Hearts of Stone (5 page)

‘I’ve seen this album before,’ said Anna. ‘I remember some of the other things, as well as this picture.’

Eleni nodded. ‘You picked it up once, in my house, many years before. You were four, no, five, at the time. Too young to know what it means to me, but young enough to be interested. So I did not mind, then.’ She tapped a finger on the picture. ‘I did not know there was a copy of this picture.’

She fixed her granddaughter with a piercing stare. ‘There is only one way there could be another. Karl Muller took this. But he is long dead. So, his son?’

‘Peter?’ Anna saw her grandmother shudder at the mention of his name. ‘No, not him. His grandson, Dieter, sent me the copy on my phone.’

‘You know him?’ Eleni hissed. ‘He is here, in England?’

‘No. No. At least I don’t think he is in London at the moment. He said that he had to return to Germany to continue his research.’ Anna explained hurriedly. ‘He wants to know about the island, before the fascists came. Back when the Germans were digging for ancient ruins. It has nothing to do with the war, Yiayia. I promise.’

‘He is a German. His promises mean nothing.’ Eleni grasped her hand tightly. ‘You will not see him again. You will not speak to him. Understand?’ The intensity of her expression and sudden strength of her grip frightened Anna.

‘But why? Tell me why.’

Eleni released her hand and sagged back into the armchair. She was silent a moment and Anna could see the pulse in her throat flickering like a candle in a draft. Then she sighed and spoke again in a calm voice.

‘The Greek boy at my side in the picture is Andreas Katarides.’

‘A close friend?’

She smiled thinly. ‘Then, yes. But more, much more, later on. The other boy was also . . . a friend. Peter Muller.’ She paused, and her voice hardened. ‘That was before he came back to the island to murder us. Became our enemy. How can these things be?’ She closed her eyes as she remembered. ‘I try to remember that it was not always so. There was a time before . . . Before the great evil came to our little island.’

Chapter Five

Lefkas, September 1938

T
he camera shutter clicked and the three teenagers relaxed from the pose they had struck and held while Peter’s father set the exposure and adjusted the focus. Karl Muller looked up and smiled at them.

‘That’s it. All done.’

As he lowered his Leica and reached for the camera case, Peter glanced at his friends and raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry. My father’s something of a photography addict.’

Eleni laughed, parting her thin lips to reveal white teeth and a smile that Peter considered faultless, even though there was a noticeable gap in the top incisors. She shook her head.

‘Don’t apologise. That’s all you seem to do about your father. He’s a nice man.’

‘Even for a German?’

‘Especially for a German.’ She nodded discreetly towards the young man sitting at the end of a long table, laden with bits of pottery, small stones and other fragments that might hold some archaeological value. ‘Unlike our friend over there.’

Peter glanced round. ‘Heinrich?’

He watched his father’s assistant carefully entering an item into the log. ‘He knows his job and works hard.’

Eleni sighed. ‘He’s a cold one. I don’t trust him.’

Andreas stirred at her side, his dark brows knitting together. ‘He has offended you?’

‘No. Not like that. I just don’t like him much.’

‘He had better not upset you when I’m around.’

She touched his arm briefly. ‘You are not my brother. Nor my cousin.’

‘No.’ He relaxed his expression. ‘Just a friend.’

‘Exactly. And I can look after myself.’

Andreas smiled. ‘Of course you can, little Eleni. You’re fifteen. Almost a woman.’

She glared at him in jest and Andreas laughed. Peter joined in, a little pinprick of pain in his heart when her eyes lingered on Andreas just a moment longer than was necessary.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what they’ve found today.’

He stepped out towards the table and the others followed. Peter visited the site most days but his friends came less frequently. They had become friends after Andreas’s father had invited the German archaeologists to a dinner at his villa. Shyly at first, but quickly becoming close as youngsters will on a small island. The Germans had been digging in the small valley for over eighteen months and interest in their painstaking methods had soon palled and the local people turned back to their routines. The most recent finds were at the end of the table where Heinrich sat on a camp stool. He delicately held up a fragment of fine pottery and closely scrutinised it for a moment before lowering it and entering several words in the comments section of the log.

Peter waited until he had set his pen down again. ‘Anything interesting?’

Heinrich shrugged and gestured towards the scattered shards before him. ‘One of the men unearthed this,’ he responded in German. ‘He broke it with the first stroke of his trowel. The times I’ve warned them to go in gently. So now we have a little reconstruction work to do. Or would have, if we hadn’t been recalled. Have to wait until we return.’

Peter was conscious that his friends could not easily follow the exchange, despite his teaching them some German over the last few months, and switched back into Greek. ‘How old do you think it is?’

Heinrich grinned at him, and the others. ‘Late Mycenaean. Three thousand years old. And it’s a fine piece. Look here.’ He picked up one of the larger pieces and held it up for them to see. A row of delicately painted warriors, hoplites, ranged along the curve of the shard. ‘I’d bet that this came from a wealthy household. Perhaps these are the remains of a nobleman’s house. Or maybe that of a king. Either way, it’s more evidence that your father is on the right track.’

Eleni edged forward and examined the small figures, marvelling at the brightness of the colours. ‘Three thousand years old . . .’

‘That’s right. Back in an age when Greek civilisation was about to dominate the known world. A far cry from what it has become today, no?’

Andreas was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘Every civilisation has its day. Perhaps Greece may rise again. As Germany has.’

Heinrich laughed. ‘Ah, there’s the difference. History does not repeat itself. The greatness of Greece lies behind it. The greatness of Germany is just beginning. Even so, there’s much we can learn from the great nations of the past.’

Andreas arched an eyebrow. ‘You think so?’

‘I know it.’

There was a pause, and the heat trapped in the valley seemed to add to the tension. Eleni tore her gaze away from the figures on the pottery and turned to Peter.

‘There’s something I need to ask your father.’

‘Oh?’

‘That photograph he just took, of the three of us. I would like a copy to keep. For when you leave, so I can remember. Do you think he would give me a print?’

Peter glanced towards another table where his father had finished fastening the buckles of his camera case and removed his wide-brimmed straw hat to dab the sweat from his brow. He stared round the valley before fixing his gaze on a nearby cliff which rose steeply up to the mixed line of stunted oaks and cypress trees that grew above and covered the hillside.

‘Ask him. I’m sure he’ll agree.’

Eleni flashed him a smile and turned away to approach Peter’s father. Andreas moved further down the table, away from Heinrich, and looked over the other finds. Peter followed him, feeling awkward over the hubris of his compatriot. It was unfortunate, since he admired his father’s assistant. Heinrich Steiner was robustly cheerful and had been an avid sportsman back in his native Bavaria. Moreover, he had won the respect of Peter’s father, which was why he had been chosen from many applicants to join him on the site. In truth, Peter sought the same seal of approval and hoped to be like Heinrich one day. Nonetheless, he was sensitive enough to discern the friction between his father’s assistant and some of the islanders, particularly his friends.

Peter cleared his throat. ‘Are you all right, Andreas?’

The older boy did not look up as he replied. ‘All right? Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Heinrich didn’t mean to offend. Sometimes he is, well, a bit too proud of being German.’

‘Perhaps he has cause to be,’ Andreas mused. ‘Greece is only a small country, of little consequence. Germany has become a force to be reckoned with. It must warm your heart to be part of that, my friend.’

‘I suppose,’ Peter admitted. In the years since the National Socialists had come to power they had not ceased to proclaim that the nation had been reborn and a fine future lay ahead. It had been easy to be swept along with the euphoria and believe in it. But that was back in Germany. Since Peter had been with his father here on Lefkas, the affairs of their homeland had become remote and there was a lyrical serenity about the islands of the Ionian Sea, and its people, that diminished the grip of patriotism on Peter’s soul. In truth, being here felt like a release. A different pace of history, as his father put it. Both of them were saddened by the need to leave the island, and friends, behind, until the diplomatic crisis had passed.

Anxious to change the subject out of deference to his friend’s pride, Peter pointed out a fragment of stone, sculpted into a small, open-palmed hand. ‘Look at this! Superb . . .’

Without thinking, Andreas picked it up and examined it closely.

At once Heinrich turned and said, ‘Please put that back.’

Andreas did as he was told. His pride was pricked by having to obey a young man only a few years older than him. He felt a momentary urge to defy Heinrich after the event, before sense returned and he mumbled, ‘Sorry.’

The student flashed a brief smile. ‘It’s just that it’s a valuable piece. The professor would have my hide if anything happened to it.’

Andreas stared back, until the German returned his attention to his logbook. Peter was embarrassed by the brief exchange, and blamed himself for pointing out the sculpture fragment to his friend. He began to move along the table, looking over the finds that had already been labelled, and Andreas followed him a short distance until they were out of earshot and whispered, ‘What was that about?’

‘There is a procedure. Nothing is to be touched until it is logged and labelled,’ Peter explained.

His Greek friend sighed. ‘I see. That man is a foreigner in my land, and he tells me not to touch what he has dug out of our soil.’

‘He did not mean to offend you, Andreas.’

‘Did he not?’ Andreas sniffed and gestured at the finds spread out along the table in front of him. ‘I wonder . . . Is this all not an offence in itself?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This is not the ancient Greece of your schoolbooks. It is a different age. Yet men like your father – and I mean him no disrespect, he is a good man – feel free to come here and treat this land, and these objects he has dug up, with no regard for our feelings. These are the relics of my people’s past. What will become of them? They will be boxed up and taken to Germany and put on display in a museum. If I should ever want to see the heritage of my people then I will be forced to travel to your country and pay for the privilege.’

Peter shook his head. ‘It’s not like that. These relics need to be cared for properly, so that they can be enjoyed by everyone, regardless of where they happened to be found. Besides, he has the permission of the Greek government.’

Andreas snorted. ‘The permission of some corrupt official, you mean.’

Peter forced a smile. ‘My friend, all Europe owes a great debt to your ancestors. We are all the inheritors of the great works of the ancients. It is a bond we all share.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. And you may even mean it. But it does not change the fact that you are mining our past and taking it away.’

‘We are preserving it,’ Peter protested. ‘That’s all.’

‘And is it not preserved here, in this ground?’

‘Then who would ever see it? It has to be put in front of the world.’

‘Maybe, but why not here, in Greece?’

The response was obvious but Peter managed to moderate his reply. ‘I understand your pride, but if the past is to survive, it has to be looked after. When the museums are built here, all these relics will be returned.’

‘I see. Just like the Acropolis frieze then?’

Peter gritted his teeth. ‘We are not like the British. Germany understands the value of civilisation.’

‘Really?’ Andreas arched on eyebrow. ‘We shall see, eh?’

Before Peter could respond they were interrupted by a shout from Professor Muller.

‘Heinrich! Have you finished cataloguing the day’s finds?’

They passed his father’s car and made for the truck, an ageing Fiat, spotted with rust and coated with a layer of grime that made the already sun-bleached blue seem that much more faded. It had been an early purchase of the archaeological expedition when the flow of funds from the university had been more forthcoming. A thinly padded bench served as the seat for the driver and passenger, and sacking lay in the bed of the truck to cushion the loads carried back to Lefkada. Andreas handed Eleni into the back while Peter, as usual, went round to the front and slotted the starting handle into position. He took the grip in both hands and looked over the top of the radiator grille. Heinrich gave a nod and then Peter swung the handle round. It took three attempts before the engine choked into life. Heinrich gently revved it for a moment and then called out above the shrill rattle, ‘That’s it! In you get.’

After he stowed the handle, Peter walked past the driver’s door.

‘Not sitting in here where there’s more shade? Gentler on the arse too.’

Peter hesitated, wanting to travel with his friends.

‘Go on,’ said Eleni. ‘We can talk through the cab window.’

‘Yes,’ Andreas added. ‘Sit, in there.’

Peter did as he was bid and walked round the front of the truck to take his place beside Heinrich in the tiny vibrating cab that smelt of petrol fumes and grease. As soon as the door was closed, Heinrich released the handbrake and thrust the stick into first gear. With a lurch the truck ground forward over the gravel track. Peter stuck his head out of the window to take one last look at the small valley where he had spent so much time over the last eighteen months, and then pine trees closed in on the track and cut off the view of the archaeological dig. Behind him he heard Andreas make a comment and Eleni laughed and the rest of the exchange was lost as Heinrich changed gear and accelerated up the slope. The still air of the valley was replaced with the warm rush through the open windows of the cab. Peter breathed in the familiar tang of pine and felt a brief moment of sorrow that he would not see the valley again for a long time. At least until the powers of Europe came to an understanding that allowed normal life to resume. It frustrated him that ordinary people like himself could get on well enough with those of other nations without rancour but those who held the reins of power found it so difficult to do the same.

‘What will you do when you get back to Berlin?’ Heinrich asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Peter pushed the frames of his glasses up the bridge of his nose to fix them in place as the truck jolted along the track. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly.

‘Father has arranged a place for me at a gymnasium to finish my schooling.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘University. To study archaeology.’

Heinrich laughed. ‘Follow in the old man’s footsteps, eh?’

Peter winced at the disrespectful description of his father. ‘I suppose so.’

Heinrich kept his eyes on the difficult route ahead of them, trying to steer carefully over the worst holes and bumps in the uneven track. ‘Do you like the idea?’

Peter glanced at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t have to study archaeology if you don’t want to. You could choose any subject. Or not. There are plenty of other things a man can do in Germany. Now that there’s a new government, a new future.’

‘Maybe, but I know what I want to study.’ There was a brief pause before he continued, ‘What about you? What will you do while the dig is delayed?’