Lament for Leto (Mrs. Bradley)

by Gladys Mitchell

  That left Hero herself, Simonides, although there was no evidence that either was a ventriloquist, and Mary Cowie, but the same objection applied to her. On the other hand, if either girl had the art, she and not Julian could have been the performer on board ship, and that sounded like Mary, as Mrs. Dearwater seemed to think that the real performer had been in the front row of the audience and not on the stage. All the same, neither girl could have been the person on the Acropolis, although either might have been in hiding in the Athens museum.

  She dismissed the whole thing from her mind, but decided to keep a watch on Ronald Dick. A man who might be suffering from hallucinations was not the ideal leader of a party which included impressionable and irresponsible young people. Besides she had a feeling that Dick was obsessed with some anxiety which had nothing to do with Apollo or with mysterious voices.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Urania, the Muse of Astronomy

  “Verily we nourish and bring up a Sibylline prophetess, which by the view of a candle can divine of celestial things . . .”

  “First,” said Ronald Dick, “a short briefing.”

  “I thought a briefing had to be short,” muttered Roger to his brother.

  “No, it’s the same thing as a lawyer’s brief—yards and yards of it, with refreshers and retainers and all the rest,” Edmund muttered back. “Wish we had some beer.”

  He and his father had returned to Athens on the previous day and the whole party was now on the yacht at Piraeus. Henry, his sons, and their tutor were there only for the conference, and would return to Athens for the night and take the local steamer in the morning. The others would sail for Mykonos, spend the night on board, and pick up the Owen family and Julian to go across to Delos. After that, the yacht, in Edmund’s phrase, would be coming apart at the seams, since the plan was that it would accommodate the whole party while it visited Naxos, Amorgos, and Santorin and then sailed back to Nauplia on the mainland.

  The briefing may have seemed short to the leader of the expedition, but it was less so to his hearers. However, sprawled out on deck in the spring sunshine, the ozone tangy with an inescapable suggestion of sewage, the younger members of the company listened with not more than half an ear. Hero and Simonides smoked Turkish cigarettes while Edmund and Roger played surreptitious noughts and crosses in their shadow, and Mary attempted to indulge in a mild flirtation with Julian, giving him secret smiles and interrogatory glances. She had been trying hard to make up to him ever since the unfortunate affair of the disputed deck-tennis court. Julian was heartily sick of her and agonisingly jealous of the joyous reunion which had taken place between Hero and Simonides.

  Except for Ronald Dick, who was leaning back against the rail while he discoursed, the older members were lying back in deck-chairs, Dame Beatrice with her quick black eyes taking in everything while she appeared to be intent only on taking in what Dick was saying, Henry Owen almost asleep, and Chloe Cowie apparently interested in nothing but the diamonds flashing in a half-hoop on her engagement finger. Nobody, so far, had mentioned this ring, although the two girls, of course, had noticed it. As they were not now on speaking terms because of Julian, they had not discussed its significance, although Mary, whose future it placed in jeopardy, would have given much to confide in a female contemporary.

  To Dick it mattered nothing that his audience was inattentive. He was accustomed to being disregarded and would have been surprised and perturbed to find himself a centre of attraction. His monologue was intended for his own benefit much more than for that of the others, and was a mental review of what he expected from the pilgrimage.

  “One thing I wish to make clear,” he said, “in case any of you have felt any doubts or scruples, and that is that although we may like to think of our excursion as a pilgrimage, no thought or suggestion of pagan worship is involved. We shall approach each temple and shrine in a spirit of reverence, of course, but it will be with reverence for the past, not reverence of the god.

  “Not but what, in the older world, Apollo stood for anything but the best and the highest in Greek thought. Apart from the fact that his was the second place in the hierarchy, second only to that of Zeus himself, he was regarded by his worshippers as the averter of evil, the presider over religious observances and laws, the arbitor of expiation, the god who communicated with man by means of prophecies and divine oracles. Even his humblest and most unlettered worshippers made him the protector of their flocks and herds and of themselves against plagues and diseases, for Asclepius, god of healing, was his son.

  “Apollo was the god of music and dance, and although he was known, like his father Zeus, to pursue love affairs with mortal girls, the Homeric hymn in his honour is nobly conceived and his best-known title of Phoebus means ‘the pure one,’ or ‘the shining one.’

  “He was regarded as law-giver to various city states and he had the power to purify even murderers, provided that they were not morally guilty or else had made restitution for their sin. Among (probably, I think) the more ignorant, he was given various other names. For instance, to some he was known as Apollo Smintheus, the mouse-god; to others he was variously called Panopion, the god who rid the fields of grasshoppers; Lykeios, the wolf-god, although whether as the friend of wolves or as a protector against them seems uncertain, and in some districts he was Sauroctonus, the lizard-killer, and he had various other titles. At Delphi, his most sacred shrine, his name of Agyieus was on a stone pillar, and it is likely that similar pillars were set up in front of Greek houses to bring them under the god’s protection.”

  “So was an image of Hekate similarly set up,” said Hero softly, as the leader paused, “and she was not only regarded as an averter of evil, but was the goddess of ghosts.”

  “That is true,” said Dick. “She was a migrant from Asia Minor, as, according to some authorities, although others disagree, was Apollo himself, and she seems to have reached Greece somewhere about the sixth century. She was praised by Hesiod, and does indeed seem to have had some affinity with Apollo, for she was sometimes identified with his twin sister Artemis.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Hero, throwing her cigarette-end into the sea, “because of a universal belief in and fear of ghosts, offerings were made to her with averted eyes, and at crossroads, and on dark, moonless nights.” She crooned these words while staring evilly at Chloe Cowie.

  “The feature least acceptable to the modern mind in the worship of Apollo,” went on Dick, “is that his priests and seers tended to fall into hypnotic trances, at which times they made ecstatic prophecies, or, as we might consider it, they gave vent to wild and extravagant ravings. Heraclitus tells us of a sibyl foaming at the mouth as, urged by the god speaking through her, she uttered almost unbelievable prophecies, but this, of course, was part of the darker side of the Apollo cult, leading, as it did, to all kinds of superstitious beliefs and terrors. On the other hand, it was Apollo who disciplined and regulated the phallic rites connected with the worship of Dionysos, and Plutarch reminds us of the friendly connexion between the two cults, Apollo being depicted on the sculptured gable-ends of the temple at Delphi surrounded by the Muses, while Dionysos, opposite him, was attended by satyrs and maenads.”

  “There’s a vase-painting—red-figured, fifth century—showing the same scene,” said Edmund, surprisingly, looking up from his game. “Personally, I very much prefer Dionysos. There must have been a rare lot of fun with him. All those women with St Vitus’ Dance . . .” He broke off, laughing, and gazed boldly and insolently at Chloe Cowie. Chloe looked down at her half-hoop of diamonds and Mary remarked acidly that it sounded to her like the outbreak of contagious witchcraft in Salem.

  “Or Agnes Sampson’s two hundred,” murmured Henry Owen, whom most of the company believed to have been asleep.

  “When is your birthday?” Mary suddenly demanded of Julian in the pause which succeeded Henry’s unexpected remark.

  “April fourteenth,” he replied, “so it’s a bit late in the day if y
ou thought of giving me a present.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of that,” said Mary seriously. “I couldn’t afford to, anyway,” she added, with an enigmatic glance towards where her aunt was fidgeting with the diamond half-hoop. “I was thinking—well, wondering—which of us, if any, could best claim protection from Apollo if we needed it. What do you say about that, Mr. Dick?”

  “As Apollo was known to country folk as Karneios, which means the Ram, and as April fourteenth comes under Aries, the sign of the Ram—you will remember the legend of the Golden Fleece—Julian would certainly be able to claim protection, I think,” said Hero. For the first time since their introduction to one another at Dick’s flat in Dorset, she favoured Mary with a warm and friendly smile. “What a nice game you suggest we play,” she went on. “Your birthdays, please, all of you, and we will place bets on which shall have the best protection from Apollo. Who wishes to play?”

  “We will all play,” said Simonides, “but before we begin, let it not be forgotten that, in addition to his other names, the god was called Pythian Apollo.”

  “What does that matter?” asked Roger, who was tired of noughts and crosses and more than tired of the conversation.

  “It matters,” replied Simonides impressively, “because it refers to his slaying the Pytho, the she-dragon, and although this was undoubtedly a justifiable action, by his own rules the god needed purification for murdering her. From this time, he was also known as the Destroyer and all sudden deaths were thereafter attributed to him, so I commend to him my soul.”

  “But that’s blasphemy!” cried Mary, looking at her aunt.

  “Really!” protested Chloe. “You Greek children have the most morbid minds!”

  “Ah, thanks to Papa Ronald, we have acquired a good deal of useless but interesting knowledge,” said Hero. “I will now add that Apollo was also known as Helios, the sun-god. Let none of you forget—” she looked in less friendly fashion this time at the fair-skinned, light-haired Mary—“that there is such a thing as sunstroke, and sunstroke, if severe enough, can kill.”

  “The god has yet another appellation which may bear upon your remarks, dear child,” said Dame Beatrice. “I believe that at Delphi he was known not only as the Pythian Apollo, but also as Apollo Loxius, which has been translated as ‘the Ambiguous.’ ”

  “Really!” exclaimed Chloe Cowie again. “I am becoming seriously alarmed at the idea of travelling with some of you learned people! I suppose you have all noticed this?” She waved her left hand at them so that the diamonds sparkled more brilliantly than ever in the sun. “I shall waive my right to travel on this yacht to Mykonos, but shall go in the company of Henry, my affianced husband. We will meet the rest of you later, when perhaps all this uncomfortable erudition will have burnt itself out.”

  “Oh, I say!” cried Roger, turning eagerly towards her before anyone else could speak. “Can I have your berth on this boat, then, Mrs. Cowie?”

  “That is for Mr. Dick to decide,” said Chloe in a magnanimous tone. Dick, who, it was clear, had had no previous knowledge of the engagement, since, man-like, he had not seen the significance of her ostentatious display of the half-hoop of diamonds, looked astounded. Henry Owen said, smiling a little self-consciously at the company before he turned to Chloe,

  “But you’d be much more comfortable on this boat than by taking the steamer with me and the boys, my dear girl. Besides . . .”

  “Oh, Mary, of course, will come along, too,” said Chloe. “I would not think of it otherwise.”

  “Then I had better take charge of Roger if he is to stay on the yacht,” said Julian. “That will be an excellent arrangement.” He looked meaningly at Hero.

  “Not Roger!” said Mary, loudly and hysterically. “I want to stay on the yacht.”

  Everybody looked surprised except Dame Beatrice, who regarded the rebellious girl with a kindly leer.

  “Really, Mary!” said Chloe. “Of course you will accompany me to the hotel and travel on the steamer with us. Mr. Owen and I are not yet married, and Edmund can scarcely be regarded as a chaperone.”

  At this Mary gave a shriek of semi-hysterical laughter.

  “A chaperone—at your age?” she shouted. “You stupid fool! Anyway, you’ll never marry Owen! And I’m not at your beck and call any more! Why should I be? I’m sick and tired and damned of being your servant. No, I’m not even a servant, because I don’t get paid and I’ve got no rights and I’ve got no regular hours and I—and I . . .”

  She broke down and sobbed. Everybody except Dame Beatrice and Chloe looked uncomfortable. The latter said:

  “Well, now, really, Mary! After all I’ve done for you!” The former said,

  “Mr. Dick, is there anything to drink on board?”

  “Yes,” said Simon, “I took care of that.” He rose to his feet in one sinuous, serpentine movement and disappeared below. Edmund, to the surprise of everybody except his brother, went over and sat by Mary where she lay sprawled face-downward on the deck and patted her gently between the shoulder-blades.

  “Buck up, girl,” he said. “Be a sport.” He began to massage her thin back and fondle her hair. By the time Simon had made two journeys, one for the bottles and another for the mugs, she was sitting up and dabbing at her swollen eyelids and saying that she was sorry she had been such a fool.

  “So the lamb goes off to be slaughtered,” said Hero cynically, when Mary and the others had gone ashore. “I wonder what Mrs. Cowie will have to say to her when they get to their rooms at the hotel?”

  The paid crew of the yacht, which was named Ilium, consisted of a father and son. The son had rowed Henry, Chloe, the apparently repentant Mary, and a thoughtful Edmund to the shore in the yacht’s tender, and on his return the Ilium raised anchor. She was powered, and as Dick knew nothing of sailing and the Greek crew of father and son asked for no orders but appeared to take it for granted that the engine and not the sails would be used, the shores of the mainland soon slipped by and the pilgrimage might be said to have begun.

  Before the others had left the yacht Hero had insisted upon finding out everybody’s birthday, and that afternoon, the crew having rigged up an awning so that the remaining passengers could remain on deck without discomfort, she announced that she had made a book on the pilgrimage based upon the odds for or against the safety of the members of the party according to their stars.

  “So, by birthdays,” she said, “we have like this: with full protection from Apollo, so the odds are very short and I am generous to offer evens, are myself and Simon, Papa Ronald, Dame Beatrice, Edmund, and Julian. You see, Julian is under Aries the Ram, a very good sign for Apollo, as we have seen. Then Simon and I are Gemini, that is the Twins, because, strange to tell you, we have the same birthday, May thirty. I think it means, in the stars, Castor and Polydeuces, although really Helen was twin also, but no matter, all were born from eggs like duck-billed platypus in Australia. Anyway, Aries the Ram carried twin children, Helle and Phrixus, over the Hellespont (only, unfortunately, he dropped Phrixus). Also Apollo and his sister Artemis are twins, so there, I think, all twins come under full protection from Apollo, which means Simon and me, even if our mother is not the same.”

  “It seems reasonable to suppose so,” said Dame Beatrice, “but as Mr. Dick, Edmund, and myself are Sagittarians, why are we also favoured?”

  “Well, Sagittarius is the Archer,” explained Hero. “Did you not see the bronze Apollo in the museum at Athens? Apollo was holding a bow until it got broken off, therefore I offer the same odds for you as for Aries and Gemini, only it is a paradox, because these odds are evens.”

  “Too right,” said Roger. He drew an imaginary bowstring to his ear and opened his thumb and forefinger, emitting a loud twang from the back of his nose. Julian said,

  “There are more of us to come. What about Roger? What are the odds on him?”

  “Well,” said Hero, “he is Leo, and here there is doubt. Still, I think perhaps all is right, really, if we rem
ember the stone lions on Delos. We are to visit Delos on this trip and we will pay respect to the lions, so I think Leo will count, although the lions mark the way to the temple of Leto, not Apollo.”

  “Good-o,” said Roger. “Is anybody else a Leo?”

  “Nobody. Mary is Virgo, and I cannot make up my mind whether she can claim protection or not, but I think she is unlucky in her stars, anyway, if her aunt marry your papa.”

  “Oh, to hell with that! She never will. Don’t let’s talk about it. You haven’t quoted the odds on me yet,” said Roger. “I suppose I get evens, like the others.”

  “Oh, no, you cannot have evens. It is not so certain as all that about you. I think I give you three to one.”

  “I’ll buy a parcel of myself for that, then. I shan’t need Apollo, anyway. I can look after myself.”

  “You climb rocks, though,” said Simon, “don’t you? It could be dangerous. I wouldn’t accept those odds, if I were you.”

  “Oh, Simon, not to discourage him,” said Hero.

  “I’ll take three to one against him,” said Simonides. Roger gave Simonides a punch in the ribs which made him gasp, and in a moment the two were rolling on the deck in a grapple which was a good deal less than friendly. Hero stood up and kicked them indiscriminately.

  “Stop it, both of you, you stupid boys,” she said. “You interrupt me. I have not finished. Now, then, I have come to Mary, as I said. At first I thought she was at about the same odds in the betting as Roger, but now I find myself puzzled. You see, Virgo is the Maiden, and there is the story of Daphne, who is changed into a laurel tree when she is pursued by Apollo. She cannot, therefore, be under his protection, because she was protected from him, but there is a complication which shortens the odds a little, because all maidens come under the protection of Artemis, sister to Apollo. What is more, one of Apollo’s emblems is the laurel, so, you see, he may protect girls after all, being very sorry about chasing Daphne.”