Page 7 of Vows of Revenge

He saw her turn her head to look at him. He smiled down at her.

‘Too fanciful for a hard-nosed businessman who only sees archaeology as a tax-deductible instrument for greater profit?’

She didn’t answer, but he got the impression she was studying him. Covertly, yes, but she was making some kind of assessment. Not reaching a conclusion, though. Wariness radiated from her—as it had that afternoon.

He took a meditative sip of his martini, looking out to sea past the harbour wall with its ever-blinking green and red lights.

‘So, what kind of seafaring did they get up to in the Bronze Age?’ he asked.

After all, that was what this evening was supposed to be about—expanding his knowledge of her field, so as to decide whether to invest in the work.

‘It was extensive,’ she answered. ‘Right across the Mediterranean. Trade was widespread. As you probably know, the copper for bronze is plentiful in this region—Cyprus, of course, is named after the metal itself—but the tin needed to make bronze had to come from further afield.’

Damos could tell from her voice that she was somewhat stilted, and he focussed on drawing her out. Sticking to the subject she was most interested in—the one she believed he’d invited her here to discuss—he asked another question.

‘How did they navigate in those days?’ he posed.

‘It’s not my speciality,’ came the answer, ‘but if you’re genuinely interested I can point you towards those who have made it theirs.’

There was sufficient inflection in her voice for Damos to know that she personally doubted that.

‘In general, the Mycenaeans—and the Minoans and all the East Mediterranean peoples of the time—knew nothing of the compass, so they steered by the sun and the stars, and by the known distance from the shore plus speed and heading.’

‘Dead reckoning?’ put in Damos. ‘As ever, right up until the eighteenth century, determining latitude was not so much a problem compared with determining longitude. That took highly accurate time-keeping—not available to the ancients. What was boat-building like in those times?’

‘Boats were round-hulled, with square sail and oars which would one day develop into the famous biremes and triremes of the later Classical period—the battle of Salamis and so on. Sails, I believe, were considerably more limited than in later times.’

‘Yes, it needed the development of the lateen sail—triangular in shape, but more difficult to operate—to allow vessels to sail much closer to the wind,’ commented Damos.

She looked at him, clearly curious now. ‘You know a lot.’

Damos gave a slightly crooked smile. ‘I grew up in Piraeus and went off to sea as soon as I could. Working on merchant ships and crewing on the trophy yachts you so despise. It was the latter experience,’ he said pointedly, ‘that inspired me to be rich enough one day to buy my own yacht.’

‘And now you do,’ she said dryly, sipping at her spritzer.

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.

‘No?’ Kassia looked at him again. ‘Is this only chartered?’

‘No—as in, no, I don’t only own my yacht—or charter it. I own a fleet—both leisure and merchant marine.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That’s your money, is it?’

He smiled. ‘Some of it.’ He nodded along the line of the marina with its moored yachts. ‘At least two of those are mine—chartered. Of course, like your father, my business interests are diverse. Ah!’ He changed his voice, turning his head. ‘Dinner arrives,’ he said.

He held out one of the two chairs set at the table and Kassia sat down before he took his place as well. He exchanged some pleasantries with his crew members, who set down the dishes, placed a wine bottle in the chiller on the table, and discreetly retired.

‘Do you eat seafood?’ he enquired politely. ‘If not, there is a vegetarian alternative.’

‘No, that’s fine,’ came the answer.

She started to help herself from the central platter, piled high with prawns, calamari and shellfish, and Damos did likewise, adding leaves and salads to his plate, as did she. She didn’t pick at her food, he noticed. So many of the females he consorted with visibly calorie-counted. Kassia Andrakis didn’t look as though she did—or had any reason to. Despite her loose-fitting clothes, he could see she was definitely slender, not fulsome in her figure.

He eyed her through half-lidded eyes. She might be downplaying her appearance, but her slenderness was appealing, and now that he had more leisure to peruse her across the table, he could see that her face—still without make-up, but no longer flushed and dabbed with dusty soil—was fine-boned. Was that the English side of her? he wondered.

He found himself wanting to see if he’d just imagined that silvery sheen in her eyes when she’d enthused about her work. His half-lidded eyes moved their focus, and he also found that he wanted to know what she might look like with her hair loosed from its confining, studious knot.

What she might look like without any clothes at all...

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