Chapter 23 : The Journey

On a late summer’s day, fragile with the first hint of the approach of autumn, Mark Kerr kissed his wife farewell and boarded the train for Dover. He would travel to Greece alone, become accustomed to the work, find suitable accommodation, and then send for his wife. He occupied himself on the three day trip to Trieste by reading Percy Martin’s recently published survey, Greece in the Twentieth Century. The Admiral was nothing if not conscientious. At Trieste, before completing his journey on the Austrian Lloyd steamer, Kerr decided to use his initiative. Had his mentor been aware, Prince Louis would doubtless have endured a bout of acute anxiety.

                The Admiral left his hotel on the seafront, the Aquila Nera, and walked briskly, following the shore, some distance till he neared the yards of the huge private shipbuilding form, Stabilimento Tecnico. There, clearly visible on the stocks, her great upperworks dwarfing the surrounding sheds, was the new dreadnought Prinz Eugen. Only the previous month her sister ship Tegetthof had been launched to general acclaim and a certain amount of mystification that a country such as Austria-Hungary, with such a limited coastline, should require a massive fleet of dreadnoughts. Kerr had heard the rumours of a secret deal, whereby the ships were being built in Austria, and featured in that country’s quota, but immediately upon the outbreak of war they would break out the German ensign. This was supposedly the price Austria had to pay to obtain German support for her expansionist policy in the Balkans.

                Looking at the massive superstructure and the novel arrangement of superimposed triple turrets Kerr instinctively felt that there was some credence to the rumours. What possible reason could the Austrians have for wanting such a ship? He climbed a small knoll for a better view of the yard, mopped his brow and, concealed by his handkerchief, extracted his Houghton’s “Ticka” pocket camera. Like all naval officers, Kerr was only too well aware of the fate of Lieutenant Brandon and Captain Trench, caught, in 1910, while secretly trying to reconnoitre the North Sea island of Borkum and sentenced to four years’ detention in a German military fortress. On the other hand, he pondered, they were released a year and a half early, had been well treated throughout their captivity, and had been regarded upon their return to London the previous May as heroes. Perhaps this game really was worth the candle, though whether the Austro-Hungarian authorities would react in a similar way was a moot point. But one which Kerr was soon to learn. Before he had had a chance so much as to open the viewfinder on his pocket camera he was brusquely challenged as to his purpose in the area.

                As soon as he announced that he was English the demeanour of the guard softened: ‘Tourist?’ he inquired speculatively.

                ‘Yes, I am on my way to Athens. I have to stop here till the steamer sails on Saturday.’

                The guard nodded. ‘We get many such travellers. I should warn you however that you are approaching the shipyard. It is a forbidden area for foreigners. There are many Italian spies who desire to know what is going on over there.’

                ‘And no English spies?’ inquired Kerr provocatively.

                ‘We have no quarrel with the English. Still, it would not be wise to be found in this area with a camera.’ Kerr was certain the guard knew that he had a camera and what he was attempting to do, and was equally sure that the guard had the wit to differentiate between spies who, he believed, could harm the interests of his country and those who were only doing their duty. It amused Kerr to think that the guard might not have been so lenient had he but known that Kerr was on his way to head the Greek Navy.

                The Admiral spent an uncomfortable further day in Trieste: he found it impossible to relax. He wanted to begin his new work as soon as possible and the enforced delay, waiting for the steamer, was infuriating. He thought of returning to the Stabilimento yard that night and photographing it at first light and it was only with some reluctance that he dissuaded himself from making the attempt; there were bigger fish to fry. From the English bookshop in the Pizza Grande near his hotel he purchased a map showing the latest boundary changes and a copy of the most recent edition of Baedeker’s Greece. He then spent most of Friday afternoon closeted in his hotel room examining the conditions under which he was most likely to have to fight. The situation regarding the probable enemy, Turkey, was not disheartening. For as much as the Dardanelles provided a wonderful refuge, the Straits equally placed severe limitations upon the operations of the Turkish Fleet. With a proper patrol instigated, Kerr decided, it should prove impossible for a Turkish ship to emerge into the Aegean unobserved. So long as two Greek submarines were permanently on station at the entrance to the Straits the only way the opposing fleet could sortie into the Aegean would be as the result of a mass breakout, in which case they would be bound to lose their most important units. There was no need for the Greeks to purchase a ruinously expensive battleship. Surely he could make Venizelos see the logic in his argument?

                The departure of the steamer on Saturday coincided with the arrival of the first chill wind from the north-east. The following sea made the voyage uncomfortable for most of the passengers; Kerr himself did not deviate from the rigid contemplation of the task which lay before him. As they sailed past the Austrian naval base at Cattaro, the Admiral fondly imagined himself leading a torpedo boat attack to destroy the fleet at anchor. The sheer bravado of such a deed would more than compensate for having, as his post of command, the bridge of a small cruiser — all that the Greeks could currently afford. From the steamer deck Kerr worked out ranges and angles, jotting down as much information as he could. He could repeat the Japanese attack on Port Arthur, if only he had the chance! On past the Albanian coast the ship steamed, until eventually it put into Corfu. Little had changed since Kerr’s last visit. Then he had been a mere captain in the employ of His Majesty’s service; now he was the Commander-in-Chief of the Greek Navy. It almost rankled with him that he had, as yet, no uniform to wear: that sort of attention he did not mind.

                As the ship rounded Cape Matapan and entered the Aegean the wind moderated and the temperature rose. Kerr felt regenerated as he stood on the deck and took deep draughts of the air. This was his sea. The Turks would not dare to enter it; he alone would command the Aegean. At last the steamer put into the harbour on Syra, from where Kerr would have to transfer to a smaller vessel for the trip to Athens. The island’s harbour was capacious and well protected, he noted, and would serve as a useful base in an emergency. Items such as this were duly added to the lengthening list of questions he intended to pose immediately upon his arrival. Kerr fervently hoped that the British staff under his command would respond favourably to the new régime; he would have a struggle enough on his hands winning over the Greeks.

                As the Syra ferry made fast at the Piraeus’ dock a uniformed officer bounded up the gangway and approached Kerr: ‘Admiral Kerr? Good afternoon; I am Lieutenant Summers from the Naval Mission. Welcome to Greece. I hope your voyage was a pleasant one.’

                ‘Do I stand out that much in the crowd, Lieutenant?’

                ‘I had a description to work from, Sir. There are not many admirals come ashore from the Syra ferry. I thought, Sir, the best course would be to travel up to Athens to meet the Legation Staff and find suitable accommodation. Then, when you are ready, we could make a tour of the Naval School.’

                ‘And that is?’

                ‘At Poros, Sir, out there across the Bay. It is fairly isolated and also, I should add, quite open to attack.’

                ‘We shall have to do something about that, Summers. Tell me, do you like the work here?’

                ‘I enjoy it, Sir, though I’m not sure I can speak for all the men. The Greeks can sometimes be slow to learn.’

                ‘We shall have to speed things up, then.’ Kerr’s attention was distracted momentarily, as he examined Summers. ‘Your uniform, if I am not mistaken, is that of Commander.’

                ‘Yes, Sir. As you can see, we wear Greek uniform and are entitled to a more superior rank than we hold in British service. However, amongst ourselves, we tend to maintain our old ranks.’

                ‘That practice is to cease, Summers. While you are here you are a Commander, and entitled to be addressed as such. Can we proceed?’

                Summers accompanied Kerr on the short train journey to Athens and thence to the British Legation, where he was introduced to the Minister and the various secretaries. Once the formalities had been attended to, Elliot called Kerr, Beaumont and Montgomery-Cuninghame into a private meeting.

                The Minister was unusually effusive: ‘You have arrived at a propitious moment, Admiral. The Bucharest Treaty has delineated the new boundaries and I firmly believe that Greece, Serbia and Roumania are now satiated, while it will take many months, if not years, for Bulgaria again to pose a threat to the peace. The Albanian question I think will continue in a nagging form until the New Year. That all leaves one aspect of the recent conflict undecided …’

                ‘The Aegean Islands,’ broke in Beaumont.

                ‘Precisely,’ continued Elliot. ‘These islands were occupied by the Greeks during the fighting with Turkey. The populations are ethnically Greek in any case, but the Turks want them back. Having lost Libya two years ago they are not for voluntarily ceding any more territory. But they can only take them back by seapower and that is where you come in, Admiral. The first thing Venizelos will ask you is how you propose to keep those islands in Greek hands, and you had better have an answer. Beaumont here will fit you up with somewhere to stay. You must also come to dine at my villa, but you had better have a few days’ rest. Then you will need a tour of the Naval School and finally, after you have done all that, we can arrange a meeting with the Premier.’

                ‘And the King?’ inquired Kerr.

                ‘But of course, I am forgetting, you know him. Yes, certainly, we can arrange an audience. Shall we say some time next week? Will you see to that Beaumont?’

                The First Secretary nodded and showed Kerr out of the Minister’s room, ushering him into his own small office. ‘I have taken a room for you at the Hotel d’Angleterre. I suggest, as your first priority, that you look for a house to rent.’

                ‘But surely I will be stationed at Poros?’

                ‘I am afraid Admiral you will find that most of your duties will require your presence in Athens itself. Naturally the overall responsibility of the Mission is yours but I believe you will find that the day-to-day running of it is best left in the capable hands of chaps like Summers. A substantial proportion of your work will be taken up with the preparation of the scheme of naval construction.’

                ‘That shouldn’t take too long. I was not idle in London. I have here,’ Kerr announced as he tapped his briefcase, ‘a full plan of proposed operations.’

                Beaumont smiled ruefully. ‘I’m sure the Premier will be delighted to see it. Summers will show you to the hotel; it is not far and you must be in need of a rest after your journey.’

                Beaumont locked his desk drawer and walked with Kerr out to the entrance hall, where Summers had previously been waiting. There was no sign of him. Beaumont looked out across the small square: ‘Summers must have paid a quick visit to the Ministry of Marine. Ah! Here he comes now. He’s a capital fellow, Admiral; he has shouldered quite a burden recently. He is fortunate to have such a supportive wife. Mrs Summers is a treasure. We have an injured officer convalescing in a local clinic whom she insists on visiting, without fail, every day. In fact I am just off there now myself to relieve her. Do call in tomorrow and we can discuss things at greater length.’ Summers bounded up the Legation steps. ‘Will you see the Admiral to the Hotel d’Angleterre, Lieutenant? I am just off to the clinic.’

                Summers looked knowingly at Beaumont: ‘Will you tell Rachel I shall meet her at the Panhellenion at seven?’

Major Samson’s breathing was slow and laboured; every rise of his scarred chest caused him pain. His sleep did not justify the description and his days were only made tolerable by the regular visits of Rachel Summers. Samson had fallen hopelessly in love with the Commander’s wife. Why, he thought to himself, was he fated to love women who were already married? He realized also that this was different: Edith Roberts, until he was struck down by typhoid, barely tolerated her husband; Rachel Summers was clearly herself in love with Alec. For her part, while offering no overt encouragement, Rachel nevertheless recognized the symptoms while also being aware of how much the Major’s well-being depended upon the continuation of the fantasy. She was busily engaged reading to Major Samson from that day’s newspaper when Beaumont entered the room.

                She looked up and smiled: ‘How are things at the Legation today, Henry?’

                ‘More or less the same, Mrs Summers. Now that the country is at peace, Athens is once more something of a backwater.’

                Rachel Summers took Samson’s hand and squeezed it gently; he responded with his eyes as she collected her belongings. ‘Until tomorrow, Major. Don’t get him too stimulated, Henry.’

                Beaumont took the chair just vacated, his expression indicative of a desire to speak once he knew privacy was assured. As soon as Rachel Summers had left, he announced eagerly: ‘There is some news today, Major. Admiral Kerr has just arrived to head the Naval Mission. I’m sure he is a good man from a naval point of view but I have a pronounced feeling that it is a political appointment. I know the Admiralty must have thought it would be useful to have an officer personally known to Constantine, though I can’t help feeling that it will be extremely provocative as far as Venizelos is concerned.’

                Samson nodded. He took as deep a breath as he could, paused momentarily to form his sentence, and then asked Beaumont if he had managed to learn any more of what had happened to him. The Major’s last memory, until he had awoken some days later in a field hospital, was of Hoffmann about to shoot him through the forehead.

                Beaumont reached for his notebook. ‘Mrs Summers says I am not to excite you,’ he declared as he flicked through to find the correct page.

                ‘What have you found out, Henry? I must know.’

                ‘I have finally located Captain Basilio. His regiment took a severe mauling at Kilkus after breaking the Bulgarian line at Avret Hissar and, from what I can gather, he was fortunate to escape with his life. After the fighting ended, he was posted to Kavalla while the regiment regrouped. Then for a short time, he was in Salonica and from there his regiment was sent to reinforce the contingent on Chios. I have his deposition here. From what it adds to the other statements, I think we can now deduce more or less precisely what happened to you. Captain Basilio clearly remembered the scene in the trench that night. He had been standing further along the trench and had been intent on following the Bulgarian advance when he heard the shot. As he turned, it was in time to see the German officer standing over you. He recalls that you were struck across the face and it was at that point that he made up his mind to intervene. He was naturally unaware of your identity and could not understand what had caused this scene when, at any moment, they would be fully engaged against the enemy. The Captain was advancing towards the German officer when he saw him level the pistol at your head. Even in that dim light, he says he could see the murderous look in this man’s eyes. He says he shouted a warning for the German to stop — it was all rather confused, as you know only too well. He saw the German officer raise himself to his full height and was sure that he was about to administer the coup de grâce when that section of the trench was completely wrecked by a high-explosive shell. As far the Captain was able to ascertain the shell was from one of their own batteries, falling short … ’

                Beaumont was interrupted by a sound he could not immediately identify, but which seemed to be coming from Samson. He looked again to convince himself: the Major was doing his best to laugh, but was emitting a whining, rasping, wheeze. ‘Please, Major, do not excite yourself.’

                ‘One of their own; one of their own,’ was all Samson could say as he considered the delicious irony that his life had been saved by one of the German howitzers hidden in the castle of Avret Hissar. ‘And what of the German?’ he eventually managed to inquire.

                ‘You were slumped in the trench and so were shielded from the full effects of the blast, but the German officer was standing to his full height and was fearfully exposed. He was half buried for a start and, when he was finally extricated, he was found to be severely concussed and with burst ear drums. The pair of you, together with a few Greek casualties, were immediately taken to the field hospital in the town. It was there that you were identified as a British officer and this I believe, more than anything, was responsible for the treatment you received. My dear chap, I have heard your accusations against Dr Geroulanos and I agree that some of the evidence against him is damning, but it is to him that you ultimately owe your life.’ Samson looked puzzled at Beaumont’s tone. ‘I know you are convinced that this man is a murderer, yet what can you do now? But look at the facts once more. All of the Doctor’s unusual actions over those few days could now be explained by the fact that he knew he was to report to the field hospital. We know, thanks to you, of the advance warning the Greeks received of the Bulgarian attack, but Geroulanos was not to know that you knew. He could hardly tell you, when you saw him, “Look here, Major, I can’t meet you at the Asylum on Monday because I am being posted to a field hospital near Salonica in anticipation of a surprise Bulgarian attack!” No, he has to act as if everything is normal. The evidence of his involvement in the death of Triantafyllakos is circumstantial at best. The vagueness of his recollections regarding his previous association with Skinas could be explained by his desire not to be embarrassed by the deed committed by his former associate. The post mortem on Skinas himself proved natural causes. Skinas was not a well man; that, in itself, may in part explain his actions. Besides, if Geroulanos really suspected that you were on his trail, he had the perfect opportunity to dispose of you in Avret Hissar. Anything could have happened during your operation — a slip of the knife; too much chloroform. Yet, from what I understand, only his skill saved you.’

                The Major did not believe it, but said nothing. It was kind of Beaumont to go to all this trouble and he did not want to argue with him. But he could think of three reasons why Geroulanos’ knife had not suddenly slipped that morning. First, there were witnesses. Second, he had been brought into the hospital in a filthy, dishevelled state and he had, after all, only met Geroulanos face to face once. Perhaps the Doctor did not recognize him? And the third reason was professional pride. If Geroulanos did not feel threatened — content that Samson could not harm him — the saving of his life would do the Doctor’s career the world of good. Major Samson nodded slowly, took a sip of water and asked the question that had been on his mind since Beaumont had started to speak: ‘My notebook? What happened to it?’

                ‘Ah, yes. Your notebook. I am afraid Major that it still has not been found. The consul-general in Salonica himself instigated a search, to no avail. That section of the trench was badly destroyed, though it is more likely that it was removed from your person at the hospital. No-one there, however, has any recollection of it. We can just hope that it will turn up eventually. It was, I imagine, quite incriminating — a pity.’ Beaumont checked his watch. ‘I must be off now. I’ll call back in a few days, or earlier if there is anything to report.’

                Samson closed his eyes as Beaumont stood; the First Secretary was almost to the door when the Major spoke: ‘The German officer — do you know what happened to him?’

                Beaumont turned and hesitated before speaking. It might be better for the Major if he believed his would-be murderer had not survived. Ultimately though, he felt that Samson had a right to know: ‘After initial treatment at the same hospital as you, he was invalided off to one of the German ships in Salonica harbour. Tommy Cuninghame has been doing a bit of snooping and I understand that one ship in particular was like a floating, mobile division. Everything was there: staff accommodation, a surgery, a large wireless room. Once it steamed out of the harbour in July, with the German officer on board, we lost contact; though I daresay it is now at some north German port. If it is any consolation, whoever it was will be in severe pain for some considerable time.’