Secrets of Santorini

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Angelo said. ‘Why’s all this so far underground?’

  ‘When the volcano on Santorini erupted, thousands of years ago, the towns on Crete’s north coast were buried or pushed into the sea. But you know this, don’t you?’

  Angelo nodded. ‘No one’s quite sure what happened because hardly anyone survived. Anyway, the few that did had no way of recording the event. As you said, historians think a giant tsunami crashed into Crete, flattening everything on the coast. The wave continued inland until it met the mountains, destroying settlements and drowning the Minoan population.’

  I nodded sadly, yet the excitement I felt for my parents bubbled inside me. ‘Exactly, then the volcano collapsed in on itself and the opposite happened.’

  Angelo took my hand and we walked together, our raised phones flashed with each picture. ‘The hollow mountain dropped into its magma chamber and the Aegean Sea followed it. Imagine the force, Irini? Tsunami waters tearing back to the gaping vortex. Think about this: when the tidal wave was sucked out of the Istron valley, it would have stripped all the soil and loose rocks from the foothills and deposited them over this area. Slurry and rubble must have covered the place. So now, after all this time, trees and bushes have grown, hiding everything.’

  ‘I feel so sad for the unmourned people that perished right here. It’s difficult to imagine, but my mother saw the actual event in her dreams. She saw their fear, felt their panic and their pain, again and again. Night after night. What a terrible thing to live with.’

  Angelo stopped walking and lowered his phone. ‘So here we are, you and I, nearly four thousand years later, beneath the Cretan earth.’ He wrapped his arms around me again. ‘It’s an incredible moment, isn’t it?’

  I nodded. ‘My mother was convinced this place existed. I’ll bet there’s another floor below this one. Perhaps we’re actually standing on the great treasure warehouses of Atlantis.’ I had to place my hand over my mouth to stifle another sob. ‘And somewhere here, in this place, lay the bones of the great Queen Thira, Goddess of the Marches and Supreme Ruler of Atlantis.’

  ‘After all that you’ve told me, I wonder if the spirit of the Goddess of the Marches roamed the earth, searching for a woman to reveal the story behind the demise of her people.’ He said it so matter-of-factly, this preposterous idea that I had never dared voice for fear of being ridiculed.

  ‘Perhaps she chose my mother,’ I suggested quietly, feeling the weight of my sadness. ‘Do you think that’s crazy?’

  Angelo frowned for a moment. ‘Or perhaps she chose you. If you believe in God, then you believe there is a spirit world of some sort, yes?’ I nodded. ‘So how can we know what goes on there? We guess, but that’s all it is – guessing. Then we choose to believe whatever appeals to us the most. Isn’t that what religion is?’

  He made me smile, this Greek man of mine. Although he admitted he didn’t really know anything, he was sympathetic to my mother’s dreams and illusions, and that drew me closer to him.

  ‘These houses had two or even three floors,’ he said. ‘Look, halfway up, you see the holes? Tree trunks slotted into the stones, reaching across to the opposite walls. Remember the site at Santorini? The same building techniques took place here.’

  I knew because Aaron had explained to me already. ‘You know a lot, Angelo.’

  ‘I’m interested in archaeology. Most Greeks are. That’s why your parents were so admired.’

  Hand in hand, we turned into the main square and took a smaller path.

  ‘It’s a little creepy,’ I said, sticking close. ‘So quiet. I wonder where they . . . you know, died.’

  ‘They’ll be dust now, unless they were encased in mud and the bodies mummified.’

  A shiver ran through me. We found wheelbarrows, more tools, and sealed wooden crates. Angelo took a shovel, eased the blade under a timber lid, and swung on the handle. Nails squealed and then, with a sudden pop, the lid flew off and Angelo went sprawling into the dirt.

  I shouldn’t have laughed.

  He got to his feet and peered into the crate, pulling away empty sacks. ‘I think it’s bronze.’ He examined the goblets, plates, and bowls of dark metal. ‘This is serious. These things belong in a museum. My brother will sell the lot if he has his way.’

  ‘How could he do this and not be found out? I mean, how many men would have been needed to dig this out? Where is all the soil? How did they get the Bobcat and forklift down here?’

  ‘There must be another way in. Let’s look around, if you’re okay, and then I’ll talk to my father. I’m sure he doesn’t know about this.’

  ‘It’s getting late, Angelo, and I’ve a plane to catch. Let’s separate, investigate, and compare our findings on the way back to Elounda.’

  ‘You’re sure you’re okay? Be careful, and don’t touch anything, Irini.’

  I rolled my eyes good-humouredly. ‘I’m not a baby. I’ll be fine.’

  We parted. I sidestepped my way around the work tools and found another narrow street leading off to the right. I had enough illumination from the main passage to make out several rooms. Gaping doorways, like open mouths, revealed interiors half full of earth. In this area, planks and posts of new wood supported the roof, and the resinous smell of pine filled my nostrils. At the end of the light, the floor rose with soft, loose earth underfoot, and I was forced to stoop.

  I became accustomed to the gloom and was drawn into the last room, which seemed clear of dirt. On the far side I could make out large bulbous shapes, like Ali Baba baskets. Curious to know what was inside them, I slipped my phone into my bag and went to investigate, feeling around with my foot for a step.

  Angelo called, ‘Irini, are you all right?’

  Distracted, I tripped on a plank that slid away as I went to step on it. Lurching forward, I realised too late the board covered a hole. Everything happened so fast. I tumbled into the black space like Alice down the rabbit hole, terrified of what awaited me at the end of the drop. My shoulder crashed against the side as I failed to grasp something to break the fall.

  My scream echoed through empty corridors, until I hit the bottom of the dry well with a crash that knocked the air out of me. Excruciating pain tore through my ribs and shoulder. Winded, it took a few moments before I got my breath.

  ‘Help!’ I called.

  The horror in Angelo’s voice was clear. He yelled my name repeatedly. His shouts came closer and then they faded. I tried to move, then let out an agonised howl. Instantly, he was above me.

  ‘Irini, where are you?’

  ‘I’m down here. Be careful, there’s a hole.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘No, my shoulder.’ I imagined the bones jagged and splintered. The pain was terrible. Worried about my pregnancy, I slid a hand over my belly and abdomen, but didn’t feel any tenderness there. ‘Oh, thank God,’ I whispered. ‘You stay safe in there, baby.’

  ‘Wait, I’ll get some light. Don’t move,’ Angelo said.

  I didn’t want him to go.

  He shouted, ‘I’m pulling down the electric wire with lights.’

  I strained to listen and heard popping cable clips as he ripped the crude lighting system out of the main passageway.

  ‘I’m coming back,’ he yelled.

  The illumination became brighter, and then a black, fiendish shadow leaped and danced on the ceiling high above the hole. I feared the devil himself had come for me – stupid, really.

  ‘I’m here.’ He blinded me with light. ‘I’ll lower the cable.’

  The bulbs arrived, spinning and swaying. I fended the glare with my hand and saw Angelo three or four metres above me.

  ‘Don’t worry, I will get you out. I’m going to get a ladder.’

  The pain in my shoulder increased as his footsteps faded. Time stood still in the silence, and heat from the bulbs warmed the stagnant air. I tried to look about, but the slightest movement of my head sent horrific pain through me.

  Ang
elo clattered and cursed as he manoeuvred a crude ladder over the hole. Clods of earth fell around me.

  ‘I’m coming down to get you.’ He started to lower the ladder, but the bottom rung jammed firmly in the soft earth above.

  ‘Malaka! It’s stuck. Wait, I’ll just . . .’

  I could see him trying to jerk it free. The top caught the roof beam. He swung a hefty piece of timber at the side of the ladder to dislodge it.

  Then the nightmare escalated.

  A groan came from the shoring beam above. It twisted slowly, like warm toffee, and everything shifted – slightly, at first, then gathering force, until the tremble became a rumble and the rumble became a quake.

  I saw Angelo’s features warp with horror. A hailstorm of earth fell and covered most of my body. I swung my good arm over my face to protect it and pushed my chin to my chest.

  With a deafening roar, the beam crashed down like a snapped matchstick and jammed in the wall of the well before it reached me. The sides of the sinkhole started to collapse. Soil, rocks, and planks rained down. The broken beam slipped lower and jammed across the hole just inches above me. It supported a crushing amount of rubble that continued to fall and closed the entrance of my tomb. The beam sagged and slipped under the strain, and then the bulbs went out.

  I tried to drag myself from the covering of earth and curl against a rocky part of the wall. A moment of complete silence was broken by a distant groan and then the sickening sound of splintering wood.

  The rock wall behind me moved away, and in the dark I lost all orientation. I heard planks above rupture. Everything roared into freefall, including me. Loose dirt travelled with me as I was propelled down a steep incline in the pitch black. I felt sure I was about to die.

  *

  I remembered the chaos. Everything had stopped; even time itself seemed to be on hold.

  The silence and blackness were so absolute, I wondered if I was dead. Then, I realised I was lying horizontally, my head clear of dirt. I could move it a little, but a great weight pinned the rest of me down and, because of it, I could hardly breathe. I had dirt in my mouth, and when I coughed, a stabbing pain pierced my ribs. I pulled my left arm out of the soil, but every movement caused more pain down my right arm.

  I reached out, felt cold, smooth rock near my head, and followed its contour. It arched over me and seemed to have protected my head and shoulders from the avalanche. Disturbed dirt fell into my wide, unseeing eyes. The rock had saved my life, or what might be left of it.

  How long would the air last? With my good arm, I pushed soil away from my body.

  ‘Angelo?’ I called, wincing.

  Complete silence.

  Breathing became difficult, and when I brushed the dirt from my face I found it slimy with sweat. I managed to clear the soil as far as my hips, but stones and small rocks pinned my legs down.

  ‘Angelo, where are you?’ He could be right next to me for all I could see.

  I had to immobilise my injured arm before I attempted to sit up. After pushing more dirt away, I felt for the metal buckle of my belt. My hand rested on my belly for a moment. ‘Be safe in there,’ I whispered. ‘We’ll get out of this somehow.’

  I pulled on the leather belt and twisted onto my back. Terrible pain seemed to suck the marrow from my bones, but thoughts of the baby renewed my determination. The struggle to get the belt behind me was exhausting. I paused, sweat and dust stinging my eyes.

  Eventually, I brought the buckle to rest on my ribcage and managed to slot the end through it. Difficult with only a couple of inches to work with, but I got it through and pulled tight to pin my arm to my side.

  Relax, I told myself. Lie still and take slow, steady breaths. After a while, the shoulder eased a little.

  ‘Thank God,’ I whispered, more out of habit than sincerity, yet the words gave me some strength.

  ‘Angelo,’ I called again. Still nothing.

  I struggled into a sitting position and was reminded of the overhanging rock when my head cracked against it.

  One by one, I rolled away rocks and pushed at the loose soil. My legs were uncovered to the knees when I touched the leather strap of my shoulder bag. I scrabbled between the rocks. Sharp pain speared my fingers as nails broke to the quick.

  I hauled on the strap. Each pull sent excruciating pain up my right arm but my bag inched through the rubble until I dragged it free.

  I fumbled inside, discovered my make-up bag, perfume, wallet, and then the hard plastic of the mobile. I drew my hand around it, hoping the phone hadn’t been crushed into terminal switch-off. If only I had some light. If I’d bought the smart phone sooner, I’d be more familiar with it, but it was no good wishing now. My fingertips recognised the screen and the charging socket at the bottom, so I had it the right way up. I tried to remember the buttons, but it must have been the bang on the head or shortage of oxygen, because I couldn’t concentrate. I had hardly used the phone since I’d bought it.

  ‘Angelo! Where are you?’ I listened for a whimper or groan but heard nothing, so I returned my attention to the phone.

  Something was wrong. I could hear my own breathing, rapid and shallow as it was.

  You’re having a panic attack. Calm down!

  Dirt fell on my face. Horrified to think another avalanche might be on the verge of crashing down, I gave up on trying to fathom out the phone. Tiredness and fear destroyed my confidence. I knew I had to go ahead and press a button. If I flattened the battery in the process of figuring it out – tough. Anyway, I probably wouldn’t get any signal.

  The glowing light from the phone was the most beautiful thing in the world. I shone it around at arm’s length. I wasn’t in a cavern, but in the corner of some kind of room. Ahead, I could see an ancient block wall and a doorway filled with rubble. To my left and right, there were marble columns snapped into short lengths and loosely scattered. Approximately a metre and a half above me, a huge slab of smooth, pale marble was supported by broken columns on either side. Angelo was not lying unconscious nearby, as I’d feared. I was alone. He must still be up top, getting help. I wouldn’t consider anything else.

  The rocks over my legs were the tail end of the landslide that had swept me here, but the light from the phone faded and, once again, I was plunged into darkness.

  What if the battery died? Then the light came on again. I screwed my eyes to focus on the screen and, to my disappointment, saw there was no signal.

  Too late, I heard the rumble and hardly saw the rock before it ricocheted off my temple.

  CHAPTER 42

  IRINI

  Crete, present day.

  IRINI’S INSENTIENT MIND, suspended in total silence, experienced what she would later label as a weird hallucination. Most of the time, she had always accepted that there was a God, perhaps not the creator of heaven and earth, but possibly.

  She usually translated her own inner strength as God’s support and took comfort from the guiding principles that her religion gave her, such as: ‘love thy neighbour as thyself’. Irini believed, without doubt, that all gods should concentrate on setting such a strategy for humans instead of counting heads in the battle for supremacy.

  Now she felt the presence of a celestial entity and realised that she was in the company of a powerful deity – a goddess, for want of a better word – the mother of earth, water, birth, and nature.

  The spirit took shape before her in the form of a woman in a long and heavy robe of blue and yellow, embroidered with delicate crocus flowers. Her blue-black hair was coiled and waxed elaborately about her head, and the neckline of the garment was cut below her breasts in a simple display of womanhood. She wore a necklace of silver dragonflies, with the wings touching to make a circle around her neck.

  Irini knew this was Queen Thira. The woman did not speak, but as she gazed into Irini’s eyes her hands rose to her nape and touched the dragonfly necklace. Irini heard the deity’s words inside her head, echoing strangely without true resonance.


  You have a purpose: daughter, wife, mother.

  ‘Who are you?’ Irini whispered, her voice hardly more than a thought in a breeze.

  I am the Goddess of the Marches. I am everyone and no one, and you are my daughter. Your destiny is written and you shall fulfil it, affecting all those around you and setting the path for those who are yet unborn.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  When your mortal time on this earth is complete, you will understand everything.

  The goddess smiled and the silver dragonflies quivered, broke apart, and changed into living creatures of dazzling beauty, flitting and darting in the darkness.

  I’m dreaming this, Irini thought. I must be, there’s no logical explanation. Perhaps it’s all a dream and I am in my bed, asleep. She tried to follow the dragonflies, but one by one they disappeared. When she returned her gaze to the Goddess of the Marches, she too had vanished, but Bridget now stood in her place.

  At the sight of her mother, all Irini’s pain and fear were driven from her mind.

  Don’t give up, Irini. Your daughter depends on your strength right now. My darling Irini. I know you’ll make a wonderful mother. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t forget me.

  *

  Consciousness returned. Alone in the dark, I found myself shivering and afraid. My shoulder and head hurt so badly I felt the pain seep into every part of my body. Time and space became nothing but wretched despair. My own life seemed suspended as I withdrew into myself, blanking every thought, just waiting for someone to find me.

  *

  I heard them. Distant clattering, and then voices. A narrow shaft of light blinded me.

  ‘Irini, can you hear us?’

  Angelo’s voice . . . He’s safe!

  ‘I’m here, Angelo! Help me!’

  *

  In a hospital bed in Agios Nikolaos, I learned that Angelo had called all the emergency services. A beam had knocked him unconscious for a short time. He was slightly concussed and bruised but insisted on helping to find me. They reached me through a wall of rubble. Four hours after the initial collapse, I lay in Angelo’s arms.