Dawn, rose-tinted and most welcome, came to him at last, bringing with her a cooling breeze. He imagined her guiding his tiny boat towards landfall, towards sanctuary, rest and solitude. Indeed, he could almost hear her whispering these honeyed promises into his ear, and he fondly hoped that the coastline before him would offer a chance to escape the vicissitudes of fate.

The good southerly breeze filled the sails and freshened as he neared the shore. It made him almost forget the tortures that the tyrannous July sun had inflicted upon him in the days since leaving Antalya. He carefully scanned the horizon to the east and to the west, straining his eyes, young and sharp though they were. The moods and byways of the Aegean Sea were well known to him but this stretch of water between the Turkish coast and the island of Tigani had, until three days ago, been only a vague and laconic piece of hearsay, bought from a pair of old fishermen and paid for with ouzo and hashish.

“Oh yes,” they’d said, “Nobody lives there, only owls, porcupines and tortoises. You can live like St John in a cave on the crag and compose the Apocalypse!”

Their raucous laughter had only been punctuated by further gulps of ouzo. He had left them drunk and, in a stupor, floating on a sea of hashish induced oblivion. Old fishermen, disreputable and despised even in Antalya, their native town, but men who none the less reminded him of his father. Now, with his mind’s eye, he saw his father again on the bustling quayside in far off Constantinople, his hands stained with squid ink, mending his nets and singing in his gruff, tuneless voice, trying yet failing to forget his wayward, errant son.

On the eve of his departure Antalya had been humming with the news of the death of the Queen of England, the almost mythical Victoria Regina Imperatrix. Her replacement was to be her son Edward, a fat, lecherous, libertine of almost sixty. Or so the rumours said. He smiled slyly as he thought of it.

I bet his family too is filled with secret shame.

Then, as he was about to board his boat, he heard someone behind him calling his name. It was a young voice, so it caused him no immediate alarm. Turning, he saw ruddy cheeks and wide eyes full of alarm. They belonged to a face framed by unruly black curls and a barely sprouting beard.

“What is it Vassili?”

Vassili’s voice now turned to an urgent whisper.

“He knows Ari! Hadjiyiannaki has found out! He and his men are after you.”

“Don’t you think I know that! Forget you ever saw me; forget you ever knew me.”

“But where are you going Ari?”

“Never mind.”

“Just tell me so I can at least write to your father, he’ll get sick with worry.”

“I’m going to London for the coronation of King Edward, ok!”

“Ari. For God’s sake.”

He turned towards the boat and without looking back, he said,

“Tigani.”

With that, he jumped in and quickly took up the oars. Within two hours, Vassili’s angelic face had faded and, in the glow of dusk, the coast of Turkey became a fine terracotta strip above the lapis-blue of the Aegean. Two days later, navigating by the stars to escape the excruciating daytime heat, he sighted the quiet wooded coastline of Tigani Island.

The first thing he noted about the beach was the fine grey sand. He would be able to find cockles in that sand and fish with them. On either side, some twenty feet away, red and purple rocks formed steep cliffs ending in half-submerged boulders – a haven for octopus, urchins and crayfish. The beach showed no signs of habitation - no evidence of fires and a good supply of sizable driftwood to burn.

Beyond the beach, a dense tree line obscured the margins of some ruined building with what seemed to be a well in an overgrown courtyard before it. Of the trees, wild pines of every type predominated but around the ruin he saw huge, unruly mulberries, a line of almond and pear, along with a mature fig tree – all long untended. Tangled blackberry vines grew almost to the sand and, as he walked cautiously towards the ruin, he noticed a briar rose trailing up its walls and over what once had been the main doorway.

He shook his head in amazement at all he saw and even breathed a brief prayer of thanks. Maybe sanctuary was indeed to be found here, at least for a time.

Later that day, he pulled the boat up onto the beach and hid it as best he could with branches of driftwood. He then ate a simple meal from amongst the few stores he carried in the boat. An hour or two later he shed the light, second-hand clothes he had bought in Antalya and swam naked in the sea. The touch of the cool water was exhilarating after days spent at the mercy of the blistering July sun, so he took his time, diving, floating on his back and washing the dust and grime from his tanned limbs.

Still, he was ever vigilant and would often scan the sea’s horizon and the cool green of the coastal woods before him for any signs of human activity. Hours passed and only noontide silence greeted him.

~

Late in the afternoon, he made a thorough inspection of the well and found to his surprise that its rope and bucket were in good repair, a stark contrast to the rest of the ruinous house. He raised a little water and peered at it cautiously. It was clear and smelled of nothing at all, so he took a tentative sip, swirled the water around in his mouth and spat it out. He then raised a full bucket-load and washed the sea’s salt from his body. Looking out to sea again, a thought came to him,

Maybe passing fishermen do stop here from time to time and use this well. I must be careful…

But he returned to bathing with the reassuring knowledge that he had a reliable supply of fresh water for the duration of his exile upon the island, for indeed it was an exile, and he told himself that the sooner he came to terms with that, the happier he would be. Momentarily, his attention shifted to the house and to the deep woods beyond it but the sudden attainment of this treasure—water that would keep him alive, dominated his mind.

Had he paid closer attention to the shadows amongst the pines, he might have noticed a pair of dark eyes watching him. Their owner had watched him swim amongst the waves and now as she watched him bathe, she found her heart beating faster and her breath deepening. A frisson passed over her skin more than once as she struggled to remain still and silent. By the time the young man walked down to the beach to retrieve his clothes, she had turned and started for home, all the while feeling the unmistakable stirrings of desire.

~

At dawn the next day, Ari laboriously hauled the boat up past the tree line and hid it against one of the sturdier outer walls of the house. He then lit a fire in what had been a hearth inside the front room. He ate the remainder of his stores. Meagre though they were - stale bread, hard cheese and dried figs, he was grateful for them but soon his mind turned to fishing – a pleasant task for him, best done before the sun got any hotter.

The beach sand was well stocked with cockles and he even found some of the larger, palm-sized, white shellfish that he knew well from the fish markets of Constantinople. These he immediately cracked open and devoured their savoury flesh with gusto. In the next two hours he had caught eight sizable red mullet – a particular favourite of his and he would have fished on had not his father’s voice chimed into his head, reminding him to catch only what he could use.

As he reeled in the line, the breeze picked up and he once again surveyed the wide horizon for any sign of something amiss. The tide was still low, and the temperature had risen noticeably. He had no way of telling what time it was apart from the relative position of the sun, but he guessed he might have time for a swim before heading back to the house with his catch.

So, he set his rods, bait and the bag of fish down on the sand then shed his clothes. Tanned as he usually was in summer, the sun posed no immediate annoyance but, as he swam, he found himself thinking more and more of the well’s cool, sweet water. One last, long dive and he surfaced and turned towards the beach. To his utter astonishment, he saw a woman wading in the water towards him.

His first instinct was to hide his nakedness but fearing that she may not be alone, he quickly checked the beach behind her with wide, fearful eyes. He then dropped down into the water and waited while she approached, steadily and with evident confidence. She stopped about five feet away and looked at him sardonically.

She was roughly the same age as he was, in her mid-twenties, tall, slim and lithe. Her deep tan testified to an outdoor life and her toned arms, to one of honest labour. Masses of black hair cascaded down to below her shoulders, a sharp chin and black arched brows framed a face such as he has seen painted on the sides of Attic vases from the time of Perikles.

She wore a long black skirt and a loose, brilliantly white shirt, which none the less looked much mended. She crossed her arms and looked down at him. The sardonic look did not fade from her onyx eyes. Then she asked,

“Turkos?”

“Oxi. Ellinas.”

Then, after a long pause, she replied, “Kai ego.”

She took a few steps closer and glanced down from his sculpted chest, and pebble hard abdominals to his cock - a mere few inches below the water.

“Modest, aren’t you?”

“I have been called that and humble.”

“Spare me your life’s story. What are you doing here?”

“I’m a fisherman. I thought this island was uninhabited.”

“It is…as far as you’re concerned.”

“I see.”

“Do you plan on staying here long.”

“I don’t know. I think I like the place, it’s beautiful.”

“I’m Artemisia.”

“Aristides.”

“Oh, too formal. I’ll call you Ari.”

“… then I’ll call you Sia. Do you live here?”

She didn’t reply but turned and waded slowly towards the shore. Just as he had begun to follow her, she glanced back over her shoulder and asked,

“What’s for lunch?”

~

Sia didn’t seem at all surprized that Ari had moved into the ruined house and made himself at home. She said as much after they had cleaned the fish and were building a fire. His response was simply to shrug his shoulders and repeat that he thought the island uninhabited. She laughed quietly then produced bread, cucumber and tomatoes from a bag that she had earlier hung by the door.

“Oh, so you just let yourself in?” he said with mock annoyance.

“Ah! I thought this house was uninhabited.”

She looked at him with similar feigned irritation, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side. At that instant he was seized by the urge to kiss her and maybe she knew it, so she turned to tend the fire. They soon dined on delicious, charcoal-grilled mullet, salted cucumber, olives and tomatoes. The meal did much to revive Ari’s mood and for the first time since his arrival he felt a sense of quietude and peace.

As they sat side by side watching the fire she surprised him by asking,

“Are you hiding from something Ari?”

He then put his hand on her shoulder and whispered,

“No life stories, remember.”

Their lips met, tentatively at first, but once Ari re-opened his eyes to look at her, he saw an eagerness there bordering on hunger, hunger for his lips and for his touch. Their tongues soon mingled, and their hands were not slow to explore the portals of their clothing. Sia discarded her loose, white cotton shirt to reveal perfect, quince-sized breasts with rosebud nipples. He didn’t hesitate to take each one in his hand then into his mouth, teasing and lapping at them and finally biting them gently until she sighed with pleasure. She stripped him of his shirt and pushed him onto the ground on his back, then she mounted him, kissing first his mouth then working her way down his chest to his abdominals. She kissed, licked and bit each one, leaving trails of sweet drool.

When she reached the edge of his cotton shorts, she stopped and slowly began to massage the rapidly growing bulge she found there. He shifted and flattened his legs, looking down at her expectantly.

“Is this what the whores of Constantinople do?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

She laughed and reached in delicately, pulling out a cock already wet at the tip.

“That may be true but, I want you to treat me like those whores of Constantinople.”

At this, rather enigmatic admission he slid out of his shorts. Sia wasted no time taking his already hardened shaft in her supple hand and working it to great effect. He watched her as her mouth descended upon him. A riot of cascading black hair at once hid her lovely face and his loins from view then she rose to admire her handiwork only to dive back upon it again.

Lips, tongue and throat created the most piquant sensations, radiating outward from where her mouth and hand were ministering to his needs, up his spine to delight his every nerve ending. He sat up and ran his fingers through her luxurious hair then reached down to unbutton her long skirt. She rose from her present task, gasping and with hooded eyes. He went to wipe the ropes of saliva from her chin with his fingers, but she stopped him.

“We’re going to make a bigger mess than that before we're done.”

She stood up and wriggled out of the skirt. He wasn’t overly surprised that she wore no underwear, and he took the opportunity to admire her beautiful, svelte form.

“Nymph.”

  But she took no notice. Instead, she threw her hair back before crouching with her pussy a mere inch above his glistening, wet cock. She looked at it with satisfaction as it curved towards her, predatory and adamantine. But he had other ideas. He took her by the shoulder and lay her down on the rough grey blankets that were his bedding. Her body was a feast for the eyes as she lay there looking up at him, her face framed by the aethereal black radiance of her hair.

“Worship me!” she whispered vehemently and parted her legs.

 He needed no further instruction. He spread her lips to reveal her coral pink treasure, a rare and succulent summer fruit dripping with nectar. His lips savoured its tender flesh, and his tongue lapped its ambrosial juices. She bucked her hips and thrust herself harder and harder against his mouth, gripping the back of his head and crying out as lust and longing seized her soul.

Ari now turned his attention to her nub, a place of delicacy and delight with which past experience had well acquainted him. Lapping at it and teasing it with the tip of his tongue, he soon sent Sia into a frenzy of cries and tremors. Her breath deepened to the point where he could look up and see the skin stretch over her ribs and her breasts heave like ships in a gale. She came in cries and exaltations, lauding his skill as a lover.

Allowing her a few minutes respite, he lay next to her, slipping his arm under her neck while with the other he played with her breasts. She ran her strong, supple fingers over his muscles and smiled. Finally grabbing his still wet chin, she pulled his head towards her,

“You are simply wonderful. How did you land on my island?

“Just luck I guess.”

And they kissed again for a long while until she felt the mercury of lust begin to rise again in her heart. She made him stand up against the wall and dropped to her knees. Grabbing his cock by the base she looked up at him with flame in her eyes.

“I’ve been a widow since I was nineteen and I had no idea I craved this so much until you happened to come along.”

But she didn’t wait for a reply. Her tongue and lips attacked his shaft, licking it from the head, along the lower side to his loose, heavy balls which she then singled out for special attention. Ari quickly found himself in a tempest of sensation. His instinct was to thrust into her mouth and was pleased when she welcomed it. His tingling balls started to contract, and he soon found his hips tensing as she devoured his cock with growing abandon. Again, the wonderful silky texture of her hair combined with its opulent abundance was enough to make of her a goddess in his eyes; an idol to be adored, her body; a feast to be savoured.

He let her continue playing with him for a little while longer, then he gripped her by the shoulders and raised her to her feet.

“Outside.”

She smiled and took his hand.

“Is this what Americans call fucking?”

 He led her to the fig tree and sat her down on one of its sturdiest branches. She then lay back, pillowing her head with both arms. Seeing her hair draped over the branch ignited an inferno of lust in him. She raised her knees and spread her legs invitingly. He sank his cock deep into her in one perfectly smooth stroke and she responded by wrapping her legs tightly around his hips. Now he rode her like an unbroken stallion and though she made little noise, he caught glimpses of profound pleasure in her eyes. For the first time in her life, she revelled in the release of passions far greater than any she had hitherto known.

 Ultimately, his thrusting quickened then ceased and she felt his hips tense. With her legs, she pulled him deeper into her body and relished the delivery of his abundant seed.  Here at last, was the longed-for satisfaction of her desires and at that moment, he too felt the rhythmic, primordial power of the ocean zephyr and the thunderous, inexorable will of the storm.

Thus, they became lovers, and their days together were filled with passion, laughter and kinship. When they made love, it was always in the morning and after they had fallen asleep by mid-afternoon Ari would invariably wake up alone. He was grateful for her companionship and her love without asking anything further of her.

~

As July wore on, there occurred a miracle of spontaneous generation. From the seemingly barren sands amongst the driftwood, there emerged white sand lilies - flowers of prodigious size and surpassing beauty. Ari gathered their first blooms and wove for Sia a coronet, leaving the rest to the eager attentions of the gluttonous bumble bees and the far more tender mercies of the brilliantly coloured rose chafers.

When she arrived later that morning, he placed the coronet upon her head, and she wore it with smiles as they walked hand in hand down to the shore. Here they sat to admire the sea and after sharing a long, tender kiss, Sia suddenly looked at him pensively and said, “My husband was a sponge diver. We were only married for two years before he died… and…I too ended up a whore, plying my trade for a year in Constantinople…a year and no more.”

He kissed her again and with such tenderness that she quite forgot the rest of what she wanted to tell him.

“No life stories, ever.”

~

Halfway up the cliff, by the eastern end of the beach, there grew an ancient, stunted pine. Its ash-grey trunk had been twisted into a beautiful, baroque shape by the elements and amid the tree’s few branches, a pair of kestrels had built their nest. Looking up at the birds, Ari was always reminded of a Japanese painting he had once seen in a book, and he often wished that he possessed the materials and the skill to capture the scene in paint.

 One morning towards the end of July, Sia had arrived, and they had made love as usual. They had then walked down to visit the kestrels and were about to share a simple meal in the shade at the base of the cliff. As they sat down Ari noticed a dead rose chafer by Sia’s foot.

“How beautiful he is! It is sad that such beauty shines for only one brief summer then dies and fades. We must build a tomb for him my love, a sepulchre to rival those of the Pharaohs.”

“What a romantic you are Ari. It’s just a beetle.”

“And I suppose you want me to believe that you are just a woman.”

“You called me ‘my love’ a moment ago. I’m happy to be that.”

Later, she kissed him and departed, leaving him to dig a tiny tomb with his hands in the sand at the base of the cliff – a fitting place in which to bury the chafer with all the dignity that its iridescent beauty demanded.

The task occupied him for a considerable time as he carefully stacked stones above the grave to make a pyramid. Suddenly he became aware that three men were standing behind him. He turned and tried to stand but the sun was in his eyes and two of the men had grabbed him by the shoulders. They lifted him roughly and the third man confronted him.

“Aristides Tapeinos?”

When he did not reply the leader punched him hard in the face and one of the others growled,

“Yeah, this is him. He fits the description exactly. Your mate Vassili told us exactly where to find you too, after we persuaded him a little.”

Further punches followed until Ari gasped,

“Look, she was willing, and we were in love. I took precautions, I swear.”

Now the third man spoke,

“Yeah, well they wasn’t good enough precautions was they.”

“…no.”

“Besides,” the leader added, “you’re not what Mr Hadjiyiannakis considers son-in-law material. But here’s a little parting gift from him anyway.”

They threw him to the ground, and each drew a dagger of the finest Damascus steel.

~

On that day each year, for the rest of her life, Sia would light a candle at dawn in the tiny chapel of the Prophet Isaiah, atop the crag of Tigani. It was the most sacred place she knew; an ancient jewel of Byzantine art that had somehow survived centuries of conquest and destruction. There she offered frankincense and prayers and her most earnest pleas for Ari’s salvation.

Late in the afternoon, she would sit by the fig tree where, with the help of her elderly parents, she had buried him. She would cry and watch the sunset, eventually smiling at the frolicking fireflies that always gathered for her there. Then, as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared into the Aegean, she would light a lamp and start for home, but not before leaving upon his grave a crown of lilies.