Man Without Honour

by Anne Hampson

  'Steady, there,' he said. 'Come, let me buy you a drink.'

  Her instinct was to throw him a sharp and acid retort, but instead she found herself saying, 'All right, then, but I'm not staying up late,' at which he gave a low laugh that brought the blood rushing to her cheeks.

  'I don't intend to keep you up late, Kathryn,' he assured her in a tone that was now suave and, somehow, confident.

  They drank at the bar, went from there to the dance floor, where they danced until midnight, and from there they strolled through the hotel gardens and stood beneath the star-spangled sky of Greece. The night was warm and balmy, the air filled with heady scents. It was a night for romance…

  Kathryn pulled herself up with a jerk. What had come over her tonight? She'd had no intention of spending hours and hours with the Greek… and yet it seemed quite natural that she should, just as it was natural for her to say, in answer to his low-toned question about meeting her the following day, 'Yes, I'd love to. Where shall we go?'

  He made no answer but drew her to him, tilted her chin in an arrogantly masterful way that thrilled when it should have angered, and bent to press his lips to hers.

  It was madness, she told herself half an hour later when, in her bedroom, she was staring at her face, her lips, her hair. She was flushed, and her lips were swollen and hurting. Her hair had been immaculate; it was more than a little tousled… and it was not as if she could blame the breeze for its condition.

  As soon as she awoke the following morning, Kathryn's thoughts flew to the handsome Greek, and she felt excited at the prospect of seeing him again, looking forward eagerly to the excursion they were taking together. After showering, she dressed with care, choosing a skirt of lime-green cotton, crisp and new, with a matching sun-top. Her wide belt and sandals were white, as was her handbag. She used her blusher sparingly and only a touch of lip-rouge; her hair was given an extra brushing. Finally she used a perfume spray and, picking up her bag, went gaily to the lift, which took her down to the restaurant. Leon had said last night that he would see the headwaiter and have him arrange for them to share a table.

  'It's much more pleasant if one has company,' he stated, and Kathryn found herself agreeing eagerly with what he said.

  She saw him just as he spotted her. He rose from his chair, waiting until she was seated before he sat down again.

  'Did you have a good night?' Leon asked with a smile.

  'Yes, a very good night, thank you.' She smiled in response, aware of his appreciative eyes flickering over her… and finally coming to rest on the hand with which she was accepting the menu from the waiter at her side. It was the ring, she thought, wondering what his collection of jewellery was like. She loved antique jewellery herself, and could think of nothing nicer to collect if one was fortunate enough to be able to afford such an expensive hobby.

  'Where are we going?' she asked him as they settled down to bacon, eggs and tomatoes, all done to a turn.

  'Where would you like to go?'

  'It doesn't matter. I haven't seen anything yet.' She paused to sip her coffee. 'Have you been to any of these sites before?' She was remembering that he had not told her what part of Greece he came from.

  'I have, yes,' he answered, but added that he would enjoy seeing them again. 'Perhaps we'll go to Mycenae,' he went on. 'It's the highlight, after all.'

  'Yes, indeed,' she responded eagerly. 'I've read so much about the fortress of Mycenae, with its royal tombs and all the beautiful treasures which the archaeologists found in them.'

  'Most of the beautiful things you mention are now in the museum in Athens.'

  He had his car, he had told her last night, and as soon as breakfast was over he took her to where it was parked, in the grounds of the hotel.

  They got in and were soon bowling along the palm-lined avenue towards the gate leading out to the main road.

  Leon drove through olive orchards and across wilder, arid country, all of it seeming to be very familiar to him. Kathryn, on the other hand, found every single aspect novel and exciting. Even a man and a heavily laden donkey brought an exclamation from her and several times she was conscious of her companion's swift glance of amusement as he drove along, smoothly covering the miles to their destination. They passed through Tiryns and Argos, travelling northwards through the Central Plateau of Peloponnesus, with mountain ranges towering all around.

  'This is, of course, Arcadia,' Leon told Kathryn, smiling faintly. 'Where nymphs and shepherds danced to the merry pipes of Pan.'

  'He was a nature god, wasn't he?'

  'Yes; worshipped by the Arcadian shepherds because he made their sheep and goats fertile, and in addition caused the wild beasts to be killed.'

  'It's fascinating—Greek mythology, I mean.'

  Leon said nothing; he was negotiating a series of bends and his whole attention was on his driving. Kathryn, slanting him a glance, saw a rigid profile etched in lines both arrogant and noble. He was pleasant with her, a smiling companion of great charm… but, somehow, Kathryn had the firm impression that very different characteristics lay beneath the suave gentility which he was showing to her. In fact, she sensed latent pagan qualities that, if released, would dramatically transform his whole personality. Her thoughts switched to last night. He had taken her into the grounds of the hotel for one purpose. She had known he wanted to kiss her; and as she relived those vital moments before he had taken her in his arms, she found herself deciding that whatever this dark Greek wanted, he would get…

  He spoke at last, breaking into her thoughts as he began to tell her more about the god Pan—how he made his flute from reeds because the nymph Syrinx had escaped his attentions by being changed into a reed.

  'He was more successful with the moon goddess, Selene,' went on Leon in his quiet, finely modulated accents. 'He dressed himself in the dazzling white fleece of a ewe and enticed her into the forest.' The amusement in his voice turned to laughter, and Kathryn laughed with him. She was thinking how pleasant this was—being with a handsome companion instead of wandering about on her own. For although she was happy when alone, she had to admit it was far more pleasant to have a man as charming and distinguished as Leonides Coletis as her escort. She was exceedingly flattered by his attention, marvelling that he should be bestowing it on anyone like her.

  Eventually Leon turned off the main road into an avenue of eucalyptus trees which led to the village. Tobacco cultivation occupied all the lands in this region, and Kathryn became aware of Leon's repeated glances, from one side of the road to the other, as if the neat, widely spaced plants with their rigid stems and wrinkled leaves were of the greatest interest to him.

  The village was reached, its aspect primitive in spite of a few recent buildings. Leon pointed out the celebrated hostelry—La Belle Helene—in whose visitors' book could be found many famous names, including those of Virginia Woolf and, of course, the famous archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann. Because of his unshakable faith in the Homeric mythical tradition, Schliemann had excavated at Mycenae, and, having been successful in finding the most fabulous array of treasures, believed he had unearthed the tombs of King Agamemnon and his companions who had returned with him from the Trojan War. But Agamemnon had returned only to be foully murdered by his wife and her lover.

  When the village was left behind, the citadel was there before them. Perched on a hilltop above the Plain of Argolis, it was surrounded by a landscape of eerie bleakness, with the harsh mountain vistas of Zara and St. Elias creating a sort of primitive grandeur in keeping with the bloodthirsty history of the ancient fortress of Mycenae.

  After Leon had pointed out the Treasury of Atreus, and the tombs of Clytemnestra and her lover, Aigisthos, he drove up to the front of the palace and parked his car.

  Kathryn, looking around as she got out, thought she had never seen anything so austere as the aspect that confronted her—the grim isolation of the site, the harsh savage landscape of ravines and mountains… all combined to create a wild and eerie setting
for a citadel whose blood-soaked history was known the world over.

  The citadel looked forlorn and deserted, with no visible sign of its lost glories or the reason that it had once been called the 'palace of gold.'

  'It's sad, isn't it,' Kathryn could not help saying, 'that the glory is all gone, lost in the mists of time?'

  'Change, Kathryn,' responded Leon in emotionless, practical tones. 'Nothing survives the destructive encroachment of time, or its ravages.' He glanced around; Kathryn wondered if he found the aspect as bleak as she, if he felt the ominous atmosphere which the blood-ridden fortress still retained. His eyes were unmoving now, like a statue's. Tall and striking, he seemed like a god himself, for undoubtedly he possessed all the regal qualities of those awe-inspiring inhabitants of Olympus.

  'All those terrible murders,' said Kathryn, shuddering as she glanced around, thinking of the foul slayings of Agamemnon and Cassandra and others who, arriving in their chariots from years of absence at the Trojan War, were joyously welcomed, then slain by his wife, the adulterous Queen Clytemnestra. 'How many murders took place here, Leon?' she asked.

  'At least eight,' he said, and again Kathryn shuddered.

  Leon turned and laughed. 'A great deal of blood has been spilled on the stones of this citadel.' He paused to regard her in some amusement. 'Shall I recite the list of murders to you?' he queried with a laugh.

  'I expect they were pretty hideous crimes.' Kathryn glanced round the awesome place again, almost surprised to see nothing more frightening than a dog barking furiously at a group of tourists who had just arrived by coach from Corinth.

  'You're quite right,' said Leon, 'they were pretty hideous. The worst, as everyone knows, was when, at the feast given by King Atreus for his brother, Atreus served him two of his own sons for dinner.'

  'Oh!' Kathryn stopped and stared. 'You mean the brother's sons?'

  'Yes, Thysetes' sons. It was said that the sky darkened that day, because of the appalling nature of the crime.'

  Kathryn wrinkled her nose in perplexity. 'Was it real?' she asked uncertainly.

  'Real?' They had begun to walk on again, to look over the fertile plain that swept down to the sea. 'What do you mean?'

  'It's hard to separate fact from fiction.' Leon said nothing, and she added, thinking of the slave girl Agamemnon had brought back with him from Troy, 'I felt sorry for Cassandra. She probably didn't want to come here at all.'

  'Probably not, but she was part of the booty given to Agamemnon and so he brought her with him when he came home.'

  'And she was brutally murdered by his wife.' At the sadness in Kathryn's voice, her companion looked down, regarding her with an odd expression as he said, 'Wouldn't you want to be avenged on your husband's mistress?'

  'I'd never want to murder her,' answered Kathryn, but she frowned for all that and added, after a moment's thought, 'One never knows, does one, how one would feel in a situation like that?'

  She was looking up into his dark face, and suddenly it was transformed, his features startlingly and frighteningly changed as a harshness spread over them, erasing the handsome good looks, the expression of amused tolerance which Kathryn had found so attractive on so many occasions, both last night and today.

  'I certainly know how I'd feel!' he said, the harshness in his voice matching the expression on his face.

  Startled by the dramatic change, Kathryn found herself saying in a faltering tone, 'You'd… want to kill your wife… if she was unfaithful?'

  'Yes,' he replied without hesitation, 'I should want to kill her!'

  'But of course you wouldn't kill her.'

  Leon's eyes narrowed to mere slits as he said, 'By the time I'd finished with her, she'd probably wish I had killed her.'

  Kathryn shivered and walked on, unconsciously increasing her pace as if trying to get out of his way. But then she stopped to take in the view over the plain to the smooth dark sea of Greece. Leon was beside her again, and when she turned, all the harshness had left his face.

  'Did I scare you?' he asked, those dark metallic eyes looking down into hers with a strange expression. 'I hope I didn't, Kathryn.'

  'You certainly looked ferocious,' she said with a shaky little laugh. 'I wouldn't like to be your wife, Leon.'

  'You'd have nothing to fear,' he rejoined, sounding casual enough now, and even indulgent, 'because you're not the girl to be unfaithful.'

  She glanced at him swiftly, blushing at the compliment. 'No,' she said, 'I'm not.'

  'You have a boyfriend?'

  'Not anyone that I'm remotely serious about.'

  'How old are you, Kathryn?'

  'Twenty-two.'

  'Young and beautiful.' He smiled, and she felt her pulses race. There was certainly something inordinately attractive about him, despite the change she had seen a few moments ago.

  They wandered about the site for over two hours, with Leon explaining the layout in a way which convinced Kathryn he had been here not only once but several times. He told her of the golden doors that had hung on posts of gleaming silver, of the golden figures of youths holding flaming torches when banquets were held by the king. She wondered where all this gold had gone, and the sad thought occurred to her that it had long since been melted down for other—perhaps more practical—purposes. But if so many of these lovely things were gone, at least there was an enormous priceless collection of finds safely deposited in the museum.

  Leon had been frowning slightly for the past few minutes, and presently he said, sweeping a hand to indicate another coachload of tourists coming onto the site, 'I was going to say we'd come back after lunch, but it's obviously going to be crowded this afternoon, and there's nothing that robs a site like this of its atmosphere more than crowds of people milling about with their cameras snapping incessantly.'

  Kathryn nodded in agreement but said nothing. She would like to come back for another visit and decided to do so before the end of her holiday. 'I'll take you to the La Belle Helene,' he said as they were strolling back to the car, asphodels and other wildflowers at their feet, growing in glorious profusion between the stones and at the sides of the paths.

  The hostelry was crowded, but one of the proprietors instantly appeared, glancing at Kathryn for a second before greeting Leon like an old friend. Leon called him Demos and said he wanted a table for two if that were possible.

  'In one moment there will be one for you—in a nice secluded corner of the garden!' the man promised, his dark eyes flickering again to Kathryn, this time to rove her figure, taking in the slender form, the youthful curves, the firm contours of her breasts. She coloured and glanced away, leaving the two men to chat in Greek for a few moments while waiting for the table that was coming vacant, its occupants already preparing to leave.

  'Ah, now!' Demos led the way, and soon Kathryn and her companion were seated at the table where mulberry trees afforded them welcome shade from the grilling rays of the Grecian sun.

  'It will be cleared and set in a moment,' promised Demos, speaking excellent English but with a more pronounced accent than Leon's. Another man came, and he too spoke familiarly to Leon. Kathryn wondered again where Leon lived.

  'Do you come here often?' she could not help asking when the waiter had gone away with his loaded tray.

  'Not often, but now and then.'

  'It's lovely!' Kathryn was happy, and it showed all too clearly in her shining eyes, her delicately coloured cheeks, her rosy lips parted in a smile that was both spontaneous and youthful. Leon looked at her intently, an odd expression on his dark, handsome face. Did he find her attractive? she wondered, strange tremors rippling along her spine at the possibility.

  'You're obviously enjoying yourself,' observed Leon, his eyes moving fleetingly to her ring. 'There's a lot more of this to come yet.'

  A lot more… This meant, surely, that he intended to spend the whole of the three weeks with her. He must find her attractive, then.

  When coming on this holiday, she had expected to be alone for
the most part, at best finding a temporary companion, male or female, with whom to share the odd excursion, or perhaps a visit to the cinema. This companionship with Leon was something beyond her wildest dreams; she refused to think of the time, three weeks hence, when she would be saying good-bye to him. This was now, and she had no intention of dwelling on the void that the parting would inevitably leave.

  Bouzouki music was being played by four musicians sitting on a raised wooden platform set to one side of the gardens; flowers abounded, colours flaring—the crimson of hibiscus, the pinks and whites of oleanders, the golden yellows of allamandas. From the tables came the multilingual babble of voices, with laughter often superimposed upon all other sounds. There was a carefree, almost festive air about the sunlit scene, and as she accepted the menu from the mahogany-skinned waiter, and her eyes met the admiration in her companion's expression, a wave of sheer undiluted happiness swept through her. She gave him a swift and winning smile which brought an instantaneous response. They gave their order. Leon had red mullet grilled over charcoal, and souvlaki flavoured with thyme. Kathryn had a Greek stew of beef and onions marinated in wine. It was called stifado, Leon told her. In addition, Leon ordered a variety of roasted meats and salads. Kathryn tasted such things as dzadziki, which was cucumbers soaked in yogurt, with dill and garlic; meatballs flavoured with nutmeg, olives and various cheeses and a rich Burgundy-type wine called Boutari.

  Several lithe limbed Greek youths came from some-where behind the musicians and began to dance, twisting and diving and gyrating through the Zorba-style syrtaki. Then a couple more, linked by a handkerchief, their faces intensely solemn, rocked and dipped through the tsamiko, accompanied by the mournful strains of the bouzouki band.

  Then one of the men lay down on the grass, abandoning his body to sexual movements. When he rose, there was a look of supreme ecstasy on his face, a sort of sublime joy and contentment. Leon, aware that Kathryn had been an unwilling spectator of this latest piece of activity, broke the silence that had descended upon them, telling her that all these dances were closely related to Dionysian rites as practised thousands of years ago.