The Moonspinners Read Online Free

used as milking places for the sheep, and cheeses are made there on the spot. Sometimes, in stormy weather, they serve to house the beasts themselves.
    The hut was small and low, roughly built of unshaped stones, the spaces packed with clay. It was roofed with brushwood and dried scrub, and would hardly be seen at all from any sort of distance, among the stones and scrub that surrounded it.
    This, then, was the explanation of the watcher of the spring. The man would be a shepherd, his flock, doubtless, feeding on some other mountain-meadow above the rocks where he lay. He had heard me, and had come down to see who it was.
    My momentary uneasiness subsided. Feeling a fool, I paused there among the asphodel, half minded, after all, to stay.
    It was well after noon now, and the sun was turning over to the south-west, full on the little alp. The first warning I had was when a shadow dropped across the flowers, as sudden as a black cloth falling to stifle me.
    I looked up, with a gasp of fright. From the rocks beside the spring came a rattle of pebbles, the scrape of a foot, and the Greek dropped neatly into my path.
    There was one startled moment in which everything seemed very clear and still. I thought, but not believing it: the impossible really has happened; this is danger. I saw his dark eyes, angry and wary at the same time. His hand – more incredible still – grasped a naked knife.
    Impossible to remember my Greek, to cry, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ Impossible to run from him, down the breakneck mountain. Impossible to summon help from the vast, empty silence.
    But of course, I tried it. I screamed, and turned to run.
    It was probably the silliest thing I could have done. He jumped at me. He caught me, pulled me against him, and held me. His free hand covered my mouth. He was saying something half under his breath, curses or threats that, in my panic, I didn’t understand. I struggled and fought, as if in a nightmare. I believe I kicked him, and my nails drew blood on his wrists. There was a clatter of kicked stones, and a jingling as he dropped the knife. I got my mouth free for a moment, and screamed again. It was little more than a shrill gasp this time, barely audible. But in any case, there was nobody to help . . .
    Impossibly, help came.
    From behind me, from the empty mountainside, a man’s voice called out, sharply, in Greek. I didn’t hear what it said, but the effect on my attacker was immediate. He froze where he stood. But he still held me, and his hand clamped tightly again over my mouth.
    He turned his head and called, in a low, urgent voice: ‘It’s a girl, a foreigner. Spying around. I think she is English.’
    I could hear no movement behind me of anyone approaching. I strained round against the Greek’s hand to see who had saved me, but he held me tightly, with a low, ‘Keep still, and hold your noise!’
    The voice came again, apparently from some way off. ‘A girl? English?’ A curious pause. ‘For pity’s sake, leave her alone, and bring her here. Are you mad?’
    The Greek hesitated, then said sullenly to me, in strongly accented but reasonably good English: ‘Come with me. And do not squeak again. If you make one other sound, I will kill you. Be sure of that. I do not like women, me.’
    I managed to nod. He took his hand from my mouth then, and relaxed his hold. But he didn’t let go. He merely shifted his grip, keeping hold of my wrist.
    He stooped to pick up his knife, and motioned towards the rocks behind us. I turned. There was no one to be seen.
    â€˜Inside,’ said the Greek, and jerked his head towards the shepherds’ hut.
    The hut was filthy. As the Greek pushed me in front of him across the trodden dust, the flies rose, buzzing, round our feet. The doorway gaped black and uninviting.
    At first I could see nothing. By contrast with the bright light at my back, the interior of the hut