Greek Wedding (8 page)

‘It's very good of you, Captain.' Cassandra was delighted to hear her niece so reasonable. ‘Just one more thing,' Phyllida went on. ‘Do you think Mr. Renshaw could be persuaded to let us say good-bye, and thank him?'

‘I don't know, but I'll certainly ask.' And with that, looking dubious, he took his leave.

Alone with her aunt, Phyllida pushed back her chair and surged to her feet. ‘It's intolerable.' She was across the saloon, looking out through the stern window at darkness. And then, as her aunt watched her anxiously. ‘To be so outgeneralled,' she went on. ‘How could the wretched man behave so well?'

*          *          *

Phyllida woke suddenly. Could they have reached Nauplia
already? The
Helena
was lying-to, wallowing disagreeably in the waves. Now something grated along the side, sounding disconcertingly loud through the thin planking. It woke her aunt, who sat up and drew back the curtains to let in a flood of grey light. It must be very early still.

They could hear shouting now. Phyllida put her finger to her lips and listened intently. ‘Thank God,' she said at last. ‘They're Greeks, not Turks.'

‘That's all right then,' said Cassandra. ‘I was afraid, just for a moment. Can you see anything, Phyl?'

‘No. They must have tied up forward. I wonder why they've stopped us. I hope it's not bad news from Nauplia after all. Hush!' She was listening again. Then: ‘I don't like the sound of it.'

‘You can understand?' On the long voyage from New York, Phyllida had persuaded a Greek member of their ship's crew to teach her his language and had amazed him by the progress she made.

‘What I can hear, which isn't much. I don't like the tone of it. We'd better get dressed.'

So they were ready when Price knocked on the door ten minutes later. He, too, looked as if he had dressed in haste. ‘Thank God, you're up, ladies. You're wanted on deck. At once.'

‘What's the matter, Price?'

‘I don't rightly know, not understanding their lingo. They're Greeks, not Turks,' he hurried to reassure them. ‘But something seems to be wrong just the same. Mr. Renshaw and their captain are talking nineteen to the dozen, and very angry they sound. The only word I've understood so far is “Constantinople”. I don't much like it.'

‘No.' Phyllida needed no further explanation. If the Greeks knew (but how could they?) that the
Helena
had just come from Turkish territory, they might consider themselves entitled to stop and search her. Her father had told her that neutral ships, supplying the Turkish army, had frequently been stopped and impounded by the Greeks. ‘But anyone can see we're just a private yacht,' she objected.

‘Yes, miss, but a steam yacht! Think of the advantage they'd have over the Turks if they had a steamship to tow their
brulots
—those fireships of theirs—into the heart of the Turkish fleet.'

‘They'd never dare—'

‘I hope not. But I don't like the look of them above half. If they're not pirates, they're the next best thing.'

Phyllida had heard enough about the unorthodox Greek navy to know that he was all too probably right. But there was no need to frighten her aunt. ‘Well,' she said cheerfully, ‘if we're wanted on deck, let's go up and have a look at them. One thing I do know about the Greeks is that they don't molest women.'

‘Except Turkish ones,' said her aunt.

‘Which, thank the Lord, no one could think us.'

There was nothing reassuring about the scene on deck. The rails were lined with piratical-looking Greek sailors in tight jacket and typical full trousers, oddly drooping behind, of the islanders. They were armed to the teeth, and their long hair and long moustaches did nothing to improve their appearance. Their ship lay a few cable lengths away, her guns covering the
Helena
, and another swarm of brigandish figures visible on her high, curving deck.

Brett Renshaw was arguing furiously in a mixture of ancient and modern Greek with one of the pirates, whose silver mounted pistols and yataghan proclaimed him the leader. Phyllida did not think he understood much of what Brett was saying, and was not surprised. He did not seem to care either, but merely said, over and over again, cheerfully, in broken English. ‘You come from Constantinople; you are lawful prize.' He broke off, at sight of the ladies, gave Phyllida a look of unqualified admiration and a sweeping bow, and broke into rapid Greek. ‘You have ladies aboard! Have no fear. We are not Turks. You shall all be landed safely at Hydra.'

‘I should hope so too,' said Phyllida in her fluent ungrammatical modern Greek. ‘But this is a private ship, Captain, you cannot possibly intend to treat it as a prize.'

‘You speak our language.' He showed white teeth in a flashing smile. ‘Miraculous. You can explain to this angry milord that the very fact of visiting Constantinople makes him our enemy.'

‘I'll explain no such thing,' said Phyllida tartly. ‘And you certainly will have enemies, Captain, if you set about seizing private vessels.'

‘Exactly.' Brett Renshaw could understand modern Greek better than he spoke it. ‘Tell him I have powerful friends, Miss Vannick. He'd best let us go at once if he doesn't want the
British navy down on him like a nest of hornets. I don't know where Hamilton and the
Cambrian
are, but I'll find out soon enough.

‘Hamilton?' This was a name to be reckoned with. Then he spat on the deck, ‘
Po, po, po;
the milord wants to frighten me. But we don't frighten easy, we Greeks. With this beautiful ship we can show even the
Cambrian
a clean pair of heels. Tell the milord'—he turned back to Phyllida—‘that I've not waited here since he left Nauplia to lose my prize for a few big words.'

‘You've waited?'

‘Of course. Since we heard that she was going to Constantinople.' He patted the
Helena's
rail affectionately. ‘This is a great day for the Greek navy. As for you.' Another sweeping bow for Phyllida and Cassandra. ‘You are our honoured guests. You would prefer, no doubt, to remain on board your ship till we reach Hydra. Tell your captain—and the milord—that if we have their promise of good behaviour, you may all do so. I know that the word of an Englishman is not like the word of the other Franks, but almost as good as that of a Greek. Speak to them,
kyria;
explain.'

There was nothing for it but to do so. ‘Hydra?' said Brett Renshaw. ‘With any luck there'll be a British ship in port, or at least a French one. Tell him we give our word, Miss Vannick.'

‘You are wise,' said the pirate captain. ‘It will be better for us all, so. You may tell your crew to return to their duties; one of my men will accompany each of them, not because I do not trust you, milord, but so that they can learn to handle this beautiful ship. I myself will join the man you have left below to mind the machine—you will be so good as to make me known to him and explain that he must teach me how it works.' He turned to shout a series of orders to his savage-looking second-in-command. ‘My
Hera
will lead the way. You have noticed, of course, that we have guns both fore and aft. There will be no trouble.'

‘Of course not,' said Brett angrily. ‘You have my word. But under protest, I warn you.' And then, seeing that the captain had not understood him. ‘Explain to him, Miss Vannick?'

‘Best not, I think.' The only good thing about this ominous situation was that Brett Renshaw had forgotten his fury and was consulting her as an ally and adviser. ‘I doubt if he'd understand the idea, even if he did the words. Time enough,
don't you think, when we reach Hydra?'

‘Yes. We're bound to get help there.'

‘I'm not so sure,' said Captain Barlow gloomily. ‘The trouble is, there are more ports than the main one on Hydra.'

It was a long, gloomy day. The pirate captain had shepherded Brett and the ladies down to the saloon with every appearance of courtesy, and urged that they remain there. ‘We do not want an incident with my men,' and had then retired to the engine-room to watch Brown at work. His absence was the only comfort that long day produced. Price, serving dinner as imperturbably as ever, reported that a close watch was being kept on the crew. Only the men who were actually working the ship were allowed on deck, and each of them had his Greek shadow. ‘They've brought their own food,' Price said. ‘They're picnicking all over the deck, on bread and onions. At least they seem civil enough.'

‘Yes, thank God.' Captain Barlow had joined them for dinner. ‘I've heard some pretty blood-curdling stories of the Maniote pirates down in the south of Greece, but these seem a good enough sort of men despite their savage appearance.'

‘Polite, as you please!' Phyllida, too, had heard about the Maniote pirates and did not want her aunt to learn too much about them. ‘But it's dreadful about your ship, Mr. Renshaw. Only, surely, Captain Hamilton will make them give her back?'

‘If he can find her,' said Brett gloomily. ‘Think of the inlets and harbours of all these islands—and the mainland, too, where the Turks aren't in control. We don't know whether these brigands really intend to use the
Helena
to fight the Turks at all. If they do, I'll doubtless get her back, sooner or later, but if they plan to use her for more piracy … Oh well, she's been an unlucky ship to me from the start to finish, maybe it's all for the best.' He pushed back his chair. ‘Yes, you may clear, Price.'

Captain Barlow rose too. ‘If you'll excuse me, I'll get back to the engine room. It's one thing to confuse that Greek brigand and burn up our coal, but I don't want him damaging my engines, in case we do get the
Helena
back. Which, please God,
we will.'

The saloon seemed oddly small with the three of them in it. Brett took a restless turn across to look out of the window. ‘Not a sign of a ship,' he said, and then: ‘Good God, ma'am, what are you doing?'

‘Mending your shirts,' said Cassandra placidly. ‘And enjoying it more than anything I've done since I left New York, so I hope you won't object. Mr. Price suggested it…'

Brett laughed. ‘Trust Price! And what has he found for you to do, Miss Vannick?'

‘Your cravats. I find it quite remarkably soothing.' She looked at him speculatively. ‘What does a man do when confined to quarters, Mr. Renshaw?'

‘God knows. Take to drink, perhaps, but it would incommode you ladies too much.'

‘Good of you. Besides, if you drink yourself into a coma, who is to take our decisions for us when we reach land?'

Now he positively smiled at her. ‘I think you amply capable of taking your own decisions, Miss Vannick. My only regret is that I have made such a botch of things for you.'

‘A botch! By rescuing us from certain death? What are a few Greek pirates compared to the Turks? As far as I can see, the worst that can happen to us now is an awkward journey across Hydra, which cannot, surely, be a very large island? There's bound to be an American representative of some kind there, and then, I hope, my aunt's and my troubles will be over.' She paused a moment. ‘If only we can get some news of my brother.'

‘Miss Vannick—' But why depress her with his certainty that her brother must have been killed in the disastrous breakout from Missolonghi? He changed his sentence: ‘Take pity on me, and play me a game of chess?'

Here was an olive branch indeed. ‘I should love to,' said Phyllida with enthusiasm. ‘I can't think of any better distraction than a good beating!'

In fact, having played often with her father, she made him work for his victory, and they were still at it when Price appeared to serve tea and pass on a report, brought below by one of the crew, that there was an island in sight dead ahead, and the mainland beyond. ‘I wish one of us understood their lingo, the way you and Miss Vannick do, sir. The pirates are jabbering away nineteen to the dozen up there and laughing fit to bust,
too, which I don't altogether like the sound of.'

Neither did Brett, but he did his best to shrug it off. ‘I expect it's nothing to do with us. At least they seem a cheerful enough set of savages.'

‘Smile all over their faces and cut your throat,' said Price, arranging tea-things. ‘Just my joke, of course,' he went on hurriedly, quelled by Brett's furious glance. ‘There's been no trouble of any kind up top, that I
do
know. All's going merry as a marriage bell.' And then, aware that this too was an unlucky phrase, he plumped the teapot in front of Cassandra and hurried away.

‘Something's shaken Price,' said Phyllida thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what.'

Brett had thought the same, but hurried to deny it. ‘The man's a fool, that's all.' He drank his tea quickly, then rose, with an apology and an imprecise explanation about fetching something from his cabin. As he had hoped, he found Price there, pretending to tidy immaculate drawers. ‘What's the matter?' The Greek on duty at the bottom of the companion-way was near enough to hear, but could not possibly understand.

‘I don't know, sir, and that's a fact.' Price sounded both anxious and apologetic. ‘It all seems smooth sailing enough—I mean aside from losing the
Helena
, and between you and me, sir, will that be such a disaster? But there's something else. I've just heard that the
Hera
spoke another of their damned
mystics
earlier on and there was a lot of wig-wagging of turbans between us and them. Like as if they had a code of signals, sir, you know, such as Lord Nelson used? And it's since then that the prize crew have been so uncommon jolly. I don't like it, sir, not above half.'

‘Nor do I, Price, but for God's sake don't frighten the ladies.'