“Do not speak nonsense, and do not blame others for your own foolishness.”

The truth stung. He had been a complete ass, and it was time to face up to it.

“I have kept things from you,” Andreas continued. “I was trying to protect you, not hurt you. I would never try to hurt you. I do not know this Father Tomas, but I have heard of him. He is well educated and well liked, and has been a liaison between the Greek and American churches. He is also thought to be a swindler, blackmailer, and thief. Not to mention a friend of your godfather. He disappeared with a large amount of church funds within the last few days.”

“So it’s like Father John said, he and Fotis were in it together.” Of course, it could be another lie, but it made sense. There were no coincidences. Everything was connected.

“It seems likely.”

For no logical reason, Matthew’s mind veered away.

“Ana Kessler. Could she be in any danger?”

“I do not see why, her part in the matter is over. Do you have some reason for believing she might be in danger?”

“No, I just…No. I need to speak to her. I misled her. She never knew about Fotis’ involvement.”

“Tell me, why was he involved? Why was there a middleman at all?”

“He arranged it that way. The whole deal was his doing. He must have gone to Zacharios and had him contact the church, so there would be a gloss of truth to the thing. Where is Fotis now, Papou?”

“In Greece. Or on the way.”

“He went today?”

“Very early this morning. For Easter.”

“He never goes this early.”

“This year he decided to spend all of Holy Week. Phillip, his restaurant manager, just told me.”

“He told me a few days ago that he wasn’t leaving until Wednesday.”

“He changed his plans. Yesterday, Phillip said, right after you and your father visited with him.” The old man paused, awaiting some reaction. “Do you know why?”

Matthew tried to keep his body from shaking, his mind focused.

“No idea, but he did seem agitated. I think Dad’s being there made him nervous.”

“Why did you bring your father?”

The shaking grew so intense that Matthew had to clench his jaw to stop it.

“We must get you inside,” said Andreas.

“No, I need the air. I need to talk.”

“Why did you help Fotis?”

“I thought the church should have the icon. Ana wanted it that way, too.”

“But why allow it to pass through his hands?”

“I told you, he arranged that. I guess I could have prevented it, but it seemed so important to him to have it in his hands for a while. You know he’s ill.”

Andreas shook his head. “I wondered, but I did not know for certain.”

“He doesn’t talk about it. Anyway, the icon is supposed to have curative powers. The owners live long lives, the sick are cured by a touch, as if Mary or Jesus himself had touched them.” He looked the old man in the eye again. “But you know all that.”

Andreas grimaced. “Poor old fool.” Then his expression changed, and Matthew knew what was coming. His grandfather stepped closer and placed a strong hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Is that why you went there with your father?”

Matthew did not answer.

“There is no judgment here,” Andreas continued, gently, shaking the shoulder now. “This is a piece of the puzzle. Do you believe in these things?”

“Of course not,” he said weakly.

The old man stared at him a moment longer, released him, and walked a few steps away.

“And I call him the fool. Your helping him made no sense to me. Now I see. It was not for Fotis’, not for yourself, even.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No. It was a missing piece, the piece that fits the others together. It was in front of me and I did not see it. There is no shame, my boy, or the shame is mine.”

“Why do you think he left so suddenly?”

Andreas scanned the street as he considered the question.

“Possibly so that he would not be here when the action unfolded.”

“What do you mean? That he knew someone was going to rob him?”

“Not just knew. Planned it himself.”

“He stole the icon from himself? Why?”

“I am not saying he did, but there are many reasons, if you would consider the chain of events. How could he keep it when he was only supposed to be the middleman?”

“And you think he had Nicholas shot?”

“It cannot be ruled out. Or perhaps his scheming collided with someone else’s.”

“What else do you know that you’re not telling me?”

“In time, Matthew. I do not even know these things, I only surmise them. I realize that you mistrust me, and that I am to blame for that. It will take time to rebuild that trust. Just as understanding will take time.”

The shaking in Matthew’s limbs was diminishing, and with it the shock and confusion, replaced by something else. A cool resolve. Trust. It would be a long time indeed before he trusted again, and that was not a bad thing. He needed to stop answering so many questions and start asking a few himself. He needed to clean up this mess he’d made.

“Fotis told me some things.”

“I am sure that he told you many things. Some may even be true.”

“He told me you killed a priest.”

Andreas appeared perplexed by this.

“During the war,” Matthew coaxed, heart pounding. “He told me you were called the Snake, and that you killed a priest to get the icon.”

The old man’s face became an angry mask as understanding slowly sunk in. The transformation was so extreme that Matthew became alarmed, but he held his ground.

“Oh, he wants this thing badly,” Andreas whispered. “He must want it very badly indeed to tell you such a story.”

“Then it’s not true.”

“The priest’s death is on my conscience, and always will be. But I did not kill him.”

“And why should I believe that?”

The old man eyed him carefully. “He was my brother.”

“Your brother.”

“The Snake,” Andreas continued, the hard look slowly passing from his face, the hard edge from his words, “was what we all called Fotis, behind his back.”

Everything was turned around again. “And what did they call you?”

“My name, in those days, was Elias.”

PART TWO

EPIROS, 1944

The crypt beneath the church was many years older than the structure above, and housed the bones of countless village ancestors. Some old men claimed to know which shelf of skulls, shards, and powder belonged to which family, but most agreed that such arrangements had become confused generations ago, and the bones went wherever they fit. During times of persecution the crypt had been a sanctuary for prayer, and a refuge for wanted men, it was said; but the same claim was made for every crypt, cave, and cellar in the region. More recently, the dank, tangled passages of the ossuary had become a place to avoid for anyone who had sampled even a taste of his own mortality, but they continued to hold a fascination for the young.

As a boy, Andreas had shown no interest in the church, but the crypt was another matter. He would take whichever brave souls who would accompany him, even his gloomy half brother, on after-dark tours of the chamber, scaring the other boys senseless with made-up tales. Mikalis, bred on his mother’s grisly Bible stories, scared least easily. Decades later, Andreas could still call forth the image of his runtish sibling, at the edge of the lantern’s light, staring transfixed at a broken skull in a dark crevice. A disturbing memory. It would take until Mikalis went to the seminary for Andreas to understand what he had seen in his nine-year-old brother’s face: not ghoulishness, but reverence.

A shot sounded nearby, a German Mauser, and the captain crouched among the spindly trees behind his cousin Glykeria’s house. Were more andartes about; the communists perhaps? More likely a soldier’s nervousness. A dangerous thing. All it would take was one frightened eighteen-year-old Austrian conscript to shoot a villager, and the whole company would empty their rifles at anything that moved. By morning the place would be a smoking ruin, women and children dead in the streets, another Koméno or Klisoúra. Andreas, who now went by the name Elias, would have to prevent that, but first he must get to the crypt. It was the most likely route of escape from the burning church.