Greek Wedding (42 page)

She was dragged forward and up, out of the reeds into dwindling moonlight that was instantly drowned in the flare of torches. Ahead of her, Brett was facing the enemy leader. He had thrown off his sheepskin coat, and torchlight showed him straight and slim in jacket and trousers, as different as possible from his shaggy guards. ‘Do you speak English?' he asked.

‘No. But it's true, I can see you are a Frank. And you have messages, you say, from Reshid Pasha for my master? Tell me, then, what does he look like? Reshid.'

‘Short. Wiry and active as ten goats. And a bad man to anger. I saw him outside Athens just before the garrison yielded. He gave me his word for their safety. And kept it. I won't vouch for yours if you harm us.'

‘But the boy.' By now Phyllida, too, was standing, closely held by her captors, in the blaze of torchlight. ‘The boy is Greek.'

‘Nonsense,' said Brett. ‘Look closer. He is my brother. We are cousins of the Frankish Duke of Sarum, and if you touch one hair of our heads, our King himself, the great George the Fourth, will wreak a hideous vengeance on you.'

‘Bring them in.' The Egyptian leader had made up his mind. ‘We must think more of this.'

*          *          *

Nightmare. Disaster. But at least she and Brett were still together as they started down the badly paved causeway that led south to Neokastron. His story that they were brothers had been accepted, for the time being. But what chance was there that Ibrahim Pasha would believe them to be messengers from Reshid in Attica? Everyone knew that there was no love lost between the two Pashas. Just the same, she told herself, they did both serve the Sultan; there must be some communication between them.

Brett must have been thinking on the same lines. ‘We've bought ourselves some time,' he said quietly. ‘And, don't forget, these are Egyptians.'

‘Yes.' Surrounded by the savage, turbanned figures, it seemed cold enough comfort. Not much chance of her being recognised as a fugitive from Mahmoud's harem. But if they found she was a woman? Shivering at the very thought, she made herself keep up the brisk pace set by their guards, though every muscle screamed with exhaustion. So far, hope had kept her going. From now on, fear must.

She was cold with fear, her mind numb with it, and grateful that Brett had obviously decided they had better not talk. Somewhere behind them, she heard Andreas begin a protest, and heard the crunch of the blow that silenced him. After that, no one spoke.

It was still dark when they reached the gates of Neokastron and were challenged and passed through by the sentries. Inside, the Egyptian army was asleep. Well, why not? They were as safe, here in Greece, as if they were at home in Alexandria.

Their party had paused in the thicker darkness among buildings. ‘I insist on seeing Ibrahim Pasha.' Brett advanced a step to confront the leader.

‘He's not here.' Brett's tone of command had its effect. ‘You'll have to wait, all three of you, till he returns. I've had no orders about Franks, but Ibrahim usually likes to see them himself. We're short of space.' he went on. ‘You're a milord. If I put the Greek in with you, will you spare his life? Ibrahim will want to hear all your stories.'

‘Of course. You have my word.' Increasingly, Brett seemed in control of the situation. ‘We Franks don't hurt the old. Not even traitors. Besides, Andreas here has served my purpose well enough, since I wanted to meet your master. But we all need
food and drink.'

‘You shall be fed. Ibrahim returns tomorrow. He shall hear at once of your arrival.'

*          *          *

The cell door slammed behind them. Andreas crouched, terrified, in a corner, but Brett took no notice of him as he made a quick, thorough search of the cell and its adjoining, noisome closet. ‘It could be much worse.' He spoke cheerfully, in English, to Phyllida, who had sunk down on the pile of brushwood that passed for a divan. ‘We're still together.'

‘Yes, thank God. But what will you say to Ibrahim?'

Amazingly, he laughed. ‘Let's cross one bridge at a time, shall we, love? After all, we're alive; they've not even searched us.'

She had actually forgotten those damning notes of his, wrapped up in the innocent looking bundle. ‘What will you do?'

‘Wait.' He turned, almost with sympathy, to the snivelling, grovelling old man in the corner. ‘Don't be afraid. It's true, what I said. We won't hurt you. Why should we?'

‘But why?' The question had been burning in Phyllida ever since she had begun to suspect Andreas.

‘They burned my village.' He was actually glad to explain. ‘Kolokotronis and his gang of thugs. They said we had helped the Turks. Well, what else could we do, living where we did? I wasn't there that night. When I came back—do you remember that smell,
kyrie
?' To Brett. ‘The smell of burning?'

‘Yes.' Brett seemed to have expected this.

‘All of them,' said the old man. ‘My daughter and her husband. All their children. And I, watching the fire from the mountain, smelling it. If you want to kill me,
kyrie
, do. I don't much want to live.'

‘I thought it was that. No, I don't intend to hurt you, but you must tell me just how much you have betrayed.'

‘Very little, since that was all I knew. Just that a messenger was coming. I did not think you would be a Frank,
kyrie
.'

‘Lucky for us all that I was. Well, if you want to live, and I expect, in your heart, you do, you will tell a true tale when you are questioned. Say you expected a messenger, and were surprised that it was a Frank. That way, we may all survive.'

‘Yes,
kyrie
.' The old man came forward to kiss Brett's hand. ‘I am your slave.'

‘Nothing of the kind.' Brett leaned forward to blow out the lamp. ‘Look! It's morning.' And then, ‘Good God, look at that.' He had moved to one of the two slit windows that pierced one side of the cell, and Phyllida hurried to the other.

It looked straight out on to the Bay of Navarino and the Turkish fleet, at anchor, a forest of masts and spars, curving away and then around again, far off, at the northern end of the bay below the promontory with the other fort.

‘A splendid defensive position,' said Brett thoughtfully. ‘I imagine they have their French advisers to thank for that.'

‘French?' Phyllida was finding it hard to keep her eyes open.

‘Yes. The Egyptians learned by the experience of being conquered by Napoleon. They've had French advisers ever since. Ah.' A key grated in the lock. ‘I was beginning to be afraid our friend had forgotten us.' He made Phyllida eat a little of the greasy rice-dish they were brought, then settled her on the brushwood divan. ‘Sleep, love, you've all the time in the world.'

She smiled up at him. ‘And then our great King George the Fourth will come riding to my rescue on his white charger?'

‘Precisely.' And then. ‘Don't look at me like that, love, or I shall kiss you, and what would our friend there think?'

‘What indeed?' She smiled again, sleepily. ‘You and your cousin the Duke!'

‘Yours too, Mrs. Renshaw.'

‘Good gracious!' Still smiling, she plunged, fathoms down into sleep.

Waking, she thought, insanely, for a moment that she must be in hell. Red light flickered on the ceiling; the whole building was shaking, and noise, echoing through her brain, made thought almost impossible.

‘Brett!' Now she saw him, over in one of the slit windows, gazing out. Andreas was in the other one. Quite impossible that they should hear her over the din that shook the walls. She rose, shakily, to her feet, exhaustion still like lead in all her limbs.

‘Brett?' She joined him in his window and he turned to put a reassuring arm round her. ‘Dear God!' Now she saw what he did. The whole bay seemed ablaze, and a pall of smoke hung heavy overhead, as ship after ship fired off its broadsides. Then,
as it had before, their own building shook to its foundations.

‘There must be a battery above us,' said Brett coolly. ‘For once, I rather hope the British aim's not too good.'

‘British? But, Brett,' she had to shout above the noise. ‘What's happening?'

‘It's the most extraordinary thing I ever saw. But for you, love, I wouldn't have missed it for anything.' A gust of wind shifted the curtain of smoke momentarily, and she saw that where, before, there had been a single semicircle of Turkish ships, it was now doubled. Other ships, flying British, French and Russian colours, had anchored close beside the Turks and were exchanging a devastating fire with them.

‘They came in as cool as you please.' The battery above them must be reloading, and it was easier to hear what he said. ‘The
Asia
—old Codrington's flagship was in the lead of one column and de Rigny's
Sirène
of the other. There was just enough wind to bring them in, and the most extraordinary silence. You could hear the rigging creak; the orders shouted…'

‘And the Turks?'

‘Did nothing. Leaned on their guns in the batteries across there, and watched, as if it was a naval display.' He pointed to the battery on the southern tip of Sphacteria that was now belching out fire and death. ‘I imagine the same thing must have been going on above us here. It was beautiful sailing, too. They came in, perfectly in line, and moored, each in turn, close to a Turkish ship.'

‘And then?' The battery had opened fire again above them, and she had to mouth the question.

‘The Turks opened fire on one of our boats. It looked to me as if she was carrying a flag of truce; taking some message or other. It was hard to tell from here. But I could see the flag of truce. And this is the result.'

‘But we're not at war!'

‘We may not have been. I should say we are now, wouldn't you?' As he spoke, a well-aimed ball from the battery above them, brought the sails of a French 74 down to make a shambles of her deck.

Phyllida was trying to count. ‘But, Brett, there must be twice as many Turkish ships!'

‘More than that, love.' He sounded amazingly cheerful about it. ‘But it's discipline that counts in a sea battle. If you'd seen
the way our ships came in, you'd know they'd take a lot of beating.'

‘And my God they are!' Horrible to think that with each flash and crash of artillery, more blood was running on the sanded decks, more lives pouring away down the scuppers.

Near them a Tukish ship blew up, the noise of its explosion making the pandemonium before seem mere commonplace. Bodies, a mast, pieces of flaming timber were tossed into the air like a child's handful of toys.

‘Don't look, love.' Brett moved over to the cell door. ‘I wish we could block it somehow.'

‘A wedge.' Andreas joined him from the other window. ‘They left me my knife.' It had been tucked inside his leather boot. ‘I could have killed you while you slept,
kyrie
.'

‘And you take credit for not having done so?' Brett merely laughed. ‘Well, by all means cut some wedges and make the door as secure as you can. They aren't going to feel kindly towards us Franks while this day's work lasts.'

‘And if we're beaten?' Phyllida asked. ‘Out there?'

‘We're as good as dead in here. I think we must face that, don't you? But we're not going to be beaten. British, French and Russians beaten by a set of barbarians! Nonsense.' He did not like the white, still look of her. Andreas was busy cutting the wedges for the door. ‘What ever happens, love,' he spoke urgently. ‘Remember to act the boy. He's betrayed us once—'A quick jerk of his head indicated Andreas. ‘He would again.'

‘Yes. But, Brett.' She was silenced by the roar of gunfire from a bore, then went on, painfully. ‘If they're beaten, out there, nothing can save us. You said so yourself. So—before they come … Promise you'll kill me?'

‘I'll do nothing of the kind.' His angry tone was more bracing than any amount of sympathy. ‘And I'm ashamed of you for asking it. We're going to fight for our lives to the last ditch, just like those gallant sailors out there.'

‘Well,' she said, ‘hardly ditch.'

‘No.' A quick, relieved glance for her calmer tone. ‘We've so much to live for, you and I.'

‘And so much to lose.'

‘Don't think like that! I'm surprised at you, Phyl. Remember how you jerked me out of despair, back at Zante, that night. My God!' He was back at the window. ‘There goes another Turkish
ship.'

‘Poor creatures.' She shuddered. ‘Look, there's one swimming, quite close in.'

‘And being picked up by a British boat. Have you noticed, love, that not one of the Allied ships has blown up, or struck her colours? At least, not that I can see. And, remember, there's something else on our side. That fleet out there is half Turkish, half Egyptian. And there's no love lost between them. I doubt if they'll work together as well as ours.'

‘You mean the British and French, who last met at Trafalgar?'

‘You're no fool, are you, love?' He was delighted to see reason taking over from panic in her. ‘But I still think I'm right. You should have seen the way they came in together, British, French and Russians. And the moment the Turks opened fire on that British boat, de Rigny was at it hammer-and-tongs from the
Sirène
. I can't see the Russians so well, but it looks as if they must be giving a good account of themselves too.'

‘It's horrible.' She was shaking again. ‘And don't say, “don't look”, because how can I help it?' An anguished face, floating close under their window, an arm thrown up, then sinking, gave point to her words.

‘Because I order you to. Come here, Phyl.' He pulled a stool towards the rough table. ‘Sit down. Write what I tell you. It won't be pleasant, but it will be better than watching. And much more useful. Has it occurred to you, love, what an admirable last chapter this will make for my book?'