We crossed the northern corner of the Dhikti Mountains, traversed the Lasithi Plain and threaded the rough hills beyond. Far more ground was covered than I’d bargained for; and for most of the way, had I been on my own, I wouldn’t have had a clue about the route. I got an inkling about Pantelis’s level of fitness as soon as we had left Kritsa. On the mountain road to the plain of Katharo we cut corners mercilessly, forging a straight line upwards across the rubbly slopes, only touching the road at its hairpin elbows. Under his skin-tight running shorts Pantelis’s leg muscles bunched like steel hawsers as he sprang lightly ahead from stone to stone. By the time we had climbed 2,300 feet to the edge of Katharo I was a panting ball of sweat; but my companion’s brow betrayed not one spangle, his chest nary a heave. Katharo in the full flush of April was just as delectable as Iannis Siganos had promised. The new grass of the undulating plain lay spattered yellow with flowers.
