by Anne Hampson
'You—you aren't attracted to her, are you?'
'I'm attracted to you and always will be.'
'But I'm married!'
'Marriages can be terminated. Odette says it's simple.'
'What makes you suppose I should want my marriage terminated?'
'I believe you still care for me,' he returned seriously.
'It's too late,' she quivered, torn suddenly by the bleakness of his expression. 'Oh, Kelvin, what made you do it?' She felt almost distraught and wished she had not come here. The atmosphere, the knowledge of being in the abode of ancient gods and heroes, the setting and the sanctity… She turned to him and placed her hand upon his arm. 'It really is too late, Kelvin,' she whispered brokenly. 'I'm married and that's the end of it.'
'We'll see,' was his grim rejoinder. 'You love me and I love you and so we ought to do something about getting together again—and this time,' he said, bending and kissing her quivering lips, 'it'll be for keeps. I've learned the lesson of my life, Martine, and from now on you can put your full trust in my integrity.'
Chapter Five
Martine stood on the terrace looking down at the couple standing on the bank of the river and her eyes narrowed. It was Kelvin and Odette, standing close as if in intimate conversation.
She turned as her husband joined her; she saw his glance dart to the Sanctuary, knew he, too, had seen the couple by the river—the River Cladeos after which the villa was named.
He began to frown and his mouth went tight. 'It would seem that your ex-fiancé is consoling himself already,' he remarked, nothing in his tone to reveal what was in his mind. 'Did you know he was acquainted with Odette?'
Was Luke jealous? wondered Martine with a tinge of dejection.
'He mentioned it yesterday—'
'You were with him yesterday!' sharply and with a swift gleam of anger in his eyes.
'We came across one another on the site,' she answered, keeping her voice steady even while her heart was beginning to beat a little faster than normal. 'Odette told him why you married me.'
A sneer molded Luke's underlip, but he made no reference to what Martine had said. 'I told you not to see Kelvin again.' He regarded his wife sternly. 'My wishes are not to be ignored, Martine. You must learn that when I say a thing I mean it.'
Her chin lifted. 'I won't be dictated to, Luke! There is no harm in my talking to Kelvin.'
'Perhaps not,' tersely but still with that authoritative inflection. 'I was not speaking about harm but about my wishes. You will keep away from this man; do you understand?'
'No, I do not understand!'
'You're defying me?'
She swallowed, angry that her heart was now almost racing. He could scare her, this dark Greek whom she had married with such impulsive haste. Nevertheless, she adopted a brave mien as she said, looking directly at him, 'I did not take on a master when I married you—'
'But you did,' was the smoothly-spoken interruption. 'In Greece, the husband is the master. The sooner you accept this the better it will be for you.'
She paled with anger. To be spoken to like this! She wanted to hit him, wanted to convince him in some way that he could not domineer over her because she was English, not one of his meek and docile countrywomen whose lot it was to be servile all their lives. But she did and said nothing, because Luke was occupied all at once by the couple below, his whole attention caught, and as she followed the direction of his gaze she saw that the couple were shaking hands, as if sealing a bargain…
Luke startled her by saying, suspicion and curiosity affecting the depth and tone of his voice, 'I wonder what those two are up to? It savours of a conspiracy.'
'That's exactly the impression I had—' Mar-tine pulled herself up abruptly, not having meant to voice her opinion like that.
Luke turned to stare down into her face. 'Have you any ideas, then?' he wanted to know.
She shook her head. 'None. I think perhaps we are imagining things.'
'Perhaps,' he agreed but there was that in his tone which convinced Martine that his suspicions were still there.
'I think I'll go in,' she murmured.
'This matter of your seeing Kelvin,' he said, before she could move. 'I meant what I said, Martine.'
'He'll be gone soon.' She recalled her feelings of yesterday and wondered if she would miss Kelvin when he left. She was very conscious of the fact that there was a spiritual aspect to her love for Kelvin, and already she was beginning to realise that marriage without it lacked something so vital that doubts were slowly creeping into her mind. She threw them off, hoping they would not recur. But they did, faintly at present but she suspected those doubts would increase in strength until they had an adverse affect on her relationship with her husband.
'Meanwhile,' said Luke firmly, 'you will obey my orders and not see him again.'
'Orders!' she blazed.
'It would seem that an order is necessary.'
'It will be disobeyed!'
'At your peril.' There was a merciless quality about him which impelled Martine to raise a barrier of caution, much to her chagrin.
'Shall we let the matter drop, Luke? It's unlikely that Kelvin and I shall run across one another very often. He works in his room most of the time.'
'He works on the site almost every day.'
Had Luke been watching for him? Martine dismissed the idea, feeling it was more likely that Luke had merely noticed Kelvin wandering in the Sanctuary, for he went early, before the tourists invaded with their multi-lingual guides, their cameras and their orange peel.
'I don't feel like keeping off the site,' she said. 'It draws me with its atmosphere of bygone splendour, its setting and the perfect peace I feel when I wander about among the ruins. The ancient Greeks certainly knew how to choose their locations.'
He nodded, catching her mood as his eyes roamed to the site again. The couple had disappeared and there was no one on the river's edge. Martine could almost smell the perfume of the oleanders flourishing on the banks, hear the drone of the cicadas, the sweet tinkling of sheep and goat bells from the lush green foothills of the mountains.
'You like it here?' Luke barred her way when she would have moved.
'The place? I adore it.'
'You've no regrets?' His black eyes wandered to the place where the couple had stood and she knew instinctively that his mind was on Kelvin, not Odette.
'Not… really.'
'Why the hesitation?' His voice was suddenly harsh.
'I feel that I might have regrets later—' She stopped. 'I don't want to talk about it,' she added and, brushing past him, she ran into the house and up to her room.
Kelvin and Odette… Martine bit her lip. A conspiracy… No, there could not be anything like that between them. It was something else, perhaps more intimate. But only yesterday Kelvin had denied feeling anything for Odette… Nevertheless Martine knew a stab of jealousy, and felt she must see Kelvin as soon as possible.
She stiffened as the door between her room and Luke's swung inwards. 'I promised to take you to Mykonos,' he said without preamble. 'We'll go tomorrow.'
'This is sudden.'
'We haven't had a honeymoon.'
She looked at him suspiciously. 'You want to get me away from Kelvin, don't you?'
His mouth compressed; he came towards her. 'I have no need to "get you away" as you term it. My word is law and you'll regard it!'
'And if I don't?' The colour had drained from her cheeks and her nerves tensed as she waited for him to speak.
'You might or might not know that in Greece a man is allowed to beat his wife.'
'You'd not beat me,' she returned but her confidence was feigned, the result of assumed bravado rather than defiance.
'Don't try me too hard,' he advised. 'I'm not over-endowed with patience.' He was close; she felt instinctively that he was inhaling the heady yet delicate aroma of the perfume she wore. A sense of expectancy invaded her as she lifted her face to scrutinise his expression. 'No
, don't try me too hard,' he said again. 'I wouldn't want to do anything to max the very satisfactory relationship we have.'
His hands caught hers and she was brought close, her breath coming swiftly as the blood surged to her heart. How easily his magnetism could affect her! He had said she was putty in his hands and she had to agree that he was right. His mouth come down, possessing hers in a long and ardent kiss that left her gasping for breath. His hands moved slowly from her waist down her spine and her senses quickened with the warmth of perception. He was going to make love to her.
She made no attempt to fight him; on the contrary, every erotic nerve in her body became affected by the exquisite prompting of his hands. They created a delicious invigoration within her; she was invaded by his ardour as he possessed her curves, curling his fingers in sensual readiness to take the weight of her body. When he lifted her she let her head fall on to his shoulder, taking a passive delight in what he was doing to her. He stood her by the bed and unbuttoned her blouse, pausing then to caress her breasts through the fine lace of their scanty covering.
His face was close, his breath cool and clean on her cheek. 'Just you remember, always, that you are mine,' he said almost harshly and lifted her on to the bed.
It was evening when they arrived on Mykonos. They came by ferry from Piraeus, having spent the previous night in Athens. A small caique had landed them not far from their hotel, the Leto, where their room had a wonderful view of the harbour and the dark waters of the Aegean Sea. Martine's first impression was of gleaming white cubic houses and equally immaculate churches, of windmills which used to turn in the breeze—the meltimi—'wind of the islands'. Only one mill was in use now, Luke had told her.
After dinner they strolled on the waterfront and Martine listened with rapt attention as her husband explained the mythology of the island.
'It's supposed to be the rock tomb of one of the victims of Herakles, and the body of Ajax the smaller was also buried here.'
'It all sounds so true,' she said with a wry smile. 'I can't always take it in that it is pure fiction.'
'To the ancient Greeks it wasn't fiction.'
'Their lives were ruled by the gods, weren't they?'
He nodded. 'Just as, today, the lives of the Balinese peoples—and lots of others—are ruled by the gods.'
'Man seems always to have had something to believe in, to cling to.'
Luke nodded his agreement but said nothing. The stroll was slow and companionable, with Martine's hand in his and her slender body close. After awhile they came to a taverna where several men were dancing to the strains of a bouzouki band and Luke stopped.
'Would you like a drink?' he asked and Martine instantly agreed. They went in and were shown to a table where they could enjoy the spectacle of the dancing. Luke had Turkish coffee in a minute cup, along with the inevitable glass of iced water, while Martine drank lemonade. Others around them were drinking ouzo, along with plates of mezedes—bits of smoked octopus and olives and diced cucumber. The atmosphere was light and casual, the Mykoniats smiling periodically at the tourists who came in, smiling encouragement, Luke remarked, amused.
'The people of this island especially like the tourists. They'll do anything for them.'
'They bring money to the island.'
'It was not so long ago that this place was the most notorious of the Cyclades. It was the favoured haunt of the jet set and bathing in the nude was common. Also, there was much indecent dress, but things have improved and the nudists keep to the official naturalist beaches.'
Martine coloured as he spoke, feeling she would rather die than bathe in the nude. Watching her in some amusement Luke said with a laugh, 'We are living in modern times, my dear.'
'All the same…' Her eyes glittered with a challenge. 'All the same, you'd not like me to—to swim with nothing on.'
'Not like it?' with a swift lift of his brows. 'I'd never allow it.' He looked at her, his chiselled mouth taut and hard.
She would like to have found some fitting retort but as none came she changed the subject, asking him about the tiny island of Delos which they were to visit on the morrow, leaving the pier in a caique at nine o'clock.
'Tell me about the mythology,' she urged.
He smiled then and the grim inflexibility of his mouth relaxed. 'It began, as so many of the Greek legends began, with the amorous exploits of that most lusty of all gods, Zeus—'
'Of course,' she broke in, laughing. 'He had been chasing some reluctant maiden—as usual?'
'Asteria, who ran from him, adopting the form of a quail. So Zeus became an eagle. But Asteria turned into a rock and fell into the sea. This rock was called Adelos, which means the Invisible One, and it moved about just beneath the surface for a long time. Meanwhile Zeus pursued her sister, Leto, taking on the form of a swan— What are you laughing at?'
'Nothing! I love it! Carry on!'
'Up loomed the inevitable Hera, Zeus's wife— who always did loom up, to spoil things.' It was Luke who was laughing now while Martine frowned her impatience as she waited for him to continue. 'Hera told Mother Earth to prevent the tragic Leto from having her offspring anywhere on earth, and so Leto became a wanderer, unable to give birth because all places feared the wrath of Hera.'
He paused a moment, as if in thought, and Martine said, 'What about Zeus? He was all-powerful, so why didn't he help her?'
'Ah, yes! As a matter of fact, he did, by asking his brother to do something, which Poseidon did, anchoring the isle of Adelos with four diamond columns. So Adelos the Invisible became Delos the Visible.
'An enchanting story,' sighed Martine. 'Oh, but I adore these tales of ancient Greece. Leto had her child on the island of Delos, then?'
'Twins,' corrected Luke with a smile. 'First came the female, the goddess Artemis, patron of the hunt and goddess of virginity. Nine days later Apollo the Sun god was born and a great light shone over the isle of Delos.'
'So Delos, like Delphi, became involved with the cult of Apollo?'
'That's right.'
'I'm going to enjoy our trip tomorrow!' Mar-tine's thought went to Kelvin, whom she knew would love to include Delos in his book. She must mention it to him when next she saw him. She had been pondering the possibility of doing his typing for him and when, later, Luke said he would be away in Athens for a couple of days the following week she decided this would give her the opportunity she wanted.
Delos proved to be all she had imagined, and much more. Once the rather rough two-mile journey by caique had been made, the harbour was calm, the island opening out like a fan rising to a rocky peak which gleamed bright in the sun. The ghost of a Roman city was evident in the rows of broken columns near the harbour. Freed Roman slaves once lived here, Luke told her. The road to the Sanctuary of Apollo—the Sacred Way—had in ancient times been lined with glorious statues but, sadly, there was only scant evidence left—fragments of the lovely columns where dozens of giant lizards basked in the warm sun, their bodies stock still, their senses alert to danger so that when anyone came too close they were off like a shot.
'The gateway to this Sanctuary was built of white marble,' a guide was saying quietly. 'It dates from two centuries before Christ.'
There were three Temples to Apollo, built at different times. There was the Tomb of the Virgins—maidens who assisted Leto in the birth of her twins; there was the Temple of Leto herself, and numerous other intriguing temples and of course the Stadium and Gymnasium found on most ancient sites of this kind. All were in ruins, with poppies galore spreading vivid colour among the crevices and between the fallen and broken columns.
In the one-time residential quarters the impressive House of the Dolphins and the House of the Masks were to be seen, with wells or cisterns beneath the floor, and often sewage systems.
'They were so artistic, weren't they?' Martine was staring down at the lovely mosaics covering one floor in the House of the Dolphins where cupids rode on the dolphins' backs, holding symbols alluding to various go
ds—the trident for Poseidon, god of the sea, the thyrsus for Dionysos, and another which had been destroyed and so was not identifiable.
'The Greeks are still artistic.'
'Not as much as they were in ancient times.'
'The craftsmen then had more time at their disposal, I expect.'
The House of the Masks was especially rich in mosaics and Martine and Luke stayed a long while enjoying the rich representations of amphorae, palm trees, birds and rosettes, a dancer and a flute player, the god Dionysos riding on a panther and, of course, the grandeur of the Masks after which the house was named. Moving on, they came to the Theatre, where over five thousand spectators could be accommodated, giving some idea of the tiny island's population in those far-off days.
The House of the Trident was another beautiful attraction for the tourists who had come, along with Martine and Luke, in the caique.
'It obviously had a rich owner,' Martine observed, her rapt attention on the wondrous mosaic where a Panathenaic Amphora was depicted. Painted upon it was the figure of a chariot, while adorning it were a palm tree and a wreath of olive leaves.
'These mean that the owner's family had won a victory, or victories in the Panathenaic Games.' Luke pointed to the wreath especially. 'Often the wreath was of laurel leaves.'
'And that was the only prize?'
He nodded. 'The glory of winning was considered sufficient without any valuable reward.'
'They had high ideals.'
He shrugged his shoulders, smiling faintly. 'They had no compunction about killing one another once the Games were over. Don't forget, the tribes of ancient Greece were no different from the nations of the world today. They had a thirst for war.'
'It's hard to understand. I mean, they were so devout.'
'In their pagan way, yes, they were,' he agreed, taking her arm and moving away towards the House of Dionysos, where lovely wall carvings had been preserved for many centuries. They depicted mainly triremes. The mosaic showing the winged Dionysos riding a tiger was so lovely that Martine, used though she now was to the beauty, gave a little gasp of admiration. 'What a lovely variety of stones they used! Just look at the different colours!'