Castle of the Lion

by Margaret Rome

  Not to be outdone, the butcher followed suit. Then with smacking lips and madly twinkling eyes he refilled the glasses and responded.

  'Eiva thefteri! Cheers to the second drink!'

  Aghast at what was apparently the beginning of a contest to prove which of the two men possessed the greatest resistance to alcohol, Petra sat rooted as the process was repeated.

  'Eiva triti! Cheers to the third drink!' Stelios challenged, downing his drink without a pause.

  'Eiva sto boukalli! Cheers to the bottle !!!'

  Obviously determined to keep pace, the butcher, whose cheeks had become tinged with an unbecoming flush, filled the glasses once more, then with a flourish of bravado hurled the empty bottle into a nearby clump of bushes.

  When a flood of enthusiastic men began hurrying to join them carrying bottles and chairs, Petra began inching timidly away from Stelios, who seemed to have become so vitally involved in the contest that he had completely forgotten her existence.

  By the time she had edged far enough away to feel the rough edge of the bench beneath her fingers she was on the perimeter of a vociferous crowd of men apparently dedicated to toasting everyone's antecedents and descendants.

  'Here's to your mother . . . father… brother … sister… aunt…!' Then as she was sidling out of sight, a loud and glorious, 'Sti yia yia su ke sta kokkala tis'—here's to your grandmother, and long may her bones rattle!'

  She fled as if chased by a crowd of devils towards Sophia, whom she could see in the distance, supervising the positioning of troughs similar to the one she used to burn charcoal, eager to leave behind an atmosphere she found strangely frightening, a build-up of masculine aggression by men eager for mirth, laughter, wine and eventually—the thought caused a panicky breath to flutter in her throat—for equally fruity female companionship!

  The youngsters of the village were still absorbed in the important task of cleansing the wheat at the fountain, surrounded by singing children and their mothers. Musicians were playing madly, trying their utmost to outdo the lusty cries of men who had gravitated from the dancing arena to join in the drinking contest. A group of seven kneeling girls crouched low over some secret object on the ground collapsed into a paroxysm of giggles as she sped past. But Sophia, when she reached her, was scowling, her features shaded darkly as shadows being cast by the sun dipping slowly behind the mountains. The object of her displeasure was a young manservant who was paying only minor attention to her scolding.

  'No, you may not leave what jobs remain until the morning, I shall not sleep tonight unless I'm certain that everything is ready! In any case, you are far too young to help the kyrios celebrate his last night as a bachelor. Before you become eligible to join in such a spree you must have time to gather knowledge or wit—for wine bestows neither!'

  'Sophia…' Petra began tentatively.

  'Oh, thespinis!' Impatiently, Sophia shooed away the crestfallen youngster. 'I was wondering what had become of you! At such times as these,' she tossed a scornful glance in the direction of the noisily chortling men whose toasts were becoming more slurred and incoherent by the minute, 'women cannot be blamed for wondering whether it is better to live with men or without them. A jewel of gold in a swine's snout is the role Greek wives are forced to play,' she snorted. 'There's nothing so stubborn as a man who is determined to make a fool of himself!'

  The slight criticism of her employer contained within the generalisation struck Petra as so unusual she wondered aloud.

  'You must be tired, Sophia, after working hard all day. Please rest for a while. Sit with me and take time to enjoy a glass of cordial.'

  For a moment Sophia appeared tempted to protest, then with a sigh she gave in to weariness.

  'Very well, thespinis.' She glanced towards a row of covered trestles. 'The macaroni is ready to be popped into the oven; the vine leaves have been stuffed and the meatballs prepared. Only the bonbonnieres need finishing off, but that is a task that can be completed while we are enjoying our drinks.'

  Petra almost achieved a state of contentment as she sat with Sophia sipping rose cordial, watching the creep of evening shadows into the clearing while lazily she placed a selection of sugared almonds into twists of cellophane and tied them securely with gold thread. But the escalating sounds of revelry, the clinking of bottles and the occasional splintering of glass began jarring upon the peace of early evening, causing her nerves to tense, her toes to curl, and her cheeks to flame with embarrassment when increasingly ribald snatches of conversation became audible during intervals when musicians rested, leaving short, silent pauses.

  'Don't allow such ignorant remarks to alarm you, thespinis? Sophia consoled dryly. 'Greek-Cypriot males are notorious for fighting fiercely in defence of family honour, nevertheless, in spite of their handsome appearance, in spite of having been reared on the island of love—the birthplace of Aphrodite—most of our mountain men are extremely shy, dependent upon wine to loosen their tongues and to rid them of inhibitions. Even the kyrios, who is said to be capable of seducing a woman in seven different languages, has shown uncharacteristic signs of strain today—snapping at the servants, refusing to eat…'

  Her shoulders lifted in a giant shrug. 'Perhaps in common with the average young Cypriot male, he uses his macho image to hide a nervousness of deep commitment. However,' she nodded sagely, 'I'm certain that tomorrow, during the ceremony, when he knows that all eyes will be upon him, he will demonstrate his willingness to shoulder marital responsibilities.'

  'He will?' Petra questioned faintly. 'How…?'

  'You must listen carefully,' Sophia explained, 'for a moment of great importance that occurs somewhere in the middle of the service. The priest will say '… and woman shall fear man.' Those words act as a signal to the bridegroom to step on to the bride's foot in a display of power—not painfully, you understand,' she hastened to assure her, 'just firmly enough to demonstrate dominance, to stress his intention to master.'

  Despondency settled upon Petra like a cloud. She had no wish to talk about tomorrow, nor did she even want to think about the sacrificial ceremony that was drawing so terrifyingly near.

  'I'm going home,' she told Sophia, too weary to realise that already she had subconsciously accepted Buffavento Castle as her permanent abode. 'I'm feeling tired, I think I'd better go to bed early, otherwise tomorrow's celebrations will be wasted upon a hollow-eyed bride.'

  'No, thespinis, you cannot!' Sophia surprised her by rearing to her feet, looking agitated. 'Both you and the kyrios must be present when the final pre-nuptial ceremony is performed.'

  'Not another one!'

  Sophia stepped backward, obviously upset by the exasperated edge to her tone, but Petra was beyond caring. Much as she hated the thought of snubbing the kindly villagers, she knew that just one more rite added to the load that had been carried upon her shoulders all day would strain her endurance to the limit. 'I'm sorry, Sophia, but I must go. I…' she spun aside, gulping back a heartbroken sob, '… I just can't take any more!'

  Before Sophia could be given cause to wonder why tears should be pouring down the cheeks of the girl fortunate enough to have been chosen by the kyrios as his bride, Petra almost ran in her haste to gain the cover afforded by a dark belt of trees dividing the clearing from the solitary stretch of moonlit garden surrounding the castle.

  A shaft of light beaming from one isolated ground-floor window seemed to follow her movements like a baleful eye as she mounted the castle steps. The massive main door was unlocked. Nervously, she began hurrying across the silently brooding hall—then almost screamed with fright when a door was flung open, spilling a beam of light across her path.

  'Where the devil has everyone disappeared to?'

  She relaxed with relief at the sight of Gavin glowering from the doorway.

  'I've been mooching around the castle for hours—left without company, without servants, and consequently without dinner!'

  Hurriedly she attempted to placate his foul temper. 'I'm so
rry, Gavin, it's my fault, I completely forgot to warn you that food was being served out of doors this evening! The servants have been busy all day preparing dishes for tomorrow's wedding feast. If you'd care to make your way down to the clearing—'

  'No, thanks,' he interrupted as rudely as a petulant child. 'The local peasants may have been easily hoodwinked, but I'm still not convinced that your marriage to Heracles gives cause for celebration.'

  Avoiding his narrow-eyed stare, Petra stepped past him into the room, reminded of the imperative need to act upon Stelios's warning. Praying that her voice would remain steady, that hot, aching tears would remain at bay, she forced herself to exercise a growing skill in the art of deception.

  'Why must you persist in voicing suspicions of the motive behind my marriage?' she tilted bravely. 'I know you consider me lacking in sex appeal, that you doubt my ability to hold the interest of any man as attractive to women as Stelios undoubtedly is. But it was he who chose me,' she reminded him raggedly. 'If Stelios is happy with his choice why can't you be?'

  'Happy…?' Gavin echoed incredulously. 'How can I be happy at the thought of seeing you married to a man who affects you in the same way that a stoat affects a rabbit every time he walks into your presence! Are you asking me to believe that it's natural for a woman to appear terrified by the sight of the man she's supposed to love—and conversely, for the object of her affections to give an impression that most of the time he's unaware of her existence? I've seen the two of you together for just a few short hours,' he raced on, 'but—'

  'Just long enough to jump to a series of wrong conclusions!' she flashed triumphantly, knowing that she dared not allow him to carry on, that somehow his thought process had to be diverted from the line of logical reasoning that was leading him towards the truth. 'I don't care what you think!' she stressed, fiercely determined to prevent him from becoming a victim of his own curiosity. 'Whatever you may say, however hard you may plead with me to change my mind, I shall still willingly, gratefully, eagerly look forward to tomorrow's ceremony, which will demand of me a promise to stay bound to Stelios for the rest of my life as his loving wife, and, I hope, if God should prove willing, as the mother of his children!'

  Even to her own ears her protestations sounded weakly unconvincing. She swept her lashes down to avoid her brother's incredulous stare, hoping to hide the glint of tears, trying to still the working of a traitorously trembling mouth. She had done her best to carry out Stelios's order to rid Gavin of a suspicion that she had somehow been coerced into what he obviously regarded as a potentially disastrous marriage, but as she sensed his angry stare playing around her bowed head she felt certain she had failed. But then, just as her nerve was on the verge of snapping, just as she was drawing breath to start on a guilty confession, he surprised her by responding in a dejected monotone:

  'Heaven help you, Petra, I believe you really do love the guy!'

  For seconds she was too stunned to register any reaction, but then a wave of relief washed the troubled cloud from her eyes, leaving them brilliant. Forcing her drooping mouth into a wavering smile, she scolded:

  'You couldn't sound more depressed if you'd just heard me condemned to life imprisonment! Hunger can often impair a man's judgment—I'll slip down to the kitchen and find out what food is available. After you've eaten, you might find it possible to view the situation in its true perspective.' Quickly, while the tide was still running in her favour, she retreated from an atmosphere seething with the threat of many unspoken questions which she had no desire to be called upon to answer.

  The peaceful solitude of the kitchen acted like a balm upon her troubled mind. She searched through the shelves of a cool pantry and found eggs, butter, ham and sufficient left-over vegetables to make a tasty omelette. She was deep in thought, mechanically breaking eggs into a bowl, when the door crashed open and Stelios strode inside the kitchen.

  She froze to immobility, directed a startled stare across the width of space dividing her from the tall, slightly swaying figure that had pounced into her hideout, filling it with the coldly glittering menace of a hungry night-time prowler. The sensuous stealth of his advance left her in no doubt that the mood he was in was dangerous. A catch of fear caught in her throat. She began backing away, keeping wary eyes fixed upon lips widening slowly into a smile of savage anger.

  'Why did you leave without a word, making me look a fool in the eyes of my companions?'

  She felt the solidity of a wall blocking her retreat and pressed her shoulderblades hard against its surface, willing the cold stone to provide some avenue of escape.

  'I'm certain that no action of mine has had any direct bearing upon the opinions formed by your friends,' she husked, daring to bait his uncertain temper.

  She flinched from hands reaching out as if to paw, then suffered the humiliation of hearing him growl with laughter when he leant his palms against the wall behind her, rendering her captive to tormenting eyes and a heady wine-flamed breath.

  'Why are you trembling, Miss Grundy?' he murmured, feathering his lips across a crescent of downcast lashes. 'You make me wonder whether I may have been wrong to resign myself to the prospect of wedding and bedding a straightlaced spinster—a flame without heat—of attempting to slake my thirst with a spirit that appears appealing until one becomes aware of a bitter taste similar to that left by the saccharine you English are fond of adding to sour drinks to lend an illusion of sweetness. I feel an urge to discover whether my judgment was wrong, elika,' he confided throatily, dropping his hands on to her shoulders to draw her boneless body close, close enough to make her arch away in panic from the pressure of sheer animal virility.

  'Don't be shy,' he coaxed with a fine trace of asperity, 'It is only the first step that is troublesome. Just a few hours from now we will be man and wife—in such circumstances, who could condemn us for anticipating the pleasures we are due to start sharing for the rest of our lives?'

  His deep, forceful kiss had a scorching effect upon a body seduced by his persuasive lips into straw-doll flaccidity. Flame flickered, crackled, then razed, blazing an unrestricted trail towards unplumbed depths, burning down barricades guarding secret, hidden places, showering intensely sparking passion along its devouring path.

  Enjoy the day; seize the present opportunity, improve the time! Temptation to surrender completely to his wine-inflamed passion was running molten through Petra's veins. She strained nearer, revelling in the crush of his embrace, resting the palms of her hands against his powerful chest as she returned kiss for hungry kiss.

  'Hey, Sis, where's that meal you promised me?'

  The voice of sanity intruded as if from a long way away. She jerked rigid, but when she attempted to break free Stelios used his body as a shield to press her back against the wall of the alcove that was screening them from Gavin's sight.

  'Stay silent and he'll go away,' Stelios mouthed against her ear.

  But Gavin's shout had acted like water upon fire, dousing its flaming heart to charred embers, leaving just the slightly smouldering remains of a passionate holocaust.

  'Give me a few more minutes, Gavin!' she trembled, surprising Stelios into slackening his hold upon her trembling frame. Smartly, she ducked out of his arms, but was not more than a few hurried steps away when his hand descended upon her shoulder, jerking her to a standstill. Then she was scooped off her feet by arms that tightened with frustrated anger as Stelios carried her towards the door leading from the kitchen into the grounds.

  'Make yourself a meal if you want to eat,' he snarled across his shoulder towards her bewildered-looking brother. 'Given luck, you might choke on it!'

  Moonlight as bright as day allowed her to glimpse a muscle twitching angrily in his cheek as he strode with her into the courtyard. Desperately she wriggled, trying to fight her way out of arms determined to inflict punishment, then just as she was about to yell a protest the sound of voices drew her attention towards a crowd of amused spectators gathered around the seven giggling
young girls she had passed earlier that evening. They appeared to be inserting the last stitches into red ribbons sewn crosswise on to the corners of a newly made mattress, singing words that brought a stinging blush to Petra's already burning cheeks.

  Place the four crosses

  on to the four corners,

  To make the bride and her bridegroom

  lie in bed like lovebirds.'

  Viced between Stelios's arms and his rock-hard chest, she was forced to watch until the girls had finished dancing seven times around the nuptial mattress. They concluded the ceremony by crossing snow-white sheets over the mattress and spreading them flat before retreating to mingle with the crowd whose chatter had died into an expectant hush.

  Grim-faced and unsmiling, Stelios strode forward, then suddenly released his grasp so that she rolled down on to the mattress, turning over several times before coming to rest in a shocked, confused heap.

  'Bravo, thespinis!' The villagers applauded her dexterous execution of the fertility rite. 'Such a fine first roll across the bridal mattress indicates that the firstborn child of your marriage is almost bound to be a son!'

  Vexed and humiliated to the verge of tears, she sat with head bowed until the laughing crowd had dispersed, very conscious of Stelios's shadow looming large as a Colossus as he stood with legs astride, arms folded across his chest, savouring the vengeful satisfaction of knowing that she was feeling cheapened, as deprived of modesty as the notorious females who had walked the streets of ancient Greece wearing sandals that had left imprinted in the dust the shameless invitation: 'Follow me!'

  CHAPTER NINE

  Proof that her wedding was to be a gay, noisy, far-from-solemn affair was provided as soon as Petra awoke the following morning. Male voices spilling through a nearby window were singing improvised verses in honour of the bride and groom, some amusing, others raunchy, but all rendered with the same lusty vigour as they had been the night before. Drowsily, she struggled upright, confused by the din made even noisier by Pini's determination to participate, showing his ability to judge when something unusual was afoot by trilling an enthusiastic welcome to early morning sunshine glistening across the wires of his golden cage.