by Max Howell
In no time they were driving the short distance to the Citadel, and as they turned the corner there it was, in all its majesty and splendour. The stones making up the battlements were much larger than they had expected. Again they wondered how they could possibly have been cut and transported by the ancients.
Before they started climbing the Citadel their attention was arrested by a large structure away from the battlement. They walked in and looked around at the bare chamber, and gazed up to the top of this cone-like structure, some sixty feet high. “I have read about this”, said Joanne, “It is called the Beehive Tomb. Nothing of consequence was found in it, doubtless as a result of robberies, but its very size intimates that if a burial place, which is what is thought, it had to be for a very important person, perhaps Agamemnon himself.”
They walked up the winding path to the entrance way of the main site, and stopped. Again, the stones at the entrance way were gigantic, and there were two sculptured animal heads there. “This is the so-called Lion’s Gate at Mycenae. Archaeologists and sex seemingly do not go together, for they are misnamed, as they are actually lionesses”, Joanne observed.
They continued on through the portals, and an English sign pointed towards an open space, below the surface where they were standing. It said: Royal Grave Shafts.
Joanne’s eyes widened. “Henry”, she exclaimed, “this is very important. As you may remember Schliemann had already discovered Troy, but he was highly criticised for the jewels and other artefacts he spirited out of Turkey. The Turkish government demanded their return, but this was ignored by Heinrich. By the way, Heinrich in German is Henry, so you have the same first name. Should I start calling you Heinrich now?”
He smiled and said: “Thanks for the thought, but no.”
“To go on. The Turks kept objecting, and all this made the Greeks suspicious. So they assigned someone to watch him all the time when he was excavating, so he did not steal anything from Greek soil. Anyhow, they were digging here, Heinrich and Sophia, and it was late in the day. His hand brushed aside the sand, and he saw a glint of gold. He immediately re-covered the area with sand, and announced to everyone that they had worked enough that day. When everyone had departed, including the Greek watch-dog assigned to observe them, they hurried back to the site and, moving deftly, uncovered a life-size, complete, pure gold facial mask. They fell into each other’s arms, realizing that they had made a remarkable discovery, as such a burial procedure was only done with royalty. They hurried back to the very pension where we are now staying, and in a short space of time Schliemann sent a telegram to the leading newspapers and scholars of the time period. It said, simply: I HAVE GAZED UPON THE FACE OF AGAMEMNON. It took the world by storm, and Schliemann’s name was on everyone’s lips. First Troy, then Mycenae, then Agamemnon!”
“Amazing”, said Henry, “simply amazing. But let us move on and upwards.” Soon they were at a flat open space, with a fantastic view of the surrounding plains. The sign read: Clytemnestra’s Bedroom.
Henry went on. “Now, my dear Joanne, sit over there and enjoy the view. I have been doing my homework, and I would now like to tell the story of what happened here, and read to you excerpts from the Greek play Agamemnon, which your father kindly presented us with. Are you ready?” She nodded, and smiled.
“Helen of Troy, as she has come to be called, was in actuality Greek, and she was abducted by Paris, the son of the King of Troy, and was taken back to Troy. She was no ordinary person, she was the wife of Menelaus, the King of Sparta. Menelaus was Agamemnon’s brother, and Agamemnon was the so-called King of Men, the leader of the Achaens, as they were called. Incensed and insulted at the abduction, the Achaeans armed and sailed to Troy to bring back Helen. This was the so-called Trojan war. The siege of Troy went on for almost ten years, until the ruse of the Wooden Horse fooled the Trojans as they unsuspectingly pulled the horse into their own Citadel. At night the Achaen soldiers jumped out of the horse and ransacked the fort. Then they set off for home, triumphant. In those days soldiers would be placed at intervals along the way and would light fires to apprise people of the approach of ships.
“So the play Agamemnon begins atop this very battlement, with a watchman speaking. Are you ready for this reading of my first Greek play? I will not read it all, just selected parts.”
Joanne smiled again and said: “I await with bated breath.”
“Then here goes. Back to the watchman. He says, sitting up here where we now are:
I pray the gods a respite from these toils,
This long year’s watch that, dog-like, I have kept,
High on the Atridian’s battlements, beholding
The nightly council of the stars, the circling
Of the celestial signs, and those bright regents,
High-swung in ether, that bring mortal men
Summer and winter. Here I watch the torch,
The appointed flame that wings a voice from Troy,
Telling of capture; thus I serve her hopes,
The masculine-minded who is sovereign here.
“If I can interrupt now and then with a comment, it is interesting that the watchman says the masculine-minded who is sovereign here. It seems obvious that she was a tough one, a hard one. He speaks of course of Clytemnestra, Agamemnon’s wife, and of course Agamemnon had been away to war for ten long years, so she was the interim ruler.
“Then the Chorus comes in:
Nine years have rolled, the tenth is rolling
Since the strong Atridian pair
Menelaus and Agamemnon
Sceptred kings by Jove’s high grace…
Sailed for Troy.
“So Agamemnon and Menelaus had been away almost ten long years. The watchman is suddenly excited.
All hail, though cresset of the dark! fair gleam
Of day through midnight shed, all hail! Bright father
Of joy and dance in Argos, hail! All hail!
“Now two things have to be noted. Clytemnestra had not been faithful in Agamemnon’s absence, having a dalliance with Aegisthos and, second, Clytemenstra had never forgiven Agamemnon for sacrificing their daughter, Iphigenia, to the gods to ensure safe sailing to Troy.
“Despite this, the Queen plays the loving wife on his return.
Spread purple where he treads!
“And she goes on
Fitly the broidered foot-path marks his path
Whom justice leadeth to his long-lost home
With unexpected train…
“Doubtless he went up to this very bedroom, where you now sit, and bathed, doubtless in expectancy of the pleasures of the flesh. Instead, she killed him.
Not with a random inconsiderate blow,
But from old Hate, and with maturing Time.
Here, where I struck, I take my rooted stand,
Upon the finished deed… Here, Agamemnon lies,
My husband, dead, the work of this right hand –
The hand of a true workman. Thus it stands.
“So there we are, and here we are. That is the abbreviated version. The murder of Agamemnon supposedly happened right here.”
“Well”, said Joanne, “you read excellently. You have made history live for me.”
“I agree, that with our travelling, and our reading, it is as if we are being transported back to other ages.” He then paused, and said quietly: “Now I have something more serious to talk about. Come over here, Joanne.” She wondered what he was about to say, but first he took her to the edge of the bedroom and looked out at the glorious view that went on for miles.
“Look at that view, Joanne, could anything be more beautiful?” He then turned towards her, and looked into her eyes. “It is just like you, Joanne, as you too are so beautiful, and I love you as I never thought I could love. Would you marry me, Joanne, I would be very honoured?”
The tears tumbled down her face, and her mouth went to his. She said: “Henry, I love you, and would do anything for you, you know that. I will love you
to the end of time. Yes, I will marry you. But when and how is it possible?”
“I have been thinking about that since our wonderful evening at the small pension near Isthmia. It is why I asked at La Belle Helene de Menelaus whether we could stay a week. It may not be possible, but I would like our marriage to be here in Mycenae. It would be something we would remember the rest of our lives.”
She smiled at him, her heart almost bursting, actually aching, at the wonder of it all. They then continued to sit atop the battlements, ate the lunch they had been provided, and toasted their future with resinated Greek wine. They lazed there all afternoon, occasionally walking around the site to see more of Mycenae and the surrounding countryside.
That afternoon, when they returned to the hotel, they conversed with their host, and asked him whether the local priest might dine with them that very evening. In every small Greek town, there was always a resident Greek Orthodox priest who could be seen daily in the tavernas sitting and having coffee with his parishioners. They were the unquestioned guardians of morality in Greece. The host of La Belle Helene de Menelaus was soon on his way, and returned with the news that the priest would indeed be honoured to dine with the young Americans, and in fact was to inform them that he could speak passable English.
The host provided a substantial meal for everyone when the priest arrived, including his wife and himself, and the white wine was disappearing at a surprisingly rapid rate. Greek priests were not averse to a little good cheer. When everyone was reaching the decidedly mellow stage, Henry said: “Reverend, we have a request of you. We wondered whether you would do us the honour of marrying us, here in Mycenae?” Both the host and the priest showed their complete surprise.
“But you are already married, are you not?”
“No, we are not. We are engaged, and wish to be married.”
“The modern generation”, the priest mused, shaking his head, “it could not happen here in Greece, to be sure. The father of the girl would probably shoot you.”
“Mine would not, sir, nor would Joanne’s. They thoroughly approve of what we have been doing.”
“But you realize I am a priest of the Greek Orthodox Church?”
“We do. My father was a Protestant missionary in China, and he was always marrying people of different faiths. We respect your religion, as we respect other religions. We throw ourselves at your feet with this request.”
“No need for that”, he replied and then paused, thinking silently for a time, and rolling the resinated wine around his mouth before sending it on its way. “I have never had such a request, so I am not certain if I can be of help. You must understand that I will have to talk to my superior, the Bishop of Athens. Fortunately, we now have the telephone here in Mycenae. I will gladly do that tomorrow.”
“There are two other things, sir.” He remembered that Schliemann had given a substantial sum to the church to find the beauteous Sophia. “If permission is granted by your Bishop, I will gladly donate five thousand dollars to your church here in Mycenae.” He noted the priest’s eyes narrow. Five thousand dollars was a lot of money in Greece in these days. “And as for where the marriage is to be performed, just in case there are religious problems in having the ceremony in your church, we would ask that the ceremony be performed at the Citadel of Mycenae itself. After all, you do have the power to solemnize a marriage.”
The priest took another hefty slug of the wine, bowed to them and said good-night.
“I will do what I can. Until to-morrow”, he said.
“Until to-morrow. Would you honour us by having lunch with us then?”
He nodded and departed.
They thanked their host, and retired to their bedroom. Joanne said, as soon as they closed the door “Henry, that was masterful. I can see why you were such a successful businessman.”
That night, they made passionate love once more. Joanne was surprised at herself, as she had never really thought about sex before, but was easily aroused and flaming in her desires, and what made it all so wonderful and perfect was their love was made in the same bed where the legendary Sophia and Heinrich Schliemann had slept.
They were anxious as lunch-time approached, and were sitting on the verandah of the hotel when the priest, in his distinctive long black garments, walked towards them.
He smiled as he approached the nervous couple, and shook hands with Henry. “It is arranged”, said the priest, “my Bishop approves! It helps that the ceremony will not be in the church, and he was delighted with your very kind donation to the church. Today is Tuesday. It is preferable to wait three or four days. Can I suggest maybe Friday, at the Citadel? Shall we say at 4.30 to escape the heat of the day? It is our most wondrous time of day.”
“Thank you sir”, exclaimed Henry, and he and Joanne embraced. It was all arranged, so they relaxed with the priest and their host with much wine and a fine Greek repast, lamb chops and a salad.
There was much to be done before the given day. A seamstress was located, and a beautiful, flowing, Greek-style dress was made especially for Joanne. Champagne was located in Athens and sent for, and a menu was prepared for the post-nuptial dinner. A whole lamb on a spit would be prepared, and some twenty individuals were invited, the priest and the leading citizens and their wives at Mycenae, and of course the host of La Belle Helene de Menelaus and his family. As it turned out, the guests felt obligated to also accompany the marriage party to the bedroom at the citadel. It was a virtual procession from Mycenae, the priest leading, followed by Henry and Joanne and then the guests, the Mayor and his wife taking their rightful place in front of the other guests.
The day was a typical Greek day. The sun was shining and the skies were clear. Joanne looked radiant in her wedding dress, and Henry was resplendent in his dark suit. The priest conducted the service in Greek, occasionally translating for the principals.
When asked for the ring, Henry reached into his pocket and produced the jade and diamond ring that had occasioned their first meeting when he threw it out of the window and it struck her. They both looked at it in admiration. The priest formally declared them married, and they kissed. “Mr. and Mrs. Luce”, Henry said, and Joanne repeated it.
The post-nuptial celebrations were the happiest that could be remembered in the village. Before they left Mycenae and made love Henry told Joanne for the first time the story of the ring, and Lin, and the fact that he was to give it to the woman he loved.
CHAPTER 5.
LA BELLE HELENE
It was difficult leaving Mycenae, as the town had presented them with some magic moments in their lives. Their hosts at La Belle Helene de Menelaus were on hand to see them off, tears in their eyes. The priest was also there, and even the Mayor.
Their hearts heavy, yet overjoyed, they waved farewell, but instead of proceeding out of town they drove up to view the site of the battlements one more time. They stopped the car, and embraced, then looked up towards the Lion’s Gate and the grave site where Heinrich and Sophia supposedly discovered the golden mask of Agamemnon, and then glanced further upwards, to the bedroom where Clytemnestra had murdered Agamemnon.
Joanne said: “It is amazing that almost two thousand years ago one marriage ended here, and now another one has begun.”
Henry laughed: “One thing I have learned. I won’t go away from you for ten years, and if I ever do I’ll be very careful coming out of the bathroom!”
They turned the car around and drove slowly through the town, glancing over towards La Belle Helene de Menelaus, where they had spent their first day of marriage, in the same bed where Heinrich Schliemann and Sophia had slept. They felt their lives were intertwined with this legendary couple.
Like Odysseus, they now began their serious wanderings throughout the Greek world. They continued on in the Pelopponnese, first visiting Epidauras to see the magnificent ancient theatre, then Sparta and Olympia, where the first ancient Games began in 776BC and ended in 393AD. Luck seemed to be with them on their excursions, as the
Germans were excavating at Olympia and the leader of their team, Dr. Wilhelm Dörpfeld, was kind enough to show them their reconstruction of the palaestra and the gymnasium, the Temple of Zeus which was considered one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and particularly the ancient stadium which they were currently excavating. The starting blocks, or sills as they were called, had been recently discovered, and it was explained to them that the athletes ran nude, and started in the running events standing up, their toes curled around the sills. They stayed a week at the sleepy town of Olympia, not far distant from the Alpheus and Kladeous rivers. The Games were held every four years in ancient times, as they are in modern times, and only those worthy to compete were allowed entry. Olympia was relatively isolated, so it was difficult for Henry and Joanne to imagine that up to forty thousand spectators could be sitting on the banks of the stadium, and others crowding the town as poetry and music could be heard there as well.
They had to have their car transported by boat to a place near Delphi called Itea, on the mainland of Greece. Delphi was a sacred site 2500 years previously, as individuals and for that matter representatives of other countries came regularly to consult the oracle at the Sanctuary of Apollo. It was a dramatic setting, providing unparalleled views of the plains, Corinth and the sea. The site of one of the Crown athletic festivals, they ventured to the top of the site to see the 7000 seat stadium.
Legend had it that Delphi was the centre of the universe. Zeus, the father of the gods, supposedly released two eagles in opposite directions from the sanctuary, and they returned at the same time. Where the eagles met was marked by a stone, the omphalos, or navel of the world.
