The Noukakis brothers turned and ran.
An hour or so later, Haldane heard the piteous wailing coming from the house when he was still a long way from it. He paused and frowned. He was unshaven, stiff, chilled and very tired despite the few hours' sleep which he had allowed himself, huddled in a crevice in the rocks.
The wailing continued uninterrupted and at times chorused by other voices. Haldane walked on again and, as he drew nearer, he saw the group of villagers gathered around the front door.
At his approach the group outside the house turned to him, the men among them looking grim and angry. It was clear to Haldane that they knew who he was when he heard the name 'Leandros' whispered among them.
One of the men moved away from the front door and confronted him on the path. 'They killed Georgios,' he said. And he indicated the route which Matheos and Ioannis had taken when they had fled. Without a word, Haldane stepped off the path and headed away from the house. .
He had only gone a few yards when a distraught woman in her mid-thirties, her face stained with tears, ran from the house, pushed her way through the villagers outside and caught up with him. Dropping on her knees in front of him, she took his right hand and kissed it. Haldane showed no surprise, his face was expressionless. Then the woman put into his hand a traditional Cretan dagger in a silver sheath.
The Englishman looked at the knife and then at the woman. He nodded. He would carry the knife for her so that his vengeance should also be hers.
Slipping the dagger into his belt, he moved on again.
The old shepherd was building a fire on the mountainside while his grandson kept a watchful eye on the flock of goats. He looked up from the pile of kindling and out over the natural amphitheatre some way below the slope where his animals were grazing. Without rising, the shepherd shaded his eyes with his hand so as to get a clearer sight of the two men crossing the hollow and making for the mouth of the cave on the far side of it.
He frowned and then scowled. Still without moving, he whistled softly to attract the attention of his grandson and, motioning him to keep low, beckoned him over to him. Crouching, the boy hurried to his side and in a low voice the old man whispered his instructions. The boy shot a look of alarm down into the amphitheatre then nodded
excitedly and, still crouching, ran off along the track which led to their village.
Noukakis and his brother crossed the hollow, which was littered with outcrops of rock, climbed up the narrow
ledge which led to the cave and, exhausted, flopped down on either side of the entrance to it.
Wearily Ioannis unstrapped his rucksack and opened it'. From it he took some bread, some olives, a piece of cheese wrapped in a cloth, and a bottle of wine.
At Spiridakis' call they had come from every part of the district. Some of them had travelled with the lawyer from Heraklion. Others had made the journey from places even further away. Now, with their cars and pick-up trucks parked around them, they had gathered together on the open ground in front of the monastery of Arkadhi
There were more than seventy of them, the majority of them had fought together in the Andarte during the war , the others were their sons. They were all armed, some with shotguns but most carried those same rifles and stenguns which they had used against the Germans so many years ago and kept in their homes ever since. Many of them had bandoliers of ammunition slung over their shoulders or across their chests.
Babis Spiridakis, standing in the back of a pick-up truck' parked just outside the gates of the monastery and holding a rifle, addressed them. 'You all know what has happened,' be cried. 'Ioannis Noukakis has shot and killed Georgios Kalakis, a good friend to all of us and a brave and faithful comrade when we were of the Andarte of Crete.'
There was an angry roar from the crowd.
'My brother, Leandros, is already in the mountains seeking vengeance for the great wrong which Matheos Noukakis has done,' Spiridakis continued. 'But now. with the murder of Georgios, we too must act. Or we leave' unpaid a debt which we owe to his wife and family.'
This was greeted by a cry of assent from the assembly. One of men called, 'We are with you, Babis Spiridakis. We follow The Eagle.'
'Leandros is no longer alone in his search,' shouted Spiridakis. 'Are we agreed on that?'
There were cries of,’ Yes, Yes,' and, 'Avenge Georgios.'
'I have received word that Matheos and Ioannis Nukakis have been seen close to Kalogerado. And Leandros will not be far behind them I think. Come!' He jumped down from the back of the truck and the crowd broke up as the men hurried to their vehicles.
Spiridakis opened the door of his car, put his rifle on to the passenger seat and was about to get in when a police Land-rover and a lorry drove up the road to the monastery.
The lorry, loaded with armed policemen, pulled across the road and blocked it while the Land-rover came to a stop close to Spiridakis' car. Major Krasakis and an armed sergeant got out of it. The ex-members of the Andarte exchanged angry looks. They were not to be put off their hunt. And, if necessary, they were prepared to take on the police should they try to stop them. As if to make this point absolutely clear one of the men standing alongside his pick-up truck pulled back the bolt of the stengun he was holding. The sound echoed menacingly back from the walls of the monastery.
Krasakis looked grimly around the forecourt and then he studied Spiridakis. Slowly the two men advanced on one another and came face to face.
The police and the men of the Andarte watched them and each other anxiously and warily. Spiridakis frowned.
'You were not here, Major. You have not seen us,' he suggested.
'But I am here,' said Krasakis with a shrug. 'And I have seen you.'
'Then do not try to stop us.'
'I have to, the Major told him, 'And I will. As you know I must.' He sighed. 'For this way leads to anarchy, and anarchy leads to more Colonels. It has happened before and, sadly, perhaps it will happen again. But I will not contribute to bringing that about.' .
He looked around at the faces of the veterans of the Andarte and knew that it would only need a signal from Spiridakis for them to open fire on his men. He looked; back at the lawyer again.
'Stay on this course and blood will be shed between us, Babis Spiridakis,' he said. 'For if I must, I will use force to try to prevent you from doing this thing. And that will give hope and comfort to all the barbarians of this world .. That is the truth. And you know it. And you, of all people, would not have that.' .
Spiridakis considered the Major, turning over in his mind what he had said and knowing him to be right. He nodded. 'The word is that the Noukakis brothers are hiding near Kalogerado,' he said quietly.
'Yes, I know,' said Krasakis. The lawyer gave him a look of surprise. Krasakis smiled. 'You who were the Andarte are not alone in having eyes and ears across. Crete,' he said patiently. 'How else do you think I knew of this gathering. But I thank you for telling me.' He turned to move back to his Land-Rover.
'We will come with you,' said Spiridakis. And it was more of a plea than a suggestion. . ..
The Major turned back to him and studied him once more. Then he gazed around again at the faces of the expartisans. Looking back at the lawyer he held his gaze for a while and then smiled. 'Is it not the duty of all good citizens to assist the police?' But then he added finally.' 'But under my command. Under my orders.'
Spiridakis nodded his acceptance of the terms and called out. 'We go with the Major.'
There was a cheer from the men pledged to him. The Eagle had spoken. Honour was satisfied. The confrontation was over. The police breathed again and wiped sweat from their faces.
As the Major moved back to his Land-Rover, Spiridakis got into his car and then, with the Land-Rover and the lorry in the lead, the convoy moved off.
From his vantage point on the mountainside the old shepherd sat, squatting on his haunches, Keeping watch.
He reacted with a start when he saw Haldane approaching the amphitheatre. His
first reaction was to call out a warning but he realised that that would only alert the Noukakis brothers in the mouth of the cave and that, out in open ground, the Englishman would be an easy target for them. If they did not spot him until he was in the hollow then, with so many rocks to shelter behind, he would, at least, stand a better chance. And from what he had heard of the cunning and skill of this Leandros he might just spot the two men first.
The old man looked up at the sun. It was high in the sky and he found comfort in that. If his grandson had followed his instructions the men of the Andarte would be on their way by now. They could even at that moment be on the track beyond the crest of the slope above where he was squatting. They would have to leave their vehicles there and climb up the far side of the ridge for, except along the path which led to the village and on which a large party of men would be too exposed, there was no other way to reach the hollow for a surprise attack.
Standing up, the shepherd turned and, moving as quickly as he could, he started up the steep slope behind him. If the men of the Andarte were close at hand then they must know of the danger that their comrade was in.
Ioannis was dozing. Noukakis put the half-empty bottle of wine and the remains of their meal back into his brother's rucksack, got to his feet and stretched. Then he saw Haldane. The Englishman was not more than thirty yards off from the hollow. Noukakis kicked his brother awake and Ioannis stood up beside him. Noukakis pointed. Ioannis scowled and reached for his rifle.
The policeman and the ex-partisans got out of then vehicles and awaited orders. Krasakis gazed up the slope of the mountainside to their right and, as he did so, the old man appeared on the ridge and started scrambling down to them, waving excitedly and pointing.
Krasakis shouted a command. 'Spread out!' The policeman and the men of the Andarte did as they were ordered. And then, with the Major and Spiridakis slightly in the lead, they began to advance up the slope. But the going was not easy and they moved slowly.
Haldane entered the amphitheatre, took cover and looked around. If he had to choose a site for an ambush this would certain be the spot he would pick. He saw the cave on the far side of the hollow and checked it through his field glasses. There was no sign of movement. But it offered just the kind of shelter which two tired men on the run would welcome. Cautiously, his rifle at the ready arid zigzagging from one outcrop of rock to another, he crossed the hollow. Using all the old skills he had learned in his days with the Commandos and with the partisans, he reached the mouth of the cave convinced that if the Noukakis brothers were hiding in it, then they had not yet sighted him. For a few seconds he stood on the ledge to one side of the entrance, his back pressed against the rock then, with his rifle at the ready, he swung round in a crouching position into the mouth of the cave. It was empty.
Haldane turned and looked back across the amphitheatre. There was no sign of anyone. He had been wrong. If his quarry had stopped here at all then they had moved on before he reached the spot.
He climbed down from the ledge and started back across the hollow and then, as he reached the centre of it, Ioannis Noukakis broke cover to one side of him, took aim and fired. The shot echoed and re-echoed through the mountains.
The bullet missed the Englishman by only a few inches and ricocheted off a rock. Haldane whirled round, dropping on to one knee as he did so. Ioannis was in plain view. Snapping his rifle up to his shoulder, Haldane fired. The bullet slammed into his target's chest and Ioannis Noukakis was thrown backwards by the force.
The police and the Andarte were now half way up the slope on the far side of the ridge. They had heard the sound of the two shots and the echoes of the second were still around them. Spiridakis and the Major exchanged deeply troubled looks.
Krasakis turned to a policeman who had come up beside him and, taking his rifle from him, hurried on up the slope, scrabbling over the stony ground. Spiridakis and the others followed him.
Ioannis Noukakis writhed for a few seconds and then lay still. Haldane waited for almost a minute but then, when there were no further shots, he edged out from behind the rock where he had taken cover. If Matheos Noukakis was waiting to fire, then Haldane reckoned that he had, by now, exposed enough of himself for the murderer to loose off a shot at him. Nothing happened. There was silence in the hollow and no movement anywhere.
Keeping low and pausing every few feet, Haldane zigzagged across the amphitheatre towards Ioannis. He dived for cover once more and waited. Again he raised his head and peered around the hollow. Of course it was just possible, he thought, that Matheos had gone on ahead leaving his brother to lie in wait for him. If so, then the man with whom he still had a score to settle was gaining a better lead on him with every second that passed.
Haldane broke cover again and crawled the last few feet to Ioannis and crouched by his body. He was dead, his eyes open and staring, his mouth already filling with flies. Sickened and still looking down at the dead man, Haldane slowly straightened up.
'Englishman!' shouted Noukakis. His voice came from behind Haldane. Knowing that Matheos would have him covered, Haldane turned very slowly.
Noukakis was standing on the top of an outcrop of rock behind and slightly to one side of him. My God. thought Haldane, he could only have been a few feet away from me when I crossed the hollow. Then Noukakis took careful aim and fired.
The bullet punched a hole into Haldane's stomach. He dropped his rifle and cried out in agony as he was pitched back several feet by the blow on to the ground. He clutched at his wound and bleeding badly, he rolled over onto his face and looked up.
Noukakis, his rifle lowered, was still standing on the rock watching him. Very slowly and wracked with pain, Haldane began to crawl to where his gun was lying. It was his only hope and he knew it. Noukakis waited until the Englishman's hand was just a few inches from the fallen rifle and then, smiling, he raised his gun again and took aim to administer the coup de grace. Haldane lifted his head, saw the rifle levelled at him and knew that he was only seconds away from death. Noukakis' finger tightened on the trigger.
Haldane heard the shot but it seemed to him to come from far away and then he fell into a deep, dark pit and went on falling.
Major Krasakis, standing on the ridge of the slope overlooking the hollow, slowly lowered the rifle with which he had just killed Matheos Noukakis. And as he did so, Spiridakis and the others came up on to the crest and joined him.
Falling, falling, falling. Haldane fell further and further. 'Alan, Alan, I love you,' cried Lorna Matthews as her face swam before him. And then she was no longer Lorna but Ruth, and she was laughing. And now Ruth was Melina, eighteen and naked, her arms outstretched to him. 'We had to sell, ' mapped his brother and Alexis begged him to fly the kite with him again. And then he was on a beach and The Knot was blazing and people were running. 'Every day,' smiled Elena, 'it is our pleasure. My father would be pleased, do you not think. .. do you not think ... do you not think? Nikos raised his glass whim. 'Yassou,' he cried. He ran towards Melina. 'I wrote to you, ' he heard himself shout. 'I wrote to you.' She laughed and ran past him. Spiridakis embraced him. 'Love is a gift ... a gift ... a gift, ' said Annika and Noukakis levelled his rifle and squeezed the trigger. And then he was on beach again but this time by a river and he was no longer falling. Charon, the ferryman, held out his hand to him and Haldane offered him his fee.
The nurse had just given Katerina a drink and she was straightening the bedclothes when Annika came into the room carrying a framed photograph and Haldane's three letters. Her face was expressionless.
She crossed to the chest of drawers opposite the end of the bed and laid the framed photograph on it, face down. Then she turned to the nurse and, with a movement of her head indicated that she would like her to leave the room. The nurse smiled at her, nodded and hurried out, closing the door behind her.
Slowly Annika crossed to the bed and, standing alongside it, looked down at her mother.
Katerina gazed up at her helplessly. Annika rais
ed the three letters into her line of vision. The old woman's eyes widened.
'I should pity you,' said Annika quietly. 'But I do not. I should love you. But I cannot. Leandros lies wounded in the hospital. Dying perhaps. Even now they are operating on him to try to save him. But no one can say for certain that he will live. Already six people are dead, among them your own granddaughter and your great grandson. And you killed them, mother. Oh, it is true that yours was not the hand that took their lives, but you killed them nonetheless. And why? Because of your hatred and bigotry. Because of your own guilt. Born out of the festering sore which you have nursed for more than thirty years. No other reason. Leandros did not dishonour my sister, Melina. You did. By withholding these letters from her. And you did that not out of your love for her but out of your hatred for the foreigner to whom she had given herself. Out of your hatred for all foreigners.
You were the cause of so much misery and unhappiness. Then and in the years which followed, and you knew that. And felt guilty. Oh, such a burden of guilt you carried on your shoulders. And then, when Leandros returned to Crete and you saw that I loved him as Melina had, that you could not bear.'
Katerina struggled to speak but no words came. And she could not move. Annika went on remorselessly. 'Because you knew that if you had come to me with the truth it was you who would stand accused and not him. And that I would see that. And Elena would have turned against you. And rightly so. For you had done her a great wrong. You had robbed her of the joy of knowing her true father. And you knew that also. So you took your guilt and twisted it and placed it as a cloak around Leandros' shoulders. Now his punishment would be your absolution. First you conspired to drive him away and then, when he would not go, you used another man's jealousy and greed in an attempt to kill him.' Annika paused and shook her head. 'Well, are you pleased with the result, mother,' she asked bitterly. 'What is the weight of your guilt now? You are a wicked, evil woman. And a murderess. A stench in the nostrils of God. Remember that when you stand before him. And just as you have alienated and lost the love of your son, so now you have lost me. For you will never see me again. And I take from this house my inheritance. Hatred. And I know how to use it. For am I not your daughter.'
Who Pays the Ferryman Page 26