Fernanda counted the steps aloud until Beth distracted her and she lost track. There were more than sixty, she reported. Sometimes Dorcas carried Beth, and sometimes they rested during the climb.
At the top of the steps they went through the deep archway into bright sunlight. Walls stood all around and further slabs of rock must be clambered over before they reached the summit. They swung Beth between them over the difficult spots, and at last they were out upon the heights.
Dorcas stood looking about, trying to grasp the surprise of all that lay hidden from the ground. From below only the ramparts were to be seen. The top of the rock looked flat and empty. The reality was startling.
They stood at the head of a flight of steps, impressively wide. Fernanda counted again, and announced that there were thirty. In a row across the foot stood seven widely spaced Doric columns.
On every hand reminders of history crowded in. Portions of the knights’ castle still stood, and the remains of a Byzantine church. Broken walls and fallen slabs of stone lay all about. Yet it was still Athena Lindia who ruled this place. Lesser structures were dwarfed, earth-borne, by her soaring columns. Here was the winged Athena who belonged to sky and sea. The broken walls, the columns of her temple rose in luminous air that seemed to carry a sparkle of gold in the blue. Rhodes stone burned gold against the eternal backdrop of sea and sky, floating as though it had little relationship to the earth so far below. There was an illusion of security here. It was as if they had reached a place that lived to itself, having no connection with a less peaceful outside world.
Fernanda went down the wide steps into a wind that struck fiercely across the rock. Dorcas followed, clasping Beth by the hand. At the foot of the steps they turned without question toward the temple above the sea cliffs. Here the wind blew more strongly than ever, the sun burned hot, and the bright air danced with gold. Overhead, in the space between two columns of Athena’s temple, a great spiderweb had been flung, its strands trembling, shimmering in the wind, yet never breaking. Arachne still wove her gossamer threads, defying Athena through the ages.
Behind the temple a low wall rimmed cliffs that plunged straight to the indigo-dark sea far below. While Fernanda took Beth in hand and wandered across the floor of the temple, Dorcas sat upon the wall. Across the precipice six columns with a broken portion of roof clustered close together—alone upon the black cliff, their beauty heart catching against sea and sky. Only swallows had access to the rocky cliffs and only Aegean waves pounded against their foot. There was no way up or down from this rock, other than the way by which they had come.
Fernanda returned with Beth to stand beside Dorcas and peer down the dizzy fall of rock. She made her pronouncement with the air of a seeress.
“I can just see Gregory Peck struggling up that cliff when they made The Guns of Navarone,” she murmured raptly.
The gold-and-blue beauty shattered almost visibly around Fernanda’s head and Dorcas laughed out loud.
“I doubt that he climbed it at this particular spot,” she said.
Fernanda grimaced. “I know—I’ve done it again. Look—there’s the other harbor over there. The little enclosed one where Saint Paul is supposed to have come. You can see the jagged entry rocks they used for the storm scene in the picture.”
Dorcas took Beth’s hand. “You dream about Gregory Peck while we have a look at the village side.”
They left Fernanda and crossed to ramparts where Dorcas could look down on white houses and the beach with a boat bobbing off shore. The mountains of Anatolia were not so close here as they were in the town of Rhodes, because of the way the island slanted. But the Turkish shore line would be no trip at all, even in a smallish boat.
She tried to make out Madame Xenia’s house on the slope beyond the town, but there were too many trees and she could not be sure which small white cube was hers. Had Gino come? What was happening down there at this very moment?
Again Fernanda followed them. If she felt any uneasiness about what might occur in the little town at their feet, she hid it well. She behaved as though this were an ordinary sightseeing trip. But she continued to watch the sun.
“We’d better leave soon, dear,” she said. “It’s getting close to sunset.”
On this side of the island the sun would not drop into the sea, but would vanish behind the ridge of hill above the village of Lindos. Before too long, Dorcas saw, the edge of the sun would reach the hill. Yet she must keep Fernanda up here awhile longer.
“I don’t want to go back yet,” she protested. “There’s still plenty of light.”
She picked Beth up and wandered toward the opposite ramparts. Voices reached her from below, and the sound of laughter. Apparently the donkey drivers had enjoyed a last spate of business before sunset. Dorcas set Beth down and leaned through a notch in the wall so she could look directly down upon the long stone staircase up which they had recently climbed. Several women were coming up the steps, laughing and puffing as they mounted. Behind them, moving in the wake of the brightly caparisoned female group, came a man, alone.
She would have known that head of dark hair anywhere. Swiftly she drew back from the wall lest he look up and see her there. Gino had come. As always, he had done the unexpected. In a few moments he would be on the heights, and she must leave the rock at once, get Beth out of his reach. Yet she could not escape until he was well away from the entrance and she could find a chance to slip out behind his back.
That he would follow her here to this remote spot must mean that time was indeed running out. Only a desperate need for haste would bring him here. Had he not gone to the Katalonos house, after all? Had he circumvented the trap laid for him?
Now that there was need to hurry, Beth hung back. “I’m tired, Mommy. I want to ride on the donkey.”
“Soon,” Dorcas said. “We’re going down very soon now.”
A dozen different walls and angles of building offered hiding places and she stood irresolute. Voices warned that the sight-seeing group was nearly up. Fernanda had gone to the cliff above the sea and her back was turned. Dorcas picked Beth up once more and ran with her across the space at the foot of wide stone steps. Column shadows lay in black bars across her way as the sun dipped close to the ridge of hill. Shadow must already lie upon the village, creeping toward the rim of beach.
A crumbling stone building stood in her path and she ran toward it. The opening to a sheltering wing offered a space she could step into and be concealed. It offered more, for a slit like an archer’s window had been built into the stone, looking out upon steps and columns in the direction of the far cliffs. By standing behind the narrow aperture, she could see without being seen.
“I don’t like it here,” Beth said. “I want to ride on the donkey.”
Dorcas hushed her in quick desperation. “We’re playing a game,” she whispered to the child. “We’re hiding from Aunt Fern. We mustn’t make any noise or she’ll find us.”
Beth accepted the ruse for the moment and slipped into a corner of the wall to hide behind her mother, holding back laughter with a cupped hand. Silently Dorcas prayed for help, for the strength to do whatever must be done. For herself she no longer feared Gino. She could stand against him. For Beth it was a different matter.
It was quiet out of the wind, cool in the shadow of unwarmed stone, and Dorcas shivered. Gino would come out upon the steps and he would see Fernanda near the wall. When he walked toward her, his back would be turned to this hiding place. That would be their only chance to reach the steps, to get to the entrance without being seen. She must take it without fail.
The last of the group had reached the top and women were spilling over the steps, taking off in various directions, exclaiming about everything they saw. Gino was still the one apart. He wore a gray jacket over gray slacks, and his dark head was bare.
Quietly alert, he stood upon the steps, looking about a scene that was undoubtedly familiar. Once more Dorcas sensed his enormous energy—dark, frightening ene
rgy held well in check but ready for release at a moment’s notice. He saw Fernanda and ran lightly down the steps calling her name.
This should have been the moment, and on the instant it was lost. Fernanda turned and started toward him, shortening the distance. If she had stayed by the wall and Gino had gone to her, there might have been a chance. His back would have been turned long enough. Now Dorcas dared not risk the steps. She must move away from him. If she circled the ramparts, perhaps she could approach the entrance from the far side.
In the brief moments that he and Fernanda moved toward each other Dorcas caught Beth up and whispered that it was still a game. Her eyes sought frantically for a doorway ahead, and she ran across the uneven ground, the child heavy in her arms. She had nearly reached the few steps down to the entryway when Fernanda saw her and called out. Dorcas faltered and almost fell on the slippery stones. Gino would be after her now. There was no choice except continued flight.
She darted through the doorway to a lower level and found herself in a room like a long tunnel—a wide stone tunnel with a rounded ceiling arching overhead. And like a tunnel it opened at the opposite end where the gold and red of sunset had begun to stain the sky. Her instinct was to run for that opening like a rabbit before the hunter, but she forced the urgency down and took quick stock. If she depended upon flight, Gino would catch her. If he trapped her here on this high rock, Beth would be lost to her. She knew that without question.
At her left a small black doorway opened into some sort of cell. She crossed the stone floor swiftly and lifted Beth into the pitchy darkness of the tiny room. It was black and cold and evil-smelling. Beth wriggled in her arms to escape.
“Aunt Fern saw us,” Dorcas whispered. “But we can hide here and fool her. Close your eyes tight and put your face against my shoulder.”
Beth did as she was told, closing her eyes to suddenly sensed horror as Dorcas crouched well back from the door. Gino went by without a glance for the cell. He would expect her to run, of course. When the echo of his steps died, Dorcas released Beth, who had begun to whimper, and they crept back to the main room.
Hurrying, they turned toward the door through which they had entered. Dorcas could only pray that Gino would be lost in a search among the buildings at the far end, so they could reach the flight of steps unseen. Although there was still Fernanda to be reckoned with.
“Carry me, Mommy!” Beth wailed, and she picked the child up and stumbled toward the doorway.
A shadow fell across the entrance, blocking the light, and she looked up to see Fernanda standing there. Beth squealed and Dorcas put a finger to her lips, pleading with them both for silence. Fernanda settled herself solidly on the top slab of stone, blocking the exit with her body.
“Pull yourself together,” she said crossly. “You’ve got to let him see the child. He has that right. You can’t keep running from him in this ridiculous fashion.”
Desperately Dorcas flung a glance over her shoulder toward the opposite opening to the tunnel. It stood empty. Gino was not in sight.
“I’m going through,” Dorcas said. “Get out of my way, Fernanda.”
Fernanda braced herself and put her hands on her hips. “Don’t try anything foolish, Dorcas. He’s leaving Greece and he wants to see Beth first just one last time. You’ve got to grant him that.”
Fernanda had sheer weight on her side and Dorcas knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if need required.
“All right then,” Dorcas said. “I’ll see him. But not up here. Let me go back to Madame Xenia’s—I’ll talk to him there.”
“Do you think he’d walk stupidly into such a trap?” Fernanda demanded.
“Then I’ll see him at the square where there are people around. I’ll wait for him there. Please, Fernanda.”
Perhaps something of her desperation got through to the other woman, for Fernanda hesitated and stepped back from the doorway. Dorcas was past her in an instant and out in the open. She pushed by an American woman who had started toward the tunnel and ran for the columns at the foot of the steps. The stone flight shone pinky-gold in the sunset as she went up with Beth in her arms. There was a long moment of being dangerously in the open, but she did not hear Fernanda call, nor was there any sound that meant Gino had seen her.
It seemed an age going down, before they reached the place where the donkeys had brought them. Dorcas had no time for transportation that was slow and picturesque. She waved the waiting drivers aside and jumped down the high step to the dirt road.
Now she found a physical strength she had not known she possessed. She quieted Beth’s protests and, partly carrying her, partly pulling her along, started down the zigzagging road that led to the village. Behind her she heard voices and looked around to see the donkey men beckoning her and pointing. Perhaps they meant that there was a better way down on foot than the rough road she had chosen. But she had no time or wish to turn back. The road beneath her feet led away from Gino and she asked for nothing more.
Once, when she was forced to stop for breath, she looked up toward the rock towering above. In the reflection of a sunset sky the sheer cliffs shone like rosy glass. Below in the village streets were already eaten by shadow. Nothing stirred along the walls, no sound of voices reached her—nothing. The illusion of emptiness up there was again complete.
The village received them, and its narrow streets, its crowding houses hid them from view. The graying dusk swallowed them in protective shadow. It was only a little way to the square. There she would not be alone. The car waited and perhaps she could get away in time and reach Madame Xenia’s and Johnny.
17
Once more the narrow streets were bewildering, hiding everything except the tightly packed white houses. She took two turns and then a third. At the third corner a man stepped from the shadow of an arched doorway with a suddenness that terrified. It was Gino.
He snatched Beth up in his arms, frightening her so that she cried out in alarm.
“Be quiet!” he said. “It is I—your father,” and he did not set her down for all that she fought him with both her small fists. The contagion of terror had touched her, and this man was a stranger. His roughness frightened her.
“How foolish to run away,” Gino said to Dorcas. “It was simple to take the foot walk and cut you off.”
She stood in the cobblestoned street with the blind eyes of the houses unseeing about her and no help anywhere. Even if someone came, she could not ask for help in Greek and Gino could tell any passerby what he pleased.
“So now we bargain,” he said. Excitement lay upon him like a patina of uneasy light. Dorcas knew well this dangerous, reckless mood.
The noise of hoofs around a corner reached them and Dorcas whirled toward the sound. If only someone who spoke English would come along. But it was only Fernanda riding a donkey. When she saw them, she dismounted and sent her driver away with the beast.
Dorcas wasted no more than a glance at her. She could expect no help from Fernanda. All her attention was for Gino.
“What bargain? What do you mean?”
“If you want Beth, you’ll do exactly as I say. You’ll go back to Xenia’s house and you will get the marble head. Bring it to the beach at once. When it’s in my hands, I’ll return Beth to your keeping. If you try any other course, it will be the worse for you—and any who try to stop me.” He patted his jacket pocket and she saw the bulge of a revolver.
Fernanda spoke blankly. “But why should you want that head? Gino, it will only mean trouble and—”
“You’d better help her get it,” he told Fernanda, and his tone was curt. Without waiting for an answer he went around the next corner, with Beth sobbing bitterly against his shoulder.
Fernanda was visibly shaken. She stared after him helplessly. “We’d better do as he says, dear. I don’t understand, but it’s the only way now.”
Dorcas turned her back and started toward the square, walking fast. She heard Fernanda following and spoke over her shoulde
r.
“How did Gino find us up there? How did he know where we were?”
“Vanda told him,” Fernanda said, hurrying to catch up. “Vanda got out of that room they locked her in and waited for him at the square. She saw the car and talked to the donkey drivers, so she knew we’d gone up the rock with Beth. Gino says she’s down at the boat now waiting to help him. There’s not a chance to get Beth back, unless we do as he says.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to have Beth,” Dorcas said scornfully.
Fernanda did not answer. She made a futile effort to push back her wind-blown hair. This day seemed to have shocked her out of the imaginary world in which she existed—a world where only Gino was right. But she did not know how to conduct herself on other terms, and Dorcas knew she would be useless now. It did not matter what side she was on.
All that mattered was to reach Madame Xenia’s and get the marble head. The risk of any other way was too great. She did not know what she would do if the others opposed her. She would fight even Johnny for Beth’s safe return.
When they were in the car and Dorcas had turned over the key, Fernanda drove almost as furiously as Stavros. They reached Madame Xenia’s and Dorcas ran up the steps, with Fernanda at her heels. The door stood open and there was no one in sight. Dorcas stepped into the living room and saw the marble head still in its place on the sofa.
“Take it down to the beach,” Fernanda said brusquely. “I’ll stay here and deal with Madame if it’s necessary.”
Dorcas had no reason to trust Fernanda, but there was nothing else to do. Neither Johnny nor Stavros was about. The plan had been to wait for Gino. But where? Perhaps they had gone down to the beach. Perhaps they would stop him there. If only they saw him before he could use his gun. Fear for Johnny mingled with her fear for Beth. The marble head was a hostage for their safety and she did not hesitate.
Seven Tears for Apollo Page 25
