YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1)

by Beryl Darby

  ‘How the hell do I know? At sea somewhere.’

  Yannis was silent again. Why were they at sea? Were they going to be thrown overboard and drowned? He shivered at the thought. No one would ever know what had become of them. He renewed his struggles, ignoring the protests of his nearest companions until sweat began to pour off him, adding to the vile stench that surrounded them.

  ‘Save your strength. You may need it later.’ The warning voice was familiar.

  ‘Spiro? Is that you?’

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘What are they doing to us now?’

  ‘I don’t know. They must have been prepared for trouble. They called the army in.’

  ‘The army!’ Yannis was aghast. ‘What for?’

  ‘To control us. They made a pretty little speech before they took us out. Told everyone they were removing us to ensure the safety of the other occupants.’

  ‘Where are they taking us?’

  ‘They didn’t say. I just hope we arrive fairly soon. We’ve been given nothing to eat or drink.’

  ‘How many of us are there?’

  ‘Thirty or so.’

  ‘All from our ward?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Yannis was thoughtful. It seemed unlikely they would drown such a number. ‘Maybe we’re going to another hospital,’ he suggested hopefully.

  ‘I don’t care where it is provided we get out of this stink hole soon.’

  Fully conscious now Yannis was even more aware of the disgusting smell of unwashed humanity, excreta and vomit. He found he was praying; the same words over and over again were hammering inside his brain. ‘Please let me die, please let me die.’

  A violent rocking of the ship threw them against each other, a tramping of feet was heard overhead and a voice shouted instructions. The frightened men sat silently, trying to make some sense out of the different sounds they heard, then the door swung open, almost blinding them as the light flooded in. The four men nearest the door were hauled to their feet and dragged from the hold. The remainder sat motionless, tensely waiting for the door to open again.

  As Yannis stumbled out into the sunlight he recoiled in horror. ‘No! Please, God, no. Not here!’

  His pleas were ignored as he was manhandled into the waiting boat and rowed the few yards to the quay along with the other occupants. He was dragged out of the boat and dumped unceremoniously onto the hard concrete. He seemed to lie there for hours as the rest of the lepers were disembarked by the same rough method, followed by boxes and sacks. Finally the guards released half a dozen men from their straitjackets and ordered them to release the others, before they rowed swiftly back to the waiting vessel.

  Yannis sat up and rubbed his arms to restore the circulation. He blinked in the bright sunlight and looked at the familiar faces around him. Everyone looked bewildered and uncertain. What was expected of them now? One by one the men rose to their feet and stretched their limbs and Spiro walked over to Yannis.

  ‘Come on, you can’t sit there all day.’

  Yannis did not answer.

  ‘Yannis, come on, move,’ urged Spiro.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? Are you hurt?’

  ‘We’re in hell.’

  Spiro placed his hand on Yannis’s head. ‘Are you running a temperature? We’re sitting on quay, out in the open air. We’ve been released.’

  Slowly Yannis shook his head. ‘We’re on Spinalonga. There’s no hope for any of us here.’

  Spiro frowned and looked around. Across the bay was a village, close enough to see people working in the fields and the fishermen in the harbour. ‘You’re wrong, Yannis. Look across the bay and see for yourself.’

  ‘I’m not wrong. This is the island I told you about, that’s my village over there.’

  ‘Then it’s not so bad. You told me they had water sent out to them and the local produce. We ought to find the hospital. At least we’ll get a drink there – and I don’t think I can last much longer without one.’

  ‘You go then.’

  ‘I’m not going without you,’ replied Spiro stubbornly. ‘If you’re going to sit on the quay and die from thirst and malnutrition then I will also.’

  ‘Don’t be so stupid.’

  ‘You’re the one who’s being stupid! Come with me to the hospital. Most of the others have moved off and we want to get a bed for the night.’

  Yannis felt too weak and despondent to argue. He allowed Spiro to help him to his feet and followed him through the stone archway and up a ramp strewn with stones. At the top Spiro hesitated. There was no sign of their companions or anyone else, just a collection of half-ruined houses and a concrete path.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Spiro.

  Yannis shrugged. He did not care which way they went.

  Spiro struck off to the left. The path narrowed and the bank rose considerably after a few yards and if a voice had not called to them they would have missed the man. As they turned in the direction of the voice they found themselves looking into the eyes of a legless leper, a large piece of wood clutched in his hand.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  Spiro was the first to regain his composure. ‘We’ve been sent here from Athens. You wouldn’t have any water, would you? We’ve not had a drink for hours.’

  The eyes regarded them suspiciously. ‘You’re criminals.’

  ‘Criminals?’ Spiro could not believe his ears.

  ‘You were sent here in straitjackets. You must be criminals.’

  Spiro laughed mirthlessly. ‘If being a leper is a crime, if asking for better living conditions and respect for the dead is a crime, then we’re criminals. Please, just tell us where we can find some water.’

  His eyes never leaving them he groped for a jug that stood nearby and handed it to Spiro who drank noisily before passing it to Yannis.

  Spiro breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Can you direct us to the hospital?’

  ‘Hospital?’ The man chuckled. ‘Ruin, more like.’

  ‘Where are we expected to live?’

  ‘Wherever you fancy.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Here.’ The leper indicated the tiny wooden shelter, open on two sides.

  Spiro looked at him doubtfully. ‘What do you do in the winter or when it rains?’

  ‘Someone usually takes pity on me and carries me to the tunnel or the church.’

  ‘Why don’t you live in one of the houses?’

  ‘Most of them aren’t safe. Those that are have people living in them already.’

  Spiro took a deep breath. ‘You mean we’re expected to live out in the open? If there’s no hospital what happens to the really sick people?’

  ‘They die, same as anywhere else.’

  ‘Please, could I have another drink?’ Yannis spoke for the first time. The jug was handed to him and he drank again greedily. ‘Where’s your water supply?’ he asked, realising he had almost emptied the jug.

  ‘By the tunnel; there’s an old fountain in the wall.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have any food, I suppose?’ asked Spiro, his stomach had been growling with hunger for some time. ‘We haven’t eaten for twenty four hours.’

  A piece of bread was handed to each of them, followed by a hunk of cheese, which Spiro wolfed down quickly, pleased to see that Yannis was also eating.

  ‘Where do you get your food from?’

  ‘You help yourself from the storehouse down by the quay.’

  Yannis slumped down beside the bank. ‘I told you this place was hell. You didn’t believe me.’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ asked the legless leper.

  ‘I used to live in Plaka.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Yannis? It’s not so bad here. We’ll find somewhere to live,’ Spiro assured him. ‘It can’t be worse than the hospital.’

  ‘I wish they’d thrown us over-board in our straitjackets. At least it
would be over by now. God knows how long we shall survive here and in what misery.’

  Spiro shook his head in despair. ‘Well, I’m going to take this jug and find the water fountain. Then I’m going to the storehouse to see what food there is. Are you coming, Yannis?’

  ‘No. I’ll stay here – if you don’t mind?’ he looked at the man above him.

  ‘Come on up. There are some steps lower down.’

  Yannis climbed the steps and found he was on the catwalk of the old fortress; running down the centre was a low tunnel, which culminated in a square, open chamber.

  ‘What’s that?’ Spiro heard him ask.

  ‘It catches the rain. Come and sit by me and tell me about yourself. What’s your name for a start, I’m Kyriakos, Kyriakos the legless.’

  Spiro was distinctly worried. For five years he had lived in the close confines of the hospital ward, dirty, un-kempt, ill-fed and bored, but sheltered from the elements and receiving rudimentary medication. How would he and the others fare now? The next few months, if they were lucky, would be tolerable, but what would happen to them when it rained for days on end? How would they keep warm during the winter months? At the entrance to the quay he hesitated, then decided he would fetch the water first. Lining both sides of the path were houses, lacking doors, windows, roofs, some hardly more than a wall with a heap of rubble behind it. In a little knot stood the lepers who had recently arrived, looking frightened, bewildered, hoping someone would come and tell them what they should do or where they should go.

  ‘Hey, Spiro.’

  ‘Panicos.’

  The two men embraced sombrely. ‘What’s your opinion?’ asked Panicos.

  ‘There’s nothing here. There’s some water down by the tunnel and food in a room by the quay and that’s it.’

  Panicos paled. ‘I thought someone would come and take us to the hospital.’

  ‘There is no hospital. Yannis and I have been talking to a man further up. He says most of the buildings are dangerous, so they live in the open. When it rains they take shelter in the church or a tunnel.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Spiro rubbed his knuckles over his forehead. ‘Yannis feels pretty bad.’

  ‘Ill?’

  ‘No, I don’t think he’s ill. He just feels responsible for us being sent here. He used to live somewhere nearby and knows the island by reputation.’

  Panicos frowned. ‘Where are you off to now?’

  ‘To fetch some water and food.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. I think most of us came down this way and found the water. I’m not sure about the food. We’ll pass the word as we go back.’

  Spiro agreed readily. He felt uncertain wandering around alone. As they passed people melted into the shadows of the buildings or glared balefully at them from where they were sitting. The waterspout was set into the massive wall of the fortress, which towered above them. A few feet away a dark entrance yawned, whilst opposite a flight of steps cut into the hillside led to the battlements above. Behind them there was a house, which appeared to be in reasonable repair, and they could feel eyes watching them, making their skin prickle. The jug almost full, Spiro manoeuvred it carefully away from the spout and looked towards the house, smiling and waving his hand.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Worth a try,’ agreed Panicos.

  Together they went to the doorway. ‘Hallo, there,’ called Spiro.

  From the dark interior a man enquired their business roughly.

  ‘We’ve recently arrived and wondered if there was any shelter available.’

  The man hesitated, and then limped forward to lean against the doorpost. ‘Are you lepers?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You were brought here like criminals.’ The man was suspicious. ‘We don’t want criminals here.’

  ‘We’re not,’ Spiro assured him. ‘It’s a long story. We had a fight at the hospital, but we’re not criminals.’

  ‘There’s no room anyway.’ The man spat on the ground. As Spiro’s eyes had become accustomed to the interior gloom he could see the man was speaking the truth. There seemed to be bodies everywhere.

  ‘I believe you, friend. We’ll look elsewhere.’

  They felt eyes following them as they returned towards the quay. ‘It explains a lot if they thought we were a band of thieves or murderers sent amongst them,’ remarked Panicos. ‘I thought it odd that no one came to look at us out of curiosity. They’re all busy protecting whatever few possessions they have in the mistaken belief that we’re here to rob them.’

  ‘Let’s get some food and be done. This jug’s heavy and I’m tired.’

  Spiro half expected to find the food under guard, but there was no one. The high stone room was littered with crates and boxes, haphazardly placed on the earth floor. High, open windows allowed the light to penetrate and they began to examine the containers.

  ‘Figs!’ Spiro crammed one into his mouth. ‘I just love figs.’

  Between them they gathered bread, cheese, olives, tomatoes and figs, putting it all into one of the empty boxes they found in a corner.

  ‘I hope we haven’t taken too much,’ observed Spiro, popping another fig into his mouth.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be soon be told if we have!’

  The two men returned to the sunlight, Panicos putting his hand on Spiro’s arm. ‘What were those boxes and sacks they off loaded? Whilst we’re here we may as well have a look. It could be more food.’

  They placed their burdens in the shade and walked through the arch onto the quay. Panicos opened the neck of the first sack and looked at Spiro in surprise.

  ‘It’s clothing! We can have some clean clothes!’

  Spiro pulled a box towards him. Daubed on the top in white paint was a name, the sack next to it was also named.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ He moved more of the containers; on each there was a roughly painted name. ‘These are our belongings.’ He began to sort through them frantically until he found one bearing his name and undid the neck of the sack eagerly. ‘It’s mine,’ he announced in satisfaction.

  Panicos found a box that belonged to him and dragged it to one side. ‘We can’t manage these and the food. Let’s go back and get Yannis to come and help.’

  They retrieved the food and water and walked slowly back up the slope to the path, following it until they came to Kyriakos’s shelter. Yannis was lying asleep in the sunshine.

  ‘Wake up, lazy, see what we’ve got.’

  Kyriakos frowned at them. ‘Let him sleep. He’s had a bad time.’

  ‘We’ve all had a bad time,’ replied Panicos dryly. ‘Stir yourself, Yannis. We need your help.’

  Yannis opened a sleepy eye. ‘What?’

  ‘When they dumped us ashore they also dumped our belongings. There are boxes and sacks down there with our names on. We found ours, but couldn’t manage to bring them back this trip.’

  Yannis sat up, suddenly more interested. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘We went for the water and spoke to a man in one of the houses. He said there was no room, and it was true. There were people everywhere. Then we went down to the quay and made up a box of food. Panicos remembered the boxes and sacks that had been put ashore and we went to have a look at them. They’ve all got names on, so we found ours. Yours must be there somewhere.’

  Kyriakos was steadily eating the figs. ‘I suggest you go and get them before someone else does. Bring them back here, they’ll be safe with me.’

  Reluctantly Yannis rose to his feet, took a long drink from the jug and prepared to follow his friends. It would be good to change into some cleaner clothes. When they reached the quay the pile of belongings was considerably diminished, men were carrying bundles and pushing boxes back up to the path. Panicos and Spiro checked that their possessions were where they had left them and began to help Yannis search for his. Finally they returned up the slope carrying th
eir belongings.

  Once back with Kyriakos they unpacked eagerly, Yannis delighted to find that in the bottom of his box was his treasured collection of books that he had not seen since leaving Heraklion. Each man changed his clothes and Yannis turned to Kyriakos.

  ‘Is there somewhere we can wash these and maybe have a bath ourselves?’

  Kyriakos chuckled. ‘You can use the old laundry, down by the quay, but there’s only sea water for a bath’.

  Panicos and Spiro exchanged glances, whilst Yannis picked up his discarded clothing. ‘It’s better than nothing. Are you coming?’

  The three men went down to the quay, with their dirty clothes bundled into their arms. One sack was still sitting there and Yannis approached it curiously. His name showed clearly and he began to undo the neck, wondering if it did belong to him. Yannis began to remove articles of clothing that looked vaguely familiar, but were certainly not his. At the bottom of the sack was a small prayer book, which he opened carefully. Written on the flyleaf was the name “Andreas Mandrakis”.

  ‘I don’t believe it. It’s not possible.’ Yannis sat with the prayer book in his hands. ‘This belongs to my cousin. Is he a leper?’

  Spiro shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea, but if he’s on this island we’ll soon find him. Put it to one side and we’ll take it back up with us.’

  They immersed their bodies in the sea, before using a shirt from the sack to dry their wet bodies. Despite the salt, which stung their open wounds, they all felt considerably cleaner than they had for years. They rubbed at their old clothes to remove the dirt and carried them back to Kyriakos, spreading them on the ground to dry. Yannis looked again at the prayer book; then placed it carefully in his box with his books.

  He felt more relaxed, and he realised with something of a shock that he was more comfortable than he had been for a considerable amount of time. He stretched out his hand for the last fig and Kyriakos shook his head.

  ‘You’ll spoil your supper.’

  ‘What supper! We’ll have to go down and get some more bread and cheese before it gets dark.’

  Kyriakos smiled to himself ‘Be patient for a while, you could have a surprise.’

  Panicos and Spiro suggested a game of cards and Kyriakos accepted eagerly, whilst Yannis preferred to sit and read one of his books. He read slowly, revelling in each word. He had not realised just how much he had missed reading. A savoury smell teased at his nostrils and he looked around curiously. Coming towards them was a young girl carrying a large basket. Kyriakos waved a hand at her.