My Brother Michael Page 23

  ‘I suppose not. But how in the world did he get in here? And why?’ I put a hand to my head. ‘I – I can’t seem to think straight about anything just at the moment. I feel knocked kind of sideways.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. No wonder Nigel was “high” that night. He must have been half out of his mind with excitement. And no wonder Mick – well, never mind that now. I doubt if we’ll ever know just how and why the Apollo got here, but we can make a pretty good guess, I think. You know that the sanctuary at Delphi, after it ceased to be able to protect itself and its vast wealth, was plundered again and again. We don’t know where a fraction of the stolen statues went. It was the metal ones that were taken; gold went first, of course; and then bronze, to be melted down for weapons … From the look of this one, it would be one of the most precious, and certainly one of the most beautiful. Why shouldn’t some priest, or some small band of devotees, have decided to save it; cart it out of Delphi and find sanctuary for it till the troubled times were over?’

  ‘But – why here? And how?’

  ‘There used to be a track this way – the natives refer to it as “the old track”, and, in these parts, God knows how old it might be. We came along it part of the way. Even so, it must have been quite a trek. Myself, I’d have brought the thing up in a mule-litter. I suppose the plan was to retrieve the statue later when things were safe, or even, if this happened at a very desperate time, to set up a sort of small secret sanctuary high on the mountain. If they’d just wanted to hide the statue, after all, they could have buried it, but they’ve placed it, haven’t they? And with the Greek instinct for drama, they’ve put it at the end of a dark tunnel, in the blazing light, and all its trappings round it … Did anything strike you about the cave, Camilla?’

  ‘You mean it was a bit like a cathedral – or a temple?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s a common enough quality in big vaulted places with stalactites and so on, but none the less impressive. The priests who were so fanatical to save this statue must have known of the cave for long enough. Not only that … there was this inner shrine, full of light, the perfect “bright citadel” for the god – so here he is. Look at that vine, Camilla, and that tree.’

  I looked at him stupidly. ‘The vine? It’s a wild vine, isn’t it? And the tree – is that a sort of laurel?’

  ‘A bay. Apollo’s laurel,’ said Simon softly.

  ‘But Simon, after two thousand years—’

  ‘Trees live a long time, and when they die they leave seedlings. And vines run wild. Those were planted, Camilla. You notice how the Apollo is just under the lip of the overhang, and the vines and that spindly tree make a screen? I don’t know if you can get to the top of this light-well and look down, but you’d see nothing … And there is the spring. Yes, I think this was a sacred cave, with a sacred spring, and what more natural than that the priest who was so eager to save his god should house him here? And I’ll bet that if we look closely we’ll find that the entrances to both inner and outer caves were artificially blocked up—’

  ‘They were I noticed that. The slab that Dimitrios had moved was the same as the one that was across this inner tunnel.’

  ‘And then, after God knows how many years, the earthquakes opened the doors again … for Angelos. And Michael.’

  ‘Michael!’ I looked at him almost guiltily. I had forgotten Michael. ‘Of course. The letter. The bright citadel. Oh, Simon.’

  He gave a little smile, and quoted it softly: ‘“Tell the Emperor that the bright citadel is fallen to the ground. Apollo hath no longer any shelter, or oracular laurel tree, or speaking fountain. Even the vocal stream has ceased to flow.” Yes, Mick proved the Delphic Oracle wrong. That’s what the letter meant.’

  I said: ‘You know, I didn’t say anything, but I thought your brother wouldn’t have written quite the way he did about a cache of arms, or even gold. All he’d have had to do, surely, was to divert them back to their proper uses?’

  ‘I know. That’s what got me, too. But I never thought of anything like this.’ His voice didn’t change, but suddenly I got the sharp impression of intense excitement. ‘My God,’ said Simon, ‘who could have imagined this?’

  We stood side by side staring at the statue. I think it was the loveliest thing I have ever seen. The shadows played over the bloomed bronze of the body; the eyes dwelt on some remote distance beyond and above our heads, as the eyes of lions do. They were curiously alive, carefully inlaid with enamel and some black stone, so that the dark pupils seemed to flicker and glow with the movement of light and shade. I only knew of one other statue that had eyes like that.

  Simon echoed my thoughts, softly: ‘The Charioteer.’

  I said: ‘You think so? You think he’s by the same hand?’

  ‘I don’t know a darned thing about it, but that’s what he makes me think of.’

  ‘That’s what he made Michael think of,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘And Nigel, too, if you remember … It was when we were talking about the Charioteer that Nigel seemed suddenly to make up his mind to tell me about this. It may only have been because we were talking in general about discovering statues, but I don’t think so. I seem to recollect some tension when the Charioteer was mentioned.’

  ‘It’s not only the eyes,’ I said, ‘but the whole impression of strength going along with grace … a sort of liquid quality – no, that’s the wrong word, it sounds too weak, whereas this is – well, terrific. Simon, why shouldn’t he be not only by the same hand, but part of the same group? It’s only so much guesswork, isn’t it, that the Charioteer was part of a victory statue for some potentate or other? Heavens above, if there were six thousand statues there, you’d think there might have been a chariot-statue of Apollo somewhere in Apollo’s own sanctuary? And why shouldn’t the Charioteer be the driver, and this – the god himself – the Lord of the Car?’

  ‘Why not indeed?’ said Simon.

  ‘What are you smiling at? I can’t help getting excited, can I? And why shouldn’t I have a theory? It seems to me—’

  ‘No reason at all. And it seems to me that one theory’s as good as another. Yours at any rate is the most exciting one that comes to hand … No, I was smiling at something quite different. Dimitrios.’

  ‘Oh!’ It was like being jerked out of the sunlight into cold water. ‘I – I’d forgotten all about him.’

  ‘I should like to … now,’ said Simon. He had never taken his eyes off the statue. ‘But I’m afraid we must deal with that little matter before we come back to this.’

  ‘What do we do about it?’ I asked, rather blankly.

  He gave it one long look before he turned away. ‘We leave it here in its bright citadel, and we get back to the land of shadows, my dear. We know now what Michael found, and we also know what Michael was murdered for. That chapter’s closed, I think, with the death of Angelos. But the one that’s still open is what we’ve got to deal with now. Nigel found the bright citadel, too, and I admit to feeling rather strongly that Dimitrios and Danielle shouldn’t really be let in on … this.’

  I said almost violently: ‘They’ll not touch it if I can stop them.’

  ‘Then we’d better get back into the cave and play watch-dog, Camilla …’

  ‘Yes.’

  He stood for a moment looking down at me. The guarded look was there again, with some expression behind the cool eyes that made me wonder what was coming. But he only said, rather lamely: ‘I shouldn’t have let you come.’

  I didn’t answer.

  He said: ‘You’re frightened, aren’t you?’

  Still I said nothing. I wasn’t looking at him. I wondered fleetingly why I didn’t mind his knowing. All at once he was very close to me, and his hand came under my chin, gently lifting my face to meet his gaze. ‘You know why I brought you, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I was right.’

  ‘Yes. I know.’

  ‘You underrate yourself so shockingly, Camilla. You’re
not to play second fiddle any more. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He hesitated, and then said, rather abruptly: ‘You made a discovery yesterday; remember? “No man is an island.” It’s true in more ways than one. Don’t go on hating yourself because there are some things you can’t do and can’t face on your own. None of us can. You seem to think you ought to be able to deal with anything that comes along, much as I might, or someone like me. That’s absurd; and it’s time you stopped despising yourself for not being something you were never meant to be. You’ll do as you are, Camilla; believe me, you will.’

  I didn’t quite trust myself to answer. After a second or so I said lightly: ‘All I ask the gods is that one day I’ll see you, too, shaken right out of that – that more-than-sufficient calmness of yours, on to the plane of mortals like me! The day that happens, I’ll sacrifice to Apollo myself!’

  He grinned. ‘I might have to hold you to that. But meanwhile you can be sure that it won’t be friend Dimitrios that’ll do it. I’m going back now to see if he’s around – or Nigel. Would you rather stay through here?’

  ‘No. I’ll come with you. I – I’d like to know what’s going on.’

  His hand touched my cheek as it had once before, a moth’s touch. ‘Then don’t be scared, please. I’ll not let Dimitrios get near you.’

  ‘All right. What do I do?’

  ‘Nothing yet. Just keep out of sight, and do as you’re told before you’re told to do it.’

  ‘What could be simpler? Very well.’

  ‘And now we’ll go back.’

  The Apollo looked serenely over our heads as we turned and left the sunlight.

  The cave was still empty. We waited in the shelter of the cleft, listening, and then Simon squeezed his way through without using the torch. After a minute or two I heard his voice softly in the dark. ‘It’s all right. You can come through.’

  I slid through the narrow opening. The beam of Simon’s torch lit the way for me, and then played over the tilted slab. ‘See? Those are chisel-marks. You were right. The slab was hacked to fit across the opening. And that crack above … that’ll be where the rock shifted in the tremor that opened up the cave again for you and me … and Michael.’

  I ran a slightly unsteady finger along one of the marks. ‘Two thousand years … Oh Simon, I wish we could know—’ I stopped abruptly.

  ‘Mmm?’ The torch was still moving over the old toolmarks. He seemed absorbed.

  I managed to whisper calmly enough: ‘He’s coming back. I can hear him.’

  The torch snapped out. A moment’s unbreathing silence, ‘Yes. You get back through the cleft and wait till we see what he’s up to. I hope to God it’s Nigel.’

  As the breathed sentence ended I felt his hand on my arm. I obeyed him, slipping back through the narrow opening to wait, heart beating jerkily again, against the rock on the other side of the slab. I felt him beside me, pressed close to the edge of the cleft.

  The steps came closer, hesitated at the door of the cave, and then came in. The sounds were at once dulled by the dust and made hollower by the cave’s echoes. They were succeeded by other sounds: the dull thud of a spade hacking at the pile of rubble; the chink as it struck stone, and then metal; the sounds of breathing and effort; a soft expletive in Greek and then the splintering of wood and a thud; a dragging sound … He had uncovered a box and was dragging it nearer the mouth of the cave in readiness for transportation.

  I felt Simon’s body, close to mine, tense like a runner’s at the starting-tape. His arm was across me, holding me still against him. It was like a steel bar. I wondered if he would attack Dimitrios now, out of the dark …

  But he didn’t move, except to shift his shoulders and head slightly so that I thought he could see round the edge of the slab. He stayed like that for what seemed an age, rock-still. I could feel the pulse beating in the hollow of his elbow; it was unhurried. Mine, under it, was tumbling along anyhow like a faulty engine.

  The arm relaxed. I felt him turn his head, and his breath was on my temple. I heard the barest thread of a whisper: ‘He’s gone out again. Did you hear a mule?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Stay here. I’ll come back.’

  A swift, compelling pressure of the arm round me, then it lifted. A movement beside me, the scrape of cloth on stone, and he was gone. The cleft felt cold and damp. I shifted my shoulders with the sudden chill and hunched my arms close to my sides and waited, listening. The echo of my coward pulses seemed to fill the cave …

  I heard his steps in the dust just before he reached the cleft again and slid through. It was warmer with him there. He bent his head and said softly: ‘He’s left the box just inside the entrance and gone out again. He seems uneasy; I think he’s wondering if anything’s happened to whoever’s coming with the mule. I think I’d better go after him.’

  He wasn’t touching me, so he didn’t feel the jerk of my heart. He just heard me say: ‘Yes?’ quite calmly.

  ‘It’s just on the cards something has happened to delay Nigel, and I’d like to know what. And I want to know the way they’re taking. The track peters out very soon. I’ll follow Dimitrios down till I see where he’s bound, and then if a chance occurs I’ll … well, deal with him.’

  ‘You mean you’ll kill him?’

  ‘Good God, no. But I’d like him put safely out of action while we get time to work this thing out our own way … And now I must go, or I’ll lose the blighter.’

  I hadn’t realised that my hand had gone up to the breast of his shirt. His came up to cover it, warm and steadying. I said, and I couldn’t quite keep the shake out of my voice: ‘Simon, take care.’

  ‘Be sure of that. Now, don’t worry, my – don’t worry. I’ll be all right, and so will you. Stay here, under cover. You’ll be as safe as a house in this part of the cave, and anyway I promise you I won’t let Dimitrios out of my sight. Right?’

  ‘R-right.’

  His other arm came round my shoulders, and momentarily he pulled me against him. It was a gesture of comfort and reassurance, no more … But I thought his lips brushed my hair.

  For the second time the arm dropped from my shoulders and he turned away as swiftly and lightly as a ghost. This time he switched on his torch, and I saw his shadow leap back, gigantic, along the wall of the cleft as he slipped through. I pressed forward till I could see into the cave. The little circle of light danced away through the faintly echoing spaces of darkness; the pillars and buttresses and masses of rock sent towering shadows reeling up the walls to stretch and lose themselves into the blackness of the vaulted roof. Simon, moving swiftly, himself like a shadow, dwindled across the empty darkness and was gone like a wraith into the outer tunnel. A shadow flickered back momentarily over the rock, then darkness swallowed it.

  My hands were spread flat against the inner side of the slab. My eyes ached with the darkness. It was cold again. I had to exert all my self-control to stop myself running out and across the cave after him into the blessed sunlight.

  At length I turned and made my way rather drearily back to the bright solitude of Apollo’s sanctury.

  * * *

  How long I waited there I don’t know. At first I sat quietly enough in a corner where the sun fell unmasked by leaves, gazing at the statue of the god and trying to empty my mind of all worry about what was going on outside.

  But after a while the very beauty and stillness of the place began to oppress me. I found I could sit still no longer, and, getting to my feet, I picked up Nigel’s water-pot and carried it over to the spring. Under the thin trickle I rinsed it carefully, and drank. I rummaged in Simon’s haversack and found what remained of our food, half of which I ate. After that I got myself another drink. Then I fidgeted about the little glade, examining the statue more closely, looking – but without touching them – at the broken pieces of gold in the grass, fingering the leaves and ferns …

  When I found myself stooping for a third time to dri
nk at the spring, I realised that fear had given place to a sort of impatient irritation. Sunlight and peace had done their work too well; I was now thoroughly on the fidget. I found myself glancing almost second by second at the watch on my wrist – an automatic act which irritated my nerves still further, as I hadn’t the remotest idea what time it had been when Simon left me. I hovered near the mouth of the tunnel, fingering my torch …

  After all, I told myself, I was perfectly safe. Simon was with Dimitrios, and I wasn’t in the least afraid of Nigel. I wanted something to do; I wanted to know what was going on; I wanted Simon’s presence …

  I went cautiously along the tunnel, back into darkness, hesitated in the shelter of the slab, then let myself through into the main cave.

  I, too, used my torch this time. A last absurd jump of the nerves made me send the light skating once round the vaulted darkness, almost as if I expected to find that, after all, Dimitrios had not gone. But the place was empty. There really was nothing to be afraid of; if he came back I would hear him, and would have ample time to take sanctuary again. Moreover, Simon was on his tail, and if Dimitrios returned I could depend on Simon to come with him.

  The torch-beam was steady now. I went softly across to the arch of the other tunnel, and then turned off the light. I felt my way carefully along the wall of the curving passage, until, as I rounded the first bend, the darkness slackened, and I could see my way.

  There was no box standing beside the entrance. Dimitrios must have set off carrying it. So much the better, I thought vaguely. It meant he did intend to go right down to the jeep; and it would slow him down and make it easier for Simon to follow him.

  I edged forward until I could see out into the corrie.

  Here, too, that faint sense of surprise assailed me to see it unchanged; dazzlingly-hot, still, deserted …

  The glare hit at the eyes. I could smell the dust and the mule dung, and some dried aromatic plant that crumbled to powder under the hand I put up to the rock beside me. There was no sound at all. Nothing moved; even the hot air hung still.