by Lina Ellina
Marin refrained from asking about her marriage. He preferred not to think of her in the arms of another man.
“Aren’t you afraid to live alone in the wilderness?”
Elena looked at his unsmiling face. “Don’t worry. I’m safe. No one harms a healer... or a witch,” she said lightly, but a deafening silence followed her words.
Marin shook his head with a look of concern. “Just be careful.”
The Catholic Church hadn’t launched a full-scale hunt against witches yet, but trials and deaths had already been recorded. At least, the Bulla Cypria, which declared the Catholic Church as the official church in Cyprus, made little impression on Cypriots who remained loyal to their Greek Orthodox faith and heritage.
Marin chewed on the last of his soupouthkia[1] and downed the rest of his wine.
“This was definitely one of the best meals I’ve ever had.”
Elena knew she could do magic in the kitchen with her rich herb combinations. She also knew the humble dinner she could offer him could not compare to the lavish banquets at the Cornaro estate. Deep down, she felt flattered nonetheless.
“Thank you, signore. You are very kind,” she returned the courtesy.
“I’m afraid it’s late. I should best ride back now.”
Elena didn’t respond, and he rose to his feet. She ushered him to the door.
He held her in a tender gaze and asked, “Shall I pass by soon to discuss which trees to cut?”
She managed an evanescent smile and a ‘yes’ and held him in her line of vision for as long as she could as he walked down the steps and got onto his horse.
[1] Crisply fried cubes of bread in olive oil, drizzled with carob honey and served hot
50 - 2011
“Are the mills worth visiting?”
“The castle is, but there’s nothing left standing of the mills to see,” Marina said, shaking her head. “There are two sovereign British military bases on the island. The largest one is here,” she went on pointing to the right. “It starts from Episkopi and stretches all along the coast down to Akrotiri until the port of Lemesos. At Akrotiri there’s also the smaller of our two salt lakes. The other one is close to Larnaka airport. During the Lusignan dynasty, salt lakes were so valuable that they used to be a crown asset - that is until they were disposed of to pay for the war against the Mamelukes.”
“Lemesos. Isn’t this where you live?” Lorenzo asked a few minutes later as they reached the first bridge bypassing Lemesos.
“Yes. Lemesos is the second largest city in population but the largest in geographical size.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. Lefkosia is still divided – the last divided capital in the world. Lemesos is Cyprus’ largest port, the heart of the wine industry, a tourist destination, and the city of entertainment. At the end of the Byzantine rule, Limassol was a small market town between the ancient cities of Kourion and Amathus. Basically, it grew after Richard the Lionheart destroyed Amathus.”
“Why would he do that?”
“It was a fit of chivalric rage over the discourteous treatment of his shipwrecked fiancé, Berengaria of Navarre, by the self-proclaimed emperor Isaac Comnenus, in 1191... The city survived destructive earthquakes, Genoese and Mameluke rapacious forays, and pirate depredations. If you add epidemics, failed harvests, and the conquerors’ harsh exploitation, it is no wonder that at some point during the Venetian Rule, Limassol shrank to a village, and its residents had to fight to maintain the right to have their own bishop. To cut the long story short, then came the Ottoman Turks who sold us to the British before we fought for Independence.”
Lorenzo looked at Marina and realized he was more interested in finding out about her rather than the island. “What do you enjoy most about living in Lemesos?”
Marina shrugged her shoulders. “Fist of all, Lemesos is just an hour drive from Lefkosia, and a forty-minute drive from Troodos, Larnaka, and Pafos, the ancient Roman capital. I like the old part of the town where I live. It’s the historical and commercial center - lots of stores, cafés, galleries. Most of all, it’s just a short walk to the beach.”
“Could you ever imagine living anywhere else?” he heard himself ask.
She turned and faced him raising an eyebrow.
“For instance, not by the beach? Or Cyprus?”
“Well, I love Troodos, especially a little village called Platres. Actually, Troodos is considered to be the best-preserved and most systematically studied ophiolite complex in the world. Abroad ... I’ve never thought about living abroad. I guess it would depend on where and on the circumstances.” She shrugged and went on, “I love Cyprus and its beaches. I spent most of my life living by the beach. Kato Pyrgos, the village I grew up in, although not very popular with tourists, has beautiful beaches. But I spent six years inland, in Lefkosia. So I guess, yes, I could live somewhere else. Of course, it was comforting to know that the beach was just a half-hour drive away, so if I had to live somewhere else, I would like the beach to be within easy reach.”
“You know Rovigo, the place where I live, is only twenty kilometers away from the beach and just an hour drive from Venice.”
“That sounds nice.”
51 - 1467
Despite devoting long hours to see the cotton plantation take shape, it only took Marin a few days to return on the pretext of inspecting the area for timber cutting. Elena was whisking the dirt away from the porch with a broom when she heard the tread of the horse. When she was sure it was him, she rushed inside. A minute later she was welcoming him at the porch, wearing a warm smile.
“Not busy today?” Marin returned the broad grin while tying his horse safely to the trunk of the mulberry tree by the porch.
“Not really. Just finished weeding and planting the summer crops, and I was just about to take Ioanna for a walk and look for herbs on the way. It’s such a beautiful day!”
“Great, then we can choose the trees for lumber.” He pulled something out of his saddle bag, climbed up the three steps to her, and handed her a dress for Ioanna and a cloak for her. “For you,” he said smiling warmly, not failing to notice she took the trouble to paint her eyes in black for him.
“Thank you,” she said, marveling at Ioanna’s beautiful bright yellow dress and the fine cloth quality of her cloak. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to.”
“And this is for you, to protect you during your travels,” she said while fastening the leather strap for him from which a little wooden cross she had carved was hanging.
Marin took the little cross in his hand and admired its finesse. “Thank you. I’ll always wear this.”
His Glaucous blue eyes sank into hers.
Hippocrates interrupted the moment with his barking around them, eager to lead them into the woods. The humid, grassy spring bouquet hit their nostrils. The half-breed was jubilant to play fetch with Marin, who never failed to praise him each time he came back with the twig between his teeth, waggling his tail crackling branches in his path.
When they were done marking the last tree to be cut with an X, Marin turned to her and said unexpectedly in a husky voice, “Elena, say my name!” So far she had only addressed him as ‘signore’.
“What?” she asked in a voice that was barely a whisper.
“I want to hear you say my name. Say ‘Marin’,” he encouraged her.
She smiled at him, lifted her eyebrows in a swift jerky motion as she opened her eyes wide to gaze at him briefly. Then she dropped her eyelids, tilted her head down and to the side, looked up again, and gently said his name, “Marin!”
You can deny it all you want; you’re falling, and I’m right here to catch you, Marin thought with a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face.
“Say it again,” he said excitedly.
“Marin!” Her face split into a wide smile.
“Elena,” he whispered with fervor, leaned into her, and Elena closed her eyes. Feeling his breath on her cheek, she awaite
d his kiss.
“Don’t you think it’s time?” she heard him ask, opened her bewildered eyes, and saw the laughter in his eyes. Marin did not even try to hide his amusement at her confusion.
“To teach you to sketch!” He produced paper and charcoal from his doublet.
Elena tried to hide her embarrassment. She lifted her face to the warm sunbeams, half closing her eyes to the light filtering through the top branches. “Here?”
“Why not?”
52 - 2011
They took the Kalo Chorio exit on the freeway and drove past the eighteenth century Roman-style aqueduct heading for the consulate.
“How can one trace his ancestors in Cyprus?” Lorenzo asked.
Marina tilted her head to the side contemplating. “Hmm... I made some enquiries when you told me you were looking for your ancestor’s trail. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be easy. The department of land and surveys was established in 1858, and the first census took place in 1881. There are no official documents dating further back. There are, of course, some church records and chronicles of the time, but they usually have references to nobility only.”
Marina pulled up on Stassinou Street, and a few moments later they were walking into the consulate. Only then did the thought occur to her that Boustronios’s chronicle might shed some light on his quest, but she would have to hold that thought. The receptionist was already on the phone announcing their arrival.
The consul was very polite when he received them. Further to the vice-mayor’s request, he had already contacted the Catholic Archbishop of Cyprus, requesting his assistance for a quick search in the church archives, given Lorenzo’s limited time in Cyprus. As a personal favor to the consul, the archbishop had been kind enough to supervise the archive search himself. He would be getting in touch as soon as there was progress to report. If Lorenzo needed anything else, the consul would gladly be of assistance. He even offered to take them to lunch, but Lorenzo could tell he had urgent matters to attend to, so he declined graciously.
Lorenzo left the consul’s office hoping he was gradually unwrapping Ariadne’s thread. “So now we just have to wait and see what information the church archives might have on Marin Zanetti.”
“It’s a long shot, but in the meantime, we could browse through Boustronios’s chronicle. I have a copy of it at home.”
“Let’s do some sightseeing since we’re here. My ancestor is not the only reason why I came to Cyprus. Remember?” He flashed a warm smile at her, revealing his straight white teeth.
53 - 1467
“You can start by sketching this pine tree here,” he suggested.
Elena made herself comfortable on a rounded rock. Marin came and sat right behind her and put the charcoal in her hand, holding her hand in his.
“Hold it like a wand. It will help you block in shapes.”
The touching of their bodies and his gentle voice so close to her ear made her hand tremble at first, but she made herself focus on his instructions. She had never thought of this before, but sketching would be a very useful skill, she decided. She could draw the herbs in her herb book for Ioanna. That would be her legacy should anything happen to her before she could teach her everything her nana taught her.
Marin guided her through, adding details and appreciating light and dark values. He was letting her into an amazing new world, and Elena followed his instructions obediently.
“Let’s see what you’ve done,” he said and lifted the sketch, still sitting right behind her. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” he teased her gently. Transfixed, Elena stared in his Glaucous blue eyes.
“Elena, you are so beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely. “You have bewitched me. I can’t explain otherwise this burning I feel inside, this urge to be with you all the time. I’m sick with love, and only you can heal me.” Marin leaned into her ready to take her lips, but Elena tilted her head to the side.
“And the only way you could fall in love with me is if I used my love potions. Is that right?” Elena asked affronted and rose to her feet.
Marin looked at her taken aback and got up, too.
“Go home, signore, knowing that no dose of a love potion lasts longer than a week. If in a week’s time, you still feel the same, you will know.”
Elena gave him no time to reply. She strode to Ioanna, picked up the basket with the sleeping baby, and called Hippocrates to follow suit. Elena wasn’t really upset with Marin. She just wanted to find a way to stand out from all the women he had come across.
Marin stood stunned, watching her walk away from him, lacking any smart response. Even his best line didn’t work with her!
54 - 2011
They left the castle museum dedicated to ancient Kition, the birthplace of the stoic philosopher Zeno, which was founded by Mycenean traders in the thirteenth century BC and went ambling to the adjacent Finikoudes[1] promenade, lined with palm trees.
“What time period is described in this chronicle you mentioned earlier on?” Lorenzo asked while shooting photos of the beach.
“1456-1489 – the transition from Lusignan to Venetian rule. There’s reference to a lot of important people of the time, such as Andrea Cornaro, who was the king’s counselor and the one who engineered the king’s wedding to his niece, Caterina Cornaro.”
“The one with the sugar mill?”
“The very same. You know, this is perhaps the most exciting time in the island’s history - full of intrigues and subversions.”
Lorenzo observed her enthusiasm through his photographic lens. “You’re passionate, aren’t you?”
Marina raised an eyebrow, and he immortalized it in a snapshot.
“Excuse me?”
He lowered his camera. “You have passion for what you do.” He looked at her through half-closed eyes. He then pressed some buttons on his camera and chuckled. “Want to see?”
She nodded, and he gave her the camera. Marina had a look at her raised eyebrow. “Busted. I’m afraid I do that a lot.” She shrugged.
“I think it’s cute,” he said, focusing his attention on her.
Marina cleared her throat. “As I said before about the chronicle, it’s a long shot, but when we go back…”
“All in good time. Let’s go see some sights and grab a bite to eat.”
“Sure. We can go to Lefkara. It’s not far, and it’s on our way back.”
“Lefkara?”
“Yes. The village is famous for its lace making and silver handicrafts. It used to be a favorite resort among the well-off Venetians during the Venetian Rule.”
“What? No legend associated with Lefkara?” Lorenzo asked challengingly.
“You know, of all people, I wouldn’t have expected you, who came all the way to Cyprus to hunt a dead ancestor just because of a family legend, to make fun of keeping legends alive,” she teased him.
“Touché!” He offered her a warm smile that she spontaneously returned.
“Well, actually, there is a legend about Lefkara,” Marina started timidly, and he gave her an ‘I-knew-it!’ smile. “Cyprus was on the Silk Road, and tradition says that in 1481 Leonardo da Vinci visited the village and took a piece of needlework to grace the main altar of the Milan Cathedral.”
“Da Vinci - huh? Wow! All these stories made me hungry. I could do with a snack for lunch.”
“Sure. Let’s grab some souvlakia.”
They took to walking back to the car.
“Not souvlaki like in Greece?”
“Ours is a bit different. In the pita bread, we also add tomatoes, cucumbers, and parsley along with the grilled meat.”
“A healthy fast food idea!”
“Something like that.”
They locked eyes, smiled, and got into the car.
[1]Palm trees
55 - 1467
Marin rode back to the Cornaro estates, furious at her turning him down. The servants got discreetly out of his way as he was helping himself to a bottle of zivania and a tray of tsamarella[
1]. He disappeared in his quarters and kicked the door close.
He strode up and down like a caged beast, reliving again and again her dumping him. Who did she think she was? She should be grateful he ever laid eyes on her. She would regret this when she would lie alone in bed night after night.
He suddenly stopped walking. Did she lie alone, he wondered? It was not so hard for widows to be ‘merry’. In fact, widows were, in a way, in an advantageous position. Compared to married or unmarried women, who were under the dominion of the husband or father, they enjoyed more freedom and could make their own decisions.
He took a piece of tsamarella and washed it down with a shot of zivania. He took to pacing again. Is that why she turned him down? Why would she encourage him though? Oh, this woman made his blood boil! He poured himself one more shot... and another one... and another.
He summoned Nikeforos, and when he appeared at his door, he ordered him to saddle the horses. “We’re going out,” Marin announced with resolve.
“Signore Jacomo as well?
“No, just you and me.”
“Where are we going, Master Marin?”
“To the brothel with the new girls.”
Nikeforos didn’t know if he should be relieved or worried. Ever since that snakebite, his master hadn’t been himself. He wouldn’t go out much, nor did he care for female company. And now he was ready for action again. Nikeforos would have thought that Marin had recovered if it hadn’t been for the empty zivania bottle on the table.
About an hour later, the two young men tied their horses safely outside the brothel by the castle. Nikeforos went for a stroll at the beach to wait for his master. His Orthodox faith did not allow him to use women like this. He would find a nice girl and marry one day soon, he reminded himself avoiding temptation - hopefully Persephone. She was almost a young woman now. She was close to fourteen. Perhaps it was time he sent the matchmaker to her parents to ask for her hand in marriage. Giving a bride price equal to Persephone’s small dowry wouldn’t be a problem. Providing a house would. However, Marin had promised to help him if her parents agreed.