The Silver Stain

‘Of course I felt bad!’ the old man said, slapping the balcony rail. ‘I lost relatives and friends — comrades. .’ His voice failed.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

Barba-Yannis drew his forearm across his eyes. ‘No, my child, it is good to remember the past. The younger generations do not like to — they prefer to make money rather than honour our sacrifices. Besides, there is no benefit in hating. The German soldiers paid a heavy price too.’

‘One of them even put back a lot into the local economy.’

‘You mean Rudolf Kersten? Yes, he is greatly admired.’

Mavros caught a hint of disapproval. ‘But?’

The old Cretan rubbed his thinning hair. ‘But some people say he took part in one of the massacres. Even though he denies it, I’ve never been able to see him as the repentant do-gooder most people do.’

‘Makrymari,’ Mavros said, in a low voice.

‘You’ve been doing your homework, my boy,’ Barba-Yannis said, nodding in approval.

‘I’m trying,’ Mavros smiled. ‘I hear there was a Jewish population in Chania.’

‘Ach, the Jews. They kept themselves to themselves, but we didn’t mind them.’ The old man lowered his head. ‘You can imagine what happened to them.’

‘Sent to the camps?’ Mavros said, aware that many thousands of mainland Greek Jews had been gassed.

‘Worse. They were loaded on a ship in Iraklio with Italian soldiers who had surrendered. For years, it was thought that the Germans had sunk it themselves, but not long ago I heard it was torpedoed by a British submarine. No survivors.’

A chill ran through Mavros. War really was hell, not only because of the slaughter of combatants and non- combatants, but because of the ghastly twists of fate leading to ‘accidents’ that destroyed the lives of countless families — including those left to mourn.

He roused himself. Barba-Yannis was a potentially useful source about resistance activities.

‘Did you know an EAM man called Kanellos?’

‘Did I know Kanellos?’ the old man asked, with a gap-toothed smile.

‘Kanellos was that rare thing — a hero who cared about other people. After the first days of the invasion, he swore he would never fire a gun again.’

‘What happened?’

‘I wasn’t here — I’d been sent with a message to the EAM commander in Rethymno the day before the landings started and got caught up in the fighting there. But what we heard was that Kanellos was in the killing grounds outside the city with a band of fighters. They slaughtered the paratroopers with knives when they landed and then took their own weapons to fire on them. I still don’t understand how the airfield at Maleme was lost. The British generals were fools.’

Barba-Yannis emptied his water glass, and Mavros passed his across.

‘Thank you, my son. And then Kanellos was at the village of Galatsi. Almost all his men had been killed. The British — well, most of the fighting men were those big New Zealanders — decided to charge the Germans up the main street, with a couple of tin-can tanks at the front.’

Waggoner, Mavros thought. There was mention of his role in the battle on the Internet sites he’d trawled and in extracts from his books.

‘Kanellos realized from the start that it was a suicide mission, because the Germans had landed thousands of men by then. He tried to talk the gendarmes and the local citizens out of taking part, saying their efforts and their lives would be much more valuable in the future.’ The old Cretan blinked away tears. ‘He was right about that. The initial charge was a success, but within an hour they had all been cut down by Germans on the higher ground. Apart from a few wounded British at the rear, there were hardly any survivors. It was a tragedy and it is to Kanellos’s honour that he tried to avert it.’

‘Presumably Kanellos wasn’t his real name,’ Mavros said, his voice unsteady.

‘Of course not. The senior men all used aliases, even before the war.’

Mavros nodded. ‘And after that? Kanellos stayed throughout the occupation?’

‘Till the German surrender in Chania.’

Mavros looked across the space to the flat opposite, trying to keep calm. An old woman in a nightgown was playing listlessly with an overweight cat.

‘Did you ever hear of a hoard of silver that was found in a cave up in the mountains?’

Barba-Yannis gave him a sharp look. ‘How do you know about that, Mr Alex?’

Mavros gave him a shortened version of the story in Waggoner’s memoir.

‘Kanellos betrayed them?’ the old man said, his voice breaking. ‘Ridiculous. He would never have done a thing like that. He worked by persuasion, not betrayal. Some of those British agents were madmen,’ he continued. ‘Lambis — Waggoner — was one of the worst. He used to come down from the mountains and shoot Germans with the andartes. There were many reprisals.’

‘I thought the Cretans generally were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to get rid of the Germans?’

Barba-Yannis looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You know, that’s the kind of bravado the mountain men still come out with. Of course, people were prepared to die for the cause of freedom. But not everyone agreed with old men and boys being put against a wall. That was Kanellos’s message: no sabotage unless it was a major target — most of those were so well guarded that you couldn’t get near them — and no civilian lives to be put at risk. Some of the British — Waggoner, especially — had different priorities.’

Mavros looked down. ‘Kanellos — describe him, will you?’

‘Medium height, thick black hair brushed back from his forehead, a hooked nose and a thick moustache.’ The old man raised a hand. ‘But most striking of all were his eyes — they were dark-blue and penetrating. You felt they could see all the way inside your soul. He was a wonderful man. I never saw him again after he left the island.’

Mavros’s phone chirruped. There was a message from the Fat Man asking him to call urgently. Mavros didn’t need to. He already knew Kanellos’s real name.

FOURTEEN

After the old caretaker had gone, Mavros called the Fat Man.

‘Kanellos was my father,’ he said, without any preamble.

‘How the hell did you. .’ Yiorgos broke off. ‘Oh, I get it. You do the work and get me to confirm it. That’s typ-’

‘Shut up!’ Mavros yelled. ‘Have you. . have you any idea what this means to me? I hardly knew my father before he died, none of us knew anything about what he did in the war. . or did you, Yiorgo?’

‘I swear on my mother’s grave I didn’t, Alex.’ The Fat Man’s tone was sombre now. ‘You know what the Party’s like about past operations. I only got a steer on Kanellos because someone owed me a very big favour.’

Mavros sat back in the armchair by the phone, his heart rate gradually slowing. He had been speaking to a man who had worked with his father, who had seen him when he was in his prime and who admired him. It was as if a familiar ghost that always kept its distance had suddenly come up behind him and whispered in his ear. The problem was, he couldn’t understand the words.

‘Alex? Are you all right?’

‘What do you think? My mind’s doing a passable imitation of a washing machine on spin cycle.’

‘What? Oh, I see. Look, I can try to find out more if you-’

‘Not now, Yiorgo. I’ve got enough to think about. I should really phone my mother, but that’ll have to wait. I need to talk to her in person.’

‘It isn’t bad news, Alex. From what I heard, Spyros did great work for the movement, like he did before and after the war. Your father was a hero, I’ve always told you that.’

‘A hero I didn’t know,’ Mavros muttered, ‘like my brother.’

‘Well, it seems you know him better now. Isn’t that a good thing?’