by Sewell, Ron
“He’s an amazing man,” said Takis. “I say the icons are his. Without him they would have remained hidden, or if found, sold by the Turks. Furthermore, he brought us back. He never gave up. I called him bossy boots but if I ever found myself in difficult circumstances, I’d trust him with my life. In my opinion, he’s earned the right to keep them.”
“You’re missing the point, Takis,” said Photis. “They belong to the church.”
Petros leaned nearer to the partly open door. There were at least three people in the kitchen. He turned to Maria. “What do you want me to do?”
“Your decision.”
He understood. An error of judgement on his part and no one wanted to tell him. The conversation stopped when Petros pushed the door wide. “Can anyone join the party?”
Maria held his hand as they entered. A silence fell over the room.
Uncle Photis stood. “Don’t stand there. Come in and sit with us. Coffee?”
“Will it make my head stop pounding?”
“No, but it’ll wash the rubbish from your mouth.” Uncle Photis cocked him an eye. “Maria?”
Petros and Maria walked across the kitchen and sat on the wooden chairs next to the table.
Everyone was there: his mother, Jack, Maria’s four brothers and Aunt Elini at the far end. With a steady stare she studied him.
“What do you want me to do?” said Petros.
“Our problem is,” said Photis, “you risked your life, along with the others, to recover them.” He paused in the act of pouring coffee. “You have four icons, as agreed with the bishop, your fee for collecting them.” He placed two steaming cups in front of Petros and Maria. “What could we say or do if you walked away with them?” His large brown eyes under grey brows appeared confused. “So we have to convince you that what you are doing is wrong. I believe life has its reasons for what it gives and takes away.”
Petros looked at his friends and family, before glancing at his watch. “It’s early in the morning to make decisions. For my part, I’d prefer not to talk money and buyers but there’s something I must explain.” He stirred his coffee. “I promised Maria’s brothers fifty thousand pounds if they helped me and they did. I keep my promises. George can keep both the modified trucks, I’m sure he’ll find a suitable use for them. Bear, my partner, expects payment and after crawling in a minefield, I don’t blame him. From what I overheard, you want me to give the icons back but you won’t stop me if I put them in my suitcase and fly home. We have an impasse.” He stood up, walked across the room and stared out of the window. Desperately he sought the answer to his own question.
Aunt Elini stood, her aged wooden chair scraping over the stone floor. From the kitchen cupboard she removed a large bottle of brandy and ten glasses. She placed them on the table, half-filled a glass and returned to her seat. Maria’s brothers helped themselves.
Takis turned towards him. “I enjoyed the quest and we got away with it. You can keep my fifty thousand. And if Bear wants to retire I’ll take his place tomorrow.”
Petros’s tone softened. “Thanks, Takis. If it becomes too much for the old man, I’ll consider your offer.”
Kyriacos, George and Andreas laughed loudly.
“Petros,” said Kyriacos, “I speak for us. We experienced a great journey. I think we discovered our strengths and Achille’s heels. More important, no one got hurt, except for a couple of Turks. You can keep the money. Take us out, buy us a meal and a few beers.”
“One problem solved. Two to go. Maria knows I don’t believe in God but the other day when that goatherd turned up ...” He shrugged. “Call it a miracle. Me, I don’t know. Maybe a higher being exists but there’s so much I don’t understand.” He put his head in his hands. “I’m tired and I’d sooner be in bed with my wife, sleeping, but the four icons I’d like placed in your village church, tonight. They’re not the property of anyone; they belong to the people who believe. Maria prayed there before we left. Tell no one. Consider it a change of heart or divine intervention, whatever.”
Uncle Photis gazed at Petros. “That’s good enough for me. I wouldn’t have believed it, but why?”
Petros raised his hand. “I don’t know. A little man kicking seven bells out of my head tells me it’s the right thing to do.”
“Sometimes the right thing is the best thing,” said Maria. “Let’s place them in the church together.”
He stared at his bare feet. “Warm clothes might be helpful.”
* * *
Petros and Maria dressed and in five minutes were ready. She put on a thick coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Elini and Zena kissed Petros and then Maria.
Holding the four icons, they stepped out into the night. A wild wind blew from the north, making it bitterly cold and whipping the heat from their bodies as they trudged up the steep incline towards the church. An anxious animal scampered through a bed of leaves at their approach. Maria held his arm until they reached the entrance.
She covered her head with the scarf, opened the door and led the way, kneeling while giving the sign of the cross. The wind circling the building and rattling branches in the nearby trees made a frightening noise. Candles flickered on the altar, imparting an eerie ambience to the interior. The reek of incense burnt the day before lingered on the air. Their footsteps echoed in the silence making it an intriguing experience.
Petros shivered. “Do they always leave the doors unlocked?”
“Why should we lock them? This is a house of God.”
“Thieves?”
“No Cypriot would steal from a church.”
“In England they’d steal everything that’s not bolted to the floor and even then they’d try. The lead from the church roof is always good for a few pounds. Now they take the poor box. It’s quicker.”
She frowned. “Then God will punish them.”
Petros gave her the four icons. Her hands shook when she positioned three of them on the floor next to the altar. With reverence, she lifted the icon of the Madonna and child. The eyes of the child stared at her. In the flickering candle light, they appeared to move. Positioning it on the altar, she crossed herself and prayed. For the moment, the woman kneeling became one with her surroundings.
“I’m happy they are home,” she said. Maria closed the church door and arm in arm they returned to the house.
Dawn crept over the eastern hills as they crawled back into bed. Outside it remained quiet. Petros lay listening to his wife breathing. He stayed awake, free to think of everything and nothing. He had made a promise to pay Bear and Maria’s brothers. In his opinion only death enabled you to break a promise. Unable to sleep, he lay there as the morning sky lightened.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next morning a cold front from the north covered the Island. Maria lay under the covers. “Why did you change your mind?”
Petros turned towards her. She raised her head so she could look into his eyes.
“No idea. You’re aware of my doubts on religion and what it can do to ordinary people. Wars have been fought and lost in the name of God. In the last Great War, vicars and others on both sides prayed for victory. What I find difficult to comprehend is that the German priests called upon the same God and believed they were right. My gut tells me I did the right thing. Now whether that makes it right, I’m not sure.
“In my business, I retrieve or collect valuable items for people who can afford it. The icons belong to real, living people, not the church, or the bishops. I couldn’t understand why those hundreds of religious artefacts were locked away in a dungeon. I’ve at least returned four to your village. I believe it’s where they can be appreciated.”
“What about Bear?”
“I’ll pay him.”
Maria lifted an eyebrow. “This visit cost you time and money.”
“Time, doesn’t matter. The money’s not a problem. I never knew what happiness was until we met.” He grinned. “Now I’ll never know.”
She punched him on t
he arm. “You bastard.”
“Am I?” He pulled her to him and held her close.
* * *
Maria drove Petros in her father’s truck to Paphos for his meeting with Bishop Protopapas.
A young, attractive female housekeeper ushered them into the lounge. “I’ll advise him you are here.”
In a flurry of black robes, the bishop came to greet them. “Petros, Maria. Are you recovered from your ordeal?”
“We are,” said Petros. “We survived and your icons are at Kykkos Monastery.”
“The Archbishop invited me to share and examine the icons. I thought there were more but my memory is not what it once was.”
“You’re not upset that we handed them over to the Archbishop?”
“On the contrary, everyone who matters is aware I asked you to recover them so my reputation in their eyes has grown. God in his infinite wisdom will guide them.
“I am deeply saddened by the actions of Nitsa. It doesn’t make any sense why a simple village girl is murdered.”
“How sure are you she did not inform the Turks?”
“Nitsa was as honest as the days are long. I believe that Pavlo persuaded her to travel to the north. She discovered at the cost of her life what his associates wanted from her. Overpowered, she submitted and suffered. Thankfully, her parents are no longer with us to grieve. I have made the arrangements for her burial.”
“Can’t say I agree, Bishop. Sadly, the girl’s dead. The truth died with her.”
* * *
Petros and Maria drew up and stopped at the house of Haris Dracos, Maria’s farm manager.
“Thought you might visit. Noticed the lights in your place last night,” said Haris. “Please, my home is yours.” He stood to one side as they entered. The kitchen and living rooms were spotless, and well furnished. They sat on the blue velvet settee.
“I return to England in a few days, Haris. I don’t know when I’ll be back,” said Maria. “At the moment you live here with your wife Sophie, rent free. I’m prepared to offer you a forty percent stake in my farm. Do you want it?”
Disbelief filled his face. “I cannot pay ten percent.”
“You haven’t answered my question. I need a trustworthy partner. I’ll legally give you forty percent. Do you want it?”
He turned ashen, his astonishment so great. “Well, yes. I’d be a fool to refuse your offer.”
Maria stood. “Good. My lawyer will draw up the necessary papers for you to sign, sometime in the next few days.”
“Perhaps a drink to seal the arrangement?”
“Next time. We’re in a hurry. Give my regards to Sophie.”
They shook hands and left Haris standing in his lounge somewhat bemused.
On their way home, Petros said, “First-class move, Maria. You gave him the incentive to work harder and earn you more money.”
Maria suppressed a smile. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? He’d better read the small print in the document. I regain full possession if he screws up.” She laughed. “Come on, you can drive faster than this.”
* * *
Cloud and rain rolled from the west as Takis drove Bear to the Masonic Headquarters in Limassol.
“The dams are overflowing this year. It’s good for the farmers,” muttered Takis as he blasted his horn at a motorist.
Takis stopped the L200 outside a modern office block. Bear stared out of the window through the pouring rain.
“The Masonic Headquarters of the Republic of Cyprus,” said Takis. “I’ll wait for you in that cafe across the street.”
“Thanks. I shouldn’t be too long.” He jumped out, turned, and removed two suitcases. A lesser man might have struggled with their weight as he approached the receptionist.
“I have an appointment to see the Grand Master.”
The auburn-haired woman with deep blue eyes fixed him with a hard stare. “Your name please?”
“William Morris, I telephoned earlier.”
She checked a lined pad in front of her and pointed to the lift. “Third floor and someone will meet you.”
The lift doors opened. Bear took a deep breath and walked out.
“Mr William Morris?” asked a tall, square-jawed, grey-haired man. “Charles Davis, the Grand Master’s secretary. Pleased to meet you.” They shook hands and moved along the corridor. “I’m informed that many items of interest re the Cyprus Templar are in your possession. You are aware there are no Templar organisations on the island?”
Bear shrugged. “What I have is of importance and you are brothers of sorts. I had nowhere else to go. My position of Knight Commander determines that I stand up for the weak, especially women and children, widows and orphans.”
“The order is a way of life, be it Masonic or Templar,” said Charles. “In England, I had the honour to belong to The Grand Priory of Knights Templar and privileged to be a Knight Grand Cross. Come, you’ve proven yourself and the Grand Master hates to be kept waiting.”
The two men, Bear clutching the suitcases, strolled along the corridor. Displayed on the walls were the photographs of the past Grand Masters of Cyprus. Bear stopped and studied the present one, which showed a round-faced cheerful man with wavy dark hair and bushy eyebrows.
They entered a rectangular room, sparsely furnished. The coat-of-arms of The Grand Lodge of England hung on the rear wall. A bookcase crammed full covered another wall. To the left, a picture window allowed uninterrupted views across Limassol harbour.
With a welcoming smile the Grand Master paused from writing on a sheaf of papers, stood and shook Bear’s outstretched hand. He pointed to the chairs in front of his desk.
“Please take a seat. I am intrigued by your description of the artefacts you have discovered. May I ask how you came by them?”
Bear studied the face across the desk. “Do I have to answer that question?”
He smiled. “Sometimes it is better to remain silent. May I see them?”
Bear lifted the papers on the desk, shifting them to one side before placing both cases in front of the Grand Master. He flipped the catches and pulled the lids back.
The Grand Master’s eyes raised a fraction. “This is incredible; unbelievable. We will need to collate every item and my secretary and I will deliver it to the antiquities department. I think you have changed history.”
From the inside pocket of his jacket, Bear removed an envelope. “I’ve detailed every item and e-mailed a copy to the Grand Priory in England. I think they might send a representative out to Cyprus.”
“I’m sure they will, Mr Morris. But let us understand one thing. From our telephone conversation, you do not wish to take the credit for this find. I give you my word that I will not mention your name when I deliver these to the antiquities department. I will tell them they were in a box marked for my attention at reception.
“I have a proposition for you to consider. With help from dubious characters, every one of these items could have been taken from Cyprus and sold. I believe, and my secretary will confirm, that your list of items is inaccurate. You state seven daggers. I count six.”
Bear nodded as the Grand Master placed one ornate dagger into his right hand. “Guard it well, Mr Morris, for in perfect condition they are extremely rare.”
Bear smiled. “Thank you, Grand Master. I appreciate your kind offer. I believe that concludes our meeting. I’ll be interested in what the sealed containers disclose.”
“Mr Morris, when they are opened the world will be informed. The internet is fast these days.” He took Bear’s hand and shook it. “Take care, Mr Morris. Honest men are rare these days.”
Bear walked out of the building and patted the dagger in his breast pocket. He crossed the busy road, avoiding the cars that sounded their horns, to the cafe where Takis waited.
“What’s good on the menu, Takis? I’m starving.”
A smile formed on his face. “The bacon rolls are delicious and you get a decent cup of coffee.”
Bear ordered three rolls. �
��This’ll keep me going until we get back.”
* * *
Low grey cloud covered the Island, and in the hills sleet spattered against the windscreen. A freezing cold wind struck as Petros and Maria left the warmth of the truck and dashed for Aunt Elini’s door. Photis and Bear were chatting by a roaring log fire when they entered.
“Tonight, my wife has prepared a special farewell meal,” said Photis. “On completion, I’m off to my bed. My old bones cannot sustain two late nights.”
“Thank you for everything, especially for looking after Alysa.” said Petros.
“My Elini and I enjoyed every moment. To see your mother again was wonderful. I don’t have many years left and every time could be the last.”
“You’ll outlive us.”
“A moment, PK,” said Bear. He shifted him to one side. “We need to talk. The brothers told me what you did with the icons. Good move and you owe me nothing.”
“Bear, your share was close to half a million.”
“PK, I need that money like a hole in the head. For what? To pay the taxman? Give us a break. We can write off what we’ve spent to expenses and a failed mission.”
“Thanks, Bear. I owe you one.”
“By my reckoning you owe me at least half a dozen but who gives a toss?”
“I do.”
Maria walked across and grabbed Petros’s arm. “What are you two discussing?”
He kissed her tenderly. “Nothing.”
That evening Petros and Maria sat on the settee in the firelight. “One of the best meals I’ve had in ages.”
She nudged him in the ribs, turned her head, and kissed him. “Much better than my cooking? But my desserts defy imagination. Come, Adonis, Aphrodite says it’s time for bed.”
* * *
Petros jumped out of bed and stretched. With eight hours of undisturbed sleep his mind and body were refreshed. He stared out of the window.
Maria’s fingers picked at the bed covers. “When will we be back, PK?”