Twenty-six
It was early afternoon when Jonathan and Evangeline reached the base of the mountain. Drenched in sweat, they started the climb. The gently sloping path wound through a cypress grove and past a broken-down stable, its slanted roof crushed under the weight of fallen rubble.
In the distance, a sun-bleached house sat on the hillside and two figures were working in the yard. The thwack of an ax carried through the air. As they drew closer, the figures came into focus. A girl was spreading feed for several chickens at her feet, and an older man was chopping wood.
The girl, who looked to be about ten or eleven, plopped the bucket on the ground as they approached.
“Papa.”
The man turned, shading his eyes against the sun.
Jonathan called out a greeting in Greek before asking if he and his wife might draw water from the well.
“Where are you traveling?” the man asked.
“A wedding in Arachova.”
“You have a long journey ahead. Come inside from the heat. Share our bread with us.”
Jonathan translated for Evangeline.
“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head. “Efharisto.”
He smiled, pleased by how quickly she’d learned a few phrases. He could only imagine the progress she would make if she studied the language.
A lanky boy in a dusty herding robe emerged from the house, cocking his head to one side. His skin was golden brown, and his expression curious.
“Yannis, feed their donkey.”
“Yes, Father,” he said and took the reins to lead Timothy away.
The man told his daughter Maria to bring water inside so their guests could wash, and she hurried toward the well while Jonathan and Evangeline were welcomed inside.
When the girl returned with a bucket, she led Evangeline to a back room while Jonathan stood to wait his turn, not wanting to dirty a chair.
The man introduced himself as Nikos and explained that he and his children lived in the home and tended sheep on the land. He didn’t mention a wife, and Jonathan didn’t ask.
When Evangeline walked into the main room, her rosy cheeks were scrubbed clean and her riotous curls had been tamed into a knot again.
The bodice of her gown was still damp, but they were traveling light, and she needed the split skirt for the climb ahead.
Maria followed her from the room and Jonathan took his turn.
After he splashed water on his face and tamed his hair, he joined everyone at the table. A small spread of bread, cheese, and olives had been laid out.
Nikos sat at the head of the table and gestured to the food. “Please, help yourselves.”
Jonathan told their host he and Evangeline were traveling performers, sticking to their cover, while Yannis and Maria listened with wide eyes as they pinched off pieces of bread to pop into their mouths.
Nikos appeared to be a man of few words, and he didn’t probe for more information.
Recognizing the children’s fascination, Jonathan offered up that he played the frame drums. When Maria looked toward her father with lips parted, he nodded, granting permission for her to ask questions.
Truly, it was an interest Jonathan never minded discussing.
He stopped periodically to translate so Evangeline was included. At the end of the meal, Jonathan thanked their host and left a couple of coins on the table.
“For your kindness.”
Nikos walked them to the door while his son retrieved the donkey and Maria filled their water skins. Evangeline thanked him again, then pulled a sprig of lavender from her pocket that she had picked earlier and handed it to Maria. The girl giggled, tucking it behind her ear.
As they reached the door, Nikos grabbed Jonathan's arm and issued a warning.
“I understand,” Jonathan said, nodding. “We will take precautions.”
Evangeline looked at him, eyebrows raised.
“There are tales of the Lamia roaming Nyx Gorge at night,” Jonathan said. “Nikos advises us to be careful.”
“Lamia?”
“Female demons. They’re from Greek mythology.”
“Oh? What do these mythical demons look like?”
He shrugged. “Travelers hear them moving in the dark, but when they take a torch to look… nothing.”
“And the next morning?” Evangeline asked. “Are there footprints? Anything out of place or missing?”
When Jonathan repeated her questions, Nikos drew back, frowning. He hesitated before answering.
“Some people reported missing cooking pots, blankets, or the like,” Jonathan translated. “He doesn’t know about the rest. He never thought to ask.”
“Interesting.” Once they were on the path and far enough from the farmstead, Evangeline said, “I take it we’re headed for Nyx Gorge.”
“Indeed. I think we’ve found the Black Death—or possibly your uncle.”
“Definitely not female demons. Why would they need cookware and blankets?”
“Excellent observations as usual, Miss Darlington.”
“It’s Lady Hackberry now,” she teased. “We’re married, remember? Or Mrs. Hackberry? We should have an alias. Baronets and their wives don’t become traveling performers.”
“Only if they’re lucky.”
When they reached steeper terrain, speaking became more difficult. Jonathan led the way, offering his hand when they encountered large boulders and pointing out roots that could trip her.
Her fortitude was impressive. She was breathing heavily, her face red, but she never complained. Even he was struggling, and he was accustomed to climbing. He made certain they stopped often for Timothy to drink from a stream and allow them to catch their breath.
They reached Nyx Gorge at dusk.
“Look,” Jonathan said. “Someone set up camp ahead.”
As they neared the campsite, it was clear it had been deserted. A frayed rope hung loose, and the tarp flapped in the breeze. A water skin lay empty on its side, the cork lost. A faded robe had been wadded into a ball and left to bake in the sun.
“Where has everyone gone?” she asked, pointing at several sets of dried muddy footprints.
“I think someone was traveling alone. Based on the campsite.”
“How can you tell?” When she started to walk toward the tarp, Jonathan asked her to stay back with the donkey.
“I need to study everything first,” he said, kneeling beside the footprints.
Five sets were distinguishable. Four men and a lighter, smaller set—a woman or boy. And there had been a struggle.
Four had rushed the occupant; the smallest one held back, keeping watch. A heel mark gouged the ground. Evidence of a half-turn, weight shifted to the back foot. He knew the move. He’d learned it with his fellow recruits.
He frowned as he stood and scanned the area. “Stay here. I will be back.”
He walked to the outer edges of the camp, searching the perimeter. More footprints, but only two sets. This was likely where the camper was ambushed.
A slash in a tree trunk caught his eye. He approached, running his finger along the deep groove cut through the bark. The wound was dark around the edges, the exposed wood dry and brittle.
“What did you find?” Evangeline called from across the campsite.
“A knife mark, but no blood.” He turned toward her, masking his concern. “I think someone was bored.”
She frowned, toying with the end of Timothy’s rope.
He studied the angle of the cut and the direction of the footprints. Someone came up behind the victim. He’d swung around with the knife arcing through the air—another move Jonathan had learned in his training.
All evidence was pointing toward Wedmore. They had stumbled across his camp. Jonathan would have bet money on it.
The cut was deep, like the knife had lodged in the tree trunk. Jonathan doubted Wedmore could have freed it quickly, so he’d run. The footprints led to the middle of the camp, where the others had surrounded him.
Jonathan clenched and unclenched his fists as his hands grew numb. Wedmore could hold his own in a fight with four regular men, but not deadly warriors. He and Evangeline wouldn’t stand a chance.
“We should find a place to set up camp,” he said, stalking back toward Evangeline. “Let’s go back the way we came.”
“But we will be backtracking and losing ground.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that,” he said nonchalantly to hide his worry. “I saw a stream some way back. We should set up camp close enough to water Timothy.”
She glanced at the donkey. “Are you thirsty, sweet boy?”
Timothy nuzzled her arm, and she chuckled. “I assume that means yes.”
Jonathan’s answering smile was strained.
His mind raced as they walked back the way they had come.
It would be dark soon and the treacherous mountain path too dangerous to navigate.
But at first light, he was taking Evangeline back to Athens.
He would recruit Dom to help him raise a hunting party to find and rescue her uncle.
It was possible a ransom demand would be waiting if the group knew Wedmore’s nieces were in the city. That would be the best outcome given what Jonathan had seen at the campsite.
After they traveled a good distance, Jonathan found a place to set up camp away from the path. He and Evangeline worked in tandem unloading their supplies and draping the tarp over a rope before securing the ends.
They crawled inside the tent and made a bed with their blankets. She looked up at the tarp. “No stargazing again tonight.”
“No, but it will block the wind. After dark, it’s cold in the mountains.”
“I will look for kindling,” she said.
He gently caught her arm when she tried to leave the tent. “No fire tonight. We don’t want to attract attention.”
She sank back on her haunches, hands on her knees. Faint worry lines formed between her brows. “Was it the mercenaries? Do you think they hurt anyone?”
He understood she was asking about the abandoned campsite. “I saw no signs of violence.” No blood, at least.
“But there was a fight.”
He sighed. “Yes.”
She was observant and would figure it out eventually. It was better the truth came from him.
“I suspect a kidnapping,” he said. “At least a week ago.”
“What if it was Uncle Charles?”
“It could be.” When she bit her lower lip, he covered her hand with his. “The mercenaries only care about money. If they have your uncle, they will request a ransom.”