over; the sun shone. The azure sea smoothed to gentle swells—and he was not on it. New grass was already showing green after the first rains, a confusing sign to an Englishman, especially as the balmy air felt spring-like.
The mules eagerly cropped the green shoots when the caravan stopped near the mouth of a river at midday to rest and eat. Kostas had provided bread, cheese, apples, dried fruit, and nuts, but the Miltiades invited James and Cordelia to share a roasted chicken so they lunched well.
James tried to resign himself to the two hours lost by the time the mules were rested and everyone was packed up, ready to take to the road again. Travelling on his own on horseback, he’d expect to make sixty or eighty miles a day. While he had known mule trains were slower, he had not realized how slow. At this rate they would be lucky to cover five-and-twenty miles.
Of course, it did not really make much difference. The authorities would be waiting for him in Athens anyway, and this gave him plenty of time to devise a plan to circumvent them.
When he said as much to Cordelia, she responded hopefully, “Or perhaps they will have lost interest in us by then. Perhaps we should go all the way by land.”
“No, I’ll be brave and sail from Thessaloniki or we shan’t be home till midsummer.”
“Home!” she said longingly, but when he asked about her home, she flushed and returned to the subject of the authorities.
“You don’t think they will forget about us?”
“About you, possibly. Not about me, I’m afraid.”
Her mouth tightened. “Ah yes, of course, you are wanted for breaking the law. It slips my mind occasionally.”
She returned to Kyria Agathi and he cursed himself for reminding her of her unshakable belief in her own invincible superiority.
When the caravan stopped to camp that evening, James suffered in silence a thorough scolding from Kyria Agathi for not providing a tent for his sister. Cordelia was invited to share the Miltiades’ tent, quickly set up by their two efficient menservants. She ate with them, too, while James joined a group of men around another campfire.
Later, wrapped in his blankets out under the stars, he renewed his resolve to take her down a peg or two. Seducing her would not only be a pleasure, it would put a hefty dent in her armour of insufferable self-satisfaction.
He would have liked to wait until she missed his English conversation, if not himself, and came to him. However, she could not well seek him out among all the men, and besides he was supposed to be her brother and protector. So when the camp stirred at dawn he went to wish her good morning and take her a share of their provisions for breakfast. She seemed to have thought better of giving him the cold shoulder, especially as the Miltiades greeted him with pleasure and invited him to join their meal.
Content to let bygones be bygones, James treated her no differently from the day before, unless his hands lingered a little longer at her waist when he helped her mount and dismount.
They were riding together along a wide stretch of track after the midday break when the drumming of horses’ hooves approaching brought the cavalcade to a ragged halt. Around the curve of the hillside ahead came a detachment of soldiers, riding at an odd but speedy shuffling walk. James recognized them as Janissaries by the curious flaps of white cloth sticking up above their tarbooshes.
The Janissaries were once elite troops of men taken in boyhood from Christian families and raised as Moslems fiercely loyal to the sultan. Now more of a hereditary caste, they had actually overthrown Selim III in 1807 when he attempted to reform the army, and Mustafa IV a year later. However they were still, especially under a good officer, formidable fighters not to be despised.
Their leader shouted an order and the troop drew rein. Her eyes enormous, Cordelia reached across the space between their mules to clutch James’s arm.
“Our
The mules eagerly cropped the green shoots when the caravan stopped near the mouth of a river at midday to rest and eat. Kostas had provided bread, cheese, apples, dried fruit, and nuts, but the Miltiades invited James and Cordelia to share a roasted chicken so they lunched well.
James tried to resign himself to the two hours lost by the time the mules were rested and everyone was packed up, ready to take to the road again. Travelling on his own on horseback, he’d expect to make sixty or eighty miles a day. While he had known mule trains were slower, he had not realized how slow. At this rate they would be lucky to cover five-and-twenty miles.
Of course, it did not really make much difference. The authorities would be waiting for him in Athens anyway, and this gave him plenty of time to devise a plan to circumvent them.
When he said as much to Cordelia, she responded hopefully, “Or perhaps they will have lost interest in us by then. Perhaps we should go all the way by land.”
“No, I’ll be brave and sail from Thessaloniki or we shan’t be home till midsummer.”
“Home!” she said longingly, but when he asked about her home, she flushed and returned to the subject of the authorities.
“You don’t think they will forget about us?”
“About you, possibly. Not about me, I’m afraid.”
Her mouth tightened. “Ah yes, of course, you are wanted for breaking the law. It slips my mind occasionally.”
She returned to Kyria Agathi and he cursed himself for reminding her of her unshakable belief in her own invincible superiority.
When the caravan stopped to camp that evening, James suffered in silence a thorough scolding from Kyria Agathi for not providing a tent for his sister. Cordelia was invited to share the Miltiades’ tent, quickly set up by their two efficient menservants. She ate with them, too, while James joined a group of men around another campfire.
Later, wrapped in his blankets out under the stars, he renewed his resolve to take her down a peg or two. Seducing her would not only be a pleasure, it would put a hefty dent in her armour of insufferable self-satisfaction.
He would have liked to wait until she missed his English conversation, if not himself, and came to him. However, she could not well seek him out among all the men, and besides he was supposed to be her brother and protector. So when the camp stirred at dawn he went to wish her good morning and take her a share of their provisions for breakfast. She seemed to have thought better of giving him the cold shoulder, especially as the Miltiades greeted him with pleasure and invited him to join their meal.
Content to let bygones be bygones, James treated her no differently from the day before, unless his hands lingered a little longer at her waist when he helped her mount and dismount.
They were riding together along a wide stretch of track after the midday break when the drumming of horses’ hooves approaching brought the cavalcade to a ragged halt. Around the curve of the hillside ahead came a detachment of soldiers, riding at an odd but speedy shuffling walk. James recognized them as Janissaries by the curious flaps of white cloth sticking up above their tarbooshes.
The Janissaries were once elite troops of men taken in boyhood from Christian families and raised as Moslems fiercely loyal to the sultan. Now more of a hereditary caste, they had actually overthrown Selim III in 1807 when he attempted to reform the army, and Mustafa IV a year later. However they were still, especially under a good officer, formidable fighters not to be despised.
Their leader shouted an order and the troop drew rein. Her eyes enormous, Cordelia reached across the space between their mules to clutch James’s arm.
“Our
Similar Books
