The Lake of Sorrows (22 page)

“She should be the Pasha’s daughter. His son may be a tyrant in the making, but at least he has a heart
somewhere
, or so I am told.”

“Be quiet, for Heaven’s sake. She might hear you. The lake can hold plenty more people!”

They scurried away, but Pashou had heard nothing, she was working herself into a rage. “I can understand why the Pasha ordered
me
to take you simpering strumpets to the execution today. Eminee and her soft heart would have let you bawl and whine all morning. Get yourselves back to the harem, all of you! If I hear one more sob, I will suggest to the Pasha that Shouhrae needs a friend for company!”

Like motherless baby birds, the harem girls flocked back along the path, drawing their robes ever so close about them. Noone but Pashou herself heard her acerbic final words. “And if it pleases you, oh Allah, lead that Froshenie to this lake before Shouhrae is cold.”

F
roshenie was talking to her own image in the luxurious mirror in the bedchamber of the Vassiliou house. It was a bad habit she had acquired of late, since she could not even speak freely to her Vaya any more. The woman in the mirror looked like an older sister of hers, she thought. Radiant, but with such despondency and resignation in her dark eyes when Froshenie spoke. “I must be a fool, I suppose, not obeying the Pasha’s summons.”

Her mirror image’s lips moved gently. “More than a fool. A madwoman. Your Vaya will be at the lake, remember? Your
not
being by her side will be so unusual that
someone
is bound to notice. Especially since the Pasha very rarely summons
women
to those spectacles. You might be the next one flung into the lake!”

“I am past caring. Fate has tossed me about so much that I have given up resisting.”

Mirror-Froshenie inclined her head. “Even if fate will have you die if you remain in Yannina now?”

“I know I may die if I stay here. I know I
will
die if I leave.”

The lady in the mirror turned away as Froshenie did. “You should read Dimitros’ letter again. It might rekindle your sense of duty.”

Froshenie walked into the living-room without answering. There she stood for a long time, watching the dust-specks dance in the beams of cold, sharp noontime light that fell through the windows.

Presently, she walked into Dimitros’ library and stood indecisively before his desk. Finally she picked up the open letter she had left there, half-read, after Yannos had brought it and fearfully hurried off again.

Reluctantly, she continued where she had left off.

Every day, we are gathering strength. I will never presume to be a fighter, but I take pride in knowing that more men who are indeed fighters join our ranks every day, now that more shipments of arms are beginning to arrive from England. Some of those ships and many of the arms are paid by me and I allow myself to believe that this is also a contribution, however small.

But I realize that, by committing myself to the cause, I have put not only myself in great danger. Much as I am devoted to the cause of Greece’s freedom from the Ottomans’ tyranny, I am tormented by fears and scruples for not bringing you along on my travels. I want you to know it is not a decision taken lightly. Yes, you will be in danger in Yannina, but you would often be in more danger if you were by my side. The Ottoman empire has informers everywhere.

During my latest visit at home - is it not sad that a man is at home so rarely that he thinks of himself as a visitor? - I sensed that something was wrong. You put on a brave act, but I could not dispel a feeling that you are troubled by something. I did not ask what was tormenting you, for I had to leave again, as these times are crucial to our cause. But I now blame myself severely for being so selfish. We are man and wife, and ever since you honored me by accepting me as a husband despite all my shortcomings, your happiness should be and always has been, essential to my own.

So, until we meet again, forgive a husband for being a poor one and know that I will endeavor to be a far better one in the future.

Your loving husband,

Dimitros

Froshenie threw the letter into the fireplace. Within moments, it was nothing but flaky ash.

Then she fled back into the bedchamber. Mirror-Froshenie flickered past, giving her an odd look. Froshenie threw herself on the bed, pulling the covers over her head. “Do not look at me that way. I had to destroy that letter. To protect him. And myself. It was not because I could not bear it. It was not!”

But mirror-Froshenie was gone

“I
found her like this, wandering the streets, when I ran back from the Vassiliou house. I did not know what to do with her.”

Yannos kept helplessly patting the hysterically sobbing Anesso’s shoulder while he spoke to Constantine, who seemed almost as much in need of comfort as the peddler. The tavern-keeper sank down onto a chair in the empty tavern - Alhi had decreed all places of pleasure and prayer be closed on that day - hid his face in his hands and burst into tears. “She is dead, Anesso. Shouhrae is dead. Those monsters drowned her in the lake before our very eyes. Oh, God, even a blind man would have gone mad if she had screamed one moment longer!”

“For God’s sake, hold your tongue!” Yannos was too late to stop the torrential outburst from his son-in-law and Anesso’ sobbing turned into an animal wail. Yannos desperately hugged her, pressing her face to his chest to muffle the sound. “Do something, lad. If the soldiers hear her, we will all be joining that hapless girl before long!”

Shame and resentment crashed together in Constantine’s voice. “What is the matter with her? She was not there!”

“What is the matter with her? Her son has disappeared and the love of his life was condemned by that beast Pasha. And now my idiot son-in-law has just told her all about the execution.
That
is what is the matter with her! Now get off your fat behind and
do
something!”

Constantine forced himself to stand, to find a bottle of his strongest pomace brandy and then, through a cloud of shared tears, to persuade Anesso to drink. Her wailing subsided into whimpering and Constantine gave her some more, then yet more, holding her like a child until she finally fell asleep.

Yannos, who had been keeping watch at the door, returned to the table and sat down heavily. “The pox and the plague take the Pasha! May he rot in God’s or Allah’s hell, or in the hell of whatever god or devil will have him!”

Constantine drew a heavy breath and gently rocked Anesso in his arms. “We must hide this miserable soul until she regains her senses.”

Yannos opened his mouth to protest, but Constantine cut him short. “We will hide her in the cellar until all this blows over - and until Alexis is safely with the rebels.”

“Safe? With the rebels? Has today’s spectacle addled your wits?”

“More than you will ever know! Thank God in your evening prayers that you have never been there. I will pray He makes this the only time
I
was there. Holy mother of God, do you really imagine one can be safe
anywhere
in Hyperus while Alhi Pasha rules in Yannina?”

They gently woke Anesso and, like a sleepwalker, she let herself be guided down the wooden stairs to the cellar.

T
he streets of Yannina were all but empty on that day, save for the beggars and a few hurrying, scurrying citizens, trying to hide themselves behind cloaks and cowls. Only two men walked the streets without glancing over their shoulders. None of the passers-by recognized the captain of the Pasha’s guard and the Pasha’s own son - they took great care not to.

Muhtar sighed for the umpteenth time. “Thank you for accompanying me, Tahir. I could not stand it one moment more in the palace. It is not like the walls just have ears - they have eyes, too.”

“My duty and my pleasure to follow you, my Bey. I do hope you do not think
me
a spy?”

“No, Tahir, never. You are too hopelessly honest to be a real spy. You are just a friend of me
and
of my father, and I did not appreciate how difficult that must be.”

The old captain’s face lit up, even if he fought to remain gruff.

“But my father would make even you a proper spy if he could. I honestly think my he has more spies than soldiers by now.”

“He has many enemies.”

“That is his own fault! He makes them faster than we can kill them. This Souli campaign is all-advised - or would be, if he took anyone’s advice. And the spectacle of that poor girl’s execution! Killing such a helpless creature is no show of strength. It is weakness.” Muhtar shook his head fiercely. “The older he gets, the more he refuses to realize that the Sublime Porte and the Sultan are eagerly waiting for such mistakes to turn full force against him. That execution was reckless!”

“And tragic.” Tahir spoke softly.

Muhtar went red and looked away. “Yes, tragic. His shoulders slumped even lower. “Do you know what the most tragic thing of all is?”

“Ah, no, my Bey. Please do not look so … bleak. I fear your previous mood may return.”

“The most tragic thing of all is that I have become so accustomed to killing that I do not even feel outrage at the execution of such a girl. Barely grown up and now tossed into the lake forever.” Muhtar stopped as if he had not the strength for even one more step. He turned to face the guard captain and his dark eyes bore into the older man’s. “Tell me, Tahir, am I becoming like my father?”

Tahir groaned, then twisted. “My Bey, I … your father is a great man … “

He stopped speaking when he realized Muhtar was no longer listening. Instead, the young man stood mesmerized in the middle of the street, mouth open in the most boyishly happy smile Tahir had ever seen on a grown man’s face.

“She is back, Tahir! She is back! Take all our worries back to the palace, I will go to heaven this instant.”

“Where — who is — oh, Allah, no!” Tahir had barely noticed the woman that had walked past them, head bowed - but now she had turned and was looking at Muhtar with a smile even more joyful than the Bey’s.

“My Bey! I beg you, do not — “

But Muhtar was already charging down the street, leaving the old man behind.

“My Bey, this is madness!” Muhtar threw dignity to the wind and shouted after Muhtar like an exasperated father after an impossible child. “Think of your father! Think of your war! Think of — ” Tahir stopped shouting and breathed malediction at all the gods of human stupidity. “Oh, why bother?” He heaved a sigh, then spun on his heel and stomped back towards the palace. “Allah, I beg you, make that boy happy, since you will not make him wise.”

At the other end of the street, Muhtar caught up with Froshenie. She made no attempt to avoid him this time. Their arms closed around each other and they walked on like one being.

L
ong into the evening, the main courtyard of the palace of Yannina was one, big, bustling army camp. Sweating soldiers were loading sturdy carts with grain and dried meat, others skewered straw figures hung from chains or smote one another with wooden practice swords, couriers dashed to and fro through the churning sea of men - and, all of a sudden, a column of hard-faced, heavily-armed Greeks marched through the gate and straight to the palace’s main entrance.

There, the men drew up in a loose square and their leader bounded up the stairs to the entrance and shouldered his way past the half-hearted protests of the guards.

Captain Tahir trotted out from the guards’ room, throwing on his sword-belt on the way. “A pleasure to see you in Yannina, captain Zavellas. Would you care to wait for a moment, while I announce your arrival to our Pasha?”

“No.”

The Souliotes’ captain did not even break stride. He stomped straight to the war council room and flung open the doors, sending them swinging into the walls with a crash that made both Alhi and his commanders around the war table jump and the torches on the walls flicker and cough sparks.

Tahir hurried into the room. “Ah … my Pasha, our distinguished ally, captain Zavellas of Souli, is here.”

Rage flickered across Alhi’s face so fast that only Tahir saw it, then the Pasha’s face was full of regal amusement. “So I see, captain Tahir, so I see. And in his usual flamboyant manner, too.” Alhi waved his hands and the commanders all discovered they had urgent business elsewhere and excused themselves.

Captain Lambros Zavellas walked into the room and sat proudly in front of Alhi, spreading his
foustanella
kilt around his knees. His face was neither regal nor amused, he did not even bother with any attempt to hide his mood - skeptical, cautious, thoughtful, as Souliotes always were to any outsiders, yet fearless and full of arrogance as Souliotes always were to
everyone
, even one another.

Alhi leaned on the war table like a great general. “I am overjoyed to see you so soon in Yannina, captain Zavellas. Welcome. My house is yours.”

The captain nodded curtly.

“Since we are both men of action, captain, I will get straight to the heart of the matter. I need your valor and skill in war more than you know.”

“As long as our service is not against the interests of our own country.”

“Perish the thought! ” Alhi motioned for Tahir to pour them both a goblet of wine. “On the contrary. Greece will gain from your helping me. My enemies are your enemies. The arrogant people of Argyrokastro have been your enemy for even longer than they have been mine. Now we both march to bring down their city - and bring in their gold.”

Zavellas deigned to accept the wine-goblet that Tahir held out to him. He even raised in toast, but few toasts to the Pasha had been so devoid of respect. “We Greeks have a saying: ‘May God help you from bad neighbors.’ Argyrokastro has never been more than an indifferent one. We want you as a good neighbor, Pasha, so here is my hand on this our bargain.”

They shook hands with a slap. Like a pair of bargaining goatherds to Tahir’s eyes, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.