Now there was an almost unbearable silence around the two men. Everyone in Elounda was well aware of what Hasapis' caique was worth and there were few who did not know that he could not afford to meet such a price. Suddenly the air was charged with tension. Haldane, his eyes on Hasapis, hesitated.
'Well? How much? What is your price?' demanded Xenophon.
Still Haldane hesitated. He realised now that Hasapis must not lose face and somehow he had to find a way to ensure this. But how? Seeing the Englishman's hesitation, Hasapis frowned. Then Haldane decided. 'A bottle of Metaxa,' he declared loudly.
There was a gasp from those around them. Annika and Spiridakis exchanged looks and then quiet, comprehending smiles. Hasapis' face was expressionless. His eyes were on the Englishman. He knew full well what Haldane was doing and he appreciated it. But his honour and his pride would not allow him to accept a deal in which there was even a hint of charity. With even such a generous price as had been demanded, philotimo and Cretan business custom called for him to haggle. He shook his head and made a counter proposal.
'A glass,' he offered.
Haldane, fully aware of Hasapis' position and feelings, entered willingly and solemnly into the charade. He shook his head 'A bottle,' he insisted.
Hasapis smiled and made a conciliatory gesture. 'Two glasses,' he suggested.
Again Haldane shook his head, resolute and immovable. 'A bottle,' he said adamantly. And then added warningly. 'My last offer.'
Hasapis made a show as if to argue further but then, shaking his head ruefully, capitulated with a shrug. "You drive a hard bargain, Englishman," he sighed. He handed Haldane the bottle of brandy and then, his face breaking into a broad smile, he swept him into his arms and embraced him as, in their turn, did Manolis and Costas, both of them much relieved, both very grateful.
As the story of the settlement was relayed through the crowd a resounding cheer went up. Leandros had won but no one had truly lost anything other than a race. And honour had been satisfied. Hasapis put his hands on Haldane's shoulder's and held him at arms' length.
"And now we celebrate," he ordered. "Your victory; friendship; and the Resurrection."
The celebrations were enthusiastic and noisy and seemed to centre on the Vassilakis' taverna. There was eating on a gargantuan scale, singing and dancing of unparalleled joy and verve and drinking such as Haldane had never seen before. The festivities went on long into the night.
The moorings were deserted so it was easy for Matheos Noukakis to reach them unobserved carrying two cans of petrol. He boarded The Knot, opened one of the cans and emptied it over the deck and superstructure. Then he tossed it aside and opened the second. He was smiling.
The taverna and the patio were packed with people and everyone still on their feet seemed to be having a wonderful time. The musicians, their faces wet with sweat, played seemingly without ever tiring, bolstered by copious draughts of wine.
Haldane sat with Annika at a table on the patio watching a group of young men expressing their feelings in the way that Cretans know best, by dancing. Their sentiments and the raki they had consumed dictated that they dance the pentozali and they vied with one another in feats of athletic bravado when each one's turn came to lead the line; with high leaps and pirouettes and deep knee bends. And the revellers applauded and encouraged them with cries of "Opah!" and threw plates which shattered on the floor around the dancers' feet.
Babis Spiridakis and Sia had stayed for longer than they intended but finally, firmly dismissing all further entreaties to see the night out in Elounda, they had, with Haldane's help and a little reluctantly, managed to slip away to join their children and their relatives in Heraklion for the remainder of the Easter Sunday festivities.
Now Haldane wanted more than anything else to be alone again with Annika. And he knew from the looks which she gave him that this was her dearest wish too. He took her hand and looked at her questioningly. She smiled and nodded.
Haldane was just getting to his feet when Xenophon Hasapis pushed his way through the crowd and over to their table. He was holding a bottle, smiling happily and a little unsteady on his feet. He peered into Haldane's face, nodded and then said solemnly. 'It is true. What you said. I have to be Heracles. For you are Odysseus. And I salute you. One hero to another.' He raised the bottle and drank from it. Then he pointed to Annika. 'And guard that woman well, my friend,' he went on. 'For she is your Penelope I think. And good for you.'
'And that is the truth,' smiled Haldane. He slapped Hasapis on the shoulder. 'You are a wise man, Heracles.'
'Fire!' someone shouted in the distance. And then again. 'Fire!'
Haldane and Hasapis frowned. They had both detected the note of real alarm in the voice.
Nikos burst out onto the patio from the taverna in a state of great agitation. 'Leandros!' he shouted as he bulldozed his way through the throng. 'Your boat! It is on fire!'
Haldane and Nikos, with Annika and Hasapis only just behind them, were the first of those on the patio to reach the street and join those already gathered on the pavement and staring across at the moorings, their faces lit by the conflagration down by the edge of the sea.
The Knot was a mass of flames.
Elena thrust her way through to Annika's side. Horrified and stunned, they gazed at the blazing caique hypnotised by the sight and unable to say or do anything.
Nikos turned and shouted orders to those around him. 'Buckets! We will need buckets. Many buckets. And men to use them. Come on! All of you!'
There was a general movement to obey.
But Haldane did not move. He knew that there was nothing to be done to save the boat. The flames had too strong a hold on it. He could only watch it burn; disbelieving, sickened and in a state of almost total shock.
The next morning the streets of the village were deserted and an air of melancholy hung over Elounda.
The Knot, hauled out of the water once the fire had been extinguished, lay on her side on the open ground above the moorings. She was almost a total wreck. The mast, sails and rigging had been devoured by the flames and those timbers not completely destroyed were scorched and charred. Only the frame, beams and the keel appeared to have escaped the fire largely unscathed.
Haldane and Major Krasakis stood alongside the burnt-out boat while, a little way off from them and out of earshot, Annika and Spiridakis watched. The lawyer had hurried to Elounda the moment he had heard the news.
Haldane was devastated. He stared at the wreck like a beaten man. All those hours, weeks of hard work gone for nothing in only a few minutes. Another loss. Another defeat.
Annika felt wretched. She wanted so desperately to comfort Haldane. She had already tried but without any success. Now she felt utterly helpless and, having seen his reaction to the disaster, a dreadful fear had begun to nag her.
'This has been a terrible blow to him, Babis,' she said.
Spiridakis nodded. 'J know,' he replied quietly. 'That boat meant so much to him.'
"The Knot,' Annika remembered, almost in a whisper.
'The knot that bound him to Crete.'
Spiridakis looked at her. 'To more than just Crete I think,' he said. 'He will need us, Annika. Need you. Desperately. For at a time like this, with so much of what he has built with such love destroyed, a man could be tempted to give up everything.'
Annika frowned deeply. This was the fear which nagged her so.
Krasakis looked at Haldane. 'You have to know, Leandros,' he said gravely. 'That this was not an accident.'
Haldane did not take his eyes off what was left of the caique.
'And you must also know,' the Major went on, 'that I am now certain that what happened at your house was not just a thoughtless, uncaring act. It was a deliberate one. As was this. My men found an empty petrol can on the deck when they searched the boat after the fire. And much of the timber stills smells of petrol. You have an enemy. An enemy who wishes to drive you from Crete.'
Haldane shrugged. He had
almost given up. There was no anger and little inquisitiveness left in him. 'Why?' he asked in a flat, unemotional voice. 'Who?'
'There is someone I think who may be involved,' replied Krasakis. 'I have already spoken to him this morning. He claims that he was elsewhere last night when the fire started. And there are those who support his story. So there is little I can do. For now.'
'What's his name?' enquired Haldane dully and apparently without any real interest.
The Major shook his head. 'No. Not until I am certain.
Not until I have the evidence I need. And then I will act, and you will know.'
Haldane sighed deeply. 'I'm not sure it matters much any more.'
The Major studied him and frowned. 'To me it does,' he said quietly. 'For the law has been broken. But to you?' He shook his head sadly. 'Perhaps not. For I think that your enemy may already have succeeded in that which he desires.' He saluted. ‘ Kalimera, Leandros.’ He turned and walked away in the direction of his Land-Rover which was parked on the road.
Haldane, his eyes on the boat and his thoughts elsewhere, hardly noticed him go. Annika, seeing the Major leave, moved away from Spiridakis and the lawyer watched her as she crossed to his friend. He made no move to join them.
Haldane seemed unaware of Annika when she came up beside him. She touched his arm. 'Leandros,' she said gently. Slowly he turned his head to look at her and, from his expression and the look in his eyes, at that moment she felt certain that her worst fears were confirmed.
Then Annika heard the sound of the vehicles approaching. She looked in their direction and reacted first with surprise and then delight and joy. 'Leandros!' she cried excitedly. 'Look!'
Xenophon Hasapis' Mazda pick-up, with Hasapis driving and Manolis beside him and with Costas sitting in the back astride a load of timber, was leading two other trucks along the road, in the back of one of which, precariously balanced and not very securely tied, was a mast.
As the three vehicles turned off the road and were driven across the open ground towards them, with Xenophon, Manolis and Costas shouting, waving and smiling at them; so from every house on the main road and from all the narrow streets and alleyways leading off it appeared the men of Elounda, young and old. They carried tools, lengths of timber, coils of rope and wire, buckets of nails, caulking material; everything needed to rebuild a boat.
The villagers swarmed over the open ground in the wake of the pick-up trucks which pulled up close to the wreck. Hasapis, his sons and the two other drivers, grinning broadly and encouragingly, got down from their vehicles and walked across to Haldane and Annika. And as they did so the villagers fell in behind them and then spread out to form a half circle around the wreck.
Haldane frowned, puzzled. He did not understand.
Hasapis, his arms folded across his chest and a beaming smile on his face, stood a pace or two' from the Englishman and regarded him. 'Well, Odysseus,' he demanded. 'How then shall we begin? You are the man who best knows how to build boats.'
Mystified, Haldane glanced questioningly at Annika. 'Did you arrange this?'
Annika shook her head. 'No,' she said quietly. 'What they are doing they are doing for you.'
Xenophon frowned in astonishment. 'Did we not celebrate friendship yesterday?' he asked. shocked. 'And are we not your friends?' He nodded. 'We are your friends. And so what you rebuilt and was destroyed we will rebuild again. Together.' He frowned again. 'Is that not how you would have it? To work alongside friends. Alongside your own people.'
Suddenly Haldane's helplessness and despair were lifted from his shoulders. He looked to Annika for final reassurance. She smiled at him. 'Receive the light, Leandros,' she whispered. 'Love, friendship. With a movement of her head she indicated those around them. 'And belonging.'
Haldane, his mood of despair completely dispelled. smiled back at her and nodded. Quickly he crossed to Hasapis and embraced him. Then, taking a step back from the delighted Xenophon, he grinned and stripped off his jacket. He was ready to go to work again.
Spiridakis came up alongside Annika. 'He is home,' he told her. 'He is ours again.'
She nodded. 'And we shall hold on to him, Babis.· There was determination in her voice.
'So what are we waiting for?' Hasapis shouted to the assembled villagers. 'There is work to be done. Let us start.'
Some of the villagers swarmed in on the wreck while others unloaded the three pick-up trucks. Enthusiastically, Haldane and Hasapis began to strip away the timbers from the frame of the caique. Haldane paused in his work, looked across at Annika and smiled. She smiled back at him. Then, with tears of happiness in her eyes, she turned from the scene and absently gazed out to sea. As she did so her smile faded and she frowned. Way out across the lagoon the two hawks were slowly circling over the roof of the ruined chapel on the upper ramparts of the old fortress. Circling, wheeling, sharp-eyed and merciless.
And Annika sensed in them a menace stronger than she had ever felt before.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
'But to kill the Englishman!' Noukakis exclaimed. 'In that you are asking much of me, Kyria Matakis.'
Katerina stood with her back to him staring grimly at the plaque depicting the three Fates which hung on the wall beside the sitting-room door.
'The last resort. We agreed that,' she said without turning to him. And then she added scornfully, 'But now, like my son, you do not have the stomach for it, Matheos Noukakis. Is that it?'
Noukakis hesitated. He was more than willing to kill Haldane. He would even enjoy killing him. But he was not going to do it for nothing. There must be more in the Englishman's death for him than mere satisfaction. And he knew that he must bargain. 'I will be risking much,' he said defensively. 'I told you that after the burning of the caique I was questioned by Major Krasakis.'
'But he could prove nothing.' Katerina dismissed his fears with a shrug.
'No. But he still suspects me.'
'Then you will just have to be very careful in choosing how and where it is done. It is as simple as that,' she countered in a flat, unemotional voice. Noukakis frowned and shook his head dubiously. Katerina swung round to face him. 'Did Haldane not rob you of any chance of marrying my daughter, Annika?' she spurred him angrily. 'And you have told me that he is now her lover. Do you not hate him enough?'
'Perhaps not as much as you do, Kyria,' Noukakis replied adroitly. 'And for a reason which you will not tell me.'
Katerina regarded him coldly. 'Nurse your own hatred, Matheos Noukakis,' she said. 'And I will nurse mine. We both wish to be rid of him. That is enough.'
Noukakis wilted slightly under her gaze. 'I have already done much to hurt him,' he said sullenly. 'To try to drive him from Crete.'
'For me? Only as part of my vendetta? For us both I think,' the old woman challenged.
Noukakis nodded. 'For us both,' he admitted.
'And without success,' she snapped bitterly.
'But what you are asking now ... ' protested Noukakis.
'Has to be,' she cried vehemently. 'And whatever the risks you have much to gain from it. My son's inheritance. Have I not promised you that?'
'Yes, you have,' replied Noukakis hesitantly. 'But .. .' He broke off as if not wishing to press the matter.
Katerina studied him. 'But?' she demanded quietly.
Noukakis shrugged and then gave her an ingratiating smile. 'That is in the future, Kyria Matakis,' he said. 'And, forgive me, who knows what the future may truly hold for any of us?'
'You doubt my word?' Katerina scowled.
Noukakis hastened to reassure her. 'No. Believe me,' he said. 'But we both know that what is said today can be lost in the shadows of tomorrow.' He smiled again and there was a hint of craftiness in it. 'Without intent. I do not suggest that of course. But through forgetfulness? Chance? Other events?'
Katerina regarded him intently and then she asked. 'What is it that you want?'
'Some protection. Some guarantee,' he replied in a guileless, almost casual,
tone. And then he added. 'And perhaps some more immediate advantage.'
The 'old woman's eyes narrowed warily. 'And this guarantee,' she enquired coldly. 'What form would you have it in?'
Noukakis shrugged. 'A letter perhaps,' he suggested. 'A letter in which you acknowledged that what you ask and what I will do, I do for both of us.'
Katerina hesitated, only too well aware of the dangers which lay in his demand. 'A letter for you to hold against me for as long as I live,' she said.
Noukakis put on a show of being greatly shocked by this. 'Never, Kyria!' he protested in a hurt tone. 'What need would there be for that? As you said, I have your word. Insurance against the unknown. Nothing more. A pact. A statement of mutual interest and in writing. That is all I ask. Is it too much?'
Katerina continued to study him searchingly. 'And the more immediate advantage you spoke of?'
Noukakis smiled. 'Well, it is my belief, Kyria, , he said, 'That the Matakis brickworks are not being managed as well as they should be.'
'And that you could serve me better as manager than the man I now employ?'
I am confident of that,' replied Noukakis proudly. 'To your advantage and greater profit. And if you should also feel that to be so .. .' Again he shrugged.
Still Katerina studied him, despising him but admiring his ruthless self-advancement. And she knew that for her to be able to rejoice in Haldane's death she had no alternative but to agree to his demands. She nodded. 'Very well,' she said. 'I will arrange that.' Noukakis smile broadened and Katerina quickly added a rider. 'Once the Englishman is dead.'
Noukakis made an understanding gesture. 'Of course,' he said generously. 'That is understood.'
Katerina crossed to the wooden cabinet, took out an old- fashioned pen, a bottle of ink and some writing paper from it and then moved back to the table and sat down.
Noukakis watched as she opened the ink, dipped the pen in it and began to write in a laborious hand.
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