by K. M. Ashman
Suddenly, a woman’s voice rang out above the noise of the crowd.
‘Mother help us,’ it screamed, ‘the temple is on fire.’
----
The two young women ran through the smoke filled streets and within minutes, stood amongst a huge crowd before the forum. Rubria forced her way to the front and could see flames through the shutters of one of the rooms at the far end of the courtyard. Two of the eunuch guards stood at the entrance, fidgeting nervously.
‘Where are the priestesses?’ shouted Rubria.
‘Still in there, I think,’ answered one of the guards.
‘Why aren’t you helping them?’ she screamed, ‘somebody, in the name of all that is holy, we have to help.’
For hundreds of years, access to the Vestal temple had been denied to the common man, on pain of death and despite the urgency of the situation, the risk of being condemned to death was too deeply ingrained into the psyche of the people. No one moved.
‘They may be trapped,’ screamed Rose.
‘Who are we to interfere with the will of the gods?’ asked the eunuch.
‘It is not the gods who have caused this,’ snarled Rubria, ‘but the hand of a madman.’
Rubria indicated for Rose to step to one side, so they could talk without anyone hearing them.
‘How on earth did it start in there?’ asked Rose, ‘there are no flames anywhere near.’
‘I think I know,’ said Rubria, ‘I’ll explain later. I have to get in there, Rose and I need you to do something.’
‘Anything,’ she answered.
‘I need to get past the guards,’ she said, ‘do you have any ideas?’
‘Leave it to me,’ she said, ‘just be ready.’ They returned to the archway and made their way to the front of the growing crowd.
‘Ready?’ asked Rose.
‘Yes,’ said Rubria.
Without another word, Rose ran forward and drove her shoulder into one of the guard’s midriffs, driving him to the floor. Immediately, the second guard ran over to grab her and in the confusion, Rubria ran through the smoke filled courtyard and into the temple.
The smoke filled her lungs and she tried to call out but her attempts only ended up in coughing fits. She looked around frantically, desperate to find any sign of her fellow priestesses. Up on the surrounding balcony she could see all the doors to the cells swinging outwards, the glow of flames visible even from the floor below and Rubria feared the worst. Suddenly her eyes returned to the one cell that was not open. In fact, the door was wedged closed by a table leaning against it. Rubria ran up the stairs and toward the cell.
‘Hello,’ she shouted, over the noise of the flames, ‘is there anyone in there?’
‘Rubria?’ came a muffled reply, ‘is that you?’
Rubria grabbed the table leg and heaved with all her strength until it moved slightly. She pushed again until finally the table fell away and the door sprang open. Over twenty people came stumbling out of the cell, including several terrified young girls. The high priestess was amongst them and she threw her arms around Rubria.
‘Oh, thank the gods,’ she said, ‘where have you been?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Rubria, ‘we have to get the sisters out of here.’ The two of them ushered the priestesses along the balcony and down the stairs. They managed to cross the courtyard toward the archway before the high priestess stopped short, gathering her breath.
‘You go on,’ she said, ‘there is something I must do.’
‘What?’ asked Rubria, ‘all the sisters are safe.’
‘The treasures,’ said the high priestess, ‘I can’t stand by and watch the artefacts of the great mother destroyed.’
‘But it is too late,’ shouted Rubria, ‘the flames are out of control.’
‘My life has been dedicated to the goddess,’ said the head priestess, ‘she has given me my whole reason for living, I cannot forsake her now.’
Rubria stared at her.
‘You are right,’ she said, ‘and I am ashamed.’ She reached out and took the hand of the high priestess before adding, ‘we will go together.’
Despite the pleading of everyone around them, they turned around and ran back into the temple.
----
Flames were roaring from the windows on the upper levels of the temple and forcing their way out between the red clay tiles of the roof. People shielded their faces from the heat as they peered into the inferno for any sign of the two priestesses. Suddenly a figure forced himself to the front of the crowd.
‘What’s happened?’ he shouted above the noise.
‘Two of our sisters ran back in to save the treasures,’ said a coughing priestess.
‘Who?’ asked Dragus.
‘The high priestess and Rubria.’
‘How long ago?’
‘No more than a few moments,’ she said.
He looked around and focussed on a bystander holding a redundant bucket of water, his mind racing furiously.
‘Give me that,’ he said and started to remove his cloak.
‘It’s no good,’ said the onlooker, ‘this is the last. One bucket won’t make any difference to that lot.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said the centurion, ‘I won’t be wasting it on the flames.’ He shoved the cape into the bucket until most of the water had been soaked up into the fabric and poured what was left over his head. He wrapped the cape around him and after taking a few deep breaths, held one edge to cover his face before running through the smoke and into the courtyard.
----
Chapter 16
Samothrace 2010
Half an hour after the phone call, Brandon was ushered through a weather worn door and up a side stairwell. When the car had arrived back at his hotel, he had been thoroughly searched and bundled into the back seat of a small car. Two casually dressed men sat with him in the back, one either side. They had driven for half an hour before pulling up outside a shabby looking hotel somewhere in the mountains. One of them knocked on a door and after a few moments, a voice called out for them to enter.
‘Mr Walker,’ said a man, sitting at a side table, ‘come on in.’ He stood up and shook Brandon’s hand, ‘I am a representative from the ministry of citizen protection.’
‘Hello,’ said Brandon, warily, ‘why am I here and where is India?’
‘She is fine,’ said the official, ‘but all in good time. Please, take a seat.’
Brandon sat down and looked around the room. It was typical of any three star hotel anywhere in the world. Typical, that is, except for the armed bodyguard standing just inside the doorway, blocking any escape route.
‘Mr Walker,’ said the official, ‘I will get straight to the point. I understand you have been asking questions about a certain individual by the name of Venezelos.’
Brandon thought furiously. If this man was indeed an official then the chances were that he had access to governmental resources and probably already knew a lot about him. However, if he was some sort of criminal, he may just be lying to extract information. He decided not to risk it and stuck to their cover story.
‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘Peter Venezelos. I don’t know him that well but we met in England and he asked me to call in on his mother.’
‘Where exactly did you meet him?’ asked the official.
‘In some pub near Victoria station,’ Brandon lied before adding, ‘I’m sorry, who exactly are you and why am I here?’
‘You are here because I too am interested in Mr Venezelos and as a representative of the law, I expect you to answer all my questions accurately,’ said the officer, his voice taking on a harder edge.
‘I don’t know what this is all about,’ said Brandon, ‘we are simply a couple of tourists who have been asked to deliver some flowers. If we have done anything wrong…’
‘Mr Walker,’ interrupted the man, ‘we are both professionals and I don’t want to waste time playing silly games. Let’s just get straight to the point. W
e know you are a serving British officer and strongly suspect you of being in the SAS.’
Brandon was horrified but tried to keep up the pretence.
‘This is absurd,’ he said, ‘I’m leaving.’ He stood up and turned to the door, only to see the guard’s hand reach to an inside jacket pocket, indicating a concealed weapon.
‘Sit down,’ said the guard menacingly.
Brandon calculated his chances but realised he could not cross the room before the guard could draw his gun. He turned and sat back down.
‘Thank you,’ said the official. ‘There is no need for any unpleasantness but perhaps these may help.’ He threw a handful of photographs on the table, all of Brandon in various places in England. One in particular was obviously taken from a moving vehicle and it showed him walking into a camp carrying a large blue holdall. Behind him was a sign that clearly said ‘Stirling Lines.’
‘Now, can we stop this pretence?’ asked the official, ‘I care not whether you are in the SAS or the boy scouts. All I want to know is information about Peter Venezelos. I am not asking you to betray your country or give away any military secrets, just two simple things. One, is he alive? And two, where is he now?’
Brandon realised he was compromised. He was unarmed in a locked room with a man with a gun. His training kicked in and he assessed the situation carefully. What the man was asking would be common knowledge soon enough so there was no need to put his life or the life of India at risk by holding out. If this man didn’t know where Peter Venezelos was, he probably wasn’t aware that he was dead. This was an opportunity to increase his chances by giving some truth to his story without revealing too much information.
‘Okay,’ said Brandon, ‘I admit I am a serving British officer but in the army training corps, not the SAS. I was in Hereford teaching Morse code.’
The man shrugged.
‘We won’t pursue that,’ he said, ‘It is not important.’
‘If I tell you what I know,’ said Brandon, ‘how do I know you will let us go?’
‘We are not animals, Mr Walker,’ came the reply, ‘Greece is a civilised country and was so long before your little island had even learned how to clothe themselves. We are a member of the European Union and share a common purpose. What we don’t do, is allow foreigners into our country on a mission to kill one of our citizens.’
‘Kill?’ gasped Brandon, ‘you have this all wrong. What on earth makes you think I am an assassin?’
‘Why else would you carry a gun?’ asked the man simply.
‘Wow,’ said Brandon, ‘you’ve certainly done your homework. Okay, I will tell you what I know.’ He paused to gather his thoughts. ‘The gun is for my own protection. The man you speak of tried to kill me back in England. I caught him trying to break into my house. He escaped but dropped his wallet. We traced his driving license back to Samothrace and I am just here to see if I can find anything out.’
‘And have you?’
‘Not really, it seems he was a member of some gang long ago but apart from that, we have found out nothing.’
‘And the girl?’
‘She has nothing to do with this, she is just a friend. I asked her along to avoid suspicion.’
The man glanced at the guard at the door who nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Okay,’ said the Greek man, ‘this all fits with what we know. What about his brother?’
‘I know nothing about a brother.’
The officer stared for a while before continuing.
‘I’ll tell you what, Mr Walker,’ he said, ‘despite the rocky start, I believe you are telling me the truth. To prove our credentials I will return the compliment and share with you what I know. Peter Venezelos has a twin brother called Jason. They are citizens of Samothrace and were minor drug dealers. When we arrested them, they agreed to take part in a sting to catch the main dealers and we set them up with a hundred thousand dollars to bait the trap. Unfortunately, the temptation was too great and they fled Greece with the money. Naturally, we want them and the money back. They were last seen in Rome so you can imagine, when somebody arrived asking questions, we were naturally very interested.’
‘But why would he try to kill me?’ asked Brandon, exploring this new information.
‘I don’t know, perhaps he just panicked when you caught him breaking into your house.’
‘Possibly,’ said Brandon. ‘Still, I had no idea this was a police investigation and apologise for any concern we may have caused.’
‘No problem,’ said the officer, ‘I am glad we sorted out the misunderstanding.’ He stood up and held out a business card. ‘If you do find anything out, please give me a call.’
‘I will,’ said Brandon taking the card, ‘can I go now?’
‘Of course but one more thing, Mr Walker, what do you know about the Palladium?’
Brandon maintained a blank face and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Big concert hall in the middle of London. Why do you ask?’
The Greek man smiled.
‘No matter,’ he said, ‘you may leave.’
‘What about India?’ asked Brandon.
‘She is already at your hotel, packing.’
‘Packing? Why?’
‘I have booked you on a flight out of Athens tomorrow afternoon, the ferry leaves Samothrace at eight am and your flight to London is at four. As pleasant as this has been, we still cannot allow an armed man with a grudge to wander the streets of Samothrace. I am sure you understand. Enjoy your last night in Greece, Mr Walker, goodbye.’
The guard opened the door and Brandon left quickly, constantly looking over his shoulder as he tried to find a taxi.
‘What do you think?’ asked the guard back in the hotel room.
‘Two things,’ answered the officer, ‘one is that he is definitely SAS and the second is he knows more than he is letting on. Give him space but have him followed. He may yet tell us what we want to know.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said the thug and left the room.
----
‘Brandon, thank god,’ said India when he finally returned to the room. She walked forward to embrace him but he brushed past her and went to the window, pulling the curtain aside to peer into the street.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Have you finished packing?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘but why the rush? That policeman said we can go tomorrow.’
‘He may be a policeman,’ said Brandon, ‘but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. All that bullshit about drugs was bollocks. There’s something else going on here. I don’t know what it is yet but there is no way I am going to sit back and wait for things to happen.’
‘What’s brought this on?’ she asked, ‘he seemed really nice.’
Brandon started to put the few things he had into his rucksack.
‘First of all, he knew who I was and what I do. Secondly, he has an entourage of armed thugs surrounding him and thirdly, did you catch his name?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, ‘why?’
He threw the business card the officer had given him on the table. India picked it up and read the name.
‘Gatilusi,’ she read.
‘Ring any bells?’ asked Brandon.
She stared at him, her mind turning over as she searched her memory.
‘Hang on,’ she said, ‘weren’t they the family that Agatha told us about, the ones who ran this island for a couple of hundred years?’
‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘the last great ruling family until they were ousted by the Ottomans.’
‘The family Peter Venezelos’ gang were named after?’
‘Yup and they used the family’s eagle as an emblem.’
‘Aetosh,’ she said.
‘Aetosh,’ he confirmed.
‘May be a coincidence?’ she ventured.
‘Too many links to be a coincidence,’ he replied, ‘the guy who tried to kill us was in a gang called the A
etosh. Now we get warned off by someone who is probably a descendant of the original family.’
‘So where are we going?’
‘I don’t know yet, I just want to get away from here. I don’t trust him. He reckons Peter Venezelos is some small time drug dealer but I’m not so sure.’
India got up to get a glass of water.
‘What else did he say?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘Not much’ said Brandon, ‘though he did ask me a strange question. He wanted to know about the London Palladium of all things.’
The sound of a breaking glass came from behind him and he spun around. India was staring at him, the remains of the glass lying at her feet.
‘What did you say?’ she asked.
‘About the drugs?’ he asked
‘No, the Palladium. What did he ask you?’
‘Not much really, just asked what I knew about the London Palladium.’
‘Did he say London Palladium?’ she asked, ‘think carefully Brandon, what were his exact words? Did he actually say London?’
‘Do you know what?’ said Brandon, ‘I don’t think he did. He just said what do you know about the Palladium? Why, is it important?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘it all makes sense. It’s not the London Palladium he was asking about but probably the most sought after artefact in the modern world. The statue of Pallas Athena.’
India cleaned up the mess and they sat on the settee as she explained.
‘If you recall,’ said India, ‘I told you the story of the statue of Pallas being taken to Samothrace by Electra and ultimately ending up in Troy.’
‘Yes but what has that to do with the Palladium?’
‘That’s just it,’ she said, ‘during its time in Troy, the statue became known as the Palladium and for over a thousand years, it was said that as long as the Palladium stayed at its heart, the city would never fall. Obviously, it became famous across the region and throughout history, many cities across the world adopted their own version. The American constitution is often called the Palladium of America and the London Palladium is just a building named after the most important icon any city could ever have.’