1 The Assassins' Village (21 page)

‘I was rescuing a trapped kid that had been left by its mother. I-I slipped on some loose stones and fell into an acacia bush.’ Antigone blushed under the hostile woman’s scrutiny as she told her lie.

‘Well it must have been some bush. It is time you learnt to grow up a bit. Become tidier and less careless. Look at the state of your nails. Pah!’

Glancing down at her hands, Antigone found they were streaked with dirt and dried blood and she hid them behind her back.

‘Please don’t say anything, Yanoulla. I’m always in trouble. Papa thinks I am useless. If he hears that I’m not looking after the goats properly I shall be punished.’

Yanoulla looked steadily at the younger girl, noting her flushed, streaked face and overly bright eyes. She knew the girl was not being straight with her, and could have sworn she had been crying. There was something not right about her story; too
lame. Perhaps her brother could get to the bottom of it. Besides, it would give her a good excuse to talk to the handsome Kristiakis.

Shaking her head in condemnation, she carried on. ‘Perhaps you should stay at home more,’ she hissed. ‘Learn to be a good Cypriot woman, leave the goats to the men. It’s about time a husband was found for you to keep you in check. But no, I’ll not say anything to your father.’

Giving her a smile of gratitude, Antigone thanked Yanoulla and made her way up the alley. It took all her self-control not to wince at the pain in her back; she needed to keep a blank face.

Yanoulla watched Antigone, her mind rapidly assaying all she had seen. Just what had the sly little slut been up to? Despite what she had just said, she would definitely mention it to her brother. Perhaps it was time someone took the whip to her and rid her of her lies. She was becoming far too independent. It was ever since she had the ridiculous notion of becoming an interpreter.

Antigone was thankful to escape the watchful eyes of Yanoulla. She knew her for a mean, spiteful woman who was frustrated over her brother, Kristiakis. For years she had fancied him, only to watch him work his way through all the other village girls.

She turned off the alley, the family house before her. Peering into the courtyard, Antigone gave the Lord thanks out loud when she discovered no one at home. Kristiakis would be working on his building project and papa, no doubt, would be starting on his first drink of the day. She limped over the crazy paving and opened the door to the semi-gloom of the living room. It was all quiet and empty, except for the dog that raised a lazy head at her entrance. It rose to greet her, tail wagging.

‘What are you doing in here,’ she whispered to him, rubbing his velvet nose. ‘Papa would kick you if he knew where you’d spent the afternoon.’ As he muzzled her with affection she felt the pricking of fresh tears. She had to get moving.

With a final pat of the dog, she tore into her room, stripping off her clothes as she went. Bundling them onto her bed she found a clean blouse and skirt. Once dressed, she paused in front of her brown spotted mirror and was horrified.

The girl that stared back at her showed a dejected and wild look in her eyes. She had scratches down her left cheek and neck, and her long tresses needed a good brushing. Pouring water into a bowl, Antigone began to scrub herself clean of dirt and blood. The coarse soap made her wince as it found its way into her cuts and grazes. Once finished she took another look at herself. She still appeared wide-eyed and miserable with tousled hair, but at least she was clean. Gently touching the scratches with her fingertips she decided they would heal quickly. Time was ticking on; her brother and father could walk in at any moment. They would be expecting a hot dinner placed before them.

Antigone tidied the room and set about preparing that evening’s meal, her hands still shaking. Inside she felt raw; but she was more afraid of what her father and brother would do if they suspected that she had met a man in secret, and worse, a man who was old enough to be her father and an Englishman to boot.

She thought of Yanoulla, hoping she had behaved innocently enough to dispel any ideas that the nosey woman might have. Her glance stole across the room to where the icon of the Virgin Mary hung on the wall. The Saint’s usually serene and benevolent face seemed to question Antigone with a sorrowful look in her eyes. Antigone looked away, hurriedly crossing herself.

With a huge sigh, she opened the wire-meshed food cupboard and removed the rabbit Kristiakis had shot yesterday. She’d skinned the animal earlier that morning
and now she cut it up into large pieces. She took the pan with the wide base and heated some olive oil on the little gas hotplate. She then threw in the rabbit, onions and herbs plus a glass of the local rough red wine. After adding some water, she placed a lid on top and then left the
Kounelli Stifado
(rabbit stew) to simmer. As she worked her hands steadied, the task was therapeutic. Her heart grew calmer and less erratic.

She thought about Leslie. Was he right? Had she known all along, the risks of being alone with a man?

Her head was full of romantic thoughts over what she believed to be a handsome and gentle stranger; so unlike her rough brother and worse father. Like villages the world over, domestic violence was often rife and very little was done about it officially. Nobody interfered, especially with a wayward wife or daughter.

Of course, Leslie never
actually
said that he planned to take her away from the village. But he
had
dropped hints. She knew he found her attractive. It was flattering to a young village girl, especially when he ignored the others and singled her out.

She sniffed, wiping her runny nose on her arm. Never since her mother passed away had she felt so wretched. Suddenly she stiffened, a feeling of dread crept over her. Familiar footsteps were approaching the house.

Chapter 28.
             

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.

Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 2.

The fragrance from the rabbit dish filled the courtyard with a wholesome, comforting aroma. Replacing the lid to the pan, and with a tremulous smile upon her face, Antigone turned towards the gate.

Kristiakis stood glowering beneath the canopy of the tree. His lips were white with rage and his dark eyes glittered like hard black bullets.

Cowering in trepidation, a tremor went through Antigone as she waited for the onslaught.

‘So you little harlot, you’ve betrayed us,’ his voice rasped over her.

She raised a hand to her mouth. ‘No! I don’t understand. You are mistaken,’ her voice was husky with fear.

‘Mistaken? You are a lying little whore. Don’t lie to me. I saw you.
Saw you.
Coming back along the bottom lane and I wondered why the Englishman was only a step behind,’ he spat his words at her. ‘At first I didn’t believe it, my sister meeting with a foreigner. But what else should I expect?  The last few weeks you’ve been following him around like a tramp, a lovesick puppy. Hypnotised by his clever words, grovelling whenever he called you, and what for? Oh, I didn’t want to believe what my eyes were telling me. But then Yanoulla comes along, that nosey, interfering bitch. And she tells me that you’d come home with scratches all over you and a torn dress. Looking like you’d been lying in a goat shed all day,’ he paused for breath before continuing. ‘Then I knew. I knew that you’d been lying to us all along. You are a little slut. You lay with a foreigner, an Englishman! You opened your legs for him! For that I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll not forget. That piece of shit isn’t a man. I’m going to show you just what a fine Cypriot man is made of.’

His face was mottled, and spittle hit her as he spewed out his hatred and disgust. With one swift movement he removed the thick studded trouser belt that he was so proud of, wrapping one end around his knuckles. Raising his brawny arm, he brought the leather down upon Antigone’s back as he grasped and tore open her blouse with his other hand. He stared down at her, his eyes glazed. She screamed...
                           

…he dragged a crushed Antigone into her small bedroom and threw her onto the bed. The beating had raised his blood.  He placed one heavy calloused hand over her mouth as he stripped away her remaining clothes.

~~~

Later, he decided the Englishman would pay; for his arrogance and shaming his sister.

He pointed a finger at her bedroom door and growled. ‘Stay here. I’ll deal with you again later.’

Kristiakis slammed out of the house leaving a broken Antigone behind. He knew where he could find Leslie at this time of day. He would have finished his work for the week. No doubt he would be planning his weekend back down at the Episkopi camp.

Approaching Leslie’s temporary billet, Kristiakis knew that late in the afternoon security was more lax than usual and he entered the low ramshackle building with ease. His mouth had a savage curve as he considered what he would do when he confronted Leslie. One beaten up girl was no substitute when he could thrash the real culprit. He would vent his entire, pent up frustrations and anger on this intruder of
Kypros
! Perhaps he would kill him. Kristiakis was no longer thinking straight.

As soon as he found Leslie it went wrong. Making no attempt to quieten his heavy booted footsteps he tore along the off-white tiled corridor. The rooms leading off all appeared to be empty, good. But what he had forgotten, in his white rage and haste, was that soldiers carry guns. From his window Leslie had espied Antigone’s brother hurtling towards the building. Turning back into the room, Leslie had taken his Webley revolver from its leather holster and then calmly sat back down at his desk. His wicker chair creaked as he leaned back, watching the open doorway. When Kristiakis’ body filled the frame Leslie picked up the revolver and pointed it steadily at his chest. He sneered as he saw the look of astonishment on his adversary’s face.

Kristiakis paused, his breath coming in ragged gasps. In his halting and broken English, Kristiakis growled out his grievance. His body shook with anger.

‘Your sister’s honour! Oh, do me a favour old chap!’ Leslie leaned forward, his eyes narrowed as he hissed in Kristiakis’ direction. ‘There was no honour to be lost. The little bint was begging for it. She’s been following me round for weeks.’

He lolled back in his chair, giving him a bright smile. ‘Tell you what though. She was the best. The sweetest little bit of skirt I’ve had in a long time. Give her a few months and she’ll be spreading her legs for anyone. She couldn’t get enough.’

He lowered the gun, and with crude deliberation, he lifted his left hand to his nose, took a long sniff and then drew his tongue along his index finger.

Despite his lack of English, Kristiakis knew immediately what Leslie’s vulgar gesture intimated, and bellowing with rage he lurched forward. Leslie calmly cocked the revolver and took aim.

‘Don’t even think about it old boy. I could kill you in one shot. It’s not worth it over some little eager fanny. Now why don’t you run home and have a drink. Better still find a girl. I’ve finished here so you’ll be rid of me after tomorrow anyway. Now, get out before I really do shoot you.’ He waved his gun dismissively, as if he was ridding himself of some annoying pest.

Kristiakis glared at Leslie, unsure of what to do. As he hesitated there was a sound of running footsteps in the outside corridor and a breathless corporal materialised behind him. The young soldier looked shocked as he took in the scene before him; the gun in his officer’s hand and the rough looking Cypriot workman with fists as big as hams. His worried eyes swivelled to his officer. ‘Sir?’

‘It’s all right Jones, he’s just leaving. It might be a good idea if you escorted him off the premises though. Here, you might need this. Oh, and when you’ve done that you might finish the packing. I’ve decided to leave this evening. I’ve accomplished all I needed to do here.’ The double meaning was lost on both other men, but Leslie obviously thought it funny as he gave another laugh.

~~~

Finishing his report, Leslie signed it, and put it in a large buff envelope ready for delivery to his senior officer. He was satisfied with what he had achieved here. His time well spent. The highly specialised radio equipment and tall masts were all in place, ready for the connection with HQ back in Cheltenham. One more listening ‘device’ to keep us safe, he thought. Placing the last remaining items from his desk drawer into his attaché case Leslie sat for a moment, lost in thought.

He’d had very little to do himself in the village, apart from oversee the operation. He’d whiled away his boredom doing what he liked best. Antigone was only a simple peasant girl. She was obviously besotted and flattered by him and his attention. So, he had set out to deflower her. So bloody what? Half the women here were pregnant before they married. The men needed to know that their prospective wives could bear children and weren’t barren. Mind you, he hadn’t reckoned on her brother taking a stand. It was a good thing he’d been ready for him.

And, even better he was finished with the project here and could turn his back on a situation that could become embarrassing. Oh what joy, back to civilisation!

Chapter 29. Leslie.

O, full of scorpions in my mind, dear wife!

Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 2.

To say Leslie was selfish was perhaps an understatement. He’d been brought up as an only child by a doting mother who foolishly let her handsome son walk all over her as soon as he left the cradle. As he grew older and more perceptive, his attention seeking and demanding nature was replaced by something much more disturbing. When he wanted something, he simply flopped down to join
Mama
on the chaise-lounge (where she spent most of her day), and gave her some sob story about being horribly in debt at art school, due to some devilish character who had taken advantage of his generous nature and run off with all his funds. Pouring his mother another of her morning ‘medicinal’ tots, she would tut tut about his misfortune, believe every word that slipped from his sugared lips, and hand over a wad of notes.

Leslie’s idle life and pampering continued, until one day, it became apparent that ‘
Dearest Mama’
couldn’t support him forever. The matriarchal purse had shrunk to almost nothing. Medicinal tots and Leslie’s rapacious appetites had seen to that. He needed to find some means to help feed himself.

As fate would have it, mama’s older brother was not taken in by what he considered his, ‘manipulative, arty-farty snivelling fop of a nephew’ one little bit. Leslie’s uncle, a full Colonel in the British Army, did what in normal circumstances could have been described as indecent haste. He had his nephew interviewed, signed up and in uniform before a startled Leslie could come up with any excuses. Uncle William considered he had done his best to help his sister. He’d finally got Leslie off her hands and hopefully, out of her depleted purse. The Army could do the rest and put some strong moral fibre into his parasitic nephew. There were plenty of small wars and skirmishes around the world to keep him busy.

Despite the discipline of Army life, Leslie remained as selfish and arrogant as when he had sponged off his hapless mother. He had however, matured to the state where he could disguise his character with some rather superb stories. His uncle had been correct in his earlier conjecture of his nephew’s manipulative abilities. Leslie was wasted in the regular Army.

Now, as Leslie cleared his desk of files, his thoughts turned idly to the past. He always enjoyed female company; not so much for the stimulus of his brain, but for the adoration that certain females seemed to want to give. Their adulation, as they sat enthralled listening to his stories, he found utterly irresistible. He simply revelled in their admiration.

His first wife Beth had been no exception. They met during his second year in Art College. She was fairly good looking, with fine eyes and shapely legs. Possessing an easy-going manner, she was not over endowed with brains and she’d tried hard to please him. If only she’d not been so,
pleasant.
There was only one word to sum her up. Dull. Dull and she let herself worry over the most trivial of things. After a few dates he finally got her to agree to go to bed with him. He was chuffed to discover he was the first, and selfishly never thought to enquire as to whether she was taking any precautions. A month or two later, she approached him.

‘Darling, I’m afraid we’ve got a problem.’ To his credit he hastily agreed to marry her. His career would have suffered had he ignored his indiscretion.

Leslie never stopped taking lovers. Within two months of their nice, but dull little wedding in her hometown of Worthing, he caught the eye of a flirty little WRAC with generous breasts, and was soon happily banging away in the cramped confines of his car. The little Army girl was the first of many delightful fucks during his lustreless marriage to the dull but faithful Beth.

As soon as their two children came along Beth enthusiastically switched all her love and attention to them. Leslie guessed she knew she was going nowhere in her life with Leslie. Her outpouring of devotion towards her children possible eased her obvious craving for love and attention. At first Leslie wasn’t bothered. It had all been easy, and Beth never seemed to notice his comings and goings; his frequent trips away. He relished lying in the arms of numerous beautiful women.

Unfortunately his appetite was insatiable. As the children grew and became aware of their father’s absences, they too began to sense that all was not right in the family home.

Then one day, when Leslie was in the Middle East on a short posting, he met someone who was entirely different from all the other women.

Sonja was a loner, albeit she was attached to someone from the British Consulate. Her engagement was long standing, and something of a joke in her small circle of friends. They teased her about time passing by and that she’d never set the date. Although preferring her own company, she did attend the regular bashes in the Officers’ Mess, but once there stayed on the edge of the crowd. She appeared much happier to watch the antics of all those around her, and consider whether she could be bothered to join in.

When Leslie first saw and appraised the willow-thin Scottish girl with her mass of long dark, thick hair and sooty eyebrows, he had met with a cool reception in those pale eyes. His fellow officers laughed when he failed to penetrate her horny armour. Leslie had annoyed too many of his peers for them to let his apparent comeuppance pass lightly. As far as they were concerned, he was getting his just desserts and many laid bets as to how good his chances were. He tried all his usual tricks to get Sonja interested in him; gallant talk and unstinting attention. Nothing won Sonja over and he became increasingly frustrated.

Not a classical beauty by any account, but Sonja definitely had
something
. And Leslie wasn’t getting anywhere near that something. The more she resisted the more determined he became. Little Miss Sonja with the disdainful stare and unyielding body was Leslie’s biggest challenge to date.

One evening, just when a dispirited Leslie was thinking of turning in for an early night, things took a surprise turn.

Everyone in their usual gang supped that night at a new restaurant in town. The whole raucous party had drunk far too much, while watching the antics on the stage of a snake charmer and a couple of voluptuous belly dancers. The local brandy sours slipped down parched throats very easily during the stuffy hot evening and Leslie found himself next to an extremely tipsy Sonja.

He’d never before seen her in such a state. Her hair, that earlier had been drawn up in a carefully arranged chignon had lost most of its pins and was threatening to cascade down her back. Her eyes glittered with the rare intoxication. It was highly apparent that Sonja was in no fit state to be left on her own or to see herself home. Most of the noisy revellers were moving on to a favourite bar with live music and dancing. Sonja’s female companion of the evening unexpectedly found some old friends and had disappeared. Sonja was about to move off, stating that she was
perfectly capable of getting home by taxi. She stood unsteadily by her chair as she gathered up her evening bag and wrap.

‘Night all. See you in the week.’ She wobbled in her spindly high heels by the table.

Leslie’s wife Beth was back in England with the children, this Middle East tour being an unaccompanied one. As usual, he was desperate for female company. After weeks of pursuing Sonja, he saw at last, a glimmer of a chance.

Slurring the last of her goodbyes to the few remaining diners, Sonja staggered out into the warm night to flag down a taxi. Muttering his goodbyes Leslie followed her planning to share her ride.

Sonja would have fallen flat on her face when she misjudged the kerb height, if Leslie had not been right beside her. After that, it was easy bundling her into the first available taxicab and taking the almost comatose woman back to his small bungalow. He would settle her into his own bed.

There was no way she could look after herself. For once Leslie thought about the person by his side. It would have been dangerous letting her go back to her own quarters, or risk taking a cab alone down the darkened streets of Cairo.

Once they had arrived at his place, he thrust some small notes at the driver who happily cackled away at his own good fortune.  Taking hold of Sonja beneath the armpits, Leslie dragged her out of the back of the car. Sometime during the journey one of her shoes had come off and this he retrieved, stuffing it in the pocket of his jacket. With a grunt, he heaved her up onto his shoulder like a sack of onions, and carried her over to his front door. Eventually, after some fumbling he found his key and stepped inside.

Despite her slender body she was a dead weight on his shoulder. He crossed through to his bedroom and gently laid her down onto his bed. Leslie watched the sleeping woman for a moment while he decided what best to do. He listened to her gentle snores as he rolled her over to remove her shoe and dress. There was no way she was going anywhere for a few hours at least. Neither would she be aware of him or anything else for that matter. He tucked a cotton sheet around her, a flask of water and glass by her side, and left her to sleep it off.

Walking back into his living room Leslie eyed the short sofa with some disdain. Sighing he removed his own evening clothes and lay there staring at the flickering shadows on the darkened walls. Things had not quite worked out as he had expected. Sleep was a while in coming as he listened to the sounds from his bedroom. She was going to have a ghastly headache tomorrow that was certain. She was also going to be furious. He gave a chuckle, turned over on his uncomfortable bed and slept.

~~~

With a start, Leslie awoke some hours later to a strange clatter coming from his galley-like kitchen. The sun was up, streaming hot and bright through the chink in the cheap and badly fitting curtains. He cast a jaded eye around at the tawdry surroundings of his room and wondered where he had put his trousers last night. His mouth was dry and sour and he felt the tell-tale niggle of a headache beginning in his temple.

A curse on all cheap alcohol, he mused. As he sat up, the previous evening’s events came flooding back to him, and he wondered how Sonja was feeling. As she was already awake, up and moving, she was obviously doing better than he had thought. He was rewarded by the sight of her coming out of the kitchen with two steaming cups in her hands. Despite all that she had drunk the night before, she looked relatively wide-awake and composed.

‘Good morning. Is tea all right for you?’

‘Wonderful.’ Leslie struggled to get into a better sitting position as she handed him a cup. He pondered on her amused smile as she sat down in an armchair opposite his sofa, her legs curled under her. Her hair was completely down, covering her shoulders.

‘I didn’t put any sugar in it, as I wasn’t sure how you took it,’ she said taking a sip while holding his gaze over the rim of her cup.

‘It’s perfect,’ he replied trying not to stare. She looked much younger with her hair unruly around her face. She even appeared approachable. After all those weeks of trying and now she was here, in his billet, wearing his old maroon-silk dressing gown!  The flimsy material clung to her body, moulding itself around slim angular curves of breast, hip and thigh. She displayed very sexy ankles and calves, well-toned muscle. He shifted his weight wondering whether she had realised that it was he who had removed her dress before putting her to bed. His headache was completely forgotten but his mouth remained dry.

‘How clever of you,’ she murmured. There rang a trace of laughter in her voice, her cup before her face.

‘What was that?’

‘I said, how clever of you to get me here.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he lied.

‘Leslie you saw the moment and took it. You’ve been chasing me for weeks.’

‘Oh. That.’

He gave a small chuckle recalling her snoring earlier.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing, it’s just that, you’re here and I’m here and yet?’

‘Oh you mean
nothing
happened? Are you disappointed?’ She gave a teasing laugh in return at his discomfort. She was aware of his reputation. How disappointed and ridiculous he must be feeling.

‘Well yes, that is no -. Oh, of course not! You were completely and hopelessly blotto last night!’

There was a pause as she met his gaze with candour. She tilted her head slightly to one side as if considering her words. When she spoke it was with a husky voice.

‘Well, I am perfectly sober now.’

Leslie looked on with astonishment as she stood up and placed her cup onto a side table. Untying the sash at her waist, Sonja let the silk gown slide down her shoulders to pool on the floor at her feet. She was thin, as thin as a reed. Her hips were boyish and angular, and she owned the smallest of breasts with tiny pink nipples. Perhaps most amazing of all was the thick bush of dense, sooty black pubic hair. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked slowly, hips gently swaying, towards the bedroom.

Open-mouthed with disbelief, Leslie downed his cup and followed.

~~~

Once becoming lovers, Sonia broke off her long engagement to the chin-less wonder at the Consulate and began to spend some of her nights with Leslie. They had to be careful as Leslie was married, and affairs were sternly frowned upon. Sonja had only one stipulation. Having had a previous long engagement she wanted a promise of marriage, now.