The Lake of Sorrows (17 page)

“Reuniting with the one I thought I had lost for ever!” Alexis seemed drunk before having taken the first sip of wine.

“Oh, and may I learn who the fortunate maiden is?” Constantine seemed, as ever, amused by love affairs.

Alexis hesitated for a moment, but he was very young and very much in love. “She is a harem girl.”

All blood drained from Constantine’s face; he made a sound as if someone has just kicked his ribs. He swallowed, then swallowed again before he could force out a hoarse whisper. “Virgin Mary and all the Holy Saints. Have you gone mad?”

An uncomprehending stare from the young man made Constantine shake his head furiously. “Do you not think of your mother, lad? You are the only one she has. You will end up at the bottom of the lake and so will your little lady love. You know better than that. Or should. Spare your poor mother that pain.”

But the lad, drinking fast, was now both young, in love and not quite sober. “If it is meant for us not to live together, then we shall die together! But I will not be a man if I do not try first to get her out of there.” Alexis was out of his chair, thumping his fist against a not-too-wide chest.

Constantine sank down onto the vacant chair and looked as if sitting on hot coals. He filled and hurriedly drained a cup for himself, then started mourning in advance. “Poor Anesso. You are about to lose your only child.”

“Y
ou came my love. You came! I thought you had changed your mind.” Shouhrae, swathed in a silken cape, stepped out from the deep shadows under the palace’s rear walls. Alexis leaped from the small boat that had taken him across the lake, so eagerly that he nearly capsized it and splashed through the last few paces to the shore, oblivious of the noise he was making. Shouhrae shivered at the sound, but the distant hum of music and laughter from the palace’s great hall did not change in any way.

And now Alexis was taking into her arms and the night might have been cold and Alexis might have been wet, but Shouhrae felt as warm as content as if lounging on the grass in the midday sun. They kissed and kissed again, until they were out of breath, then laughed and kissed yet again.

“We are fools. We are both such fools.” But she was laughing still and kissing his face over and over.

“All risks in the world are worth this.” Alexis held her so tight she whimpered, but it was with delight. “Come with me, my love. Let us leave this place. Both of us. Now.”

Shouhrae dug her nails into his shoulders. “Oh, how I wish we could.” It came out almost a wail and it broke the spell. She forced herself to step away from him and ward off his attempt to embrace her again. “We need to be wise. To be careful. We have to wait for the right opportunity.”

“Wait?” Alexis looked like a beaten dog. “Wait for what opportunity? What opportunity can be better than now?”

“The Pasha will be leaving Yannina. To go to war. If he is not here and many of his soldiers are not, we may not be discovered. Or if we are, they may not have the time or the men to chase us down.”

He moaned, catching her hands. “How can you tell me to wait, when I have waited for so long? I just want us to be together, when we have been apart for … forever.”

Shouhrae gazed towards the city, where lights were dying down, as the last celebrating citizens could take no more wine. A city of people that were, in her eyes, free to go and do as they pleased. The silvery moonlight glistened in tears welling up in her eyes, but her voice was firm. “I have waited for just as long, my love. And I do not want us to be together forever on the bottom of the Beast Pasha’s lake — I see it in the distance, every day, from the harem’s eastward windows, Alexis. He had those windows
made
for that.”

A
clock struck two inside the dark and silent Vassiliou house and Froshenie, restlessly walking in the garden, knew it was no time for a lone young wife to be outside the safety of her house. Not in a city full of people full of wine and mischief. She had sent her Vaya away and had put out all candles in the house. And waited. In vain. Then she had fled her uneasy thoughts and run into the garden. There she had stood for she knew not how long, cared not how long. She told herself it was merely to cool her fevered body, for fevered it felt. She knew it was a lie. She was trying again to forget this, when she heard the sound of the latch on the garden gate.

Footsteps, muted and careful against the paved stone path through the garden, made her hold her breath.

“You should not have come.” She spoke without looking at the dark figure approaching. “My husband is sleeping upstairs.”

“I know he is gone, Froshenie.” Muhtar spoke softly, with a sad smile. “Please do not lie to me.”

“How do you know?”

“Why do you care?” Muhtar came closer and softly raised her chin to look into her eyes. “You need not be afraid of me, my love. I would kill any man that made you afraid.” His kiss was gentle as the breeze on her lips. “I will never force myself on you, Froshenie. Just tell me right now that you do not love me like I do you, and I promise you will not see me ever again.”

She quivered with the effort of her next words. “I do not love you.”

He stepped closer. This time his kiss was not a breeze, but a storm.

Breathlessly, she spoke faster. “I … hate you. You are the son of the Pasha - the Beast.”

“The priest at the wedding today read from your God’s book: ‘What God has joined together let no man put asunder.’ The Prophet said that your God and ours is the same. That God has joined us together, Froshenie, we both feel that. And I am merely a man, so how can I part us again?”

He took her in his arms. She tried be stiff, cold, aloof - and seemed to melt against him. “I should shout for help.”

“Do so. Let them kill me if that is what you want. I will not move, not defend myself.” They kissed again, clung to each other, touched each other everywhere, gasping. “You are the Bey. I should hate you … kill you. Oh, God, why could I not kill myself?” They began climbing the stairs to the house.

“Y
ou must make her leave Yannina.”

Standing alone in the gathering evening darkness on the churchyard behind the Christian church of Yannina, Chryssie yelped at the voice that jerked her out of her gloomy thoughts. She had prayed in the church, asking God for guidance, but she had not expected an answer this direct.

Heart pounding, she turned to find captain Tahir standing beside her, wrapped in a cloak, hood carefully drawn so far forward as to almost completely hide his face in deep shadows.

“How did you … “

“Sneak up on you?” He allowed himself a chuckle. “My bones may be creaking a bit these days, but I was once a warrior. Quite a warrior, if I do say so myself.”

“And now you are the errand-boy for the Pasha’s son?”

The acid contempt in Chryssie’s voice murdered the captain’s merriment. “A warrior lady yourself, are you? And no, I am not here on my Bey’s business. Or I am. But he did not send me.”

“Your words make no sense, and I do not care whose business brought you here. You will leave now! Or I will. I will not be shamed by being seen with the Pasha’s captain at the Christian’s church!”

She began to walk away, but he caught her arm politely, yet firmly. “I will not leave before we understand one another, and nor will you. For I am here on your business also.”

“Mine?” Chryssie stared at the hard face under the cowl.

“Yes. We both want to save our masters. This madness cannot be allowed to go on. War is coming, my Bey will need his strength, and your mistress is awakening his weakness.”

“His
weakness?
Surely only in the sense that he lets himself be ruled by his loins!”

“It should be the veteran soldier and not the nurse that is contemptuous of love, you know.”

Puzzled, and ashamed despite herself, Chryssie blushed. “Your master is … a fine young man. Even handsome, I grant you. For the Beast’s son. Strong, too. So why do you call him weak?”

“In the eyes of a veteran like myself, the Bey is a very weak man.”

“He is the Beast’s son!”

“He is. And, to the Beast, he has grown up a travesty.”

“A — “

“Yes. A travesty. He has all the savagery and strength of his father, but he has a terrible flaw from his mother - caring.”

“The general of almost all the Pasha’s bloody wars? Caring?”

“What do you expect? His family and life has been nothing but war, intrigue, cunning and killing. Wherever he hides that part of him that is capable of caring, that part must be sickened by what he is and does and sees done.”

“And you call that weakness?”

“In his world, yes, that is weakness. His father is a general to him, his wife a treaty, his life an endless duty to conquer and kill. Every man he meets will lick his boots whether he wants it or not. Every woman he meets is counting her smiles and wondering how great a reward she can extract from him in return for their favors. So he erects powerful fortress walls inside himself, to protect himself against caring, against friendship, against love - they would all be used against him in an instant.”

“You yourself have become his friend. And you are not using that against him.”

“No. Perhaps I envy him.
I
never felt sickened by what I do. But the Christians say that when the Devil grew old, he became a monk. I am beginning to
wish
that I felt just a bit - remorseful, perhaps. But the Bey already does. Most especially since Allah, in his infinite wisdom, let him meet your lady Froshenie!”

“And you think it was his
weakness
who attracted him to her? My Froshenie is a lovely woman, captain. A man would need no weakness to appreciate that.”

“She is a rare beauty, indeed. She is also a woman without guile, without that cunning behind the smile that he hates so much. A woman who falls in love with him despite struggling
not
to.”

“You fancy yourself quite a judge of men and women, do you not?”

“I have survived thirty-odd years as the confidant of the Beast Pasha of Hyperus.”

Chryssie considered this. “And you think it is unusual that a man who can have any woman he wants will be attracted to the one who refuses him?”

“Will you stop bandying words with me and listen! I am trying to make you understand that your mistress has brought those inner walls of his crashing down with one look from those lovely dark eyes of hers. I am sure she did not want to, but the deed is done. And I curse her for it, for nothing good will come of this.”

“You curse my mistress? And a young man who thinks her lovable?”

“Now who is on his side?”

“I … did not mean that I — “

The captain’s grim visage softened. “You are very devoted to your lady, are you not? As am I to my Bey. That is why we must be allies. So promise me you will try to get her away from Yannina. At least until her husband returns and my Bey is safely fighting his father’s new war.”

E
arly morning’s chill and the choir of birds singing outside told Froshenie and Muhtar that day was unavoidable. The heavy curtains of the bedroom could no longer keep out the coming dawn. Instinctively, Muhtar drew the covers closer and they cowered beneath them, holding each other so close they were all but one flesh. The tender savagery of their lovemaking had exhausted them both, but neither of them had slept, for being awake this night was the most passionate dream either of them had ever had.

“Any regrets?” Muhtar ran his fingers through the cascade of her dark hair on the pillow.

“Every one that I can have. It is a sin. I will be considered part of your harem. But, God help me, I would do it all again.”

“Do not speak so, not even in jest. This is not a summoning of a harem girl to me. I have never felt like this for any other woman in my life.”

His words made a glow burst through her gloominess. She tangled her fingers in his, then spoke like an excited child.

“Listen — it has started raining outside.”

“Excellent.” Muhtar smiled wickedly. “Let my fathers’ spies be soaked to the bone.”

But, outside the house, it was not Alhi’s spies that were soaked. He did not employ Vayas and doctors for his spying.

“You should not have dragged me here in the middle of the night Chryssie.” Karayannis’ voice was sad and full of doubts. “I feel out of place.”

Chryssie was crying quietly. “You do not want to be here, that is all. Neither do I. Oh, holy Virgin Mary. The shame. If anybody seems Muhtar coming out of the house. Froshenie will become the mockery of Yannina. We must save her, doctor. Before it is too late. We must send her away.”

“She does not want to leave, Chryssie. She is not a child, nor is she my wife. I cannot force her.”

“She is a fool! That is what she is. She has chosen to die. Please doctor. We can at least try. I will pack our things, you will make the arrangements, and then she will have no other choice but to follow.”

“She will have no wish but to stay.

“She will not be able to refuse going with the children to our relatives in Parga. I know her. From there, you will find a way later to send us by ship to Italy. I know you have the connections.”

“Chryssie! You can fall
in
love without wanting to, but you cannot fall
out
of love no matter how much you might want to.”

Having paused only to catch her breath, Chryssie rushed on, not noticing the sadness in Karayannis’ voice. “If you lie to her and tell her that Dimitros arranged her secret departure, even better. She will come even against her free will.” Chryssie was begging, eyes full of agony.

The doctor looked up at the house one more time. Thinking of what was going on inside its walls at that very moment felt like bleeding his own heart with the dullest of lancets. “She will hate me afterwards, Chryssie.”

“No!” Chryssie was shouting and he desperately shushed her. “No. My mistress will be thankful to you for saving her life and her honor. Maybe not right away, but eventually she will realize you did what is right.”

He cringed. “Stop it, Chryssie!”