Or at least I hope it does, and what else is there anymore?

  I don’t guide us this time.

  Our number has swelled and there are more Greeks and locals, too, and more from this area where we’ll now go—east of Chania, which is less familiar to me—so Theos and Philippos help, and so does Antonis, and the other Greeks from Rethymno that have stayed and go with us. We go past their own city and villages, just east of Chania, then on towards the one that houses the man that the SOE, at least, has dubbed “the Butcher of Crete.”

  How many others?

  How many other villages has he destroyed, and innocent men, women, and children has he killed to earn that name?

  I don’t know.

  But it will end.

  Now, it will all end for him.

  The other thing I learn is that while there were weapons and ammunitions in the duffels that Peter and Evelyn and the others brought from the SOE, there was also something else: German field uniforms. The others say this will make what we have to do easier, but I realize what it actually means, and how dangerous this will be, and how close to the Germans we’ll have to get in order to pull this off and get to Koch who must be extremely well hidden and protected.

  We will, though.

  We will, or we’ll die trying.

  We pass the hills above Rethymno around midday, not too far from where we made our previous camp, and as we walk, William’s hand brushes against mine and I think it’s just an accident. Then I realize it’s not, when it does again, and he reaches out. It’s just a finger that intertwines with my finger, at first, as we walk, then his entire hand takes mine in his, and we continue like that. It’s strange, but somehow still feels natural. I’m surprised that it does. Nobody looks at us or pays any attention to us and what we do, not even Tasos, who’s next to Theos and Philippos and a few other boys who have come from Rethymno and it must be hard for them; it must be hard to be this close to their city, and families, and not be able to go to them.

  One day they’ll be able to.

  Hopefully, that day will be soon.

  We keep walking through the mountains and they begin to thin and soften, as we get closer to Irakleio, until they become flat and there’s a plateau and field of flowers we have to go through before coming to the next set of hills that will provide us with some cover, and we stop.

  “This is where we become Nazis,” Peter says.

  We understand.

  He starts passing out German uniforms and the men all begin to change, putting their Greek clothes into the duffels and I’m the only woman that’s there, so William and I find uniforms that will fit, then he takes my hand again and leads me away past some trees and towards a stream, and we stand there together.

  He changes into the German uniform.

  I change into one, too, and he helps me with the jacket, buttoning the shirt underneath it, his face close to my face.

  He leans even closer.

  We kiss.

  He laughs because it’s so strange, what we’re wearing, both of us in German clothes now.

  I laugh, too.

  We put the hats on that go with the uniform and that will help obscure our faces, to any who might see from a distance, then I smile and we turn and start to jog back towards the others, but they’ve already started to walk again, so we keep jogging across the field of flowers that reach above our knees until we finally rejoin them. Tane is at the back, walking next to one of the Greeks from Rethymno, and they turn to look at us when we get there, and nod to us.

  We nod, too.

  William’s hand finds mine once more and we continue.

  There are a few more hills then soon we come from them and to the valley south of Knossos and Irakleio. We meet a local shepherd with his flock on one of the roads that crisscross between still-snowcapped peaks. We ask him about shelter, and he tells us about a system of caves above the village of Kastamonitsa, not far from Knossos, and that’s where we decide to go. He tells us it’s an area heavy with Greek resistance, so when we arrive, we go to Kastamonitsa first, speaking Greek words loudly as we come so they know who we are, and we buy food and supplies. None of the men, women, or children blink when they meet us nor do they hesitate in selling us anything we need, even though if it’s found out, it will result in their deaths. They don’t care, though. We ask them about the caves and they point into the distance and at one peak in particular, called Afendis, and that’s where we go. It’s not hard to find them. I’m stunned there’s enough room for all of us if we pair off, or go in threes, and William and I take some of the kalitsounia we bought in the village and they’re not as good as the kalitsounia from the baker on the road to Elafonisi, but it’s nice to have warm food after the cured beef from a can and tins of vegetables we’ve eaten from the British rations during this journey.

  We build a fire.

  In front of us, the sun sinks and we finish eating the kalitsounia, then just sit there, with the fire we’ve made, and the setting sun in front of us.

  Silence.

  We’re both still dressed as Germans, and what a strange sight it must be, if there was anyone else here to see it.

  But there’s not. There’s just us.

  “There was a time when this island was the center of the world,” I speak very quietly.

  “What?” he asks, turning to me.

  “Even Athens paid tribute. Even Aegeus and the great heroes of the mainland paid us tribute and sent gold and slaves to this island, this place of minotaurs, labyrinths, and great myths of gold and wings.”

  “Perhaps it still is.”

  “Still is what?”

  “The center of the world. At least for this moment, and in this war.”

  “And perhaps that’s who we all still are, too, all of us who are here. Princes and princesses, just like in the stories, struggling to find our way through an unknowable labyrinth and avoiding the beast at the end of it, the only way we know how.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “Through love, of course.”

  He thinks about that for a moment.

  Then he speaks again, turning to look at me now, and not the setting sun and brilliant display of colors in front of us.

  “It’s not about avoiding the beast.”

  “What?”

  “It’s about killing the beast, isn’t it? Ariadne’s love for Theseus is what helped him to do that, with the weapon she gave him, and string to find his way back out of the labyrinth again.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He goes to take her back to Athens, but before they reach the city, he decides to leave her on Naxos.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know that part. That’s awful.”

  “But only too common, I’m afraid. The earliest versions of the story say after she was abducted, then abandoned, she hung herself in grief.”

  “And Theseus?”

  “He sailed home to Athens but forgot to change the color of his sails, so when his father saw the boats returning, he thought his son had died and threw himself off a cliff into the sea.”

  “The Aegean?”

  “That’s how it got its name, from Aegeus, the King of Athens who jumped from the rocks and to his death in it.”

  “What was it called before that?”

  “I don’t know. Something else, I suppose, but now it bears the name of the grief-stricken father and serves as our reminder of those two things that have never left us, and never will.”

  “Grief and tragedy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Just like your stories.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So change it.”

  “What?” I turn to look at him now.

  “You told me the early version of what happened to Ariadne. That means there must be another one, too, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happens in that version?”

  “She marries a god.”

  “So change the story. We might all be lost in a labyrinth in this world, struggling to kill the beast that haunts us and find our way back out again, which means there’s still time to escape, as there always is. There’s still time to change the story, and turn it into our own.”

  I look back at him.

  He looks at me.

  Now it’s my turn to lean over and kiss him, and he kisses me back, then we move apart and just sit there again. We sit there as the fire keeps burning, lower and lower, bringing us closer to the hour and day when I’ll be able to change my story, just like Ariadne, another daughter of this ancient island, though unlike her, I am not alone.

  30 APRIL 27, 1944

  We learn that the villa where Hannes Koch is staying is named Villa Ariadne, and I smile wryly when I hear this. So does William. We spend the next days after we arrive in the caves above Kastamonitsa scouting the hills closer and closer to the villa, then one afternoon, we even go to the ruins at Knossos themselves and find them empty and abandoned and are able to walk amongst the tall columns that are there and into the throne room that’s still standing. We all look at it in awe, taking in everything, feeling the history, but can’t stay for too long, so we continue beyond the ruins, towards the villa, to a place we can watch who comes and goes, and how, and at what times.

  We discover a pattern.

  Koch leaves the villa every day at noon, and while we don’t yet know where he goes, his car leaves and is followed by two others as well as a number of kubelwagens with heavily armed soldiers in them. We watch as they drive past where we hide in the hills, and we wait and watch as they come back, too, towards the luxury villa where the general has been staying and giving his commands for the control, subjugation, and torture of our island.

  Not for much longer, though.

  Not for much longer now at all.

  We start to return to the caves, each with our own thoughts of how best to move forward from here: a full-on assault against the well-protected villa would certainly lead to more loss of life than we’re willing to endure, and it would give Koch a chance to escape during the fighting, which we can’t accept. Attacking his car on the road brings problems, also, because he only leaves the villa during the day. We’d have the element of surprise, if we attacked him on the road, but the Germans in his convoy would outnumber us and who knows how many more would come once the noise of battle echoes between the hills since this area is so full of Germans, being so close to Irakleio and their main headquarters.

  Darkness is what we need.

  But how do we get him in the open, and at night?

  That’s what we debate as we walk back, making calculations and assessing risk, and we’re walking through the field of knee-high flowers again when we see a group of soldiers in the distance.

  Peter raises his hand.

  He motions to us and we quickly dive to the ground before the soldiers see us and I lay next to William. Ahead of me, I see Tasos with Theos and Philippos, breathing heavily. While this won’t be the first action for Theos and Philippos, it will be for Tasos, and it looks as if it will be soon, too, because the soldiers aren’t following the road; they’re walking through the field instead, the same as we have, heading straight towards where we hide.

  I look around, gripping my rifle a little bit tighter as I ready myself but Peter, at the front of our lines, seems to notice something as they get closer.

  Then he speaks, loud enough that they’ll hear.

  “There’s three dozen of us here, and we’re about to stand from the grass!” he calls.

  In front of us, all the enemy soldiers go on high alert, whipping rifles around, searching for where this voice just came from.

  “What?” their leader calls. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

  When I hear those words and accent, I smile.

  They’re British.

  “We’re going to look like Germans,” Peter says in return, because we’re still wearing the uniforms. “But we’re not.”

  “Why should we think that!”

  “Have you ever heard a Nazi speak English this well?”

  “A million times. The king’s own brother is a Nazi!”

  Peter and Evelyn and the rest of the British all stifle laughs at that, then Peter continues.

  “I suppose you’ll just have to trust us, then, and that we could have killed you before I spoke. We’re coming out, alright?”

  A moment.

  The British leader, in front of us, looks at his men, who just shrug, then he nods.

  “Alright,” he finally says.

  Peter leaves his rifle on the ground, then slowly stands amongst the flowers with his arms raised.

  He faces the new soldiers across from him, all their rifles pointed at his chest.

  “Where are you from?” the leader asks.

  “London.”

  “I hate blokes from London.”

  “We only lived there because my father was an MP for Henley.”

  The leader looks back at Peter, narrowing his eyes, then starts to lower his rifle.

  Behind him, all the others do, too.

  Then the rest of us begin to stand.

  I look across and see there’s about a dozen British soldiers, their leader walks closer, and once he reaches Peter, he sticks out his hand.

  “Arnold Lawrence,” he says.

  “Peter Fleming.”

  And they shake.

  “So are you going to tell me, Mr. Peter Fleming, why you’re all dressed as Nazis?”

  Peter nods and proceeds to tell them what brought us here, and they do the same and tell us how they’ve been operating on the eastern side of the island, just as we’ve been operating on the western side, and they’re returning from a mission against the Italian troops stationed near Sitia. They tell us they lost contact with the SOE some months ago, though, so we then tell them what our mission is and eyes go wide when we tell them Hannes Koch is staying in the Villa Ariadne, near the ruins at Knossos.

  “The Butcher?” Arnold asks, incredulous.

  “The very same,” Peter nods.

  “How can we help?”

  Peter explains what our deliberations have been and how we’ve been trying to decide the best way to get to him, with minimal loss of life, and as he does, Arnold interrupts and tells us that taking his convoy at night is of course the best option, and knows how we can do it, also.

  “How?” Peter asks.

  “We have a spy inside the villa.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “I’m not. It’s the cousin of one of the Greeks we’ve met in Kounavi, and she was brought there as a maid, along with some other Greek women from her village.”

  So we finally have our plan.

  We tell them where to find us in the caves before they continue west and north to Kounavi to deliver the message of what we need, then two days later they meet us at the caves. They tell us they’ve spoken with the woman who works in the villa and there are two dates in Koch’s diary in which he has evening engagements he’ll be leaving the villa for, after dark.

  May 3rd.

  May 6th.

  I think it’s the first one we’ll choose, because why wait another three days, so I’m surprised when Peter tells them it’ll be May 6th.

  I ask him about this. He’s firm, though.

  It must be May 6th, and doesn’t give a reason why.

  It doesn’t matter, though, because I’ve waited this long, so what are a few more days? They’re nothing because retribution is finally coming for the Butcher, it’s coming soon, and just as I’ve wanted, it’s me that’s going to bring it.

  31 MAY 6, 1944

  The day quickly arrives.

  We force ourselves to sleep while the sun is up, because it will of course be a very long night, and while I lay in the cave with William next to me, sleep doesn’t come. It does for him, though, as I feel his body next to mine and chest gently rising and falling in steady rhythm. Then as darkness returns, I eventually stand. I once thought my life would be a love story. Could it still be one again? I look down at William sleeping in our cave and he looks younger to me when he’s asleep, laying there like he is. Is it because he’s vulnerable when he’s like this? I don’t know. And I realize I don’t even know how old he is. Does it matter? No, it doesn’t, of course it doesn’t. If I’ve learned anything from war, it’s all that matters is the moment in which we’re alive, and perhaps shouldn’t that always be what matters, and the only thing that matters.

  I don’t know.

  Maybe there will still be time to find out.

  Maybe there will still be time for second and third and fourth lives, after this life of revenge, rather than love. There’s only one way to find out, though, and only one path to whatever life will come after this one, so I gently wake William and when he’s up and dressed, we silently leave the cave together to search for that path. With the new British soldiers, we number around fifty, so near enough to how many Germans we anticipate we’ll face, but even with the weapons from the SOE, the Germans will still be better armed and equipped, and they have vehicles, too, and the roads.

  We’re about to leave, but then we stop.

  We see Tane in front of us, in his cave, facing towards the last rays of departing light and he does another haka, his Maori dance, and we all stand and watch and I feel something. I can tell William, next to me, and Tasos, who comes and stands on the other side of us and who hasn’t seen this before feel something, too, then when the dance is over, Tane joins us, and we all leave.