Stealing Athena

by Karen Essex

  THE CAVE WAS DARK, but torches lit its craggy walls and low, jagged ceiling. Mary tried to crawl along the passage but the stones hurt her knees. Her dress kept catching on rocks, and the faster she tried to move, the more difficult it became to make her body obey her own commands. She felt as if she were trying to crawl through thick molasses. She was running away from the terrible screeching noise that seemed to be chasing her. What sort of creature, what unearthly beast, could make such a sound? It ripped through her ears, making her head feel as if it would burst. She looked up. Elgin stood at the opening of the cave, the light from outside forming a halo around his body. He held out his hand to help her, but the noise overtook her as she heard a horrible fluttering and flapping behind her, gaining on her, as if some winged creature were after her. She flattened herself against the ground to try to protect herself and the baby inside from whatever monster was chasing her. She could not imagine what it was, or what she had done to incur its wrath. She tried to cry out to warn Elgin, but her mouth would not make a sound. She had lost all ability to move forward or to talk. The screeching became louder, intolerable now, and she covered her ears with her hands, afraid to look up, but knowing that she had to find a way to help Elgin, who was still holding out his hand. Suddenly a huge wingspan—was it a demon from hell, one of Satan’s creatures?—appeared in front of her, blocking her view of her husband and of the entrance to the cave. In the dark, she heard Elgin cry out as the creature enveloped him. “Mary,” he cried. “Mary!” A woman, also with great black wings, appeared, watching impassively as the beast attacked Elgin. “Help him,” Mary called out. But the woman ignored her, and Elgin’s voice grew weaker and weaker. “Mary! Mary!”

  “MARY!”

  She opened her eyes. Elgin stood over her. The sun was streaming down on him, and he was still in silhouette. All was quiet. Dr. Scott was behind him, peering over his shoulder.

  “Where am I?” She clutched Elgin’s sleeve.

  “Captain Lacy was concerned that you were wandering off alone,” Elgin said. He helped her sit upright. “You mustn’t, Mary. This is not London! There is danger everywhere, especially for a female.”

  “I was tired. I suppose I fell asleep.”

  “Lady Elgin, we are all aware of your extraordinary stamina, but how many times must I tell you that a lady in your condition needs to rest during the heat of the day?” Dr. Scott reflected Elgin’s stern look.

  “That is precisely what I was trying to do, Dr. Scott,” she answered.

  “But we found you laid out on an altar like some maiden sacrifice,” Elgin said.

  “Stay with me for a moment, Elgin,” she said. “Send the others away.”

  “We will see you back at the encampment,” Dr. Scott said. “I would like to examine you further, Lady Elgin. We mustn’t take chances where your health is concerned.”

  “As you wish,” she said, anxious for him to leave. She did not want him to hear what she had to say. It was one thing to risk acting the foolish female in front of one’s husband, who expected such behavior of a wife. It was another to display vulnerability to his staff.

  “Something terrible happened, Eggy. I’m afraid. Terribly afraid.”

  “What on earth, Mary? It’s not the baby, is it?” He put a protective hand over her stomach.

  “No, the baby is fine, I am sure. I needed to rest. I was overtaken with dizziness. I thought I would pass out, and I did. On this horrible slab!” She looked down at the worn marble with its eddy of colors—yellow, orange, white—and wondered if some of what she saw were ancient bloodstains. “I had a vision of sorts. It felt like one of my presentiments. It was horrible. You were being attacked by some monster, some mythic beast with wings and a beak!”

  She described the entire scenario to him. He listened patiently, holding her hand, but the look of skepticism did not leave his face.

  “You fell asleep, Mary. It was a bad dream, nothing more. Though God knows I have my enemies. Was it Napoleon? I wouldn’t be surprised if the little monster had wings.” Elgin laughed. Mary could see that he was not going to take the warning seriously.

  “I’m afraid that something bad is going to happen to you. I can’t explain it, and I do not want you to blame it on foolish superstition.”

  “Do you honestly think the Olympian gods are taking revenge? Why wouldn’t they be grateful that we are saving what remains of them?” He threw up his hands. “Dear God, now I sound as foolish as you and Lacy!”

  Of course he was right. It was ludicrous to think that pagan idols had ever been real, or were still stalking the earth. But she could not deny that Elgin’s health had suffered terribly since he undertook the Athenian project. Not to mention that the rewards he was virtually assured of for his service were not forthcoming. Why was his luck not better? Yet she had no rational way to discuss these things with him.

  “I’m sorry, my darling. I had a fright. That is all. Of course you are doing the good and proper thing here.”

  “Now that you have seen the place, is it not all perfectly clear, Mary? Athens was once the seat of genius and liberty. What nation wears the mantle today, Mary, if not England? How many times must I explain myself?”

  “I am in full agreement with you. You will never have to defend your actions again, at least not to me.”

  DIFFICULT TO DECIPHER ITS original plan,” Elgin said as they walked the path above the Theater of Dionysus, looking down upon its ruins. The theater had been stripped of almost every bit of its famed marble. If any remained, it was obscured by centuries of piled debris. Dirt and rubbish sat in lumpy mounds covering what was once the proscenium. Feral cats snooped the heaps, but quickly grew discouraged in the heat and ran for shade. A brazen dragonfly persistently tried to strafe Mary, and she batted it away with her fan while she tried to maintain her balance on the uneven path.

  The wrecked theater was yet one more discouraging sight.

  “Where is the Odeion?” Mary asked the Greek guide.

  He pointed to an insurmountable mass of rubble.

  “Are you sure this is it?” Mary asked.

  Yes, he replied, he was quite certain that the unsightly heap had once been the Odeion, the music hall Pericles built to house competitions, modeled after Xerxes’ mammoth pavilion.

  “But this was the location of the music contests and at times the law courts,” Mary protested. “It was so important! Oh, and the theater, where Sophocles and Euripides debuted their magnificent plays!” Perhaps her pregnancy was contributing to her sentimental state, or perhaps she was weary of seeing irreparable ruins.

  “They say that the buildings that used to sit on the hill above the theater toppled in an earthquake and rolled into the audience, covering the great hemisphere of theater seats,” said Reverend Hunt. Indeed, but for a partial row of carved marble chairs that must have been for judges or dignitaries, the seats that once held the audience were entirely covered over. “It appears that the Odeion met with the same fate. Completely collapsed.”

  Using walking sticks for balance and to scare away the critters that ran wild in the ruins, they made their way down the hill to the few remaining chairs in the theater. The ornaments were in miraculously good condition, and the marble, a swirl of gray and cream.

  “They’re lovely,” Mary said. “So like thrones.”

  “Can you identify the carvings, Mr. Hunt?” Elgin asked.

  “Oh yes, quite. On this side, I believe we have Theseus or some other hero slaying an Amazon.” They walked around to view the back. “These are olive wreaths, the symbols of victory. And here we have the shield of Athena. All symbols of Athenian democracy and freedom.”

  “Let us sit down for a moment,” Elgin said. Mary sat in the most perfectly preserved chair. The marble was warmed by the sun and felt good on her tired back. Elgin sat next to her, and they both looked up to see the sole vestiges of the theater’s grandeur, two imposing Corinthian columns flanking a headless colossal statue.

  “That forti
fication is called the Wall of Cimon, after one of the heroes of the Persian Wars,” Reverend Hunt explained.

  “Oh yes, Cimon! The enemy of Pericles, and the brother of Elpinice,” Mary said. “A good man, if I read my history correctly.”

  “Lady Elgin, I believe you know your Plutarch,” Reverend Hunt said. “After having him ostracized, Pericles remembered Cimon’s worth and lobbied for his return.”

  “Those splendid columns in front of Cimon’s wall and the statue of Dionysus were added by the citizen Thrysallos, oh, some hundred years after the Age of Pericles.”

  “Poor Dionysus,” Mary said. “No longer able to look out over his theater. Is there a god’s face left in all of Athens?”

  “Nonetheless, the body of the statue is a marvel,” Elgin said, ignoring her sentimental comment. “Arrange for me to have it, Reverend Hunt.”

  “Of course,” the reverend replied before qualifying his answer. “I will have to see if the Turkish officials will interpret that the firman extends to the artifacts on the slopes of the Acropolis, or whether they will try to cause us trouble. The Disdar is still quite upset over the cornice that fell from the temple.”

  “Perhaps a little gift will help,” Elgin said. “Give whoever the Disdar reports to a good horse, and perhaps a cape and saddle to match. That should do it. Throw a few coins to the Disdar as well. He might like a bit of tobacco for his pipe.”

  “We are being drained of our funds!” Perhaps it was the heat again, or the overwhelming enormity of Elgin’s project, or the money it was costing her, or simply the peak emotions that accompanied this stage of pregnancy, but Mary felt herself growing impatient. Since the disturbing vision on the altar, she was determined to support Elgin’s efforts, and by God, she would see this project finished as soon as possible so that they could be done with it. She was anxious to go home—not to Constantinople, where she hoped they would soon go to pack up the embassy, but to London, and then on to Scotland, where they could embark on the life that Elgin had promised, the one in which they lived in beautifully renovated Broomhall, with her parents near and their children growing up in fresh country air.

  “Listen here, Reverend Hunt,” Mary said, “and give this message to Mr. Lusieri as well. If there is the slightest hint of opposition, tell the officials that I have procured an even more far-reaching firman from the Sultan. It is well known that the Grand Seigneur; his mother, the Valida; and the Capitan Pasha are all personal friends of mine. I doubt you will be opposed. Lord Elgin and I will have no further impediments to our plans.”

  “Yes, Lady Elgin,” said Reverend Hunt.

  “That’s my Poll.” Elgin had not used his pet name for her in months. “Let us be done with everything before it is too late. The French are trying to sabotage me. And if the Greeks do manage a revolt, the Turks will destroy every remnant of their civilization before they depart.”

  “Quite right, Lord Elgin,” said Reverend Hunt, ever eager to agree with his employer. “Let us not leave one thing for them to deface.”

  “Not what remains of that glorious statue of Dionysus. Not the Caryatids,” said Elgin. “And certainly not that beautiful chair my wife is sitting in. Have it removed and sent to the warehouse too. It will look splendid in our gardens at Broomhall.”

  “LORD BRUCE! You are a little torment. You must eat your vegetables if you want to be big and strong.”

  Mary sent her son to bed without the rest of his supper. He would eat nothing but meat, eschewing the array of greens that Dr. Scott prescribed to maintain good health. Elgin had convinced Mary to accompany him on a tour of the Peloponnese, leaving the children in Athens with their caretakers. In their absence, Little Mary had grown fatter and happier. But Bruce, left to the devices of Andrew, the manservant who treated the two-year-old as if he were a grown man and had already inherited a fiefdom, had grown unruly.

  Still, he was her beautiful firstborn, and Mary had to turn away from his huge, questioning blue eyes whenever she had to correct him. She was on her own now in Athens. Elgin had devised a second tour for them, this time through central Greece, but she begged him to go alone. She could not leave the children again, nor could she face more time on an ass’s back. She’d ridden those beasts through treacherous mountain paths, climbed on all fours through archeological sites, and slept long nights in miserable huts and tents. Now she was in her seventh month of pregnancy. Her body had become big and unwieldy, and her choking attacks had returned. Perhaps it was the encroaching summer heat, which seemed to agree so well with Elgin—though he was not with child—but Mary was suffering once more. Thankfully, Dr. Scott had an ample supply of opium, which calmed the nerves and seemed to dissipate the attacks. At least she could sleep.

  “One line from you will bring me back, dearest,” Elgin said to her upon his departure. He was once again at his manly best after so many weeks riding and climbing through mountains and rocks and being out of doors in the sunlight.

  “I shan’t call you back, no matter how much I want to,” she said.

  Besides, she had a secret mission that she thought would be easier if her husband was out of the way. The antiquities—tons and tons of them—were stacking up at the docks at Piraeus. They’d gotten everything down from the Acropolis. From the Parthenon alone had come five hundred twenty-four feet of the frieze, fifteen metopes, and seventeen statues from the east and west pediments, counting the gigantic horse’s head. Four relief pieces had been taken from the Temple of Athena Nike. Many of the molds, casts, drawings, inventories, and measurements remained in Athens. The Caryatid still awaited shipment, as did the big marble chair from the Theater of Dionysus. The fate of the rest of the Erechtheion was in question until ships could be found to transport what had already been gathered. Now, the dozens of pieces that Elgin had collected, large and small, were coming in from the tour he had made of the Peloponnese, and he was on his way to Thebes to accumulate more.

  But Lord Nelson continued to refuse their requests for even a single British warship to transport the acquisitions. And Lusieri was worried that the Turkish officials in charge of the Acropolis had started to panic at the steady stream of marbles leaving the citadel.

  Mary feared that if Elgin failed in the Athens mission, he would turn back into the sickly, rheumatic man he had become toward the end of their days in Constantinople. She saw an opportunity to help him, and she set about putting her plan in motion.

  Young Captain Hoste, the twenty-two-year-old skipper of the Mutine, whom Mary had entertained in Constantinople, arrived at Athens with his ship and a life-threatening case of consumption. Mary took him into the house where she was living and gave him a comfortable upstairs room. The poor boy was sure that he was going to die, but Mary fed him a steady diet of milk and whey, and assured him that as he was a favorite of Lord Nelson and of such value to the British fleet, she would not let him perish so far from home. He’d been at sea for nine years without seeing his family, and Mary thought that loneliness might be aggravating his illness. She cared for him as if he were her child, though he was but two years younger than she. He improved under her care, and when he was well enough to go back to his vessel, she accompanied him to the docks and showed him the crates that needed a lift back to England.

  Well, what could he say?

  “You are headed straight to Malta, Captain,” Mary said. “I checked with your lieutenant. There will be no enemies to encounter. You would be doing me a very great favor.”

  He looked upon his caretaker and vowed to take as many crates as would fit in the hold. “Nothing would please me more than to oblige you, madam. But it is a Greek holiday this week and no one will work. How might we get this massive cargo on board?”

  But she had already thought of that problem and had solved it. “Not to worry, Captain. I have offered a little baksheesh to the dockworkers and they promise to do our bidding.”

  She went to Lusieri and demanded that he stop his work and have the men immediately fashion crates for everyth
ing that remained atop the Acropolis awaiting transportation to the docks.

  “I have never seen anything like this, Lady Elgin,” Lusieri said as she explained to him what he must do. “I am all astonishment at you.”

  As cautionary backups to her plan, she was also entertaining Captain Donnelly, whom she needed to take the family back to Turkey, and Captain Cracraft, his commanding officer, who sailed the Anson. Mary paid particular attention to Cracraft, though he was older than Hoste and Donnelly and wore a constantly crooked wig over his bald, shaved head. It came as no surprise to her when Captain Cracraft offered to take whatever remained of their collection if there wasn’t room on the Narcissus as a personal favor to Lady Elgin. And just in case there was yet more—for who could predict what Elgin would find?—she was entertaining other naval officers, like Mr. Dickey Johnstone and his mates, with bottles of wine and the last of her nice wheels of cheese. When the Mentor returned with William Hamilton, she would see if there was any space left in the hold for whatever Elgin was undoubtedly bringing in from his latest travels.

  She felt utterly victorious. When all was done, she wrote to her husband:

  Everything is down from the Acropolis, and we may now boldly bid defiance to our enemies! I have arranged shipment, and so neatly that it will not cost us a penny, much less the prohibitive amount that we feared!

  As usual, female eloquence succeeded. This is all my doing, Elgin, and I feel proud. Do you love me the more for it?