1 The Assassins' Village (28 page)

Chapter 39. Assassins all? Back to Sunday 29
th

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.

Macbeth. Act 4 Scene 1

When he was violently pushed towards the cliff edge by Alicia back on that fateful Sunday, Leslie had tried in vain to maintain his balance. Feeling the earth crumble beneath his feet as the edge of the precipice began to give away, Leslie reached out to clasp her arms. But Alicia stepped back and his arms wind-milled in vain as he toppled over the rim.  Falling, Leslie gave a yelp of fright, which turned into a panicked scream as he crashed through scrub bushes that tore at his flesh. Finally he had hit the bottom.

A pain so acute, shot up his left leg and into his spine. A groan escaped his torn lips and at first he wasn’t aware of what had happened. As the mist receded, he discovered he was lying on the ground. He made a movement and the terrible hurt once more shot through him, causing him to retch with nausea. The back of his head felt sticky and he discovered warm blood trickling down his neck. The throbbing in his tongue was where he’d bitten through it. Moving tentatively, and risking a glance, he saw by the odd positioning of his left leg that it was broken. He couldn’t move. Not without help. The agonising pain washed over him in waves and he shivered with shock. He knew that to stay alive, he had to somehow remain awake. He turned his head and let his eyes focus on his surroundings.

He heard a noise; a voice calling his name. Dimly he recalled that he had been with someone, but couldn’t remember who or even where he was. The voice called again. A woman! Alicia! Weak and feeble, he tried to answer, to let her know he was alive.

‘Alicia. I-I can’t move my leg.’ He waited for some response and receiving none, summoned up more energy to try again. ‘Alicia! Over here.’

‘Hang on I’ll come down!’

For what seemed like hours he waited, until a faint scrabbling in the surrounding bushes let him know that she had at last reached him. The surge of relief slipped away as the darkness engulfed him.

‘Leslie! Look at me! Are you awake? Where’s your memoir book? I want it before I help you. Wake up!’

~~~

The unconscious Leslie was deathly quiet. Alicia began a desperate search for the object of her chase. Still smarting over what he’d said, she’d find the book first, and then decide what to do. There was
no way
she was going to give him any assistance. Not ever. His cruel words had sealed his fate.

~~~

Tony had witnessed the whole act with open-mouthed wonder. When Leslie had toppled over the cliff Tony felt a tremor of excitement go through him and he could hardly contain himself as he followed Alicia’s moves down to the bottom of the cliff face. His bowels felt as if they would give way at any moment. Waiting, skulking on the top of the overhang, he could no longer hear Leslie’s faint voice. Dizzy with excitement, and on tenterhooks, Tony dithered on whether he should go down and see for himself. See if Leslie was dead. If he was, and he prayed most fervently that this was so, then Alicia had done the job for him. If that was the case, then it was the neatest ending that he could possibly have wished for. He’d have no need to get his own hands soiled.

~~~

Kristiakis crept along the valley bottom, and ziz-zagged up the slope to where he thought Leslie lay. It’d taken him far longer to reach the spot than he had thought. The years’ growth in the prickly acacia bushes causing him to retrace his steps more than once. Now, nearing his old enemy he couldn’t help feeling a moment of rejoicing. He’d waited so long, for just this moment! It was his one chance of retribution when he saw that Alicia had provided the means for him to get away with the ultimate solution.

To exterminate the old bastard.

~~~

Antigone sank down onto the ground, trembling. Over the years she’d waited for something to happen. Now, with the scene spread below her she wondered if she would have the will, the resolve to carry out her plan. She ached to revenge herself. Could she do it? With a determination she stood up. A cold stillness descending over her, filling her veins, her mind, her heart. For the first time in ages she had a clear head. She lost all the fuzziness and the familiar feeling of isolation as, picking up her bag and draping the strap over her shoulder, she began to climb down.

Chapter 40. A Dark Secret.

O, well done! I commend your pains, and every one shall share i’ th’gains.

Macbeth. Act 4 Scene 1

For the first time in months, the sky wasn’t the usual shade of blue that everyone expected. High wispy clouds draped a thin, mean shawl across the sun.

Diana was feeling restless. She had suffered a disturbed night. It was hot and stuffy in their bedroom, and when she opened the window wide for more air, the drone of an invading mosquito had almost driven her mad. Eventually, knowing that sleep was going to evade her, she went downstairs, poured a glass of chilled water from the fridge and sat out on the dark terrace.

A zephyr of a breeze tripped across her moonlit refuge. It lifted tendrils of moist hair from her neck. Relieved, she tilted her face towards the fresh draught. The breeze might well indicate the coming of autumn and the welcome sweet rain. After five months of sweltering heat, everyone on the island would welcome it. As the weather cooled, everything changed. Plants took on a new lease of life throwing out fresh shoots and flowers. Animals and humans found renewed energy.

Steve would channel more thought into his business back in England and Diana could finally get on with her latest book. She’d had difficulties in settling down to a routine lately. Refusing to admit she had writer’s block (she didn’t believe in it), only that she had come to a hiatus in its final chapters. Her health was still bothering her too. With the promise of cooler weather she resolved to knuckle down and finish the book. In fact, she could do some work on it now. It was perfect timing. Cool, quiet and peaceful, with no interruptions.

~~~

Diana worked solidly for the whole of the morning. Despite her early start she didn’t feel at all tired. Instead, she was buoyed up with unspent energy and knew that she had to now put down her pencil and go out for some fresh air. She usually found that a walk around the village was the best remedy. Peeking into the colourful courtyards and gardens of the honey-coloured stone houses was always relaxing. Glancing at her watch, she discovered there was a good hour or so before she needed to think about preparing some lunch. 

She went looking for her husband and found him at the kitchen table. Steve was so deeply engrossed in deciphering Leslie’s little black book that he didn’t want to accompany her.

‘I’ve done it!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve broken the code. It’s a very simple one. Anyway look, you go on. I want to finish this completely today,’ his face was flushed with excitement.

‘What about the remaining entries? What do they mean?’ she asked peering over his shoulder.

‘Whoa! Let me finish first before I tell you. I’d rather I had all the facts.’ With a smile and a kiss he told her to go away, have a good walk and they’d discuss it later over lunch.  ‘With luck I’ll have the complete story for you then.’

~~~

Passing the village Kafeneio, Di waved to the owner and called out a cheery
Kalimera.
Yiannis was overseeing one of his young daughters whilst she mopped the floor of the café. Normally, Di would have stopped and enquired how he and his huge family were, but this morning she was keen to get out for some uninterrupted exercise and fresh air into her lungs.  She passed their favourite village café-bar,
The Magic Teapot
, run by a gregarious couple from Guildford, Roy and Geraldine. They’d spent the last couple of weeks back in England celebrating the birth of their latest grandson. It was good to see them back in Agios Mamas. They had the windows of the bar wide-open for airing and were busy putting the tables and chairs out for tonight’s happy hour. The horrible events had passed them by whilst they were back in the UK, and Diana envied them. She wished she’d been away herself and missed the grisly deaths. She knew that she wouldn’t have long to run the gauntlet before filling in the details for them. But not today, and feeling a bit of a coward, she silently back-tracked along the path she had come and took another route around the more deserted outskirts of the village perimeter. She was enjoying her own company, without anyone talking about the two deaths. She needed this time on her own.

The path she followed was of the usual rough, uneven cobblestones. It was precarious in places, and Di wondered why more people didn’t suffer from injuries. Deep in concentration, she ran right into Antigone who was coming out of her courtyard. Antigone’s sudden appearance startled Di out of her daydream. As Di recovered her surprise she took a good look at the woman who had just lost her brother in his supposed suicide.

Antigone looked different. At first, Di couldn’t see why and then it hit her. Not only did she wear clean clothes, but her hair had been brushed and drawn back from her face into some sort of plait.  For the first time since she’d known Antigone, she didn’t smell quite so
goatee
as usual either. She must have taken a bath. Diana noted the other woman’s fine eyes. Without the ingrained dirt, Di could see that when she was younger, Antigone must have been pretty.

Of course one bath didn’t remove years of grime, but it was a start, and Di felt the stirrings of a mystery. Why had she smartened herself up? If anything, Di would have expected her to be shocked and distressed at losing her nearest relative.

Most Cypriot women would wail, spending hours on their knees praying, and coarse black clothing would be donned. Not the pretty dark blue skirt and white top that Antigone was wearing. She completed her new look with a thin gold coloured chain that lay almost concealed beneath her blouse.

Perhaps Steve was right. She was completely batty and never registered what had happened to her brother. It was conceivable; she had no idea that Kristiakis was even dead.

Diana smiled at her and enquired how she was. She was very surprised when Antigone smiled in return. She took her arm, indicating that Di was to follow her into her courtyard.  The Cypriot woman bustled around. Shooing a couple of chickens from under their feet she, moved a basket of almonds from a rush chair.

‘Please. Sit here. Would you like coffee? No?’ she asked. She gave Di a knowing look. ‘Maybe you don’t like coffee at the moment? Perhaps some milk or water?’

Recently Diana had been quite off coffee. She always let it get too cold to drink and couldn’t think why. However, the thought of warm goat’s milk made her stomach do an involuntarily flip.

‘Water will be just fine please,’ she said in response, surprised at Antigone’s intuitive comment.

She sat in the shade of the pomegranate tree, its leaves rustling in the breeze. The tree dominated the courtyard. Pomegranate fruit hung like golden orbs from its branches. There was a large collection of plants grouped around the walls. Old cans and plastic containers contained geraniums, sweet-scented basil, curly leaved parsley, tiny rose bushes and a hibiscus or two. A deep blood-red bougainvillaea ran up the sheltered wall of the cottage and over the edge of the tin roof. It was simple, unarranged, and quite lovely.

Diana yawned. The broken night was at last catching up on her. She felt relaxed and sleepy in the warm sunshine filtering through the canopy of green. She was happy with her books progress. She had decided in the early hours who her murderer was. At first Diana had been troubled. She had played around with two of the characters.  One had been quite ruthless and cruel. And then it was obvious to her.

Just as she was in danger of dozing off, Antigone reappeared carrying an aluminium tray, two beakers of water and a little plate containing some very sweet and sticky looking cakes. Diana knew that she shouldn’t, but she took one anyway and found it delicious. A second would be very hard to resist. They munched their cakes and sipped their water, neither speaking. Diana felt that she didn’t need to. She was completely at peace.

Finishing their coffee and cakes, Antigone asked her to come inside.

‘I have something for you,’ she said. Without the slightest hesitation Di followed her.

Despite the sunny day, inside the house it felt damp and gloomy. It comprised of a single room, with two tiny windows for light. Set under one window was a small table and two chairs, while off to one side stood a rickety-looking wooden cupboard. Hanging from the ceiling was a flat woven basket containing a hunk of bread and some apples. Underneath this stood a metal cabinet covered in a mesh to keep the flies off food. A small clay pitcher was lying against the wall. In the opposite corner was a low truckle bed, tidily made with old and well-used linen. An ancient, battered pine chest was placed at the foot of the bed. Diana assumed this held Antigone clothes.

She surveyed the meanness of the place. It was Spartan and primitive. On the table there was a bowl containing a white curd mixture and on a slab a square of hardened cheese, already dry and mature. The whole place was redolent of goat and Diana couldn’t help feeling overpowered by the rank smell.

Antigone saw Diana’s interest and asked her if she would like to try some cheese. She took a large heavy looking knife from a drawer underneath the tabletop and began cutting into the cheese.

‘It looks difficult,’ Di said, watching Antigone. She was making hard work with the knife.

‘Yes. The knife is too blunt; I need to have it sharper. I have something better, cheese wire.’

Placing the knife on the table, Antigone crossed over to the wall cupboard. She returned with a thin wire with wooden handles attached at either end. She laid the wire over the cheese and deftly sliced through it. Cutting off a small piece she gestured that Di was to help herself. Di took a tiny sliver and found that it was quite delicious. Hard, nutty flavoured, not unlike Italian Parmesan.

‘This is gorgeous.’

Obviously pleased, Antigone cut a larger wedge. ‘I give you some for your house.’ Diana tried to wave away her generous offer, but Antigone persisted. ‘Yes, yes. You need it. It’s good for you.’

Diana felt embarrassed to take away some of Antigone’s earnings. She knew that if she offered to pay, Antigone would be offended. In the end, she settled for a small portion that Antigone wrapped in a small square of muslin-like material. Diana was delighted. Sometimes the villagers were so big-hearted with their offerings.

‘Thank you very much Antigone. Now I really must go. I have to go home and make lunch. Steve will be hungry.’ They laughed together. Antigone didn’t understand all of the English words Diana used, and Di’s own Greek was pathetic. However, with gestures and patience they finally recognised what the other was trying to say.

Antigone appeared reluctant to let Diana leave. ‘I still have something for you.’

Reaching under her bed, she removed a small basket from a pine box. The top was fastened with two frog-like toggles. Unfastening the toggles, Antigone lifted the lid to reveal the contents. Diana was fascinated.

Underneath a layer of yellowed-aged tissue paper, nestling in the basket, was an array of tiny baby clothes.

‘Antigone, whose are these?’ Di asked puzzled. As far as she knew Antigone had never been married, nor having any children. Besides, these looked new and unworn.

‘For you. They are baby clothes.’

‘Baby clothes, for
me
? Why would I want baby clothes?’ Di spluttered, laughing in embarrassment. Antigone mystified her at times.

Putting the tiny garment down, Antigone turned to face her. Smaller than Diana in height, she looked up at her, a smile playing around her lips. ‘For you and baby.’

‘But I haven’t got a baby.’

Antigone laughed out loud, a deep earthy laugh.  She appeared to be delighted with surprising Diana.

‘Soon, early next year! Then we share.’

‘What?’ Diana looked perplexed. Was the woman completely mad? Share what? Diana didn’t know what to say. Antigone, despite her new smartened appearance, was clearly suffering some sort of trauma over Kristiakis’ death.

‘Look Antigone, I’m sure you’re upset because of Kristiakis …’ She never finished, as Antigone flashed a warning look at her. Her eyes glittered and she grasped Diana by her wrist. Her hold was surprisingly strong for a woman, and Diana was somewhat disconcerted to find herself held in a vice-like grip.

‘No. No. It is nothing to do with him. I give my baby clothes to you.’

Still puzzled over the layette and gently prising her fingers from her wrist, Diana again asked her about the clothes.

‘Antigone, why do you have these baby things? Whose were they?’

There was a pause before Antigone answered. She shuddered and a sad look passed over her face.

‘My baby, she does not grow.’

‘What? What you do mean?
Your baby
? Did you have a baby?’

‘My baby, she does not grow anymore. She is now a…,’ she groped for the words in frustration. ‘She is now a Saint.’

Bewilderment was replaced by a chilling thought that stole over Diana as she repeated the words to herself. She truly hoped and prayed that she misunderstood what Antigone was saying.

‘My baby, she does not grow anymore. She is a saint.’

Did she mean that metaphorically?

Feeling the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, Di stiffened with a dawning comprehension.