Greek Wedding (11 page)

*          *          *

They steamed into Nauplia just as dusk was falling, and Phyllida standing eagerly at the forward rail, was delighted to have Alex and Brett, one on each side of her, to tell her about the temporary Greek capital.

‘That's the Palamede,' Brett pointed up to the citadel, high above the town. ‘It's as good as impregnable, they say.'

‘Yes,' said Alex, ‘but not, I'm afraid, a classical marvel for Phyllida.' It was the first time he had used her name, and she felt his quick glance ask her approval.

‘Oh, is it modern then?' She smiled up at him.

‘Comparatively. Like so many of our fortresses, it was built by the Venetians. You will see their arms over the great gate when I take you there.'

‘But we must not trouble you with our sightseeing.' Brett was beginning to share Aunt Cassandra's feelings about the young Greek.

‘No, please,' chimed in Phyllida. ‘You are going to find out everything you can about Peter for me, are you not?'

‘Of course I am. My own pleasure must come a long way second to that. Besides, what greater pleasure than to serve you.'

‘Oh, thank you…' She had never much liked the compliment direct. ‘What's that island?' She pointed.

‘That's another stronghold. We call it the Burj. I'm glad Nauplia is to be your first Greek town,
kyria
, It's one of the few
that have not been fought over. It's been in our hands ever since the first rising.'

‘And the massacre of the Turks that went with it,' said Brett.

Phyllida felt Alexandros stiffen, as he leaned on the rail at her side, but he spoke calmly enough: ‘It's easy for the free to indulge in the humane virtues. Slaves must use what weapons they can.
You
must understand that,' he turned to Phyllida. ‘You who have been in the hands of the Turk.'

‘Yes.' She shuddered, remembering the massacre of the Janissaries, and her shoes caked with dried blood.

‘Nonsense!' Aunt Cassandra intervened. ‘Two wrongs don't make a right, young man. Never have and never will. I agree with Mr. Renshaw. You Greeks have done your cause untold damage by the innocent blood you have shed.'

‘Innocent!' His eyes flashed. ‘After four hundred years of tyranny, no Turk is innocent to us. Wait, Miss Knight, until you know what has happened to your nephew before you speak of “innocent Turks”. And now, milord, ladies, I must leave you. Don't try to go ashore until I have spoken to my uncle about you. I am sure he will understand that since you have already been to Spetsai there is no need for you to suffer quarantine.'

‘Your uncle?' asked Brett.

‘The head of my family. Petro Bey, the Turks call him. He has some influence here in Nauplia. He will be glad to exert it in the interest of beauty in distress. Sister of my friend, I kiss your hand.' He did so, with emphasis, sending a curious little shiver through Phyllida and one of surprising irritation through Brett.

‘And who is this Petro Bey?' Cassandra asked, after Alex had gone agilely down hand over hand into the
Helena's
boat and been rowed away towards the shore.

‘A very odd fish indeed,' Brett told her. ‘The very name gives it to you. He co-operated with the Turks for all it was worth, so long as it was worth anything. Now he's the better part of the Greek government, I believe. Such as it is!'

Phyllida turned from watching Alex leap lightly on shore. ‘I do wish you'd try to speak more kindly of the Greeks, Mr. Renshaw.'

‘I wish you'd try to call me Brett. If you can use that young pirate's first name—'

‘How can you?' she interrupted him angrily. ‘ “That young pirate”, as you call him, has just saved us all—and your precious
ship, too.'

‘Yes, Miss Vannick, and have you thought at all about how he was able to do so? I admit I didn't understand all of what he was saying to the
Hera's
captain, but I got a strong impression that it wasn't so much law and order he was preaching as might and right. If you're a small Greek captain, you don't lightly cross one of the Mavromikhalis.'

‘And so much the luckier for us.'

‘Oh yes, I agree with you there. I just wish I felt entirely happy about his motives.'

‘His motives?' She flushed angrily. ‘Friendship for my brother, of course. Didn't he tell us so?'

‘Yes, so he did.'

*          *          *

Alex returned with depressing news. There was typhus in Nauplia. For their own sakes, they would be well advised not to go ashore. ‘As for quarantine,' he spread his hands in a gesture that reminded Brett of the pirate captain. ‘My uncle says that any friend of mine is free to do what he will… but the typhus is something else. And there is no coal in Nauplia. You will have to let me make you a larger sail, milord, and escort you to Zante so. There, you will certainly be able to get coal for your beautiful
Helena
.'

‘Escort us?' Brett's reaction was predictable. ‘What need have we of an escort?'

Alex smiled. ‘Do you really think my friend and the
Hera
so far away? He was not at all pleased to have his beautiful prize snatched from his grasp. He will be waiting, trust me, somewhere down the coast between here and Matapan. And, down there, too, there are other hazards. We have been pirates of necessity for so many centuries, we poor Greeks, we cannot mend our ways all in a moment.'

‘But Peter?' Phyllida asked. ‘Have you any news of him?'

‘A crumb,' he took her hand. ‘A morsel of hope to feed a hungry sparrow. Don't make too much of it,
Kyria
Phyllida.'

‘But what is it?' Cassandra moved between them so that he had to let go of Phyllida's hand.

‘I have been out to the huts beyond the city wall where the refugees from Missolonghi are living.' He turned on Brett, eyes
aflash. ‘If you saw that misery, you would not talk of massacres. Think of them, desperate, starving, planning their escape. And betrayed…'

‘By one of themselves?'

‘No! By a Bulgarian, a wretch, a turncoat … They made their preparations, buried the type of the
Missolonghi Chronicle
, kissed each other the long goodbye … They broke out; the Turks were waiting, and death.'

‘But my hope?' Phyllida intervened again. ‘My crumb of comfort? What is it?'

‘A very little crumb. I would not be your friend if I should bid you hope much. But one of the men I spoke to—a skeleton of a man, dying as he stands—I recognised him, just, as a friend of my brother Petros. He told me that when the disaster struck, Petros was one of the band that cut their way out. He saw them, fighting gallantly, breasting the waves of the Turks. And that is all he saw.'

‘So we still don't know?' Cassandra summed it up.

‘No
kyria
, but we still have hope.'

*          *          *

It was hot in the landlocked bay of Nauplia. The
Helena's
deck was a scene of furious activity as the crew worked, under Alex's orders, to rig the new set of sails he had planned. Only in the evening could Phyllida and her aunt emerge from the saloon to enjoy the cooling air and watch the stir of life in the town across the bay. No one was allowed on shore. Brett had gone once, and had returned, very gloomy, to confirm Alex's warning about typhus and condemn Nauplia as a stinking hole. ‘You're not missing much in staying on board,' he told Phyllida. ‘It looks better from here than close to. And smells better. And there's no news that one can believe. And no mail from England. We shall have to wait until Zante for that.'

Here, Phyllida was sure, lay the reason for his gloom. Had he, perhaps, expected some word from Helena?

Even Alex was growing impatient with the dilatory behaviour of the Greek government. ‘It's over a month since Missolonghi fell,' he told Phyllida, ‘and what have they done? Put on mourning—and talked. And meanwhile the Turks have laid siege to Athens. It only remains for Ibrahim to attack Nauplia
and we Greeks might as well jump into the sea, as the women of Suli did when they were defeated.'

‘You don't mean that?'

He flashed his smile at her. ‘No,
kyria
, I don't. If I were the last Greek alive, I would still die fighting the Turk. If only we had more money—'

‘Money—' Brett had joined them on the foredeck. ‘What happened to the immense loan that was raised in England when the rebellion first broke out?'

‘It's all been spent long since.' Phyllida did not think Alex much liked the question. ‘Even a
pallikar
—a Greek soldier must eat, milord.'

‘And wear silver-mounted pistols?'

‘It's true.' Alex flushed angrily. ‘That first English loan was misspent. We Greeks are children still when it comes to government. It was madness to hand over the money without making any conditions about its use. If only Lord Byron had lived…'

‘He'd have washed his hands of the whole affair long since. From all I've heard he was getting impatient enough already with the bungling and cadging at Missolonghi. Maybe it was a stroke of luck for your cause that he died when he did and provided you with a famous martyr.'

‘Milord!' Suddenly Alexandros' hand was on his own silver-mounted pistol. ‘You go too far.'

‘Do I?' The quiet words fell heavily.

‘Missolonghi!' Phyllida broke in. ‘Alex! Tell me if you've had any more news from there. Please?' The plea was tacitly addressed to them both. But Alex's hand was still on his pistol. She touched it lightly, pleadingly. ‘Say you've another crumb of comfort for me?'

‘In fact, yes.' She could feel the tension drain out of him. ‘There is news today that a group of soldiers from Missolonghi did manage to join Karaiskakis in the mountains. That at least was not mere rumour. As to the rest of it—I don't want to raise false hopes—'

‘Please?'

‘You could persuade a man to anything,
kyria
. Well, you shall have it then, your crumb. There is talk that one of them is a Frank—a Philhellene. Well, why not? Petros is young and strong. And he was not cumbered with womenfolk as were so many of the men who escaped. If they could have brought
themselves to leave their wives behind, it might have been a different story.'

‘Just the same, I'm glad they didn't,' said Aunt Cassandra. ‘The women who stayed behind weren't spared, were they?'

‘There was no hope for them,' he said. ‘Knowing this, it was arranged that when the Turks were well into the town, the tower they were in should be blown up. They went to heaven,
kyria
, and sent a good number of Turks to hell at the same time.'

Phyllida shivered. ‘It's barbarous.' But at least the moment of danger between him and Brett had passed.

Brett thanked Phyllida later. ‘If you hadn't intervened, I really believe that mad young Greek and I would have come to blows this afternoon.'

‘Not blows,' said Phyllida. ‘Pistols for two.'

‘Yes. The last thing we want. Quite apart from the debt of gratitude I owe him, I don't at all wish to get in bad odour with the Greeks by killing him.

‘You're so sure you would?' She found his confidence irritating.

‘My dear Miss Vannick, have you seen that silver-plated blunderbuss he uses for a pistol? It might just as well have come out of the ark. I doubt if he could hit a barn door at ten paces, still less a man. They're all the same, those Greeks. The only weapon of theirs that's any good is their musket—and it's so heavy they have to lean it on a rock to fire. That's why they're no use in hand-to-hand combat. Give me a regiment of English infantry, with the bayonet, and I guarantee to defeat any army the Greeks can field.'

‘So long as you get near enough.'

He laughed. ‘I hope I never do. But, Miss Vannick—'

‘I thought you were to call me Phyllida.' His tone was more serious than she liked.

‘Phyllida, then—' He moved closer as if to take her hand, then, to her relief, turned suddenly on his heel. ‘What am I thinking of? Forgive me; I must make sure that Barlow's set a good watch. I don't trust those Greeks for an instant. They'd steal the hair off your head, and say it was in the cause of the revolution. I'll be glad when we've' got the
Helena
safe to Zante.'

‘So shall I,' said Phyllida.

On the surface, Brett and Alex were as good friends as ever after their quarrel, but just the same Phyllida was relieved that Alex would escort them to Zante on his own ship, the
Philip
. To see the two of them together, now, was to see tinderbox and gunpowder.

‘I shall keep always within hailing distance.' Alex was saying goodbye. ‘Even with your new sails, you've no chance of outdistancing the
Philip
. Set your own pace, and rely on me to keep close. You'll be in no danger rounding Cape Matapan with me behind you.'

‘The piracy's so bad?' Brett had not much liked the implied criticism of the
Helena
.

‘This is war, milord.'

‘I've been thinking about that.' As so often, Phyllida felt it best to intervene. ‘Ought you to be wasting your time escorting us?'

‘Time is never wasted in the service of beauty. Besides'—on a more practical note—‘I am charged with messages from our government to Sir Frederick Adam, the British High Commissioner for the Ionian Islands.'

‘Then we must delay you as little as possible.' Brett sounded equally businesslike.

‘No indeed. Only—' Phyllida held out her hand to Alex:

‘There's no more news?'

‘Of Petros? None. I'm sorry. But my friends are still making enquiries. Don't despair,
kyria
. When I have seen you safe to Zante, and taken my dispatches to Sir Frederick on Corfu, I propose to treat myself to a run up the gulf of Missolonghi. Who knows what information I may not be able to pick up there?'