River of Death

ARKNESS WAS FALLING OVER<br >the ancient Grecian monastery and the first of the<br >evening stars were beginning to twinkle in the cloud-<br >less Aegean sky. The sea was calm， the air was still，<br >and it did， as is so often claimed， smell of wine and<br >roses. A yellow moon， almost full， had just cleared<br >the horizon and gave its soft and benign light to the<br >softly rolling landscape， lending a magical quality<br >to the otherwise harsh， forbidding outlines of the<br >black and brooding monastery which， any evidence<br >to the contrary， slumbered on peacefully as it had<br >done for countless centuries gone by.<br > At that moment， unfortunately， conditions inside<br >the monastery could hardly be said to reflect the<br >dreamlike outer world. Magic had taken wings， no<br >one slumbered， the peace was broken， darkness had<br >given way to a score of smoking oil torches， and<br >there was little around in the way of wine and roses.<br ><br >