Greek Wedding (37 page)

‘I don't know how to thank you.' Phyllida smiled shakily up at the woman. ‘And—something I remember you saying, Brett. Someone risked their life gathering—' She had forgotten the word.

‘Sage berries.' He supplied it for her. ‘Yes, that was Sophia here, and her grandson. Lucky for you Sophia knows her herbs. She thinks you must have had the fever ever since we left Nauplia. It comes and goes, she says, getting worse and worse.'

‘Yes. I did feel strange sometimes. And that night, coming here, I don't know how you managed to make me…'

‘It was touch and go,' he said soberly. ‘If I'd known, before we started, how ill you were, I don't think I'd have chanced it, but thank God I did.' He had taken a steaming bowl from the woman. ‘What a fuss you made about that medicine. That's right.' She had taken a sip of the hot, strong-flavoured broth. ‘Sophia says you'll recover fast, now the fever's left you.'

‘She's gone.' It was still difficult to take things in.

‘Yes.' He was speaking English again. ‘I told them, by the way, when they first captured us—do you remember any of that?—that we were engaged. Isn't it a fortunate thing it turns out to be true?'

‘But, Brett, are you sure?'

‘Surer than I've ever been of anything.' He silenced her with a mouthful of soup. ‘And happier than I ever imagined I would be.'

‘Again?' Instantly, she wished it unsaid.

‘No. And if you weren't my patient, I'd shake you for that, Phyl. I said “ever” and you know I meant it. You're thinking of Helena. Naturally.' Another steaming hot spoonful of soup. ‘Do you know, I hardly remember what she looked like? And as for what I felt about her! Nonsense. A boy's nonsense. I've known that—oh, for ages. I've just not admitted it to myself. I'm not very proud of it, but I think a broken heart seemed a more respectable subject for gloom than a lost fortune. And then, when I saw you with Alex, found you had engaged yourself to him—then I knew. Too late.'

‘So that's why you were so horrid to me!'

‘Well, of course.' Another spoonful of soup. ‘I was so angry with myself. What else could I do but take it out on you?'

She laughed, and choked a little. ‘What a cheerful outlook for our married life.' And then, on a totally different note. ‘Brett!'

‘Yes, love?' At once, he was as serious as she.

‘You're sure that's not what it is? You aren't “making an honest woman of me”? Because of all this … The kind of thing Cissie Biddock would say?' She had just remembered something he had said. He had begun by telling the Greeks they were engaged. Before … Before, in her delirium, she had given herself away so completely. What if he was merely making the best of it now … making things easy for her. It would be like him. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I was such a fool about Alex,' she explained pitifully.

‘Yes, weren't you, love?' Today, nothing could shake him. ‘Almost as big a one as I was about Helena. Just think: if it had not been for your arrival, that night at Constantinople, I really might have drunk poison for her sake.'

‘And, lord, how cross you were at the time.' She was smiling, but then, again: ‘Brett, you're quite, quite sure?'

‘Idiot.' Very deliberately, he put down the empty soup bowl. ‘I can see I'll have to show you.'

Very much later, ‘Brett,' she asked, ‘What exactly did I say? When I was delirious?'

‘Enough.' He was settling her back among her sheepskins. ‘I've never had a more satisfactory proposal. And as for Alex—you should have heard yourself. I'll certainly never be jealous of him again.' He bent to kiss her once more. ‘Now sleep, love, and if you dream, mind it's of me.'

‘But, Brett, where are we?' Phyllida waked to happiness, and a question. ‘What is this place?'

‘A cave, love. We were lucky, that night we escaped. The Turks had raided Kalamata, and further. The Greeks from along the shore had taken refuge in the mountains. This cave is above the path we were on. I doubt if I could have got you as far as the village.' He thought it over. ‘I would have, of course, but it would have meant carrying you. And you're not a bit of thistledown like Helena, thank God. Though you're pretty close to it, right now. I wonder how long it will be before we can move you down.'

‘Down?'

‘Back to the village. The Turks have done their worst, and gone again. Most of the Greeks have gone back to pick up the pieces, but Sophia and Father Gennaios stayed to help me nurse you, God bless them.'

‘Brett, what are we going to do?'

‘You are better.' The arm round her gave her an approving squeeze. ‘I wondered when you'd ask that. But it's hard to plan until we can get down to the village and learn the news. There's been none of Alex, by the way. Father Gennaios says he would have heard if he was back. So that's something.'

‘Yes. And the
Helena
?'

‘No news of her either, I'm afraid.'

‘She didn't come to Kitries? With help?'

‘No. But it's not much more than a week. Don't look so anxious, Phyl. Think! Everything's at sixes and sevens. There's a British squadron, under Codrington, somewhere near Navarino; that we do know; and a French one, under de Rigny, off Cythera. Not to mention some Austrians who seem to be favouring the Turks. And the Turks themselves. None of them would have harmed the
Helena
, but God knows, they've got their own problems. It may not have been easy to persuade them to drop everything and sail gallantly to our rescue.'

‘But you really think they're safe? That Peter hasn't—' How could she ask it?

‘My darling, I don't in the least want to speak ill of my future brother-in-law, but do you seriously think that Peter would have been able to outwit Barlow, and Brown, and Jenny, and Cassandra?'

‘No.' She had thought about it so much. ‘Thank God, Brett, I don't.'

‘Well, there you are. They haven't come to our help, but that doesn't mean they're not safe. I hope,' he added honestly.

‘Oh God, so do I. Because if they're not, Brett, it's all my fault. If anything's happened to Jenny I'll never forgive myself.'

‘Hush!' The hand that was not round her touched her fore head, lightly, in reassurance. ‘Don't excite yourself, love, it's bad for you. Besides, remember, we both decided that day at Kitries, that we must go to Peter's help—both believed he needed it. In fact, we both let Alex fool us. Much more excuse for you than for me. After all—'

‘I had engaged myself to him! As if that was any excuse. What a fool, what a blind, besotted fool—'

‘Hush,' he said again. ‘It makes a pair of us, remember. You and your Alex, I and my Helena. We'll have more sense from now on, won't we, love?'

‘Yes.' She brushed her cheek lightly against his supporting shoulder. Extraordinary to feel so safe at last, so easy, so free to talk to him. Safe. ‘Brett?'

‘Yes?'

‘What do you think has happened to Oenone?'

‘I wish to God I knew. There's been no sign of search parties in this direction, that's one good thing. I hope it means that uncle of theirs is waiting for Alex to return. By which time I also hope you'll be strong enough to move on.'

‘But where? What in the world are we going to do?'

‘As soon as you're up to it, we're going across country to Navarino. It's the only thing we can do.' He had felt her start of amazement. ‘The one thing we really know is that Codrington is there with a British squadron. He's got the combined Turkish and Egyptian fleets bottled up in the Bay of Navarino. If we can only get in touch with him, we'll be safe. Or, failing that, if we can manage to surrender to Ibrahim Pasha himself. I can't say I'd much like to encounter one of his marauding parties of Turks. It's terrible, what they're doing. I'm afraid they're in a state to kill first and question afterwards. But Ibrahim's something else again. He rather fancies himself as an enlightened prince. Besides, he's no fool. He'll know that to harm us, at this crucial point in the war, might bring the Allies in against him.'

‘But aren't they already? If Codrington's on guard over the Turkish fleet?'

‘You might almost think so. But, no, as I understand it, it's merely a question of enforcing the armistice the Allies have proposed. The Greeks have agreed to it; the Turks have not—yet. Until they do—or don't—it's a stonewalling game. De Rigny, the French admiral, is waiting off Cythera in case the Turks manage to slip out and attack Hydra. But I don't think Codrington will let that happen. Comic, isn't it, to think of that old sea-lion and his handful of ships bottling up the whole Turco-Egyptian fleet.'

‘Yes.' He made it all seem so reasonable. ‘But, Brett, how do
we get to Navarino?'

‘We walk, I'm afraid. And by night. I wish I knew just how long it would take, or how soon you'll be strong enough to start. With horses, of course, and by daylight. it's only two or three days' journey from here. But in the dark, and on foot—It's all right, love.' He had felt her shudder. ‘We won't start unless you are fit for it. After all, the wisest thing we could do might turn out to be, simply, to wait it out here until the armistice is either agreed or enforced.'

‘But, Alex—'

‘Well, yes, that is the difficulty. That's why I hope old Sophia is right and you recover quickly. Because in that case I think we must try the journey across to Navarino. Father Gennaios tells me there is a regular underground route. That's how he knows so much about what is going on up there. If we go, he'll find a guide for the first night who will get us to a safe house this side of Kalamata where we can lie up for the day. Then, with luck, there will be someone to take us on.'

‘Yes, I see. Brett—' What had she meant to ask him? She was tired, too tired to think, too tired to worry.

*          *          *

Waking, what seemed like centuries later, Phyllida stretched luxuriously on her hard bed. She was tired still, so tired that each movement was a conscious effort, but her head was clear, that ominous hammer-beat gone, and she was not just hungry, but ravenous.

She had thought she was alone, but her movement brought old Sophia forward out of the far shadows of the cave. ‘Good.' A toothless, benevolent smile. ‘You are really better. I shall bring you food; you will eat and grow strong.'

‘Thank you.' It was still hard to muster the Greek words. ‘And milord?'

‘Has slept the sun round too. He needed it, poor man. You're a lucky woman,
kyria
. He nursed you like a mother.' Again that toothless grin. ‘Or a lover. Father Gennaios wants to marry you two, before you go. He's a good man, the holy father, but easily shocked.' It was not a Greek word Phyllida knew, but it was easy enough to see what the old woman meant. ‘Think about it,
kyria
, while I get your food.'

Marry? Here? In a cave in the Greek mountains? To avoid shocking an old Greek priest. Crazy. But rather pleasantly crazy. Smiling a little, Phyllida drifted off into a light doze from which she was roused by Sophia, with, inevitably, more chicken broth, this time with pieces of meat floating in it, and hard black bread to be soaked to edibility. ‘You can manage?' The old woman set down the bowl on the ground beside Phyllida. ‘Good. There is a man with urgent news from the village. Eat,
kyria
, and may God make it healthful for you.'

‘Thank you.' Delicious to be able to eat without her throat hurting. It was only as she dried up the last drop of soup with the last softened morsel of strange-tasting bread that she had time to notice the bowl. Not at all the rough earthenware she would have expected, but an elegant, open shape, with around it—she lifted it up with hands that still shook a little—a design of little figures. A chariot … Greek warriors.…

‘Yes.' Brett had appeared while she stared at it. ‘They find them in these caves, and, being practical, use them to replace what the Turks have destroyed. Just think, that may well be a picture of Telemachus and the son of Nestor driving their chariot from Pylos to Menelaus' home in Sparta. Quite impossible, of course, to do it in a day, if Homer's Pylos is really Navarino as the scholars claim. But I like to believe that we may be doing part of their journey in reverse.'

She could not help laughing. ‘Brett! You're not really thinking about your book?'

‘Of course I am. And a good thing too, now I've a wife to support. Don't forget, you've given half your fortune to Oenone, and, if I know you, half the rest will go to Peter. Murray had better like my book!'

‘Brett, you don't mind?' Delicious to have him read her thoughts like this.

‘Mind? I'll be glad of it. Look, my darling, if you think I'm marrying you for your money, think again. And, by the way, did I hear old Sophia say something about Father Gennaios to you?'

‘Yes.' Was she ready for this?

‘I'm sorry. I had not meant to put it to you so soon. But you do look remarkably better.'

‘I feel it.' He looked better too, she thought.

‘There's nothing like happiness.' Once again, he seemed to be
thinking her thoughts. ‘But, since the subject has come up, what about Father Gennaios and his plan? I found him, just now, on his knees in the far cave, asking forgiveness for conniving at sin.' He saw her puzzled look. ‘Our sin, you understand. No use telling him I've been much too busy looking after you to nourish what he would consider wicked thoughts.' His smile melted the very marrow of her bones. ‘I have, of course: hosts of them. But it's not just that, love, though, mind you, the sight of you, with your ragged hair and your dirty shirt brings out the satyr in me, I don't know why. Would you mind being ravished, love?'