Sons of Sparta: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery Read Free Page A

much didn’t matter. He just felt relieved that his worries were unfounded.
    Kouros was on his third celebratory shot of whiskey with his cousins when Uncle touched his arm.
    “Yiannis, may I speak with you for a moment?”
    “Sure, Uncle. What is it?”
    “It’s private. Come with me out to the tower.”
    So much for unfounded , thought Kouros.
    ***
    The sun wouldn’t set for another few hours, but Uncle still carried a flashlight. The five-story, effectively windowless tower had been built for war, not comfortable dwelling, and its narrow vertical slits were designed for taking aim at an enemy, not for admitting light.
    As they walked to the tower, Kouros looked west across a rock-strewn patchwork of fields sloping down toward the Ionian Sea and a cove with a tiny beach from which pirate ships once sailed. He wondered what Uncle had on his mind. Family intrigues played as much a part in life here as struggles to survive on land as fertile as chalk. Gray chalk. Even the sea yielded little food here. Nature’s bounty had forgotten this place, blessing it in consolation with magnificent sunsets and quiet solitude.
    Perhaps Uncle was right to lease the property. Tourism just might be God’s plan for this long-suffering land.
    “You never knew my father’s father,” said Uncle, scratching his ear. “He was good at his trade and provided well for his family.”
    “As I recall, he was a pirate,” said Kouros.
    “Yes, but not an ordinary one. He preferred guile to battle. Did you ever hear about his ‘priest routine’?”
    Kouros gave a quick upward nod of his head, the Greek gesture for “no.” “And I’m not sure I want to know.”
    Uncle grinned. “I think you’re old enough to handle this family secret. Your great-grandfather liked to pose as a priest for rich visitors and officers who’d come ashore from ships anchored off the coast. He’d gain their confidence, find out what they desired and, on the pretext of taking them somewhere to satisfy their itch, lure them to where his crew waited to kidnap them all. His men treated him as if he were one of their captives, and he’d convince the real captives to appoint him their intermediary in ransom negotiations between the captors and the victims’ ship. That was his way of pirating a ship without risking the life of his men.”
    Uncle stopped at the door to the tower and looked at Kouros. “Some of the victims even gave him a reward for saving them from ‘cutthroat Mani brigands.’ Yes, your great-grandfather was creative in his business. Successful, too.”
    “Sounds like someone else I’ve heard tell of.”
    Uncle laughed. “I guess you could say I came by my trade honestly. I certainly shared his desire to protect his men as best he could. My way was to insist that they prey only on the outside world, drawing blood if necessary from other Greeks, Albanians, Tsigani , Europeans, North Africans, anyone but fellow Maniots.” He turned to unlock the door. “And therein also lay the greatest difference between us. I abhorred our Mani blood feud history and did whatever I could to prevent that plague from spreading. That’s not to say I haven’t done a lot of very bad things, caused many to lose their lives, and taken some myself, but always outsiders, never Maniots.”
    Uncle paused. “Unless, of course, there wasn’t a choice.”
    Uncle stepped inside and Kouros followed.
    Towers always looked so much roomier from the outside, but their necessarily thick walls drastically reduced their inner dimensions. Though considered larger than most, this tower had less than one hundred square feet of first floor space, and each ascending story was smaller than the one below. The open, west-facing doorway filled the room with light. It was empty except for a freestanding ladder in the southeast corner running up through a trapdoor in the floor above. More ladders ran between the other stories, each capable of being pulled up quickly.
    “Do I sound like