Eurymedon

By Gavin Rudgley

Tom Banks and his father, Alistair, leave England to cruise the Mediterranean on their yacht, Genie, to experience history first hand. In Malta, they meet Helena, a librarian with a deep interest in ancient history and together, they travel to Sicily.

There, Helena relates the tale of the battle of Syracuse, a turning point in the Peloponnesian War. Tom questions the story related by Helena so they seek out a historian, a rich recluse living at a remote villa in the Sicilian countryside with his two servants, to resolve the matter.

No sooner than having made Doctor Porcini's acquaintance, they find themselves embroiled in the theft of an ancient and valuable relic, Eurymedon's jewel encrusted sword. Matters take a turn for the worse when Alistair unexpectedly encounters the gang.

Presumed guilty by the police and Doctor Porcini, and with his father missing, Tom is forced to go on the run with Helena and face up to the criminal mastermind in order to rescue Alistair and prove their innocence. A chase that takes them back to Malta and a final dramatic encounter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gavin Rudgley
• Release date: Mar 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465978189

Gavin Rudgley

The son of a joiner, Gavin Rudgley was born in Southampton in the United Kingdom. At school, he became a keen canoeist competing in slalom and canoe polo events at home and abroad. He followed this interest in maritime matters into his professional life and is now a naval architect employed by the UK government, being involved in the design, construction and maintenance of many ships of the Royal Navy. He is married to Denise with whom he has twins, Jack and Sorcha. His writings are dedicated to his family.

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Eurymedon

by Gavin Rudgley

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Gavin Rudgley

Discover other titles by Gavin Rudgley at http://www.Smashwords.com

~~~~~~

Tom Banks and his father, Alistair, leave England to cruise the Mediterranean on their yacht, Genie, to experience history first hand. In Malta, they meet Helena, a librarian with a deep interest in ancient history and together, they travel to Sicily.

There, Helena relates the tale of the battle of Syracuse, a turning point in the Peloponnesian War. Tom questions the story related by Helena so they seek out a historian, a rich recluse living at a remote villa in the Sicilian countryside with his two servants, to resolve the matter.

No sooner than having made Doctor Porcini's acquaintance, they find themselves embroiled in the theft of an ancient and valuable relic, Eurymedon's jewel encrusted sword. Matters take a turn for the worse when Alistair unexpectedly encounters the gang.

Presumed guilty by the police and Doctor Porcini, and with his father missing, Tom is forced to go on the run with Helena and face up to the criminal mastermind in order to rescue Alistair and prove their innocence. A chase that takes them back to Malta and a final dramatic encounter.

~~~~~~

Chapter 1 The Cavern

Tom had been in the cold water for too long. Physical movement would have made it bearable, but the risk of making a noise put this out of the question. He was not alone.

The cavern was immense. The water that seeped through from the cliff top had, over a millennium, slowly eroded the rock to create a natural dome. High above the surface of the water, a small opening led from this isolated realm to civilization above. A pinhole in an otherwise continuous canvas. Tom was reminded of the Pantheon in Rome, created by human hands thousands of years ago. The Pantheon had made a real impact on him during their last family holiday. An unassuming entrance surrounded by narrow streets and inside, a cool foreboding atmosphere. This natural cousin was bestowed with the same powerful ambience. When he had first surfaced, gasping for air after the long swim through the submerged passage from the sea outside, his immediate impression had been that he had reached a long lost place of worship, albeit the marble floor was replaced with the salty water of the Mediterranean.

Hours later, clinging to his rock like a limpet, he had grown familiar with his surroundings, almost feeling that the cavern was alive with conscious thought, and that it was on his side against these other invaders. Tom realised how foolish this was. The cavern could offer him no protection other than concealment. The beam of light that swept the rocks and water like a lighthouse might seem innocent enough, but it was being held by a vicious thug, alert to any sound or movement out of the ordinary. Having seen what this gang was capable of, Tom had no desire to be caught.

Behind him, Tom could just make out the shapes of the other men going about their work methodically and with clear intent. Above the sound of lapping water, he could hear the rope rhythmically creaking under the strain of a heavy load.

Switching his attention between the figure with the light and his fellow workers, he almost missed the faint noise of the surface of the water being broken as the focus of their attention rose up from the depths.

Tom could not wait much longer. He had to decide to remain alone until all was clear, or to risk moving closer to confirm their suspicions. If he did manage to get closer, he might even get the evidence they so much needed. But movement in this confined space greatly increased the risk of being detected.

If he stayed put, he would eventually succumb to the cold or be spotted in the faint grey light of dawn that had begun to penetrate the cavern. There was also the chance that the others on Genie would fail in their mission, which would then lead to a search for him. So why was the watcher sweeping his beam over the interior of the cavern? Had they already found Genie? Did they know he was here?

Tom was not accustomed to such dilemmas. He did mathematics and English literature, not covert operations. His recent adventures aside that is. Sure, he had not hung back at school from joining in the antics of his peers. Fooling the teachers had become a popular sport and it was only the threat of being excluded from his exams and having to face his mother's anger that kept him on the straight and narrow. The result, a full hand of grade A passes which pleased his parents no end. Here, such mundane trivia seemed utterly irrelevant. Here, he was caught up in a game that had much higher stakes than exam results. One thing was sure, the sooner he was out of here, the better.

As he deliberated over the best course of action, the gang continued about their business. The object that he was here to see was raised up well above the water. The men were obvious captivated. It could now be seen lit up by the array of spotlights that had been set up. Even the light that had previously been sweeping the interior of the cavern was now directed on the ancient relic.

Suddenly, Tom's fingers slipped. The cold was getting to be too much and he could no longer feel the rough surface of his paltry hiding place, his lone rock that pierced the water surface towards the back of this underground tomb. He thought his movement had gone undetected but he was quickly proved wrong as the watcher's light immediately swung back in his direction. Tom cursed silently to himself. Then, all the men stopped their work and for a second the silence was absolute.

What's wrong? one asked.

Nothing answered the man with the torch. Get on with it.

The workers turned back to the business in hand and, once again, the light started its searching sweep. As Tom watched, the object was slowly raised high enough to be carefully swung over the raft.

It was now or never. As the watcher had turned his attention from the interior of the cavern to the men by the winch, Tom made his move.

Quietly, he part drifted, part swam to an outcrop that was no more than a few metres from the men. The coldness now worked in his favour for even if he had wanted to make a sudden movement, he would not have been able to. The distance he had to cover was a matter of metres, but having squatted in silence for hours, the short swim seemed much longer. Tom had once swum from one side of the Thames to the other, some charity event arranged by the school. It had been hard work, Tom remembered, made worse by the tide. Compared to the cavern though, it had been dead easy.

Reaching his target, Tom was able to bring his legs up to perch on a submerged ledge. Now, quietly reaching down, he lifted up the camera. To his amazement, the black insulation tape was still in place over the flash. In the semi-darkness, the flash would have announced his presence. The tape was far from ideal, but he was relieved that they had recognised the obvious risk of detection and had the imagination to solve the problem before he had left Genie in his rush to get into the cavern before the men.

The ancient warrior shield, for that was what the men were lifting, could now be clearly seen gently swinging over the raft and was about to begin its descent. Tom brought the camera to his eye.

Dangerously close to the armed gang, trapped in a cavern with only one way out, numb and immobile from the cold, Tom pressed the button and the shutter clicked.

~~~~~~

Chapter 2 The Journey Begins

As the sun gracefully descended to meet the horizon, Alistair looked west from Genie out across the expanse of the Mediterranean, unusually empty of shipping. In the warmth of the day, the horizon curved up to meet the descending ball of fire in the sky. As sunset approached, the sea glowed warm in the dying light.

It was in moments like these that Alistair was able to truly forget his troubles. This time though, he chose to remember, for what had been memories of sadness had become in recent days and weeks, the passing of a splendid life and the prospect of another. The misery had gone, replaced by happy recollections, titbits of warmth and happiness that lead, step by step, to where he now found himself; drifting across the ocean without a worry in the world. Well, not many, that is. There was Tom who had gone below. He was a worry in himself.

Thinking back, he counted the days since they had left. It had taken no more than a few months to prepare Genie and sort out their affairs for a long period of absence. And it had taken only a day to construct and submit his letter of resignation to that august city institution that made it clear that those on its pay roll were a privileged and select few. He had no complaints though. They had paid well, extremely well in fact, and had been almost unnecessarily accommodating in the weeks following Jeanette's accident.

Get away, take a break, they had said. He had taken this suggestion to heart, but he doubted whether they had meant take a break in the permanent sense. He was too good at his job, as the six figure bonuses he had received over the years demonstrated. He hadn't needed to do the maths to know that he could live comfortably without working.

And there was less to keep him in the UK now as the children were increasingly self-sufficient. Mary was a nurse, currently doing her bit in an orphanage in Kenya. Tom had just finished his final school exams, and had been angling for some time to take what he called a gap year. As the months rolled on and Tom's desire for travel showed no sign of wavering, Alistair had slowly come round to the idea that perhaps he would benefit from a break as well. He had wondered whether Tom's enthusiasm would wane once he realised that his father would be on tow, but to his surprise, Tom was delighted.

Why would I want to spend days locked in a train, having to live out of a rucksack, when I could have absolute freedom of travel in a yacht? Even if it is with you? he had added with a wicked grin. Sometimes, his son was a little too quick with the wit.

Then when Mary had thrown her weight behind the scheme, even offering to come back to London for a while to mind the house, that was it; decision made.

Showing uncharacteristic maturity, Tom's only concern, which Alistair quietly shared, was whether their collective sailing skills were up to it. Genie was a solid ocean going yacht, fully kitted out with the latest in navigation and devices to support single handed operation. She was adequately comfortable for periods at sea, functional but good quality. No, the concern was not the yacht, but the sailors. Alistair, by his own admission, had only been a weekend sailor at best. With the pressures of merchant banking, Genie had become little more than a weekend retreat away from the noise of Chelsea.

Now, over the past few months, Genie had become their life. Alistair leant back, his back to the bulkhead and feet stretched out on the seat, watching the end of the day and recollecting their journey from the Hampshire coast.

They had set out from Gosport in March, intending to head East along the English coastline and then cross the channel to explore the sandy Freisland coastline in Northern Germany before picking up the Rhine and heading south. Tom's mates had caught the train down from London to see them off. There was quite a little group of them, stood out on the breakwater waving their hands and cheering. Alistair had caught a quick glimpse of Tom's face. Tom would miss London more than he. Whereas Alistair and Jeanette had moved about in their early years, they had settled in recent times in Chelsea. For Tom, most of his memories were about London, the school in Kensington, staying with his friends in town and in the country. Angus was his closest friend and hailed from Marlow, his father a consulting surgeon at the Royal Free in Hampstead. Then there was Ben. Ben was closer, at Kingston, which was in cycling distance for young Tom. Initially, Jeanette was nervous of letting their youngster out on the big bad dangerous roads of the capitol. As the months rolled on and Tom made the journey without incident, his wife's nerves were calmed. Tom's confidence had grown as a result and he was quite happy to take the train to Cornwall with his friends to, what was it? Check out the surf? That was it. All told, Tom had become quite the young man, and popular as was made testament by the small crowd of school leavers gathered to see them off.

No girls, though. Tom had never shown much interest in the fairer sex. It wasn't that either Alistair or Jeanette worried about Tom's leaning; it was simply that he didn't show a great deal of enthusiasm for romance. Time would cure that, Alistair was sure.

As their first destination, Freisland had not disappointed. The chain of islands offered numerous channels to explore. They had retraced the fictitious route of the Dulcibella in the Riddle of the Sands, the classic novel that Alistair could just about remember from his youth, and which Tom had just covered in English literature at sixth form college. The atmosphere of intrigue and espionage created by Erskine Childers had permeated their own yacht, Genie. It wasn't until early April when they left the story behind and headed up the Rhine that what lay ahead of them became more of a reality.

The journey inland had not been as exciting as expected. Yes, the scenery along the lower, and then the upper reaches of the Rhine was spectacular with the industrial landscape giving way to rolling tree crested hills merging increasingly with rocky outcrops. This certainly evoked a calmness that helped sedate any anxieties Alistair had about his life changing decision to abandon the city life for one of nautical roaming, but endless green forests was not what he had in mind. So he was inwardly relieved to reach Rheinfeld, some five hundred miles inland on the Swiss-German border where he had arranged for Genie to be lifted out of the Rhine onto a low loader for transportation to their final destination; Nice.

Once in Nice, the people in the marina had eyed them suspiciously. Yachts arriving from England were not rare, but they were when they came overland and were accompanied by owners with little spoken French and a limited knowledge of yachting on the Med.

Monsieur Albert Allamande ran the marina. When they had spoken over the phone, Alistair couldn't be sure whether Albert was actually the owner, or a senior employee. Either way, the Frenchman had taken a shine to Alistair and Tom. Perhaps sensing potential future income, Alistair pondered rather cynically. Regardless of motive, Albert had a pleasant and relaxing manner which left Alistair with a feeling that they were in good hands.

In the heat of the morning sun, the marina was a hive of activity. Yachts and motorboats departed and arrived, crews shifted baggage and provisions along the jetties, decks were being scrubbed, owners and guests sipped drinks, and sun worshippers lay exposed on cabin tops.

Alistair and Tom had been watching the men of the Marina de Mare lifting Genie off the low loader and into the Mediterranean. Alistair tried to feign casual interest despite an inward feeling of nervousness. Their plans for a voyage of exploration would be somewhat curtailed if Genie were to be damaged at this stage. Albert had noticed Alistair grab the railing every time Genie swung close to anything solid, and had come across to meet them.

Don't worry, Pierre has lifted more boats in and out than I would care to count. If he damaged any, he wouldn't be working here anymore.

You're a mind reader then? Tom smiled cheekily to the stranger who had appeared without warning.

To be honest, I wouldn't be able to tell if he was good at his job or not. I'm Alistair Banks, and this is my son, Tom. We're pleased to meet you. Alistair held out his hand to make the acquaintance of the man in the way he knew best.

Albert grasped Alistair's hands with both of his and spoke energetically. Yes, we spoke when you called about getting your yacht into the water. Welcome to Nice. Albert Allamande, manager and owner of the Marina de Mare, and, pausing to clear his throat and stand proud, general assistant to visiting Englishmen. I'm pleased to meet you both, Alistair, Thomas.

Alistair noticed Tom grimace. No one had called his son by his full name for a long time. It's Tom, please. Just Tom. His son's tone was a little harsh, Alistair thought as Albert's eyebrows shot up. Tom realised his words may have come across as a sharp rebuke. Unless you're my old form teacher that is he added with a smile.

Albert grinned and shook Tom vigorously by the shoulder. Tom it is then!

Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. The ice was broken.

Albert turned back to the airborne yacht. She's lovely, truly ocean going. Not like a lot of the floating caravans round here. Some of those sails have never been hoisted. Probably never been out of their covers. You look as though you're a bit more serious. Here for a while?

Alistair took up the invitation to explain. Yes. I have the chance to fulfil a few boyhood dreams, and Tom here is looking to broaden his horizons. So we're here to explore the Mediterranean by yacht.

First time sailing on the Med? Albert had asked. Alistair suspected that Albert had already guessed the answer.

Yes, but we've sailed the Channel and the Baltic. Well, once Alistair thought to himself, on the way here. So the seas here shouldn't be too challenging. It's the local knowledge that we're lacking.

Don't underestimate the Med, it can easily bite you when you're not looking. Better come up to the office then. I have a bottle of local knowledge that is asking to be shared. Are you game? Albert raised both eyebrows briefly, which earned him a nod from both Alistair and Tom.

Don't worry about your yacht, he continued with a wave of his hand. Pierre and the lads will take good care of her.

Alistair and Tom followed Albert as he turned away. Albert was a big man, and looked as though in his prime he could have lifted Genie into the water by himself. Even now, Albert would be a formidable man to come up against.

As they strolled slowly up to the office, they left the shouts and cries, the portable radios and glistening sea behind. In the office, the whir of the air conditioning would have completed the isolation had it not been for the window that ran the full length of the south facing wall giving an unobstructed view of the marina. Genie could now be seen afloat while the men now started to disconnect the cradle. The engine of the low loader revved and became the only sound audible above the air conditioning as the great truck pulled away to start the long journey back to Switzerland.

The popping of a cork brought Alistair back into the room.

My brother's. He doesn't sell any, just makes it for the family. You like French wine?

Alistair thought of his Chelsea cellar with its rows of Spanish Rioja, and replied diplomatically. Certainly; can't beat it.

The wine was poured into tumblers and one handed to Alistair. After a questioning gaze by Albert, and a nod from Alistair, a third tumbler was poured and passed to Tom, who grinned, rarely being allowed alcohol at home.

Bottoms up! That's what you say, isn't it?

In black and white movies. Hollywood has a lot to be blamed for, Alistair replied. Holding up his glass, he responded. Cheers.

Albert gestured for Alistair and Tom to take a seat. Alistair looked round and chose one of the two leather sofas. As he made himself comfortable, he realised that the room was more luxurious than would be expected for a marina office. In addition to the seating, framed paintings hung on the wood panelled walls, filing cabinets were discreetly positioned as if to conceal their true purpose, and a dining table and chairs occupied one end of the room.

Albert noticed Alistair's curiosity.

I used to live in an apartment in the old town that overlooked another block of apartments. One year we had a few minor thefts here in the marina and with the police showing their usual lack of interest, I started to sleep here to keep an eye on the place. I only needed to see the break of dawn over the yachts once; it's beautiful from here. So I decided to move in, convert the room above to a bedroom, and tidy up in here. The city apartment is rented out and we haven't had a theft since.

Alistair admired the view. Albert was right, it was beautiful. I don't blame you. You're in the heart of the city and yet you could be anywhere. Wonderful. As he gazed out at the panorama, Alistair sipped at the wine. The quality caught him off guard. Far from being a connoisseur he still appreciated a good vintage. With the bouquet on this wine, he could almost picture the rows of vines intermingled with sweet lavender.

Excellent, does your brother really not sell any?

Albert chuckled. It's good, isn't it? No, he's won awards but he doesn't sell. I'll let you have a few bottles though. After a moment Albert exploded, I'll put it on your bill!

Alistair must have looked startled by this sudden outburst from the big man. Just kidding, Albert mumbled, regaining his composure. Tom concealed a smirk. So where are you headed?

Relieved that calm was restored, Alistair outlined their plan to sail clockwise around the Mediterranean. At Turkey, we were intending to head up the Bosphorus and work our way into the Black Sea. If that doesn't work out, we'll continue on around to Egypt, along to Libya, Gibraltar and back round to the French coast. To give it a theme, I thought we'd aim to visit as many of the ancient sites as possible. Given the history of the region revolves around maritime trade, ports, harbours, naval engagements and so on, we thought it would be a good idea to use that to give our route a purpose.

Sounds wonderful; what inspired that?

Oh, nothing academic or honourable. To be honest, once I'd handed in my resignation and announced my plan to escape here on a yacht, I was a bit caught out when people started to ask 'why?', and 'to follow the voyages of the ancients' seemed a damned sight better than 'to get away from you lot and grieve in peace.

Dad Tom interjected and looked down to avoid his father's eyes. Alistair cursed himself for the little slip.

Sorry, I should explain. My wife was killed in a road accident. It was out before he could help it. Perhaps that was a sign that it was getting easier, day by day.

No, I'm sorry, Albert replied. Perhaps talking about it will help. In time.

The flow of conversation dried up and an uncomfortable atmosphere settled on the office. It was Albert who finally broke the silence. Where to first, then?

Relieved, Alistair replied. Sicily. Syracuse. Greek and Roman ruins.

Albert stared out of the window, deep in thought. Alistair and Tom looked at each other, wondering what Alistair had said to cause Albert to be so distracted.

After a while, Albert regained his composure. Ignoring Alistair's quizzical expression, he continued. May I make a suggestion? If you don't know the Mediterranean, Sicily may not be a good place to start. Why not Malta? Much more friendly and by coincidence I have a cousin in Valetta. He's a plumber, not a lot of use to you in a yacht. But he'd be able to show you around. You would get used to the Mediterranean way of life before you took on the Sicilians. Great people, once you know them, but perhaps not where you want to start.

Alistair was quietly happy to be offered advice. He hadn't managed to get much positive advice back in the UK, or travelling down through Germany.

And your cousin wouldn't mind?

This amused Albert. Mind? He'd be delighted he declared, throwing open his arms. Show a bit of interest in Maltese history and you'll be in his good book for years!

Alistair looked at Tom, who shrugged, then nodded agreement. What else could they say?

So that was it; decision made. After a couple of days replenishing the stores on Genie, Alistair and Tom were ready to depart. Albert came down to see them off laden with two crates of wine. You'd think I'd forget! Just don't drink it all at once, and if you were just pretending to like it, it's great for cleaning anchor chains!

The first few days of the voyage to Malta were uneventful and the weather kind. Alistair was overwhelmed by the amount and variety of marine life. The fish were one thing with the myriad of colours reflecting the sunlight as they came close to the surface, but then there were the swarms of jellyfish, seals and on occasions, dolphins. When we get to Malta, I'm going to learn to dive Tom declared, recovering his spirit of adventure that had been somewhat subdued of late. I might even join you, Alistair had added, less convincingly.

At the approaches to the strait between Corsica and Sardinia, the weather turned. The wind picked up and the sky closed in. The lightning storm that then ensued forced them to head for the nearest port, Sassari. They didn't go ashore, choosing to stay on board so they could set off early and not delay their arrival at Malta any longer than was necessary.

There was no need for urgency of course, but for Alistair the transition from merchant banker to retired drifter was too great to shake off old habits overnight. He had worked to deadlines, they helped to provide focus, give direction, force decisions; in short, deadlines kept life moving forward and in this respect, they were a healthy antidote to a wasted lethargic life. Alistair saw no reason to sacrifice everything from his past, and retaining a sense of purpose seemed essential. Tom had been brought up in that light with the result that he was always on the go with some scheme or other.

The night was rough. Genie, and the neighbouring yachts who had likewise sought shelter, rocked in the short choppy waves that made their way in through the harbour entrance, white horses lit up by the lights form the shore. At three in the morning, the weather started to improve and slowly, the rattling halyards settled. Sailors and crew alike could now sleep with a degree of peace.

At dawn, Alistair awoke. Opening the hatch revealed a dark sky of impenetrable cloud. The rain had stopped, but the wind remained strong and the clouds raced past the mast head as he looked up. Alistair smiled as the view looking up from the cabin was like looking up from ground level in St Mary Axe at clouds as they raced past the Swiss Ruis building, referred to by Londoner's as the 'gherkin'. The storm was clearly past its worst and although it had hardly been a hurricane, Alistair felt good from having won the minor contest and beaten the elements.

They set off as soon as they could and by midday, the sun had started to work its way out between the clouds. Peace was restored in the heavens. The remainder of the day passed without incident. The now gentle waves lapped against the bow and in the favourable weather, the autopilot easily maintained the course without need to tack. Despite this, Tom took the helm simply for something to do. Alistair spent the hours preparing for an overnight passage, checking everything was closed up tight, their gear stowed away securely and everything else tied down. Should the weather change again, he prudently checked the unused sails and the engine should either be needed.

As dusk approached, Alistair and Tom had settled down to eat their light dinner accompanied by one of Albert's bottles. When they had finished, Tom went below to clear up and discreetly left his father in peace.

The sun set and Alistair reminisced, with a smile. Life was good and getting better all the time.

~~~~~~

Chapter 3 Valetta

The final leg to Malta was straightforward and Tom was able to sail Genie single handed while Alistair had time to finish reading the book on Maltese history he had found in one of the crates of wine. Clever Albert had worked out what made his father tick, thought Tom.

By the time they approached Valetta in the late afternoon, Alistair was able to point out the famous walls and landmarks of the old town as if he had been there a thousand times. Tom, whether he wanted to or not, learnt about the forceful presence of Fort St Elmo on the Sceberras peninsula that looked out to sea to guard the harbours on either side. As his father continued to flick through the book and offer valuable insights into their destination, Tom’s interest sparked into life and he wondered what life had been like to inspire the Knights of St John to construct such an edifice in the 16th century. Behind the walls, Alistair drew his attention to the tall spire next to a prominent dome, both thrusting their way above the sky line.