Hearts of Stone (32 page)

He nodded. ‘I’ve been assigned to headquarters as a translator.’

‘I see. Translator. And I expect your knowledge of the island might have also informed their choice.’

‘Yes. I was happy when I heard that I was to return. So happy. It’s been a long time and the island and my friends have never been far from my thoughts. And now I am here again.’ He paused and gestured at his uniform. ‘Though I wish it was under different circumstances. But I want you to know that I still consider you my friends. I hope we can be that, even if . . .’

Rosa Thesskoudis clicked her tongue. ‘The war has changed things, my dear. I wish it were not so.’

‘Enough,’ Thesskoudis intervened gently. ‘Not now. For the sake of our friendship with Peter and his father, eh?’

His wife cocked her head to one side but said nothing as her husband continued. ‘And how is dear Dr Muller?’

‘My father was . . . He died,’ he said simply.

‘I am sorry to hear that. He was a good man. A great pity. It saddens me.’

His wife nodded in agreement. ‘Yes. A pity. Just like Katarides.’

Peter’s ears pricked up. ‘Mr Katarides is dead?’

‘Yes. He died this spring. He had been ill for some time, then seemed to reover for a brief spell before he collapsed one evening. His heart had given out,’ she explained. ‘A great loss. His poetry was loved by many. Though I could not read it. I never learned. Eleni read it to me some nights.’ She smiled fondly at the memory for a moment. ‘I think his heart could not bear the tragedy that has befallen his people. The war, the starvation and the struggle between the
andartes
and the enemy.’

Thesskoudis coughed and his wife blinked and fixed her gaze on Peter. ‘I am sorry. You are not our enemy, I think.’

He felt a stab of pain. ‘I do not consider myself to be. I do not wish it.’

The policeman shook his head. ‘What we wish for is something of a luxury these days, my boy. We are victims of fate and we must do what we can to survive until this madness is over.’

Peter felt the policeman’s sadness and then asked, ‘What of Andreas Katarides? What became of him?’

Thesskoudis deliberately avoided meeting his wife’s sharp glance as he replied. ‘He joined the navy. I recall he told you before you and your father left us.’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘He was on a submarine when the war began. That’s the last we heard of him.’

‘Oh.’ Peter felt the loss keenly, but was not surprised. The German forces had easily swept all before them during the invasion of Greece. Tens of thousands had perished defending their homeland. And it seemed more than likely that Andreas was amongst the fallen. No doubt his father had come to the same realisation and that had contributed to his death. He frowned. So much tragedy. Then he fixed his host with an anxious stare.

‘And Eleni?’

‘She is well,’ said her mother. ‘And no doubt she will be glad to know that you have returned safely.’

‘Where is she?’

‘In Nidhri. She lives with a friend’s family. They give her work from time to time to earn her keep. There was nothing for her in Lefkada. No work, and food has been scarce for years now.’

‘Nidhri,’ Peter mused. ‘If you give me her address I will look for her as soon as I have the chance to go there.’

There was a brief silence before Thesskoudis folded his hands. ‘Perhaps it would be better not to.’

‘Why?’

‘Peter, you are a German. A German soldier. Your people waged war against us and invaded our land, our home. It is not something a friendship can easily endure. Eleni will be glad you are alive, but like all the islanders, we have suffered at the hands of Germany. Eleni has not taken it well. It’s not an easy thing for me to say, but we are enemies. It is not my choice or yours. Others did that to us. But we are enemies all the same. In my heart I have nothing but hatred for those who have done us harm.’

‘That is why you brought me inside so quickly.’

‘Of course. Do you think we wish to be thought of as collaborators by our neighbours? But we have played the part of good hosts and shared a drink. Now, my boy, it pains me to have to ask you to leave us. Before anyone notices you are here.’

‘Leave?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why should you care about what others think? I can arrange for you to be protected. I can make sure that you have enough food. Enough even to support Eleni so that she can come home. I can do that for you. For the sake of our friendship.’

This time Rosa answered. ‘We do not want your food. We do not want your protection. You are the enemy. While German boots are on our soil you can never be our friend. Please go.’

‘Yes, go.’ Thesskoudis nodded. ‘And do not come back.’ He stood up and crossed to the door.

Peter stared from one to the other helplessly. ‘It does not have to be this way. I came to you for the sake of our friendship.’

‘And for the sake of our friendship I have explained our position.’ Thesskoudis drew a breath and gritted his teeth. ‘Leave us.’

Peter’s expression hardened as he rose to his feet. ‘I should have known better. I remember how stubborn the Greeks are. How proud.’

‘Then you should understand.’

He replaced his cap and made for the door, pausing on the threshold. ‘Tell Eleni I would like to see her. I hope she is more amenable to reason than her parents. Perhaps she will be ashamed by the way you have treated me tonight.’

Thesskoudis smiled thinly. ‘I think not.’

Peter stared at each of them briefly and then left the house. He heard the door shut firmly behind him, cutting off the light, and he was swallowed up by the darkness in the street as he picked his way back to his billet.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

A
cool northerly breeze was blowing across Lefkas as the column of soldiers approached the village of Alatro. They had left the trucks four kilometres down the track that wound its way through the hills to the earth road leading to Nidhri. Although it was autumn in the Mediterranean the climate still provided tolerable enough conditions for the German mountain troops. They carried food and water for the day, in addition to their weapons and spare ammunition. Even so, the climb up to the village had been strenuous, sweat streaked the men’s faces and they were breathing hard as they fanned out into the olive groves on either side of the track and cautiously approached the nearest buildings.

The church bell began to ring and the men instinctively stopped and crouched, anticipating that it was a signal, warning of their approach. Peter glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was just after midday and he surmised that there was nothing sinister in the sound of the bells. They soon stopped, leaving the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze and the occasional plaintive bleat of goats.

On either side of him the men assigned to the sweep stretched out in a line under the trees. Steiner and his squad followed on ten metres back. The Sturmbannführer had changed into a field uniform and wore a holstered pistol which was attached to his belt. The company commander, Hauptmann Dietrich, had crept a short distance ahead of his translator and now turned to wave his men forward and they continued up the gentle incline. Like the SS officer, Peter was armed with a pistol and carried his water bottle, rolled cape, binoculars and a small sidebag for the day’s rations besides. He felt tense as he crept forward over the stony soil, fully expecting to hear a shot ring out at any instant. Dietrich had briefed them at first light, telling the men that the resistance fighters were well-armed and motivated as well having the advantage of knowing the ground. As a result, they would be sure to want to teach the Germans a lesson if the opportunity arose. If it came to a fight, then the mountain troops must be ready to respond at once, with aggression, and turn the tables on their opponents.

Fine in principle, Peter reflected as he watched Dietrich carefully make his way through the last of the olive trees and out on to open ground. But he feared that his first instinct would not be to take the fight to the enemy. Until he faced battle for the first time he had no idea how he would react. Much as he desired to do his duty for his country he was a reluctant warrior and was more afraid of shaming himself through cowardice than of being wounded or killed. The latter fate actually seemed preferable to a crippling, disfiguring wound, or the knowledge that he lacked the moral fibre to stand alongside his comrades in battle. Absurd, he told himself. No rational man would consider death the least worst option, but in matters of courage and self-respect, rationality always fared poorly.

The church bell started ringing again, more insistantly this time, and did not stop. Dietrich rose to his full height and cupped a hand to his mouth.

‘At the run! Advance!’ he bellowed, his voice echoing dully off the mist-shrouded hills rising on either side of the village. The line of mountain troops ran up the slope, accompanied by the sound of ragged breathing, pounding boots and chink of loose kit. Peter hurried to keep up with the company commander, ready to act as his translator when the Germans burst into the village and began searching for members of the resistance and their weapons. A sudden bleating added to the sound of rushing men and a small herd of goats burst across the slope, chased by a young boy in baggy trousers tucked into his tattered boots. His open sheepskin jerkin flapped around him as he ran after his animals. He spared the approaching Germans a quick glance and then shouted a warning to his compatriots. Dietrich swore and charged at him, pistol-whipping the youth to the ground to silence him. It was a pointless gesture as more cries of alarm rose from the village and all the while the bell tolled, its peals sounding ever more frantic.

‘Muller! Keep up!’ Dietrich snapped as he stepped over the prone boy and raced towards an opening between two of the whitewashed hovels on the fringe of the village. A handful of his men had already run ahead and more spilled over the low walls behind the houses. As Peter passed between the whitewashed walls either side of the narrow street, the sound of boots echoed sharply, almost drowning out the blood pounding through his head. Dietrich paused at an intersection and quickly glanced in either direction before he waved his hand towards the church tower.

‘Keep moving!’

Breathing hard, Peter reached down and snapped open his holster and took out his pistol. Leaving the safety on he lurched forward, following Dietrich towards the centre of the village. Around them he could hear the harsh shouts of the mountain troops amid the alarmed cries of the inhabitants. Then the street turned a corner and they emerged into the small square in front of the church. The priest, dressed in black, was standing at the foot of the stairs, waving his congregation inside as women hurried to safety with their children. There were a few men too, anxiously glancing back towards the Germans. Some turned and bolted for the far side of the square, disappearing into the alleys between the modest houses at the centre of the village. One of the German sergeants spotted them and thrust out his hand.

‘Get those bastards! Don’t let ’em escape!’

Several soldiers pounded after the fugitives as Dietrich lowered his pistol to his side and strode across the flagstones towards the church, Peter following.

‘Tell the priest that he and his flock have nothing to fear as long as they cooperate. The only men we’re after belong to the
andartes
. We’ll arrest anyone we find with weapons in their houses. Tell him.’

Peter did as he was ordered. The priest, a thin man with piercing eyes and a grey beard, nodded but held his arms out wide to prevent them passing him to get into the church. He puffed out his chest and stared back at Peter as he replied coolly, ‘Tell your superior that my church is a house of God and we do not permit armed barbarians to step inside.’

Peter paraphrased the priest’s objection and Dietrich returned his pistol to its holster before he addressed the priest again with forced politeness. ‘We will go where we please, old man. Stand aside, please.’

The Greek held his ground and with a frustrated curse the German officer thrust his hands against the priest’s chest and sent him sprawling at the foot of the stairs. Stepping round him, Deitrich trotted up to the arched doorway and stood on the threshold squinting into the shadowy interior. As Peter joined him he saw faces staring back fearfully, the women holding their younger children close to them. A handful of the men glared defiantly.

‘Your attention please,’ Dietrich announced. ‘My men are here to search your village for weapons and criminals. The innocent have nothing to fear from us.’

As Peter finished translating, the priest came limping up to join them and spoke gently to his congregation. ‘Do as the German says and there will be no trouble.’

Dietrich nodded as Peter translated. ‘Muller, tell them everyone is to remain here until further notice. Any man attempting to leave the church will be taken for a member of the resistance and shot on sight.’

He turned and stood overlooking the square. More of the locals were hurrying towards the church, slowing as they saw the two German officers, and giving them a wide berth as they scurried up the steps and inside. Now there were more soldiers entering the square, driving people ahead of them with loud angry shouts, and using their rifles to shove the slower civilians ahead of them. Soon most of the villagers had been rounded up and were being held in the church along with their priest. Dietrich posted two men at each entrance, armed with machine pistols.

Steiner and his party entered the square, looking around warily for any signs of danger as they held their weapons ready. But there was no sign of resistance. The soldiers who had gone after the islanders who had made a run for it returned with a bloodied youth who had tripped and fallen against a rock and dazed himself long enough to fall into the soldiers’ hands. He was dumped on to the ground beside the wall of the church and shuffled back until he pressed against the cracked plaster of the wall and could retreat no further. There he sat and stared at his captors in terror.

With the villagers secured, Dietrich gave orders for their houses to be searched for weapons, munitions and any concealed
andartes
. Steiner looked on with an impatient expression as he waited for the other officer to finish.

‘Hauptmann, I appreciate that you have your mission to carry out here, but we must reach the dig site while there is plenty of daylight.’

‘And we will, sir. Just as soon as we have made this village safe.’

‘Safe?’ Steiner smiled thinly. ‘Do you really think your intimidation of the locals and turning their houses over is going to cow them into accepting our control of their island? The
andartes
will return here the moment we have left.’

‘Then we shall have to repeat the exercise until they get the point.’

The SS officer shrugged. ‘Good luck with that. I know these people. They can be pig-headed in the extreme. Is that not true, Muller?’

Peter gave a non-committal grunt. He recalled the friendship of the local people when he and his father, and Heinrich, had lived on the island. He felt a keen sense of loss at the reception he had been given by Eleni’s parents.

‘I can match any Greek for persistence, sir,’ Dietrich said.

‘I am delighted to hear it. I expect our persistence is going to be sorely tested during the occupation of Lefkas unless we can truly break the spirit of these people and teach them that we are their masters. So then, carry out your search. You know what to do if you find anything?’

‘Yes, sir. The standing orders are to jail those with fowling pieces, shoot any we find with rifles or explosives, and take any
andartes
we capture to the Gestapo section in Lefkada.’

‘Good. Then carry on. Quickly, mind you.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Dietrich bowed his head curtly and turned away to oversee the search of the village. Peter realised that he could have handed the task to his subordinates but preferred to remove himself from the presence of the smug SS officer. He glanced sidelong at Steiner, wondering how much of his character had already been evident in the young man who had once been his father’s assistant. Steiner removed his cap and wiped his brow before he lifted his canteen and took a swig.

‘This place is a fucking pigsty . . . What did I ever see in it?’ He turned to Peter with a quick smile. ‘Oh, I know, it was different for you and your father. He loved its history and mistook these ignorant peasants for the descendants of Homer’s heroes. And you? You were young and knew no better. I dare say you think differently now you are a man, a soldier, and have lived long enough to see this pathetic island in a somewhat wider context, eh?’

Peter felt that he was being tested and knew that he must reply carefully. ‘I still believe in my father’s work. This island, and all Greece, has great treasure buried beneath the soil and rocks, and deep in the hearts of its people.’

‘The hearts of its people?’ Steiner laughed. ‘I thought archaeology was a science, not the stuff of poets. These islanders are nothing but the pale shadows of their forebears and as insensible to their heritage as any lump of stone.’ He paused and his tone softened. ‘Don’t be a foolish romantic, Peter. This is an age of men, not dewy-eyed idealists. Actions speak for themselves and get results. That is the essential truth, and we have been living through the proof of it ever since the National Socialists took control of the fatherland. Wake up and accept the new reality.’

Peter took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘If that is so, sir, then why is the Reichsführer so determined to accrue to himself the relics of the past? Why is it so important to loot the site my father gave so many years of his life to exploring?’

‘We are not here to loot. Our purpose is to save artefacts from the past and put them where they can best be cared for by those who know their value. Or would you rather leave them here to rot in the ground while shepherds and their mangy herds walk all over them heedlessly?’

‘They belong to Greece, sir.’

‘Even our enemies don’t believe that. Why, the British saw fit to remove the marble reliefs from the Acropolis rather than leave them in the hands of the Greeks. So spare me any opinion that these peasants are fit to be guardians of an historic tradition that all Europe has shared in.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘But enough of that. Let’s hope this little exercise of power is over quickly. We have better things to do.’ Steiner sat down on the top step and rested his chin on his clasped hands.

‘Yes, sir.’ Peter nodded and after a moment walked to a weathered stone trough a short distance away where the villagers’ mules watered. He leaned against it and watched as a squad of soldiers entered one of the houses facing the square and a moment later the clatter and crash of furniture reached his ears as they began their search. As he waited, the soldiers went from house to house, ransacking the simple homes of the villagers. An hour later they had found only a handful of aged shotguns and a drunk who had been sleeping it off in a stable. His angry shouts about his rough handling were cut short when a German struck him hard in the stomach with a rifle butt. He was thrown, gasping, into the church.

Steiner smoothed his hair back and stood up as Deitrich returned with the last of his men. ‘Well? What now?’

‘We’ll confiscate the shotguns and take their owners back to Lefkada. Together with that one.’ He nodded to the youth sitting still against the wall, as if he had hoped that he might be forgotten by the soldiers.

Steiner shook his head. ‘No. We haven’t got time for that. Destroy the guns, and burn down the houses of their owners.’

Peter saw the surprised expression in the other officer’s face before he recovered his composure. ‘Those are not my orders, sir.’