My mother is resting and Grandmother also.' The accent was pronounced but not as strong as Martine would have expected.

  'And your little boy?'

  Faintly, the girl coloured. 'He is at school.' 'His—his—father…' Martine trailed off to silence and frowned. Why hadn't she rehearsed something? It wasn't as if she had not been aware that the question she wanted to ask would cause her some trouble.

  However, Litsa seemed more than ready to help her out. It was almost as if she had expected a visit from Luke's wife! The idea staggered Martine, who shook off the impression, telling herself she was being fanciful.

  'Mr. Leoros—the papa of my little Ulysses. I think this is what you have come to find out?'

  Martine coloured up; never in her life had she felt so embarrassed, so lost for something to say. At last she managed to speak, to say in a voice little above a whisper, 'My—my husband is—is the father of Ulysses?' How she got the words out she would never know, but once having voiced them she was able to look the Greek girl in the eye, and wait for her answer with a calm she would never have believed possible.

  'I have said so, Madam Leoros.'

  Martine was silent, biting her lip. Suddenly she seemed to be floating on wings of unreality, telling herself that this was not happening to her, that her husband was far too honourable to besmirch the character of a village girl, a lovely girl like Litsa. For he would have been well aware that no one in the village would marry her, even had the child not come along. In fact, Martine had heard that a girl would be whipped by her father and brothers if she so much as walked with a boy before marriage.