She went to the edge of the shrine and picked a piece of laurel that she found growing there and placed it on the rock at her feet for a tribute to Apollo. She had nothing else to bring him, unless he wanted her money.Perhaps he liked to be bribed? She knew that some saints had that reputation. How often would St. Anthony refuse to find one's lost property until he had seen the colour of one's money? She smiled at the thought and tucked a twenty-drachmae piece under a corner of the stone where it could not be seen.
She looked up and saw Loukos looking down at her. 'Did you get your answer?' he asked her.
'I don't know,' she said. She smiled uncertainly, surprised to discover that the cloud had lifted to let through a single ray of sunlight. She might not know if she had found an answer, but she had seen Apollo! An oddly human Apollo, who held out his hands to her and drew her up on to the Temple floor beside him. An Apollo lit by sunlight, like a halo about his head, and who smiled at her.
'Come and have a look at the theatre,' he said.
He held her by the hand as they walked up the short distance to the theatre. The sun was getting stronger by the minute and the cliffs took on a new aspect, grey and green, with splashes of terracotta, magnificent in their arrogance. Loukos followed her gaze up to their summit.
'It was from there that they forced Aesop to jump to his death. That's what they did to people who committed the sacrilege of doubting their powers! Or, worse still, embezzled their money!'
'Aesop?Aesop, who wrote the fables?'
'The very same. Later on, they found he was not guilty after all and paid compensation to his grandson, but that didn't help poor Aesop!'
So others had fallen over the cliffs to their death, just like Faith. They always had!
'It's a terrible way to die!' she exclaimed.
He squeezed her hand. 'One would know very little about it. It's a pity though that this theatre won't come alive for the whole of next summer as Nikos had planned. It's an incomparable position, isn't it?'
She had to admit that it was. It had looked quite small from down below, and indeed it had only thirty-three tiers of seats, rising in a semi-circle from the stage below. Charity ran lightly up the steps and sat down somewhere near the top, the whole shrine spread out beneath her and, below that, the whole deep valley. She looked shyly down at Loukos.
''I suppose,' she hazarded, ''I suppose you wouldn't say something, would you?'
He laughed and she could hear him clearly. He searched for the small cross on the ground that marked the centre of the stage and stood astride it, his head thrown back so that he could watch her expression. Then he laughed again and said something in Greek which she could not understand.
'Shall I translate?' he asked unnecessarily and, without waiting for her answer, went on in English, 'Tell the Emperor that the bright citadel is fallen to the ground. Apollo hath no longer any shelter, or oracular laurel tree, or speaking fountain. Even the vocal stream has ceased to flow.''
She vaguely recognized the oracular answer Delphi had sent to the Emperor Julian the Apostate, who had tried to return the Roman Empire to paganism, but her whole being rejected it. She was on her feet and clattering down the steps towards Loukos.
'No! No!I won't believe it! It's still here for those who can feel it. There mustbe something left after all those ages when people came here in faith.'
He put his arm right round her and held her close. 'Perhaps for some people it is still here. I hope it is for you. It means a lot to you, doesn't it?'
'Yes, it does,' she said and, becoming conscious of his arm about her, she freed herself without looking at him. 'Anyway, I could hear beautifully. Thank you very much.'
'Think nothing of it,' he said indifferently.
The sun had gone in again when they returned to the car and the Shining Ones had returned to their gloomy aspect of winter, grey and forbidding, guarding their captured clouds with aloof grandeur. The misty rain slowly descended into the valley, catching them up just as Charity was turning in her seat to see the last of the broken shrine.
'Cheer up,' Loukos said. 'We'll come back after lunch for
a quick look at the museum. The village of Delphi is just around the corner, but we must go back to Arachova. They are expecting us there for lunch.'
She put her head on one side, glancing across at him. 'Thank you for bringing me here,' she said. 'I shall never forget it.'
The road curved round the mountains, rising sharply towards its highest point which is the picturesque village of Arachova that cascades down the steep slopes, the roof of one house lying at the same level as the ground floor of the one behind it. Loukos kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead of them.
'Why do you worry so, Charity?' he asked her. 'What answer are you seeking from the oracle?'
She twisted her fingers together. 'You wouldn't understand,' she said.'I don't really understand myself.'
'You may get a double-edged answer. Have you thought of that?'
She nodded. 'It won't matter. I shall still be glad I came!'
By the time they came to Arachova, the rain had changed to sleet. The road was lined on either side by shops selling the handwork of the local women. Highly coloured blankets, bedspreads, and carpets hung in groups from every available corner in front of the shops. Those that were furthest out declared that their goods were all going at half price because of the road widening scheme, but the more central ones could rely on the coach trade and were anyway less affected by the mud and the general inconvenience.
Loukos parked the car where it could do no harm. 'We have to walk from here. Will you be warm enough?'
Charity said she would be. She had no thicker coat to put on even if she had wanted to. She stepped out of the car and grimaced at the biting cold that met her, made worse by the freezing wind that blew up and down the stepped alleys that led from one row of houses to the next. Loukos took her arm
and rushed her up one of these alleys, bidding her watch her feet for donkeys, chickens, and even pigs went by the same way.
'Nikos liked the view,' he explained, as they arrived, puffing and panting, at the top.
It was understandable, Charity supposed, but she couldn't help wondering how Faith had coped, carrying the shopping and anything else they needed up and down that hill to the street below.
'Is this the house?' Charity asked. She could hardly believe it. The whole of the ground floor was taken up for use as the stables-cum-pigsty, occupied by a single donkey who poked his way, stiff-legged, across the uneven floor to look at them.
Loukos didn't bother to answer. He led the way up an external flight of stone steps to the living quarters above, calling out something in Greek. A door creaked open and an elderly woman peered over the stone banisters, her face lined with suspicion and hostility that evaporated only when she saw who it was.
'Ah, Kyrie Loukos, it is you! I thought it might be another. I have heard that I may expect another visitor today.'
'Do 'I know her?' Loukos returned.
The woman nodded, drawing her black scarf more closely around her face. 'You are knowing Thespinis Ariadne Vouzas,' she snapped.
They had spoken in Greek, but Charity recognized that the woman was telling Loukos about some woman and she wondered at his thunderous expression. He said nothing about the woman to Charity, however.
'Will you see the child first, or would you like to eat?'
'I'd like to see Alexander.'
He spoke to the woman who smiled unexpectedly, revealing a mouthful of crowded, blackened teeth. 'It seems you said the right thing,' Loukos said dryly. 'This woman is
Alexandras' nurse. She has been looking after both the boy and the house. She is a local woman and very reliable.'
Charity nodded to the woman and waited as patiently as she could while the nurse went into the bedroom and came back with the baby in her arms. The child was sleeping, but he opened his eyes as Charity held out her arms to receive him and yawned at her. He was warm and smelt of
milk and talcum powder, but it was not that that brought the tears starting to her eyes as she looked at him. It was the fact that he was as redheaded as she was herself, with a bright carroty fluff on the top of his head and bronzed eyelashes guarding his perfectly formed eyes. She looked accusingly at Loukos.
'He's every inch an Archer!' she exclaimed.
'But his name is Papandreous,' he reminded her abruptly. 'I'll thank you to remember that!'
'I don't suppose you'll allow me to forget it! But you can't change his looks!' Her face softened as she returned her gaze to her little nephew. 'He's very like Faith, isn't he?'
He came and looked over her shoulder. 'Not particularly. If he's like anyone, I'd say he was more like you. Faith's colouring lacked your brightness.'
Charity laughed. 'That's one way of putting it! I'm afraid she and Hope used up all the family looks long before I arrived! All that was left for me was flame-coloured hair and a hot temper to match!'
'And a warm heart,' he drawled, 'to match the warmth of your eyes.'
She gave him a startled look and then wished she hadn't, for the amusement on his face was unsettling and brought a mist before her eyes, making her suddenly wonder what it would be like to feel that face against hers. She gave herself a mental shake, aware that her hands were shaking and that, between them, they had woken the baby and he was in two minds as to whether to have a good cry or not. She rocked him gently, hiding her face in his shawl, and addressing him
softly in English.
'Come,' Loukos commanded, 'it is time we ate. The baby will wait.'
'But he's a darling!I wish - I mean, I know he's a Papandreous as well, but I wish he were mine!'
Loukos raised his eyebrows. 'You will have babies of your own. Then perhaps you will feel differently about him.'
'Never!'she declared.
His amused look made her feel a fool. She returned the baby reluctantly to his nurse, who took him back into the bedroom and put him in his cot. Charity looked about the room, thinking how very Greek it was and how foreign it must have seemed to Faith. A modern, rather flamboyant ikon took pride of place on the wall, showing the sugar-sweet faces of the Virgin and Child looking completely unreal against the beaten gold and silver of their clothing. Before it hung two little red lamps, neither of which was lit. The rest of the furniture was very simple. A well-scrubbed table stood in the centre of the room, around which was arranged four hand-carved chairs. An embroidered cloth had been taken off the table, neatly folded, and placed on a second table that was the only other piece of furniture in the room. On the floor was a violently coloured orange rug, with matted pile probably caused by frequent washing. In the bedroom, Charity had glimpsed only a large double bed and the baby's cot. She thought there might have been a wooden chest at the foot of the bed, for otherwise there was nowhere to keep one's clothes and other possessions that she could see in the whole house.
'What happened to all Faith's - things?' she asked Loukos as they seated themselves at the table.
'I took all the books and papers to my apartment in Athens. The rest of the things were disposed of.' His eyes rested thoughtfully on her shadowed face. 'If I had known you were coming, I would have left her clothes'
'It doesn't matter!' Charity said hastily.
'Your sister had no money of her own,' Loukos went on. 'She owned nothing apart from her husband, so there was no reason for her to make a will, or anything like that.'
Charity smiled. 'I can't imagine her making a will anyway!' she said. 'And if Nikos had given up his business career, I don't suppose he had all that much either! They wouldn't have lived here if he had, would they?'
It was impossible to read Loukos' expression. 'Are you cold?' he asked her courteously. 'The winter is short here, so the houses are built for the long summers, but there is another heater which can be lit.'
'No,' she said, 'I'm quite warm. It's the wind that's cold.'
The Greek woman came back into the room and plonked a bottle of open wine on to the table. Some glasses appeared from nowhere, and she poured out the wine, urging Loukos to taste it to see if it pleased him.
'You have your wish,' he said to Charity. 'This is a resin-ated wine. I have told Iphigenia to bring some water for you.'
If he had wanted her to drain her glass no matter how the wine tasted, he was successful. It had a harsh taste of pine and she could well understand why some people likened it to varnish. Her first sip repelled her, but by the time she had forced most of the glassful down her throat, she was actually beginning to like it, or at least not to care how it tasted.
'I don't often drink wine,' she remarked carefully.
He grinned, 'I never would have guessed it!' She found herself unable to meet his eyes arid curiously breathless, and was distinctly relieved when Iphigenia brought in an enormous, steaming dish of some kind of stew and began to serve them with generous helpings and equally large hunks of coarse bread.
It was a happy meal. Charity was able to forget that Faith had ever had anything to do with the house, it was so unlike anything she had ever known about her, and anyway, the
same magic that Loukos had woven about her the evening before came back to her. She felt as though she was on the edge of some great discovery and rather liked the sensation of hovering on the brink, without yet having to take the step that would take her into the future.
When Alexander awoke and began to cry, she was sorry that he had brought the meal to an end. Iphigenia brought him out of the bedroom, newly changed, and settled him on Charity's knee. She asked some question and Loukos translated, 'She asks if you want to feed him?'
'Oh, may I?' said Charity, much pleased. 'He's very small, isn't he?'
'Newborn babies are apt to be! He's only seven weeks old now.'
'I don't know how Faith could bear to leave him!' She went a little white. 'Though I'm glad she did,' she added. 'Poor little mite!'
'She would have done better to have stayed with him,' Loukos retorted curtly. 'Hysterical women are more nuisance than they're worth!'
Charity bit her lip. 'That isn't very kind,' she objected.
'If she had been my wife, 'I should have known how to deal with her! She would not have gone flying out of my house like that, no matter what I had done. Her place was with Nikos' son, not indulging herself by imagining herself hardly done by and making herself unhappy!'
'So Nikos had done something!' Charity exclaimed.
Loukos shrugged. 'He was her husband, and there was the child. That should have been enough for her!'
Charity shook her head. 'Most English women feel that they have some rights as well as their husbands. Perhaps she was hardly done by. One doesn't necessarily imagine these things!'
'One has no right to happiness, my dear,' Loukos answered. 'Be one man or woman.' There seemed no answer to that, so Charity busied herself
with offering Alexander his bottle, fascinated by the fierce concentration with which he took the teat and sucked a: the milk inside. Loukos watched them for a while, but apparently the sight didn't please him for he threw himself back on to his chair and began to drum his fingers on the table in front of him. His hands were seldom still, Charity thought with amusement. He used them constantly when he was talking, to underline a point, or even in a self-expressive gesture that saved having to use words at all. When he was not talking, he was constandy playing with any object that came to hand, as if the different textures were a constant source of delight to him. No wonder the Greeks had been sculptors before all else in the arts!
The Tower of the Winds Page 5
