The Moonspinners by Mary Stewart Read Free Book Online

but no matter of that, two days ago we come round to the south of Crete. We mean to come in to Agios Georgios, perhaps, later that night. I speak of Saturday. Well, Mark he know of an old church, in a hollow of the mountains, not far from the coast, to the east of Agios Georgios. This church is very ancient—’ he pronounced it ‘auncient’ ‘– perhaps classical, who knows, and I think it is in the old books.’
    â€˜I’ve heard of it. There was a classical shrine. I think, then later a church was built on the site. Byzantine.’
    â€˜So? Well, in the auncient times there was a harbour nearby. Still, in calm weather, you can see the old wall under the water, and a small caique can get right in where the old landing place was. Mark, he tells me to stop there. We had been sailing for two days, and now they were wanting to go on land, to walk—’
    â€˜They?’
    â€˜Mark and his brother.’
    â€˜Oh!’ I stared at him, with the beginnings of frightened comprehension. I was remembering the look of agonized helplessness on Mark’s face, and something Lambis had said, to quiet him: ‘ I’ll go and look for him myself as soon as I can .’
    â€˜I begin to see,’ I said, rather hoarsely. ‘Go on.’
    â€˜Well, Mark and Colin leave the caique, and go up through the hills. This is Saturday, did I say? They are to be gone all the day. They have food and wine with them. I stay with the caique. There is a small thing wrong with the engine, so I am to go along to Agios Georgios for what I need, then return in the evening to meet Mark and Colin. But I find the engine goes right quite easily, so I just stay and fish, and sleep, and swim, until it is evening, and they have not come. I wait and wait, but not knowing when they will come, or if perhaps I should go and look . . . you know how this is—’
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜Then it is night, and they are not coming, and now I am very anxious. These are wild hills. I do not think they can be lost, but I think of accidents. At last, when I can wait no more, I lock the cabin on the caique, and put the key where they will know to find it, then I take a torch, and go up to find the little church. But you will understand that, even with the torch, it is not possible to find a way.’
    â€˜I can well believe that.’
    â€˜I shout, of course, and I go as far as I can, but I do not even find the church. I do not wish myself to be lost, so I go back where I can hear the sea, and I wait for the moon.’
    â€˜It’s rising late, isn’t it?’
    He nodded. He was talking easily now. ‘It was a long time to wait. When it rose, it was not a big moon, but I could see the way well enough. I go slowly, very slowly. I find the church, but they are not there. I do not know where to go from there, but then there is cloud, and sharp rain, and it is dark again, very dark. I have to take shelter till first light. I shout, but there is nothing. I do not think they have passed me, back to the boat, so when it is light, I go on. I am lucky. I find a path – not just a goat path, but a wide one, of stones worn flat, as if men went that way. Perhaps in the old days it was the road from Agios Georgios to the church and the auncient harbour, I do not know. But it was a path. I go along it. Then, on it, I see blood.’
    The bare simplicity of Lambis’ style, together with the matter-of-fact tone he used, had an absurdly sensational impact. As he paused, with totally unconscious effect, to grind his cigarette out on a stone, I found myself watching him so tensely that when a shadow scudded across the ledge between us, I flinched from it as if it had been a flying knife. It was only a kestrel, sailing in to feed its young in a nest on the rock above us. The air shrilled with the ecstatic hissing with which they greeted the food.
    Lambis never even glanced up, his nerves being