But his position was cramped, the earth seemed hard and yet damp, night noises of that inexplicable kind which are audible to nervous people only, but to whom they are terrifying, assaulted his senses and made him strain his ears for more sinister and more significant sounds. Besides this, the attacking swarms of myriad insects – ants, he decided – assisted in preventing him from sleeping.
Some time passed. He was on the point of getting up and going to his neighbour, Gelert – from whom, incidentally, he had heard not the slightest sound – when he thought he saw a white figure emerge from what had appeared to be the unpopulated darkness of the centre of the valley and move towards the theatre.
Dick was nervous and imaginative, but even he was not prepared to attach a supernatural value to the apparition. His first thought, after a sharply audible intake of startled breath, was that the figure must be Armstrong. Why he fixed upon Armstrong, except that he received some impression of more than average height, he could not afterwards tell, for the figure could as easily have been that of Sir Rudri, who was also tall, or even of Gelert, although Gelert was more slender than the average. Deciding not to go to Gelert’s quarters immediately, Dick remained where he was, uncomfortably alert and with his heart beating faster than usual. Thus, less than four minutes later, he was aware of the slight sounds made by the three boys, who, without knowing it, passed fairly close to where he lay. He recognized them, however, and was half in mind to order them back to the museum. If Sir Rudri knew that they were roaming about in the orbit of the experiment he might be very much annoyed, Dick thought. His second feeling, however – for he was a diffident youth with very little faith in himself – was that the boys might not obey his orders, and then he would be sorry he had given them, because there could be nothing more humiliating, he felt, than to give orders as though you were somebody in authority and have them disregarded or scorned, and, in any case, disobeyed. Before he could have a third thought, the boys were out of earshot and had been swallowed up in the night. He did not propose to chase them over the ruins, he told himself; that was Sir Rudri’s job if they were endangering the success of the experiment.
After a minute or two he proceeded to put his first plan into practice, and walked across the intervening space between himself and Gelert. As he had half expected, Gelert was not there.
Dick, however, did not want to believe this at first. He called his name in a whisper, ‘Gelert! Gelert!’ No reply came. He searched, reaching forward with his hands; half dreading lest they should come into contact with something which was not Gelert. The night seemed darker here. He wished he had stayed where he was.
5
In the museum, uncomfortably accommodated at the base of a fragment of the temple, Alexander Currie remained awake and brooded upon the serpents. He could not decide whether what had happened was for the best or the worst. He had in his own mind no doubt that the exchange of reptiles had been made at the instigation of Sir Rudri himself, chiefly because there was no other key save the one in Sir Rudri’s possession. He himself, he reflected, had been a fool to come, but the detailed account he had received of Sir Rudri’s proposed expedition and its object had tempted him. He could not understand, however, why Rudri had invited him to make one of the party, unless there was something more behind the invitation than the mere desire for his company. This desire he did not believe Sir Rudri to possess, and the thought of the snakes worried him.
Rudri, he told himself, was not the man to forgive and forget that Apollo business. He himself regretted now the Puckish impulse which had persuaded him to the forgery of the statue. He supposed that Rudri had introduced the serpents as a means of recharging the genius of the valley with something of its original power – a kind of dig in the ribs, as it were, for Aesculapius. Serpents had been the instruments of fertility and of healing. His own rude and unnecessary insistence upon the evidence of Pausanias, which included instances of cures by sacred dogs and sacred geese, he chuckled to remember. His chuckle was enough to disturb the sleep of the keeper of the museum, who turned over heavily and groaned.
Nevertheless, the incident of the exchange of serpents puzzled Alexander. He had had experience of quarrelling with Rudri before; yet, underneath the acrimony he had too often displayed during their almost lifelong acquaintanceship, he had had respect and affection for the other, and now was prepared to curse his own thoughtless joke since it had led to the dissolution of their friendship. Although Rudri himself was by far the most likely person to have exchanged the domesticated pets of the snake-charmer for the unpleasant English adders which could not be released for experimental purposes, something told Alexander that it was more than possible that Sir Rudri knew nothing whatever of the matter. In that case the thing degenerated into a practical joke – the second which had been played since the pilgrims had set out from Athens. He thought of the little boys, but dismissed the thought immediately. Ivor had not been in a position to obtain six English vipers, even if he had desired them, and he could not believe that Kenneth and Stewart could have brought so many in their luggage without his knowledge, nor that they could have got them through the Customs if they had. True, the baggage had been examined in the most cursory way when he had given Sir Rudri’s address, for Sir Rudri was a friend of Government officials, but six vipers surely would have managed to draw attention to themselves. Still, the Greeks, he knew, were a casual, tolerant people.…
He shook his head. His thoughts then turned to Mrs Bradley, and also to his daughter Cathleen. He hoped that Cathleen and Gelert might make a match of it. If they did, he thought that Sir Rudri might bury the hatchet. As for Mrs Bradley, Alexander Currie on the whole approved of her, chiefly because she was a genius at managing the little boys, whose company he himself had dreaded.
At this point in his meditations he heard the three boys return from their quest of the box of serpents.
‘Little imps of Satan,’ said Alexander Currie to himself. He knew what they had been after, for although children terrified him, he himself retained many childlike qualities, and he knew that in the boys’ place he would have possessed himself of the snakes or perished; and that would have held good even though he loathed and feared the dry, scaly creatures, and, in his present state of mind, would have died sooner than touch them.
A faint rustling from the keeper’s end of the building made him break out into a sweat. For an instant he thought it showed that the adders, in their slothful way, were not unaware of his sleeping-quarters, and somehow had sought him out. Then he realized that it was only the custodian of the museum turning over, so he relaxed again, gave his hard pillow a pat, then listened to the boys, who were crouching outside the museum. It was so obvious that they had been in flight that Alexander was interested to know what it was that had frightened or pursued them. He remained in a listening attitude for nearly ten minutes, but could make nothing of their conversation.
‘Afraid of ghosts,’ he said to himself. ‘Been poking about to get hold of those vipers, and got scared.’ Then he raised himself again, and listened harder. Not very far away, he thought he could hear the baying of a dog. Hastily, with heart beating faster, he lay down, and stretched out large feet blistered from the walking he had done between Athens and Eleusis. The dog might belong to some shepherd or peasant; the whole of the cures were a lot of nonsense; but, on the other hand, the healing tongues of the sacred dogs were reputed to have had power. The baying ceased. Feeling foolish, he covered his feet again. After a time he slept.
6
Gelert was full of his troubles; not as full of them as he had been before his sister had agreed to lend him the money, but sufficiently full of them to feel restless, scornful, irritated, and ill-used. He had spotted Ian as one of the chauffeurs, and was surprised that Alexander Currie had not done so. Stewart and Kenneth, he supposed, had not been hoodwinked, but they were staunch kids, unlikely to give the new-married lovers away. They must be staunch, he reflected grimly, to put up with the kicks, sly, ugly
punches, and minor persecutions dealt out to them by Armstrong. True, they annoyed him when they could, but his retaliatory methods, Gelert decided, needed editing. It occurred to him that this ridiculous vigil they were supposed to be keeping offered as good an opportunity as he would be likely to get for putting his point of view to the offending person. Besides, they had another little argument to settle.…
He knew where Armstrong was, and had heard him fidgeting about. All was still from that direction now, however. Perhaps the fellow was asleep. He got up and walked over to see.
Armstrong was not asleep. He said, as Gelert approached:
‘Oh, Lord! What now? For heaven’s sake, don’t alter the instructions again.’
‘Shut up,’ whispered Gelert, ‘and accept a piece of advice.’
‘Don’t want it,’ said Armstrong. ‘What are you supposed to be doing? I thought you must be Sir Rudri.’
‘Shut up, and listen. Keep your blasted boots to yourself when you’ve got ’em on. Get that? I won’t have those kids kicked by you. If you want to kick anybody, kick me. I’ll know what to do about it.’
‘Will you?’ said Armstrong, savagely. ‘Here goes, then!’ He switched on a torch and kicked Gelert savagely on the shin. Gelert grunted with astonishment and pain, and flung himself on Armstrong. In silence, except for heavy breathing and grunts, they gripped one another and wrestled backwards and forwards. Armstrong was heavier than Gelert, and, by daylight, would probably have got the better of him; but the ruins were treacherous. He stumbled and came down heavily, hitting his head. He lay so still that Gelert searched him for his torch which he had slipped back into his pocket, found it, switched it on, and was perturbed to see his adversary lying like one dead, a trickle of blood from his fair head creeping, black and thin, across the Grecian stones.
CHAPTER SIX
‘After that you’ll see snakes …’
1
WHEN DAWN CAME the company were reassembled by Sir Rudri, who went to each dormitory and roused those pilgrims whom the dawn light had not waked.
Breakfast was taken in the cars because this meant the least porterage of food. Tea was made by Megan and Cathleen (heavy-eyed from an almost sleepless night at Nauplia) on oil-stoves. Bottles of grape-fruit and orange juice were opened for those who preferred them to the brew which the two girls were decanting from the teapots.
The little boys had recovered their spirits entirely, and, food in hand, chased about over the theatre and delivered themselves of vulgar rhymes from its stage. They came back occasionally for drinks or for more to eat.
Gelert, glum and (the others supposed) stricken in conscience because he had not made any attempt to get medical aid for the wounded Armstrong, but had sat beside him all night apparently without the slightest idea of whether he was alive or dead, ate nothing, drank two cups of tea, scowlingly refused a third, and, when the meal was over, accompanied Mrs Bradley, to whose professional care the injured young man had been committed by Sir Rudri, and asked her, as they walked towards the museum:
‘I suppose it isn’t serious?’
‘No, it’s not serious,’ Mrs Bradley replied.
‘I suppose you wonder why I didn’t come for you when it happened?’
‘I don’t wonder, child. I know.’
‘What?’
‘You thought you had killed him.’
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ said Gelert, miserably. ‘I’m in trouble enough already. I didn’t know what on earth I should do if I’d killed him.’
‘What happened?’
Gelert told her.
‘I see. And what was your real reason for picking a quarrel with him, child?’
‘I told you. I didn’t agree that he should act as he does towards my young brother and the other kids.’
Mrs Bradley nodded several times, not as though she accepted this pious statement, but as though she had come to some conclusion about it or him. Gelert glanced at her, but did not offer to add to what he had said.
They entered the museum, to which Armstrong had been taken. He was conscious but looked heavy-eyed and was pale. His head was bandaged.
‘I can’t be moved,’ he said abruptly when he saw her. ‘And I won’t have the bandage off. It’s stuck.’
Mrs Bradley grinned.
‘You’ll do nicely, child,’ she said. She eyed the bandage, gave him a drink of water, asked him whether he felt sleepy, and, being told that he did not, went away, leaving Gelert with him.
‘Sorry, you know,’ said Gelert.
‘Sorry be damned.’
‘All right, then.’ Gelert walked out and caught Mrs Bradley up before she got back to the cars.
‘Gentlemanly apology not accepted,’ he observed, falling into step beside her.
‘Gelert,’ said Mrs Bradley, slowing down her pace so that they should take longer to get back to the rest of the party, ‘has your father ever been kept under observation, do you know?’
‘You don’t mean he’s bats?’
‘In the strict sense of the word, no, child. But I feel he could bear watching.’
‘So do I. I think he was watched last night.’
‘By the boys?’
‘The boys? No. By that fellow Dmitri. I don’t like that lad.’
‘The boys confided to me this morning that they had seen a ghost last night.’
‘Where?’
‘Among the ruins. To-night they propose to hunt it.’
‘Are you suggesting we’re going to put in another night at this place? I thought father intended pushing on to Mycenae.’
‘He did, but —’
‘Armstrong, of course. I suppose he can’t be moved.’
‘He could be moved. He’s had a nasty crack on the head and he has a scalp wound, but he’s not too bad to travel. It’s a pity you worried yourself.’ She smiled. Gelert kicked the stones.
‘Well, well,’ said Sir Rudri genially, as they came back to the circle, ‘what of our crack-pated photographer?’
‘Aunt Adela thinks he could travel if he liked,’ said Gelert, before Mrs Bradley could reply.
‘Nonsense,’ said Sir Rudri briskly. ‘I can’t risk the poor lad’s health. Nonsense, Beatrice! Nonsense!’
‘Very well, child,’ replied Mrs Bradley, grinning. ‘I like this place very well. Who says Nauplia and a bathe?’
A shrill clamour broke out, and in less than two minutes her car was packed. The three little boys were in it, and Megan, Gelert, and Dick. Mrs Bradley, motioning the chauffeur aside, got in and took the wheel. Gelert sat beside her. The others had managed to get themselves wedged into seats for four.
Sir Rudri, whose instinct was to protest against this sudden exodus of the major portion of the party, watched the car heading up the defile which led back to the main road for Nauplia. Soon the dust settled again, and, except for an eagle which hung high over the valley, and Cathleen Currie and her father, who were seated in the theatre taking their ease before the day grew too intensely hot, he found himself left alone. He glanced round as though in search of occupation, and then decided to walk to the museum. He examined the plans and the pictured reconstruction of the Tholos, and then went in to see Armstrong.
Outside, on the fifteenth tier of the theatre, Cathleen said to her father, ‘Kenneth says that Ivor wouldn’t admit that it was Sir Rudri.’
‘But Kenneth didn’t see the figure, you say?’
‘No. They were afraid, and ran away. But Kenneth went back later and had a look. There was nothing to be seen at all. This morning, at dawn, he went again and took his magnifying-glass. He says they’re Sir Rudri’s tracks.’
‘They mayn’t have been made last night.’
‘I know. That’s what I said. Do you think there’s something funny going on?”
‘I don’t know what to think. Kenneth’s a good laddie. I’ll give him – what’s the drachma worth at present?’
‘I don’t know. A little less than a halfpenny, I believe. Father, I don�
��t want to stay another night here. I’m afraid of the snakes. I know he means to use them in some way or another.’
‘Oh no. He couldn’t do that. They’re poisonous snakes, do you see?’
‘Yes, but – you know, father, something terrible is going to happen before we get back to Athens. I’m afraid. I’m horribly afraid. I’m more afraid than you think.’
‘I can see you are afraid,’ said Alexander. ‘Cheer up, lassie! Nobody’s dead yet, and it’s not poor Rudri’s serpents that will kill us.’
2
The bathing party returned in the late afternoon. They had lunched in Nauplia, and had had a pleasant time. The museum was again turned into a place of siesta, and after tea, when the sun began to abate his fiercest heat, the party broke up into twos and threes, and went exploring the valley and its environs.
Cathleen strolled off on her own, and met, by pre-arrangement, at the village of Lygouria, not more than four miles from the Hieron of Epidaurus, her husband, Ian. They sat down in a little shop there, and were given tar-flavoured wine. Then they went out to look at the well, and then walked back towards the theatre.
There were a few fields and vineyards round about the village, but soon the carriage road branched off. The bare, sad mountains closed round the valley in which the sanctuary lay; evening deepened, and the sun set. Where the road ran right, Ian and Cathleen stopped. He said:
‘It’s good night, I’m thinking, is it not?’
‘Yes, it’s good night, Ian.’
‘Maybe I did wrong in marrying you so early in your life, and you with great beauty.’
‘Whom would I marry, else? You’re a great fool, my dear man.’
‘Maybe I am.’ He looked at her wistfully. They returned separately to the valley. By the time that Ian came lounging back to his car, Cathleen had taken Mrs Bradley to the top of the theatre for the view, and to ask to be allowed to spend the night with her and Megan for company. Ronald Dick, almost inarticulate with pleasure because he had had Megan as the sole companion of his walk, proposed himself, bluntly and blushingly, as the fourth member of their party.
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