The Lake of Sorrows (15 page)

“Scholars and prominent men are among our ranks, Froshenie. Even the great Ypsilantis family in Constantinople itself secretly supports our cause. They may serve the Sultan, but they have never forgotten they are Greek.”

All Froshenie could do was shake her head in disbelief. Seeing her husband gazing at the portrait with something akin to reverence in his eyes, she could no longer contain herself. “Dimitros. Who is … who is the man in that painting?”

“The brother of the great Daskalogiannis.”

“Only the brother? But why?”

“Because … because it seemed more appropriate for a lesser man such as myself to admire his brother rather than the great man himself. When Daskalogiannis surrendered at Sfakia during the Orlov revolt, the Pasha of Candia had him skinned alive before the beheading. Daskalogiannis never made a sound. That rankled the Ottomans so much they forced his brother to watch the torture. It drove him insane. One of those who saw him painted this to exorcise the memory of the brother’s face on that day. It had him weeping every night.”

Froshenie shivered, but saw something she had never seen before in her husband — excitement overcoming shyness. “This time it is for real, Froshenie! We are getting organized. All wealthy Greeks abroad and on the mainland must do their duty to the full. So please understand why I have to go again so soon.”

Shame returned to Froshenie like an avalanche. A dreadful vision of a man being flayed alive haunted her inner eye. She - and Dimitros - knew that
he
would have screamed.
Would
scream, if …

She realized that the husband in front of her would risk, was already risking this - willingly. Proudly, if he had been capable of pride. And he was
apologizing
to her. She wanted to throw herself at his feet.

But she could not. The smell of the flowers in the castle ruins still lingered in her nostrils, the image of Muhtar was like a ghost inside her eyelids. She had been married to Dimitros when love meant to be taken care of, perhaps even to be spoiled. Dimitros had offered that aplenty, and a rare kindness, too.

Muhtar was Muslim. Tepeleni. A womanizer. Son of a Pasha. Of the Beast.

But Muhtar’s face was there every time she closed her eyes. Dimitros’ had never been.

She lowered her head and spoke in a whisper. “I do understand Dimitros. Do not worry.”

“I
envy you, Dimitros.” Doctor Karayannis raised his wine-glass to his host.

Dinner at the Vassiliou house was indeed enviable. Plentiful candles shone over the magnificent mahogany dining table imported from Russia, laid out with Venetian silver plate, on which Dimitros’ cook had served a superb meal, its prime course a grilled octopus prepared with vinegar, oil and rare spices. Now the two men were savoring imported
ciarduna
pastry from faraway Sicily, while sipping Black Corinth wine.

Karayannis sighed with contentment. “A pity that Froshenie had to retire so early. Your wine-cellar would be the envy of a King. Your travels may be long, but they bring home treasures.” He reached for more pastry. “I wish I could avoid the Pasha’s invitation to the wedding tomorrow, like you.”

“It was not that easy to escape, my friend. I sent him lots of gold to apologize that urgent business keeps me away.” Dimitros was studying the color of his wine by holding up the glass in front of a candelabra. “Wasted money, useful to our cause. Now filling up his pockets. God only knows what ill uses he will find for them.”

“God knows what ill uses he would find for
you
, if you had not apologized so handsomely.”

“And yet, what is one to do? If we do not attend, we are considered traitors to Pasha. If we do, to our own nation.”

“Does Froshenie know of our plans?”

“Not much. But enough to understand the danger of speaking of them.” Now Dimitros was the one sighing. “I do not like it one bit, leaving her so soon again. But if I tried to bring her along, the Pasha would get suspicious. He is not happy with all the merchants that have already left Yannina for good.”

“Unfortunately, that is true. He is no fool, and urgent business and women do not go well together in Alhi’s agenda.” Karayannis raised his glass once more. “I wish you a safe and speedy journey, my friend and try not to worry. I will do my best to protect and take care of your family while you are gone.”

“You are a true patriot and a truer friend, Karayannis. I know how you feel about Froshenie.”

The doctor smiled with only a tinge of despondency. “I love her like a brother, yes, for I only wish for her to be happy. We may have been rivals for her hand, but ever since the Patriarch chose you, you have been loyal to both of us. Few men would have done that.”

“Maybe you should have won. You would have made a much better husband than I. You could be here to protect her all the time.”

“You are getting all sentimental in your old age, Dimitros.” The doctor’s laugh was just a bit forced, and only he seemed to notice. “As far as I am concerned, the best man won.”

Later, when the host saw his guest to the door, the two men embraced in farewell. Dimitros whispered into his friend’s ear, reluctant to let him go. “In case of danger —”

“I know.” The doctor gently extricated himself. “Yannos’ and Constantine’s place for safety. Do not worry. May God make it unnecessary.”

T
he very same morning that Dimitros’ ship set sail, Froshenie suffered a slight fever.

Reluctantly, on Chryssie’s insistence, she sent for the doctor, but he was long in coming. The wedding day was the very next to dawn and the doctor, it was said, had been summoned to examine the bride; Alhi was always a careful man.

When Karayannis finally had the time to call at the house, he had a brief, but agitated word with Chryssie first. And even before he had examined the lady of the house, he looked deeply troubled. “There is no rain this time, Froshenie. It is odd you are feeling unwell.”

Froshenie fought back an urge to shout ‘I am so suffocated by guilt that I wish you could make time stop! That is what is wrong with me!’ Instead, she whimpered. “I need your help, Karayannis.”

Now the doctor was looking slightly relieved, and eager, too, although the lady was crying profusely. “What for, Froshenie? You have only to tell me. Please, do not cry.”

Despite his entreaties, she cried twice as profusely, and through the tears, a rush of words tore out of her. “Alhi’s first-born. He saw me at the bazaar. He has followed me ever since. He … has given me a crucifix and he … he will come here tomorrow after the wedding.” She collapsed, the confession done. Or at least as much as she could bring herself to confess.

Shock flickered across Karayannis’ face, despite the warnings he had been given. “So that is why the Pasha was asking me about you! What have you gotten yourself into, Froshenie? The Pasha knows. You are in danger!”

“Muhtar is his son … “

“And the father has killed women for far less than this. And Muhtar has a wife. You have no idea how jealous she is. By all the patron saints of human folly! Why did not you speak up before Dimitros left?”

Froshenie valiantly tried to think of an answer, but none came.

“You must leave Yannina, tonight if possible.” He rose from her bedside. “I will make the arrangements myself.”

“I cannot, I am ill.” Froshenie was appalled at her own tone - it sounded to her like that of a spoilt child.

Karayannis gaped at her and the truth struck him like lightning.

“Oh no, Froshenie! Have you
any
idea what a position you are putting me in?

She could only shake her head.

“I have promised Dimitros to watch over you. For God’s sake, woman, think of your children, if you will not think of your husband. My friend!”

A sharp edge crept into her voice. “Does he think of me, Karayannis? Did you, when you made him a rebel? Oh, do not protest your innocence, I know your sympathies. Your fantasies. And I know Dimitros. He would never get such dramatic ideas on his own. He is a merchant at heart, his father raised him that way.”

The doctor’s voice became sharper, too. “Is he, Froshenie? Are you sure you really know him so well?”

“He has been my husband for five years, Karayannis.”

“And he has been my friend all my life. Perhaps I understand him better than you, in some ways. Yes, Dimitros inherited his fortune from his father, along with a strong obligation to maintain and expand it - he would not give his father the grief of refusing to steward the family’s treasure.”

“There! You see? Dimitros would not — “

“
You
do not see. Dimitros has done his duty to the family fortune — but to him, there must be a deeper, nobler meaning to it. Our cause, the freedom of Greece, has given him that meaning. He is working assiduously on expanding his fortune, Froshenie, but that fortune is quietly arming men all over Greece.”

“Such noble sentiments sound true from you, doctor. But he is so gentle … “

“Froshenie, you see only his gentleness, not the rest of him. Because he fell in love with you. Forgive me, but perhaps he did so because you were a pretty little girl in a cage, one that he could save, the first deeper meaning for a very young man. His love is no less real for that, but now he wants to save all of Greece. And he has become very important to that cause. You should not bring danger to him. How am I to tell him — “

All of a sudden, some inner dam burst and Froshenie’s voice took on an iron determination that Karayannis could hardly believe, coming from her. “You will not say a word to Dimitros, Karayannis! You are my doctor. What we say stays between us.”

Karayannis shook his head violently. Then he met her gaze - and nodded in resignation.

Froshenie sat up in bed. “My children are safe with their uncle. As for myself, noone can save me. What I am suffering from, you cannot cure. I see you see it.”

The doctor saw it, however reluctantly. “And yet I will try. I will get you out of Yannina. As I said, I will make arrangements. Tonight. If you are truly in love with the Pasha’s son, noone will be safe anywhere near you.”

“I cannot, doctor!”

“You must.” He leaned close to her, his face harsher than she had ever seen. “I will trade my silence for your obedience in this, Froshenie. You will go, and I will think up a lie to my best friend that will save you both.”

A
lexis, son of Anesso, tried to stroll. His effort was in vain. He found himself crouching, gaze darting left and right in the harem garden. So many leaves, so many bushes, so many trees, lit by a mercilessly clear sun whose light made a man unable to see what lurked in the shadows; those infernal springs, sparkling mockingly, made it impossible to hear who might be sneaking up on one. And where,
where
was Shouhrae?

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

Tahir, captain of the guard, rumbled at the young man. “Are you seeking your death, skulking like this so close to the Pasha’s harem?”

Oddly, the shock brought a numbed calm to Alexis and somehow he was able to let the well-practiced excuse flow casually from his mouth. “Me? Skulking? I am merely waiting for my mother, merciful captain. She has brought new merchandise to the ladies of the harem yesterday, and today she will need my help to carry back home what they have not bought.”

“On the wedding day?” The hard-bitten captain had always made up with suspicion for what he might lack in shrewdness, yet he recognized Anesso’s son, and the young face did not seem threatening. So he released his grip on Alexis with a shrug. “Run along and do not worry. You and your mother will leave here back empty-handed. The ladies will buy it all, or I know nothing of women.”

“Please, mighty soldier.” Alexis fought back a trembling in his voice. “She will worry if she comes out and does not find me here. It will not be long before we leave, I promise.”

Tahir tilted his head from side to side, as if to aid his weighing of pros and cons. “It is against my better judgment, young man. But I am in a haste to attend the wedding celebrations. So let us say you stay - but right here, lad. And just for a few minutes more. No strolling around, do you hear me?”

Alexis nodded with a smile and bowed almost to the grass, as Tahir marched off.

J
ust beyond the golden gate to the harem garden, the captain ran into another loitering young man. But this one was his master’s son. Lost in thought, it seemed. As it often seemed of late. The captain shook his head. How could a young man with so much to enjoy waste his time … moping?

The captain put on his most paternal smile. “Splendid day for a wedding, no?”

“Is it? Where do you find its beauty, Tahir?” Muhtar did not even look at him. “A Muslim despot joins a Catholic groom with an Orthodox bride. It is a burlesque, and a thoroughly distasteful one. That is what it is.”

“Do not speak like that, Muhtar Bey! Forgive my frankness, but I never knew you to be a devotee of religious purity. Your father is wise and knows what he does. You have no idea how much gold and glory he will gain from this. And through him, you. Everybody has sent him the best they could to honor their invitation to the wedding.”

“Oh, yes.” Muhtar counted on his fingers like a miser. “Lovely
Gribeauval
cannon now, with a score or more of French artillerymen to teach us how to handle our new toys, and other weaponry later. The price of this carnival.”

“Your father is most pleased.”

“Satisfied greed always makes my father’s vision of the future both golden and rosy.” Muhtar snorted derisively. “But not mine.”

“Forgive me, my Bey, but you seem … fearful?”

“Call it concerned. Because even if the Sultan has not yet realized what my father is planning, his courtiers already have. And courtiers can be more dangerous than soldiers.”

“I … do not see how, my Bey.”

“Do not be misled by my father’s pious wishes for the Sultan’s well-being — the courtiers will not be. I will bet you diamonds to dung that they are already wondering how to make the most of this for themselves. How to vie for the spoils of my father’s schemes
and
look loyal to the Sultan, maybe even spy for him. Vultures and parasites, the lot of them!”