The Winter Thief

70

Vera stumbled on deck when Apollo told her they were approaching Trabzon. Her legs were weak from inactivity, but she felt elated. She had spent much of the four-day voyage in her cabin, out of the rain and wind, reading books in French, which Apollo had miraculously procured for her. He and the other men slept in hammocks in a common room. These comrades, Armenians from all walks of life in Istanbul, now crowded the deck. The ship had been “borrowed” by its captain and crew and would return to Istanbul immediately. That would leave only ten men and Vera. They would have to rely on local sympathizers to move the guns.

The men claimed to be socialists, but Vera by now understood that they did not understand socialism as she did, as a universal ideal of justice. This, she had come to realize, was an Armenian movement, and it was her Armenian heritage, not her ideas, that caused them to accept her. The men had obsessively planned the trek into the mountains, going over every possible scenario and danger. They had quarreled over each kurush of expenditure, since their means were limited by the money Father Zadian had collected.

“There’s Trabzon,” Yedo announced, pointing toward a cluster of red-roofed houses at the base of a steeply ascending forested slope patched with snow. Yedo, who had played the role of Apollo’s lieutenant, was from Trabzon, and his face seemed chiseled in replica of some ancient Roman hero.

Vera gazed over the approaching rooftops at the ever-expanding cliffs and thought about Gabriel alone in this wilderness. She wondered how he was doing, a kindly concern, without the commotion she had expected in her heart now that she was so close. Apollo planned to send a messenger to tell Gabriel that they were coming. She felt a shiver of apprehension. How would Gabriel receive her?

A crowd of curious townspeople waited onshore, watching the small steamboat dock. Apollo had taken down the Ottoman navy flag, and their fake uniforms were hidden inside one of the barrels. Yedo peered into the distance, looking for his cousins, who had been sent a telegram asking them to meet the ship. It was a busy port, so before long the attraction of a new, unidentified ship wore off, and the crowd dispersed.

Vera watched from deck as Yedo approached a group of youths squatting against a warehouse wall. They jumped up and surrounded him, gesturing eagerly. As Yedo spoke, the men cast occasional sharp glances at the ship. Several of them left and returned with mule-drawn carts. Finally, the hold was opened and the barrels rolled down the gangplank and loaded onto the carts. “Cod,” she read in English on the side of one barrel. The lids, she noticed, had been daubed with a crude symbol that might be a Henchak ax. That should be painted over, she thought, but probably no one here in the eastern mountains knew what it signified.