‘Constantinople?’ Even now, the word sent a little shudder down her spine.
‘Of course.’ Impatiently. ‘A new empire of Byzantium, and you and I among its princes.’
‘Princes? A kingdom? But, Alex…’
He laughed, but the colour was high on his cheekbones. ‘I’m speaking figuratively, though indeed Petros and I have often agreed that we Greeks might need, at first, one strong man, one Pericles to set us on our way to liberty. And that brings me to something I should have said before. Kyria!’ Formal now. ‘I have your brother’s permission to pay you my addresses.’
‘Peter’s!’ Do what she would, she could not help laughing. ‘Oh, Alex, you never asked him?’
He did not like it. ‘Why do you think I have waited so long, but for his answer. And this opportunity. In Greece, we do it like this, by consultation with heads of families.’
‘I’d rather you’d asked Aunt Cass!’ It came out almost despite her, and she anticipated his answer.
‘A woman!’ With undisguised scorn. And then, quickly, taking both her hands. ‘Phyllida, you must know that you are the only woman in the world whose judgment I respect. The only woman in the world for me.’ He pulled her towards him. ‘Don’t think of anything but that. What do they matter, my poverty, your riches; the past, the future, when you and I can come together, like this?’
He was right. Nothing mattered. She was dizzy, drowning in his kiss. His body was hard against hers; his weapons hurt her through the thin stuff of her tunic; time whirled past as if they two were its centre.
When his lips left hers at last, she was glad of his arm, still supporting her. ‘I didn’t know it could be like that.’ She looked up at him, shakily, the whole world changed about her.
‘Nor I. Believe that.’ He met her, look for look. ‘I’m yours. You’re mine. For ever. Only, for the moment, love, shall it be our secret?’
‘Why, yes, if you say so. But why?’ She was both puzzled, and, oddly, relieved.
‘For all kinds of reasons, but mainly for your safety. I have enemies, Greeks, alas, as well as Turks, who might be glad to strike at me through the one I loved. And besides’—his smile warmed her—‘I must confess that I don’t much like the idea of being thought a fortune hunter. When I take my rightful place in a free Greece I shall have position to offer you, if not fortune. And you will be my good genius, mine and my country’s, helping us with your wisdom to plan a government fit for free men.’
It was a dazzling prospect. ‘But, Alex, you won’t mind if I tell my aunt?’
‘My little love, I should mind beyond bearing, beyond reason. She doesn’t like me, your good aunt. She’ll do her best to poison your mind against me. And I—I must leave you tomorrow, on a mission not without danger. Don’t let me be plagued with doubts of what she will be saying to you. Besides, my life, there’s something else, something we should face. Suppose I should not return? You’re brave enough, I know, to admit that chance, but it will be easier—and safer for you if nothing is known of this.’ She was still silent, doubtful. ‘My love, grant me this, the first thing I’ve asked you?’
‘Of course.’ Impossible to resist that plea. ‘But what’s that?’ She turned away from him, listening.
He was laughing. ‘Milord Renshaw, I have no doubt, shouting for guidance. Perhaps my directions were not quite so clear as they should have been.’ And then, quick to see the change in her expression. ‘We Greeks have a saying, my life. “Love and war make all things even.” So, one kiss more before we go to find them?’
Chapter 15
Over and over again, Phyllida was to regret that rash promise of secrecy. It was bad enough when Brett and Jenny caught up with them and she was aware at once of her own confusion and of Jenny’s bright enquiring eye upon it, but it was much worse to return to the Helena and find herself, for the first time, keeping an important secret from her aunt. It tarnished, ever so slightly, the golden glow of her happiness, but she had given her word, and there was nothing she could do about it until Alex returned to release her.
Her comfort was that things seemed at last to be moving quickly towards the liberation of Greece. Soon Alex would take his rightful place and there would be no more need for secrecy. Preparations for the relief of the Acropolis were going on apace, and she had the happiness of knowing that some of the soldiers assembling for the attack had been paid for by her money, or rather by Peter’s. But now, anxiety for Peter was compounded by that for Alex. If only she knew where he was … He had said no more about his dangerous mission when they had parted, so publicly, on the crowded deck of the Helena.
She was delighted when Brett raised the subject a few days later. He and Marcos the interpreter had been ashore from their new anchorage at Poros and he returned with the news that he had met his friend Frank Hastings. ‘It’s not much of a secret, I’m afraid, that he’s preparing for a raid on the Turks’ supply lines up in Euboea. Frank thinks, and I agree with him, that the Greeks would do much better to concentrate on cutting those, rather than mounting the frontal attack on the Turks that Cochrane wants. From something Frank said, I rather suspect that Alex has been up in the Gulf of Euboea spying out the land for him.’
‘Oh!’
Blushing over the inadequate monosyllable, Phyllida felt enquiry in Brett’s gaze, and was grateful when he went calmly on: ‘Do you know that the greater part of the Turks’ supplies come from Greece itself?’
‘No!’
‘I’m afraid so. And in Greek ships, which should at least make Alex’s task that much safer. But it does make one wonder about the chances of a free and united Greece.’
It was her chance to ask a question that had been on her mind. ‘Brett, do you think there’s any hope that the Greeks will ever regain Constantinople?’
‘Constantinople! Good God, what put that idea into your head?’ And, answering himself: ‘Alex, of course. The megali idea, the great idea. It’s been a Greek dream, I believe, ever since they’ve been aware enough for dreams. To throw the Turks back out of Europe and revive the Empire of Byzantium! Frankly, I think it nothing but a dream. They’ll be lucky if they get them out of Athens.’ And then, remembering. ‘But whatever happens, your brother should be safe enough, I hope. The Turks must know, by now, how European opinion is building up against them. It’s an odd thing, but the Fall of Missolonghi seems to have helped the Greeks, who lost, more than the Turks, who won. I wonder if Missolonghi won’t go down to history, like Thermopylae, as a great victory that weighed the balance of war against the victors.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s meant more even than Byron’s death in terms of support and sympathy from abroad. And for that very reason I think the Turks will be careful, now, how they behave to the Philhellenes.’
‘Yes, I see. But, Brett, you talk as if you thought there was a chance of the Acropolis falling.’
‘In war, anything is possible. I know the Greeks have got Ibrahim Pasha on the defensive now—he’s almost as much beleaguered himself as he is besieging the Acropolis, but he has the advantage of a unified command—and the courage, I should think, of near despair. So long as he holds his chain of communications with the sea, and the monastery of Saint Spiridion between the two Greek camps, I think he’s in too strong a position for any army the Greeks can field. They’re splendid fighters as individuals, but I just can’t imagine them mounting a major attack. Well, look at those guns of theirs—so heavy that they have to be balanced on a stone to fire. And no bayonets, no training, no discipline. Give me one regiment of English infantry, and I’ll guarantee to relieve the Acropolis tomorrow, but that’s just what we haven’t got.’
Alex, returning from Hastings’ successful raids in the Gulf of Euboea surprised Phyllida by taking much the same line. ‘Why risk a frontal attack when we could starve them out in six months? Give me money to pay the sailors of Hydra and Spetsai, and Ibrahim would be asking for terms before the currants are r
ipe.’
‘Asking for terms?’ asked Brett. ‘Do you really think he would?’
‘Why not?’ But Phyllida thought Alex was on the defensive.
‘Because of the chance of a massacre. Oh, I know there have been wrongs on both sides in this war, but that’s just what makes the situation of anyone who surrenders so precarious.’
‘Not now,’ said Alex. ‘Those barbarous days are past.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I’m sure I am.’ His glowing gaze was for Phyllida. ‘We Greeks are a free people now. When we were slaves, we behaved like slaves: now everything is different. You agree with me, don’t you, Kyria Phyllida?’
‘Of course I do.’ If only she could catch a minute with him alone and urge that the time had come to announce their engagement. But what hope was there in the crowded Helena? Perhaps he would suggest another shore excursion?
His next words put an end to this hope. ‘I must leave you, alas. Shall I blow a kiss to the Acropolis for you, kyria?’
‘You’re going back?’ It was hard to believe, seeing him so handsome and so casual, that he was returning to the fighting.
‘Yes, to Saint Spiridion. The Turks’ garrison there can’t possibly last much longer. And then, kyria, then the way will be open to the Acropolis.’ Kissing her hand, in farewell, he held it a second longer than he had Jenny’s.
‘Alex?’
‘Yes?’ His bright gaze held a warning.
‘You’ll be careful?’ What else could she say?
‘I’m always careful,’ he smiled at her. ‘We Greeks have so much now, to live for.’
Phyllida was actually grateful that, with the Helena so crowded, private conversation with anyone was a near impossibility. She was aware, from time to time, of her aunt’s anxious, speculative gaze on her. Given the opportunity, she thought, Cassandra would, however delicately, begin to ask questions that could only be answered by lies. She should never have made that promise to Alex. At all costs, she must see him alone next time he arrived.
* * *
Life was pleasanter at Poros, with hope for company. The four of them were sitting on deck in the cool of evening a few days later watching the slow melting of sunset over the mountains of the mainland.
‘Something’s happening!’ Brett turned to gaze towards the crowded shipping at the other entrance of the harbour. ‘Look!’
‘It’s the Philip!’ Phyllida was on her feet. ‘No one else comes in like that. Brett, do go and find out what the news is. Maybe Alex would come to supper and tell us what’s happening? Just think, Saint Spiridion may have fallen. The way may be open to the Acropolis!’
‘Yes. I’ll go directly.’ Something chilly about the courteous reply made her wish her impulsive request unspoken. But it was all imagination, merely her strained nerves that made her feel her secret about Alex as a kind of invisible barrier between her and her companions.
‘It’s getting cold.’ What had Jenny noticed? ‘How fast the sun sets here! I’ll tell Price there may be one extra for supper, shall I?’
‘Yes, do.’ Brett turned away to give his orders for a boat, and Cassandra went below with Jenny. Only Phyllida sat on, gazing at the mountains as they turned from palest lavender to silver-grey, and promising herself that this time she would have it out with Alex.
She forgot all about it when he and Brett returned together. ‘Alex! What’s the matter? You’re hurt!’
‘It’s nothing. A couple of scratches.’ Dried blood caked the side of his haggard face, and his left arm was in a rough sling. ‘If that were all!’
‘Why? What’s the matter? It’s not—Not the Acropolis? Tell me!’ She looked from one gloomy face to the other. ‘Tell me!’
‘No, no.’ Brett hurried to reassure her. ‘Not the Acropolis. But it’s bad news, just the same. Terrible news. Saint Spiridion has surrendered.’
‘But that’s not bad news?’ Puzzled. ‘I don’t understand. You said, Alex, that when Saint Spiridion fell, the way would be open to the Acropolis.’
‘Yes. A way of blood. I wish I’d died before I saw this day.’
‘Alex! You can’t mean that!’
‘No.’ For a moment, the old smile flashed for her, softening the grim set of his face. ‘But I’m almost ashamed not to. Ashamed to be a Greek, God help me. God help us all.’
‘But what is it? Brett! Explain.’
‘I’m afraid it’s the garrison of Saint Spiridion. All massacred.’
‘No!’ It was too bad to be true.
‘Yes.’ No wonder Alex looked so ghastly. ‘When I realised what was going to happen, I went ashore. I did what I could, kyria; so did Karaiskakis and a few others. But what could we do, against so many madmen? I got these wounds from the Greeks.’
‘Horrible!’ She shuddered. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘But true,’ said Alex. ‘Church should have supervised the surrender himself. Madness to leave it to the Greek pallikars.’ And then, aware, perhaps, of a change in Brett’s expression. ‘Oh, you’re right. I’m making excuses, but can you blame me? God knows what harm this day’s work has done to our cause.’
‘Not to mention to those poor Turks,’ said Brett dryly.
‘Oh, as to them—’ Alex showed his teeth in a smile that struck Phyllida disconcertingly as savage, almost wolfish. ‘I’ve no doubt they deserved their fate. Think of Chios! Think of Missolonghi!’
‘Alex, you don’t mean that. You’re ill.’ Shocked, Phyllida saw that he was shivering convulsively. He was feverish, near delirium, or he would never talk so wildly. ‘Oh, thank God! Price!’ He had appeared with her box of salves and dressings.
‘I saw Mr. Mavromikhalis come aboard, miss, and was sure you’d want these.’
‘Bless you, Price. Alex, you must let me dress that wound.’
‘Never!’ He recoiled at the thought. ‘Not you, kyria, not your hands. How could I?’
‘Let Price do it,’ said Brett. ‘He’s as good as a surgeon any days. Take him to my Cabin, Price, and let him rest there till supper.’
‘Thank you.’ Alex put his good hand to his head. ‘Forgive me, kyria, if I’ve said anything amiss. I’m not myself.’
‘Of course not.’ Warmly. ‘You’ll be well enough to join us at supper?’
‘Death wouldn’t stop me!’ But he was obviously glad to let Price lead him away below.
‘It’s bad.’ Phyllida had been realising all the implications of the massacre.
‘As bad as can be.’ Brett could be relied on for a straight answer. ‘Both as a threat to the safety of the garrison in the Acropolis, and as one to the unity of the Greeks. There’s a rumour already that Church is talking of throwing up his command because of this day’s work. Mind you, in some ways, that might not be a bad thing. If only they could get my friend Charles Napier to take his place—but I think it’s too late for that now. Any change of command must do untold damage at this point.’ He took her cold hand. ‘Don’t look so anxious, Phyllida. I still think your brother should be safe enough. Frankly, I think Reshid Pasha has more sense, and more control of his troops, than the Greeks. Even if it should come to a surrender of the Acropolis, I should expect him to keep his men in hand.’
‘Even after this?’
‘Yes, even after this. But, you’re shivering, It’s almost dark, and the wind’s getting up. Come below, Phyllida. Things will seem better in the morning, I promise you.’
‘They could hardly seem worse.’
* * *
Alex emerged from Price’s ministrations looking very much more himself, and protesting all over again that his wounds were mere trifles. He set out to behave as if nothing was the matter, but there was a strange, hard glitter about him all evening that Phyllida found almost frightening. That night she dreamed that he and she were climbing the path to the temple of Aphaia. It grew narrower and incredibly steep. Drifts of scarlet anemones and purple poppies on either side encroached more and more closely: in a moment they would be wadi
ng through them. And they were not flowers, they were rivers of blood.
‘Phyllida! Phyllida, child what’s the matter?’ Cassandra was beside her, holding her hand.
‘Nothing, Aunt. A nightmare. I’m sorry if I waked you.’
‘No matter for that.’ Her aunt’s cool hand lay for a moment on her forehead. ‘I’m anxious about you, child. There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?’
‘Oh, Aunt Cass!’ Suddenly, helplessly, she was crying. ‘I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me. I gave my word.’
‘But should you have? This isn’t the first time I’ve heard you talking in your sleep.’ Cassandra felt her way over to the lamp and lit it. ‘I’ve wanted to talk to you, but it’s impossible in the daytime. There’s no privacy, not even in here, with the saloon so close … But I can’t bear to see you looking so burdened, so withdrawn … Tell me about it?’
‘I can’t,’ she said again. ‘I promised…’
‘Not a promise you should have given, nor one that anyone should have asked of you.’
‘Maybe not.’ The hot horror of the dream was fading now, and she could think clearly again. Oddly, her first thought was that only yesterday, under such loving pressure, she would have broken her promise and told her aunt of her engagement. Why had Alex’s behaviour last night made this impossible? She temporised. ‘Father always said one’s word must be one’s bond.’
‘Sometimes,’ said Aunt Cassandra oddly, ‘I wish your father had not been a sea captain.’ But to Phyllida’s grateful relief, she asked no more questions, merely smoothing her rumpled sheets and pouring her a glass of lukewarm water. Only, the lamp blown out, she said, ‘You shouted, “blood”, Phyllida. It frightened me.’
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