‘Nothing ’ere,’ he said. ‘It’s just another door into the room where we come in. I can see the winding gear as fetched us up.’
The next building had the outward appearance of another chapel. The two men stood outside its door, which appeared to have been designed for exceptionally short monks. For a moment, Adam wondered whether or not it was even worth entering, but the temptation to look at whatever wall paintings it might hold was enough to persuade him to duck his head and go in. Quint followed him. The room they entered was like a prison cell. Once inside, neither man could stand upright without grazing his head on the rough stone that formed its ceiling. As the light from their candles illuminated the darkness, both of them started back in surprise.
‘Sweet Jesus in ’eaven,’ whispered Quint hoarsely. ‘What in ’ell are these doing ’ere?’
At the back of the room, there was a recess in the wall. It was piled high with human skulls. More than a hundred stared sightlessly out of the shadows. Adam had now recovered his composure. He held his candle high and allowed it to throw its flickering light into the empty eye sockets.
‘It is an ossuary, I believe,’ he said. ‘These are the skulls of monks from long ago.’
‘Ain’t they got no decency?’ Quint said, in disgust. ‘Why didn’t they give ’em a proper burial like a Christian should?’
‘They have different beliefs from ours in England. To them it is no disrespect to leave the bones thus.’
Quint shook his head as if in sorrowful acknowledgement that, beyond England’s shores, the world was a bizarre and poorly governed place.
‘Wouldn’t take much to plant ’em in the ground,’ he commented.
‘You forget that we are a long way above it, Quint.’
There was a sudden sound from outside. Both men doused their candles and fell silent. They moved warily to the entrance of the ossuary and peered out. On the far side of the small courtyard, two figures were silhouetted against the dim moonlight. One was instantly recognisable from its enormous height.
‘That’s Andros,’ Quint hissed.
‘And, unless I’m much mistaken, the other is his master.’
Rallis had in his hand a dark lantern. As they watched, he slid back its shutter and its light shone out. Standing by the parapet overlooking the drop, the lawyer waved the lantern from side to side.
‘’E’s signalling to someone,’ Quint whispered, ‘someone down on the plain.’
‘So it would seem.’
‘Where’d ’e get the light from?’
‘The bags, I suppose. The monks hauled up two of our bags after we all made it to the top.’
The Greek continued to move his light from side to side. From where Adam and Quint crouched in the doorway to the ossuary, it was impossible to tell whether or not there was any answering signal from below. Several minutes passed and then Rallis closed the shutter on his lantern for the last time. He turned to his giant companion and spoke a few brief words which the watchers were unable to hear. The two Greeks left the courtyard. For a minute, the silence was broken only by the sound of some night bird cawing among the rocks beneath the monastery.
‘What the ’ell was all that about?’ Quint asked eventually, his voice still a whisper.
‘I have absolutely no notion,’ his master replied. Adam’s mind was racing with possible explanations for the lawyer’s behaviour. None that he could imagine cast Rallis in good light. It seemed as if the professor had been right to suspect the man of treacherous intent. And yet Adam could scarcely bring himself to think badly of the Athenian. Even in the short period of their acquaintance, he had grown to like and admire him. ‘He was making contact with someone in the village below. Or someone camped on the plain. That much was evident. But, for what purpose, I cannot tell.’
‘What would ’e want to be waving ’is bleeding lantern at anybody for?’
‘As I say, Quint, I do not know.’ Adam moved cautiously into the courtyard. He looked from left to right and then beckoned his servant to follow him. ‘Presumably he was not relaying instructions to them about the feeding of the mules.’
‘What we going to do about it? We going to ask ’im what ’e’s been up to?’
‘I cannot believe that he would necessarily tell us.’
‘We got to do something,’ Quint persisted.
‘We will keep an eye on our Athenian friend. And we will not always assume that he is our friend. We will listen out for anything that might be said that will cast some light on his nocturnal prowling.’ ‘That won’t do no good,’ Quint said. ‘Not for me. What with Rallis and the monks gobbling Greek all the time. Even if I do listen out, I ain’t going to make much sense out of anything I ’ear.’
‘Well, if your ears prove useless, keep your eyes open. But, for now, we shall retire. The monks will no doubt be stirring before too long. We would not want them to catch us creeping about their domain like thieves in search of booty.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
In the tiny cell he had been given, Adam awoke to the sounds of birds and to the muffled gong of the semandron summoning the monks to prayer. He had heard it once in the dark hours of the night but it had disturbed his rest only briefly. Now it proved impossible to ignore. He opened the shutters of the unglazed window to the room and allowed the sun to enter. After dressing, he ventured onto the wooden walkway that ran outside the guest chambers and skirted the eastern side of the monastery. A white goat, a bell around its neck, was wandering along the walkway. While Adam watched, the beast disappeared round the corner but he could still hear it jingling on the far side of the building. Looking across the flimsy railings of the walkway which were the only protection against a precipitous drop, Adam shaded his eyes against the rising sun. He could see where another of the pillars of rock thrust its way up from the plain. It too had a monastery on its summit. The building seemed almost like a natural outcrop of the rock. It was difficult to tell where geology ended and architecture began. Adam cast his eyes downwards. At the foot of the rock pillars, he could see the box-like houses of Kalambaka with their red roofs and he could just make out the tiny figures of some of the inhabitants as they emerged to begin their day. In the background, across the valley, the peaks of the Pindos Mountains soared into the sky, their slopes green with the trees that cloaked them.
He heard a sound behind him and turned to find that Fields had emerged from his cell and was standing on the walkway.
‘Good morning, Professor. I trust that you slept well.’
‘I did not, Adam.’ Fields was flapping a hand in front of his face and looked to be in a cantankerous mood. ‘Perhaps you recall the story of Domitian and the flies? Of how he spent days in seclusion doing nothing but catching flies and stabbing them with a sharpened stylus?’
‘I believe I do remember it. From Suetonius, is it not?’
‘I have often thought it a curious occupation for an emperor but, after a night amidst the insects of Agios Andreas, I can only wish that I possessed the same skills Domitian had. Do you suppose it is possible to stab fleas as well as flies?’
‘It is probably an art that requires practice.’
‘We shall undoubtedly have the opportunity for much practice before we leave this wretched abode of penury and superstition. I am bitten half to death and I am filthy. I could see no means of performing my toilet in that dingy stall they gave me.’