Secrets of Santorini

by Patricia Wilson

  But I’m frightened, Tommy. The villains might come after you, or Irini if they think you have the artefacts. I’m helpless here. Wait now, you’re speaking and it seems only part of my brain is working. I can’t think and listen at the same time.

  ‘We have to get the dragonfly necklace back, Bridget. Reverse the damage that’s been done. I’ve decided to tell Irini everything. She’s an adult now – she has a right to know what happened and why we took the actions that we did. Then she can choose for herself what she wants to do about it. We can’t keep the truth in the dark. We’ve hurt her enough, sending her away. It’s broken her heart, all this subterfuge. She’s grown up thinking we don’t love her.’

  Another voice reaches me and I realise the nurse has come into my room, the one with the very young voice. I don’t know how she does it, but she puts me to sleep for a long time, and I know Tommy will have gone when my mind comes back.

  Tommy is talking again. ‘They’re just going to give you your morphine, Bridget, to keep the pain away. I’ve come to realise that your dreams were always wonderful, until you took the dragonfly necklace, then they were torture. I think, subconsciously, you were punishing yourself. You’ve suffered enough; we both have.’ I hear him gulp, sniff, and blow his nose. His voice drops to a whisper. ‘My anger was never really at you, Bridget, but at myself. Can you forgive me, darling girl? It breaks my heart to say this, but it’s time to let go, Bridget.’

  No! Don’t put me to sleep! I have to think, find a way to tell you what you should do. The pain is building, becoming close to unbearable, but I must speak. Tommy, you have to help Irini find the dragonfly necklace! I got it back. I have it! But how can you know that? Why didn’t I tell you everything? I could have phoned you and explained, but I wanted to make the grand gesture, didn’t I? Put everything right in one great flurry. Wipe out the past. I wanted you to love me like you used to. Oh, how much I wanted that.

  ‘You’ll be off into dreamland shortly, Bridget, so I’ll leave you in peace, but I’ll be back in a few hours. I also need to sleep, otherwise my head gets confused and I forget things.’

  Don’t go, Tommy! Don’t let them put me to sleep. I can stand the pain. I need to wake up. It’s important!

  Tommy is silent for a moment, and I can feel myself slipping away. I try to resist, but it’s like I’m being pulled under a heavy blanket, dragged away from the sound of his voice. He’s speaking again but it’s difficult to concentrate on his words as they float through the darkness; they get fainter, but I must try to grasp them, listen, hold on.

  ‘I know what you did was wrong, Bridget, and over the years I’ve made it clear that I’ve never quite forgiven you. Heartless of me. Terribly cruel. But, when this happened, when I heard you had little hope of surviving, I could not come over with Irini, and do you know why that was? Because in truth, I would have sold my heart, or Tutankhamun’s death mask, or anything, in exchange for your life. I was wrong to judge you, my darling girl. I’m ashamed of the way I’ve treated you. You see, I’d do the same as you, right now, if it would save your life. Please forgive me, Bridget. I’m sorry beyond words for treating you the way I did. Now I must go . . .

  His voice has gone. I am alone again. If only I could make things right! I tried so hard. My journey was difficult, but I’m almost there. Will they find the dragonfly necklace? They don’t even know I managed to get it back. What would Thira do? I allow my mind to slip, fall back to times long gone, when a great queen wore that very same necklace. I concentrate on her, feel her take over my body and mind . . .

  *

  In the gathering darkness, I, Queen Thira, stay where I am on the palace terrace, giving my people a sense of calm. They bow hurriedly as they pass. Coughing and spluttering, they rush to the safety of the great sandstone warehouses.

  Another distant boom, and through the darkest smoke, a distant red glow roars upward, as if the sun itself has fallen into the mountain and exploded. Impenetrable smoke spews into the atmosphere, spreading rapidly towards us in Crete. Then, in the engulfing darkness, the black sky is lit by a storm of burning pumice. Like a billion miniature meteorites, it hails down on us. Eucalyptus, olive, and pine trees, volatile even when green, burst into flames.

  People are running along the burning streets, towards the warehouses – screaming – hair or clothes on fire.

  I retreat under the white marble canopy of the terrace and peer between the tall red columns. My eyes are streaming from sulphur and smoke. I hold my sleeve over my mouth to make breathing easier, but even so, it seems my chest is on fire. I stand firm, waving the stream of frightened people towards our strongest buildings.

  ‘Go, you will be safe in there. Zeus will protect us,’ I call out.

  Burning lava fires out of the distant mountain. Hungry for oxygen, the massive inferno causes offshore winds so strong, I see people pulled to the ground, dragged through the burning ash, along the roads, on their backs or bellies. Screaming, tumbling and rolling like autumn leaves in a fierce storm. Skin and flesh flayed to the bone as they are dragged across or over rough walls. Eventually, those still in the streets are sucked into the sea, their charred bodies floating like blackened corks along the waterline.

  Fires that rage through pine forests and orchards on the mountainsides are vacuumed towards the shore. Our majestic fleet bursts into flames. I retreat, pressing my back against the palace wall as the inferno races past, over the marble canopy. The air is unbearably hot, searing my lungs as I breathe.

  In the dark sulphur-stinking inferno, the wind suddenly changes direction, coming towards us, so strong it extinguishes the fire. As it does, the smoke is blown away and the air clears for a second. Horror fills me when I glimpse the cause of what, at first, seems like a reprieve.

  Now I know, I understand, this is the end for us all.

  A wall of water, higher than the mountains behind me and infinitely wide, races towards the north coast of Crete. For a moment, I think of King Minos. I will thank him for his hospitality shortly, when we meet in the Elysian Fields. As the tsunami nears, it lifts the great harbour walls clean out of the water and pushes them up against the warehouses, sealing my people inside.

  Knowing it’s over for me and my subjects, I throw my head back and watch the giant wave loom and curl high above me, ever closer. The tsunami races forward, the air drenched and howling louder than all the tortured souls in Hades. I am surely one with the sea. Poseidon has claimed us all. He is about to drag my battered body into his depths, when the stone floor collapses beneath my feet. I am falling. Columns snap and the marble canopy crashes down on my head.

  When I open my eyes, I am on a riverbank. Chaos has gone. Dusk shrouds everything in mystery and the air is still. I turn and see the hooded ferryman emerge out of the darkness. I am not afraid. Silently, he beckons that I step into his boat. The Elysian Fields await me on the distant shore, and I, Queen Thira, Goddess of the Marches, know I have reached the end of my mortal toil.

  *

  I believe time has passed, but how can I know? I’m surfacing as if from a deep sleep and pain is gathering once again. Tommy’s words come back to me. I wonder if he is still with me. So, I’m dying, and I guess these dips into semiconsciousness happen when my medication is wearing off. I remember the shadow, the man who swung a scaffolding pole at my head. My next recollection was Irini’s voice. Sometimes, I heard her read my notebooks, and with her words came terrible memories.

  Does she know how much I love her? It’s important that she does, not just for my peace of mind, but for hers too.

  We tried to protect her from my appalling nightmares, but it was a mistake not to explain everything when she became old enough to appreciate that our actions were in her interest. I was ashamed, ashamed of my illegal activities, yet still, I couldn’t think of another solution. I could not let Tommy die, especially when his child was growing inside me. Then, I remember that Tommy is here. He promised to tell Irini everything, or did I imagine that
? I don’t know. I’m confused.

  The problem is, Tommy does not know everything. He doesn’t know the danger he and Irini are in. Irini must find the dragonfly necklace and the jug, and hand them over to the museum immediately. Only then will they be out of danger.

  Fire gathers between my eyes and spreads until it is so intense I want to scream. I can hear people talking again, a nurse, perhaps, but who is she speaking to?

  Now the pain is easing and I’m sinking into the euphoria of painless sleep.

  *

  Time has passed. I can hear Quinlan’s voice. Such a wonderful, kind man. I owe him so much for being the one stability in Irini’s life. Now he’s talking in his steady, humorous way. Quinlan has the quality that, after you’ve been in his company, you somehow feel uplifted. I know Irini adores him. I fear, deep down, he’s very lonely. Is he holding my hand? I don’t think so. He would feel it an imposition. He’ll be sitting in his freshly ironed pastel shirt and a bow tie, and loose linen pants held up by wide braces. Knees together, hand between them.

  I hope one day he finds love, the kind that Tommy and I had . . . have. Because despite everything, I know Tommy still loves me.

  Quinlan is speaking again. ‘You don’t have to worry your poor battered head about Irini and Tommy, Bridget. I promise to keep an eye on them both. Rest assured about that, lovey. They’ll be all right. Irini has grown into a fine young woman – you should be proud. Irini told me that after reading your notebooks, she understands the sacrifice you made in order to keep her safe. And Tommy, well, we both know Tommy well enough. He’s mortified that he hurt you with his hard-heartedness. You may have heard him ask for your forgiveness, but if you didn’t, he’s truly sorry for the way he behaved. He said he’d have done the same as you, or far more if needs be, in order to save your life.’

  There is someone else in the room. Oh yes, it’s the nurse. Quiet, concerned talking, then Quinlan speaks again.

  ‘The nurse is back, Bridget. She’s given you your medication, so you’ll be feeling more comfortable shortly. I’ll stay a while longer, then Tommy will take my place. We won’t leave you by yourself, there’ll always be one of us by your side.’

  I feel a weight taken from me and I am lifted above worry and discomfort.

  I’m so tired. If everything was resolved I could sleep forever. The goddess who takes over my mind feels the same way. I have experienced her pain in my dreams and know her torment is almost unbearable too. Queen Thira wants to rest, find harmony, be forgiven for her sins. More than anything, she longs to be pardoned for sacrificing her daughter.

  I am only a vessel for her spirit in its restless search for peace, and I no longer fear her taking over my mind. I sink into darkness, drifting away, back in time, back to Thira’s reign. After feeling her pain for so long, I want to help her. Did she save her people? I can’t remember. I long to go to the Sacred City of Istron and excavate, but with Tommy at my side. Poor Tommy, an old man who never quite reached his ambition of proving Santorini was a mountain in the centre of Atlantis. I wonder if anyone ever will.

  Tommy and I always suspected the island’s populous settled on the north coast of Crete. I’ve visited the island and talked to other archaeologists, never admitting the true reason for my investigation. There are several possible sites in the vicinity of Istron that also lend themselves to the theory: the magnificent excavation at Malia, or Gornia, or there is the little island of Mochlos, now a hundred metres offshore. Before the eruption of Santorini, Mochlos was much larger and part of Crete’s mainland. However, my dreams indicated Istron, and I have no reason to doubt the location of Queen Thira’s city.

  *

  The Elysian Fields, present day.

  I CAN SEE HER, Queen Thira. She waits for me on the opposite bank of the River Styx. She regards me as the mortal who was responsible for the re-birth of her daughter. I stand at the prow of the ferry, knowing the Goddess of the Marches looks forward to welcoming me into a peaceful afterlife. I am not afraid, or sorry. Life will go on without me. Thira has suffered her own pain, turmoil, and heartbreak too. She stretches out her arms, eager to reassure me, as she did on the day I gave birth to Irini.

  The reason for my dreams becomes clear in a blinding flash. Thira regards Irini as her own child! I refuse to give my daughter away. My serenity gives way to anguish. I have suffered enough because of Queen Thira and now I am angry that she came between me and my child all our lives.

  ‘I must go back! My husband, my daughter . . .’ I call over the black water. ‘I am not finished with my life!’

  The hooded ferryman dips his paddle, holds it in the water and the boat turns, veers away, returning to the mortal shore.

  Thira lowers her arms and I hear her thoughts: You are not ready, sister, but I will wait. Do not fear, you will be happy here, at peace, with only good memories. Don’t be sad, there is nothing to be sorry about now. Can you hear me? Can you hear me, Bridget?

  The voice deepens and I realise it’s Tommy saying those words: ‘Can you hear me, Bridget?’ His voice is quiet and full of remorse. ‘Darling girl, I’m sorry I drove your love away with my bitterness.’

  You didn’t drive my love away at all, Tommy. You were hurt, and who could blame you?

  ‘You risked so much to save my life, darling girl, and me with my self-righteousness condemned you for it. I’ve been a nasty bastard for so long, I don’t know how you stuck it. Then, in Dublin, I drove you away again and let Irini think you’d simply abandoned us.’

  *

  They’re at my bedside again. How can I tell Tommy and Irini the things they need to know? I came so close to putting everything right, but now it’s down to them.

  I discovered Splotskey had died. I don’t think he was a bad man, not a hardened dealer in antiquities. He simply knew somebody who’d pay for your operation, Tommy. I wish I could say these things to you, but the truth is I hardly have the strength to think, and even that only comes in short stretches before the pain returns. Then the medication numbs my mind.

  ‘Irini’s going back to Santorini today to get your things from the house, Bridget,’ Tommy says. ‘She’ll be back this evening to tell you about it. I wish we could go with her, to our little hyposkafa overlooking the caldera. We were so happy, remember? Our little cave was so filled with love we seemed to be grinning at each other all the time.’

  Irini’s in danger at the house! The dragonfly necklace – they don’t know – how can I tell them what’s happened? I try to speak, move something, make contact, but the effort drains me and I’m helpless.

  ‘I was uneasy about her going alone, but you’ll be pleased to hear she’s with her new boss.’

  I feel I’m slipping back into that twilight place of dreams. I can imagine Irini sleeping in our bed, as she did sometimes when she was a little girl, cuddling up to me and Tommy and Rabbs while the effect of my sleeping pills faded with the dawn. Memories of those happy times drift in.

  I recall our attempt to live frugally. We did crazy things, didn’t we, Tommy? Remember when, instead of paying for electricity, we invented a way to warm our water using the heat of the sun. You bought fifty metres of black pipe and we coiled it neatly on the flat roof, connected one end to the mains water, and the other end to our tank. This was a brilliant idea, Tommy, but with only one water supply into the house, we hadn’t thought it through.

  We had boiling water all through the day, and it lasted all the night long too. Water that was so hot we could not even wash our hands without the risk of scalding. Too hot for the shower, and the disgusting stink when we flushed the toilet with boiling water meant we had to sit outside until the pong dispersed.

  How we laughed!

  After that, we invested in a proper solar water-heater, and the black pipe was given to Spiro for irrigating his olive grove. We never had to buy olive oil from that day on.

  Recalling these things makes me smile inside.

  Spiro removed the pipe from our roof, forbi
dding us to try and roll it up in case it kinked.

  He came down the steps with a length of rope, tied it to the pipe, and attached the other end to the towing hitch on his taxi, parked in the street above. When he drove away, we were nearly knocked off the roof by the coil flipping over as it unravelled. We raced up the steps. Followed the snaking black hose. Watched it slithering along the main street long after the taxi had disappeared out of town.

  Little Irini sat on your shoulders, her arms wrapped around your head as she squealed with laughter. Children chased the pipe, jumping over the end. What a good job it was out of season and the pavements were free of postcard stands and menu boards. I could imagine the chaos.

  The uplifting memory floods me.

  Then there were the bad times. It took a long time for us to grow back together after you discovered the truth about the necklace. Things were never quite the same between us, were they? At the site, I felt you were watching me, Tommy, afraid I’d be tempted to secret away another artefact.

  Our age difference became more apparent as the years passed. Me in my late forties, still fretting about Irini, longing to be a proper mother taking care of our daughter. You in your early sixties, resigned to the situation. You seemed to forget about Irini. I thought about her every day.

  Quinlan and Irini became very close and that consoled me a little. He kept us informed of her development, and sent photos when she had an important occasion, like her first communion. When she was fourteen, Quinlan brought her over in the summer holidays. Irini was disgusted that I couldn’t buy her tampons when she had her period, but they weren’t available on the island.

  Sadly, I realised her childhood was gone. She’d grown into a beautiful young woman. While she was in Santorini, every boy in town had his eye on her. Her long red hair fell in coils to her waist, and her fair skin was lightly sprayed with freckles. I adored having her near me, but sunburn and a tummy-bug ruined the holiday. She missed her friends and wanted to go home.