Our Little Grecian Cousin

CHAPTER VI

TEA WITH A BRIGAND

The stranger replied to Marco with "Tee Kamnete"14 and came up close to them. Zoe blessed herself and said not a word.

"Kala,"15 Marco said briefly, and the stranger said,

"It is late for you and your sister to be on the mountain. She is a pretty child."

"Na meen avosgothees,"16 whispered Marco to Zoe, then to the stranger, "Not later than for you."

"But I have business here," he said with a smile.

"And so have we," and Marco's tone was a little curt.

"My business is to eat supper," said the man. "Will you join me?"

Marco was surprised, but Zoe whispered, "Do not make him angry," so he said,

"Thank you. Zoe has brought me to eat also. Will you not share with us?"

"We will eat together," said the stranger, so they seated themselves upon the green grass and Marco took from the basket Zoe had brought, black bread and cheese for all three.

"This is the best I have, but I am glad to give," he said, for he thought to himself, "He has not a bad face now that one sees him close. In any case it is best to be civil, for bees are not caught with sour wine."

The stranger threw aside his cloak and stood before them in the beautiful national costume of Greece. Zoe thought that she had never seen anything so fine as his clothes. He wore a white shirt, a little black jacket and fustanellas, the full white petticoat reaching to the knees, to which Grecian men cling in spite of the fact that it can be soiled in ten minutes while it takes a woman almost as many hours to make it clean again.

He carried a leather bag over one shoulder, and from this he took a parcel, seating himself beside Zoe and opening it with a gay smile.

"I did not think this morning, when I had this put up, that I should eat it with so dear a little girl," he said. "Perhaps I should have put in Syrian loukoumi had I known that you would be here instead of halva17 and tarama.18 Should I not?"

"Halva is very nice," said Zoe shyly. "And I have never tasted loukoumi of Syria."

"Have you not? Poor child! Tell me where you live and I will send you a packet of it."

"I live in Karissa, near to Volo," said Zoe with a sweet smile. "The gentleman takes too much trouble."

"I shall certainly do it," he said, "unless I am wrestling with Charos."19

"When your soul shall be a Petalouda20 and your dust shall become myrrh," said Zoe. "On the third day I shall carry raw wheat and a candle to Papa Petro, that he may say prayers for you."

"You are an angel of a child!" there were tears in the man's eyes. "It matters little when Charos comes, since God sends Charos to take souls. It is well if we leave behind us some grateful hearts to say 'may your dust become myrrh.' Come, let us eat. Here is a bottle of resinato,21 bread and tarama, with olives and garlic and halva for dessert. It is a feast for the gods, yet the best Christian may eat it in Lent."

They ate, the two men chatting together, Zoe listening in silence. It had been long since she had seen such a feast, for bread and eggs were often all that was to be had in her aunt's house, and sometimes there were no eggs.

They sat beneath a giant tree on a carpet of maiden-hair fern; scarlet anemones and heath, orchids and iris bloomed beside them, and the silver tinkle of a waterfall came softly through the evening air. The fragrance of violets was there, and a few early asphodel raised their star-like blooms toward heaven.

"There is no place in all the world like Greece," said the stranger, as he looked down over the beautiful valley. "It was near to here that Cheiron's cave lay, and one can almost see Olympus, home of the gods."

"Who was Cheiron?" asked Zoe.

"Do you not know the story of the Golden Fleece?" said the stranger. "Shall I tell it while we eat?"

"Oh, if you only would?" cried Zoe, and he began.

"Long, long ago, when the gods lived on Olympus, there was a cave in the depths of old Mount Pelion and it was called the cave of Cheiron, the Centaur. Cheiron was a strange being, half horse and half man, for he had the legs of a horse but the upper part of his body was that of a man. He was wise and kind and men called him 'the Teacher.' Many men sent their sons to him to be taught, for he knew not only all the things of war, but music and to play the lyre, and of all the healing herbs, so that he could cure the wounds of men. Among his pupils was a lad named Jason, whose father was Æson, king of Iolcos, by the sea. The wicked brother of Æson had cast him forth from his kingdom, and fearing that Jason would be killed, the father left the lad with Cheiron. Cheiron taught him much, and he learned quickly. He learned to wrestle and box, to ride and hunt, to wield the sword, to play the lyre, and even all that Cheiron knew of healing herbs Jason learned. Jason was happy with Cheiron and loved him, and the youths who dwelt in the Centaur's cave, these he loved as brothers. He was quite content until one day he looked forth over the plains of Thessaly to the south, and as he saw the white-walled town beside the sea, something stirred within him, and he said to Cheiron,

"'There lies my home. Now I am grown, I am a hero's son, let me go forth and take my heritage from that bad man who cast forth my father, for I know that one day I shall be king in Iolcos.'

"'That day is far, far away,' said Cheiron, who could read the future. 'But it will come. Eagles fly from the nest, so must you fly hence. Go, but promise me this. Speak kindly to each one that you meet and keep always your promises.'

"'I promise you and I will perform,' said Jason, and he bade Cheiron farewell. Then he hurried down the mountain-side, through the sweet-smelling groves where grew the wild thyme and arbutus, beyond the vineyards green in the sun, and the olive groves in fragrant bloom. He came to the river bank, a stream swollen with spring rains and foaming to the sea. Upon the bank was an old woman, wrinkled and gray, and she cried to Jason,

"'Good sir, carry me across this stream.'

"Jason looked at her, and at first he thought to leave her, for the stream was broad and it roared over cruel rocks and was heavy with the mountain's melting snow. But she cried pitifully,

"'Fair youth, for Hera's sake, carry me across.'

"Now Hera was queen of all the gods who lived on Olympus, and Jason said,

"'For Hera's sake will I do much. Cling upon my back and I will carry you across. That I promise you.' Then he remembered Cheiron's word and was glad he had answered her softly. He struggled through the foam, but the old woman was heavy and she clung about his neck and seemed to grow heavier. He buffeted the waves and struggled, and twice he thought he must let the old woman go, but he remembered his promise and held her fast, and at last he reached the farther shore and scrambled up the bank. And as he gently set his burden down, lo! she was a fair young woman, and she smiled upon him and said,

"'I am that Hera for whose sake you have done this deed of kindness. I will repay you, for whenever you need help call upon me, and I will not forget you.' Then she rose up from the earth into the clouds, and with awe and wonder, Jason watched her fade from his sight.

"Then he went on to Iolchis, but he walked slowly, for he had lost one sandal in the flood. He went into the city and spoke with the king, demanding his realm, and the king was afraid of him, for soothsayers had foretold that a man wearing one sandal should take the kingdom away from him.

"But the king spoke to him kindly and gave him food, and said to him, 'Your father gave me the kingdom of his own free will. See him and ask him if this is not true.' Jason said that he would do so, and he ate with his uncle, and at last the king said,

"'There is a man in my kingdom whom I am afraid will cause me trouble if he stays here. What would you do with him were you I? I ask because I know you are wise.'

"'I think I would send him to bring home the Golden Fleece,' said Jason.

"'Will you go?' said the king, and Jason saw that he was caught in a trap, and that his uncle had meant him.

"'I will go, and when I return I will take the kingdom,' he said, and straightway he made ready. He made sacrifice to Hera, for in those days people killed a lamb in honour of the gods, as we to-day burn a candle at a shrine. Then he fitted up a ship and sent word to all those princes who had been with him in Cheiron's cave that they come with him on this glorious quest. And they came and all the youths set forth upon a mighty ship. Of the many things that happened to them I have no time to tell, but at last Jason came to the shores of Cutaia, where the Colchians lived. There was the Golden Fleece, but guarded so that no man might take it. There it had been for many years, since King Phrixus had slain the Golden Ram and offered it in sacrifice, and since then all the world had longed to possess the wonderful Golden Fleece.

"Medea, the king's daughter, saw Jason, and loved him because he was fearless and brave. She was a witch and she helped him with her witchcraft, giving him a magic salve with which he rubbed himself so that no weapon could hurt him, and his strength was as the strength of mighty hills. He who would possess the Fleece must first wrestle with two terrible bulls, then he must sow serpent's teeth in a ploughed field. From the teeth sprang up a field of armed men, and these must be overcome, and then the deadly serpent which guarded the Fleece must be slain. All these things Medea's magic helped Jason to do. He fought with the bulls and conquered them; he harnessed them to the plough and ploughed the field. He hewed down the armed men as if they were stalks of wheat and last of all he sought to slay the serpent. Orpheus, who had been with Jason in Cheiron's cave, went with him to the tree where hung the Golden Fleece. He was the sweetest singer in all the world, and he played soft and sweet upon his lyre and sang of sleep, and the serpent closed his eyes and slumber stole upon him. Then Jason stepped across his body and tore the Fleece from the tree, and he and Orpheus and Medea fled to the ship and away they sailed to Greece again."

As he finished a sudden sound reached their ears and Marco sprang to his feet.

"A wolf is at my goats!" he cried. "I must go. Zoe, fly quickly down the mountain; but no – it is too late for you to go alone, there are wild beasts abroad. You should not have stayed so late!"

"Go quickly to your goats, Marco. That is your duty. I shall be safe, for I shall pray to the saints and the Holy Virgin, and I shall run very fast."

"Go to your herd, good shepherd, and I will take your sister home," said the stranger, putting up the remains of his meal, but Marco did not look reassured. He looked helplessly from one to the other. "I may be out all night," he said, when another squeal, sharp and shrill, came through the air.

"Go at once, Marco, I shall be quite safe with this gentleman," said Zoe.

"I will promise that she shall go straight home," said the stranger, and Marco unwillingly turned to the mountain.

Zoe and her strange companion walked hastily down the steep path which led to the village.

"Child," said the stranger, "why did you tell your brother to go? Are you not afraid of me?"

"He is not my brother, but my cousin, and I am not at all afraid," she said.

"But you were afraid at first," he said. "You thought I was a brigand."

"That was before I had seen your face," said the little girl. "And now that I have seen you and heard you talk, I know that you are not."

"How do you know?" he asked.

"You are a good man, because you keep the Lenten fast, you speak well of God and you are kind to a little girl. So I know you have a white heart. You may perhaps be a brigand, but you are a good one."

He threw back his head and laughed aloud.

"You are a strange little one," he said. "Tell me your name."

"I am Zoe Averoff, of Argolis."

"Zoe Averoff of Argolis! Child, what are you doing here?"

She looked at him in wonder as she answered, "My mother is dead, my father is gone and comes no more; he must be dead too. I live here with my uncle, the father of Marco."

The stranger's eyes were fixed upon her and she saw them fill with hot tears.

"Child," he said, "I believe you are my little niece. I am Andreas Averoff, and your father was my brother. I feared that I would fail to find you, since all they could tell me at your old home was that you had gone to Thessaly. Do you remember me, since I went to your house once long ago?"

"I know that I had an Uncle Andreas," said Zoe, scarce believing her ears. "But I do not remember him."

"I am that uncle," he said, "and I have come to take you with me to my home. I have a wife and son in Argolis, but our little girl we lost. Will you come and be our daughter, or are you too happy here?"

"I am not too happy," said Zoe, "but it would be hard to leave Marco. He is so good to me."

"Perhaps your Marco will come with us, for I have money and we can find him better things to do than to fly to the mountains with the shepherds each St. George's Day. Now, take me to your home and tell your aunt what has come of your taking tea with a brigand."

CHAPTER VII

ZOE TAKES A JOURNEY

The next few days seemed to Zoe to pass as in a dream. So many things happened which she had never supposed could come to her, that she was almost dazed. Uncle Andreas was such an energetic person that he carried everything his own way. He silenced all objections to his plans, and before the child fairly knew what was happening she had said good-bye to her Thessalonian relatives, and with her new-found uncle and Marco was sailing out of the harbour of Volo on her uncle's ship. She wept a little at leaving her cousins, especially the babycoula, but that Marco was to be with her robbed the separation of half its sting. The future opened before her with much of interest. Unknown lands were to be explored, and to Zoe this in itself was charming.

"Do you feel as if you were setting out to find the Golden Fleece?" asked Marco as the two sat upon the deck and watched the hills of Thessaly fade in the distance, as they sailed over the blue Gulf of Velos.

"I feel very strange and full of wonder as to what will come next," she said.

"Well, Little One," said Uncle Andreas' hearty voice, "what kind of a sailor are you going to make?"

"Oh, I like it on the sea," she answered brightly. "When we came to Thessaly, Mother was very ill, but I was not at all. I love the salt air, the spray and the feel of the wind on my cheek. It is like a kiss."

"Good girl," her uncle smiled at her. "You are just the one to have a sailor uncle. Many a fine sail shall we have together when we reach our own Argolis. Marco shall be a fisherman and we three shall sail and sail in the roughest weather. They do not know the sea who know her only when she is calm. She is most beautiful when angry. Shall you tire of your long voyage?"

"Oh, no, Uncle Andreas, I could sail for ever."

The time passed pleasantly for Marco told Zoe pleasant tales of their own beautiful Greece, and her uncle told of rovings from shore to shore. He had been a sailor for many years and now owned his own sloop, in which he sailed over the Mediterranean with cargoes of currants and lemons. He had had many adventures, had been shipwrecked upon one of the little islands of the sea and in his youth had even sailed to America.

"I do not believe that your father is dead," he said to Zoe one day. "He may have written letters which you have never received, but I think if he were dead we would have heard of it. Some day he will come back or we will go and hunt him up."

Zoe's eyes grew large and tender.

"If my father would only come back," she said, "I should never ask the saints for anything so long as I live. But I know I will be very happy with you and Aunt Angeliké."

"Especially as Marco will be there," laughed her uncle, and Zoe laughed too.

"Marco has been so good to me that I would be a strange girl could I be happy without him," she said.

When they sailed into the Gulf of Athens and, rounding the point, she saw the "City of Sails," as it is called from the many boats in the harbour, the little girl could hardly contain herself. She saw for the first time the wonderful marble buildings of the city of Athens, with the Acropolis and the Areopagus, where gleamed the famous ruins of the Parthenon; and to the child, her mind filled with the lore of the long ago, every marble was peopled with heroes, every leaf and bud and bird sang of Pericles and other famous Athenians, as Mt. Olympus and Tempe's Vale had whispered of the gods of old.

Athens is perhaps one of the most interesting cities in the world. The ship anchored in the harbour of Pireas and the three landed in a small boat rowed by Uncle Andreas' stout sailors. Then they drove in a cab between the long rows of pepper trees, Zoe bouncing from one window of the cab to the other in a frantic effort to see both sides of the street at once. The driver drove very fast, calling "Empros!" to any passer who chanced to cross his path, and Zoe wished he would go slowly so that she might see all the wonderful things they passed.

"Oh, Uncle, what is that?" she cried as they passed a procession of men carrying something on a bier.

"It is a funeral," he said.

"Why isn't the coffin covered?" she asked, for as they drew nearer she saw that there was no cover and the dead man lay covered only with flowers.

"The custom of burying the dead without cover arose in the time of the first Turkish war," he said. "The Turks feared that soldiers would get outside of the wall by pretending to be dead and being carried out in coffins. Several famous leaders got out of the city in that manner and stirred up the country people to revolt. So they made a law that people who died must be carried through the streets uncovered and a lid put on the coffin only as it was lowered into the grave. Miserable Turks!" and Uncle Andreas spat on the ground, as every good Grecian does when mentioning the name of his hated enemy. The Turks have always coveted Greece and in the bitter wars between the two countries has been bred a hatred which does not die out as the countries grow older.