Realm of the Pagans

Anne Hampson

Copyright

Realm of the Pagans
Copyright © 1982 by Anne Hampson
Cover art, special contents, and electronic edition © 2014 by RosettaBooks LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Cover jacket design by Alexia Garaventa
ISBN ePub edition: 9780795339172

Chapter One

The darkness was ghastly, creating monsters of the mountains and bringing them so close that Martine felt smothered within the confines of the car, and wished with all her heart that she had not succumbed to the impulsive desire to get away from her fiancé.

Her fiancé…? Until a couple of hours ago he was her fiancé… but now…?

Tears began to sting her eyes, impairing her vision so that driving became even more difficult.

‘He didn’t mean it!’ she cried aloud. ‘He couldn’t have! It’s only infatuation he feels for Sophia! He’s flattered by her attention and—and—perhaps he thinks of her fortune—just a little. It would be natural. Dear Kelvin, come after me! I said where I was going—to Athens, so you know this is the road I would take. Please come to me—please!’

She and Kelvin had begun as boss and secretary. He was an author, having written several books on archaeology. Martine had always been interested in archaeology and was, in fact, a member of the Archaelogical Society in England. She had spent most weekends helping to unearth a Roman theatre near her home town of Warrencester, in the Midlands. Kelvin, naturally interested in the recent find, had visited the site and within a month had tempted Martine to work for him, in spite of the fact that she had an excellent post already. The truth was that Kelvin had attracted her from the moment she set eyes on him—standing there, tall and handsome, his whole attention on the work that was taking place. It was done almost entirely by students from the nearby university or people like Martine who, like the students, were willing to give their services free; the joy of discovery being reward enough for the work they put in.

Martine had been working for Kelvin only a few weeks when after finishing his present book, he announced his intention of writing about Olympia in Greece. Thrilled with the idea of visiting the famous site of the ancient Games, Martine had rented out her flat, packed what she would need and was ready to go immediately when Kelvin had asked.

And on the plane going over to Athens he had proposed to her….

Life was so good. She felt as if she were floating on a star as the plane hovered above the clouds, sunlit clouds, silver clouds with no shadows visible or even contemplated. Then from nowhere—or so it seemed—appeared Sophia, lovely young daughter of Andreas Sotiris, wealthy exporter of wine and the owner of vast acreage in other parts of Greece. Sophia had been away at school in Athens but after finishing her education, she had returned home. It seemed that even at their first meeting Kelvin was fascinated by the dark beauty of the Greek girl. Yes, Martine thought as she drove the car along the perilous road with its twists and turns, its narrowness and its weather-worn surfaces unexpectedly making the car behave as if it were on tires of steel instead of rubber, the girl possessed a beauty which would attract any man. She was young, unsophisticated… but Martine guessed she was clever for all that, and unscrupulous. She had wanted Kelvin; she had made no attempt to ignore his interest; on the contrary, she had encouraged it. Yet Martine had never even suspected her fiancé of developing any deep feelings for the girl. He was kind to her, friendly, because her father was their neighbour and he had allowed them to use a small villa in the grounds of his house. It was divided into two separate apartments so it had been ideal for Martine and her fiancé—they were close but yet their sleeping quarters were respectably separate.

The road became narrower than ever and for a few minutes Martine’s whole attention was on her driving. And then, just as thoughts and regrets and hopes began to take possession of her mind again, the car jerked and spluttered. Then she found herself pressing the accelerator in a futile attempt to get the engine purring again. With her heart lurching she came to a silent halt, and slid out into the blanket of darkness where not even the sound of a night bird could be heard. Shivering with incomprehensible fear, she just stood, her mind half dazed by what was happening to her. Fate was against her, she decided, wondering if she would be here until daylight, or if by some remote chance another car would come along. It must be almost midnight…. She must have been mad to pack a bag and run from Kelvin like that! Only now did she realise that her optimism had been so great that she had been sure he would come after her in the big Mercedes he had bought on coming to Greece a few weeks ago.

What must she do? Begin to walk…? Suddenly her thoughts braked and her heart leapt. Headlights! It must be Kelvin. He was sorry, contrite, guilty. He had come after her and now everything was going to be all right!

She stood in the middle of the road and waved her arms, then stepped back. Yes, it was the Merc! And so positive was she that the tall dark shadow coming from the car was, in fact, her fiancé that without hesitation she ran forward and flung herself into his arms.

‘Oh, darling—I knew you would come! I shouldn’t have run away—’ She lifted her face in the darkness and, rising on tiptoe, pressed her eager lips to his. For one astonished second there was no response and then Martine felt the sensuous lips part and she was stunned by the passion in her fiancé’s kiss. How contrite he must be to kiss her with such ardour! Never before had he shown such enthusiasm. He had been loving and gentle, yes, but without this show of passion, this new approach which made it seem he had had years of experience with women. She pressed close, putting her arms about his neck, thrusting her fingers into his hair….

Kelvin’s hair was soft and fine; this hair was strong and wiry…. She leant away, her eyes trying to probe the dimness.

‘That was as delightful as it was unexpected,’ drawled a faintly accented voice. ‘My name’s Loukas Leoros. What’s yours?’

‘I—I—’ Hot with embarrassment, Martine wrenched herself free of the strong hands that held her. ‘I th-thought you were—were my fiancé,’ she stammered. ‘His car is the same make—I saw the shape and concluded…’ Her voice trailed away to silence as she realised that this stranger, this Greek, would not want to hear her explanation. ‘Will you give me a lift to—to wherever you are going, please? My car’s broken down.’

‘So it would seem. You were expecting your fiancé to come?’ She said nothing and after a moment he added, a curious inflection in his voice, ‘You’ve quarrelled and you ran away? Just like a woman to expect her man to follow, pandering to her perversity.’ His tone was cynical and faintly contemptuous. Yet there was a certain pleasantry about it that scared Martine because she knew the reputation of the Greeks… and she was undoubtedly in the most vulnerable situation possible. He could do her any injury and get away with it, she thought. And then suddenly, expectedly, the moon emerged from the blackness of the clouds, spreading its silver effulgence across the landscape, lighting up the road to reveal the features of the man whose presence was bringing Martine both relief and fear. She saw a face of remarkable distinction, with nobility its chief characteristic. She found herself recalling the statues in the Athens Museum—statues of pagan gods and heroes, their faces severe and classical; ruthless, vigorous lines adding to the overall impression of severity and mastery. Masters of everything—and everyone—that came their way. This man—Loukas Leoros—might have inspired the sculptors of ancient Greece, might have been a throwback, she thought. But whereas the statues depicted handsome, unscarred beauty, this man wore a scar down the left side of his face—not too noticeable in this pale silver light, but there all the same. Otherwise, though, he was indisputably good-looking, and she guessed his age to be around thirty. Were his eyes really black, she wondered, or was it merely the lack of proper light which made them appear so? His nose was straight, his mouth full-lipped and sensual, typically Greek. He differed from most Greeks, though, because he was tall—well over six feet, she estimated, comparing his height with that of Kelvin—and there was not an ounce of unnecessary weight on his lithe and upright frame. His hair, thick and black and wiry was inclined to wave on each side of the widow’s peak, a feature which seemed to give him a decidedly satanic look. She shivered involuntarily, allowing her imagination to run away with her as she saw herself being molested by this man.

‘Will you give me a lift?’ she requested again, ignoring his comments and inserting a gentle plea into her voice, as if by so doing she could gain his sympathy so that he would feel he could not molest her. She looked up into the austere countenance and something stirred within her as a smile came slowly to his lips.

‘Don’t be afraid of me,’ he said quietly. And then, ‘Where have you left this fiancé of yours?’

‘In Olympia. We live there.’

‘Olympia?’ in some surprise. ‘What are you doing there? Is this fiancé of yours English or Greek?’

‘English.’ She paused a moment. ‘He was my employer before we became engaged,’ she explained, feeling that the man’s intent stare was an invitation for her to confide. ‘We quarrelled, as you surmised, and I came away—with only one suitcase,’ she ended absurdly and heard her companion laugh.

‘If he has any sense he’ll beat you when he gets you back,’ he commented, lifting a lean brown hand to stifle a yawn. ‘I know I should.’

Martine’s blue eyes glinted.

‘If you would be so kind—’

‘—as to give you a lift? I feel I ought to take you back to this fiancé of yours. He’s probably worried out of his mind,’ he added with a sort of satirical disdain. ‘More fool him. He should know you will come running back eventually. They all do—’

‘Mr. Leoros,’ interrupted Martine coldly, ‘you need not bother about the lift! I can sit in the car until the morning when another car is sure to come along!’

‘Probably containing an amorous Greek who will rape you and then drive away. Get into my car and I’ll drive you back to Olympia.’

‘I don’t want—’

‘In, I said,’ he cut her off imperiously and with the added encouragement of a little push. ‘I see you managed to pull your car off the road so there’ll be no danger to anyone who might just be driving this way.’

Once in the car Martine leant back, amazed to find herself so relaxed. But on thinking about it as they drove, her companion looking for a place to turn around, she concluded that her state of mind resulted from relief that she had not met with a situation that could have had dire results. This man was obviously honourable—perhaps happily married, or engaged and so not interested in any other woman.

‘What’s the address?’ he wanted to know when eventually they entered the outskirts of the sacred site.

‘We live in a villa in the grounds of Mr. Sotiris’s house. Do you happen to know him?’

A small and inexplicable silence followed before her companion spoke. ‘Yes, I do know him—very well, in fact.’

‘So you know where to drop me, then?’

‘The villa’s at the back of his house?’

‘That’s right.’ There were two villas, one of which was facing the road and it was occupied by the head gardener.

‘Your fiancé lives in the same house as you?’

‘It’s divided into two apartments.’

‘Do you know Mr. Sotiris well?’ he inquired curiously.

‘I haven’t spoken to him above half-a-dozen times.’ A small pause and then, as if driven on by some compulsion she could not conquer, ‘He has a very young and beautiful daughter, Sophia.’

‘Correct.’ Fleetingly he slid her a glance, noticing the golden hair, long and straight, flicked up attractively at the ends, the strong yet attractively feminine lines and curves of her face, the full generous mouth, the high, intelligent forehead. ‘What made you mention Sophia?’

‘I don’t quite know,’ with well-feigned indifference which apparently lacked the effect she wanted.

‘She’s after every man she sees. Could I make an intelligent guess and say you mentioned her because she was on your mind—because she has come between you and your fiancé?’

Martine remained silent for a space, aware that she was not too surprised by the assumption which Loukas Leoros had made. That he was a highly-intelligent man was plain; that he was keenly perceptive was also obvious. Martine found herself wondering about him, what he did for a living, about his family and his life generally. Stupid thoughts because he was a mere stranger who had been kind enough to come to her rescue. She heard herself say, slowly and reluctantly, ‘She has come between us, yes. Kelvin seems infatuated with her.’

‘And so you tackled him and you quarrelled?’

‘It was more serious than a quarrel,’ she admitted. ‘Kelvin said it was all ended between him and me. I—I gave him h-his ring b-back—’ To her consternation she burst into tears. ‘I’m s-sorry….’

He stopped the car just beyond the entrance to the gates of the Sanctuary. Martine put a handkerchief to her eyes and dried them, blinking as the interior light was switched on.

‘Are you quite sure he is worth it?’ The foreign voice was faintly harsh, the accent rather more pronounced than she had heard it before.

‘I love him,’ was her simple reply and she heard a swift intake of breath before Loukas Leoros spoke.

‘He obviously doesn’t love you.’

‘He did at one time.’

‘And now you have lost your job as well as your fiancé.’ A statement which seemed once and for all to make Martine accept that the affair really was ended. She felt angry with this man be cause he had the power to convince her, for up till now hope had still flourished deep in her heart.

‘I suppose so.’ Her eyes strayed to the sacred grove that lay so peacefully in the hollow of the tree-clothed hills. The clouds had all dispersed by now and the moon was full and high over the sacred precincts, its argent glow giving the temple columns a somewhat ghostly appearance. She could faintly hear the murmuring of the river above the chirping of cicadas and the silvery music made by the sheep bells on the hillsides. So peaceful! Olympia, where all feuds were forgotten during the Games, where in ancient times all man’s effort went into the glory of sport rather than the more doubtful glory of slaying his enemies. Perhaps one day the peoples of the world would make a universal shrine of this place… and all wars would become the horrors of the past.

‘What are you thinking?’ The voice was soft, yet it carried an imperious ring which demanded a truthful answer. It came easily but with a sigh as Martine spoke aloud the thoughts and ideas that had been passing through her mind.

‘It’s fanciful, of course,’ she ended and her companion agreed, which was depressing and the ready tears misted her eyes again. ‘Life is rotten!’ she exclaimed. ‘I would not care if I knew I was going to die!’

‘Yes you would. This will pass and you’ll meet someone else.’

‘You say that but your voice has a cynical ring.’

‘I have no faith in love between a man and a woman.’

‘But that’s silly. Love is what makes a marriage, and—’

‘Here in Greece many marriages are arranged. Where does love come into it?’

‘In the West we marry for love.’

‘You do? What is love? Can you define it for me?’ His tone was edged with amusement and contempt. Martine concluded he was not married, nor was he likely to be. A born bachelor who was obviously content with his way of life. She suspected he had had many pillow friends, and he was young enough to have many more.

‘Love is caring so deeply for someone that you’d die for them.’

‘Men have died for their countries. That’s loyalty, not love.’

‘Loyalty and love are kin.’

‘Kin, perhaps, but not one and the same.’ He shook his head. ‘Love is a fallacy—a state of mind invented by the female of our species who, unfortunately, were provided with romantic fantasies unknown to men—’

‘Oh, no! I can’t agree!’

He turned to her; she saw the mocking curve of his lips and frowned inwardly. ‘Have you ever known a man to be in love—as you call it?’

‘Kelvin….’

‘Was never in love with you.’ He looked at her intently, his eyes moving over her face—tear-stained but lovely—then to her throat and the delicate slope of her shoulders, then lower to the alluring, tantalising curve of her firm, young breasts. She coloured at his examination; he was stripping her. She felt he was actually fondling her…. Her colour deepened and, without warning, he took her in his arms, turned her face with a firm hand gripping her chin, and then his lips were claiming hers in a kiss so ardent and sensual that she had no strength to protest. In fact, she was soon reciprocating, thrilling to the moist probing, the mastery which compelled her to part her lips, and she quivered with a totally new and exquisite emotion as she felt the roughness of his tongue caressing her own. It was only when his hand enclosed her breast that she shied away, ashamed and blushing, pulling the edges of her thin white cardigan together.

‘Why waste your tears on a man who cares nothing for you. Be my pillow friend and have all that life has to offer.’

‘Your—!’ She stared at his profile disbelievingly. ‘What kind of man are you? Do you pick up any woman and go to bed with her?’

She had not known what to expect but certainly she hadn’t envisaged the cruel grip that caused her to wince and then cry out in pain and protest.

‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ he said harshly. ‘I do not pick up women!’

‘But you picked me up,’ she protested, tugging at her wrist and merely succeeding in giving herself more pain.

‘I came to your aid,’ he corrected, still in that harsh and angry tone. ‘And you appeal to me. I suppose I am sorry for you in your distress—’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she broke in hotly. ‘You merely desire me, as so many Greek men desire women they see. Well, I’m not so cheap—get that!’ She made to open the door but her wrist was still tightly held and she knew she could not get out of the car.

‘I shall give you a ring tomorrow.’ And he let go of her wrist then, and started the car. ‘I suppose you do have a phone in your apartment?’

‘Yes, there is one, but I won’t have you phoning me. I’m grateful for your help—very grateful that you would trouble to turn back and bring me home, but that is the end of it as far as I am concerned. Besides, you must live some distance from here?’ She ended on a questioning note, looking at his profile.

‘I live in the white villa on the hill,’ he told her quietly. ‘The one you see so plainly from the Sanctuary—in fact, my main view is directly down on to it.’

‘The Villa Cladeos?’ she said in some surprise. ‘But you were going the other way.’

‘I was merely going for a drive. I sometimes do, especially when I have a business problem I want to think out. Night driving’s conducive to clear, logical thought.’

Martine did not ask why, but remarked instead that his view must be wonderful. To be able to look down on to the sacred precincts of Olympia….

‘I had the house built purposefully for the view.’

***

True to his word Loukas phoned her the following day. She had been up just over an hour when the ringing brought her from the kitchen where she had been making toast and coffee.

‘I told you not to ring,’ she began, when he interrupted her to say, ‘People do not tell me what to do and what not to do, Martine. I want to see you today. An hour from now?’

Something strange and yet not unpleasant touched her heart. ‘I do not want to see you, either in an hour or anytime!’

‘What did Kelvin have to say about your running away?’

‘I haven’t seen him.’

‘No?’ in some surprise. ‘But surely, if you’re living so close, you must have seen one another?’

‘He was in bed last night—’

‘In bed, and knowing you were out in the car, on those lonely and dangerous roads?’

Martine ignored that. ‘He must have gone out early this morning. He said yesterday that he was going to Athens to see the curator of the museum there, so perhaps he chose today to do it. I don’t really know.’

‘Well, I expect you’re fully convinced that you and he have no future together. I shall be around in an hour—or perhaps a little earlier.’ And without giving her any further chance to protest he replaced the receiver. Martine’s mouth tightened. He was certainly persistent!

She thought at first that the best way to deter him would be to look drab and uninteresting when he arrived. But, driven by some hand other than her own, she dressed carefully, donning a white cotton dress trimmed with a flowered border round the hem, and with a similar feature forming a belt below a tight-fitting bodice and above a daintily flared skirt which, though hiding her curves, in fact, accentuated her slenderness. She brushed her hair till it shone, noticing as she stared at herself in the mirror that the tints of tawny brown, so soft and attractive, had not disappeared altogether when her hair was bleached by the hot Grecian sun. Dainty sandals revealed pink-tipped toes below perfectly-shaped ankles and slender legs browned by the outdoor life Martine had led since coming to Greece.

Loukas arrived within five minutes of her being ready and the first words he uttered after she had invited him in were, ‘So you did want me to come despite the protests.’ His eyes were lazy as they travelled over her—lazy and mocking. And she felt uncomfortable in the extreme even while she freely admitted to the pull of his attraction which sent feathery ripples along her spine.

Without answering she led the way into a cool sitting-room where the zephyr of a breeze ballooned the embroidered net drapes and at the same time carried in the heady scent of flowers. Martine had a bowl of red roses on the table and another of magenta bougainvillaea on the windowsill. She invited her visitor to sit down but he went to the window instead and stood looking out, his eyes trained on the big imposing villa that belonged to Sophia’s father. Watching him, Martine felt that had she been able to see his expression it would have been harsh, to say the least. He turned, as if aware of her gaze, and she saw again that lazy, mocking look as his dark eyes slid over her. The scar seemed more pronounced than she expected it to be; she fell to wondering how he had come by it. But she did not ask, naturally. She merely said, adopting an air of cool affability, ‘Why are you here, Mr. Leoros?’

‘I wanted to see you. I have a proposition to put to you.’

‘Yes?’ with a tingling of nerves as she waited for him to repeat his invitation of last night.

‘Will you marry me?’

She gaped, the room spinning around her so that she was forced towards a chair, grasping the back for support.

‘Wh—what did you say?’

‘Need I repeat it?’ The delayed smile, the deliberation of the one short sentence, the smooth and casual manner in which he lifted a hand to hide a yawn… all these sent Martine into a flurry of sensations that precluded any possibility of clear thought. She sank into the chair, staring up at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. Yet she knew without any doubt at all that he was serious!

‘I don’t understand you,’ she said and the tone was one of complaint, which had the affect of broadening his smile.

‘My question was plain enough—nothing cryptic about it.’

‘Certainly it’s cryptic! You haven’t even mentioned a reason for asking it!’

‘You’re confused,’ he said in a softer voice, ‘which is only natural. However, my reasons need not trouble you.’ He paused, watching her shake her head in bewilderment. After a small pause during which she did not speak, he continued, ‘As for you—well, marriage to me would solve all your problems; it would also afford you the satisfaction of knowing you had—er—got your own back on your fiancé—No, do not interrupt!’ he went on authoritatively when she opened her mouth. ‘No matter what you were about to say, revenge is sweet!’

Another pause, and as she looked at his expression Martine found herself shivering. Revenge is sweet…. Suddenly she felt she knew why he wanted to marry her. It was for revenge on someone else. But who? A woman who had let him down? He had said quite categorically, though, that he did not believe in love. Therefore, he could not have been hurt because he had never been in love. Or had he…?

Two people who had been let down…. It seemed almost natural that they might get together. She frowned, unable to understand her feelings and her thoughts. She had no intention of marrying anyone! If it couldn’t be Kelvin then it would be no other man, for she loved him with all her heart.

‘I cannot possibly marry you,’ she stated at length. ‘The idea’s preposterous.’

‘I don’t agree.’ He moved towards her and before she realised his intention she was on her feet, brought against his lithe body and, although she struggled, her efforts to free herself were not only puny, but laughable. He held her easily with one arm about her, hawser strong, while his other hand tilted her chin in the most proprietorial manner and the verbal protest she was about to make never even left her lips.

Breathless when at last he drew his mouth from hers, she could only stare and cling to him, for she felt weak from the ardent hunger of his kisses, from the possessive way he had held her, compelling her to meld her soft young body with the virile hardness of his own, making her aware of the new emotion he could arouse within her… the desire she had never known before. Her breathing continued to be erratic, while he quickly became calm, his mocking eyes matching the curve of those sensuous lips. She should have been feeling angry, resentful… but instead she wanted him to coerce her again, to demand that she reciprocate his love-making.

‘You’re delightful,’ murmured Loukas, his mouth cool and moist against her cheek. ‘We shall do famously together—’

‘No—!’