His challenge was unmistakable and the fact of it lay between them like a sword. Out of the silence Van Horn said calmly, “There would appear to be some doubt in your mind as to the truth of my story. Perhaps I can convince you with something a little more concrete than words.”
He stood up, unbuttoned his cream linen beach shirt and turned. From his shoulders to the base of the spine, his back was a mass of scar tissue, great raised weals crossing each other to form an ugly web that could have had only one possible cause.
He pulled on his shirt again. “Not very pleasant, eh? Fifty lashes for striking a guard and that was mild compared to what they did to some people.”
“And you survived that?” Lomax said slowly. Van Horn started to button his shirt. “I reached rock-bottom, Lomax. The ultimate in degradation. It’s a funny thing, but when you’re that low, you become so full of hate for the people who’ve put you there that it gives you new life. I swore I’d live to walk out through the gates of that place. As a matter of fact they had to carry me, but at least I was alive.”
Lomax got to his feet and went to the balustrade and stood there, seeing again in his mind’s eye the scars criss-crossing Van Horn’s back, thinking of those who had died and of Katina and her own private agony.
After a moment, Van Horn moved beside him and said softly, “I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere for your traitor.”
“Any suggestions?” Lomax said.
Van Horn shook his head and sighed. “Even if I knew, I’m not sure that I’d tell you.”
For a long moment Lomax looked down into the fine face and the blue eyes so full of compassion and then he turned quickly and went back into the house.
To the Other End of Time
He went down the steps from the terrace and moved through the garden, conscious of its freshness after the heat of the day. The sky was an angry red towards the horizon, the cypress trees by the wall etched against it like black lace, but just above them, the crimson faded into a dark blue vault in which a single evening star was already shining.
He could hear the splash of water from a fountain hidden somewhere among the bushes and moving on through a narrow gate, found himself standing at the top of the cliffs.
At that moment Yanni came over the edge and cannoned into him. He glanced up in surprise and then grinned impudently. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Lomax.”
“And where are you off to in such a hurry?” Lomax demanded.
“To the kitchen.” The boy’s grin widened. “Katina’s asked me to tell the cook she can start to get supper ready.”
“Is she on the beach?” Lomax said.
Yanni nodded. “I’ve been helping her to get the boat ready. She and Mr. Van Horn are sailing to Crete on Saturday. Katina says I can crew for them if I behave myself.”
“See that you do.” Lomax ruffled the boy’s hair and Yanni grinned and darted through the archway towards the house.
The beach was reached by a series of stone steps that lit zig-zagged in a haphazard way across the face of the cliff. Lomax was sweating slightly when he reached the bottom. He started along the jetty and saw her at the water’s edge half-way round the curve of the bay.
She was standing knee-deep in the sea and held the skirt of her frock bunched in front of her with one hand, her face turned towards the sunset.
There was something indomitable about her, something eternal with its roots deep in this ancient land as she stood there, the proud curves of her body dark against the sky, the sea spilling orange fire around her bare thighs.
She turned her head and saw him and his throat went dry. It was with almost a sense of revelation, of wonder, that he realised she was beautiful.
She smiled. “You and Oliver didn’t talk long.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Katina?” he said simply.