The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) (9 page)

Elini
chuckled and shook her head as she held Alysa. “I want to talk to her. You and Petros take those cases up the stairs. Photis will tell you which room. Zena, Maria, there’s
Kleftico
on the range. Prepare the kitchen table and cook the vegetables. We’ll have dinner in an hour.”

The large room became a bustle of activity as everyone complied with
Elini’s orders.

At dinner, the toast was Alysa.
Elini sat in her own hard-backed chair and waited for the appropriate moment to speak. “My friends, Alysa’s christening will be in our local church on Sunday morning at eleven, on completion of the service. The elders have accepted that family and close friends will be sufficient to witness this occasion. The Bishop of Paphos is visiting the local monastery and has agreed to conduct the service. Afterwards, everyone in the village will congregate in the old Carob Warehouse to celebrate. Food has been arranged but Zena, Maria and Jocelyn have work to do. I will not be outdone by my neighbours.”

*  *  *

Maria inspected her dress for the umpteenth time and made sure the scarf she had to wear matched. With care, she applied her makeup.

“I’ll go downstairs,” said Petros.

“Take Alysa with you.”

“Okay.”

Dressed in his new suit, Petros carried Alysa down into the main room. He glanced at the ornate marble clock on the mantle and checked the time.

“You scrub up okay,” said Bear. “When did you last put on a tie?”

“I haven’t worn one since I left the army.”

“Me neither. Aunt
Elini is still a sergeant major.”

Petros nodded. “She runs the house, Bear. It’s important for her to get this right. One cock-up and the village will tell the story for years. Now you and Jocelyn, along with my brother-in-law George and his wife Athena, are God-parents. The ceremony is in Greek so leave them to do the talking. They know the words. Ah, here are the ladies.
Must be time.”

*  *  *

Athena carried Alysa, who looked angelic in Maria’s christening outfit. She led the procession from the house to the church. George, Bear and Jocelyn walked two paces behind. Petros, his mother Zena, and Maria, followed up the flagstone path to the entrance.

Elini
and Photis directed all the guests to their seats. With everyone seated, she nodded to the young priest.

From the priests’ dressing area behind the altar and a wall covered in icons, a tall, grey-bearded man entered, his black robes dragging across the stone-covered floor.

At the simple wooden table, the bishop waited for the God-parents to bring Alysa to him. He raised his head and beckoned them closer before reading a liturgy.

Petros, flanked by his mother and Maria, listened as George and Athena gave the appropriate responses along with nods and mutterings from Bear and Jocelyn.

When signalled, Athena made her way with Alysa to an ante-room.

“Where’s Athena going?” asked Petros.

Zena turned to him. “She has to remove Alysa’s clothes so the bishop can anoint her with special oil supplied by the God-parents. Didn’t you notice the bishop pour a few drops into the font?”

“She won’t like that, Mama. Alysa prefers to be snug and warm.”

Maria’s grip on Petros’s right arm tightened. He placed his hand over hers. “Stop worrying, she’ll be fine.” 

Athena returned carrying a naked baby. With oil poured from a gold and jewel-encrusted chalice, the bishop covered
Alysa’s body. Athena whispered and placated her.

With the utmost care, the bishop lifted Alysa and plunged her up to her neck into the tepid water. She screamed and the sound bounced off the walls. Twice more he repeated the immersion and bathed her head, oblivious to her screams.

Tears flowed from Zena’s eyes as she prayed that Petros’s father and her mother would bless Alysa on this happy occasion.

Maria did not dare move or touch Alysa. If she did, the whole ceremony would need to be repeated. Athena dried her while the priest completed another liturgy. Comforted by her God-mother, Alysa calmed.

“Maria, it’s nearly over,” said Zena.

“I want my baby,” said an impatient Maria.

Petros put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her close.

A boy carrying a candle walked around the table. Athena followed with the bishop who swung an incense burner and uttered yet another liturgy.

The bishop stopped in front of Zena, Petros and Maria.

“You may now hold your baby. I apologise for the distress, but it must be completed properly.”

“We understand,” said Zena.

As their eyes met, the bishop’s eyebrows rose. “We have met before.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” answered Zena. “My son and I left Cyprus in 1974, after the invasion.”

“Ah, yes, I thought so. We were much younger then. I remember a frightened girl carrying a large case and her baby.”

“Was that you? And you carried the case and comforted my son.” She placed her hand on Petros’s shoulder. “Father, this is that baby.” She smiled. “You might find it rather difficult lifting him now.”

The bishop’s eyes sparkled. “I often wondered what happened to you. They were not easy times. At a convenient moment, I would like to speak with you.”

A steady stream of people flowed from the church to the stone-built carob warehouse. The entrance, a huge double door, had been constructed when oxen dragged their laden carts inside. Now rows of trestle tables creaked under the weight of food: potatoes by the pot-full and seasonal fresh vegetables kept warm with gas heaters; roasted chickens and pigeons; Greek salad and cheeses of every variety, and pies of different shapes and sizes. Legs of pork and two whole goats were still turning on a spit.

At the far end the village men drank locally made
Zivinia by the glassful.

As
Elini arrived, followed by her family and close friends, silence ensued. With her back straight she strode to her position at the head table, next to Photis. To her left sat Maria and Petros and to her right, Zena and Jack. Photis helped her into her chair.

Elini
smiled and nodded to the bishop. He stood, gave the blessing for Alysa and the food they were about to eat.

With a clap, the celebrations began.

“Wow, food – glorious food,” said Bear, rubbing his hands together. “Is it help yourself?”

“You’d better believe it,” said Petros. “Maria, before the garbage disposal unit begins to operate, what would you like?”

Bear dismissed the intended mockery. “PK, I don’t need to remind you that I need sustenance to keep going. Today my hunger pangs will be satisfied.”

“Bear,” said Jocelyn, fluttering her eyelashes. “A Greek salad with feta cheese would be good.”

“You eat like a sparrow. Wouldn’t you like a chunk of roast pork or goat?”

“Maybe I’ll try a small piece later, but for the moment I’d prefer the salad.”

“On its way.”

Bear returned with two plates piled high, one with a Greek salad and the other with an assortment of meats and vegetables. After placing them on the table, he returned with four tumblers three-quarters full of red wine.

“You need to try this local plonk. It’s really good.” He passed the glasses to Petros, Maria, and Jocelyn. “Here’s to my God-daughter.”

Petros held his glass to the light. “I’m no wine buff but you’re right,
Bear. You’ll never find this in Tesco’s, but it’s great jungle juice.”

“That jungle juice is village wine. It may never be on the wine list at the Savoy but you’ll not enjoy better. My love, while I feed Alysa, will you get me a plate of food.”

Petros finished his wine in one gulp, and left. He filled two plates and returned to the table. “Mama, how much is this going to cost?”

Zena pursed her lips and shook her head. “You forget that everyone gives a gift of food or money. Many here have given both. According to Aunt
Elini, Alysa’s gifts have paid for everything and she also has an amount left over to open a bank account.”

Petros let his eyes wander round the room meeting the others’ gazes. With glasses raised high in the air and
Alysa’s health toasted for the umpteenth time, he shook his head, happy to be there.

The vibrant mood fuelled by abundant alcohol made conversation difficult. Petros stood and thumped the table with his open hand. It took a few minutes for quiet to follow, but all eyes turned to him. “Please excuse my London Greek. This is my first and last speech. In the army I was always told to stand up, speak up, and then shut up.” He raised his glass. “The first toast is to Aunt
Elini, for without her help, guidance and love, today would not be as fabulous as it is. Aunt Elini.”

Everyone roared, “
Elini.”

“The second is to my daughter, Alysa.”

Again those gathered shouted, ”Alysa.”

“Look! An owl,” someone yelled.

Everyone went quiet and looked up. On a beam, an owl perched.

“It’s little,” said
Elini. “From ancient times it was the holy bird of the Goddess Athena, the symbol of wisdom. Your Alysa will be beautiful and wise. It is a good omen.”

The bird swooped, screeched and soared with ease back to its perch. In its talons, a mouse squirmed.

“An efficient killing machine and it’s certainly not bothered by noise and people,” said Petros.

“Up there it knows it’s safe.” Maria squeezed his hand. “Time we made our way home. Alysa is getting irritable.”

“With luck we might get a good night’s sleep.”

As they made to leave, the bishop approached them.

“May I contact you tomorrow?”

“Is it about the christening?” said Maria.

“It’s about the past.”

“Call us anytime,” said Petros.

“Thank you. I will.”

Chapter Eleven

Those who arrived for breakfast were still suffering from the effects of too much wine and food.

Petros grinned as he presented another spoonful of porridge to
Alysa’s open mouth. “Good girl.” He turned to Bear with a mischievous smile. “Zivinia is rocket fuel. Those men you were drinking with were weaned on it.”

Bear narrowed his eyes and grimaced. “PK, I’ve a mouth like a Nagasaki Sumo
wrestler’s jock-strap and my head hurts. Jocelyn’s given me a ton of grief for snoring. Where’s the coffee?”

“On the stove.
Help yourself.” Petros continued feeding Alysa who for once did not spit food over him.

Maria came down the stairs. “How’s she doing?”

“All finished. Time for her bath.”

Maria gave a small smile. “I wonder why the bishop wants to talk to you. Your mama told you her story when you were a child.”

Alysa waved her arms, knocking the bottle out of her father’s hand. “Right, young lady. Bath time.” He lifted her out of the high chair. “Maria, his tale will be the same but there’s no harm in listening. Besides, he might not call.”

Elini
placed a platter in front of Bear. “Eat, it will make your head better.”

With big eyes he took in the five rashers of bacon, two whole tomatoes, three fried eggs and a thickly cut slice of toast covered in butter. He grinned.

“You certainly know the way to a man’s heart, Elini.”

Elini
met Bear’s happy gaze. “When I was a girl, my mother instructed me how to take care of my man and his children.”

For a moment, he stopped eating. “What was life like for a young girl on the island?”

She considered the question. “In those days every family, well, most families struggled to make ends meet but we had a sense of belonging. In the summer the children dragged their beds outside and slept under the stars. My mother used to bake bread every week and I learnt from her. Next time you venture outside you’ll see three ovens; one for bread, one for roast meat, and a smaller one for
kleftico
. At the weekend most families cooked, but for those who could not afford the wood for a fire, we would share. The aroma of every meal wafted around the village. Of course that has gone with the arrival of gas cookers.

“I remember washday. It was hard, but I do miss the fun of doing these things with other villagers. It’s easier for the wives of today.

“Ah, Bear,” said Elini, “you’ve finished eating. Another cup of coffee?”

“I’d love to learn more about your childhood. It’s fascinating.”

“You make fun of an old woman.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

At that moment, the telephone rang and Elini lifted the handset. She spoke for ages before she called Petros. “It’s the bishop.”

“Good morning, Bishop.”

“I hope I find you and your family well.”

He laughed. “We are, but I can’t speak for the others.”

“Cypriot hospitality has that affect on people. First, I must apologise and be honest with you. A few weeks ago, when I visited London I had a conversation with my friend, Georgiadis Stamati, the headmaster of the Greek school. I understand you went there.”

“The plot thickens, Bishop. Are you the friend who wanted a collection?”

“I am. Moreover, he mentioned that you might be able to help in the recovery of some valuable artefacts. On my return home, I was informed about your daughter’s christening and I made sure I would be available. I’d prefer to talk to you personally. If you have the time, would you be able to come to my house in Paphos?”

Petros’s
face indicated no change of expression as he listened.

“There’s no harm in listening, Bishop, but I won’t promise anything. I’d need to bring my friend and partner with me.”

“Could you make it tomorrow, around eleven?”

“Can I ring you back on that?”

“Certainly. If I’m not here leave a message.”

“Right you are. I’ll do that, Bishop.”

Petros replaced the receiver and glanced at Bear, who gave him the thumbs-up while stuffing half a baguette filled with cheese into his mouth.

*  *  *

The day was an autumnal one. The scent of pine wafted along the valley from the forest. The sun shone but it was not warm; a cool breeze chilled the air.

Petros walked into their bedroom as Maria dumped a full nappy into the rubbish bin.

“How does she do it? You bathed and changed her and I’ve had to do it all again. She laughed when I undid her nappy.”

“My mama tells me it gets better.
Maria, any idea where Bishop Costas Protopapas lives?”

“No, but I can find out. Why?”

“He wants to meet tomorrow.”

She left and returned after a few minutes.
“Mesogi, on the Polis Road. It’s not far from the centre of Paphos town.”

“Okay. You can tell me the way.”

“I’ll drive and deal with the other lunatics. You’re too polite. Why does he want to see us?”

“To talk to Bear and me.
I bet he wants us to collect those hidden icons.”

“
‘Us’ means you and me, my love. Where you go, I go. I’ll help you because I love you. Those icons belong to the people and you’ll recover them.”

“I’ll need to talk to Bear.”

Maria lifted Alysa. “Come, little one, we need to talk with a cuddly bear.”

Petros headed for the door and Maria followed.

*  *  *

Petros stood by the truck waiting for Maria and Bear. The big man arrived and clambered into the rear seat. Petros took the passenger seat. Maria jumped in, switched on the ignition and revved the engine until the needle hit the red zone.

She drove fast along the main motorway and found Mesogi without any trouble, but stopped to ask a priest the way to the bishop’s home. It proved to be a large house with extensive gardens on four sides. Parking on a nearby piece of spare ground, they walked up to the ornate entrance gates and pressed the call button.

A feminine voice, distorted by the intercom, asked, “Who is it?”

“Petros Kyriades and friends, to see Bishop Costas Protopapas.”

“Wait please.” Two minutes elapsed before the gates opened.

Petros climbed the steps, followed by Maria and Bear. At the open main door stood a small, plain-featured woman. Long, straight dark hair framed her thin face and fell over her shoulders. She wore tight fitting black trousers and an open-necked white blouse.

Dark eyes stared at them before she opened the door wide enough for them to enter the large, high-ceilinged hall in front of them. The bishop descended a wide sweeping staircase, his black robes brushing the white marble tiled floor. His eyes switched from Petros to Bear.
“Nitsa, refreshments for our guests. We’ll be in the main room.”

He waited until she had gone. “Good morning, Petros and Maria.”

“William Morris, my partner.”

“I remember you from the christening. You are one of the God-parents.”

Bear nodded.

“Please come in and we will talk.”

They followed him into an impressive room, spacious but of a minimalist design. Three bulky Italian-style sofas formed three sides of a square and a large oval coffee table filled the centre. Cream curtains adorned every window. A portrait of Archbishop Makarios hung from one wall.

“Please be seated.”

Nitsa entered, carrying the tea on a tray. Taking her time she laid the cups and saucers on the table. “Shall I serve your guests, Bishop?”

“No thank you. I’m sure Maria is more than capable. Please make sure we are not disturbed. I have matters of great importance to discuss.”

“I shall make sure,” said Nitsa. A broad smile crossed her face when she left, leaving the door ajar.

The bishop’s gaze faltered. He stood up, strolled across the room and closed the door before returning.

“I remember those horrific days. God sent you to me, Petros Kyriades. You were a baby when I carried you in my arms from Famagusta to Larnaca at the time of the invasion.”

Maria poured the tea, taking her own but letting the men get theirs.

“Even so, I am glad you are here.”

“How come you remember my mother?
Hundreds, if not thousands fled that day.”

“How could I forget your mama? Innocent, beautiful and her eyes radiated hope when others had given up. But I have a story to tell and I beg you to keep it to yourselves.”

Petros shrugged as he turned towards the others.

“Whatever you tell us, Bishop, will not be repeated.
That I can promise.”

“The truth is, for thirty years this has been on my mind.”

Petros studied the bishop’s face. “Please continue.”

“I remember August 1974 as if it were yesterday. I was a young man weeks out of university. I wanted to save the world. I woke to the sound of bombs falling. My heart jumped when a deafening roar filled my ears. Frightened, I tumbled out of my cot as powerful tremors throbbed through my bare feet. A small pottery bedside lamp fell on the flagstones and the icon above my bed crashed to the floor.

“In my mind hundreds of aircraft droned overhead. Their vibrations pulsed through every stone of the church. My fear grew.

“Wearing my long white nightshirt I ran out into the open. I remember a middle-aged woman, dressed in her night clothes, her eyes wide and terrified as she shouted, ‘It’s the Turks.’

“I returned inside. I trembled with fear. I prayed with conviction. ‘Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me.’ I said that same prayer a dozen times over.”

The bishop leaned towards them as if confiding a secret. “I sat on the floor and cried as I listened to the clamour of children screaming, dogs barking and cars sounding their horns. The noise of terror, deafening.

“At that moment I recalled the bishop’s orders. With panic in my heart, I closed the entrance doors and dropped the stout wooden beam into position to secure them. I alone removed every icon from its revered position and studied the complex workmanship. The bishop told me most of them dated back to the sixth century. For the first time, I held the icon of the Virgin Mary.” He raised his hands and hesitated. “History tells us it possessed wondrous powers. Others believed part of the ornate frame surrounding it contained a fragment of the holy cross. It gave me strength. It took me two hours to wrap each hand-crafted icon first in paper and then in tapestries torn from the walls.

“Petros, at my age I do not have the luxury of time, but you are right, it is unfair of me to expect a snap judgement. After all, you will, like Daniel, be entering the lion’s den.”

Petros rose to his feet.

“You say no one knows you hid the icons.”

“That’s correct. The bishop who showed me the hidden chapel died many years ago.”

“I’ll let you know our decision tomorrow.”

*  *  *

Nitsa
peered through the gap in the door, watching and listening. The bishop described the location of the icons in greater detail this time. She prayed that her memory would serve her well. Her lips were dry and she nearly screamed when the intercom sounded. She moved across the hall to answer it.

“Can I help you?”

“Nitsa, it’s Pavlo.”

She pressed the button and opened the main door.
Pavlo bounded up the steps.

“What are you doing here? We agreed tomorrow when the bishop goes to Nicosia.”

“I had a job nearby and hoped I might catch you when you weren’t busy.”

“Your dirty mind thinks of one thing. Go. The bishop has important visitors.”

Pavlo sighed, caressed her face, blew a kiss, and walked back to the gates.

Nitsa
closed the door. She stood to one side as the bishop, followed by the others, came into the hall.

“Who was at the door,
Nitsa,” asked the bishop.

“A gardener looking for work.”

The bishop turned to face Petros. “God go with you.”

“I’ll be in touch,” said Petros.

Nitsa stayed in the open doorway watching them return to their truck.

For lunch, Maria stopped the truck at a nearby taverna. She and Petros ate a tuna salad while Bear devoured the largest pork chop he had ever seen.

“What do you think of our bishop, Bear?”

“Interesting story and maybe the icons are still there. The last time we entered Varosha it was an in and out job. This could take time. Let me sleep on it.”