‘Yes,’ said Oenone, ‘but his pride is Alexandros.’
‘Then we must think of some way of satisfying it. Oenone, think! Suppose I was to give all my money to you, freely, as your dowry?’
‘And why should you do that?’
‘For letting—’ But Oenone’s finger was on her lips.
‘Hush!’ she said. ‘The man is coming back.’
As the key grated in the lock, Phyllida thought his arrival could hardly have been more timely. She had managed to put the idea of conniving at their escape into Oenone’s head without actually saying the words. Besides, was there not encouragement in the way Oenone had silenced her? Already, to some small extent, they were fellow conspirators.
‘You took long enough!’ Encouragement, too, in the way Oenone scolded the man as he appeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘I’ve eaten already,’ she explained to Phyllida. ‘But I will keep you company while you eat.’ And then, suddenly eager, like the child she really was. ‘Tell me about your country. About America. Alexandros says it is full of miracles. Are there really boats, there, that go without wind?’
‘Why, yes. Did you not know? Milord Renshaw owns one of them, the Helena. I believe that is what Alexandros really wants. more than anything else.’ Both of them, now, were aware of the man at the door, listening.
‘Without any wind?’
‘Yes: By machinery.’ The word meant nothing to Oenone, but what did that matter? ‘That is why Alexandros left in such haste,’ she went on. ‘Because he heard that the Helena had left Kitries harbour.’
‘I see.’ Oenone was puzzling it out. ‘I thought it strange, when the news came that Ibrahim was out, and Alexandros did not march north himself. He sent every man he could spare.’ She was making excuses for him.
‘Yes, but, don’t you see—’ This was inspiration. ‘The Helena would be worth any number of men to the Greek cause. Imagine what she can do. Come up against the wind. Tow a fireship into the enemy fleet in the teeth of it. There’s another one already, up in the Gulf of Aegina, the Karteria; she did wonders in the defence of Athens. I can understand why your cousin wants the Helena.’
‘Yes.’ Oenone drank the strong, resinated wine. ‘But why should Milord Renshaw understand?’
Another opportunity. But how to use it? So many questions she wanted to ask. And always she must remember the man at the door, listening. ‘I sometimes think he hates the Helena,’ she said at last. ‘He built her for the lady who should have been his wife. The one who jilted him.’ Had she got the Greek word right? Yes, clearly Oenone had understood her.
‘She was called Helena? Yes, I see. So in exchange for his freedom?’ She, too, was thinking of the man at the door, and spoke fast and low.
‘Most certainly.’ That was enough for now. She raised her voice a little. ‘How is Milord Renshaw? I can hear nothing from down there.’
‘Of course not.’ Oenone laughed. ‘These towers are not built of firewood. They are built to last, to be held against the enemy. You’ll not hear a sound from Milord Renshaw, but he’s there right enough.’ She laughed again. ‘And behaving like a milord too. Do you know, he managed to make old Anastasia fetch him paper and pen. He’s writing a book, she says. Can it be true? A real book?’
‘Indeed it’s true.’ Oh, splendid, capable Brett! ‘He’s writing a book about Greece. One that should make the whole world sympathise with your cause.’
‘Like Milord Byron?’ Oenone was no fool. She proved it again in what she said next. ‘But if Alexandros lets him go, and he writes about this?’
‘It will depend how he writes. Suppose Alexandros had Captured us [careful, don’t use the word kidnapped], not for personal reasons, but because he knew what the Helena could do for the cause of Greece. And then, suppose Milord Renshaw wrote how well we were treated, as captives here, given the best of everything, sharing your joys and sorrows, protected from the Turk—’
‘We have talked long enough.’ Oenone was on her feet. ‘The wine is finished. I will see you tomorrow, kyria. Sleep well.’
Phyllida fell asleep, among the sheepskins whose stink hardly bothered her any more, with a prayer on her lips. Time … with enough time, she thought she could talk Oenone into freeing them. If only she knew where the Helena was, and what had happened to Jenny…
Nightmares, of course, and in the morning the familiar headache, a little worse today, but yielding, at last, to hot coffee, brought by the old crone, Anastasia, who had found paper and pen for Brett. And that must have been something of an achievement, Phyllida thought. Where in the world, in this barbaric stonghold, would one find pen, and, still more unlikely, the amount of paper Brett would need?
Oenone did not appear until supper time, but when she did, there was food for two on the tray, carried by a Greek Phyllida had not seen before. Was this a good sign? Impossible to tell. But, surely encouraging, was a new look about Oenone, a brightness, a sparkle in her eye…
‘You look better today.’ Phyllida had waited until the simple meal was set out on her table and the man had withdrawn to the doorway.
‘You can see it?’ Oenone poured wine for them both. ‘There’s news today, splendid news. Alexandros sent a messenger back from the harbour. There’s an Allied Fleet assembling off Navarino. They mean to make the Turks see reason, he says. Think, kyria, it may mean freedom for Greece at last.’
‘Freedom for us, too, I hope. Milord Renshaw and me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Obviously, in her excitement, she had not stopped to think of the implications of this news.
Phyllida answered her with a question. ‘Alexandros hopes to be one of the men who will govern free Greece, does he not?’
‘Yes?’ Puzzled.
‘Think, Oenone. If the Allies do give freedom to Greece, they will have a considerable say in its new government. It stands to reason. Well! What hope will Alexandros have if he is known to have kidnapped an English milord and held him to ransom. It will be the end of everything, so far as he is concerned.’
‘But if you were his wife, you would not speak against him.’
‘I tell you, I will never be his wife. Besides, even if I was forced to marry him, there would still be Milord Renshaw, whose voice carries infinitely more weight than mine. But Alex must have thought of this. What did his message say? Did it not mention us?’
‘I don’t know exactly,’ Oenone admitted. ‘It came to my uncle, who is in command here in Alexandros’ absence. When he told me about the Allied Fleet he said nothing about you. But then.’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘He cares nothing about politics. He thinks only of life here in the Mani. He’s never been farther away than Kalamata. He would rather Alexandros stayed home…’
‘And lived by brigandage.’ Phyllida finished the sentence for her. And then, remembering, flashed an anxious glance at the man on duty in the doorway.
‘No need,’ Oenone smiled, her face astonishingly young for a moment. ‘He speaks only Albanian. He might understand a word here or there, but that’s all.’
Phyllida concealed the leap of excitement this news gave her. Oenone had intended tonight’s conversation to be private. ‘Your uncle’s in command here?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
‘And might not let us go even if Alexandros told him to?’ Was this pushing her luck too far?
But at least Oenone was giving it serious thought. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last. ‘Alexandros’ word is usually law, but it’s true, now he’s away … My uncle is already planning to buy the finest set of arms in Kalamata.’
‘With his share of the booty? I see. Oenone. can you get a message of your own to Alexandros?’
‘Not possibly. No one can. The Philip sailed yesterday.’
‘In pursuit of the Helena?’
‘I suppose so. Alexandros will catch her. There’s nothing to be done until he gets back.’
‘Oenone, you’re wrong. For all our sakes, you must believe me. You saw how an
gry Alexandros was when he left yesterday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he tell you why?’
‘No. Alexandros does not explain things to me.’
‘It was because he thought he’d been betrayed.’ God, how difficult this was. ‘He had arranged, with my brother, that he would take over the Helena.’
‘With Petros, yes.’
‘You know him?’
‘I have seen him.’
‘Alexandros thinks Petros betrayed him. There was no message, you see. He thinks my brother has seized the Helena and taken her to Zante, to claim that I am dead and take possession of my estate. But he’s wrong. I’m sure of it. My brother is a fool’—extraordinary to say it so calmly—‘but he’s not a scoundrel. You’ve met him. What do you think?’
‘I think you are probably right, kyria.’ It pleased Oenone to be consulted. Phyllida could see her putting brains to work that she had hardly known she possessed. ‘But in that case—’ She thought it through. ‘What happened on the Helena?’
‘What you’d expect, if you knew anything of Milord Renshaw. He would have left instructions with his captain. Careful ones. Covering everything. I think when Petros went aboard they must have been very surprised—and very cautious.’
‘So?’
‘I think they have probably kidnapped Peter in their turn and gone to seek help. They won’t know about the Allied Fleet off Navarino. They will have gone the other way, round Cape Matapan, to Nauplia, to look for Captain Hamilton and the Cambrian. So don’t you see, Alexandros will go all the way to Zante and find nothing … Worse still, by the time he gets back, he may find that Hamilton has come to Kitries and rescued us … In that case, he’s a disgraced man. There will be nothing left for him, but brigandage here in the Mani.’
There was a long silence. Then: ‘Why should I believe you, kyria?’
They had come a long way in two days. ‘I don’t know.’ Phyllida took it as carefully as possible. ‘Because it’s true? Because we are two women, and understand each other?’ And then, seeing Oenone still mute and unconvinced: ‘One thing you could do. You could go and ask Milord Renshaw what instructions he left on the Helena. No need to tell him why. No reason why he should lie to you. Besides, he’s a man of honour. Tell him I ask him to tell you the truth. He will.’
‘Yes.’ Oenone thought about it. ‘He will.’ She had said ‘will’, not ‘would’. ‘And if he confirms what you say,’ she went on. ‘What then? Do you really think Captain Hamilton would rescue you?’
‘He rescued Milord Trelawney after Odysseus was killed.’ Would Oenone have heard of this?
Mercifully, it seemed that she had. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘They’re capable of anything, those English sailors. And it would be the end for Alexandros?’
‘Believe me, Oenone, it would.’
‘Then I had better go and talk to Milord Renshaw. You’ve finished, kyria?’
‘Yes.’ What had they been eating? ‘You’ll tell him—’ What could she ask Oenone to tell Brett? ‘Tell him I’m well, and that I beg him to answer your questions.’ Dared she ask Oenone to come back and tell her the result? No, there was the uncle to be considered. If things went as she began to hope they might, it would be fatal to have aroused his suspicions of Oenone.
Time crawled, yet raced by. How long would it take Alex to reach Zante and return? Her narrow view, next morning, showed her clouds still moving swiftly across the azure sky. The wind that helped Alex to Zante might delay his return. Unless he had in fact caught the Helena, and came back under steam. But that she would not believe. There was more smoke, today, visible above the hills to the north. Ibrahim was still at his murderous work. Which meant, surely, that the tiny garrison of the fortress would not be increased by the return of the party who had gone north to fight him. If Hamilton should come, or if she could persuade Oenone to help them escape, there would be so many fewer men on the plateau to be dealt with.
When Oenone arrived with her lunch tray, her heart gave an almost sickening lurch of hope. The man on duty at the door was the Albanian again.
The vegetable soup was thin and tasteless today. ‘Alexandros did not send the provisions he promised.’ Oenone said it almost in excuse. And then: ‘My uncle says he’ll have to send a couple of men down the valley tomorrow.’
‘Oh?’ Careful, she warned herself. Don’t assume Oenone is telling you, on purpose, that the small garrison is to be diminished by two more. ‘How long will it take them?’ Surely a natural enough question to ask?
‘Two days. Maybe more. Certainly one night away, since their families are down there. I think we can count on two days.’ And then, quickly. ‘Say nothing. Careful, kyria, don’t forget the man at the door. Tone, he will understand, if not words.’
‘Yes,’ Phyllida made herself pause, drink wine, take a bit of bread softened in the watery soup. Then: ‘You are going to help us? You talked to Milord Renshaw?’
‘He’s a man, that one. He understood me almost before I understood myself. You’re right, kyria, he’d never have left the Helena unprotected. Alexandros might have taken her, perhaps, but never that brother of yours.’
Poor Peter! But, ‘That’s what I thought.’
‘So. I have decided.’ There was something extraordinary about Oenone this morning. In her new decisiveness, she reminded Phyllida of some fierce young woman from Greek legend: Electra, perhaps? ‘Milord Renshaw has given me his promise,’ she went on. ‘Now, I must have yours, kyria.’
‘Yes? What has Milord Renshaw promised?’
‘To say nothing, ever, that will harm Alexandros. To write good of him in his book. He tells me it will have many readers, all over the world, and I believe him. I do not know much, but I know when a man speaks truth to me. He tells me he is a poor man, with nothing in the world but the Helena, and I believe him in that, too. So the money must come from you.’ Her voice was as calmly practical as ever. ‘You said, the other day, that you would give me a dowry. You meant it?’
‘Of course.’
‘Yes. Milord Renshaw says I can trust you, and I believe him in that too. So: you will promise me the half of your fortune. And you will promise, as milord has done, never, so help you God, to speak of how you escaped.’
‘I promise. All you ask.’ It was extraordinary; it was too good to be true. Dared she believe it?
‘Milord is writing a paper for you to sign.’ Oenone had taken Phyllida’s consent for granted. ‘He says he will make it simple, so I can understand. I do not read your English writing very well.’ She laughed. ‘I have told my uncle I visit you because you help me with my reading. Remember that, if he should come to see you. At supper time, milord will make a scene about the wine. The man will go and fetch new—We have our laws of hospitality, we Greeks—While he is gone, milord will give me the paper. Later, you will give me a reading lesson, and sign it.’
‘And then?’
‘Leave all to me. I must manage as best I can. But, if the men go down to the valley tomorrow, it will be tomorrow night. You will be ready to do whatever I say, without question. I am trusting you, kyria, with more than my life. You will trust me in return?’
‘I will indeed, Oenone.’
Oenone emptied her glass. ‘You are amazing, you Franks. You ask me nothing? And promise me all this? Wealth, to make Alexandros glad to have me…’ She seemed to be battling with herself. At last: ‘I must tell you,’ she said. ‘It is not much I will be able to do for you. I shall get you, before first light, out of the castle and down to where they send the baskets. After that, you must find your own way, and God go with you. I have told Milord Renshaw where the paths lead, and told him not to tell me which he plans to take. So, whatever happens, I cannot betray you.’
‘Yes.’ There was something wonderfully comforting about Oenone’s complete confidence in Brett. ‘But, Oenone. One other thing. These clothes. I look like a Turkish woman.’ She had not missed the hostile reaction of the peasants at Kitries, the cover
t spitting, the looks that would have killed … Turkish costume was all very well in Nauplia, but might mean death, here in the Mani.
‘You’re right.’ Oenone considered her for a moment, thoughtfully. ‘No hope of clothes like a Frankish woman’s. But—you’re thin and tall.’ It was not a compliment. ‘In one of the fustanellas Alexandros wears for night work, you could pass well enough as a boy. It will be black with dirt, of course. You’ll not mind that? They smear them with lambs’ grease, you know, so they’ll get black quickly, for safety at night.’
‘I’ll not mind.’
‘Good. Then, if we cut your hair and blacken your face, you will pass for milord’s Greek guide.’ She stood up. ‘It’s time I went.’
‘But you, Oenone? Will it be safe for you? What will your uncle do, when he finds us gone?’
‘You think of that? So did milord. In the face of your own danger. I shall never understand you Franks. But we worked it out, milord and I. He’s clever enough to put both feet in the same shoe, is Milord Renshaw.’ She laughed, and seemed for a moment almost human. ‘Do you know what he has found? The paper old Anastasia brought him is a poem, he says, a splendid poem all about the Mani that will make us famous. I am helping him to read it—it’s in our Greek characters, of course, and he finds it difficult. Was it not a fortunate thing that Alexandros gave strict orders to our uncle that you two should be treated with every kindness your imprisonment allowed?’ Using her brain at last, she seemed to be coming alive. becoming a person, before Phyllida’s delighted eyes. Now she was making a business of clattering the dishes on to the wickerwork tray. ‘He will ask me to help him tomorrow night,’ she went on. ‘Uncle is always drunk at night. He won’t notice. He’s a very stupid man.’ She had only discovered it this minute. ‘When he finds me, unconscious, in milord’s cell, and you gone; it won’t occur to him to wonder how you found your way. Besides,’ she said it with pleasure. ‘He would never imagine a woman could do it.’
‘And Alexandros?’ Idiotic to raise this doubt, but somehow she could not help herself. ‘Should you not come with us, Oenone, for your own safety?’
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