Greek Wedding (23 page)

‘Nonsense.' He had been ready for this. ‘You mustn't look at it like that. Don't you see how selfish I am to dump you in this airless hole, so that I can go off and watch the fighting? It's going to be the making of my book! When Murray wrote and approved my plan for it, he made a special point of that. He says a good set piece of a battle scene should be worth a fortune to me in sales. I know that must sound heartless to you (he intended it to) but remember I've got my way to make in the world, and Jenny's too. This book
must
be a success.'

‘So you'd want to go anyway, even if it wasn't for Peter?' This was a new idea to her.

‘Of course I would. So, if by any chance, I should get hurt, you are not to imagine it has anything to do with you. I'm just immensely grateful to you for making it possible.'

‘I see.' She thought him disconcertingly mercenary, but Cassandra, understanding it all, gave him a warm, approving smile.

Alone in her tiny room in what had been the Turk's harem, Phyllida sat for a long time savouring her solitude. She had much to think about. The day had been one long succession of unpleasant discoveries. Living in the comparative luxury of the Palazzo Baroti, on peaceful Zante, she had thought she was learning about life in Greece. Now, she began to understand that she knew nothing about it whatever. It brought her back, as everything did these days, to Alex. Watching the veiled Greek women huddled up in their shapeless garments, spinning as they walked meekly behind their husbands, hearing Brett's description of the cloistered lives they led, she could not help wondering if Alex expected her to live like this. What would it be like down there in the primitive castle he spoke of in the Mani?

She shook herself and began to prepare for bed. Nonsensical to think like this. They would not be living in the Mani. Even if the Greeks did not recapture Constantinople (a dream, Brett had called that) surely they would soon retake Athens. That would be their capital. She and Alex would live there, working together for a new and happier Greece. She remembered how he had spoken of her help in civilising his country, and thought she began to understand how much there was to do. She went to bed, contented, or nearly so, planning the schools she would run—for mothers as well as their children? … And waked, a
long time later, in the chill of the dawn, sweating, from her nightmare of flowers and blood.

*          *          *

Brett sailed back to Poros next day taking the smallest possible crew for the
Helena
. ‘But how in the world will you manage without Price?' Jenny had asked and Brett had laughed and said, ‘Deplorably, I'm sure, but I'll feel much safer to think he's here with you.'

Jenny smiled. ‘Don't worry, Brett, we'll look after each other, and Price will look after us all. If you ask me, our worst enemy is going to be boredom.'

But in fact they soon found a small society of Philhellenes in Nauplia, and notably a young American doctor called Samuel Gridley Howe who had acted as surgeon on Hastings'
Karteria
but was now convalescing from a fever caught when he had been compelled by Greek inhospitality to spend a stormy night in the open on an islet near Hydra. He and his friends became constant visitors at the house under the cliff, and in return for Phyllida's lavish hospitality brought the most precious of all commodities, news.

‘Won't Brett be surprised to come back and find us running a salon,' said Jenny one bright May morning when even their dark little courtyard was full of sunshine.

‘I wish he'd come,' said Phyllida. ‘Do you think they may call off the attempt to relieve the Acropolis now Karaiskakis has been killed?' Yesterday's piece of bad news had given her a sleepless night. ‘Dr. Howe and his friends are so young,' she said now. ‘I do wish Brett was here to tell us what's really happening.'

‘But you know he won't come so long as he thinks there's a chance of an attack on the Turks.' Jenny was determinedly hopeful. ‘So really his not coming is the same as good news.'

*          *          *

Dr. Howe and his friend Townshend Washington called on them next evening bringing a bottle of raki to drink with the curious brew Price called coffee. Dr. Howe had just returned from a trip down the coast, and appalled them with his tales of
conditions there. ‘The fighting's gone on too long. The peasants have no seed to sow; if they don't get help soon, there will be mass starvation this summer. And all the government thinks about is the Acropolis.' He remembered. ‘I'm sorry, Miss Vannick.'

‘No need. I'm ashamed not to have thought of this sooner. They lack seed, you say?'

‘They lack everything! I've written to the Greek Committee in Boston urging that they send what they can—at once. But think of the time-lag.'

‘Surely one could buy supplies nearer?'

‘With money, of course. But, look at us! We were almost ashamed to come here tonight. And to see you ladies, so beautiful, so elegantly dressed.'

‘It's we who should be ashamed,' said Phyllida. And then. ‘What's that?'

A commotion in the outer rooms of the house. Price's voice raised in remonstrance. Then the door of the room burst open and Alex appeared. ‘A party!' His scornful glance swept the little circle then settled on Phyllida. ‘Greece bleeds from her death-wound, and you gather your jackals round you to make merry.'

‘That's no way to speak to a lady.' Howe was on his feet, looking absurdly young in contrast to the swarthy Greek.

‘Never mind.' Phyllida took control, ‘Sit down, Dr. Howe, and you, too, Alex. Price, fetch some coffee for Mr. Mavromikhalis. And a glass.'

‘Coffee!' But Alex dropped into the chair Price set for him. ‘A Judas feast. What do you think your brother is eating tonight,
kyria
? Dust and tears?'

‘Alex, what is it? Tell us!' At first, she had thought him drunk; now she began to fear it was worse.

‘What do you care? Sitting there, entertaining your fine friends in your fine rooms. “Coffee for Mr. Mavromikhalis!”' His voice was a cruel parody of hers. ‘And wine! A libation! A sacrifice, like those brave men in the Acropolis? Oh, yes.' He emptied the glass Price had given him. ‘Their race is run. No doubt of that.'

‘What do you mean? What is it?' Her voice shook.

‘Disaster. Defeat. Crushing; absolute; final. There is no Greek army any more.' He drank again. ‘If Karaiskakis had lived, they
might have listened to him. If Cochrane and Church had troubled to go ashore, they might have been obeyed. But—to order a mass attack, and then watch it from their ships through field glasses! Well, they saw.'

‘What happened? Try and tell us, Alex.' Cassandra's calm voice was meant to steady him.

‘Cochrane insisted on a direct attack on the Turkish positions. He'd been urging it all along. He said he wanted to eat his dinner in the Acropolis. Tonight!' Savage irony in his tone. ‘He gibed and goaded at the
capitani
until they agreed to lead their men down from the heights and across the plain. He didn't understand.' He was trying to explain the disaster as much to himself as to them. ‘It's not the way we Greeks fight. I think he must have deluded himself that he had an English army. “Fix bayonets! Charge!”' The parody of a clipped British accent was cruelly accurate. ‘Of course, when our
pallikars
got down into the open plain, they wanted to stop, to build their
tarn-bourias
. You know.' He picked Howe as the most intelligent listener. ‘The little earthworks they rest their guns on to fire. The
capitani
urged them on. They swore, they shouted. Some obeyed, some went on digging. And then, the Turks charged, with cavalry, with the bayonet. It was a massacre. I tell you. We've lost the flower of our soldiers today. It's the end of organised resistance, the end of everything.'

‘I don't believe it,' said Phyllida.

‘You're calling me a liar?' His eyes flashed fire.

‘Nonsense,' said Cassandra. ‘You're exhausted, Alex. It's terrible news, but it can't be so bad as you think.'

‘No? I tell you,
kyria
, it's the end. The Acropolis will surrender; God knows how long you ladies will be safe here, giving your parties in Nauplia.'

‘Alex!' Jenny leaned forward to intervene. ‘What of the
Helena
?'

‘She was still taking off the wounded when I left.' And then, aware of a sudden chill in the room. ‘The
Philip
had all she could hold. As to the
Helena
, she'd been under fire, of course, but should be safe enough, with British colours. And so will Church and Cochrane, God damn their souls! All very well for them to play at war with other men's lives, and stay safe on board to watch them die.'

‘Mr. Mavromikhalis,' Cassandra was on her feet, speaking
very quietly. ‘I think you forget where you are. It's terrible news,' her voice was not unsympathetic. ‘It will be better discussed in the morning. If you will forgive us, gentlemen, we will say good night. Price, you will look after our guests?'

But they had all risen. In the subdued murmur of farewells and thanks, Alex cornered Phyllida. ‘Forgive me! I'm not myself. In the morning…'

‘Yes, Alex.' Very gently. ‘In the morning.'

‘I Wish Brett would come.' Jenny pushed back her chair from the breakfast none of them had eaten. And then, aware of Phyllida's drawn face: ‘But I'm sure it can't be so bad as Alex said. He was exhausted, beside himself, poor man.'

‘Yes.' Phyllida had lain awake for hours; had made up her mind at last what she must say to Alex, and, surprisingly, had then slept dreamlessly till morning. ‘When did Mr. Mavromikhalis say he would come, Price?'

‘As soon as he could, miss. I think he was worried about what might happen to the
Philip
if he wasn't there. Marcos says there's a proper panic in town this morning, and no mistake. He wants us to start packing up, but I said we'd wait for orders from Mr. Renshaw. I hope that was right, miss?'

‘It certainly was, Price.' And then, echoing Jenny. ‘I wish he'd come!'

‘I don't expect he much likes to leave the
Helena
,' said Jenny. ‘If Alex doesn't even trust his own crew.'

‘He'll come as soon as he can.' It was comforting to be so sure of that. ‘But if things are really so bad for the men in the Acropolis—' Her voice shook as she faced it. I know he'll stay, just in case…'

‘Of course he will,' said Jenny. ‘And when Brett really puts his mind to something, I wouldn't want to be in his way.'

‘Oh, Jenny.' Somewhere between laughter and tears. ‘You sound as if he would relieve the Acropolis single-handed.' And then, the tears choking her. ‘Poor Peter! Just think. They must have been able to watch it all from up there. To see the attack that was to save them. And what happened to it.'

‘Don't love.' Jenny handed her a clean handkerchief. ‘It will all come right, you see if it doesn't. Yes, Price?'

‘Mr. Mavromikhalis is here.' Price's voice was disapproving. ‘He asks to see you, Miss Vannick. Alone.'

‘No!' said Cassandra.

‘Yes,' said Phyllida, drying her eyes. ‘I must, Aunt. I owe it him.'

‘I see.' Phyllida thought she probably did. ‘Well, if you think so, Phyl; but I shall be in the next room. And, Price?'

‘Yes, ma'am?'

‘You won't be going out for a while?'

‘No indeed, ma'am.'

‘Very well.'

It was a little like a military plan of action, Phyllida thought ruefully. And all her fault. ‘I'll see Mr. Mavromikhalis in the little saloon, Price.'

‘I shall be in the courtyard,' said Jenny cheerfully. ‘Watering the plants. If you want me to burst in on you by accident, love, just raise your voice.'

‘Bless you.' Tears threatened again. ‘I've been a terrible fool.'

‘Never mind that,' said Cassandra bracingly. ‘So long as you've realised it.'

Alex was a different man this morning, chastened, subdued, deferent. ‘Phyllida,' he took both her hands in his. ‘It's like you to see me, to forgive me, to understand … I was a little mad last night, I think, with despair. I don't even rightly remember what I said, but I know being you, that you will have understood.'

‘Of course I did. I've forgotten too. Only, is it really so bad?' She must ask this before anything else.

‘As bad as can be. It's the worst disaster of the war—worse even than Peta. It's a miracle Reshid didn't go on and recapture Phalerum and Saint Spiridion—but he was too busy taking vengeance on his prisoners. Yes,
kyria
, he lined them up, hundreds of them, the flower of our
pallikars
, and had them beheaded.'

‘Horrible! But where are Cochrane and Church?'

‘Cochrane's gone off to Hydra. Church is holding out in Phalerum, but God knows how long he'll be able to. A friend of mine was there before Saint Spiridion fell. It's terrible, he says; brackish water to drink, and sometimes no bread for days.
They'll never hold out long; not after a disaster like this one.'

‘Then what about the Acropolis?' She hardly dared ask.

‘That's just it. That's why I was in such despair last night. There's no more hope for the Acropolis; we have to face that. It's merely a matter of time. If they try to fight their way out, they're dead men.'

‘And if they surrender?'

‘Think of those Greek prisoners yesterday. There's your answer. Petros might just possibly be spared, as a Philhellene, but I doubt it. There were twenty or so Franks killed on the field yesterday. No: it's every man for himself from now on. We must make Petros see that. He must escape, by himself, as soon as possible.'