The Tomb of Zeus

by Barbara Cleverly

  “It won't take a second—”

  “It's not a pretty sight! Go! Now!”

  “I have to warn you…about the goings-on in this household.”

  He'd managed to find the only words which would have held her back from ejecting him bodily from her room. Letty could never resist—even in an irritable and exhausted state—the hint of a scandal.

  “Leave the door open and stand within a foot of it in plain view of the corridor,” she told him. “If anyone approaches, you are to say you heard me scream and have dealt with the mouse I surprised under the bed. They do have mice in Crete?”

  “They have owls, so I suppose they have mice.”

  She took up a position ten feet away from him. “Yes?” she prompted.

  “Letty—you are to trust no one in this house,” he answered in a melodramatic murmur.

  “Can't say I was intending to. But you're going to have to speak up, William, if you're intent on playing the Sybil, delivering awful warnings.” She found herself whispering in response to his urgency. “And perhaps you'd like to explain why you waited five minutes after my scream to come to my rescue?” she said, raising her voice slightly. She would not be party to his games.

  “I listened at the door, heard you talking to Eleni, and lurked in the bathroom next door until she'd left.”

  Letty sighed. “She frightened the life out of me! Does she normally creep about trying on guests' jewellery and fancying herself as Helen of Troy?”

  “Eleni doesn't creep anywhere,” corrected Gunning. He thought for a moment. “She glides. In her way, she's the spirit of the house. Nothing happens in it without her knowledge; sometimes I even think—things happen at her instigation. Look, there's information you ought to have…”

  “I never took you for a gossip, William.”

  “I've been here for seven months. It took me a while to work out what's going on and I made some gaffes early on. I'd like to save you the trouble of making the same mistakes.”

  “You can fill in my race card, you're saying? A guide to the runners and riders of the House of Russell? Right, then—off you go.”

  “I wish you wouldn't be so flippant.”

  “Let's start with Eleni, shall we? What a figure! Straight out of the chorus of a Greek tragedy—a Maenad, would you say? Wouldn't much like to run into her on a mountainside! She'd shred you as soon as look at you! You'd never guess it to see her, eyes lowered, playing the servant, but with her voluminous pinny discarded, she's all bosom and swelling hips. She's actually beautiful, in a blood-chilling way.”

  “You omit to mention the neat waist in between,” he reminded her thoughtfully. “I had noticed and—I'll tell you—I'm not the only man to be aware of it.” He stirred uncomfortably, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  “Oh, do come in and shut the door. You've had a long day, I'm told. With a nasty surprise at the end of it. You may sit in that chair and rest your poor leg.” Letty knew all too well from experience that the discomfort of Gunning's war wound came and went as he exploited a situation. She pointed to the chair nearest the door and went to stand in front of him. “Now, what is this nonsense about trusting no one in this house?”

  “Eleni came to work here the year following the first Mrs. Russell's death.”

  “George's mother—Ilse, was it?”

  “That's right. Eleni was a girl of fifteen at the time…”

  “So she's only twenty-eight or so now?” said Letty.

  “And became…I've no idea at what stage…very…er…” He paused and cleared his throat, “close to the master of the house, if you take my meaning. And I believe—still is!”

  “Well, I never!” Letty was amused and dismissive. “So old Theo keeps a servant-mistress, does he? How very Edwardian! And now I see why you dislike him so much, William. No fun to be had by anyone within a hundred yards of Chaplain Gunning, is there?”

  “I don't judge people by their sexual peccadilloes or proclivities, Letty. You know that. You observe—rightly—that I have no fondness for the man, but my mistrust springs from quite a different source.”

  “But how did you ever find out? These things are usually discreetly managed.”

  “Well, I can't say a formal introduction was ever made. One day last summer, newly arrived and not knowing much, I was handed a message at the front door. It was for Eleni from her mother, who lives in a village down the coast. No one about, and the boy who brought it said it was quite urgent. I knew Eleni had rooms over the old coach house, so I set off weaving my way through the back quarters and across the courtyard, envelope in hand. But a kitchen maid spotted me and shouted at me through the window. She came hurrying out, wiping her hands on her apron, and asked where I was going. Bit of a cheek, I thought, but I explained. She snatched the message from me. ‘I'll take it,’ she insisted. Eleni was not to be disturbed, she informed me. Eleni, she added, was entertaining.

  “I was a bit mystified. Some below-stairs jamboree going on?

  Someone's birthday? No wonder I could find no one about. But there was something about the girl's manner…challenging, peremptory, but inwardly laughing at me…I was a bit miffed, to be honest—I hadn't then realised that Cretans, even the lowliest kitchen wench, look you in the eye and don't have the word ‘sub-servience’ in their vocabulary! So, I lurked—crossly!—and kept an eye on the girl to be quite certain she delivered the envelope. She climbed the outer stairs, pushed it under the door, and hurried away giggling to herself.

  “I thought no more of it. Strange Levantine ways, I decided. Until some weeks later when I'd got a bit of Greek together, I overheard two of the manservants gossiping.” Gunning was uncomfortable with this. “I say, Letty…not deliberately lurking, you understand, not on this occasion…I was in the square quietly sketching the Venetian elevation early one morning—the light was wonderful—and the two blokes came out to smoke a clandestine cigarette—Phoebe doesn't allow smoking in the house…she can't bear it. Not even Theo's allowed to light his pipe in the public rooms. In any event—neither man saw me. Their talk was too colloquial and too salacious for me to catch it all, but I did gather quite clearly that the housekeeper and the master were…um…bracketed together in a sexual equation,” he finished awkwardly.

  “How jolly uncomfortable! Ugh! Fancy being bracketed with Theo! Tell me: Do you think Phoebe knows what's going on under her roof?”

  “I've no proof and, of course, one can hardly enquire…but I have a feeling she does.”

  “Oh, poor Phoebe! No wonder she's so awfully skinny and nervy. Looks like a girl in a Dr. Williams' Pink Pills for Pale People advertisement…She's lovely but almost transparent. The ice blue dress she was wearing at dinner wasn't much help! And she just pushed her food around her plate. Did you notice? Do you suppose the hurt of her husband's deception is eating her away?”

  “It could be one reason why she hasn't the strength to retaliate when he puts on a humiliating performance like the one we've just been treated to.”

  “Hmm…Whom did he think he was impressing with his victimising of Phoebe over dinner just now? Why wasn't he firing a rocket at the footman who left the bottle on the table between courses? My father would have laughed, made a joke, and called for a fresh cloth and another bottle—of any vintage. He'd have reprimanded the servant later, perhaps. In private. And why did Phoebe marry such a man anyway?” Letty shuddered. “He's handsome enough, I suppose, but I think he's deeply unattractive. He's so much older than she is—he must be nearly fifty, wouldn't you say?”

  Gunning, all too conscious of his own advancing years, ignored this and said, “Something's gnawing at her, I'll agree, and it's grown more acute since she got back from Europe but—funnily—I don't think it's jealousy of Eleni. It's quite extraordinary, but they actually seem very easy together. And as to her reasons for marrying Theo…well, he leads a fascinating and involving life here, and he has many powerful and interesting friends. Phoebe plays hostess to some glittering people—cro
wned heads of Europe, stars of the silver screen, opera singers—they're all entertained here at the Europa. She has a diplomatic background—she's used to that sort of thing. And—though I recognise it's not your style, Letty—you who are known to appreciate the slim, cerebral type of man—some women do fall victim to that rather obviously masculine allure. She is herself a…” He hesitated, then finished firmly, “very feminine lady…warm, responsive, pliant, and loving.”

  “You mean she'd never be caught dead on a suffragette march or whacking someone over the head with a shovel? Well, you'd have to be—pliant, did you say?—to survive marriage to that man.” Letty recalled the man's callous treatment of his wife over dinner.

  “You're too hasty, Letty. I've seen some quite surprisingly eminent ladies fawning over Theo! Rather an embarrassing scene last autumn when the Countess of…sorry! I'm confirming your accusation of tittle-tattling! He has rather a barbaric beauty, in fact. Stick him in a red silk caftan, touch of kohl around the eyes, and he could understudy for Feodor Chaliapin playing Ivan the Terrible, don't you think?”

  “You don't mention his wealth?”

  He hesitated, reaching automatically in his indecision to tug at a moustache that had disappeared months before. “That's because I have no evidence that it exists. In fact I have evidence clearly to the contrary.”

  “More eavesdropping, William? You can hardly expect the man to make you privy to his bank accounts! He does pay you, I suppose? Well, then…Wait a moment,” said Letty, collecting her thoughts together through her fatigue. “Phoebe said something about…spending pots of Theo's money in Paris. Yes, she did. Rather dragged it into the conversation, I thought. Establishing that her husband isn't without a bob or two.”

  “That would be like Phoebe. She makes it her business to provide a respectable cover for the man…whatever his enterprise. She has a good deal of money of her own. She wouldn't need to spend his. But I'm not so sure about Theo. And I have this from his son, no less. Information openly confided! George is very…unworldly. He's not mesmerised by money as the rest of the world seems to be. He's aware of its uses and he spends whatever he can lay hands on, but it's not a god for him and it's not something to discuss in an undertone in corners as the rest of us do. He'll not try to disguise the cost of that dear little motorcar—”

  “He hasn't! I was shocked at his revelation!”

  “In any event, George confided in me—discussing the Great Work his father's about to launch—that Theo is funding the publishing of the book entirely out of his own pocket. He's been covering the costs of his archaeological work for years and you and I both know archaeology's an expensive business for an amateur. In this world, you have to make a splash if you're to get anywhere…and Theo has much to make up for. At least he'd see it that way.”

  “What do you mean? The man doesn't give the impression of inferiority of any sort.”

  “Perhaps not. But Theo is acutely conscious that his background lacks polish—he could have done with a better grounding in the classics had he only known that, relatively late in life, he was going to be bitten by the bug of excavation. Evans—the man he clearly sees as his rival—was fluent in ancient Greek and Persian from a very early age and inherited a fortune from both sides of the family. If you're perceived to be well off in this little world, public funds are simply not available to you, however deserving and important your project. Poor old Sir Arthur discovered this. Evans had to sell his collection of coins and seal stones last year to make ends meet, having spent the family fortune on Knossos over the years. He doesn't even own the site any longer—or the Villa Ariadne, did you know?”

  Letty nodded. “It was in the Times last year. With typical generosity, he made them both over to the British School in Athens. A grand gesture by a grand old man.”

  “Mmm…” said Gunning thoughtfully, “and the news burst on a grateful world one day before his court case came up before the judge at the Old Bailey!”

  “All a silly mistake, I'm sure,” retorted Letty briskly. “And it's grudging of you to bring it up.”

  “Come on! Evans was caught fair and square, hand in hand with a boy hawker in Hyde Park! The lad was seventeen and it wasn't apples he was hawking! Now—each to his own entertainment—but the timing of Evans's gift was interesting! But I make the point that excavation devours money. It demands tribute with the regular appetite of a Minotaur. Expenses have to be met—digging teams paid, officials bribed, artisans engaged…Have you any idea what Theo's paying me!”

  “More than your qualifications would justify, even if it's tuppence ha'penny,” she said bitterly, and instantly regretted her pettiness. “So—you're saying that this life Theo supports on the island may be due to the generosity of his wife?”

  “It could be. She inherited a fortune from her maternal grandmother before her marriage to Theo and another one from a doting old uncle last year.”

  “How do you know all this, William? Oh, don't tell me!” she added quickly. “You put on your confessional face and make sympathetic noises.”

  He grinned. “I can fool anyone but you, Letty. But I don't feel in the least bit guilty—Phoebe really needs someone to listen to her. Someone to be frivolous with. Someone to confide in. Though she's stubbornly loyal and I can only guess at her thoughts through her silences sometimes. I have the highest regard for her, Letty. She's a lovely girl. She could have chosen anyone. Theo can be charming, though he grows less so over time, I suspect. But five years ago, Phoebe married him and that, for me, silences all criticism. He was her choice and she's by no means a silly woman.”

  “The most intelligent of my sex are occasionally capable of making a disastrous error of judgement,” observed Letty lightly.

  He ignored her. “So—one has to conclude that she loves the old blighter and not only provides the wherewithal for his hobby but presents to the world the flummery that he is the one with the moneybags.”

  “Well, it seems to me that if what you say is true, all concerned are getting exactly what they want out of the situation,” said Letty. “I think you can come off watch, William, put your knitting away and stop worrying.”

  Gunning exclaimed with exasperation, “You silly girl! You walk headfirst into a hornets' nest and say: ‘What a pretty buzzing!’ There's something alive and growing here, something malicious, and I don't want you to be involved with it. You know what you're like, Letty! ‘Nasty, forward minx!’ You meddle. Tragedy follows you around, and you won't need to whistle to find it snapping at your heels in this house. I'm anxious for you, can't you understand that?”

  He held out his hands to her in some kind of appeal and, responding to words he had left unspoken, she moved forward to take them in hers.

  “William, I haven't forgotten your concerns for me last year. I'll always be grateful. Truly. But,” she squeezed his hands encouragingly and released them, “you're off duty now. Free of me. No need to worry.”

  “Listen, Letty. No—really listen! I want you to promise me to take up at once and with no argument the offer Theo will make you very shortly. Whatever it is and wherever it is—just go off and get on with it. He's got several excavations on the go all over the island, and if I read him right he'll pick out one of little importance for you—a site that you can't possibly make a mess of—and send you off to it with a map clutched in your hand. Just pack your trowel and go. Distance yourself.”

  Letty peered at him, searching his face in the glimmering candlelight. Why was he here, stirring up emotions she thought she had buried? This intrusion into her evening was trumped-up…unnecessary. And then the reason for his anxiety struck her. “Ah! What you're really trying to say is, ‘Stay out of my hair,’ isn't it? ‘Distance yourself from me.’ Well, that presents no difficulty, as far as I'm concerned, but there's something else, I'm guessing…Are you going to tell me what's troubling you, William?”

  “Not yet. No. I'm not about to voice suspicions that I can't back up with evidence. I'll just say, for the
moment, that I'm uneasy, and the source of my unease is the volatile nature of the relationships between the characters in this house. There's a sort of tense balance at the moment—a balance that could be broken by someone stepping in with a clumsy insouciance.”

  “Ah. Do I recognise myself entering, stage left?”

  “Sorry! You're actually a breath of fresh, familiar air and I welcome it. But I'm not sure the troubled souls that flit about this place can take the glare of your sunny common sense.”

  A banging door and the sound of laughter below alerted him. “The party's breaking up. I'll creep down the back stairs and make myself scarce.”

  He got to his feet and they stared at each other, unable to embark on further or deeper matters.

  “Remember the mouse if you get caught,” she whispered unnecessarily. “I'm quite certain I really did hear one earlier…scratching about somewhere…” She found she was not quite ready, at the last, to let him go.

  He opened the door, looking up and down the corridor, then turned to her, smiling. “I offer you a couple of lines I came across in Medea the other day: ‘A man and a woman working in harmony, together make an invincible stronghold.’ Good night, Letty.”

  “Good night, William. I'll see you on the battlements.”

  All the church bells of Herakleion were ringing out an imperious call to service on Sunday morning, as Letty guiltily stayed in Iher seat at the breakfast table and accepted a second cup of coffee. “Ignore them,” Phoebe had told her. “I'll take you to Evensong instead.”

  The second summons was not so easily ignored. Theodore required the students to attend him in the library immediately after breakfast. All three leapt up and set off at once, Letty following the boys along to a spacious room on the ground floor at the rear of the house. The doors were standing open on a large courtyard, green with citrus trees and roses, and dotted with classical statuary. It was to this scene, unexpected in the centre of the city, that Letty's gaze was drawn. She was quite certain that the marble figure she caught a glimpse of was Artemis the Virgin Huntress, almost life-sized and playfully half hidden behind foliage. She was entertained to see that the goddess's extended, booted left foot and, likewise, her arrow, were pointing directly across the garden at the smooth bosom of an Aphrodite. The target, all gleaming, over-abundant curves, was standing in a clear patch of sunlight, admiring herself in a looking glass, oblivious to the threat from her sister lurking behind the laurel. Between the two, mocking their grace, stood a squat, rough-carved stone image of Dionysos. The God of Wine, drunken mouth open and carelessly about to shout out a secret, leered madly, his wild hair tangled about a crown of vine leaves.