The kapetan stepped across the room and sat in the velvet chair. Alex was reminded of his audience a few weeks earlier with Petrobey. The men were similar in their straightforward manner, but Alex didn’t sense the same openness in Kapetan Karahalios.
Alex glanced at Dino, then walked to the sitting area, choosing a wooden chair with a seat a bit higher than the kapetan’s. He needed every advantage he could get. Alex leaned forward, resting the book on his knee and bracing himself for the burst of pain from his thighs. “You said you know why I am here.”
Kapetan Karahalios folded his arms across his chest and stretched his legs out in front of him. He crossed one stocking-covered ankle over the other, the pom-pom on his shoe bouncing as he moved. “Obviously you seek support for a rebellion. Why else would an educated Phanariot dress as a peasant and trek through the mountain to the klepht camp?” He scowled and pressed his fingers against his cheek. “This is not the first group who has tried to organize an uprising.”
“This time it will be successful.”
He reached for the book. “You are familiar with the fables. Look what happened to the goat when he did not think before jumping into the water. We are wary. Our forces have been weakened, and our great leader, Kapetan Zaharias, murdered. The klephts trust only ourselves.”
“And you are opposed to joining with others who share your goals? Kolkotronis himself believes in our cause.”
The kapetan brushed his fingers over the book cover. “Petrobey no doubt has been taken in, which is why the Mavromichaleis are here with you.” He jerked his head toward Dino and Themis. “The bey is wise, Kolkotronis is great, but in this case, I do not agree.” Alex opened his mouth to speak, but the captain shook his head. “Do not waste your time trying to persuade me. The klephts have hidden in these hills for hundreds of years. Already we fight this battle. We do not need leaders from afar to direct us.”
Alex felt a wave of frustration but kept his voice calm. “Yes, I understand. But we need you. A coordinated uprising, instead of the small, erratic—”
Kapetan Karahalios sat up straight. “And you think you’re the one to lead us?”
Alex was startled by the anger in the man’s voice. “No. I am but an emissary. I seek only your allegiance.”
The kapetan scrutinized Alex with squinting eyes. He blinked, appearing as though he made up his mind. “Come, I will show you the camp.” He pressed his palm against his cheek as he stood and stomped toward the exit. “Private, feed the Mavromichaleis and show them the training grounds.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alex glanced toward the Maniots. Themis’s lip was twisted in a sneer that showed his pleasure in seeing Alex on the losing side of an argument. Dino’s face betrayed nothing. In his typical fashion, he seemed to be considering what he heard instead of voicing an opinion. Obviously neither would jump to Alex’s assistance. He wondered why they had agreed to accompany him in the first place. Most likely because Petrobey asked them. And perhaps they were curious to see firsthand the legendary secret klepht training ground. Alex certainly was.
Private Gerontis caught his gaze as Alex passed, then looked away quickly, but not before Alex saw the indecision in the young man’s eyes. The worry that perhaps his leader was not making the correct decision. Alex wondered how many others would side with him if their alliance was not pledged to the kapetan.
Stepping into the sunlight, Alex squinted. The valley he’d seen in darkness the night before had come to life. Klephts, wearing their white kilts and red hats, drilled in the different areas of the camp.
In the sunlight, he saw the kapetan’s cheek was swollen. His mouth hung slightly open, and the gums inside were inflamed. Few pains were as intense as a diseased tooth. Alex wondered if the man’s ill temper were a result of his infection.
Kapetan Karahalios led him toward a group engaged in hand-to-hand combat. The men and boys grunted as they wrestled against each other. The crack of well-aimed blows, grunts of pain, and blood flowing from more than one young man’s nose indicated the training was not simply play-acting.
They continued past rows of tents to a shooting range. At one end of the long, flat area, straw dummies were dressed in the bright uniforms and extravagant hats of Turkish soldiers. Klephts stood and knelt, some bracing their weapons on boulders as they took aim and, at the command of their trainer, fired.
Alex pressed his hands to his ears just in time, as the report and echo of gunshots filled the valley. His ears rang, and he shook his head to clear it. The figures at the end of the range lost limbs in a blast of straw. One turban-styled hat blew apart, and the men cheered.
Kapetan Karahalios crossed his arms and nodded as he watched the men hurry to right the dummies and prepare to fire again.
Scanning their weapons, Alex saw few of the klephts carried rifles; most had well-used muskets that he knew were inaccurate and difficult to aim. They would benefit from the British weapons in the hull of the ship heading toward Limeni. If only their kapetan would be convinced.
They approached Lieutenant Markos, who nodded, then barked orders at a group of young boys who were running in place. At the far end of the camp, men lifted heavy logs to build muscles and threw javelins to practice their aim. Some trained with swords and curved knives. The well-ordered camp was filled with the sounds of grunts, gunshots, clashing blades, and leaders calling orders.
Alex saw Dino and Themis studying the sword training with thoughtful expressions. Occasionally one would point out something, but they seemed content to watch.
The kapetan stopped on a rise overseeing the wide mountain valley. He lifted his chin, and his chest swelled as he inhaled a breath. His head dipped in a barely perceptible nod as his gaze traveled over the camp. “We have soldiers as young as nine going on raids. All the men train seven days a week—strenuously. The borders of Logastras are well-guarded and secure. This camp makes boys into warriors, Mr. Metaxas. They are prepared to fight to the death for Greece.” He lifted Alex’s hand and placed into it the book he still carried. “But you are not.”
“I do not seek to lead your men, Kapetan. Nor do those who sent me. We seek to unite—”
Kapetan Karahalios fixed Alex with a glare, and he stopped speaking, knowing his words were fruitless. He blew out a breath through his nose. “Very well, kapetan. Thank you for your time. I do hope you’ll reconsider.”
He held out the book of fables.
Kapetan Karahalios shook his head and pushed the book back toward Alex. “Keep it. Few here can read. And those who can have no use for fairy tales.”
Alex knew the man meant his words to be an insult. The kapetan considered him to be no more than a soft-handed, city-dwelling scholar with big ideas but no concept of the actuality of war. He would not listen to a man like Alex. Perhaps if a warrior like Heracles or Achilles pleaded his case, Kapetan Karahalios would be convinced.
He ran his fingers over the scrolling design on the leather cover. “Kapetan, more than muscles and weapons are required to win a battle.” He held the man’s gaze as he tapped the book. “The mighty lion learned this lesson from a small mouse.”
Kapetan Karahalios’s eyes narrowed, and he placed his hand on the curved knife at his waist.
Alex felt a surge of fear but knew that was precisely the reaction the kapetan was hoping for. He maintained eye contact and kept his expression from showing any strain, even though he was sure the man could hear his heart pounding.
The kapetan pulled his gaze away and called to Lieutenant Markos.
The lieutenant stepped toward him.
“The visitors will leave now. Take them as far as Kalamata. They can find their way from there.” He turned and strode toward the cave without giving them a second glance.
Alex saw his hand go to his swollen jaw and knew the kapetan did not want the others to know his tooth was hurting.
Lieutenant Markos watched his kapetan depart. “Come, if we walk swiftly, we will reach Kalamata by nightfall.” He star
ted off but turned back. He glanced once at the cave’s entrance. “Kapetan Karahalios is an honorable leader. He is simply cautious. After Zaharias’s murder, we all are.”
“I understand.” Although sickening disappointment churned in Alex’s stomach, he spoke the truth. He did understand. Zaharias Barbitsiotis had united the klepht bands, turning them into an effective military force. He had been a fearless leader who’d pledged never to surrender until the Turks were driven from the Peloponnese, and his assassination had been a blow to the freedom fighters’ morale. “I wish it were otherwise,” Alex said.
Lieutenant Markos nodded once, then led Alex across the valley to where Private Gerontis stood talking to Themis and Dino. “Private, fetch the visitors’ things. We leave immediately.” Private Gerontis hurried to the cave, and the lieutenant started toward the path that led from the valley.
Dino and Themis turned to Alex with brows raised in surprise. If Alex hadn’t been so frustrated, he would have found their expressions comical.
“That was fast,” Themis said, his lip curling. “It took only an hour for the kapetan to realize what I’ve been saying from the start.”
Dino made a grunting noise that sounded like a combination of clearing his throat and a growl. “Petrobey believes in this.” His voice was low and threatening. “And so we believe.”
“I envy your blind devotion, cousin.” Themis turned away.
Dino’s hand shot out, grabbing onto his cousin’s arm. “I trust my father. I am loyal to my clan. That is not blind devotion; it is honor.” Releasing his grip, he walked in the direction of Lieutenant Markos.
Themis glared at Alex, then stormed after his cousin.
The trek to Kalamata was silent. Alex spent the hours analyzing his meeting with the kapetan from every angle. What could he have done differently? He imagined the disappointment in Xánthos’s face. How did one win over a man like Kapetan Karahalios? He respected men of strength, warriors, men who proved themselves on the battlefield. Alex clenched his jaw—frustrated at his failure.
And though he did not want to admit it, Themis’s words had left him unsettled. He’d known when he set out from Constantinople that he would make enemies, but dealing with the reality was harder than he’d expected. I am not here to form friendships. The thought did not ease his mind.
The group arrived in Kalamata just after dark. The town was larger than Tsímova, with shops and eateries around a center square.
Alex noticed the klephts attracted a few wary glances, but most of the townsfolk simply greeted them as they passed.
“Follow the coast.” Lieutenant Markos jerked his chin in the direction of the road. “The journey will take perhaps seven hours—six, if you maintain a good pace.” He bowed his head and motioned for the private to retreat.
The thought of walking another six or seven hours produced a wave of exhaustion that nearly made Alex’s knees buckle. “We will rest here for a few hours. Lieutenant, Private, please, join us for supper.” Alex motioned toward a crowded taverna with tables in the courtyard beneath a canopy.
Lieutenant Markos hesitated. He glanced at the taverna and then at the dark hills ahead.
“Please. You will be my guest. It is the least I can do for your time and effort.”
The lieutenant dipped his chin in a nod. “Thank you.”
Alex smiled, relieved at the idea of sitting in a chair and eating something other than porridge and dried mutton. His eyes traveled up the street, and he paused when he saw an apothecary shop. “I will meet you there in a moment,” he said.
A few moments later, he joined the group at a table in a quiet corner of the patio. He smiled as he slipped into an empty chair, remembering a similar situation a few weeks earlier. The memories of meeting Miss Diana Snow were far more pleasant than sitting with four exhausted, dirty men.
A basket of flatbread sat in the middle of the table. He noticed the men had already ordered drinks, and he lifted a glass, taking a sip of the strong-smelling raki. “For your kapetan.” He set a small dark bottle on the table in front of Lieutenant Markos.
“What is it?”
“Myrrh oil. It decreases mouth pain and reduces swelling.”
Lieutenant Markos lifted the bottle and held it up to a lantern, peering through the dark glass as he shook it. “This will not change his mind.”
Alex felt his neck redden and avoided looking in Themis’s direction. “I know.”
The lieutenant shrugged and slid the bottle into his knapsack. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when a young man approached their table.
The stranger bowed his head in a greeting. “I want to join the klephts. Please take me with you.”
Lieutenant Markos’s brows lifted. “What is your name?”
“Iason Solomos.”
Iason wore clothing typical of any peasant in Laconia. Alex noticed a crisscross of scars on his forearms, possibly from working with a harvest blade in the fields. But something about the boy’s manner seemed off.
“I am Lieutenant Markos, and this is Private Gerontis. How old are you, Iason?”
“Thirteen, sir.”
Alex glanced down at Iason’s shoes and saw, instead of sturdy work boots, leather slippers with a pointed toe.
“And why do you wish to join the klephts?” Lieutenant Markos said.
“To fight the Turks.”
Alex tried to place the boy’s strange accent. He was Greek, but something about his pronunciation was wrong.
The lieutenant motioned “Let me guess. The Turks killed a family member and you seek revenge.”
The boy’s eyes slid to the side as he lowered his head. “Yes sir. My father. I want to become a warrior.”
Themis leaned close to Dino and whispered something in his ear.
“Many freedom fighters have the same story, Iason. They arrive, filled with a thirst for revenge, but soon the difficult training takes its toll. You would work hard every day with very little rest, building muscles and endurance, and training with weapons. It will not be easy.”
“I can do it, sir. Will you take me to your camp and teach me to fight?”
Lieutenant Markos took a sip of raki. “Yes. We leave in an hour.”
The corner of Iason’s mouth pulled as he glanced toward the road. “I must retrieve my things.”
“Meet us at the well in the town square.”
“Thank you, sir.” The boy departed with a smile on his face.
“A brave lad,” Themis said. “His story is tragic.”
Alex tore off a section of flatbread. “He lies.”
The lieutenant blinked, raising his brows and turning to Alex. “How do you know?”
“He is a spy. I suspect a Janissary.”
Themis snorted and took a drink.
“Did you see his shoes?” Alex asked. “His arms are battle-scarred. And listen to his accent. He is educated, but not in Greece.”
The men exchanged glances, and Alex saw the truth dawn on them.
“So young,” Private Georonitis said. “Why would he . . . ?”
“Can you think of no reason the Turks would want a man inside your camp?” Alex said. “To warn them of your plans, perhaps, or to study your defenses, discover the weaknesses. I would not be surprised if they seek to do away with Logastra Training Camp altogether.”
“But even if he communicated with the enemy, our lookouts would see an army approach from miles away.” Private Gerontis’s voice grew louder, and his face was turning red.
“A small group with inside information could do an enormous amount of damage if they caught you by surprise.”
The private slammed his glass down on the table. “We should kill him, Lieutenant. As soon as we’re out of town—”
Lieutenant Markos turned to Alex, his voice calm. “What do you suggest? How do we handle the spy?”
Alex was surprised by the lieutenant’s question. He glanced at the others and saw Dino and Themis watched him with interest, waiting for his r
eply. Private Gerontis’s jaw was tight. “I suggest you watch him closely,” Alex said. “Take him to camp, let him believe he has your trust. But if he sneaks off alone, follow. You’ll discover the truth soon enough. And you will have the advantage.”
The lieutenant nodded slowly. “It is good advice. I will tell the kapetan of your suspicions. And give him the myrrh.”
Alex waved to the serving woman. “Now, enough talk. Let’s eat.”
[
The next morning as the trio walked toward Limeni, Alex caught sight of a large spiderweb between two trees. He grinned at the memory of Diana’s warning and at the thought of seeing her again. She was such a complicated woman, prim and reserved, nearly rude, and he should want nothing to do with her. She had certainly given him no indication that she was interested in his company.
But he’d caught glimpses of something beneath her detached exterior. Something she tried to keep hidden, but at times, bits of it shone through. She was afraid of allowing anyone to see the real woman beneath her mask, of revealing any emotion that would make her vulnerable, and Alex felt an ache to know why.
“Why are you smiling?”
Alex glanced to the side and saw Themis walked next to him.
“I can read your face as easily as you read the young Janissary’s. You are thinking of a woman.”
“I cannot deny it.” Alex’s grin widened.
“You better pray she is not related to me,” Themis muttered.
Chapter 12
A keening shriek that turned into a wail pierced the quiet of the waking village.
Diana’s heart froze, and the hair at the nape of her neck stood on end. She nearly spilled the pail of milk all over the garden as she whipped around, trying to determine the source of the noise.
Elena calmly set down the basket of eggs and made the sign of the cross.
“Elena, what—”
“Costas Sássaris is dead.” Elena held open the door to the house and bowed her head. “It is a day of mourning.”
As a child Diana had not been a stranger to death, but funerals were for those with families. The loss of an orphan was not mourned by the directors of St. Luke, Chelsea. It was simply one less mouth to feed and, in the crowded institution, hardly worthy of notice, except by a few friends and, of course, the Reverend Delaney.
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