by Kevin Ashman
‘Hello,’ said India, ‘Do you speak English?’
‘A little,’ said the woman.
‘We are looking for Mama Christou. Peter Venezelos said she lived here.’
The woman’s eyes widened.
‘You are a friend of Peter?’ she asked, ‘Have you seen him?
‘Yes,’ said Brandon, ‘He is in England. We have become friends over the last few months and when I told him I was coming here on holiday. He asked me to pop in and give Mama Christou some flowers.’
‘Not like him,’ said the woman, ‘Still, you had better come in.’
They entered a darkened room and immediately they could see an old woman sat in a battered chair with a shawl wrapped around her knees. The young woman pulled up two chairs from the table and placed them facing the old woman.
‘Mama,’ she said in English, ‘We have visitors, friends of Peter. They have come to pay their respects to you.’
The old woman peered at them through thick glasses.
‘Friends of Peter,’ she said. ‘Which ones. Better not be Aetosh. Not welcome here, bringing their trouble all the time. Tell them to go.’
‘No, mama,’ said the young woman, ‘They are not Aetosh, they are English. Nice people. Look they have brought you flowers.’
‘English!’ she said. ‘What are English doing in my home?’
Brandon stepped forward.
‘Peter said to pop in and say hello,’ she said. ‘We haven’t known him long but he said you brought him up.’
‘I did,’ said the woman, ‘And look how he repays me. No job, no grandchildren, and left us without any food in the cupboard. I should have known. Spent most of his time riding his moped with the rest of the hooligans. Waster, that boy is, Nothing more than a scoundrel.’ She leaned back and closed her eyes, mumbling something incoherently under her breath.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the younger woman. She gets a bit upset these days. Times are hard you see.’
‘No matter,’ said Brandon. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have come.’ They stood up to leave but as they left, he paused and pulled out a pile of Euros from his wallet before placing them on the table.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I forgot to say,’ said Brandon. ‘Peter told me to give you this. It’s not much but it will help a little.’
‘It’s not charity is it?’ asked the woman. ‘Mama would never accept charity.’
‘No, certainly not,’ he lied, ‘Peter asked me to bring it to you.’
‘You sure?’ she asked.
‘Positive,’ interrupted India, backing up his story. ‘I was there.’
‘In that case, I will take it,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘One more thing,’ said Brandon. ‘Who are the Aetosh, Mama refers to?’
‘Oh, take no notice,’ she said, ‘Just some silly gang Peter used to run with a long time ago. Anyway, how is Peter? I am surprised he ended up in England. He was always very patriotic and had no time for foreign people.’
‘Yes, I noticed that,’ said Brandon avoiding the question. ‘Anyway, we had better go. We don’t want to impose.’
‘When you go back, tell him to call the Mama,’ said the woman, ‘She misses him, really.’
‘We will,’ said Brandon and they made their way back down the hill in silence, both fully aware that the young man in question was laying on a marble slab in a London mortuary, Brandon’s bullet probably still lodged in the back of his skull.
‘What do you think?’ asked India. ‘Any help?’
‘I don’t know but the mention of a gang is a new development. Perhaps we can find out something about these Aetosh. The problem is we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves. A couple of foreigners asking random questions about a local gang is bound to stand out.’
India stopped walking for a second before grabbing his arm and leading him back towards the bus station.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘Back to Kamariotissa,’ she said, ‘You want someone who likes to talk and I know just the person.’
Two hours later Brandon was sat in the cool dining area of the guest house waiting for the roast goat they had ordered for lunch. India was in the kitchen with Agatha and he could hear occasional bursts of laughter as the English librarian and the Greek hostess shared some unheard joke. Eventually the two women emerged and placed three bowls on the table along with three plates and some cutlery. The bowls contained strips of roast goat in gravy, boiled potatoes and bread. Agatha busied herself sharing out the food.
‘Agatha is joining us,’ announced India. ‘Isn’t that nice?’
‘Wonderful,’ agreed Brandon, falsely. ‘You can tell us all about this wonderful island of yours’
Agatha beamed with happiness, delighted at the attention. Throughout lunch she described the island and the lifestyle of the locals, interspersed with liberal accounts of sexual innuendo and rumour. India in particular took a shine to the woman and eventually took the lead in moving the subject nearer their purpose.
‘What about crime?’ she said between mouthfuls of food. ‘I suppose everywhere has their share of hooligans.’
‘Not much,’ said Agatha, ‘Though Stefan Pelapollis’s wife did push his lover off a cliff when she found out they were having affairs.’
‘When was that?’ asked Brandon.
‘Forty four years ago,’ said Agatha.
‘What about gangs?’ asked India. ‘I read somewhere there is a gang called the Aetosh.’
‘Used to be,’ said Agatha, wiping some gravy from her chin. ‘Silly bunch of young men who thought they could get independence from Greece.’
‘What does Aetosh mean?’ asked India.
Agatha screwed her eyes in thought.
‘How do you say in English? Ah yes, Eagle, I think, named after a stone up in the castle.’
‘Stone?’ asked Brandon
‘Yes. In Chora there is a castle that used to protect the village.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Very common peoples in Chora,’ she said. ‘All womens is sleeping with all mens. Disgusting!’
‘What is this stone?’ asked Brandon, trying to drag Agatha back from her favourite subject.
‘It is nothing,’ she said, ‘Just an ancient stone with the picture of an Eagle on it. It was the emblem of the Gatilusi family who ruled this island many hundreds of years ago. The Aetosh named themselves after the emblem and campaigned for independence for Samothrace. Of course, it never happened and they broke up many years ago.’
The rest of lunch was taken up by small talk and Agatha’s constant forays into the sexual exploits of her neighbours and guests. It seemed that she had an anecdote for almost everyone in the village. Eventually they finished their lunch and made their excuses to go up to their room.
‘Afternoon luvvinks,’ said Agatha as India passed. Verynice!’
They made their way upstairs and locked the door behind them.
‘That woman is unbelievable,’ laughed India. ‘Have you ever met anyone who is so obsessed with sex?’
‘She needs a good man,’ said Brandon.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said India, ‘By the sound of it, she has been through half the men on the island and is targeting the other half.’
‘I hope I’m not on the hit list,’ laughed Brandon.
‘After our little conversation in the kitchen,’ said India, ‘I don’t think you need worry about that scenario happening.’
‘Why? What did you say?’ asked Brandon with a look of concern.
India pinched one of Brandon’s cheeks
‘Aaah bless,’ she said, ‘Don’t let it worry your tiny little mind. Anyway, what do you think about these Aetosh then?’
‘Don’t know if it’s worth pursuing,’ said Brandon, ’But at this moment in time it’s all we’ve got. I tell you what, we’ll have a little siesta and this evening we’ll take a trip up to Chora. Have a look at this eagle thing in case we need to recogn
ise it in the future.’
‘You have a siesta,’ said India, ‘I’m not tired. I think I’ll have a walk around the village. See if I can find a tourist information centre.’
‘Okay,’ said Brandon, ‘But be careful.’
‘Stop worrying, granddad,’ joked India, ‘You have your forty winks. Us youngsters will be fine.’ She held up an unused bikini. ‘I might even catch some rays while I am out there.’
‘I mean it, India,’ said Brandon. ‘Stay in the public areas.’
‘I will,’ she promised and left the room to get changed in the shower.
Two hours later, Brandon had had a cold shower and changed into a pair of shorts and T shirt. He packed his camera in his day sack along with a couple of bottles of water and made his way out of the tavern. On the way he called India on his mobile. By the time he reached the waterfront road, he had called her half a dozen times, each time the call going straight to answer phone. Finally, he heard the phone connect and spoke rapidly into the phone.
‘India,’ he said, ‘Thank fuck for that. Why didn’t you answer?’
‘Shut up!’ said a male voice on the other end, ‘And just listen. Miss Sommers is with us. She is safe and will remain so. However, we wish to speak to you. In five minutes a car will pull up outside your accommodation. You will get in the car with no pack or package of any type whatsoever. Do as we say, and you will both be unharmed. If, at anytime we suspect you offer any threat to any of our people, then your stay on Samothrace will be, shall we say, of a permanent nature. Do I make myself clear?’
‘You say we are safe,’ said Brandon, looking around frantically, ‘How do I know you are telling the truth?’
‘You don’t,’ said the man. ‘You have four minutes.’ The phone went dead.
‘Shit!’ cursed Brandon, and ran back towards the tavern.
Chapter 15
Rome 64 AD
Rubria staggered to her feet, having dropped twice her own height into a pool of filthy water no more than four feet deep. She staggered and fell again as one ankle gave way and a searing pain shot up her leg. Her head dipped below the water and her mouth filled with filth as she cried out in pain. Over and over again she tried to stand, each time falling back under until her outstretched arm found a solid wall and she leaned against the slimy surface, sobbing in the darkness. Her head and shoulders were above the water line but the foul stench made it almost impossible to breath. After a few moments, she realised the water was moving gently in one direction so she started to limp slowly along the wall edge, following the flow of sewage, and, within a few minutes she realised the darkness was easing and she could actually see the surface of the water. Something gently bumped against her head and she lashed out in fright, expecting to feel the soft body of a rat but her hand hit something hard. Before she could identify what it was, it floated away into the gloom and she stayed rigid in fright as she gathered her strength.
She moved further forward, eager to reach the source of the light but the way was soon obstructed by something below the water line. She pushed it away with her foot but it only went so far due it being tethered to the wall by a chain. Her hand reached down and grasped what she thought was some sort of spear haft, but what she pulled to the surface finally sent her over the edge. Held in her own hand was the rotting remains of a human arm.
Rubria screamed and span away, only to bump into a floating corpse and suddenly she realised the many shapes now visible in the gloom were the rotting remains of human bodies. Over and over again she screamed and forced her way through the filth towards the light, sobbing as she pushed the remains out of her way. Finally, she fell against an iron grill set into the wall, and grasped two of the bars as she gulped in the fresh air.
‘Please,’ she whimpered, ‘Somebody help me.’
‘It’s okay, Miss,’ said a familiar voice. ‘I am here.’
Centurion Dragus was in the barracks, when the alarm came. He and his men were taking a meal and some hard earned rest after two full days fighting fires around the city.
‘Stand to!’ came the shout, echoing through the corridors of the barracks. ‘Everyone to their posts.’
‘Fuck,’ said Dragus and stood up, leaving the stew where it was but grabbing some of the rolls from the centre of the table as he went. All around him, legionaries were grabbing their equipment and strapping on their sword belts.
‘Optio!’ he shouted, ‘Get the rest of the Century and form up outside. I’ll find out what is going on.’ He ran out and met Septimus, the duty Centurion in charge of the palace guard. ‘What’s the situation?’ asked Dragus.
‘The overseer has been found dead in the Emperor’s quarters,’ said Septimus. ‘Killed with a Gladius.’
‘Another slave?’ suggested Dragus.
‘Possibly,’ said Septimus, ‘But it’s more likely Nero’s pet Priestess wielded the blade. The overseer was found in her cell and she is missing.’
‘Wait,’ interrupted Dragus. ‘Who has disappeared? What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘You know,’ said Septimus, ‘The Vestal Virgin Nero has been screwing for the past three days.’ He looked at Dragus’s blank face. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know,’ said Septimus, ‘It’s been the talk of the palace.’
‘I’ve been on patrol to Ostia for the last week,’ he said, ‘And the last two days I have been fighting fires in the city.’
‘It matters not,’ said Septimus. ‘All you need to know is the bitch has killed the slave overseer and fled the palace with an accomplice. How they did that, I don’t know as all exits are guarded, but that’s where we come in. Take your men down to the Temple and see if she fled there. We will search the palace grounds. They can’t have gone far.’
‘What was her name?’ asked Dragus, already dreading the answer.
‘Who do you think?’ said Septimus, ‘The prettiest one, Rubria. Say what you want about our glorious Emperor, but you can’t fault his taste in women.’ He pushed past Dragus and joined his own unit to organise the response.
Dragus stared at the wall for a few moments gathering his thoughts before doing the same. He ran outside as the last of his men were lining up.
‘Optio,’ he shouted, ‘I am going down the Palatine. When the men are ready, follow me down, form a cordon around the Forum and wait for my orders. No one goes in until I say so. Do you understand?’
‘Yes sir,’ answered his second in command, and re-entered the barracks to organise the century.
Dragus jogged across the barrack square and towards the Palace gates.
Rubria sat in a side alley, shivering in the darkness, Rose was busy ferrying water back and fore from a drinking fountain in one of the many squares in the city. She kneeled alongside Rubria, sponging the filth from her face and hair.
‘Miss, you’re shivering,’ she said, ‘We have to get you moving. I have a friend who serves a landlord near here, she will give us shelter.’
‘No,’ said Rubria, ‘But you are right, we cannot stay here. I have to get to the Temple. Can you lend me your cape?’
‘But, miss…’
‘I promise I will replace it, Rose,’ she said.
‘It’s not that, Miss,’ said the slave, ‘My cape is yours, but surely you are too holy for a rag such as this.’
Rubria grabbed the girl’s hand.
‘If I am captured then I cannot warn the sisters. Your cape will ensure I am not recognised. I promise I will have it replaced.’
‘I care not about the cape, Miss,’ said Rose. ‘I will do anything in my power to serve the Great Mother. You are welcome to the last thread of clothing on my back if it helps.
Rubria smiled.
‘There will be no need for that, Rose,’ she said, ‘Just lend me the cape and go back to the palace before you’re missed.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ said the girl.
‘Don’t be silly, Rose,’ answered Rubria, ‘There is no need for you to get involved, No one knows about the ov
erseer except you and me, If I am caught, I swear I will take our secret to the grave. With all this confusion about the fires and with the blessing of the Goddess, you may just get back without anyone even noticing you have even been away.’
‘It’s too late for that, Miss,’ said Rose, glumly.
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘I was seen removing the keys from the overseer’s body,’ she said. ‘The girl enjoyed his favour and when she saw me crouched over him swore she would report me to the guard. I couldn’t let her do that.’
‘Rose, you didn’t…’
‘Oh, she’s not hurt, Miss. Well, not much, though I have locked her in the cell. I don’t know how long it will be before she comes around but with her mouth it will be only minutes before she summons the guard. So you see, I cannot go back, and I have nowhere to go. If I can come with you, at least my last few hours of this life will be in the service of the Goddess. Please don’t deny me this.’
Rubria stared at Rose for a long time before answering.
‘Rose, by the time this night is over I will probably be dead. At the very least I will be in custody and facing death at the hands of Nero. If you are caught in my company then you will face the same fate. You should take advantage of the fires and head for the outskirts of the city. If you can get outside the walls unnoticed they may think you perished in the fires. Take this chance, slim as it is, and try to gain your freedom. With the help of the Goddess you may just get lucky and escape this life of servitude.’
‘I appreciate your concern, Miss,’ she said, ‘But I want this more than anything. All my life I have been worshipping the Goddess secretly. This is my chance to openly embrace her glory. I have a chance to serve her and those who serve her, and, if I should die in the process than I would die the happiest person in the world. I knew there was a reason why the Goddess saw fit to make me live a life as a slave. This is it, Miss. This is my fate.’