EYE OF THE HYDRA (complete)

CHAPTER SIX

The fiercely blazing sun almost burned my skin when I stepped to the jetty, but fortunately the wind drifted pleasantly cool air from the sea towards me. Voices of tourists made the harbour loud, where saddled donkeys lined up behind each other waiting for passengers. Except those with attached bags to their back, led by their masters. I watched an animal with amazement because a fridge was tied to its back and four man had to keep it in balance, as they unloaded a boat.

After all it wasn't a big surprise because I read that most of the vehicles are prohibited in the island, which remained intact from modern architecture also. The image of the port was still characterized by the gray houses of old captains. This created quite an idyllic atmosphere.

I immediately noticed the fortress and its black guns, pointing at the sea. Hydra was a significant sea power once and played a major part in the struggle for independence of the Greeks against the Turks in 1821. The memories of this event can be found still in the Museum, located in the port. At least that's what I peeled off from what I read on the Internet.

Besides the fortress, the windmills and white stone built houses also caught my eyes. For a short time I had to think where to start, then I asked about the old Pavlis from the master of a waiting donkey. Fortunately, the man spoke English and willingly explained where I could find the one I was looking for.

My way led through the stone-paved narrow alleys which rose steeply upward. Sometimes the winding streets proved to be so narrow, that at one point I was forced to lean against the wall to allow a tourist group to pass by. Finally, I managed to reach the end of the alley from where I could enjoy a magnificent view over the town and its harbour. The mountains - rising over the city - looked down to the teeming mass of people, like ancient giants, fading into the mist of the past.

Slowly I left behind the buildings and headed to the dirt road, which led to the home of Giannis Pavlis. Dry bushes and grass lined the path where I proceeded. The barren island showed its romantic but also poorly face. No wonder that people was living off fishing and tourism on these lands. From the distance a ringing sound of bells reached my ears, and I saw a little church shining in the sun on a hilltop.

The stone house of old Pavlis sat in the shadow of a cypress tree, surrounded by rocks. Gray peaks stretched in the background. The owner of the house was sitting on a bench, leaning on his walking stick and talking to his grazing donkey, but the animal didn't react to his words. Pavlis was wearing a beret and a plaid shirt. He greeted me with a polite smile when I appeared in front of him. Vividly shining eyes were sitting in his wrinkled face.

"Mr. Pavlis?"

"Yes it's me. What can I do for you?" He asked in his throaty but strong voice.

I introduced myself and asked if he remembered his old friend, François Sicard. As I mentioned the name of the painter, he immediately became suspicious and frowning, stared at me.

"Why do you want to know, Mr. Wyatt? François has been dead for years."

"I am aware of that. As with the fact, that his last painting which wasn't destroyed in the fire, is probably in your property. Otherwise... it wasn't me who figured this out but the son of François: Luc, who was probably killed just like his daughter, Jennifer. Someone drowned her in cold blood before my eyes. I couldn't save her. Somebody wants to get a hold of the picture at any price, Mr. Pavlis."

The old man stared grimly in front of him for several minutes. Finally, he sighed and stood up.

"Come inside the house, Mr. Wyatt! Let's discuss this matter next to a glass of wine."

So I stepped into the cool building where we sat in the kitchen and my host poured my glass. The sweet taste of the silky wine caressed my throat.

"I have to tell you bad news, Mr. Wyatt. The painting is no longer in my possession."

"How so?"

"I kept it safe for a long time. François requested it. You know... he became very paranoid before his death. He thought someone would make an attempt on his life, but eventually the end came to him through his own fault. He became like this after creating that picture."

"What does the painting depict?"

"The battle of Heracles and the Hydra. The hero is about to burn out the wound on a neck of the monster with a torch. Quite an interesting work because in the background you can see the port of the island at night. On the jetty two or three people are standing. In the water below, a boat can be found. I never understood the essence of the composition."

"Sounds odd, that's for sure. Did you sell it?"

"An antique dealer from Nafplio bought it. A particular man called... Manolis Leventis. He often visited the island those days and became friends with François. A German guy was with him, but I saw him only twice. I can't remember his name. He was dealing with antiquities too, legally of course."

"I see. Do you think, Mr. Leventis is still alive?"

"No. However, his grandson inherited the business. Petros is his name. At least that's what I heard. If you check a phone book, I'm sure you will find him."

"Well... thank you for the help and the wine!" I stood up to leave, shaking hands with the old man. "Wish you all the best, Mr. Pavlis!"

"Good luck, Mr. Wyatt! God bless you!"

I leisurely walked back on the path. Two hours were left till the ship's departure, so I decided to call Miss Tanakis, who was visiting the fortress at this moment. She asked to meet me there. I agreed and put my steps on pace.