A Touch of Sin by Susan Johnson

Author:Susan Johnson [Johnson, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2014-08-13T21:00:00+00:00

8

At the same time Trixi and Chris were sailing from Ramsgate, Pasha was coming ashore at Nauplia. The fast corvette from the Duras fleet at Marseille had made record time, news of the Greek defeat at Krommydi having reached him before he sailed. He carried two pieces of mountain artillery, six cannons, six hundred rifles, bayonets, and ammunition; also medical stores and two surgeons who would serve in the small infirmary Pasha funded in the Greek capital. And perhaps most important, he brought sixty thousand dollars in Spanish gold.6

The fortress of Nauplia was filled with troops. Military commands had been distributed with a bountiful hand once the English loans had reached Greece the past year. Every man of any consequence imagined himself at the head of a band of armed men, and hundreds of civilians paraded the streets with trains of kilted followers, like Scottish chieftains. The streets were crowded with thousands of gallant young men in picturesque dress and richly ornamented arms who ought to have been in the field against Ibrahim.

Pasha’s factotum said as much when he greeted Pasha shortly after he’d embarked.

“We’ve quite a display of Fanariots, apothecaries, clerks, and barbers pretending to be soldiers,” he said with a wave of his hand toward the passing parade outside the window of the Duras warehouse, his disgust plain. “The tailors have come flocking from Joannina and Saloniki to get rich.”7

“Are any of those gloriously outfitted coxcombs going to leave town and fight?” Pasha sardonically inquired.

“Not when they can draw pay and rations for phantom troops and walk about with their grooms and pipe-bearers. The bazaars of Tripolitza, Nauplia, Missilonghi, and Athens are filled with gold-embroidered jackets, gilded yataghans—curved swords—and silver-mounted pistols for these opera soldiers.”

“It’s nice to see the London brokers aren’t alone in getting rich from the English loans,” Pasha cynically murmured.8 “A shame Ibrahim brought disciplined troops this time.”

“Trained by your French officers, effendi,” the young Cypriot said.9 “And not to be treated with contempt like the Arabs in the past who would run away at the sight of the armatoli, the Greek warriors. Although President Konduriottis and his Hydriotes haven’t faced that fact yet. A month ago, he was hoisted onto his richly caparisoned Arab mare and, led by six grooms, set off like a conquering generalissimo. Followed by a train of secretaries, guards, pipe-bearers, and advisers, he was saluted with cannon from the ramparts, the fortress above, and the ships in the harbor. Of course he hung over the saddle like a sack of hay because he’s so fat; two of the grooms had to hold him in place. He found the exercise trying. The ride to Tripoli tza took him three days.”

Pasha’s brows rose; the city was only forty miles away. “What of his lieutenants?”

“The doctor Mavrocordatos, you mean, or perhaps Skourti, an old sailor he named lieutenant-general of the Greek army?”

“Jesus. Who the hell’s fighting?”

“Not our president. After a fortnight away from Nauplia, he still hadn’t gone anywhere near the enemy and, repenting of his boldness, he turned back to Nauplia.

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