Greek Wedding (35 page)

Poor Peter! But, ‘That's what I thought.'

‘So. I have decided.' There was something extraordinary about Oenone this morning. In her new decisiveness, she reminded Phyllida of some fierce young woman from Greek legend: Electra, perhaps? ‘Milord Renshaw has given me his promise,' she went on. ‘Now, I must have yours,
kyria
.'

‘Yes? What has Milord Renshaw promised?'

‘To say nothing, ever, that will harm Alexandros. To write good of him in his book. He tells me it will have many readers, all over the world, and I believe him. I do not know much, but I know when a man speaks truth to me. He tells me he is a poor man, with nothing in the world but the
Helena
, and I believe him in that, too. So the money must come from you.' Her voice was as calmly practical as ever. ‘You said, the other day, that you would give me a dowry. You meant it?'

‘Of course.'

‘Yes. Milord Renshaw says I can trust you, and I believe him in that too. So: you will promise me the half of your fortune.
And you will promise, as milord has done, never, so help you God, to speak of how you escaped.'

‘I promise. All you ask.' It was extraordinary; it was too good to be true. Dared she believe it?

‘Milord is writing a paper for you to sign.' Oenone had taken Phyllida's consent for granted. ‘He says he will make it simple, so I can understand. I do not read your English writing very well.' She laughed. ‘I have told my uncle I visit you because you help me with my reading. Remember that, if he should come to see you. At supper time, milord will make a scene about the wine. The man will go and fetch new—We have our laws of hospitality, we Greeks—While he is gone, milord will give me the paper. Later, you will give me a reading lesson, and sign it.'

‘And then?'

‘Leave all to me. I must manage as best I can. But, if the men go down to the valley tomorrow, it will be tomorrow night. You will be ready to do whatever I say, without question. I am trusting you,
kyria
, with more than my life. You will trust me in return?'

‘I will indeed, Oenone.'

Oenone emptied her glass. ‘You are amazing, you Franks. You ask me nothing? And promise me all this? Wealth, to make Alexandros glad to have me…' She seemed to be battling with herself. At last: ‘I must tell you,' she said. ‘It is not much I will be able to do for you. I shall get you, before first light, out of the castle and down to where they send the baskets. After that, you must find your own way, and God go with you. I have told Milord Renshaw where the paths lead, and told him not to tell me which he plans to take. So, whatever happens, I cannot betray you.'

‘Yes.' There was something wonderfully comforting about Oenone's complete confidence in Brett. ‘But, Oenone. One other thing. These clothes. I look like a Turkish woman.' She had not missed the hostile reaction of the peasants at Kitries, the covert spitting, the looks that would have killed … Turkish costume was all very well in Nauplia, but might mean death, here in the Mani.

‘You're right.' Oenone considered her for a moment, thoughtfully. ‘No hope of clothes like a Frankish woman's. But—you're thin and tall.' It was not a compliment. ‘In one of the
fustanellas
Alexandros wears for night work, you could pass well enough as a boy. It will be black with dirt, of course. You'll not mind that? They smear them with lambs' grease, you know, so they'll get black quickly, for safety at night.'

‘I'll not mind.'

‘Good. Then, if we cut your hair and blacken your face, you will pass for milord's Greek guide.' She stood up. ‘It's time I went.'

‘But you, Oenone? Will it be safe for you? What will your uncle do, when he finds us gone?'

‘You think of that? So did milord. In the face of your own danger. I shall never understand you Franks. But we worked it out, milord and I. He's clever enough to put both feet in the same shoe, is Milord Renshaw.' She laughed, and seemed for a moment almost human. ‘Do you know what he has found? The paper old Anastasia brought him is a poem, he says, a splendid poem all about the Mani that will make us famous. I am helping him to read it—it's in our Greek characters, of course, and he finds it difficult. Was it not a fortunate thing that Alexandros gave strict orders to our uncle that you two should be treated with every kindness your imprisonment allowed?' Using her brain at last, she seemed to be coming alive. becoming a person, before Phyllida's delighted eyes. Now she was making a business of clattering the dishes on to the wickerwork tray. ‘He will ask me to help him tomorrow night,' she went on. ‘Uncle is always drunk at night. He won't notice. He's a very stupid man.' She had only discovered it this minute. ‘When he finds me, unconscious, in milord's cell, and you gone; it won't occur to him to wonder how you found your way. Besides,' she said it with pleasure. ‘He would never imagine a woman could do it.'

‘And Alexandros?' Idiotic to raise this doubt, but somehow she could not help herself. ‘Should you not come with us, Oenone, for your own safety?'

‘No. I shall stay here. Next day, I shall go to Kitries, to wait for Alexandros. I must be the first to tell him, don't you see?'

‘Yes. You're a brave girl, Oenone.'

‘Oh, courage.' She dismissed it. ‘What is that? We all have it, we Greeks. I would like to be wise, like Milord Renshaw.' She was at the doorway, and turned. ‘Sleep well,
kyria
, and rest well, too, tomorrow.'

‘There!' Oenone stood back to survey her handiwork. ‘You'll do. I'm sorry about your hair.' She had cut it jaggedly and smeared it with grease, so that it hung lankly round Phyllida's blackened face. ‘You must walk with the longest stride you can manage,' she went on. ‘And see to it that the
fustanella
swings.'

‘Lucky I've been wearing trousers so much.' Her throat hurt and her head had not stopped aching all day. It was hard to pay attention to what Oenone was saying.

‘The men on guard should be fast asleep by now,' Oenone went on. ‘I told them milord had refused his wine, and they had better finish it. That way, if my uncle should enquire, he will think it was milord who drugged it.'

‘Clever.' She found Oenone almost frighteningly so. What was that book of Mrs. Shelley's?
Frankenstein
? About a monster who came alive? The sight of Oenone suddenly using her excellent brain suggested it, and Phyllida thought, through the pounding of her head, what a surprise she would be to Alex as a wife.

‘Time to go,' Oenone said. ‘A pity there's no glass to show you what a fine boy you make … But it's too dark, anyway. Come,
kyria
, milord will be waiting.' She blew out the lamp. ‘Lucky there's a moon. We don't want someone looking over from the other buildings and seeing lights moving about here. They should all be drunk asleep by now, but you can't count on it. Follow me down the stairs. Careful: your hand on my shoulder.'

The door below, Brett's door, was locked, with a thin line of light showing round it. ‘Wait here a moment,' Oenone breathed the words ‘I must make sure of the guard.' She seemed to be away an age, while Phyllida stood shivering in her strange clothes. How much colder it was up here than down on sea level; no wonder if her throat hurt and her teeth chattered.

‘Good.' Oenone appeared, soundlessly, beside her. ‘Dead to the world, both of them.' She was feeling for the keyhole in the darkness of the door.

‘Both?'

‘There's always one on duty outside. There.' The key grated in the lock, and the door swung inwards with a scream of
hinges that made Phyllida realise just how wise Oenone had been to make sure of the guards first.

But here was Brett coming forward to greet them, lamp in hand. Extraordinary to have feared never to see him again and now to be greeted as casually as if they had been parted by the merest trivialities. It was almost satisfactory to see his expression change to one of amazement as she moved forward into the lamplight. ‘Good God,' he said. ‘I'd not have known you. I congratulate you,
kyria
.' To Oenone.

‘Yes. I think she'll pass in the daylight. We must at least hope so. You're ready? We're committed now. The sooner the better.'

‘Of course.' He picked up a small bundle like the one Oenone had helped Phyllida pack. ‘You promised me a weapon,
kyria
.'

‘You shall have your choice. Now, blow out the lamp, and follow me. And, not a sound.'

For a moment, before he blew out the lamp, his eyes met Phyllida's. This was a leap in the dark, they said: anything might happen. And, as silently, she answered him: anything was better than what they were escaping.

Down the black stairway. Phyllida's hand on Oenone's shoulder, Brett's on hers sending a convulsive shiver through her. At the bottom, a glimpse of a lighted room, two Greeks snoringly asleep on the hard earth floor. One quick glance at them and Oenone led the way out on to the moonlit plateau and straight across towards the lighted hall where Alex had entertained them.

Instinctively, Phyllida hesitated, and felt Brett, behind her, do the same. Then, his hand, still on her shoulder for guidance, closed harder with a message of comfort. They were committed to this wild venture, to trusting Oenone. They must go through with it. A quick, impatient gesture from Oenone, in front, set them in motion again, feeling horribly exposed among the strange shadows of the moonlit plateau. Phyllida thought she had never felt so complete a silence. The only sound, their footsteps, soft-shod on quiet rock, echoed like drumbeats in her head, vying with the pulse that had been beating heavily there all day.

Now they were at the door of the big hall. Oenone's hand told Phyllida to stay where she was, and Brett took the message, wordlessly, from her. They stood, his hand still reassuring on her shoulder, and watched Oenone open the door of the hall,
letting out a blaze of light, and no sound at all. She vanished for an endless moment, then reappeared, silhouetted against the light, and beckoned them forward.

The hall was lit by a huge fire, blazing dangerously on the untended hearth. In front of it, a grey-haired Greek lay fast asleep, half on, half off the chair Alex had used. ‘My uncle,' Oenone mouthed the words. ‘Nothing would rouse him.' Her hand swept the weapon-hung hall. ‘Choose what you need. But, quietly.'

There were fewer weapons than before. Phyllida watched Brett as he lifted two straight, short daggers from their places. Without ammunition, the few remaining muskets would be useless, not worth carrying as a bluff. She turned, at his warning touch, and saw Oenone on the far side of the fireplace, beckoning. Beside her yawned a dark hole that had not been there before. She felt Brett catch his breath in surprise, and followed him as he picked his way silently round the big table.

Still in silence, they followed Oenone into the pitch blackness of the hole, turned instinctively to look back towards the firelight, felt her moving beside them and saw darkness close across it.

‘There,' said Oenone clearly. ‘No one can say that I showed you the secret way. You could search for a thousand years and still not find it. And still less the way back.'

‘Secret or sacred?' asked Brett, surprisingly.

‘Both, I have no doubt.' She understood him perfectly. ‘And safe, which is more to the point. It leads down, inside the rock, to the lower plateau. No need for a light. They built well, our ancestors, it's smooth going every inch of the way. So, follow me.' Her hand found Phyllida's in the darkness and placed it once more on her shoulder. ‘And you, milord, behind the
kyria
.'

‘But,' surprisingly, Brett hesitated. ‘If it's a sacred way, what does it lead to? Up here?'

‘Milord!' No mistaking the threat in Oenone's voice. ‘This is no time to be thinking of antiquities for your book. Follow me, and watch yourselves.'

It was good advice. The paving was smooth and well-laid, but there were still occasional joins that might trip the unwary in that heavy, total darkness. Several times Phyllida had to pause, holding Oenone back, while Brett seemed to trip and recover himself.

‘Don't dally!' Oenone's voice came back to them angrily. ‘We're dead, all three of us, if you're not away from the lower plateau before first light.'

After that, they moved forward more swiftly, in concentrated silence. But it seemed an age before they saw light ahead and emerged through what seemed to be a crack in the rock-face on to the plateau. Away and below, moonlight glimmered on the sea. It looked terrifyingly far off, across a wild chequerboard of black and grey shadow, with here and there a lighter gleam where the moon caught a shining patch of flint.

Oenone was looking up at the stars. ‘We've not done too badly after all. You've an hour or so before the dawn. Do you remember where the path to Kitries begins?'

‘I think so.' Brett pointed. ‘Over there. And the other way?'

‘I'll show you. The one to Kitries is easy to find. It's used all the time. The other's just a goat track, hardly that. You'll need your wits about you, if you decide to take it.' She was leading the way along the edge of the plateau, and went on before there was time for them to speak. ‘For God's sake don't tell me which you mean to take.'

‘I haven't decided,' said Brett.

‘Good. There.' She paused where the cliff came down to cut off the plateau. ‘You see?'

‘Yes.' It was more than Phyllida could. ‘And you say, this way it's two hours to the nearest house.'

‘Yes. About the same distance as to Kitries. But, as I told you, the people that way are no friends of ours. Now, I must leave you. If I'm not back before my uncle wakes, nothing can save me. God go with you, my friends.' Surprisingly, she kissed Phyllida on both cheeks.