Mayhem in Greece

by Dennis Wheatley

  The port has three basins, linked by a broad promenade nearly a mile in length and protected by a long breakwater. Having no experience in making investigations, Robbie wasted some time enquiring of dockhands and numerous ships’ officers, coming and going along the wharf, if they could tell him anything about the arrival of the Bratislava. None of them could, but one suggested that he should try the Port Authority, and there he eventually ran to earth a clerk who pointed out to him on a plan the berth that had been reserved for the Czech ship, and told him she was due in some time on Monday afternoon.

  By the time he got back to the Cecil, it was well past six. As soon as he joined Stephanie in the lounge, she asked: ‘How do you suggest that we spend the evening?’

  ‘I hadn’t really thought,’ he smiled. ‘What would you like to do? How about a cinema?’

  She shook the crisp, chestnut curls. ‘I’d much rather go dancing.’

  ‘I …’ he flushed slightly. ‘I’m afraid I can’t dance. I’ve never learned.’

  Her dark eyebrows arched up into her smooth forehead. ‘What an unusual person you are. Have you anything against dancing?’

  ‘No; it’s not that. It’s just … just that I’ve spent my time doing other things; listening to music; learning languages and, more recently, doing a lot of reading.’

  ‘Then it’s quite time you did learn. As a matter of fact, I’ve made enquiries, and the hall-porter recommended a place called The Pigalle. It is a restaurant as well, of course; so we could have dinner there.’

  Bewitched as he had already become by his delightful secretary, Robbie made no demur, although inwardly he felt considerable trepidation about attempting this new venture. An hour or so later, they took a taxi round to The Pigalle.

  It had little resemblance to the famous Parisian establishment of that name. Few wealthy travellers visit Patras, or even tourists with holiday money to burn. Its patrons were local business men or ships’ officers, the former with their wives or mistresses, and the latter being entertained by a number of not very glamorous dance hostesses. The lights were dim, the floor small and on two sides of the room there were a number of alcoves, to one of which, after a glance at Robbie’s well-cut clothes, a head waiter led them.

  The meal was passable although, as everywhere in Greece except in the very best hotels, rendered less appetising by being served on near-cold plates. As against that, Robbie found the bottle of Achaia champagne that he had ordered surprisingly good. While by no means of the standard to which he was used at the Embassy, it was full of body without being sweet. A little fearful of the ordeal ahead, he fortified himself with several glasses, before letting Stephanie persuade him to take the floor.

  If Stephanie had hoped to find in him a natural dancer, she was grievously disappointed. Although she danced well herself, and could have controlled a smaller man, Robbie’s size and his being so much taller than she was made it very difficult for her to guide him. Moreover, although the quickness of his physical reactions had improved greatly since his boyhood, they were still markedly slower than those of a normal man.

  Owing to his inexperience, he was quite unconscious of this, and gave himself up to the pleasure of holding Stephanie’s well-made, yielding body against his own, delighting in the scent she had put on for the occasion, and smiling down into her upturned face. When he had seen other young men dancing with pretty girls he had often envied them, although it had never occurred to him to take a course of dancing lessons. Now, for the first time, he realised what a joy it could be and hardly noticed that, from time to time, they collided with other couples. Had it not been for his ear for music, his first attempt must have proved disastrous; but his ability to at least move his body in time to the rhythm enabled Stephanie to get him round the floor a dozen times, before she asked breathlessly to be taken back to their table.

  Half an hour later, at his suggestion, they danced again. Afterwards, he asked her cheerfully: ‘Well! How am I doing?’

  She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid you are not exactly a born dancer, Robbie. Unfortunately, too, you’re too tall for me to see over your shoulder to steer you. And you have got awfully large feet.’

  As his face fell, she added quickly: ‘Never mind. Perhaps you’ll turn out to be a marvellous driver when you try your hand with the car.’

  ‘But …’ he began. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘… don’t mean to learn,’ she finished for him, with a laugh. ‘But you ought to, Robbie. I’m not trying to shirk my job, but every man ought to know how to drive a car, and there should be plenty of opportunities for me to teach you.’

  ‘Well … yes … thanks,’ he stammered, again a little shaken at the speed with which this laughing, blue-eyed creature, unknown to him thirty-six hours ago, was opening up for him one new vista after another. ‘Of course, you’re right. I ought to have learned to drive a car ages ago.’

  ‘That’s settled then. I take it we shan’t be going across the gulf to see the ruins at Pleuron until Monday; so I could give you your first lesson tomorrow morning.’

  Her suggestion jerked his thoughts on to a very different track. On Monday he had to be in Patras to see the Bratislava dock, and find out all he could about the people who came ashore from her. Then the group that was landed might not remain in Patras, but set off inland. Should they do that, unless he was to fall down on the job he had set himself he must follow them in order to learn where the villa was that they were to occupy while they did their prospecting. After that, events might prevent his returning to Patras, and it would look very queer to Stephanie if, having talked to her so much about his book and stressed his desire to visit the ruins of Pleuron, he should leave Patras without doing so.

  After a moment, he said: ‘No, I’m afraid tomorrow’s no good. You see, I’ve got to be here to transact some more business on Monday; so tomorrow may be our only chance of going to Calydon and Pleuron.’

  ‘What time do you wish us to start?’ she asked.

  ‘That depends on the times the ferry goes; but I should like to leave fairly early, so as not to have to rush things on the other side.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Stephanie, seizing on the excuse to escape any more of the arduous dancing she had brought on herself, ‘I think we ought to go back to the hotel soon, so that we can get some sleep.’

  ‘Oh not yet!’ he protested. ‘It’s only just on midnight, and I’m enjoying myself so much.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ She gave him a little smile, but added firmly: ‘You forget, though, that I have to do the driving, and that the roads over there are certain to be awful.’

  Immediately contrite, Robbie began to apologise for his thoughtlessness, but with a flutter of her fingers she checked him and went on: ‘I think, too, you would be wise to order a picnic lunch. That is, unless you like goat’s meat, sour cream and resinated wine, because there is not usually much else to be had in Greece once you get off the beaten track.’

  He grinned at her. ‘What a splendid secretary you make. I shall have to raise your wages.’

  ‘I haven’t had any yet,’ she countered, with a laugh. ‘But don’t worry. I’m rather enjoying my job of looking after you.’

  They finished their second bottle of the Achaia champagne, then the waiter got them a taxi. During the short run back to the hotel, Robbie was sorely tempted to take and squeeze the small, firm hand that he had recently held while dancing. But he did not dare. This new relationship was the sort of thing he had dreamed of, but feared to be far beyond his powers ever to establish. Suddenly, almost overnight, he was experiencing unalloyed delights which, every moment he was in Stephanie’s company, made him feel in the seventh heaven. To have taken the risk of doing the slightest thing that might lead to this sweet-scented, glamorous being ceasing to smile upon him would have been sheer madness.

  At the hotel, the night porter produced the time-table for the ferry service, and they decided to take one leaving at nine-forty-five. Robbie gave orders for
a picnic basket and for the car to be brought round at nine o’clock, then they went up to their rooms.

  Next morning, they set off in good time and drove the few miles north to the little harbour of Rion, at the narrow entrance of the great Corinthian gulf. Opposite it, only two kilometres away, lay another small harbour, Andirrion, to which they were going. As it was a Sunday, instead of the odd, dusty lorry and herds of sheep and goats which would normally have made up the ferry’s freight, it was empty except for a battered Ford and two cyclists.

  On their way over, Robbie pointed out to Stephanie the roofs of a small township about three miles away. ‘You Greeks,’ he said, ‘call that little town Navpaktos, but in the history books of every language it is known at Lepanto. I was telling you on Friday how, at the battle of Salamis, the West was saved from coming under the heel of Persia. In the bay there, some two thousand years later, another great naval battle was fought that again saved the West from becoming enslaved to Asia. A fleet of two hundred Turkish galleys was destroyed there by the combined forces of Venice, Spain, Genoa and the Knights of Malta, under Don John of Austria. If he hadn’t won, it’s quite on the cards that today we would all be Mohammedans.’

  ‘It didn’t save the Greeks from having those horrid Turks on their necks for a long time afterwards, though,’ Stephanie remarked.

  ‘No,’ Robbie agreed. ‘You had to put up a terrific fight before you won your independence. On our way to Pleuron, we shall be going through Missolonghi and, as I expect you know, that was one of the stoutest centres of resistance. Rather than surrender to an army of thirty thousand Turks, who had been besieging it for weeks, the Greek leader, Khristos Kapsalis, blew up the magazine and killed three thousand of his own people. Nine or ten thousand others were captured and sold as slaves, but he got away to the hills.’

  Stephanie nodded. ‘It’s much more famous on account of Lord Byron. For a man of that kind to have roughed it serving with the patriot guerilla bands, until he became so weak from fever that he died, fills me with real admiration.’

  After landing, they headed west and, near the township of Krioneri, got out to see the ruins of Calydon. In ancient times it must have been a considerable town, as there were acres of stone foundations, fallen pillar drums and big, up-ended blocks, mostly half overgrown with coarse grass and nettles. Excavations had brought to light part of a temple, but there was little else of interest; so they returned to the town and drove across the moor to Missolonghi.

  It differed little from hundreds of other small towns in Greece. There were few modern buildings and much evidence of poverty; but the peasants, dressed in their Sunday best, looked clean and healthy, and waved cheerful greetings. Without stopping in the town, they ran on for another five kilometres, which brought them to Pleuron.

  The place had far more to show than Calydon. A great part of its walls were still standing, and many of its thirty-odd towers. There were seven great gateways, a small theatre, a vast cistern and, near the east rampart, a terrace, with ruined shrines along it, over a hundred and fifty yards long. It was there that they decided to eat their picnic lunch. Few travellers visited this remote ruined city, and at that hour not a soul was to be seen in any direction; so few spots could have been pleasanter.

  Having gnawed the meat from a wing of chicken and eaten a three-cornered pasty stuffed with liver and rice, Stephanie began to peel an enormous orange and said: ‘Come along, Robbie. Tell me what happened here.’

  He spat out some of the pips from a big mandarine and admitted: ‘I’m sorry, I don’t really know. I suppose there were the usual processions and dances and sacrifices.’

  ‘What! No stories of maidens having a thin time of it owing to the attention of winged lions, or of a lady being seduced by a gentleman who had disguised himself as a bunch of grapes?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. It’s a curious thing but, although Olympus is up in northern Greece, nearly all the adventures of the gods and Heroes seem to have taken place either in the Peloponnesus or overseas. That is, except for the neighbourhood of Athens and, of course, Thebes.’

  ‘Tell me about Thebes, then.’

  ‘I don’t want to bore you,’ he forced himself, out of politeness, to say. ‘After all, I talked to you about the gods and goddesses during nearly the whole of our drive from Athens.’

  ‘I know.’ Stephanie was sitting in a moss-covered niche, between two great stones, and now she lay back in it. ‘But I’ll have to make a start on this book of yours soon, and the more I know about its background the better. If I fall asleep, you can always give me a gentle prod.’

  Robbie finished his mandarine, licked his fingers, gave her a rather doubtful glance, and said: ‘Very well, then; and it won’t really matter if you do drop off. This is another chapter that I haven’t written yet, so telling it will help to get my ideas in order.’ After another drink of the red wine that had been put in the hamper, he started off:

  ‘Cadmus, who was the founder of Thebes, definitely ranks as one of the Heroes, although he differs from the others because so many of his descendants also played big parts in Greek history. Unfortunately, though, they nearly all came to sticky ends.

  ‘He was not a Greek, but the son of Agenor, King of Tyre, and he had a very lovely sister. You’ll have heard of her because her name was Europa. One day, she was making sand-castles on the beach with a bevy of attendant maidens. From up aloft, old Zeus happened to spot her and, not wanting to scare her, he came mincing along the sands in the form of a beautiful, white bull.’

  ‘You can skip what happened next.’

  ‘Yes; you’re right. The little idiot made him a chaplet of flowers and let him lick her neck; then, when he knelt down she climbed on his back and the next thing she knew was that she was clinging to his horns for dear life, while he ploughed through the sea like a speed boat, carrying her off to Crete. When he had got her safe ashore, he told her who he was, and said that if she were willing to give him a good time without making any trouble, he would see to it that a whole continent was called after her. Much flattered by that, she said: “All right; go ahead,” and, in due course, she bore him two sons, Minos and Rhadamanthus; both of whom were later made judges in Hades.

  ‘Meanwhile, her father had got himself terribly worked up about her disappearance, and sent his three sons, Cadmus, Phoenix and Cilix, off to search for her. Her mama, Telephassa, couldn’t sleep at nights for thinking of what might be happening to her ewe lamb, so she decided to go along with the boys.

  ‘Phoenix was the first to get bored, so he pegged out a claim for himself and founded Phoenicia. Cilix threw his hand in next, and started a kingdom called after him, Cilici. But Cadmus and his mother kept plodding on, until the old girl gave out and died by the wayside, still urging him not to give up.

  ‘He took ship for Greece, but could hear nothing of Europa, who by then had become quite used to providing bed and breakfast for Zeus in Crete. As a last hope, Cadmus decided to consult the Oracle at Delphi. Apollo, being a decent sort, must have realised that, if he told Cadmus where Europa was, things could only end in Zeus turning him into a praying mantis, or something; so the Oracle gave him no news of his sister. Instead, it told him to follow a cow that was browsing in a nearby field and that, wherever the cow lay down, he should build a city.

  ‘That cow would have won a prize at any cattle show. She crossed a range of mountains, and walked over a hundred kilometres before she decided to have a lie-down. And when you think of the pace of a cow, following her must have driven Cadmus nearly potty.

  ‘They landed up in Boeotia but, unfortunately, the cow had chosen to go to sleep near a grove that was the property of a three-headed dragon. Cadmus sent his servants into the grove to fetch some water from a stream. As they didn’t come back he went in after them, and found that they were all as dead as doornails from having been overcome by the dragon’s bad breath.

  ‘Being a Hero, Cadmus naturally had to slay the dragon, and, after some pretty lively
give and take, he managed to nail one of the dragon’s necks to an oak tree with his sword. As is usual with dragons, this one was belching flames and smoke, but it bled so much that it acted as its own fire extinguisher and put itself out.

  ‘Athene, as the patroness of brave men, then put in an appearance and said to him: “Jolly good show.” As all his henchmen had been killed off by the dragon, and it was a bit much to expect him to build a city on his own, she showed him how to get a fully grown labour force in no time at all by sowing some of the dragon’s teeth. With their help he built Thebes, which henceforth was the capital of the Kingdom of Boeotia.

  ‘As both Apollo and Athene took a good view of Cadmus, they decided to provide him with a very special wife: in fact a young goddess. She was the daughter of Aphrodite and Ares, and her name was Harmonia. I suppose that is why the marriage was such a success, for they lived in harmony for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘Surely it is more likely that the word “harmony” is derived from her marriage having been so free from quarrels,’ Stephanie suggested.

  ‘Perhaps. Anyhow, all the gods came to the wedding, and Aphrodite gave Harmonia a beautiful necklace and a wonderful veil. These were known as “the heirlooms”, and later caused a whole packet of trouble; but there was already trouble brewing, because the dragon Cadmus had slain was a pet of Ares. The God of War took its death very badly, and put one of those frightfully unfair Biblical curses on Cadmus. You know, “unto the third and fourth generation”.’

  ‘But if Ares had a “down” on Cadmus, why should he have given his consent to his marrying his daughter?’

  ‘He wasn’t asked. You see, he wasn’t Harmoaia’s legal father. She was the result of his having had a tumble behind the bushes with Aphrodite while her husband Hephaestus was hard at it in his smithy.’

  ‘Even then, to have cursed the progeny of his own daughter doesn’t make sense.’